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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/34970-0.txt b/34970-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..cf1ff55 --- /dev/null +++ b/34970-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,16502 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook of Pierre; or The Ambiguities, by Herman Melville + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and +most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions +whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms +of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at +www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you +will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before +using this eBook. + +Title: Pierre; or The Ambiguities + +Author: Herman Melville + +Release Date: January 15, 2011 [eBook #34970] +[Most recently updated: May 28, 2022] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +Produced by: Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PIERRE; OR THE AMBIGUITIES *** + + + + +PIERRE: +OR, +THE AMBIGUITIES. + +BY +HERMAN MELVILLE. + +NEW YORK: +HARPER & BROTHERS, PUBLISHERS +329 & 331 PEARL STREET, +FRANKLIN SQUARE. +1852. + + Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1852, by + HERMAN MELVILLE, + In the Clerk's Office of the Southern District of New York. + + + + +TO + +Greylock's Most Excellent Majesty. + + +In old times authors were proud of the privilege of dedicating their +works to Majesty. A right noble custom, which we of Berkshire must +revive. For whether we will or no, Majesty is all around us here in +Berkshire, sitting as in a grand Congress of Vienna of majestical +hill-tops, and eternally challenging our homage. + +But since the majestic mountain, Greylock--my own more immediate +sovereign lord and king--hath now, for innumerable ages, been the one +grand dedicatee of the earliest rays of all the Berkshire mornings, I +know not how his Imperial Purple Majesty (royal-born: Porphyrogenitus) +will receive the dedication of my own poor solitary ray. + +Nevertheless, forasmuch as I, dwelling with my loyal neighbors, the +Maples and the Beeches, in the amphitheater over which his central +majesty presides, have received his most bounteous and unstinted +fertilizations, it is but meet, that I here devoutly kneel, and render +up my gratitude, whether, thereto, The Most Excellent Purple Majesty of +Greylock benignantly incline his hoary crown or no. + +_Pittsfield, Mass._ + + + + +TABLE OF CONTENTS. + +BOOK I. PIERRE JUST EMERGING FROM HIS TEENS +BOOK II. LOVE, DELIGHT, AND ALARM +BOOK III. THE PRESENTIMENT AND THE VERIFICATION +BOOK IV. RETROSPECTIVE +BOOK V. MISGIVINGS AND PREPARATIVES +BOOK VI. ISABEL, AND THE FIRST PART OF THE STORY OF ISABEL +BOOK VII. INTERMEDIATE BETWEEN PIERRE'S TWO INTERVIEWS WITH ISABEL AT THE FARM-HOUSE +BOOK VIII. THE SECOND INTERVIEW, AND THE SECOND PART OF THE STORY OF ISABEL. THEIR IMMEDIATE IMPULSIVE EFFECT UPON PIERRE +BOOK IX. MORE LIGHT, AND THE GLOOM OF THAT LIGHT. MORE GLOOM, AND THE LIGHT OF THAT GLOOM +BOOK X. THE UNPRECEDENTED FINAL RESOLUTION OF PIERRE +BOOK XI. HE CROSSES THE RUBICON +BOOK XII. ISABEL, MRS. GLENDINNING, THE PORTRAIT, AND LUCY +BOOK XIII. THEY DEPART THE MEADOWS +BOOK XIV. THE JOURNEY AND THE PAMPHLET +BOOK XV. THE COUSINS +BOOK XVI. FIRST NIGHT OF THEIR ARRIVAL IN THE CITY +BOOK XVII. YOUNG AMERICA IN LITERATURE +BOOK XVIII. PIERRE, AS A JUVENILE AUTHOR, RECONSIDERED +BOOK XIX. THE CHURCH OF THE APOSTLES +BOOK XX. CHARLIE MILLTHORPE +BOOK XXI. PIERRE IMMATURELY ATTEMPTS A MATURE BOOK. TIDINGS FROM THE MEADOWS. PLINLIMMON +BOOK XXII. THE FLOWER-CURTAIN LIFTED FROM BEFORE A TROPICAL AUTHOR; WITH SOME REMARKS ON THE TRANSCENDENTAL FLESH-BRUSH PHILOSOPHY +BOOK XXIII. A LETTER FOR PIERRE. ISABEL. ARRIVAL OF LUCY'S EASEL AND TRUNKS AT THE APOSTLES' +BOOK XXIV. LUCY AT THE APOSTLES' +BOOK XXV. LUCY, ISABEL, AND PIERRE. PIERRE AT HIS BOOK. ENCELADUS +BOOK XXVI. A WALK; A FOREIGN PORTRAIT; A SAIL. AND THE END + + + + +PIERRE. + + + + +BOOK I. + +PIERRE JUST EMERGING FROM HIS TEENS. + + +I. + +There are some strange summer mornings in the country, when he who is +but a sojourner from the city shall early walk forth into the fields, +and be wonder-smitten with the trance-like aspect of the green and +golden world. Not a flower stirs; the trees forget to wave; the grass +itself seems to have ceased to grow; and all Nature, as if suddenly +become conscious of her own profound mystery, and feeling no refuge from +it but silence, sinks into this wonderful and indescribable repose. + +Such was the morning in June, when, issuing from the embowered and +high-gabled old home of his fathers, Pierre, dewily refreshed and +spiritualized by sleep, gayly entered the long, wide, elm-arched street +of the village, and half unconsciously bent his steps toward a cottage, +which peeped into view near the end of the vista. + +The verdant trance lay far and wide; and through it nothing came but the +brindled kine, dreamily wandering to their pastures, followed, not +driven, by ruddy-cheeked, white-footed boys. + +As touched and bewitched by the loveliness of this silence, Pierre +neared the cottage, and lifted his eyes, he swiftly paused, fixing his +glance upon one upper, open casement there. Why now this impassioned, +youthful pause? Why this enkindled cheek and eye? Upon the sill of the +casement, a snow-white glossy pillow reposes, and a trailing shrub has +softly rested a rich, crimson flower against it. + +Well mayst thou seek that pillow, thou odoriferous flower, thought +Pierre; not an hour ago, her own cheek must have rested there. "Lucy!" + +"Pierre!" + +As heart rings to heart those voices rang, and for a moment, in the +bright hush of the morning, the two stood silently but ardently eying +each other, beholding mutual reflections of a boundless admiration and +love. + +"Nothing but Pierre," laughed the youth, at last; "thou hast forgotten +to bid me good-morning." + +"That would be little. Good-mornings, good-evenings, good days, weeks, +months, and years to thee, Pierre;--bright Pierre!--Pierre!" + +Truly, thought the youth, with a still gaze of inexpressible fondness; +truly the skies do ope, and this invoking angel looks down.--"I would +return thee thy manifold good-mornings, Lucy, did not that presume thou +had'st lived through a night; and by Heaven, thou belong'st to the +regions of an infinite day!" + +"Fie, now, Pierre; why should ye youths always swear when ye love!" + +"Because in us love is profane, since it mortally reaches toward the +heaven in ye!" + +"There thou fly'st again, Pierre; thou art always circumventing me so. +Tell me, why should ye youths ever show so sweet an expertness in +turning all trifles of ours into trophies of yours?" + +"I know not how that is, but ever was it our fashion to do." And shaking +the casement shrub, he dislodged the flower, and conspicuously fastened +it in his bosom.--"I must away now, Lucy; see! under these colors I +march." + +"Bravissimo! oh, my only recruit!" + + +II. + +Pierre was the only son of an affluent, and haughty widow; a lady who +externally furnished a singular example of the preservative and +beautifying influences of unfluctuating rank, health, and wealth, when +joined to a fine mind of medium culture, uncankered by any inconsolable +grief, and never worn by sordid cares. In mature age, the rose still +miraculously clung to her cheek; litheness had not yet completely +uncoiled itself from her waist, nor smoothness unscrolled itself from +her brow, nor diamondness departed from her eyes. So that when lit up +and bediademed by ball-room lights, Mrs. Glendinning still eclipsed far +younger charms, and had she chosen to encourage them, would have been +followed by a train of infatuated suitors, little less young than her +own son Pierre. + +But a reverential and devoted son seemed lover enough for this widow +Bloom; and besides all this, Pierre when namelessly annoyed, and +sometimes even jealously transported by the too ardent admiration of the +handsome youths, who now and then, caught in unintended snares, seemed +to entertain some insane hopes of wedding this unattainable being; +Pierre had more than once, with a playful malice, openly sworn, that the +man--gray-beard, or beardless--who should dare to propose marriage to +his mother, that man would by some peremptory unrevealed agency +immediately disappear from the earth. + +This romantic filial love of Pierre seemed fully returned by the +triumphant maternal pride of the widow, who in the clear-cut lineaments +and noble air of the son, saw her own graces strangely translated into +the opposite sex. There was a striking personal resemblance between +them; and as the mother seemed to have long stood still in her beauty, +heedless of the passing years; so Pierre seemed to meet her half-way, +and by a splendid precocity of form and feature, almost advanced himself +to that mature stand-point in Time, where his pedestaled mother so long +had stood. In the playfulness of their unclouded love, and with that +strange license which a perfect confidence and mutual understanding at +all points, had long bred between them, they were wont to call each +other brother and sister. Both in public and private this was their +usage; nor when thrown among strangers, was this mode of address ever +suspected for a sportful assumption; since the amaranthiness of Mrs. +Glendinning fully sustained this youthful pretension.--Thus freely and +lightsomely for mother and son flowed on the pure joined current of +life. But as yet the fair river had not borne its waves to those +sideways repelling rocks, where it was thenceforth destined to be +forever divided into two unmixing streams. + +An excellent English author of these times enumerating the prime +advantages of his natal lot, cites foremost, that he first saw the rural +light. So with Pierre. It had been his choice fate to have been born and +nurtured in the country, surrounded by scenery whose uncommon loveliness +was the perfect mould of a delicate and poetic mind; while the popular +names of its finest features appealed to the proudest patriotic and +family associations of the historic line of Glendinning. On the meadows +which sloped away from the shaded rear of the manorial mansion, far to +the winding river, an Indian battle had been fought, in the earlier days +of the colony, and in that battle the paternal great-grandfather of +Pierre, mortally wounded, had sat unhorsed on his saddle in the grass, +with his dying voice, still cheering his men in the fray. This was +Saddle-Meadows, a name likewise extended to the mansion and the +village. Far beyond these plains, a day's walk for Pierre, rose the +storied heights, where in the Revolutionary War his grandfather had for +several months defended a rude but all-important stockaded fort, against +the repeated combined assaults of Indians, Tories, and Regulars. From +before that fort, the gentlemanly, but murderous half-breed, Brandt, had +fled, but had survived to dine with General Glendinning, in the amicable +times which followed that vindictive war. All the associations of +Saddle-Meadows were full of pride to Pierre. The Glendinning deeds by +which their estate had so long been held, bore the cyphers of three +Indian kings, the aboriginal and only conveyancers of those noble woods +and plains. Thus loftily, in the days of his circumscribed youth, did +Pierre glance along the background of his race; little recking of that +maturer and larger interior development, which should forever deprive +these things of their full power of pride in his soul. + +But the breeding of Pierre would have been unwisely contracted, had his +youth been unintermittingly passed in these rural scenes. At a very +early period he had begun to accompany his father and mother--and +afterwards his mother alone--in their annual visits to the city; where +naturally mingling in a large and polished society, Pierre had +insensibly formed himself in the airier graces of life, without +enfeebling the vigor derived from a martial race, and fostered in the +country's clarion air. + +Nor while thus liberally developed in person and manners, was Pierre +deficient in a still better and finer culture. Not in vain had he spent +long summer afternoons in the deep recesses of his father's fastidiously +picked and decorous library; where the Spenserian nymphs had early led +him into many a maze of all-bewildering beauty. Thus, with a graceful +glow on his limbs, and soft, imaginative flames in his heart, did this +Pierre glide toward maturity, thoughtless of that period of remorseless +insight, when all these delicate warmths should seem frigid to him, and +he should madly demand more ardent fires. + +Nor had that pride and love which had so bountifully provided for the +youthful nurture of Pierre, neglected his culture in the deepest element +of all. It had been a maxim with the father of Pierre, that all +gentlemanhood was vain; all claims to it preposterous and absurd, unless +the primeval gentleness and golden humanities of religion had been so +thoroughly wrought into the complete texture of the character, that he +who pronounced himself gentleman, could also rightfully assume the meek, +but kingly style of Christian. At the age of sixteen, Pierre partook +with his mother of the Holy Sacraments. + +It were needless, and more difficult, perhaps, to trace out precisely +the absolute motives which prompted these youthful vows. Enough, that as +to Pierre had descended the numerous other noble qualities of his +ancestors; and as he now stood heir to their forests and farms; so by +the same insensible sliding process, he seemed to have inherited their +docile homage to a venerable Faith, which the first Glendinning had +brought over sea, from beneath the shadow of an English minister. Thus +in Pierre was the complete polished steel of the gentleman, girded with +Religion's silken sash; and his great-grandfather's soldierly fate had +taught him that the generous sash should, in the last bitter trial, +furnish its wearer with Glory's shroud; so that what through life had +been worn for Grace's sake, in death might safely hold the man. But +while thus all alive to the beauty and poesy of his father's faith, +Pierre little foresaw that this world hath a secret deeper than beauty, +and Life some burdens heavier than death. + +So perfect to Pierre had long seemed the illuminated scroll of his life +thus far, that only one hiatus was discoverable by him in that +sweetly-writ manuscript. A sister had been omitted from the text. He +mourned that so delicious a feeling as fraternal love had been denied +him. Nor could the fictitious title, which he so often lavished upon his +mother, at all supply the absent reality. This emotion was most natural; +and the full cause and reason of it even Pierre did not at that time +entirely appreciate. For surely a gentle sister is the second best gift +to a man; and it is first in point of occurrence; for the wife comes +after. He who is sisterless, is as a bachelor before his time. For much +that goes to make up the deliciousness of a wife, already lies in the +sister. + +"Oh, had my father but had a daughter!" cried Pierre; "some one whom I +might love, and protect, and fight for, if need be. It must be a +glorious thing to engage in a mortal quarrel on a sweet sister's behalf! +Now, of all things, would to heaven, I had a sister!" + +Thus, ere entranced in the gentler bonds of a lover; thus often would +Pierre invoke heaven for a sister; but Pierre did not then know, that if +there be any thing a man might well pray against, that thing is the +responsive gratification of some of the devoutest prayers of his youth. + +It may have been that this strange yearning of Pierre for a sister, had +part of its origin in that still stranger feeling of loneliness he +sometimes experienced, as not only the solitary head of his family, but +the only surnamed male Glendinning extant. A powerful and populous +family had by degrees run off into the female branches; so that Pierre +found himself surrounded by numerous kinsmen and kinswomen, yet +companioned by no surnamed male Glendinning, but the duplicate one +reflected to him in the mirror. But in his more wonted natural mood, +this thought was not wholly sad to him. Nay, sometimes it mounted into +an exultant swell. For in the ruddiness, and flushfulness, and +vain-gloriousness of his youthful soul, he fondly hoped to have a +monopoly of glory in capping the fame-column, whose tall shaft had been +erected by his noble sires. + +In all this, how unadmonished was our Pierre by that foreboding and +prophetic lesson taught, not less by Palmyra's quarries, than by +Palmyra's ruins. Among those ruins is a crumbling, uncompleted shaft, +and some leagues off, ages ago left in the quarry, is the crumbling +corresponding capital, also incomplete. These Time seized and spoiled; +these Time crushed in the egg; and the proud stone that should have +stood among the clouds, Time left abased beneath the soil. Oh, what +quenchless feud is this, that Time hath with the sons of Men! + + +III. + +It has been said that the beautiful country round about Pierre appealed +to very proud memories. But not only through the mere chances of things, +had that fine country become ennobled by the deeds of his sires, but in +Pierre's eyes, all its hills and swales seemed as sanctified through +their very long uninterrupted possession by his race. + +That fond ideality which, in the eyes of affection, hallows the least +trinket once familiar to the person of a departed love; with Pierre that +talisman touched the whole earthly landscape about him; for remembering +that on those hills his own fine fathers had gazed; through those woods, +over these lawns, by that stream, along these tangled paths, many a +grand-dame of his had merrily strolled when a girl; vividly recalling +these things, Pierre deemed all that part of the earth a love-token; so +that his very horizon was to him as a memorial ring. + +The monarchical world very generally imagines, that in demagoguical +America the sacred Past hath no fixed statues erected to it, but all +things irreverently seethe and boil in the vulgar caldron of an +everlasting uncrystalizing Present. This conceit would seem peculiarly +applicable to the social condition. With no chartered aristocracy, and +no law of entail, how can any family in America imposingly perpetuate +itself? Certainly that common saying among us, which declares, that be a +family conspicuous as it may, a single half-century shall see it abased; +that maxim undoubtedly holds true with the commonalty. In our cities +families rise and burst like bubbles in a vat. For indeed the democratic +element operates as a subtile acid among us; forever producing new +things by corroding the old; as in the south of France verdigris, the +primitive material of one kind of green paint, is produced by +grape-vinegar poured upon copper plates. Now in general nothing can be +more significant of decay than the idea of corrosion; yet on the other +hand, nothing can more vividly suggest luxuriance of life, than the idea +of green as a color; for green is the peculiar signet of all-fertile +Nature herself. Herein by apt analogy we behold the marked anomalousness +of America; whose character abroad, we need not be surprised, is +misconceived, when we consider how strangely she contradicts all prior +notions of human things; and how wonderfully to her, Death itself +becomes transmuted into Life. So that political institutions, which in +other lands seem above all things intensely artificial, with America +seem to possess the divine virtue of a natural law; for the most mighty +of nature's laws is this, that out of Death she brings Life. + +Still, are there things in the visible world, over which ever-shifting +Nature hath not so unbounded a sway. The grass is annually changed; but +the limbs of the oak, for a long term of years, defy that annual decree. +And if in America the vast mass of families be as the blades of grass, +yet some few there are that stand as the oak; which, instead of +decaying, annually puts forth new branches; whereby Time, instead of +subtracting, is made to capitulate into a multiple virtue. + +In this matter we will--not superciliously, but in fair spirit--compare +pedigrees with England, and strange as it may seem at the first blush, +not without some claim to equality. I dare say, that in this thing the +Peerage Book is a good statistical standard whereby to judge her; since +the compilers of that work can not be entirely insensible on whose +patronage they most rely; and the common intelligence of our own people +shall suffice to judge us. But the magnificence of names must not +mislead us as to the humility of things. For as the breath in all our +lungs is hereditary, and my present breath at this moment, is further +descended than the body of the present High Priest of the Jews, so far +as he can assuredly trace it; so mere names, which are also but air, do +likewise revel in this endless descendedness. But if Richmond, and St. +Albans, and Grafton, and Portland, and Buccleugh, be names almost old as +England herself, the present Dukes of those names stop in their own +genuine pedigrees at Charles II., and there find no very fine fountain; +since what we would deem the least glorious parentage under the sun, is +precisely the parentage of a Buccleugh, for example; whose ancestress +could not well avoid being a mother, it is true, but had accidentally +omitted the preliminary rite. Yet a king was the sire. Then only so much +the worse; for if it be small insult to be struck by a pauper, but +mortal offense to receive a blow from a gentleman, then of all things +the bye-blows of kings must be signally unflattering. In England the +Peerage is kept alive by incessant restorations and creations. One man, +George III., manufactured five hundred and twenty-two peers. An earldom, +in abeyance for five centuries, has suddenly been assumed by some +commoner, to whom it had not so much descended, as through the art of +the lawyers been made flexibly to bend in that direction. For not Thames +is so sinuous in his natural course, not the Bridgewater Canal more +artificially conducted, than blood in the veins of that winding or +manufactured nobility. Perishable as stubble, and fungous as the fungi, +those grafted families successively live and die on the eternal soil of +a name. In England this day, twenty-five hundred peerages are extinct; +but the names survive. So that the empty air of a name is more +endurable than a man, or than dynasties of men; the air fills man's +lungs and puts life into a man, but man fills not the air, nor puts life +into that. + +All honor to the names then, and all courtesy to the men; but if St. +Albans tell me he is all-honorable and all-eternal, I must still +politely refer him to Nell Gwynne. + +Beyond Charles II. very few indeed--hardly worthy of note--are the +present titled English families which can trace any thing like a direct +unvitiated blood-descent from the thief knights of the Norman. Beyond +Charles II. their direct genealogies seem vain as though some Jew +clothesman, with a tea-canister on his head, turned over the first +chapter of St. Matthew to make out his unmingled participation in the +blood of King Saul, who had long died ere the career of the Cæsar began. + +Now, not preliminarily to enlarge upon the fact that, while in England +an immense mass of state-masonry is brought to bear as a buttress in +upholding the hereditary existence of certain houses, while with us +nothing of that kind can possibly be admitted; and to omit all mention +of the hundreds of unobtrusive families in New England who, +nevertheless, might easily trace their uninterrupted English lineage to +a time before Charles the Blade: not to speak of the old and +oriental-like English planter families of Virginia and the South; the +Randolphs for example, one of whose ancestors, in King James' time, +married Pocahontas the Indian Princess, and in whose blood therefore an +underived aboriginal royalty was flowing over two hundred years ago; +consider those most ancient and magnificent Dutch Manors at the North, +whose perches are miles--whose meadows overspread adjacent +countries--and whose haughty rent-deeds are held by their thousand +farmer tenants, so long as grass grows and water runs; which hints of a +surprising eternity for a deed, and seem to make lawyer's ink +unobliterable as the sea. Some of those manors are two centuries old; +and their present patrons or lords will show you stakes and stones on +their estates put there--the stones at least--before Nell Gwynne the +Duke-mother was born, and genealogies which, like their own river, +Hudson, flow somewhat farther and straighter than the Serpentine +brooklet in Hyde Park. + +These far-descended Dutch meadows lie steeped in a Hindooish haze; an +eastern patriarchalness sways its mild crook over pastures, whose tenant +flocks shall there feed, long as their own grass grows, long as their +own water shall run. Such estates seem to defy Time's tooth, and by +conditions which take hold of the indestructible earth seem to +contemporize their fee-simples with eternity. Unimaginable audacity of a +worm that but crawls through the soil he so imperially claims! + +In midland counties of England they boast of old oaken dining-halls +where three hundred men-at-arms could exercise of a rainy afternoon, in +the reign of the Plantagenets. But our lords, the Patroons, appeal not +to the past, but they point to the present. One will show you that the +public census of a county is but part of the roll of his tenants. Ranges +of mountains, high as Ben Nevis or Snowdon, are their walls; and regular +armies, with staffs of officers, crossing rivers with artillery, and +marching through primeval woods, and threading vast rocky defiles, have +been sent out to distrain upon three thousand farmer-tenants of one +landlord, at a blow. A fact most suggestive two ways; both whereof shall +be nameless here. + +But whatever one may think of the existence of such mighty lordships in +the heart of a republic, and however we may wonder at their thus +surviving, like Indian mounds, the Revolutionary flood; yet survive and +exist they do, and are now owned by their present proprietors, by as +good nominal title as any peasant owns his father's old hat, or any duke +his great-uncle's old coronet. + +For all this, then, we shall not err very widely if we humbly conceive, +that--should she choose to glorify herself in that inconsiderable +way--our America will make out a good general case with England in this +short little matter of large estates, and long pedigrees--pedigrees I +mean, wherein is no flaw. + + +IV. + +In general terms we have been thus decided in asserting the great +genealogical and real-estate dignity of some families in America, +because in so doing we poetically establish the richly aristocratic +condition of Master Pierre Glendinning, for whom we have before claimed +some special family distinction. And to the observant reader the sequel +will not fail to show, how important is this circumstance, considered +with reference to the singularly developed character and most singular +life-career of our hero. Nor will any man dream that the last chapter +was merely intended for a foolish bravado, and not with a solid purpose +in view. + +Now Pierre stands on this noble pedestal; we shall see if he keeps that +fine footing; we shall see if Fate hath not just a little bit of a small +word or two to say in this world. But it is not laid down here that the +Glendinnings dated back beyond Pharaoh, or the deeds of Saddle-Meadows +to the Three Magi in the Gospels. Nevertheless, those deeds, as before +hinted, did indeed date back to three kings--Indian kings--only so much +the finer for that. + +But if Pierre did not date back to the Pharaohs, and if the English +farmer Hampdens were somewhat the seniors of even the oldest +Glendinning; and if some American manors boasted a few additional years +and square miles over his, yet think you that it is at all possible, +that a youth of nineteen should--merely by way of trial of the +thing--strew his ancestral kitchen hearth-stone with wheat in the stalk, +and there standing in the chimney thresh out that grain with a flail, +whose aerial evolutions had free play among all that masonry; were it +not impossible for such a flailer so to thresh wheat in his own +ancestral kitchen chimney without feeling just a little twinge or two of +what one might call family pride? I should say not. + +Or how think you it would be with this youthful Pierre, if every day +descending to breakfast, he caught sight of an old tattered British +banner or two, hanging over an arched window in his hall; and those +banners captured by his grandfather, the general, in fair fight? Or how +think you it would be if every time he heard the band of the military +company of the village, he should distinctly recognize the peculiar tap +of a British kettle-drum also captured by his grandfather in fair fight, +and afterwards suitably inscribed on the brass and bestowed upon the +Saddle-Meadows Artillery Corps? Or how think you it would be, if +sometimes of a mild meditative Fourth of July morning in the country, he +carried out with him into the garden by way of ceremonial cane, a long, +majestic, silver-tipped staff, a Major-General's baton, once wielded on +the plume-nodding and musket-flashing review by the same grandfather +several times here-in-before mentioned? I should say that considering +Pierre was quite young and very unphilosophical as yet, and withal +rather high-blooded; and sometimes read the History of the Revolutionary +War, and possessed a mother who very frequently made remote social +allusions to the epaulettes of the Major-General his grandfather;--I +should say that upon all of these occasions, the way it must have been +with him, was a very proud, elated sort of way. And if this seem but too +fond and foolish in Pierre; and if you tell me that this sort of thing +in him showed him no sterling Democrat, and that a truly noble man +should never brag of any arm but his own; then I beg you to consider +again that this Pierre was but a youngster as yet. And believe me you +will pronounce Pierre a thoroughgoing Democrat in time; perhaps a little +too Radical altogether to your fancy. + +In conclusion, do not blame me if I here make repetition, and do +verbally quote my own words in saying that _it had been the choice fate +of Pierre to have been born and bred in the country_. For to a noble +American youth this indeed--more than in any other land--this indeed is +a most rare and choice lot. For it is to be observed, that while in +other countries, the finest families boast of the country as their home; +the more prominent among us, proudly cite the city as their seat. Too +often the American that himself makes his fortune, builds him a great +metropolitan house, in the most metropolitan street of the most +metropolitan town. Whereas a European of the same sort would thereupon +migrate into the country. That herein the European hath the better of +it, no poet, no philosopher, and no aristocrat will deny. For the +country is not only the most poetical and philosophical, but it is the +most aristocratic part of this earth, for it is the most venerable, and +numerous bards have ennobled it by many fine titles. Whereas the town is +the more plebeian portion: which, besides many other things, is plainly +evinced by the dirty unwashed face perpetually worn by the town; but the +country, like any Queen, is ever attended by scrupulous lady's maids in +the guise of the seasons, and the town hath but one dress of brick +turned up with stone; but the country hath a brave dress for every week +in the year; sometimes she changes her dress twenty-four times in the +twenty-four hours; and the country weareth her sun by day as a diamond +on a Queen's brow; and the stars by night as necklaces of gold beads; +whereas the town's sun is smoky paste, and no diamond, and the town's +stars are pinchbeck and not gold. + +In the country then Nature planted our Pierre; because Nature intended a +rare and original development in Pierre. Never mind if hereby she proved +ambiguous to him in the end; nevertheless, in the beginning she did +bravely. She blew her wind-clarion from the blue hills, and Pierre +neighed out lyrical thoughts, as at the trumpet-blast, a war-horse paws +himself into a lyric of foam. She whispered through her deep groves at +eve, and gentle whispers of humanness, and sweet whispers of love, ran +through Pierre's thought-veins, musical as water over pebbles. She +lifted her spangled crest of a thickly-starred night, and forth at that +glimpse of their divine Captain and Lord, ten thousand mailed thoughts +of heroicness started up in Pierre's soul, and glared round for some +insulted good cause to defend. + +So the country was a glorious benediction to young Pierre; we shall see +if that blessing pass from him as did the divine blessing from the +Hebrews; we shall yet see again, I say, whether Fate hath not just a +little bit of a word or two to say in this world; we shall see whether +this wee little bit scrap of latinity be very far out of the way--_Nemo +contra Deum nisi Deus ipse._ + + +V. + +"Sister Mary," said Pierre, returned from his sunrise stroll, and +tapping at his mother's chamber door:--"do you know, sister Mary, that +the trees which have been up all night, are all abroad again this +morning before you?--Do you not smell something like coffee, my sister?" + +A light step moved from within toward the door; which opened, showing +Mrs. Glendinning, in a resplendently cheerful morning robe, and holding +a gay wide ribbon in her hand. + +"Good morning, madam," said Pierre, slowly, and with a bow, whose +genuine and spontaneous reverence amusingly contrasted with the sportive +manner that had preceded it. For thus sweetly and religiously was the +familiarity of his affections bottomed on the profoundest filial +respect. + +"Good afternoon to you, Pierre, for I suppose it is afternoon. But come, +you shall finish my toilette;--here, brother--" reaching the +ribbon--"now acquit yourself bravely--" and seating herself away from +the glass, she awaited the good offices of Pierre. + +"First Lady in waiting to the Dowager Duchess Glendinning," laughed +Pierre, as bowing over before his mother, he gracefully passed the +ribbon round her neck, simply crossing the ends in front. + +"Well, what is to hold it there, Pierre?" + +"I am going to try and tack it with a kiss, sister,--there!--oh, what a +pity that sort of fastening won't always hold!--where's the cameo with +the fawns, I gave you last night?--Ah! on the slab--you were going to +wear it then?--Thank you, my considerate and most politic +sister--there!--but stop--here's a ringlet gone romping--so now, dear +sister, give that Assyrian toss to your head." + +The haughtily happy mother rose to her feet, and as she stood before the +mirror to criticize her son's adornings, Pierre, noticing the straggling +tie of her slipper, knelt down and secured it. "And now for the urn," he +cried, "madam!" and with a humorous gallantry, offering his arm to his +mother, the pair descended to breakfast. + +With Mrs. Glendinning it was one of those spontaneous maxims, which +women sometimes act upon without ever thinking of, never to appear in +the presence of her son in any dishabille that was not eminently +becoming. Her own independent observation of things, had revealed to her +many very common maxims, which often become operatively lifeless from a +vicarious reception of them. She was vividly aware how immense was that +influence, which, even in the closest ties of the heart, the merest +appearances make upon the mind. And as in the admiring love and +graceful devotion of Pierre lay now her highest joy in life; so she +omitted no slightest trifle which could possibly contribute to the +preservation of so sweet and flattering a thing. + +Besides all this, Mary Glendinning was a woman, and with more than the +ordinary vanity of women--if vanity it can be called--which in a life of +nearly fifty years had never betrayed her into a single published +impropriety, or caused her one known pang at the heart. Moreover, she +had never yearned for admiration; because that was her birthright by the +eternal privilege of beauty; she had always possessed it; she had not to +turn her head for it, since spontaneously it always encompassed her. +Vanity, which in so many women approaches to a spiritual vice, and +therefore to a visible blemish; in her peculiar case--and though +possessed in a transcendent degree--was still the token of the highest +health; inasmuch as never knowing what it was to yearn for its +gratification, she was almost entirely unconscious of possessing it at +all. Many women carry this light of their lives flaming on their +foreheads; but Mary Glendinning unknowingly bore hers within. Through +all the infinite traceries of feminine art, she evenly glowed like a +vase which, internally illuminated, gives no outward sign of the +lighting flame, but seems to shine by the very virtue of the exquisite +marble itself. But that bluff corporeal admiration, with which some +ball-room women are content, was no admiration to the mother of Pierre. +Not the general homage of men, but the selected homage of the noblest +men, was what she felt to be her appropriate right. And as her own +maternal partialities were added to, and glorified the rare and absolute +merits of Pierre; she considered the voluntary allegiance of his +affectionate soul, the representative fealty of the choicest guild of +his race. Thus, though replenished through all her veins with the +subtlest vanity, with the homage of Pierre alone she was content. + +But as to a woman of sense and spirit, the admiration of even the +noblest and most gifted man, is esteemed as nothing, so long as she +remains conscious of possessing no directly influencing and practical +sorcery over his soul; and as notwithstanding all his intellectual +superiority to his mother, Pierre, through the unavoidable weakness of +inexperienced and unexpanded youth, was strangely docile to the maternal +tuitions in nearly all the things which thus far had any ways interested +or affected him; therefore it was, that to Mary Glendinning this +reverence of Pierre was invested with all the proudest delights and +witcheries of self-complacency, which it is possible for the most +conquering virgin to feel. Still more. That nameless and infinitely +delicate aroma of inexpressible tenderness and attentiveness which, in +every refined and honorable attachment, is cotemporary with the +courtship, and precedes the final banns and the rite; but which, like +the _bouquet_ of the costliest German wines, too often evaporates upon +pouring love out to drink, in the disenchanting glasses of the +matrimonial days and nights; this highest and airiest thing in the whole +compass of the experience of our mortal life; this heavenly +evanescence--still further etherealized in the filial breast--was for +Mary Glendinning, now not very far from her grand climacteric, +miraculously revived in the courteous lover-like adoration of Pierre. + +Altogether having its origin in a wonderful but purely fortuitous +combination of the happiest and rarest accidents of earth; and not to be +limited in duration by that climax which is so fatal to ordinary love; +this softened spell which still wheeled the mother and son in one orbit +of joy, seemed a glimpse of the glorious possibility, that the divinest +of those emotions, which are incident to the sweetest season of love, is +capable of an indefinite translation into many of the less signal +relations of our many chequered life. In a detached and individual way, +it seemed almost to realize here below the sweet dreams of those +religious enthusiasts, who paint to us a Paradise to come, when +etherealized from all drosses and stains, the holiest passion of man +shall unite all kindreds and climes in one circle of pure and +unimpairable delight. + + +VI. + +There was one little uncelestial trait, which, in the opinion of some, +may mar the romantic merits of the gentlemanly Pierre Glendinning. He +always had an excellent appetite, and especially for his breakfast. But +when we consider that though Pierre's hands were small, and his ruffles +white, yet his arm was by no means dainty, and his complexion inclined +to brown; and that he generally rose with the sun, and could not sleep +without riding his twenty, or walking his twelve miles a day, or felling +a fair-sized hemlock in the forest, or boxing, or fencing, or boating, +or performing some other gymnastical feat; when we consider these +athletic habitudes of Pierre, and the great fullness of brawn and muscle +they built round about him; all of which manly brawn and muscle, three +times a day loudly clamored for attention; we shall very soon perceive +that to have a bountiful appetite, was not only no vulgar reproach, but +a right royal grace and honor to Pierre; attesting him a man and a +gentleman; for a thoroughly developed gentleman is always robust and +healthy; and Robustness and Health are great trencher-men. + +So when Pierre and his mother descended to breakfast, and Pierre had +scrupulously seen her supplied with whatever little things were +convenient to her; and had twice or thrice ordered the respectable and +immemorial Dates, the servitor, to adjust and re-adjust the +window-sashes, so that no unkind current of air should take undue +liberties with his mother's neck; after seeing to all this, but in a +very quiet and inconspicuous way; and also after directing the unruffled +Dates, to swing out, horizontally into a particular light, a fine joyous +painting, in the good-fellow, Flemish style (which painting was so +attached to the wall as to be capable of that mode of adjusting), and +furthermore after darting from where he sat a few invigorating glances +over the river-meadows to the blue mountains beyond; Pierre made a +masonic sort of mysterious motion to the excellent Dates, who in +automaton obedience thereto, brought from a certain agreeable little +side-stand, a very prominent-looking cold pasty; which, on careful +inspection with the knife, proved to be the embossed savory nest of a +few uncommonly tender pigeons of Pierre's own shooting. + +"Sister Mary," said he, lifting on his silver trident one of the +choicest of the many fine pigeon morsels; "Sister Mary," said he, "in +shooting these pigeons, I was very careful to bring down one in such a +manner that the breast is entirely unmarred. It was intended for you! +and here it is. Now Sergeant Dates, help hither your mistress' plate. +No?--nothing but the crumbs of French rolls, and a few peeps into a +coffee-cup--is that a breakfast for the daughter of yonder bold +General?"--pointing to a full-length of his gold-laced grandfather on +the opposite wall. "Well, pitiable is my case when I have to breakfast +for two. Dates!" + +"Sir." + +"Remove that toast-rack, Dates; and this plate of tongue, and bring the +rolls nearer, and wheel the stand farther off, good Dates." + +Having thus made generous room for himself, Pierre commenced operations, +interrupting his mouthfuls by many sallies of mirthfulness. + +"You seem to be in prodigious fine spirits this morning, brother +Pierre," said his mother. + +"Yes, very tolerable; at least I can't say, that I am low-spirited +exactly, sister Mary;--Dates, my fine fellow, bring me three bowls of +milk." + +"One bowl, sir, you mean," said Dates, gravely and imperturbably. + +As the servitor left the room, Mrs. Glendinning spoke. "My dear Pierre, +how often have I begged you never to permit your hilariousness to betray +you into overstepping the exact line of propriety in your intercourse +with servants. Dates' look was a respectful reproof to you just now. You +must not call Dates, _My fine fellow_. He _is_ a fine fellow, a very +fine fellow, indeed; but there is no need of telling him so at my table. +It is very easy to be entirely kind and pleasant to servants, without +the least touch of any shade of transient good-fellowship with them." + +"Well, sister, no doubt you are altogether right; after this I shall +drop the _fine_, and call Dates nothing but _fellow_;--Fellow, come +here!--how will that answer?" + +"Not at all, Pierre--but you are a Romeo, you know, and so for the +present I pass over your nonsense." + +"Romeo! oh, no. I am far from being Romeo--" sighed Pierre. "I laugh, +but he cried; poor Romeo! alas Romeo! woe is me, Romeo! he came to a +very deplorable end, did Romeo, sister Mary." + +"It was his own fault though." + +"Poor Romeo!" + +"He was disobedient to his parents." + +"Alas Romeo!" + +"He married against their particular wishes." + +"Woe is me, Romeo!" + +"But you, Pierre, are going to be married before long, I trust, not to a +Capulet, but to one of our own Montagues; and so Romeo's evil fortune +will hardly be yours. You will be happy." + +"The more miserable Romeo!" + +"Don't be so ridiculous, brother Pierre; so you are going to take Lucy +that long ride among the hills this morning? She is a sweet girl; a most +lovely girl." + +"Yes, that is rather my opinion, sister Mary.--By heavens, mother, the +five zones hold not such another! She is--yes--though I say +it--Dates!--he's a precious long time getting that milk!" + +"Let him stay.--Don't be a milk-sop, Pierre!" + +"Ha! my sister is a little satirical this morning. I comprehend." + +"Never rave, Pierre; and never rant. Your father never did either; nor +is it written of Socrates; and both were very wise men. Your father was +profoundly in love--that I know to my certain knowledge--but I never +heard him rant about it. He was always exceedingly gentlemanly: and +gentlemen never rant. Milk-sops and Muggletonians rant, but gentlemen +never." + +"Thank you, sister.--There, put it down, Dates; are the horses ready?" + +"Just driving round, sir, I believe." + +"Why, Pierre," said his mother, glancing out at the window, "are you +going to Santa Fe De Bogota with that enormous old phaeton;--what do you +take that Juggernaut out for?" + +"Humor, sister, humor; I like it because it's old-fashioned, and because +the seat is such a wide sofa of a seat, and finally because a young lady +by the name of Lucy Tartan cherishes a high regard for it. She vows she +would like to be married in it." + +"Well, Pierre, all I have to say, is, be sure that Christopher puts the +coach-hammer and nails, and plenty of cords and screws into the box. And +you had better let him follow you in one of the farm wagons, with a +spare axle and some boards." + +"No fear, sister; no fear;--I shall take the best of care of the old +phaeton. The quaint old arms on the panel, always remind me who it was +that first rode in it." + +"I am glad you have that memory, brother Pierre." + +"And who it was that _next_ rode in it." + +"Bless you!--God bless you, my dear son!--always think of him and you +can never err; yes, always think of your dear perfect father, Pierre." + +"Well, kiss me now, dear sister, for I must go." + +"There; this is my cheek, and the other is Lucy's; though now that I +look at them both, I think that hers is getting to be the most blooming; +sweeter dews fall on that one, I suppose." + +Pierre laughed, and ran out of the room, for old Christopher was getting +impatient. His mother went to the window and stood there. + +"A noble boy, and docile"--she murmured--"he has all the frolicsomeness +of youth, with little of its giddiness. And he does not grow +vain-glorious in sophomorean wisdom. I thank heaven I sent him not to +college. A noble boy, and docile. A fine, proud, loving, docile, +vigorous boy. Pray God, he never becomes otherwise to me. His little +wife, that is to be, will not estrange him from me; for she too is +docile,--beautiful, and reverential, and most docile. Seldom yet have I +known such blue eyes as hers, that were not docile, and would not follow +a bold black one, as two meek blue-ribboned ewes, follow their martial +leader. How glad am I that Pierre loves her so, and not some dark-eyed +haughtiness, with whom I could never live in peace; but who would be +ever setting her young married state before my elderly widowed one, and +claiming all the homage of my dear boy--the fine, proud, loving, docile, +vigorous boy!--the lofty-minded, well-born, noble boy; and with such +sweet docilities! See his hair! He does in truth illustrate that fine +saying of his father's, that as the noblest colts, in three +points--abundant hair, swelling chest, and sweet docility--should +resemble a fine woman, so should a noble youth. Well, good-bye, Pierre, +and a merry morning to ye!" + +So saying she crossed the room, and--resting in a corner--her glad proud +eye met the old General's baton, which the day before in one of his +frolic moods Pierre had taken from its accustomed place in the +pictured-bannered hall. She lifted it, and musingly swayed it to and +fro; then paused, and staff-wise rested with it in her hand. Her stately +beauty had ever somewhat martial in it; and now she looked the daughter +of a General, as she was; for Pierre's was a double revolutionary +descent. On both sides he sprang from heroes. + +"This is his inheritance--this symbol of command! and I swell out to +think it. Yet but just now I fondled the conceit that Pierre was so +sweetly docile! Here sure is a most strange inconsistency! For is sweet +docility a general's badge? and is this baton but a distaff +then?--Here's something widely wrong. Now I almost wish him otherwise +than sweet and docile to me, seeing that it must be hard for man to be +an uncompromising hero and a commander among his race, and yet never +ruffle any domestic brow. Pray heaven he show his heroicness in some +smooth way of favoring fortune, not be called out to be a hero of some +dark hope forlorn;--of some dark hope forlorn, whose cruelness makes a +savage of a man. Give him, O God, regardful gales! Fan him with +unwavering prosperities! So shall he remain all docility to me, and yet +prove a haughty hero to the world!" + + + + +BOOK II. + +LOVE, DELIGHT, AND ALARM. + + +I. + +On the previous evening, Pierre had arranged with Lucy the plan of a +long winding ride, among the hills which stretched around to the +southward from the wide plains of Saddle-Meadows. + +Though the vehicle was a sexagenarian, the animals that drew it, were +but six-year colts. The old phaeton had outlasted several generations of +its drawers. + +Pierre rolled beneath the village elms in billowy style, and soon drew +up before the white cottage door. Flinging his reins upon the ground he +entered the house. + +The two colts were his particular and confidential friends; born on the +same land with him, and fed with the same corn, which, in the form of +Indian-cakes, Pierre himself was often wont to eat for breakfast. The +same fountain that by one branch supplied the stables with water, by +another supplied Pierre's pitcher. They were a sort of family cousins to +Pierre, those horses; and they were splendid young cousins; very showy +in their redundant manes and mighty paces, but not at all vain or +arrogant. They acknowledged Pierre as the undoubted head of the house of +Glendinning. They well knew that they were but an inferior and +subordinate branch of the Glendinnings, bound in perpetual feudal fealty +to its headmost representative. Therefore, these young cousins never +permitted themselves to run from Pierre; they were impatient in their +paces, but very patient in the halt. They were full of good-humor too, +and kind as kittens. + +"Bless me, how can you let them stand all alone that way, Pierre," cried +Lucy, as she and Pierre stepped forth from the cottage door, Pierre +laden with shawls, parasol, reticule, and a small hamper. + +"Wait a bit," cried Pierre, dropping his load; "I will show you what my +colts are." + +So saying, he spoke to them mildly, and went close up to them, and +patted them. The colts neighed; the nigh colt neighing a little +jealously, as if Pierre had not patted impartially. Then, with a low, +long, almost inaudible whistle, Pierre got between the colts, among the +harness. Whereat Lucy started, and uttered a faint cry, but Pierre told +her to keep perfectly quiet, for there was not the least danger in the +world. And Lucy did keep quiet; for somehow, though she always started +when Pierre seemed in the slightest jeopardy, yet at bottom she rather +cherished a notion that Pierre bore a charmed life, and by no earthly +possibility could die from her, or experience any harm, when she was +within a thousand leagues. + +Pierre, still between the horses, now stepped upon the pole of the +phaeton; then stepping down, indefinitely disappeared, or became +partially obscured among the living colonnade of the horses' eight +slender and glossy legs. He entered the colonnade one way, and after a +variety of meanderings, came out another way; during all of which +equestrian performance, the two colts kept gayly neighing, and +good-humoredly moving their heads perpendicularly up and down; and +sometimes turning them sideways toward Lucy; as much as to say--We +understand young master; we understand him, Miss; never fear, pretty +lady: why, bless your delicious little heart, we played with Pierre +before you ever did. + +"Are you afraid of their running away now, Lucy?" said Pierre, returning +to her. + +"Not much, Pierre; the superb fellows! Why, Pierre, they have made an +officer of you--look!" and she pointed to two foam-flakes epauletting +his shoulders. "Bravissimo again! I called you my recruit, when you left +my window this morning, and here you are promoted." + +"Very prettily conceited, Lucy. But see, you don't admire their coats; +they wear nothing but the finest Genoa velvet, Lucy. See! did you ever +see such well-groomed horses?" + +"Never!" + +"Then what say you to have them for my groomsmen, Lucy? Glorious +groomsmen they would make, I declare. They should have a hundred ells of +white favors all over their manes and tails; and when they drew us to +church, they would be still all the time scattering white favors from +their mouths, just as they did here on me. Upon my soul, they shall be +my groomsmen, Lucy. Stately stags! playful dogs! heroes, Lucy. We shall +have no marriage bells; they shall neigh for us, Lucy; we shall be +wedded to the martial sound of Job's trumpeters, Lucy. Hark! they are +neighing now to think of it." + +"Neighing at your lyrics, Pierre. Come, let us be off. Here, the shawl, +the parasol, the basket: what are you looking at them so for?" + +"I was thinking, Lucy, of the sad state I am in. Not six months ago, I +saw a poor affianced fellow, an old comrade of mine, trudging along with +his Lucy Tartan, a hillock of bundles under either arm; and I said to +myself--There goes a sumpter, now; poor devil, he's a lover. And now +look at me! Well, life's a burden, they say; why not be burdened +cheerily? But look ye, Lucy, I am going to enter a formal declaration +and protest before matters go further with us. When we are married, I +am not to carry any bundles, unless in cases of real need; and what is +more, when there are any of your young lady acquaintances in sight, I am +not to be unnecessarily called upon to back up, and load for their +particular edification." + +"Now I am really vexed with you, Pierre; that is the first ill-natured +innuendo I ever heard from you. Are there any of my young lady +acquaintances in sight now, I should like to know?" + +"Six of them, right over the way," said Pierre; "but they keep behind +the curtains. I never trust your solitary village streets, Lucy. +Sharp-shooters behind every clap-board, Lucy." + +"Pray, then, dear Pierre, do let us be off!" + + +II. + +While Pierre and Lucy are now rolling along under the elms, let it be +said who Lucy Tartan was. It is needless to say that she was a beauty; +because chestnut-haired, bright-cheeked youths like Pierre Glendinning, +seldom fall in love with any but a beauty. And in the times to come, +there must be--as in the present times, and in the times gone by--some +splendid men, and some transcendent women; and how can they ever be, +unless always, throughout all time, here and there, a handsome youth +weds with a handsome maid! + +But though owing to the above-named provisions of dame Nature, there +always will be beautiful women in the world; yet the world will never +see another Lucy Tartan. Her cheeks were tinted with the most delicate +white and red, the white predominating. Her eyes some god brought down +from heaven; her hair was Danae's, spangled with Jove's shower; her +teeth were dived for in the Persian Sea. + +If long wont to fix his glance on those who, trudging through the +humbler walks of life, and whom unequal toil and poverty deform; if that +man shall haply view some fair and gracious daughter of the gods, who, +from unknown climes of loveliness and affluence, comes floating into +sight, all symmetry and radiance; how shall he be transported, that in a +world so full of vice and misery as ours, there should yet shine forth +this visible semblance of the heavens. For a lovely woman is not +entirely of this earth. Her own sex regard her not as such. A crowd of +women eye a transcendent beauty entering a room, much as though a bird +from Arabia had lighted on the window sill. Say what you will, their +jealousy--if any--is but an afterbirth to their open admiration. Do men +envy the gods? And shall women envy the goddesses? A beautiful woman is +born Queen of men and women both, as Mary Stuart was born Queen of +Scots, whether men or women. All mankind are her Scots; her leal clans +are numbered by the nations. A true gentleman in Kentucky would +cheerfully die for a beautiful woman in Hindostan, though he never saw +her. Yea, count down his heart in death-drops for her; and go to Pluto, +that she might go to Paradise. He would turn Turk before he would disown +an allegiance hereditary to all gentlemen, from the hour their Grand +Master, Adam, first knelt to Eve. + +A plain-faced Queen of Spain dwells not in half the glory a beautiful +milliner does. Her soldiers can break heads, but her Highness can not +crack a heart; and the beautiful milliner might string hearts for +necklaces. Undoubtedly, Beauty made the first Queen. If ever again the +succession to the German Empire should be contested, and one poor lame +lawyer should present the claims of the first excellingly beautiful +woman he chanced to see--she would thereupon be unanimously elected +Empress of the Holy Roman German Empire;--that is to say, if all the +Germans were true, free-hearted and magnanimous gentlemen, at all +capable of appreciating so immense an honor. + +It is nonsense to talk of France as the seat of all civility. Did not +those French heathen have a Salique law? Three of the most bewitching +creatures,--immortal flowers of the line of Valois--were excluded from +the French throne by that infamous provision. France, indeed! whose +Catholic millions still worship Mary Queen of Heaven; and for ten +generations refused cap and knee to many angel Maries, rightful Queens +of France. Here is cause for universal war. See how vilely nations, as +well as men, assume and wear unchallenged the choicest titles, however +without merit. The Americans, and not the French, are the world's models +of chivalry. Our Salique Law provides that universal homage shall be +paid all beautiful women. No man's most solid rights shall weigh against +her airiest whims. If you buy the best seat in the coach, to go and +consult a doctor on a matter of life and death, you shall cheerfully +abdicate that best seat, and limp away on foot, if a pretty woman, +traveling, shake one feather from the stage-house door. + +Now, since we began by talking of a certain young lady that went out +riding with a certain youth; and yet find ourselves, after leading such +a merry dance, fast by a stage-house window;--this may seem rather +irregular sort of writing. But whither indeed should Lucy Tartan conduct +us, but among mighty Queens, and all other creatures of high degree; and +finally set us roaming, to see whether the wide world can match so fine +a wonder. By immemorial usage, am I not bound to celebrate this Lucy +Tartan? Who shall stay me? Is she not my hero's own affianced? What can +be gainsaid? Where underneath the tester of the night sleeps such +another? + +Yet, how would Lucy Tartan shrink from all this noise and clatter! She +is bragged of, but not brags. Thus far she hath floated as stilly +through this life, as thistle-down floats over meadows. Noiseless, she, +except with Pierre; and even with him she lives through many a panting +hush. Oh, those love-pauses that they know--how ominous of their +future; for pauses precede the earthquake, and every other terrible +commotion! But blue be their sky awhile, and lightsome all their chat, +and frolicsome their humors. + +Never shall I get down the vile inventory! How, if with paper and with +pencil I went out into the starry night to inventorize the heavens? Who +shall tell stars as teaspoons? Who shall put down the charms of Lucy +Tartan upon paper? + +And for the rest; her parentage, what fortune she would possess, how +many dresses in her wardrobe, and how many rings upon her fingers; +cheerfully would I let the genealogists, tax-gatherers, and upholsterers +attend to that. My proper province is with the angelical part of Lucy. +But as in some quarters, there prevails a sort of prejudice against +angels, who are merely angels and nothing more; therefore I shall +martyrize myself, by letting such gentlemen and ladies into some details +of Lucy Tartan's history. + +She was the daughter of an early and most cherished friend of Pierre's +father. But that father was now dead, and she resided an only daughter +with her mother, in a very fine house in the city. But though her home +was in the city, her heart was twice a year in the country. She did not +at all love the city and its empty, heartless, ceremonial ways. It was +very strange, but most eloquently significant of her own natural +angelhood that, though born among brick and mortar in a sea-port, she +still pined for unbaked earth and inland grass. So the sweet linnet, +though born inside of wires in a lady's chamber on the ocean coast, and +ignorant all its life of any other spot; yet, when spring-time comes, it +is seized with flutterings and vague impatiences; it can not eat or +drink for these wild longings. Though unlearned by any experience, still +the inspired linnet divinely knows that the inland migrating time has +come. And just so with Lucy in her first longings for the verdure. Every +spring those wild flutterings shook her; every spring, this sweet +linnet girl did migrate inland. Oh God grant that those other and long +after nameless flutterings of her inmost soul, when all life was become +weary to her--God grant, that those deeper flutterings in her were +equally significant of her final heavenly migration from this heavy +earth. + +It was fortunate for Lucy that her Aunt Lanyllyn--a pensive, childless, +white-turbaned widow--possessed and occupied a pretty cottage in the +village of Saddle Meadows; and still more fortunate, that this excellent +old aunt was very partial to her, and always felt a quiet delight in +having Lucy near her. So Aunt Lanyllyn's cottage, in effect, was Lucy's. +And now, for some years past, she had annually spent several months at +Saddle Meadows; and it was among the pure and soft incitements of the +country that Pierre first had felt toward Lucy the dear passion which +now made him wholly hers. + +Lucy had two brothers; one her senior, by three years, and the other her +junior by two. But these young men were officers in the navy; and so +they did not permanently live with Lucy and her mother. + +Mrs. Tartan was mistress of an ample fortune. She was, moreover, +perfectly aware that such was the fact, and was somewhat inclined to +force it upon the notice of other people, nowise interested in the +matter. In other words, Mrs. Tartan, instead of being daughter-proud, +for which she had infinite reason, was a little inclined to being +purse-proud, for which she had not the slightest reason; seeing that the +Great Mogul probably possessed a larger fortune than she, not to speak +of the Shah of Persia and Baron Rothschild, and a thousand other +millionaires; whereas, the Grand Turk, and all their other majesties of +Europe, Asia, and Africa to boot, could not, in all their joint +dominions, boast so sweet a girl as Lucy. Nevertheless, Mrs. Tartan was +an excellent sort of lady, as this lady-like world goes. She subscribed +to charities, and owned five pews in as many churches, and went about +trying to promote the general felicity of the world, by making all the +handsome young people of her acquaintance marry one another. In other +words, she was a match-maker--not a Lucifer match-maker--though, to tell +the truth, she may have kindled the matrimonial blues in certain +dissatisfied gentlemen's breasts, who had been wedded under her +particular auspices, and by her particular advice. Rumor said--but rumor +is always fibbing--that there was a secret society of dissatisfied young +husbands, who were at the pains of privately circulating handbills among +all unmarried young strangers, warning them against the insidious +approaches of Mrs. Tartan; and, for reference, named themselves in +cipher. But this could not have been true; for, flushed with a thousand +matches--burning blue or bright, it made little matter--Mrs. Tartan +sailed the seas of fashion, causing all topsails to lower to her; and +towing flotillas of young ladies, for all of whom she was bound to find +the finest husband harbors in the world. + +But does not match-making, like charity, begin at home? Why is her own +daughter Lucy without a mate? But not so fast; Mrs. Tartan years ago +laid out that sweet programme concerning Pierre and Lucy; but in this +case, her programme happened to coincide, in some degree, with a +previous one in heaven, and only for that cause did it come to pass, +that Pierre Glendinning was the proud elect of Lucy Tartan. Besides, +this being a thing so nearly affecting herself, Mrs. Tartan had, for the +most part, been rather circumspect and cautious in all her +manoeuvrings with Pierre and Lucy. Moreover, the thing demanded no +manoeuvring at all. The two Platonic particles, after roaming in quest +of each other, from the time of Saturn and Ops till now; they came +together before Mrs. Tartan's own eyes; and what more could Mrs. Tartan +do toward making them forever one and indivisible? Once, and only once, +had a dim suspicion passed through Pierre's mind, that Mrs. Tartan was a +lady thimble-rigger, and slyly rolled the pea. + +In their less mature acquaintance, he was breakfasting with Lucy and +her mother in the city, and the first cup of coffee had been poured out +by Mrs. Tartan, when she declared she smelt matches burning somewhere in +the house, and she must see them extinguished. So banning all pursuit, +she rose to seek for the burning matches, leaving the pair alone to +interchange the civilities of the coffee; and finally sent word to them, +from above stairs, that the matches, or something else, had given her a +headache, and begged Lucy to send her up some toast and tea, for she +would breakfast in her own chamber that morning. + +Upon this, Pierre looked from Lucy to his boots, and as he lifted his +eyes again, saw Anacreon on the sofa on one side of him, and Moore's +Melodies on the other, and some honey on the table, and a bit of white +satin on the floor, and a sort of bride's veil on the chandelier. + +Never mind though--thought Pierre, fixing his gaze on Lucy--I'm entirely +willing to be caught, when the bait is set in Paradise, and the bait is +such an angel. Again he glanced at Lucy, and saw a look of infinite +subdued vexation, and some unwonted pallor on her cheek. Then willingly +he would have kissed the delicious bait, that so gently hated to be +tasted in the trap. But glancing round again, and seeing that the music, +which Mrs. Tartan, under the pretense of putting in order, had been +adjusting upon the piano; seeing that this music was now in a vertical +pile against the wall, with--"_Love was once a little boy_," for the +outermost and only visible sheet; and thinking this to be a remarkable +coincidence under the circumstances; Pierre could not refrain from a +humorous smile, though it was a very gentle one, and immediately +repented of, especially as Lucy seeing and interpreting it, immediately +arose, with an unaccountable, indignant, angelical, adorable, and +all-persuasive "Mr. Glendinning?" utterly confounded in him the +slightest germ of suspicion as to Lucy's collusion in her mother's +imagined artifices. + +Indeed, Mrs. Tartan's having any thing whatever to do, or hint, or +finesse in this matter of the loves of Pierre and Lucy, was nothing less +than immensely gratuitous and sacrilegious. Would Mrs. Tartan doctor +lilies when they blow? Would Mrs. Tartan set about match-making between +the steel and magnet? Preposterous Mrs. Tartan! But this whole world is +a preposterous one, with many preposterous people in it; chief among +whom was Mrs. Tartan, match-maker to the nation. + +This conduct of Mrs. Tartan, was the more absurd, seeing that she could +not but know that Mrs. Glendinning desired the thing. And was not Lucy +wealthy?--going to be, that is, very wealthy when her mother died;--(sad +thought that for Mrs. Tartan)--and was not her husband's family of the +best; and had not Lucy's father been a bosom friend of Pierre's father? +And though Lucy might be matched to some one man, where among women was +the match for Lucy? Exceedingly preposterous Mrs. Tartan! But when a +lady like Mrs. Tartan has nothing positive and useful to do, then she +will do just such preposterous things as Mrs. Tartan did. + +Well, time went on; and Pierre loved Lucy, and Lucy, Pierre; till at +last the two young naval gentlemen, her brothers, happened to arrive in +Mrs. Tartan's drawing-room, from their first cruise--a three years' one +up the Mediterranean. They rather stared at Pierre, finding him on the +sofa, and Lucy not very remote. + +"Pray, be seated, gentlemen," said Pierre. "Plenty of room." + +"My darling brothers!" cried Lucy, embracing them. + +"My darling brothers and sister!" cried Pierre, folding them together. + +"Pray, hold off, sir," said the elder brother, who had served as a +passed midshipman for the last two weeks. The younger brother retreated +a little, and clapped his hand upon his dirk, saying, "Sir, we are from +the Mediterranean. Sir, permit me to say, this is decidedly improper! +Who may you be, sir?" + +"I can't explain for joy," cried Pierre, hilariously embracing them all +again. + +"Most extraordinary!" cried the elder brother, extricating his +shirt-collar from the embrace, and pulling it up vehemently. + +"Draw!" cried the younger, intrepidly. + +"Peace, foolish fellows," cried Lucy--"this is your old play-fellow, +Pierre Glendinning." + +"Pierre? why, Pierre?" cried the lads--"a hug all round again! You've +grown a fathom!--who would have known you? But, then--Lucy? I say, +Lucy?--what business have you here in this--eh? eh?--hugging-match, I +should call it?" + +"Oh! Lucy don't mean any thing," cried Pierre--"come, one more all +round." + +So they all embraced again; and that evening it was publicly known that +Pierre was to wed with Lucy. + +Whereupon, the young officers took it upon themselves to think--though +they by no means presumed to breathe it--that they had authoritatively, +though indirectly, accelerated a before ambiguous and highly +incommendable state of affairs between the now affianced lovers. + + +III. + +In the fine old robust times of Pierre's grandfather, an American +gentleman of substantial person and fortune spent his time in a somewhat +different style from the green-house gentlemen of the present day. The +grandfather of Pierre measured six feet four inches in height; during a +fire in the old manorial mansion, with one dash of his foot, he had +smitten down an oaken door, to admit the buckets of his negro slaves; +Pierre had often tried on his military vest, which still remained an +heirloom at Saddle Meadows, and found the pockets below his knees, and +plenty additional room for a fair-sized quarter-cask within its buttoned +girth; in a night-scuffle in the wilderness before the Revolutionary +War, he had annihilated two Indian savages by making reciprocal +bludgeons of their heads. And all this was done by the mildest hearted, +and most blue-eyed gentleman in the world, who, according to the +patriarchal fashion of those days, was a gentle, white-haired worshiper +of all the household gods; the gentlest husband, and the gentlest +father; the kindest of masters to his slaves; of the most wonderful +unruffledness of temper; a serene smoker of his after-dinner pipe; a +forgiver of many injuries; a sweet-hearted, charitable Christian; in +fine, a pure, cheerful, child-like, blue-eyed, divine old man; in whose +meek, majestic soul, the lion and the lamb embraced--fit image of his +God. + +Never could Pierre look upon his fine military portrait without an +infinite and mournful longing to meet his living aspect in actual life. +The majestic sweetness of this portrait was truly wonderful in its +effects upon any sensitive and generous-minded young observer. For such, +that portrait possessed the heavenly persuasiveness of angelic speech; a +glorious gospel framed and hung upon the wall, and declaring to all +people, as from the Mount, that man is a noble, god-like being, full of +choicest juices; made up of strength and beauty. + +Now, this grand old Pierre Glendinning was a great lover of horses; but +not in the modern sense, for he was no jockey;--one of his most intimate +friends of the masculine gender was a huge, proud, gray horse, of a +surprising reserve of manner, his saddle-beast; he had his horses' +mangers carved like old trenchers, out of solid maple logs; the key of +the corn-bin hung in his library; and no one grained his steeds, but +himself; unless his absence from home promoted Moyar, an incorruptible +and most punctual old black, to that honorable office. He said that no +man loved his horses, unless his own hands grained them. Every Christmas +he gave them brimming measures. "I keep Christmas with my horses," said +grand old Pierre. This grand old Pierre always rose at sunrise; washed +his face and chest in the open air; and then, returning to his closet, +and being completely arrayed at last, stepped forth to make a +ceremonious call at his stables, to bid his very honorable friends there +a very good and joyful morning. Woe to Cranz, Kit, Douw, or any other of +his stable slaves, if grand old Pierre found one horse unblanketed, or +one weed among the hay that filled their rack. Not that he ever had +Cranz, Kit, Douw, or any of them flogged--a thing unknown in that +patriarchal time and country--but he would refuse to say his wonted +pleasant word to them; and that was very bitter to them, for Cranz, Kit, +Douw, and all of them, loved grand old Pierre, as his shepherds loved +old Abraham. + +What decorous, lordly, gray-haired steed is this? What old Chaldean +rides abroad?--'Tis grand old Pierre; who, every morning before he eats, +goes out promenading with his saddle-beast; nor mounts him, without +first asking leave. But time glides on, and grand old Pierre grows old: +his life's glorious grape now swells with fatness; he has not the +conscience to saddle his majestic beast with such a mighty load of +manliness. Besides, the noble beast himself is growing old, and has a +touching look of meditativeness in his large, attentive eyes. Leg of +man, swears grand old Pierre, shall never more bestride my steed; no +more shall harness touch him! Then every spring he sowed a field with +clover for his steed; and at mid-summer sorted all his meadow grasses, +for the choicest hay to winter him; and had his destined grain thrashed +out with a flail, whose handle had once borne a flag in a brisk battle, +into which this same old steed had pranced with grand old Pierre; one +waving mane, one waving sword! + +Now needs must grand old Pierre take a morning drive; he rides no more +with the old gray steed. He has a phaeton built, fit for a vast General, +in whose sash three common men might hide. Doubled, trebled are the +huge S shaped leather springs; the wheels seem stolen from some mill; +the canopied seat is like a testered bed. From beneath the old archway, +not one horse, but two, every morning now draw forth old Pierre, as the +Chinese draw their fat god Josh, once every year from out his fane. + +But time glides on, and a morning comes, when the phaeton emerges not; +but all the yards and courts are full; helmets line the ways; +sword-points strike the stone steps of the porch; muskets ring upon the +stairs; and mournful martial melodies are heard in all the halls. Grand +old Pierre is dead; and like a hero of old battles, he dies on the eve +of another war; ere wheeling to fire on the foe, his platoons fire over +their old commander's grave; in A. D. 1812, died grand old Pierre. The +drum that beat in brass his funeral march, was a British kettle-drum, +that had once helped beat the vain-glorious march, for the thirty +thousand predestined prisoners, led into sure captivity by that bragging +boy, Burgoyne. + +Next day the old gray steed turned from his grain; turned round, and +vainly whinnied in his stall. By gracious Moyar's hand, he refuses to be +patted now; plain as horse can speak, the old gray steed says--"I smell +not the wonted hand; where is grand old Pierre? Grain me not, and groom +me not;--Where is grand old Pierre?" + +He sleeps not far from his master now; beneath the field he cropt, he +has softly lain him down; and long ere this, grand old Pierre and steed +have passed through that grass to glory. + +But his phaeton--like his plumed hearse, outlives the noble load it +bore. And the dark bay steeds that drew grand old Pierre alive, and by +his testament drew him dead, and followed the lordly lead of the led +gray horse; those dark bay steeds are still extant; not in themselves or +in their issue; but in the two descendants of stallions of their own +breed. For on the lands of Saddle Meadows, man and horse are both +hereditary; and this bright morning Pierre Glendinning, grandson of +grand old Pierre, now drives forth with Lucy Tartan, seated where his +own ancestor had sat, and reining steeds, whose +great-great-great-grandfathers grand old Pierre had reined before. + +How proud felt Pierre: In fancy's eye, he saw the horse-ghosts a-tandem +in the van; "These are but wheelers"--cried young Pierre--"the leaders +are the generations." + + +IV. + +But Love has more to do with his own possible and probable posterities, +than with the once living but now impossible ancestries in the past. So +Pierre's glow of family pride quickly gave place to a deeper hue, when +Lucy bade love's banner blush out from his cheek. + +That morning was the choicest drop that Time had in his vase. Ineffable +distillations of a soft delight were wafted from the fields and hills. +Fatal morning that, to all lovers unbetrothed; "Come to your +confessional," it cried. "Behold our airy loves," the birds chirped from +the trees; far out at sea, no more the sailors tied their bowline-knots; +their hands had lost their cunning; will they, nill they, Love tied +love-knots on every spangled spar. + +Oh, praised be the beauty of this earth, the beauty, and the bloom, and +the mirthfulness thereof! The first worlds made were winter worlds; the +second made, were vernal worlds; the third, and last, and perfectest, +was this summer world of ours. In the cold and nether spheres, preachers +preach of earth, as we of Paradise above. Oh, there, my friends, they +say, they have a season, in their language known as summer. Then their +fields spin themselves green carpets; snow and ice are not in all the +land; then a million strange, bright, fragrant things powder that sward +with perfumes; and high, majestic beings, dumb and grand, stand up with +outstretched arms, and hold their green canopies over merry angels--men +and women--who love and wed, and sleep and dream, beneath the approving +glances of their visible god and goddess, glad-hearted sun, and pensive +moon! + +Oh, praised be the beauty of this earth; the beauty, and the bloom, and +the mirthfulness thereof. We lived before, and shall live again; and as +we hope for a fairer world than this to come; so we came from one less +fine. From each successive world, the demon Principle is more and more +dislodged; he is the accursed clog from chaos, and thither, by every new +translation, we drive him further and further back again. Hosannahs to +this world! so beautiful itself, and the vestibule to more. Out of some +past Egypt, we have come to this new Canaan; and from this new Canaan, +we press on to some Circassia. Though still the villains, Want and Woe, +followed us out of Egypt, and now beg in Canaan's streets: yet +Circassia's gates shall not admit them; they, with their sire, the demon +Principle, must back to chaos, whence they came. + +Love was first begot by Mirth and Peace, in Eden, when the world was +young. The man oppressed with cares, he can not love; the man of gloom +finds not the god. So, as youth, for the most part, has no cares, and +knows no gloom, therefore, ever since time did begin, youth belongs to +love. Love may end in grief and age, and pain and need, and all other +modes of human mournfulness; but love begins in joy. Love's first sigh +is never breathed, till after love hath laughed. Love laughs first, and +then sighs after. Love has not hands, but cymbals; Love's mouth is +chambered like a bugle, and the instinctive breathings of his life +breathe jubilee notes of joy! + +That morning, two bay horses drew two Laughs along the road that led to +the hills from Saddle Meadows. Apt time they kept; Pierre Glendinning's +young, manly tenor, to Lucy Tartan's girlish treble. + +Wondrous fair of face, blue-eyed, and golden-haired, the bright blonde, +Lucy, was arrayed in colors harmonious with the heavens. Light blue be +thy perpetual color, Lucy; light blue becomes thee best--such the +repeated azure counsel of Lucy Tartan's mother. On both sides, from the +hedges, came to Pierre the clover bloom of Saddle Meadows, and from +Lucy's mouth and cheek came the fresh fragrance of her violet young +being. + +"Smell I the flowers, or thee?" cried Pierre. + +"See I lakes, or eyes?" cried Lucy, her own gazing down into his soul, +as two stars gaze down into a tarn. + +No Cornwall miner ever sunk so deep a shaft beneath the sea, as Love +will sink beneath the floatings of the eyes. Love sees ten million +fathoms down, till dazzled by the floor of pearls. The eye is Love's own +magic glass, where all things that are not of earth, glide in +supernatural light. There are not so many fishes in the sea, as there +are sweet images in lovers' eyes. In those miraculous translucencies +swim the strange eye-fish with wings, that sometimes leap out, instinct +with joy; moist fish-wings wet the lover's cheek. Love's eyes are holy +things; therein the mysteries of life are lodged; looking in each +other's eyes, lovers see the ultimate secret of the worlds; and with +thrills eternally untranslatable, feel that Love is god of all. Man or +woman who has never loved, nor once looked deep down into their own +lover's eyes, they know not the sweetest and the loftiest religion of +this earth. Love is both Creator's and Saviour's gospel to mankind; a +volume bound in rose-leaves, clasped with violets, and by the beaks of +humming-birds printed with peach-juice on the leaves of lilies. + +Endless is the account of Love. Time and space can not contain Love's +story. All things that are sweet to see, or taste, or feel, or hear, +all these things were made by Love; and none other things were made by +Love. Love made not the Arctic zones, but Love is ever reclaiming them. +Say, are not the fierce things of this earth daily, hourly going out? +Where now are your wolves of Britain? Where in Virginia now, find you +the panther and the pard? Oh, love is busy everywhere. Everywhere Love +hath Moravian missionaries. No Propagandist like to love. The south wind +wooes the barbarous north; on many a distant shore the gentler west wind +persuades the arid east. + +All this Earth is Love's affianced; vainly the demon Principle howls to +stay the banns. Why round her middle wears this world so rich a zone of +torrid verdure, if she be not dressing for the final rites? And why +provides she orange blossoms and lilies of the valley, if she would not +that all men and maids should love and marry? For every wedding where +true lovers wed, helps on the march of universal Love. Who are brides +here shall be Love's bridemaids in the marriage world to come. So on all +sides Love allures; can contain himself what youth who views the wonders +of the beauteous woman-world? Where a beautiful woman is, there is all +Asia and her Bazars. Italy hath not a sight before the beauty of a +Yankee girl; nor heaven a blessing beyond her earthly love. Did not the +angelical Lotharios come down to earth, that they might taste of mortal +woman's Love and Beauty? even while her own silly brothers were pining +after the self-same Paradise they left? Yes, those envying angels did +come down; did emigrate; and who emigrates except to be better off? + +Love is this world's great redeemer and reformer; and as all beautiful +women are her selectest emissaries, so hath Love gifted them with a +magnetical persuasiveness, that no youth can possibly repel. The own +heart's choice of every youth, seems ever as an inscrutable witch to +him; and by ten thousand concentric spells and circling incantations, +glides round and round him, as he turns: murmuring meanings of +unearthly import; and summoning up to him all the subterranean sprites +and gnomes; and unpeopling all the sea for naiads to swim round him; so +that mysteries are evoked as in exhalations by this Love;--what wonder +then that Love was aye a mystic? + + +V. + +And this self-same morning Pierre was very mystical; not continually, +though; but most mystical one moment, and overflowing with mad, +unbridled merriment, the next. He seemed a youthful Magian, and almost a +mountebank together. Chaldaic improvisations burst from him, in quick +Golden Verses, on the heel of humorous retort and repartee. More +especially, the bright glance of Lucy was transporting to him. Now, +reckless of his horses, with both arms holding Lucy in his embrace, like +a Sicilian diver he dives deep down in the Adriatic of her eyes, and +brings up some king's-cup of joy. All the waves in Lucy's eyes seemed +waves of infinite glee to him. And as if, like veritable seas, they did +indeed catch the reflected irradiations of that pellucid azure morning; +in Lucy's eyes, there seemed to shine all the blue glory of the general +day, and all the sweet inscrutableness of the sky. And certainly, the +blue eye of woman, like the sea, is not uninfluenced by the atmosphere. +Only in the open air of some divinest, summer day, will you see its +ultramarine,--its fluid lapis lazuli. Then would Pierre burst forth in +some screaming shout of joy; and the striped tigers of his chestnut eyes +leaped in their lashed cages with a fierce delight. Lucy shrank from him +in extreme love; for the extremest top of love, is Fear and Wonder. + +Soon the swift horses drew this fair god and goddess nigh the wooded +hills, whose distant blue, now changed into a variously-shaded green, +stood before them like old Babylonian walls, overgrown with verdure; +while here and there, at regular intervals, the scattered peaks seemed +mural towers; and the clumped pines surmounting them, as lofty archers, +and vast, out-looking watchers of the glorious Babylonian City of the +Day. Catching that hilly air, the prancing horses neighed; laughed on +the ground with gleeful feet. Felt they the gay delightsome spurrings of +the day; for the day was mad with excessive joy; and high in heaven you +heard the neighing of the horses of the sun; and down dropt their +nostrils' froth in many a fleecy vapor from the hills. + +From the plains, the mists rose slowly; reluctant yet to quit so fair a +mead. At those green slopings, Pierre reined in his steeds, and soon the +twain were seated on the bank, gazing far, and far away; over many a +grove and lake; corn-crested uplands, and Herd's-grass lowlands; and +long-stretching swales of vividest green, betokening where the greenest +bounty of this earth seeks its winding channels; as ever, the most +heavenly bounteousness most seeks the lowly places; making green and +glad many a humble mortal's breast, and leaving to his own lonely +aridness, many a hill-top prince's state. + +But Grief, not Joy, is a moralizer; and small moralizing wisdom caught +Pierre from that scene. With Lucy's hand in his, and feeling, softly +feeling of its soft tinglingness; he seemed as one placed in linked +correspondence with the summer lightnings; and by sweet shock on shock, +receiving intimating fore-tastes of the etherealest delights of earth. + +Now, prone on the grass he falls, with his attentive upward glance fixed +on Lucy's eyes. "Thou art my heaven, Lucy; and here I lie thy +shepherd-king, watching for new eye-stars to rise in thee. Ha! I see +Venus' transit now;--lo! a new planet there;--and behind all, an +infinite starry nebulousness, as if thy being were backgrounded by some +spangled vail of mystery." + +Is Lucy deaf to all these ravings of his lyric love? Why looks she down, +and vibrates so; and why now from her over-charged lids, drops such warm +drops as these? No joy now in Lucy's eyes, and seeming tremor on her +lips. + +"Ah! thou too ardent and impetuous Pierre!" + +"Nay, thou too moist and changeful April! know'st thou not, that the +moist and changeful April is followed by the glad, assured, and +showerless joy of June? And this, Lucy, this day should be thy June, +even as it is the earth's?" + +"Ah Pierre! not June to me. But say, are not the sweets of June made +sweet by the April tears?" + +"Ay, love! but here fall more drops,--more and more;--these showers are +longer than beseem the April, and pertain not to the June." + +"June! June!--thou bride's month of the summer,--following the spring's +sweet courtship of the earth,--my June, my June is yet to come!" + +"Oh! yet to come, but fixedly decreed;--good as come, and better." + +"Then no flower that, in the bud, the April showers have nurtured; no +such flower may untimely perish, ere the June unfolds it? Ye will not +swear that, Pierre?" + +"The audacious immortalities of divinest love are in me; and I now swear +to thee all the immutable eternities of joyfulness, that ever woman +dreamed of, in this dream-house of the earth. A god decrees to thee +unchangeable felicity; and to me, the unchallenged possession of thee +and them, for my inalienable fief.--Do I rave? Look on me, Lucy; think +on me, girl." + +"Thou art young, and beautiful, and strong; and a joyful manliness +invests thee, Pierre; and thy intrepid heart never yet felt the touch of +fear;--But--" + +"But what?" + +"Ah, my best Pierre!" + +"With kisses I will suck thy secret from thy cheek!--but what?" + +"Let us hie homeward, Pierre. Some nameless sadness, faintness, +strangely comes to me. Foretaste I feel of endless dreariness. Tell me +once more the story of that face, Pierre,--that mysterious, haunting +face, which thou once told'st me, thou didst thrice vainly try to shun. +Blue is the sky, oh, bland the air, Pierre;--but--tell me the story of +the face,--the dark-eyed, lustrous, imploring, mournful face, that so +mystically paled, and shrunk at thine. Ah, Pierre, sometimes I have +thought,--never will I wed with my best Pierre, until the riddle of that +face be known. Tell me, tell me, Pierre;--as a fixed basilisk, with eyes +of steady, flaming mournfulness, that face this instant fastens me." + +"Bewitched! bewitched!--Cursed be the hour I acted on the thought, that +Love hath no reserves. Never should I have told thee the story of that +face, Lucy. I have bared myself too much to thee. Oh, never should Love +know all!" + +"Knows not all, then loves not all, Pierre. Never shalt thou so say +again;--and Pierre, listen to me. Now,--now, in this inexplicable +trepidation that I feel, I do conjure thee, that thou wilt ever continue +to do as thou hast done; so that I may ever continue to know all that +agitatest thee, the airiest and most transient thought, that ever shall +sweep into thee from the wide atmosphere of all things that hem +mortality. Did I doubt thee here;--could I ever think, that thy heart +hath yet one private nook or corner from me;--fatal disenchanting day +for me, my Pierre, would that be. I tell thee, Pierre--and 'tis Love's +own self that now speaks through me--only in unbounded confidence and +interchangings of all subtlest secrets, can Love possibly endure. Love's +self is a secret, and so feeds on secrets, Pierre. Did I only know of +thee, what the whole common world may know--what then were Pierre to +me?--Thou must be wholly a disclosed secret to me; Love is vain and +proud; and when I walk the streets, and meet thy friends, I must still +be laughing and hugging to myself the thought,--They know him not;--I +only know my Pierre;--none else beneath the circuit of yon sun. Then, +swear to me, dear Pierre, that thou wilt never keep a secret from +me--no, never, never;--swear!" + +"Something seizes me. Thy inexplicable tears, falling, falling on my +heart, have now turned it to a stone. I feel icy cold and hard; I will +not swear!" + +"Pierre! Pierre!" + +"God help thee, and God help me, Lucy. I can not think, that in this +most mild and dulcet air, the invisible agencies are plotting treasons +against our loves. Oh! if ye be now nigh us, ye things I have no name +for; then by a name that should be efficacious--by Christ's holy name, I +warn ye back from her and me. Touch her not, ye airy devils; hence to +your appointed hell! why come ye prowling in these heavenly perlieus? +Can not the chains of Love omnipotent bind ye, fiends?" + +"Is this Pierre? His eyes glare fearfully; now I see layer on layer +deeper in him; he turns round and menaces the air and talks to it, as if +defied by the air. Woe is me, that fairy love should raise this evil +spell!--Pierre?" + +"But now I was infinite distances from thee, oh my Lucy, wandering +baffled in the choking night; but thy voice might find me, though I had +wandered to the Boreal realm, Lucy. Here I sit down by thee; I catch a +soothing from thee." + +"My own, own Pierre! Pierre, into ten trillion pieces I could now be +torn for thee; in my bosom would yet hide thee, and there keep thee +warm, though I sat down on Arctic ice-floes, frozen to a corpse. My own, +best, blessed Pierre! Now, could I plant some poniard in me, that my +silly ailings should have power to move thee thus, and pain thee thus. +Forgive me, Pierre; thy changed face hath chased the other from me; the +fright of thee exceeds all other frights. It does not so haunt me now. +Press hard my hand; look hard on me, my love, that its last trace may +pass away. Now I feel almost whole again; now, 'tis gone. Up, my Pierre; +let us up, and fly these hills, whence, I fear, too wide a prospect +meets us. Fly we to the plain. See, thy steeds neigh for thee--they call +thee--see, the clouds fly down toward the plain--lo, these hills now +seem all desolate to me, and the vale all verdure. Thank thee, +Pierre.--See, now, I quit the hills, dry-cheeked; and leave all tears +behind to be sucked in by these evergreens, meet emblems of the +unchanging love, my own sadness nourishes in me. Hard fate, that Love's +best verdure should feed so on tears!" + +Now they rolled swiftly down the slopes; nor tempted the upper hills; +but sped fast for the plain. Now the cloud hath passed from Lucy's eye; +no more the lurid slanting light forks upward from her lover's brow. In +the plain they find peace, and love, and joy again. + +"It was the merest, idling, wanton vapor, Lucy!" + +"An empty echo, Pierre, of a sad sound, long past. Bless thee, my +Pierre!" + +"The great God wrap thee ever, Lucy. So, now, we are home." + + +VI. + +After seeing Lucy into her aunt's most cheerful parlor, and seating her +by the honeysuckle that half clambered into the window there; and near +to which was her easel for crayon-sketching, upon part of whose frame +Lucy had cunningly trained two slender vines, into whose earth-filled +pots two of the three legs of the easel were inserted; and sitting down +himself by her, and by his pleasant, lightsome chat, striving to chase +the last trace of sadness from her; and not till his object seemed fully +gained; Pierre rose to call her good aunt to her, and so take his leave +till evening, when Lucy called him back, begging him first to bring her +the blue portfolio from her chamber, for she wished to kill her last +lingering melancholy--if any indeed did linger now--by diverting her +thoughts, in a little pencil sketch, to scenes widely different from +those of Saddle Meadows and its hills. + +So Pierre went up stairs, but paused on the threshold of the open door. +He never had entered that chamber but with feelings of a wonderful +reverentialness. The carpet seemed as holy ground. Every chair seemed +sanctified by some departed saint, there once seated long ago. Here his +book of Love was all a rubric, and said--Bow now, Pierre, bow. But this +extreme loyalty to the piety of love, called from him by such glimpses +of its most secret inner shrine, was not unrelieved betimes by such +quickenings of all his pulses, that in fantasy he pressed the wide +beauty of the world in his embracing arms; for all his world resolved +itself into his heart's best love for Lucy. + +Now, crossing the magic silence of the empty chamber, he caught the +snow-white bed reflected in the toilet-glass. This rooted him. For one +swift instant, he seemed to see in that one glance the two separate +beds--the real one and the reflected one--and an unbidden, most +miserable presentiment thereupon stole into him. But in one breath it +came and went. So he advanced, and with a fond and gentle joyfulness, +his eye now fell upon the spotless bed itself, and fastened on a +snow-white roll that lay beside the pillow. Now he started; Lucy seemed +coming in upon him; but no--'tis only the foot of one of her little +slippers, just peeping into view from under the narrow nether curtains +of the bed. Then again his glance fixed itself upon the slender, +snow-white, ruffled roll; and he stood as one enchanted. Never precious +parchment of the Greek was half so precious in his eyes. Never +trembling scholar longed more to unroll the mystic vellum, than Pierre +longed to unroll the sacred secrets of that snow-white, ruffled thing. +But his hands touched not any object in that chamber, except the one he +had gone thither for. + +"Here is the blue portfolio, Lucy. See, the key hangs to its silver +lock;--were you not fearful I would open it?--'twas tempting, I must +confess." + +"Open it!" said Lucy--"why, yes, Pierre, yes; what secret thing keep I +from thee? Read me through and through. I am entirely thine. See!" and +tossing open the portfolio, all manner of rosy things came floating from +it, and a most delicate perfume of some invisible essence. + +"Ah! thou holy angel, Lucy!" + +"Why, Pierre, thou art transfigured; thou now lookest as one who--why, +Pierre?" + +"As one who had just peeped in at paradise, Lucy; and----" + +"Again wandering in thy mind, Pierre; no more--Come, you must leave me, +now. I am quite rested again. Quick, call my aunt, and leave me. Stay, +this evening we are to look over the book of plates from the city, you +know. Be early;--go now, Pierre." + +"Well, good-bye, till evening, thou height of all delight." + + +VII. + +As Pierre drove through the silent village, beneath the vertical shadows +of the noon-day trees, the sweet chamber scene abandoned him, and the +mystical face recurred to him, and kept with him. At last, arrived at +home, he found his mother absent; so passing straight through the wide +middle hall of the mansion, he descended the piazza on the other ride, +and wandered away in reveries down to the river bank. + +Here one primeval pine-tree had been luckily left standing by the +otherwise unsparing woodmen, who long ago had cleared that meadow. It +was once crossing to this noble pine, from a clump of hemlocks far +across the river, that Pierre had first noticed the significant fact, +that while the hemlock and the pine are trees of equal growth and +stature, and are so similar in their general aspect, that people unused +to woods sometimes confound them; and while both trees are proverbially +trees of sadness, yet the dark hemlock hath no music in its thoughtful +boughs; but the gentle pine-tree drops melodious mournfulness. + +At its half-bared roots of sadness, Pierre sat down, and marked the +mighty bulk and far out-reaching length of one particular root, which, +straying down the bank, the storms and rains had years ago exposed. + +"How wide, how strong these roots must spread! Sure, this pine-tree +takes powerful hold of this fair earth! Yon bright flower hath not so +deep a root. This tree hath outlived a century of that gay flower's +generations, and will outlive a century of them yet to come. This is +most sad. Hark, now I hear the pyramidical and numberless, flame-like +complainings of this Eolean pine;--the wind breathes now upon it:--the +wind,--that is God's breath! Is He so sad? Oh, tree! so mighty thou, so +lofty, yet so mournful! This is most strange! Hark! as I look up into +thy high secrecies, oh, tree, the face, the face, peeps down on +me!--'Art thou Pierre? Come to me'--oh, thou mysterious girl,--what an +ill-matched pendant thou, to that other countenance of sweet Lucy, which +also hangs, and first did hang within my heart! Is grief a pendant then +to pleasantness? Is grief a self-willed guest that _will_ come in? Yet I +have never known thee, Grief;--thou art a legend to me. I have known +some fiery broils of glorious frenzy; I have oft tasted of revery; +whence comes pensiveness; whence comes sadness; whence all delicious +poetic presentiments;--but thou, Grief! art still a ghost-story to me. I +know thee not,--do half disbelieve in thee. Not that I would be without +my too little cherished fits of sadness now and then; but God keep me +from thee, thou other shape of far profounder gloom! I shudder at thee! +The face!--the face!--forth again from thy high secrecies, oh, tree! the +face steals down upon me. Mysterious girl! who art thou? by what right +snatchest thou thus my deepest thoughts? Take thy thin fingers from +me;--I am affianced, and not to thee. Leave me!--what share hast thou in +me? Surely, thou lovest not me?--that were most miserable for thee, and +me, and Lucy. It can not be. What, _who_ art thou? Oh! wretched +vagueness--too familiar to me, yet inexplicable,--unknown, utterly +unknown! I seem to founder in this perplexity. Thou seemest to know +somewhat of me, that I know not of myself,--what is it then? If thou +hast a secret in thy eyes of mournful mystery, out with it; Pierre +demands it; what is that thou hast veiled in thee so imperfectly, that I +seem to see its motion, but not its form? It visibly rustles behind the +concealing screen. Now, never into the soul of Pierre, stole there +before, a muffledness like this! If aught really lurks in it, ye +sovereign powers that claim all my leal worshipings, I conjure ye to +lift the veil; I must see it face to face. Tread I on a mine, warn me; +advance I on a precipice, hold me back; but abandon me to an unknown +misery, that it shall suddenly seize me, and possess me, wholly,--that +ye will never do; else, Pierre's fond faith in ye--now clean, +untouched--may clean depart; and give me up to be a railing atheist! Ah, +now the face departs. Pray heaven it hath not only stolen back, and +hidden again in thy high secrecies, oh tree! But 'tis +gone--gone--entirely gone; and I thank God, and I feel joy again; joy, +which I also feel to be my right as man; deprived of joy, I feel I +should find cause for deadly feuds with things invisible. Ha! a coat of +iron-mail seems to grow round, and husk me now; and I have heard, that +the bitterest winters are foretold by a thicker husk upon the Indian +corn; so our old farmers say. But 'tis a dark similitude. Quit thy +analogies; sweet in the orator's mouth, bitter in the thinker's belly. +Now, then, I'll up with my own joyful will; and with my joy's face scare +away all phantoms:--so, they go; and Pierre is Joy's, and Life's again. +Thou pine-tree!--henceforth I will resist thy too treacherous +persuasiveness. Thou'lt not so often woo me to thy airy tent, to ponder +on the gloomy rooted stakes that bind it. Hence now I go; and peace be +with thee, pine! That blessed sereneness which lurks ever at the heart +of sadness--mere sadness--and remains when all the rest has gone;--that +sweet feeling is now mine, and cheaply mine. I am not sorry I was sad, I +feel so blessed now. Dearest Lucy!--well, well;--'twill be a pretty time +we'll have this evening; there's the book of Flemish prints--that first +we must look over; then, second, is Flaxman's Homer--clear-cut outlines, +yet full of unadorned barbaric nobleness. Then Flaxman's Dante;--Dante! +Night's and Hell's poet he. No, we will not open Dante. Methinks now the +face--the face--minds me a little of pensive, sweet Francesca's +face--or, rather, as it had been Francesca's daughter's face--wafted on +the sad dark wind, toward observant Virgil and the blistered Florentine. +No, we will not open Flaxman's Dante. Francesca's mournful face is now +ideal to me. Flaxman might evoke it wholly,--make it present in lines of +misery--bewitching power. No! I will not open Flaxman's Dante! Damned be +the hour I read in Dante! more damned than that wherein Paolo and +Francesca read in fatal Launcelot!" + + + + +BOOK III. + +THE PRESENTIMENT AND THE VERIFICATION. + + +I. + +The face, of which Pierre and Lucy so strangely and fearfully hinted, +was not of enchanted air; but its mortal lineaments of mournfulness had +been visibly beheld by Pierre. Nor had it accosted him in any privacy; +or in any lonely byeway; or beneath the white light of the crescent +moon; but in a joyous chamber, bright with candles, and ringing with two +score women's gayest voices. Out of the heart of mirthfulness, this +shadow had come forth to him. Encircled by bandelets of light, it had +still beamed upon him; vaguely historic and prophetic; backward, hinting +of some irrevocable sin; forward, pointing to some inevitable ill. One +of those faces, which now and then appear to man, and without one word +of speech, still reveal glimpses of some fearful gospel. In natural +guise, but lit by supernatural light; palpable to the senses, but +inscrutable to the soul; in their perfectest impression on us, ever +hovering between Tartarean misery and Paradisaic beauty; such faces, +compounded so of hell and heaven, overthrow in us all foregone +persuasions, and make us wondering children in this world again. + +The face had accosted Pierre some weeks previous to his ride with Lucy +to the hills beyond Saddle Meadows; and before her arrival for the +summer at the village; moreover it had accosted him in a very common +and homely scene; but this enhanced the wonder. + +On some distant business, with a farmer-tenant, he had been absent from +the mansion during the best part of the day, and had but just come home, +early of a pleasant moonlight evening, when Dates delivered a message to +him from his mother, begging him to come for her about half-past seven +that night to Miss Llanyllyn's cottage, in order to accompany her thence +to that of the two Miss Pennies. At the mention of that last name, +Pierre well knew what he must anticipate. Those elderly and truly pious +spinsters, gifted with the most benevolent hearts in the world, and at +mid-age deprived by envious nature of their hearing, seemed to have made +it a maxim of their charitable lives, that since God had not given them +any more the power to hear Christ's gospel preached, they would +therefore thenceforth do what they could toward practicing it. +Wherefore, as a matter of no possible interest to them now, they +abstained from church; and while with prayer-books in their hands the +Rev. Mr. Falsgrave's congregation were engaged in worshiping their God, +according to the divine behest; the two Miss Pennies, with thread and +needle, were hard at work in serving him; making up shirts and gowns for +the poor people of the parish. Pierre had heard that they had recently +been at the trouble of organizing a regular society, among the +neighboring farmers' wives and daughters, to meet twice a month at their +own house (the Miss Pennies) for the purpose of sewing in concert for +the benefit of various settlements of necessitous emigrants, who had +lately pitched their populous shanties further up the river. But though +this enterprise had not been started without previously acquainting Mrs. +Glendinning of it,--for indeed she was much loved and honored by the +pious spinsters,--and their promise of solid assistance from that +gracious manorial lady; yet Pierre had not heard that his mother had +been officially invited to preside, or be at all present at the +semi-monthly meetings; though he supposed, that far from having any +scruples against so doing, she would be very glad to associate that way, +with the good people of the village. + +"Now, brother Pierre"--said Mrs. Glendinning, rising from Miss +Llanyllyn's huge cushioned chair--"throw my shawl around me; and +good-evening to Lucy's aunt.--There, we shall be late." + +As they walked along, she added--"Now, Pierre, I know you are apt to be +a little impatient sometimes, of these sewing scenes; but courage; I +merely want to peep in on them; so as to get some inkling of what they +would indeed be at; and then my promised benefactions can be better +selected by me. Besides, Pierre, I could have had Dates escort me, but I +preferred you; because I want you to know who they are you live among; +how many really pretty, and naturally-refined dames and girls you shall +one day be lord of the manor of. I anticipate a rare display of rural +red and white." + +Cheered by such pleasant promises, Pierre soon found himself leading his +mother into a room full of faces. The instant they appeared, a +gratuitous old body, seated with her knitting near the door, squeaked +out shrilly--"Ah! dames, dames,--Madam Glendinning!--Master Pierre +Glendinning!" + +Almost immediately following this sound, there came a sudden, +long-drawn, unearthly, girlish shriek, from the further corner of the +long, double room. Never had human voice so affected Pierre before. +Though he saw not the person from whom it came, and though the voice was +wholly strange to him, yet the sudden shriek seemed to split its way +clean through his heart, and leave a yawning gap there. For an instant, +he stood bewildered; but started at his mother's voice; her arm being +still in his. "Why do you clutch my arm so, Pierre? You pain me. Pshaw! +some one has fainted,--nothing more." + +Instantly Pierre recovered himself, and affecting to mock at his own +trepidation, hurried across the room to offer his services, if such +were needed. But dames and maidens had been all beforehand with him; the +lights were wildly flickering in the air-current made by the flinging +open of the casement, near to where the shriek had come. But the climax +of the tumult was soon past; and presently, upon closing the casement, +it subsided almost wholly. The elder of the spinster Pennies, advancing +to Mrs. Glendinning, now gave her to understand, that one of the further +crowd of industrious girls present, had been attacked by a sudden, but +fleeting fit, vaguely imputable to some constitutional disorder or +other. She was now quite well again. And so the company, one and all, +seemingly acting upon their natural good-breeding, which in any one at +bottom, is but delicacy and charity, refrained from all further +curiosity; reminded not the girl of what had passed; noted her scarce at +all; and all needles stitched away as before. + +Leaving his mother to speak with whom she pleased, and attend alone to +her own affairs with the society; Pierre, oblivious now in such a lively +crowd, of any past unpleasantness, after some courtly words to the Miss +Pennies,--insinuated into their understandings through a long coiled +trumpet, which, when not in use, the spinsters wore, hanging like a +powder-horn from their girdles:--and likewise, after manifesting the +profoundest and most intelligent interest in the mystic mechanism of a +huge woolen sock, in course of completion by a spectacled old lady of +his more particular acquaintance; after all this had been gone through, +and something more too tedious to detail, but which occupied him for +nearly half an hour, Pierre, with a slightly blushing, and imperfectly +balanced assurance, advanced toward the further crowd of maidens; where, +by the light of many a well-snuffed candle, they clubbed all their +bright contrasting cheeks, like a dense bed of garden tulips. There were +the shy and pretty Maries, Marthas, Susans, Betties, Jennies, Nellies; +and forty more fair nymphs, who skimmed the cream, and made the butter +of the fat farms of Saddle Meadows. + +Assurance is in presence of the assured. Where embarrassments prevail, +they affect the most disembarrassed. What wonder, then, that gazing on +such a thick array of wreathing, roguish, half-averted, blushing +faces--still audacious in their very embarrassment--Pierre, too, should +flush a bit, and stammer in his attitudes a little? Youthful love and +graciousness were in his heart; kindest words upon his tongue; but there +he stood, target for the transfixing glances of those ambushed archers +of the eye. + +But his abashments last too long; his cheek hath changed from blush to +pallor; what strange thing does Pierre Glendinning see? Behind the first +close, busy breast-work of young girls, are several very little stands, +or circular tables, where sit small groups of twos and threes, sewing in +small comparative solitudes, as it were. They would seem to be the less +notable of the rural company; or else, for some cause, they have +voluntarily retired into their humble banishment. Upon one of these +persons engaged at the furthermost and least conspicuous of these little +stands, and close by a casement, Pierre's glance is palely fixed. + +The girl sits steadily sewing; neither she nor her two companions speak. +Her eyes are mostly upon her work; but now and then a very close +observer would notice that she furtively lifts them, and moves them +sideways and timidly toward Pierre; and then, still more furtively and +timidly toward his lady mother, further off. All the while, her +preternatural calmness sometimes seems only made to cover the intensest +struggle in her bosom. Her unadorned and modest dress is black; fitting +close up to her neck, and clasping it with a plain, velvet border. To a +nice perception, that velvet shows elastically; contracting and +expanding, as though some choked, violent thing were risen up there +within from the teeming region of her heart. But her dark, olive cheek +is without a blush, or sign of any disquietude. So far as this girl lies +upon the common surface, ineffable composure steeps her. But still, she +sideways steals the furtive, timid glance. Anon, as yielding to the +irresistible climax of her concealed emotion, whatever that may be, she +lifts her whole marvelous countenance into the radiant candlelight, and +for one swift instant, that face of supernaturalness unreservedly meets +Pierre's. Now, wonderful loveliness, and a still more wonderful +loneliness, have with inexplicable implorings, looked up to him from +that henceforth immemorial face. There, too, he seemed to see the fair +ground where Anguish had contended with Beauty, and neither being +conqueror, both had laid down on the field. + +Recovering at length from his all too obvious emotion, Pierre turned +away still farther, to regain the conscious possession of himself. A +wild, bewildering, and incomprehensible curiosity had seized him, to +know something definite of that face. To this curiosity, at the moment, +he entirely surrendered himself; unable as he was to combat it, or +reason with it in the slightest way. So soon as he felt his outward +composure returned to him, he purposed to chat his way behind the +breastwork of bright eyes and cheeks, and on some parlor pretense or +other, hear, if possible, an audible syllable from one whose mere silent +aspect had so potentially moved him. But at length, as with this object +in mind, he was crossing the room again, he heard his mother's voice, +gayly calling him away; and turning, saw her shawled and bonneted. He +could now make no plausible stay, and smothering the agitation in him, +he bowed a general and hurried adieu to the company, and went forth with +his mother. + +They had gone some way homeward, in perfect silence, when his mother +spoke. + +"Well, Pierre, what can it possibly be!" + +"My God, mother, did you see her then!" + +"My son!" cried Mrs. Glendinning, instantly stopping in terror, and +withdrawing her arm from Pierre, "what--what under heaven ails you? This +is most strange! I but playfully asked, what you were so steadfastly +thinking of; and here you answer me by the strangest question, in a +voice that seems to come from under your great-grandfather's tomb! What, +in heaven's name, does this mean, Pierre? Why were you so silent, and +why now are you so ill-timed in speaking! Answer me;--explain all +this;--_she_--_she_--what _she_ should you be thinking of but Lucy +Tartan?--Pierre, beware, beware! I had thought you firmer in your lady's +faith, than such strange behavior as this would seem to hint. Answer me, +Pierre, what may this mean? Come, I hate a mystery; speak, my son." + +Fortunately, this prolonged verbalized wonder in his mother afforded +Pierre time to rally from his double and aggravated astonishment, +brought about by first suspecting that his mother also had been struck +by the strange aspect of the face, and then, having that suspicion so +violently beaten back upon him, by her apparently unaffected alarm at +finding him in some region of thought wholly unshared by herself at the +time. + +"It is nothing--nothing, sister Mary; just nothing at all in the world. +I believe I was dreaming--sleep-walking, or something of that sort. They +were vastly pretty girls there this evening, sister Mary, were they not? +Come, let us walk on--do, sister mine." + +"Pierre, Pierre!--but I will take your arm again;--and have you really +nothing more to say? were you really wandering, Pierre?" + +"I swear to you, my dearest mother, that never before in my whole +existence, have I so completely gone wandering in my soul, as at that +very moment. But it is all over now." Then in a less earnest and +somewhat playful tone, he added: "And sister mine, if you know aught of +the physical and sanitary authors, you must be aware, that the only +treatment for such a case of harmless temporary aberration, is for all +persons to ignore it in the subject. So no more of this foolishness. +Talking about it only makes me feel very unpleasantly silly, and there +is no knowing that it may not bring it back upon me." + +"Then by all means, my dear boy, not another word about it. But it's +passing strange--very, very strange indeed. Well, about that morning +business; how fared you? Tell me about it." + + +II. + +So Pierre, gladly plunging into this welcome current of talk, was +enabled to attend his mother home without furnishing further cause for +her concern or wonderment. But not by any means so readily could he +allay his own concern and wonderment. Too really true in itself, however +evasive in its effect at the time, was that earnest answer to his +mother, declaring that never in his whole existence had he been so +profoundly stirred. The face haunted him as some imploring, and +beauteous, impassioned, ideal Madonna's haunts the morbidly longing and +enthusiastic, but ever-baffled artist. And ever, as the mystic face thus +rose before his fancy's sight, another sense was touched in him; the +long-drawn, unearthly, girlish shriek pealed through and through his +soul; for now he knew the shriek came from the face--such Delphic shriek +could only come from such a source. And wherefore that shriek? thought +Pierre. Bodes it ill to the face, or me, or both? How am I changed, that +my appearance on any scene should have power to work such woe? But it +was mostly the face--the face, that wrought upon him. The shriek seemed +as incidentally embodied there. + +The emotions he experienced seemed to have taken hold of the deepest +roots and subtlest fibres of his being. And so much the more that it was +so subterranean in him, so much the more did he feel its weird +inscrutableness. What was one unknown, sad-eyed, shrieking girl to him? +There must be sad-eyed girls somewhere in the world, and this was only +one of them. And what was the most beautiful sad-eyed girl to him? +Sadness might be beautiful, as well as mirth--he lost himself trying to +follow out this tangle. "I will no more of this infatuation," he would +cry; but forth from regions of irradiated air, the divine beauty and +imploring sufferings of the face, stole into his view. + +Hitherto I have ever held but lightly, thought Pierre, all stories of +ghostly mysticalness in man; my creed of this world leads me to believe +in visible, beautiful flesh, and audible breath, however sweet and +scented; but only in visible flesh, and audible breath, have I hitherto +believed. But now!--now!--and again he would lose himself in the most +surprising and preternatural ponderings, which baffled all the +introspective cunning of his mind. Himself was too much for himself. He +felt that what he had always before considered the solid land of +veritable reality, was now being audaciously encroached upon by bannered +armies of hooded phantoms, disembarking in his soul, as from flotillas +of specter-boats. + +The terrors of the face were not those of Gorgon; not by repelling +hideousness did it smite him so; but bewilderingly allured him, by its +nameless beauty, and its long-suffering, hopeless anguish. + +But he was sensible that this general effect upon him, was also special; +the face somehow mystically appealing to his own private and individual +affections; and by a silent and tyrannic call, challenging him in his +deepest moral being, and summoning Truth, Love, Pity, Conscience, to the +stand. Apex of all wonders! thought Pierre; this indeed almost unmans me +with its wonderfulness. Escape the face he could not. Muffling his own +in his bed-clothes--that did not hide it. Flying from it by sunlight +down the meadows, was as vain. + +Most miraculous of all to Pierre was the vague impression, that +somewhere he had seen traits of the likeness of that face before. But +where, he could not say; nor could he, in the remotest degree, imagine. +He was not unaware--for in one or two instances, he had experienced the +fact--that sometimes a man may see a passing countenance in the street, +which shall irresistibly and magnetically affect him, for a moment, as +wholly unknown to him, and yet strangely reminiscent of some vague face +he has previously encountered, in some fancied time, too, of extreme +interest to his life. But not so was it now with Pierre. The face had +not perplexed him for a few speculative minutes, and then glided from +him, to return no more. It stayed close by him; only--and not +invariably--could he repel it, by the exertion of all his resolution and +self-will. Besides, what of general enchantment lurked in his strange +sensations, seemed concentringly condensed, and pointed to a spear-head, +that pierced his heart with an inexplicable pang, whenever the +specializing emotion--to call it so--seized the possession of his +thoughts, and waved into his visions, a thousand forms of by-gone times, +and many an old legendary family scene, which he had heard related by +his elderly relations, some of them now dead. + +Disguising his wild reveries as best he might from the notice of his +mother, and all other persons of her household, for two days Pierre +wrestled with his own haunted spirit; and at last, so effectually purged +it of all weirdnesses, and so effectually regained the general mastery +of himself, that for a time, life went with him, as though he had never +been stirred so strangely. Once more, the sweet unconditional thought of +Lucy slid wholly into his soul, dislodging thence all such phantom +occupants. Once more he rode, he walked, he swam, he vaulted; and with +new zest threw himself into the glowing practice of all those manly +exercises, he so dearly loved. It almost seemed in him, that ere +promising forever to protect, as well as eternally to love, his Lucy, he +must first completely invigorate and embrawn himself into the possession +of such a noble muscular manliness, that he might champion Lucy against +the whole physical world. + +Still--even before the occasional reappearance of the face to +him--Pierre, for all his willful ardor in his gymnasticals and other +diversions, whether in-doors or out, or whether by book or foil; still, +Pierre could not but be secretly annoyed, and not a little perplexed, as +to the motive, which, for the first time in his recollection, had +impelled him, not merely to conceal from his mother a singular +circumstance in his life (for that, he felt would have been but venial; +and besides, as will eventually be seen, he could find one particular +precedent for it, in his past experience) but likewise, and +superaddedly, to parry, nay, to evade, and, in effect, to return +something alarmingly like a fib, to an explicit question put to him by +his mother;--such being the guise, in which part of the conversation +they had had that eventful night, now appeared to his fastidious sense. +He considered also, that his evasive answer had not pantheistically +burst from him in a momentary interregnum of self-command. No; his +mother had made quite a lengthy speech to him; during which he well +remembered, he had been carefully, though with trepidation, turning over +in his mind, how best he might recall her from her unwished-for and +untimely scent. Why had this been so? Was this his wont? What +inscrutable thing was it, that so suddenly had seized him, and made him +a falsifyer--ay, a falsifyer and nothing less--to his own +dearly-beloved, and confiding mother? Here, indeed, was something +strange for him; here was stuff for his utmost ethical meditations. But, +nevertheless, on strict introspection, he felt, that he would not +willingly have it otherwise; not willingly would he now undissemble +himself in this matter to his mother. Why was this, too? Was this his +wont? Here, again, was food for mysticism. Here, in imperfect inklings, +tinglings, presentiments, Pierre began to feel--what all mature men, who +are Magians, sooner or later know, and more or less assuredly--that not +always in our actions, are we our own factors. But this conceit was very +dim in Pierre; and dimness is ever suspicious and repugnant to us; and +so, Pierre shrank abhorringly from the infernal catacombs of thought, +down into which, this foetal fancy beckoned him. Only this, though in +secret, did he cherish; only this, he felt persuaded of; namely, that +not for both worlds would he have his mother made a partner to his +sometime mystic mood. + +But with this nameless fascination of the face upon him, during those +two days that it had first and fully possessed him for its own, did +perplexed Pierre refrain from that apparently most natural of all +resources,--boldly seeking out, and returning to the palpable cause, and +questioning her, by look or voice, or both together--the mysterious girl +herself? No; not entirely did Pierre here refrain. But his profound +curiosity and interest in the matter--strange as it may seem--did not so +much appear to be embodied in the mournful person of the olive girl, as +by some radiations from her, embodied in the vague conceits which +agitated his own soul. _There_, lurked the subtler secret: _that_, +Pierre had striven to tear away. From without, no wonderful effect is +wrought within ourselves, unless some interior, responding wonder meets +it. That the starry vault shall surcharge the heart with all rapturous +marvelings, is only because we ourselves are greater miracles, and +superber trophies than all the stars in universal space. Wonder +interlocks with wonder; and then the confounding feeling comes. No cause +have we to fancy, that a horse, a dog, a fowl, ever stand transfixed +beneath yon skyey load of majesty. But our soul's arches underfit into +its; and so, prevent the upper arch from falling on us with +unsustainable inscrutableness. "Explain ye my deeper mystery," said the +shepherd Chaldean king, smiting his breast, lying on his back upon the +plain; "and then, I will bestow all my wonderings upon ye, ye stately +stars!" So, in some sort, with Pierre. Explain thou this strange +integral feeling in me myself, he thought--turning upon the fancied +face--and I will then renounce all other wonders, to gaze wonderingly at +thee. But thou hast evoked in me profounder spells than the evoking one, +thou face! For me, thou hast uncovered one infinite, dumb, beseeching +countenance of mystery, underlying all the surfaces of visible time and +space. + +But during those two days of his first wild vassalage to his original +sensations, Pierre had not been unvisited by less mysterious impulses. +Two or three very plain and practical plannings of desirable procedures +in reference to some possible homely explication of all this +nonsense--so he would momentarily denominate it--now and then flittingly +intermitted his pervading mood of semi-madness. Once he had seized his +hat, careless of his accustomed gloves and cane, and found himself in +the street, walking very rapidly in the direction of the Miss Pennies'. +But whither now? he disenchantingly interrogated himself. Where would +you go? A million to one, those deaf old spinsters can tell you nothing +you burn to know. Deaf old spinsters are not used to be the depositaries +of such mystical secrecies. But then, they may reveal her name--where +she dwells, and something, however fragmentary and unsatisfactory, of +who she is, and whence. Ay; but then, in ten minutes after your leaving +them, all the houses in Saddle Meadows would be humming with the gossip +of Pierre Glendinning engaged to marry Lucy Tartan, and yet running +about the country, in ambiguous pursuit of strange young women. That +will never do. You remember, do you not, often seeing the Miss Pennies, +hatless and without a shawl, hurrying through the village, like two +postmen intent on dropping some tit-bit of precious gossip? What a +morsel for them, Pierre, have you, if you now call upon them. Verily, +their trumpets are both for use and for significance. Though very deaf, +the Miss Pennies are by no means dumb. They blazon very wide. + +"Now be sure, and say that it was the Miss Pennies, who left the +news--be sure--we--the Miss Pennies--remember--say to Mrs. Glendinning +it was we." Such was the message that now half-humorously occurred to +Pierre, as having been once confided to him by the sister spinsters, one +evening when they called with a choice present of some very _recherche_ +chit-chat for his mother; but found the manorial lady out; and so +charged her son with it; hurrying away to all the inferior houses, so as +not to be anywhere forestalled in their disclosure. + +Now, I wish it had been any other house than the Miss Pennies; any other +house but theirs, and on my soul I believe I should have gone. But not +to them--no, that I can not do. It would be sure to reach my mother, and +then she would put this and that together--stir a little--let it +simmer--and farewell forever to all her majestic notions of my +immaculate integrity. Patience, Pierre, the population of this region is +not so immense. No dense mobs of Nineveh confound all personal +identities in Saddle Meadows. Patience; thou shalt see it soon again; +catch it passing thee in some green lane, sacred to thy evening +reveries. She that bears it can not dwell remote. Patience, Pierre. Ever +are such mysteries best and soonest unraveled by the eventual unraveling +of themselves. Or, if you will, go back and get your gloves, and more +especially your cane, and begin your own secret voyage of discovery +after it. Your cane, I say; because it will probably be a very long and +weary walk. True, just now I hinted, that she that bears it can not +dwell very remote; but then her nearness may not be at all conspicuous. +So, homeward, and put off thy hat, and let thy cane stay still, good +Pierre. Seek not to mystify the mystery so. + +Thus, intermittingly, ever and anon during those sad two days of +deepest sufferance, Pierre would stand reasoning and expostulating with +himself; and by such meditative treatment, reassure his own spontaneous +impulses. Doubtless, it was wise and right that so he did; doubtless: +but in a world so full of all dubieties as this, one can never be +entirely certain whether another person, however carefully and +cautiously conscientious, has acted in all respects conceivable for the +very best. + +But when the two days were gone by, and Pierre began to recognize his +former self as restored to him from its mystic exile, then the thoughts +of personally and pointedly seeking out the unknown, either +preliminarily by a call upon the sister spinsters, or generally by +performing the observant lynx-eyed circuit of the country on foot, and +as a crafty inquisitor, dissembling his cause of inquisition; these and +all similar intentions completely abandoned Pierre. + +He was now diligently striving, with all his mental might, forever to +drive the phantom from him. He seemed to feel that it begat in him a +certain condition of his being, which was most painful, and every way +uncongenial to his natural, wonted self. It had a touch of he knew not +what sort of unhealthiness in it, so to speak; for, in his then +ignorance, he could find no better term; it seemed to have in it a germ +of somewhat which, if not quickly extirpated, might insidiously poison +and embitter his whole life--that choice, delicious life which he had +vowed to Lucy for his one pure and comprehensive offering--at once a +sacrifice and a delight. + +Nor in these endeavorings did he entirely fail. For the most part, he +felt now that he had a power over the comings and the goings of the +face; but not on all occasions. Sometimes the old, original mystic +tyranny would steal upon him; the long, dark, locks of mournful hair +would fall upon his soul, and trail their wonderful melancholy along +with them; the two full, steady, over-brimming eyes of loveliness and +anguish would converge their magic rays, till he felt them kindling he +could not tell what mysterious fires in the heart at which they aimed. + +When once this feeling had him fully, then was the perilous time for +Pierre. For supernatural as the feeling was, and appealing to all things +ultramontane to his soul; yet was it a delicious sadness to him. Some +hazy fairy swam above him in the heavenly ether, and showered down upon +him the sweetest pearls of pensiveness. Then he would be seized with a +singular impulse to reveal the secret to some one other individual in +the world. Only one, not more; he could not hold all this strange +fullness in himself. It must be shared. In such an hour it was, that +chancing to encounter Lucy (her, whom above all others, he did +confidingly adore), she heard the story of the face; nor slept at all +that night; nor for a long time freed her pillow completely from wild, +Beethoven sounds of distant, waltzing melodies, as of ambiguous fairies +dancing on the heath. + + +III. + +This history goes forward and goes backward, as occasion calls. Nimble +center, circumference elastic you must have. Now we return to Pierre, +wending homeward from his reveries beneath the pine-tree. + +His burst of impatience against the sublime Italian, Dante, arising from +that poet being the one who, in a former time, had first opened to his +shuddering eyes the infinite cliffs and gulfs of human mystery and +misery;--though still more in the way of experimental vision, than of +sensational presentiment or experience (for as yet he had not seen so +far and deep as Dante, and therefore was entirely incompetent to meet +the grim bard fairly on his peculiar ground), this ignorant burst of +his young impatience,--also arising from that half contemptuous dislike, +and sometimes selfish loathing, with which, either naturally feeble or +undeveloped minds, regard those dark ravings of the loftier poets, which +are in eternal opposition to their own fine-spun, shallow dreams of +rapturous or prudential Youth;--this rash, untutored burst of Pierre's +young impatience, seemed to have carried off with it, all the other +forms of his melancholy--if melancholy it had been--and left him now +serene again, and ready for any tranquil pleasantness the gods might +have in store. For his, indeed, was true Youth's temperament,--summary +with sadness, swift to joyfulness, and long protracting, and detaining +with that joyfulness, when once it came fully nigh to him. + +As he entered the dining-hall, he saw Dates retiring from another door +with his tray. Alone and meditative, by the bared half of the polished +table, sat his mother at her dessert; fruit-baskets, and a decanter were +before her. On the other leaf of the same table, still lay the cloth, +folded back upon itself, and set out with one plate and its usual +accompaniments. + +"Sit down, Pierre; when I came home, I was surprised to hear that the +phaeton had returned so early, and here I waited dinner for you, until I +could wait no more. But go to the green pantry now, and get what Dates +has but just put away for you there. Heigh-ho! too plainly I foresee +it--no more regular dinner-hours, or tea-hours, or supper-hours, in +Saddle Meadows, till its young lord is wedded. And that puts me in mind +of something, Pierre; but I'll defer it till you have eaten a little. Do +you know, Pierre, that if you continue these irregular meals of yours, +and deprive me so entirely almost of your company, that I shall run +fearful risk of getting to be a terrible wine-bibber;--yes, could you +unalarmed see me sitting all alone here with this decanter, like any old +nurse, Pierre; some solitary, forlorn old nurse, Pierre, deserted by her +last friend, and therefore forced to embrace her flask?" + +"No, I did not feel any great alarm, sister," said Pierre, smiling, +"since I could not but perceive that the decanter was still full to the +stopple." + +"Possibly it may be only a fresh decanter, Pierre;" then changing her +voice suddenly--"but mark me, Mr. Pierre Glendinning!" + +"Well, Mrs. Mary Glendinning!" + +"Do you know, sir, that you are very shortly to be married,--that indeed +the day is all but fixed?" + +"How-!" cried Pierre, in real joyful astonishment, both at the nature of +the tidings, and the earnest tones in which they were conveyed--"dear, +dear mother, you have strangely changed your mind then, my dear mother." + +"It is even so, dear brother;--before this day month I hope to have a +little sister Tartan." + +"You talk very strangely, mother," rejoined Pierre, quickly. "I suppose, +then, I have next to nothing to say in the matter!" + +"Next to nothing, Pierre! What indeed could you say to the purpose? what +at all have you to do with it, I should like to know? Do you so much as +dream, you silly boy, that men ever have the marrying of themselves? +Juxtaposition marries men. There is but one match-maker in the world, +Pierre, and that is Mrs. Juxtaposition, a most notorious lady!" + +"Very peculiar, disenchanting sort of talk, this, under the +circumstances, sister Mary," laying down his fork. "Mrs. Juxtaposition, +ah! And in your opinion, mother, does this fine glorious passion only +amount to that?" + +"Only to that, Pierre; but mark you: according to my creed--though this +part of it is a little hazy--Mrs. Juxtaposition moves her pawns only as +she herself is moved to so doing by the spirit." + +"Ah! that sets it all right again," said Pierre, resuming his fork--"my +appetite returns. But what was that about my being married so soon?" he +added, vainly striving to assume an air of incredulity and unconcern; +"you were joking, I suppose; it seems to me, sister, either you or I was +but just now wandering in the mind a little, on that subject. Are you +really thinking of any such thing? and have you really vanquished your +sagacious scruples by yourself, after I had so long and ineffectually +sought to do it for you? Well, I am a million times delighted; tell me +quick!" + +"I will, Pierre. You very well know, that from the first hour you +apprised me--or rather, from a period prior to that--from the moment +that I, by my own insight, became aware of your love for Lucy, I have +always approved it. Lucy is a delicious girl; of honorable descent, a +fortune, well-bred, and the very pattern of all that I think amiable and +attractive in a girl of seventeen." + +"Well, well, well," cried Pierre rapidly and impetuously; "we both knew +that before." + +"Well, well, well, Pierre," retorted his mother, mockingly. + +"It is not well, well, well; but ill, ill, ill, to torture me so, +mother; go on, do!" + +"But notwithstanding my admiring approval of your choice, Pierre; yet, +as you know, I have resisted your entreaties for my consent to your +speedy marriage, because I thought that a girl of scarcely seventeen, +and a boy scarcely twenty, should not be in such a hurry;--there was +plenty of time, I thought, which could be profitably employed by both." + +"Permit me here to interrupt you, mother. Whatever you may have seen in +me; she,--I mean Lucy,--has never been in the slightest hurry to be +married;--that's all. But I shall regard it as a _lapsus-lingua_ in +you." + +"Undoubtedly, a _lapsus_. But listen to me. I have been carefully +observing both you and Lucy of late; and that has made me think further +of the matter. Now, Pierre, if you were in any profession, or in any +business at all; nay, if I were a farmer's wife, and you my child, +working in my fields; why, then, you and Lucy should still wait awhile. +But as you have nothing to do but to think of Lucy by day, and dream of +her by night, and as she is in the same predicament, I suppose; with +respect to you; and as the consequence of all this begins to be +discernible in a certain, just perceptible, and quite harmless thinness, +so to speak, of the cheek; but a very conspicuous and dangerous +febrileness of the eye; therefore, I choose the lesser of two evils; and +now you have my permission to be married, as soon as the thing can be +done with propriety. I dare say you have no objection to have the +wedding take place before Christmas, the present month being the first +of summer." + +Pierre said nothing; but leaping to his feet, threw his two arms around +his mother, and kissed her repeatedly. + +"A most sweet and eloquent answer, Pierre; but sit down again. I desire +now to say a little concerning less attractive, but quite necessary +things connected with this affair. You know, that by your father's will, +these lands and--" + +"Miss Lucy, my mistress;" said Dates, throwing open the door. + +Pierre sprang to his feet; but as if suddenly mindful of his mother's +presence, composed himself again, though he still approached the door. + +Lucy entered, carrying a little basket of strawberries. + +"Why, how do you do, my dear," said Mrs. Glendinning affectionately. +"This is an unexpected pleasure." + +"Yes; and I suppose that Pierre here is a little surprised too; seeing +that he was to call upon me this evening, and not I upon him before +sundown. But I took a sudden fancy for a solitary stroll,--the afternoon +was such a delicious one; and chancing--it was only chancing--to pass +through the Locust Lane leading hither, I met the strangest little +fellow, with this basket in his hand.--'Yes, buy them, miss'--said he. +'And how do you know I want to buy them,' returned I, 'I don't want to +buy them.'--'Yes you do, miss; they ought to be twenty-six cents, but +I'll take thirteen cents, that being my shilling. I always want the odd +half cent, I do. Come, I can't wait, I have been expecting you long +enough.'" + +"A very sagacious little imp," laughed Mrs. Glendinning. + +"Impertinent little rascal," cried Pierre. + +"And am I not now the silliest of all silly girls, to be telling you my +adventures so very frankly," smiled Lucy. + +"No; but the most celestial of all innocents," cried Pierre, in a +rhapsody of delight. "Frankly open is the flower, that hath nothing but +purity to show." + +"Now, my dear little Lucy," said Mrs. Glendinning, "let Pierre take off +your shawl, and come now and stay to tea with us. Pierre has put back +the dinner so, the tea-hour will come now very soon." + +"Thank you; but I can not stay this time. Look, I have forgotten my own +errand; I brought these strawberries for you, Mrs. Glendinning, and for +Pierre;--Pierre is so wonderfully fond of them." + +"I was audacious enough to think as much," cried Pierre, "for you _and_ +me, you see, mother; for you _and_ me, you understand that, I hope." + +"Perfectly, my dear brother." + +Lucy blushed. + +"How warm it is, Mrs. Glendinning." + +"Very warm, Lucy. So you won't stay to tea?" + +"No, I must go now; just a little stroll, that's all; good-bye! Now +don't be following me, Pierre. Mrs. Glendinning, will you keep Pierre +back? I know you want him; you were talking over some private affair +when I entered; you both looked so very confidential." + +"And you were not very far from right, Lucy," said Mrs. Glendinning, +making no sign to stay her departure. + +"Yes, business of the highest importance," said Pierre, fixing his eyes +upon Lucy significantly. + +At this moment, Lucy just upon the point of her departure, was hovering +near the door; the setting sun, streaming through the window, bathed her +whole form in golden loveliness and light; that wonderful, and most +vivid transparency of her clear Welsh complexion, now fairly glowed like +rosy snow. Her flowing, white, blue-ribboned dress, fleecily invested +her. Pierre almost thought that she could only depart the house by +floating out of the open window, instead of actually stepping from the +door. All her aspect to him, was that moment touched with an +indescribable gayety, buoyancy, fragility, and an unearthly evanescence. + +Youth is no philosopher. Not into young Pierre's heart did there then +come the thought, that as the glory of the rose endures but for a day, +so the full bloom of girlish airiness and bewitchingness, passes from +the earth almost as soon; as jealously absorbed by those frugal +elements, which again incorporate that translated girlish bloom, into +the first expanding flower-bud. Not into young Pierre, did there then +steal that thought of utmost sadness; pondering on the inevitable +evanescence of all earthly loveliness; which makes the sweetest things +of life only food for ever-devouring and omnivorous melancholy. Pierre's +thought was different from this, and yet somehow akin to it. + +This to be my wife? I that but the other day weighed an hundred and +fifty pounds of solid avoirdupois;--_I_ to wed this heavenly fleece? +Methinks one husbandly embrace would break her airy zone, and she exhale +upward to that heaven whence she hath hither come, condensed to mortal +sight. It can not be; I am of heavy earth, and she of airy light. By +heaven, but marriage is an impious thing! + +Meanwhile, as these things ran through his soul, Mrs. Glendinning also +had thinkings of her own. + +"A very beautiful tableau," she cried, at last, artistically turning her +gay head a little sideways--"very beautiful, indeed; this, I suppose is +all premeditated for my entertainment. Orpheus finding his Eurydice; or +Pluto stealing Proserpine. Admirable! It might almost stand for either." + +"No," said Pierre, gravely; "it is the last. Now, first I see a meaning +there." Yes, he added to himself inwardly, I am Pluto stealing +Proserpine; and every accepted lover is. + +"And you would be very stupid, brother Pierre, if you did not see +something there," said his mother, still that way pursuing her own +different train of thought. "The meaning thereof is this: Lucy has +commanded me to stay you; but in reality she wants you to go along with +her. Well, you may go as far as the porch; but then, you must return, +for we have not concluded our little affair, you know. Adieu, little +lady!" + +There was ever a slight degree of affectionate patronizing in the manner +of the resplendent, full-blown Mrs. Glendinning, toward the delicate and +shrinking girlhood of young Lucy. She treated her very much as she might +have treated some surpassingly beautiful and precocious child; and this +was precisely what Lucy was. Looking beyond the present period, Mrs. +Glendinning could not but perceive, that even in Lucy's womanly +maturity, Lucy would still be a child to her; because, she, elated, +felt, that in a certain intellectual vigor, so to speak, she was the +essential opposite of Lucy, whose sympathetic mind and person had both +been cast in one mould of wondrous delicacy. But here Mrs. Glendinning +was both right and wrong. So far as she here saw a difference between +herself and Lucy Tartan, she did not err; but so far--and that was very +far--as she thought she saw her innate superiority to her in the +absolute scale of being, here she very widely and immeasurably erred. +For what may be artistically styled angelicalness, this is the highest +essence compatible with created being; and angelicalness hath no vulgar +vigor in it. And that thing which very often prompts to the display of +any vigor--which thing, in man or woman, is at bottom nothing but +ambition--this quality is purely earthly, and not angelical. It is +false, that any angels fell by reason of ambition. Angels never fall; +and never feel ambition. Therefore, benevolently, and affectionately, +and all-sincerely, as thy heart, oh, Mrs. Glendinning! now standest +affected toward the fleecy Lucy; still, lady, thou dost very sadly +mistake it, when the proud, double-arches of the bright breastplate of +thy bosom, expand with secret triumph over one, whom thou so sweetly, +but still so patronizingly stylest, The Little Lucy. + +But ignorant of these further insights, that very superb-looking lady, +now waiting Pierre's return from the portico door, sat in a very +matronly revery; her eyes fixed upon the decanter of amber-hued wine +before her. Whether it was that she somehow saw some lurking analogical +similitude between that remarkably slender, and gracefully cut little +pint-decanter, brimfull of light, golden wine, or not, there is no +absolute telling now. But really, the peculiarly, and reminiscently, and +forecastingly complacent expression of her beaming and benevolent +countenance, seemed a tell-tale of some conceit very much like the +following:--Yes, she's a very pretty little pint-decanter of a girl: a +very pretty little Pale Sherry pint-decanter of a girl; and I--I'm a +quart decanter of--of--Port--potent Port! Now, Sherry for boys, and Port +for men--so I've heard men say; and Pierre is but a boy; but when his +father wedded me,--why, his father was turned of five-and-thirty years. + +After a little further waiting for him, Mrs. Glendinning heard Pierre's +voice--"Yes, before eight o'clock at least, Lucy--no fear;" and then the +hall door banged, and Pierre returned to her. + +But now she found that this unforeseen visit of Lucy had completely +routed all business capacity in her mercurial son; fairly capsizing him +again into, there was no telling what sea of pleasant pensiveness. + +"Dear me! some other time, sister Mary." + +"Not this time; that is very certain, Pierre. Upon my word I shall have +to get Lucy kidnapped, and temporarily taken out of the country, and you +handcuffed to the table, else there will be no having a preliminary +understanding with you, previous to calling in the lawyers. Well, I +shall yet manage you, one way or other. Good-bye, Pierre; I see you +don't want me now. I suppose I shan't see you till to-morrow morning. +Luckily, I have a very interesting book to read. Adieu!" + +But Pierre remained in his chair; his gaze fixed upon the stilly sunset +beyond the meadows, and far away to the now golden hills. A glorious, +softly glorious, and most gracious evening, which seemed plainly a +tongue to all humanity, saying: I go down in beauty to rise in joy; Love +reigns throughout all worlds that sunsets visit; it is a foolish ghost +story; there is no such thing as misery. Would Love, which is +omnipotent, have misery in his domain? Would the god of sunlight decree +gloom? It is a flawless, speckless, fleckless, beautiful world +throughout; joy now, and joy forever! + +Then the face, which before had seemed mournfully and reproachfully +looking out upon him from the effulgent sunset's heart; the face slid +from him; and left alone there with his soul's joy, thinking that that +very night he would utter the magic word of marriage to his Lucy; not a +happier youth than Pierre Glendinning sat watching that day's sun go +down. + + +IV. + +After this morning of gayety, this noon of tragedy, and this evening so +full of chequered pensiveness; Pierre now possessed his soul in joyful +mildness and steadfastness; feeling none of that wild anguish of +anticipative rapture, which, in weaker minds, too often dislodges Love's +sweet bird from her nest. + +The early night was warm, but dark--for the moon was not risen yet--and +as Pierre passed on beneath the pendulous canopies of the long arms of +the weeping elms of the village, an almost impenetrable blackness +surrounded him, but entered not the gently illuminated halls of his +heart. He had not gone very far, when in the distance beyond, he noticed +a light moving along the opposite side of the road, and slowly +approaching. As it was the custom for some of the more elderly, and +perhaps timid inhabitants of the village, to carry a lantern when going +abroad of so dark a night, this object conveyed no impression of novelty +to Pierre; still, as it silently drew nearer and nearer, the one only +distinguishable thing before him, he somehow felt a nameless +presentiment that the light must be seeking him. He had nearly gained +the cottage door, when the lantern crossed over toward him; and as his +nimble hand was laid at last upon the little wicket-gate, which he +thought was now to admit him to so much delight; a heavy hand was laid +upon himself, and at the same moment, the lantern was lifted toward his +face, by a hooded and obscure-looking figure, whose half-averted +countenance he could but indistinctly discern. But Pierre's own open +aspect, seemed to have been quickly scrutinized by the other. + +"I have a letter for Pierre Glendinning," said the stranger, "and I +believe this is he." At the same moment, a letter was drawn forth, and +sought his hand. + +"For me!" exclaimed Pierre, faintly, starting at the strangeness of the +encounter;--"methinks this is an odd time and place to deliver your +mail;--who are you?--Stay!" + +But without waiting an answer, the messenger had already turned about, +and was re-crossing the road. In the first impulse of the moment, Pierre +stept forward, and would have pursued him; but smiling at his own +causeless curiosity and trepidation, paused again; and softly turned +over the letter in his hand. What mysterious correspondent is this, +thought he, circularly moving his thumb upon the seal; no one writes me +but from abroad; and their letters come through the office; and as for +Lucy--pooh!--when she herself is within, she would hardly have her notes +delivered at her own gate. Strange! but I'll in, and read it;--no, not +that;--I come to read again in her own sweet heart--that dear missive to +me from heaven,--and this impertinent letter would pre-occupy me. I'll +wait till I go home. + +He entered the gate, and laid his hand upon the cottage knocker. Its +sudden coolness caused a slight, and, at any other time, an +unaccountable sympathetic sensation in his hand. To his unwonted mood, +the knocker seemed to say--"Enter not!--Begone, and first read thy +note." + +Yielding now, half alarmed, and half bantering with himself, to these +shadowy interior monitions, he half-unconsciously quitted the door; +repassed the gate; and soon found himself retracing his homeward path. + +He equivocated with himself no more; the gloom of the air had now burst +into his heart, and extinguished its light; then, first in all his life, +Pierre felt the irresistible admonitions and intuitions of Fate. + +He entered the hall unnoticed, passed up to his chamber, and hurriedly +locking the door in the dark, lit his lamp. As the summoned flame +illuminated the room, Pierre, standing before the round center-table, +where the lamp was placed, with his hand yet on the brass circle which +regulated the wick, started at a figure in the opposite mirror. It bore +the outline of Pierre, but now strangely filled with features +transformed, and unfamiliar to him; feverish eagerness, fear, and +nameless forebodings of ill! He threw himself into a chair, and for a +time vainly struggled with the incomprehensible power that possessed +him. Then, as he avertedly drew the letter from his bosom, he whispered +to himself--Out on thee, Pierre! how sheepish now will ye feel when this +tremendous note will turn out to be an invitation to a supper to-morrow +night; quick, fool, and write the stereotyped reply: Mr. Pierre +Glendinning will be very happy to accept Miss so and so's polite +invitation. + +Still for the moment he held the letter averted. The messenger had so +hurriedly accosted him, and delivered his duty, that Pierre had not yet +so much as gained one glance at the superscription of the note. And now +the wild thought passed through his mind of what would be the result, +should he deliberately destroy the note, without so much as looking at +the hand that had addressed it. Hardly had this half-crazy conceit fully +made itself legible in his soul, when he was conscious of his two hands +meeting in the middle of the sundered note! He leapt from his chair--By +heaven! he murmured, unspeakably shocked at the intensity of that mood +which had caused him unwittingly as it were, to do for the first time in +his whole life, an act of which he was privately ashamed. Though the +mood that was on him was none of his own willful seeking; yet now he +swiftly felt conscious that he had perhaps a little encouraged it, +through that certain strange infatuation of fondness, which the human +mind, however vigorous, sometimes feels for any emotion at once novel +and mystical. Not willingly, at such times--never mind how fearful we +may be--do we try to dissolve the spell which seems, for the time, to +admit us, all astonished, into the vague vestibule of the spiritual +worlds. + +Pierre now seemed distinctly to feel two antagonistic agencies within +him; one of which was just struggling into his consciousness, and each +of which was striving for the mastery; and between whose respective +final ascendencies, he thought he could perceive, though but shadowly, +that he himself was to be the only umpire. One bade him finish the +selfish destruction of the note; for in some dark way the reading of it +would irretrievably entangle his fate. The other bade him dismiss all +misgivings; not because there was no possible ground for them, but +because to dismiss them was the manlier part, never mind what might +betide. This good angel seemed mildly to say--Read, Pierre, though by +reading thou may'st entangle thyself, yet may'st thou thereby +disentangle others. Read, and feel that best blessedness which, with the +sense of all duties discharged, holds happiness indifferent. The bad +angel insinuatingly breathed--Read it not, dearest Pierre; but destroy +it, and be happy. Then, at the blast of his noble heart, the bad angel +shrunk up into nothingness; and the good one defined itself clearer and +more clear, and came nigher and more nigh to him, smiling sadly but +benignantly; while forth from the infinite distances wonderful harmonies +stole into his heart; so that every vein in him pulsed to some heavenly +swell. + + +V. + +"The name at the end of this letter will be wholly strange to thee. +Hitherto my existence has been utterly unknown to thee. This letter will +touch thee and pain thee. Willingly would I spare thee, but I can not. +My heart bears me witness, that did I think that the suffering these +lines would give thee, would, in the faintest degree, compare with what +mine has been, I would forever withhold them. + +"Pierre Glendinning, thou art not the only child of thy father; in the +eye of the sun, the hand that traces this is thy sister's; yes, Pierre, +Isabel calls thee her brother--her brother! oh, sweetest of words, which +so often I have thought to myself, and almost deemed it profanity for an +outcast like me to speak or think. Dearest Pierre, my brother, my own +father's child! art thou an angel, that thou canst overleap all the +heartless usages and fashions of a banded world, that will call thee +fool, fool, fool! and curse thee, if thou yieldest to that heavenly +impulse which alone can lead thee to respond to the long tyrannizing, +and now at last unquenchable yearnings of my bursting heart? Oh, my +brother! + +"But, Pierre Glendinning, I will be proud with thee. Let not my hapless +condition extinguish in me, the nobleness which I equally inherit with +thee. Thou shall not be cozened, by my tears and my anguish, into any +thing which thy most sober hour will repent. Read no further. If it suit +thee, burn this letter; so shalt thou escape the certainty of that +knowledge, which, if thou art now cold and selfish, may hereafter, in +some maturer, remorseful, and helpless hour, cause thee a poignant +upbraiding. No, I shall not, I will not implore thee.--Oh, my brother, +my dear, dear Pierre,--help me, fly to me; see, I perish without +thee;--pity, pity,--here I freeze in the wide, wide world;--no father, +no mother, no sister, no brother, no living thing in the fair form of +humanity, that holds me dear. No more, oh no more, dear Pierre, can I +endure to be an outcast in the world, for which the dear Savior died. +Fly to me, Pierre;--nay, I could tear what I now write,--as I have torn +so many other sheets, all written for thy eye, but which never reached +thee, because in my distraction, I knew not how to write to thee, nor +what to say to thee; and so, behold again how I rave. + +"Nothing more; I will write no more;--silence becomes this grave;--the +heart-sickness steals over me, Pierre, my brother. + +"Scarce know I what I have written. Yet will I write thee the fatal +line, and leave all the rest to thee, Pierre, my brother.--She that is +called Isabel Banford dwells in the little red farm-house, three miles +from the village, on the slope toward the lake. To-morrow +night-fall--not before--not by day, not by day, Pierre. + +THY SISTER, ISABEL." + + +VI. + +This letter, inscribed in a feminine, but irregular hand, and in some +places almost illegible, plainly attesting the state of the mind which +had dictated it;--stained, too, here and there, with spots of tears, +which chemically acted upon by the ink, assumed a strange and reddish +hue--as if blood and not tears had dropped upon the sheet;--and so +completely torn in two by Pierre's own hand, that it indeed seemed the +fit scroll of a torn, as well as bleeding heart;--this amazing letter, +deprived Pierre for the time of all lucid and definite thought or +feeling. He hung half-lifeless in his chair; his hand, clutching the +letter, was pressed against his heart, as if some assassin had stabbed +him and fled; and Pierre was now holding the dagger in the wound, to +stanch the outgushing of the blood. + +Ay, Pierre, now indeed art thou hurt with a wound, never to be +completely healed but in heaven; for thee, the before undistrusted moral +beauty of the world is forever fled; for thee, thy sacred father is no +more a saint; all brightness hath gone from thy hills, and all peace +from thy plains; and now, now, for the first time, Pierre, Truth rolls a +black billow through thy soul! Ah, miserable thou, to whom Truth, in her +first tides, bears nothing but wrecks! + +The perceptible forms of things; the shapes of thoughts; the pulses of +life, but slowly came back to Pierre. And as the mariner, shipwrecked +and cast on the beach, has much ado to escape the recoil of the wave +that hurled him there; so Pierre long struggled, and struggled, to +escape the recoil of that anguish, which had dashed him out of itself, +upon the beach of his swoon. + +But man was not made to succumb to the villain Woe. Youth is not young +and a wrestler in vain. Pierre staggeringly rose to his feet; his wide +eyes fixed, and his whole form in a tremble. + +"Myself am left, at least," he slowly and half-chokingly murmured. "With +myself I front thee! Unhand me all fears, and unlock me all spells! +Henceforth I will know nothing but Truth; glad Truth, or sad Truth; I +will know what is, and do what my deepest angel dictates.--The +letter!--Isabel,--sister,--brother,--me, _me_--my sacred father!--This +is some accursed dream!--nay, but this paper thing is forged,--a base +and malicious forgery, I swear;--Well didst thou hide thy face from me, +thou vile lanterned messenger, that didst accost me on the threshold of +Joy, with this lying warrant of Woe! Doth Truth come in the dark, and +steal on us, and rob us so, and then depart, deaf to all pursuing +invocations? If this night, which now wraps my soul, be genuine as that +which now wraps this half of the world; then Fate, I have a choice +quarrel with thee. Thou art a palterer and a cheat; thou hast lured me +on through gay gardens to a gulf. Oh! falsely guided in the days of my +Joy, am I now truly led in this night of my grief?--I will be a raver, +and none shall stay me! I will lift my hand in fury, for am I not +struck? I will be bitter in my breath, for is not this cup of gall? Thou +Black Knight, that with visor down, thus confrontest me, and mockest at +me; Lo! I strike through thy helm, and will see thy face, be it +Gorgon!--Let me go, ye fond affections; all piety leave me;--I will be +impious, for piety hath juggled me, and taught me to revere, where I +should spurn. From all idols, I tear all veils; henceforth I will see +the hidden things; and live right out in my own hidden life!--Now I feel +that nothing but Truth can move me so. This letter is not a forgery. Oh! +Isabel, thou art my sister; and I will love thee, and protect thee, ay, +and own thee through all. Ah! forgive me, ye heavens, for my ignorant +ravings, and accept this my vow.--Here I swear myself Isabel's. Oh! thou +poor castaway girl, that in loneliness and anguish must have long +breathed that same air, which I have only inhaled for delight; thou who +must even now be weeping, and weeping, cast into an ocean of uncertainty +as to thy fate, which heaven hath placed in my hands; sweet Isabel! +would I not be baser than brass, and harder, and colder than ice, if I +could be insensible to such claims as thine? Thou movest before me, in +rainbows spun of thy tears! I see thee long weeping, and God demands me +for thy comforter; and comfort thee, stand by thee, and fight for thee, +will thy leapingly-acknowledging brother, whom thy own father named +Pierre!" + +He could not stay in his chamber: the house contracted to a nut-shell +around him; the walls smote his forehead; bare-headed he rushed from the +place, and only in the infinite air, found scope for that boundless +expansion of his life. + + + + +BOOK IV. + +RETROSPECTIVE. + + +I. + + +In their precise tracings-out and subtile causations, the strongest and +fieriest emotions of life defy all analytical insight. We see the cloud, +and feel its bolt; but meteorology only idly essays a critical scrutiny +as to how that cloud became charged, and how this bolt so stuns. The +metaphysical writers confess, that the most impressive, sudden, and +overwhelming event, as well as the minutest, is but the product of an +infinite series of infinitely involved and untraceable foregoing +occurrences. Just so with every motion of the heart. Why this cheek +kindles with a noble enthusiasm; why that lip curls in scorn; these are +things not wholly imputable to the immediate apparent cause, which is +only one link in the chain; but to a long line of dependencies whose +further part is lost in the mid-regions of the impalpable air. + +Idle then would it be to attempt by any winding way so to penetrate into +the heart, and memory, and inmost life, and nature of Pierre, as to show +why it was that a piece of intelligence which, in the natural course of +things, many amiable gentlemen, both young and old, have been known to +receive with a momentary feeling of surprise, and then a little +curiosity to know more, and at last an entire unconcern; idle would it +be, to attempt to show how to Pierre it rolled down on his soul like +melted lava, and left so deep a deposit of desolation, that all his +subsequent endeavors never restored the original temples to the soil, +nor all his culture completely revived its buried bloom. + +But some random hints may suffice to deprive a little of its +strangeness, that tumultuous mood, into which so small a note had thrown +him. + +There had long stood a shrine in the fresh-foliaged heart of Pierre, up +to which he ascended by many tableted steps of remembrance; and around +which annually he had hung fresh wreaths of a sweet and holy affection. +Made one green bower of at last, by such successive votive offerings of +his being; this shrine seemed, and was indeed, a place for the +celebration of a chastened joy, rather than for any melancholy rites. +But though thus mantled, and tangled with garlands, this shrine was of +marble--a niched pillar, deemed solid and eternal, and from whose top +radiated all those innumerable sculptured scrolls and branches, which +supported the entire one-pillared temple of his moral life; as in some +beautiful gothic oratories, one central pillar, trunk-like, upholds the +roof. In this shrine, in this niche of this pillar, stood the perfect +marble form of his departed father; without blemish, unclouded, +snow-white, and serene; Pierre's fond personification of perfect human +goodness and virtue. Before this shrine, Pierre poured out the fullness +of all young life's most reverential thoughts and beliefs. Not to God +had Pierre ever gone in his heart, unless by ascending the steps of that +shrine, and so making it the vestibule of his abstractest religion. + +Blessed and glorified in his tomb beyond Prince Mausolus is that mortal +sire, who, after an honorable, pure course of life, dies, and is buried, +as in a choice fountain, in the filial breast of a tender-hearted and +intellectually appreciative child. For at that period, the Solomonic +insights have not poured their turbid tributaries into the pure-flowing +well of the childish life. Rare preservative virtue, too, have those +heavenly waters. Thrown into that fountain, all sweet recollections +become marbleized; so that things which in themselves were evanescent, +thus became unchangeable and eternal. So, some rare waters in Derbyshire +will petrify birds'-nests. But if fate preserves the father to a later +time, too often the filial obsequies are less profound; the canonization +less ethereal. The eye-expanded boy perceives, or vaguely thinks he +perceives, slight specks and flaws in the character he once so wholly +reverenced. + +When Pierre was twelve years old, his father had died, leaving behind +him, in the general voice of the world, a marked reputation as a +gentleman and a Christian; in the heart of his wife, a green memory of +many healthy days of unclouded and joyful wedded life, and in the inmost +soul of Pierre, the impression of a bodily form of rare manly beauty and +benignity, only rivaled by the supposed perfect mould in which his +virtuous heart had been cast. Of pensive evenings, by the wide winter +fire, or in summer, in the southern piazza, when that mystical +night-silence so peculiar to the country would summon up in the minds of +Pierre and his mother, long trains of the images of the past; leading +all that spiritual procession, majestically and holily walked the +venerated form of the departed husband and father. Then their talk would +be reminiscent and serious, but sweet; and again, and again, still deep +and deeper, was stamped in Pierre's soul the cherished conceit, that his +virtuous father, so beautiful on earth, was now uncorruptibly sainted in +heaven. So choicely, and in some degree, secludedly nurtured, Pierre, +though now arrived at the age of nineteen, had never yet become so +thoroughly initiated into that darker, though truer aspect of things, +which an entire residence in the city from the earliest period of life, +almost inevitably engraves upon the mind of any keenly observant and +reflective youth of Pierre's present years. So that up to this period, +in his breast, all remained as it had been; and to Pierre, his father's +shrine seemed spotless, and still new as the marble of the tomb of him +of Arimathea. + +Judge, then, how all-desolating and withering the blast, that for +Pierre, in one night, stripped his holiest shrine of all over-laid +bloom, and buried the mild statue of the saint beneath the prostrated +ruins of the soul's temple itself. + + +II. + +As the vine flourishes, and the grape empurples close up to the very +walls and muzzles of cannoned Ehrenbreitstein; so do the sweetest joys +of life grow in the very jaws of its perils. + +But is life, indeed, a thing for all infidel levities, and we, its +misdeemed beneficiaries, so utterly fools and infatuate, that what we +take to be our strongest tower of delight, only stands at the caprice of +the minutest event--the falling of a leaf, the hearing of a voice, or +the receipt of one little bit of paper scratched over with a few small +characters by a sharpened feather? Are we so entirely insecure, that +that casket, wherein we have placed our holiest and most final joy, and +which we have secured by a lock of infinite deftness; can that casket be +picked and desecrated at the merest stranger's touch, when we think that +we alone hold the only and chosen key? + +Pierre! thou art foolish; rebuild--no, not that, for thy shrine still +stands; it stands, Pierre, firmly stands; smellest thou not its yet +undeparted, embowering bloom? Such a note as thine can be easily enough +written, Pierre; impostors are not unknown in this curious world; or the +brisk novelist, Pierre, will write thee fifty such notes, and so steal +gushing tears from his reader's eyes; even as _thy_ note so strangely +made thine own manly eyes so arid; so glazed, and so arid, +Pierre--foolish Pierre! + +Oh! mock not the poniarded heart. The stabbed man knows the steel; prate +not to him that it is only a tickling feather. Feels he not the interior +gash? What does this blood on my vesture? and what does this pang in my +soul? + +And here again, not unreasonably, might invocations go up to those Three +Weird Ones, that tend Life's loom. Again we might ask them, What threads +were those, oh, ye Weird Ones, that ye wove in the years foregone; that +now to Pierre, they so unerringly conduct electric presentiments, that +his woe is woe, his father no more a saint, and Isabel a sister indeed? + +Ah, fathers and mothers! all the world round, be heedful,--give heed! +Thy little one may not now comprehend the meaning of those words and +those signs, by which, in its innocent presence, thou thinkest to +disguise the sinister thing ye would hint. Not now he knows; not very +much even of the externals he consciously remarks; but if, in +after-life, Fate puts the chemic key of the cipher into his hands; then +how swiftly and how wonderfully, he reads all the obscurest and most +obliterate inscriptions he finds in his memory; yea, and rummages +himself all over, for still hidden writings to read. Oh, darkest lessons +of Life have thus been read; all faith in Virtue been murdered, and +youth gives itself up to an infidel scorn. + +But not thus, altogether, was it now with Pierre; yet so like, in some +points, that the above true warning may not misplacedly stand. + +His father had died of a fever; and, as is not uncommon in such +maladies, toward his end, he at intervals lowly wandered in his mind. At +such times, by unobserved, but subtle arts, the devoted family +attendants, had restrained his wife from being present at his side. But +little Pierre, whose fond, filial love drew him ever to that bed; they +heeded not innocent little Pierre, when his father was delirious; and +so, one evening, when the shadows intermingled with the curtains; and +all the chamber was hushed; and Pierre but dimly saw his father's face; +and the fire on the hearth lay in a broken temple of wonderful coals; +then a strange, plaintive, infinitely pitiable, low voice, stole forth +from the testered bed; and Pierre heard,--"My daughter! my daughter!" + +"He wanders again," said the nurse. + +"Dear, dear father!" sobbed the child--"thou hast not a daughter, but +here is thy own little Pierre." + +But again the unregardful voice in the bed was heard; and now in a +sudden, pealing wail,--"My daughter!--God! God!--my daughter!" + +The child snatched the dying man's hand; it faintly grew to his grasp; +but on the other side of the bed, the other hand now also emptily lifted +itself and emptily caught, as if at some other childish fingers. Then +both hands dropped on the sheet; and in the twinkling shadows of the +evening little Pierre seemed to see, that while the hand which he held +wore a faint, feverish flush, the other empty one was ashy white as a +leper's. + +"It is past," whispered the nurse, "he will wander so no more now till +midnight,--that is his wont." And then, in her heart, she wondered how +it was, that so excellent a gentleman, and so thoroughly good a man, +should wander so ambiguously in his mind; and trembled to think of that +mysterious thing in the soul, which seems to acknowledge no human +jurisdiction, but in spite of the individual's own innocent self, will +still dream horrid dreams, and mutter unmentionable thoughts; and into +Pierre's awe-stricken, childish soul, there entered a kindred, though +still more nebulous conceit. But it belonged to the spheres of the +impalpable ether; and the child soon threw other and sweeter +remembrances over it, and covered it up; and at last, it was blended +with all other dim things, and imaginings of dimness; and so, seemed to +survive to no real life in Pierre. But though through many long years +the henbane showed no leaves in his soul; yet the sunken seed was +there: and the first glimpse of Isabel's letter caused it to spring +forth, as by magic. Then, again, the long-hushed, plaintive and +infinitely pitiable voice was heard,--"My daughter! my daughter!" +followed by the compunctious "God! God!" And to Pierre, once again the +empty hand lifted itself, and once again the ashy hand fell. + + +III. + +In the cold courts of justice the dull head demands oaths, and holy writ +proofs; but in the warm halls of the heart one single, untestified +memory's spark shall suffice to enkindle such a blaze of evidence, that +all the corners of conviction are as suddenly lighted up as a midnight +city by a burning building, which on every side whirls its reddened +brands. + +In a locked, round-windowed closet connecting with the chamber of +Pierre, and whither he had always been wont to go, in those sweetly +awful hours, when the spirit crieth to the spirit, Come into solitude +with me, twin-brother; come away: a secret have I; let me whisper it to +thee aside; in this closet, sacred to the Tadmore privacies and repose +of the sometimes solitary Pierre, there hung, by long cords from the +cornice, a small portrait in oil, before which Pierre had many a time +trancedly stood. Had this painting hung in any annual public exhibition, +and in its turn been described in print by the casual glancing critics, +they would probably have described it thus, and truthfully: "An +impromptu portrait of a fine-looking, gay-hearted, youthful gentleman. +He is lightly, and, as it were, airily and but grazingly seated in, or +rather flittingly tenanting an old-fashioned chair of Malacca. One arm +confining his hat and cane is loungingly thrown over the back of the +chair, while the fingers of the other hand play with his gold +watch-seal and key. The free-templed head is sideways turned, with a +peculiarly bright, and care-free, morning expression. He seems as if +just dropped in for a visit upon some familiar acquaintance. Altogether, +the painting is exceedingly clever and cheerful; with a fine, off-handed +expression about it. Undoubtedly a portrait, and no fancy-piece; and, to +hazard a vague conjecture, by an amateur." + +So bright, and so cheerful then; so trim, and so young; so singularly +healthful, and handsome; what subtile element could so steep this whole +portrait, that, to the wife of the original, it was namelessly +unpleasant and repelling? The mother of Pierre could never abide this +picture which she had always asserted did signally belie her husband. +Her fond memories of the departed refused to hang one single wreath +around it. It is not he, she would emphatically and almost indignantly +exclaim, when more urgently besought to reveal the cause for so +unreasonable a dissent from the opinion of nearly all the other +connections and relatives of the deceased. But the portrait which she +held to do justice to her husband, correctly to convey his features in +detail, and more especially their truest, and finest, and noblest +combined expression; this portrait was a much larger one, and in the +great drawing-room below occupied the most conspicuous and honorable +place on the wall. + +Even to Pierre these two paintings had always seemed strangely +dissimilar. And as the larger one had been painted many years after the +other, and therefore brought the original pretty nearly within his own +childish recollections; therefore, he himself could not but deem it by +far the more truthful and life-like presentation of his father. So that +the mere preference of his mother, however strong, was not at all +surprising to him, but rather coincided with his own conceit. Yet not +for this, must the other portrait be so decidedly rejected. Because, in +the first place, there was a difference in time, and some difference of +costume to be considered, and the wide difference of the styles of the +respective artiste, and the wide difference of those respective, +semi-reflected, ideal faces, which, even in the presence of the +original, a spiritual artist will rather choose to draw from than from +the fleshy face, however brilliant and fine. Moreover, while the larger +portrait was that of a middle-aged, married man, and seemed to possess +all the nameless and slightly portly tranquillities, incident to that +condition when a felicitous one; the smaller portrait painted a brisk, +unentangled, young bachelor, gayly ranging up and down in the world; +light-hearted, and a very little bladish perhaps; and charged to the +lips with the first uncloying morning fullness and freshness of life. +Here, certainly, large allowance was to be made in any careful, candid +estimation of these portraits. To Pierre this conclusion had become +well-nigh irresistible, when he placed side by side two portraits of +himself; one taken in his early childhood, a frocked and belted boy of +four years old; and the other, a grown youth of sixteen. Except an +indestructible, all-surviving something in the eyes and on the temples, +Pierre could hardly recognize the loud-laughing boy in the tall, and +pensively smiling youth. If a few years, then, can have in me made all +this difference, why not in my father? thought Pierre. + +Besides all this, Pierre considered the history, and, so to speak, the +family legend of the smaller painting. In his fifteenth year, it was +made a present to him by an old maiden aunt, who resided in the city, +and who cherished the memory of Pierre's father, with all that wonderful +amaranthine devotion which an advanced maiden sister ever feels for the +idea of a beloved younger brother, now dead and irrevocably gone. As the +only child of that brother, Pierre was an object of the warmest and most +extravagant attachment on the part of this lonely aunt, who seemed to +see, transformed into youth once again, the likeness, and very soul of +her brother, in the fair, inheriting brow of Pierre. Though the portrait +we speak of was inordinately prized by her, yet at length the strict +canon of her romantic and imaginative love asserted the portrait to be +Pierre's--for Pierre was not only his father's only child, but his +namesake--so soon as Pierre should be old enough to value aright so holy +and inestimable a treasure. She had accordingly sent it to him, trebly +boxed, and finally covered with a water-proof cloth; and it was +delivered at Saddle Meadows, by an express, confidential messenger, an +old gentleman of leisure, once her forlorn, because rejected gallant, +but now her contented, and chatty neighbor. Henceforth, before a +gold-framed and gold-lidded ivory miniature,--a fraternal gift--aunt +Dorothea now offered up her morning and her evening rites, to the memory +of the noblest and handsomest of brothers. Yet an annual visit to the +far closet of Pierre--no slight undertaking now for one so stricken in +years, and every way infirm--attested the earnestness of that strong +sense of duty, that painful renunciation of self, which had induced her +voluntarily to part with the precious memorial. + + +IV. + +"Tell me, aunt," the child Pierre had early said to her, long before the +portrait became his--"tell me, aunt, how this chair-portrait, as you +call it, was painted;--who painted it?--whose chair was this?--have you +the chair now?--I don't see it in your room here;--what is papa looking +at so strangely?--I should like to know now, what papa was thinking of, +then. Do, now, dear aunt, tell me all about this picture, so that when +it is mine, as you promise me, I shall know its whole history." + +"Sit down, then, and be very still and attentive, my dear child," said +aunt Dorothea; while she a little averted her head, and tremulously and +inaccurately sought her pocket, till little Pierre cried--"Why, aunt, +the story of the picture is not in any little book, is it, that you are +going to take out and read to me?" + +"My handkerchief, my child." + +"Why, aunt, here it is, at your elbow; here, on the table; here, aunt; +take it, do; Oh, don't tell me any thing about the picture, now; I won't +hear it." + +"Be still, my darling Pierre," said his aunt, taking the handkerchief, +"draw the curtain a little, dearest; the light hurts my eyes. Now, go +into the closet, and bring me my dark shawl;--take your time.--There; +thank you, Pierre; now sit down again, and I will begin.--The picture +was painted long ago, my child; you were not born then." + +"Not born?" cried little Pierre. + +"Not born," said his aunt. + +"Well, go on, aunt; but don't tell me again that once upon a time I was +not little Pierre at all, and yet my father was alive. Go on, aunt,--do, +do!" + +"Why, how nervous you are getting, my child;--Be patient; I am very old, +Pierre; and old people never like to be hurried." + +"Now, my own dear Aunt Dorothea, do forgive me this once, and go on with +your story." + +"When your poor father was quite a young man, my child, and was on one +of his long autumnal visits to his friends in this city, he was rather +intimate at times with a cousin of his, Ralph Winwood, who was about his +own age,--a fine youth he was, too, Pierre." + +"I never saw him, aunt; pray, where is he now?" interrupted +Pierre;--"does he live in the country, now, as mother and I do?" + +"Yes, my child; but a far-away, beautiful country, I hope;--he's in +heaven, I trust." + +"Dead," sighed little Pierre--"go on, aunt." + +"Now, cousin Ralph had a great love for painting, my child; and he +spent many hours in a room, hung all round with pictures and portraits; +and there he had his easel and brushes; and much liked to paint his +friends, and hang their faces on his walls; so that when all alone by +himself, he yet had plenty of company, who always wore their best +expressions to him, and never once ruffled him, by ever getting cross or +ill-natured, little Pierre. Often, he had besought your father to sit to +him; saying, that his silent circle of friends would never be complete, +till your father consented to join them. But in those days, my child, +your father was always in motion. It was hard for me to get him to stand +still, while I tied his cravat; for he never came to any one but me for +that. So he was always putting off, and putting off cousin Ralph. 'Some +other time, cousin; not to-day;--to-morrow, perhaps;--or next +week;'--and so, at last cousin Ralph began to despair. But I'll catch +him yet, cried sly cousin Ralph. So now he said nothing more to your +father about the matter of painting him; but every pleasant morning kept +his easel and brushes and every thing in readiness; so as to be ready +the first moment your father should chance to drop in upon him from his +long strolls; for it was now and then your father's wont to pay flying +little visits to cousin Ralph in his painting-room.--But, my child, you +may draw back the curtain now--it's getting very dim here, seems to me." + +"Well, I thought so all along, aunt," said little Pierre, obeying; "but +didn't you say the light hurt your eyes." + +"But it does not now, little Pierre." + +"Well, well; go on, go on, aunt; you can't think how interested I am," +said little Pierre, drawing his stool close up to the quilted satin hem +of his good Aunt Dorothea's dress. + +"I will, my child. But first let me tell you, that about this time there +arrived in the port, a cabin-full of French emigrants of quality;--poor +people, Pierre, who were forced to fly from their native land, because +of the cruel, blood-shedding times there. But you have read all that in +the little history I gave you, a good while ago." + +"I know all about it;--the French Revolution," said little Pierre. + +"What a famous little scholar you are, my dear child,"--said Aunt +Dorothea, faintly smiling--"among those poor, but noble emigrants, there +was a beautiful young girl, whose sad fate afterward made a great noise +in the city, and made many eyes to weep, but in vain, for she never was +heard of any more." + +"How? how? aunt;--I don't understand;--did she disappear then, aunt?" + +"I was a little before my story, child. Yes, she did disappear, and +never was heard of again; but that was afterward, some time afterward, +my child. I am very sure it was; I could take my oath of that, Pierre." + +"Why, dear aunt," said little Pierre, "how earnestly you talk--after +what? your voice is getting very strange; do now;--don't talk that way; +you frighten me so, aunt." + +"Perhaps it is this bad cold I have to-day; it makes my voice a little +hoarse, I fear, Pierre. But I will try and not talk so hoarsely again. +Well, my child, some time before this beautiful young lady disappeared, +indeed it was only shortly after the poor emigrants landed, your father +made her acquaintance; and with many other humane gentlemen of the city, +provided for the wants of the strangers, for they were very poor indeed, +having been stripped of every thing, save a little trifling jewelry, +which could not go very far. At last, the friends of your father +endeavored to dissuade him from visiting these people so much; they were +fearful that as the young lady was so very beautiful, and a little +inclined to be intriguing--so some said--your father might be tempted to +marry her; which would not have been a wise thing in him; for though the +young lady might have been very beautiful, and good-hearted, yet no one +on this side the water certainly knew her history; and she was a +foreigner; and would not have made so suitable and excellent a match for +your father as your dear mother afterward did, my child. But, for +myself, I--who always knew your father very well in all his intentions, +and he was very confidential with me, too--I, for my part, never +credited that he would do so unwise a thing as marry the strange young +lady. At any rate, he at last discontinued his visits to the emigrants; +and it was after this that the young lady disappeared. Some said that +she must have voluntarily but secretly returned into her own country; +and others declared that she must have been kidnapped by French +emissaries; for, after her disappearance, rumor began to hint that she +was of the noblest birth, and some ways allied to the royal family; and +then, again, there were some who shook their heads darkly, and muttered +of drownings, and other dark things; which one always hears hinted when +people disappear, and no one can find them. But though your father and +many other gentlemen moved heaven and earth to find trace of her, yet, +as I said before, my child, she never re-appeared." + +"The poor French lady!" sighed little Pierre. "Aunt, I'm afraid she was +murdered." + +"Poor lady, there is no telling," said his aunt. "But listen, for I am +coming to the picture again. Now, at the time your father was so often +visiting the emigrants, my child, cousin Ralph was one of those who a +little fancied that your father was courting her; but cousin Ralph being +a quiet young man, and a scholar, not well acquainted with what is wise, +or what is foolish in the great world; cousin Ralph would not have been +at all mortified had your father really wedded with the refugee young +lady. So vainly thinking, as I told you, that your father was courting +her, he fancied it would be a very fine thing if he could paint your +father as her wooer; that is, paint him just after his coming from his +daily visits to the emigrants. So he watched his chance; every thing +being ready in his painting-room, as I told you before; and one +morning, sure enough, in dropt your father from his walk. But before he +came into the room, cousin Ralph had spied him from the window; and when +your father entered, cousin Ralph had the sitting-chair ready drawn out, +back of his easel, but still fronting toward him, and pretended to be +very busy painting. He said to your father--'Glad to see you, cousin +Pierre; I am just about something here; sit right down there now, and +tell me the news; and I'll sally out with you presently. And tell us +something of the emigrants, cousin Pierre,' he slyly added--wishing, you +see, to get your father's thoughts running that supposed wooing way, so +that he might catch some sort of corresponding expression you see, +little Pierre." + +"I don't know that I precisely understand, aunt; but go on, I am so +interested; do go on, dear aunt." + +"Well, by many little cunning shifts and contrivances, cousin Ralph kept +your father there sitting, and sitting in the chair, rattling and +rattling away, and so self-forgetful too, that he never heeded that all +the while sly cousin Ralph was painting and painting just as fast as +ever he could; and only making believe laugh at your father's wit; in +short, cousin Ralph was stealing his portrait, my child." + +"Not _stealing_ it, I hope," said Pierre, "that would be very wicked." + +"Well, then, we won't call it stealing, since I am sure that cousin +Ralph kept your father all the time off from him, and so, could not have +possibly picked his pocket, though indeed, he slyly picked his portrait, +so to speak. And if indeed it was stealing, or any thing of that sort; +yet seeing how much comfort that portrait has been to me, Pierre, and +how much it will yet be to you, I hope; I think we must very heartily +forgive cousin Ralph, for what he then did." + +"Yes, I think we must indeed," chimed in little Pierre, now eagerly +eying the very portrait in question, which hung over the mantle. + +"Well, by catching your father two or three times more in that way, +cousin Ralph at last finished the painting; and when it was all framed, +and every way completed, he would have surprised your father by hanging +it boldly up in his room among his other portraits, had not your father +one morning suddenly come to him--while, indeed, the very picture itself +was placed face down on a table and cousin Ralph fixing the cord to +it--came to him, and frightened cousin Ralph by quietly saying, that now +that he thought of it, it seemed to him that cousin Ralph had been +playing tricks with him; but he hoped it was not so. 'What do you mean?' +said cousin Ralph, a little flurried. 'You have not been hanging my +portrait up here, have you, cousin Ralph?' said your father, glancing +along the walls. 'I'm glad I don't see it. It is my whim, cousin +Ralph,--and perhaps it is a very silly one,--but if you have been lately +painting my portrait, I want you to destroy it; at any rate, don't show +it to any one, keep it out of sight. What's that you have there, cousin +Ralph?' + +"Cousin Ralph was now more and more fluttered; not knowing what to +make--as indeed, to this day, I don't completely myself--of your +father's strange manner. But he rallied, and said--'This, cousin Pierre, +is a secret portrait I have here; you must be aware that we +portrait-painters are sometimes called upon to paint such. I, therefore, +can not show it to you, or tell you any thing about it.' + +"'Have you been painting my portrait or not, cousin Ralph?' said your +father, very suddenly and pointedly. + +"'I have painted nothing that looks as you there look,' said cousin +Ralph, evasively, observing in your father's face a fierce-like +expression, which he had never seen there before. And more than that, +your father could not get from him." + +"And what then?" said little Pierre. + +"Why not much, my child; only your father never so much as caught one +glimpse of that picture; indeed, never knew for certain, whether there +was such a painting in the world. Cousin Ralph secretly gave it to me, +knowing how tenderly I loved your father; making me solemnly promise +never to expose it anywhere where your father could ever see it, or any +way hear of it. This promise I faithfully kept; and it was only after +your dear father's death, that I hung it in my chamber. There, Pierre, +you now have the story of the chair-portrait." + +"And a very strange one it is," said Pierre--"and so interesting, I +shall never forget it, aunt." + +"I hope you never will, my child. Now ring the bell, and we will have a +little fruit-cake, and I will take a glass of wine, Pierre;--do you +hear, my child?--the bell--ring it. Why, what do you do standing there, +Pierre?" + +"_Why_ didn't papa want to have cousin Ralph paint his picture, aunt?" + +"How these children's minds do run!" exclaimed old aunt Dorothea staring +at little Pierre in amazement--"That indeed is more than I can tell you, +little Pierre. But cousin Ralph had a foolish fancy about it. He used to +tell me, that being in your father's room some few days after the last +scene I described, he noticed there a very wonderful work on +Physiognomy, as they call it, in which the strangest and shadowiest +rules were laid down for detecting people's innermost secrets by +studying their faces. And so, foolish cousin Ralph always flattered +himself, that the reason your father did not want his portrait taken +was, because he was secretly in love with the French young lady, and did +not want his secret published in a portrait; since the wonderful work on +Physiognomy had, as it were, indirectly warned him against running that +risk. But cousin Ralph being such a retired and solitary sort of a +youth, he always had such curious whimsies about things. For my part, I +don't believe your father ever had any such ridiculous ideas on the +subject. To be sure, I myself can not tell you _why_ he did not want his +picture taken; but when you get to be as old as I am, little Pierre, you +will find that every one, even the best of us, at times, is apt to act +very queerly and unaccountably; indeed some things we do, we can not +entirely explain the reason of, even to ourselves, little Pierre. But +you will know all about these strange matters by and by." + +"I hope I shall, aunt," said little Pierre--"But, dear aunt, I thought +Marten was to bring in some fruit-cake?" + +"Ring the bell for him, then, my child." + +"Oh! I forgot," said little Pierre, doing her bidding. + +By-and-by, while the aunt was sipping her wine; and the boy eating his +cake, and both their eyes were fixed on the portrait in question; little +Pierre, pushing his stool nearer the picture exclaimed--"Now, aunt, did +papa really look exactly like that? Did you ever see him in that same +buff vest, and huge-figured neckcloth? I remember the seal and key, +pretty well; and it was only a week ago that I saw mamma take them out +of a little locked drawer in her wardrobe--but I don't remember the +queer whiskers; nor the buff vest; nor the huge white-figured neckcloth; +did you ever see papa in that very neckcloth, aunt?" + +"My child, it was I that chose the stuff for that neckcloth; yes, and +hemmed it for him, and worked P. G. in one corner; but that aint in the +picture. It is an excellent likeness, my child, neckcloth and all; as he +looked at that time. Why, little Pierre, sometimes I sit here all alone +by myself, gazing, and gazing, and gazing at that face, till I begin to +think your father is looking at me, and smiling at me, and nodding at +me, and saying--Dorothea! Dorothea!" + +"How strange," said little Pierre, "I think it begins to look at me now, +aunt. Hark! aunt, it's so silent all round in this old-fashioned room, +that I think I hear a little jingling in the picture, as if the +watch-seal was striking against the key--Hark! aunt." + +"Bless me, don't talk so strangely, my child." + +"I heard mamma say once--but she did not say so to me--that, for her +part, she did not like aunt Dorothea's picture; it was not a good +likeness, so she said. Why don't mamma like the picture, aunt?" + +"My child, you ask very queer questions. If your mamma don't like the +picture, it is for a very plain reason. She has a much larger and finer +one at home, which she had painted for herself; yes, and paid I don't +know how many hundred dollars for it; and that, too, is an excellent +likeness, _that_ must be the reason, little Pierre." + +And thus the old aunt and the little child ran on; each thinking the +other very strange; and both thinking the picture still stranger; and +the face in the picture still looked at them frankly, and cheerfully, as +if there was nothing kept concealed; and yet again, a little ambiguously +and mockingly, as if slyly winking to some other picture, to mark what a +very foolish old sister, and what a very silly little son, were growing +so monstrously grave and speculative about a huge white-figured +neckcloth, a buff vest, and a very gentleman-like and amiable +countenance. + +And so, after this scene, as usual, one by one, the fleet years ran on; +till the little child Pierre had grown up to be the tall Master Pierre, +and could call the picture his own; and now, in the privacy of his own +little closet, could stand, or lean, or sit before it all day long, if +he pleased, and keep thinking, and thinking, and thinking, and thinking, +till by-and-by all thoughts were blurred, and at last there were no +thoughts at all. + +Before the picture was sent to him, in his fifteenth year, it had been +only through the inadvertence of his mother, or rather through a casual +passing into a parlor by Pierre, that he had any way learned that his +mother did not approve of the picture. Because, as then Pierre was +still young, and the picture was the picture of his father, and the +cherished property of a most excellent, and dearly-beloved, affectionate +aunt; therefore the mother, with an intuitive delicacy, had refrained +from knowingly expressing her peculiar opinion in the presence of little +Pierre. And this judicious, though half-unconscious delicacy in the +mother, had been perhaps somewhat singularly answered by a like nicety +of sentiment in the child; for children of a naturally refined +organization, and a gentle nurture, sometimes possess a wonderful, and +often undreamed of, daintiness of propriety, and thoughtfulness, and +forbearance, in matters esteemed a little subtile even by their elders, +and self-elected betters. The little Pierre never disclosed to his +mother that he had, through another person, become aware of her thoughts +concerning Aunt Dorothea's portrait; he seemed to possess an intuitive +knowledge of the circumstance, that from the difference of their +relationship to his father, and for other minute reasons, he could in +some things, with the greater propriety, be more inquisitive concerning +him, with his aunt, than with his mother, especially touching the matter +of the chair-portrait. And Aunt Dorothea's reasons accounting for his +mother's distaste, long continued satisfactory, or at least not +unsufficiently explanatory. + +And when the portrait arrived at the Meadows, it so chanced that his +mother was abroad; and so Pierre silently hung it up in his closet; and +when after a day or two his mother returned, he said nothing to her +about its arrival, being still strangely alive to that certain mild +mystery which invested it, and whose sacredness now he was fearful of +violating, by provoking any discussion with his mother about Aunt +Dorothea's gift, or by permitting himself to be improperly curious +concerning the reasons of his mother's private and self-reserved +opinions of it. But the first time--and it was not long after the +arrival of the portrait--that he knew of his mother's having entered +his closet; then, when he next saw her, he was prepared to hear what +she should voluntarily say about the late addition to its +embellishments; but as she omitted all mention of any thing of that +sort, he unobtrusively scanned her countenance, to mark whether any +little clouding emotion might be discoverable there. But he could +discern none. And as all genuine delicacies are by their nature +accumulative; therefore this reverential, mutual, but only tacit +forbearance of the mother and son, ever after continued uninvaded. And +it was another sweet, and sanctified, and sanctifying bond between them. +For, whatever some lovers may sometimes say, love does not always abhor +a secret, as nature is said to abhor a vacuum. Love is built upon +secrets, as lovely Venice upon invisible and incorruptible piles in the +sea. Love's secrets, being mysteries, ever pertain to the transcendent +and the infinite; and so they are as airy bridges, by which our further +shadows pass over into the regions of the golden mists and exhalations; +whence all poetical, lovely thoughts are engendered, and drop into us, +as though pearls should drop from rainbows. + +As time went on, the chasteness and pure virginity of this mutual +reservation, only served to dress the portrait in sweeter, because still +more mysterious attractions; and to fling, as it were, fresh fennel and +rosemary around the revered memory of the father. Though, indeed, as +previously recounted, Pierre now and then loved to present to himself +for some fanciful solution the penultimate secret of the portrait, in so +far, as that involved his mother's distaste; yet the cunning analysis in +which such a mental procedure would involve him, never voluntarily +transgressed that sacred limit, where his mother's peculiar repugnance +began to shade off into ambiguous considerations, touching any unknown +possibilities in the character and early life of the original. Not, that +he had altogether forbidden his fancy to range in such fields of +speculation; but all such imaginings must be contributory to that pure, +exalted idea of his father, which, in his soul, was based upon the known +acknowledged facts of his father's life. + + +V. + +If, when the mind roams up and down in the ever-elastic regions of +evanescent invention, any definite form or feature can be assigned to +the multitudinous shapes it creates out of the incessant dissolvings of +its own prior creations; then might we here attempt to hold and define +the least shadowy of those reasons, which about the period of +adolescence we now treat of, more frequently occurred to Pierre, +whenever he essayed to account for his mother's remarkable distaste for +the portrait. Yet will we venture one sketch. + +Yes--sometimes dimly thought Pierre--who knows but cousin Ralph, after +all, may have been not so very far from the truth, when he surmised that +at one time my father did indeed cherish some passing emotion for the +beautiful young Frenchwoman. And this portrait being painted at that +precise time, and indeed with the precise purpose of perpetuating some +shadowy testification of the fact in the countenance of the original: +therefore, its expression is not congenial, is not familiar, is not +altogether agreeable to my mother: because, not only did my father's +features never look so to her (since it was afterward that she first +became acquainted with him), but also, that certain womanliness of +women; that thing I should perhaps call a tender jealousy, a fastidious +vanity, in any other lady, enables her to perceive that the glance of +the face in the portrait, is not, in some nameless way, dedicated to +herself, but to some other and unknown object; and therefore, is she +impatient of it, and it is repelling to her; for she must naturally be +intolerant of any imputed reminiscence in my father, which is not in +some way connected with her own recollections of him. + +Whereas, the larger and more expansive portrait in the great +drawing-room, taken in the prime of life; during the best and rosiest +days of their wedded union; at the particular desire of my mother; and +by a celebrated artist of her own election, and costumed after her own +taste; and on all hands considered to be, by those who know, a +singularly happy likeness at the period; a belief spiritually reinforced +by my own dim infantile remembrances; for all these reasons, this +drawing-room portrait possesses an inestimable charm to her; there, she +indeed beholds her husband as he had really appeared to her; she does +not vacantly gaze upon an unfamiliar phantom called up from the distant, +and, to her, well-nigh fabulous days of my father's bachelor life. But +in that other portrait, she sees rehearsed to her fond eyes, the latter +tales and legends of his devoted wedded love. Yes, I think now that I +plainly see it must be so. And yet, ever new conceits come vaporing up +in me, as I look on the strange chair-portrait: which, though so very +much more unfamiliar to me, than it can possibly be to my mother, still +sometimes seems to say--Pierre, believe not the drawing-room painting; +that is not thy father; or, at least, is not _all_ of thy father. +Consider in thy mind, Pierre, whether we two paintings may not make only +one. Faithful wives are ever over-fond to a certain imaginary image of +their husbands; and faithful widows are ever over-reverential to a +certain imagined ghost of that same imagined image, Pierre. Look again, +I am thy father as he more truly was. In mature life, the world overlays +and varnishes us, Pierre; the thousand proprieties and polished +finenesses and grimaces intervene, Pierre; then, we, as it were, +abdicate ourselves, and take unto us another self, Pierre; in youth we +_are_, Pierre, but in age we _seem_. Look again. I am thy real father, +so much the more truly, as thou thinkest thou recognizest me not, +Pierre. To their young children, fathers are not wont to unfold +themselves entirely, Pierre. There are a thousand and one odd little +youthful peccadilloes, that we think we may as well not divulge to them, +Pierre. Consider this strange, ambiguous smile, Pierre; more narrowly +regard this mouth. Behold, what is this too ardent and, as it were, +unchastened light in these eyes, Pierre? I am thy father, boy. There was +once a certain, oh, but too lovely young Frenchwoman, Pierre. Youth is +hot, and temptation strong, Pierre; and in the minutest moment momentous +things are irrevocably done, Pierre; and Time sweeps on, and the thing +is not always carried down by its stream, but may be left stranded on +its bank; away beyond, in the young, green countries, Pierre. Look +again. Doth thy mother dislike me for naught? Consider. Do not all her +spontaneous, loving impressions, ever strive to magnify, and +spiritualize, and deify, her husband's memory, Pierre? Then why doth she +cast despite upon me; and never speak to thee of me; and why dost thou +thyself keep silence before her, Pierre? Consider. Is there no little +mystery here? Probe a little, Pierre. Never fear, never fear. No matter +for thy father now. Look, do I not smile?--yes, and with an unchangeable +smile; and thus have I unchangeably smiled for many long years gone by, +Pierre. Oh, it is a permanent smile! Thus I smiled to cousin Ralph; and +thus in thy dear old Aunt Dorothea's parlor, Pierre; and just so, I +smile here to thee, and even thus in thy father's later life, when his +body may have been in grief, still--hidden away in Aunt Dorothea's +secretary--I thus smiled as before; and just so I'd smile were I now +hung up in the deepest dungeon of the Spanish Inquisition, Pierre; +though suspended in outer darkness, still would I smile with this smile, +though then not a soul should be near. Consider; for a smile is the +chosen vehicle for all ambiguities, Pierre. When we would deceive, we +smile; when we are hatching any nice little artifice, Pierre; only just +a little gratifying our own sweet little appetites, Pierre; then watch +us, and out comes the odd little smile. Once upon a time, there was a +lovely young Frenchwoman, Pierre. Have you carefully, and analytically, +and psychologically, and metaphysically, considered her belongings and +surroundings, and all her incidentals, Pierre? Oh, a strange sort of +story, that, thy dear old Aunt Dorothea once told thee, Pierre. I once +knew a credulous old soul, Pierre. Probe, probe a little--see--there +seems one little crack there, Pierre--a wedge, a wedge. Something ever +comes of all persistent inquiry; we are not so continually curious for +nothing, Pierre; not for nothing, do we so intrigue and become wily +diplomatists, and glozers with our own minds, Pierre; and afraid of +following the Indian trail from the open plain into the dark thickets, +Pierre; but enough; a word to the wise. + +Thus sometimes in the mystical, outer quietude of the long country +nights; either when the hushed mansion was banked round by the +thick-fallen December snows, or banked round by the immovable white +August moonlight; in the haunted repose of a wide story, tenanted only +by himself; and sentineling his own little closet; and standing guard, +as it were, before the mystical tent of the picture; and ever watching +the strangely concealed lights of the meanings that so mysteriously +moved to and fro within; thus sometimes stood Pierre before the portrait +of his father, unconsciously throwing himself open to all those +ineffable hints and ambiguities, and undefined half-suggestions, which +now and then people the soul's atmosphere, as thickly as in a soft, +steady snow-storm, the snow-flakes people the air. Yet as often starting +from these reveries and trances, Pierre would regain the assured element +of consciously bidden and self-propelled thought; and then in a moment +the air all cleared, not a snow-flake descended, and Pierre, upbraiding +himself for his self-indulgent infatuation, would promise never again +to fall into a midnight revery before the chair-portrait of his father. +Nor did the streams of these reveries seem to leave any conscious +sediment in his mind; they were so light and so rapid, that they rolled +their own alluvial along; and seemed to leave all Pierre's +thought-channels as clean and dry as though never any alluvial stream +had rolled there at all. + +And so still in his sober, cherishing memories, his father's +beatification remained untouched; and all the strangeness of the +portrait only served to invest his idea with a fine, legendary romance; +the essence whereof was that very mystery, which at other times was so +subtly and evilly significant. + +But now, _now!_--Isabel's letter read: swift as the first light that +slides from the sun, Pierre saw all preceding ambiguities, all mysteries +ripped open as if with a keen sword, and forth trooped thickening +phantoms of an infinite gloom. Now his remotest infantile +reminiscences--the wandering mind of his father--the empty hand, and the +ashen--the strange story of Aunt Dorothea--the mystical midnight +suggestions of the portrait itself; and, above all, his mother's +intuitive aversion, all, all overwhelmed him with reciprocal +testimonies. + +And now, by irresistible intuitions, all that had been inexplicably +mysterious to him in the portrait, and all that had been inexplicably +familiar in the face, most magically these now coincided; the merriness +of the one not inharmonious with the mournfulness of the other, but by +some ineffable correlativeness, they reciprocally identified each other, +and, as it were, melted into each other, and thus interpenetratingly +uniting, presented lineaments of an added supernaturalness. + +On all sides, the physical world of solid objects now slidingly +displaced itself from around him, and he floated into an ether of +visions; and, starting to his feet with clenched hands and outstaring +eyes at the transfixed face in the air, he ejaculated that wonderful +verse from Dante, descriptive of the two mutually absorbing shapes in +the Inferno: + + "Ah! how dost thou change, + Agnello! See! thou art not double now, + Nor only one!" + + + + +BOOK V. + +MISGIVINGS AND PREPARATIONS. + + +I. + +It was long after midnight when Pierre returned to the house. He had +rushed forth in that complete abandonment of soul, which, in so ardent a +temperament, attends the first stages of any sudden and tremendous +affliction; but now he returned in pallid composure, for the calm spirit +of the night, and the then risen moon, and the late revealed stars, had +all at last become as a strange subduing melody to him, which, though at +first trampled and scorned, yet by degrees had stolen into the windings +of his heart, and so shed abroad its own quietude in him. Now, from his +height of composure, he firmly gazed abroad upon the charred landscape +within him; as the timber man of Canada, forced to fly from the +conflagration of his forests, comes back again when the fires have +waned, and unblinkingly eyes the immeasurable fields of fire-brands that +here and there glow beneath the wide canopy of smoke. + +It has been said, that always when Pierre would seek solitude in its +material shelter and walled isolation, then the closet communicating +with his chamber was his elected haunt. So, going to his room, he took +up the now dim-burning lamp he had left there, and instinctively entered +that retreat, seating himself, with folded arms and bowed head, in the +accustomed dragon-footed old chair. With leaden feet, and heart now +changing from iciness to a strange sort of indifference, and a numbing +sensation stealing over him, he sat there awhile, till, like the resting +traveler in snows, he began to struggle against this inertness as the +most treacherous and deadliest of symptoms. He looked up, and found +himself fronted by the no longer wholly enigmatical, but still +ambiguously smiling picture of his father. Instantly all his +consciousness and his anguish returned, but still without power to shake +the grim tranquillity which possessed him. Yet endure the smiling +portrait he could not; and obeying an irresistible nameless impulse, he +rose, and without unhanging it, reversed the picture on the wall. + +This brought to sight the defaced and dusty back, with some wrinkled, +tattered paper over the joints, which had become loosened from the +paste. "Oh, symbol of thy reversed idea in my soul," groaned Pierre; +"thou shalt not hang thus. Rather cast thee utterly out, than +conspicuously insult thee so. I will no more have a father." He removed +the picture wholly from the wall, and the closet; and concealed it in a +large chest, covered with blue chintz, and locked it up there. But +still, in a square space of slightly discolored wall, the picture still +left its shadowy, but vacant and desolate trace. He now strove to banish +the least trace of his altered father, as fearful that at present all +thoughts concerning him were not only entirely vain, but would prove +fatally distracting and incapacitating to a mind, which was now loudly +called upon, not only to endure a signal grief, but immediately to act +upon it. Wild and cruel case, youth ever thinks; but mistakenly; for +Experience well knows, that action, though it seems an aggravation of +woe, is really an alleviative; though permanently to alleviate pain, we +must first dart some added pangs. + +Nor now, though profoundly sensible that his whole previous moral being +was overturned, and that for him the fair structure of the world must, +in some then unknown way, be entirely rebuilded again, from the +lowermost corner stone up; nor now did Pierre torment himself with the +thought of that last desolation; and how the desolate place was to be +made flourishing again. He seemed to feel that in his deepest soul, +lurked an indefinite but potential faith, which could rule in the +interregnum of all hereditary beliefs, and circumstantial persuasions; +not wholly, he felt, was his soul in anarchy. The indefinite regent had +assumed the scepter as its right; and Pierre was not entirely given up +to his grief's utter pillage and sack. + +To a less enthusiastic heart than Pierre's the foremost question in +respect to Isabel which would have presented itself, would have been, +_What_ must I do? But such a question never presented itself to Pierre; +the spontaneous responsiveness of his being left no shadow of +dubiousness as to the direct point he must aim at. But if the object was +plain, not so the path to it. _How_ must I do it? was a problem for +which at first there seemed no chance of solution. But without being +entirely aware of it himself, Pierre was one of those spirits, which not +in a determinate and sordid scrutiny of small pros and cons--but in an +impulsive subservience to the god-like dictation of events themselves, +find at length the surest solution of perplexities, and the brightest +prerogative of command. And as for him, _What_ must I do? was a question +already answered by the inspiration of the difficulty itself; so now he, +as it were, unconsciously discharged his mind, for the present, of all +distracting considerations concerning _How_ he should do it; assured +that the coming interview with Isabel could not but unerringly inspire +him there. Still, the inspiration which had thus far directed him had +not been entirely mute and undivulging as to many very bitter things +which Pierre foresaw in the wide sea of trouble into which he was +plunged. + +If it be the sacred province and--by the wisest, deemed--the inestimable +compensation of the heavier woes, that they both purge the soul of +gay-hearted errors and replenish it with a saddened truth; that holy +office is not so much accomplished by any covertly inductive reasoning +process, whose original motive is received from the particular +affliction; as it is the magical effect of the admission into man's +inmost spirit of a before unexperienced and wholly inexplicable element, +which like electricity suddenly received into any sultry atmosphere of +the dark, in all directions splits itself into nimble lances of +purifying light; which at one and the same instant discharge all the air +of sluggishness and inform it with an illuminating property; so that +objects which before, in the uncertainty of the dark, assumed shadowy +and romantic outlines, now are lighted up in their substantial +realities; so that in these flashing revelations of grief's wonderful +fire, we see all things as they are; and though, when the electric +element is gone, the shadows once more descend, and the false outlines +of objects again return; yet not with their former power to deceive; for +now, even in the presence of the falsest aspects, we still retain the +impressions of their immovable true ones, though, indeed, once more +concealed. + +Thus with Pierre. In the joyous young times, ere his great grief came +upon him, all the objects which surrounded him were concealingly +deceptive. Not only was the long-cherished image of his rather now +transfigured before him from a green foliaged tree into a blasted trunk, +but every other image in his mind attested the universality of that +electral light which had darted into his soul. Not even his lovely, +immaculate mother, remained entirely untouched, unaltered by the shock. +At her changed aspect, when first revealed to him, Pierre had gazed in a +panic; and now, when the electrical storm had gone by, he retained in +his mind, that so suddenly revealed image, with an infinite +mournfulness. She, who in her less splendid but finer and more spiritual +part, had ever seemed to Pierre not only as a beautiful saint before +whom to offer up his daily orisons, but also as a gentle lady-counsellor +and confessor, and her revered chamber as a soft satin-hung cabinet and +confessional;--his mother was no longer this all-alluring thing; no +more, he too keenly felt, could he go to his mother, as to one who +entirely sympathized with him; as to one before whom he could almost +unreservedly unbosom himself; as to one capable of pointing out to him +the true path where he seemed most beset. Wonderful, indeed, was that +electric insight which Fate had now given him into the vital character +of his mother. She well might have stood all ordinary tests; but when +Pierre thought of the touchstone of his immense strait applied to her +spirit, he felt profoundly assured that she would crumble into nothing +before it. + +She was a noble creature, but formed chiefly for the gilded prosperities +of life, and hitherto mostly used to its unruffled serenities; bred and +expanded, in all developments, under the sole influence of hereditary +forms and world-usages. Not his refined, courtly, loving, equable +mother, Pierre felt, could unreservedly, and like a heaven's heroine, +meet the shock of his extraordinary emergency, and applaud, to his +heart's echo, a sublime resolve, whose execution should call down the +astonishment and the jeers of the world. + +My mother!--dearest mother!--God hath given me a sister, and unto thee a +daughter, and covered her with the world's extremest infamy and scorn, +that so I and thou--_thou_, my mother, mightest gloriously own her, and +acknowledge her, and,---- Nay, nay, groaned Pierre, never, never, could +such syllables be one instant tolerated by her. Then, high-up, and +towering, and all-forbidding before Pierre grew the before unthought of +wonderful edifice of his mother's immense pride;--her pride of birth, +her pride of affluence, her pride of purity, and all the pride of +high-born, refined, and wealthy Life, and all the Semiramian pride of +woman. Then he staggered back upon himself, and only found support in +himself. Then Pierre felt that deep in him lurked a divine +unidentifiableness, that owned no earthly kith or kin. Yet was this +feeling entirely lonesome, and orphan-like. Fain, then, for one moment, +would he have recalled the thousand sweet illusions of Life; tho' +purchased at the price of Life's Truth; so that once more he might not +feel himself driven out an infant Ishmael into the desert, with no +maternal Hagar to accompany and comfort him. + +Still, were these emotions without prejudice to his own love for his +mother, and without the slightest bitterness respecting her; and, least +of all, there was no shallow disdain toward her of superior virtue. He +too plainly saw, that not his mother had made his mother; but the +Infinite Haughtiness had first fashioned her; and then the haughty world +had further molded her; nor had a haughty Ritual omitted to finish her. + +Wonderful, indeed, we repeat it, was the electrical insight which Pierre +now had into the character of his mother, for not even the vivid +recalling of her lavish love for him could suffice to gainsay his sudden +persuasion. Love me she doth, thought Pierre, but how? Loveth she me +with the love past all understanding? that love, which in the loved +one's behalf, would still calmly confront all hate? whose most +triumphing hymn, triumphs only by swelling above all opposing taunts and +despite?--Loving mother, here have I a loved, but world-infamous sister +to own;--and if thou lovest me, mother, thy love will love her, too, and +in the proudest drawing-room take her so much the more proudly by the +hand.--And as Pierre thus in fancy led Isabel before his mother; and in +fancy led her away, and felt his tongue cleave to the roof of his mouth, +with her transfixing look of incredulous, scornful horror; then Pierre's +enthusiastic heart sunk in and in, and caved clean away in him, as he so +poignantly felt his first feeling of the dreary heart-vacancies of the +conventional life. Oh heartless, proud, ice-gilded world, how I hate +thee, he thought, that thy tyrannous, insatiate grasp, thus now in my +bitterest need--thus doth rob me even of my mother; thus doth make me +now doubly an orphan, without a green grave to bedew. My tears,--could +I weep them,--must now be wept in the desolate places; now to me is it, +as though both father and mother had gone on distant voyages, and, +returning, died in unknown seas. + +She loveth me, ay;--but why? Had I been cast in a cripple's mold, how +then? Now, do I remember that in her most caressing love, there ever +gleamed some scaly, glittering folds of pride. Me she loveth with +pride's love; in me she thinks she seeth her own curled and haughty +beauty; before my glass she stands,--pride's priestess--and to her +mirrored image, not to me, she offers up her offerings of kisses. Oh, +small thanks I owe thee, Favorable Goddess, that didst clothe this form +with all the beauty of a man, that so thou mightest hide from me all the +truth of a man. Now I see that in his beauty a man is snared, and made +stone-blind, as the worm within its silk. Welcome then be Ugliness and +Poverty and Infamy, and all ye other crafty ministers of Truth, that +beneath the hoods and rags of beggars hide yet the belts and crowns of +kings. And dimmed be all beauty that must own the clay; and dimmed be +all wealth, and all delight, and all the annual prosperities of earth, +that but gild the links, and stud with diamonds the base rivets and the +chains of Lies. Oh, now methinks I a little see why of old the men _of_ +Truth went barefoot, girded with a rope, and ever moving under +mournfulness as underneath a canopy. I remember now those first wise +words, wherewith our Savior Christ first spoke in his first speech to +men:--'Blessed are the poor in spirit, and blessed they that mourn.' Oh, +hitherto I have but piled up words; bought books, and bought some small +experiences, and builded me in libraries; now I sit down and read. Oh, +now I know the night, and comprehend the sorceries of the moon, and all +the dark persuadings that have their birth in storms and winds. Oh, not +long will Joy abide, when Truth doth come; nor Grief her laggard be. +Well may this head hang on my breast--it holds too much; well may my +heart knock at my ribs,--prisoner impatient of his iron bars. Oh, men +are jailers all; jailers of themselves; and in Opinion's world +ignorantly hold their noblest part a captive to their vilest; as +disguised royal Charles when caught by peasants. The heart! the heart! +'tis God's anointed; let me pursue the heart! + + +II. + +But if the presentiment in Pierre of his mother's pride, as bigotedly +hostile to the noble design he cherished; if this feeling was so +wretched to him; far more so was the thought of another and a deeper +hostility, arising from her more spiritual part. For her pride would not +be so scornful, as her wedded memories reject with horror, the +unmentionable imputation involved in the mere fact of Isabel's +existence. In what galleries of conjecture, among what horrible haunting +toads and scorpions, would such a revelation lead her? When Pierre +thought of this, the idea of at all divulging his secret to his mother, +not only was made repelling by its hopelessness, as an infirm attack +upon her citadel of pride, but was made in the last degree inhuman, as +torturing her in her tenderest recollections, and desecrating the +whitest altar in her sanctuary. + +Though the conviction that he must never disclose his secret to his +mother was originally an unmeditated, and as it were, an inspired one; +yet now he was almost pains-taking in scrutinizing the entire +circumstances of the matter, in order that nothing might be overlooked. +For already he vaguely felt, that upon the concealment, or the +disclosure of this thing, with reference to his mother, hinged his whole +future course of conduct, his whole earthly weal, and Isabel's. But the +more and the more that he pondered upon it, the more and the more fixed +became his original conviction. He considered that in the case of a +disclosure, all human probability pointed to his mother's scornful +rejection of his suit as a pleader for Isabel's honorable admission into +the honorable mansion of the Glendinnings. Then in that case, +unconsciously thought Pierre, I shall have given the deep poison of a +miserable truth to my mother, without benefit to any, and positive harm +to all. And through Pierre's mind there then darted a baleful thought; +how that the truth should not always be paraded; how that sometimes a +lie is heavenly, and truth infernal. Filially infernal, truly, thought +Pierre, if I should by one vile breath of truth, blast my father's +blessed memory in the bosom of my mother, and plant the sharpest dagger +of grief in her soul. I will not do it! + +But as this resolution in him opened up so dark and wretched a +background to his view, he strove to think no more of it now, but +postpone it until the interview with Isabel should have in some way more +definitely shaped his purposes. For, when suddenly encountering the +shock of new and unanswerable revelations, which he feels must +revolutionize all the circumstances of his life, man, at first, ever +seeks to shun all conscious definitiveness in his thoughts and purposes; +as assured, that the lines that shall precisely define his present +misery, and thereby lay out his future path; these can only be defined +by sharp stakes that cut into his heart. + + +III. + +Most melancholy of all the hours of earth, is that one long, gray hour, +which to the watcher by the lamp intervenes between the night and day; +when both lamp and watcher, over-tasked, grow sickly in the pallid +light; and the watcher, seeking for no gladness in the dawn, sees naught +but garish vapors there; and almost invokes a curse upon the public +day, that shall invade his lonely night of sufferance. + +The one small window of his closet looked forth upon the meadow, and +across the river, and far away to the distant heights, storied with the +great deeds of the Glendinnings. Many a time had Pierre sought this +window before sunrise, to behold the blood-red, out-flinging dawn, that +would wrap those purple hills as with a banner. But now the morning +dawned in mist and rain, and came drizzlingly upon his heart. Yet as the +day advanced, and once more showed to him the accustomed features of his +room by that natural light, which, till this very moment, had never +lighted him but to his joy; now that the day, and not the night, was +witness to his woe; now first the dread reality came appallingly upon +him. A sense of horrible forlornness, feebleness, impotence, and +infinite, eternal desolation possessed him. It was not merely mental, +but corporeal also. He could not stand; and when he tried to sit, his +arms fell floorwards as tied to leaden weights. Dragging his ball and +chain, he fell upon his bed; for when the mind is cast down, only in +sympathetic proneness can the body rest; whence the bed is often Grief's +first refuge. Half stupefied, as with opium, he fell into the +profoundest sleep. + +In an hour he awoke, instantly recalling all the previous night; and now +finding himself a little strengthened, and lying so quietly and silently +there, almost without bodily consciousness, but his soul unobtrusively +alert; careful not to break the spell by the least movement of a limb, +or the least turning of his head. Pierre steadfastly faced his grief, +and looked deep down into its eyes; and thoroughly, and calmly, and +summarily comprehended it now--so at least he thought--and what it +demanded from him; and what he must quickly do in its more immediate +sequences; and what that course of conduct was, which he must pursue in +the coming unevadable breakfast interview with his mother; and what, for +the present must be his plan with Lucy. His time of thought was brief. +Rising from his bed, he steadied himself upright a moment; and then +going to his writing-desk, in a few at first faltering, but at length +unlagging lines, traced the following note: + + "I must ask pardon of you, Lucy, for so strangely absenting myself + last night. But you know me well enough to be very sure that I + would not have done so without important cause. I was in the street + approaching your cottage, when a message reached me, imperatively + calling me away. It is a matter which will take up all my time and + attention for, possibly, two or three days. I tell you this, now, + that you may be prepared for it. And I know that however unwelcome + this may be to you, you will yet bear with it for my sake; for, + indeed, and indeed, Lucy dear, I would not dream of staying from + you so long, unless irresistibly coerced to it. Do not come to the + mansion until I come to you; and do not manifest any curiosity or + anxiety about me, should you chance in the interval to see my + mother in any other place. Keep just as cheerful as if I were by + you all the time. Do this, now, I conjure you; and so farewell!" + +He folded the note, and was about sealing it, when he hesitated a +moment, and instantly unfolding it, read it to himself. But he could not +adequately comprehend his own writing, for a sudden cloud came over him. +This passed; and taking his pen hurriedly again, he added the following +postscript: + + "Lucy, this note may seem mysterious; but if it shall, I did not + mean to make it so; nor do I know that I could have helped it. But + the only reason is this, Lucy: the matter which I have alluded to, + is of such a nature, that, for the present I stand virtually + pledged not to disclose it to any person but those more directly + involved in it. But where one can not reveal the thing itself, it + only makes it the more mysterious to write round it this way. So + merely know me entirely unmenaced in person, and eternally faithful + to you; and so be at rest till I see you." + +Then sealing the note, and ringing the bell, he gave it in strict charge +to a servant, with directions to deliver it at the earliest practicable +moment, and not wait for any answer. But as the messenger was departing +the chamber, he called him back, and taking the sealed note again, and +hollowing it in his hand, scrawled inside of it in pencil the following +words: "Don't write me; don't inquire for me;" and then returned it to +the man, who quitted him, leaving Pierre rooted in thought in the middle +of the room. + +But he soon roused himself, and left the mansion; and seeking the cool, +refreshing meadow stream, where it formed a deep and shady pool, he +bathed; and returning invigorated to his chamber, changed his entire +dress; in the little trifling concernments of his toilette, striving +utterly to banish all thought of that weight upon his soul. Never did he +array himself with more solicitude for effect. It was one of his fond +mother's whims to perfume the lighter contents of his wardrobe; and it +was one of his own little femininenesses--of the sort sometimes +curiously observable in very robust-bodied and big-souled men, as +Mohammed, for example--to be very partial to all pleasant essences. So +that when once more he left the mansion in order to freshen his cheek +anew to meet the keen glance of his mother--to whom the secret of his +possible pallor could not be divulged; Pierre went forth all redolent; +but alas! his body only the embalming cerements of his buried dead +within. + + +IV. + +His stroll was longer than he meant; and when he returned up the Linden +walk leading to the breakfast-room, and ascended the piazza steps, and +glanced into the wide window there, he saw his mother seated not far +from the table; her face turned toward his own; and heard her gay voice, +and peculiarly light and buoyant laugh, accusing him, and not her, of +being the morning's laggard now. Dates was busy among some spoons and +napkins at a side-stand. + +Summoning all possible cheerfulness to his face, Pierre entered the +room. Remembering his carefulness in bathing and dressing; and knowing +that there is no air so calculated to give bloom to the cheek as that of +a damply fresh, cool, and misty morning, Pierre persuaded himself that +small trace would now be found on him of his long night of watching. + +'Good morning, sister;--Such a famous stroll! I have been all the way +to---- ' + +'Where? good heavens! where? for such a look as that!--why, Pierre, +Pierre? what ails thee? Dates, I will touch the bell presently.' + +As the good servitor fumbled for a moment among the napkins, as if +unwilling to stir so summarily from his accustomed duty, and not without +some of a well and long-tried old domestic's vague, intermitted +murmuring, at being wholly excluded from a matter of family interest; +Mrs. Glendinning kept her fixed eye on Pierre, who, unmindful that the +breakfast was not yet entirely ready, seating himself at the table, +began helping himself--though but nervously enough--to the cream and +sugar. The moment the door closed on Dates, the mother sprang to her +feet, and threw her arms around her son; but in that embrace, Pierre +miserably felt that their two hearts beat not together in such unison as +before. + +'What haggard thing possesses thee, my son? Speak, this is +incomprehensible! Lucy;--fie!--not she?--no love-quarrel there;--speak, +speak, my darling boy! + +'My dear sister,' began Pierre. + +'Sister me not, now, Pierre;--I am thy mother.' + +'Well, then, dear mother, thou art quite as incomprehensible to me as I +to---- ' + +'Talk faster, Pierre--this calmness freezes me. Tell me; for, by my +soul, something most wonderful must have happened to thee. Thou art my +son, and I command thee. It is not Lucy; it is something else. Tell me.' + +'My dear mother,' said Pierre, impulsively moving his chair backward +from the table, 'if thou wouldst only believe me when I say it, I have +really nothing to tell thee. Thou knowest that sometimes, when I happen +to feel very foolishly studious and philosophical, I sit up late in my +chamber; and then, regardless of the hour, foolishly run out into the +air, for a long stroll across the meadows. I took such a stroll last +night; and had but little time left for napping afterward; and what nap +I had I was none the better for. But I won't be so silly again, soon; so +do, dearest mother, stop looking at me, and let us to breakfast.--Dates! +Touch the bell there, sister.' + +'Stay, Pierre!--There is a heaviness in this hour. I feel, I know, that +thou art deceiving me;--perhaps I erred in seeking to wrest thy secret +from thee; but believe me, my son, I never thought thou hadst any secret +thing from me, except thy first love for Lucy--and that, my own +womanhood tells me, was most pardonable and right. But now, what can it +be? Pierre, Pierre! consider well before thou determinest upon +withholding confidence from me. I am thy mother. It may prove a fatal +thing. Can that be good and virtuous, Pierre, which shrinks from a +mother's knowledge? Let us not loose hands so, Pierre; thy confidence +from me, mine goes from thee. Now, shall I touch the bell?' + +Pierre, who had thus far been vainly seeking to occupy his hands with +his cap and spoon; he now paused, and unconsciously fastened a +speechless glance of mournfulness upon his mother. Again he felt +presentiments of his mother's newly-revealed character. He foresaw the +supposed indignation of her wounded pride; her gradually estranged +affections thereupon; he knew her firmness, and her exaggerated ideas of +the inalienable allegiance of a son. He trembled to think, that now +indeed was come the first initial moment of his heavy trial. But though +he knew all the significance of his mother's attitude, as she stood +before him, intently eying him, with one hand upon the bell-cord; and +though he felt that the same opening of the door that should now admit +Dates, could not but give eternal exit to all confidence between him and +his mother; and though he felt, too, that this was his mother's latent +thought; nevertheless, he was girded up in his well-considered +resolution. + +"Pierre, Pierre! shall I touch the bell?" + +"Mother, stay!--yes do, sister." + +The bell was rung; and at the summons Dates entered; and looking with +some significance at Mrs. Glendinning, said,--"His Reverence has come, +my mistress, and is now in the west parlor." + +"Show Mr. Falsgrave in here immediately; and bring up the coffee; did I +not tell you I expected him to breakfast this morning?" + +"Yes, my mistress; but I thought that--that--just then"--glancing +alarmedly from mother to son. + +"Oh, my good Dates, nothing has happened," cried Mrs. Glendinning, +lightly, and with a bitter smile, looking toward her son,--"show Mr. +Falsgrave in. Pierre, I did not see thee, to tell thee, last night; but +Mr. Falsgrave breakfasts with us by invitation. I was at the parsonage +yesterday, to see him about that wretched affair of Delly, and we are +finally to settle upon what is to be done this morning. But my mind is +made up concerning Ned; no such profligate shall pollute this place; +nor shall the disgraceful Delly." + +Fortunately, the abrupt entrance of the clergyman, here turned away +attention from the sudden pallor of Pierre's countenance, and afforded +him time to rally. + +"Good morning, madam; good morning, sir;" said Mr. Falsgrave, in a +singularly mild, flute-like voice, turning to Mrs. Glendinning and her +son; the lady receiving him with answering cordiality, but Pierre too +embarrassed just then to be equally polite. As for one brief moment Mr. +Falsgrave stood before the pair, ere taking the offered chair from +Dates, his aspect was eminently attractive. + +There are certain ever-to-be-cherished moments in the life of almost any +man, when a variety of little foregoing circumstances all unite to make +him temporarily oblivious of whatever may be hard and bitter in his +life, and also to make him most amiably and ruddily disposed; when the +scene and company immediately before him are highly agreeable; and if at +such a time he chance involuntarily to put himself into a scenically +favorable bodily posture; then, in that posture, however transient, thou +shalt catch the noble stature of his Better Angel; catch a heavenly +glimpse of the latent heavenliness of man. It was so with Mr. Falsgrave +now. Not a house within a circuit of fifty miles that he preferred +entering before the mansion-house of Saddle Meadows; and though the +business upon which he had that morning come, was any thing but +relishable to him, yet that subject was not in his memory then. Before +him stood united in one person, the most exalted lady and the most +storied beauty of all the country round; and the finest, most +intellectual, and most congenial youth he knew. Before him also, stood +the generous foundress and the untiring patroness of the beautiful +little marble church, consecrated by the good Bishop, not four years +gone by. Before him also, stood--though in polite disguise--the same +untiring benefactress, from whose purse, he could not help suspecting, +came a great part of his salary, nominally supplied by the rental of the +pews. He had been invited to breakfast; a meal, which, in a +well-appointed country family, is the most cheerful circumstance of +daily life; he smelt all Java's spices in the aroma from the silver +coffee-urn; and well he knew, what liquid deliciousness would soon come +from it. Besides all this, and many more minutenesses of the kind, he +was conscious that Mrs. Glendinning entertained a particular partiality +for him (though not enough to marry him, as he ten times knew by very +bitter experience), and that Pierre was not behindhand in his esteem. + +And the clergyman was well worthy of it. Nature had been royally +bountiful to him in his person. In his happier moments, as the present, +his face was radiant with a courtly, but mild benevolence; his person +was nobly robust and dignified; while the remarkable smallness of his +feet, and the almost infantile delicacy, and vivid whiteness and purity +of his hands, strikingly contrasted with his fine girth and stature. For +in countries like America, where there is no distinct hereditary caste +of gentlemen, whose order is factitiously perpetuated as race-horses and +lords are in kingly lands; and especially, in those agricultural +districts, where, of a hundred hands, that drop a ballot for the +Presidency, ninety-nine shall be of the brownest and the brawniest; in +such districts, this daintiness of the fingers, when united with a +generally manly aspect, assumes a remarkableness unknown in European +nations. + +This most prepossessing form of the clergyman lost nothing by the +character of his manners, which were polished and unobtrusive, but +peculiarly insinuating, without the least appearance of craftiness or +affectation. Heaven had given him his fine, silver-keyed person for a +flute to play on in this world; and he was nearly the perfect master of +it. His graceful motions had the undulatoriness of melodious sounds. +You almost thought you heard, not saw him. So much the wonderful, yet +natural gentleman he seemed, that more than once Mrs. Glendinning had +held him up to Pierre as a splendid example of the polishing and +gentlemanizing influences of Christianity upon the mind and manners; +declaring, that extravagant as it might seem, she had always been of his +father's fancy,--that no man could be a complete gentleman, and preside +with dignity at his own table, unless he partook of the church's +sacraments. Nor in Mr. Falsgrave's case was this maxim entirely absurd. +The child of a poor northern farmer who had wedded a pretty sempstress, +the clergyman had no heraldic line of ancestry to show, as warrant and +explanation of his handsome person and gentle manners; the first, being +the willful partiality of nature; and the second, the consequence of a +scholastic life, attempered by a taste for the choicest female society, +however small, which he had always regarded as the best relish of +existence. If now his manners thus responded to his person, his mind +answered to them both, and was their finest illustration. Besides his +eloquent persuasiveness in the pulpit, various fugitive papers upon +subjects of nature, art, and literature, attested not only his refined +affinity to all beautiful things, visible or invisible; but likewise +that he possessed a genius for celebrating such things, which in a less +indolent and more ambitious nature, would have been sure to have gained +a fair poet's name ere now. For this Mr. Falsgrave was just hovering +upon his prime of years; a period which, in such a man, is the sweetest, +and, to a mature woman, by far the most attractive of manly life. Youth +has not yet completely gone with its beauty, grace, and strength; nor +has age at all come with its decrepitudes; though the finest undrossed +parts of it--its mildness and its wisdom--have gone on before, as +decorous chamberlains precede the sedan of some crutched king. + +Such was this Mr. Falsgrave, who now sat at Mrs. Glendinning's breakfast +table, a corner of one of that lady's generous napkins so inserted into +his snowy bosom, that its folds almost invested him as far down as the +table's edge; and he seemed a sacred priest, indeed, breakfasting in his +surplice. + +"Pray, Mr. Falsgrave," said Mrs. Glendinning, "break me off a bit of +that roll." + +Whether or not his sacerdotal experiences had strangely refined and +spiritualized so simple a process as breaking bread; or whether it was +from the spotless aspect of his hands: certain it is that Mr. Falsgrave +acquitted himself on this little occasion, in a manner that beheld of +old by Leonardo, might have given that artist no despicable hint +touching his celestial painting. As Pierre regarded him, sitting there +so mild and meek; such an image of white-browed and white-handed, and +napkined immaculateness; and as he felt the gentle humane radiations +which came from the clergyman's manly and rounded beautifulness; and as +he remembered all the good that he knew of this man, and all the good +that he had heard of him, and could recall no blemish in his character; +and as in his own concealed misery and forlornness, he contemplated the +open benevolence, and beaming excellent-heartedness of Mr. Falsgrave, +the thought darted through his mind, that if any living being was +capable of giving him worthy counsel in his strait; and if to any one he +could go with Christian propriety and some small hopefulness, that +person was the one before him. + +"Pray, Mr. Glendinning," said the clergyman, pleasantly, as Pierre was +silently offering to help him to some tongue--"don't let me rob you of +it--pardon me, but you seem to have very little yourself this morning, I +think. An execrable pun, I know: but"--turning toward Mrs. +Glendinning--"when one is made to feel very happy, one is somehow apt to +say very silly things. Happiness and silliness--ah, it's a suspicious +coincidence." + +"Mr. Falsgrave," said the hostess--"Your cup is empty. Dates!--We were +talking yesterday, Mr. Falsgrave, concerning that vile fellow, Ned." + +"Well, Madam," responded the gentleman, a very little uneasily. + +"He shall not stay on any ground of mine; my mind is made up, sir. +Infamous man!--did he not have a wife as virtuous and beautiful now, as +when I first gave her away at your altar?--It was the sheerest and most +gratuitous profligacy." + +The clergyman mournfully and assentingly moved his head. + +"Such men," continued the lady, flushing with the sincerest +indignation--"are to my way of thinking more detestable than murderers." + +"That is being a little hard upon them, my dear Madam," said Mr. +Falsgrave, mildly. + +"Do you not think so, Pierre"--now, said the lady, turning earnestly +upon her son--"is not the man, who has sinned like that Ned, worse than +a murderer? Has he not sacrificed one woman completely, and given infamy +to another--to both of them--for their portion. If his own legitimate +boy should now hate him, I could hardly blame him." + +"My dear Madam," said the clergyman, whose eyes having followed Mrs. +Glendinning's to her son's countenance, and marking a strange +trepidation there, had thus far been earnestly scrutinizing Pierre's not +wholly repressible emotion;--"My dear Madam," he said, slightly bending +over his stately episcopal-looking person--"Virtue has, perhaps, an +over-ardent champion in you; you grow too warm; but Mr. Glendinning, +here, he seems to grow too cold. Pray, favor us with your views, Mr. +Glendinning?" + +"I will not think now of the man," said Pierre, slowly, and looking away +from both his auditors--"let us speak of Delly and her infant--she has, +or had one, I have loosely heard;--their case is miserable indeed." + +"The mother deserves it," said the lady, inflexibly--"and the +child--Reverend sir, what are the words of the Bible?" + +"'The sins of the father shall be visited upon the children to the third +generation,'" said Mr. Falsgrave, with some slight reluctance in his +tones. "But Madam, that does not mean, that the community is in any way +to take the infamy of the children into their own voluntary hands, as +the conscious delegated stewards of God's inscrutable dispensations. +Because it is declared that the infamous consequences of sin shall be +hereditary, it does not follow that our personal and active loathing of +sin, should descend from the sinful sinner to his sinless child." + +"I understand you, sir," said Mrs. Glendinning, coloring slightly, "you +think me too censorious. But if we entirely forget the parentage of the +child, and every way receive the child as we would any other, feel for +it in all respects the same, and attach no sign of ignominy to it--how +then is the Bible dispensation to be fulfilled? Do we not then put +ourselves in the way of its fulfilment, and is that wholly free from +impiety?" + +Here it was the clergyman's turn to color a little, and there was a just +perceptible tremor of the under lip. + +"Pardon me," continued the lady, courteously, "but if there is any one +blemish in the character of the Reverend Mr. Falsgrave, it is that the +benevolence of his heart, too much warps in him the holy rigor of our +Church's doctrines. For my part, as I loathe the man, I loathe the +woman, and never desire to behold the child." + +A pause ensued, during which it was fortunate for Pierre, that by the +social sorcery of such occasions as the present, the eyes of all three +were intent upon the cloth; all three for the moment, giving loose to +their own distressful meditations upon the subject in debate, and Mr. +Falsgrave vexedly thinking that the scene was becoming a little +embarrassing. + +Pierre was the first who spoke; as before, he steadfastly kept his eyes +away from both his auditors; but though he did not designate his mother, +something in the tone of his voice showed that what he said was +addressed more particularly to her. + +"Since we seem to have been strangely drawn into the ethical aspect of +this melancholy matter," said he, "suppose we go further in it; and let +me ask, how it should be between the legitimate and the illegitimate +child--children of one father--when they shall have passed their +childhood?" + +Here the clergyman quickly raising his eyes, looked as surprised and +searchingly at Pierre, as his politeness would permit. + +"Upon my word"--said Mrs. Glendinning, hardly less surprised, and making +no attempt at disguising it--"this is an odd question you put; you have +been more attentive to the subject than I had fancied. But what do you +mean, Pierre? I did not entirely understand you." + +"Should the legitimate child shun the illegitimate, when one father is +father to both?" rejoined Pierre, bending his head still further over +his plate. + +The clergyman looked a little down again, and was silent; but still +turned his head slightly sideways toward his hostess, as if awaiting +some reply to Pierre from her. + +"Ask the world, Pierre"--said Mrs. Glendinning warmly--"and ask your own +heart." + +"My own heart? I will, Madam"--said Pierre, now looking up steadfastly; +"but what do _you_ think, Mr. Falsgrave?" letting his glance drop +again--"should the one shun the other; should the one refuse his highest +sympathy and perfect love for the other, especially if that other be +deserted by all the rest of the world? What think you would have been +our blessed Savior's thoughts on such a matter? And what was that he so +mildly said to the adulteress?" + +A swift color passed over the clergyman's countenance, suffusing even +his expanded brow; he slightly moved in his chair, and looked +uncertainly from Pierre to his mother. He seemed as a shrewd, +benevolent-minded man, placed between opposite opinions--merely +opinions--who, with a full, and doubly-differing persuasion in himself, +still refrains from uttering it, because of an irresistible dislike to +manifesting an absolute dissent from the honest convictions of any +person, whom he both socially and morally esteems. + +"Well, what do you reply to my son?"--said Mrs. Glendinning at last. + +"Madam and sir"--said the clergyman, now regaining his entire +self-possession. "It is one of the social disadvantages which we of the +pulpit labor under, that we are supposed to know more of the moral +obligations of humanity than other people. And it is a still more +serious disadvantage to the world, that our unconsidered, conversational +opinions on the most complex problems of ethics, are too apt to be +considered authoritative, as indirectly proceeding from the church +itself. Now, nothing can be more erroneous than such notions; and +nothing so embarrasses me, and deprives me of that entire serenity, +which is indispensable to the delivery of a careful opinion on moral +subjects, than when sudden questions of this sort are put to me in +company. Pardon this long preamble, for I have little more to say. It is +not every question, however direct, Mr. Glendinning, which can be +conscientiously answered with a yes or no. Millions of circumstances +modify all moral questions; so that though conscience may possibly +dictate freely in any known special case; yet, by one universal maxim, +to embrace all moral contingencies,--this is not only impossible, but +the attempt, to me, seems foolish." + +At this instant, the surplice-like napkin dropped from the clergyman's +bosom, showing a minute but exquisitely cut cameo brooch, representing +the allegorical union of the serpent and dove. It had been the gift of +an appreciative friend, and was sometimes worn on secular occasions like +the present. + +"I agree with you, sir"--said Pierre, bowing. "I fully agree with you. +And now, madam, let us talk of something else." + +"You madam me very punctiliously this morning, Mr. Glendinning"--said +his mother, half-bitterly smiling, and half-openly offended, but still +more surprised at Pierre's frigid demeanor. + +"'Honor thy father and mother;'" said Pierre--"_both_ father and +mother," he unconsciously added. "And now that it strikes me, Mr. +Falsgrave, and now that we have become so strangely polemical this +morning, let me say, that as that command is justly said to be the only +one with a promise, so it seems to be without any contingency in the +application. It would seem--would it not, sir?--that the most deceitful +and hypocritical of fathers should be equally honored by the son, as the +purest." + +"So it would certainly seem, according to the strict letter of the +Decalogue--certainly." + +"And do you think, sir, that it should be so held, and so applied in +actual life? For instance, should I honor my father, if I knew him to be +a seducer?" + +"Pierre! Pierre!" said his mother, profoundly coloring, and half rising; +"there is no need of these argumentative assumptions. You very immensely +forget yourself this morning." + +"It is merely the interest of the general question, Madam," returned +Pierre, coldly. "I am sorry. If your former objection does not apply +here, Mr. Falsgrave, will you favor me with an answer to my question?" + +"There you are again, Mr. Glendinning," said the clergyman, thankful for +Pierre's hint; "that is another question in morals absolutely incapable +of a definite answer, which shall be universally applicable." Again the +surplice-like napkin chanced to drop. + +"I am tacitly rebuked again then, sir," said Pierre, slowly; "but I +admit that perhaps you are again in the right. And now, Madam, since Mr. +Falsgrave and yourself have a little business together, to which my +presence is not necessary, and may possibly prove quite dispensable, +permit me to leave you. I am going off on a long ramble, so you need not +wait dinner for me. Good morning, Mr. Falsgrave; good morning, Madam," +looking toward his mother. + +As the door closed upon him, Mr. Falsgrave spoke--"Mr. Glendinning looks +a little pale to-day: has he been ill?" + +"Not that I know of," answered the lady, indifferently, "but did you +ever see young gentleman so stately as he was! Extraordinary!" she +murmured; "what can this mean--Madam--Madam? But your cup is empty +again, sir"--reaching forth her hand. + +"No more, no more, Madam," said the clergyman. + +"Madam? pray don't Madam me any more, Mr. Falsgrave; I have taken a +sudden hatred to that title." + +"Shall it be Your Majesty, then?" said the clergyman, gallantly; "the +May Queens are so styled, and so should be the Queens of October." + +Here the lady laughed. "Come," said she, "let us go into another room, +and settle the affair of that infamous Ned and that miserable Delly." + + +V. + +The swiftness and unrepellableness of the billow which, with its first +shock, had so profoundly whelmed Pierre, had not only poured into his +soul a tumult of entirely new images and emotions, but, for the time, it +almost entirely drove out of him all previous ones. The things that any +way bore directly upon the pregnant fact of Isabel, these things were +all animate and vividly present to him; but the things which bore more +upon himself, and his own personal condition, as now forever involved +with his sister's, these things were not so animate and present to him. +The conjectured past of Isabel took mysterious hold of his father; +therefore, the idea of his father tyrannized over his imagination; and +the possible future of Isabel, as so essentially though indirectly +compromisable by whatever course of conduct his mother might hereafter +ignorantly pursue with regard to himself, as henceforth, through Isabel, +forever altered to her; these considerations brought his mother with +blazing prominence before him. + +Heaven, after all, hath been a little merciful to the miserable man; not +entirely untempered to human nature are the most direful blasts of Fate. +When on all sides assailed by prospects of disaster, whose final ends +are in terror hidden from it, the soul of man--either, as instinctively +convinced that it can not battle with the whole host at once; or else, +benevolently blinded to the larger arc of the circle which menacingly +hems it in;--whichever be the truth, the soul of man, thus surrounded, +can not, and does never intelligently confront the totality of its +wretchedness. The bitter drug is divided into separate draughts for him: +to-day he takes one part of his woe; to-morrow he takes more; and so on, +till the last drop is drunk. + +Not that in the despotism of other things, the thought of Lucy, and the +unconjecturable suffering into which she might so soon be plunged, owing +to the threatening uncertainty of the state of his own future, as now in +great part and at all hazards dedicated to Isabel; not that this thought +had thus far been alien to him. Icy-cold, and serpent-like, it had +overlayingly crawled in upon his other shuddering imaginings; but those +other thoughts would as often upheave again, and absorb it into +themselves, so that it would in that way soon disappear from his +cotemporary apprehension. The prevailing thoughts connected with Isabel +he now could front with prepared and open eyes; but the occasional +thought of Lucy, when _that_ started up before him, he could only cover +his bewildered eyes with his bewildered hands. Nor was this the +cowardice of selfishness, but the infinite sensitiveness of his soul. He +could bear the agonizing thought of Isabel, because he was immediately +resolved to help her, and to assuage a fellow-being's grief; but, as +yet, he could not bear the thought of Lucy, because the very resolution +that promised balm to Isabel obscurely involved the everlasting peace of +Lucy, and therefore aggravatingly threatened a far more than +fellow-being's happiness. + +Well for Pierre it was, that the penciling presentiments of his mind +concerning Lucy as quickly erased as painted their tormenting images. +Standing half-befogged upon the mountain of his Fate, all that part of +the wide panorama was wrapped in clouds to him; but anon those +concealings slid aside, or rather, a quick rent was made in them; +disclosing far below, half-vailed in the lower mist, the winding +tranquil vale and stream of Lucy's previous happy life; through the +swift cloud-rent he caught one glimpse of her expectant and angelic face +peeping from the honey-suckled window of her cottage; and the next +instant the stormy pinions of the clouds locked themselves over it +again; and all was hidden as before; and all went confused in whirling +rack and vapor as before. Only by unconscious inspiration, caught from +the agencies invisible to man, had he been enabled to write that first +obscurely announcing note to Lucy; wherein the collectedness, and the +mildness, and the calmness, were but the natural though insidious +precursors of the stunning bolts on bolts to follow. + +But, while thus, for the most part wrapped from his consciousness and +vision, still, the condition of his Lucy, as so deeply affected now, was +still more and more disentangling and defining itself from out its +nearer mist, and even beneath the general upper fog. For when +unfathomably stirred, the subtler elements of man do not always reveal +themselves in the concocting act; but, as with all other potencies, show +themselves chiefly in their ultimate resolvings and results. Strange +wild work, and awfully symmetrical and reciprocal, was that now going on +within the self-apparently chaotic breast of Pierre. As in his own +conscious determinations, the mournful Isabel was being snatched from +her captivity of world-wide abandonment; so, deeper down in the more +secret chambers of his unsuspecting soul, the smiling Lucy, now as dead +and ashy pale, was being bound a ransom for Isabel's salvation. Eye for +eye, and tooth for tooth. Eternally inexorable and unconcerned is Fate, +a mere heartless trader in men's joys and woes. + +Nor was this general and spontaneous self-concealment of all the most +momentous interests of his love, as irretrievably involved with Isabel +and his resolution respecting her; nor was this unbidden thing in him +unseconded by the prompting of his own conscious judgment, when in the +tyranny of the master-event itself, that judgment was permitted some +infrequent play. He could not but be aware, that all meditation on Lucy +now was worse than useless. How could he now map out his and her young +life-chart, when all was yet misty-white with creamy breakers! Still +more: divinely dedicated as he felt himself to be; with divine commands +upon him to befriend and champion Isabel, through all conceivable +contingencies of Time and Chance; how could he insure himself against +the insidious inroads of self-interest, and hold intact all his +unselfish magnanimities, if once he should permit the distracting +thought of Lucy to dispute with Isabel's the pervading possession of his +soul? + +And if--though but unconsciously as yet--he was almost superhumanly +prepared to make a sacrifice of all objects dearest to him, and cut +himself away from his last hopes of common happiness, should they cross +his grand enthusiast resolution;--if this was so with him; then, how +light as gossamer, and thinner and more impalpable than airiest threads +of gauze, did he hold all common conventional regardings;--his +hereditary duty to his mother, his pledged worldly faith and honor to +the hand and seal of his affiancement? + +Not that at present all these things did thus present themselves to +Pierre; but these things were foetally forming in him. Impregnations +from high enthusiasms he had received; and the now incipient offspring +which so stirred, with such painful, vague vibrations in his soul; this, +in its mature development, when it should at last come forth in living +deeds, would scorn all personal relationship with Pierre, and hold his +heart's dearest interests for naught. + +Thus, in the Enthusiast to Duty, the heaven-begotten Christ is born; and +will not own a mortal parent, and spurns and rends all mortal bonds. + + +VI. + +One night, one day, and a small part of the one ensuing evening had been +given to Pierre to prepare for the momentous interview with Isabel. + +Now, thank God, thought Pierre, the night is past,--the night of Chaos +and of Doom; the day only, and the skirt of evening now remain. May +heaven new-string my soul, and confirm me in the Christ-like feeling I +first felt. May I, in all my least shapeful thoughts still square myself +by the inflexible rule of holy right. Let no unmanly, mean temptation +cross my path this day; let no base stone lie in it. This day I will +forsake the censuses of men, and seek the suffrages of the god-like +population of the trees, which now seem to me a nobler race than man. +Their high foliage shall drop heavenliness upon me; my feet in contact +with their mighty roots, immortal vigor shall so steal into me. Guide +me, gird me, guard me, this day, ye sovereign powers! Bind me in bonds I +can not break; remove all sinister allurings from me; eternally this day +deface in me the detested and distorted images of all the convenient +lies and duty-subterfuges of the diving and ducking moralities of this +earth. Fill me with consuming fire for them; to my life's muzzle, cram +me with your own intent. Let no world-syren come to sing to me this day, +and wheedle from me my undauntedness. I cast my eternal die this day, ye +powers. On my strong faith in ye Invisibles, I stake three whole +felicities, and three whole lives this day. If ye forsake me +now,--farewell to Faith, farewell to Truth, farewell to God; exiled for +aye from God and man, I shall declare myself an equal power with both; +free to make war on Night and Day, and all thoughts and things of mind +and matter, which the upper and the nether firmaments do clasp! + + +VII. + +But Pierre, though, charged with the fire of all divineness, his +containing thing was made of clay. Ah, muskets the gods have made to +carry infinite combustions, and yet made them of clay! + +Save me from being bound to Truth, liege lord, as I am now. How shall I +steal yet further into Pierre, and show how this heavenly fire was +helped to be contained in him, by mere contingent things, and things +that he knew not. But I shall follow the endless, winding way,--the +flowing river in the cave of man; careless whither I be led, reckless +where I land. + +Was not the face--though mutely mournful--beautiful, bewitchingly? How +unfathomable those most wondrous eyes of supernatural light! In those +charmed depths, Grief and Beauty plunged and dived together. So +beautiful, so mystical, so bewilderingly alluring; speaking of a +mournfulness infinitely sweeter and more attractive than all +mirthfulness; that face of glorious suffering; that face of touching +loveliness; that face was Pierre's own sister's; that face was Isabel's; +that face Pierre had visibly seen; into those same supernatural eyes +our Pierre had looked. Thus, already, and ere the proposed encounter, he +was assured that, in a transcendent degree, womanly beauty, and not +womanly ugliness, invited him to champion the right. Be naught concealed +in this book of sacred truth. How, if accosted in some squalid lane, a +humped, and crippled, hideous girl should have snatched his garment's +hem, with--"Save me, Pierre--love me, own me, brother; I am thy +sister!"--Ah, if man were wholly made in heaven, why catch we +hell-glimpses? Why in the noblest marble pillar that stands beneath the +all-comprising vault, ever should we descry the sinister vein? We lie in +nature very close to God; and though, further on, the stream may be +corrupted by the banks it flows through; yet at the fountain's rim, +where mankind stand, there the stream infallibly bespeaks the fountain. + +So let no censorious word be here hinted of mortal Pierre. Easy for me +to slyly hide these things, and always put him before the eye as perfect +as immaculate; unsusceptible to the inevitable nature and the lot of +common men. I am more frank with Pierre than the best men are with +themselves. I am all unguarded and magnanimous with Pierre; therefore +you see his weakness, and therefore only. In reserves men build imposing +characters; not in revelations. He who shall be wholly honest, though +nobler than Ethan Allen; that man shall stand in danger of the meanest +mortal's scorn. + + + + +BOOK VI. + +ISABEL, AND THE FIRST PART OF THE STORY OF ISABEL. + + +I. + +Half wishful that the hour would come; half shuddering that every moment +it still came nearer and more near to him; dry-eyed, but wet with that +dark day's rain; at fall of eve, Pierre emerged from long wanderings in +the primeval woods of Saddle Meadows, and for one instant stood +motionless upon their sloping skirt. + +Where he stood was in the rude wood road, only used by sledges in the +time of snow; just where the out-posted trees formed a narrow arch, and +fancied gateway leading upon the far, wide pastures sweeping down toward +the lake. In that wet and misty eve the scattered, shivering pasture +elms seemed standing in a world inhospitable, yet rooted by inscrutable +sense of duty to their place. Beyond, the lake lay in one sheet of +blankness and of dumbness, unstirred by breeze or breath; fast bound +there it lay, with not life enough to reflect the smallest shrub or +twig. Yet in that lake was seen the duplicate, stirless sky above. Only +in sunshine did that lake catch gay, green images; and these but +displaced the imaged muteness of the unfeatured heavens. + +On both sides, in the remoter distance, and also far beyond the mild +lake's further shore, rose the long, mysterious mountain masses; shaggy +with pines and hemlocks, mystical with nameless, vapory exhalations, and +in that dim air black with dread and gloom. At their base, profoundest +forests lay entranced, and from their far owl-haunted depths of caves +and rotted leaves, and unused and unregarded inland overgrowth of +decaying wood--for smallest sticks of which, in other climes many a +pauper was that moment perishing; from out the infinite inhumanities of +those profoundest forests, came a moaning, muttering, roaring, +intermitted, changeful sound: rain-shakings of the palsied trees, +slidings of rocks undermined, final crashings of long-riven boughs, and +devilish gibberish of the forest-ghosts. + +But more near, on the mild lake's hither shore, where it formed a long +semi-circular and scooped acclivity of corn-fields, there the small and +low red farm-house lay; its ancient roof a bed of brightest mosses; its +north front (from the north the moss-wind blows), also moss-incrusted, +like the north side of any vast-trunked maple in the groves. At one +gabled end, a tangled arbor claimed support, and paid for it by generous +gratuities of broad-flung verdure, one viny shaft of which pointed +itself upright against the chimney-bricks, as if a waving lightning-rod. +Against the other gable, you saw the lowly dairy-shed; its sides close +netted with traced Madeira vines; and had you been close enough, peeping +through that imprisoning tracery, and through the light slats barring +the little embrasure of a window, you might have seen the gentle and +contented captives--the pans of milk, and the snow-white Dutch cheeses +in a row, and the molds of golden butter, and the jars of lily cream. In +front, three straight gigantic lindens stood guardians of this verdant +spot. A long way up, almost to the ridge-pole of the house, they showed +little foliage; but then, suddenly, as three huge green balloons, they +poised their three vast, inverted, rounded cones of verdure in the air. + +Soon as Pierre's eye rested on the place, a tremor shook him. Not alone +because of Isabel, as there a harborer now, but because of two dependent +and most strange coincidences which that day's experience had brought to +him. He had gone to breakfast with his mother, his heart charged to +overflowing with presentiments of what would probably be her haughty +disposition concerning such a being as Isabel, claiming her maternal +love: and lo! the Reverend Mr. Falsgrave enters, and Ned and Delly are +discussed, and that whole sympathetic matter, which Pierre had despaired +of bringing before his mother in all its ethic bearings, so as +absolutely to learn her thoughts upon it, and thereby test his own +conjectures; all that matter had been fully talked about; so that, +through that strange coincidence, he now perfectly knew his mother's +mind, and had received forewarnings, as if from heaven, not to make any +present disclosure to her. That was in the morning; and now, at eve +catching a glimpse of the house where Isabel was harboring, at once he +recognized it as the rented farm-house of old Walter Ulver, father to +the self-same Delly, forever ruined through the cruel arts of Ned. + +Strangest feelings, almost supernatural, now stole into Pierre. With +little power to touch with awe the souls of less susceptible, +reflective, and poetic beings, such coincidences, however frequently +they may recur, ever fill the finer organization with sensations which +transcend all verbal renderings. They take hold of life's subtlest +problem. With the lightning's flash, the query is spontaneously +propounded--chance, or God? If too, the mind thus influenced be likewise +a prey to any settled grief, then on all sides the query magnifies, and +at last takes in the all-comprehending round of things. For ever is it +seen, that sincere souls in suffering, then most ponder upon final +causes. The heart, stirred to its depths, finds correlative sympathy in +the head, which likewise is profoundly moved. Before miserable men, when +intellectual, all the ages of the world pass as in a manacled +procession, and all their myriad links rattle in the mournful mystery. + +Pacing beneath the long-skirting shadows of the elevated wood, waiting +for the appointed hour to come, Pierre strangely strove to imagine to +himself the scene which was destined to ensue. But imagination utterly +failed him here; the reality was too real for him; only the face, the +face alone now visited him; and so accustomed had he been of late to +confound it with the shapes of air, that he almost trembled when he +thought that face to face, that face must shortly meet his own. + +And now the thicker shadows begin to fall; the place is lost to him; +only the three dim, tall lindens pilot him as he descends the hill, +hovering upon the house. He knows it not, but his meditative route is +sinuous; as if that moment his thought's stream was likewise +serpentining: laterally obstructed by insinuated misgivings as to the +ultimate utilitarian advisability of the enthusiast resolution that was +his. His steps decrease in quickness as he comes more nigh, and sees one +feeble light struggling in the rustic double-casement. Infallibly he +knows that his own voluntary steps are taking him forever from the +brilliant chandeliers of the mansion of Saddle Meadows, to join company +with the wretched rush-lights of poverty and woe. But his sublime +intuitiveness also paints to him the sun-like glories of god-like truth +and virtue; which though ever obscured by the dense fogs of earth, still +shall shine eventually in unclouded radiance, casting illustrative light +upon the sapphire throne of God. + + +II. + +He stands before the door; the house is steeped in silence; he knocks; +the casement light flickers for a moment, and then moves away; within, +he hears a door creak on its hinges; then his whole heart beats wildly +as the outer latch is lifted; and holding the light above her +supernatural head, Isabel stands before him. It is herself. No word is +spoken; no other soul is seen. They enter the room of the double +casement; and Pierre sits down, overpowered with bodily faintness and +spiritual awe. He lifts his eyes to Isabel's gaze of loveliness and +loneliness; and then a low, sweet, half-sobbing voice of more than +natural musicalness is heard:-- + +"And so, thou art my brother;--shall I call thee Pierre?" + +Steadfastly, with his one first and last fraternal inquisition of the +person of the mystic girl, Pierre now for an instant eyes her; and in +that one instant sees in the imploring face, not only the nameless +touchingness of that of the sewing-girl, but also the subtler expression +of the portrait of his then youthful father, strangely translated, and +intermarryingly blended with some before unknown, foreign feminineness. +In one breath, Memory and Prophecy, and Intuition tell him--"Pierre, +have no reserves; no minutest possible doubt;--this being is thy sister; +thou gazest on thy father's flesh." + +"And so thou art my brother!--shall I call thee Pierre?" + +He sprang to his feet, and caught her in his undoubting arms. + +"Thou art! thou art!" + +He felt a faint struggling within his clasp; her head drooped against +him; his whole form was bathed in the flowing glossiness of her long and +unimprisoned hair. Brushing the locks aside, he now gazed upon the +death-like beauty of the face, and caught immortal sadness from it. She +seemed as dead; as suffocated,--the death that leaves most unimpaired +the latent tranquillities and sweetnesses of the human countenance. + +He would have called aloud for succor; but the slow eyes opened upon +him; and slowly he felt the girl's supineness leaving her; and now she +recovers herself a little,--and again he feels her faintly struggling in +his arms, as if somehow abashed, and incredulous of mortal right to hold +her so. Now Pierre repents his over-ardent and incautious warmth, and +feels himself all reverence for her. Tenderly he leads her to a bench +within the double casement; and sits beside her; and waits in silence, +till the first shock of this encounter shall have left her more composed +and more prepared to hold communion with him. + +"How feel'st thou now, my sister?" + +"Bless thee! bless thee!" + +Again the sweet, wild power of the musicalness of the voice, and some +soft, strange touch of foreignness in the accent,--so it fancifully +seemed to Pierre, thrills through and through his soul. He bent and +kissed her brow; and then feels her hand seeking his, and then clasping +it without one uttered word. + +All his being is now condensed in that one sensation of the clasping +hand. He feels it as very small and smooth, but strangely hard. Then he +knew that by the lonely labor of her hands, his own father's daughter +had earned her living in the same world, where he himself, her own +brother, had so idly dwelled. Once more he reverently kissed her brow, +and his warm breath against it murmured with a prayer to heaven. + +"I have no tongue to speak to thee, Pierre, my brother. My whole being, +all my life's thoughts and longings are in endless arrears to thee; then +how can I speak to thee? Were it God's will, Pierre, my utmost blessing +now, were to lie down and die. Then should I be at peace. Bear with me, +Pierre." + +"Eternally will I do that, my beloved Isabel! Speak not to me yet +awhile, if that seemeth best to thee, if that only is possible to thee. +This thy clasping hand, my sister, _this_ is now thy tongue to me." + +"I know not where to begin to speak to thee, Pierre; and yet my soul +o'erbrims in me." + +"From my heart's depths, I love and reverence thee; and feel for thee, +backward and forward, through all eternity!" + +"Oh, Pierre, can'st thou not cure in me this dreaminess, this +bewilderingness I feel? My poor head swims and swims, and will not +pause. My life can not last long thus; I am too full without discharge. +Conjure tears for me, Pierre; that my heart may not break with the +present feeling,--more death-like to me than all my grief gone by!" + +"Ye thirst-slaking evening skies, ye hilly dews and mists, distil your +moisture here! The bolt hath passed; why comes not the following +shower?--Make her to weep!" + +Then her head sought his support; and big drops fell on him; and anon, +Isabel gently slid her head from him, and sat a little composedly beside +him. + +"If thou feelest in endless arrears of thought to me, my sister; so do I +feel toward thee. I too, scarce know what I should speak to thee. But +when thou lookest on me, my sister, thou beholdest one, who in his soul +hath taken vows immutable, to be to thee, in all respects, and to the +uttermost bounds and possibilities of Fate, thy protecting and +all-acknowledging brother!" + +"Not mere sounds of common words, but inmost tones of my heart's deepest +melodies should now be audible to thee. Thou speakest to a human thing, +but something heavenly should answer thee;--some flute heard in the air +should answer thee; for sure thy most undreamed-of accents, Pierre, sure +they have not been unheard on high. Blessings that are imageless to all +mortal fancyings, these shall be thine for this." + +"Blessing like to thine, doth but recoil and bless homeward to the heart +that uttered it. I can not bless thee, my sister, as thou dost bless +thyself in blessing my unworthiness. But, Isabel, by still keeping +present the first wonder of our meeting, we shall make our hearts all +feebleness. Let me then rehearse to thee what Pierre is; what life +hitherto he hath been leading; and what hereafter he shall lead;--so +thou wilt be prepared." + +"Nay, Pierre, that is my office; thou art first entitled to my tale, +then, if it suit thee, thou shalt make me the unentitled gift of thine. +Listen to me, now. The invisible things will give me strength;--it is +not much, Pierre;--nor aught very marvelous. Listen then;--I feel +soothed down to utterance now." + +During some brief, interluding, silent pauses in their interview thus +far, Pierre had heard a soft, slow, sad, to-and-fro, meditative stepping +on the floor above; and in the frequent pauses that intermitted the +strange story in the following chapter, that same soft, slow, sad, +to-and-fro, meditative, and most melancholy stepping, was again and +again audible in the silent room. + + +III. + +"I never knew a mortal mother. The farthest stretch of my life's memory +can not recall one single feature of such a face. If, indeed, mother of +mine hath lived, she is long gone, and cast no shadow on the ground she +trod. Pierre, the lips that do now speak to thee, never touched a +woman's breast; I seem not of woman born. My first dim life-thoughts +cluster round an old, half-ruinous house in some region, for which I now +have no chart to seek it out. If such a spot did ever really exist, that +too seems to have been withdrawn from all the remainder of the earth. It +was a wild, dark house, planted in the midst of a round, cleared, +deeply-sloping space, scooped out of the middle of deep stunted pine +woods. Ever I shrunk at evening from peeping out of my window, lest the +ghostly pines should steal near to me, and reach out their grim arms to +snatch me into their horrid shadows. In summer the forest unceasingly +hummed with unconjecturable voices of unknown birds and beasts. In +winter its deep snows were traced like any paper map, with dotting +night-tracks of four-footed creatures, that, even to the sun, were never +visible, and never were seen by man at all. In the round open space the +dark house stood, without one single green twig or leaf to shelter it; +shadeless and shelterless in the heart of shade and shelter. Some of the +windows were rudely boarded up, with boards nailed straight up and down; +and those rooms were utterly empty, and never were entered, though they +were doorless. But often, from the echoing corridor, I gazed into them +with fear; for the great fire-places were all in ruins; the lower tier +of back-stones were burnt into one white, common crumbling; and the +black bricks above had fallen upon the hearths, heaped here and there +with the still falling soot of long-extinguished fires. Every +hearth-stone in that house had one long crack through it; every floor +drooped at the corners; and outside, the whole base of the house, where +it rested on the low foundation of greenish stones, was strewn with +dull, yellow molderings of the rotting sills. No name; no scrawled or +written thing; no book, was in the house; no one memorial speaking of +its former occupants. It was dumb as death. No grave-stone, or mound, or +any little hillock around the house, betrayed any past burials of man or +child. And thus, with no trace then to me of its past history, thus it +hath now entirely departed and perished from my slightest knowledge as +to where that house so stood, or in what region it so stood. None other +house like it have I ever seen. But once I saw plates of the outside of +French chateaux which powerfully recalled its dim image to me, +especially the two rows of small dormer windows projecting from the +inverted hopper-roof. But that house was of wood, and these of stone. +Still, sometimes I think that house was not in this country, but +somewhere in Europe; perhaps in France; but it is all bewildering to me; +and so you must not start at me, for I can not but talk wildly upon so +wild a theme. + +"In this house I never saw any living human soul, but an old man and +woman. The old man's face was almost black with age, and was one purse +of wrinkles, his hoary beard always tangled, streaked with dust and +earthy crumbs. I think in summer he toiled a little in the garden, or +some spot like that, which lay on one side of the house. All my ideas +are in uncertainty and confusion here. But the old man and the old woman +seem to have fastened themselves indelibly upon my memory. I suppose +their being the only human things around me then, _that_ caused the hold +they took upon me. They seldom spoke to me; but would sometimes, of +dark, gusty nights, sit by the fire and stare at me, and then mumble to +each other, and then stare at me again. They were not entirely unkind to +me; but, I repeat, they seldom or never spoke to me. What words or +language they used to each other, this it is impossible for me to +recall. I have often wished to; for then I might at least have some +additional idea whether the house was in this country or somewhere +beyond the sea. And here I ought to say, that sometimes I have, I know +not what sort of vague remembrances of at one time--shortly after the +period I now speak of--chattering in two different childish languages; +one of which waned in me as the other and latter grew. But more of this +anon. It was the woman that gave me my meals; for I did not eat with +them. Once they sat by the fire with a loaf between them, and a bottle +of some thin sort of reddish wine; and I went up to them, and asked to +eat with them, and touched the loaf. But instantly the old man made a +motion as if to strike me, but did not, and the woman, glaring at me, +snatched the loaf and threw it into the fire before them. I ran +frightened from the room; and sought a cat, which I had often tried to +coax into some intimacy, but, for some strange cause, without success. +But in my frightened loneliness, then, I sought the cat again, and found +her up-stairs, softly scratching for some hidden thing among the litter +of the abandoned fire-places. I called to her, for I dared not go into +the haunted chamber; but she only gazed sideways and unintelligently +toward me; and continued her noiseless searchings. I called again, and +then she turned round and hissed at me; and I ran down stairs, still +stung with the thought of having been driven away there, too. I now knew +not where to go to rid myself of my loneliness. At last I went outside +of the house, and sat down on a stone, but its coldness went up to my +heart, and I rose and stood on my feet. But my head was dizzy; I could +not stand; I fell, and knew no more. But next morning I found myself in +bed in my uncheerable room, and some dark bread and a cup of water by +me. + +"It has only been by chance that I have told thee this one particular +reminiscence of my early life in that house. I could tell many more like +it, but this is enough to show what manner of life I led at that time. +Every day that I then lived, I felt all visible sights and all audible +sounds growing stranger and stranger, and fearful and more fearful to +me. To me the man and the woman were just like the cat; none of them +would speak to me; none of them were comprehensible to me. And the man, +and the woman, and the cat, were just like the green foundation stones +of the house to me; I knew not whence they came, or what cause they had +for being there. I say again, no living human soul came to the house but +the man and the woman; but sometimes the old man early trudged away to a +road that led through the woods, and would not come back till late in +the evening; he brought the dark bread, and the thin, reddish wine with +him. Though the entrance to the wood was not so very far from the door, +yet he came so slowly and infirmly trudging with his little load, that +it seemed weary hours on hours between my first descrying him among the +trees, and his crossing the splintered threshold. + +"Now the wide and vacant blurrings of my early life thicken in my mind. +All goes wholly memoryless to me now. It may have been that about that +time I grew sick with some fever, in which for a long interval I lost +myself. Or it may be true, which I have heard, that after the period of +our very earliest recollections, then a space intervenes of entire +unknowingness, followed again by the first dim glimpses of the +succeeding memory, more or less distinctly embracing all our past up to +that one early gap in it. + +"However this may be, nothing more can I recall of the house in the wide +open space; nothing of how at last I came to leave it; but I must have +been still extremely young then. But some uncertain, tossing memory have +I of being at last in another round, open space, but immensely larger +than the first one, and with no encircling belt of woods. Yet often it +seems to me that there were three tall, straight things like pine-trees +somewhere there nigh to me at times; and that they fearfully shook and +snapt as the old trees used to in the mountain storms. And the floors +seemed sometimes to droop at the corners still more steeply than the old +floors did; and changefully drooped too, so that I would even seem to +feel them drooping under me. + +"Now, too, it was that, as it sometimes seems to me, I first and last +chattered in the two childish languages I spoke of a little time ago. +There seemed people about me, some of whom talked one, and some the +other; but I talked both; yet one not so readily as the other; and but +beginningly as it were; still this other was the one which was gradually +displacing the former. The men who--as it sometimes dreamily seems to me +at times--often climbed the three strange tree-like things, they +talked--I needs must think--if indeed I have any real thought about so +bodiless a phantom as this is--they talked the language which I speak of +as at this time gradually waning in me. It was a bonny tongue; oh, seems +to me so sparkling-gay and lightsome; just the tongue for a child like +me, if the child had not been so sad always. It was pure children's +language, Pierre; so twittering--such a chirp. + +"In thy own mind, thou must now perceive, that most of these dim +remembrances in me, hint vaguely of a ship at sea. But all is dim and +vague to me. Scarce know I at any time whether I tell you real things, +or the unrealest dreams. Always in me, the solidest things melt into +dreams, and dreams into solidities. Never have I wholly recovered from +the effects of my strange early life. This it is, that even now--this +moment--surrounds thy visible form, my brother, with a mysterious +mistiness; so that a second face, and a third face, and a fourth face +peep at me from within thy own. Now dim, and more dim, grows in me all +the memory of how thou and I did come to meet. I go groping again amid +all sorts of shapes, which part to me; so that I seem to advance through +the shapes; and yet the shapes have eyes that look at me. I turn round, +and they look at me; I step forward, and they look at me.--Let me be +silent now; do not speak to me." + + +IV. + +Filled with nameless wonderings at this strange being, Pierre sat mute, +intensely regarding her half-averted aspect. Her immense soft tresses of +the jettiest hair had slantingly fallen over her as though a curtain +were half drawn from before some saint enshrined. To Pierre, she seemed +half unearthly; but this unearthliness was only her mysteriousness, not +any thing that was repelling or menacing to him. And still, the low +melodies of her far interior voice hovered in sweet echoes in the room; +and were trodden upon, and pressed like gushing grapes, by the steady +invisible pacing on the floor above. + +She moved a little now, and after some strange wanderings more +coherently continued. + +"My next memory which I think I can in some degree rely upon, was yet +another house, also situated away from human haunts, in the heart of a +not entirely silent country. Through this country, and by the house, +wound a green and lagging river. That house must have been in some +lowland; for the first house I spoke of seems to me to have been +somewhere among mountains, or near to mountains;--the sounds of the far +waterfalls,--I seem to hear them now; the steady up-pointed cloud-shapes +behind the house in the sunset sky--I seem to see them now. But this +other house, this second one, or third one, I know not which, I say +again it was in some lowland. There were no pines around it; few trees +of any sort; the ground did not slope so steeply as around the first +house. There were cultivated fields about it, and in the distance +farm-houses, and out-houses, and cattle, and fowls, and many objects of +that familiar sort. This house I am persuaded was in this country; on +this side of the sea. It was a very large house, and full of people; but +for the most part they lived separately. There were some old people in +it, and there were young men, and young women in it,--some very +handsome; and there were children in it. It seemed a happy place to some +of these people; many of them were always laughing; but it was not a +happy place for me. + +"But here I may err, because of my own consciousness I can not identify +in myself--I mean in the memory of my whole foregoing life,--I say, I +can not identify that thing which is called happiness; that thing whose +token is a laugh, or a smile, or a silent serenity on the lip. I may +have been happy, but it is not in my conscious memory now. Nor do I feel +a longing for it, as though I had never had it; my spirit seeks +different food from happiness; for I think I have a suspicion of what it +is. I have suffered wretchedness, but not because of the absence of +happiness, and without praying for happiness. I pray for peace--for +motionlessness--for the feeling of myself, as of some plant, absorbing +life without seeking it, and existing without individual sensation. I +feel that there can be no perfect peace in individualness. Therefore I +hope one day to feel myself drank up into the pervading spirit animating +all things. I feel I am an exile here. I still go straying.--Yes; in thy +speech, thou smilest.--But let me be silent again. Do not answer me. +When I resume, I will not wander so, but make short end." + +Reverently resolved not to offer the slightest let or hinting hindrance +to the singular tale rehearsing to him, but to sit passively and receive +its marvelous droppings into his soul, however long the pauses; and as +touching less mystical considerations, persuaded that by so doing he +should ultimately derive the least nebulous and imperfect account of +Isabel's history; Pierre still sat waiting her resuming, his eyes fixed +upon the girl's wonderfully beautiful ear, which chancing to peep forth +from among her abundant tresses, nestled in that blackness like a +transparent sea-shell of pearl. + +She moved a little now; and after some strange wanderings more +coherently continued; while the sound of the stepping on the floor +above--it seemed to cease. + +"I have spoken of the second or rather the third spot in my memory of +the past, as it first appeared to me; I mean, I have spoken of the +people in the house, according to my very earliest recallable impression +of them. But I stayed in that house for several years--five, six, +perhaps, seven years--and during that interval of my stay, all things +changed to me, because I learned more, though always dimly. Some of its +occupants departed; some changed from smiles to tears; some went moping +all the day; some grew as savages and outrageous, and were dragged +below by dumb-like men into deep places, that I knew nothing of, but +dismal sounds came through the lower floor, groans and clanking +fallings, as of iron in straw. Now and then, I saw coffins silently at +noon-day carried into the house, and in five minutes' time emerge again, +seemingly heavier than they entered; but I saw not who was in them. +Once, I saw an immense-sized coffin, endwise pushed through a lower +window by three men who did not speak; and watching, I saw it pushed out +again, and they drove off with it. But the numbers of those invisible +persons who thus departed from the house, were made good by other +invisible persons arriving in close carriages. Some in rags and tatters +came on foot, or rather were driven on foot. Once I heard horrible +outcries, and peeping from my window, saw a robust but squalid and +distorted man, seemingly a peasant, tied by cords with four long ends to +them, held behind by as many ignorant-looking men who with a lash drove +the wild squalid being that way toward the house. Then I heard answering +hand-clappings, shrieks, howls, laughter, blessings, prayers, oaths, +hymns, and all audible confusions issuing from all the chambers of the +house. + +"Sometimes there entered the house--though only transiently, departing +within the hour they came--people of a then remarkable aspect to me. +They were very composed of countenance; did not laugh; did not groan; +did not weep; did not make strange faces; did not look endlessly +fatigued; were not strangely and fantastically dressed; in short, did +not at all resemble any people I had ever seen before, except a little +like some few of the persons of the house, who seemed to have authority +over the rest. These people of a remarkable aspect to me, I thought they +were strangely demented people;--composed of countenance, but wandering +of mind; soul-composed and bodily-wandering, and strangely demented +people. + +"By-and-by, the house seemed to change again, or else my mind took in +more, and modified its first impressions. I was lodged up-stairs in a +little room; there was hardly any furniture in the room; sometimes I +wished to go out of it; but the door was locked. Sometimes the people +came and took me out of the room, into a much larger and very long room, +and here I would collectively see many of the other people of the house, +who seemed likewise brought from distant and separate chambers. In this +long room they would vacantly roam about, and talk vacant talk to each +other. Some would stand in the middle of the room gazing steadily on the +floor for hours together, and never stirred, but only breathed and gazed +upon the floor. Some would sit crouching in the corner, and sit +crouching there, and only breathe and crouch in the corners. Some kept +their hands tight on their hearts, and went slowly promenading up and +down, moaning and moaning to themselves. One would say to another--"Feel +of it--here, put thy hand in the break." Another would mutter--"Broken, +broken, broken"--and would mutter nothing but that one word broken. But +most of them were dumb, and could not, or would not speak, or had +forgotten how to speak. They were nearly all pale people. Some had hair +white as snow, and yet were quite young people. Some were always talking +about Hell, Eternity, and God; and some of all things as fixedly +decreed; others would say nay to this, and then they would argue, but +without much conviction either way. But once nearly all the people +present--even the dumb moping people, and the sluggish persons crouching +in the corners--nearly all of them laughed once, when after a whole +day's loud babbling, two of these predestinarian opponents, said each to +the other--'Thou hast convinced me, friend; but we are quits; for so +also, have I convinced thee, the other way; now then, let's argue it all +over again; for still, though mutually converted, we are still at odds.' +Some harangued the wall; some apostrophized the air; some hissed at the +air; some lolled their tongues out at the air; some struck the air; some +made motions, as if wrestling with the air, and fell out of the arms of +the air, panting from the invisible hug. + +"Now, as in the former thing, thou must, ere this, have suspected what +manner of place this second or third house was, that I then lived in. +But do not speak the word to me. That word has never passed my lips; +even now, when I hear the word, I run from it; when I see it printed in +a book, I run from the book. The word is wholly unendurable to me. Who +brought me to the house; how I came there, I do not know. I lived a long +time in the house; that alone I know; I say I know, but still I am +uncertain; still Pierre, still the--oh the dreaminess, the +bewilderingness--it never entirely leaves me. Let me be still again." + +She leaned away from him; she put her small hard hand to her forehead; +then moved it down, very slowly, but still hardly over her eyes, and +kept it there, making no other sign, and still as death. Then she moved +and continued her vague tale of terribleness. + +"I must be shorter; I did not mean to turn off into the mere +offshootings of my story, here and there; but the dreaminess I speak of +leads me sometimes; and I, as impotent then, obey the dreamy prompting. +Bear with me; now I will be briefer." + +"It came to pass, at last, that there was a contention about me in the +house; some contention which I heard in the after rumor only, not at the +actual time. Some strangers had arrived; or had come in haste, being +sent for to the house. Next day they dressed me in new and pretty, but +still plain clothes, and they took me down stairs, and out into the air, +and into a carriage with a pleasant-looking woman, a stranger to me; and +I was driven off a good way, two days nearly we drove away, stopping +somewhere over-night; and on the evening of the second day we came to +another house, and went into it, and stayed there. + +"This house was a much smaller one than the other, and seemed sweetly +quiet to me after that. There was a beautiful infant in it; and this +beautiful infant always archly and innocently smiling on me, and +strangely beckoning me to come and play with it, and be glad with it; +and be thoughtless, and be glad and gleeful with it; this beautiful +infant first brought me to my own mind, as it were; first made me +sensible that I was something different from stones, trees, cats; first +undid in me the fancy that all people were as stones, trees, cats; first +filled me with the sweet idea of humanness; first made me aware of the +infinite mercifulness, and tenderness, and beautifulness of humanness; +and this beautiful infant first filled me with the dim thought of +Beauty; and equally, and at the same time, with the feeling of the +Sadness; of the immortalness and universalness of the Sadness. I now +feel that I should soon have gone,---- stop me now; do not let me go +that way. I owe all things to that beautiful infant. Oh, how I envied +it, lying in its happy mother's breast, and drawing life and gladness, +and all its perpetual smilingness from that white and smiling breast. +That infant saved me; but still gave me vague desirings. Now I first +began to reflect in my mind; to endeavor after the recalling past +things; but try as I would, little could I recall, but the +bewilderingness;--and the stupor, and the torpor, and the blackness, and +the dimness, and the vacant whirlingness of the bewilderingness. Let me +be still again." + +And the stepping on the floor above,--it then resumed. + + +V. + +"I must have been nine, or ten, or eleven years old, when the +pleasant-looking woman carried me away from the large house. She was a +farmer's wife; and now that was my residence, the farm-house. They +taught me to sew, and work with wool, and spin the wool; I was nearly +always busy now. This being busy, too, this it must have been, which +partly brought to me the power of being sensible of myself as something +human. Now I began to feel strange differences. When I saw a snake +trailing through the grass, and darting out the fire-fork from its +mouth, I said to myself, That thing is not human, but I am human. When +the lightning flashed, and split some beautiful tree, and left it to rot +from all its greenness, I said, That lightning is not human, but I am +human. And so with all other things. I can not speak coherently here; +but somehow I felt that all good, harmless men and women were human +things, placed at cross-purposes, in a world of snakes and lightnings, +in a world of horrible and inscrutable inhumanities. I have had no +training of any sort. All my thoughts well up in me; I know not whether +they pertain to the old bewilderings or not; but as they are, they are, +and I can not alter them, for I had nothing to do with putting them in +my mind, and I never affect any thoughts, and I never adulterate any +thoughts; but when I speak, think forth from the tongue, speech being +sometimes before the thought; so, often, my own tongue teaches me new +things. + +"Now as yet I never had questioned the woman, or her husband, or the +young girls, their children, why I had been brought to the house, or how +long I was to stay in the house. There I was; just as I found myself in +the world; there I was; for what cause I had been brought into the +world, would have been no stranger question to me, than for what cause I +had been brought to the house. I knew nothing of myself, or any thing +pertaining to myself; I felt my pulse, my thought; but other things I +was ignorant of, except the general feeling of my humanness among the +inhumanities. But as I grew older, I expanded in my mind. I began to +learn things out of me; to see still stranger, and minuter differences. +I called the woman mother, and so did the other girls; yet the woman +often kissed them, but seldom me. She always helped them first at table. +The farmer scarcely ever spoke to me. Now months, years rolled on, and +the young girls began to stare at me. Then the bewilderingness of the +old starings of the solitary old man and old woman, by the cracked +hearth-stone of the desolate old house, in the desolate, round, open +space; the bewilderingness of those old starings now returned to me; and +the green starings, and the serpent hissings of the uncompanionable cat, +recurred to me, and the feeling of the infinite forlornness of my life +rolled over me. But the woman was very kind to me; she taught the girls +not to be cruel to me; she would call me to her, and speak cheerfully to +me, and I thanked--not God, for I had been taught no God--I thanked the +bright human summer, and the joyful human sun in the sky; I thanked the +human summer and the sun, that they had given me the woman; and I would +sometimes steal away into the beautiful grass, and worship the kind +summer and the sun; and often say over to myself the soft words, summer +and the sun. + +"Still, weeks and years ran on, and my hair began to vail me with its +fullness and its length; and now often I heard the word beautiful, +spoken of my hair, and beautiful, spoken of myself. They would not say +the word openly to me, but I would by chance overhear them whispering +it. The word joyed me with the human feeling of it. They were wrong not +to say it openly to me; my joy would have been so much the more assured +for the openness of their saying beautiful, to me; and I know it would +have filled me with all conceivable kindness toward every one. Now I +had heard the word beautiful, whispered, now and then, for some months, +when a new being came to the house; they called him gentleman. His face +was wonderful to me. Something strangely like it, and yet again unlike +it, I had seen before, but where, I could not tell. But one day, looking +into the smooth water behind the house, there I saw the +likeness--something strangely like, and yet unlike, the likeness of his +face. This filled me with puzzlings. The new being, the gentleman, he +was very gracious to me; he seemed astonished, confounded at me; he +looked at me, then at a very little, round picture--so it seemed--which +he took from his pocket, and yet concealed from me. Then he kissed me, +and looked with tenderness and grief upon me; and I felt a tear fall on +me from him. Then he whispered a word into my ear. 'Father,' was the +word he whispered; the same word by which the young girls called the +farmer. Then I knew it was the word of kindness and of kisses. I kissed +the gentleman. + +"When he left the house I wept for him to come again. And he did come +again. All called him my father now. He came to see me once every month +or two; till at last he came not at all; and when I wept and asked for +him, they said the word _Dead_ to me. Then the bewilderings of the +comings and the goings of the coffins at the large and populous house; +these bewilderings came over me. What was it to be dead? What is it to +be living? Wherein is the difference between the words Death and Life? +Had I been ever dead? Was I living? Let me be still again. Do not speak +to me." + +And the stepping on the floor above; again it did resume. + +"Months ran on; and now I somehow learned that my father had every now +and then sent money to the woman to keep me with her in the house; and +that no more money had come to her after he was dead; the last penny of +the former money was now gone. Now the farmer's wife looked troubledly +and painfully at me; and the farmer looked unpleasantly and impatiently +at me. I felt that something was miserably wrong; I said to myself, I am +one too many; I must go away from the pleasant house. Then the +bewilderings of all the loneliness and forlornness of all my forlorn and +lonely life; all these bewilderings and the whelmings of the +bewilderings rolled over me; and I sat down without the house, but could +not weep. + +"But I was strong, and I was a grown girl now. I said to the woman--Keep +me hard at work; let me work all the time, but let me stay with thee. +But the other girls were sufficient to do the work; me they wanted not. +The farmer looked out of his eyes at me, and the out-lookings of his +eyes said plainly to me--Thee we do not want; go from us; thou art one +too many; and thou art more than one too many. Then I said to the +woman--Hire me out to some one; let me work for some one.--But I spread +too wide my little story. I must make an end. + +"The woman listened to me, and through her means I went to live at +another house, and earned wages there. My work was milking the cows, and +making butter, and spinning wool, and weaving carpets of thin strips of +cloth. One day there came to this house a pedler. In his wagon he had a +guitar, an old guitar, yet a very pretty one, but with broken strings. +He had got it slyly in part exchange from the servants of a grand house +some distance off. Spite of the broken strings, the thing looked very +graceful and beautiful to me; and I knew there was melodiousness lurking +in the thing, though I had never seen a guitar before, nor heard of one; +but there was a strange humming in my heart that seemed to prophesy of +the hummings of the guitar. Intuitively, I knew that the strings were +not as they should be. I said to the man--I will buy of thee the thing +thou callest a guitar. But thou must put new strings to it. So he went +to search for them; and brought the strings, and restringing the guitar, +tuned it for me. So with part of my earnings I bought the guitar. +Straightway I took it to my little chamber in the gable, and softly laid +it on my bed. Then I murmured; sung and murmured to it; very lowly, very +softly; I could hardly hear myself. And I changed the modulations of my +singings and my murmurings; and still sung, and murmured, lowly, +softly,--more and more; and presently I heard a sudden sound: sweet and +low beyond all telling was the sweet and sudden sound. I clapt my hands; +the guitar was speaking to me; the dear guitar was singing to me; +murmuring and singing to me, the guitar. Then I sung and murmured to it +with a still different modulation; and once more it answered me from a +different string; and once more it murmured to me, and it answered to me +with a different string. The guitar was human; the guitar taught me the +secret of the guitar; the guitar learned me to play on the guitar. No +music-master have I ever had but the guitar. I made a loving friend of +it; a heart friend of it. It sings to me as I to it. Love is not all on +one side with my guitar. All the wonders that are unimaginable and +unspeakable; all these wonders are translated in the mysterious +melodiousness of the guitar. It knows all my past history. Sometimes it +plays to me the mystic visions of the confused large house I never name. +Sometimes it brings to me the bird-twitterings in the air; and sometimes +it strikes up in me rapturous pulsations of legendary delights eternally +unexperienced and unknown to me. Bring me the guitar." + + +VI. + +Entranced, lost, as one wandering bedazzled and amazed among innumerable +dancing lights, Pierre had motionlessly listened to this +abundant-haired, and large-eyed girl of mystery. + +"Bring me the guitar!" + +Starting from his enchantment, Pierre gazed round the room, and saw the +instrument leaning against a corner. Silently he brought it to the girl, +and silently sat down again. + +"Now listen to the guitar; and the guitar shall sing to thee the sequel +of my story; for not in words can it be spoken. So listen to the +guitar." + +Instantly the room was populous with sounds of melodiousness, and +mournfulness, and wonderfulness; the room swarmed with the +unintelligible but delicious sounds. The sounds seemed waltzing in the +room; the sounds hung pendulous like glittering icicles from the corners +of the room; and fell upon him with a ringing silveryness; and were +drawn up again to the ceiling, and hung pendulous again, and dropt down +upon him again with the ringing silveryness. Fire-flies seemed buzzing +in the sounds; summer-lightnings seemed vividly yet softly audible in +the sounds. + +And still the wild girl played on the guitar; and her long dark shower +of curls fell over it, and vailed it; and still, out from the vail came +the swarming sweetness, and the utter unintelligibleness, but the +infinite significancies of the sounds of the guitar. + +"Girl of all-bewildering mystery!" cried Pierre--"Speak to me;--sister, +if thou indeed canst be a thing that's mortal--speak to me, if thou be +Isabel!" + + "Mystery! Mystery! + Mystery of Isabel! + Mystery! Mystery! + Isabel and Mystery!" + +Among the waltzings, and the droppings, and the swarmings of the sounds, +Pierre now heard the tones above deftly stealing and winding among the +myriad serpentinings of the other melody:--deftly stealing and winding +as respected the instrumental sounds, but in themselves wonderfully and +abandonedly free and bold--bounding and rebounding as from multitudinous +reciprocal walls; while with every syllable the hair-shrouded form of +Isabel swayed to and fro with a like abandonment, and suddenness, and +wantonness:--then it seemed not like any song; seemed not issuing from +any mouth; but it came forth from beneath the same vail concealing the +guitar. + +Now a strange wild heat burned upon his brow; he put his hand to it. +Instantly the music changed; and drooped and changed; and changed and +changed; and lingeringly retreated as it changed; and at last was wholly +gone. + +Pierre was the first to break the silence. + +"Isabel, thou hast filled me with such wonderings; I am so distraught +with thee, that the particular things I had to tell to thee, when I +hither came; these things I can not now recall, to speak them to +thee:--I feel that something is still unsaid by thee, which at some +other time thou wilt reveal. But now I can stay no longer with thee. +Know me eternally as thy loving, revering, and most marveling brother, +who will never desert thee, Isabel. Now let me kiss thee and depart, +till to-morrow night; when I shall open to thee all my mind, and all my +plans concerning me and thee. Let me kiss thee, and adieu!" + +As full of unquestioning and unfaltering faith in him, the girl sat +motionless and heard him out. Then silently rose, and turned her +boundlessly confiding brow to him. He kissed it thrice, and without +another syllable left the place. + + + + +BOOK VII. + +INTERMEDIATE BETWEEN PIERRE'S TWO INTERVIEWS WITH ISABEL AT THE +FARM-HOUSE. + + +I. + +Not immediately, not for a long time, could Pierre fully, or by any +approximation, realize the scene which he had just departed. But the +vague revelation was now in him, that the visible world, some of which +before had seemed but too common and prosaic to him; and but too +intelligible; he now vaguely felt, that all the world, and every +misconceivedly common and prosaic thing in it, was steeped a million +fathoms in a mysteriousness wholly hopeless of solution. First, the +enigmatical story of the girl, and the profound sincerity of it, and yet +the ever accompanying haziness, obscurity, and almost miraculousness of +it;--first, this wonderful story of the girl had displaced all +commonness and prosaicness from his soul; and then, the inexplicable +spell of the guitar, and the subtleness of the melodious appealings of +the few brief words from Isabel sung in the conclusion of the +melody--all this had bewitched him, and enchanted him, till he had sat +motionless and bending over, as a tree-transformed and mystery-laden +visitant, caught and fast bound in some necromancer's garden. + +But as now burst from these sorceries, he hurried along the open road, +he strove for the time to dispel the mystic feeling, or at least +postpone it for a while, until he should have time to rally both body +and soul from the more immediate consequences of that day's long +fastings and wanderings, and that night's never-to-be-forgotten scene. +He now endeavored to beat away all thoughts from him, but of present +bodily needs. + +Passing through the silent village, he heard the clock tell the mid hour +of night. Hurrying on, he entered the mansion by a private door, the key +of which hung in a secret outer place. Without undressing, he flung +himself upon the bed. But remembering himself again, he rose and +adjusted his alarm-clock, so that it would emphatically repeat the hour +of five. Then to bed again, and driving off all intrudings of +thoughtfulness, and resolutely bending himself to slumber, he by-and-by +fell into its at first reluctant, but at last welcoming and hospitable +arms. At five he rose; and in the east saw the first spears of the +advanced-guard of the day. + +It had been his purpose to go forth at that early hour, and so avoid all +casual contact with any inmate of the mansion, and spend the entire day +in a second wandering in the woods, as the only fit prelude to the +society of so wild a being as his new-found sister Isabel. But the +familiar home-sights of his chamber strangely worked upon him. For an +instant, he almost could have prayed Isabel back into the wonder-world +from which she had so slidingly emerged. For an instant, the fond, +all-understood blue eyes of Lucy displaced the as tender, but mournful +and inscrutable dark glance of Isabel. He seemed placed between them, to +choose one or the other; then both seemed his; but into Lucy's eyes +there stole half of the mournfulness of Isabel's, without diminishing +hers. + +Again the faintness, and the long life-weariness benumbed him. He left +the mansion, and put his bare forehead against the restoring wind. He +re-entered the mansion, and adjusted the clock to repeat emphatically +the call of seven; and then lay upon his bed. But now he could not +sleep. At seven he changed his dress; and at half-past eight went below +to meet his mother at the breakfast table, having a little before +overheard her step upon the stair. + + +II. + +He saluted her; but she looked gravely and yet alarmedly, and then in a +sudden, illy-repressed panic, upon him. Then he knew he must be +wonderfully changed. But his mother spoke not to him, only to return his +good-morning. He saw that she was deeply offended with him, on many +accounts; moreover, that she was vaguely frightened about him, and +finally that notwithstanding all this, her stung pride conquered all +apprehensiveness in her; and he knew his mother well enough to be very +certain that, though he should unroll a magician's parchment before her +now, she would verbally express no interest, and seek no explanation +from him. Nevertheless, he could not entirely abstain from testing the +power of her reservedness. + +"I have been quite an absentee, sister Mary," said he, with ill-affected +pleasantness. + +"Yes, Pierre. How does the coffee suit you this morning? It is some new +coffee." + +"It is very nice; very rich and odorous, sister Mary." + +"I am glad you find it so, Pierre." + +"Why don't you call me brother Pierre?" + +"Have I not called you so? Well, then, brother Pierre,--is that better?" + +"Why do you look so indifferently and icily upon me, sister Mary?" + +"Do I look indifferently and icily? Then I will endeavor to look +otherwise. Give me the toast there, Pierre." + +"You are very deeply offended at me, my dear mother." + +"Not in the slightest degree, Pierre. Have you seen Lucy lately?" + +"I have not, my mother." + +"Ah! A bit of salmon, Pierre." + +"You are too proud to show toward me what you are this moment feeling, +my mother." + +Mrs. Glendinning slowly rose to her feet, and her full stature of +womanly beauty and majesty stood imposingly over him. + +"Tempt me no more, Pierre. I will ask no secret from thee; all shall be +voluntary between us, as it ever has been, until very lately, or all +shall be nothing between us. Beware of me, Pierre. There lives not that +being in the world of whom thou hast more reason to beware, so you +continue but a little longer to act thus with me." + +She reseated herself, and spoke no more. Pierre kept silence; and after +snatching a few mouthfuls of he knew not what, silently quitted the +table, and the room, and the mansion. + + +III. + +As the door of the breakfast-room closed upon Pierre, Mrs. Glendinning +rose, her fork unconsciously retained in her hand. Presently, as she +paced the room in deep, rapid thought, she became conscious of something +strange in her grasp, and without looking at it, to mark what it was, +impulsively flung it from her. A dashing noise was heard, and then a +quivering. She turned; and hanging by the side of Pierre's portrait, she +saw her own smiling picture pierced through, and the fork, whose silver +tines had caught in the painted bosom, vibratingly rankled in the wound. + +She advanced swiftly to the picture, and stood intrepidly before it. + +"Yes, thou art stabbed! but the wrong hand stabbed thee; this should +have been _thy_ silver blow," turning to Pierre's portrait face. +"Pierre, Pierre, thou hast stabbed me with a poisoned point. I feel my +blood chemically changing in me. I, the mother of the only surnamed +Glendinning, I feel now as though I had borne the last of a swiftly to +be extinguished race. For swiftly to be extinguished is that race, whose +only heir but so much as impends upon a deed of shame. And some deed of +shame, or something most dubious and most dark, is in thy soul, or else +some belying specter, with a cloudy, shame-faced front, sat at yon seat +but now! What can it be? Pierre, unbosom. Smile not so lightly upon my +heavy grief. Answer; what is it, boy? Can it? can it? +no--yes--surely--can it? it can not be! But he was not at Lucy's +yesterday; nor was she here; and she would not see me when I called. +What can this bode? But not a mere broken match--broken as lovers +sometimes break, to mend the break with joyful tears, so soon again--not +a mere broken match can break my proud heart so. If that indeed be part, +it is not all. But no, no, no; it can not, can not be. He would not, +could not, do so mad, so impious a thing. It was a most surprising face, +though I confessed it not to him, nor even hinted that I saw it. But no, +no, no, it can not be. Such young peerlessness in such humbleness, can +not have an honest origin. Lilies are not stalked on weeds, though +polluted, they sometimes may stand among them. She must be both poor and +vile--some chance-blow of a splendid, worthless rake, doomed to inherit +both parts of her infecting portion--vileness and beauty. No, I will not +think it of him. But what then? Sometimes I have feared that my pride +would work me some woe incurable, by closing both my lips, and +varnishing all my front, where I perhaps ought to be wholly in the +melted and invoking mood. But who can get at one's own heart, to mend +it? Right one's self against another, that, one may sometimes do; but +when that other is one's own self, these ribs forbid. Then I will live +my nature out. I will stand on pride. I will not budge. Let come what +will, I shall not half-way run to meet it, to beat it off. Shall a +mother abase herself before her stripling boy? Let him tell me of +himself, or let him slide adown!" + + +IV. + +Pierre plunged deep into the woods, and paused not for several miles; +paused not till he came to a remarkable stone, or rather, smoothed mass +of rock, huge as a barn, which, wholly isolated horizontally, was yet +sweepingly overarched by beech-trees and chestnuts. + +It was shaped something like a lengthened egg, but flattened more; and, +at the ends, pointed more; and yet not pointed, but irregularly +wedge-shaped. Somewhere near the middle of its under side, there was a +lateral ridge; and an obscure point of this ridge rested on a second +lengthwise-sharpened rock, slightly protruding from the ground. Beside +that one obscure and minute point of contact, the whole enormous and +most ponderous mass touched not another object in the wide terraqueous +world. It was a breathless thing to see. One broad haunched end hovered +within an inch of the soil, all along to the point of teetering contact; +but yet touched not the soil. Many feet from that--beneath one part of +the opposite end, which was all seamed and half-riven--the vacancy was +considerably larger, so as to make it not only possible, but convenient +to admit a crawling man; yet no mortal being had ever been known to have +the intrepid heart to crawl there. + +It might well have been the wonder of all the country round. But strange +to tell, though hundreds of cottage hearthstones--where, of long +winter-evenings, both old men smoked their pipes and young men shelled +their corn--surrounded it, at no very remote distance, yet had the +youthful Pierre been the first known publishing discoverer of this +stone, which he had thereupon fancifully christened the Memnon Stone. +Possibly, the reason why this singular object had so long remained +unblazoned to the world, was not so much because it had never before +been lighted on--though indeed, both belted and topped by the dense deep +luxuriance of the aboriginal forest, it lay like Captain Kidd's sunken +hull in the gorge of the river Hudson's Highlands,--its crown being full +eight fathoms under high-foliage mark during the great spring-tide of +foliage;--and besides this, the cottagers had no special motive for +visiting its more immediate vicinity at all; their timber and fuel being +obtained from more accessible woodlands--as because, even, if any of the +simple people should have chanced to have beheld it, they, in their +hoodwinked unappreciativeness, would not have accounted it any very +marvelous sight, and therefore, would never have thought it worth their +while to publish it abroad. So that in real truth, they might have seen +it, and yet afterward have forgotten so inconsiderable a circumstance. +In short, this wondrous Memnon Stone could be no Memnon Stone to them; +nothing but a huge stumbling-block, deeply to be regretted as a vast +prospective obstacle in the way of running a handy little cross-road +through that wild part of the Manor. + +Now one day while reclining near its flank, and intently eying it, and +thinking how surprising it was, that in so long-settled a country he +should have been the first discerning and appreciative person to light +upon such a great natural curiosity, Pierre happened to brush aside +several successive layers of old, gray-haired, close cropped, nappy +moss, and beneath, to his no small amazement, he saw rudely hammered in +the rock some half-obliterate initials--"S. ye W." Then he knew, that +ignorant of the stone, as all the simple country round might +immemorially have been, yet was not himself the only human being who had +discovered that marvelous impending spectacle: but long and long ago, in +quite another age, the stone had been beheld, and its wonderfulness +fully appreciated--as the painstaking initials seemed to testify--by +some departed man, who, were he now alive, might possibly wag a beard +old as the most venerable oak of centuries' growth. But who,--who in +Methuselah's name,--who might have been this "S. ye W?" Pierre +pondered long, but could not possibly imagine; for the initials, in +their antiqueness, seemed to point to some period before the era of +Columbus' discovery of the hemisphere. Happening in the end to mention +the strange matter of these initials to a white-haired old gentleman, +his city kinsman, who, after a long and richly varied, but unfortunate +life, had at last found great solace in the Old Testament, which he was +continually studying with ever-increasing admiration; this white-haired +old kinsman, after having learnt all the particulars about the +stone--its bulk, its height, the precise angle of its critical +impendings, and all that,--and then, after much prolonged cogitation +upon it, and several long-drawn sighs, and aged looks of hoar +significance, and reading certain verses in Ecclesiastes; after all +these tedious preliminaries, this not-at-all-to-be-hurried white-haired +old kinsman, had laid his tremulous hand upon Pierre's firm young +shoulder, and slowly whispered--"Boy; 'tis Solomon the Wise." Pierre +could not repress a merry laugh at this; wonderfully diverted by what +seemed to him so queer and crotchety a conceit; which he imputed to the +alledged dotage of his venerable kinsman, who he well knew had once +maintained, that the old Scriptural Ophir was somewhere on our northern +sea-coast; so no wonder the old gentleman should fancy that King Solomon +might have taken a trip--as a sort of amateur supercargo--of some Tyre +or Sidon gold-ship across the water, and happened to light on the Memnon +Stone, while rambling about with bow and quiver shooting partridges. + +But merriment was by no means Pierre's usual mood when thinking of this +stone; much less when seated in the woods, he, in the profound +significance of that deep forest silence, viewed its marvelous +impendings. A flitting conceit had often crossed him, that he would like +nothing better for a head-stone than this same imposing pile; in which, +at times, during the soft swayings of the surrounding foliage, there +seemed to lurk some mournful and lamenting plaint, as for some sweet boy +long since departed in the antediluvian time. + +Not only might this stone well have been the wonder of the simple +country round, but it might well have been its terror. Sometimes, +wrought to a mystic mood by contemplating its ponderous inscrutableness, +Pierre had called it the Terror Stone. Few could be bribed to climb its +giddy height, and crawl out upon its more hovering end. It seemed as if +the dropping of one seed from the beak of the smallest flying bird would +topple the immense mass over, crashing against the trees. + +It was a very familiar thing to Pierre; he had often climbed it, by +placing long poles against it, and so creeping up to where it sloped in +little crumbling stepping-places; or by climbing high up the neighboring +beeches, and then lowering himself down upon the forehead-like summit by +the elastic branches. But never had he been fearless enough--or rather +fool-hardy enough, it may be, to crawl on the ground beneath the vacancy +of the higher end; that spot first menaced by the Terror Stone should it +ever really topple. + + +V. + +Yet now advancing steadily, and as if by some interior +pre-determination, and eying the mass unfalteringly; he then threw +himself prone upon the wood's last year's leaves, and slid himself +straight into the horrible interspace, and lay there as dead. He spoke +not, for speechless thoughts were in him. These gave place at last to +things less and less unspeakable; till at last, from beneath the very +brow of the beetlings and the menacings of the Terror Stone came the +audible words of Pierre:-- + +"If the miseries of the undisclosable things in me, shall ever unhorse +me from my manhood's seat; if to vow myself all Virtue's and all +Truth's, be but to make a trembling, distrusted slave of me; if Life is +to prove a burden I can not bear without ignominious cringings; if +indeed our actions are all fore-ordained, and we are Russian serfs to +Fate; if invisible devils do titter at us when we most nobly strive; if +Life be a cheating dream, and virtue as unmeaning and unsequeled with +any blessing as the midnight mirth of wine; if by sacrificing myself for +Duty's sake, my own mother re-sacrifices me; if Duty's self be but a +bugbear, and all things are allowable and unpunishable to man;--then do +thou, Mute Massiveness, fall on me! Ages thou hast waited; and if these +things be thus, then wait no more; for whom better canst thou crush than +him who now lies here invoking thee?" + +A down-darting bird, all song, swiftly lighted on the unmoved and +eternally immovable balancings of the Terror Stone, and cheerfully +chirped to Pierre. The tree-boughs bent and waved to the rushes of a +sudden, balmy wind; and slowly Pierre crawled forth, and stood haughtily +upon his feet, as he owed thanks to none, and went his moody way. + + +VI. + +When in his imaginative ruminating moods of early youth, Pierre had +christened the wonderful stone by the old resounding name of Memnon, he +had done so merely from certain associative remembrances of that +Egyptian marvel, of which all Eastern travelers speak. And when the +fugitive thought had long ago entered him of desiring that same stone +for his head-stone, when he should be no more; then he had only yielded +to one of those innumerable fanciful notions, tinged with dreamy +painless melancholy, which are frequently suggested to the mind of a +poetic boy. But in after-times, when placed in far different +circumstances from those surrounding him at the Meadows, Pierre pondered +on the stone, and his young thoughts concerning it, and, later, his +desperate act in crawling under it; then an immense significance came to +him, and the long-passed unconscious movements of his then youthful +heart seemed now prophetic to him, and allegorically verified by the +subsequent events. + +For, not to speak of the other and subtler meanings which lie crouching +behind the colossal haunches of this stone, regarded as the menacingly +impending Terror Stone--hidden to all the simple cottagers, but revealed +to Pierre--consider its aspects as the Memnon Stone. For Memnon was that +dewey, royal boy, son of Aurora, and born King of Egypt, who, with +enthusiastic rashness flinging himself on another's account into a +rightful quarrel, fought hand to hand with his overmatch, and met his +boyish and most dolorous death beneath the walls of Troy. His wailing +subjects built a monument in Egypt to commemorate his untimely fate. +Touched by the breath of the bereaved Aurora, every sunrise that statue +gave forth a mournful broken sound, as of a harp-string suddenly +sundered, being too harshly wound. + +Herein lies an unsummed world of grief. For in this plaintive fable we +find embodied the Hamletism of the antique world; the Hamletism of three +thousand years ago: "The flower of virtue cropped by a too rare +mischance." And the English Tragedy is but Egyptian Memnon, Montaignized +and modernized; for being but a mortal man Shakspeare had his fathers +too. + +Now as the Memnon Statue survives down to this present day, so does that +nobly-striving but ever-shipwrecked character in some royal youths (for +both Memnon and Hamlet were the sons of kings), of which that statue is +the melancholy type. But Memnon's sculptured woes did once melodiously +resound; now all is mute. Fit emblem that of old, poetry was a +consecration and an obsequy to all hapless modes of human life; but in a +bantering, barren, and prosaic, heartless age, Aurora's music-moan is +lost among our drifting sands which whelm alike the monument and the +dirge. + + +VII. + +As Pierre went on through the woods, all thoughts now left him but those +investing Isabel. He strove to condense her mysterious haze into some +definite and comprehensible shape. He could not but infer that the +feeling of bewilderment, which she had so often hinted of during their +interview, had caused her continually to go aside from the straight line +of her narration; and finally to end it in an abrupt and enigmatical +obscurity. But he also felt assured, that as this was entirely +unintended, and now, doubtless, regretted by herself, so their coming +second interview would help to clear up much of this mysteriousness; +considering that the elapsing interval would do much to tranquilize her, +and rally her into less of wonderfulness to him; he did not therefore +so much accuse his unthinkingness in naming the postponing hour he had. +For, indeed, looking from the morning down the vista of the day, it +seemed as indefinite and interminable to him. He could not bring himself +to confront any face or house; a plowed field, any sign of tillage, the +rotted stump of a long-felled pine, the slightest passing trace of man +was uncongenial and repelling to him. Likewise in his own mind all +remembrances and imaginings that had to do with the common and general +humanity had become, for the time, in the most singular manner +distasteful to him. Still, while thus loathing all that was common in +the two different worlds--that without, and that within--nevertheless, +even in the most withdrawn and subtlest region of his own essential +spirit, Pierre could not now find one single agreeable twig of thought +whereon to perch his weary soul. + +Men in general seldom suffer from this utter pauperism of the spirit. If +God hath not blessed them with incurable frivolity, men in general have +still some secret thing of self-conceit or virtuous gratulation; men in +general have always done some small self-sacrificing deed for some other +man; and so, in those now and then recurring hours of despondent +lassitude, which must at various and differing intervals overtake almost +every civilized human being; such persons straightway bethink them of +their one, or two, or three small self-sacrificing things, and suck +respite, consolation, and more or less compensating deliciousness from +it. But with men of self-disdainful spirits; in whose chosen souls +heaven itself hath by a primitive persuasion unindoctrinally fixed that +most true Christian doctrine of the utter nothingness of good works; the +casual remembrance of their benevolent well-doings, does never distill +one drop of comfort for them, even as (in harmony with the correlative +Scripture doctrine) the recalling of their outlived errors and +mis-deeds, conveys to them no slightest pang or shadow of reproach. + +Though the clew-defying mysteriousness of Isabel's narration, did now +for the time, in this particular mood of his, put on a repelling aspect +to our Pierre; yet something must occupy the soul of man; and Isabel was +nearest to him then; and Isabel he thought of; at first, with great +discomfort and with pain, but anon (for heaven eventually rewards the +resolute and duteous thinker) with lessening repugnance, and at last +with still-increasing willingness and congenialness. Now he recalled his +first impressions, here and there, while she was rehearsing to him her +wild tale; he recalled those swift but mystical corroborations in his +own mind and memory, which by shedding another twinkling light upon her +history, had but increased its mystery, while at the same time +remarkably substantiating it. + +Her first recallable recollection was of an old deserted chateau-like +house in a strange, French-like country, which she dimly imagined to be +somewhere beyond the sea. Did not this surprisingly correspond with +certain natural inferences to be drawn from his Aunt Dorothea's account +of the disappearance of the French young lady? Yes; the French young +lady's disappearance on this side the water was only contingent upon her +reappearance on the other; then he shuddered as he darkly pictured the +possible sequel of her life, and the wresting from her of her infant, +and its immurement in the savage mountain wilderness. + +But Isabel had also vague impressions of herself crossing the +sea;--_re_crossing, emphatically thought Pierre, as he pondered on the +unbidden conceit, that she had probably first unconsciously and +smuggledly crossed it hidden beneath her sorrowing mother's heart. But +in attempting to draw any inferences, from what he himself had ever +heard, for a coinciding proof or elucidation of this assumption of +Isabel's actual crossing the sea at so tender an age; here Pierre felt +all the inadequateness of both his own and Isabel's united knowledge, to +clear up the profound mysteriousness of her early life. To the +certainty of this irremovable obscurity he bowed himself, and strove to +dismiss it from his mind, as worse than hopeless. So, also, in a good +degree, did he endeavor to drive out of him, Isabel's reminiscence of +the, to her, unnameable large house, from which she had been finally +removed by the pleasant woman in the coach. This episode in her life, +above all other things, was most cruelly suggestive to him, as possibly +involving his father in the privity to a thing, at which Pierre's inmost +soul fainted with amazement and abhorrence. Here the helplessness of all +further light, and the eternal impossibility of logically exonerating +his dead father, in his own mind, from the liability to this, and many +other of the blackest self-insinuated suppositions; all this came over +Pierre with a power so infernal and intense, that it could only have +proceeded from the unretarded malice of the Evil One himself. But +subtilly and wantonly as these conceits stole into him, Pierre as +subtilly opposed them; and with the hue-and-cry of his whole indignant +soul, pursued them forth again into the wide Tartarean realm from which +they had emerged. + +The more and the more that Pierre now revolved the story of Isabel in +his mind, so much the more he amended his original idea, that much of +its obscurity would depart upon a second interview. He saw, or seemed to +see, that it was not so much Isabel who had by her wild idiosyncrasies +mystified the narration of her history, as it was the essential and +unavoidable mystery of her history itself, which had invested Isabel +with such wonderful enigmas to him. + + +VIII. + +The issue of these reconsiderings was the conviction, that all he could +now reasonably anticipate from Isabel, in further disclosure on the +subject of her life, were some few additional particulars bringing it +down to the present moment; and, also, possibly filling out the latter +portion of what she had already revealed to him. Nor here, could he +persuade himself, that she would have much to say. Isabel had not been +so digressive and withholding as he had thought. What more, indeed, +could she now have to impart, except by what strange means she had at +last come to find her brother out; and the dreary recital of how she had +pecuniarily wrestled with her destitute condition; how she had come to +leave one place of toiling refuge for another, till now he found her in +humble servitude at farmer Ulver's? Is it possible then, thought Pierre, +that there lives a human creature in this common world of everydays, +whose whole history may be told in little less than two-score words, and +yet embody in that smallness a fathomless fountain of ever-welling +mystery? Is it possible, after all, that spite of bricks and shaven +faces, this world we live in is brimmed with wonders, and I and all +mankind, beneath our garbs of common-placeness, conceal enigmas that the +stars themselves, and perhaps the highest seraphim can not resolve? + +The intuitively certain, however literally unproven fact of Isabel's +sisterhood to him, was a link that he now felt binding him to a before +unimagined and endless chain of wondering. His very blood seemed to flow +through all his arteries with unwonted subtileness, when he thought that +the same tide flowed through the mystic veins of Isabel. All his +occasional pangs of dubiousness as to the grand governing thing of +all--the reality of the physical relationship--only recoiled back upon +him with added tribute of both certainty and insolubleness. + +She is my sister--my own father's daughter. Well; why do I believe it? +The other day I had not so much as heard the remotest rumor of her +existence; and what has since occurred to change me? What so new and +incontestable vouchers have I handled? None at all. But I have seen her. +Well; grant it; I might have seen a thousand other girls, whom I had +never seen before; but for that, I would not own any one among them for +my sister. But the portrait, the chair-portrait, Pierre? Think of that. +But that was painted before Isabel was born; what can that portrait have +to do with Isabel? It is not the portrait of Isabel, it is my father's +portrait; and yet my mother swears it is not he. + +Now alive as he was to all these searching argumentative itemizings of +the minutest known facts any way bearing upon the subject; and yet, at +the same time, persuaded, strong as death, that in spite of them, Isabel +was indeed his sister; how could Pierre, naturally poetic, and therefore +piercing as he was; how could he fail to acknowledge the existence of +that all-controlling and all-permeating wonderfulness, which, when +imperfectly and isolatedly recognized by the generality, is so +significantly denominated The Finger of God? But it is not merely the +Finger, it is the whole outspread Hand of God; for doth not Scripture +intimate, that He holdeth all of us in the hollow of His hand?--a +Hollow, truly! + +Still wandering through the forest, his eye pursuing its ever-shifting +shadowy vistas; remote from all visible haunts and traces of that +strangely wilful race, who, in the sordid traffickings of clay and mud, +are ever seeking to denationalize the natural heavenliness of their +souls; there came into the mind of Pierre, thoughts and fancies never +imbibed within the gates of towns; but only given forth by the +atmosphere of primeval forests, which, with the eternal ocean, are the +only unchanged general objects remaining to this day, from those that +originally met the gaze of Adam. For so it is, that the apparently most +inflammable or evaporable of all earthly things, wood and water, are, in +this view, immensely the most endurable. + +Now all his ponderings, however excursive, wheeled round Isabel as their +center; and back to her they came again from every excursion; and again +derived some new, small germs for wonderment. + +The question of Time occurred to Pierre. How old was Isabel? According +to all reasonable inferences from the presumed circumstances of her +life, she was his elder, certainly, though by uncertain years; yet her +whole aspect was that of more than childlikeness; nevertheless, not only +did he feel his muscular superiority to her, so to speak, which made him +spontaneously alive to a feeling of elderly protectingness over her; not +only did he experience the thoughts of superior world-acquaintance, and +general cultured knowledge; but spite of reason's self, and irrespective +of all mere computings, he was conscious of a feeling which +independently pronounced him her senior in point of Time, and Isabel a +child of everlasting youngness. This strange, though strong conceit of +his mysterious persuasion, doubtless, had its untraced, and but +little-suspected origin in his mind, from ideas born of his devout +meditations upon the artless infantileness of her face; which, though +profoundly mournful in the general expression, yet did not, by any +means, for that cause, lose one whit in its singular infantileness; as +the faces of real infants, in their earliest visibleness, do oft-times +wear a look of deep and endless sadness. But it was not the sadness, nor +indeed, strictly speaking, the infantileness of the face of Isabel which +so singularly impressed him with the idea of her original and changeless +youthfulness. It was something else; yet something which entirely eluded +him. + +Imaginatively exalted by the willing suffrages of all mankind into +higher and purer realms than men themselves inhabit; beautiful +women--those of them at least who are beautiful in soul as well as +body--do, notwithstanding the relentless law of earthly fleetingness, +still seem, for a long interval, mysteriously exempt from the +incantations of decay; for as the outward loveliness touch by touch +departs, the interior beauty touch by touch replaces that departing +bloom, with charms, which, underivable from earth, possess the +ineffaceableness of stars. Else, why at the age of sixty, have some +women held in the strongest bonds of love and fealty, men young enough +to be their grandsons? And why did all-seducing Ninon unintendingly +break scores of hearts at seventy? It is because of the perennialness of +womanly sweetness. + +Out from the infantile, yet eternal mournfulness of the face of Isabel, +there looked on Pierre that angelic childlikeness, which our Savior +hints is the one only investiture of translated souls; for of such--even +of little children--is the other world. + +Now, unending as the wonderful rivers, which once bathed the feet of the +primeval generations, and still remain to flow fast by the graves of all +succeeding men, and by the beds of all now living; unending, +ever-flowing, ran through the soul of Pierre, fresh and fresher, further +and still further, thoughts of Isabel. But the more his thoughtful river +ran, the more mysteriousness it floated to him; and yet the more +certainty that the mysteriousness was unchangeable. In her life there +was an unraveled plot; and he felt that unraveled it would eternally +remain to him. No slightest hope or dream had he, that what was dark and +mournful in her would ever be cleared up into some coming atmosphere of +light and mirth. Like all youths, Pierre had conned his novel-lessons; +had read more novels than most persons of his years; but their false, +inverted attempts at systematizing eternally unsystemizable elements; +their audacious, intermeddling impotency, in trying to unravel, and +spread out, and classify, the more thin than gossamer threads which make +up the complex web of life; these things over Pierre had no power now. +Straight through their helpless miserableness he pierced; the one +sensational truth in him transfixed like beetles all the speculative +lies in them. He saw that human life doth truly come from that, which +all men are agreed to call by the name of _God_; and that it partakes of +the unravelable inscrutableness of God. By infallible presentiment he +saw, that not always doth life's beginning gloom conclude in gladness; +that wedding-bells peal not ever in the last scene of life's fifth act; +that while the countless tribes of common novels laboriously spin veils +of mystery, only to complacently clear them up at last; and while the +countless tribe of common dramas do but repeat the same; yet the +profounder emanations of the human mind, intended to illustrate all that +can be humanly known of human life; these never unravel their own +intricacies, and have no proper endings; but in imperfect, +unanticipated, and disappointing sequels (as mutilated stumps), hurry to +abrupt intermergings with the eternal tides of time and fate. + +So Pierre renounced all thought of ever having Isabel's dark lantern +illuminated to him. Her light was lidded, and the lid was locked. Nor +did he feel a pang at this. By posting hither and thither among the +reminiscences of his family, and craftily interrogating his remaining +relatives on his father's side, he might possibly rake forth some few +small grains of dubious and most unsatisfying things, which, were he +that way strongly bent, would only serve the more hopelessly to cripple +him in his practical resolves. He determined to pry not at all into this +sacred problem. For him now the mystery of Isabel possessed all the +bewitchingness of the mysterious vault of night, whose very darkness +evokes the witchery. + +The thoughtful river still ran on in him, and now it floated still +another thing to him. + +Though the letter of Isabel gushed with all a sister's sacred longings +to embrace her brother, and in the most abandoned terms painted the +anguish of her life-long estrangement from him; and though, in effect, +it took vows to this,--that without his continual love and sympathy, +further life for her was only fit to be thrown into the nearest +unfathomed pool, or rushing stream; yet when the brother and the sister +had encountered, according to the set appointment, none of these +impassionedments had been repeated. She had more than thrice thanked +God, and most earnestly blessed himself, that now he had come near to +her in her loneliness; but no gesture of common and customary sisterly +affection. Nay, from his embrace had she not struggled? nor kissed him +once; nor had he kissed her, except when the salute was solely sought by +him. + +Now Pierre began to see mysteries interpierced with mysteries, and +mysteries eluding mysteries; and began to seem to see the mere +imaginariness of the so supposed solidest principle of human +association. Fate had done this thing for them. Fate had separated the +brother and the sister, till to each other they somehow seemed so not at +all. Sisters shrink not from their brother's kisses. And Pierre felt +that never, never would he be able to embrace Isabel with the mere +brotherly embrace; while the thought of any other caress, which took +hold of any domesticness, was entirely vacant from his uncontaminated +soul, for it had never consciously intruded there. + +Therefore, forever unsistered for him by the stroke of Fate, and +apparently forever, and twice removed from the remotest possibility of +that love which had drawn him to his Lucy; yet still the object of the +ardentest and deepest emotions of his soul; therefore, to him, Isabel +wholly soared out of the realms of mortalness, and for him became +transfigured in the highest heaven of uncorrupted Love. + + + + +BOOK VIII. + +THE SECOND INTERVIEW AT THE FARM-HOUSE, AND THE SECOND PART OF THE STORY +OF ISABEL. THEIR IMMEDIATE IMPULSIVE EFFECT UPON PIERRE. + + +I. + +His second interview with Isabel was more satisfying, but none the less +affecting and mystical than the first, though in the beginning, to his +no small surprise, it was far more strange and embarrassing. + +As before, Isabel herself admitted him into the farm-house, and spoke no +word to him till they were both seated in the room of the double +casement, and himself had first addressed her. If Pierre had any way +predetermined how to deport himself at the moment, it was to manifest by +some outward token the utmost affection for his sister; but her rapt +silence and that atmosphere of unearthliness which invested her, now +froze him to his seat; his arms refused to open, his lips refused to +meet in the fraternal kiss; while all the while his heart was +overflowing with the deepest love, and he knew full well, that his +presence was inexpressibly grateful to the girl. Never did love and +reverence so intimately react and blend; never did pity so join with +wonder in casting a spell upon the movements of his body, and impeding +him in its command. + +After a few embarrassed words from Pierre, and a brief reply, a pause +ensued, during which not only was the slow, soft stepping overhead +quite audible, as at intervals on the night before, but also some slight +domestic sounds were heard from the adjoining room; and noticing the +unconsciously interrogating expression of Pierre's face, Isabel thus +spoke to him: + +"I feel, my brother, that thou dost appreciate the peculiarity and the +mystery of my life, and of myself, and therefore I am at rest concerning +the possibility of thy misconstruing any of my actions. It is only when +people refuse to admit the uncommonness of some persons and the +circumstances surrounding them, that erroneous conceits are nourished, +and their feelings pained. My brother, if ever I shall seem reserved and +unembracing to thee, still thou must ever trust the heart of Isabel, and +permit no doubt to cross thee there. My brother, the sounds thou hast +just overheard in yonder room, have suggested to thee interesting +questions connected with myself. Do not speak; I fervently understand +thee. I will tell thee upon what terms I have been living here; and how +it is that I, a hired person, am enabled to receive thee in this seemly +privacy; for as thou mayest very readily imagine, this room is not my +own. And this reminds me also that I have yet some few further trifling +things to tell thee respecting the circumstances which have ended in +bestowing upon me so angelical a brother." + +"I can not retain that word"--said Pierre, with earnest lowness, and +drawing a little nearer to her--"of right, it only pertains to thee." + +"My brother, I will now go on, and tell thee all that I think thou +couldst wish to know, in addition to what was so dimly rehearsed last +night. Some three months ago, the people of the distant farm-house, +where I was then staying, broke up their household and departed for some +Western country. No place immediately presented itself where my services +were wanted, but I was hospitably received at an old neighbor's hearth, +and most kindly invited to tarry there, till some employ should offer. +But I did not wait for chance to help me; my inquiries resulted in +ascertaining the sad story of Delly Ulver, and that through the fate +which had overtaken her, her aged parents were not only plunged into the +most poignant grief, but were deprived of the domestic help of an only +daughter, a circumstance whose deep discomfort can not be easily +realized by persons who have always been ministered to by servants. +Though indeed my natural mood--if I may call it so, for want of a better +term--was strangely touched by thinking that the misery of Delly should +be the source of benefit to me; yet this had no practically operative +effect upon me,--my most inmost and truest thoughts seldom have;--and so +I came hither, and my hands will testify that I did not come entirely +for naught. Now, my brother, since thou didst leave me yesterday, I have +felt no small surprise, that thou didst not then seek from me, how and +when I came to learn the name of Glendinning as so closely associated +with myself; and how I came to know Saddle Meadows to be the family +seat, and how I at last resolved upon addressing thee, Pierre, and none +other; and to what may be attributed that very memorable scene in the +sewing-circle at the Miss Pennies." + +"I have myself been wondering at myself that these things should +hitherto have so entirely absented themselves from my mind," responded +Pierre;--"but truly, Isabel, thy all-abounding hair falls upon me with +some spell which dismisses all ordinary considerations from me, and +leaves me only sensible to the Nubian power in thine eyes. But go on, +and tell me every thing and any thing. I desire to know all, Isabel, and +yet, nothing which thou wilt not voluntarily disclose. I feel that +already I know the pith of all; that already I feel toward thee to the +very limit of all; and that, whatever remains for thee to tell me, can +but corroborate and confirm. So go on, my dearest,--ay, my only sister." + +Isabel fixed her wonderful eyes upon him with a gaze of long +impassionment; then rose suddenly to her feet, and advanced swiftly +toward him; but more suddenly paused, and reseated herself in silence, +and continued so for a time, with her head averted from him, and mutely +resting on her hand, gazing out of the open casement upon the soft +heat-lightning, occasionally revealed there. + +She resumed anon. + + +II. + +"My brother, thou wilt remember that certain part of my story which in +reference to my more childish years spent remote from here, introduced +the gentleman--my--yes, _our_ father, Pierre. I can not describe to +thee, for indeed, I do not myself comprehend how it was, that though at +the time I sometimes called him my father, and the people of the house +also called him so, sometimes when speaking of him to me; yet--partly, I +suppose, because of the extraordinary secludedness of my previous +life--I did not then join in my mind with the word father, all those +peculiar associations which the term ordinarily inspires in children. +The word father only seemed a word of general love and endearment to +me--little or nothing more; it did not seem to involve any claims of any +sort, one way or the other. I did not ask the name of my father; for I +could have had no motive to hear him named, except to individualize the +person who was so peculiarly kind to me; and individualized in that way +he already was, since he was generally called by us _the gentleman_, and +sometimes _my father_. As I have no reason to suppose that had I then or +afterward, questioned the people of the house as to what more particular +name my father went by in the world, they would have at all disclosed it +to me; and, indeed, since, for certain singular reasons, I now feel +convinced that on that point they were pledged to secrecy; I do not +know that I ever would have come to learn my father's name,--and by +consequence, ever have learned the least shade or shadow of knowledge as +to you, Pierre, or any of your kin--had it not been for the merest +little accident, which early revealed it to me, though at the moment I +did not know the value of that knowledge. The last time my father +visited the house, he chanced to leave his handkerchief behind him. It +was the farmer's wife who first discovered it. She picked it up, and +fumbling at it a moment, as if rapidly examining the corners, tossed it +to me, saying, 'Here, Isabel, here is the good gentleman's handkerchief; +keep it for him now, till he comes to see little Bell again.' Gladly I +caught the handkerchief, and put it into my bosom. It was a white one; +and upon closely scanning it, I found a small line of fine faded +yellowish writing in the middle of it. At that time I could not read +either print or writing, so I was none the wiser then; but still, some +secret instinct told me, that the woman would not so freely have given +me the handkerchief, had she known there was any writing on it. I +forbore questioning her on the subject; I waited till my father should +return, to secretly question him. The handkerchief had become dusty by +lying on the uncarpeted floor. I took it to the brook and washed it, and +laid it out on the grass where none would chance to pass; and I ironed +it under my little apron, so that none would be attracted to it, to look +at it again. But my father never returned; so, in my grief, the +handkerchief became the more and the more endeared to me; it absorbed +many of the secret tears I wept in memory of my dear departed friend, +whom, in my child-like ignorance, I then equally called _my father_ and +_the gentleman_. But when the impression of his death became a fixed +thing to me, then again I washed and dried and ironed the precious +memorial of him, and put it away where none should find it but myself, +and resolved never more to soil it with my tears; and I folded it in +such a manner, that the name was invisibly buried in the heart of it, +and it was like opening a book and turning over many blank leaves before +I came to the mysterious writing, which I knew should be one day read by +me, without direct help from any one. Now I resolved to learn my +letters, and learn to read, in order that of myself I might learn the +meaning of those faded characters. No other purpose but that only one, +did I have in learning then to read. I easily induced the woman to give +me my little teachings, and being uncommonly quick, and moreover, most +eager to learn, I soon mastered the alphabet, and went on to spelling, +and by-and-by to reading, and at last to the complete deciphering of the +talismanic word--Glendinning. I was yet very ignorant. _Glendinning_, +thought I, what is that? It sounds something like +_gentleman_;--Glen-din-ning;--just as many syllables as _gentleman_; +and--G--it begins with the same letter; yes, it must mean _my father_. I +will think of him by that word now;--I will not think of the +_gentleman_, but of _Glendinning_. When at last I removed from that +house and went to another, and still another, and as I still grew up and +thought more to myself, that word was ever humming in my head, I saw it +would only prove the key to more. But I repressed all undue curiosity, +if any such has ever filled my breast. I would not ask of any one, who +it was that had been Glendinning; where he had lived; whether, ever any +other girl or boy had called him father as I had done. I resolved to +hold myself in perfect patience, as somehow mystically certain, that +Fate would at last disclose to me, of itself, and at the suitable time, +whatever Fate thought it best for me to know. But now, my brother, I +must go aside a little for a moment.--Hand me the guitar." + +Surprised and rejoiced thus far at the unanticipated newness, and the +sweet lucidness and simplicity of Isabel's narrating, as compared with +the obscure and marvelous revelations of the night before, and all eager +for her to continue her story in the same limpid manner, but +remembering into what a wholly tumultuous and unearthly frame of mind +the melodies of her guitar had formerly thrown him; Pierre now, in +handing the instrument to Isabel, could not entirely restrain something +like a look of half-regret, accompanied rather strangely with a +half-smile of gentle humor. It did not pass unnoticed by his sister, who +receiving the guitar, looked up into his face with an expression which +would almost have been arch and playful, were it not for the +ever-abiding shadows cast from her infinite hair into her unfathomed +eyes, and redoubledly shot back again from them. + +"Do not be alarmed, my brother; and do not smile at me; I am not going +to play the Mystery of Isabel to thee to-night. Draw nearer to me now. +Hold the light near to me." + +So saying she loosened some ivory screws of the guitar, so as to open a +peep lengthwise through its interior. + +"Now hold it thus, my brother; thus; and see what thou wilt see; but +wait one instant till I hold the lamp." So saying, as Pierre held the +instrument before him as directed, Isabel held the lamp so as to cast +its light through the round sounding-hole into the heart of the guitar. + +"Now, Pierre, now." + +Eagerly Pierre did as he was bid; but somehow felt disappointed, and yet +surprised at what he saw. He saw the word _Isabel_, quite legibly but +still fadedly gilded upon a part of one side of the interior, where it +made a projecting curve. + +"A very curious place thou hast chosen, Isabel, wherein to have the +ownership of the guitar engraved. How did ever any person get in there +to do it, I should like to know?" + +The girl looked surprisedly at him a moment; then took the instrument +from him, and looked into it herself. She put it down, and continued. + +"I see, my brother, thou dost not comprehend. When one knows every thing +about any object, one is too apt to suppose that the slightest hint +will suffice to throw it quite as open to any other person. _I_ did not +have the name gilded there, my brother." + +"How?" cried Pierre. + +"The name was gilded there when I first got the guitar, though then I +did not know it. The guitar must have been expressly made for some one +by the name of Isabel; because the lettering could only have been put +there before the guitar was put together." + +"Go on--hurry," said Pierre. + +"Yes, one day, after I had owned it a long time, a strange whim came +into me. Thou know'st that it is not at all uncommon for children to +break their dearest playthings in order to gratify a half-crazy +curiosity to find out what is in the hidden heart of them. So it is with +children, sometimes. And, Pierre, I have always been, and feel that I +must always continue to be a child, though I should grow to three score +years and ten. Seized with this sudden whim, I unscrewed the part I +showed thee, and peeped in, and saw 'Isabel.' Now I have not yet told +thee, that from as early a time as I can remember, I have nearly always +gone by the name of Bell. And at the particular time I now speak of, my +knowledge of general and trivial matters was sufficiently advanced to +make it quite a familiar thing to me, that Bell was often a diminutive +for Isabella, or Isabel. It was therefore no very strange affair, that +considering my age, and other connected circumstances at the time, I +should have instinctively associated the word Isabel, found in the +guitar, with my own abbreviated name, and so be led into all sorts of +fancyings. They return upon me now. Do not speak to me." + +She leaned away from him, toward the occasionally illuminated casement, +in the same manner as on the previous night, and for a few moments +seemed struggling with some wild bewilderment But now she suddenly +turned, and fully confronted Pierre with all the wonderfulness of her +most surprising face. + +"I am called woman, and thou, man, Pierre; but there is neither man nor +woman about it. Why should I not speak out to thee? There is no sex in +our immaculateness. Pierre, the secret name in the guitar even now +thrills me through and through. Pierre, think! think! Oh, canst thou not +comprehend? see it?--what I mean, Pierre? The secret name in the guitar +thrills me, thrills me, whirls me, whirls me; so secret, wholly hidden, +yet constantly carried about in it; unseen, unsuspected, always +vibrating to the hidden heart-strings--broken heart-strings; oh, my +mother, my mother, my mother!" + +As the wild plaints of Isabel pierced into his bosom's core, they +carried with them the first inkling of the extraordinary conceit, so +vaguely and shrinkingly hinted at in her till now entirely +unintelligible words. + +She lifted her dry burning eyes of long-fringed fire to him. + +"Pierre--I have no slightest proof--but the guitar was _hers_, I know, I +feel it was. Say, did I not last night tell thee, how it first sung to +me upon the bed, and answered me, without my once touching it? and how +it always sung to me and answered me, and soothed and loved me,--Hark +now; thou shalt hear my mother's spirit." + +She carefully scanned the strings, and tuned them carefully; then placed +the guitar in the casement-bench, and knelt before it; and in low, +sweet, and changefully modulated notes, so barely audible, that Pierre +bent over to catch them; breathed the word _mother, mother, mother_! +There was profound silence for a time; when suddenly, to the lowest and +least audible note of all, the magical untouched guitar responded with a +quick spark of melody, which in the following hush, long vibrated and +subsidingly tingled through the room; while to his augmented wonder, he +now espied, quivering along the metallic strings of the guitar, some +minute scintillations, seemingly caught from the instrument's close +proximity to the occasionally irradiated window. + +The girl still kept kneeling; but an altogether unwonted expression +suddenly overcast her whole countenance. She darted one swift glance at +Pierre; and then with a single toss of her hand tumbled her unrestrained +locks all over her, so that they tent-wise invested her whole kneeling +form close to the floor, and yet swept the floor with their wild +redundancy. Never Saya of Limeean girl, at dim mass in St. Dominic's +cathedral, so completely muffled the human figure. To Pierre, the deep +oaken recess of the double-casement, before which Isabel was kneeling, +seemed now the immediate vestibule of some awful shrine, mystically +revealed through the obscurely open window, which ever and anon was +still softly illumined by the mild heat-lightnings and +ground-lightnings, that wove their wonderfulness without, in the +unsearchable air of that ebonly warm and most noiseless summer night. + +Some unsubduable word was on Pierre's lip, but a sudden voice from out +the veil bade him be silent. + +"Mother--mother--mother!" + +Again, after a preluding silence, the guitar as magically responded as +before; the sparks quivered along its strings; and again Pierre felt as +in the immediate presence of the spirit. + +"Shall I, mother?--Art thou ready? Wilt thou tell me?--Now? Now?" + +These words were lowly and sweetly murmured in the same way with the +word _mother_, being changefully varied in their modulations, till at +the last _now_, the magical guitar again responded; and the girl swiftly +drew it to her beneath her dark tent of hair. In this act, as the long +curls swept over the strings of the guitar, the strange sparks--still +quivering there--caught at those attractive curls; the entire casement +was suddenly and wovenly illumined; then waned again; while now, in the +succeeding dimness, every downward undulating wave and billow of +Isabel's tossed tresses gleamed here and there like a tract of +phosphorescent midnight sea; and, simultaneously, all the four winds of +the world of melody broke loose, and again as on the previous night, +only in a still more subtile, and wholly inexplicable way, Pierre felt +himself surrounded by ten thousand sprites and gnomes, and his whole +soul was swayed and tossed by supernatural tides; and again he heard the +wondrous, rebounding, chanted words: + + "Mystery! Mystery! + Mystery of Isabel! + Mystery! Mystery! + Isabel and Mystery! + Mystery!" + + +III. + +Almost deprived of consciousness by the spell flung over him by the +marvelous girl, Pierre unknowingly gazed away from her, as on vacancy; +and when at last stillness had once more fallen upon the room--all +except the stepping--and he recovered his self-possession, and turned to +look where he might now be, he was surprised to see Isabel composedly, +though avertedly, seated on the bench; the longer and fuller tresses of +her now ungleaming hair flung back, and the guitar quietly leaning in +the corner. + +He was about to put some unconsidered question to her, but she +half-anticipated it by bidding him, in a low, but nevertheless almost +authoritative tone, not to make any allusion to the scene he had just +beheld. + +He paused, profoundly thinking to himself, and now felt certain that the +entire scene, from the first musical invocation of the guitar, must have +unpremeditatedly proceeded from a sudden impulse in the girl, inspired +by the peculiar mood into which the preceding conversation, and +especially the handling of the guitar under such circumstances, had +irresistibly thrown her. + +But that certain something of the preternatural in the scene, of which +he could not rid his mind:--the, so to speak, voluntary and all but +intelligent responsiveness of the guitar--its strangely scintillating +strings--the so suddenly glorified head of Isabel; altogether, these +things seemed not at the time entirely produced by customary or natural +causes. To Pierre's dilated senses Isabel seemed to swim in an electric +fluid; the vivid buckler of her brow seemed as a magnetic plate. Now +first this night was Pierre made aware of what, in the superstitiousness +of his rapt enthusiasm, he could not help believing was an extraordinary +physical magnetism in Isabel. And--as it were derived from this +marvelous quality thus imputed to her--he now first became vaguely +sensible of a certain still more marvelous power in the girl over +himself and his most interior thoughts and motions;--a power so hovering +upon the confines of the invisible world, that it seemed more inclined +that way than this;--a power which not only seemed irresistibly to draw +him toward Isabel, but to draw him away from another quarter--wantonly +as it were, and yet quite ignorantly and unintendingly; and, besides, +without respect apparently to any thing ulterior, and yet again, only +under cover of drawing him to her. For over all these things, and +interfusing itself with the sparkling electricity in which she seemed to +swim, was an ever-creeping and condensing haze of ambiguities. Often, in +after-times with her, did he recall this first magnetic night, and would +seem to see that she then had bound him to her by an extraordinary +atmospheric spell--both physical and spiritual--which henceforth it had +become impossible for him to break, but whose full potency he never +recognized till long after he had become habituated to its sway. This +spell seemed one with that Pantheistic master-spell, which eternally +locks in mystery and in muteness the universal subject world, and the +physical electricalness of Isabel seemed reciprocal with the +heat-lightnings and the ground-lightnings nigh to which it had first +become revealed to Pierre. She seemed molded from fire and air, and +vivified at some Voltaic pile of August thunder-clouds heaped against +the sunset. + +The occasional sweet simplicity, and innocence, and humbleness of her +story; her often serene and open aspect; her deep-seated, but mostly +quiet, unobtrusive sadness, and that touchingness of her less unwonted +tone and air;--these only the more signalized and contrastingly +emphasized the profounder, subtler, and more mystic part of her. +Especially did Pierre feel this, when after another silent interval, she +now proceeded with her story in a manner so gently confiding, so +entirely artless, so almost peasant-like in its simplicity, and dealing +in some details so little sublimated in themselves, that it seemed well +nigh impossible that this unassuming maid should be the same dark, regal +being who had but just now bade Pierre be silent in so imperious a tone, +and around whose wondrous temples the strange electric glory had been +playing. Yet not very long did she now thus innocently proceed, ere, at +times, some fainter flashes of her electricalness came from her, but +only to be followed by such melting, human, and most feminine traits as +brought all his soft, enthusiast tears into the sympathetic but still +unshedding eyes of Pierre. + + +IV. + +"Thou rememberest, my brother, my telling thee last night, how +the--the--thou knowest what I mean--_that, there_"--avertedly pointing +to the guitar; "thou rememberest how it came into my possession. But +perhaps I did not tell thee, that the pedler said he had got it in +barter from the servants of a great house some distance from the place +where I was then residing." + +Pierre signed his acquiescence, and Isabel proceeded: + +"Now, at long though stated intervals, that man passed the farm-house in +his trading route between the small towns and villages. When I +discovered the gilding in the guitar, I kept watch for him; for though I +truly felt persuaded that Fate had the dispensing of her own secrets in +her own good time; yet I also felt persuaded that in some cases Fate +drops us one little hint, leaving our own minds to follow it up, so that +we of ourselves may come to the grand secret in reserve. So I kept +diligent watch for him; and the next time he stopped, without permitting +him at all to guess my motives, I contrived to steal out of him what +great house it was from which the guitar had come. And, my brother, it +was the mansion of Saddle Meadows." + +Pierre started, and the girl went on: + +"Yes, my brother, Saddle Meadows; 'old General Glendinning's place,' he +said; 'but the old hero's long dead and gone now; and--the more's the +pity--so is the young General, his son, dead and gone; but then there is +a still younger grandson General left; that family always keep the title +and the name a-going; yes, even to the surname,--Pierre. Pierre +Glendinning was the white-haired old General's name, who fought in the +old French and Indian wars; and Pierre Glendinning is his young +great-grandson's name.' Thou may'st well look at me so, my +brother;--yes, he meant thee, _thee_, my brother." + +"But the guitar--the guitar!"--cried Pierre--"how came the guitar openly +at Saddle Meadows, and how came it to be bartered away by servants? Tell +me that, Isabel!" + +"Do not put such impetuous questions to me, Pierre; else thou mayst +recall the old--may be, it is the evil spell upon me. I can not +precisely and knowingly answer thee. I could surmise; but what are +surmises worth? Oh, Pierre, better, a million times, and far sweeter are +mysteries than surmises: though the mystery be unfathomable, it is still +the unfathomableness of fullness; but the surmise, that is but shallow +and unmeaning emptiness." + +"But this is the most inexplicable point of all. Tell me, Isabel; surely +thou must have thought something about this thing." + +"Much, Pierre, very much; but only about the mystery of it--nothing +more. Could I, I would not now be fully told, how the guitar came to be +at Saddle Meadows, and came to be bartered away by the servants of +Saddle Meadows. Enough, that it found me out, and came to me, and spoke +and sung to me, and soothed me, and has been every thing to me." + +She paused a moment; while vaguely to his secret self Pierre revolved +these strange revealings; but now he was all attention again as Isabel +resumed. + +"I now held in my mind's hand the clew, my brother. But I did not +immediately follow it further up. Sufficient to me in my loneliness was +the knowledge, that I now knew where my father's family was to be found. +As yet not the slightest intention of ever disclosing myself to them, +had entered my mind. And assured as I was, that for obvious reasons, +none of his surviving relatives could possibly know me, even if they saw +me, for what I really was, I felt entire security in the event of +encountering any of them by chance. But my unavoidable displacements and +migrations from one house to another, at last brought me within twelve +miles of Saddle Meadows. I began to feel an increasing longing in me; +but side by side with it, a new-born and competing pride,--yes, pride, +Pierre. Do my eyes flash? They belie me, if they do not. But it is no +common pride, Pierre; for what has Isabel to be proud of in this world? +It is the pride of--of--a too, too longing, loving heart, Pierre--the +pride of lasting suffering and grief, my brother! Yes, I conquered the +great longing with the still more powerful pride, Pierre; and so I would +not now be here, in this room,--nor wouldst thou ever have received any +line from me; nor, in all worldly probability, ever so much as heard of +her who is called Isabel Banford, had it not been for my hearing that at +Walter Ulver's, only three miles from the mansion of Saddle Meadows, +poor Bell would find people kind enough to give her wages for her work. +Feel my hand, my brother." + +"Dear divine girl, my own exalted Isabel!" cried Pierre, catching the +offered hand with ungovernable emotion, "how most unbeseeming, that this +strange hardness, and this still stranger littleness should be united in +any human hand. But hard and small, it by an opposite analogy hints of +the soft capacious heart that made the hand so hard with heavenly +submission to thy most undeserved and martyred lot. Would, Isabel, that +these my kisses on the hand, were on the heart itself, and dropt the +seeds of eternal joy and comfort there." + +He leaped to his feet, and stood before her with such warm, god-like +majesty of love and tenderness, that the girl gazed up at him as though +he were the one benignant star in all her general night. + +"Isabel," cried Pierre, "I stand the sweet penance in my father's stead, +thou, in thy mother's. By our earthly acts we shall redeemingly bless +both their eternal lots; we will love with the pure and perfect love of +angel to an angel. If ever I fall from thee, dear Isabel, may Pierre +fall from himself; fall back forever into vacant nothingness and night!" + +"My brother, my brother, speak not so to me; it is too much; unused to +any love ere now, thine, so heavenly and immense, falls crushing on me! +Such love is almost hard to bear as hate. Be still; do not speak to me." + +They were both silent for a time; when she went on. + +"Yes, my brother, Fate had now brought me within three miles of thee; +and--but shall I go straight on, and tell thee all, Pierre? all? every +thing? art thou of such divineness, that I may speak straight on, in all +my thoughts, heedless whither they may flow, or what things they may +float to me?" + +"Straight on, and fearlessly," said Pierre. + +"By chance I saw thy mother, Pierre, and under such circumstances that I +_knew_ her to be thy mother; and--but shall I go on?" + +"Straight on, my Isabel; thou didst see my mother--well?" + +"And when I saw her, though I spake not to her, nor she to me, yet +straightway my heart knew that she would love me not." + +"Thy heart spake true," muttered Pierre to himself; "go on." + +"I re-swore an oath never to reveal myself to thy mother." + +"Oath well sworn," again he muttered; "go on." + +"But I saw _thee_, Pierre; and, more than ever filled my mother toward +thy father, Pierre, then upheaved in me. Straightway I knew that if ever +I should come to be made known to thee, then thy own generous love would +open itself to me." + +"Again thy heart spake true," he murmured; "go on--and didst thou +re-swear again?" + +"No, Pierre; but yes, I did. I swore that thou wert my brother; with +love and pride I swore, that young and noble Pierre Glendinning was my +brother!" + +"And only that?" + +"Nothing more, Pierre; not to thee even, did I ever think to reveal +myself." + +"How then? thou _art_ revealed to me." + +"Yes; but the great God did it, Pierre--not poor Bell. Listen. + +"I felt very dreary here; poor, dear Delly--thou must have heard +something of her story--a most sorrowful house, Pierre. Hark! that is +her seldom-pausing pacing thou hearest from the floor above. So she +keeps ever pacing, pacing, pacing; in her track, all thread-bare, +Pierre, is her chamber-rug. Her father will not look upon her; her +mother, she hath cursed her to her face. Out of yon chamber, Pierre, +Delly hath not slept, for now four weeks and more; nor ever hath she +once laid upon her bed; it was last made up five weeks ago; but paces, +paces, paces, all through the night, till after twelve; and then sits +vacant in her chair. Often I would go to her to comfort her; but she +says, 'Nay, nay, nay,' to me through the door; says 'Nay, nay, nay,' and +only nay to me, through the bolted door; bolted three weeks ago--when I +by cunning arts stole her dead baby from her, and with these fingers, +alone, by night, scooped out a hollow, and, seconding heaven's own +charitable stroke, buried that sweet, wee symbol of her not unpardonable +shame far from the ruthless foot of man--yes, bolted three weeks ago, +not once unbolted since; her food I must thrust through the little +window in her closet. Pierre, hardly these two handfuls has she eaten in +a week." + +"Curses, wasp-like, cohere on that villain, Ned, and sting him to his +death!" cried Pierre, smit by this most piteous tale. "What can be done +for her, sweet Isabel; can Pierre do aught?" + +"If thou or I do not, then the ever-hospitable grave will prove her +quick refuge, Pierre. Father and mother both, are worse than dead and +gone to her. They would have turned her forth, I think, but for my own +poor petitionings, unceasing in her behalf!" + +Pierre's deep concern now gave place to a momentary look of benevolent +intelligence. + +"Isabel, a thought of benefit to Delly has just entered me; but I am +still uncertain how best it may be acted on. Resolved I am though to +succor her. Do thou still hold her here yet awhile, by thy sweet +petitionings, till my further plans are more matured. Now run on with +thy story, and so divert me from the pacing;--her every step steps in my +soul." + +"Thy noble heart hath many chambers, Pierre; the records of thy wealth, +I see, are not bound up in the one poor book of Isabel, my brother. Thou +art a visible token, Pierre, of the invisible angel-hoods, which in our +darker hours we do sometimes distrust. The gospel of thy acts goes very +far, my brother. Were all men like to thee, then were there no men at +all,--mankind extinct in seraphim!" + +"Praises are for the base, my sister, cunningly to entice them to fair +Virtue by our ignorings of the ill in them, and our imputings of the +good not theirs. So make not my head to hang, sweet Isabel. Praise me +not. Go on now with thy tale." + +"I have said to thee, my brother, how most dreary I found it here, and +from the first. Wonted all my life to sadness--if it be such--still, +this house hath such acuteness in its general grief, such hopelessness +and despair of any slightest remedy--that even poor Bell could scarce +abide it always, without some little going forth into contrasting +scenes. So I went forth into the places of delight, only that I might +return more braced to minister in the haunts of woe. For continual +unchanging residence therein, doth but bring on woe's stupor, and make +us as dead. So I went forth betimes; visiting the neighboring cottages; +where there were chattering children, and no one place vacant at the +cheerful board. Thus at last I chanced to hear of the Sewing Circle to +be held at the Miss Pennies'; and how that they were anxious to press +into their kind charity all the maidens of the country round. In various +cottages, I was besought to join; and they at length persuaded me; not +that I was naturally loth to it, and needed such entreaties; but at +first I felt great fear, lest at such a scene I might closely encounter +some of the Glendinnings; and that thought was then namelessly repulsive +to me. But by stealthy inquiries I learned, that the lady of the +manorial-house would not be present;--it proved deceptive +information;--but I went; and all the rest thou knowest." + +"I do, sweet Isabel, but thou must tell it over to me; and all thy +emotions there." + + +V. + +"Though but one day hath passed, my brother, since we first met in life, +yet thou hast that heavenly magnet in thee, which draws all my soul's +interior to thee. I will go on.--Having to wait for a neighbor's wagon, +I arrived but late at the Sewing Circle. When I entered, the two joined +rooms were very full. With the farmer's girls, our neighbors, I passed +along to the further corner, where thou didst see me; and as I went, +some heads were turned, and some whisperings I heard, of--'She's the new +help at poor Walter Ulver's--the strange girl they've got--she thinks +herself 'mazing pretty, I'll be bound;--but nobody knows her--Oh, how +demure!--but not over-good, I guess;--I wouldn't be her, not I--mayhap +she's some other ruined Delly, run away;--minx!' It was the first time +poor Bell had ever mixed in such a general crowded company; and knowing +little or nothing of such things, I had thought, that the meeting being +for charity's sweet sake, uncharity could find no harbor there; but no +doubt it was mere thoughtlessness, not malice in them. Still, it made my +heart ache in me sadly; for then I very keenly felt the dread +suspiciousness, in which a strange and lonely grief invests itself to +common eyes; as if grief itself were not enough, nor innocence any armor +to us, but despite must also come, and icy infamy! Miserable returnings +then I had--even in the midst of bright-budding girls and full-blown +women--miserable returnings then I had of the feeling, the bewildering +feeling of the inhumanities I spoke of in my earlier story. But Pierre, +blessed Pierre, do not look so sadly and half-reproachfully upon me. +Lone and lost though I have been, I love my kind; and charitably and +intelligently pity them, who uncharitably and unintelligently do me +despite. And thou, _thou_, blessed brother, hath glorified many somber +places in my soul, and taught me once for all to know, that my kind are +capable of things which would be glorious in angels. So look away from +me, dear Pierre, till thou hast taught thine eyes more wonted glances." + +"They are vile falsifying telegraphs of me, then, sweet Isabel. What my +look was I can not tell, but my heart was only dark with ill-restrained +upbraidings against heaven that could unrelentingly see such innocence +as thine so suffer. Go on with thy too-touching tale." + +"Quietly I sat there sewing, not brave enough to look up at all, and +thanking my good star, that had led me to so concealed a nook behind the +rest: quietly I sat there, sewing on a flannel shirt, and with each +stitch praying God, that whatever heart it might be folded over, the +flannel might hold it truly warm; and keep out the wide-world-coldness +which I felt myself; and which no flannel, or thickest fur, or any fire +then could keep off from me; quietly I sat there sewing, when I heard +the announcing words--oh, how deep and ineffaceably engraved they +are!--'Ah, dames, dames, Madame Glendinning,--Master Pierre +Glendinning.' Instantly, my sharp needle went through my side and +stitched my heart; the flannel dropt from my hand; thou heard'st my +shriek. But the good people bore me still nearer to the casement close +at hand, and threw it open wide; and God's own breath breathed on me; +and I rallied; and said it was some merest passing fit--'twas quite over +now--I was used to it--they had my heart's best thanks--but would they +now only leave me to myself, it were best for me;--I would go on and +sew. And thus it came and passed away; and again I sat sewing on the +flannel, hoping either that the unanticipated persons would soon depart, +or else that some spirit would catch me away from there; I sat sewing +on--till, Pierre! Pierre!--without looking up--for that I dared not do +at any time that evening--only once--without looking up, or knowing +aught but the flannel on my knee, and the needle in my heart, I +felt,--Pierre, _felt_--a glance of magnetic meaning on me. Long, I, +shrinking, sideways turned to meet it, but could not; till some helping +spirit seized me, and all my soul looked up at thee in my full-fronting +face. It was enough. Fate was in that moment. All the loneliness of my +life, all the choked longings of my soul, now poured over me. I could +not away from them. Then first I felt the complete deplorableness of my +state; that while thou, my brother, had a mother, and troops of aunts +and cousins, and plentiful friends in city and in country--I, I, Isabel, +thy own father's daughter, was thrust out of all hearts' gates, and +shivered in the winter way. But this was but the least. Not poor Bell +can tell thee all the feelings of poor Bell, or what feelings she felt +first. It was all one whirl of old and new bewilderings, mixed and +slanted with a driving madness. But it was most the sweet, inquisitive, +kindly interested aspect of thy face,--so strangely like thy father's, +too--the one only being that I first did love--it was that which most +stirred the distracting storm in me; most charged me with the immense +longings for some one of my blood to know me, and to own me, though but +once, and then away. Oh, my dear brother--Pierre! Pierre!--could'st thou +take out my heart, and look at it in thy hand, then thou would'st find +it all over written, this way and that, and crossed again, and yet +again, with continual lines of longings, that found no end but in +suddenly calling thee. Call him! Call him! He will come!--so cried my +heart to me; so cried the leaves and stars to me, as I that night went +home. But pride rose up--the very pride in my own longings,--and as one +arm pulled, the other held. So I stood still, and called thee not. But +Fate will be Fate, and it was fated. Once having met thy fixed regardful +glance; once having seen the full angelicalness in thee, my whole soul +was undone by thee; my whole pride was cut off at the root, and soon +showed a blighting in the bud; which spread deep into my whole being, +till I knew, that utterly decay and die away I must, unless pride let me +go, and I, with the one little trumpet of a pen, blew my heart's +shrillest blast, and called dear Pierre to me. My soul was full; and as +my beseeching ink went tracing o'er the page, my tears contributed their +mite, and made a strange alloy. How blest I felt that my so bitterly +tear-mingled ink--that last depth of my anguish--would never be visibly +known to thee, but the tears would dry upon the page, and all be fair +again, ere the so submerged-freighted letter should meet thine eye. + +"Ah, there thou wast deceived, poor Isabel," cried Pierre impulsively; +"thy tears dried not fair, but dried red, almost like blood; and nothing +so much moved my inmost soul as that tragic sight." + +"How? how? Pierre, my brother? Dried they red? Oh, horrible! +enchantment! most undreamed of!" + +"Nay, the ink--the ink! something chemic in it changed thy real tears to +seeming blood;--only that, my sister." + +"Oh Pierre! thus wonderfully is it--seems to me--that our own hearts do +not ever know the extremity of their own sufferings; sometimes we bleed +blood, when we think it only water. Of our sufferings, as of our +talents, others sometimes are the better judges. But stop me! force me +backward to my story! Yet methinks that now thou knowest all;--no, not +entirely all. Thou dost not know what planned and winnowed motive I did +have in writing thee; nor does poor Bell know that; for poor Bell was +too delirious to have planned and winnowed motives then. The impulse in +me called thee, not poor Bell. God called thee, Pierre, not poor Bell. +Even now, when I have passed one night after seeing thee, and hearkening +to all thy full love and graciousness; even now, I stand as one amazed, +and feel not what may be coming to me, or what will now befall me, from +having so rashly claimed thee for mine. Pierre, now, _now_, this instant +a vague anguish fills me. Tell me, by loving me, by owning me, publicly +or secretly,--tell me, doth it involve any vital hurt to thee? Speak +without reserve; speak honestly; as I do to thee! Speak now, Pierre, and +tell me all!" + +"Is Love a harm? Can Truth betray to pain? Sweet Isabel, how can hurt +come in the path to God? Now, when I know thee all, now did I forget +thee, fail to acknowledge thee, and love thee before the wide world's +whole brazen width--could I do that; then might'st thou ask thy question +reasonably and say--Tell me, Pierre, does not the suffocating in thee of +poor Bell's holy claims, does not that involve for thee unending misery? +And my truthful soul would echo--Unending misery! Nay, nay, nay. Thou +art my sister and I am thy brother; and that part of the world which +knows me, shall acknowledge thee; or by heaven I will crush the +disdainful world down on its knees to thee, my sweet Isabel!" + +"The menacings in thy eyes are dear delights to me; I grow up with thy +own glorious stature; and in thee, my brother, I see God's indignant +embassador to me, saying--Up, up, Isabel, and take no terms from the +common world, but do thou make terms to it, and grind thy fierce rights +out of it! Thy catching nobleness unsexes me, my brother; and now I know +that in her most exalted moment, then woman no more feels the twin-born +softness of her breasts, but feels chain-armor palpitating there!" + +Her changed attitude of beautiful audacity; her long scornful hair, that +trailed out a disheveled banner; her wonderful transfigured eyes, in +which some meteors seemed playing up; all this now seemed to Pierre the +work of an invisible enchanter. Transformed she stood before him; and +Pierre, bowing low over to her, owned that irrespective, darting majesty +of humanity, which can be majestical and menacing in woman as in man. + +But her gentler sex returned to Isabel at last; and she sat silent in +the casement's niche, looking out upon the soft ground-lightnings of the +electric summer night. + + +VI. + +Sadly smiling, Pierre broke the pause. + +"My sister, thou art so rich, that thou must do me alms; I am very +hungry; I have forgotten to eat since breakfast;--and now thou shalt +bring me bread and a cup of water, Isabel, ere I go forth from thee. +Last night I went rummaging in a pantry, like a bake-house burglar; but +to-night thou and I must sup together, Isabel; for as we may henceforth +live together, let us begin forthwith to eat in company." + +Isabel looked up at him, with sudden and deep emotion, then all +acquiescing sweetness, and silently left the room. + +As she returned, Pierre, casting his eyes toward the ceiling, said--"She +is quiet now, the pacing hath entirely ceased." + +"Not the beating, tho'; her foot hath paused, not her unceasing heart. +My brother, she is not quiet now; quiet for her hath gone; so that the +pivoted stillness of this night is yet a noisy madness to her." + +"Give me pen or pencil, and some paper, Isabel." + +She laid down her loaf, and plate, and knife, and brought him pen, and +ink, and paper. + +Pierre took the pen. + +"Was this the one, dear Isabel?" + +"It is the one, my brother; none other is in this poor cot." + +He gazed at it intensely. Then turning to the table, steadily wrote the +following note: + + "For Delly Ulver: with the deep and true regard and sympathy of + Pierre Glendinning. + + "Thy sad story--partly known before--hath now more fully come to + me, from one who sincerely feels for thee, and who hath imparted + her own sincerity to me. Thou desirest to quit this neighborhood, + and be somewhere at peace, and find some secluded employ fitted to + thy sex and age. With this, I now willingly charge myself, and + insure it to thee, so far as my utmost ability can go. + Therefore--if consolation be not wholly spurned by thy great grief, + which too often happens, though it be but grief's great folly so to + feel--therefore, two true friends of thine do here beseech thee to + take some little heart to thee, and bethink thee, that all thy life + is not yet lived; that Time hath surest healing in his continuous + balm. Be patient yet a little while, till thy future lot be + disposed for thee, through our best help; and so, know me and + Isabel thy earnest friends and true-hearted lovers." + +He handed the note to Isabel. She read it silently, and put it down, and +spread her two hands over him, and with one motion lifted her eyes +toward Delly and toward God. + +"Thou think'st it will not pain her to receive the note, Isabel? Thou +know'st best. I thought, that ere our help do really reach her, some +promise of it now might prove slight comfort. But keep it, and do as +thou think'st best." + +"Then straightway will I give it her, my brother," said Isabel, quitting +him. + +An infixing stillness, now thrust a long rivet through the night, and +fast nailed it to that side of the world. And alone again in such an +hour, Pierre could not but listen. He heard Isabel's step on the stair; +then it approached him from above; then he heard a gentle knock, and +thought he heard a rustling, as of paper slid over a threshold +underneath a door. Then another advancing and opposite step tremblingly +met Isabel's; and then both steps stepped from each other, and soon +Isabel came back to him. + +"Thou did'st knock, and slide it underneath the door?" + +"Yes, and she hath it now. Hark! a sobbing! Thank God, long arid grief +hath found a tear at last. Pity, sympathy hath done this.--Pierre, for +thy dear deed thou art already sainted, ere thou be dead." + +"Do saints hunger, Isabel?" said Pierre, striving to call her away from +this. "Come, give me the loaf; but no, thou shalt help me, my +sister.--Thank thee;--this is twice over the bread of sweetness.--Is +this of thine own making, Isabel?" + +"My own making, my brother." + +"Give me the cup; hand it me with thine own hand. So:--Isabel, my heart +and soul are now full of deepest reverence; yet I do dare to call this +the real sacrament of the supper.--Eat with me." + +They eat together without a single word; and without a single word, +Pierre rose, and kissed her pure and spotless brow, and without a single +word departed from the place. + + +VII. + +We know not Pierre Glendinning's thoughts as he gained the village and +passed on beneath its often shrouding trees, and saw no light from man, +and heard no sound from man, but only, by intervals, saw at his feet the +soft ground-lightnings, snake-like, playing in and out among the blades +of grass; and between the trees, caught the far dim light from heaven, +and heard the far wide general hum of the sleeping but still breathing +earth. + +He paused before a detached and pleasant house, with much shrubbery +about it. He mounted the portico and knocked distinctly there, just as +the village clock struck one. He knocked, but no answer came. He knocked +again, and soon he heard a sash thrown up in the second story, and an +astonished voice inquired who was there? + +"It is Pierre Glendinning, and he desires an instant interview with the +Reverend Mr. Falsgrave." + +"Do I hear right?--in heaven's name, what is the matter, young +gentleman?" + +"Every thing is the matter; the whole world is the matter. Will you +admit me, sir?" + +"Certainly--but I beseech thee--nay, stay, I will admit thee." + +In quicker time than could have been anticipated, the door was opened to +Pierre by Mr. Falsgrave in person, holding a candle, and invested in his +very becoming student's wrapper of Scotch plaid. + +"For heaven's sake, what is the matter, Mr. Glendinning?" + +"Heaven and earth is the matter, sir! shall we go up to the study?" + +"Certainly, but--but--" + +"Well, let us proceed, then." + +They went up-stairs, and soon found themselves in the clergyman's +retreat, and both sat down; the amazed host still holding the candle in +his hand, and intently eying Pierre, with an apprehensive aspect. + +"Thou art a man of God, sir, I believe." + +"I? I? I? upon my word, Mr. Glendinning!" + +"Yes, sir, the world calls thee a man of God. Now, what hast thou, the +man of God, decided, with my mother, concerning Delly Ulver?" + +"Delly Ulver! why, why--what can this madness mean?" + +"It means, sir, what have thou and my mother decided concerning Delly +Ulver." + +"She?--Delly Ulver? She is to depart the neighborhood; why, her own +parents want her not." + +"_How_ is she to depart? _Who_ is to take her? Art _thou_ to take her? +_Where_ is she to go? _Who_ has food for her? _What_ is to keep her from +the pollution to which such as she are every day driven to contribute, +by the detestable uncharitableness and heartlessness of the world?" + +"Mr. Glendinning," said the clergyman, now somewhat calmly putting down +the candle, and folding himself with dignity in his gown; "Mr. +Glendinning, I will not now make any mention of my natural astonishment +at this most unusual call, and the most extraordinary time of it. Thou +hast sought information upon a certain point, and I have given it to +thee, to the best of my knowledge. All thy after and incidental +questions, I choose to have no answer for. I will be most happy to see +thee at any other time, but for the present thou must excuse my +presence. Good-night, sir." + +But Pierre sat entirely still, and the clergyman could not but remain +standing still. + +"I perfectly comprehend the whole, sir. Delly Ulver, then, is to be +driven out to starve or rot; and this, too, by the acquiescence of a man +of God. Mr. Falsgrave, the subject of Delly, deeply interesting as it is +to me, is only the preface to another, still more interesting to me, and +concerning which I once cherished some slight hope that thou wouldst +have been able, in thy Christian character, to sincerely and honestly +counsel me. But a hint from heaven assures me now, that thou hast no +earnest and world-disdaining counsel for me. I must seek it direct from +God himself, whom, I now know, never delegates his holiest admonishings. +But I do not blame thee; I think I begin to see how thy profession is +unavoidably entangled by all fleshly alliances, and can not move with +godly freedom in a world of benefices. I am more sorry than indignant. +Pardon me for my most uncivil call, and know me as not thy enemy. +Good-night, sir." + + + + +BOOK IX. + +MORE LIGHT, AND THE GLOOM OF THAT LIGHT. MORE GLOOM, AND THE LIGHT OF +THAT GLOOM. + + +I. + +In those Hyperborean regions, to which enthusiastic Truth, and +Earnestness, and Independence, will invariably lead a mind fitted by +nature for profound and fearless thought, all objects are seen in a +dubious, uncertain, and refracting light. Viewed through that rarefied +atmosphere the most immemorially admitted maxims of men begin to slide +and fluctuate, and finally become wholly inverted; the very heavens +themselves being not innocent of producing this confounding effect, +since it is mostly in the heavens themselves that these wonderful +mirages are exhibited. + +But the example of many minds forever lost, like undiscoverable Arctic +explorers, amid those treacherous regions, warns us entirely away from +them; and we learn that it is not for man to follow the trail of truth +too far, since by so doing he entirely loses the directing compass of +his mind; for arrived at the Pole, to whose barrenness only it points, +there, the needle indifferently respects all points of the horizon +alike. + +But even the less distant regions of thought are not without their +singular introversions. Hardly any sincere man of ordinary reflective +powers, and accustomed to exercise them at all, but must have been +independently struck by the thought, that, after all, what is so +enthusiastically applauded as the march of mind,--meaning the inroads of +Truth into Error--which has ever been regarded by hopeful persons as the +one fundamental thing most earnestly to be prayed for as the greatest +possible Catholic blessing to the world;--almost every thinking man must +have been some time or other struck with the idea, that, in certain +respects, a tremendous mistake may be lurking here, since all the world +does never gregariously advance to Truth, but only here and there some +of its individuals do; and by advancing, leave the rest behind; cutting +themselves forever adrift from their sympathy, and making themselves +always liable to be regarded with distrust, dislike, and often, +downright--though, ofttimes, concealed--fear and hate. What wonder, +then, that those advanced minds, which in spite of advance, happen still +to remain, for the time, ill-regulated, should now and then be goaded +into turning round in acts of wanton aggression upon sentiments and +opinions now forever left in their rear. Certain it is, that in their +earlier stages of advance, especially in youthful minds, as yet +untranquilized by long habituation to the world as it inevitably and +eternally is; this aggressiveness is almost invariably manifested, and +as invariably afterward deplored by themselves. + +That amazing shock of practical truth, which in the compass of a very +few days and hours had not so much advanced, as magically transplanted +the youthful mind of Pierre far beyond all common discernments; it had +not been entirely unattended by the lamentable rearward aggressiveness +we have endeavored to portray above. Yielding to that unwarrantable +mood, he had invaded the profound midnight slumbers of the Reverend Mr. +Falsgrave, and most discourteously made war upon that really amiable and +estimable person. But as through the strange force of circumstances his +advance in insight had been so surprisingly rapid, so also was now his +advance in some sort of wisdom, in charitableness; and his concluding +words to Mr. Falsgrave, sufficiently evinced that already, ere quitting +that gentleman's study, he had begun to repent his ever entering it on +such a mission. + +And as he now walked on in the profound meditations induced by the hour; +and as all that was in him stirred to and fro, intensely agitated by the +ever-creative fire of enthusiastic earnestness, he became fully alive to +many palliating considerations, which had they previously occurred to +him would have peremptorily forbidden his impulsive intrusion upon the +respectable clergyman. + +But it is through the malice of this earthly air, that only by being +guilty of Folly does mortal man in many cases arrive at the perception +of Sense. A thought which should forever free us from hasty imprecations +upon our ever-recurring intervals of Folly; since though Folly be our +teacher, Sense is the lesson she teaches; since if Folly wholly depart +from us, Further Sense will be her companion in the flight, and we will +be left standing midway in wisdom. For it is only the miraculous vanity +of man which ever persuades him, that even for the most richly gifted +mind, there ever arrives an earthly period, where it can truly say to +itself, I have come to the Ultimate of Human Speculative Knowledge; +hereafter, at this present point I will abide. Sudden onsets of new +truth will assail him, and over-turn him as the Tartars did China; for +there is no China Wall that man can build in his soul, which shall +permanently stay the irruptions of those barbarous hordes which Truth +ever nourishes in the loins of her frozen, yet teeming North; so that +the Empire of Human Knowledge can never be lasting in any one dynasty, +since Truth still gives new Emperors to the earth. + +But the thoughts we here indite as Pierre's are to be very carefully +discriminated from those we indite concerning him. Ignorant at this time +of the ideas concerning the reciprocity and partnership of Folly and +Sense, in contributing to the mental and moral growth of the mind; +Pierre keenly upbraided his thoughtlessness, and began to stagger in his +soul; as distrustful of that radical change in his general sentiments, +which had thus hurried him into a glaring impropriety and folly; as +distrustful of himself, the most wretched distrust of all. But this last +distrust was not of the heart; for heaven itself, so he felt, had +sanctified that with its blessing; but it was the distrust of his +intellect, which in undisciplinedly espousing the manly enthusiast cause +of his heart, seemed to cast a reproach upon that cause itself. + +But though evermore hath the earnest heart an eventual balm for the most +deplorable error of the head; yet in the interval small alleviation is +to be had, and the whole man droops into nameless melancholy. Then it +seems as though the most magnanimous and virtuous resolutions were only +intended for fine spiritual emotions, not as mere preludes to their +bodily translation into acts; since in essaying their embodiment, we +have but proved ourselves miserable bunglers, and thereupon taken +ignominious shame to ourselves. Then, too, the never-entirely repulsed +hosts of Commonness, and Conventionalness, and Worldly +Prudent-mindedness return to the charge; press hard on the faltering +soul; and with inhuman hootings deride all its nobleness as mere +eccentricity, which further wisdom and experience shall assuredly cure. +The man is as seized by arms and legs, and convulsively pulled either +way by his own indecisions and doubts. Blackness advances her banner +over this cruel altercation, and he droops and swoons beneath its folds. + +It was precisely in this mood of mind that, at about two in the morning, +Pierre, with a hanging head, now crossed the private threshold of the +Mansion of Saddle Meadows. + + +II. + +In the profoundly silent heart of a house full of sleeping serving-men +and maids, Pierre now sat in his chamber before his accustomed round +table, still tossed with the books and the papers which, three days +before, he had abruptly left, for a sudden and more absorbing object. +Uppermost and most conspicuous among the books were the Inferno of +Dante, and the Hamlet of Shakspeare. + +His mind was wandering and vague; his arm wandered and was vague. Soon +he found the open Inferno in his hand, and his eye met the following +lines, allegorically overscribed within the arch of the outgoings of the +womb of human life: + + "Through me you pass into the city of Woe; + Through me you pass into eternal pain; + Through me, among the people lost for aye. + + * * * * * + + All hope abandon, ye who enter here." + +He dropped the fatal volume from his hand; he dropped his fated head +upon his chest. + +His mind was wandering and vague; his arm wandered and was vague. Some +moments passed, and he found the open Hamlet in his hand, and his eyes +met the following lines: + + "The time is out of joint;--Oh cursed spite, + That ever I was born to set it right!" + +He dropped the too true volume from his hand; his petrifying heart +dropped hollowly within him, as a pebble down Carrisbrook well. + + +III. + +The man Dante Alighieri received unforgivable affronts and insults from +the world; and the poet Dante Alighieri bequeathed his immortal curse to +it, in the sublime malediction of the Inferno. The fiery tongue whose +political forkings lost him the solacements of this world, found its +malicious counterpart in that muse of fire, which would forever bar the +vast bulk of mankind from all solacement in the worlds to come. +Fortunately for the felicity of the Dilletante in Literature, the +horrible allegorical meanings of the Inferno, lie not on the surface; +but unfortunately for the earnest and youthful piercers into truth and +reality, those horrible meanings, when first discovered, infuse their +poison into a spot previously unprovided with that sovereign antidote of +a sense of uncapitulatable security, which is only the possession of the +furthest advanced and profoundest souls. + +Judge ye, then, ye Judicious, the mood of Pierre, so far as the passage +in Dante touched him. + +If among the deeper significances of its pervading indefiniteness, which +significances are wisely hidden from all but the rarest adepts, the +pregnant tragedy of Hamlet convey any one particular moral at all fitted +to the ordinary uses of man, it is this:--that all meditation is +worthless, unless it prompt to action; that it is not for man to stand +shilly-shallying amid the conflicting invasions of surrounding impulses; +that in the earliest instant of conviction, the roused man must strike, +and, if possible, with the precision and the force of the +lightning-bolt. + +Pierre had always been an admiring reader of Hamlet; but neither his age +nor his mental experience thus far, had qualified him either to catch +initiating glimpses into the hopeless gloom of its interior meaning, or +to draw from the general story those superficial and purely incidental +lessons, wherein the painstaking moralist so complacently expatiates. + +The intensest light of reason and revelation combined, can not shed such +blazonings upon the deeper truths in man, as will sometimes proceed from +his own profoundest gloom. Utter darkness is then his light, and +cat-like he distinctly sees all objects through a medium which is mere +blindness to common vision. Wherefore have Gloom and Grief been +celebrated of old as the selectest chamberlains to knowledge? Wherefore +is it, that not to know Gloom and Grief is not to know aught that an +heroic man should learn? + +By the light of that gloom, Pierre now turned over the soul of Hamlet in +his hand. He knew not--at least, felt not--then, that Hamlet, though a +thing of life, was, after all, but a thing of breath, evoked by the +wanton magic of a creative hand, and as wantonly dismissed at last into +endless halls of hell and night. + +It is the not impartially bestowed privilege of the more final insights, +that at the same moment they reveal the depths, they do, sometimes, also +reveal--though by no means so distinctly--some answering heights. But +when only midway down the gulf, its crags wholly conceal the upper +vaults, and the wanderer thinks it all one gulf of downward dark. + +Judge ye, then, ye Judicious, the mood of Pierre, so far as the passage +in Hamlet touched him. + + +IV. + +Torn into a hundred shreds the printed pages of Hell and Hamlet lay at +his feet, which trampled them, while their vacant covers mocked him with +their idle titles. Dante had made him fierce, and Hamlet had insinuated +that there was none to strike. Dante had taught him that he had bitter +cause of quarrel; Hamlet taunted him with faltering in the fight. Now he +began to curse anew his fate, for now he began to see that after all he +had been finely juggling with himself, and postponing with himself, and +in meditative sentimentalities wasting the moments consecrated to +instant action. + +Eight-and-forty hours and more had passed. Was Isabel acknowledged? Had +she yet hung on his public arm? Who knew yet of Isabel but Pierre? Like +a skulking coward he had gone prowling in the woods by day, and like a +skulking coward he had stolen to her haunt by night! Like a thief he had +sat and stammered and turned pale before his mother, and in the cause of +Holy Right, permitted a woman to grow tall and hector over him! Ah! Easy +for man to think like a hero; but hard for man to act like one. All +imaginable audacities readily enter into the soul; few come boldly forth +from it. + +Did he, or did he not vitally mean to do this thing? Was the immense +stuff to do it his, or was it not his? Why defer? Why put off? What was +there to be gained by deferring and putting off? His resolution had been +taken, why was it not executed? What more was there to learn? What more +which was essential to the public acknowledgment of Isabel, had remained +to be learned, after his first glance at her first letter? Had doubts of +her identity come over him to stay him?--None at all. Against the wall +of the thick darkness of the mystery of Isabel, recorded as by some +phosphoric finger was the burning fact, that Isabel was his sister. Why +then? How then? Whence then this utter nothing of his acts? Did he +stagger at the thought, that at the first announcement to his mother +concerning Isabel, and his resolution to own her boldly and lovingly, +his proud mother, spurning the reflection on his father, would likewise +spurn Pierre and Isabel, and denounce both him and her, and hate them +both alike, as unnatural accomplices against the good name of the purest +of husbands and parents? Not at all. Such a thought was not in him. For +had he not already resolved, that his mother should know nothing of the +fact of Isabel?--But how now? What then? How was Isabel to be +acknowledged to the world, if his mother was to know nothing of that +acknowledgment?--Short-sighted, miserable palterer and huckster, thou +hast been playing a most fond and foolish game with thyself! Fool and +coward! Coward and fool! Tear thyself open, and read there the +confounding story of thy blind dotishness! Thy two grand +resolutions--the public acknowledgment of Isabel, and the charitable +withholding of her existence from thy own mother,--these are impossible +adjuncts.--Likewise, thy so magnanimous purpose to screen thy father's +honorable memory from reproach, and thy other intention, the open +vindication of thy fraternalness to Isabel,--these also are impossible +adjuncts. And the having individually entertained four such resolves, +without perceiving that once brought together, they all mutually expire; +this, this ineffable folly, Pierre, brands thee in the forehead for an +unaccountable infatuate! + +Well may'st thou distrust thyself, and curse thyself, and tear thy +Hamlet and thy Hell! Oh! fool, blind fool, and a million times an ass! +Go, go, thou poor and feeble one! High deeds are not for such blind +grubs as thou! Quit Isabel, and go to Lucy! Beg humble pardon of thy +mother, and hereafter be a more obedient and good boy to her, +Pierre--Pierre, Pierre,--infatuate! + +Impossible would it be now to tell all the confusion and confoundings in +the soul of Pierre, so soon as the above absurdities in his mind +presented themselves first to his combining consciousness. He would fain +have disowned the very memory and the mind which produced to him such an +immense scandal upon his common sanity. Now indeed did all the fiery +floods in the Inferno, and all the rolling gloom in Hamlet suffocate him +at once in flame and smoke. The cheeks of his soul collapsed in him: he +dashed himself in blind fury and swift madness against the wall, and +fell dabbling in the vomit of his loathed identity. + + + + +BOOK X. + +THE UNPRECEDENTED FINAL RESOLUTION OF PIERRE. + + +I. + +Glorified be his gracious memory who first said, The deepest gloom +precedes the day. We care not whether the saying will prove true to the +utmost bounds of things; sufficient that it sometimes does hold true +within the bounds of earthly finitude. + +Next morning Pierre rose from the floor of his chamber, haggard and +tattered in body from his past night's utter misery, but stoically +serene and symmetrical in soul, with the foretaste of what then seemed +to him a planned and perfect Future. Now he thinks he knows that the +wholly unanticipated storm which had so terribly burst upon him, had yet +burst upon him for his good; for the place, which in its undetected +incipiency, the storm had obscurely occupied in his soul, seemed now +clear sky to him; and all his horizon seemed distinctly commanded by +him. + +His resolution was a strange and extraordinary one; but therefore it +only the better met a strange and extraordinary emergency. But it was +not only strange and extraordinary in its novelty of mere aspect, but it +was wonderful in its unequaled renunciation of himself. + +From the first, determined at all hazards to hold his father's fair +fame inviolate from any thing he should do in reference to protecting +Isabel, and extending to her a brother's utmost devotedness and love; +and equally determined not to shake his mother's lasting peace by any +useless exposure of unwelcome facts; and yet vowed in his deepest soul +some way to embrace Isabel before the world, and yield to her his +constant consolation and companionship; and finding no possible mode of +unitedly compassing all these ends, without a most singular act of pious +imposture, which he thought all heaven would justify in him, since he +himself was to be the grand self-renouncing victim; therefore, this was +his settled and immovable purpose now; namely: to assume before the +world, that by secret rites, Pierre Glendinning was already become the +husband of Isabel Banford--an assumption which would entirely warrant +his dwelling in her continual company, and upon equal terms, taking her +wherever the world admitted him; and at the same time foreclose all +sinister inquisitions bearing upon his deceased parent's memory, or any +way affecting his mother's lasting peace, as indissolubly linked with +that. True, he in embryo, foreknew, that the extraordinary thing he had +resolved, would, in another way, indirectly though inevitably, dart a +most keen pang into his mother's heart; but this then seemed to him part +of the unavoidable vast price of his enthusiastic virtue; and, thus +minded, rather would he privately pain his living mother with a wound +that might be curable, than cast world-wide and irremediable +dishonor--so it seemed to him--upon his departed father. + +Probably no other being than Isabel could have produced upon Pierre +impressions powerful enough to eventuate in a final resolution so +unparalleled as the above. But the wonderful melodiousness of her grief +had touched the secret monochord within his breast, by an apparent +magic, precisely similar to that which had moved the stringed tongue of +her guitar to respond to the heart-strings of her own melancholy +plaints. The deep voice of the being of Isabel called to him from out +the immense distances of sky and air, and there seemed no veto of the +earth that could forbid her heavenly claim. + +During the three days that he had personally known her, and so been +brought into magnetic contact with her, other persuasions and potencies +than those direct ones, involved in her bewildering eyes and marvelous +story, had unconsciously left their ineffaceable impressions on him, and +perhaps without his privity, had mainly contributed to his resolve. She +had impressed him as the glorious child of Pride and Grief, in whose +countenance were traceable the divinest lineaments of both her parents. +Pride gave to her her nameless nobleness; Grief touched that nobleness +with an angelical softness; and again that softness was steeped in a +most charitable humility, which was the foundation of her loftiest +excellence of all. + +Neither by word or letter had Isabel betrayed any spark of those more +common emotions and desires which might not unreasonably be ascribed to +an ordinary person placed in circumstances like hers. Though almost +penniless, she had not invoked the pecuniary bounty of Pierre; and +though she was altogether silent on that subject, yet Pierre could not +but be strangely sensible of something in her which disdained to +voluntarily hang upon the mere bounty even of a brother. Nor, though she +by various nameless ways, manifested her consciousness of being +surrounded by uncongenial and inferior beings, while yet descended from +a generous stock, and personally meriting the most refined +companionships which the wide world could yield; nevertheless, she had +not demanded of Pierre that he should array her in brocade, and lead her +forth among the rare and opulent ladies of the land. But while thus +evincing her intuitive, true lady-likeness and nobleness by this entire +freedom from all sordid motives, neither had she merged all her feelings +in any sickly sentimentalities of sisterly affection toward her so +suddenly discovered brother; which, in the case of a naturally +unattractive woman in her circumstances, would not have been altogether +alluring to Pierre. No. That intense and indescribable longing, which +her letter by its very incoherencies had best embodied, proceeded from +no base, vain, or ordinary motive whatever; but was the unsuppressible +and unmistakable cry of the godhead through her soul, commanding Pierre +to fly to her, and do his highest and most glorious duty in the world. + +Nor now, as it changedly seemed to Pierre, did that duty consist in +stubbornly flying in the marble face of the Past, and striving to +reverse the decree which had pronounced that Isabel could never +perfectly inherit all the privileges of a legitimate child of her +father. And thoroughly now he felt, that even as this would in the +present case be both preposterous in itself and cruel in effect to both +the living and the dead, so was it entirely undesired by Isabel, who +though once yielding to a momentary burst of aggressive enthusiasm, yet +in her more wonted mood of mournfulness and sweetness, evinced no such +lawless wandering. Thoroughly, now he felt, that Isabel was content to +live obscure in her paternal identity, so long as she could any way +appease her deep longings for the constant love and sympathy and close +domestic contact of some one of her blood. So that Pierre had no +slightest misgiving that upon learning the character of his scheme, she +would deem it to come short of her natural expectations; while so far as +its apparent strangeness was concerned,--a strangeness, perhaps +invincible to squeamish and humdrum women--here Pierre anticipated no +obstacle in Isabel; for her whole past was strange, and strangeness +seemed best befitting to her future. + +But had Pierre now reread the opening paragraph of her letter to him, he +might have very quickly derived a powerful anticipative objection from +his sister, which his own complete disinterestedness concealed from him. +Though Pierre had every reason to believe that--owing to her secluded +and humble life--Isabel was in entire ignorance of the fact of his +precise relation to Lucy Tartan:--an ignorance, whose first indirect and +unconscious manifestation in Isabel, had been unspeakably welcome to +him;--and though, of course, he had both wisely and benevolently +abstained from enlightening her on that point; still, notwithstanding +this, was it possible that any true-hearted noble girl like Isabel, +would, to benefit herself, willingly become a participator in an act, +which would prospectively and forever bar the blessed boon of +marriageable love from one so young and generous as Pierre, and +eternally entangle him in a fictitious alliance, which, though in +reality but a web of air, yet in effect would prove a wall of iron; for +the same powerful motive which induced the thought of forming such an +alliance, would always thereafter forbid that tacit exposure of its +fictitiousness, which would be consequent upon its public +discontinuance, and the real nuptials of Pierre with any other being +during the lifetime of Isabel. + +But according to what view you take of it, it is either the gracious or +the malicious gift of the great gods to man, that on the threshold of +any wholly new and momentous devoted enterprise, the thousand ulterior +intricacies and emperilings to which it must conduct; these, at the +outset, are mostly withheld from sight; and so, through her +ever-primeval wilderness Fortune's Knight rides on, alike ignorant of +the palaces or the pitfalls in its heart. Surprising, and past all +ordinary belief, are those strange oversights and inconsistencies, into +which the enthusiastic meditation upon unique or extreme resolves will +sometimes beget in young and over-ardent souls. That all-comprehending +oneness, that calm representativeness, by which a steady philosophic +mind reaches forth and draws to itself, in their collective entirety, +the objects of its contemplations; that pertains not to the young +enthusiast. By his eagerness, all objects are deceptively foreshortened; +by his intensity each object is viewed as detached; so that essentially +and relatively every thing is misseen by him. Already have we exposed +that passing preposterousness in Pierre, which by reason of the +above-named cause which we have endeavored to portray, induced him to +cherish for a time four unitedly impossible designs. And now we behold +this hapless youth all eager to involve himself in such an inextricable +twist of Fate, that the three dextrous maids themselves could hardly +disentangle him, if once he tie the complicating knots about him and +Isabel. + +Ah, thou rash boy! are there no couriers in the air to warn thee away +from these emperilings, and point thee to those Cretan labyrinths, to +which thy life's cord is leading thee? Where now are the high +beneficences? Whither fled the sweet angels that are alledged guardians +to man? + +Not that the impulsive Pierre wholly overlooked all that was menacing to +him in his future, if now he acted out his most rare resolve; but +eagerly foreshortened by him, they assumed not their full magnitude of +menacing; nor, indeed,--so riveted now his purpose--were they pushed up +to his face, would he for that renounce his self-renunciation; while +concerning all things more immediately contingent upon his central +resolution; these were, doubtless, in a measure, foreseen and understood +by him. Perfectly, at least, he seemed to foresee and understand, that +the present hope of Lucy Tartan must be banished from his being; that +this would carry a terrible pang to her, which in the natural recoil +would but redouble his own; that to the world all his heroicness, +standing equally unexplained and unsuspected, therefore the world would +denounce him as infamously false to his betrothed; reckless of the most +binding human vows; a secret wooer and wedder of an unknown and +enigmatic girl; a spurner of all a loving mother's wisest counselings; a +bringer down of lasting reproach upon an honorable name; a besotted +self-exile from a most prosperous house and bounteous fortune; and +lastly, that now his whole life would, in the eyes of the wide humanity, +be covered with an all-pervading haze of incurable sinisterness, +possibly not to be removed even in the concluding hour of death. + +Such, oh thou son of man! are the perils and the miseries thou callest +down on thee, when, even in a virtuous cause, thou steppest aside from +those arbitrary lines of conduct, by which the common world, however +base and dastardly, surrounds thee for thy worldly good. + +Ofttimes it is very wonderful to trace the rarest and profoundest +things, and find their probable origin in something extremely trite or +trivial. Yet so strange and complicate is the human soul; so much is +confusedly evolved from out itself, and such vast and varied accessions +come to it from abroad, and so impossible is it always to distinguish +between these two, that the wisest man were rash, positively to assign +the precise and incipient origination of his final thoughts and acts. +Far as we blind moles can see, man's life seems but an acting upon +mysterious hints; it is somehow hinted to us, to do thus or thus. For +surely no mere mortal who has at all gone down into himself will ever +pretend that his slightest thought or act solely originates in his own +defined identity. This preamble seems not entirely unnecessary as usher +of the strange conceit, that possibly the latent germ of Pierre's +proposed extraordinary mode of executing his proposed extraordinary +resolve--namely, the nominal conversion of a sister into a wife--might +have been found in the previous conversational conversion of a mother +into a sister; for hereby he had habituated his voice and manner to a +certain fictitiousness in one of the closest domestic relations of life; +and since man's moral texture is very porous, and things assumed upon +the surface, at last strike in--hence, this outward habituation to the +above-named fictitiousness had insensibly disposed his mind to it as it +were; but only innocently and pleasantly as yet. If, by any possibility, +this general conceit be so, then to Pierre the times of sportfulness +were as pregnant with the hours of earnestness; and in sport he learnt +the terms of woe. + + +II. + +If next to that resolve concerning his lasting fraternal succor to +Isabel, there was at this present time any determination in Pierre +absolutely inflexible, and partaking at once of the sacredness and the +indissolubleness of the most solemn oath, it was the enthusiastic, and +apparently wholly supererogatory resolution to hold his father's memory +untouched; nor to one single being in the world reveal the paternity of +Isabel. Unrecallably dead and gone from out the living world, again +returned to utter helplessness, so far as this world went; his perished +father seemed to appeal to the dutifulness and mercifulness of Pierre, +in terms far more moving than though the accents proceeded from his +mortal mouth. And what though not through the sin of Pierre, but through +his father's sin, that father's fair fame now lay at the mercy of the +son, and could only be kept inviolate by the son's free sacrifice of all +earthly felicity;--what if this were so? It but struck a still loftier +chord in the bosom of the son, and filled him with infinite +magnanimities. Never had the generous Pierre cherished the heathenish +conceit, that even in the general world, Sin is a fair object to be +stretched on the cruelest racks by self-complacent Virtue, that +self-complacent Virtue may feed her lily-liveredness on the pallor of +Sin's anguish. For perfect Virtue does not more loudly claim our +approbation, than repented Sin in its concludedness does demand our +utmost tenderness and concern. And as the more immense the Virtue, so +should be the more immense our approbation; likewise the more immense +the Sin, the more infinite our pity. In some sort, Sin hath its +sacredness, not less than holiness. And great Sin calls forth more +magnanimity than small Virtue. What man, who is a man, does not feel +livelier and more generous emotions toward the great god of +Sin--Satan,--than toward yonder haberdasher, who only is a sinner in +the small and entirely honorable way of trade? + +Though Pierre profoundly shuddered at that impenetrable yet blackly +significant nebulousness, which the wild story of Isabel threw around +the early life of his father; yet as he recalled the dumb anguish of the +invocation of the empty and the ashy hand uplifted from his father's +death-bed, he most keenly felt that of whatsoever unknown shade his +father's guilt might be, yet in the final hour of death it had been most +dismally repented of; by a repentance only the more full of utter +wretchedness, that it was a consuming secret in him. Mince the matter +how his family would, had not his father died a raver? Whence that +raving, following so prosperous a life? Whence, but from the cruelest +compunctions? + +Touched thus, and strung in all his sinews and his nerves to the holding +of his father's memory intact,--Pierre turned his confronting and +unfrightened face toward Lucy Tartan, and stilly vowed that not even she +should know the whole; no, not know the least. + +There is an inevitable keen cruelty in the loftier heroism. It is not +heroism only to stand unflinched ourselves in the hour of suffering; but +it is heroism to stand unflinched both at our own and at some loved +one's united suffering; a united suffering, which we could put an +instant period to, if we would but renounce the glorious cause for which +ourselves do bleed, and see our most loved one bleed. If he would not +reveal his father's shame to the common world, whose favorable opinion +for himself, Pierre now despised; how then reveal it to the woman he +adored? To her, above all others, would he now uncover his father's +tomb, and bid her behold from what vile attaintings he himself had +sprung? So Pierre turned round and tied Lucy to the same stake which +must hold himself, for he too plainly saw, that it could not be, but +that both their hearts must burn. + +Yes, his resolve concerning his father's memory involved the necessity +of assuming even to Lucy his marriage with Isabel. Here he could not +explain himself, even to her. This would aggravate the sharp pang of +parting, by self-suggested, though wholly groundless surmising in Lucy's +mind, in the most miserable degree contaminating to her idea of him. But +on this point, he still fondly trusted that without at all marring his +filial bond, he would be enabled by some significant intimations to +arrest in Lucy's mind those darker imaginings which might find entrance +there; and if he could not set her wholly right, yet prevent her from +going wildly wrong. + +For his mother Pierre was more prepared. He considered that by an +inscrutable decree, which it was but foolishness to try to evade, or +shun, or deny existence to, since he felt it so profoundly pressing on +his inmost soul; the family of the Glendinnings was imperiously called +upon to offer up a victim to the gods of woe; one grand victim at the +least; and that grand victim must be his mother, or himself. If he +disclosed his secret to the world, then his mother was made the victim; +if at all hazards he kept it to himself, then himself would be the +victim. A victim as respecting his mother, because under the peculiar +circumstances of the case, the non-disclosure of the secret involved her +entire and infamy-engendering misconception of himself. But to this he +bowed submissive. + +One other thing--and the last to be here named, because the very least +in the conscious thoughts of Pierre; one other thing remained to menace +him with assured disastrousness. This thing it was, which though but +dimly hinted of as yet, still in the apprehension must have exerted a +powerful influence upon Pierre, in preparing him for the worst. + +His father's last and fatal sickness had seized him suddenly. Both the +probable concealed distraction of his mind with reference to his early +life as recalled to him in an evil hour, and his consequent mental +wanderings; these, with other reasons, had prevented him from framing a +new will to supersede one made shortly after his marriage, and ere +Pierre was born. By that will which as yet had never been dragged into +the courts of law; and which, in the fancied security of her own and her +son's congenial and loving future, Mrs. Glendinning had never but once, +and then inconclusively, offered to discuss, with a view to a better and +more appropriate ordering of things to meet circumstances non-existent +at the period the testament was framed; by that will, all the +Glendinning property was declared his mother's. + +Acutely sensible to those prophetic intimations in him, which painted in +advance the haughty temper of his offended mother, as all bitterness and +scorn toward a son, once the object of her proudest joy, but now become +a deep reproach, as not only rebellious to her, but glaringly +dishonorable before the world; Pierre distinctly foresaw, that as she +never would have permitted Isabel Banford in her true character to cross +her threshold; neither would she now permit Isabel Banford to cross her +threshold in any other, and disguised character; least of all, as that +unknown and insidious girl, who by some pernicious arts had lured her +only son from honor into infamy. But not to admit Isabel, was now to +exclude Pierre, if indeed on independent grounds of exasperation against +himself, his mother would not cast him out. + +Nor did the same interior intimations in him which fore-painted the +above bearing of his mother, abstain to trace her whole haughty heart as +so unrelentingly set against him, that while she would close her doors +against both him and his fictitious wife, so also she would not +willingly contribute one copper to support them in a supposed union so +entirely abhorrent to her. And though Pierre was not so familiar with +the science of the law, as to be quite certain what the law, if appealed +to concerning the provisions of his father's will, would decree +concerning any possible claims of the son to share with the mother in +the property of the sire; yet he prospectively felt an invincible +repugnance to dragging his dead father's hand and seal into open Court, +and fighting over them with a base mercenary motive, and with his own +mother for the antagonist. For so thoroughly did his infallible +presentiments paint his mother's character to him, as operated upon and +disclosed in all those fiercer traits,--hitherto held in abeyance by the +mere chance and felicity of circumstances,--that he felt assured that +her exasperation against him would even meet the test of a public legal +contention concerning the Glendinning property. For indeed there was a +reserved strength and masculineness in the character of his mother, from +which on all these points Pierre had every thing to dread. Besides, will +the matter how he would, Pierre for nearly two whole years to come, +would still remain a minor, an infant in the eye of the law, incapable +of personally asserting any legal claim; and though he might sue by his +next friend, yet who would be his voluntary next friend, when the +execution of his great resolve would, for him, depopulate all the world +of friends? + +Now to all these things, and many more, seemed the soul of this +infatuated young enthusiast braced. + + +III. + +There is a dark, mad mystery in some human hearts, which, sometimes, +during the tyranny of a usurper mood, leads them to be all eagerness to +cast off the most intense beloved bond, as a hindrance to the attainment +of whatever transcendental object that usurper mood so tyrannically +suggests. Then the beloved bond seems to hold us to no essential good; +lifted to exalted mounts, we can dispense with all the vale; endearments +we spurn; kisses are blisters to us; and forsaking the palpitating forms +of mortal love, we emptily embrace the boundless and the unbodied air. +We think we are not human; we become as immortal bachelors and gods; but +again, like the Greek gods themselves, prone we descend to earth; glad +to be uxorious once more; glad to hide these god-like heads within the +bosoms made of too-seducing clay. + +Weary with the invariable earth, the restless sailor breaks from every +enfolding arm, and puts to sea in height of tempest that blows off +shore. But in long night-watches at the antipodes, how heavily that +ocean gloom lies in vast bales upon the deck; thinking that that very +moment in his deserted hamlet-home the household sun is high, and many a +sun-eyed maiden meridian as the sun. He curses Fate; himself he curses; +his senseless madness, which is himself. For whoso once has known this +sweet knowledge, and then fled it; in absence, to him the avenging dream +will come. + +Pierre was now this vulnerable god; this self-upbraiding sailor; this +dreamer of the avenging dream. Though in some things he had unjuggled +himself, and forced himself to eye the prospect as it was; yet, so far +as Lucy was concerned, he was at bottom still a juggler. True, in his +extraordinary scheme, Lucy was so intimately interwoven, that it seemed +impossible for him at all to cast his future without some way having +that heart's love in view. But ignorant of its quantity as yet, or +fearful of ascertaining it; like an algebraist, for the real Lucy he, in +his scheming thoughts, had substituted but a sign--some empty _x_--and +in the ultimate solution of the problem, that empty _x_ still figured; +not the real Lucy. + +But now, when risen from the abasement of his chamber-floor, and risen +from the still profounder prostration of his soul, Pierre had thought +that all the horizon of his dark fate was commanded by him; all his +resolutions clearly defined, and immovably decreed; now finally, to top +all, there suddenly slid into his inmost heart the living and breathing +form of Lucy. His lungs collapsed; his eyeballs glared; for the sweet +imagined form, so long buried alive in him, seemed now as gliding on +him from the grave; and her light hair swept far adown her shroud. + +Then, for the time, all minor things were whelmed in him; his mother, +Isabel, the whole wide world; and one only thing remained to him;--this +all-including query--Lucy or God? + +But here we draw a vail. Some nameless struggles of the soul can not be +painted, and some woes will not be told. Let the ambiguous procession of +events reveal their own ambiguousness. + + + + +BOOK XI. + +HE CROSSES THE RUBICON + + +I. + +Sucked within the Maelstrom, man must go round. Strike at one end the +longest conceivable row of billiard balls in close contact, and the +furthermost ball will start forth, while all the rest stand still; and +yet that last ball was not struck at all. So, through long previous +generations, whether of births or thoughts, Fate strikes the present +man. Idly he disowns the blow's effect, because he felt no blow, and +indeed, received no blow. But Pierre was not arguing Fixed Fate and Free +Will, now; Fixed Fate and Free Will were arguing him, and Fixed Fate got +the better in the debate. + +The peculiarities of those influences which on the night and early +morning following the last interview with Isabel, persuaded Pierre to +the adoption of his final resolve, did now irresistibly impel him to a +remarkable instantaneousness in his actions, even as before he had +proved a lagger. + +Without being consciously that way pointed, through the desire of +anticipating any objections on the part of Isabel to the assumption of a +marriage between himself and her; Pierre was now impetuously hurried +into an act, which should have the effective virtue of such an executed +intention, without its corresponding motive. Because, as the primitive +resolve so deplorably involved Lucy, her image was then prominent in his +mind; and hence, because he felt all eagerness to hold her no longer in +suspense, but by a certain sort of charity of cruelty, at once to +pronounce to her her fate; therefore, it was among his first final +thoughts that morning to go to Lucy. And to this, undoubtedly, so +trifling a circumstance as her being nearer to him, geographically, than +Isabel, must have contributed some added, though unconscious influence, +in his present fateful frame of mind. + +On the previous undetermined days, Pierre had solicitously sought to +disguise his emotions from his mother, by a certain carefulness and +choiceness in his dress. But now, since his very soul was forced to wear +a mask, he would wear no paltry palliatives and disguisements on his +body. He went to the cottage of Lucy as disordered in his person, as +haggard in his face. + + +II. + +She was not risen yet. So, the strange imperious instantaneousness in +him, impelled him to go straight to her chamber-door, and in a voice of +mild invincibleness, demand immediate audience, for the matter pressed. + +Already namelessly concerned and alarmed for her lover, now +eight-and-forty hours absent on some mysterious and undisclosable +affair; Lucy, at this surprising summons was overwhelmed with sudden +terror; and in oblivion of all ordinary proprieties, responded to +Pierre's call, by an immediate assent. + +Opening the door, he advanced slowly and deliberately toward her; and as +Lucy caught his pale determined figure, she gave a cry of groping +misery, which knew not the pang that caused it, and lifted herself +trembling in her bed; but without uttering one word. + +Pierre sat down on the bedside; and his set eyes met her terrified and +virgin aspect. + +"Decked in snow-white, and pale of cheek, thou indeed art fitted for the +altar; but not that one of which thy fond heart did'st dream:--so fair a +victim!" + +"Pierre!" + +"'Tis the last cruelty of tyrants to make their enemies slay each +other." + +"My heart! my heart!" + +"Nay;---- Lucy, I am married." + +The girl was no more pale, but white as any leper; the bed-clothes +trembled to the concealed shudderings of all her limbs; one moment she +sat looking vacantly into the blank eyes of Pierre, and then fell over +toward him in a swoon. + +Swift madness mounted into the brain of Pierre; all the past seemed as a +dream, and all the present an unintelligible horror. He lifted her, and +extended her motionless form upon the bed, and stamped for succor. The +maid Martha came running into the room, and beholding those two +inexplicable figures, shrieked, and turned in terror. But Pierre's +repeated cry rallied Martha from this, and darting out of the chamber, +she returned with a sharp restorative, which at length brought Lucy back +to life. + +"Martha! Martha!" now murmured Lucy, in a scarce audible whispering, and +shuddering in the maid's own shuddering arms, "quick, quick; come to +me--drive it away! wake me! wake me!" + +"Nay, pray God to sleep again," cried Martha, bending over her and +embracing her, and half-turning upon Pierre with a glance of loathing +indignation. "In God's holy name, sir, what may this be? How came you +here; accursed!" + +"Accursed?--it is well. Is she herself again, Martha?" + +"Thou hast somehow murdered her; how then be herself again? My sweet +mistress! oh, my young mistress! Tell me! tell me!" and she bent low +over her. + +Pierre now advanced toward the bed, making a gesture for the maid to +leave them; but soon as Lucy re-caught his haggard form, she +whisperingly wailed again, "Martha! Martha! drive it +away!--there--there! him--him!" and shut her eyes convulsively, with +arms abhorrently outstretched. + +"Monster! incomprehensible fiend!" cried the anew terror-smitten +maid--"depart! See! she dies away at the sight of thee--begone! Wouldst +thou murder her afresh? Begone!" + +Starched and frozen by his own emotion, Pierre silently turned and +quitted the chamber; and heavily descending the stairs, tramped +heavily--as a man slowly bearing a great burden--through a long narrow +passage leading to a wing in the rear of the cottage, and knocking at +Miss Lanyllyn's door, summoned her to Lucy, who, he briefly said, had +fainted. Then, without waiting for any response, left the house, and +went directly to the mansion. + + +III. + +"Is my mother up yet?" said he to Dates, whom he met in the hall. + +"Not yet, sir;--heavens, sir! are you sick?" + +"To death! Let me pass." + +Ascending toward his mother's chamber, he heard a coming step, and met +her on the great middle landing of the stairs, where in an ample niche, +a marble group of the temple-polluting Laocoon and his two innocent +children, caught in inextricable snarls of snakes, writhed in eternal +torments. + +"Mother, go back with me to thy chamber." + +She eyed his sudden presence with a dark but repressed foreboding; drew +herself up haughtily and repellingly, and with a quivering lip, said, +"Pierre, thou thyself hast denied me thy confidence, and thou shall not +force me back to it so easily. Speak! what is that now between thee and +me?" + +"I am married, mother." + +"Great God! To whom?" + +"Not to Lucy Tartan, mother." + +"That thou merely sayest 'tis not Lucy, without saying who indeed it is, +this is good proof she is something vile. Does Lucy know thy marriage?" + +"I am but just from Lucy's." + +Thus far Mrs. Glendinning's rigidity had been slowly relaxing. Now she +clutched the balluster, bent over, and trembled, for a moment. Then +erected all her haughtiness again, and stood before Pierre in incurious, +unappeasable grief and scorn for him. + +"My dark soul prophesied something dark. If already thou hast not found +other lodgment, and other table than this house supplies, then seek it +straight. Beneath my roof, and at my table, he who was once Pierre +Glendinning no more puts himself." + +She turned from him, and with a tottering step climbed the winding +stairs, and disappeared from him; while in the balluster he held, Pierre +seemed to feel the sudden thrill running down to him from his mother's +convulsive grasp. + +He stared about him with an idiot eye; staggered to the floor below, to +dumbly quit the house; but as he crossed its threshold, his foot tripped +upon its raised ledge; he pitched forward upon the stone portico, and +fell. He seemed as jeeringly hurled from beneath his own ancestral +roof. + + +IV. + +Passing through the broad court-yard's postern, Pierre closed it after +him, and then turned and leaned upon it, his eyes fixed upon the great +central chimney of the mansion, from which a light blue smoke was +wreathing gently into the morning air. + +"The hearth-stone from which thou risest, never more, I inly feel, will +these feet press. Oh God, what callest thou that which has thus made +Pierre a vagabond?" + +He walked slowly away, and passing the windows of Lucy, looked up, and +saw the white curtains closely drawn, the white-cottage profoundly +still, and a white saddle-horse tied before the gate. + +"I would enter, but again would her abhorrent wails repel; what more can +I now say or do to her? I can not explain. She knows all I purposed to +disclose. Ay, but thou didst cruelly burst upon her with it; thy +impetuousness, thy instantaneousness hath killed her, Pierre!--Nay, nay, +nay!--Cruel tidings who can gently break? If to stab be inevitable; then +instant be the dagger! Those curtains are close drawn upon her; so let +me upon her sweet image draw the curtains of my soul. Sleep, sleep, +sleep, sleep, thou angel!--wake no more to Pierre, nor to thyself, my +Lucy!" + +Passing on now hurriedly and blindly, he jostled against some +oppositely-going wayfarer. The man paused amazed; and looking up, Pierre +recognized a domestic of the Mansion. That instantaneousness which now +impelled him in all his actions, again seized the ascendency in him. +Ignoring the dismayed expression of the man at thus encountering his +young master, Pierre commanded him to follow him. Going straight to the +"Black Swan," the little village Inn, he entered the first vacant room, +and bidding the man be seated, sought the keeper of the house, and +ordered pen and paper. + +If fit opportunity offer in the hour of unusual affliction, minds of a +certain temperament find a strange, hysterical relief, in a wild, +perverse humorousness, the more alluring from its entire unsuitableness +to the occasion; although they seldom manifest this trait toward those +individuals more immediately involved in the cause or the effect of +their suffering. The cool censoriousness of the mere philosopher would +denominate such conduct as nothing short of temporary madness; and +perhaps it is, since, in the inexorable and inhuman eye of mere +undiluted reason, all grief, whether on our own account, or that of +others, is the sheerest unreason and insanity. + +The note now written was the following: + + + "_For that Fine Old Fellow, Dates._ + + "Dates, my old boy, bestir thyself now. Go to my room, Dates, and + bring me down my mahogany strong-box and lock-up, the thing covered + with blue chintz; strap it very carefully, my sweet Dates, it is + rather heavy, and set it just without the postern. Then back and + bring me down my writing-desk, and set that, too, just without the + postern. Then back yet again, and bring me down the old camp-bed + (see that all the parts be there), and bind the case well with a + cord. Then go to the left corner little drawer in my wardrobe, and + thou wilt find my visiting-cards. Tack one on the chest, and the + desk, and the camp-bed case. Then get all my clothes together, and + pack them in trunks (not forgetting the two old military cloaks, my + boy), and tack cards on them also, my good Dates. Then fly round + three times indefinitely, my good Dates, and wipe a little of the + perspiration off. And then--let me see--then, my good Dates--why + what then? Why, this much. Pick up all papers of all sorts that may + be lying round my chamber, and see them burned. And then--have old + White Hoof put to the lightest farm-wagon, and send the chest, and + the desk, and the camp-bed, and the trunks to the 'Black Swan,' + where I shall call for them, when I am ready, and not before, sweet + Dates. So God bless thee, my fine, old, imperturbable Dates, and + adieu! + + "Thy old young master, + PIERRE. + + "_Nota bene_--Mark well, though, Dates. Should my mother possibly + interrupt thee, say that it is my orders, and mention what it is I + send for; but on no account show this to thy mistress--D'ye hear? + + PIERRE again." + +Folding this scrawl into a grotesque shape, Pierre ordered the man to +take it forthwith to Dates. But the man, all perplexed, hesitated, +turning the billet over in his hand; till Pierre loudly and violently +bade him begone; but as the man was then rapidly departing in a panic, +Pierre called him back and retracted his rude words; but as the servant +now lingered again, perhaps thinking to avail himself of this repentant +mood in Pierre, to say something in sympathy or remonstrance to him, +Pierre ordered him off with augmented violence, and stamped for him to +begone. + +Apprising the equally perplexed old landlord that certain things would +in the course of that forenoon be left for him, (Pierre,) at the Inn; +and also desiring him to prepare a chamber for himself and wife that +night; some chamber with a commodious connecting room, which might +answer for a dressing-room; and likewise still another chamber for a +servant; Pierre departed the place, leaving the old landlord staring +vacantly at him, and dumbly marveling what horrible thing had happened +to turn the brain of his fine young favorite and old shooting comrade, +Master Pierre. + +Soon the short old man went out bare-headed upon the low porch of the +Inn, descended its one step, and crossed over to the middle of the road, +gazing after Pierre. And only as Pierre turned up a distant lane, did +his amazement and his solicitude find utterance. + +"I taught him--yes, old Casks;--the best shot in all the country round +is Master Pierre;--pray God he hits not now the bull's eye in +himself.--Married? married? and coming here?--This is pesky strange!" + + + + +BOOK XII. + +ISABEL: MRS. GLENDINNING: THE PORTRAIT: AND LUCY. + + +I. + +When on the previous night Pierre had left the farm-house where Isabel +harbored, it will be remembered that no hour, either of night or day, no +special time at all had been assigned for a succeeding interview. It was +Isabel, who for some doubtlessly sufficient reason of her own, had, for +the first meeting, assigned the early hour of darkness. + +As now, when the full sun was well up the heavens, Pierre drew near the +farm-house of the Ulvers, he descried Isabel, standing without the +little dairy-wing, occupied in vertically arranging numerous glittering +shield-like milk-pans on a long shelf, where they might purifyingly meet +the sun. Her back was toward him. As Pierre passed through the open +wicket and crossed the short soft green sward, he unconsciously muffled +his footsteps, and now standing close behind his sister, touched her +shoulder and stood still. + +She started, trembled, turned upon him swiftly, made a low, strange cry, +and then gazed rivetedly and imploringly upon him. + +"I look rather queerish, sweet Isabel, do I not?" said Pierre at last +with a writhed and painful smile. + +"My brother, my blessed brother!--speak--tell me--what has +happened--what hast thou done? Oh! Oh! I should have warned thee before, +Pierre, Pierre; it is my fault--mine, mine!" + +"_What_ is thy fault, sweet Isabel?" + +"Thou hast revealed Isabel to thy mother, Pierre." + +"I have not, Isabel. Mrs. Glendinning knows not thy secret at all." + +"Mrs. Glendinning?--that's,--that's thine own mother, Pierre! In +heaven's name, my brother, explain thyself. Knows not my secret, and yet +thou here so suddenly, and with such a fatal aspect? Come, come with me +into the house. Quick, Pierre, why dost thou not stir? Oh, my God! if +mad myself sometimes, I am to make mad him who loves me best, and who, I +fear, has in some way ruined himself for me;--then, let me no more stand +upright on this sod, but fall prone beneath it, that I may be hidden! +Tell me!" catching Pierre's arms in both her frantic hands--"tell me, do +I blast where I look? is my face Gorgon's?" + +"Nay, sweet Isabel; but it hath a more sovereign power; that turned to +stone; thine might turn white marble into mother's milk." + +"Come with me--come quickly." + +They passed into the dairy, and sat down on a bench by the honey-suckled +casement. + +"Pierre, forever fatal and accursed be the day my longing heart called +thee to me, if now, in the very spring-time of our related love, thou +art minded to play deceivingly with me, even though thou should'st fancy +it for my good. Speak to me; oh speak to me, my brother!" + +"Thou hintest of deceiving one for one's good. Now supposing, sweet +Isabel, that in no case would I affirmatively deceive thee;--in no case +whatever;--would'st thou then be willing for thee and me to piously +deceive others, for both their and our united good?--Thou sayest +nothing. Now, then, is it _my_ turn, sweet Isabel, to bid thee speak to +me, oh speak to me!" + +"That unknown, approaching thing, seemeth ever ill, my brother, which +must have unfrank heralds to go before. Oh, Pierre, dear, dear Pierre; +be very careful with me! This strange, mysterious, unexampled love +between us, makes me all plastic in thy hand. Be very careful with me. I +know little out of me. The world seems all one unknown India to me. Look +up, look on me, Pierre; say now, thou wilt be very careful; say so, say +so, Pierre!" + +"If the most exquisite, and fragile filagree of Genoa be carefully +handled by its artisan; if sacred nature carefully folds, and warms, and +by inconceivable attentivenesses eggs round and round her minute and +marvelous embryoes; then, Isabel, do I most carefully and most tenderly +egg thee, gentlest one, and the fate of thee! Short of the great God, +Isabel, there lives none who will be more careful with thee, more +infinitely considerate and delicate with thee." + +"From my deepest heart, do I believe thee, Pierre. Yet thou mayest be +very delicate in some point, where delicateness is not all essential, +and in some quick impulsive hour, omit thy fullest heedfulness somewhere +where heedlessness were most fatal. Nay, nay, my brother; bleach these +locks snow-white, thou sun! if I have any thought to reproach thee, +Pierre, or betray distrust of thee. But earnestness must sometimes seem +suspicious, else it is none. Pierre, Pierre, all thy aspect speaks +eloquently of some already executed resolution, born in suddenness. +Since I last saw thee, Pierre, some deed irrevocable has been done by +thee. My soul is stiff and starched to it; now tell me what it is?" + +"Thou, and I, and Delly Ulver, to-morrow morning depart this whole +neighborhood, and go to the distant city.--That is it." + +"No more?" + +"Is it not enough?" + +"There is something more, Pierre." + +"Thou hast not yet answered a question I put to thee but just now. +Bethink thee, Isabel. The deceiving of others by thee and me, in a thing +wholly pertaining to ourselves, for their and our united good. Wouldst +thou?" + +"I would do any thing that does not tend to the marring of thy best +lasting fortunes, Pierre. What is it thou wouldst have thee and me to do +together? I wait; I wait!" + +"Let us go into the room of the double casement, my sister," said +Pierre, rising. + +"Nay, then; if it can not be said here, then can I not do it anywhere, +my brother; for it would harm thee." + +"Girl!" cried Pierre, sternly, "if for thee I have lost"--but he checked +himself. + +"Lost? for me? Now does the very worst blacken on me. Pierre! Pierre!" + +"I was foolish, and sought but to frighten thee, my sister. It was very +foolish. Do thou now go on with thine innocent work here, and I will +come again a few hours hence. Let me go now." + +He was turning from her, when Isabel sprang forward to him, caught him +with both her arms round him, and held him so convulsively, that her +hair sideways swept over him, and half concealed him. + +"Pierre, if indeed my soul hath cast on thee the same black shadow that +my hair now flings on thee; if thou hast lost aught for me; then +eternally is Isabel lost to Isabel, and Isabel will not outlive this +night. If I am indeed an accursing thing, I will not act the given part, +but cheat the air, and die from it. See; I let thee go, lest some poison +I know not of distill upon thee from me." + +She slowly drooped, and trembled from him. But Pierre caught her, and +supported her. + +"Foolish, foolish one! Behold, in the very bodily act of loosing hold of +me, thou dost reel and fall;--unanswerable emblem of the indispensable +heart-stay, I am to thee, my sweet, sweet Isabel! Prate not then of +parting." + +"What hast thou lost for me? Tell me!" + +"A gainful loss, my sister!" + +"'Tis mere rhetoric! What hast thou lost?" + +"Nothing that my inmost heart would now recall. I have bought inner love +and glory by a price, which, large or small, I would not now have paid +me back, so I must return the thing I bought." + +"Is love then cold, and glory white? Thy cheek is snowy, Pierre." + +"It should be, for I believe to God that I am pure, let the world think +how it may." + +"What hast thou lost?" + +"Not thee, nor the pride and glory of ever loving thee, and being a +continual brother to thee, my best sister. Nay, why dost thou now turn +thy face from me?" + +"With fine words he wheedles me, and coaxes me, not to know some secret +thing. Go, go, Pierre, come to me when thou wilt. I am steeled now to +the worst, and to the last. Again I tell thee, I will do any thing--yes, +any thing that Pierre commands--for, though outer ill do lower upon us, +still, deep within, thou wilt be careful, very careful with me, Pierre?" + +"Thou art made of that fine, unshared stuff of which God makes his +seraphim. But thy divine devotedness to me, is met by mine to thee. Well +mayest thou trust me, Isabel; and whatever strangest thing I may yet +propose to thee, thy confidence,--will it not bear me out? Surely thou +will not hesitate to plunge, when I plunge first;--already have I +plunged! now thou canst not stay upon the bank. Hearken, hearken to +me.--I seek not now to gain thy prior assent to a thing as yet undone; +but I call to thee now, Isabel, from the depth of a foregone act, to +ratify it, backward, by thy consent. Look not so hard upon me. Listen. I +will tell all. Isabel, though thou art all fearfulness to injure any +living thing, least of all, thy brother; still thy true heart +foreknoweth not the myriad alliances and criss-crossings among mankind, +the infinite entanglements of all social things, which forbids that one +thread should fly the general fabric, on some new line of duty, without +tearing itself and tearing others. Listen. All that has happened up to +this moment, and all that may be yet to happen, some sudden inspiration +now assures me, inevitably proceeded from the first hour I saw thee. Not +possibly could it, or can it, be otherwise. Therefore feel I, that I +have some patience. Listen. Whatever outer things might possibly be +mine; whatever seeming brightest blessings; yet now to live uncomforting +and unloving to thee, Isabel; now to dwell domestically away from thee; +so that only by stealth, and base connivances of the night, I could come +to thee as thy related brother; this would be, and is, unutterably +impossible. In my bosom a secret adder of self-reproach and self-infamy +would never leave off its sting. Listen. But without gratuitous dishonor +to a memory which--for right cause or wrong--is ever sacred and +inviolate to me, I can not be an open brother to thee, Isabel. But thou +wantest not the openness; for thou dost not pine for empty nominalness, +but for vital realness; what thou wantest, is not the occasional +openness of my brotherly love; but its continual domestic confidence. Do +I not speak thine own hidden heart to thee? say, Isabel? Well, then, +still listen to me. One only way presents to this; a most strange way, +Isabel; to the world, that never throbbed for thee in love, a most +deceitful way; but to all a harmless way; so harmless in its essence, +Isabel, that, seems to me, Pierre hath consulted heaven itself upon it, +and heaven itself did not say Nay. Still, listen to me; mark me. As thou +knowest that thou wouldst now droop and die without me; so would I +without thee. We are equal there; mark _that_, too, Isabel. I do not +stoop to thee, nor thou to me; but we both reach up alike to a glorious +ideal! Now the continualness, the secretness, yet the always present +domesticness of our love; how may we best compass that, without +jeopardizing the ever-sacred memory I hinted of? One way--one way--only +one! A strange way, but most pure. Listen. Brace thyself: here, let me +hold thee now; and then whisper it to thee, Isabel. Come, I holding +thee, thou canst not fall." + +He held her tremblingly; she bent over toward him; his mouth wet her +ear; he whispered it. + +The girl moved not; was done with all her tremblings; leaned closer to +him, with an inexpressible strangeness of an intense love, new and +inexplicable. Over the face of Pierre there shot a terrible +self-revelation; he imprinted repeated burning kisses upon her; pressed +hard her hand; would not let go her sweet and awful passiveness. + +Then they changed; they coiled together, and entangledly stood mute. + + +II. + +Mrs. Glendinning walked her chamber; her dress loosened. + +"That such accursed vileness should proceed from me! Now will the +tongued world say--See the vile boy of Mary Glendinning!--Deceitful! +thick with guilt, where I thought it was all guilelessness and gentlest +docility to me. It has not happened! It is not day! Were this thing so, +I should go mad, and be shut up, and not walk here where every door is +open to me.--My own only son married to an unknown--thing! My own only +son, false to his holiest plighted public vow--and the wide world +knowing to it! He bears my name--Glendinning. I will disown it; were it +like this dress, I would tear my name off from me, and burn it till it +shriveled to a crisp!--Pierre! Pierre! come back, come back, and swear +it is not so! It can not be! Wait: I will ring the bell, and see if it +be so." + +She rung the bell with violence, and soon heard a responsive knock. + +"Come in!--Nay, falter not;" (throwing a shawl over her) "come in. Stand +there and tell me if thou darest, that my son was in this house this +morning and met me on the stairs. Darest thou say that?" + +Dates looked confounded at her most unwonted aspect. + +"Say it! find thy tongue! Or I will root mine out and fling it at thee! +Say it!" + +"My dear mistress!" + +"I am not thy mistress! but thou my master; for, if thou sayest it, thou +commandest me to madness.--Oh, vile boy!--Begone from me!" + +She locked the door upon him, and swiftly and distractedly walked her +chamber. She paused, and tossing down the curtains, shut out the sun +from the two windows. + +Another, but an unsummoned knock, was at the door. She opened it. + +"My mistress, his Reverence is below. I would not call you, but he +insisted." + +"Let him come up." + +"Here? Immediately?" + +"Didst thou hear me? Let Mr. Falsgrave come up." + +As if suddenly and admonishingly made aware, by Dates, of the +ungovernable mood of Mrs. Glendinning, the clergyman entered the open +door of her chamber with a most deprecating but honest reluctance, and +apprehensiveness of he knew not what. + +"Be seated, sir; stay, shut the door and lock it." + +"Madam!" + +"_I_ will do it. Be seated. Hast thou seen him?" + +"Whom, Madam?--Master Pierre?" + +"Him!--quick!" + +"It was to speak of him I came, Madam. He made a most extraordinary call +upon me last night--midnight." + +"And thou marriedst him?--Damn thee!" + +"Nay, nay, nay, Madam; there is something here I know not of--I came to +tell thee news, but thou hast some o'erwhelming tidings to reveal to +me." + +"I beg no pardons; but I may be sorry. Mr. Falsgrave, my son, standing +publicly plighted to Lucy Tartan, has privately wedded some other +girl--some slut!" + +"Impossible!" + +"True as thou art there. Thou knowest nothing of it then?" + +"Nothing, nothing--not one grain till now. Who is it he has wedded?" + +"Some _slut_, I tell thee!--I am no lady now, but something deeper,--a +woman!--an outraged and pride-poisoned woman!" + +She turned from him swiftly, and again paced the room, as frantic and +entirely regardless of any presence. Waiting for her to pause, but in +vain, Mr. Falsgrave advanced toward her cautiously, and with the +profoundest deference, which was almost a cringing, spoke:-- + +"It is the hour of woe to thee; and I confess my cloth hath no +consolation for thee yet awhile. Permit me to withdraw from thee, +leaving my best prayers for thee, that thou mayst know some peace, ere +this now shut-out sun goes down. Send for me whenever thou desirest +me.--May I go now?" + +"Begone! and let me not hear thy soft, mincing voice, which is an infamy +to a man! Begone, thou helpless, and unhelping one!" + +She swiftly paced the room again, swiftly muttering to herself. "Now, +now, now, now I see it clearer, clearer--clear now as day! My first dim +suspicions pointed right!--too right! Ay--the sewing! it was the +sewing!--The shriek!--I saw him gazing rooted at her. He would not speak +going home with me. I charged him with his silence; he put me off with +lies, lies, lies! Ay, ay, he is married to her, to her;--to +her!--perhaps was then. And yet,--and yet,--how can it be?--Lucy, +Lucy--I saw him, after that, look on her as if he would be glad to die +for her, and go to hell for her, whither he deserves to go!--Oh! oh! oh! +Thus ruthlessly to cut off, at one gross sensual dash, the fair +succession of an honorable race! Mixing the choicest wine with filthy +water from the plebeian pool, and so turning all to undistinguishable +rankness!--Oh viper! had I thee now in me, I would be a suicide and a +murderer with one blow!" + +A third knock was at the door. She opened it. + +"My mistress, I thought it would disturb you,--it is so just +overhead,--so I have not removed them yet." + +"Unravel thy gibberish!--what is it?" + +"Pardon, my mistress, I somehow thought you knew it, but you can not." + +"What is that writing crumpling in thy hand? Give it me." + +"I have promised my young master not to, my mistress." + +"I will snatch it, then, and so leave thee blameless.--What? what? +what?--He's mad sure!--'Fine old fellow Dates'--what? what?--mad and +merry!--chest?--clothes?--trunks?--he wants them?--Tumble them out of +his window!--and if he stand right beneath, tumble them out! Dismantle +that whole room. Tear up the carpet. I swear, he shall leave no smallest +vestige in this house.--Here! this very spot--here, here, where I stand, +he may have stood upon;--yes, he tied my shoe-string here; it's +slippery! Dates!" + +"My mistress." + +"Do his bidding. By reflection he has made me infamous to the world; and +I will make him infamous to it. Listen, and do not delude thyself that +I am crazy. Go up to yonder room" (pointing upward), "and remove every +article in it, and where he bid thee set down the chest and trunks, +there set down all the contents of that room." + +"'Twas before the house--this house!" + +"And if it had not been there, I would not order thee to put them there. +Dunce! I would have the world know that I disown and scorn him! Do my +bidding!--Stay. Let the room stand; but take him what he asks for." + +"I will, my mistress." + +As Dates left the chamber, Mrs. Glendinning again paced it swiftly, and +again swiftly muttered: "Now, if I were less a strong and haughty woman, +the fit would have gone by ere now. But deep volcanoes long burn, ere +they burn out.--Oh, that the world were made of such malleable stuff, +that we could recklessly do our fieriest heart's-wish before it, and not +falter. Accursed be those four syllables of sound which make up that +vile word Propriety. It is a chain and bell to drag;--drag? what sound +is that? there's dragging--his trunks--the traveler's--dragging out. Oh +would I could so drag my heart, as fishers for the drowned do, as that I +might drag up my sunken happiness! Boy! boy! worse than brought in +dripping drowned to me,--drowned in icy infamy! Oh! oh! oh!" + +She threw herself upon the bed, covered her face, and lay motionless. +But suddenly rose again, and hurriedly rang the bell. + +"Open that desk, and draw the stand to me. Now wait and take this to +Miss Lucy." + +With a pencil she rapidly traced these lines:-- + +"My heart bleeds for thee, sweet Lucy. I can not speak--I know it all. +Look for me the first hour I regain myself." + +Again she threw herself upon the bed, and lay motionless. + + +III. + +Toward sundown that evening, Pierre stood in one of the three bespoken +chambers in the Black Swan Inn; the blue chintz-covered chest and the +writing-desk before him. His hands were eagerly searching through his +pockets. + +"The key! the key! Nay, then, I must force it open. It bodes ill, too. +Yet lucky is it, some bankers can break into their own vaults, when +other means do fail. Not so, ever. Let me see:--yes, the tongs there. +Now then for the sweet sight of gold and silver. I never loved it till +this day. How long it has been hoarded;--little token pieces, of years +ago, from aunts, uncles, cousins innumerable, and from--but I won't +mention _them_; dead henceforth to me! Sure there'll be a premium on +such ancient gold. There's some broad bits, token pieces to my--I name +him not--more than half a century ago. Well, well, I never thought to +cast them back into the sordid circulations whence they came. But if +they must be spent, now is the time, in this last necessity, and in this +sacred cause. 'Tis a most stupid, dunderheaded crowbar. Hoy! so! ah, now +for it:--snake's nest!" + +Forced suddenly back, the chest-lid had as suddenly revealed to him the +chair-portrait lying on top of all the rest, where he had secreted it +some days before. Face up, it met him with its noiseless, ever-nameless, +and ambiguous, unchanging smile. Now his first repugnance was augmented +by an emotion altogether new. That certain lurking lineament in the +portrait, whose strange transfer blended with far other, and sweeter, +and nobler characteristics, was visible in the countenance of Isabel; +that lineament in the portrait was somehow now detestable; nay, +altogether loathsome, ineffably so, to Pierre. He argued not with +himself why this was so; he only felt it, and most keenly. + +Omitting more subtile inquisition into this deftly-winding theme, it +will be enough to hint, perhaps, that possibly one source of this new +hatefulness had its primary and unconscious rise in one of those +profound ideas, which at times atmospherically, as it were, do insinuate +themselves even into very ordinary minds. In the strange relativeness, +reciprocalness, and transmittedness, between the long-dead father's +portrait, and the living daughter's face, Pierre might have seemed to +see reflected to him, by visible and uncontradictable symbols, the +tyranny of Time and Fate. Painted before the daughter was conceived or +born, like a dumb seer, the portrait still seemed leveling its prophetic +finger at that empty air, from which Isabel did finally emerge. There +seemed to lurk some mystical intelligence and vitality in the picture; +because, since in his own memory of his father, Pierre could not recall +any distinct lineament transmitted to Isabel, but vaguely saw such in +the portrait; therefore, not Pierre's parent, as any way rememberable by +him, but the portrait's painted _self_ seemed the real father of Isabel; +for, so far as all sense went, Isabel had inherited one peculiar trait +no-whither traceable but to it. + +And as his father was now sought to be banished from his mind, as a most +bitter presence there, but Isabel was become a thing of intense and +fearful love for him; therefore, it was loathsome to him, that in the +smiling and ambiguous portrait, her sweet mournful image should be so +sinisterly becrooked, bemixed, and mutilated to him. + +When, the first shock, and then the pause were over, he lifted the +portrait in his two hands, and held it averted from him. + +"It shall not live. Hitherto I have hoarded up mementoes and monuments +of the past; been a worshiper of all heirlooms; a fond filer away of +letters, locks of hair, bits of ribbon, flowers, and the +thousand-and-one minutenesses which love and memory think they +sanctify:--but it is forever over now! If to me any memory shall +henceforth be dear, I will not mummy it in a visible memorial for every +passing beggar's dust to gather on. Love's museum is vain and foolish as +the Catacombs, where grinning apes and abject lizards are embalmed, as, +forsooth, significant of some imagined charm. It speaks merely of decay +and death, and nothing more; decay and death of endless innumerable +generations; it makes of earth one mold. How can lifelessness be fit +memorial of life?--So far, for mementoes of the sweetest. As for the +rest--now I know this, that in commonest memorials, the twilight fact of +death first discloses in some secret way, all the ambiguities of that +departed thing or person; obliquely it casts hints, and insinuates +surmises base, and eternally incapable of being cleared. Decreed by God +Omnipotent it is, that Death should be the last scene of the last act of +man's play;--a play, which begin how it may, in farce or comedy, ever +hath its tragic end; the curtain inevitably falls upon a corpse. +Therefore, never more will I play the vile pigmy, and by small memorials +after death, attempt to reverse the decree of death, by essaying the +poor perpetuating of the image of the original. Let all die, and mix +again! As for this--this!--why longer should I preserve it? Why preserve +that on which one can not patient look? If I am resolved to hold his +public memory inviolate,--destroy this thing; for here is the one great, +condemning, and unsuborned proof, whose mysticalness drives me half +mad.--Of old Greek times, before man's brain went into doting bondage, +and bleached and beaten in Baconian fulling-mills, his four limbs lost +their barbaric tan and beauty; when the round world was fresh, and rosy, +and spicy, as a new-plucked apple;--all's wilted now!--in those bold +times, the great dead were not, turkey-like, dished in trenchers, and +set down all garnished in the ground, to glut the damned Cyclop like a +cannibal; but nobly envious Life cheated the glutton worm, and +gloriously burned the corpse; so that the spirit up-pointed, and visibly +forked to heaven! + +"So now will I serve thee. Though that solidity of which thou art the +unsolid duplicate, hath long gone to its hideous church-yard +account;--and though, God knows! but for one part of thee it may have +been fit auditing;--yet will I now a second time see thy obsequies +performed, and by now burning thee, urn thee in the great vase of air! +Come now!" + +A small wood-fire had been kindled on the hearth to purify the +long-closed room; it was now diminished to a small pointed heap of +glowing embers. Detaching and dismembering the gilded but tarnished +frame, Pierre laid the four pieces on the coals; as their dryness soon +caught the sparks, he rolled the reversed canvas into a scroll, and tied +it, and committed it to the now crackling, clamorous flames. Steadfastly +Pierre watched the first crispings and blackenings of the painted +scroll, but started as suddenly unwinding from the burnt string that had +tied it, for one swift instant, seen through the flame and smoke, the +upwrithing portrait tormentedly stared at him in beseeching horror, and +then, wrapped in one broad sheet of oily fire, disappeared forever. + +Yielding to a sudden ungovernable impulse, Pierre darted his hand among +the flames, to rescue the imploring face; but as swiftly drew back his +scorched and bootless grasp. His hand was burnt and blackened, but he +did not heed it. + +He ran back to the chest, and seizing repeated packages of family +letters, and all sorts of miscellaneous memorials in paper, he threw +them one after the other upon the fire. + +"Thus, and thus, and thus! on thy manes I fling fresh spoils; pour out +all my memory in one libation!--so, so, so--lower, lower, lower; now all +is done, and all is ashes! Henceforth, cast-out Pierre hath no +paternity, and no past; and since the Future is one blank to all; +therefore, twice-disinherited Pierre stands untrammeledly his +ever-present self!--free to do his own self-will and present fancy to +whatever end!" + + +IV. + +That same sunset Lucy lay in her chamber. A knock was heard at its door, +and the responding Martha was met by the now self-controlled and +resolute face of Mrs. Glendinning. + +"How is your young mistress, Martha? May I come in?" + +But waiting for no answer, with the same breath she passed the maid, and +determinately entered the room. + +She sat down by the bed, and met the open eye, but closed and pallid +mouth of Lucy. She gazed rivetedly and inquisitively a moment; then +turned a quick aghast look toward Martha, as if seeking warrant for some +shuddering thought. + +"Miss Lucy"--said Martha--"it is your--it is Mrs. Glendinning. Speak to +her, Miss Lucy." + +As if left in the last helpless attitude of some spent contortion of her +grief, Lucy was not lying in the ordinary posture of one in bed, but lay +half crosswise upon it, with the pale pillows propping her hueless form, +and but a single sheet thrown over her, as though she were so heart +overladen, that her white body could not bear one added feather. And as +in any snowy marble statue, the drapery clings to the limbs; so as one +found drowned, the thin, defining sheet invested Lucy. + +"It is Mrs. Glendinning. Will you speak to her, Miss Lucy?" + +The thin lips moved and trembled for a moment, and then were still +again, and augmented pallor shrouded her. + +Martha brought restoratives; and when all was as before, she made a +gesture for the lady to depart, and in a whisper, said, "She will not +speak to any; she does not speak to me. The doctor has just left--he has +been here five times since morning--and says she must be kept entirely +quiet." Then pointing to the stand, added, "You see what he has +left--mere restoratives. Quiet is her best medicine now, he says. Quiet, +quiet, quiet! Oh, sweet quiet, wilt thou now ever come?" + +"Has Mrs. Tartan been written to?" whispered the lady. Martha nodded. + +So the lady moved to quit the room, saying that once every two hours she +would send to know how Lucy fared. + +"But where, where is her aunt, Martha?" she exclaimed, lowly, pausing at +the door, and glancing in sudden astonishment about the room; "surely, +surely, Mrs. Lanyllyn--" + +"Poor, poor old lady," weepingly whispered Martha, "she hath caught +infection from sweet Lucy's woe; she hurried hither, caught one glimpse +of that bed, and fell like dead upon the floor. The Doctor hath two +patients now, lady"--glancing at the bed, and tenderly feeling Lucy's +bosom, to mark if yet it heaved; "Alack! Alack! oh, reptile! reptile! +that could sting so sweet a breast! fire would be too cold for +him--accursed!" + +"Thy own tongue blister the roof of thy mouth!" cried Mrs. Glendinning, +in a half-stifled, whispering scream. "'Tis not for thee, hired one, to +rail at my son, though he were Lucifer, simmering in Hell! Mend thy +manners, minx!" + +And she left the chamber, dilated with her unconquerable pride, leaving +Martha aghast at such venom in such beauty. + + + + +BOOK XIII. + +THEY DEPART THE MEADOWS. + + +I. + +It was just dusk when Pierre approached the Ulver farm-house, in a wagon +belonging to the Black Swan Inn. He met his sister shawled and bonneted +in the porch. + +"Now then, Isabel, is all ready? Where is Delly? I see two most small +and inconsiderable portmanteaux. Wee is the chest that holds the goods +of the disowned! The wagon waits, Isabel. Now is all ready? and nothing +left?" + +"Nothing, Pierre; unless in going hence--but I'll not think of that; +all's fated." + +"Delly! where is she? Let us go in for her," said Pierre, catching the +hand of Isabel, and turning rapidly. As he thus half dragged her into +the little lighted entry, and then dropping her hand, placed his touch +on the catch of the inner door, Isabel stayed his arm, as if to keep him +back, till she should forewarn him against something concerning Delly; +but suddenly she started herself; and for one instant, eagerly pointing +at his right hand, seemed almost to half shrink from Pierre. + +"'Tis nothing. I am not hurt; a slight burn--the merest accidental +scorch this morning. But what's this?" he added, lifting his hand +higher; "smoke! soot! this comes of going in the dark; sunlight, and I +had seen it. But I have not touched thee, Isabel?" + +Isabel lifted her hand and showed the marks.--"But it came from thee, my +brother; and I would catch the plague from thee, so that it should make +me share thee. Do thou clean thy hand; let mine alone." + +"Delly! Delly!"--cried Pierre--"why may I not go to her, to bring her +forth?" + +Placing her finger upon her lip, Isabel softly opened the door, and +showed the object of his inquiry avertedly seated, muffled, on a chair. + +"Do not speak to her, my brother," whispered Isabel, "and do not seek to +behold her face, as yet. It will pass over now, ere long, I trust. Come, +shall we go now? Take Delly forth, but do not speak to her. I have +bidden all good-by; the old people are in yonder room in the rear; I am +glad that they chose not to come out, to attend our going forth. Come +now, be very quick, Pierre; this is an hour I like not; be it swiftly +past." + +Soon all three alighted at the inn. Ordering lights, Pierre led the way +above-stairs, and ushered his two companions into one of the two +outermost rooms of the three adjoining chambers prepared for all. + +"See," said he, to the mute and still self-averting figure of +Delly;--"see, this is thy room, Miss Ulver; Isabel has told thee all; +thou know'st our till now secret marriage; she will stay with thee now, +till I return from a little business down the street. To-morrow, thou +know'st, very early, we take the stage. I may not see thee again till +then, so, be steadfast, and cheer up a very little, Miss Ulver, and +good-night. All will be well." + + +II. + +Next morning, by break of day, at four o'clock, the four swift hours +were personified in four impatient horses, which shook their trappings +beneath the windows of the inn. Three figures emerged into the cool dim +air and took their places in the coach. + +The old landlord had silently and despondently shaken Pierre by the +hand; the vainglorious driver was on his box, threadingly adjusting the +four reins among the fingers of his buck-skin gloves; the usual thin +company of admiring ostlers and other early on-lookers were gathered +about the porch; when--on his companions' account--all eager to cut +short any vain delay, at such a painful crisis, Pierre impetuously +shouted for the coach to move. In a moment, the four meadow-fed young +horses leaped forward their own generous lengths, and the four +responsive wheels rolled their complete circles; while making vast +rearward flourishes with his whip, the elated driver seemed as a +bravado-hero signing his ostentatious farewell signature in the empty +air. And so, in the dim of the dawn--and to the defiant crackings of +that long and sharp-resounding whip, the three forever fled the sweet +fields of Saddle Meadows. + +The short old landlord gazed after the coach awhile, and then +re-entering the inn, stroked his gray beard and muttered to himself:--"I +have kept this house, now, three-and-thirty years, and have had plenty +of bridal-parties come and go; in their long train of wagons, +break-downs, buggies, gigs--a gay and giggling train--Ha!--there's a +pun! popt out like a cork--ay, and once in ox-carts, all garlanded; ay, +and once, the merry bride was bedded on a load of sweet-scented new-cut +clover. But such a bridal-party as this morning's--why, it's as sad as +funerals. And brave Master Pierre Glendinning is the groom! Well, well, +wonders is all the go. I thought I had done with wondering when I passed +fifty; but I keep wondering still. Ah, somehow, now, I feel as though I +had just come from lowering some old friend beneath the sod, and yet +felt the grating cord-marks in my palms.--'Tis early, but I'll drink. +Let's see; cider,--a mug of cider;--'tis sharp, and pricks like a +game-cock's spur,--cider's the drink for grief. Oh, Lord! that fat men +should be so thin-skinned, and suffer in pure sympathy on others' +account. A thin-skinned, thin man, he don't suffer so, because there +ain't so much stuff in him for his thin skin to cover. Well, well, well, +well, well; of all colics, save me from the melloncholics; green melons +is the greenest thing!" + + + + +BOOK XIV. + +THE JOURNEY AND THE PAMPHLET. + + +I. + +All profound things, and emotions of things are preceded and attended by +Silence. What a silence is that with which the pale bride precedes the +responsive _I will_, to the priest's solemn question, _Wilt thou have +this man for thy husband?_ In silence, too, the wedded hands are +clasped. Yea, in silence the child Christ was born into the world. +Silence is the general consecration of the universe. Silence is the +invisible laying on of the Divine Pontiff's hands upon the world. +Silence is at once the most harmless and the most awful thing in all +nature. It speaks of the Reserved Forces of Fate. Silence is the only +Voice of our God. + +Nor is this so august Silence confined to things simply touching or +grand. Like the air, Silence permeates all things, and produces its +magical power, as well during that peculiar mood which prevails at a +solitary traveler's first setting forth on a journey, as at the +unimaginable time when before the world was, Silence brooded on the face +of the waters. + +No word was spoken by its inmates, as the coach bearing our young +Enthusiast, Pierre, and his mournful party, sped forth through the dim +dawn into the deep midnight, which still occupied, unrepulsed, the +hearts of the old woods through which the road wound, very shortly after +quitting the village. + +When first entering the coach, Pierre had pressed his hand upon the +cushioned seat to steady his way, some crumpled leaves of paper had met +his fingers. He had instinctively clutched them; and the same strange +clutching mood of his soul which had prompted that instinctive act, did +also prevail in causing him now to retain the crumpled paper in his hand +for an hour or more of that wonderful intense silence, which the rapid +coach bore through the heart of the general stirless morning silence of +the fields and the woods. + +His thoughts were very dark and wild; for a space there was rebellion +and horrid anarchy and infidelity in his soul. This temporary mood may +best be likened to that, which--according to a singular story once told +in the pulpit by a reverend man of God--invaded the heart of an +excellent priest. In the midst of a solemn cathedral, upon a cloudy +Sunday afternoon, this priest was in the act of publicly administering +the bread at the Holy Sacrament of the Supper, when the Evil One +suddenly propounded to him the possibility of the mere moonshine of the +Christian Religion. Just such now was the mood of Pierre; to him the +Evil One propounded the possibility of the mere moonshine of all his +self-renouncing Enthusiasm. The Evil One hooted at him, and called him a +fool. But by instant and earnest prayer--closing his two eyes, with his +two hands still holding the sacramental bread--the devout priest had +vanquished the impious Devil. Not so with Pierre. The imperishable +monument of his holy Catholic Church; the imperishable record of his +Holy Bible; the imperishable intuition of the innate truth of +Christianity;--these were the indestructible anchors which still held +the priest to his firm Faith's rock, when the sudden storm raised by the +Evil One assailed him. But Pierre--where could _he_ find the Church, the +monument, the Bible, which unequivocally said to him--"Go on; thou art +in the Right; I endorse thee all over; go on."--So the difference +between the Priest and Pierre was herein:--with the priest it was a +matter, whether certain bodiless thoughts of his were true or not true; +but with Pierre it was a question whether certain vital acts of his were +right or wrong. In this little nut lie germ-like the possible solution +of some puzzling problems; and also the discovery of additional, and +still more profound problems ensuing upon the solution of the former. +For so true is this last, that some men refuse to solve any present +problem, for fear of making still more work for themselves in that way. + +Now, Pierre thought of the magical, mournful letter of Isabel, he +recalled the divine inspiration of that hour when the heroic words burst +from his heart--"Comfort thee, and stand by thee, and fight for thee, +will thy leapingly-acknowledging brother!" These remembrances unfurled +themselves in proud exultations in his soul; and from before such +glorious banners of Virtue, the club-footed Evil One limped away in +dismay. But now the dread, fateful parting look of his mother came over +him; anew he heard the heart-proscribing words--"Beneath my roof and at +my table, he who was once Pierre Glendinning no more puts +himself;"--swooning in her snow-white bed, the lifeless Lucy lay before +him, wrapt as in the reverberating echoings of her own agonizing shriek: +"My heart! my heart!" Then how swift the recurrence to Isabel, and the +nameless awfulness of his still imperfectly conscious, incipient, +new-mingled emotion toward this mysterious being. "Lo! I leave corpses +wherever I go!" groaned Pierre to himself--"Can then my conduct be +right? Lo! by my conduct I seem threatened by the possibility of a sin +anomalous and accursed, so anomalous, it may well be the one for which +Scripture says, there is never forgiveness. Corpses behind me, and the +last sin before, how then can my conduct be right?" + +In this mood, the silence accompanied him, and the first visible rays of +the morning sun in this same mood found him and saluted him. The +excitement and the sleepless night just passed, and the strange +narcotic of a quiet, steady anguish, and the sweet quiescence of the +air, and the monotonous cradle-like motion of the coach over a road made +firm and smooth by a refreshing shower over night; these had wrought +their wonted effect upon Isabel and Delly; with hidden faces they leaned +fast asleep in Pierre's sight. Fast asleep--thus unconscious, oh sweet +Isabel, oh forlorn Delly, your swift destinies I bear in my own! + +Suddenly, as his sad eye fell lower and lower from scanning their +magically quiescent persons, his glance lit upon his own clutched hand, +which rested on his knee. Some paper protruded from that clutch. He knew +not how it had got there, or whence it had come, though himself had +closed his own gripe upon it. He lifted his hand and slowly unfingered +and unbolted the paper, and unrolled it, and carefully smoothed it, to +see what it might be. + +It was a thin, tattered, dried-fish-like thing; printed with blurred ink +upon mean, sleazy paper. It seemed the opening pages of some ruinous old +pamphlet--a pamphlet containing a chapter or so of some very voluminous +disquisition. The conclusion was gone. It must have been accidentally +left there by some previous traveler, who perhaps in drawing out his +handkerchief, had ignorantly extracted his waste paper. + +There is a singular infatuation in most men, which leads them in odd +moments, intermitting between their regular occupations, and when they +find themselves all alone in some quiet corner or nook, to fasten with +unaccountable fondness upon the merest rag of old printed paper--some +shred of a long-exploded advertisement perhaps--and read it, and study +it, and reread it, and pore over it, and fairly agonize themselves over +this miserable, sleazy paper-rag, which at any other time, or in any +other place, they would hardly touch with St. Dunstan's long tongs. So +now, in a degree, with Pierre. But notwithstanding that he, with most +other human beings, shared in the strange hallucination above +mentioned, yet the first glimpse of the title of the dried-fish-like, +pamphlet-shaped rag, did almost tempt him to pitch it out of the window. +For, be a man's mood what it may, what sensible and ordinary mortal +could have patience for any considerable period, to knowingly hold in +his conscious hand a printed document (and that too a very blurred one +as to ink, and a very sleazy one as to paper), so metaphysically and +insufferably entitled as this:--"Chronometricals & Horologicals?" + +Doubtless, it was something vastly profound; but it is to be observed, +that when a man is in a really profound mood, then all merely verbal or +written profundities are unspeakably repulsive, and seem downright +childish to him. Nevertheless, the silence still continued; the road ran +through an almost unplowed and uninhabited region; the slumberers still +slumbered before him; the evil mood was becoming well nigh insupportable +to him; so, more to force his mind away from the dark realities of +things than from any other motive, Pierre finally tried his best to +plunge himself into the pamphlet. + + +II. + +Sooner or later in this life, the earnest, or enthusiastic youth comes +to know, and more or less appreciate this startling solecism:--That +while, as the grand condition of acceptance to God, Christianity calls +upon all men to renounce this world; yet by all odds the most Mammonish +part of this world--Europe and America--are owned by none but professed +Christian nations, who glory in the owning, and seem to have some reason +therefor. + +This solecism once vividly and practically apparent; then comes the +earnest reperusal of the Gospels: the intense self-absorption into that +greatest real miracle of all religions, the Sermon on the Mount. From +that divine mount, to all earnest loving youths, flows an inexhaustible +soul-melting stream of tenderness and loving-kindness; and they leap +exulting to their feet, to think that the founder of their holy religion +gave utterance to sentences so infinitely sweet and soothing as these +sentences which embody all the love of the Past, and all the love which +can be imagined in any conceivable Future. Such emotions as that Sermon +raises in the enthusiastic heart; such emotions all youthful hearts +refuse to ascribe to humanity as their origin. This is of God! cries the +heart, and in that cry ceases all inquisition. Now, with this fresh-read +sermon in his soul, the youth again gazes abroad upon the world. +Instantly, in aggravation of the former solecism, an overpowering sense +of the world's downright positive falsity comes over him; the world +seems to lie saturated and soaking with lies. The sense of this thing is +so overpowering, that at first the youth is apt to refuse the evidence +of his own senses; even as he does that same evidence in the matter of +the movement of the visible sun in the heavens, which with his own eyes +he plainly sees to go round the world, but nevertheless on the authority +of other persons,--the Copernican astronomers, whom he never saw--he +believes it _not_ to go round the world, but the world round it. Just +so, too, he hears good and wise people sincerely say: This world only +_seems_ to be saturated and soaking with lies; but in reality it does +not so lie soaking and saturate; along with some lies, there is much +truth in this world. But again he refers to his Bible, and there he +reads most explicitly, that this world is unconditionally depraved and +accursed; and that at all hazards men must come out of it. But why come +out of it, if it be a True World and not a Lying World? Assuredly, then, +this world is a lie. + +Hereupon then in the soul of the enthusiast youth two armies come to the +shock; and unless he prove recreant, or unless he prove gullible, or +unless he can find the talismanic secret, to reconcile this world with +his own soul, then there is no peace for him, no slightest truce for him +in this life. Now without doubt this Talismanic Secret has never yet +been found; and in the nature of human things it seems as though it +never can be. Certain philosophers have time and again pretended to have +found it; but if they do not in the end discover their own delusion, +other people soon discover it for themselves, and so those philosophers +and their vain philosophy are let glide away into practical oblivion. +Plato, and Spinoza, and Goethe, and many more belong to this guild of +self-impostors, with a preposterous rabble of Muggletonian Scots and +Yankees, whose vile brogue still the more bestreaks the stripedness of +their Greek or German Neoplatonical originals. That profound Silence, +that only Voice of our God, which I before spoke of; from that divine +thing without a name, those impostor philosophers pretend somehow to +have got an answer; which is as absurd, as though they should say they +had got water out of stone; for how can a man get a Voice out of +Silence? + +Certainly, all must admit, that if for any one this problem of the +possible reconcilement of this world with our own souls possessed a +peculiar and potential interest, that one was Pierre Glendinning at the +period we now write of. For in obedience to the loftiest behest of his +soul, he had done certain vital acts, which had already lost him his +worldly felicity, and which he felt must in the end indirectly work him +some still additional and not-to-be-thought-of woe. + +Soon then, as after his first distaste at the mystical title, and after +his then reading on, merely to drown himself, Pierre at last began to +obtain a glimmering into the profound intent of the writer of the sleazy +rag pamphlet, he felt a great interest awakened in him. The more he read +and re-read, the more this interest deepened, but still the more +likewise did his failure to comprehend the writer increase. He seemed +somehow to derive some general vague inkling concerning it, but the +central conceit refused to become clear to him. The reason whereof is +not so easy to be laid down; seeing that the reason-originating heart +and mind of man, these organic things themselves are not so easily to be +expounded. Something, however, more or less to the point, may be +adventured here. + +If a man be in any vague latent doubt about the intrinsic correctness +and excellence of his general life-theory and practical course of life; +then, if that man chance to light on any other man, or any little +treatise, or sermon, which unintendingly, as it were, yet very palpably +illustrates to him the intrinsic incorrectness and non-excellence of +both the theory and the practice of his life; then that man will--more +or less unconsciously--try hard to hold himself back from the +self-admitted comprehension of a matter which thus condemns him. For in +this case, to comprehend, is himself to condemn himself, which is always +highly inconvenient and uncomfortable to a man. Again. If a man be told +a thing wholly new, then--during the time of its first announcement to +him--it is entirely impossible for him to comprehend it. For--absurd as +it may seem--men are only made to comprehend things which they +comprehended before (though but in the embryo, as it were). Things new +it is impossible to make them comprehend, by merely talking to them +about it. True, sometimes they pretend to comprehend; in their own +hearts they really believe they do comprehend; outwardly look as though +they _did_ comprehend; wag their bushy tails comprehendingly; but for +all that, they do not comprehend. Possibly, they may afterward come, of +themselves, to inhale this new idea from the circumambient air, and so +come to comprehend it; but not otherwise at all. It will be observed, +that, neither points of the above speculations do we, in set terms, +attribute to Pierre in connection with the rag pamphlet. Possibly both +might be applicable; possibly neither. Certain it is, however, that at +the time, in his own heart, he seemed to think that he did not fully +comprehend the strange writer's conceit in all its bearings. Yet was +this conceit apparently one of the plainest in the world; so natural, a +child might almost have originated it. Nevertheless, again so profound, +that scarce Juggularius himself could be the author; and still again so +exceedingly trivial, that Juggularius' smallest child might well have +been ashamed of it. + +Seeing then that this curious paper rag so puzzled Pierre; foreseeing, +too, that Pierre may not in the end be entirely uninfluenced in his +conduct by the torn pamphlet, when afterwards perhaps by other means he +shall come to understand it; or, peradventure, come to know that he, in +the first place, did--seeing too that the author thereof came to be made +known to him by reputation, and though Pierre never spoke to him, yet +exerted a surprising sorcery upon his spirit by the mere distant glimpse +of his countenance;--all these reasons I account sufficient apology for +inserting in the following chapters the initial part of what seems to me +a very fanciful and mystical, rather than philosophical Lecture, from +which, I confess, that I myself can derive no conclusion which +permanently satisfies those peculiar motions in my soul, to which that +Lecture seems more particularly addressed. For to me it seems more the +excellently illustrated re-statement of a problem, than the solution of +the problem itself. But as such mere illustrations are almost +universally taken for solutions (and perhaps they are the only possible +human solutions), therefore it may help to the temporary quiet of some +inquiring mind; and so not be wholly without use. At the worst, each +person can now skip, or read and rail for himself. + + +III. + +"_EI_," + +BY PLOTINUS PLINLIMMON, + +(_In Three Hundred and Thirty-three Lectures._) + + +LECTURE FIRST. + +CHRONOMETRICALS AND HOROLOGICALS, + +(_Being not to much the Portal, as part of the temporary Scaffold to the +Portal of this new Philosophy._) + + +"Few of us doubt, gentlemen, that human life on this earth is but a +state of probation; which among other things implies, that here below, +we mortals have only to do with things provisional. Accordingly, I hold +that all our so-called wisdom is likewise but provisional. + +"This preamble laid down, I begin. + +"It seems to me, in my visions, that there is a certain most rare order +of human souls, which if carefully carried in the body will almost +always and everywhere give Heaven's own Truth, with some small grains of +variance. For peculiarly coming from God, the sole source of that +heavenly truth, and the great Greenwich hill and tower from which the +universal meridians are far out into infinity reckoned; such souls seem +as London sea-chronometers (_Greek_, time-namers) which as the London +ship floats past Greenwich down the Thames, are accurately adjusted by +Greenwich time, and if heedfully kept, will still give that same time, +even though carried to the Azores. True, in nearly all cases of long, +remote voyages--to China, say--chronometers of the best make, and the +most carefully treated, will gradually more or less vary from Greenwich +time, without the possibility of the error being corrected by direct +comparison with their great standard; but skillful and devout +observations of the stars by the sextant will serve materially to lessen +such errors. And besides, there is such a thing as _rating_ a +chronometer; that is, having ascertained its degree of organic +inaccuracy, however small, then in all subsequent chronometrical +calculations, that ascertained loss or gain can be readily added or +deducted, as the case may be. Then again, on these long voyages, the +chronometer may be corrected by comparing it with the chronometer of +some other ship at sea, more recently from home. + +"Now in an artificial world like ours, the soul of man is further +removed from its God and the Heavenly Truth, than the chronometer +carried to China, is from Greenwich. And, as that chronometer, if at all +accurate, will pronounce it to be 12 o'clock high-noon, when the China +local watches say, perhaps, it is 12 o'clock midnight; so the +chronometric soul, if in this world true to its great Greenwich in the +other, will always, in its so-called intuitions of right and wrong, be +contradicting the mere local standards and watch-maker's brains of this +earth. + +"Bacon's brains were mere watch-maker's brains; but Christ was a +chronometer; and the most exquisitely adjusted and exact one, and the +least affected by all terrestrial jarrings, of any that have ever come +to us. And the reason why his teachings seemed folly to the Jews, was +because he carried that Heaven's time in Jerusalem, while the Jews +carried Jerusalem time there. Did he not expressly say--My wisdom (time) +is not of this world? But whatever is really peculiar in the wisdom of +Christ seems precisely the same folly to-day as it did 1850 years ago. +Because, in all that interval his bequeathed chronometer has still +preserved its original Heaven's time, and the general Jerusalem of this +world has likewise carefully preserved its own. + +"But though the chronometer carried from Greenwich to China, should +truly exhibit in China what the time may be at Greenwich at any moment; +yet, though thereby it must necessarily contradict China time, it does +by no means thence follow, that with respect to China, the China watches +are at all out of the way. Precisely the reverse. For the fact of that +variance is a presumption that, with respect to China, the Chinese +watches must be all right; and consequently as the China watches are +right as to China, so the Greenwich chronometers must be wrong as to +China. Besides, of what use to the Chinaman would a Greenwich +chronometer, keeping Greenwich time, be? Were he thereby to regulate his +daily actions, he would be guilty of all manner of absurdities:--going +to bed at noon, say, when his neighbors would be sitting down to dinner. +And thus, though the earthly wisdom of man be heavenly folly to God; so +also, conversely, is the heavenly wisdom of God an earthly folly to man. +Literally speaking, this is so. Nor does the God at the heavenly +Greenwich expect common men to keep Greenwich wisdom in this remote +Chinese world of ours; because such a thing were unprofitable for them +here, and, indeed, a falsification of Himself, inasmuch as in that case, +China time would be identical with Greenwich time, which would make +Greenwich time wrong. + +"But why then does God now and then send a heavenly chronometer (as a +meteoric stone) into the world, uselessly as it would seem, to give the +lie to all the world's time-keepers? Because he is unwilling to leave +man without some occasional testimony to this:--that though man's +Chinese notions of things may answer well enough here, they are by no +means universally applicable, and that the central Greenwich in which He +dwells goes by a somewhat different method from this world. And yet it +follows not from this, that God's truth is one thing and man's truth +another; but--as above hinted, and as will be further elucidated in +subsequent lectures--by their very contradictions they are made to +correspond. + +"By inference it follows, also, that he who finding in himself a +chronometrical soul, seeks practically to force that heavenly time upon +the earth; in such an attempt he can never succeed, with an absolute and +essential success. And as for himself, if he seek to regulate his own +daily conduct by it, he will but array all men's earthly time-keepers +against him, and thereby work himself woe and death. Both these things +are plainly evinced in the character and fate of Christ, and the past +and present condition of the religion he taught. But here one thing is +to be especially observed. Though Christ encountered woe in both the +precept and the practice of his chronometricals, yet did he remain +throughout entirely without folly or sin. Whereas, almost invariably, +with inferior beings, the absolute effort to live in this world +according to the strict letter of the chronometricals is, somehow, apt +to involve those inferior beings eventually in strange, _unique_ follies +and sins, unimagined before. It is the story of the Ephesian matron, +allegorized. + +"To any earnest man of insight, a faithful contemplation of these ideas +concerning Chronometricals and Horologicals, will serve to render +provisionally far less dark some few of the otherwise obscurest things +which have hitherto tormented the honest-thinking men of all ages. What +man who carries a heavenly soul in him, has not groaned to perceive, +that unless he committed a sort of suicide as to the practical things of +this world, he never can hope to regulate his earthly conduct by that +same heavenly soul? And yet by an infallible instinct he knows, that +that monitor can not be wrong in itself. + +"And where is the earnest and righteous philosopher, gentlemen, who +looking right and left, and up and down, through all the ages of the +world, the present included; where is there such an one who has not a +thousand times been struck with a sort of infidel idea, that whatever +other worlds God may be Lord of, he is not the Lord of this; for else +this world would seem to give the lie to Him; so utterly repugnant seem +its ways to the instinctively known ways of Heaven. But it is not, and +can not be so; nor will he who regards this chronometrical conceit +aright, ever more be conscious of that horrible idea. For he will then +see, or seem to see, that this world's seeming incompatibility with God, +absolutely results from its meridianal correspondence with him. + + * * * * * + +"This chronometrical conceit does by no means involve the justification +of all the acts which wicked men may perform. For in their wickedness +downright wicked men sin as much against their own horologes, as against +the heavenly chronometer. That this is so, their spontaneous liability +to remorse does plainly evince. No, this conceit merely goes to show, +that for the mass of men, the highest abstract heavenly righteousness is +not only impossible, but would be entirely out of place, and positively +wrong in a world like this. To turn the left cheek if the right be +smitten, is chronometrical; hence, no average son of man ever did such a +thing. To give _all_ that thou hast to the poor, this too is +chronometrical; hence no average son of man ever did such a thing. +Nevertheless, if a man gives with a certain self-considerate generosity +to the poor; abstains from doing downright ill to any man; does his +convenient best in a general way to do good to his whole race; takes +watchful loving care of his wife and children, relatives, and friends; +is perfectly tolerant to all other men's opinions, whatever they may be; +is an honest dealer, an honest citizen, and all that; and more +especially if he believe that there is a God for infidels, as well as +for believers, and acts upon that belief; then, though such a man falls +infinitely short of the chronometrical standard, though all his actions +are entirely horologic;--yet such a man need never lastingly despond, +because he is sometimes guilty of some minor offense:--hasty words, +impulsively returning a blow, fits of domestic petulance, selfish +enjoyment of a glass of wine while he knows there are those around him +who lack a loaf of bread. I say he need never lastingly despond on +account of his perpetual liability to these things; because _not_ to do +them, and their like, would be to be an angel, a chronometer; whereas, +he is a man and a horologe. + +"Yet does the horologe itself teach, that all liabilities to these +things should be checked as much as possible, though it is certain they +can never be utterly eradicated. They are only to be checked, then, +because, if entirely unrestrained, they would finally run into utter +selfishness and human demonism, which, as before hinted, are not by any +means justified by the horologe. + +"In short, this Chronometrical and Horological conceit, in sum, seems to +teach this:--That in things terrestrial (horological) a man must not be +governed by ideas celestial (chronometrical); that certain minor +self-renunciations in this life his own mere instinct for his own +every-day general well-being will teach him to make, but he must by no +means make a complete unconditional sacrifice of himself in behalf of +any other being, or any cause, or any conceit. (For, does aught else +completely and unconditionally sacrifice itself for him? God's own sun +does not abate one tittle of its heat in July, however you swoon with +that heat in the sun. And if it _did_ abate its heat on your behalf, +then the wheat and the rye would not ripen; and so, for the incidental +benefit of one, a whole population would suffer.) + +"A virtuous expediency, then, seems the highest desirable or attainable +earthly excellence for the mass of men, and is the only earthly +excellence that their Creator intended for them. When they go to heaven, +it will be quite another thing. There, they can freely turn the left +cheek, because there the right cheek will never be smitten. There they +can freely give all to the poor, for _there_ there will be no poor to +give to. A due appreciation of this matter will do good to man. For, +hitherto, being authoritatively taught by his dogmatical teachers that +he must, while on earth, aim at heaven, and attain it, too, in all his +earthly acts, on pain of eternal wrath; and finding by experience that +this is utterly impossible; in his despair, he is too apt to run clean +away into all manner of moral abandonment, self-deceit, and hypocrisy +(cloaked, however, mostly under an aspect of the most respectable +devotion); or else he openly runs, like a mad dog, into atheism. +Whereas, let men be taught those Chronometricals and Horologicals, and +while still retaining every common-sense incentive to whatever of virtue +be practicable and desirable, and having these incentives strengthened, +too, by the consciousness of powers to attain their mark; then there +would be an end to that fatal despair of becoming at all good, which has +too often proved the vice-producing result in many minds of the +undiluted chronometrical doctrines hitherto taught to mankind. But if +any man say, that such a doctrine as this I lay down is false, is +impious; I would charitably refer that man to the history of Christendom +for the last 1800 years; and ask him, whether, in spite of all the +maxims of Christ, that history is not just as full of blood, violence, +wrong, and iniquity of every kind, as any previous portion of the +world's story? Therefore, it follows, that so far as practical results +are concerned--regarded in a purely earthly light--the only great +original moral doctrine of Christianity (_i. e._ the chronometrical +gratuitous return of good for evil, as distinguished from the +horological forgiveness of injuries taught by some of the Pagan +philosophers), has been found (horologically) a false one; because after +1800 years' inculcation from tens of thousands of pulpits, it has proved +entirely impracticable. + +"I but lay down, then, what the best mortal men do daily practice; and +what all really wicked men are very far removed from. I present +consolation to the earnest man, who, among all his human frailties, is +still agonizingly conscious of the beauty of chronometrical excellence. +I hold up a practicable virtue to the vicious; and interfere not with +the eternal truth, that, sooner or later, in all cases, downright vice +is downright woe. + +"Moreover: if----" + +But here the pamphlet was torn, and came to a most untidy termination. + + + + +BOOK XV. + +THE COUSINS. + + +I. + +Though resolved to face all out to the last, at whatever desperate +hazard, Pierre had not started for the city without some reasonable +plans, both with reference to his more immediate circumstances, and his +ulterior condition. + +There resided in the city a cousin of his, Glendinning Stanly, better +known in the general family as Glen Stanly, and by Pierre, as Cousin +Glen. Like Pierre, he was an only son; his parents had died in his early +childhood; and within the present year he had returned from a protracted +sojourn in Europe, to enter, at the age of twenty-one, into the +untrammeled possession of a noble property, which in the hands of +faithful guardians, had largely accumulated. + +In their boyhood and earlier adolescence, Pierre and Glen had cherished +a much more than cousinly attachment. At the age of ten, they had +furnished an example of the truth, that the friendship of fine-hearted, +generous boys, nurtured amid the romance-engendering comforts and +elegancies of life, sometimes transcends the bounds of mere boyishness, +and revels for a while in the empyrean of a love which only comes short, +by one degree, of the sweetest sentiment entertained between the sexes. +Nor is this boy-love without the occasional fillips and spicinesses, +which at times, by an apparent abatement, enhance the permanent delights +of those more advanced lovers who love beneath the cestus of Venus. +Jealousies are felt. The sight of another lad too much consorting with +the boy's beloved object, shall fill him with emotions akin to those of +Othello's; a fancied slight, or lessening of the every-day indications +of warm feelings, shall prompt him to bitter upbraidings and reproaches; +or shall plunge him into evil moods, for which grim solitude only is +congenial. + +Nor are the letters of Aphroditean devotees more charged with headlong +vows and protestations, more cross-written and crammed with discursive +sentimentalities, more undeviating in their semi-weekliness, or +dayliness, as the case may be, than are the love-friendship missives of +boys. Among those bundles of papers which Pierre, in an ill hour, so +frantically destroyed in the chamber of the inn, were two large packages +of letters, densely written, and in many cases inscribed crosswise +throughout with red ink upon black; so that the love in those letters +was two layers deep, and one pen and one pigment were insufficient to +paint it. The first package contained the letters of Glen to Pierre, the +other those of Pierre to Glen, which, just prior to Glen's departure for +Europe, Pierre had obtained from him, in order to re-read them in his +absence, and so fortify himself the more in his affection, by reviving +reference to the young, ardent hours of its earliest manifestations. + +But as the advancing fruit itself extrudes the beautiful blossom, so in +many cases, does the eventual love for the other sex forever dismiss the +preliminary love-friendship of boys. The mere outer friendship may in +some degree--greater or less--survive; but the singular love in it has +perishingly dropped away. + +If in the eye of unyielding reality and truth, the earthly heart of man +do indeed ever fix upon some one woman, to whom alone, thenceforth +eternally to be a devotee, without a single shadow of the misgiving of +its faith; and who, to him, does perfectly embody his finest, loftiest +dream of feminine loveliness, if this indeed be so--and may Heaven grant +that it be--nevertheless, in metropolitan cases, the love of the most +single-eyed lover, almost invariably, is nothing more than the ultimate +settling of innumerable wandering glances upon some one specific object; +as admonished, that the wonderful scope and variety of female +loveliness, if too long suffered to sway us without decision, shall +finally confound all power of selection. The confirmed bachelor is, in +America, at least, quite as often the victim of a too profound +appreciation of the infinite charmingness of woman, as made solitary for +life by the legitimate empire of a cold and tasteless temperament. + +Though the peculiar heart-longings pertaining to his age, had at last +found their glowing response in the bosom of Lucy; yet for some period +prior to that, Pierre had not been insensible to the miscellaneous +promptings of the passion. So that even before he became a declarative +lover, Love had yet made him her general votary; and so already there +had gradually come a cooling over that ardent sentiment which in earlier +years he had cherished for Glen. + +All round and round does the world lie as in a sharp-shooter's ambush, +to pick off the beautiful illusions of youth, by the pitiless cracking +rifles of the realities of the age. If the general love for women, had +in Pierre sensibly modified his particular sentiment toward Glen; +neither had the thousand nameless fascinations of the then brilliant +paradises of France and Italy, failed to exert their seductive influence +on many of the previous feelings of Glen. For as the very best +advantages of life are not without some envious drawback, so it is among +the evils of enlarged foreign travel, that in young and unsolid minds, +it dislodges some of the finest feelings of the home-born nature; +replacing them with a fastidious superciliousness, which like the +alledged bigoted Federalism of old times would not--according to a +political legend--grind its daily coffee in any mill save of European +manufacture, and was satirically said to have thought of importing +European air for domestic consumption. The mutually curtailed, +lessening, long-postponed, and at last altogether ceasing letters of +Pierre and Glen were the melancholy attestations of a fact, which +perhaps neither of them took very severely to heart, as certainly, +concerning it, neither took the other to task. + +In the earlier periods of that strange transition from the generous +impulsiveness of youth to the provident circumspectness of age, there +generally intervenes a brief pause of unpleasant reconsidering; when +finding itself all wide of its former spontaneous self, the soul +hesitates to commit itself wholly to selfishness; more than repents its +wanderings;--yet all this is but transient; and again hurried on by the +swift current of life, the prompt-hearted boy scarce longer is to be +recognized in matured man,--very slow to feel, deliberate even in love, +and statistical even in piety. During the sway of this peculiar period, +the boy shall still make some strenuous efforts to retrieve his +departing spontaneities; but so alloyed are all such endeavors with the +incipiencies of selfishness, that they were best not made at all; since +too often they seem but empty and self-deceptive sallies, or still +worse, the merest hypocritical assumptions. + +Upon the return of Glen from abroad, the commonest courtesy, not to say +the blood-relation between them, prompted Pierre to welcome him home, +with a letter, which though not over-long, and little enthusiastic, +still breathed a spirit of cousinly consideration and kindness, +pervadingly touched by the then naturally frank and all-attractive +spirit of Pierre. To this, the less earnest and now Europeanized Glen +had replied in a letter all sudden suavity; and in a strain of artistic +artlessness, mourned the apparent decline of their friendship; yet +fondly trusted that now, notwithstanding their long separation, it +would revive with added sincerity. Yet upon accidentally fixing his +glance upon the opening salutation of this delicate missive, Pierre +thought he perceived certain, not wholly disguisable chirographic +tokens, that the "My very dear Pierre," with which the letter seemed to +have been begun, had originally been written "Dear Pierre;" but that +when all was concluded, and Glen's signature put to it, then the ardent +words "My very" had been prefixed to the reconsidered "Dear Pierre;" a +casual supposition, which possibly, however unfounded, materially +retarded any answering warmth in Pierre, lest his generous flame should +only embrace a flaunted feather. Nor was this idea altogether +unreinforced, when on the reception of a second, and now half-business +letter (of which mixed sort nearly all the subsequent ones were), from +Glen, he found that the "My very dear Pierre" had already retreated into +"My dear Pierre;" and on a third occasion, into "Dear Pierre;" and on a +fourth, had made a forced and very spirited advanced march up to "My +dearest Pierre." All of which fluctuations augured ill for the +determinateness of that love, which, however immensely devoted to one +cause, could yet hoist and sail under the flags of all nations. Nor +could he but now applaud a still subsequent letter from Glen, which +abruptly, and almost with apparent indecorousness, under the +circumstances, commenced the strain of friendship without any overture +of salutation whatever; as if at last, owing to its infinite +delicateness, entirely hopeless of precisely defining the nature of +their mystical love, Glen chose rather to leave that precise definition +to the sympathetical heart and imagination of Pierre; while he himself +would go on to celebrate the general relation, by many a sugared +sentence of miscellaneous devotion. It was a little curious and rather +sardonically diverting, to compare these masterly, yet not wholly +successful, and indeterminate tactics of the accomplished Glen, with the +unfaltering stream of _Beloved Pierres_, which not only flowed along +the top margin of all his earlier letters, but here and there, from +their subterranean channel, flashed out in bright intervals, through all +the succeeding lines. Nor had the chance recollection of these things at +all restrained the reckless hand of Pierre, when he threw the whole +package of letters, both new and old, into that most honest and summary +of all elements, which is neither a respecter of persons, nor a finical +critic of what manner of writings it burns; but like ultimate Truth +itself, of which it is the eloquent symbol, consumes all, and only +consumes. + +When the betrothment of Pierre to Lucy had become an acknowledged thing, +the courtly Glen, besides the customary felicitations upon that event, +had not omitted so fit an opportunity to re-tender to his cousin all his +previous jars of honey and treacle, accompanied by additional boxes of +candied citron and plums. Pierre thanked him kindly; but in certain +little roguish ambiguities begged leave, on the ground of cloying, to +return him inclosed by far the greater portion of his present; whose +non-substantialness was allegorically typified in the containing letter +itself, prepaid with only the usual postage. + +True love, as every one knows, will still withstand many repulses, even +though rude. But whether it was the love or the politeness of Glen, +which on this occasion proved invincible, is a matter we will not +discuss. Certain it was, that quite undaunted, Glen nobly returned to +the charge, and in a very prompt and unexpected answer, extended to +Pierre all the courtesies of the general city, and all the hospitalities +of five sumptuous chambers, which he and his luxurious environments +contrived nominally to occupy in the most fashionable private hotel of a +very opulent town. Nor did Glen rest here; but like Napoleon, now seemed +bent upon gaining the battle by throwing all his regiments upon one +point of attack, and gaining that point at all hazards. Hearing of some +rumor at the tables of his relatives that the day was being fixed for +the positive nuptials of Pierre; Glen called all his Parisian +portfolios for his rosiest sheet, and with scented ink, and a pen of +gold, indited a most burnished and redolent letter, which, after +invoking all the blessings of Apollo and Venus, and the Nine Muses, and +the Cardinal Virtues upon the coming event; concluded at last with a +really magnificent testimonial to his love. + +According to this letter, among his other real estate in the city, Glen +had inherited a very charming, little, old house, completely furnished +in the style of the last century, in a quarter of the city which, though +now not so garishly fashionable as of yore, still in its quiet +secludedness, possessed great attractions for the retired billings and +cooings of a honeymoon. Indeed he begged leave now to christen it the +Cooery, and if after his wedding jaunt, Pierre would deign to visit the +city with his bride for a month or two's sojourn, then the Cooery would +be but too happy in affording him a harbor. His sweet cousin need be +under no apprehension. Owing to the absence of any fit applicant for it, +the house had now long been without a tenant, save an old, confidential, +bachelor clerk of his father's, who on a nominal rent, and more by way +of safe-keeping to the house than any thing else, was now hanging up his +well-furbished hat in its hall. This accommodating old clerk would +quickly unpeg his beaver at the first hint of new occupants. Glen would +charge himself with supplying the house in advance with a proper retinue +of servants; fires would be made in the long-unoccupied chambers; the +venerable, grotesque, old mahoganies, and marbles, and mirror-frames, +and moldings could be very soon dusted and burnished; the kitchen was +amply provided with the necessary utensils for cooking; the strong box +of old silver immemorially pertaining to the mansion, could be readily +carted round from the vaults of the neighboring Bank; while the hampers +of old china, still retained in the house, needed but little trouble to +unpack; so that silver and china would soon stand assorted in their +appropriate closets; at the turning of a faucet in the cellar, the best +of the city's water would not fail to contribute its ingredient to the +concocting of a welcoming glass of negus before retiring on the first +night of their arrival. + +The over-fastidiousness of some unhealthily critical minds, as well as +the moral pusillanimity of others, equally bars the acceptance of +effectually substantial favors from persons whose motive in proffering +them, is not altogether clear and unimpeachable; and toward whom, +perhaps, some prior coolness or indifference has been shown. But when +the acceptance of such a favor would be really convenient and desirable +to the one party, and completely unattended with any serious distress to +the other; there would seem to be no sensible objection to an immediate +embrace of the offer. And when the acceptor is in rank and fortune the +general equal of the profferer, and perhaps his superior, so that any +courtesy he receives, can be amply returned in the natural course of +future events, then all motives to decline are very materially lessened. +And as for the thousand inconceivable finicalnesses of small pros and +cons about imaginary fitnesses, and proprieties, and self-consistencies; +thank heaven, in the hour of heart-health, none such shilly-shallying +sail-trimmers ever balk the onward course of a bluff-minded man. He +takes the world as it is; and carelessly accommodates himself to its +whimsical humors; nor ever feels any compunction at receiving the +greatest possible favors from those who are as able to grant, as free to +bestow. He himself bestows upon occasion; so that, at bottom, common +charity steps in to dictate a favorable consideration for all possible +profferings; seeing that the acceptance shall only the more enrich him, +indirectly, for new and larger beneficences of his own. + +And as for those who noways pretend with themselves to regulate their +deportment by considerations of genuine benevolence, and to whom such +courteous profferings hypocritically come from persons whom they suspect +for secret enemies; then to such minds not only will their own worldly +tactics at once forbid the uncivil blank repulse of such offers; but if +they are secretly malicious as well as frigid, or if they are at all +capable of being fully gratified by the sense of concealed superiority +and mastership (which precious few men are) then how delightful for such +persons under the guise of mere acquiescence in his own voluntary +civilities, to make genteel use of their foe. For one would like to +know, what were foes made for except to be used? In the rude ages men +hunted and javelined the tiger, because they hated him for a +mischief-minded wild-beast; but in these enlightened times, though we +love the tiger as little as ever, still we mostly hunt him for the sake +of his skin. A wise man then will wear his tiger; every morning put on +his tiger for a robe to keep him warm and adorn him. In this view, foes +are far more desirable than friends; for who would hunt and kill his own +faithful affectionate dog for the sake of his skin? and is a dog's skin +as valuable as a tiger's? Cases there are where it becomes soberly +advisable, by direct arts to convert some well-wishers into foes. It is +false that in point of policy a man should never make enemies. As +well-wishers some men may not only be nugatory but positive obstacles in +your peculiar plans; but as foes you may subordinately cement them into +your general design. + +But into these ulterior refinements of cool Tuscan policy, Pierre as yet +had never become initiated; his experiences hitherto not having been +varied and ripe enough for that; besides, he had altogether too much +generous blood in his heart. Nevertheless, thereafter, in a less +immature hour, though still he shall not have the heart to practice upon +such maxims as the above, yet shall he have the brain thoroughly to +comprehend their practicability; which is not always the case. And +generally, in worldly wisdom, men will deny to one the possession of all +insight, which one does not by his every-day outward life practically +reveal. It is a very common error of some unscrupulously +infidel-minded, selfish, unprincipled, or downright knavish men, to +suppose that believing men, or benevolent-hearted men, or good men, do +not know enough to be unscrupulously selfish, do not know enough to be +unscrupulous knaves. And thus--thanks to the world!--are there many +spies in the world's camp, who are mistaken for strolling simpletons. +And these strolling simpletons seem to act upon the principle, that in +certain things, we do not so much learn, by showing that already we know +a vast deal, as by negatively seeming rather ignorant. But here we press +upon the frontiers of that sort of wisdom, which it is very well to +possess, but not sagacious to show that you possess. Still, men there +are, who having quite done with the world, all its mere worldly contents +are become so far indifferent, that they care little of what mere +worldly imprudence they may be guilty. + +Now, if it were not conscious considerations like the really benevolent +or neutral ones first mentioned above, it was certainly something akin +to them, which had induced Pierre to return a straightforward, manly, +and entire acceptance to his cousin of the offer of the house; thanking +him, over and over, for his most supererogatory kindness concerning the +pre-engagement of servants and so forth, and the setting in order of the +silver and china; but reminding him, nevertheless, that he had +overlooked all special mention of wines, and begged him to store the +bins with a few of the very best brands. He would likewise be obliged, +if he would personally purchase at a certain celebrated grocer's, a +small bag of undoubted Mocha coffee; but Glen need not order it to be +roasted or ground, because Pierre preferred that both those highly +important and flavor-deciding operations should be performed +instantaneously previous to the final boiling and serving. Nor did he +say that he would pay for the wines and the Mocha; he contented himself +with merely stating the remissness on the part of his cousin, and +pointing out the best way of remedying it. + +He concluded his letter by intimating that though the rumor of a set +day, and a near one, for his nuptials, was unhappily but ill-founded, +yet he would not hold Glen's generous offer as merely based upon that +presumption, and consequently falling with it; but on the contrary, +would consider it entirely good for whatever time it might prove +available to Pierre. He was betrothed beyond a peradventure; and hoped +to be married ere death. Meanwhile, Glen would further oblige him by +giving the confidential clerk a standing notice to quit. + +Though at first quite amazed at this letter,--for indeed, his offer +might possibly have proceeded as much from ostentation as any thing +else, nor had he dreamed of so unhesitating an acceptance,--Pierre's +cousin was too much of a precocious young man of the world, disclosedly +to take it in any other than a very friendly, and cousinly, and +humorous, and yet practical way; which he plainly evinced by a reply far +more sincere and every way creditable, apparently, both to his heart and +head, than any letter he had written to Pierre since the days of their +boyhood. And thus, by the bluffness and, in some sort, +uncompunctuousness of Pierre, this very artificial youth was well +betrayed into an act of effective kindness; being forced now to drop the +empty mask of ostentation, and put on the solid hearty features of a +genuine face. And just so, are some people in the world to be joked into +occasional effective goodness, when all coyness, and coolness, all +resentments, and all solemn preaching, would fail. + + +II. + +But little would we comprehend the peculiar relation between Pierre and +Glen--a relation involving in the end the most serious results--were +there not here thrown over the whole equivocal, preceding account of it, +another and more comprehensive equivocalness, which shall absorb all +minor ones in itself; and so make one pervading ambiguity the only +possible explanation for all the ambiguous details. + +It had long been imagined by Pierre, that prior to his own special +devotion to Lucy, the splendid Glen had not been entirely insensible to +her surprising charms. Yet this conceit in its incipiency, he knew not +how to account for. Assuredly his cousin had never in the slightest +conceivable hint betrayed it; and as for Lucy, the same intuitive +delicacy which forever forbade Pierre to question her on the subject, +did equally close her own voluntary lips. Between Pierre and Lucy, +delicateness put her sacred signet on this chest of secrecy; which like +the wax of an executor upon a desk, though capable of being melted into +nothing by the smallest candle, for all this, still possesses to the +reverent the prohibitive virtue of inexorable bars and bolts. + +If Pierre superficially considered the deportment of Glen toward him, +therein he could find no possible warrant for indulging the suspicious +idea. Doth jealousy smile so benignantly and offer its house to the +bride? Still, on the other hand, to quit the mere surface of the +deportment of Glen, and penetrate beneath its brocaded vesture; there +Pierre sometimes seemed to see the long-lurking and yet unhealed wound +of all a rejected lover's most rankling detestation of a supplanting +rival, only intensified by their former friendship, and the unimpairable +blood-relation between them. Now, viewed by the light of this +master-solution, all the singular enigmas in Glen; his capriciousness in +the matter of the epistolary--"Dear Pierres" and "Dearest Pierres;" the +mercurial fall from the fever-heat of cordiality, to below the Zero of +indifference; then the contrary rise to fever-heat; and, above all, his +emphatic redundancy of devotion so soon as the positive espousals of +Pierre seemed on the point of consummation; thus read, all these riddles +apparently found their cunning solution. For the deeper that some men +feel a secret and poignant feeling, the higher they pile the belying +surfaces. The friendly deportment of Glen then was to be considered as +in direct proportion to his hoarded hate; and the climax of that hate +was evinced in throwing open his house to the bride. Yet if hate was the +abstract cause, hate could not be the immediate motive of the conduct of +Glen. Is hate so hospitable? The immediate motive of Glen then must be +the intense desire to disguise from the wide world, a fact unspeakably +humiliating to his gold-laced and haughty soul: the fact that in the +profoundest desire of his heart, Pierre had so victoriously supplanted +him. Yet was it that very artful deportment in Glen, which Glen +profoundly assumed to this grand end; that consummately artful +deportment it was, which first obtruded upon Pierre the surmise, which +by that identical method his cousin was so absorbedly intent upon +rendering impossible to him. Hence we here see that as in the negative +way the secrecy of any strong emotion is exceedingly difficult to be +kept lastingly private to one's own bosom by any human being; so it is +one of the most fruitless undertakings in the world, to attempt by +affirmative assumptions to tender to men, the precisely opposite emotion +as yours. Therefore the final wisdom decrees, that if you have aught +which you desire to keep a secret to yourself, be a Quietist there, and +do and say nothing at all about it. For among all the poor chances, this +is the least poor. Pretensions and substitutions are only the recourse +of under-graduates in the science of the world; in which science, on his +own ground, my Lord Chesterfield, is the poorest possible preceptor. The +earliest instinct of the child, and the ripest experience of age, unite +in affirming simplicity to be the truest and profoundest part for man. +Likewise this simplicity is so universal and all-containing as a rule +for human life, that the subtlest bad man, and the purest good man, as +well as the profoundest wise man, do all alike present it on that side +which they socially turn to the inquisitive and unscrupulous world. + + +III. + +Now the matter of the house had remained in precisely the above-stated +awaiting predicament, down to the time of Pierre's great +life-revolution, the receipt of Isabel's letter. And though, indeed, +Pierre could not but naturally hesitate at still accepting the use of +the dwelling, under the widely different circumstances in which he now +found himself; and though at first the strongest possible spontaneous +objections on the ground of personal independence, pride, and general +scorn, all clamorously declared in his breast against such a course; +yet, finally, the same uncompunctuous, ever-adaptive sort of motive +which had induced his original acceptation, prompted him, in the end, +still to maintain it unrevoked. It would at once set him at rest from +all immediate tribulations of mere bed and board; and by affording him a +shelter, for an indefinite term, enable him the better to look about +him, and consider what could best be done to further the permanent +comfort of those whom Fate had intrusted to his charge. + +Irrespective, it would seem, of that wide general awaking of his +profounder being, consequent upon the extraordinary trials he had so +aggregatively encountered of late; the thought was indignantly suggested +to him, that the world must indeed be organically despicable, if it held +that an offer, superfluously accepted in the hour of his abundance, +should now, be rejected in that of his utmost need. And without at all +imputing any singularity of benevolent-mindedness to his cousin, he did +not for a moment question, that under the changed aspect of affairs, +Glen would at least pretend the more eagerly to welcome him to the +house, now that the mere thing of apparent courtesy had become +transformed into something like a thing of positive and urgent +necessity. When Pierre also considered that not himself only was +concerned, but likewise two peculiarly helpless fellow-beings, one of +them bound to him from the first by the most sacred ties, and lately +inspiring an emotion which passed all human precedent in its mixed and +mystical import; these added considerations completely overthrew in +Pierre all remaining dictates of his vague pride and false independence, +if such indeed had ever been his. + +Though the interval elapsing between his decision to depart with his +companions for the city, and his actual start in the coach, had not +enabled him to receive any replying word from his cousin; and though +Pierre knew better than to expect it; yet a preparative letter to him he +had sent; and did not doubt that this proceeding would prove +well-advised in the end. + +In naturally strong-minded men, however young and inexperienced in some +things, those great and sudden emergencies, which but confound the timid +and the weak, only serve to call forth all their generous latentness, +and teach them, as by inspiration, extraordinary maxims of conduct, +whose counterpart, in other men, is only the result of a long, +variously-tried and pains-taking life. One of those maxims is, that +when, through whatever cause, we are suddenly translated from opulence +to need, or from a fair fame to a foul; and straightway it becomes +necessary not to contradict the thing--so far at least as the mere +imputation goes,--to some one previously entertaining high conventional +regard for us, and from whom we would now solicit some genuine helping +offices; then, all explanation or palation should be scorned; +promptness, boldness, utter gladiatorianism, and a defiant non-humility +should mark every syllable we breathe, and every line we trace. + +The preparative letter of Pierre to Glen, plunged at once into the very +heart of the matter, and was perhaps the briefest letter he had ever +written him. Though by no means are such characteristics invariable +exponents of the predominant mood or general disposition of a man (since +so accidental a thing as a numb finger, or a bad quill, or poor ink, or +squalid paper, or a rickety desk may produce all sorts of +modifications), yet in the present instance, the handwriting of Pierre +happened plainly to attest and corroborate the spirit of his +communication. The sheet was large; but the words were placarded upon it +in heavy though rapid lines, only six or eight to the page. And as the +footman of a haughty visitor--some Count or Duke--announces the chariot +of his lord by a thunderous knock on the portal; so to Glen did Pierre, +in the broad, sweeping, and prodigious superscription of his letter, +forewarn him what manner of man was on the road. + +In the moment of strong feeling a wonderful condensativeness points the +tongue and pen; so that ideas, then enunciated sharp and quick as +minute-guns, in some other hour of unruffledness or unstimulatedness, +require considerable time and trouble to verbally recall. + +Not here and now can we set down the precise contents of Pierre's +letter, without a tautology illy doing justice to the ideas themselves. +And though indeed the dread of tautology be the continual torment of +some earnest minds, and, as such, is surely a weakness in them; and +though no wise man will wonder at conscientious Virgil all eager at +death to burn his Æniad for a monstrous heap of inefficient superfluity; +yet not to dread tautology at times only belongs to those enviable +dunces, whom the partial God hath blessed, over all the earth, with the +inexhaustible self-riches of vanity, and folly, and a blind +self-complacency. + +Some rumor of the discontinuance of his betrothment to Lucy Tartan; of +his already consummated marriage with a poor and friendless orphan; of +his mother's disowning him consequent upon these events; such rumors, +Pierre now wrote to his cousin, would very probably, in the parlors of +his city-relatives and acquaintances, precede his arrival in town. But +he hinted no word of any possible commentary on these things. He simply +went on to say, that now, through the fortune of life--which was but +the proverbially unreliable fortune of war--he was, for the present, +thrown entirely upon his own resources, both for his own support and +that of his wife, as well as for the temporary maintenance of a girl, +whom he had lately had excellent reason for taking under his especial +protection. He proposed a permanent residence in the city; not without +some nearly quite settled plans as to the procuring of a competent +income, without any ulterior reference to any member of their wealthy +and widely ramified family. The house, whose temporary occupancy Glen +had before so handsomely proffered him, would now be doubly and trebly +desirable to him. But the pre-engaged servants, and the old china, and +the old silver, and the old wines, and the Mocha, were now become +altogether unnecessary. Pierre would merely take the place--for a short +interval--of the worthy old clerk; and, so far as Glen was concerned, +simply stand guardian of the dwelling, till his plans were matured. His +cousin had originally made his most bounteous overture, to welcome the +coming of the presumed bride of Pierre; and though another lady had now +taken her place at the altar, yet Pierre would still regard the offer of +Glen as impersonal in that respect, and bearing equal reference to any +young lady, who should prove her claim to the possessed hand of Pierre. + +Since there was no universal law of opinion in such matters, Glen, on +general worldly grounds, might not consider the real Mrs. Glendinning +altogether so suitable a match for Pierre, as he possibly might have +held numerous other young ladies in his eye: nevertheless, Glen would +find her ready to return with sincerity all his cousinly regard and +attention. In conclusion, Pierre said, that he and his party meditated +an immediate departure, and would very probably arrive in town in +eight-and-forty hours after the mailing of the present letter. He +therefore begged Glen to see the more indispensable domestic appliances +of the house set in some little order against their arrival; to have +the rooms aired and lighted; and also forewarn the confidential clerk of +what he might soon expect. Then, without any tapering sequel +of--"_Yours, very truly and faithfully, my dear Cousin Glen_," he +finished the letter with the abrupt and isolated signature +of--"PIERRE." + + + + +BOOK XVI. + +FIRST NIGHT OF THEIR ARRIVAL IN THE CITY. + + +I. + +The stage was belated. + +The country road they traveled entered the city by a remarkably wide and +winding street, a great thoroughfare for its less opulent inhabitants. +There was no moon and few stars. It was that preluding hour of the night +when the shops are just closing, and the aspect of almost every +wayfarer, as he passes through the unequal light reflected from the +windows, speaks of one hurrying not abroad, but homeward. Though the +thoroughfare was winding, yet no sweep that it made greatly obstructed +its long and imposing vista; so that when the coach gained the top of +the long and very gradual slope running toward the obscure heart of the +town, and the twinkling perspective of two long and parallel rows of +lamps was revealed--lamps which seemed not so much intended to dispel +the general gloom, as to show some dim path leading through it, into +some gloom still deeper beyond--when the coach gained this critical +point, the whole vast triangular town, for a moment, seemed dimly and +despondently to capitulate to the eye. + +And now, ere descending the gradually-sloping declivity, and just on its +summit as it were, the inmates of the coach, by numerous hard, painful +joltings, and ponderous, dragging trundlings, are suddenly made sensible +of some great change in the character of the road. The coach seems +rolling over cannon-balls of all calibers. Grasping Pierre's arm, Isabel +eagerly and forebodingly demands what is the cause of this most strange +and unpleasant transition. + +"The pavements, Isabel; this is the town." + +Isabel was silent. + +But, the first time for many weeks, Delly voluntarily spoke: + +"It feels not so soft as the green sward, Master Pierre." + +"No, Miss Ulver," said Pierre, very bitterly, "the buried hearts of some +dead citizens have perhaps come to the surface." + +"Sir?" said Delly. + +"And are they so hard-hearted here?" asked Isabel. + +"Ask yonder pavements, Isabel. Milk dropt from the milkman's can in +December, freezes not more quickly on those stones, than does snow-white +innocence, if in poverty, it chance to fall in these streets." + +"Then God help my hard fate, Master Pierre," sobbed Delly. "Why didst +thou drag hither a poor outcast like me?" + +"Forgive me, Miss Ulver," exclaimed Pierre, with sudden warmth, and yet +most marked respect; "forgive me; never yet have I entered the city by +night, but, somehow, it made me feel both bitter and sad. Come, be +cheerful, we shall soon be comfortably housed, and have our comfort all +to ourselves; the old clerk I spoke to you about, is now doubtless +ruefully eying his hat on the peg. Come, cheer up, Isabel;--'tis a long +ride, but here we are, at last. Come! 'Tis not very far now to our +welcome." + +"I hear a strange shuffling and clattering," said Delly, with a shudder. + +"It does not seem so light as just now," said Isabel. + +"Yes," returned Pierre, "it is the shop-shutters being put on; it is the +locking, and bolting, and barring of windows and doors; the +town's-people are going to their rest." + +"Please God they may find it!" sighed Delly. + +"They lock and bar out, then, when they rest, do they, Pierre?" said +Isabel. + +"Yes, and you were thinking that does not bode well for the welcome I +spoke of." + +"Thou read'st all my soul; yes, I was thinking of that. But whither lead +these long, narrow, dismal side-glooms we pass every now and then? What +are they? They seem terribly still. I see scarce any body in +them;--there's another, now. See how haggardly look its criss-cross, +far-separate lamps.--What are these side-glooms, dear Pierre; whither +lead they?" + +"They are the thin tributaries, sweet Isabel, to the great Oronoco +thoroughfare we are in; and like true tributaries, they come from the +far-hidden places; from under dark beetling secrecies of mortar and +stone; through the long marsh-grasses of villainy, and by many a +transplanted bough-beam, where the wretched have hung." + +"I know nothing of these things, Pierre. But I like not the town. +Think'st thou, Pierre, the time will ever come when all the earth shall +be paved?" + +"Thank God, that never can be!" + +"These silent side-glooms are horrible;--look! Methinks, not for the +world would I turn into one." + +That moment the nigh fore-wheel sharply grated under the body of the +coach. + +"Courage!" cried Pierre, "we are in it!--Not so very solitary either; +here comes a traveler." + +"Hark, what is that?" said Delly, "that keen iron-ringing sound? It +passed us just now." + +"The keen traveler," said Pierre, "he has steel plates to his +boot-heels;--some tender-souled elder son, I suppose." + +"Pierre," said Isabel, "this silence is unnatural, is fearful. The +forests are never so still." + +"Because brick and mortar have deeper secrets than wood or fell, sweet +Isabel. But here we turn again; now if I guess right, two more turns +will bring us to the door. Courage, all will be well; doubtless he has +prepared a famous supper. Courage, Isabel. Come, shall it be tea or +coffee? Some bread, or crisp toast? We'll have eggs, too; and some cold +chicken, perhaps."--Then muttering to himself--"I hope not that, either; +no cold collations! there's too much of that in these paving-stones +here, set out for the famishing beggars to eat. No. I won't have the +cold chicken." Then aloud--"But here we turn again; yes, just as I +thought. Ho, driver!" (thrusting his head out of the window) "to the +right! to the right! it should be on the right! the first house with a +light on the right!" + +"No lights yet but the street's," answered the surly voice of the +driver. + +"Stupid! he has passed it--yes, yes--he has! Ho! ho! stop; turn back. +Have you not passed lighted windows?" + +"No lights but the street's," was the rough reply. "What's the number? +the number? Don't keep me beating about here all night! The number, I +say!" + +"I do not know it," returned Pierre; "but I well know the house; you +must have passed it, I repeat. You must turn back. Surely you have +passed lighted windows?" + +"Then them lights must burn black; there's no lighted windows in the +street; I knows the city; old maids lives here, and they are all to bed; +rest is warehouses." + +"Will you stop the coach, or not?" cried Pierre, now incensed at his +surliness in continuing to drive on. + +"I obeys orders: the first house with a light; and 'cording to my +reck'ning--though to be sure, I don't know nothing of the city where I +was born and bred all my life--no, I knows nothing at all about +it--'cording to my reck'ning, the first light in this here street will +be the watch-house of the ward--yes, there it is--all right! cheap +lodgings ye've engaged--nothing to pay, and wictuals in." + +To certain temperaments, especially when previously agitated by any deep +feeling, there is perhaps nothing more exasperating, and which sooner +explodes all self-command, than the coarse, jeering insolence of a +porter, cabman, or hack-driver. Fetchers and carriers of the worst city +infamy as many of them are; professionally familiar with the most +abandoned haunts; in the heart of misery, they drive one of the most +mercenary of all the trades of guilt. Day-dozers and sluggards on their +lazy boxes in the sunlight, and felinely wakeful and cat-eyed in the +dark; most habituated to midnight streets, only trod by sneaking +burglars, wantons, and debauchees; often in actual pandering league with +the most abhorrent sinks; so that they are equally solicitous and +suspectful that every customer they encounter in the dark, will prove a +profligate or a knave; this hideous tribe of ogres, and Charon ferry-men +to corruption and death, naturally slide into the most practically +Calvinistical view of humanity, and hold every man at bottom a fit +subject for the coarsest ribaldry and jest; only fine coats and full +pockets can whip such mangy hounds into decency. The least impatience, +any quickness of temper, a sharp remonstrating word from a customer in a +seedy coat, or betraying any other evidence of poverty, however minute +and indirect (for in that pecuniary respect they are the most piercing +and infallible of all the judgers of men), will be almost sure to +provoke, in such cases, their least endurable disdain. + +Perhaps it was the unconscious transfer to the stage-driver of some such +ideas as these, which now prompted the highly irritated Pierre to an +act, which, in a more benignant hour, his better reason would have +restrained him from. + +He did not see the light to which the driver had referred; and was +heedless, in his sudden wrath, that the coach was now going slower in +approaching it. Ere Isabel could prevent him, he burst open the door, +and leaping to the pavement, sprang ahead of the horses, and violently +reined back the leaders by their heads. The driver seized his +four-in-hand whip, and with a volley of oaths was about striking out its +long, coiling lash at Pierre, when his arm was arrested by a policeman, +who suddenly leaping on the stayed coach, commanded him to keep the +peace. + +"Speak! what is the difficulty here? Be quiet, ladies, nothing serious +has happened. Speak you!" + +"Pierre! Pierre!" cried the alarmed Isabel. In an instant Pierre was at +her side by the window; and now turning to the officer, explained to him +that the driver had persisted in passing the house at which he was +ordered to stop. + +"Then he shall turn to the right about with you, sir;--in double quick +time too; do ye hear? I know you rascals well enough. Turn about, you +sir, and take the gentleman where he directed." + +The cowed driver was beginning a long string of criminating +explanations, when turning to Pierre, the policeman calmly desired him +to re-enter the coach; he would see him safely at his destination; and +then seating himself beside the driver on the box, commanded him to tell +the number given him by the gentleman. + +"He don't know no numbers--didn't I say he didn't--that's what I got mad +about." + +"Be still"--said the officer. "Sir"--turning round and addressing Pierre +within; "where do you wish to go?" + +"I do not know the number, but it is a house in this street; we have +passed it; it is, I think, the fourth or fifth house this side of the +last corner we turned. It must be lighted up too. It is the small +old-fashioned dwelling with stone lion-heads above the windows. But make +him turn round, and drive slowly, and I will soon point it out." + +"Can't see lions in the dark"--growled the driver--"lions; ha! ha! +jackasses more likely!" + +"Look you," said the officer, "I shall see you tightly housed this +night, my fine fellow, if you don't cease your jabber. Sir," he added, +resuming with Pierre, "I am sure there is some mistake here. I perfectly +well know now the house you mean. I passed it within the last half-hour; +all as quiet there as ever. No one lives there, I think; I never saw a +light in it. Are you not mistaken in something, then?" + +Pierre paused in perplexity and foreboding. Was it possible that Glen +had willfully and utterly neglected his letter? Not possible. But it +might not have come to his hand; the mails sometimes delayed. Then +again, it was not wholly out of the question, that the house was +prepared for them after all, even though it showed no outward sign. But +that was not probable. At any rate, as the driver protested, that his +four horses and lumbering vehicle could not turn short round in that +street; and that if he must go back, it could only be done by driving +on, and going round the block, and so retracing his road; and as after +such a procedure, on his part, then in case of a confirmed +disappointment respecting the house, the driver would seem warranted, at +least in some of his unmannerliness; and as Pierre loathed the villain +altogether, therefore, in order to run no such risks, he came to a +sudden determination on the spot. + +"I owe you very much, my good friend," said he to the officer, "for your +timely assistance. To be frank, what you have just told me has indeed +perplexed me not a little concerning the place where I proposed to stop. +Is there no hotel in this neighborhood, where I could leave these ladies +while I seek my friend?" + +Wonted to all manner of deceitfulness, and engaged in a calling which +unavoidably makes one distrustful of mere appearances, however specious, +however honest; the really good-hearted officer, now eyed Pierre in the +dubious light with a most unpleasant scrutiny; and he abandoned the +"Sir," and the tone of his voice sensibly changed, as he +replied:--"There is no hotel in this neighborhood; it is too off the +thoroughfares." + +"Come! come!"--cried the driver, now growing bold again--"though you're +an officer, I'm a citizen for all that. You haven't any further right to +keep me out of my bed now. He don't know where he wants to go to, cause +he haint got no place at all to go to; so I'll just dump him here, and +you dar'n't stay me." + +"Don't be impertinent now," said the officer, but not so sternly as +before. + +"I'll have my rights though, I tell you that! Leave go of my arm; damn +ye, get off the box; I've the law now. I say mister, come tramp, here +goes your luggage," and so saying he dragged toward him a light trunk on +the top of the stage. + +"Keep a clean tongue in ye now"--said the officer--"and don't be in +quite so great a hurry," then addressing Pierre, who had now re-alighted +from the coach--"Well, this can't continue; what do you intend to do?" + +"Not to ride further with that man, at any rate," said Pierre; "I will +stop right here for the present." + +"He! he!" laughed the driver; "he! he! 'mazing 'commodating now--we +hitches now, we do--stops right afore the watch-house--he! he!--that's +funny!" + +"Off with the luggage then, driver," said the policeman--"here hand the +small trunk, and now away and unlash there behind." + +During all this scene, Delly had remained perfectly silent in her +trembling and rustic alarm; while Isabel, by occasional cries to Pierre, +had vainly besought some explanation. But though their complete +ignorance of city life had caused Pierre's two companions to regard the +scene thus far with too much trepidation; yet now, when in the +obscurity of night, and in the heart of a strange town, Pierre handed +them out of the coach into the naked street, and they saw their luggage +piled so near the white light of a watch-house, the same ignorance, in +some sort, reversed its effects on them; for they little fancied in what +really untoward and wretched circumstances they first touched the +flagging of the city. + +As the coach lumbered off, and went rolling into the wide murkiness +beyond, Pierre spoke to the officer. + +"It is a rather strange accident, I confess, my friend, but strange +accidents will sometimes happen." + +"In the best of families," rejoined the other, a little ironically. + +Now, I must not quarrel with this man, thought Pierre to himself, stung +at the officer's tone. Then said:--"Is there any one in your--office?" + +"No one as yet--not late enough." + +"Will you have the kindness then to house these ladies there for the +present, while I make haste to provide them with better lodgment? Lead +on, if you please." + +The man seemed to hesitate a moment, but finally acquiesced; and soon +they passed under the white light, and entered a large, plain, and most +forbidding-looking room, with hacked wooden benches and bunks ranged +along the sides, and a railing before a desk in one corner. The +permanent keeper of the place was quietly reading a paper by the long +central double bat's-wing gas-light; and three officers off duty were +nodding on a bench. + +"Not very liberal accommodations"--said the officer, quietly; "nor +always the best of company, but we try to be civil. Be seated, ladies," +politely drawing a small bench toward them. + +"Hallo, my friends," said Pierre, approaching the nodding three beyond, +and tapping them on the shoulder--"Hallo, I say! Will you do me a little +favor? Will you help bring some trunks in from the street? I will +satisfy you for your trouble, and be much obliged into the bargain." + +Instantly the three noddies, used to sudden awakenings, opened their +eyes, and stared hard; and being further enlightened by the bat's-wings +and first officer, promptly brought in the luggage as desired. + +Pierre hurriedly sat down by Isabel, and in a few words gave her to +understand, that she was now in a perfectly secure place, however +unwelcoming; that the officers would take every care of her, while he +made all possible speed in running to the house, and indubitably +ascertaining how matters stood there. He hoped to be back in less than +ten minutes with good tidings. Explaining his intention to the first +officer, and begging him not to leave the girls till he should return, +he forthwith sallied into the street. He quickly came to the house, and +immediately identified it. But all was profoundly silent and dark. He +rang the bell, but no answer; and waiting long enough to be certain, +that either the house was indeed deserted, or else the old clerk was +unawakeable or absent; and at all events, certain that no slightest +preparation had been made for their arrival; Pierre, bitterly +disappointed, returned to Isabel with this most unpleasant information. + +Nevertheless something must be done, and quickly. Turning to one of the +officers, he begged him to go and seek a hack, that the whole party +might be taken to some respectable lodging. But the man, as well as his +comrades, declined the errand on the score, that there was no stand on +their beat, and they could not, on any account, leave their beat. So +Pierre himself must go. He by no means liked to leave Isabel and Delly +again, on an expedition which might occupy some time. But there seemed +no resource, and time now imperiously pressed. Communicating his +intention therefore to Isabel, and again entreating the officer's +particular services as before, and promising not to leave him +unrequited; Pierre again sallied out. He looked up and down the street, +and listened; but no sound of any approaching vehicle was audible. He +ran on, and turning the first corner, bent his rapid steps toward the +greatest and most central avenue of the city, assured that there, if +anywhere, he would find what he wanted. It was some distance off; and he +was not without hope that an empty hack would meet him ere he arrived +there. But the few stray ones he encountered had all muffled fares. He +continued on, and at last gained the great avenue. Not habitually used +to such scenes, Pierre for a moment was surprised, that the instant he +turned out of the narrow, and dark, and death-like bye-street, he should +find himself suddenly precipitated into the not-yet-repressed noise and +contention, and all the garish night-life of a vast thoroughfare, +crowded and wedged by day, and even now, at this late hour, brilliant +with occasional illuminations, and echoing to very many swift wheels and +footfalls. + + +II. + +"I say, my pretty one! Dear! Dear! young man! Oh, love, you are in a +vast hurry, aint you? Can't you stop a bit, now, my dear: do--there's a +sweet fellow." + +Pierre turned; and in the flashing, sinister, evil cross-lights of a +druggist's window, his eye caught the person of a wonderfully +beautifully-featured girl; scarlet-cheeked, glaringly-arrayed, and of a +figure all natural grace but unnatural vivacity. Her whole form, +however, was horribly lit by the green and yellow rays from the +druggist's. + +"My God!" shuddered Pierre, hurrying forward, "the town's first welcome +to youth!" + +He was just crossing over to where a line of hacks were drawn up +against the opposite curb, when his eye was arrested by a short, gilded +name, rather reservedly and aristocratically denominating a large and +very handsome house, the second story of which was profusely lighted. He +looked up, and was very certain that in this house were the apartments +of Glen. Yielding to a sudden impulse, he mounted the single step toward +the door, and rang the bell, which was quickly responded to by a very +civil black. + +As the door opened, he heard the distant interior sound of dancing-music +and merriment. + +"Is Mr. Stanly in?" + +"Mr. Stanly? Yes, but he's engaged." + +"How?" + +"He is somewhere in the drawing rooms. My mistress is giving a party to +the lodgers." + +"Ay? Tell Mr. Stanly I wish to see him for one moment if you please; +only one moment." + +"I dare not call him, sir. He said that possibly some one might call for +him to-night--they are calling every night for Mr. Stanly--but I must +admit no one, on the plea of the party." + +A dark and bitter suspicion now darted through the mind of Pierre; and +ungovernably yielding to it, and resolved to prove or falsify it without +delay, he said to the black: + +"My business is pressing. I must see Mr. Stanly." + +"I am sorry, sir, but orders are orders: I am his particular servant +here--the one that sees his silver every holyday. I can't disobey him. +May I shut the door, sir? for as it is, I can not admit you." + +"The drawing-rooms are on the second floor, are they not?" said Pierre +quietly. + +"Yes," said the black pausing in surprise, and holding the door. + +"Yonder are the stairs, I think?" + +"That way, sir; but this is yours;" and the now suspicious black was +just on the point of closing the portal violently upon him, when Pierre +thrust him suddenly aside, and springing up the long stairs, found +himself facing an open door, from whence proceeded a burst of combined +brilliancy and melody, doubly confusing to one just emerged from the +street. But bewildered and all demented as he momentarily felt, he +instantly stalked in, and confounded the amazed company with his +unremoved slouched hat, pale cheek, and whole dusty, travel-stained, and +ferocious aspect. + +"Mr. Stanly! where is Mr. Stanly?" he cried, advancing straight through +a startled quadrille, while all the music suddenly hushed, and every eye +was fixed in vague affright upon him. + +"Mr. Stanly! Mr. Stanly!" cried several bladish voices, toward the +further end of the further drawing-room, into which the first one widely +opened, "Here is a most peculiar fellow after you; who the devil is he?" + +"I think I see him," replied a singularly cool, deliberate, and rather +drawling voice, yet a very silvery one, and at bottom perhaps a very +resolute one; "I think I see him; stand aside, my good fellow, will you; +ladies, remove, remove from between me and yonder hat." + +The polite compliance of the company thus addressed, now revealed to the +advancing Pierre, the tall, robust figure of a remarkably +splendid-looking, and brown-bearded young man, dressed with surprising +plainness, almost demureness, for such an occasion; but this plainness +of his dress was not so obvious at first, the material was so fine, and +admirably fitted. He was carelessly lounging in a half side-long +attitude upon a large sofa, and appeared as if but just interrupted in +some very agreeable chat with a diminutive but vivacious brunette, +occupying the other end. The dandy and the man; strength and effeminacy; +courage and indolence, were so strangely blended in this superb-eyed +youth, that at first sight, it seemed impossible to decide whether there +was any genuine mettle in him, or not. + +Some years had gone by since the cousins had met; years peculiarly +productive of the greatest conceivable changes in the general personal +aspect of human beings. Nevertheless, the eye seldom alters. The instant +their eyes met, they mutually recognized each other. But both did not +betray the recognition. + +"Glen!" cried Pierre, and paused a few steps from him. + +But the superb-eyed only settled himself lower down in his lounging +attitude, and slowly withdrawing a small, unpretending, and unribboned +glass from his vest pocket, steadily, yet not entirely insultingly, +notwithstanding the circumstances, scrutinized Pierre. Then, dropping +his glass, turned slowly round upon the gentlemen near him, saying in +the same peculiar, mixed, and musical voice as before: + +"I do not know him; it is an entire mistake; why don't the servants take +him out, and the music go on?---- As I was saying, Miss Clara, the +statues you saw in the Louvre are not to be mentioned with those in +Florence and Rome. Why, there now is that vaunted _chef d'oeuvre_, the +Fighting Gladiator of the Louvre----" + +"Fighting Gladiator it is!" yelled Pierre, leaping toward him like +Spartacus. But the savage impulse in him was restrained by the alarmed +female shrieks and wild gestures around him. As he paused, several +gentlemen made motions to pinion him; but shaking them off fiercely, he +stood erect, and isolated for an instant, and fastening his glance upon +his still reclining, and apparently unmoved cousin, thus spoke:-- + +"Glendinning Stanly, thou disown'st Pierre not so abhorrently as Pierre +does thee. By Heaven, had I a knife, Glen, I could prick thee on the +spot; let out all thy Glendinning blood, and then sew up the vile +remainder. Hound, and base blot upon the general humanity!" + +"This is very extraordinary:--remarkable case of combined imposture and +insanity; but where are the servants? why don't that black advance? Lead +him out, my good Doc, lead him out. Carefully, carefully! stay"--putting +his hand in his pocket--"there, take that, and have the poor fellow +driven off somewhere." + +Bolting his rage in him, as impossible to be sated by any conduct, in +such a place, Pierre now turned, sprang down the stairs, and fled the +house. + + +III. + +"Hack, sir? Hack, sir? Hack, sir?" + +"Cab, sir? Cab, sir? Cab, sir?" + +"This way, sir! This way, sir! This way, sir!" + +"He's a rogue! Not him! he's a rogue!" + +Pierre was surrounded by a crowd of contending hackmen, all holding long +whips in their hands; while others eagerly beckoned to him from their +boxes, where they sat elevated between their two coach-lamps like +shabby, discarded saints. The whip-stalks thickened around him, and +several reports of the cracking lashes sharply sounded in his ears. Just +bursting from a scene so goading as his interview with the scornful Glen +in the dazzling drawing-room, to Pierre, this sudden tumultuous +surrounding of him by whip-stalks and lashes, seemed like the onset of +the chastising fiends upon Orestes. But, breaking away from them, he +seized the first plated door-handle near him, and, leaping into the +hack, shouted for whoever was the keeper of it, to mount his box +forthwith and drive off in a given direction. + +The vehicle had proceeded some way down the great avenue when it +paused, and the driver demanded whither now; what place? + +"The Watch-house of the---- Ward," cried Pierre. + +"Hi! hi! Goin' to deliver himself up, hey!" grinned the fellow to +himself--"Well, that's a sort of honest, any way:--g'lang, you +dogs!--whist! whee! wha!--g'lang!" + +The sights and sounds which met the eye of Pierre on re-entering the +watch-house, filled him with inexpressible horror and fury. The before +decent, drowsy place, now fairly reeked with all things unseemly. Hardly +possible was it to tell what conceivable cause or occasion had, in the +comparatively short absence of Pierre, collected such a base +congregation. In indescribable disorder, frantic, diseased-looking men +and women of all colors, and in all imaginable flaunting, immodest, +grotesque, and shattered dresses, were leaping, yelling, and cursing +around him. The torn Madras handkerchiefs of negresses, and the red +gowns of yellow girls, hanging in tatters from their naked bosoms, mixed +with the rent dresses of deep-rouged white women, and the split coats, +checkered vests, and protruding shirts of pale, or whiskered, or +haggard, or mustached fellows of all nations, some of whom seemed scared +from their beds, and others seemingly arrested in the midst of some +crazy and wanton dance. On all sides, were heard drunken male and female +voices, in English, French, Spanish, and Portuguese, interlarded now and +then, with the foulest of all human lingoes, that dialect of sin and +death, known as the Cant language, or the Flash. + +Running among this combined babel of persons and voices, several of the +police were vainly striving to still the tumult; while others were busy +handcuffing the more desperate; and here and there the distracted +wretches, both men and women, gave downright battle to the officers; and +still others already handcuffed struck out at them with their joined +ironed arms. Meanwhile, words and phrases unrepeatable in God's +sunlight, and whose very existence was utterly unknown, and undreamed +of by tens of thousands of the decent people of the city; syllables +obscene and accursed were shouted forth in tones plainly evincing that +they were the common household breath of their utterers. The +thieves'-quarters, and all the brothels, Lock-and-Sin hospitals for +incurables, and infirmaries and infernoes of hell seemed to have made +one combined sortie, and poured out upon earth through the vile vomitory +of some unmentionable cellar. + +Though the hitherto imperfect and casual city experiences of Pierre illy +fitted him entirely to comprehend the specific purport of this terrific +spectacle; still he knew enough by hearsay of the more infamous life of +the town, to imagine from whence, and who, were the objects before him. +But all his consciousness at the time was absorbed by the one horrified +thought of Isabel and Delly, forced to witness a sight hardly endurable +for Pierre himself; or, possibly, sucked into the tumult, and in close +personal contact with its loathsomeness. Rushing into the crowd, +regardless of the random blows and curses he encountered, he wildly +sought for Isabel, and soon descried her struggling from the delirious +reaching arms of a half-clad reeling whiskerando. With an immense blow +of his mailed fist, he sent the wretch humming, and seizing Isabel, +cried out to two officers near, to clear a path for him to the door. +They did so. And in a few minutes the panting Isabel was safe in the +open air. He would have stayed by her, but she conjured him to return +for Delly, exposed to worse insults than herself. An additional posse of +officers now approaching, Pierre committing her to the care of one of +them, and summoning two others to join himself, now re-entered the room. +In another quarter of it, he saw Delly seized on each hand by two +bleared and half-bloody women, who with fiendish grimaces were +ironically twitting her upon her close-necked dress, and had already +stript her handkerchief from her. She uttered a cry of mixed anguish +and joy at the sight of him; and Pierre soon succeeded in returning with +her to Isabel. + +During the absence of Pierre in quest of the hack, and while Isabel and +Delly were quietly awaiting his return, the door had suddenly burst +open, and a detachment of the police drove in, and caged, the entire +miscellaneous night-occupants of a notorious stew, which they had +stormed and carried during the height of some outrageous orgie. The +first sight of the interior of the watch-house, and their being so +quickly huddled together within its four blank walls, had suddenly +lashed the mob into frenzy; so that for the time, oblivious of all other +considerations, the entire force of the police was directed to the +quelling of the in-door riot; and consequently, abandoned to their own +protection, Isabel and Delly had been temporarily left to its mercy. + +It was no time for Pierre to manifest his indignation at the +officer--even if he could now find him--who had thus falsified his +individual pledge concerning the precious charge committed to him. Nor +was it any time to distress himself about his luggage, still somewhere +within. Quitting all, he thrust the bewildered and half-lifeless girls +into the waiting hack, which, by his orders, drove back in the direction +of the stand, where Pierre had first taken it up. + +When the coach had rolled them well away from the tumult, Pierre stopped +it, and said to the man, that he desired to be taken to the nearest +respectable hotel or boarding-house of any kind, that he knew of. The +fellow--maliciously diverted by what had happened thus far--made some +ambiguous and rudely merry rejoinder. But warned by his previous rash +quarrel with the stage-driver, Pierre passed this unnoticed, and in a +controlled, calm, decided manner repeated his directions. + +The issue was, that after a rather roundabout drive they drew up in a +very respectable side-street, before a large respectable-looking house, +illuminated by two tall white lights flanking its portico. Pierre was +glad to notice some little remaining stir within, spite of the +comparative lateness of the hour. A bare-headed, tidily-dressed, and +very intelligent-looking man, with a broom clothes-brush in his hand, +appearing, scrutinized him rather sharply at first; but as Pierre +advanced further into the light, and his countenance became visible, the +man, assuming a respectful but still slightly perplexed air, invited the +whole party into a closely adjoining parlor, whose disordered chairs and +general dustiness, evinced that after a day's activity it now awaited +the morning offices of the housemaids. + +"Baggage, sir?" + +"I have left my baggage at another place," said Pierre, "I shall send +for it to-morrow." + +"Ah!" exclaimed the very intelligent-looking man, rather dubiously, +"shall I discharge the hack, then?" + +"Stay," said Pierre, bethinking him, that it would be well not to let +the man know from whence they had last come, "I will discharge it +myself, thank you." + +So returning to the sidewalk, without debate, he paid the hackman an +exorbitant fare, who, anxious to secure such illegal gains beyond all +hope of recovery, quickly mounted his box and drove off at a gallop. + +"Will you step into the office, sir, now?" said the man, slightly +flourishing with his brush--"this way, sir, if you please." + +Pierre followed him, into an almost deserted, dimly lit room with a +stand in it. Going behind the stand, the man turned round to him a large +ledger-like book, thickly inscribed with names, like any directory, and +offered him a pen ready dipped in ink. + +Understanding the general hint, though secretly irritated at something +in the manner of the man, Pierre drew the book to him, and wrote in a +firm hand, at the bottom of the last-named column,-- + +"Mr. and Mrs. Pierre Glendinning, and Miss Ulver." + +The man glanced at the writing inquiringly, and then said--"The other +column, sir--where from." + +"True," said Pierre, and wrote "Saddle Meadows." + +The very intelligent-looking man re-examined the page, and then slowly +stroking his shaven chin, with a fork, made of his thumb for one tine, +and his united four fingers for the other, said softly and +whisperingly--"Anywheres in this country, sir?" + +"Yes, in the country," said Pierre, evasively, and bridling his ire. +"But now show me to two chambers, will you; the one for myself and wife, +I desire to have opening into another, a third one, never mind how +small; but I must have a dressing-room." + +"Dressing-room," repeated the man, in an ironically deliberative +voice--"Dressing-room;--Hem!--You will have your luggage taken into the +dressing-room, then, I suppose.--Oh, I forgot--your luggage aint come +yet--ah, yes, yes, yes--luggage is coming to-morrow--Oh, yes, +yes,--certainly--to-morrow--of course. By the way, sir; I dislike to +seem at all uncivil, and I am sure you will not deem me so; but--" + +"Well," said Pierre, mustering all his self-command for the coming +impertinence. + +"When stranger gentlemen come to this house without luggage, we think +ourselves bound to ask them to pay their bills in advance, sir; that is +all, sir." + +"I shall stay here to-night and the whole of to-morrow, at any rate," +rejoined Pierre, thankful that this was all; "how much will it be?" and +he drew out his purse. + +The man's eyes fastened with eagerness on the purse; he looked from it +to the face of him who held it; then seemed half hesitating an instant; +then brightening up, said, with sudden suavity--"Never mind, sir, never +mind, sir; though rogues sometimes be gentlemanly; gentlemen that are +gentlemen never go abroad without their diplomas. Their diplomas are +their friends; and their only friends are their dollars; you have a +purse-full of friends.--We have chambers, sir, that will exactly suit +you, I think. Bring your ladies and I will show you up to them +immediately." So saying, dropping his brush, the very +intelligent-looking man lighted one lamp, and taking two unlighted ones +in his other hand, led the way down the dusky lead-sheeted hall, Pierre +following him with Isabel and Delly. + + + + +BOOK XVII. + +YOUNG AMERICA IN LITERATURE. + + +I. + +Among the various conflicting modes of writing history, there would seem +to be two grand practical distinctions, under which all the rest must +subordinately range. By the one mode, all contemporaneous circumstances, +facts, and events must be set down contemporaneously; by the other, they +are only to be set down as the general stream of the narrative shall +dictate; for matters which are kindred in time, may be very irrelative +in themselves. I elect neither of these; I am careless of either; both +are well enough in their way; I write precisely as I please. + +In the earlier chapters of this volume, it has somewhere been passingly +intimated, that Pierre was not only a reader of the poets and other fine +writers, but likewise--and what is a very different thing from the +other--a thorough allegorical understander of them, a profound emotional +sympathizer with them; in other words, Pierre himself possessed the +poetic nature; in himself absolutely, though but latently and +floatingly, possessed every whit of the imaginative wealth which he so +admired, when by vast pains-takings, and all manner of unrecompensed +agonies, systematized on the printed page. Not that as yet his young and +immature soul had been accosted by the Wonderful Mutes, and through the +vast halls of Silent Truth, had been ushered into the full, secret, +eternally inviolable Sanhedrim, where the Poetic Magi discuss, in +glorious gibberish, the Alpha and Omega of the Universe. But among the +beautiful imaginings of the second and third degree of poets, he freely +and comprehendingly ranged. + +But it still remains to be said, that Pierre himself had written many a +fugitive thing, which had brought him, not only vast credit and +compliments from his more immediate acquaintances, but the less partial +applauses of the always intelligent, and extremely discriminating +public. In short, Pierre had frequently done that, which many other boys +have done--published. Not in the imposing form of a book, but in the +more modest and becoming way of occasional contributions to magazines +and other polite periodicals. His magnificent and victorious _debut_ had +been made in that delightful love-sonnet, entitled "The Tropical +Summer." Not only the public had applauded his gemmed little sketches of +thought and fancy, whether in poetry or prose; but the high and mighty +Campbell clan of editors of all sorts had bestowed upon him those +generous commendations, which, with one instantaneous glance, they had +immediately perceived was his due. They spoke in high terms of his +surprising command of language; they begged to express their wonder at +his euphonious construction of sentences; they regarded with reverence +the pervading symmetry of his general style. But transcending even this +profound insight into the deep merits of Pierre, they looked infinitely +beyond, and confessed their complete inability to restrain their +unqualified admiration for the highly judicious smoothness and +genteelness of the sentiments and fancies expressed. "This writer," said +one,--in an ungovernable burst of admiring fury--"is characterized +throughout by Perfect Taste." Another, after endorsingly quoting that +sapient, suppressed maxim of Dr. Goldsmith's, which asserts that +whatever is new is false, went on to apply it to the excellent +productions before him; concluding with this: "He has translated the +unruffled gentleman from the drawing-room into the general levee of +letters; he never permits himself to astonish; is never betrayed into +any thing coarse or new; as assured that whatever astonishes is vulgar, +and whatever is new must be crude. Yes, it is the glory of this +admirable young author, that vulgarity and vigor--two inseparable +adjuncts--are equally removed from him." + +A third, perorated a long and beautifully written review, by the bold +and startling announcement--"This writer is unquestionably a highly +respectable youth." + +Nor had the editors of various moral and religious periodicals failed to +render the tribute of their severer appreciation, and more enviable, +because more chary applause. A renowned clerical and philological +conductor of a weekly publication of this kind, whose surprising +proficiency in the Greek, Hebrew, and Chaldaic, to which he had devoted +by far the greater part of his life, peculiarly fitted him to pronounce +unerring judgment upon works of taste in the English, had unhesitatingly +delivered himself thus:--"He is blameless in morals, and harmless +throughout." Another, had unhesitatingly recommended his effusions to +the family-circle. A third, had no reserve in saying, that the +predominant end and aim of this author was evangelical piety. + +A mind less naturally strong than Pierre's might well have been hurried +into vast self-complacency, by such eulogy as this, especially as there +could be no possible doubt, that the primitive verdict pronounced by the +editors was irreversible, except in the highly improbable event of the +near approach of the Millennium, which might establish a different +dynasty of taste, and possibly eject the editors. It is true, that in +view of the general practical vagueness of these panegyrics, and the +circumstance that, in essence, they were all somehow of the prudently +indecisive sort; and, considering that they were panegyrics, and nothing +but panegyrics, without any thing analytical about them; an elderly +friend of a literary turn, had made bold to say to our hero--"Pierre, +this is very high praise, I grant, and you are a surprisingly young +author to receive it; but I do not see any criticisms as yet." + +"Criticisms?" cried Pierre, in amazement; "why, sir, they are all +criticisms! I am the idol of the critics!" + +"Ah!" sighed the elderly friend, as if suddenly reminded that that was +true after all--"Ah!" and went on with his inoffensive, non-committal +cigar. + +Nevertheless, thanks to the editors, such at last became the popular +literary enthusiasm in behalf of Pierre, that two young men, recently +abandoning the ignoble pursuit of tailoring for the more honorable trade +of the publisher (probably with an economical view of working up in +books, the linen and cotton shreds of the cutter's counter, after having +been subjected to the action of the paper-mill), had on the daintiest +scolloped-edged paper, and in the neatest possible, and fine-needle-work +hand, addressed him a letter, couched in the following terms; the +general style of which letter will sufficiently evince that, +though--thanks to the manufacturer--their linen and cotton shreds may +have been very completely transmuted into paper, yet the cutters +themselves were not yet entirely out of the metamorphosing mill. + + + "Hon. Pierre Glendinning, + "Revered Sir, + + "The fine cut, the judicious fit of your productions fill us with + amazement. The fabric is excellent--the finest broadcloth of + genius. We have just started in business. Your + pantaloons--productions, we mean--have never yet been collected. + They should be published in the Library form. The tailors--we mean + the librarians, demand it. Your fame is now in its finest nap. + Now--before the gloss is off--now is the time for the library form. + We have recently received an invoice of Chamois---- Russia + leather. The library form should be a durable form. We respectfully + offer to dress your amazing productions in the library form. If you + please, we will transmit you a sample of the cloth---- we mean a + sample-page, with a pattern of the leather. We are ready to give + you one tenth of the profits (less discount) for the privilege of + arraying your wonderful productions in the library form:--you + cashing the seamstresses'---- printer's and binder's bills on the + day of publication. An answer at your earliest convenience will + greatly oblige,-- + + "Sir, your most obsequious servants, + + "WONDER & WEN." + +"P. S.--We respectfully submit the enclosed block---- sheet, as some +earnest of our intentions to do every thing in your behalf possible to +any firm in the trade. + +"N. B.--If the list does not comprise all your illustrious wardrobe---- +works, we mean----, we shall exceedingly regret it. We have hunted +through all the drawers---- magazines. + +"Sample of a coat---- title for the works of Glendinning: + + THE + COMPLETE WORKS + OF + GLENDINNING, + + AUTHOR OF + _That world-famed production_, "_The Tropical Summer: a Sonnet._" + "_The Weather: a Thought._" "_Life: an Impromptu._" "_The + late Reverend Mark Graceman: an Obituary._" "_Honor: + a Stanza._" "_Beauty: an Acrostic._" "_Edgar: + an Anagram._" "_The Pippin: a Paragraph._" + _&c. &c. &c. &c. + &c. &c. &c. + &c. &c. + &c._" + + P + +From a designer, Pierre had received the following: + + "Sir: I approach you with unfeigned trepidation. For though you are + young in age, you are old in fame and ability. I can not express to + you my ardent admiration of your works; nor can I but deeply regret + that the productions of such graphic descriptive power, should be + unaccompanied by the humbler illustrative labors of the designer. + My services in this line are entirely at your command. I need not + say how proud I should be, if this hint, on my part, however + presuming, should induce you to reply in terms upon which I could + found the hope of honoring myself and my profession by a few + designs for the works of the illustrious Glendinning. But the + cursory mention of your name here fills me with such swelling + emotions, that I can say nothing more. I would only add, however, + that not being at all connected with the Trade, my business + situation unpleasantly forces me to make cash down on delivery of + each design, the basis of all my professional arrangements. Your + noble soul, however, would disdain to suppose, that this sordid + necessity, in my merely business concerns, could ever impair---- + + "That profound private veneration and admiration + With which I unmercenarily am, + Great and good Glendinning, + Yours most humbly, + PETER PENCE." + + +II. + +These were stirring letters. The Library Form! an Illustrated Edition! +His whole heart swelled. + +But unfortunately it occurred to Pierre, that as all his writings were +not only fugitive, but if put together could not possibly fill more than +a very small duodecimo; therefore the Library Edition seemed a little +premature, perhaps; possibly, in a slight degree, preposterous. Then, as +they were chiefly made up of little sonnets, brief meditative poems, and +moral essays, the matter for the designer ran some small risk of being +but meager. In his inexperience, he did not know that such was the great +height of invention to which the designer's art had been carried, that +certain gentlemen of that profession had gone to an eminent +publishing-house with overtures for an illustrated edition of "Coke upon +Lyttleton." Even the City Directory was beautifully illustrated with +exquisite engravings of bricks, tongs, and flat-irons. + +Concerning the draught for the title-page, it must be confessed, that on +seeing the imposing enumeration of his titles--long and magnificent as +those preceding the proclamations of some German Prince ("_Hereditary +Lord of the back-yard of Crantz Jacobi; Undoubted Proprietor by Seizure +of the bedstead of the late Widow Van Lorn; Heir Apparent to the +Bankrupt Bakery of Fletz and Flitz; Residuary Legatee of the Confiscated +Pin-Money of the Late Dowager Dunker; &c. &c. &c._") Pierre could not +entirely repress a momentary feeling of elation. Yet did he also bow low +under the weight of his own ponderosity, as the author of such a vast +load of literature. It occasioned him some slight misgivings, however, +when he considered, that already in his eighteenth year, his title-page +should so immensely surpass in voluminous statisticals the simple page, +which in his father's edition prefixed the vast speculations of Plato. +Still, he comforted himself with the thought, that as he could not +presume to interfere with the bill-stickers of the Gazelle Magazine, who +every month covered the walls of the city with gigantic announcements of +his name among the other contributors; so neither could he now--in the +highly improbable event of closing with the offer of Messrs. Wonder and +Wen--presume to interfere with the bill-sticking department of their +business concern; for it was plain that they esteemed one's title-page +but another unwindowed wall, infinitely more available than most walls, +since here was at least one spot in the city where no rival +bill-stickers dared to encroach. Nevertheless, resolved as he was to let +all such bill-sticking matters take care of themselves, he was sensible +of some coy inclination toward that modest method of certain kid-gloved +and dainty authors, who scorning the vulgarity of a sounding parade, +contented themselves with simply subscribing their name to the +title-page; as confident, that that was sufficient guarantee to the +notice of all true gentlemen of taste. It was for petty German princes +to sound their prolonged titular flourishes. The Czar of Russia +contented himself with putting the simple word "NICHOLAS" to his +loftiest decrees. + +This train of thought terminated at last in various considerations upon +the subject of anonymousness in authorship. He regretted that he had not +started his literary career under that mask. At present, it might be too +late; already the whole universe knew him, and it was in vain at this +late day to attempt to hood himself. But when he considered the +essential dignity and propriety at all points, of the inviolably +anonymous method, he could not but feel the sincerest sympathy for those +unfortunate fellows, who, not only naturally averse to any sort of +publicity, but progressively ashamed of their own successive +productions--written chiefly for the merest cash--were yet cruelly +coerced into sounding title-pages by sundry baker's and butcher's bills, +and other financial considerations; inasmuch as the placard of the +title-page indubitably must assist the publisher in his sales. + +But perhaps the ruling, though not altogether conscious motive of Pierre +in finally declining--as he did--the services of Messrs. Wonder and Wen, +those eager applicants for the privilege of extending and solidifying +his fame, arose from the idea that being at this time not very far +advanced in years, the probability was, that his future productions +might at least equal, if not surpass, in some small degree, those +already given to the world. He resolved to wait for his literary +canonization until he should at least have outgrown the sophomorean +insinuation of the Law; which, with a singular affectation of benignity, +pronounced him an "infant." His modesty obscured from him the +circumstance, that the greatest lettered celebrities of the time, had, +by the divine power of genius, become full graduates in the University +of Fame, while yet as legal minors forced to go to their mammas for +pennies wherewith to keep them in peanuts. + +Not seldom Pierre's social placidity was ruffled by polite entreaties +from the young ladies that he would be pleased to grace their Albums +with some nice little song. We say that here his social placidity was +ruffled; for the true charm of agreeable parlor society is, that there +you lose your own sharp individuality and become delightfully merged in +that soft social Pantheism, as it were, that rosy melting of all into +one, ever prevailing in those drawing-rooms, which pacifically and +deliciously belie their own name; inasmuch as there no one draws the +sword of his own individuality, but all such ugly weapons are left--as +of old--with your hat and cane in the hall. It was very awkward to +decline the albums; but somehow it was still worse, and peculiarly +distasteful for Pierre to comply. With equal justice apparently, you +might either have called this his weakness or his idiosyncrasy. He +summoned all his suavity, and refused. And the refusal of +Pierre--according to Miss Angelica Amabilia of Ambleside--was sweeter +than the compliance of others. But then--prior to the proffer of her +album--in a copse at Ambleside, Pierre in a gallant whim had in the +lady's own presence voluntarily carved Miss Angelica's initials upon the +bark of a beautiful maple. But all young ladies are not Miss Angelicas. +Blandly denied in the parlor, they courted repulse in the study. In +lovely envelopes they dispatched their albums to Pierre, not omitting +to drop a little attar-of-rose in the palm of the domestic who carried +them. While now Pierre--pushed to the wall in his +gallantry--shilly-shallied as to what he must do, the awaiting albums +multiplied upon him; and by-and-by monopolized an entire shelf in his +chamber; so that while their combined ornate bindings fairly dazzled his +eyes, their excessive redolence all but made him to faint, though +indeed, in moderation, he was very partial to perfumes. So that of +really chilly afternoons, he was still obliged to drop the upper sashes +a few inches. + +The simplest of all things it is to write in a lady's album. But Cui +Bono? Is there such a dearth of printed reading, that the monkish times +must be revived, and ladies books be in manuscript? What could Pierre +write of his own on Love or any thing else, that would surpass what +divine Hafiz wrote so many long centuries ago? Was there not Anacreon +too, and Catullus, and Ovid--all translated, and readily accessible? And +then--bless all their souls!--had the dear creatures forgotten Tom +Moore? But the handwriting, Pierre,--they want the sight of your hand. +Well, thought Pierre, actual feeling is better than transmitted sight, +any day. I will give them the actual feeling of my hand, as much as they +want. And lips are still better than hands. Let them send their sweet +faces to me, and I will kiss _lipographs_ upon them forever and a day. +This was a felicitous idea. He called Dates, and had the albums carried +down by the basket-full into the dining-room. He opened and spread them +all out upon the extension-table there; then, modeling himself by the +Pope, when His Holiness collectively blesses long crates of rosaries--he +waved one devout kiss to the albums; and summoning three servants sent +the albums all home, with his best compliments, accompanied with a +confectioner's _kiss_ for each album, rolled up in the most ethereal +tissue. + +From various quarters of the land, both town and country, and +especially during the preliminary season of autumn, Pierre received +various pressing invitations to lecture before Lyceums, Young Men's +Associations, and other Literary and Scientific Societies. The letters +conveying these invitations possessed quite an imposing and most +flattering aspect to the unsophisticated Pierre. One was as follows:-- + + "_Urquhartian Club for the Immediate Extension of the Limits of all + Knowledge, both Human and Divine._ + + "ZADOCKPRATTSVILLE, + "_June 11th, 18--_. + + "_Author of the 'Tropical Summer,' &c._ + "HONORED AND DEAR SIR:-- + + "Official duty and private inclination in this present case most + delightfully blend. What was the ardent desire of my heart, has now + by the action of the _Committee on Lectures_ become professionally + obligatory upon me. As Chairman of our _Committee on Lectures_, I + hereby beg the privilege of entreating that you will honor this + Society by lecturing before it on any subject you may choose, and + at any day most convenient to yourself. The subject of Human + Destiny we would respectfully suggest, without however at all + wishing to impede you in your own unbiased selection. + + "If you honor us by complying with this invitation, be assured, + sir, that the Committee on Lectures will take the best care of you + throughout your stay, and endeavor to make Zadockprattsville + agreeable to you. A carriage will be in attendance at the + Stage-house to convey yourself and luggage to the Inn, under full + escort of the _Committee on Lectures_, with the Chairman at their + head. + + "Permit me to join my private homage + To my high official consideration for you, + And to subscribe myself + Very humbly your servant, + DONALD DUNDONALD." + + +III. + +But it was more especially the Lecture invitations coming from +venerable, gray-headed metropolitan Societies, and indited by venerable +gray-headed Secretaries, which far from elating filled the youthful +Pierre with the sincerest sense of humility. Lecture? lecture? such a +stripling as I lecture to fifty benches, with ten gray heads on each? +five hundred gray heads in all! Shall my one, poor, inexperienced brain +presume to lay down the law in a lecture to five hundred life-ripened +understandings? It seemed too absurd for thought. Yet the five hundred, +through their spokesman, had voluntarily extended this identical +invitation to him. Then how could it be otherwise, than that an +incipient Timonism should slide into Pierre, when he considered all the +disgraceful inferences to be derived from such a fact. He called to +mind, how that once upon a time, during a visit of his to the city, the +police were called out to quell a portentous riot, occasioned by the +vast press and contention for seats at the first lecture of an +illustrious lad of nineteen, the author of "A Week at Coney Island." + +It is needless to say that Pierre most conscientiously and respectfully +declined all polite overtures of this sort. + +Similar disenchantments of his cooler judgment did likewise deprive of +their full lusciousness several other equally marked demonstrations of +his literary celebrity. Applications for autographs showered in upon +him; but in sometimes humorously gratifying the more urgent requests of +these singular people Pierre could not but feel a pang of regret, that +owing to the very youthful and quite unformed character of his +handwriting, his signature did not possess that inflexible uniformity, +which--for mere prudential reasons, if nothing more--should always mark +the hand of illustrious men. His heart thrilled with sympathetic anguish +for posterity, which would be certain to stand hopelessly perplexed +before so many contradictory signatures of one supereminent name. Alas! +posterity would be sure to conclude that they were forgeries all; that +no chirographic relic of the sublime poet Glendinning survived to their +miserable times. + +From the proprietors of the Magazines whose pages were honored by his +effusions, he received very pressing epistolary solicitations for the +loan of his portrait in oil, in order to take an engraving therefrom, +for a frontispiece to their periodicals. But here again the most +melancholy considerations obtruded. It had always been one of the lesser +ambitions of Pierre, to sport a flowing beard, which he deemed the most +noble corporeal badge of the man, not to speak of the illustrious +author. But as yet he was beardless; and no cunning compound of Rowland +and Son could force a beard which should arrive at maturity in any +reasonable time for the frontispiece. Besides, his boyish features and +whole expression were daily changing. Would he lend his authority to +this unprincipled imposture upon Posterity? Honor forbade. + +These epistolary petitions were generally couched in an elaborately +respectful style; thereby intimating with what deep reverence his +portrait would be handled, while unavoidably subjected to the discipline +indispensable to obtain from it the engraved copy they prayed for. But +one or two of the persons who made occasional oral requisitions upon him +in this matter of his engraved portrait, seemed less regardful of the +inherent respect due to every man's portrait, much more, to that of a +genius so celebrated as Pierre. They did not even seem to remember that +the portrait of any man generally receives, and indeed is entitled to +more reverence than the original man himself; since one may freely clap +a celebrated friend on the shoulder, yet would by no means tweak his +nose in his portrait. The reason whereof may be this: that the portrait +is better entitled to reverence than the man; inasmuch as nothing +belittling can be imagined concerning the portrait, whereas many +unavoidably belittling things can be fancied as touching the man. + +Upon one occasion, happening suddenly to encounter a literary +acquaintance--a joint editor of the "Captain Kidd Monthly"--who suddenly +popped upon him round a corner, Pierre was startled by a +rapid--"Good-morning, good-morning;--just the man I wanted:--come, step +round now with me, and have your Daguerreotype taken;--get it engraved +then in no time;--want it for the next issue." + +So saying, this chief mate of Captain Kidd seized Pierre's arm, and in +the most vigorous manner was walking him off, like an officer a +pickpocket, when Pierre civilly said--"Pray, sir, hold, if you please, I +shall do no such thing."--"Pooh, pooh--must have it--public +property--come along--only a door or two now."--"Public property!" +rejoined Pierre, "that may do very well for the 'Captain Kidd +Monthly;'--it's very Captain Kiddish to say so. But I beg to repeat that +I do not intend to accede."--"Don't? Really?" cried the other, amazedly +staring Pierre full in the countenance;--"why bless your soul, _my_ +portrait is published--long ago published!"--"Can't help that, +sir"--said Pierre. "Oh! come along, come along," and the chief mate +seized him again with the most uncompunctious familiarity by the arm. +Though the sweetest-tempered youth in the world when but decently +treated, Pierre had an ugly devil in him sometimes, very apt to be +evoked by the personal profaneness of gentlemen of the Captain Kidd +school of literature. "Look you, my good fellow," said he, submitting to +his impartial inspection a determinately double fist,--"drop my arm +now--or I'll drop you. To the devil with you and your Daguerreotype!" + +This incident, suggestive as it was at the time, in the sequel had a +surprising effect upon Pierre. For he considered with what infinite +readiness now, the most faithful portrait of any one could be taken by +the Daguerreotype, whereas in former times a faithful portrait was only +within the power of the moneyed, or mental aristocrats of the earth. How +natural then the inference, that instead, as in old times, immortalizing +a genius, a portrait now only _dayalized_ a dunce. Besides, when every +body has his portrait published, true distinction lies in not having +yours published at all. For if you are published along with Tom, Dick, +and Harry, and wear a coat of their cut, how then are you distinct from +Tom, Dick, and Harry? Therefore, even so miserable a motive as downright +personal vanity helped to operate in this matter with Pierre. + +Some zealous lovers of the general literature of the age, as well as +declared devotees to his own great genius, frequently petitioned him for +the materials wherewith to frame his biography. They assured him, that +life of all things was most insecure. He might feel many years in him +yet; time might go lightly by him; but in any sudden and fatal sickness, +how would his last hours be embittered by the thought, that he was about +to depart forever, leaving the world utterly unprovided with the +knowledge of what were the precise texture and hue of the first trowsers +he wore. These representations did certainly touch him in a very tender +spot, not previously unknown to the schoolmaster. But when Pierre +considered, that owing to his extreme youth, his own recollections of +the past soon merged into all manner of half-memories and a general +vagueness, he could not find it in his conscience to present such +materials to the impatient biographers, especially as his chief +verifying authority in these matters of his past career, was now +eternally departed beyond all human appeal. His excellent nurse Clarissa +had been dead four years and more. In vain a young literary friend, the +well-known author of two Indexes and one Epic, to whom the subject +happened to be mentioned, warmly espoused the cause of the distressed +biographers; saying that however unpleasant, one must needs pay the +penalty of celebrity; it was no use to stand back; and concluded by +taking from the crown of his hat the proof-sheets of his own biography, +which, with the most thoughtful consideration for the masses, was +shortly to be published in the pamphlet form, price only a shilling. + +It only the more bewildered and pained him, when still other and less +delicate applicants sent him their regularly printed +_Biographico-Solicito Circulars_, with his name written in ink; begging +him to honor them and the world with a neat draft of his life, including +criticisms on his own writings; the printed circular indiscriminately +protesting, that undoubtedly he knew more of his own life than any other +living man; and that only he who had put together the great works of +Glendinning could be fully qualified thoroughly to analyze them, and +cast the ultimate judgment upon their remarkable construction. + +Now, it was under the influence of the humiliating emotions engendered +by things like the above; it was when thus haunted by publishers, +engravers, editors, critics, autograph-collectors, portrait-fanciers, +biographers, and petitioning and remonstrating literary friends of all +sorts; it was then, that there stole into the youthful soul of Pierre, +melancholy forebodings of the utter unsatisfactoriness of all human +fame; since the most ardent profferings of the most martyrizing +demonstrations in his behalf,--these he was sorrowfully obliged to turn +away. + +And it may well be believed, that after the wonderful vital +world-revelation so suddenly made to Pierre at the Meadows--a revelation +which, at moments, in some certain things, fairly Timonized him--he had +not failed to clutch with peculiar nervous detestation and contempt that +ample parcel, containing the letters of his Biographico and other silly +correspondents, which, in a less ferocious hour, he had filed away as +curiosities. It was with an almost infernal grin, that he saw that +particular heap of rubbish eternally quenched in the fire, and felt +that as it was consumed before his eyes, so in his soul was forever +killed the last and minutest undeveloped microscopic germ of that most +despicable vanity to which those absurd correspondents thought to +appeal. + + + + +BOOK XVIII. + +PIERRE, AS A JUVENILE AUTHOR, RECONSIDERED. + + +I. + +Inasmuch as by various indirect intimations much more than ordinary +natural genius has been imputed to Pierre, it may have seemed an +inconsistency, that only the merest magazine papers should have been +thus far the sole productions of his mind. Nor need it be added, that, +in the soberest earnest, those papers contained nothing uncommon; +indeed--entirely now to drop all irony, if hitherto any thing like that +has been indulged in--those fugitive things of Master Pierre's were the +veriest common-place. + +It is true, as I long before said, that Nature at Saddle Meadows had +very early been as a benediction to Pierre;--had blown her wind-clarion +to him from the blue hills, and murmured melodious secrecies to him by +her streams and her woods. But while nature thus very early and very +abundantly feeds us, she is very late in tutoring us as to the proper +methodization of our diet. Or,--to change the metaphor,--there are +immense quarries of fine marble; but how to get it out; how to chisel +it; how to construct any temple? Youth must wholly quit, then, the +quarry, for awhile; and not only go forth, and get tools to use in the +quarry, but must go and thoroughly study architecture. Now the +quarry-discoverer is long before the stone-cutter; and the stone-cutter +is long before the architect; and the architect is long before the +temple; for the temple is the crown of the world. + +Yes; Pierre was not only very unarchitectural at that time, but Pierre +was very young, indeed, at that time. And it is often to be observed, +that as in digging for precious metals in the mines, much earthy rubbish +has first to be troublesomely handled and thrown out; so, in digging in +one's soul for the fine gold of genius, much dullness and common-place +is first brought to light. Happy would it be, if the man possessed in +himself some receptacle for his own rubbish of this sort: but he is like +the occupant of a dwelling, whose refuse can not be clapped into his own +cellar, but must be deposited in the street before his own door, for the +public functionaries to take care of. No common-place is ever +effectually got rid of, except by essentially emptying one's self of it +into a book; for once trapped in a book, then the book can be put into +the fire, and all will be well. But they are not always put into the +fire; and this accounts for the vast majority of miserable books over +those of positive merit. Nor will any thoroughly sincere man, who is an +author, ever be rash in precisely defining the period, when he has +completely ridded himself of his rubbish, and come to the latent gold in +his mine. It holds true, in every case, that the wiser a man is, the +more misgivings he has on certain points. + +It is well enough known, that the best productions of the best human +intellects, are generally regarded by those intellects as mere immature +freshman exercises, wholly worthless in themselves, except as +initiatives for entering the great University of God after death. +Certain it is, that if any inferences can be drawn from observations of +the familiar lives of men of the greatest mark, their finest things, +those which become the foolish glory of the world, are not only very +poor and inconsiderable to themselves, but often positively distasteful; +they would rather not have the book in the room. In minds comparatively +inferior as compared with the above, these surmising considerations so +sadden and unfit, that they become careless of what they write; go to +their desks with discontent, and only remain there--victims to headache, +and pain in the back--by the hard constraint of some social necessity. +Equally paltry and despicable to them, are the works thus composed; born +of unwillingness and the bill of the baker; the rickety offspring of a +parent, careless of life herself, and reckless of the germ-life she +contains. Let not the short-sighted world for a moment imagine, that any +vanity lurks in such minds; only hired to appear on the stage, not +voluntarily claiming the public attention; their utmost life-redness and +glow is but rouge, washed off in private with bitterest tears; their +laugh only rings because it is hollow; and the answering laugh is no +laughter to them. + +There is nothing so slipperily alluring as sadness; we become sad in the +first place by having nothing stirring to do; we continue in it, because +we have found a snug sofa at last. Even so, it may possibly be, that +arrived at this quiet retrospective little episode in the career of my +hero--this shallowly expansive embayed Tappan Zee of my otherwise +deep-heady Hudson--I too begin to loungingly expand, and wax harmlessly +sad and sentimental. + +Now, what has been hitherto presented in reference to Pierre, concerning +rubbish, as in some cases the unavoidable first-fruits of genius, is in +no wise contradicted by the fact, that the first published works of many +meritorious authors have given mature token of genius; for we do not +know how many they previously published to the flames; or privately +published in their own brains, and suppressed there as quickly. And in +the inferior instances of an immediate literary success, in very young +writers, it will be almost invariably observable, that for that instant +success they were chiefly indebted to some rich and peculiar experience +in life, embodied in a book, which because, for that cause, containing +original matter, the author himself, forsooth, is to be considered +original; in this way, many very original books, being the product of +very unoriginal minds. Indeed, man has only to be but a little +circumspect, and away flies the last rag of his vanity. The world is +forever babbling of originality; but there never yet was an original +man, in the sense intended by the world; the first man himself--who +according to the Rabbins was also the first author--not being an +original; the only original author being God. Had Milton's been the lot +of Caspar Hauser, Milton would have been vacant as he. For though the +naked soul of man doth assuredly contain one latent element of +intellectual productiveness; yet never was there a child born solely +from one parent; the visible world of experience being that procreative +thing which impregnates the muses; self-reciprocally efficient +hermaphrodites being but a fable. + +There is infinite nonsense in the world on all of these matters; hence +blame me not if I contribute my mite. It is impossible to talk or to +write without apparently throwing oneself helplessly open; the +Invulnerable Knight wears his visor down. Still, it is pleasant to chat; +for it passes the time ere we go to our beds; and speech is farther +incited, when like strolling improvisatores of Italy, we are paid for +our breath. And we are only too thankful when the gapes of the audience +dismiss us with the few ducats we earn. + + +II. + +It may have been already inferred, that the pecuniary plans of Pierre +touching his independent means of support in the city were based upon +his presumed literary capabilities. For what else could he do? He knew +no profession, no trade. Glad now perhaps might he have been, if Fate +had made him a blacksmith, and not a gentleman, a Glendinning, and a +genius. But here he would have been unpardonably rash, had he not +already, in some degree, actually tested the fact, in his own personal +experience, that it is not altogether impossible for a magazine +contributor to Juvenile American literature to receive a few pence in +exchange for his ditties. Such cases stand upon imperishable record, and +it were both folly and ingratitude to disown them. + +But since the fine social position and noble patrimony of Pierre, had +thus far rendered it altogether unnecessary for him to earn the least +farthing of his own in the world, whether by hand or by brain; it may +seem desirable to explain a little here as we go. We shall do so, but +always including, the preamble. + +Sometimes every possible maxim or thought seems an old one; yet it is +among the elder of the things in that unaugmentable stock, that never +mind what one's situation may be, however prosperous and happy, he will +still be impatient of it; he will still reach out of himself, and beyond +every present condition. So, while many a poor be-inked galley-slave, +toiling with the heavy oar of a quill, to gain something wherewithal to +stave off the cravings of nature; and in his hours of morbid +self-reproach, regarding his paltry wages, at all events, as an +unavoidable disgrace to him; while this galley-slave of letters would +have leaped with delight--reckless of the feeble seams of his +pantaloons--at the most distant prospect of inheriting the broad farms +of Saddle Meadows, lord of an all-sufficing income, and forever exempt +from wearing on his hands those treacherous plague-spots of +indigence--videlicet, blots from the inkstand;--Pierre himself, the +undoubted and actual possessor of the things only longingly and +hopelessly imagined by the other; the then top of Pierre's worldly +ambition, was the being able to boast that he had written such matters +as publishers would pay something for in the way of a mere business +transaction, which they thought would prove profitable. Yet altogether +weak and silly as this may seem in Pierre, let us preambillically +examine a little further, and see if it be so indeed. + +Pierre was proud; and a proud man--proud with the sort of pride now +meant--ever holds but lightly those things, however beneficent, which he +did not for himself procure. Were such pride carried out to its +legitimate end, the man would eat no bread, the seeds whereof he had not +himself put into the soil, not entirely without humiliation, that even +that seed must be borrowed from some previous planter. A proud man likes +to feel himself in himself, and not by reflection in others. He likes to +be not only his own Alpha and Omega, but to be distinctly all the +intermediate gradations, and then to slope off on his own spine either +way, into the endless impalpable ether. What a glory it was then to +Pierre, when first in his two gentlemanly hands he jingled the wages of +labor! Talk of drums and the fife; the echo of coin of one's own earning +is more inspiring than all the trumpets of Sparta. How disdainfully now +he eyed the sumptuousness of his hereditary halls--the hangings, and the +pictures, and the bragging historic armorials and the banners of the +Glendinning renown; confident, that if need should come, he would not be +forced to turn resurrectionist, and dig up his grandfather's +Indian-chief grave for the ancestral sword and shield, ignominiously to +pawn them for a living! He could live on himself. Oh, twice-blessed now, +in the feeling of practical capacity, was Pierre. + +The mechanic, the day-laborer, has but one way to live; his body must +provide for his body. But not only could Pierre in some sort, do that; +he could do the other; and letting his body stay lazily at home, send +off his soul to labor, and his soul would come faithfully back and pay +his body her wages. So, some unprofessional gentlemen of the +aristocratic South, who happen to own slaves, give those slaves liberty +to go and seek work, and every night return with their wages, which +constitute those idle gentlemen's income. Both ambidexter and +quadruple-armed is that man, who in a day-laborer's body, possesses a +day-laboring soul. Yet let not such an one be over-confident. Our God is +a jealous God; He wills not that any man should permanently possess the +least shadow of His own self-sufficient attributes. Yoke the body to the +soul, and put both to the plough, and the one or the other must in the +end assuredly drop in the furrow. Keep, then, thy body effeminate for +labor, and thy soul laboriously robust; or else thy soul effeminate for +labor, and thy body laboriously robust. Elect! the two will not +lastingly abide in one yoke. Thus over the most vigorous and soaring +conceits, doth the cloud of Truth come stealing; thus doth the shot, +even of a sixty-two-pounder pointed upward, light at last on the earth; +for strive we how we may, we can not overshoot the earth's orbit, to +receive the attractions of other planets; Earth's law of gravitation +extends far beyond her own atmosphere. + +In the operative opinion of this world, he who is already fully provided +with what is necessary for him, that man shall have more; while he who +is deplorably destitute of the same, he shall have taken away from him +even that which he hath. Yet the world vows it is a very plain, +downright matter-of-fact, plodding, humane sort of world. It is governed +only by the simplest principles, and scorns all ambiguities, all +transcendentals, and all manner of juggling. Now some imaginatively +heterodoxical men are often surprisingly twitted upon their willful +inverting of all common-sense notions, their absurd and all-displacing +transcendentals, which say three is four, and two and two make ten. But +if the eminent Jugglarius himself ever advocated in mere words a +doctrine one thousandth part so ridiculous and subversive of all +practical sense, as that doctrine which the world actually and eternally +practices, of giving unto him who already hath more than enough, still +more of the superfluous article, and taking away from him who hath +nothing at all, even that which he hath,--then is the truest book in the +world a lie. + +Wherefore we see that the so-called Transcendentalists are not the only +people who deal in Transcendentals. On the contrary, we seem to see that +the Utilitarians,--the every-day world's people themselves, far +transcend those inferior Transcendentalists by their own +incomprehensible worldly maxims. And--what is vastly more--with the one +party, their Transcendentals are but theoretic and inactive, and +therefore harmless; whereas with the other, they are actually clothed in +living deeds. + +The highly graveling doctrine and practice of the world, above cited, +had in some small degree been manifested in the case of Pierre. He +prospectively possessed the fee of several hundred farms scattered over +part of two adjoining counties; and now the proprietor of that popular +periodical, the Gazelle Magazine, sent him several additional dollars +for his sonnets. That proprietor (though in sooth, he never read the +sonnets, but referred them to his professional adviser; and was so +ignorant, that, for a long time previous to the periodical's actually +being started, he insisted upon spelling the Gazelle with a _g_ for the +_z_, as thus: _Gagelle_; maintaining, that in the Gazelle connection, +the _z_ was a mere impostor, and that the _g_ was soft; for he was a +judge of softness, and could speak from experience); that proprietor was +undoubtedly a Transcendentalist; for did he not act upon the +Transcendental doctrine previously set forth? + +Now, the dollars derived from his ditties, these Pierre had always +invested in cigars; so that the puffs which indirectly brought him his +dollars were again returned, but as perfumed puffs; perfumed with the +sweet leaf of Havanna. So that this highly-celebrated and world-renowned +Pierre--the great author--whose likeness the world had never seen (for +had he not repeatedly refused the world his likeness?), this famous +poet, and philosopher, author of "_The Tropical Summer: a Sonnet_;" +against whose very life several desperadoes were darkly plotting (for +had not the biographers sworn they would have it!); this towering +celebrity--there he would sit smoking, and smoking, mild and +self-festooned as a vapory mountain. It was very involuntarily and +satisfactorily reciprocal. His cigars were lighted in two ways: lighted +by the sale of his sonnets, and lighted by the printed sonnets +themselves. + +For even at that early time in his authorial life, Pierre, however vain +of his fame, was not at all proud of his paper. Not only did he make +allumettes of his sonnets when published, but was very careless about +his discarded manuscripts; they were to be found lying all round the +house; gave a great deal of trouble to the housemaids in sweeping; went +for kindlings to the fires; and were forever flitting out of the +windows, and under the door-sills, into the faces of people passing the +manorial mansion. In this reckless, indifferent way of his, Pierre +himself was a sort of publisher. It is true his more familiar admirers +often earnestly remonstrated with him, against this irreverence to the +primitive vestments of his immortal productions; saying, that whatever +had once felt the nib of his mighty pen, was thenceforth sacred as the +lips which had but once saluted the great toe of the Pope. But hardened +as he was to these friendly censurings, Pierre never forbade that ardent +appreciation of "The Tear," who, finding a small fragment of the +original manuscript containing a dot (_tear_), over an _i_ (_eye_), +esteemed the significant event providential; and begged the +distinguished favor of being permitted to have it for a brooch; and +ousted a cameo-head of Homer, to replace it with the more invaluable +gem. He became inconsolable, when being caught in a rain, the dot +(_tear_) disappeared from over the _i_ (_eye_); so that the strangeness +and wonderfulness of the sonnet was still conspicuous; in that though +the least fragment of it could weep in a drought, yet did it become all +tearless in a shower. + +But this indifferent and supercilious amateur--deaf to the admiration of +the world; the enigmatically merry and renowned author of "The Tear;" +the pride of the Gazelle Magazine, on whose flaunting cover his name +figured at the head of all contributors--(no small men either; for their +lives had all been fraternally written by each other, and they had +clubbed, and had their likenesses all taken by the aggregate job, and +published on paper, all bought at one shop) this high-prestiged +Pierre--whose future popularity and voluminousness had become so +startlingly announced by what he had already written, that certain +speculators came to the Meadows to survey its water-power, if any, with +a view to start a paper-mill expressly for the great author, and so +monopolize his stationery dealings;--this vast being,--spoken of with +awe by all merely youthful aspirants for fame; this age-neutralizing +Pierre;--before whom an old gentleman of sixty-five, formerly librarian +to Congress, on being introduced to him at the Magazine publishers', +devoutly took off his hat, and kept it so, and remained standing, though +Pierre was socially seated with his hat on;--this wonderful, disdainful +genius--but only life-amateur as yet--is now soon to appear in a far +different guise. He shall now learn, and very bitterly learn, that +though the world worship Mediocrity and Common Place, yet hath it fire +and sword for all cotemporary Grandeur; that though it swears that it +fiercely assails all Hypocrisy, yet hath it not always an ear for +Earnestness. + +And though this state of things, united with the ever multiplying +freshets of new books, seems inevitably to point to a coming time, when +the mass of humanity reduced to one level of dotage, authors shall be +scarce as alchymists are to-day, and the printing-press be reckoned a +small invention:--yet even now, in the foretaste of this let us hug +ourselves, oh, my Aurelian! that though the age of authors be passing, +the hours of earnestness shall remain! + + + + +BOOK XIX. + +THE CHURCH OF THE APOSTLES. + + +I. + +In the lower old-fashioned part of the city, in a narrow street--almost +a lane--once filled with demure-looking dwellings, but now chiefly with +immense lofty warehouses of foreign importers; and not far from the +corner where the lane intersected with a very considerable but +contracted thoroughfare for merchants and their clerks, and their carmen +and porters; stood at this period a rather singular and ancient edifice, +a relic of the more primitive time. The material was a grayish stone, +rudely cut and masoned into walls of surprising thickness and strength; +along two of which walls--the side ones--were distributed as many rows +of arched and stately windows. A capacious, square, and wholly +unornamented tower rose in front to twice the height of the body of the +church; three sides of this tower were pierced with small and narrow +apertures. Thus far, in its external aspect, the building--now more than +a century old,--sufficiently attested for what purpose it had originally +been founded. In its rear, was a large and lofty plain brick structure, +with its front to the rearward street, but its back presented to the +back of the church, leaving a small, flagged, and quadrangular vacancy +between. At the sides of this quadrangle, three stories of homely brick +colonnades afforded covered communication between the ancient church, +and its less elderly adjunct. A dismantled, rusted, and forlorn old +railing of iron fencing in a small courtyard in front of the rearward +building, seemed to hint, that the latter had usurped an unoccupied +space formerly sacred as the old church's burial inclosure. Such a fancy +would have been entirely true. Built when that part of the city was +devoted to private residences, and not to warehouses and offices as now, +the old Church of the Apostles had had its days of sanctification and +grace; but the tide of change and progress had rolled clean through its +broad-aisle and side-aisles, and swept by far the greater part of its +congregation two or three miles up town. Some stubborn and elderly old +merchants and accountants, lingered awhile among its dusty pews, +listening to the exhortations of a faithful old pastor, who, sticking to +his post in this flight of his congregation, still propped his +half-palsied form in the worm-eaten pulpit, and occasionally +pounded--though now with less vigorous hand--the moth-eaten covering of +its desk. But it came to pass, that this good old clergyman died; and +when the gray-headed and bald-headed remaining merchants and accountants +followed his coffin out of the broad-aisle to see it reverently +interred; then that was the last time that ever the old edifice +witnessed the departure of a regular worshiping assembly from its walls. +The venerable merchants and accountants held a meeting, at which it was +finally decided, that, hard and unwelcome as the necessity might be, yet +it was now no use to disguise the fact, that the building could no +longer be efficiently devoted to its primitive purpose. It must be +divided into stores; cut into offices; and given for a roost to the +gregarious lawyers. This intention was executed, even to the making +offices high up in the tower; and so well did the thing succeed, that +ultimately the church-yard was invaded for a supplemental edifice, +likewise to be promiscuously rented to the legal crowd. But this new +building very much exceeded the body of the church in height. It was +some seven stories; a fearful pile of Titanic bricks, lifting its tiled +roof almost to a level with the top of the sacred tower. + +In this ambitious erection the proprietors went a few steps, or rather a +few stories, too far. For as people would seldom willingly fall into +legal altercations unless the lawyers were always very handy to help +them; so it is ever an object with lawyers to have their offices as +convenient as feasible to the street; on the ground-floor, if possible, +without a single acclivity of a step; but at any rate not in the seventh +story of any house, where their clients might be deterred from employing +them at all, if they were compelled to mount seven long flights of +stairs, one over the other, with very brief landings, in order even to +pay their preliminary retaining fees. So, from some time after its +throwing open, the upper stories of the less ancient attached edifice +remained almost wholly without occupants; and by the forlorn echoes of +their vacuities, right over the head of the business-thriving legal +gentlemen below, must--to some few of them at least--have suggested +unwelcome similitudes, having reference to the crowded state of their +basement-pockets, as compared with the melancholy condition of their +attics;--alas! full purses and empty heads! This dreary posture of +affairs, however, was at last much altered for the better, by the +gradual filling up of the vacant chambers on high, by scores of those +miscellaneous, bread-and-cheese adventurers, and ambiguously +professional nondescripts in very genteel but shabby black, and +unaccountable foreign-looking fellows in blue spectacles; who, +previously issuing from unknown parts of the world, like storks in +Holland, light on the eaves, and in the attics of lofty old buildings in +most large sea-port towns. Here they sit and talk like magpies; or +descending in quest of improbable dinners, are to be seen drawn up along +the curb in front of the eating-houses, like lean rows of broken-hearted +pelicans on a beach; their pockets loose, hanging down and flabby, like +the pelican's pouches when fish are hard to be caught. But these poor, +penniless devils still strive to make ample amends for their physical +forlornness, by resolutely reveling in the region of blissful ideals. + +They are mostly artists of various sorts; painters, or sculptors, or +indigent students, or teachers of languages, or poets, or fugitive +French politicians, or German philosophers. Their mental tendencies, +however heterodox at times, are still very fine and spiritual upon the +whole; since the vacuity of their exchequers leads them to reject the +coarse materialism of Hobbs, and incline to the airy exaltations of the +Berkelyan philosophy. Often groping in vain in their pockets, they can +not but give in to the Descartian vortices; while the abundance of +leisure in their attics (physical and figurative), unite with the +leisure in their stomachs, to fit them in an eminent degree for that +undivided attention indispensable to the proper digesting of the +sublimated Categories of Kant; especially as Kant (can't) is the one +great palpable fact in their pervadingly impalpable lives. These are the +glorious paupers, from whom I learn the profoundest mysteries of things; +since their very existence in the midst of such a terrible +precariousness of the commonest means of support, affords a problem on +which many speculative nutcrackers have been vainly employed. Yet let me +here offer up three locks of my hair, to the memory of all such glorious +paupers who have lived and died in this world. Surely, and truly I honor +them--noble men often at bottom--and for that very reason I make bold to +be gamesome about them; for where fundamental nobleness is, and +fundamental honor is due, merriment is never accounted irreverent. The +fools and pretenders of humanity, and the impostors and baboons among +the gods, these only are offended with raillery; since both those gods +and men whose titles to eminence are secure, seldom worry themselves +about the seditious gossip of old apple-women, and the skylarkings of +funny little boys in the street. + +When the substance is gone, men cling to the shadow. Places once set +apart to lofty purposes, still retain the name of that loftiness, even +when converted to the meanest uses. It would seem, as if forced by +imperative Fate to renounce the reality of the romantic and lofty, the +people of the present would fain make a compromise by retaining some +purely imaginative remainder. The curious effects of this tendency is +oftenest evinced in those venerable countries of the old transatlantic +world; where still over the Thames one bridge yet retains the monastic +tide of Blackfriars; though not a single Black Friar, but many a +pickpocket, has stood on that bank since a good ways beyond the days of +Queen Bess; where still innumerable other historic anomalies sweetly and +sadly remind the present man of the wonderful procession that preceded +him in his new generation. Nor--though the comparative recentness of our +own foundation upon these Columbian shores, excludes any considerable +participation in these attractive anomalies,--yet are we not altogether, +in our more elderly towns, wholly without some touch of them, here and +there. It was thus with the ancient Church of the Apostles--better +known, even in its primitive day, under the abbreviative of The +Apostles--which, though now converted from its original purpose to one +so widely contrasting, yet still retained its majestical name. The +lawyer or artist tenanting its chambers, whether in the new building or +the old, when asked where he was to be found, invariably replied,--_At +the Apostles'_. But because now, at last, in the course of the +inevitable transplantations of the more notable localities of the +various professions in a thriving and amplifying town, the venerable +spot offered not such inducements as before to the legal gentlemen; and +as the strange nondescript adventurers and artists, and indigent +philosophers of all sorts, crowded in as fast as the others left; +therefore, in reference to the metaphysical strangeness of these curious +inhabitants, and owing in some sort to the circumstance, that several of +them were well-known Teleological Theorists, and Social Reformers, and +political propagandists of all manner of heterodoxical tenets; +therefore, I say, and partly, peradventure, from some slight waggishness +in the public; the immemorial popular name of the ancient church itself +was participatingly transferred to the dwellers therein. So it came to +pass, that in the general fashion of the day, he who had chambers in the +old church was familiarly styled an _Apostle_. + +But as every effect is but the cause of another and a subsequent one, so +it now happened that finding themselves thus clannishly, and not +altogether infelicitously entitled, the occupants of the venerable +church began to come together out of their various dens, in more social +communion; attracted toward each other by a title common to all. +By-and-by, from this, they went further; and insensibly, at last became +organized in a peculiar society, which, though exceedingly +inconspicuous, and hardly perceptible in its public demonstrations, was +still secretly suspected to have some mysterious ulterior object, +vaguely connected with the absolute overturning of Church and State, and +the hasty and premature advance of some unknown great political and +religious Millennium. Still, though some zealous conservatives and +devotees of morals, several times left warning at the police-office, to +keep a wary eye on the old church; and though, indeed, sometimes an +officer would look up inquiringly at the suspicious narrow window-slits +in the lofty tower; yet, to say the truth, was the place, to all +appearance, a very quiet and decorous one, and its occupants a company +of harmless people, whose greatest reproach was efflorescent coats and +crack-crowned hats all podding in the sun. + +Though in the middle of the day many bales and boxes would be trundled +along the stores in front of the Apostles'; and along its critically +narrow sidewalk, the merchants would now and then hurry to meet their +checks ere the banks should close: yet the street, being mostly devoted +to mere warehousing purposes, and not used as a general thoroughfare, it +was at all times a rather secluded and silent place. But from an hour or +two before sundown to ten or eleven o'clock the next morning, it was +remarkably silent and depopulated, except by the Apostles themselves; +while every Sunday it presented an aspect of surprising and startling +quiescence; showing nothing but one long vista of six or seven stories +of inexorable iron shutters on both sides of the way. It was pretty much +the same with the other street, which, as before said, intersected with +the warehousing lane, not very far from the Apostles'. For though that +street was indeed a different one from the latter, being full of cheap +refectories for clerks, foreign restaurants, and other places of +commercial resort; yet the only hum in it was restricted to business +hours; by night it was deserted of every occupant but the lamp-posts; +and on Sunday, to walk through it, was like walking through an avenue of +sphinxes. + +Such, then, was the present condition of the ancient Church of the +Apostles; buzzing with a few lingering, equivocal lawyers in the +basement, and populous with all sorts of poets, painters, paupers and +philosophers above. A mysterious professor of the flute was perched in +one of the upper stories of the tower; and often, of silent, moonlight +nights, his lofty, melodious notes would be warbled forth over the roofs +of the ten thousand warehouses around him--as of yore, the bell had +pealed over the domestic gables of a long-departed generation. + + +II. + +On the third night following the arrival of the party in the city, +Pierre sat at twilight by a lofty window in the rear building of the +Apostles'. The chamber was meager even to meanness. No carpet on the +floor, no picture on the wall; nothing but a low, long, and very +curious-looking single bedstead, that might possibly serve for an +indigent bachelor's pallet, a large, blue, chintz-covered chest, a +rickety, rheumatic, and most ancient mahogany chair, and a wide board of +the toughest live-oak, about six feet long, laid upon two upright empty +flour-barrels, and loaded with a large bottle of ink, an unfastened +bundle of quills, a pen-knife, a folder, and a still unbound ream of +foolscap paper, significantly stamped, "Ruled; Blue." + +There, on the third night, at twilight, sat Pierre by that lofty window +of a beggarly room in the rear-building of the Apostles'. He was +entirely idle, apparently; there was nothing in his hands; but there +might have been something on his heart. Now and then he fixedly gazes at +the curious-looking, rusty old bedstead. It seemed powerfully symbolical +to him; and most symbolical it was. For it was the ancient dismemberable +and portable camp-bedstead of his grandfather, the defiant defender of +the Fort, the valiant captain in many an unsuccumbing campaign. On that +very camp-bedstead, there, beneath his tent on the field, the glorious +old mild-eyed and warrior-hearted general had slept, and but waked to +buckle his knight-making sword by his side; for it was noble knighthood +to be slain by grand Pierre; in the other world his foes' ghosts bragged +of the hand that had given them their passports. + +But has that hard bed of War, descended for an inheritance to the soft +body of Peace? In the peaceful time of full barns, and when the noise of +the peaceful flail is abroad, and the hum of peaceful commerce resounds, +is the grandson of two Generals a warrior too? Oh, not for naught, in +the time of this seeming peace, are warrior grandsires given to Pierre! +For Pierre is a warrior too; Life his campaign, and three fierce allies, +Woe and Scorn and Want, his foes. The wide world is banded against him; +for lo you! he holds up the standard of Right, and swears by the Eternal +and True! But ah, Pierre, Pierre, when thou goest to that bed, how +humbling the thought, that thy most extended length measures not the +proud six feet four of thy grand John of Gaunt sire! The stature of the +warrior is cut down to the dwindled glory of the fight. For more +glorious in real tented field to strike down your valiant foe, than in +the conflicts of a noble soul with a dastardly world to chase a vile +enemy who ne'er will show front. + +There, then, on the third night, at twilight, by the lofty window of +that beggarly room, sat Pierre in the rear building of the Apostles'. He +is gazing out from the window now. But except the donjon form of the old +gray tower, seemingly there is nothing to see but a wilderness of tiles, +slate, shingles, and tin;--the desolate hanging wildernesses of tiles, +slate, shingles and tin, wherewith we modern Babylonians replace the +fair hanging-gardens of the fine old Asiatic times when the excellent +Nebuchadnezzar was king. + +There he sits, a strange exotic, transplanted from the delectable +alcoves of the old manorial mansion, to take root in this niggard soil. +No more do the sweet purple airs of the hills round about the green +fields of Saddle Meadows come revivingly wafted to his cheek. Like a +flower he feels the change; his bloom is gone from his cheek; his cheek +is wilted and pale. + +From the lofty window of that beggarly room, what is it that Pierre is +so intently eying? There is no street at his feet; like a profound black +gulf the open area of the quadrangle gapes beneath him. But across it, +and at the further end of the steep roof of the ancient church, there +looms the gray and grand old tower; emblem to Pierre of an unshakable +fortitude, which, deep-rooted in the heart of the earth, defied all the +howls of the air. + +There is a door in Pierre's room opposite the window of Pierre: and now +a soft knock is heard in that direction, accompanied by gentle words, +asking whether the speaker might enter. + +"Yes, always, sweet Isabel"--answered Pierre, rising and approaching +the door;--"here: let us drag out the old camp-bed for a sofa; come, sit +down now, my sister, and let us fancy ourselves anywhere thou wilt." + +"Then, my brother, let us fancy ourselves in realms of everlasting +twilight and peace, where no bright sun shall rise, because the black +night is always its follower. Twilight and peace, my brother, twilight +and peace!" + +"It is twilight now, my sister; and surely, this part of the city at +least seems still." + +"Twilight now, but night soon; then a brief sun, and then another long +night. Peace now, but sleep and nothingness soon, and then hard work for +thee, my brother, till the sweet twilight come again." + +"Let us light a candle, my sister; the evening is deepening." + +"For what light a candle, dear Pierre?--Sit close to me, my brother." + +He moved nearer to her, and stole one arm around her; her sweet head +leaned against his breast; each felt the other's throbbing. + +"Oh, my dear Pierre, why should we always be longing for peace, and then +be impatient of peace when it comes? Tell me, my brother! Not two hours +ago, thou wert wishing for twilight, and now thou wantest a candle to +hurry the twilight's last lingering away." + +But Pierre did not seem to hear her; his arm embraced her tighter; his +whole frame was invisibly trembling. Then suddenly in a low tone of +wonderful intensity he breathed: + +"Isabel! Isabel!" + +She caught one arm around him, as his was around herself; the tremor ran +from him to her; both sat dumb. + +He rose, and paced the room. + +"Well, Pierre; thou camest in here to arrange thy matters, thou saidst. +Now what hast thou done? Come, we will light a candle now." + +The candle was lighted, and their talk went on. + +"How about the papers, my brother? Dost thou find every thing right? +Hast thou decided upon what to publish first, while thou art writing the +new thing thou didst hint of?" + +"Look at that chest, my sister. Seest thou not that the cords are yet +untied?" + +"Then thou hast not been into it at all as yet?" + +"Not at all, Isabel. In ten days I have lived ten thousand years. +Forewarned now of the rubbish in that chest, I can not summon the heart +to open it. Trash! Dross! Dirt!" + +"Pierre! Pierre! what change is this? Didst thou not tell me, ere we +came hither, that thy chest not only contained some silver and gold, but +likewise far more precious things, readily convertible into silver and +gold? Ah, Pierre, thou didst swear we had naught to fear!" + +"If I have ever willfully deceived thee, Isabel, may the high gods prove +Benedict Arnolds to me, and go over to the devils to reinforce them +against me! But to have ignorantly deceived myself and thee together, +Isabel; that is a very different thing. Oh, what a vile juggler and +cheat is man! Isabel, in that chest are things which in the hour of +composition, I thought the very heavens looked in from the windows in +astonishment at their beauty and power. Then, afterward, when days +cooled me down, and again I took them up and scanned them, some +underlying suspicions intruded; but when in the open air, I recalled the +fresh, unwritten images of the bunglingly written things; then I felt +buoyant and triumphant again; as if by that act of ideal recalling, I +had, forsooth, transferred the perfect ideal to the miserable written +attempt at embodying it. This mood remained. So that afterward how I +talked to thee about the wonderful things I had done; the gold and the +silver mine I had long before sprung for thee and for me, who never were +to come to want in body or mind. Yet all this time, there was the latent +suspicion of folly; but I would not admit it; I shut my soul's door in +its face. Yet now, the ten thousand universal revealings brand me on the +forehead with fool! and like protested notes at the Bankers, all those +written things of mine, are jaggingly cut through and through with the +protesting hammer of Truth!--Oh, I am sick, sick, sick!" + +"Let the arms that never were filled but by thee, lure thee back again, +Pierre, to the peace of the twilight, even though it be of the dimmest!" + +She blew out the light, and made Pierre sit down by her; and their hands +were placed in each other's. + +"Say, are not thy torments now gone, my brother?" + +"But replaced by--by--by--Oh God, Isabel, unhand me!" cried Pierre, +starting up. "Ye heavens, that have hidden yourselves in the black hood +of the night, I call to ye! If to follow Virtue to her uttermost vista, +where common souls never go; if by that I take hold on hell, and the +uttermost virtue, after all, prove but a betraying pander to the +monstrousest vice,--then close in and crush me, ye stony walls, and into +one gulf let all things tumble together!" + +"My brother! this is some incomprehensible raving," pealed Isabel, +throwing both arms around him;--"my brother, my brother!" + +"Hark thee to thy furthest inland soul"--thrilled Pierre in a steeled +and quivering voice. "Call me brother no more! How knowest thou I am thy +brother? Did thy mother tell thee? Did my father say so to me?--I am +Pierre, and thou Isabel, wide brother and sister in the common +humanity,--no more. For the rest, let the gods look after their own +combustibles. If they have put powder-casks in me--let them look to it! +let them look to it! Ah! now I catch glimpses, and seem to half-see, +somehow, that the uttermost ideal of moral perfection in man is wide of +the mark. The demigods trample on trash, and Virtue and Vice are trash! +Isabel, I will write such things--I will gospelize the world anew, and +show them deeper secrets than the Apocalypse!--I will write it, I will +write it!" + +"Pierre, I am a poor girl, born in the midst of a mystery, bred in +mystery, and still surviving to mystery. So mysterious myself, the air +and the earth are unutterable to me; no word have I to express them. But +these are the circumambient mysteries; thy words, thy thoughts, open +other wonder-worlds to me, whither by myself I might fear to go. But +trust to me, Pierre. With thee, with thee, I would boldly swim a +starless sea, and be buoy to thee, there, when thou the strong swimmer +shouldst faint. Thou, Pierre, speakest of Virtue and Vice; life-secluded +Isabel knows neither the one nor the other, but by hearsay. What are +they, in their real selves, Pierre? Tell me first what is +Virtue:--begin!" + +"If on that point the gods are dumb, shall a pigmy speak? Ask the air!" + +"Then Virtue is nothing." + +"Not that!" + +"Then Vice?" + +"Look: a nothing is the substance, it casts one shadow one way, and +another the other way; and these two shadows cast from one nothing; +these, seems to me, are Virtue and Vice." + +"Then why torment thyself so, dearest Pierre?" + +"It is the law." + +"What?" + +"That a nothing should torment a nothing; for I am a nothing. It is all +a dream--we dream that we dreamed we dream." + +"Pierre, when thou just hovered on the verge, thou wert a riddle to me; +but now, that thou art deep down in the gulf of the soul,--now, when +thou wouldst be lunatic to wise men, perhaps--now doth poor ignorant +Isabel begin to comprehend thee. Thy feeling hath long been mine, +Pierre. Long loneliness and anguish have opened miracles to me. Yes, it +is all a dream!" + +Swiftly he caught her in his arms:--"From nothing proceeds nothing, +Isabel! How can one sin in a dream?" + +"First what is sin, Pierre?" + +"Another name for the other name, Isabel." + +"For Virtue, Pierre?" + +"No, for Vice." + +"Let us sit down again, my brother." + +"I am Pierre." + +"Let us sit down again, Pierre; sit close; thy arm!" + +And so, on the third night, when the twilight was gone, and no lamp was +lit, within the lofty window of that beggarly room, sat Pierre and +Isabel hushed. + + + + +BOOK XX. + +CHARLIE MILLTHORPE. + + +I. + +Pierre had been induced to take chambers at the Apostles', by one of the +Apostles themselves, an old acquaintance of his, and a native of Saddle +Meadows. + +Millthorpe was the son of a very respectable farmer--now dead--of more +than common intelligence, and whose bowed shoulders and homely garb had +still been surmounted by a head fit for a Greek philosopher, and +features so fine and regular that they would have well graced an opulent +gentleman. The political and social levelings and confoundings of all +manner of human elements in America, produce many striking individual +anomalies unknown in other lands. Pierre well remembered old farmer +Millthorpe:--the handsome, melancholy, calm-tempered, mute, old man; in +whose countenance--refinedly ennobled by nature, and yet coarsely tanned +and attenuated by many a prolonged day's work in the harvest--rusticity +and classicalness were strangely united. The delicate profile of his +face, bespoke the loftiest aristocracy; his knobbed and bony hands +resembled a beggar's. + +Though for several generations the Millthorpes had lived on the +Glendinning lands, they loosely and unostentatiously traced their origin +to an emigrating English Knight, who had crossed the sea in the time of +the elder Charles. But that indigence which had prompted the knight to +forsake his courtly country for the howling wilderness, was the only +remaining hereditament left to his bedwindled descendants in the fourth +and fifth remove. At the time that Pierre first recollected this +interesting man, he had, a year or two previous, abandoned an ample farm +on account of absolute inability to meet the manorial rent, and was +become the occupant of a very poor and contracted little place, on which +was a small and half-ruinous house. There, he then harbored with his +wife,--a very gentle and retiring person,--his three little daughters, +and his only son, a lad of Pierre's own age. The hereditary beauty and +youthful bloom of this boy; his sweetness of temper, and something of +natural refinement as contrasted with the unrelieved rudeness, and +oftentimes sordidness, of his neighbors; these things had early +attracted the sympathetic, spontaneous friendliness of Pierre. They were +often wont to take their boyish rambles together; and even the severely +critical Mrs. Glendinning, always fastidiously cautious as to the +companions of Pierre, had never objected to his intimacy with so +prepossessing and handsome a rustic as Charles. + +Boys are often very swiftly acute in forming a judgment on character. +The lads had not long companioned, ere Pierre concluded, that however +fine his face, and sweet his temper, young Millthorpe was but little +vigorous in mind; besides possessing a certain constitutional, +sophomorean presumption and egotism; which, however, having nothing to +feed on but his father's meal and potatoes, and his own essentially +timid and humane disposition, merely presented an amusing and harmless, +though incurable, anomalous feature in his character, not at all +impairing the good-will and companionableness of Pierre; for even in his +boyhood, Pierre possessed a sterling charity, which could cheerfully +overlook all minor blemishes in his inferiors, whether in fortune or +mind; content and glad to embrace the good whenever presented, or with +whatever conjoined. So, in youth, do we unconsciously act upon those +peculiar principles, which in conscious and verbalized maxims shall +systematically regulate our maturer lives;--a fact, which forcibly +illustrates the necessitarian dependence of our lives, and their +subordination, not to ourselves, but to Fate. + +If the grown man of taste, possess not only some eye to detect the +picturesque in the natural landscape, so also, has he as keen a +perception of what may not unfitly be here styled, the _povertiresque_ +in the social landscape. To such an one, not more picturesquely +conspicuous is the dismantled thatch in a painted cottage of +Gainsborough, than the time-tangled and want-thinned locks of a beggar, +_povertiresquely_ diversifying those snug little cabinet-pictures of the +world, which, exquisitely varnished and framed, are hung up in the +drawing-room minds of humane men of taste, and amiable philosophers of +either the "Compensation," or "Optimist" school. They deny that any +misery is in the world, except for the purpose of throwing the fine +_povertiresque_ element into its general picture. Go to! God hath +deposited cash in the Bank subject to our gentlemanly order; he hath +bounteously blessed the world with a summer carpet of green. Begone, +Heraclitus! The lamentations of the rain are but to make us our +rainbows! + +Not that in equivocal reference to the _povertiresque_ old farmer +Millthorpe, Pierre is here intended to be hinted at. Still, man can not +wholly escape his surroundings. Unconsciously Mrs. Glendinning had +always been one of these curious Optimists; and in his boyish life +Pierre had not wholly escaped the maternal contagion. Yet often, in +calling at the old farmer's for Charles of some early winter mornings, +and meeting the painfully embarrassed, thin, feeble features of Mrs. +Millthorpe, and the sadly inquisitive and hopelessly half-envious +glances of the three little girls; and standing on the threshold, Pierre +would catch low, aged, life-weary groans from a recess out of sight +from the door; then would Pierre have some boyish inklings of something +else than the pure _povertiresque_ in poverty: some inklings of what it +might be, to be old, and poor, and worn, and rheumatic, with shivering +death drawing nigh, and present life itself but a dull and a chill! some +inklings of what it might be, for him who in youth had vivaciously +leaped from his bed, impatient to meet the earliest sun, and lose no +sweet drop of his life, now hating the beams he once so dearly loved; +turning round in his bed to the wall to avoid them; and still postponing +the foot which should bring him back to the dismal day; when the sun is +not gold, but copper; and the sky is not blue, but gray; and the blood, +like Rhenish wine, too long unquaffed by Death, grows thin and sour in +the veins. + +Pierre had not forgotten that the augmented penury of the Millthorpe's +was, at the time we now retrospectively treat of, gravely imputed by the +gossiping frequenters of the Black Swan Inn, to certain insinuated moral +derelictions of the farmer. "The old man tipped his elbow too often," +once said in Pierre's hearing an old bottle-necked fellow, performing +the identical same act with a half-emptied glass in his hand. But though +the form of old Millthorpe was broken, his countenance, however sad and +thin, betrayed no slightest sign of the sot, either past or present. He +never was publicly known to frequent the inn, and seldom quitted the few +acres he cultivated with his son. And though, alas, indigent enough, yet +was he most punctually honest in paying his little debts of shillings +and pence for his groceries. And though, heaven knows, he had plenty of +occasion for all the money he could possibly earn, yet Pierre +remembered, that when, one autumn, a hog was bought of him for the +servants' hall at the Mansion, the old man never called for his money +till the midwinter following; and then, as with trembling fingers he +eagerly clutched the silver, he unsteadily said, "I have no use for it +now; it might just as well have stood over." It was then, that chancing +to overhear this, Mrs. Glendinning had looked at the old man, with a +kindly and benignantly interested eye to the _povertiresque_; and +murmured, "Ah! the old English Knight is not yet out of his blood. +Bravo, old man!" + +One day, in Pierre's sight, nine silent figures emerged from the door of +old Millthorpe; a coffin was put into a neighbor's farm-wagon; and a +procession, some thirty feet long, including the elongated pole and box +of the wagon, wound along Saddle Meadows to a hill, where, at last, old +Millthorpe was laid down in a bed, where the rising sun should affront +him no more. Oh, softest and daintiest of Holland linen is the motherly +earth! There, beneath the sublime tester of the infinite sky, like +emperors and kings, sleep, in grand state, the beggars and paupers of +earth! I joy that Death is this Democrat; and hopeless of all other real +and permanent democracies, still hug the thought, that though in life +some heads are crowned with gold, and some bound round with thorns, yet +chisel them how they will, head-stones are all alike. + +This somewhat particular account of the father of young Millthorpe, will +better set forth the less immature condition and character of the son, +on whom had now descended the maintenance of his mother and sisters. +But, though the son of a farmer, Charles was peculiarly averse to hard +labor. It was not impossible that by resolute hard labor he might +eventually have succeeded in placing his family in a far more +comfortable situation than he had ever remembered them. But it was not +so fated; the benevolent State had in its great wisdom decreed +otherwise. + +In the village of Saddle Meadows there was an institution, half +common-school and half academy, but mainly supported by a general +ordinance and financial provision of the government Here, not only were +the rudiments of an English education taught, but likewise some touch of +belles lettres, and composition, and that great American bulwark and +bore--elocution. On the high-raised, stage platform of the Saddle +Meadows Academy, the sons of the most indigent day-laborers were wont to +drawl out the fiery revolutionary rhetoric of Patrick Henry, or +gesticulate impetuously through the soft cadences of Drake's "Culprit +Fay." What wonder, then, that of Saturdays, when there was no elocution +and poesy, these boys should grow melancholy and disdainful over the +heavy, plodding handles of dung-forks and hoes? + +At the age of fifteen, the ambition of Charles Millthorpe was to be +either an orator, or a poet; at any rate, a great genius of one sort or +other. He recalled the ancestral Knight, and indignantly spurned the +plow. Detecting in him the first germ of this inclination, old +Millthorpe had very seriously reasoned with his son; warning him against +the evils of his vagrant ambition. Ambition of that sort was either for +undoubted genius, rich boys, or poor boys, standing entirely alone in +the world, with no one relying upon them. Charles had better consider +the case; his father was old and infirm; he could not last very long; he +had nothing to leave behind him but his plow and his hoe; his mother was +sickly; his sisters pale and delicate; and finally, life was a fact, and +the winters in that part of the country exceedingly bitter and long. +Seven months out of the twelve the pastures bore nothing, and all cattle +must be fed in the barns. But Charles was a boy; advice often seems the +most wantonly wasted of all human breath; man will not take wisdom on +trust; may be, it is well; for such wisdom is worthless; we must find +the true gem for ourselves; and so we go groping and groping for many +and many a day. + +Yet was Charles Millthorpe as affectionate and dutiful a boy as ever +boasted of his brain, and knew not that he possessed a far more +excellent and angelical thing in the possession of a generous heart. His +father died; to his family he resolved to be a second father, and a +careful provider now. But not by hard toil of his hand; but by gentler +practices of his mind. Already he had read many books--history, poetry, +romance, essays, and all. The manorial book-shelves had often been +honored by his visits, and Pierre had kindly been his librarian. Not to +lengthen the tale, at the age of seventeen, Charles sold the horse, the +cow, the pig, the plow, the hoe, and almost every movable thing on the +premises; and, converting all into cash, departed with his mother and +sisters for the city; chiefly basing his expectations of success on some +vague representations of an apothecary relative there resident. How he +and his mother and sisters battled it out; how they pined and +half-starved for a while; how they took in sewing; and Charles took in +copying; and all but scantily sufficed for a livelihood; all this may be +easily imagined. But some mysterious latent good-will of Fate toward +him, had not only thus far kept Charles from the Poor-House, but had +really advanced his fortunes in a degree. At any rate, that certain +harmless presumption and innocent egotism which have been previously +adverted to as sharing in his general character, these had by no means +retarded him; for it is often to be observed of the shallower men, that +they are the very last to despond. It is the glory of the bladder that +nothing can sink it; it is the reproach of a box of treasure, that once +overboard it must down. + + +II. + +When arrived in the city, and discovering the heartless neglect of Glen, +Pierre,--looking about him for whom to apply to in this +strait,--bethought him of his old boy-companion Charlie, and went out to +seek him, and found him at last; he saw before him, a tall, well-grown, +but rather thin and pale yet strikingly handsome young man of +two-and-twenty; occupying a small dusty law-office on the third floor +of the older building of the Apostles; assuming to be doing a very +large, and hourly increasing business among empty pigeon-holes, and +directly under the eye of an unopened bottle of ink; his mother and +sisters dwelling in a chamber overhead; and himself, not only following +the law for a corporeal living, but likewise inter-linked with the +peculiar secret, theologico-politico-social schemes of the masonic order +of the seedy-coated Apostles; and pursuing some crude, transcendental +Philosophy, for both a contributory means of support, as well as for his +complete intellectual aliment. + +Pierre was at first somewhat startled by his exceedingly frank and +familiar manner; all old manorial deference for Pierre was clean gone +and departed; though at the first shock of their encounter, Charlie +could not possibly have known that Pierre was cast off. + +"Ha, Pierre! glad to see you, my boy! Hark ye, next month I am to +deliver an address before the Omega order of the Apostles. The Grand +Master, Plinlimmon, will be there. I have heard on the best authority +that he once said of me--'That youth has the Primitive Categories in +him; he is destined to astonish the world.' Why, lad, I have received +propositions from the Editors of the Spinozaist to contribute a weekly +column to their paper, and you know how very few can understand the +Spinozaist; nothing is admitted there but the Ultimate Transcendentals. +Hark now, in your ear; I think of throwing off the Apostolic disguise +and coming boldly out; Pierre! I think of stumping the State, and +preaching our philosophy to the masses.--When did you arrive in town?" + +Spite of all his tribulations, Pierre could not restrain a smile at this +highly diverting reception; but well knowing the youth, he did not +conclude from this audacious burst of enthusiastic egotism that his +heart had at all corroded; for egotism is one thing, and selfishness +another. No sooner did Pierre intimate his condition to him, than +immediately, Charlie was all earnest and practical kindness; recommended +the Apostles as the best possible lodgment for him,--cheap, snug, and +convenient to most public places; he offered to procure a cart and see +himself to the transport of Pierre's luggage; but finally thought it +best to mount the stairs and show him the vacant rooms. But when these +at last were decided upon; and Charlie, all cheerfulness and alacrity, +started with Pierre for the hotel, to assist him in the removal; +grasping his arm the moment they emerged from the great arched door +under the tower of the Apostles; he instantly launched into his amusing +heroics, and continued the strain till the trunks were fairly in sight. + +"Lord! my law-business overwhelms me! I must drive away some of my +clients; I must have my exercise, and this ever-growing business denies +it to me. Besides, I owe something to the sublime cause of the general +humanity; I must displace some of my briefs for my metaphysical +treatises. I can not waste all my oil over bonds and mortgages.--You +said you were married, I think?" + +But without stopping for any reply, he rattled on. "Well, I suppose it +is wise after all. It settles, centralizes, and confirms a man, I have +heard.--No, I didn't; it is a random thought of my own, that!--Yes, it +makes the world definite to him; it removes his morbid _sub_jectiveness, +and makes all things _ob_jective; nine small children, for instance, may +be considered _ob_jective. Marriage, hey!--A fine thing, no doubt, no +doubt:--domestic--pretty--nice, all round. But I owe something to the +world, my boy! By marriage, I might contribute to the population of men, +but not to the census of mind. The great men are all bachelors, you +know. Their family is the universe: I should say the planet Saturn was +their elder son; and Plato their uncle.--So you are married?" + +But again, reckless of answers, Charlie went on. "Pierre, a thought, my +boy;--a thought for you! You do not say it, but you hint of a low +purse. Now I shall help you to fill it--Stump the State on the Kantian +Philosophy! A dollar a head, my boy! Pass round your beaver, and you'll +get it. I have every confidence in the penetration and magnanimousness +of the people! Pierre, hark in your ear;--it's my opinion the world is +all wrong. Hist, I say--an entire mistake. Society demands an Avatar,--a +Curtius, my boy! to leap into the fiery gulf, and by perishing himself, +save the whole empire of men! Pierre, I have long renounced the +allurements of life and fashion. Look at my coat, and see how I spurn +them! Pierre! but, stop, have you ever a shilling! let's take a cold cut +here--it's a cheap place; I go here sometimes. Come, let's in." + + + + +BOOK XXI. + +PIERRE IMMATURELY ATTEMPTS A MATURE WORK. TIDINGS FROM THE MEADOWS. +PLINLIMMON. + + +I. + +We are now to behold Pierre permanently lodged in three lofty adjoining +chambers of the Apostles. And passing on a little further in time, and +overlooking the hundred and one domestic details, of how their internal +arrangements were finally put into steady working order; how poor Delly, +now giving over the sharper pangs of her grief, found in the lighter +occupations of a handmaid and familiar companion to Isabel, the only +practical relief from the memories of her miserable past; how Isabel +herself in the otherwise occupied hours of Pierre, passed some of her +time in mastering the chirographical incoherencies of his manuscripts, +with a view to eventually copying them out in a legible hand for the +printer; or went below stairs to the rooms of the Millthorpes, and in +the modest and amiable society of the three young ladies and their +excellent mother, found some little solace for the absence of Pierre; +or, when his day's work was done, sat by him in the twilight, and played +her mystic guitar till Pierre felt chapter after chapter born of its +wondrous suggestiveness; but alas! eternally incapable of being +translated into words; for where the deepest words end, there music +begins with its supersensuous and all-confounding intimations. + +Disowning now all previous exertions of his mind, and burning in scorn +even those fine fruits of a care-free fancy, which, written at Saddle +Meadows in the sweet legendary time of Lucy and her love, he had +jealously kept from the publishers, as too true and good to be +published; renouncing all his foregone self, Pierre was now engaged in a +comprehensive compacted work, to whose speedy completion two tremendous +motives unitedly impelled;--the burning desire to deliver what he +thought to be new, or at least miserably neglected Truth to the world; +and the prospective menace of being absolutely penniless, unless by the +sale of his book, he could realize money. Swayed to universality of +thought by the widely-explosive mental tendencies of the profound events +which had lately befallen him, and the unprecedented situation in which +he now found himself; and perceiving, by presentiment, that most grand +productions of the best human intellects ever are built round a circle, +as atolls (_i. e._ the primitive coral islets which, raising themselves +in the depths of profoundest seas, rise funnel-like to the surface, and +present there a hoop of white rock, which though on the outside +everywhere lashed by the ocean, yet excludes all tempests from the quiet +lagoon within), digestively including the whole range of all that can be +known or dreamed; Pierre was resolved to give the world a book, which +the world should hail with surprise and delight. A varied scope of +reading, little suspected by his friends, and randomly acquired by a +random but lynx-eyed mind, in the course of the multifarious, +incidental, bibliographic encounterings of almost any civilized young +inquirer after Truth; this poured one considerable contributary stream +into that bottomless spring of original thought which the occasion and +time had caused to burst out in himself. Now he congratulated himself +upon all his cursory acquisitions of this sort; ignorant that in reality +to a mind bent on producing some thoughtful thing of absolute Truth, all +mere reading is apt to prove but an obstacle hard to overcome; and not +an accelerator helpingly pushing him along. + +While Pierre was thinking that he was entirely transplanted into a new +and wonderful element of Beauty and Power, he was, in fact, but in one +of the stages of the transition. That ultimate element once fairly +gained, then books no more are needed for buoys to our souls; our own +strong limbs support us, and we float over all bottomlessnesses with a +jeering impunity. He did not see,--or if he did, he could not yet name +the true cause for it,--that already, in the incipiency of his work, the +heavy unmalleable element of mere book-knowledge would not congenially +weld with the wide fluidness and ethereal airiness of spontaneous +creative thought. He would climb Parnassus with a pile of folios on his +back. He did not see, that it was nothing at all to him, what other men +had written; that though Plato was indeed a transcendently great man in +himself, yet Plato must not be transcendently great to him (Pierre), so +long as he (Pierre himself) would also do something transcendently +great. He did not see that there is no such thing as a standard for the +creative spirit; that no one great book must ever be separately +regarded, and permitted to domineer with its own uniqueness upon the +creative mind; but that all existing great works must be federated in +the fancy; and so regarded as a miscellaneous and Pantheistic whole; and +then,--without at all dictating to his own mind, or unduly biasing it +any way,--thus combined, they would prove simply an exhilarative and +provocative to him. He did not see, that even when thus combined, all +was but one small mite, compared to the latent infiniteness and +inexhaustibility in himself; that all the great books in the world are +but the mutilated shadowings-forth of invisible and eternally unembodied +images in the soul; so that they are but the mirrors, distortedly +reflecting to us our own things; and never mind what the mirror may be, +if we would see the object, we must look at the object itself, and not +at its reflection. + +But, as to the resolute traveler in Switzerland, the Alps do never in +one wide and comprehensive sweep, instantaneously reveal their full +awfulness of amplitude--their overawing extent of peak crowded on peak, +and spur sloping on spur, and chain jammed behind chain, and all their +wonderful battalionings of might; so hath heaven wisely ordained, that +on first entering into the Switzerland of his soul, man shall not at +once perceive its tremendous immensity; lest illy prepared for such an +encounter, his spirit should sink and perish in the lowermost snows. +Only by judicious degrees, appointed of God, does man come at last to +gain his Mont Blanc and take an overtopping view of these Alps; and even +then, the tithe is not shown; and far over the invisible Atlantic, the +Rocky Mountains and the Andes are yet unbeheld. Appalling is the soul of +a man! Better might one be pushed off into the material spaces beyond +the uttermost orbit of our sun, than once feel himself fairly afloat in +himself! + +But not now to consider these ulterior things, Pierre, though strangely +and very newly alive to many before unregarded wonders in the general +world; still, had he not as yet procured for himself that enchanter's +wand of the soul, which but touching the humblest experiences in one's +life, straightway it starts up all eyes, in every one of which are +endless significancies. Not yet had he dropped his angle into the well +of his childhood, to find what fish might be there; for who dreams to +find fish in a well? the running stream of the outer world, there +doubtless swim the golden perch and the pickerel! Ten million things +were as yet uncovered to Pierre. The old mummy lies buried in cloth on +cloth; it takes time to unwrap this Egyptian king. Yet now, forsooth, +because Pierre began to see through the first superficiality of the +world, he fondly weens he has come to the unlayered substance. But, far +as any geologist has yet gone down into the world, it is found to +consist of nothing but surface stratified on surface. To its axis, the +world being nothing but superinduced superficies. By vast pains we mine +into the pyramid; by horrible gropings we come to the central room; with +joy we espy the sarcophagus; but we lift the lid--and no body is +there!--appallingly vacant as vast is the soul of a man! + + +II. + +He had been engaged some weeks upon his book--in pursuance of his +settled plan avoiding all contact with any of his city-connections or +friends, even as in his social downfall they sedulously avoided seeking +him out--nor ever once going or sending to the post-office, though it +was but a little round the corner from where he was, since having +dispatched no letters himself, he expected none; thus isolated from the +world, and intent upon his literary enterprise, Pierre had passed some +weeks, when verbal tidings came to him, of three most momentous events. + +First: his mother was dead. + +Second: all Saddle Meadows was become Glen Stanly's. + +Third: Glen Stanly was believed to be the suitor of Lucy; who, +convalescent from an almost mortal illness, was now dwelling at her +mother's house in town. + +It was chiefly the first-mentioned of these events which darted a sharp +natural anguish into Pierre. No letter had come to him; no smallest ring +or memorial been sent him; no slightest mention made of him in the will; +and yet it was reported that an inconsolable grief had induced his +mother's mortal malady, and driven her at length into insanity, which +suddenly terminated in death; and when he first heard of that event, +she had been cold in the ground for twenty-five days. + +How plainly did all this speak of the equally immense pride and grief of +his once magnificent mother; and how agonizedly now did it hint of her +mortally-wounded love for her only and best-beloved Pierre! In vain he +reasoned with himself; in vain remonstrated with himself; in vain sought +to parade all his stoic arguments to drive off the onslaught of natural +passion. Nature prevailed; and with tears that like acid burned and +scorched as they flowed, he wept, he raved, at the bitter loss of his +parent; whose eyes had been closed by unrelated hands that were hired; +but whose heart had been broken, and whose very reason been ruined, by +the related hands of her son. + +For some interval it almost seemed as if his own heart would snap; his +own reason go down. Unendurable grief of a man, when Death itself gives +the stab, and then snatches all availments to solacement away. For in +the grave is no help, no prayer thither may go, no forgiveness thence +come; so that the penitent whose sad victim lies in the ground, for that +useless penitent his doom is eternal, and though it be Christmas-day +with all Christendom, with him it is Hell-day and an eaten liver +forever. + +With what marvelous precision and exactitude he now went over in his +mind all the minutest details of his old joyous life with his mother at +Saddle Meadows. He began with his own toilet in the morning; then his +mild stroll into the fields; then his cheerful return to call his mother +in her chamber; then the gay breakfast--and so on, and on, all through +the sweet day, till mother and son kissed, and with light, loving hearts +separated to their beds, to prepare themselves for still another day of +affectionate delight. This recalling of innocence and joy in the hour of +remorsefulness and woe; this is as heating red-hot the pincers that tear +us. But in this delirium of his soul, Pierre could not define where +that line was, which separated the natural grief for the loss of a +parent from that other one which was born of compunction. He strove hard +to define it, but could not. He tried to cozen himself into believing +that all his grief was but natural, or if there existed any other, that +must spring--not from the consciousness of having done any possible +wrong--but from the pang at what terrible cost the more exalted virtues +are gained. Nor did he wholly fail in this endeavor. At last he +dismissed his mother's memory into that same profound vault where +hitherto had reposed the swooned form of his Lucy. But, as sometimes men +are coffined in a trance, being thereby mistaken for dead; so it is +possible to bury a tranced grief in the soul, erroneously supposing that +it hath no more vitality of suffering. Now, immortal things only can +beget immortality. It would almost seem one presumptive argument for the +endless duration of the human soul, that it is impossible in time and +space to kill any compunction arising from having cruelly injured a +departed fellow-being. + +Ere he finally committed his mother to the profoundest vault of his +soul, fain would he have drawn one poor alleviation from a circumstance, +which nevertheless, impartially viewed, seemed equally capable either of +soothing or intensifying his grief. His mother's will, which without the +least mention of his own name, bequeathed several legacies to her +friends, and concluded by leaving all Saddle Meadows and its rent-rolls +to Glendinning Stanly; this will bore the date of the day immediately +succeeding his fatal announcement on the landing of the stairs, of his +assumed nuptials with Isabel. It plausibly pressed upon him, that as all +the evidences of his mother's dying unrelentingness toward him were +negative; and the only positive evidence--so to speak--of even that +negativeness, was the will which omitted all mention of Pierre; +therefore, as that will bore so significant a date, it must needs be +most reasonable to conclude, that it was dictated in the not yet +subsided transports of his mother's first indignation. But small +consolation was this, when he considered the final insanity of his +mother; for whence that insanity but from a hate-grief unrelenting, even +as his father must have become insane from a sin-grief irreparable? Nor +did this remarkable double-doom of his parents wholly fail to impress +his mind with presentiments concerning his own fate--his own hereditary +liability to madness. Presentiment, I say; but what is a presentiment? +how shall you coherently define a presentiment, or how make any thing +out of it which is at all lucid, unless you say that a presentiment is +but a judgment in disguise? And if a judgment in disguise, and yet +possessing this preternaturalness of prophecy, how then shall you escape +the fateful conclusion, that you are helplessly held in the six hands of +the Sisters? For while still dreading your doom, you foreknow it. Yet +how foreknow and dread in one breath, unless with this divine seeming +power of prescience, you blend the actual slimy powerlessness of +defense? + +That his cousin, Glen Stanly, had been chosen by his mother to inherit +the domain of the Meadows, was not entirely surprising to Pierre. Not +only had Glen always been a favorite with his mother by reason of his +superb person and his congeniality of worldly views with herself, but +excepting only Pierre, he was her nearest surviving blood relation; and +moreover, in his christian name, bore the hereditary syllables, +Glendinning. So that if to any one but Pierre the Meadows must descend, +Glen, on these general grounds, seemed the appropriate heir. + +But it is not natural for a man, never mind who he may be, to see a +noble patrimony, rightfully his, go over to a soul-alien, and that alien +once his rival in love, and now his heartless, sneering foe; for so +Pierre could not but now argue of Glen; it is not natural for a man to +see this without singular emotions of discomfort and hate. Nor in Pierre +were these feelings at all soothed by the report of Glen's renewed +attentions to Lucy. For there is something in the breast of almost +every man, which at bottom takes offense at the attentions of any other +man offered to a woman, the hope of whose nuptial love he himself may +have discarded. Fain would a man selfishly appropriate all the hearts +which have ever in any way confessed themselves his. Besides, in +Pierre's case, this resentment was heightened by Glen's previous +hypocritical demeanor. For now all his suspicions seemed abundantly +verified; and comparing all dates, he inferred that Glen's visit to +Europe had only been undertaken to wear off the pang of his rejection by +Lucy, a rejection tacitly consequent upon her not denying her affianced +relation to Pierre. + +But now, under the mask of profound sympathy--in time, ripening into +love--for a most beautiful girl, ruffianly deserted by her betrothed, +Glen could afford to be entirely open in his new suit, without at all +exposing his old scar to the world. So at least it now seemed to Pierre. +Moreover, Glen could now approach Lucy under the most favorable possible +auspices. He could approach her as a deeply sympathizing friend, all +wishful to assuage her sorrow, but hinting nothing, at present, of any +selfish matrimonial intent; by enacting this prudent and unclamorous +part, the mere sight of such tranquil, disinterested, but indestructible +devotedness, could not but suggest in Lucy's mind, very natural +comparisons between Glen and Pierre, most deplorably abasing to the +latter. Then, no woman--as it would sometimes seem--no woman is utterly +free from the influence of a princely social position in her suitor, +especially if he be handsome and young. And Glen would come to her now +the master of two immense fortunes, and the heir, by voluntary election, +no less than by blood propinquity, to the ancestral bannered hall, and +the broad manorial meadows of the Glendinnings. And thus, too, the +spirit of Pierre's own mother would seem to press Glen's suit. Indeed, +situated now as he was Glen would seem all the finest part of Pierre, +without any of Pierre's shame; would almost seem Pierre himself--what +Pierre had once been to Lucy. And as in the case of a man who has lost a +sweet wife, and who long refuses the least consolation; as this man at +last finds a singular solace in the companionship of his wife's sister, +who happens to bear a peculiar family resemblance to the dead; and as +he, in the end, proposes marriage to this sister, merely from the force +of such magical associative influences; so it did not seem wholly out of +reason to suppose, that the great manly beauty of Glen, possessing a +strong related similitude to Pierre's, might raise in Lucy's heart +associations, which would lead her at least to seek--if she could not +find--solace for one now regarded as dead and gone to her forever, in +the devotedness of another, who would notwithstanding almost seem as +that dead one brought back to life. + +Deep, deep, and still deep and deeper must we go, if we would find out +the heart of a man; descending into which is as descending a spiral +stair in a shaft, without any end, and where that endlessness is only +concealed by the spiralness of the stair, and the blackness of the +shaft. + +As Pierre conjured up this phantom of Glen transformed into the seeming +semblance of himself; as he figured it advancing toward Lucy and raising +her hand in devotion; an infinite quenchless rage and malice possessed +him. Many commingled emotions combined to provoke this storm. But chief +of all was something strangely akin to that indefinable detestation +which one feels for any impostor who has dared to assume one's own name +and aspect in any equivocal or dishonorable affair; an emotion greatly +intensified if this impostor be known for a mean villain at bottom, and +also, by the freak of nature to be almost the personal duplicate of the +man whose identity he assumes. All these and a host of other distressful +and resentful fancies now ran through the breast of Pierre. All his +Faith-born, enthusiastic, high-wrought, stoic, and philosophic defenses, +were now beaten down by this sudden storm of nature in his soul. For +there is no faith, and no stoicism, and no philosophy, that a mortal man +can possibly evoke, which will stand the final test of a real +impassioned onset of Life and Passion upon him. Then all the fair +philosophic or Faith-phantoms that he raised from the mist, slide away +and disappear as ghosts at cock-crow. For Faith and philosophy are air, +but events are brass. Amidst his gray philosophizings, Life breaks upon +a man like a morning. + +While this mood was on him, Pierre cursed himself for a heartless +villain and an idiot fool;--heartless villain, as the murderer of his +mother--idiot fool, because he had thrown away all his felicity; because +he had himself, as it were, resigned his noble birthright to a cunning +kinsman for a mess of pottage, which now proved all but ashes in his +mouth. + +Resolved to hide these new, and--as it latently seemed to him--unworthy +pangs, from Isabel, as also their cause, he quitted his chamber, +intending a long vagabond stroll in the suburbs of the town, to wear off +his sharper grief, ere he should again return into her sight. + + +III. + +As Pierre, now hurrying from his chamber, was rapidly passing through +one of the higher brick colonnades connecting the ancient building with +the modern, there advanced toward him from the direction of the latter, +a very plain, composed, manly figure, with a countenance rather pale if +any thing, but quite clear and without wrinkle. Though the brow and the +beard, and the steadiness of the head and settledness of the step +indicated mature age, yet the blue, bright, but still quiescent eye +offered a very striking contrast. In that eye, the gay immortal youth +Apollo, seemed enshrined; while on that ivory-throned brow, old Saturn +cross-legged sat. The whole countenance of this man, the whole air and +look of this man, expressed a cheerful content. Cheerful is the +adjective, for it was the contrary of gloom; content--perhaps +acquiescence--is the substantive, for it was not Happiness or Delight. +But while the personal look and air of this man were thus winning, there +was still something latently visible in him which repelled. That +something may best be characterized as non-Benevolence. Non-Benevolence +seems the best word, for it was neither Malice nor Ill-will; but +something passive. To crown all, a certain floating atmosphere seemed to +invest and go along with this man. That atmosphere seems only renderable +in words by the term Inscrutableness. Though the clothes worn by this +man were strictly in accordance with the general style of any +unobtrusive gentleman's dress, yet his clothes seemed to disguise this +man. One would almost have said, his very face, the apparently natural +glance of his very eye disguised this man. + +Now, as this person deliberately passed by Pierre, he lifted his hat, +gracefully bowed, smiled gently, and passed on. But Pierre was all +confusion; he flushed, looked askance, stammered with his hand at his +hat to return the courtesy of the other; he seemed thoroughly upset by +the mere sight of this hat-lifting, gracefully bowing, gently-smiling, +and most miraculously self-possessed, non-benevolent man. + +Now who was this man? This man was Plotinus Plinlimmon. Pierre had read +a treatise of his in a stage-coach coming to the city, and had heard him +often spoken of by Millthorpe and others as the Grand Master of a +certain mystic Society among the Apostles. Whence he came, no one could +tell. His surname was Welsh, but he was a Tennesseean by birth. He +seemed to have no family or blood ties of any sort. He never was known +to work with his hands; never to write with his hands (he would not even +write a letter); he never was known to open a book. There were no books +in his chamber. Nevertheless, some day or other he must have read books, +but that time seemed gone now; as for the sleazy works that went under +his name, they were nothing more than his verbal things, taken down at +random, and bunglingly methodized by his young disciples. + +Finding Plinlimmon thus unfurnished either with books or pen and paper, +and imputing it to something like indigence, a foreign scholar, a rich +nobleman, who chanced to meet him once, sent him a fine supply of +stationery, with a very fine set of volumes,--Cardan, Epictetus, the +Book of Mormon, Abraham Tucker, Condorcet and the Zenda-Vesta. But this +noble foreign scholar calling next day--perhaps in expectation of some +compliment for his great kindness--started aghast at his own package +deposited just without the door of Plinlimmon, and with all fastenings +untouched. + +"Missent," said Plotinus Plinlimmon placidly: "if any thing, I looked +for some choice Curaçoa from a nobleman like you. I should be very +happy, my dear Count, to accept a few jugs of choice Curaçoa." + +"I thought that the society of which you are the head, excluded all +things of that sort"--replied the Count. + +"Dear Count, so they do; but Mohammed hath his own dispensation." + +"Ah! I see," said the noble scholar archly. + +"I am afraid you do not see, dear Count"--said Plinlimmon; and instantly +before the eyes of the Count, the inscrutable atmosphere eddied and +eddied roundabout this Plotinus Plinlimmon. + +His chance brushing encounter in the corridor was the first time that +ever Pierre had without medium beheld the form or the face of +Plinlimmon. Very early after taking chambers at the Apostles', he had +been struck by a steady observant blue-eyed countenance at one of the +loftiest windows of the old gray tower, which on the opposite side of +the quadrangular space, rose prominently before his own chamber. Only +through two panes of glass--his own and the stranger's--had Pierre +hitherto beheld that remarkable face of repose,--repose neither divine +nor human, nor any thing made up of either or both--but a repose +separate and apart--a repose of a face by itself. One adequate look at +that face conveyed to most philosophical observers a notion of something +not before included in their scheme of the Universe. + +Now as to the mild sun, glass is no hindrance at all, but he transmits +his light and life through the glass; even so through Pierre's panes did +the tower face transmit its strange mystery. + +Becoming more and more interested in this face, he had questioned +Millthorpe concerning it "Bless your soul"--replied Millthorpe--"that is +Plotinus Plinlimmon! our Grand Master, Plotinus Plinlimmon! By gad, you +must know Plotinus thoroughly, as I have long done. Come away with me, +now, and let me introduce you instanter to Plotinus Plinlimmon." + +But Pierre declined; and could not help thinking, that though in all +human probability Plotinus well understood Millthorpe, yet Millthorpe +could hardly yet have wound himself into Plotinus;--though indeed +Plotinus--who at times was capable of assuming a very off-hand, +confidential, and simple, sophomorean air--might, for reasons best known +to himself, have tacitly pretended to Millthorpe, that he (Millthorpe) +had thoroughly wriggled himself into his (Plotinus') innermost soul. + +A man will be given a book, and when the donor's back is turned, will +carelessly drop it in the first corner; he is not over-anxious to be +bothered with the book. But now personally point out to him the author, +and ten to one he goes back to the corner, picks up the book, dusts the +cover, and very carefully reads that invaluable work. One does not +vitally believe in a man till one's own two eyes have beheld him. If +then, by the force of peculiar circumstances, Pierre while in the +stage, had formerly been drawn into an attentive perusal of the work on +"Chronometricals and Horologicals;" how then was his original interest +heightened by catching a subsequent glimpse of the author. But at the +first reading, not being able--as he thought--to master the pivot-idea +of the pamphlet; and as every incomprehended idea is not only a +perplexity but a taunting reproach to one's mind, Pierre had at last +ceased studying it altogether; nor consciously troubled himself further +about it during the remainder of the journey. But still thinking now it +might possibly have been mechanically retained by him, he searched all +the pockets of his clothes, but without success. He begged Millthorpe to +do his best toward procuring him another copy; but it proved impossible +to find one. Plotinus himself could not furnish it. + +Among other efforts, Pierre in person had accosted a limping half-deaf +old book-stall man, not very far from the Apostles'. "Have you the +'_Chronometrics_,' my friend?" forgetting the exact title. + +"Very bad, very bad!" said the old man, rubbing his back;--"has had the +_chronic-rheumatics_ ever so long; what's good for 'em?" + +Perceiving his mistake, Pierre replied that he did not know what was the +infallible remedy. + +"Whist! let me tell ye, then, young 'un," said the old cripple, limping +close up to him, and putting his mouth in Pierre's ear--"Never catch +'em!--now's the time, while you're young:--never catch 'em!" + +By-and-by the blue-eyed, mystic-mild face in the upper window of the old +gray tower began to domineer in a very remarkable manner upon Pierre. +When in his moods of peculiar depression and despair; when dark thoughts +of his miserable condition would steal over him; and black doubts as to +the integrity of his unprecedented course in life would most +malignantly suggest themselves; when a thought of the vanity of his +deep book would glidingly intrude; if glancing at his closet-window that +mystic-mild face met Pierre's; under any of these influences the effect +was surprising, and not to be adequately detailed in any possible words. + +Vain! vain! vain! said the face to him. Fool! fool! fool! said the face +to him. Quit! quit! quit! said the face to him. But when he mentally +interrogated the face as to why it thrice said Vain! Fool! Quit! to him; +here there was no response. For that face did not respond to any thing. +Did I not say before that that face was something separate, and apart; a +face by itself? Now, any thing which is thus a thing by itself never +responds to any other thing. If to affirm, be to expand one's isolated +self; and if to deny, be to contract one's isolated self; then to +respond is a suspension of all isolation. Though this face in the tower +was so clear and so mild; though the gay youth Apollo was enshrined in +that eye, and paternal old Saturn sat cross-legged on that ivory brow; +yet somehow to Pierre the face at last wore a sort of malicious leer to +him. But the Kantists might say, that this was a _subjective_ sort of +leer in Pierre. Any way, the face seemed to leer upon Pierre. And now it +said to him--_Ass! ass! ass!_ This expression was insufferable. He +procured some muslin for his closet-window; and the face became +curtained like any portrait. But this did not mend the leer. Pierre knew +that still the face leered behind the muslin. What was most terrible was +the idea that by some magical means or other the face had got hold of +his secret. "Ay," shuddered Pierre, "the face knows that Isabel is not +my wife! And that seems the reason it leers." + +Then would all manner of wild fancyings float through his soul, and +detached sentences of the "Chronometrics" would vividly recur to +him--sentences before but imperfectly comprehended, but now shedding a +strange, baleful light upon his peculiar condition, and emphatically +denouncing it. Again he tried his best to procure the pamphlet, to read +it now by the commentary of the mystic-mild face; again he searched +through the pockets of his clothes for the stage-coach copy, but in +vain. + +And when--at the critical moment of quitting his chambers that morning +of the receipt of the fatal tidings--the face itself--the man +himself--this inscrutable Plotinus Plinlimmon himself--did visibly brush +by him in the brick corridor, and all the trepidation he had ever before +felt at the mild-mystic aspect in the tower window, now redoubled upon +him, so that, as before said, he flushed, looked askance, and stammered +with his saluting hand to his hat;--then anew did there burn in him the +desire of procuring the pamphlet. "Cursed fate that I should have lost +it"--he cried;--"more cursed, that when I did have it, and did read it, +I was such a ninny as not to comprehend; and now it is all too late!" + +Yet--to anticipate here--when years after, an old Jew Clothesman +rummaged over a surtout of Pierre's--which by some means had come into +his hands--his lynx-like fingers happened to feel something foreign +between the cloth and the heavy quilted bombazine lining. He ripped open +the skirt, and found several old pamphlet pages, soft and worn almost to +tissue, but still legible enough to reveal the title--"Chronometricals +and Horologicals." Pierre must have ignorantly thrust it into his +pocket, in the stage, and it had worked through a rent there, and worked +its way clean down into the skirt, and there helped pad the padding. So +that all the time he was hunting for this pamphlet, he himself was +wearing the pamphlet. When he brushed past Plinlimmon in the brick +corridor, and felt that renewed intense longing for the pamphlet, then +his right hand was not two inches from the pamphlet. + +Possibly this curious circumstance may in some sort illustrate his +self-supposed non-understanding of the pamphlet, as first read by him +in the stage. Could he likewise have carried about with him in his mind +the thorough understanding of the book, and yet not be aware that he so +understood it? I think that--regarded in one light--the final career of +Pierre will seem to show, that he _did_ understand it. And here it may +be randomly suggested, by way of bagatelle, whether some things that men +think they do not know, are not for all that thoroughly comprehended by +them; and yet, so to speak, though contained in themselves, are kept a +secret from themselves? The idea of Death seems such a thing. + + + + +BOOK XXII. + +THE FLOWER-CURTAIN LIFTED FROM BEFORE A TROPICAL AUTHOR, WITH SOME +REMARKS ON THE TRANSCENDENTAL FLESH-BRUSH PHILOSOPHY. + + +I. + +Some days passed after the fatal tidings from the Meadows, and at +length, somewhat mastering his emotions, Pierre again sits down in his +chamber; for grieve how he will, yet work he must. And now day succeeds +day, and week follows week, and Pierre still sits in his chamber. The +long rows of cooled brick-kilns around him scarce know of the change; +but from the fair fields of his great-great-great-grandfather's manor, +Summer hath flown like a swallow-guest; the perfidious wight, Autumn, +hath peeped in at the groves of the maple, and under pretense of +clothing them in rich russet and gold, hath stript them at last of the +slightest rag, and then ran away laughing; prophetic icicles depend from +the arbors round about the old manorial mansion--now locked up and +abandoned; and the little, round, marble table in the viny summer-house +where, of July mornings, he had sat chatting and drinking negus with his +gay mother, is now spread with a shivering napkin of frost; sleety +varnish hath encrusted that once gay mother's grave, preparing it for +its final cerements of wrapping snow upon snow; wild howl the winds in +the woods: it is Winter. Sweet Summer is done; and Autumn is done; but +the book, like the bitter winter, is yet to be finished. + +That season's wheat is long garnered, Pierre; that season's ripe apples +and grapes are in; no crop, no plant, no fruit is out; the whole harvest +is done. Oh, woe to that belated winter-overtaken plant, which the +summer could not bring to maturity! The drifting winter snows shall +whelm it. Think, Pierre, doth not thy plant belong to some other and +tropical clime? Though transplanted to northern Maine, the orange-tree +of the Floridas will put forth leaves in that parsimonious summer, and +show some few tokens of fruitage; yet November will find no golden +globes thereon; and the passionate old lumber-man, December, shall peel +the whole tree, wrench it off at the ground, and toss it for a fagot to +some lime-kiln. Ah, Pierre, Pierre, make haste! make haste! force thy +fruitage, lest the winter force thee. + +Watch yon little toddler, how long it is learning to stand by itself! +First it shrieks and implores, and will not try to stand at all, unless +both father and mother uphold it; then a little more bold, it must, at +least, feel one parental hand, else again the cry and the tremble; long +time is it ere by degrees this child comes to stand without any support. +But, by-and-by, grown up to man's estate, it shall leave the very mother +that bore it, and the father that begot it, and cross the seas, perhaps, +or settle in far Oregon lands. There now, do you see the soul. In its +germ on all sides it is closely folded by the world, as the husk folds +the tenderest fruit; then it is born from the world-husk, but still now +outwardly clings to it;--still clamors for the support of its mother the +world, and its father the Deity. But it shall yet learn to stand +independent, though not without many a bitter wail, and many a miserable +fall. + +That hour of the life of a man when first the help of humanity fails +him, and he learns that in his obscurity and indigence humanity holds +him a dog and no man: that hour is a hard one, but not the hardest. +There is still another hour which follows, when he learns that in his +infinite comparative minuteness and abjectness, the gods do likewise +despise him, and own him not of their clan. Divinity and humanity then +are equally willing that he should starve in the street for all that +either will do for him. Now cruel father and mother have both let go his +hand, and the little soul-toddler, now you shall hear his shriek and his +wail, and often his fall. + +When at Saddle Meadows, Pierre had wavered and trembled in those first +wretched hours ensuing upon the receipt of Isabel's letter; then +humanity had let go the hand of Pierre, and therefore his cry; but when +at last inured to this, Pierre was seated at his book, willing that +humanity should desert him, so long as he thought he felt a far higher +support; then, ere long, he began to feel the utter loss of that other +support, too; ay, even the paternal gods themselves did now desert +Pierre; the toddler was toddling entirely alone, and not without +shrieks. + +If man must wrestle, perhaps it is well that it should be on the +nakedest possible plain. + +The three chambers of Pierre at the Apostles' were connecting ones. The +first--having a little retreat where Delly slept--was used for the more +exacting domestic purposes: here also their meals were taken; the second +was the chamber of Isabel; the third was the closet of Pierre. In the +first--the dining room, as they called it--there was a stove which +boiled the water for their coffee and tea, and where Delly concocted +their light repasts. This was their only fire; for, warned again and +again to economize to the uttermost, Pierre did not dare to purchase any +additional warmth. But by prudent management, a very little warmth may +go a great way. In the present case, it went some forty feet or more. A +horizontal pipe, after elbowing away from above the stove in the +dining-room, pierced the partition wall, and passing straight through +Isabel's chamber, entered the closet of Pierre at one corner, and then +abruptly disappeared into the wall, where all further caloric--if +any--went up through the chimney into the air, to help warm the +December sun. Now, the great distance of Pierre's calorical stream from +its fountain, sadly impaired it, and weakened it. It hardly had the +flavor of heat. It would have had but very inconsiderable influence in +raising the depressed spirits of the most mercurial thermometer; +certainly it was not very elevating to the spirits of Pierre. Besides, +this calorical stream, small as it was, did not flow through the room, +but only entered it, to elbow right out of it, as some coquettish +maidens enter the heart; moreover, it was in the furthest corner from +the only place where, with a judicious view to the light, Pierre's +desk-barrels and board could advantageously stand. Often, Isabel +insisted upon his having a separate stove to himself; but Pierre would +not listen to such a thing. Then Isabel would offer her own room to him; +saying it was of no indispensable use to her by day; she could easily +spend her time in the dining-room; but Pierre would not listen to such a +thing; he would not deprive her of the comfort of a continually +accessible privacy; besides, he was now used to his own room, and must +sit by that particular window there, and no other. Then Isabel would +insist upon keeping her connecting door open while Pierre was employed +at his desk, that so the heat of her room might bodily go into his; but +Pierre would not listen to such a thing: because he must be religiously +locked up while at work; outer love and hate must alike be excluded +then. In vain Isabel said she would make not the slightest noise, and +muffle the point of the very needle she used. All in vain. Pierre was +inflexible here. + +Yes, he was resolved to battle it out in his own solitary closet; though +a strange, transcendental conceit of one of the more erratic and +non-conforming Apostles,--who was also at this time engaged upon a +profound work above stairs, and who denied himself his full sufficiency +of food, in order to insure an abundant fire;--the strange conceit of +this Apostle, I say,--accidentally communicated to Pierre,--that, +through all the kingdoms of Nature, caloric was the great universal +producer and vivifyer, and could not be prudently excluded from the spot +where great books were in the act of creation; and therefore, he (the +Apostle) for one, was resolved to plant his head in a hot-bed of +stove-warmed air, and so force his brain to germinate and blossom, and +bud, and put forth the eventual, crowning, victorious flower;--though +indeed this conceit rather staggered Pierre--for in truth, there was no +small smack of plausible analogy in it--yet one thought of his purse +would wholly expel the unwelcome intrusion, and reinforce his own +previous resolve. + +However lofty and magnificent the movements of the stars; whatever +celestial melodies they may thereby beget; yet the astronomers assure us +that they are the most rigidly methodical of all the things that exist. +No old housewife goes her daily domestic round with one millionth part +the precision of the great planet Jupiter in his stated and unalterable +revolutions. He has found his orbit, and stays in it; he has timed +himself, and adheres to his periods. So, in some degree with Pierre, now +revolving in the troubled orbit of his book. + +Pierre rose moderately early; and the better to inure himself to the +permanent chill of his room, and to defy and beard to its face, the +cruelest cold of the outer air; he would--behind the curtain--throw down +the upper sash of his window; and on a square of old painted canvas, +formerly wrapping some bale of goods in the neighborhood, treat his +limbs, of those early December mornings, to a copious ablution, in water +thickened with incipient ice. Nor, in this stoic performance, was he at +all without company,--not present, but adjoiningly sympathetic; for +scarce an Apostle in all those scores and scores of chambers, but +undeviatingly took his daily December bath. Pierre had only to peep out +of his pane and glance round the multi-windowed, inclosing walls of the +quadrangle, to catch plentiful half-glimpses, all round him, of many a +lean, philosophical nudity, refreshing his meager bones with crash-towel +and cold water. "Quick be the play," was their motto: "Lively our +elbows, and nimble all our tenuities." Oh, the dismal echoings of the +raspings of flesh-brushes, perverted to the filing and polishing of the +merest ribs! Oh, the shuddersome splashings of pails of ice-water over +feverish heads, not unfamiliar with aches! Oh, the rheumatical +cracklings of rusted joints, in that defied air of December! for every +thick-frosted sash was down, and every lean nudity courted the zephyr! + +Among all the innate, hyena-like repellants to the reception of any set +form of a spiritually-minded and pure archetypical faith, there is +nothing so potent in its skeptical tendencies, as that inevitable +perverse ridiculousness, which so often bestreaks some of the +essentially finest and noblest aspirations of those men, who disgusted +with the common conventional quackeries, strive, in their clogged +terrestrial humanities, after some imperfectly discerned, but heavenly +ideals: ideals, not only imperfectly discerned in themselves, but the +path to them so little traceable, that no two minds will entirely agree +upon it. + +Hardly a new-light Apostle, but who, in superaddition to his +revolutionary scheme for the minds and philosophies of men, entertains +some insane, heterodoxical notions about the economy of his body. His +soul, introduced by the gentlemanly gods, into the supernal +society,--practically rejects that most sensible maxim of men of the +world, who chancing to gain the friendship of any great character, never +make that the ground of boring him with the supplemental acquaintance of +their next friend, who perhaps, is some miserable ninny. Love me, love +my dog, is only an adage for the old country-women who affectionately +kiss their cows. The gods love the soul of a man; often, they will +frankly accost it; but they abominate his body; and will forever cut it +dead, both here and hereafter. So, if thou wouldst go to the gods, +leave thy dog of a body behind thee. And most impotently thou strivest +with thy purifying cold baths, and thy diligent scrubbings with +flesh-brushes, to prepare it as a meet offering for their altar. Nor +shall all thy Pythagorean and Shellian dietings on apple-parings, dried +prunes, and crumbs of oat-meal cracker, ever fit thy body for heaven. +Feed all things with food convenient for them,--that is, if the food be +procurable. The food of thy soul is light and space; feed it then on +light and space. But the food of thy body is champagne and oysters; feed +it then on champagne and oysters; and so shall it merit a joyful +resurrection, if there is any to be. Say, wouldst thou rise with a +lantern jaw and a spavined knee? Rise with brawn on thee, and a most +royal corporation before thee; so shalt thou in that day claim +respectful attention. Know this: that while many a consumptive dietarian +has but produced the merest literary flatulencies to the world; +convivial authors have alike given utterance to the sublimest wisdom, +and created the least gross and most ethereal forms. And for men of +demonstrative muscle and action, consider that right royal epitaph which +Cyrus the Great caused to be engraved on his tomb--"I could drink a +great deal of wine, and it did me a great deal of good." Ah, foolish! to +think that by starving thy body, thou shalt fatten thy soul! Is yonder +ox fatted because yonder lean fox starves in the winter wood? And prate +not of despising thy body, while still thou flourisheth thy flesh-brush! +The finest houses are most cared for within; the outer walls are freely +left to the dust and the soot. Put venison in thee, and so wit shall +come out of thee. It is one thing in the mill, but another in the sack. + +Now it was the continual, quadrangular example of those forlorn fellows, +the Apostles, who, in this period of his half-developments and +transitions, had deluded Pierre into the Flesh-Brush Philosophy, and had +almost tempted him into the Apple-Parings Dialectics. For all the long +wards, corridors, and multitudinous chambers of the Apostles' were +scattered with the stems of apples, the stones of prunes, and the shells +of peanuts. They went about huskily muttering the Kantian Categories +through teeth and lips dry and dusty as any miller's, with the crumbs of +Graham crackers. A tumbler of cold water was the utmost welcome to their +reception rooms; at the grand supposed Sanhedrim presided over by one of +the deputies of Plotinus Plinlimmon, a huge jug of Adam's Ale, and a +bushel-basket of Graham crackers were the only convivials. Continually +bits of cheese were dropping from their pockets, and old shiny apple +parchments were ignorantly exhibited every time they drew out a +manuscript to read you. Some were curious in the vintages of waters; and +in three glass decanters set before you, Fairmount, Croton, and +Cochituate; they held that Croton was the most potent, Fairmount a +gentle tonic, and Cochituate the mildest and least inebriating of all. +Take some more of the Croton, my dear sir! Be brisk with the Fairmount! +Why stops that Cochituate? So on their philosophical tables went round +their Port, their Sherry, and their Claret. + +Some, further advanced, rejected mere water in the bath, as altogether +too coarse an element; and so, took to the Vapor-baths, and steamed +their lean ribs every morning. The smoke which issued from their heads, +and overspread their pages, was prefigured in the mists that issued from +under their door-sills and out of their windows. Some could not sit down +of a morning until after first applying the Vapor-bath outside and then +thoroughly rinsing out their interiors with five cups of cold Croton. +They were as faithfully replenished fire-buckets; and could they, +standing in one cordon, have consecutively pumped themselves into each +other, then the great fire of 1835 had been far less wide-spread and +disastrous. + +Ah! ye poor lean ones! ye wretched Soakites and Vaporites! have not your +niggardly fortunes enough rinsed ye out, and wizened ye, but ye must +still be dragging the hose-pipe, and throwing still more cold Croton on +yourselves and the world? Ah! attach the screw of your hose-pipe to some +fine old butt of Madeira! pump us some sparkling wine into the world! +see, see, already, from all eternity, two-thirds of it have lain +helplessly soaking! + + +II. + +With cheek rather pale, then, and lips rather blue, Pierre sits down to +his plank. + +But is Pierre packed in the mail for St. Petersburg this morning? Over +his boots are his moccasins; over his ordinary coat is his surtout; and +over that, a cloak of Isabel's. Now he is squared to his plank; and at +his hint, the affectionate Isabel gently pushes his chair closer to it, +for he is so muffled, he can hardly move of himself. Now Delly comes in +with bricks hot from the stove; and now Isabel and she with devoted +solicitude pack away these comforting stones in the folds of an old blue +cloak, a military garment of the grandfather of Pierre, and tenderly +arrange it both over and under his feet; but putting the warm flagging +beneath. Then Delly brings still another hot brick to put under his +inkstand, to prevent the ink from thickening. Then Isabel drags the +camp-bedstead nearer to him, on which are the two or three books he may +possibly have occasion to refer to that day, with a biscuit or two, and +some water, and a clean towel, and a basin. Then she leans against the +plank by the elbow of Pierre, a crook-ended stick. Is Pierre a shepherd, +or a bishop, or a cripple? No, but he has in effect, reduced himself to +the miserable condition of the last. With the crook-ended cane, +Pierre--unable to rise without sadly impairing his manifold +intrenchments, and admitting the cold air into their innermost +nooks,--Pierre, if in his solitude, he should chance to need any thing +beyond the reach of his arm, then the crook-ended cane drags it to his +immediate vicinity. + +Pierre glances slowly all round him; every thing seems to be right; he +looks up with a grateful, melancholy satisfaction at Isabel; a tear +gathers in her eye; but she conceals it from him by coming very close to +him, stooping over, and kissing his brow. 'Tis her lips that leave the +warm moisture there; not her tears, she says. + +"I suppose I must go now, Pierre. Now don't, don't be so long to-day. I +will call thee at half-past four. Thou shalt not strain thine eyes in +the twilight." + +"We will _see_ about that," says Pierre, with an unobserved attempt at a +very sad pun. "Come, thou must go. Leave me." + +And there he is left. + +Pierre is young; heaven gave him the divinest, freshest form of a man; +put light into his eye, and fire into his blood, and brawn into his arm, +and a joyous, jubilant, overflowing, upbubbling, universal life in him +everywhere. Now look around in that most miserable room, and at that +most miserable of all the pursuits of a man, and say if here be the +place, and this be the trade, that God intended him for. A rickety +chair, two hollow barrels, a plank, paper, pens, and infernally black +ink, four leprously dingy white walls, no carpet, a cup of water, and a +dry biscuit or two. Oh, I hear the leap of the Texan Camanche, as at +this moment he goes crashing like a wild deer through the green +underbrush; I hear his glorious whoop of savage and untamable health; +and then I look in at Pierre. If physical, practical unreason make the +savage, which is he? Civilization, Philosophy, Ideal Virtue! behold your +victim! + + +III. + +Some hours pass. Let us peep over the shoulder of Pierre, and see what +it is he is writing there, in that most melancholy closet. Here, topping +the reeking pile by his side, is the last sheet from his hand, the +frenzied ink not yet entirely dry. It is much to our purpose; for in +this sheet, he seems to have directly plagiarized from his own +experiences, to fill out the mood of his apparent author-hero, Vivia, +who thus soliloquizes: "A deep-down, unutterable mournfulness is in me. +Now I drop all humorous or indifferent disguises, and all philosophical +pretensions. I own myself a brother of the clod, a child of the Primeval +Gloom. Hopelessness and despair are over me, as pall on pall. Away, ye +chattering apes of a sophomorean Spinoza and Plato, who once didst all +but delude me that the night was day, and pain only a tickle. Explain +this darkness, exorcise this devil, ye can not. Tell me not, thou +inconceivable coxcomb of a Goethe, that the universe can not spare thee +and thy immortality, so long as--like a hired waiter--thou makest +thyself 'generally useful.' Already the universe gets on without thee, +and could still spare a million more of the same identical kidney. +Corporations have no souls, and thy Pantheism, what was that? Thou wert +but the pretensious, heartless part of a man. Lo! I hold thee in this +hand, and thou art crushed in it like an egg from which the meat hath +been sucked." + +Here is a slip from the floor. + +"Whence flow the panegyrical melodies that precede the march of these +heroes? From what but from a sounding brass and a tinkling cymbal!" + +And here is a second. + +"Cast thy eye in there on Vivia; tell me why those four limbs should be +clapt in a dismal jail--day out, day in--week out, week in--month out, +month in--and himself the voluntary jailer! Is this the end of +philosophy? This the larger, and spiritual life? This your boasted +empyrean? Is it for this that a man should grow wise, and leave off his +most excellent and calumniated folly?" + +And here is a third. + +"Cast thy eye in there on Vivia; he, who in the pursuit of the highest +health of virtue and truth, shows but a pallid cheek! Weigh his heart in +thy hand, oh, thou gold-laced, virtuoso Goethe! and tell me whether it +does not exceed thy standard weight!" + +And here is a fourth. + +"Oh God, that man should spoil and rust on the stalk, and be wilted and +threshed ere the harvest hath come! And oh God, that men that call +themselves men should still insist on a laugh! I hate the world, and +could trample all lungs of mankind as grapes, and heel them out of their +breath, to think of the woe and the cant,--to think of the Truth and the +Lie! Oh! blessed be the twenty-first day of December, and cursed be the +twenty-first day of June!" + +From these random slips, it would seem, that Pierre is quite conscious +of much that is so anomalously hard and bitter in his lot, of much that +is so black and terrific in his soul. Yet that knowing his fatal +condition does not one whit enable him to change or better his +condition. Conclusive proof that he has no power over his condition. For +in tremendous extremities human souls are like drowning men; well enough +they know they are in peril; well enough they know the causes of that +peril;--nevertheless, the sea is the sea, and these drowning men do +drown. + + +IV. + +From eight o'clock in the morning till half-past four in the evening, +Pierre sits there in his room;--eight hours and a half! + +From throbbing neck-bands, and swinging belly-bands of gay-hearted +horses, the sleigh-bells chimingly jingle;--but Pierre sits there in his +room; Thanksgiving comes, with its glad thanks, and crisp turkeys;--but +Pierre sits there in his room; soft through the snows, on tinted Indian +moccasin, Merry Christmas comes stealing;--but Pierre sits there in his +room; it is New-Year's, and like a great flagon, the vast city overbrims +at all curb-stones, wharves, and piers, with bubbling jubilations;--but +Pierre sits there in his room:--Nor jingling sleigh-bells at throbbing +neck-band, or swinging belly-band; nor glad thanks, and crisp turkeys of +Thanksgiving; nor tinted Indian moccasin of Merry Christmas softly +stealing through the snows; nor New-Year's curb-stones, wharves, and +piers, over-brimming with bubbling jubilations:--Nor jingling +sleigh-bells, nor glad Thanksgiving, nor Merry Christmas, nor jubilating +New Year's:--Nor Bell, Thank, Christ, Year;--none of these are for +Pierre. In the midst of the merriments of the mutations of Time, Pierre +hath ringed himself in with the grief of Eternity. Pierre is a peak +inflexible in the heart of Time, as the isle-peak, Piko, stands +unassaultable in the midst of waves. + +He will not be called to; he will not be stirred. Sometimes the intent +ear of Isabel in the next room, overhears the alternate silence, and +then the long lonely scratch of his pen. It is, as if she heard the busy +claw of some midnight mole in the ground. Sometimes, she hears a low +cough, and sometimes the scrape of his crook-handled cane. + +Here surely is a wonderful stillness of eight hours and a half, repeated +day after day. In the heart of such silence, surely something is at +work. Is it creation, or destruction? Builds Pierre the noble world of +a new book? or does the Pale Haggardness unbuild the lungs and the life +in him?--Unutterable, that a man should be thus! + +When in the meridian flush of the day, we recall the black apex of +night; then night seems impossible; this sun can never go down. Oh that +the memory of the uttermost gloom as an already tasted thing to the +dregs, should be no security against its return. One may be passibly +well one day, but the next, he may sup at black broth with Pluto. + +Is there then all this work to one book, which shall be read in a very +few hours; and, far more frequently, utterly skipped in one second; and +which, in the end, whatever it be, must undoubtedly go to the worms? + +Not so; that which now absorbs the time and the life of Pierre, is not +the book, but the primitive elementalizing of the strange stuff, which +in the act of attempting that book, have upheaved and upgushed in his +soul. Two books are being writ; of which the world shall only see one, +and that the bungled one. The larger book, and the infinitely better, is +for Pierre's own private shelf. That it is, whose unfathomable cravings +drink his blood; the other only demands his ink. But circumstances have +so decreed, that the one can not be composed on the paper, but only as +the other is writ down in his soul. And the one of the soul is +elephantinely sluggish, and will not budge at a breath. Thus Pierre is +fastened on by two leeches;--how then can the life of Pierre last? Lo! +he is fitting himself for the highest life, by thinning his blood and +collapsing his heart. He is learning how to live, by rehearsing the part +of death. + +Who shall tell all the thoughts and feelings of Pierre in that desolate +and shivering room, when at last the idea obtruded, that the wiser and +the profounder he should grow, the more and the more he lessened the +chances for bread; that could he now hurl his deep book out of the +window, and fall to on some shallow nothing of a novel, composable in a +month at the longest, then could he reasonably hope for both +appreciation and cash. But the devouring profundities, now opened up in +him, consume all his vigor; would he, he could not now be entertainingly +and profitably shallow in some pellucid and merry romance. Now he sees, +that with every accession of the personal divine to him, some great +land-slide of the general surrounding divineness slips from him, and +falls crashing away. Said I not that the gods, as well as mankind, had +unhanded themselves from this Pierre? So now in him you behold the baby +toddler I spoke of; forced now to stand and toddle alone. + +Now and then he turns to the camp-bed, and wetting his towel in the +basin, presses it against his brow. Now he leans back in his chair, as +if to give up; but again bends over and plods. + +Twilight draws on, the summons of Isabel is heard from the door; the +poor, frozen, blue-lipped, soul-shivering traveler for St. Petersburg is +unpacked; and for a moment stands toddling on the floor. Then his hat, +and his cane, and out he sallies for fresh air. A most comfortless +staggering of a stroll! People gaze at him passing, as at some imprudent +sick man, willfully burst from his bed. If an acquaintance is met, and +would say a pleasant newsmonger's word in his ear, that acquaintance +turns from him, affronted at his hard aspect of icy discourtesy. +"Bad-hearted," mutters the man, and goes on. + +He comes back to his chambers, and sits down at the neat table of Delly; +and Isabel soothingly eyes him, and presses him to eat and be strong. +But his is the famishing which loathes all food. He can not eat but by +force. He has assassinated the natural day; how then can he eat with an +appetite? If he lays him down, he can not sleep; he has waked the +infinite wakefulness in him; then how can he slumber? Still his book, +like a vast lumbering planet, revolves in his aching head. He can not +command the thing out of its orbit; fain would he behead himself, to +gain one night's repose. At last the heavy hours move on; and sheer +exhaustion overtakes him, and he lies still--not asleep as children and +day-laborers sleep--but he lies still from his throbbings, and for that +interval holdingly sheaths the beak of the vulture in his hand, and lets +it not enter his heart. + +Morning comes; again the dropt sash, the icy water, the flesh-brush, the +breakfast, the hot bricks, the ink, the pen, the +from-eight-o'clock-to-half-past-four, and the whole general inclusive +hell of the same departed day. + +Ah! shivering thus day after day in his wrappers and cloaks, is this the +warm lad that once sung to the world of the Tropical Summer? + + + + +BOOK XXIII. + +A LETTER FOR PIERRE. ISABEL. ARRIVAL OF LUCY'S EASEL AND TRUNKS AT THE +APOSTLES'. + + +I. + +If a frontier man be seized by wild Indians, and carried far and deep +into the wilderness, and there held a captive, with no slightest +probability of eventual deliverance; then the wisest thing for that man +is to exclude from his memory by every possible method, the least images +of those beloved objects now forever reft from him. For the more +delicious they were to him in the now departed possession, so much the +more agonizing shall they be in the present recalling. And though a +strong man may sometimes succeed in strangling such tormenting memories; +yet, if in the beginning permitted to encroach upon him unchecked, the +same man shall, in the end, become as an idiot. With a continent and an +ocean between him and his wife--thus sundered from her, by whatever +imperative cause, for a term of long years;--the husband, if +passionately devoted to her, and by nature broodingly sensitive of soul, +is wise to forget her till he embrace her again;--is wise never to +remember her if he hear of her death. And though such complete suicidal +forgettings prove practically impossible, yet is it the shallow and +ostentatious affections alone which are bustling in the offices of +obituarian memories. _The love deep as death_--what mean those five +words, but that such love can not live, and be continually remembering +that the loved one is no more? If it be thus then in cases where entire +unremorsefulness as regards the beloved absent objects is presumed, how +much more intolerable, when the knowledge of their hopeless wretchedness +occurs, attended by the visitations of before latent upbraidings in the +rememberer as having been any way--even unwillingly--the producers of +their sufferings. There seems no other sane recourse for some moody +organizations on whom such things, under such circumstances intrude, but +right and left to flee them, whatever betide. + +If little or nothing hitherto has been said of Lucy Tartan in reference +to the condition of Pierre after his departure from the Meadows, it has +only been because her image did not willingly occupy his soul. He had +striven his utmost to banish it thence; and only once--on receiving the +tidings of Glen's renewed attentions--did he remit the intensity of +those strivings, or rather feel them, as impotent in him in that hour of +his manifold and overwhelming prostration. + +Not that the pale form of Lucy, swooning on her snow-white bed; not that +the inexpressible anguish of the shriek--"My heart! my heart!" would not +now at times force themselves upon him, and cause his whole being to +thrill with a nameless horror and terror. But the very thrillingness of +the phantom made him to shun it, with all remaining might of his spirit. + +Nor were there wanting still other, and far more wonderful, though but +dimly conscious influences in the breast of Pierre, to meet as +repellants the imploring form. Not to speak of his being devoured by the +all-exacting theme of his book, there were sinister preoccupations in +him of a still subtler and more fearful sort, of which some inklings +have already been given. + +It was while seated solitary in his room one morning; his flagging +faculties seeking a momentary respite; his head sideways turned toward +the naked floor, following the seams in it, which, as wires, led +straight from where he sat to the connecting door, and disappeared +beneath it into the chamber of Isabel; that he started at a tap at that +very door, followed by the wonted, low, sweet voice,-- + +"Pierre! a letter for thee--dost thou hear? a letter,--may I come in?" + +At once he felt a dart of surprise and apprehension; for he was +precisely in that general condition with respect to the outer world, +that he could not reasonably look for any tidings but disastrous, or at +least, unwelcome ones. He assented; and Isabel entered, holding out the +billet in her hand. + +"'Tis from some lady, Pierre; who can it be?--not thy mother though, of +that I am certain;--the expression of her face, as seen by me, not at +all answering to the expression of this handwriting here." + +"My mother? from my mother?" muttered Pierre, in wild vacancy--"no! no! +it can scarce be from her.--Oh, she writes no more, even in her own +private tablets now! Death hath stolen the last leaf, and rubbed all +out, to scribble his own ineffaceable _hic jacet_ there!" + +"Pierre!" cried Isabel, in affright. + +"Give it me!" he shouted, vehemently, extending his hand. "Forgive me, +sweet, sweet Isabel, I have wandered in my mind; this book makes me mad. +There; I have it now"--in a tone of indifference--"now, leave me again. +It is from some pretty aunt, or cousin, I suppose," carelessly balancing +the letter in his hand. + +Isabel quitted the room; the moment the door closed upon her, Pierre +eagerly split open the letter, and read:-- + + +II. + +"This morning I vowed it, my own dearest, dearest Pierre I feel stronger +to-day; for to-day I have still more thought of thine own superhuman, +angelical strength; which so, has a very little been transferred to me. +Oh, Pierre, Pierre, with what words shall I write thee now;--now, when +still knowing nothing, yet something of thy secret I, as a seer, +suspect. Grief,--deep, unspeakable grief, hath made me this seer. I +could murder myself, Pierre, when I think of my previous blindness; but +that only came from my swoon. It was horrible and most murdersome; but +now I see thou wert right in being so instantaneous with me, and in +never afterward writing to me, Pierre; yes, now I see it, and adore thee +the more. + +"Ah! thou too noble and angelical Pierre, now I feel that a being like +thee, can possibly have no love as other men love; but thou lovest as +angels do; not for thyself, but wholly for others. But still are we one, +Pierre; thou art sacrificing thyself, and I hasten to re-tie myself to +thee, that so I may catch thy fire, and all the ardent multitudinous +arms of our common flames may embrace. I will ask of thee nothing, +Pierre; thou shalt tell me no secret. Very right wert thou, Pierre, +when, in that ride to the hills, thou wouldst not swear the fond, +foolish oath I demanded. Very right, very right; now I see it. + +"If then I solemnly vow, never to seek from thee any slightest thing +which thou wouldst not willingly have me know; if ever I, in all outward +actions, shall recognize, just as thou dost, the peculiar position of +that mysterious, and ever-sacred being;--then, may I not come and live +with thee? I will be no encumbrance to thee. I know just where thou art, +and how thou art living; and only just there, Pierre, and only just so, +is any further life endurable, or possible for me. She will never +know--for thus far I am sure thou thyself hast never disclosed it to +her what I once was to thee. Let it seem, as though I were some +nun-like cousin immovably vowed to dwell with thee in thy strange exile. +Show not to me,--never show more any visible conscious token of love. I +will never to thee. Our mortal lives, oh, my heavenly Pierre, shall +henceforth be one mute wooing of each other; with no declaration; no +bridal; till we meet in the pure realms of God's final blessedness for +us;--till we meet where the ever-interrupting and ever-marring world can +not and shall not come; where all thy hidden, glorious unselfishness +shall be gloriously revealed in the full splendor of that heavenly +light; where, no more forced to these cruelest disguises, she, _she_ too +shall assume her own glorious place, nor take it hard, but rather feel +the more blessed, when, there, thy sweet heart, shall be openly and +unreservedly mine. Pierre, Pierre, my Pierre!--only this thought, this +hope, this sublime faith now supports me. Well was it, that the swoon, +in which thou didst leave me, that long eternity ago--well was it, dear +Pierre, that though I came out of it to stare and grope, yet it was only +to stare and grope, and then I swooned again, and then groped again, and +then again swooned. But all this was vacancy; little I clutched; nothing +I knew; 'twas less than a dream, my Pierre, I had no conscious thought +of thee, love; but felt an utter blank, a vacancy;--for wert thou not +then utterly gone from me? and what could there then be left of poor +Lucy?--But now, this long, long swoon is past; I come out again into +life and light; but how could I come out, how could I any way _be_, my +Pierre, if not in thee? So the moment I came out of the long, long +swoon, straightway came to me the immortal faith in thee, which though +it could offer no one slightest possible argument of mere sense in thy +behalf, yet was it only the more mysteriously imperative for that, my +Pierre. Know then, dearest Pierre, that with every most glaring earthly +reason to disbelieve in thy love; I do yet wholly give myself up to the +unshakable belief in it. For I feel, that always is love love, and can +not know change, Pierre; I feel that heaven hath called me to a +wonderful office toward thee. By throwing me into that long, long +swoon,--during which, Martha tells me, I hardly ate altogether, three +ordinary meals,--by that, heaven, I feel now, was preparing me for the +superhuman office I speak of; was wholly estranging me from this earth, +even while I yet lingered in it; was fitting me for a celestial mission +in terrestrial elements. Oh, give to me of thine own dear strength! I am +but a poor weak girl, dear Pierre; one that didst once love thee but too +fondly, and with earthly frailty. But now I shall be wafted far upward +from that; shall soar up to thee, where thou sittest in thine own calm, +sublime heaven of heroism. + +"Oh seek not to dissuade me, Pierre. Wouldst thou slay me, and slay me a +million times more? and never have done with murdering me? I must come! +I must come! God himself can not stay me, for it is He that commands +me.--I know all that will follow my flight to thee;--my amazed mother, +my enraged brothers, the whole taunting and despising world.--But thou +art my mother and my brothers, and all the world, and all heaven, and +all the universe to me--thou _art_ my Pierre. One only being does this +soul in me serve--and that is thee, Pierre.--So I am coming to thee, +Pierre, and quickly;--to-morrow it shall be, and never more will I quit +thee, Pierre. Speak thou immediately to her about me; thou shalt know +best what to say. Is there not some connection between our families, +Pierre? I have heard my mother sometimes trace such a thing out,--some +indirect cousinship. If thou approvest then, thou shalt say to her, I am +thy cousin, Pierre;--thy resolved and immovable nun-like cousin; vowed +to dwell with thee forever; to serve thee and her, to guard thee and her +without end. Prepare some little corner for me somewhere; but let it be +very near. Ere I come, I shall send a few little things,--the tools I +shall work by, Pierre, and so contribute to the welfare of all. Look for +me then. I am coming! I am coming, my Pierre; for a deep, deep voice +assures me, that all noble as thou art, Pierre, some terrible jeopardy +involves thee, which my continual presence only can drive away. I am +coming! I am coming!" + +LUCY. + + +III. + +When surrounded by the base and mercenary crew, man, too long wonted to +eye his race with a suspicious disdain, suddenly is brushed by some +angelical plume of humanity, and the human accents of superhuman love, +and the human eyes of superhuman beauty and glory, suddenly burst on his +being; then how wonderful and fearful the shock! It is as if the +sky-cope were rent, and from the black valley of Jehoshaphat, he caught +upper glimpses of the seraphim in the visible act of adoring. + +He held the artless, angelical letter in his unrealizing hand; he +started, and gazed round his room, and out at the window, commanding the +bare, desolate, all-forbidding quadrangle, and then asked himself +whether this was the place that an angel should choose for its visit to +earth. Then he felt a vast, out-swelling triumphantness, that the girl +whose rare merits his intuitive soul had once so clearly and +passionately discerned, should indeed, in this most tremendous of all +trials, have acquitted herself with such infinite majesty. Then again, +he sunk utterly down from her, as in a bottomless gulf, and ran +shuddering through hideous galleries of despair, in pursuit of some +vague, white shape, and lo! two unfathomable dark eyes met his, and +Isabel stood mutely and mournfully, yet all-ravishingly before him. + +He started up from his plank; cast off his manifold wrappings, and +crossed the floor to remove himself from the spot, where such sweet, +such sublime, such terrific revelations had been made him. + +Then a timid little rap was heard at the door. + +"Pierre, Pierre; now that thou art risen, may I not come in--just for a +moment, Pierre." + +"Come in, Isabel." + +She was approaching him in her wonted most strange and sweetly mournful +manner, when he retreated a step from her, and held out his arm, not +seemingly to invite, but rather as if to warn. + +She looked fixedly in his face, and stood rooted. + +"Isabel, another is coming to me. Thou dost not speak, Isabel. She is +coming to dwell with us so long as we live, Isabel. Wilt thou not +speak?" + +The girl still stood rooted; the eyes, which she had first fixed on him, +still remained wide-openly riveted. + +"Wilt thou not speak, Isabel?" said Pierre, terrified at her frozen, +immovable aspect, yet too terrified to manifest his own terror to her; +and still coming slowly near her. She slightly raised one arm, as if to +grasp some support; then turned her head slowly sideways toward the door +by which she had entered; then her dry lips slowly parted--"My bed; lay +me; lay me!" + +The verbal effort broke her stiffening enchantment of frost; her thawed +form sloped sidelong into the air; but Pierre caught her, and bore her +into her own chamber, and laid her there on the bed. + +"Fan me; fan me!" + +He fanned the fainting flame of her life; by-and-by she turned slowly +toward him. + +"Oh! that feminine word from thy mouth, dear Pierre:--that _she_, that +_she_!" + +Pierre sat silent, fanning her. + +"Oh, I want none in the world but thee, my brother--but thee, but thee! +and, oh God! am _I_ not enough for thee? Bare earth with my brother were +all heaven for me; but all my life, all my full soul, contents not my +brother." + +Pierre spoke not; he but listened; a terrible, burning curiosity was in +him, that made him as heartless. But still all that she had said thus +far was ambiguous. + +"Had I known--had I but known it before! Oh bitterly cruel to reveal it +now. That _she_! That _she_!" + +She raised herself suddenly, and almost fiercely confronted him. + +"Either thou hast told thy secret, or she is not worthy the commonest +love of man! Speak Pierre,--which?" + +"The secret is still a secret, Isabel." + +"Then is she worthless, Pierre, whoever she be--foolishly, madly +fond!--Doth not the world know me for thy wife?--She shall not come! +'Twere a foul blot on thee and me. She shall not come! One look from me +shall murder her, Pierre!" + +"This is madness, Isabel. Look: now reason with me. Did I not before +opening the letter, say to thee, that doubtless it was from some pretty +young aunt or cousin?" + +"Speak quick!--a cousin?" + +"A cousin, Isabel." + +"Yet, yet, that is not wholly out of the degree, I have heard. Tell me +more, and quicker! more! more!" + +"A very strange cousin, Isabel; almost a nun in her notions. Hearing of +our mysterious exile, she, without knowing the cause, hath yet as +mysteriously vowed herself ours--not so much mine, Isabel, as ours, +_ours_--to serve _us_; and by some sweet heavenly fancying, to guide us +and guard us here." + +"Then, possibly, it may be all very well, Pierre, my brother--my +_brother_--I can say that now?" + +"Any,--all words are thine, Isabel; words and worlds with all their +containings, shall be slaves to thee, Isabel." + +She looked eagerly and inquiringly at him; then dropped her eyes, and +touched his hand; then gazed again. "Speak so more to me, Pierre! Thou +art my brother; art thou not my brother?--But tell me now more of--her; +it is all newness, and utter strangeness to me, Pierre." + +"I have said, my sweetest sister, that she has this wild, nun-like +notion in her. She is willful in it; in this letter she vows she must +and will come, and nothing on earth shall stay her. Do not have any +sisterly jealousy, then, my sister. Thou wilt find her a most gentle, +unobtrusive, ministering girl, Isabel. She will never name the +not-to-be-named things to thee; nor hint of them; because she knows them +not. Still, without knowing the secret, she yet hath the vague, +unspecializing sensation of the secret--the mystical presentiment, +somehow, of the secret. And her divineness hath drowned all womanly +curiosity in her; so that she desires not, in any way, to verify the +presentiment; content with the vague presentiment only; for in that, she +thinks, the heavenly summons to come to us, lies;--even there, in that, +Isabel. Dost thou now comprehend me?" + +"I comprehend nothing, Pierre; there is nothing these eyes have ever +looked upon, Pierre, that this soul comprehended. Ever, as now, do I go +all a-grope amid the wide mysteriousness of things. Yes, she shall come; +it is only one mystery the more. Doth she talk in her sleep, Pierre? +Would it be well, if I slept with her, my brother?" + +"On thy account; wishful for thy sake; to leave thee incommoded; +and--and--not knowing precisely how things really are;--she probably +anticipates and desires otherwise, my sister." + +She gazed steadfastly at his outwardly firm, but not interiorly +unfaltering aspect; and then dropped her glance in silence. + +"Yes, she shall come, my brother; she shall come. But it weaves its +thread into the general riddle, my brother.--Hath she that which they +call the memory, Pierre; the memory? Hath she that?" + +"We all have the memory, my sister." + +"Not all! not all!--poor Bell hath but very little. Pierre! I have seen +her in some dream. She is fair-haired--blue eyes--she is not quite so +tall as I, yet a very little slighter." + +Pierre started. "Thou hast seen Lucy Tartan, at Saddle Meadows?" + +"Is Lucy Tartan the name?--Perhaps, perhaps;--but also, in the dream, +Pierre; she came, with her blue eyes turned beseechingly on me; she +seemed as if persuading me from thee;--methought she was then more than +thy cousin;--methought she was that good angel, which some say, hovers +over every human soul; and methought--oh, methought that I was thy +other,--thy other angel, Pierre. Look: see these eyes,--this hair--nay, +this cheek;--all dark, dark, dark,--and she--the blue-eyed--the +fair-haired--oh, once the red-cheeked!" + +She tossed her ebon tresses over her; she fixed her ebon eyes on him. + +"Say, Pierre; doth not a funerealness invest me? Was ever hearse so +plumed?--Oh, God! that I had been born with blue eyes, and fair hair! +Those make the livery of heaven! Heard ye ever yet of a good angel with +dark eyes, Pierre?--no, no, no--all blue, blue, blue--heaven's own +blue--the clear, vivid, unspeakable blue, which we see in June skies, +when all clouds are swept by.--But the good angel shall come to thee, +Pierre. Then both will be close by thee, my brother; and thou mayest +perhaps elect,--elect!--She shall come; she shall come.--When is it to +be, dear Pierre?" + +"To-morrow, Isabel. So it is here written." + +She fixed her eye on the crumpled billet in his hand. "It were vile to +ask, but not wrong to suppose the asking.--Pierre,--no, I need not say +it,--wouldst thou?" + +"No; I would not let thee read it, my sister; I would not; because I +have no right to--no right--no right;--that is it; no: I have no right. +I will burn it this instant, Isabel." + +He stepped from her into the adjoining room; threw the billet into the +stove, and watching its last ashes, returned to Isabel. + +She looked with endless intimations upon him. + +"It is burnt, but not consumed; it is gone, but not lost. Through stove, +pipe, and flue, it hath mounted in flame, and gone as a scroll to +heaven! It shall appear again, my brother.--Woe is me--woe, woe!--woe is +me, oh, woe! Do not speak to me, Pierre; leave me now. She shall come. +The Bad angel shall tend the Good; she shall dwell with us, Pierre. +Mistrust me not; her considerateness to me, shall be outdone by mine to +her.--Let me be alone now, my brother." + + +IV. + +Though by the unexpected petition to enter his privacy--a petition he +could scarce ever deny to Isabel, since she so religiously abstained +from preferring it, unless for some very reasonable cause, Pierre, in +the midst of those conflicting, secondary emotions, immediately +following the first wonderful effect of Lucy's strange letter, had been +forced to put on, toward Isabel, some air of assurance and understanding +concerning its contents; yet at bottom, he was still a prey to all +manner of devouring mysteries. + +Soon, now, as he left the chamber of Isabel, these mysteriousnesses +re-mastered him completely; and as he mechanically sat down in the +dining-room chair, gently offered him by Delly--for the silent girl saw +that some strangeness that sought stillness was in him;--Pierre's mind +was revolving how it was possible, or any way conceivable, that Lucy +should have been inspired with such seemingly wonderful presentiments of +something assumed, or disguising, or non-substantial, somewhere and +somehow, in his present most singular apparent position in the eye of +world. The wild words of Isabel yet rang in his ears. It were an outrage +upon all womanhood to imagine that Lucy, however yet devoted to him in +her hidden heart, should be willing to come to him, so long as she +supposed, with the rest of the world, that Pierre was an ordinarily +married man. But how--what possible reason--what possible intimation +could she have had to suspect the contrary, or to suspect any thing +unsound? For neither at this present time, nor at any subsequent period, +did Pierre, or could Pierre, possibly imagine that in her marvelous +presentiments of Love she had any definite conceit of the precise nature +of the secret which so unrevealingly and enchantedly wrapt him. But a +peculiar thought passingly recurred to him here. + +Within his social recollections there was a very remarkable case of a +youth, who, while all but affianced to a beautiful girl--one returning +his own throbbings with incipient passion--became somehow casually and +momentarily betrayed into an imprudent manifested tenderness toward a +second lady; or else, that second lady's deeply-concerned friends caused +it to be made known to the poor youth, that such committal tenderness +toward her he had displayed, nor had it failed to exert its natural +effect upon her; certain it is, this second lady drooped and drooped, +and came nigh to dying, all the while raving of the cruel infidelity of +her supposed lover; so that those agonizing appeals, from so really +lovely a girl, that seemed dying of grief for him, at last so moved the +youth, that--morbidly disregardful of the fact, that inasmuch as two +ladies claimed him, the prior lady had the best title to his hand--his +conscience insanely upbraided him concerning the second lady; he thought +that eternal woe would surely overtake him both here and hereafter if he +did not renounce his first love--terrible as the effort would be both to +him and her--and wed with the second lady; which he accordingly did; +while, through his whole subsequent life, delicacy and honor toward his +thus wedded wife, forbade that by explaining to his first love how it +was with him in this matter, he should tranquilize her heart; and, +therefore, in her complete ignorance, she believed that he was willfully +and heartlessly false to her; and so came to a lunatic's death on his +account. + +This strange story of real life, Pierre knew to be also familiar to +Lucy; for they had several times conversed upon it; and the first love +of the demented youth had been a school-mate of Lucy's, and Lucy had +counted upon standing up with her as bridesmaid. Now, the passing idea +was self-suggested to Pierre, whether into Lucy's mind some such conceit +as this, concerning himself and Isabel, might not possibly have stolen. +But then again such a supposition proved wholly untenable in the end; +for it did by no means suffice for a satisfactory solution of the +absolute motive of the extraordinary proposed step of Lucy; nor indeed +by any ordinary law of propriety, did it at all seem to justify that +step. Therefore, he know not what to think; hardly what to dream. +Wonders, nay, downright miracles and no less were sung about Love; but +here was the absolute miracle itself--the out-acted miracle. For +infallibly certain he inwardly felt, that whatever her strange conceit; +whatever her enigmatical delusion; whatever her most secret and +inexplicable motive; still Lucy in her own virgin heart remained +transparently immaculate, without shadow of flaw or vein. Nevertheless, +what inconceivable conduct this was in her, which she in her letter so +passionately proposed! Altogether, it amazed him; it confounded him. + +Now, that vague, fearful feeling stole into him, that, rail as all +atheists will, there is a mysterious, inscrutable divineness in the +world--a God--a Being positively present everywhere;--nay, He is now in +this room; the air did part when I here sat down. I displaced the Spirit +then--condensed it a little off from this spot. He looked +apprehensively around him; he felt overjoyed at the sight of the +humanness of Delly. + +While he was thus plunged into this mysteriousness, a knock was heard at +the door. + +Delly hesitatingly rose--"Shall I let any one in, sir?--I think it is +Mr. Millthorpe's knock." + +"Go and see--go and see"--said Pierre, vacantly. + +The moment the door was opened, Millthorpe--for it was he--catching a +glimpse of Pierre's seated form, brushed past Delly, and loudly entered +the room. + +"Ha, ha! well, my boy, how comes on the Inferno? That is it you are +writing; one is apt to look black while writing Infernoes; you always +loved Dante. My lad! I have finished ten metaphysical treatises; argued +five cases before the court; attended all our society's meetings; +accompanied our great Professor, Monsieur Volvoon, the lecturer, through +his circuit in the philosophical saloons, sharing all the honors of his +illustrious triumph; and by the way, let me tell you, Volvoon secretly +gives me even more credit than is my due; for 'pon my soul, I did not +help write more than one half, at most, of his Lectures; +edited--anonymously, though--a learned, scientific work on 'The Precise +Cause of the Modifications in the Undulatory Motion in Waves,' a +posthumous work of a poor fellow--fine lad he was, too--a friend of +mine. Yes, here I have been doing all this, while you still are +hammering away at that one poor plaguy Inferno! Oh, there's a secret in +dispatching these things; patience! patience! you will yet learn the +secret. Time! time! I can't teach it to you, my boy, but Time can: I +wish I could, but I can't." + +There was another knock at the door. + +"Oh!" cried Millthorpe, suddenly turning round to it, "I forgot, my boy. +I came to tell you that there is a porter, with some queer things, +inquiring for you. I happened to meet him down stairs in the corridors, +and I told him to follow me up--I would show him the road; here he is; +let him in, let him in, good Delly, my girl." + +Thus far, the rattlings of Millthorpe, if producing any effect at all, +had but stunned the averted Pierre. But now he started to his feet. A +man with his hat on, stood in the door, holding an easel before him. + +"Is this Mr. Glendinning's room, gentlemen?" + +"Oh, come in, come in," cried Millthorpe, "all right." + +"Oh! is that _you_, sir? well, well, then;" and the man set down the +easel. + +"Well, my boy," exclaimed Millthorpe to Pierre; "you are in the Inferno +dream yet. Look; that's what people call an _easel_, my boy. An _easel_, +an _easel_--not a _weasel_; you look at it as though you thought it a +weasel. Come; wake up, wake up! You ordered it, I suppose, and here it +is. Going to paint and illustrate the Inferno, as you go along, I +suppose. Well, my friends tell me it is a great pity my own things aint +illustrated. But I can't afford it. There now is that Hymn to the Niger, +which I threw into a pigeon-hole, a year or two ago--that would be fine +for illustrations." + +"Is it for Mr. Glendinning you inquire?" said Pierre now, in a slow, icy +tone, to the porter. + +"Mr. Glendinning, sir; all right, aint it?" + +"Perfectly," said Pierre mechanically, and casting another strange, +rapt, bewildered glance at the easel. "But something seems strangely +wanting here. Ay, now I see, I see it:--Villain!--the vines! Thou hast +torn the green heart-strings! Thou hast but left the cold skeleton of +the sweet arbor wherein she once nestled! Thou besotted, heartless hind +and fiend, dost thou so much as dream in thy shriveled liver of the +eternal mischief thou hast done? Restore thou the green vines! untrample +them, thou accursed!--Oh my God, my God, trampled vines pounded and +crushed in all fibers, how can they live over again, even though they be +replanted! Curse thee, thou!--Nay, nay," he added moodily--"I was but +wandering to myself." Then rapidly and mockingly--"Pardon, +pardon!--porter; I most humbly crave thy most haughty pardon." Then +imperiously--"Come, stir thyself, man; thou hast more below: bring all +up." + +As the astounded porter turned, he whispered to Millthorpe--"Is he +safe?--shall I bring 'em?" + +"Oh certainly," smiled Millthorpe: "I'll look out for him; he's never +really dangerous when I'm present; there, go!" + +Two trunks now followed, with "L. T." blurredly marked upon the ends. + +"Is that all, my man?" said Pierre, as the trunks were being put down +before him; "well, how much?"--that moment his eyes first caught the +blurred letters. + +"Prepaid, sir; but no objection to more." + +Pierre stood mute and unmindful, still fixedly eying the blurred +letters; his body contorted, and one side drooping, as though that +moment half-way down-stricken with a paralysis, and yet unconscious of +the stroke. + +His two companions, momentarily stood motionless in those respective +attitudes, in which they had first caught sight of the remarkable change +that had come over him. But, as if ashamed of having been thus affected, +Millthorpe summoning a loud, merry voice, advanced toward Pierre, and, +tapping his shoulder, cried, "Wake up, wake up, my boy!--He says he is +prepaid, but no objection to more." + +"Prepaid;--what's that? Go, go, and jabber to apes!" + +"A curious young gentleman, is he not?" said Millthorpe lightly to the +porter;--"Look you, my boy, I'll repeat:--He says he's prepaid, but no +objection to more." + +"Ah?--take that then," said Pierre, vacantly putting something into the +porter's hand. + +"And what shall I do with this, sir?" said the porter, staring. + +"Drink a health; but not mine; that were mockery!" + +"With a key, sir? This is a key you gave me." + +"Ah!--well, you at least shall not have the thing that unlocks me. Give +me the key, and take this." + +"Ay, ay!--here's the chink! Thank'ee sir, thank'ee. This'll drink. I +aint called a porter for nothing; Stout's the word; 2151 is my number; +any jobs, call on me." + +"Do you ever cart a coffin, my man?" said Pierre. + +"'Pon my soul!" cried Millthorpe, gayly laughing, "if you aint writing +an Inferno, then--but never mind. Porter! this gentleman is under +medical treatment at present. You had better--ab'--you +understand--'squatulate, porter! There, my boy, he is gone; I understand +how to manage these fellows; there's a trick in it, my boy--an +off-handed sort of what d'ye call it?--you understand--the trick! the +trick!--the whole world's a trick. Know the trick of it, all's right; +don't know, all's wrong. Ha! ha!" + +"The porter is gone then?" said Pierre, calmly. "Well, Mr. Millthorpe, +you will have the goodness to follow him." + +"Rare joke! admirable!--Good morning, sir. Ha, ha!" + +And with his unruffleable hilariousness, Millthorpe quitted the room. + +But hardly had the door closed upon him, nor had he yet removed his hand +from its outer knob, when suddenly it swung half open again, and +thrusting his fair curly head within, Millthorpe cried: "By the way, my +boy, I have a word for you. You know that greasy fellow who has been +dunning you so of late. Well, be at rest there; he's paid. I was +suddenly made flush yesterday:--regular flood-tide. You can return it +any day, you know--no hurry; that's all.--But, by the way,--as you look +as though you were going to have company here--just send for me in case +you want to use me--any bedstead to put up, or heavy things to be lifted +about. Don't you and the women do it, now, mind! That's all again. +Addios, my boy. Take care of yourself!" + +"Stay!" cried Pierre, reaching forth one hand, but moving neither +foot--"Stay!"--in the midst of all his prior emotions struck by these +singular traits in Millthorpe. But the door was abruptly closed; and +singing Fa, la, la: Millthorpe in his seedy coat went tripping down the +corridor. + +"Plus heart, minus head," muttered Pierre, his eyes fixed on the door. +"Now, by heaven! the god that made Millthorpe was both a better and a +greater than the god that made Napoleon or Byron.--Plus head, minus +heart--Pah! the brains grow maggoty without a heart; but the heart's the +preserving salt itself, and can keep sweet without the head.--Delly!" + +"Sir?" + +"My cousin Miss Tartan is coming here to live with us, Delly. That +easel,--those trunks are hers." + +"Good heavens!--coming here?--your cousin?--Miss Tartan?" + +"Yes, I thought you must have heard of her and me;--but it was broken +off; Delly." + +"Sir? Sir?" + +"I have no explanation, Delly; and from you, I must have no amazement. +My cousin,--mind, my _cousin_, Miss Tartan, is coming to live with us. +The next room to this, on the other side there, is unoccupied. That room +shall be hers. You must wait upon her, too, Delly." + +"Certainly sir, certainly; I will do any thing;" said Delly trembling; +"but,--but--does Mrs. Glendin-din--does my mistress know this?" + +"My wife knows all"--said Pierre sternly. "I will go down and get the +key of the room; and you must sweep it out." + +"What is to be put into it, sir?" said Delly. "Miss Tartan--why, she is +used to all sorts of fine things,--rich +carpets--wardrobes--mirrors--curtains;--why, why, why!" + +"Look," said Pierre, touching an old rug with his foot;--"here is a bit +of carpet; drag that into her room; here is a chair, put that in; and +for a bed,--ay, ay," he muttered to himself; "I have made it for her, +and she ignorantly lies on it now!--as made--so lie. Oh God!" + +"Hark! my mistress is calling"--cried Delly, moving toward the opposite +room. + +"Stay!"--cried Pierre, grasping her shoulder; "if both called at one +time from these opposite chambers, and both were swooning, which door +would you first fly to?" + +The girl gazed at him uncomprehendingly and affrighted a moment; and +then said,--"This one, sir"--out of mere confusion perhaps, putting her +hand on Isabel's latch. + +"It is well. Now go." + +He stood in an intent unchanged attitude till Delly returned. + +"How is my wife, now?" + +Again startled by the peculiar emphasis placed on the magical word +_wife_, Delly, who had long before this, been occasionally struck with +the infrequency of his using that term; she looked at him perplexedly, +and said half-unconsciously-- + +"Your wife, sir?" + +"Ay, is she not?" + +"God grant that she be--Oh, 'tis most cruel to ask that of poor, poor +Delly, sir!" + +"Tut for thy tears! Never deny it again then!--I swear to heaven, she +is!" + +With these wild words, Pierre seized his hat, and departed the room, +muttering something about bringing the key of the additional chamber. + +As the door closed on him, Delly dropped on her knees. She lifted her +head toward the ceiling, but dropped it again, as if tyrannically awed +downward, and bent it low over, till her whole form tremulously cringed +to the floor. + +"God that made me, and that wast not so hard to me as wicked Delly +deserved,--God that made me, I pray to thee! ward it off from me, if it +be coming to me. Be not deaf to me; these stony walls--Thou canst hear +through them. Pity! pity!--mercy, my God!--If they are not married; if +I, penitentially seeking to be pure, am now but the servant to a greater +sin, than I myself committed: then, pity! pity! pity! pity! pity! Oh God +that made me,--See me, see me here--what can Delly do? If I go hence, +none will take me in but villains. If I stay, then--for stay I must--and +they be not married,--then pity, pity, pity, pity, pity!" + + + + +BOOK XXIV. + +LUCY AT THE APOSTLES. + + +I. + +Next morning, the recently appropriated room adjoining on the other side +of the dining-room, presented a different aspect from that which met the +eye of Delly upon first unlocking it with Pierre on the previous +evening. Two squares of faded carpeting of different patterns, covered +the middle of the floor, leaving, toward the surbase, a wide, blank +margin around them. A small glass hung in the pier; beneath that, a +little stand, with a foot or two of carpet before it. In one corner was +a cot, neatly equipped with bedding. At the outer side of the cot, +another strip of carpeting was placed. Lucy's delicate feet should not +shiver on the naked floor. + +Pierre, Isabel, and Delly were standing in the room; Isabel's eyes were +fixed on the cot. + +"I think it will be pretty cosy now," said Delly, palely glancing all +round, and then adjusting the pillow anew. + +"There is no warmth, though," said Isabel. "Pierre, there is no stove in +the room. She will be very cold. The pipe--can we not send it this way?" +And she looked more intently at him, than the question seemed to +warrant. + +"Let the pipe stay where it is, Isabel," said Pierre, answering her own +pointed gaze. "The dining-room door can stand open. She never liked +sleeping in a heated room. Let all be; it is well. Eh! but there is a +grate here, I see. I will buy coals. Yes, yes--that can be easily done; +a little fire of a morning--the expense will be nothing. Stay, we will +have a little fire here now for a welcome. She shall always have fire." + +"Better change the pipe, Pierre," said Isabel, "that will be permanent, +and save the coals." + +"It shall not be done, Isabel. Doth not that pipe and that warmth go +into thy room? Shall I rob my wife, good Delly, even to benefit my most +devoted and true-hearted cousin?" + +"Oh! I should say not, sir; not at all," said Delly hysterically. + +A triumphant fire flashed in Isabel's eye; her full bosom arched out; +but she was silent. + +"She may be here, now, at any moment, Isabel," said Pierre; "come, we +will meet her in the dining-room; that is our reception-place, thou +knowest." + +So the three went into the dining-room. + + +II. + +They had not been there long, when Pierre, who had been pacing up and +down, suddenly paused, as if struck by some laggard thought, which had +just occurred to him at the eleventh hour. First he looked toward Delly, +as if about to bid her quit the apartment, while he should say something +private to Isabel; but as if, on a second thought, holding the contrary +of this procedure most advisable, he, without preface, at once addressed +Isabel, in his ordinary conversational tone, so that Delly could not but +plainly hear him, whether she would or no. + +"My dear Isabel, though, as I said to thee before, my cousin, Miss +Tartan, that strange, and willful, nun-like girl, is at all hazards, +mystically resolved to come and live with us, yet it must be quite +impossible that her friends can approve in her such a singular step; a +step even more singular, Isabel, than thou, in thy unsophisticatedness, +can'st at all imagine. I shall be immensely deceived if they do not, to +their very utmost, strive against it. Now what I am going to add may be +quite unnecessary, but I can not avoid speaking it, for all that." + +Isabel with empty hands sat silent, but intently and expectantly eying +him; while behind her chair, Delly was bending her face low over her +knitting--which she had seized so soon as Pierre had begun speaking--and +with trembling fingers was nervously twitching the points of her long +needles. It was plain that she awaited Pierre's accents with hardly much +less eagerness than Isabel. Marking well this expression in Delly, and +apparently not unpleased with it, Pierre continued; but by no slightest +outward tone or look seemed addressing his remarks to any one but +Isabel. + +"Now what I mean, dear Isabel, is this: if that very probable hostility +on the part of Miss Tartan's friends to her fulfilling her strange +resolution--if any of that hostility should chance to be manifested +under thine eye, then thou certainly wilt know how to account for it; +and as certainly wilt draw no inference from it in the minutest +conceivable degree involving any thing sinister in me. No, I am sure +thou wilt not, my dearest Isabel. For, understand me, regarding this +strange mood in my cousin as a thing wholly above my comprehension, and +indeed regarding my poor cousin herself as a rapt enthusiast in some +wild mystery utterly unknown to me; and unwilling ignorantly to +interfere in what almost seems some supernatural thing, I shall not +repulse her coming, however violently her friends may seek to stay it. I +shall not repulse, as certainly as I have not invited. But a neutral +attitude sometimes seems a suspicious one. Now what I mean is this: let +all such vague suspicions of me, if any, be confined to Lucy's friends; +but let not such absurd misgivings come near my dearest Isabel, to give +the least uneasiness. Isabel! tell me; have I not now said enough to +make plain what I mean? Or, indeed, is not all I have said wholly +unnecessary; seeing that when one feels deeply conscientious, one is +often apt to seem superfluously, and indeed unpleasantly and +unbeseemingly scrupulous? Speak, my own Isabel,"--and he stept nearer to +her, reaching forth his arm. + +"Thy hand is the caster's ladle, Pierre, which holds me entirely fluid. +Into thy forms and slightest moods of thought, thou pourest me; and I +there solidify to that form, and take it on, and thenceforth wear it, +till once more thou moldest me anew. If what thou tellest me be thy +thought, then how can I help its being mine, my Pierre?" + +"The gods made thee of a holyday, when all the common world was done, +and shaped thee leisurely in elaborate hours, thou paragon!" + +So saying, in a burst of admiring love and wonder, Pierre paced the +room; while Isabel sat silent, leaning on her hand, and half-vailed with +her hair. Delly's nervous stitches became less convulsive. She seemed +soothed; some dark and vague conceit seemed driven out of her by +something either directly expressed by Pierre, or inferred from his +expressions. + + +III. + +"Pierre! Pierre!--Quick! Quick!--They are dragging me back!--oh, quick, +dear Pierre!" + +"What is that?" swiftly cried Isabel, rising to her feet, and amazedly +glancing toward the door leading into the corridor. + +But Pierre darted from the room, prohibiting any one from following him. + +Half-way down the stairs, a slight, airy, almost unearthly figure was +clinging to the balluster; and two young men, one in naval uniform, were +vainly seeking to remove the two thin white hands without hurting them. +They were Glen Stanly, and Frederic, the elder brother of Lucy. + +In a moment, Pierre's hands were among the rest. + +"Villain!--Damn thee!" cried Frederic; and letting go the hand of his +sister, he struck fiercely at Pierre. + +But the blow was intercepted by Pierre. + +"Thou hast bewitched, thou damned juggler, the sweetest angel! Defend +thyself!" + +"Nay, nay," cried Glen, catching the drawn rapier of the frantic +brother, and holding him in his powerful grasp; "he is unarmed; this is +no time or place to settle our feud with him. Thy sister,--sweet +Lucy--let us save her first, and then what thou wilt. Pierre +Glendinning--if thou art but the little finger of a man--begone with +thee from hence! Thy depravity, thy pollutedness, is that of a +fiend!--Thou canst not desire this thing:--the sweet girl is mad!" + +Pierre stepped back a little, and looked palely and haggardly at all +three. + +"I render no accounts: I am what I am. This sweet girl--this angel whom +ye two defile by your touches--she is of age by the law:--she is her own +mistress by the law. And now, I swear she shall have her will! Unhand +the girl! Let her stand alone. See; she will faint; let her go, I say!" +And again his hands were among them. + +Suddenly, as they all, for the one instant vaguely struggled, the pale +girl drooped, and fell sideways toward Pierre; and, unprepared for this, +the two opposite champions, unconsciously relinquished their hold, +tripped, and stumbled against each other, and both fell on the stairs. +Snatching Lucy in his arms, Pierre darted from them; gained the door; +drove before him Isabel and Delly,--who, affrighted, had been lingering +there;--and bursting into the prepared chamber, laid Lucy on her cot; +then swiftly turned out of the room, and locked them all three in: and +so swiftly--like lightning--was this whole thing done, that not till the +lock clicked, did he find Glen and Frederic fiercely fronting him. + +"Gentlemen, it is all over. This door is locked. She is in women's +hands.--Stand back!" + +As the two infuriated young men now caught at him to hurl him aside, +several of the Apostles rapidly entered, having been attracted by the +noise. + +"Drag them off from me!" cried Pierre. "They are trespassers! drag them +off!" + +Immediately Glen and Frederic were pinioned by twenty hands; and, in +obedience to a sign from Pierre, were dragged out of the room, and +dragged down stairs; and given into the custody of a passing officer, as +two disorderly youths invading the sanctuary of a private retreat. + +In vain they fiercely expostulated; but at last, as if now aware that +nothing farther could be done without some previous legal action, they +most reluctantly and chafingly declared themselves ready to depart. +Accordingly they were let go; but not without a terrible menace of swift +retribution directed to Pierre. + + +IV. + +Happy is the dumb man in the hour of passion. He makes no impulsive +threats, and therefore seldom falsifies himself in the transition from +choler to calm. + +Proceeding into the thoroughfare, after leaving the Apostles', it was +not very long ere Glen and Frederic concluded between themselves, that +Lucy could not so easily be rescued by threat or force. The pale, +inscrutable determinateness, and flinchless intrepidity of Pierre, now +began to domineer upon them; for any social unusualness or greatness is +sometimes most impressive in the retrospect. What Pierre had said +concerning Lucy's being her own mistress in the eye of the law; this now +recurred to them. After much tribulation of thought, the more collected +Glen proposed, that Frederic's mother should visit the rooms of Pierre; +he imagined, that though insensible to their own united intimidations, +Lucy might not prove deaf to the maternal prayers. Had Mrs. Tartan been +a different woman than she was; had she indeed any disinterested agonies +of a generous heart, and not mere match-making mortifications, however +poignant; then the hope of Frederic and Glen might have had more +likelihood in it. Nevertheless, the experiment was tried, but signally +failed. + +In the combined presence of her mother, Pierre, Isabel, and Delly; and +addressing Pierre and Isabel as Mr. and Mrs. Glendinning; Lucy took the +most solemn vows upon herself, to reside with her present host and +hostess until they should cast her off. In vain her by turns suppliant, +and exasperated mother went down on her knees to her, or seemed almost +on the point of smiting her; in vain she painted all the scorn and the +loathing; sideways hinted of the handsome and gallant Glen; threatened +her that in case she persisted, her entire family would renounce her; +and though she should be starving, would not bestow one morsel upon such +a recreant, and infinitely worse than dishonorable girl. + +To all this, Lucy--now entirely unmenaced in person--replied in the +gentlest and most heavenly manner; yet with a collectedness, and +steadfastness, from which there was nothing to hope. What she was doing +was not of herself; she had been moved to it by all-encompassing +influences above, around, and beneath. She felt no pain for her own +condition; her only suffering was sympathetic. She looked for no reward; +the essence of well-doing was the consciousness of having done well +without the least hope of reward. Concerning the loss of worldly wealth +and sumptuousness, and all the brocaded applauses of drawing-rooms; +these were no loss to her, for they had always been valueless. Nothing +was she now renouncing; but in acting upon her present inspiration she +was inheriting every thing. Indifferent to scorn, she craved no pity. As +to the question of her sanity, that matter she referred to the verdict +of angels, and not to the sordid opinions of man. If any one protested +that she was defying the sacred counsels of her mother, she had nothing +to answer but this: that her mother possessed all her daughterly +deference, but her unconditional obedience was elsewhere due. Let all +hope of moving her be immediately, and once for all, abandoned. One only +thing could move her; and that would only move her, to make her forever +immovable;--that thing was death. + +Such wonderful strength in such wonderful sweetness; such inflexibility +in one so fragile, would have been matter for marvel to any observer. +But to her mother it was very much more; for, like many other +superficial observers, forming her previous opinion of Lucy upon the +slightness of her person, and the dulcetness of her temper, Mrs. Tartan +had always imagined that her daughter was quite incapable of any such +daring act. As if sterling heavenliness were incompatible with +heroicness. These two are never found apart. Nor, though Pierre knew +more of Lucy than any one else, did this most singular behavior in her +fail to amaze him. Seldom even had the mystery of Isabel fascinated him +more, with a fascination partaking of the terrible. The mere bodily +aspect of Lucy, as changed by her more recent life, filled him with the +most powerful and novel emotions. That unsullied complexion of bloom was +now entirely gone, without being any way replaced by sallowness, as is +usual in similar instances. And as if her body indeed were the temple +of God, and marble indeed were the only fit material for so holy a +shrine, a brilliant, supernatural whiteness now gleamed in her cheek. +Her head sat on her shoulders as a chiseled statue's head; and the soft, +firm light in her eye seemed as much a prodigy, as though a chiseled +statue should give token of vision and intelligence. + +Isabel also was most strangely moved by this sweet unearthliness in the +aspect of Lucy. But it did not so much persuade her by any common +appeals to her heart, as irrespectively commend her by the very signet +of heaven. In the deference with which she ministered to Lucy's little +occasional wants, there was more of blank spontaneousness than +compassionate voluntariness. And when it so chanced, that--owing perhaps +to some momentary jarring of the distant and lonely guitar--as Lucy was +so mildly speaking in the presence of her mother, a sudden, just +audible, submissively answering musical, stringed tone, came through the +open door from the adjoining chamber; then Isabel, as if seized by some +spiritual awe, fell on her knees before Lucy, and made a rapid gesture +of homage; yet still, somehow, as it were, without evidence of voluntary +will. + +Finding all her most ardent efforts ineffectual, Mrs. Tartan now +distressedly motioned to Pierre and Isabel to quit the chamber, that she +might urge her entreaties and menaces in private. But Lucy gently waved +them to stay; and then turned to her mother. Henceforth she had no +secrets but those which would also be secrets in heaven. Whatever was +publicly known in heaven, should be publicly known on earth. There was +no slightest secret between her and her mother. + +Wholly confounded by this inscrutableness of her so alienated and +infatuated daughter, Mrs. Tartan turned inflamedly upon Pierre, and bade +him follow her forth. But again Lucy said nay, there were no secrets +between her mother and Pierre. She would anticipate every thing there. +Calling for pen and paper, and a book to hold on her knee and write, +she traced the following lines, and reached them to her mother: + +"I am Lucy Tartan. I have come to dwell during their pleasure with Mr. +and Mrs. Pierre Glendinning, of my own unsolicited free-will. If they +desire it, I shall go; but no other power shall remove me, except by +violence; and against any violence I have the ordinary appeal to the +law." + +"Read this, madam," said Mrs. Tartan, tremblingly handing it to Isabel, +and eying her with a passionate and disdainful significance. + +"I have read it," said Isabel, quietly, after a glance, and handing it +to Pierre, as if by that act to show, that she had no separate decision +in the matter. + +"And do you, sir, too, indirectly connive?" said Mrs. Tartan to Pierre, +when he had read it. + +"I render no accounts, madam. This seems to be the written and final +calm will of your daughter. As such, you had best respect it, and +depart." + +Mrs. Tartan glanced despairingly and incensedly about her; then fixing +her eyes on her daughter, spoke. + +"Girl! here where I stand, I forever cast thee off. Never more shalt +thou be vexed by my maternal entreaties. I shall instruct thy brothers +to disown thee; I shall instruct Glen Stanly to banish thy worthless +image from his heart, if banished thence it be not already by thine own +incredible folly and depravity. For thee, Mr. Monster! the judgment of +God will overtake thee for this. And for thee, madam, I have no words +for the woman who will connivingly permit her own husband's paramour to +dwell beneath her roof. For thee, frail one," (to Delly), "thou needest +no amplification.--A nest of vileness! And now, surely, whom God himself +hath abandoned forever, a mother may quit, never more to revisit." + +This parting maternal malediction seemed to work no visibly +corresponding effect upon Lucy; already she was so marble-white, that +fear could no more blanch her, if indeed fear was then at all within her +heart. For as the highest, and purest, and thinnest ether remains +unvexed by all the tumults of the inferior air; so that transparent +ether of her cheek, that clear mild azure of her eye, showed no sign of +passion, as her terrestrial mother stormed below. Helpings she had from +unstirring arms; glimpses she caught of aid invisible; sustained she was +by those high powers of immortal Love, that once siding with the weakest +reed which the utmost tempest tosses; then that utmost tempest shall be +broken down before the irresistible resistings of that weakest reed. + + + + +BOOK XXV. + +LUCY, ISABEL, AND PIERRE. PIERRE AT HIS BOOK. ENCELADUS. + + +I. + +A day or two after the arrival of Lucy, when she had quite recovered +from any possible ill-effects of recent events,--events conveying such a +shock to both Pierre and Isabel,--though to each in a quite different +way,--but not, apparently, at least, moving Lucy so intensely--as they +were all three sitting at coffee, Lucy expressed her intention to +practice her crayon art professionally. It would be so pleasant an +employment for her, besides contributing to their common fund. Pierre +well knew her expertness in catching likenesses, and judiciously and +truthfully beautifying them; not by altering the features so much, as by +steeping them in a beautifying atmosphere. For even so, said Lucy, +thrown into the Lagoon, and there beheld--as I have heard--the roughest +stones, without transformation, put on the softest aspects. If Pierre +would only take a little trouble to bring sitters to her room, she +doubted not a fine harvest of heads might easily be secured. Certainly, +among the numerous inmates of the old Church, Pierre must know many who +would have no objections to being sketched. Moreover, though as yet she +had had small opportunity to see them; yet among such a remarkable +company of poets, philosophers, and mystics of all sorts, there must be +some striking heads. In conclusion, she expressed her satisfaction at +the chamber prepared for her, inasmuch as having been formerly the +studio of an artist, one window had been considerably elevated, while by +a singular arrangement of the interior shutters, the light could in any +direction be thrown about at will. + +Already Pierre had anticipated something of this sort; the first sight +of the easel having suggested it to him. His reply was therefore not +wholly unconsidered. He said, that so far as she herself was concerned, +the systematic practice of her art at present would certainly be a great +advantage in supplying her with a very delightful occupation. But since +she could hardly hope for any patronage from her mother's fashionable +and wealthy associates; indeed, as such a thing must be very far from +her own desires; and as it was only from the Apostles she could--for +some time to come, at least--reasonably anticipate sitters; and as those +Apostles were almost universally a very forlorn and penniless +set--though in truth there were some wonderfully rich-looking heads +among them--therefore, Lucy must not look for much immediate pecuniary +emolument. Ere long she might indeed do something very handsome; but at +the outset, it was well to be moderate in her expectations. This +admonishment came, modifiedly, from that certain stoic, dogged mood of +Pierre, born of his recent life, which taught him never to expect any +good from any thing; but always to anticipate ill; however not in +unreadiness to meet the contrary; and then, if good came, so much the +better. He added that he would that very morning go among the rooms and +corridors of the Apostles, familiarly announcing that his cousin, a +lady-artist in crayons, occupied a room adjoining his, where she would +be very happy to receive any sitters. + +"And now, Lucy, what shall be the terms? That is a very important point, +thou knowest." + +"I suppose, Pierre, they must be very low," said Lucy, looking at him +meditatively. + +"Very low, Lucy; very low, indeed." + +"Well, ten dollars, then." + +"Ten Banks of England, Lucy!" exclaimed Pierre. "Why, Lucy, that were +almost a quarter's income for some of the Apostles!" + +"Four dollars, Pierre." + +"I will tell thee now, Lucy--but first, how long does it take to +complete one portrait?" + +"Two sittings; and two mornings' work by myself, Pierre." + +"And let me see; what are thy materials? They are not very costly, I +believe. 'Tis not like cutting glass,--thy tools must not be pointed +with diamonds, Lucy?" + +"See, Pierre!" said Lucy, holding out her little palm, "see; this +handful of charcoal, a bit of bread, a crayon or two, and a square of +paper:--that is all." + +"Well, then, thou shalt charge one-seventy-five for a portrait." + +"Only one-seventy-five, Pierre?" + +"I am half afraid now we have set it far too high, Lucy. Thou must not +be extravagant. Look: if thy terms were ten dollars, and thou didst +crayon on trust; then thou wouldst have plenty of sitters, but small +returns. But if thou puttest thy terms right-down, and also sayest thou +must have thy cash right-down too--don't start so at that _cash_--then +not so many sitters to be sure, but more returns. Thou understandest." + +"It shall be just as thou say'st, Pierre." + +"Well, then, I will write a card for thee, stating thy terms; and put it +up conspicuously in thy room, so that every Apostle may know what he has +to expect." + +"Thank thee, thank thee, cousin Pierre," said Lucy, rising. "I rejoice +at thy pleasant and not entirely unhopeful view of my poor little plan. +But I must be doing something; I must be earning money. See, I have +eaten ever so much bread this morning, but have not earned one penny." + +With a humorous sadness Pierre measured the large remainder of the one +only piece she had touched, and then would have spoken banteringly to +her; but she had slid away into her own room. + +He was presently roused from the strange revery into which the +conclusion of this scene had thrown him, by the touch of Isabel's hand +upon his knee, and her large expressive glance upon his face. During all +the foregoing colloquy, she had remained entirely silent; but an +unoccupied observer would perhaps have noticed, that some new and very +strong emotions were restrainedly stirring within her. + +"Pierre!" she said, intently bending over toward him. + +"Well, well, Isabel," stammeringly replied Pierre; while a mysterious +color suffused itself over his whole face, neck, and brow; and +involuntarily he started a little back from her self-proffering form. + +Arrested by this movement Isabel eyed him fixedly; then slowly rose, and +with immense mournful stateliness, drew herself up, and said: "If thy +sister can ever come too nigh to thee, Pierre, tell thy sister so, +beforehand; for the September sun draws not up the valley-vapor more +jealously from the disdainful earth, than my secret god shall draw me up +from thee, if ever I can come too nigh to thee." + +Thus speaking, one hand was on her bosom, as if resolutely feeling of +something deadly there concealed; but, riveted by her general manner +more than by her particular gesture, Pierre, at the instant, did not so +particularly note the all-significant movement of the hand upon her +bosom, though afterward he recalled it, and darkly and thoroughly +comprehended its meaning. + +"Too nigh to me, Isabel? Sun or dew, thou fertilizest me! Can sunbeams +or drops of dew come too nigh the thing they warm and water? Then sit +down by me, Isabel, and sit close; wind in within my ribs,--if so thou +canst,--that my one frame may be the continent of two." + +"Fine feathers make fine birds, so I have heard," said Isabel, most +bitterly--"but do fine sayings always make fine deeds? Pierre, thou +didst but just now draw away from me!" + +"When we would most dearly embrace, we first throw back our arms, +Isabel; I but drew away, to draw so much the closer to thee." + +"Well; all words are arrant skirmishers; deeds are the army's self! be +it as thou sayest. I yet trust to thee.--Pierre." + +"My breath waits thine; what is it, Isabel?" + +"I have been more blockish than a block; I am mad to think of it! More +mad, that her great sweetness should first remind me of mine own +stupidity. But she shall not get the start of me! Pierre, some way I +must work for thee! See, I will sell this hair; have these teeth pulled +out; but some way I will earn money for thee!" + +Pierre now eyed her startledly. Touches of a determinate meaning shone +in her; some hidden thing was deeply wounded in her. An affectionate +soothing syllable was on his tongue; his arm was out; when shifting his +expression, he whisperingly and alarmedly exclaimed--"Hark! she is +coming.--Be still." + +But rising boldly, Isabel threw open the connecting door, exclaiming +half-hysterically--"Look, Lucy; here is the strangest husband; fearful +of being caught speaking to his wife!" + +With an artist's little box before her--whose rattling, perhaps, had +startled Pierre--Lucy was sitting midway in her room, opposite the +opened door; so that at that moment, both Pierre and Isabel were plainly +visible to her. The singular tone of Isabel's voice instantly caused her +to look up intently. At once, a sudden irradiation of some subtile +intelligence--but whether welcome to her, or otherwise, could not be +determined--shot over her whole aspect. She murmured some vague random +reply; and then bent low over her box, saying she was very busy. + +Isabel closed the door, and sat down again by Pierre. Her countenance +wore a mixed and writhing, impatient look. She seemed as one in whom the +most powerful emotion of life is caught in inextricable toils of +circumstances, and while longing to disengage itself, still knows that +all struggles will prove worse than vain; and so, for the moment, grows +madly reckless and defiant of all obstacles. Pierre trembled as he gazed +upon her. But soon the mood passed from her; her old, sweet mournfulness +returned; again the clear unfathomableness was in her mystic eye. + +"Pierre, ere now,--ere I ever knew thee--I have done mad things, which I +have never been conscious of, but in the dim recalling. I hold such +things no things of mine. What I now remember, as just now done, was one +of them." + +"Thou hast done nothing but shown thy strength, while I have shown my +weakness, Isabel;--yes, to the whole world thou art my wife--to her, +too, thou art my wife. Have I not told her so, myself? I was weaker than +a kitten, Isabel; and thou, strong as those high things angelical, from +which utmost beauty takes not strength." + +"Pierre, once such syllables from thee, were all refreshing, and +bedewing to me; now, though they drop as warmly and as fluidly from +thee, yet falling through another and an intercepting zone, they freeze +on the way, and clatter on my heart like hail, Pierre.---- Thou didst +not speak thus to her!" + +"She is not Isabel." + +The girl gazed at him with a quick and piercing scrutiny; then looked +quite calm, and spoke. "My guitar, Pierre: thou know'st how complete a +mistress I am of it; now, before thou gettest sitters for the +portrait-sketcher, thou shalt get pupils for the music-teacher. Wilt +thou?" and she looked at him with a persuasiveness and touchingness, +which to Pierre, seemed more than mortal. + +"My poor poor, Isabel!" cried Pierre; "thou art the mistress of the +natural sweetness of the guitar, not of its invented regulated +artifices; and these are all that the silly pupil will pay for learning. +And what thou hast can not be taught. Ah, thy sweet ignorance is all +transporting to me! my sweet, my sweet!--dear, divine girl!" And +impulsively he caught her in his arms. + +While the first fire of his feeling plainly glowed upon him, but ere he +had yet caught her to him, Isabel had backward glided close to the +connecting door; which, at the instant of his embrace, suddenly opened, +as by its own volition. + +Before the eyes of seated Lucy, Pierre and Isabel stood locked; Pierre's +lips upon her cheek. + + +II. + +Notwithstanding the maternal visit of Mrs. Tartan, and the +peremptoriness with which it had been closed by her declared departure +never to return, and her vow to teach all Lucy's relatives and friends, +and Lucy's own brothers, and her suitor, to disown her, and forget her; +yet Pierre fancied that he knew too much in general of the human heart, +and too much in particular of the character of both Glen and Frederic, +to remain entirely untouched by disquietude, concerning what those two +fiery youths might now be plotting against him, as the imagined monster, +by whose infernal tricks Lucy Tartan was supposed to have been seduced +from every earthly seemliness. Not happily, but only so much the more +gloomily, did he augur from the fact, that Mrs. Tartan had come to Lucy +unattended; and that Glen and Frederic had let eight-and-forty hours and +more go by, without giving the slightest hostile or neutral sign. At +first he thought, that bridling their impulsive fierceness, they were +resolved to take the slower, but perhaps the surer method, to wrest Lucy +back to them, by instituting some legal process. But this idea was +repulsed by more than one consideration. + +Not only was Frederic of that sort of temper, peculiar to military men, +which would prompt him, in so closely personal and intensely private and +family a matter, to scorn the hireling publicity of the law's lingering +arm; and impel him, as by the furiousness of fire, to be his own righter +and avenger; for, in him, it was perhaps quite as much the feeling of an +outrageous family affront to himself, through Lucy, as her own presumed +separate wrong, however black, which stung him to the quick: not only +were these things so respecting Frederic; but concerning Glen, Pierre +well knew, that be Glen heartless as he might, to do a deed of love, +Glen was not heartless to do a deed of hate; that though, on that +memorable night of his arrival in the city, Glen had heartlessly closed +his door upon him, yet now Glen might heartfully burst Pierre's open, if +by that he at all believed, that permanent success would crown the fray. + +Besides, Pierre knew this;--that so invincible is the natural, +untamable, latent spirit of a courageous manliness in man, that though +now socially educated for thousands of years in an arbitrary homage to +the Law, as the one only appointed redress for every injured person; yet +immemorially and universally, among all gentlemen of spirit, once to +have uttered independent personal threats of personal vengeance against +your foe, and then, after that, to fall back slinking into a court, and +hire with sops a pack of yelping pettifoggers to fight the battle so +valiantly proclaimed; this, on the surface, is ever deemed very +decorous, and very prudent--a most wise second thought; but, at bottom, +a miserably ignoble thing. Frederic was not the watery man for +that,--Glen had more grapey blood in him. + +Moreover, it seemed quite clear to Pierre, that only by making out Lucy +absolutely mad, and striving to prove it by a thousand despicable little +particulars, could the law succeed in tearing her from the refuge she +had voluntarily sought; a course equally abhorrent to all the parties +possibly to be concerned on either side. + +What then would those two boiling bloods do? Perhaps they would patrol +the streets; and at the first glimpse of lonely Lucy, kidnap her home. +Or if Pierre were with her, then, smite him down by hook or crook, fair +play or foul; and then, away with Lucy! Or if Lucy systematically kept +her room, then fall on Pierre in the most public way, fell him, and +cover him from all decent recognition beneath heaps on heaps of hate and +insult; so that broken on the wheel of such dishonor, Pierre might feel +himself unstrung, and basely yield the prize. + +Not the gibbering of ghosts in any old haunted house; no sulphurous and +portentous sign at night beheld in heaven, will so make the hair to +stand, as when a proud and honorable man is revolving in his soul the +possibilities of some gross public and corporeal disgrace. It is not +fear; it is a pride-horror, which is more terrible than any fear. Then, +by tremendous imagery, the murderer's mark of Cain is felt burning on +the brow, and the already acquitted knife blood-rusts in the clutch of +the anticipating hand. + +Certain that those two youths must be plotting something furious against +him; with the echoes of their scorning curses on the stairs still +ringing in his ears--curses, whose swift responses from himself, he, at +the time, had had much ado to check;--thoroughly alive to the +supernaturalism of that mad frothing hate which a spirited brother forks +forth at the insulter of a sister's honor--beyond doubt the most +uncompromising of all the social passions known to man--and not blind to +the anomalous fact, that if such a brother stab his foe at his own +mother's table, all people and all juries would bear him out, accounting +every thing allowable to a noble soul made mad by a sweet sister's shame +caused by a damned seducer;--imagining to himself his own feelings, if +he were actually in the position which Frederic so vividly fancied to +be his; remembering that in love matters jealousy is as an adder, and +that the jealousy of Glen was double-addered by the extraordinary malice +of the apparent circumstances under which Lucy had spurned Glen's arms, +and fled to his always successful and now married rival, as if wantonly +and shamelessly to nestle there;--remembering all these intense +incitements of both those foes of his, Pierre could not but look forward +to wild work very soon to come. Nor was the storm of passion in his soul +unratified by the decision of his coolest possible hour. Storm and calm +both said to him,--Look to thyself, oh Pierre! + +Murders are done by maniacs; but the earnest thoughts of murder, these +are the collected desperadoes. Pierre was such; fate, or what you will, +had made him such. But such he was. And when these things now swam +before him; when he thought of all the ambiguities which hemmed him in; +the stony walls all round that he could not overleap; the million +aggravations of his most malicious lot; the last lingering hope of +happiness licked up from him as by flames of fire, and his one only +prospect a black, bottomless gulf of guilt, upon whose verge he +imminently teetered every hour;--then the utmost hate of Glen and +Frederic were jubilantly welcome to him; and murder, done in the act of +warding off their ignominious public blow, seemed the one only congenial +sequel to such a desperate career. + + +III. + +As a statue, planted on a revolving pedestal, shows now this limb, now +that; now front, now back, now side; continually changing, too, its +general profile; so does the pivoted, statued soul of man, when turned +by the hand of Truth. Lies only never vary; look for no invariableness +in Pierre. Nor does any canting showman here stand by to announce his +phases as he revolves. Catch his phases as your insight may. + +Another day passed on; Glen and Frederic still absenting themselves, and +Pierre and Isabel and Lucy all dwelling together. The domestic presence +of Lucy had begun to produce a remarkable effect upon Pierre. Sometimes, +to the covertly watchful eye of Isabel, he would seem to look upon Lucy +with an expression illy befitting their singular and so-supposed merely +cousinly relation; and yet again, with another expression still more +unaccountable to her,--one of fear and awe, not unmixed with impatience. +But his general detailed manner toward Lucy was that of the most +delicate and affectionate considerateness--nothing more. He was never +alone with her; though, as before, at times alone with Isabel. + +Lucy seemed entirely undesirous of usurping any place about him; +manifested no slightest unwelcome curiosity as to Pierre, and no painful +embarrassment as to Isabel. Nevertheless, more and more did she seem, +hour by hour, to be somehow inexplicably sliding between them, without +touching them. Pierre felt that some strange heavenly influence was near +him, to keep him from some uttermost harm; Isabel was alive to some +untraceable displacing agency. Though when all three were together, the +marvelous serenity, and sweetness, and utter unsuspectingness of Lucy +obviated any thing like a common embarrassment: yet if there was any +embarrassment at all beneath that roof, it was sometimes when Pierre was +alone with Isabel, after Lucy would innocently quit them. + +Meantime Pierre was still going on with his book; every moment becoming +still the more sensible of the intensely inauspicious circumstances of +all sorts under which that labor was proceeding. And as the now +advancing and concentring enterprise demanded more and more compacted +vigor from him, he felt that he was having less and less to bring to it. +For not only was it the signal misery of Pierre, to be +invisibly--though but accidentally--goaded, in the hour of mental +immaturity, to the attempt at a mature work,--a circumstance +sufficiently lamentable in itself; but also, in the hour of his +clamorous pennilessness, he was additionally goaded into an enterprise +long and protracted in the execution, and of all things least calculated +for pecuniary profit in the end. How these things were so, whence they +originated, might be thoroughly and very beneficially explained; but +space and time here forbid. + +At length, domestic matters--rent and bread--had come to such a pass +with him, that whether or no, the first pages must go to the printer; +and thus was added still another tribulation; because the printed pages +now dictated to the following manuscript, and said to all subsequent +thoughts and inventions of Pierre--_Thus and thus_; _so and so_; _else +an ill match_. Therefore, was his book already limited, bound over, and +committed to imperfection, even before it had come to any confirmed form +or conclusion at all. Oh, who shall reveal the horrors of poverty in +authorship that is high? While the silly Millthorpe was railing against +his delay of a few weeks and months; how bitterly did unreplying Pierre +feel in his heart, that to most of the great works of humanity, their +authors had given, not weeks and months, not years and years, but their +wholly surrendered and dedicated lives. On either hand clung to by a +girl who would have laid down her life for him; Pierre, nevertheless, in +his deepest, highest part, was utterly without sympathy from any thing +divine, human, brute, or vegetable. One in a city of hundreds of +thousands of human beings, Pierre was solitary as at the Pole. + +And the great woe of all was this: that all these things were +unsuspected without, and undivulgible from within; the very daggers that +stabbed him were joked at by Imbecility, Ignorance, Blockheadedness, +Self-Complacency, and the universal Blearedness and Besottedness around +him. Now he began to feel that in him, the thews of a Titan were +forestallingly cut by the scissors of Fate. He felt as a moose, +hamstrung. All things that think, or move, or lie still, seemed as +created to mock and torment him. He seemed gifted with loftiness, merely +that it might be dragged down to the mud. Still, the profound +willfulness in him would not give up. Against the breaking heart, and +the bursting head; against all the dismal lassitude, and deathful +faintness and sleeplessness, and whirlingness, and craziness, still he +like a demigod bore up. His soul's ship foresaw the inevitable rocks, +but resolved to sail on, and make a courageous wreck. Now he gave jeer +for jeer, and taunted the apes that jibed him. With the soul of an +Atheist, he wrote down the godliest things; with the feeling of misery +and death in him, he created forms of gladness and life. For the pangs +in his heart, he put down hoots on the paper. And every thing else he +disguised under the so conveniently adjustable drapery of +all-stretchable Philosophy. For the more and the more that he wrote, and +the deeper and the deeper that he dived, Pierre saw the everlasting +elusiveness of Truth; the universal lurking insincerity of even the +greatest and purest written thoughts. Like knavish cards, the leaves of +all great books were covertly packed. He was but packing one set the +more; and that a very poor jaded set and pack indeed. So that there was +nothing he more spurned, than his own aspirations; nothing he more +abhorred than the loftiest part of himself. The brightest success, now +seemed intolerable to him, since he so plainly saw, that the brightest +success could not be the sole offspring of Merit; but of Merit for the +one thousandth part, and nine hundred and ninety-nine combining and +dove-tailing accidents for the rest. So beforehand he despised those +laurels which in the very nature of things, can never be impartially +bestowed. But while thus all the earth was depopulated of ambition for +him; still circumstances had put him in the attitude of an eager +contender for renown. So beforehand he felt the unrevealable sting of +receiving either plaudits or censures, equally unsought for, and +equally loathed ere given. So, beforehand he felt the pyramidical scorn +of the genuine loftiness for the whole infinite company of infinitesimal +critics. His was the scorn which thinks it not worth the while to be +scornful. Those he most scorned, never knew it. In that lonely little +closet of his, Pierre foretasted all that this world hath either of +praise or dispraise; and thus foretasting both goblets, anticipatingly +hurled them both in its teeth. All panegyric, all denunciation, all +criticism of any sort, would come too late for Pierre. + +But man does never give himself up thus, a doorless and shutterless +house for the four loosened winds of heaven to howl through, without +still additional dilapidations. Much oftener than before, Pierre laid +back in his chair with the deadly feeling of faintness. Much oftener +than before, came staggering home from his evening walk, and from sheer +bodily exhaustion economized the breath that answered the anxious +inquiries as to what might be done for him. And as if all the leagued +spiritual inveteracies and malices, combined with his general bodily +exhaustion, were not enough, a special corporeal affliction now +descended like a sky-hawk upon him. His incessant application told upon +his eyes. They became so affected, that some days he wrote with the lids +nearly closed, fearful of opening them wide to the light. Through the +lashes he peered upon the paper, which so seemed fretted with wires. +Sometimes he blindly wrote with his eyes turned away from the +paper;--thus unconsciously symbolizing the hostile necessity and +distaste, the former whereof made of him this most unwilling +states-prisoner of letters. + +As every evening, after his day's writing was done, the proofs of the +beginning of his work came home for correction, Isabel would read them +to him. They were replete with errors; but preoccupied by the thronging, +and undiluted, pure imaginings of things, he became impatient of such +minute, gnat-like torments; he randomly corrected the worst, and let +the rest go; jeering with himself at the rich harvest thus furnished to +the entomological critics. + +But at last he received a tremendous interior intimation, to hold +off--to be still from his unnatural struggle. + +In the earlier progress of his book, he had found some relief in making +his regular evening walk through the greatest thoroughfare of the city; +that so, the utter isolation of his soul, might feel itself the more +intensely from the incessant jogglings of his body against the bodies of +the hurrying thousands. Then he began to be sensible of more fancying +stormy nights, than pleasant ones; for then, the great thoroughfares +were less thronged, and the innumerable shop-awnings flapped and beat +like schooners' broad sails in a gale, and the shutters banged like +lashed bulwarks; and the slates fell hurtling like displaced ship's +blocks from aloft. Stemming such tempests through the deserted streets, +Pierre felt a dark, triumphant joy; that while others had crawled in +fear to their kennels, he alone defied the storm-admiral, whose most +vindictive peltings of hail-stones,--striking his iron-framed fiery +furnace of a body,--melted into soft dew, and so, harmlessly trickled +from off him. + +By-and-by, of such howling, pelting nights, he began to bend his steps +down the dark, narrow side-streets, in quest of the more secluded and +mysterious tap-rooms. There he would feel a singular satisfaction, in +sitting down all dripping in a chair, ordering his half-pint of ale +before him, and drawing over his cap to protect his eyes from the light, +eye the varied faces of the social castaways, who here had their haunts +from the bitterest midnights. + +But at last he began to feel a distaste for even these; and now nothing +but the utter night-desolation of the obscurest warehousing lanes would +content him, or be at all sufferable to him. Among these he had now been +accustomed to wind in and out every evening; till one night as he paused +a moment previous to turning about for home, a sudden, unwonted, and +all-pervading sensation seized him. He knew not where he was; he did not +have any ordinary life-feeling at all. He could not see; though +instinctively putting his hand to his eyes, he seemed to feel that the +lids were open. Then he was sensible of a combined blindness, and +vertigo, and staggering; before his eyes a million green meteors danced; +he felt his foot tottering upon the curb, he put out his hands, and knew +no more for the time. When he came to himself he found that he was lying +crosswise in the gutter, dabbled with mud and slime. He raised himself +to try if he could stand; but the fit was entirely gone. Immediately he +quickened his steps homeward, forbearing to rest or pause at all on the +way, lest that rush of blood to his head, consequent upon his sudden +cessation from walking, should again smite him down. This circumstance +warned him away from those desolate streets, lest the repetition of the +fit should leave him there to perish by night in unknown and unsuspected +loneliness. But if that terrible vertigo had been also intended for +another and deeper warning, he regarded such added warning not at all; +but again plied heart and brain as before. + +But now at last since the very blood in his body had in vain rebelled +against his Titanic soul; now the only visible outward symbols of that +soul--his eyes--did also turn downright traitors to him, and with more +success than the rebellious blood. He had abused them so recklessly, +that now they absolutely refused to look on paper. He turned them on +paper, and they blinked and shut. The pupils of his eyes rolled away +from him in their own orbits. He put his hand up to them, and sat back +in his seat. Then, without saying one word, he continued there for his +usual term, suspended, motionless, blank. + +But next morning--it was some few days after the arrival of Lucy--still +feeling that a certain downright infatuation, and no less, is both +unavoidable and indispensable in the composition of any great, deep +book, or even any wholly unsuccessful attempt at any great, deep book; +next morning he returned to the charge. But again the pupils of his eyes +rolled away from him in their orbits: and now a general and nameless +torpor--some horrible foretaste of death itself--seemed stealing upon +him. + + +IV. + +During this state of semi-unconsciousness, or rather trance, a +remarkable dream or vision came to him. The actual artificial objects +around him slid from him, and were replaced by a baseless yet most +imposing spectacle of natural scenery. But though a baseless vision in +itself, this airy spectacle assumed very familiar features to Pierre. It +was the phantasmagoria of the Mount of the Titans, a singular height +standing quite detached in a wide solitude not far from the grand range +of dark blue hills encircling his ancestral manor. + +Say what some poets will, Nature is not so much her own ever-sweet +interpreter, as the mere supplier of that cunning alphabet, whereby +selecting and combining as he pleases, each man reads his own peculiar +lesson according to his own peculiar mind and mood. Thus a +high-aspiring, but most moody, disappointed bard, chancing once to visit +the Meadows and beholding that fine eminence, christened it by the name +it ever after bore; completely extinguishing its former title--The +Delectable Mountain--one long ago bestowed by an old Baptist farmer, an +hereditary admirer of Bunyan and his most marvelous book. From the spell +of that name the mountain never afterward escaped; for now, gazing upon +it by the light of those suggestive syllables, no poetical observer +could resist the apparent felicity of the title. For as if indeed the +immemorial mount would fain adapt itself to its so recent name, some +people said that it had insensibly changed its pervading aspect within a +score or two of winters. Nor was this strange conceit entirely without +foundation, seeing that the annual displacements of huge rocks and +gigantic trees were continually modifying its whole front and general +contour. + +On the north side, where it fronted the old Manor-house, some fifteen +miles distant, the height, viewed from the piazza of a soft +haze-canopied summer's noon, presented a long and beautiful, but not +entirely inaccessible-looking purple precipice, some two thousand feet +in air, and on each hand sideways sloping down to lofty terraces of +pastures. + +Those hill-side pastures, be it said, were thickly sown with a small +white amaranthine flower, which, being irreconcilably distasteful to the +cattle, and wholly rejected by them, and yet, continually multiplying on +every hand, did by no means contribute to the agricultural value of +those elevated lands. Insomuch, that for this cause, the disheartened +dairy tenants of that part of the Manor, had petitioned their +lady-landlord for some abatement in their annual tribute of upland +grasses, in the Juny-load; rolls of butter in the October crock; and +steers and heifers on the October hoof; with turkeys in the Christmas +sleigh. + +"The small white flower, it is our bane!" the imploring tenants cried. +"The aspiring amaranth, every year it climbs and adds new terraces to +its sway! The immortal amaranth, it will not die, but last year's +flowers survive to this! The terraced pastures grow glittering white, +and in warm June still show like banks of snow:--fit token of the +sterileness the amaranth begets! Then free us from the amaranth, good +lady, or be pleased to abate our rent!" + +Now, on a somewhat nearer approach, the precipice did not belie its +purple promise from the manorial piazza--that sweet imposing purple +promise, which seemed fully to vindicate the Bunyanish old title +originally bestowed;--but showed the profuse aerial foliage of a hanging +forest. Nevertheless, coming still more nigh, long and frequent rents +among the mass of leaves revealed horrible glimpses of dark-dripping +rocks, and mysterious mouths of wolfish caves. Struck by this most +unanticipated view, the tourist now quickened his impulsive steps to +verify the change by coming into direct contact with so chameleon a +height. As he would now speed on, the lower ground, which from the +manor-house piazza seemed all a grassy level, suddenly merged into a +very long and weary acclivity, slowly rising close up to the precipice's +base; so that the efflorescent grasses rippled against it, as the +efflorescent waves of some great swell or long rolling billow ripple +against the water-line of a steep gigantic war-ship on the sea. And, as +among the rolling sea-like sands of Egypt, disordered rows of broken +Sphinxes lead to the Cheopian pyramid itself; so this long acclivity was +thickly strewn with enormous rocky masses, grotesque in shape, and with +wonderful features on them, which seemed to express that slumbering +intelligence visible in some recumbent beasts--beasts whose intelligence +seems struck dumb in them by some sorrowful and inexplicable spell. +Nevertheless, round and round those still enchanted rocks, hard by their +utmost rims, and in among their cunning crevices, the misanthropic +hill-scaling goat nibbled his sweetest food; for the rocks, so barren in +themselves, distilled a subtile moisture, which fed with greenness all +things that grew about their igneous marge. + +Quitting those recumbent rocks, you still ascended toward the hanging +forest, and piercing within its lowermost fringe, then suddenly you +stood transfixed, as a marching soldier confounded at the sight of an +impregnable redoubt, where he had fancied it a practicable vault to his +courageous thews. Cunningly masked hitherto, by the green tapestry of +the interlacing leaves, a terrific towering palisade of dark mossy +massiness confronted you; and, trickling with unevaporable moisture, +distilled upon you from its beetling brow slow thunder-showers of +water-drops, chill as the last dews of death. Now you stood and shivered +in that twilight, though it were high noon and burning August down the +meads. All round and round, the grim scarred rocks rallied and +re-rallied themselves; shot up, protruded, stretched, swelled, and +eagerly reached forth; on every side bristlingly radiating with a +hideous repellingness. Tossed, and piled, and indiscriminate among +these, like bridging rifts of logs up-jammed in alluvial-rushing streams +of far Arkansas: or, like great masts and yards of overwhelmed fleets +hurled high and dashed amain, all splintering together, on hovering +ridges of the Atlantic sea,--you saw the melancholy trophies which the +North Wind, championing the unquenchable quarrel of the Winter, had +wrested from the forests, and dismembered them on their own chosen +battle-ground, in barbarous disdain. 'Mid this spectacle of wide and +wanton spoil, insular noises of falling rocks would boomingly explode +upon the silence and fright all the echoes, which ran shrieking in and +out among the caves, as wailing women and children in some assaulted +town. + +Stark desolation; ruin, merciless and ceaseless; chills and gloom,--all +here lived a hidden life, curtained by that cunning purpleness, which, +from the piazza of the manor house, so beautifully invested the mountain +once called Delectable, but now styled Titanic. + +Beaten off by such undreamed-of glooms and steeps, you now sadly +retraced your steps, and, mayhap, went skirting the inferior sideway +terraces of pastures; where the multiple and most sterile inodorous +immortalness of the small, white flower furnished no aliment for the +mild cow's meditative cud. But here and there you still might smell from +far the sweet aromaticness of clumps of catnip, that dear farm-house +herb. Soon you would see the modest verdure of the plant itself; and +wheresoever you saw that sight, old foundation stones and rotting +timbers of log-houses long extinct would also meet your eye; their +desolation illy hid by the green solicitudes of the unemigrating herb. +Most fitly named the catnip; since, like the unrunagate cat, though all +that's human forsake the place, that plant will long abide, long bask +and bloom on the abandoned hearth. Illy hid; for every spring the +amaranthine and celestial flower gained on the mortal household herb; +for every autumn the catnip died, but never an autumn made the amaranth +to wane. The catnip and the amaranth!--man's earthly household peace, +and the ever-encroaching appetite for God. + +No more now you sideways followed the sad pasture's skirt, but took your +way adown the long declivity, fronting the mystic height. In mid field +again you paused among the recumbent sphinx-like shapes thrown off from +the rocky steep. You paused; fixed by a form defiant, a form of +awfulness. You saw Enceladus the Titan, the most potent of all the +giants, writhing from out the imprisoning earth;--turbaned with upborn +moss he writhed; still, though armless, resisting with his whole +striving trunk, the Pelion and the Ossa hurled back at him;--turbaned +with upborn moss he writhed; still turning his unconquerable front +toward that majestic mount eternally in vain assailed by him, and which, +when it had stormed him off, had heaved his undoffable incubus upon him, +and deridingly left him there to bay out his ineffectual howl. + +To Pierre this wondrous shape had always been a thing of interest, +though hitherto all its latent significance had never fully and +intelligibly smitten him. In his earlier boyhood a strolling company of +young collegian pedestrians had chanced to light upon the rock; and, +struck with its remarkableness, had brought a score of picks and spades, +and dug round it to unearth it, and find whether indeed it were a +demoniac freak of nature, or some stern thing of antediluvian art. +Accompanying this eager party, Pierre first beheld that deathless son of +Terra. At that time, in its untouched natural state, the statue +presented nothing but the turbaned head of igneous rock rising from out +the soil, with its unabasable face turned upward toward the mountain, +and the bull-like neck clearly defined. With distorted features, scarred +and broken, and a black brow mocked by the upborn moss, Enceladus there +subterraneously stood, fast frozen into the earth at the junction of the +neck. Spades and picks soon heaved part of his Ossa from him, till at +last a circular well was opened round him to the depth of some thirteen +feet. At that point the wearied young collegians gave over their +enterprise in despair. With all their toil, they had not yet come to the +girdle of Enceladus. But they had bared good part of his mighty chest, +and exposed his mutilated shoulders, and the stumps of his once +audacious arms. Thus far uncovering his shame, in that cruel plight they +had abandoned him, leaving stark naked his in vain indignant chest to +the defilements of the birds, which for untold ages had cast their +foulness on his vanquished crest. + +Not unworthy to be compared with that leaden Titan, wherewith the art of +Marsy and the broad-flung pride of Bourbon enriched the enchanted +gardens of Versailles;--and from whose still twisted mouth for sixty +feet the waters yet upgush, in elemental rivalry with those Etna flames, +of old asserted to be the malicious breath of the borne-down giant;--not +unworthy to be compared with that leaden demi-god--piled with costly +rocks, and with one bent wrenching knee protruding from the broken +bronze;--not unworthy to be compared with that bold trophy of high art, +this American Enceladus, wrought by the vigorous hand of Nature's self, +it did go further than compare;--it did far surpass that fine figure +molded by the inferior skill of man. Marsy gave arms to the eternally +defenseless; but Nature, more truthful, performed an amputation, and +left the impotent Titan without one serviceable ball-and-socket above +the thigh. + +Such was the wild scenery--the Mount of Titans, and the repulsed group +of heaven-assaulters, with Enceladus in their midst shamefully recumbent +at its base;--such was the wild scenery, which now to Pierre, in his +strange vision, displaced the four blank walls, the desk, and camp-bed, +and domineered upon his trance. But no longer petrified in all their +ignominious attitudes, the herded Titans now sprung to their feet; flung +themselves up the slope; and anew battered at the precipice's +unresounding wall. Foremost among them all, he saw a moss-turbaned, +armless giant, who despairing of any other mode of wreaking his +immitigable hate, turned his vast trunk into a battering-ram, and hurled +his own arched-out ribs again and yet again against the invulnerable +steep. + +"Enceladus! it is Enceladus!"--Pierre cried out in his sleep. That +moment the phantom faced him; and Pierre saw Enceladus no more; but on +the Titan's armless trunk, his own duplicate face and features +magnifiedly gleamed upon him with prophetic discomfiture and woe. With +trembling frame he started from his chair, and woke from that ideal +horror to all his actual grief. + + +V. + +Nor did Pierre's random knowledge of the ancient fables fail still +further to elucidate the vision which so strangely had supplied a tongue +to muteness. But that elucidation was most repulsively fateful and +foreboding; possibly because Pierre did not leap the final barrier of +gloom; possibly because Pierre did not willfully wrest some final +comfort from the fable; did not flog this stubborn rock as Moses his, +and force even aridity itself to quench his painful thirst. + +Thus smitten, the Mount of Titans seems to yield this following +stream:-- + +Old Titan's self was the son of incestuous Coelus and Terra, the son +of incestuous Heaven and Earth. And Titan married his mother Terra, +another and accumulatively incestuous match. And thereof Enceladus was +one issue. So Enceladus was both the son and grandson of an incest; and +even thus, there had been born from the organic blended heavenliness and +earthliness of Pierre, another mixed, uncertain, heaven-aspiring, but +still not wholly earth-emancipated mood; which again, by its terrestrial +taint held down to its terrestrial mother, generated there the present +doubly incestuous Enceladus within him; so that the present mood of +Pierre--that reckless sky-assaulting mood of his, was nevertheless on +one side the grandson of the sky. For it is according to eternal +fitness, that the precipitated Titan should still seek to regain his +paternal birthright even by fierce escalade. Wherefore whoso storms the +sky gives best proof he came from thither! But whatso crawls contented +in the moat before that crystal fort, shows it was born within that +slime, and there forever will abide. + +Recovered somewhat from the after-spell of this wild vision folded in +his trance, Pierre composed his front as best he might, and straightway +left his fatal closet. Concentrating all the remaining stuff in him, he +resolved by an entire and violent change, and by a willful act against +his own most habitual inclinations, to wrestle with the strange malady +of his eyes, this new death-fiend of the trance, and this Inferno of his +Titanic vision. + +And now, just as he crossed the threshold of the closet, he writhingly +strove to assume an expression intended to be not uncheerful--though how +indeed his countenance at all looked, he could not tell; for dreading +some insupportably dark revealments in his glass, he had of late wholly +abstained from appealing to it--and in his mind he rapidly conned over, +what indifferent, disguising, or light-hearted gamesome things he +should say, when proposing to his companions the little design he +cherished. + +And even so, to grim Enceladus, the world the gods had chained for a +ball to drag at his o'erfreighted feet;--even so that globe put forth a +thousand flowers, whose fragile smiles disguised his ponderous load. + + + + +BOOK XXVI. + +A WALK: A FOREIGN PORTRAIT: A SAIL: AND THE END. + + +I. + +"Come, Isabel, come, Lucy; we have not had a single walk together yet. +It is cold, but clear; and once out of the city, we shall find it sunny. +Come: get ready now, and away for a stroll down to the wharf, and then +for some of the steamers on the bay. No doubt, Lucy, you will find in +the bay scenery some hints for that secret sketch you are so busily +occupied with--ere real living sitters do come--and which you so +devotedly work at, all alone and behind closed doors." + +Upon this, Lucy's original look of pale-rippling pleasantness and +surprise--evoked by Pierre's unforeseen proposition to give himself some +relaxation--changed into one of infinite, mute, but unrenderable +meaning, while her swimming eyes gently, yet all-bewildered, fell to the +floor. + +"It is finished, then," cried Isabel,--not unmindful of this by-scene, +and passionately stepping forward so as to intercept Pierre's momentary +rapt glance at the agitated Lucy,--"That vile book, it is +finished!--Thank Heaven!" + +"Not so," said Pierre; and, displacing all disguisements, a hectic +unsummoned expression suddenly came to his face;--"but ere that vile +book be finished, I must get on some other element than earth. I have +sat on earth's saddle till I am weary; I must now vault over to the +other saddle awhile. Oh, seems to me, there should be two ceaseless +steeds for a bold man to ride,--the Land and the Sea; and like +circus-men we should never dismount, but only be steadied and rested by +leaping from one to the other, while still, side by side, they both race +round the sun. I have been on the Land steed so long, oh I am dizzy!" + +"Thou wilt never listen to me, Pierre," said Lucy lowly; "there is no +need of this incessant straining. See, Isabel and I have both offered to +be thy amanuenses;--not in mere copying, but in the original writing; I +am sure that would greatly assist thee." + +"Impossible! I fight a duel in which all seconds are forbid." + +"Ah Pierre! Pierre!" cried Lucy, dropping the shawl in her hand, and +gazing at him with unspeakable longings of some unfathomable emotion. + +Namelessly glancing at Lucy, Isabel slid near to him, seized his hand +and spoke. + +"I would go blind for thee, Pierre; here, take out these eyes, and use +them for glasses." So saying, she looked with a strange momentary +haughtiness and defiance at Lucy. + +A general half involuntary movement was now made, as if they were about +to depart. + +"Ye are ready; go ye before"--said Lucy meekly; "I will follow." + +"Nay, one on each arm"--said Pierre--"come!" + +As they passed through the low arched vestibule into the street, a +cheek-burnt, gamesome sailor passing, exclaimed--"Steer small, my lad; +'tis a narrow strait thou art in!" + +"What says he?"--said Lucy gently. "Yes, it is a narrow strait of a +street indeed." + +But Pierre felt a sudden tremble transferred to him from Isabel, who +whispered something inarticulate in his ear. + +Gaining one of the thoroughfares, they drew near to a conspicuous +placard over a door, announcing that above stairs was a gallery of +paintings, recently imported from Europe, and now on free exhibition +preparatory to their sale by auction. Though this encounter had been +entirely unforeseen by Pierre, yet yielding to the sudden impulse, he at +once proposed their visiting the pictures. The girls assented, and they +ascended the stairs. + +In the anteroom, a catalogue was put into his hand. He paused to give +one hurried, comprehensive glance at it. Among long columns of such +names as Rubens, Raphael, Angelo, Domenichino, Da Vinci, all shamelessly +prefaced with the words "undoubted," or "testified," Pierre met the +following brief line:--"_No. 99. A stranger's head, by an unknown +hand._" + +It seemed plain that the whole must be a collection of those wretched +imported daubs, which with the incredible effrontery peculiar to some of +the foreign picture-dealers in America, were christened by the loftiest +names known to Art. But as the most mutilated torsoes of the perfections +of antiquity are not unworthy the student's attention, neither are the +most bungling modern incompletenesses: for both are torsoes; one of +perished perfections in the past; the other, by anticipation, of yet +unfulfilled perfections in the future. Still, as Pierre walked along by +the thickly hung walls, and seemed to detect the infatuated vanity which +must have prompted many of these utterly unknown artists in the +attempted execution by feeble hand of vigorous themes; he could not +repress the most melancholy foreboding concerning himself. All the walls +of the world seemed thickly hung with the empty and impotent scope of +pictures, grandly outlined, but miserably filled. The smaller and +humbler pictures, representing little familiar things, were by far the +best executed; but these, though touching him not unpleasingly, in one +restricted sense, awoke no dormant majesties in his soul, and therefore, +upon the whole, were contemptibly inadequate and unsatisfactory. + +At last Pierre and Isabel came to that painting of which Pierre was +capriciously in search--No. 99. + +"My God! see! see!" cried Isabel, under strong excitement, "only my +mirror has ever shown me that look before! See! see!" + +By some mere hocus-pocus of chance, or subtly designing knavery, a real +Italian gem of art had found its way into this most hybrid collection of +impostures. + +No one who has passed through the great galleries of Europe, +unbewildered by their wonderful multitudinousness of surpassing +excellence--a redundancy which neutralizes all discrimination or +individualizing capacity in most ordinary minds--no calm, penetrative +person can have victoriously run that painted gauntlet of the gods, +without certain very special emotions, called forth by some one or more +individual paintings, to which, however, both the catalogues and the +criticisms of the greatest connoisseurs deny any all-transcending merit, +at all answering to the effect thus casually produced. There is no time +now to show fully how this is; suffice it, that in such instances, it is +not the abstract excellence always, but often the accidental +congeniality, which occasions this wonderful emotion. Still, the +individual himself is apt to impute it to a different cause; hence, the +headlong enthusiastic admiration of some one or two men for things not +at all praised by--or at most, which are indifferent to--the rest of the +world;--a matter so often considered inexplicable. + +But in this Stranger's Head by the Unknown Hand, the abstract general +excellence united with the all-surprising, accidental congeniality in +producing an accumulated impression of power upon both Pierre and +Isabel. Nor was the strangeness of this at all impaired by the apparent +uninterestedness of Lucy concerning that very picture. Indeed, +Lucy--who, owing to the occasional jolting of the crowd, had loosened +her arm from Pierre's, and so, gradually, had gone on along the pictured +hall in advance--Lucy had thus passed the strange painting, without the +least special pause, and had now wandered round to the precisely +opposite side of the hall; where, at this present time, she was standing +motionless before a very tolerable copy (the only other good thing in +the collection) of that sweetest, most touching, but most awful of all +feminine heads--The Cenci of Guido. The wonderfulness of which head +consists chiefly, perhaps, in a striking, suggested contrast, +half-identical with, and half-analogous to, that almost supernatural +one--sometimes visible in the maidens of tropical nations--namely, soft +and light blue eyes, with an extremely fair complexion; vailed by +funereally jetty hair. But with blue eyes and fair complexion, the +Cenci's hair is golden--physically, therefore, all is in strict, natural +keeping; which, nevertheless, still the more intensifies the suggested +fanciful anomaly of so sweetly and seraphically _blonde_ a being, being +double-hooded, as it were, by the black crape of the two most horrible +crimes (of one of which she is the object, and of the other the agent) +possible to civilized humanity--incest and parricide. + +Now, this Cenci and "the Stranger" were hung at a good elevation in one +of the upper tiers; and, from the opposite walls, exactly faced each +other; so that in secret they seemed pantomimically talking over and +across the heads of the living spectators below. + +With the aspect of the Cenci every one is familiar. "The Stranger" was a +dark, comely, youthful man's head, portentously looking out of a dark, +shaded ground, and ambiguously smiling. There was no discoverable +drapery; the dark head, with its crisp, curly, jetty hair, seemed just +disentangling itself from out of curtains and clouds. But to Isabel, in +the eye and on the brow, were certain shadowy traces of her own +unmistakable likeness; while to Pierre, this face was in part as the +resurrection of the one he had burnt at the Inn. Not that the separate +features were the same; but the pervading look of it, the subtler +interior keeping of the entirety, was almost identical; still, for all +this, there was an unequivocal aspect of foreignness, of Europeanism, +about both the face itself and the general painting. + +"Is it? Is it? Can it be?" whispered Isabel, intensely. + +Now, Isabel knew nothing of the painting which Pierre had destroyed. But +she solely referred to the living being who--under the designation of +her father--had visited her at the cheerful house to which she had been +removed during childhood from the large and unnamable one by the +pleasant woman in the coach. Without doubt--though indeed she might not +have been at all conscious of it in her own mystic mind--she must have +somehow vaguely fancied, that this being had always through life worn +the same aspect to every body else which he had to her, for so very +brief an interval of his possible existence. Solely knowing him--or +dreaming of him, it may have been--under that one aspect, she could not +conceive of him under any other. Whether or not these considerations +touching Isabel's ideas occurred to Pierre at this moment is very +improbable. At any rate, he said nothing to her, either to deceive or +undeceive, either to enlighten or obscure. For, indeed, he was too much +riveted by his own far-interior emotions to analyze now the cotemporary +ones of Isabel. So that there here came to pass a not unremarkable +thing: for though both were intensely excited by one object, yet their +two minds and memories were thereby directed to entirely different +contemplations; while still each, for the time--however +unreasonably--might have vaguely supposed the other occupied by one and +the same contemplation. Pierre was thinking of the chair-portrait: +Isabel, of the living face. Yet Isabel's fervid exclamations having +reference to the living face, were now, as it were, mechanically +responded to by Pierre, in syllables having reference to the +chair-portrait. Nevertheless, so subtile and spontaneous was it all, +that neither perhaps ever afterward discovered this contradiction; for, +events whirled them so rapidly and peremptorily after this, that they +had no time for those calm retrospective reveries indispensable perhaps +to such a discovery. + +"Is it? is it? can it be?" was the intense whisper of Isabel. + +"No, it can not be, it is not," replied Pierre; "one of the wonderful +coincidences, nothing more." + +"Oh, by that word, Pierre, we but vainly seek to explain the +inexplicable. Tell me: it is! it must be! it is wonderful!" + +"Let us begone; and let us keep eternal silence," said Pierre, quickly; +and, seeking Lucy, they abruptly left the place; as before, Pierre, +seemingly unwilling to be accosted by any one he knew, or who knew his +companions, unconsciously accelerating their steps while forced for a +space to tread the thoroughfares. + + +II. + +As they hurried on, Pierre was silent; but wild thoughts were hurrying +and shouting in his heart. The most tremendous displacing and +revolutionizing thoughts were upheaving in him, with reference to +Isabel; nor--though at the time he was hardly conscious of such a +thing--were these thoughts wholly unwelcome to him. + +How did he know that Isabel was his sister? Setting aside Aunt +Dorothea's nebulous legend, to which, in some shadowy points, here and +there Isabel's still more nebulous story seemed to fit on,--though but +uncertainly enough--and both of which thus blurredly conjoining +narrations, regarded in the unscrupulous light of real naked reason, +were any thing but legitimately conclusive; and setting aside his own +dim reminiscences of his wandering father's death-bed; (for though, in +one point of view, those reminiscences might have afforded some degree +of presumption as to his father's having been the parent of an +unacknowledged daughter, yet were they entirely inconclusive as to that +presumed daughter's identity; and the grand point now with Pierre was, +not the general question whether his father had had a daughter, but +whether, assuming that he had had, _Isabel_, rather than any other +living being, _was that daughter_;)--and setting aside all his own +manifold and inter-enfolding mystic and transcendental +persuasions,--originally born, as he now seemed to feel, purely of an +intense procreative enthusiasm:--an enthusiasm no longer so +all-potential with him as of yore; setting all these aside, and coming +to the plain, palpable facts,--how did he _know_ that Isabel was his +sister? Nothing that he saw in her face could he remember as having seen +in his father's. The chair-portrait, _that_ was the entire sum and +substance of all possible, rakable, downright presumptive evidence, +which peculiarly appealed to his own separate self. Yet here was another +portrait of a complete stranger--a European; a portrait imported from +across the seas, and to be sold at public auction, which was just as +strong an evidence as the other. Then, the original of this second +portrait was as much the father of Isabel as the original of the +chair-portrait. But perhaps there was no original at all to this second +portrait; it might have been a pure fancy piece; to which conceit, +indeed, the uncharacterizing style of the filling-up seemed to furnish +no small testimony. + +With such bewildering meditations as these in him, running up like +clasping waves upon the strand of the most latent secrecies of his soul, +and with both Isabel and Lucy bodily touching his sides as he walked; +the feelings of Pierre were entirely untranslatable into any words that +can be used. + +Of late to Pierre, much more vividly than ever before, the whole story +of Isabel had seemed an enigma, a mystery, an imaginative delirium; +especially since he had got so deep into the inventional mysteries of +his book. For he who is most practically and deeply conversant with +mysticisms and mysteries; he who professionally deals in mysticisms and +mysteries himself; often that man, more than any body else, is disposed +to regard such things in others as very deceptively bejuggling; and +likewise is apt to be rather materialistic in all his own merely +personal notions (as in their practical lives, with priests of +Eleusinian religions), and more than any other man, is often inclined, +at the bottom of his soul, to be uncompromisingly skeptical on all novel +visionary hypotheses of any kind. It is only the no-mystics, or the +half-mystics, who, properly speaking, are credulous. So that in Pierre, +was presented the apparent anomaly of a mind, which by becoming really +profound in itself, grew skeptical of all tendered profundities; +whereas, the contrary is generally supposed. + +By some strange arts Isabel's wonderful story might have been, someway, +and for some cause, forged for her, in her childhood, and craftily +impressed upon her youthful mind; which so--like a slight mark in a +young tree--had now enlargingly grown with her growth, till it had +become this immense staring marvel. Tested by any thing real, practical, +and reasonable, what less probable, for instance, than that fancied +crossing of the sea in her childhood, when upon Pierre's subsequent +questioning of her, she did not even know that the sea was salt. + + +III. + +In the midst of all these mental confusions they arrived at the wharf; +and selecting the most inviting of the various boats which lay about +them in three or four adjacent ferry-slips, and one which was bound for +a half-hour's sail across the wide beauty of that glorious bay; they +soon found themselves afloat and in swift gliding motion. + +They stood leaning on the rail of the guard, as the sharp craft darted +out from among the lofty pine-forests of ships'-masts, and the tangled +underbrush and cane-brakes of the dwarfed sticks of sloops and scows. +Soon, the spires of stone on the land, blent with the masts of wood on +the water; the crotch of the twin-rivers pressed the great wedged city +almost out of sight. They swept by two little islets distant from the +shore; they wholly curved away from the domes of free-stone and marble, +and gained the great sublime dome of the bay's wide-open waters. + +Small breeze had been felt in the pent city that day, but the fair +breeze of naked nature now blew in their faces. The waves began to +gather and roll; and just as they gained a point, where--still +beyond--between high promontories of fortresses, the wide bay visibly +sluiced into the Atlantic, Isabel convulsively grasped the arm of Pierre +and convulsively spoke. + +"I feel it! I feel it! It is! It is!" + +"What feelest thou?--what is it?" + +"The motion! the motion!" + +"Dost thou not understand, Pierre?" said Lucy, eying with concern and +wonder his pale, staring aspect--"The waves: it is the motion of the +waves that Isabel speaks of. Look, they are rolling, direct from the sea +now." + +Again Pierre lapsed into a still stranger silence and revery. + +It was impossible altogether to resist the force of this striking +corroboration of by far the most surprising and improbable thing in the +whole surprising and improbable story of Isabel. Well did he remember +her vague reminiscence of the teetering sea, that did not slope exactly +as the floors of the unknown, abandoned, old house among the French-like +mountains. + +While plunged in these mutually neutralizing thoughts of the strange +picture and the last exclamations of Isabel, the boat arrived at its +destination--a little hamlet on the beach, not very far from the great +blue sluice-way into the ocean, which was now yet more distinctly +visible than before. + +"Don't let us stop here"--cried Isabel. "Look, let us go through there! +Bell must go through there! See! see! out there upon the blue! yonder, +yonder! far away--out, out!--far, far away, and away, and away, out +there! where the two blues meet, and are nothing--Bell must go!" + +"Why, Isabel," murmured Lucy, "that would be to go to far England or +France; thou wouldst find but few friends in far France, Isabel." + +"Friends in far France? And what friends have I here?--Art thou my +friend? In thy secret heart dost thou wish me well? And for thee, +Pierre, what am I but a vile clog to thee; dragging thee back from all +thy felicity? Yes, I will go yonder--yonder; out there! I will, I will! +Unhand me! Let me plunge!" + +For an instant, Lucy looked incoherently from one to the other. But both +she and Pierre now mechanically again seized Isabel's frantic arms, as +they were again thrown over the outer rail of the boat. They dragged her +back; they spoke to her; they soothed her; but though less vehement, +Isabel still looked deeply distrustfully at Lucy, and deeply +reproachfully at Pierre. + +They did not leave the boat as intended; too glad were they all, when it +unloosed from its fastenings, and turned about upon the backward trip. + +Stepping to shore, Pierre once more hurried his companions through the +unavoidable publicity of the thoroughfares; but less rapidly proceeded, +soon as they gained the more secluded streets. + + +IV. + +Gaining the Apostles', and leaving his two companions to the privacy of +their chambers, Pierre sat silent and intent by the stove in the +dining-room for a time, and then was on the point of entering his closet +from the corridor, when Delly, suddenly following him, said to him, that +she had forgotten to mention it before, but he would find two letters in +his room, which had been separately left at the door during the absence +of the party. + +He passed into the closet, and slowly shooting the bolt--which, for want +of something better, happened to be an old blunted dagger--walked, with +his cap yet unmoved, slowly up to the table, and beheld the letters. +They were lying with their sealed sides up; one in either hand, he +lifted them; and held them straight out sideways from him. + +"I see not the writing; know not yet, by mine own eye, that they are +meant for me; yet, in these hands I feel that I now hold the final +poniards that shall stab me; and by stabbing me, make _me_ too a most +swift stabber in the recoil. Which point first?--this!" + +He tore open the left-hand letter:-- + + "SIR:--You are a swindler. Upon the pretense of writing a popular + novel for us, you have been receiving cash advances from us, while + passing through our press the sheets of a blasphemous rhapsody, + filched from the vile Atheists, Lucian and Voltaire. Our great + press of publication has hitherto prevented our slightest + inspection of our reader's proofs of your book. Send not another + sheet to us. Our bill for printing thus far, and also for our cash + advances, swindled out of us by you, is now in the hands of our + lawyer, who is instructed to proceed with instant rigor. + + (_Signed_) STEEL, FLINT & ASBESTOS." + +He folded the left-hand letter, and put it beneath his left heel, and +stood upon it so; and then opened the right-hand letter. + + "Thou, Pierre Glendinning, art a villainous and perjured liar. It + is the sole object of this letter imprintedly to convey the point + blank lie to thee; that taken in at thy heart, it may be thence + pulsed with thy blood, throughout thy system. We have let some + interval pass inactive, to confirm and solidify our hate. + Separately, and together, we brand thee, in thy every lung-cell, a + liar;--liar, because that is the scornfullest and loathsomest title + for a man; which in itself is the compend of all infamous things. + + (_Signed_) GLENDINNING STANLY, + FREDERIC TARTAN." + +He folded the right-hand letter, and put it beneath his right heel; then +folding his two arms, stood upon both the letters. + +"These are most small circumstances; but happening just now to me, +become indices to all immensities. For now am I hate-shod! On these I +will skate to my acquittal! No longer do I hold terms with aught. +World's bread of life, and world's breath of honor, both are snatched +from me; but I defy all world's bread and breath. Here I step out before +the drawn-up worlds in widest space, and challenge one and all of them +to battle! Oh, Glen! oh, Fred! most fraternally do I leap to your +rib-crushing hugs! Oh, how I love ye two, that yet can make me lively +hate, in a world which elsewise only merits stagnant scorn!--Now, then, +where is this swindler's, this coiner's book? Here, on this vile +counter, over which the coiner thought to pass it to the world, here +will I nail it fast, for a detected cheat! And thus nailed fast now, do +I spit upon it, and so get the start of the wise world's worst abuse of +it! Now I go out to meet my fate, walking toward me in the street." + +As with hat on, and Glen and Frederic's letter invisibly crumpled in his +hand, he--as it were somnambulously--passed into the room of Isabel, she +gave loose to a thin, long shriek, at his wondrous white and haggard +plight; and then, without the power to stir toward him, sat petrified +in her chair, as one embalmed and glazed with icy varnish. + +He heeded her not, but passed straight on through both intervening +rooms, and without a knock unpremeditatedly entered Lucy's chamber. He +would have passed out of that, also, into the corridor, without one +word; but something stayed him. + +The marble girl sat before her easel; a small box of pointed charcoal, +and some pencils by her side; her painter's wand held out against the +frame; the charcoal-pencil suspended in two fingers, while with the same +hand, holding a crust of bread, she was lightly brushing the +portrait-paper, to efface some ill-considered stroke. The floor was +scattered with the bread-crumbs and charcoal-dust; he looked behind the +easel, and saw his own portrait, in the skeleton. + +At the first glimpse of him, Lucy started not, nor stirred; but as if +her own wand had there enchanted her, sat tranced. + +"Dead embers of departed fires lie by thee, thou pale girl; with dead +embers thou seekest to relume the flame of all extinguished love! Waste +not so that bread; eat it--in bitterness!" + +He turned, and entered the corridor, and then, with outstretched arms, +paused between the two outer doors of Isabel and Lucy. + +"For ye two, my most undiluted prayer is now, that from your here unseen +and frozen chairs ye may never stir alive;--the fool of Truth, the fool +of Virtue, the fool of Fate, now quits ye forever!" + +As he now sped down the long winding passage, some one eagerly hailed +him from a stair. + +"What, what, my boy? where now in such a squally hurry? Hallo, I say!" + +But without heeding him at all, Pierre drove on. Millthorpe looked +anxiously and alarmedly after him a moment, then made a movement in +pursuit, but paused again. + +"There was ever a black vein in this Glendinning; and now that vein is +swelled, as if it were just one peg above a tourniquet drawn over-tight. +I scarce durst dog him now; yet my heart misgives me that I +should.--Shall I go to his rooms and ask what black thing this is that +hath befallen him?--No; not yet;--might be thought officious--they say +I'm given to that. I'll wait; something may turn up soon. I'll into the +front street, and saunter some; and then--we'll see." + + +V. + +Pierre passed on to a remote quarter of the building, and abruptly +entered the room of one of the Apostles whom he knew. There was no one +in it. He hesitated an instant; then walked up to a book-case, with a +chest of drawers in the lower part. + +"Here I saw him put them:--this,--no--here--ay--we'll try this." + +Wrenching open the locked drawer, a brace of pistols, a powder flask, a +bullet-bag, and a round green box of percussion-caps lay before him. + +"Ha! what wondrous tools Prometheus used, who knows? but more wondrous +these, that in an instant, can unmake the topmost +three-score-years-and-ten of all Prometheus' makings. Come: here's two +tubes that'll outroar the thousand pipes of Harlem.--Is the music in +'em?--No?--Well then, here's powder for the shrill treble; and wadding +for the tenor; and a lead bullet for the concluding bass! +And,--and,--and,--ay; for the top-wadding, I'll send 'em back their lie, +and plant it scorching in their brains!" + +He tore off that part of Glen and Fred's letter, which more +particularly gave the lie; and halving it, rammed it home upon the +bullets. + +He thrust a pistol into either breast of his coat; and taking the +rearward passages, went down into the back street; directing his rapid +steps toward the grand central thoroughfare of the city. + +It was a cold, but clear, quiet, and slantingly sunny day; it was +between four and five of the afternoon; that hour, when the great +glaring avenue was most thronged with haughty-rolling carriages, and +proud-rustling promenaders, both men and women. But these last were +mostly confined to the one wide pavement to the West; the other pavement +was well nigh deserted, save by porters, waiters, and parcel-carriers of +the shops. On the west pave, up and down, for three long miles, two +streams of glossy, shawled, or broadcloth life unceasingly brushed by +each other, as long, resplendent, drooping trains of rival peacocks +brush. + +Mixing with neither of these, Pierre stalked midway between. From his +wild and fatal aspect, one way the people took the wall, the other way +they took the curb. Unentangledly Pierre threaded all their host, though +in its inmost heart. Bent he was, on a straightforward, mathematical +intent. His eyes were all about him as he went; especially he glanced +over to the deserted pavement opposite; for that emptiness did not +deceive him; he himself had often walked that side, the better to scan +the pouring throng upon the other. + +Just as he gained a large, open, triangular space, built round with the +stateliest public erections;--the very proscenium of the town;--he saw +Glen and Fred advancing, in the distance, on the other side. He +continued on; and soon he saw them crossing over to him obliquely, so as +to take him face-and-face. He continued on; when suddenly running ahead +of Fred, who now chafingly stood still (because Fred would not make two, +in the direct personal assault upon one) and shouting "Liar! Villain!" +Glen leaped toward Pierre from front, and with such lightning-like +ferocity, that the simultaneous blow of his cowhide smote Pierre across +the cheek, and left a half-livid and half-bloody brand. + +For that one moment, the people fell back on all sides from them; and +left them--momentarily recoiled from each other--in a ring of panics. + +But clapping both hands to his two breasts, Pierre, on both sides +shaking off the sudden white grasp of two rushing girls, tore out both +pistols, and rushed headlong upon Glen. + +"For thy one blow, take here two deaths! 'Tis speechless sweet to murder +thee!" + +Spatterings of his own kindred blood were upon the pavement; his own +hand had extinguished his house in slaughtering the only unoutlawed +human being by the name of Glendinning;--and Pierre was seized by a +hundred contending hands. + + +VI. + +That sundown, Pierre stood solitary in a low dungeon of the city prison. +The cumbersome stone ceiling almost rested on his brow; so that the long +tiers of massive cell-galleries above seemed partly piled on him. His +immortal, immovable, bleached cheek was dry; but the stone cheeks of the +walls were trickling. The pent twilight of the contracted yard, coming +through the barred arrow-slit, fell in dim bars upon the granite floor. + +"Here, then, is the untimely, timely end;--Life's last chapter well +stitched into the middle! Nor book, nor author of the book, hath any +sequel, though each hath its last lettering!--It is ambiguous still. Had +I been heartless now, disowned, and spurningly portioned off the girl +at Saddle Meadows, then had I been happy through a long life on earth, +and perchance through a long eternity in heaven! Now, 'tis merely hell +in both worlds. Well, be it hell. I will mold a trumpet of the flames, +and, with my breath of flame, breathe back my defiance! But give me +first another body! I long and long to die, to be rid of this dishonored +cheek. _Hung by the neck till thou be dead._--Not if I forestall you, +though!--Oh now to live is death, and now to die is life; now, to my +soul, were a sword my midwife!--Hark!--the hangman?--who comes?" + +"Thy wife and cousin--so they say;--hope they may be; they may stay till +twelve;" wheezingly answered a turnkey, pushing the tottering girls into +the cell, and locking the door upon them. + +"Ye two pale ghosts, were this the other world, ye were not welcome. +Away!--Good Angel and Bad Angel both!--For Pierre is neuter now!" + +"Oh, ye stony roofs, and seven-fold stony skies!--not thou art the +murderer, but thy sister hath murdered thee, my brother, oh my brother!" + +At these wailed words from Isabel, Lucy shrunk up like a scroll, and +noiselessly fell at the feet of Pierre. + +He touched her heart.--"Dead!--Girl! wife or sister, saint or +fiend!"--seizing Isabel in his grasp--"in thy breasts, life for infants +lodgeth not, but death-milk for thee and me!--The drug!" and tearing her +bosom loose, he seized the secret vial nesting there. + + +VII. + +At night the squat-framed, asthmatic turnkey tramped the dim-lit iron +gallery before one of the long honey-combed rows of cells. + +"Mighty still there, in that hole, them two mice I let in;--humph!" + +Suddenly, at the further end of the gallery, he discerned a shadowy +figure emerging from the archway there, and running on before an +officer, and impetuously approaching where the turnkey stood. + +"More relations coming. These wind-broken chaps are always in before the +second death, seeing they always miss the first.--Humph! What a froth +the fellow's in?--Wheezes worse than me!" + +"Where is she?" cried Fred Tartan, fiercely, to him; "she's not at the +murderer's rooms! I sought the sweet girl there, instant upon the blow; +but the lone dumb thing I found there only wrung her speechless hands +and pointed to the door;--both birds were flown! Where is she, turnkey? +I've searched all lengths and breadths but this. Hath any angel swept +adown and lighted in your granite hell?" + +"Broken his wind, and broken loose, too, aint he?" wheezed the turnkey +to the officer who now came up. + +"This gentleman seeks a young lady, his sister, someway innocently +connected with the prisoner last brought in. Have any females been here +to see him?" + +"Oh, ay,--two of 'em in there now;" jerking his stumped thumb behind +him. + +Fred darted toward the designated cell. + +"Oh, easy, easy, young gentleman"--jingling at his huge bunch of +keys--"easy, easy, till I get the picks--I'm housewife here.--Hallo, +here comes another." + +Hurrying through the same archway toward them, there now rapidly +advanced a second impetuous figure, running on in advance of a second +officer. + +"Where is the cell?" demanded Millthorpe. + +"He seeks an interview with the last prisoner," explained the second +officer. + +"Kill 'em both with one stone, then," wheezed the turnkey, gratingly +throwing open the door of the cell. "There's his pretty parlor, +gentlemen; step in. Reg'lar mouse-hole, arn't it?--Might hear a rabbit +burrow on the world's t'other side;--are they all 'sleep?" + +"I stumble!" cried Fred, from within; "Lucy! A light! a light!--Lucy!" +And he wildly groped about the cell, and blindly caught Millthorpe, who +was also wildly groping. + +"Blister me not! take off thy bloody touch!--Ho, ho, the light!--Lucy! +Lucy!--she's fainted!" + +Then both stumbled again, and fell from each other in the cell: and for +a moment all seemed still, as though all breaths were held. + +As the light was now thrust in, Fred was seen on the floor holding his +sister in his arms; and Millthorpe kneeling by the side of Pierre, the +unresponsive hand in his; while Isabel, feebly moving, reclined between, +against the wall. + +"Yes! Yes!--Dead! Dead! Dead!--without one visible wound--her sweet +plumage hides it.--Thou hellish carrion, this is thy hellish work! Thy +juggler's rifle brought down this heavenly bird! Oh, my God, my God! +Thou scalpest me with this sight!" + +"The dark vein's burst, and here's the deluge-wreck--all stranded here! +Ah, Pierre! my old companion, +Pierre;--school-mate--play-mate--friend!--Our sweet boy's walks within +the woods!--Oh, I would have rallied thee, and banteringly warned thee +from thy too moody ways, but thou wouldst never heed! What scornful +innocence rests on thy lips, my friend!--Hand scorched with murderer's +powder, yet how woman-soft!--By heaven, these fingers move!--one +speechless clasp!--all's o'er!" + +"All's o'er, and ye know him not!" came gasping from the wall; and from +the fingers of Isabel dropped an empty vial--as it had been a run-out +sand-glass--and shivered upon the floor; and her whole form sloped +sideways, and she fell upon Pierre's heart, and her long hair ran over +him, and arbored him in ebon vines. + + +FINIS. + + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PIERRE; OR THE AMBIGUITIES *** + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will +be renamed. + +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the +United States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms +of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online +at <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you +are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the +country where you are located before using this eBook. +</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: Pierre; or The Ambiguities</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Herman Melville</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: January 15, 2011 [eBook #34970]<br /> +[Most recently updated: May 28, 2022]</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Character set encoding: UTF-8</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Produced by: Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team</div> +<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PIERRE; OR THE AMBIGUITIES ***</div> + +<h1>PIERRE:<br /><br /> +<small><small>OR,</small></small><br /><br /> +THE AMBIGUITIES.</h1> + +<p> +<br /> +</p> + +<p class="c">BY<br /> +HERMAN MELVILLE.</p> + +<p> +<br /> +</p> + +<p class="c">NEW YORK:<br /> +HARPER & BROTHERS, PUBLISHERS<br /> +<small>329 & 331 PEARL STREET,</small><br /> +<small><small>FRANKLIN SQUARE.</small></small><br /> +1852.</p> + +<p> +<br /> +</p> + +<p class="c"> +<small><small> +/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\<br /> +Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1852, by<br /> +HERMAN MELVILLE,<br /> +In the Clerk’s Office of the Southern District of New York.<br /> +/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\</small></small> +</p> + +<p> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +</p> + +<p class="c"><small>TO</small><br /><br /> +<span style="font-family:Old English Text MT, serif;">Greylock’s Most Excellent Majesty.</span></p> + +<p>I<small>N</small> old times authors were proud of the privilege of dedicating their +works to Majesty. A right noble custom, which we of Berkshire must +revive. For whether we will or no, Majesty is all around us here in +Berkshire, sitting as in a grand Congress of Vienna of majestical +hill-tops, and eternally challenging our homage.</p> + +<p>But since the majestic mountain, Greylock—my own more immediate +sovereign lord and king—hath now, for innumerable ages, been the one +grand dedicatee of the earliest rays of all the Berkshire mornings, I +know not how his Imperial Purple Majesty (royal-born: Porphyrogenitus) +will receive the dedication of my own poor solitary ray.</p> + +<p>Nevertheless, forasmuch as I, dwelling with my loyal neighbors, the +Maples and the Beeches, in the amphitheater over which his central +majesty presides, have received his most bounteous and unstinted +fertilizations, it is but meet, that I here devoutly kneel, and render +up my gratitude, whether, thereto, The Most Excellent Purple Majesty of +Greylock benignantly incline his hoary crown or no.</p> + +<p><i>Pittsfield, Mass.</i></p> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2>TABLE OF CONTENTS.</h2> + +<table summary="" style=""> + +<tr><td><a href="#BOOK_I">BOOK I. PIERRE JUST EMERGING FROM HIS TEENS</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><a href="#BOOK_II">BOOK II. LOVE, DELIGHT, AND ALARM</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><a href="#BOOK_III">BOOK III. THE PRESENTIMENT AND THE VERIFICATION</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><a href="#BOOK_IV">BOOK IV. RETROSPECTIVE</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><a href="#BOOK_V">BOOK V. MISGIVINGS AND PREPARATIVES</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><a href="#BOOK_VI">BOOK VI. ISABEL, AND THE FIRST PART OF THE STORY OF ISABEL</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><a href="#BOOK_VII">BOOK VII. INTERMEDIATE BETWEEN PIERRE’S TWO INTERVIEWS WITH ISABEL AT THE FARM-HOUSE</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><a href="#BOOK_VIII">BOOK VIII. THE SECOND INTERVIEW, AND THE SECOND PART OF THE STORY OF ISABEL. THEIR IMMEDIATE IMPULSIVE EFFECT UPON PIERRE</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><a href="#BOOK_IX">BOOK IX. MORE LIGHT, AND THE GLOOM OF THAT LIGHT. MORE GLOOM, AND THE LIGHT OF THAT GLOOM</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><a href="#BOOK_X">BOOK X. THE UNPRECEDENTED FINAL RESOLUTION OF PIERRE</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><a href="#BOOK_XI">BOOK XI. HE CROSSES THE RUBICON</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><a href="#BOOK_XII">BOOK XII. ISABEL, MRS. GLENDINNING, THE PORTRAIT, AND LUCY</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><a href="#BOOK_XIII">BOOK XIII. THEY DEPART THE MEADOWS</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><a href="#BOOK_XIV">BOOK XIV. THE JOURNEY AND THE PAMPHLET</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><a href="#BOOK_XV">BOOK XV. THE COUSINS</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><a href="#BOOK_XVI">BOOK XVI. FIRST NIGHT OF THEIR ARRIVAL IN THE CITY</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><a href="#BOOK_XVII">BOOK XVII. YOUNG AMERICA IN LITERATURE</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><a href="#BOOK_XVIII">BOOK XVIII. PIERRE, AS A JUVENILE AUTHOR, RECONSIDERED</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><a href="#BOOK_XIX">BOOK XIX. THE CHURCH OF THE APOSTLES</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><a href="#BOOK_XX">BOOK XX. CHARLIE MILLTHORPE</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><a href="#BOOK_XXI">BOOK XXI. PIERRE IMMATURELY ATTEMPTS A MATURE BOOK. TIDINGS FROM THE MEADOWS. PLINLIMMON</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><a href="#BOOK_XXII">BOOK XXII. THE FLOWER-CURTAIN LIFTED FROM BEFORE A TROPICAL AUTHOR; WITH SOME REMARKS ON THE TRANSCENDENTAL FLESH-BRUSH PHILOSOPHY</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><a href="#BOOK_XXIII">BOOK XXIII. A LETTER FOR PIERRE. ISABEL. ARRIVAL OF LUCY’S EASEL AND TRUNKS AT THE APOSTLES’</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><a href="#BOOK_XXIV">BOOK XXIV. LUCY AT THE APOSTLES’</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><a href="#BOOK_XXV">BOOK XXV. LUCY, ISABEL, AND PIERRE. PIERRE AT HIS BOOK. ENCELADUS</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><a href="#BOOK_XXVI">BOOK XXVI. A WALK; A FOREIGN PORTRAIT; A SAIL. AND THE END</a></td></tr> + +</table> + +<p><a name="page_001"></a></p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2>PIERRE.</h2> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="BOOK_I"></a>BOOK I.<br /> +PIERRE JUST EMERGING FROM HIS TEENS.</h2> + +<h4>I.</h4> + +<p>T<small>HERE</small> are some strange summer mornings in the country, when he who is +but a sojourner from the city shall early walk forth into the fields, +and be wonder-smitten with the trance-like aspect of the green and +golden world. Not a flower stirs; the trees forget to wave; the grass +itself seems to have ceased to grow; and all Nature, as if suddenly +become conscious of her own profound mystery, and feeling no refuge from +it but silence, sinks into this wonderful and indescribable repose.</p> + +<p>Such was the morning in June, when, issuing from the embowered and +high-gabled old home of his fathers, Pierre, dewily refreshed and +spiritualized by sleep, gayly entered the long, wide, elm-arched street +of the village, and half unconsciously bent his steps toward a cottage, +which peeped into view near the end of the vista.</p> + +<p>The verdant trance lay far and wide; and through it nothing came but the +brindled kine, dreamily wandering to their pastures, followed, not +driven, by ruddy-cheeked, white-footed boys.</p> + +<p>As touched and bewitched by the loveliness of this silence, Pierre +neared the cottage, and lifted his eyes, he swiftly paused,<a name="page_002"></a> fixing his +glance upon one upper, open casement there. Why now this impassioned, +youthful pause? Why this enkindled cheek and eye? Upon the sill of the +casement, a snow-white glossy pillow reposes, and a trailing shrub has +softly rested a rich, crimson flower against it.</p> + +<p>Well mayst thou seek that pillow, thou odoriferous flower, thought +Pierre; not an hour ago, her own cheek must have rested there. “Lucy!”</p> + +<p>“Pierre!”</p> + +<p>As heart rings to heart those voices rang, and for a moment, in the +bright hush of the morning, the two stood silently but ardently eying +each other, beholding mutual reflections of a boundless admiration and +love.</p> + +<p>“Nothing but Pierre,” laughed the youth, at last; “thou hast forgotten +to bid me good-morning.”</p> + +<p>“That would be little. Good-mornings, good-evenings, good days, weeks, +months, and years to thee, Pierre;—bright Pierre!—Pierre!”</p> + +<p>Truly, thought the youth, with a still gaze of inexpressible fondness; +truly the skies do ope, and this invoking angel looks down.—“I would +return thee thy manifold good-mornings, Lucy, did not that presume thou +had’st lived through a night; and by Heaven, thou belong’st to the +regions of an infinite day!”</p> + +<p>“Fie, now, Pierre; why should ye youths always swear when ye love!”</p> + +<p>“Because in us love is profane, since it mortally reaches toward the +heaven in ye!”</p> + +<p>“There thou fly’st again, Pierre; thou art always circumventing me so. +Tell me, why should ye youths ever show so sweet an expertness in +turning all trifles of ours into trophies of yours?”</p> + +<p>“I know not how that is, but ever was it our fashion to do.” And shaking +the casement shrub, he dislodged the flower, and<a name="page_003"></a> conspicuously fastened +it in his bosom.—“I must away now, Lucy; see! under these colors I +march.”</p> + +<p>“Bravissimo! oh, my only recruit!”</p> + +<hr /> + +<h4>II.</h4> + +<p>P<small>IERRE</small> was the only son of an affluent, and haughty widow; a lady who +externally furnished a singular example of the preservative and +beautifying influences of unfluctuating rank, health, and wealth, when +joined to a fine mind of medium culture, uncankered by any inconsolable +grief, and never worn by sordid cares. In mature age, the rose still +miraculously clung to her cheek; litheness had not yet completely +uncoiled itself from her waist, nor smoothness unscrolled itself from +her brow, nor diamondness departed from her eyes. So that when lit up +and bediademed by ball-room lights, Mrs. Glendinning still eclipsed far +younger charms, and had she chosen to encourage them, would have been +followed by a train of infatuated suitors, little less young than her +own son Pierre.</p> + +<p>But a reverential and devoted son seemed lover enough for this widow +Bloom; and besides all this, Pierre when namelessly annoyed, and +sometimes even jealously transported by the too ardent admiration of the +handsome youths, who now and then, caught in unintended snares, seemed +to entertain some insane hopes of wedding this unattainable being; +Pierre had more than once, with a playful malice, openly sworn, that the +man—gray-beard, or beardless—who should dare to propose marriage to +his mother, that man would by some peremptory unrevealed agency +immediately disappear from the earth.</p> + +<p>This romantic filial love of Pierre seemed fully returned by the +triumphant maternal pride of the widow, who in the clear-cut<a name="page_004"></a> lineaments +and noble air of the son, saw her own graces strangely translated into +the opposite sex. There was a striking personal resemblance between +them; and as the mother seemed to have long stood still in her beauty, +heedless of the passing years; so Pierre seemed to meet her half-way, +and by a splendid precocity of form and feature, almost advanced himself +to that mature stand-point in Time, where his pedestaled mother so long +had stood. In the playfulness of their unclouded love, and with that +strange license which a perfect confidence and mutual understanding at +all points, had long bred between them, they were wont to call each +other brother and sister. Both in public and private this was their +usage; nor when thrown among strangers, was this mode of address ever +suspected for a sportful assumption; since the amaranthiness of Mrs. +Glendinning fully sustained this youthful pretension.—Thus freely and +lightsomely for mother and son flowed on the pure joined current of +life. But as yet the fair river had not borne its waves to those +sideways repelling rocks, where it was thenceforth destined to be +forever divided into two unmixing streams.</p> + +<p>An excellent English author of these times enumerating the prime +advantages of his natal lot, cites foremost, that he first saw the rural +light. So with Pierre. It had been his choice fate to have been born and +nurtured in the country, surrounded by scenery whose uncommon loveliness +was the perfect mould of a delicate and poetic mind; while the popular +names of its finest features appealed to the proudest patriotic and +family associations of the historic line of Glendinning. On the meadows +which sloped away from the shaded rear of the manorial mansion, far to +the winding river, an Indian battle had been fought, in the earlier days +of the colony, and in that battle the paternal great-grandfather of +Pierre, mortally wounded, had sat unhorsed on his saddle in the grass, +with his dying voice, still cheering his men in the fray. This was +Saddle-Meadows, a<a name="page_005"></a> name likewise extended to the mansion and the +village. Far beyond these plains, a day’s walk for Pierre, rose the +storied heights, where in the Revolutionary War his grandfather had for +several months defended a rude but all-important stockaded fort, against +the repeated combined assaults of Indians, Tories, and Regulars. From +before that fort, the gentlemanly, but murderous half-breed, Brandt, had +fled, but had survived to dine with General Glendinning, in the amicable +times which followed that vindictive war. All the associations of +Saddle-Meadows were full of pride to Pierre. The Glendinning deeds by +which their estate had so long been held, bore the cyphers of three +Indian kings, the aboriginal and only conveyancers of those noble woods +and plains. Thus loftily, in the days of his circumscribed youth, did +Pierre glance along the background of his race; little recking of that +maturer and larger interior development, which should forever deprive +these things of their full power of pride in his soul.</p> + +<p>But the breeding of Pierre would have been unwisely contracted, had his +youth been unintermittingly passed in these rural scenes. At a very +early period he had begun to accompany his father and mother—and +afterwards his mother alone—in their annual visits to the city; where +naturally mingling in a large and polished society, Pierre had +insensibly formed himself in the airier graces of life, without +enfeebling the vigor derived from a martial race, and fostered in the +country’s clarion air.</p> + +<p>Nor while thus liberally developed in person and manners, was Pierre +deficient in a still better and finer culture. Not in vain had he spent +long summer afternoons in the deep recesses of his father’s fastidiously +picked and decorous library; where the Spenserian nymphs had early led +him into many a maze of all-bewildering beauty. Thus, with a graceful +glow on his limbs, and soft, imaginative flames in his heart, did this +Pierre glide toward maturity, thoughtless of that period of remorseless<a name="page_006"></a> +insight, when all these delicate warmths should seem frigid to him, and +he should madly demand more ardent fires.</p> + +<p>Nor had that pride and love which had so bountifully provided for the +youthful nurture of Pierre, neglected his culture in the deepest element +of all. It had been a maxim with the father of Pierre, that all +gentlemanhood was vain; all claims to it preposterous and absurd, unless +the primeval gentleness and golden humanities of religion had been so +thoroughly wrought into the complete texture of the character, that he +who pronounced himself gentleman, could also rightfully assume the meek, +but kingly style of Christian. At the age of sixteen, Pierre partook +with his mother of the Holy Sacraments.</p> + +<p>It were needless, and more difficult, perhaps, to trace out precisely +the absolute motives which prompted these youthful vows. Enough, that as +to Pierre had descended the numerous other noble qualities of his +ancestors; and as he now stood heir to their forests and farms; so by +the same insensible sliding process, he seemed to have inherited their +docile homage to a venerable Faith, which the first Glendinning had +brought over sea, from beneath the shadow of an English minister. Thus +in Pierre was the complete polished steel of the gentleman, girded with +Religion’s silken sash; and his great-grandfather’s soldierly fate had +taught him that the generous sash should, in the last bitter trial, +furnish its wearer with Glory’s shroud; so that what through life had +been worn for Grace’s sake, in death might safely hold the man. But +while thus all alive to the beauty and poesy of his father’s faith, +Pierre little foresaw that this world hath a secret deeper than beauty, +and Life some burdens heavier than death.</p> + +<p>So perfect to Pierre had long seemed the illuminated scroll of his life +thus far, that only one hiatus was discoverable by him in that +sweetly-writ manuscript. A sister had been omitted from the text. He +mourned that so delicious a feeling as<a name="page_007"></a> fraternal love had been denied +him. Nor could the fictitious title, which he so often lavished upon his +mother, at all supply the absent reality. This emotion was most natural; +and the full cause and reason of it even Pierre did not at that time +entirely appreciate. For surely a gentle sister is the second best gift +to a man; and it is first in point of occurrence; for the wife comes +after. He who is sisterless, is as a bachelor before his time. For much +that goes to make up the deliciousness of a wife, already lies in the +sister.</p> + +<p>“Oh, had my father but had a daughter!” cried Pierre; “some one whom I +might love, and protect, and fight for, if need be. It must be a +glorious thing to engage in a mortal quarrel on a sweet sister’s behalf! +Now, of all things, would to heaven, I had a sister!”</p> + +<p>Thus, ere entranced in the gentler bonds of a lover; thus often would +Pierre invoke heaven for a sister; but Pierre did not then know, that if +there be any thing a man might well pray against, that thing is the +responsive gratification of some of the devoutest prayers of his youth.</p> + +<p>It may have been that this strange yearning of Pierre for a sister, had +part of its origin in that still stranger feeling of loneliness he +sometimes experienced, as not only the solitary head of his family, but +the only surnamed male Glendinning extant. A powerful and populous +family had by degrees run off into the female branches; so that Pierre +found himself surrounded by numerous kinsmen and kinswomen, yet +companioned by no surnamed male Glendinning, but the duplicate one +reflected to him in the mirror. But in his more wonted natural mood, +this thought was not wholly sad to him. Nay, sometimes it mounted into +an exultant swell. For in the ruddiness, and flushfulness, and +vain-gloriousness of his youthful soul, he fondly hoped to have a +monopoly of glory in capping the fame-column, whose tall shaft had been +erected by his noble sires.<a name="page_008"></a></p> + +<p>In all this, how unadmonished was our Pierre by that foreboding and +prophetic lesson taught, not less by Palmyra’s quarries, than by +Palmyra’s ruins. Among those ruins is a crumbling, uncompleted shaft, +and some leagues off, ages ago left in the quarry, is the crumbling +corresponding capital, also incomplete. These Time seized and spoiled; +these Time crushed in the egg; and the proud stone that should have +stood among the clouds, Time left abased beneath the soil. Oh, what +quenchless feud is this, that Time hath with the sons of Men!</p> + +<hr /> + +<h4>III.</h4> + +<p>I<small>T</small> has been said that the beautiful country round about Pierre appealed +to very proud memories. But not only through the mere chances of things, +had that fine country become ennobled by the deeds of his sires, but in +Pierre’s eyes, all its hills and swales seemed as sanctified through +their very long uninterrupted possession by his race.</p> + +<p>That fond ideality which, in the eyes of affection, hallows the least +trinket once familiar to the person of a departed love; with Pierre that +talisman touched the whole earthly landscape about him; for remembering +that on those hills his own fine fathers had gazed; through those woods, +over these lawns, by that stream, along these tangled paths, many a +grand-dame of his had merrily strolled when a girl; vividly recalling +these things, Pierre deemed all that part of the earth a love-token; so +that his very horizon was to him as a memorial ring.</p> + +<p>The monarchical world very generally imagines, that in demagoguical +America the sacred Past hath no fixed statues erected to it, but all +things irreverently seethe and boil in the vulgar caldron of an +everlasting uncrystalizing Present. This conceit would seem peculiarly +applicable to the social condition.<a name="page_009"></a> With no chartered aristocracy, and +no law of entail, how can any family in America imposingly perpetuate +itself? Certainly that common saying among us, which declares, that be a +family conspicuous as it may, a single half-century shall see it abased; +that maxim undoubtedly holds true with the commonalty. In our cities +families rise and burst like bubbles in a vat. For indeed the democratic +element operates as a subtile acid among us; forever producing new +things by corroding the old; as in the south of France verdigris, the +primitive material of one kind of green paint, is produced by +grape-vinegar poured upon copper plates. Now in general nothing can be +more significant of decay than the idea of corrosion; yet on the other +hand, nothing can more vividly suggest luxuriance of life, than the idea +of green as a color; for green is the peculiar signet of all-fertile +Nature herself. Herein by apt analogy we behold the marked anomalousness +of America; whose character abroad, we need not be surprised, is +misconceived, when we consider how strangely she contradicts all prior +notions of human things; and how wonderfully to her, Death itself +becomes transmuted into Life. So that political institutions, which in +other lands seem above all things intensely artificial, with America +seem to possess the divine virtue of a natural law; for the most mighty +of nature’s laws is this, that out of Death she brings Life.</p> + +<p>Still, are there things in the visible world, over which ever-shifting +Nature hath not so unbounded a sway. The grass is annually changed; but +the limbs of the oak, for a long term of years, defy that annual decree. +And if in America the vast mass of families be as the blades of grass, +yet some few there are that stand as the oak; which, instead of +decaying, annually puts forth new branches; whereby Time, instead of +subtracting, is made to capitulate into a multiple virtue.</p> + +<p>In this matter we will—not superciliously, but in fair spirit—compare +pedigrees with England, and strange as it may seem at the first blush, +not without some claim to equality. I dare<a name="page_010"></a> say, that in this thing the +Peerage Book is a good statistical standard whereby to judge her; since +the compilers of that work can not be entirely insensible on whose +patronage they most rely; and the common intelligence of our own people +shall suffice to judge us. But the magnificence of names must not +mislead us as to the humility of things. For as the breath in all our +lungs is hereditary, and my present breath at this moment, is further +descended than the body of the present High Priest of the Jews, so far +as he can assuredly trace it; so mere names, which are also but air, do +likewise revel in this endless descendedness. But if Richmond, and St. +Albans, and Grafton, and Portland, and Buccleugh, be names almost old as +England herself, the present Dukes of those names stop in their own +genuine pedigrees at Charles II., and there find no very fine fountain; +since what we would deem the least glorious parentage under the sun, is +precisely the parentage of a Buccleugh, for example; whose ancestress +could not well avoid being a mother, it is true, but had accidentally +omitted the preliminary rite. Yet a king was the sire. Then only so much +the worse; for if it be small insult to be struck by a pauper, but +mortal offense to receive a blow from a gentleman, then of all things +the bye-blows of kings must be signally unflattering. In England the +Peerage is kept alive by incessant restorations and creations. One man, +George III., manufactured five hundred and twenty-two peers. An earldom, +in abeyance for five centuries, has suddenly been assumed by some +commoner, to whom it had not so much descended, as through the art of +the lawyers been made flexibly to bend in that direction. For not Thames +is so sinuous in his natural course, not the Bridgewater Canal more +artificially conducted, than blood in the veins of that winding or +manufactured nobility. Perishable as stubble, and fungous as the fungi, +those grafted families successively live and die on the eternal soil of +a name. In England this day, twenty-five hundred peerages are extinct; +but the names<a name="page_011"></a> survive. So that the empty air of a name is more +endurable than a man, or than dynasties of men; the air fills man’s +lungs and puts life into a man, but man fills not the air, nor puts life +into that.</p> + +<p>All honor to the names then, and all courtesy to the men; but if St. +Albans tell me he is all-honorable and all-eternal, I must still +politely refer him to Nell Gwynne.</p> + +<p>Beyond Charles II. very few indeed—hardly worthy of note—are the +present titled English families which can trace any thing like a direct +unvitiated blood-descent from the thief knights of the Norman. Beyond +Charles II. their direct genealogies seem vain as though some Jew +clothesman, with a tea-canister on his head, turned over the first +chapter of St. Matthew to make out his unmingled participation in the +blood of King Saul, who had long died ere the career of the Cæsar began.</p> + +<p>Now, not preliminarily to enlarge upon the fact that, while in England +an immense mass of state-masonry is brought to bear as a buttress in +upholding the hereditary existence of certain houses, while with us +nothing of that kind can possibly be admitted; and to omit all mention +of the hundreds of unobtrusive families in New England who, +nevertheless, might easily trace their uninterrupted English lineage to +a time before Charles the Blade: not to speak of the old and +oriental-like English planter families of Virginia and the South; the +Randolphs for example, one of whose ancestors, in King James’ time, +married Pocahontas the Indian Princess, and in whose blood therefore an +underived aboriginal royalty was flowing over two hundred years ago; +consider those most ancient and magnificent Dutch Manors at the North, +whose perches are miles—whose meadows overspread adjacent +countries—and whose haughty rent-deeds are held by their thousand +farmer tenants, so long as grass grows and water runs; which hints of a +surprising eternity for a deed, and seem to make lawyer’s ink +unobliterable as the<a name="page_012"></a> sea. Some of those manors are two centuries old; +and their present patrons or lords will show you stakes and stones on +their estates put there—the stones at least—before Nell Gwynne the +Duke-mother was born, and genealogies which, like their own river, +Hudson, flow somewhat farther and straighter than the Serpentine +brooklet in Hyde Park.</p> + +<p>These far-descended Dutch meadows lie steeped in a Hindooish haze; an +eastern patriarchalness sways its mild crook over pastures, whose tenant +flocks shall there feed, long as their own grass grows, long as their +own water shall run. Such estates seem to defy Time’s tooth, and by +conditions which take hold of the indestructible earth seem to +contemporize their fee-simples with eternity. Unimaginable audacity of a +worm that but crawls through the soil he so imperially claims!</p> + +<p>In midland counties of England they boast of old oaken dining-halls +where three hundred men-at-arms could exercise of a rainy afternoon, in +the reign of the Plantagenets. But our lords, the Patroons, appeal not +to the past, but they point to the present. One will show you that the +public census of a county is but part of the roll of his tenants. Ranges +of mountains, high as Ben Nevis or Snowdon, are their walls; and regular +armies, with staffs of officers, crossing rivers with artillery, and +marching through primeval woods, and threading vast rocky defiles, have +been sent out to distrain upon three thousand farmer-tenants of one +landlord, at a blow. A fact most suggestive two ways; both whereof shall +be nameless here.</p> + +<p>But whatever one may think of the existence of such mighty lordships in +the heart of a republic, and however we may wonder at their thus +surviving, like Indian mounds, the Revolutionary flood; yet survive and +exist they do, and are now owned by their present proprietors, by as +good nominal title as any peasant owns his father’s old hat, or any duke +his great-uncle’s old coronet.<a name="page_013"></a></p> + +<p>For all this, then, we shall not err very widely if we humbly conceive, +that—should she choose to glorify herself in that inconsiderable +way—our America will make out a good general case with England in this +short little matter of large estates, and long pedigrees—pedigrees I +mean, wherein is no flaw.</p> + +<hr /> + +<h4>IV.</h4> + +<p>I<small>N</small> general terms we have been thus decided in asserting the great +genealogical and real-estate dignity of some families in America, +because in so doing we poetically establish the richly aristocratic +condition of Master Pierre Glendinning, for whom we have before claimed +some special family distinction. And to the observant reader the sequel +will not fail to show, how important is this circumstance, considered +with reference to the singularly developed character and most singular +life-career of our hero. Nor will any man dream that the last chapter +was merely intended for a foolish bravado, and not with a solid purpose +in view.</p> + +<p>Now Pierre stands on this noble pedestal; we shall see if he keeps that +fine footing; we shall see if Fate hath not just a little bit of a small +word or two to say in this world. But it is not laid down here that the +Glendinnings dated back beyond Pharaoh, or the deeds of Saddle-Meadows +to the Three Magi in the Gospels. Nevertheless, those deeds, as before +hinted, did indeed date back to three kings—Indian kings—only so much +the finer for that.</p> + +<p>But if Pierre did not date back to the Pharaohs, and if the English +farmer Hampdens were somewhat the seniors of even the oldest +Glendinning; and if some American manors boasted a few additional years +and square miles over his, yet think you that it is at all possible, +that a youth of nineteen should—merely<a name="page_014"></a> by way of trial of the +thing—strew his ancestral kitchen hearth-stone with wheat in the stalk, +and there standing in the chimney thresh out that grain with a flail, +whose aerial evolutions had free play among all that masonry; were it +not impossible for such a flailer so to thresh wheat in his own +ancestral kitchen chimney without feeling just a little twinge or two of +what one might call family pride? I should say not.</p> + +<p>Or how think you it would be with this youthful Pierre, if every day +descending to breakfast, he caught sight of an old tattered British +banner or two, hanging over an arched window in his hall; and those +banners captured by his grandfather, the general, in fair fight? Or how +think you it would be if every time he heard the band of the military +company of the village, he should distinctly recognize the peculiar tap +of a British kettle-drum also captured by his grandfather in fair fight, +and afterwards suitably inscribed on the brass and bestowed upon the +Saddle-Meadows Artillery Corps? Or how think you it would be, if +sometimes of a mild meditative Fourth of July morning in the country, he +carried out with him into the garden by way of ceremonial cane, a long, +majestic, silver-tipped staff, a Major-General’s baton, once wielded on +the plume-nodding and musket-flashing review by the same grandfather +several times here-in-before mentioned? I should say that considering +Pierre was quite young and very unphilosophical as yet, and withal +rather high-blooded; and sometimes read the History of the Revolutionary +War, and possessed a mother who very frequently made remote social +allusions to the epaulettes of the Major-General his grandfather;—I +should say that upon all of these occasions, the way it must have been +with him, was a very proud, elated sort of way. And if this seem but too +fond and foolish in Pierre; and if you tell me that this sort of thing +in him showed him no sterling Democrat, and that a truly noble man +should never brag of any arm but his own; then I beg you to consider +again that this Pierre was but a youngster<a name="page_015"></a> as yet. And believe me you +will pronounce Pierre a thoroughgoing Democrat in time; perhaps a little +too Radical altogether to your fancy.</p> + +<p>In conclusion, do not blame me if I here make repetition, and do +verbally quote my own words in saying that <i>it had been the choice fate +of Pierre to have been born and bred in the country</i>. For to a noble +American youth this indeed—more than in any other land—this indeed is +a most rare and choice lot. For it is to be observed, that while in +other countries, the finest families boast of the country as their home; +the more prominent among us, proudly cite the city as their seat. Too +often the American that himself makes his fortune, builds him a great +metropolitan house, in the most metropolitan street of the most +metropolitan town. Whereas a European of the same sort would thereupon +migrate into the country. That herein the European hath the better of +it, no poet, no philosopher, and no aristocrat will deny. For the +country is not only the most poetical and philosophical, but it is the +most aristocratic part of this earth, for it is the most venerable, and +numerous bards have ennobled it by many fine titles. Whereas the town is +the more plebeian portion: which, besides many other things, is plainly +evinced by the dirty unwashed face perpetually worn by the town; but the +country, like any Queen, is ever attended by scrupulous lady’s maids in +the guise of the seasons, and the town hath but one dress of brick +turned up with stone; but the country hath a brave dress for every week +in the year; sometimes she changes her dress twenty-four times in the +twenty-four hours; and the country weareth her sun by day as a diamond +on a Queen’s brow; and the stars by night as necklaces of gold beads; +whereas the town’s sun is smoky paste, and no diamond, and the town’s +stars are pinchbeck and not gold.</p> + +<p>In the country then Nature planted our Pierre; because Nature intended a +rare and original development in Pierre. Never mind if hereby she proved +ambiguous to him in the end;<a name="page_016"></a> nevertheless, in the beginning she did +bravely. She blew her wind-clarion from the blue hills, and Pierre +neighed out lyrical thoughts, as at the trumpet-blast, a war-horse paws +himself into a lyric of foam. She whispered through her deep groves at +eve, and gentle whispers of humanness, and sweet whispers of love, ran +through Pierre’s thought-veins, musical as water over pebbles. She +lifted her spangled crest of a thickly-starred night, and forth at that +glimpse of their divine Captain and Lord, ten thousand mailed thoughts +of heroicness started up in Pierre’s soul, and glared round for some +insulted good cause to defend.</p> + +<p>So the country was a glorious benediction to young Pierre; we shall see +if that blessing pass from him as did the divine blessing from the +Hebrews; we shall yet see again, I say, whether Fate hath not just a +little bit of a word or two to say in this world; we shall see whether +this wee little bit scrap of latinity be very far out of the way—<i>Nemo +contra Deum nisi Deus ipse.</i></p> + +<hr /> + +<h4>V.</h4> + +<p>“Sister Mary,” said Pierre, returned from his sunrise stroll, and +tapping at his mother’s chamber door:—“do you know, sister Mary, that +the trees which have been up all night, are all abroad again this +morning before you?—Do you not smell something like coffee, my sister?”</p> + +<p>A light step moved from within toward the door; which opened, showing +Mrs. Glendinning, in a resplendently cheerful morning robe, and holding +a gay wide ribbon in her hand.</p> + +<p>“Good morning, madam,” said Pierre, slowly, and with a bow, whose +genuine and spontaneous reverence amusingly contrasted with the sportive +manner that had preceded it. For<a name="page_017"></a> thus sweetly and religiously was the +familiarity of his affections bottomed on the profoundest filial +respect.</p> + +<p>“Good afternoon to you, Pierre, for I suppose it is afternoon. But come, +you shall finish my toilette;—here, brother—” reaching the +ribbon—“now acquit yourself bravely—” and seating herself away from +the glass, she awaited the good offices of Pierre.</p> + +<p>“First Lady in waiting to the Dowager Duchess Glendinning,” laughed +Pierre, as bowing over before his mother, he gracefully passed the +ribbon round her neck, simply crossing the ends in front.</p> + +<p>“Well, what is to hold it there, Pierre?”</p> + +<p>“I am going to try and tack it with a kiss, sister,—there!—oh, what a +pity that sort of fastening won’t always hold!—where’s the cameo with +the fawns, I gave you last night?—Ah! on the slab—you were going to +wear it then?—Thank you, my considerate and most politic +sister—there!—but stop—here’s a ringlet gone romping—so now, dear +sister, give that Assyrian toss to your head.”</p> + +<p>The haughtily happy mother rose to her feet, and as she stood before the +mirror to criticize her son’s adornings, Pierre, noticing the straggling +tie of her slipper, knelt down and secured it. “And now for the urn,” he +cried, “madam!” and with a humorous gallantry, offering his arm to his +mother, the pair descended to breakfast.</p> + +<p>With Mrs. Glendinning it was one of those spontaneous maxims, which +women sometimes act upon without ever thinking of, never to appear in +the presence of her son in any dishabille that was not eminently +becoming. Her own independent observation of things, had revealed to her +many very common maxims, which often become operatively lifeless from a +vicarious reception of them. She was vividly aware how immense was that +influence, which, even in the closest ties of the heart, the merest +appearances make upon the mind. And as<a name="page_018"></a> in the admiring love and +graceful devotion of Pierre lay now her highest joy in life; so she +omitted no slightest trifle which could possibly contribute to the +preservation of so sweet and flattering a thing.</p> + +<p>Besides all this, Mary Glendinning was a woman, and with more than the +ordinary vanity of women—if vanity it can be called—which in a life of +nearly fifty years had never betrayed her into a single published +impropriety, or caused her one known pang at the heart. Moreover, she +had never yearned for admiration; because that was her birthright by the +eternal privilege of beauty; she had always possessed it; she had not to +turn her head for it, since spontaneously it always encompassed her. +Vanity, which in so many women approaches to a spiritual vice, and +therefore to a visible blemish; in her peculiar case—and though +possessed in a transcendent degree—was still the token of the highest +health; inasmuch as never knowing what it was to yearn for its +gratification, she was almost entirely unconscious of possessing it at +all. Many women carry this light of their lives flaming on their +foreheads; but Mary Glendinning unknowingly bore hers within. Through +all the infinite traceries of feminine art, she evenly glowed like a +vase which, internally illuminated, gives no outward sign of the +lighting flame, but seems to shine by the very virtue of the exquisite +marble itself. But that bluff corporeal admiration, with which some +ball-room women are content, was no admiration to the mother of Pierre. +Not the general homage of men, but the selected homage of the noblest +men, was what she felt to be her appropriate right. And as her own +maternal partialities were added to, and glorified the rare and absolute +merits of Pierre; she considered the voluntary allegiance of his +affectionate soul, the representative fealty of the choicest guild of +his race. Thus, though replenished through all her veins with the +subtlest vanity, with the homage of Pierre alone she was content.<a name="page_019"></a></p> + +<p>But as to a woman of sense and spirit, the admiration of even the +noblest and most gifted man, is esteemed as nothing, so long as she +remains conscious of possessing no directly influencing and practical +sorcery over his soul; and as notwithstanding all his intellectual +superiority to his mother, Pierre, through the unavoidable weakness of +inexperienced and unexpanded youth, was strangely docile to the maternal +tuitions in nearly all the things which thus far had any ways interested +or affected him; therefore it was, that to Mary Glendinning this +reverence of Pierre was invested with all the proudest delights and +witcheries of self-complacency, which it is possible for the most +conquering virgin to feel. Still more. That nameless and infinitely +delicate aroma of inexpressible tenderness and attentiveness which, in +every refined and honorable attachment, is cotemporary with the +courtship, and precedes the final banns and the rite; but which, like +the <i>bouquet</i> of the costliest German wines, too often evaporates upon +pouring love out to drink, in the disenchanting glasses of the +matrimonial days and nights; this highest and airiest thing in the whole +compass of the experience of our mortal life; this heavenly +evanescence—still further etherealized in the filial breast—was for +Mary Glendinning, now not very far from her grand climacteric, +miraculously revived in the courteous lover-like adoration of Pierre.</p> + +<p>Altogether having its origin in a wonderful but purely fortuitous +combination of the happiest and rarest accidents of earth; and not to be +limited in duration by that climax which is so fatal to ordinary love; +this softened spell which still wheeled the mother and son in one orbit +of joy, seemed a glimpse of the glorious possibility, that the divinest +of those emotions, which are incident to the sweetest season of love, is +capable of an indefinite translation into many of the less signal +relations of our many chequered life. In a detached and individual way, +it seemed almost to realize here below the sweet<a name="page_020"></a> dreams of those +religious enthusiasts, who paint to us a Paradise to come, when +etherealized from all drosses and stains, the holiest passion of man +shall unite all kindreds and climes in one circle of pure and +unimpairable delight.</p> + +<hr /> + +<h4>VI.</h4> + +<p>T<small>HERE</small> was one little uncelestial trait, which, in the opinion of some, +may mar the romantic merits of the gentlemanly Pierre Glendinning. He +always had an excellent appetite, and especially for his breakfast. But +when we consider that though Pierre’s hands were small, and his ruffles +white, yet his arm was by no means dainty, and his complexion inclined +to brown; and that he generally rose with the sun, and could not sleep +without riding his twenty, or walking his twelve miles a day, or felling +a fair-sized hemlock in the forest, or boxing, or fencing, or boating, +or performing some other gymnastical feat; when we consider these +athletic habitudes of Pierre, and the great fullness of brawn and muscle +they built round about him; all of which manly brawn and muscle, three +times a day loudly clamored for attention; we shall very soon perceive +that to have a bountiful appetite, was not only no vulgar reproach, but +a right royal grace and honor to Pierre; attesting him a man and a +gentleman; for a thoroughly developed gentleman is always robust and +healthy; and Robustness and Health are great trencher-men.</p> + +<p>So when Pierre and his mother descended to breakfast, and Pierre had +scrupulously seen her supplied with whatever little things were +convenient to her; and had twice or thrice ordered the respectable and +immemorial Dates, the servitor, to adjust and re-adjust the +window-sashes, so that no unkind current of air should take undue +liberties with his mother’s neck; after<a name="page_021"></a> seeing to all this, but in a +very quiet and inconspicuous way; and also after directing the unruffled +Dates, to swing out, horizontally into a particular light, a fine joyous +painting, in the good-fellow, Flemish style (which painting was so +attached to the wall as to be capable of that mode of adjusting), and +furthermore after darting from where he sat a few invigorating glances +over the river-meadows to the blue mountains beyond; Pierre made a +masonic sort of mysterious motion to the excellent Dates, who in +automaton obedience thereto, brought from a certain agreeable little +side-stand, a very prominent-looking cold pasty; which, on careful +inspection with the knife, proved to be the embossed savory nest of a +few uncommonly tender pigeons of Pierre’s own shooting.</p> + +<p>“Sister Mary,” said he, lifting on his silver trident one of the +choicest of the many fine pigeon morsels; “Sister Mary,” said he, “in +shooting these pigeons, I was very careful to bring down one in such a +manner that the breast is entirely unmarred. It was intended for you! +and here it is. Now Sergeant Dates, help hither your mistress’ plate. +No?—nothing but the crumbs of French rolls, and a few peeps into a +coffee-cup—is that a breakfast for the daughter of yonder bold +General?”—pointing to a full-length of his gold-laced grandfather on +the opposite wall. “Well, pitiable is my case when I have to breakfast +for two. Dates!”</p> + +<p>“Sir.”</p> + +<p>“Remove that toast-rack, Dates; and this plate of tongue, and bring the +rolls nearer, and wheel the stand farther off, good Dates.”</p> + +<p>Having thus made generous room for himself, Pierre commenced operations, +interrupting his mouthfuls by many sallies of mirthfulness.</p> + +<p>“You seem to be in prodigious fine spirits this morning, brother +Pierre,” said his mother.</p> + +<p>“Yes, very tolerable; at least I can’t say, that I am low-spirited<a name="page_022"></a> +exactly, sister Mary;—Dates, my fine fellow, bring me three bowls of +milk.”</p> + +<p>“One bowl, sir, you mean,” said Dates, gravely and imperturbably.</p> + +<p>As the servitor left the room, Mrs. Glendinning spoke. “My dear Pierre, +how often have I begged you never to permit your hilariousness to betray +you into overstepping the exact line of propriety in your intercourse +with servants. Dates’ look was a respectful reproof to you just now. You +must not call Dates, <i>My fine fellow</i>. He <i>is</i> a fine fellow, a very +fine fellow, indeed; but there is no need of telling him so at my table. +It is very easy to be entirely kind and pleasant to servants, without +the least touch of any shade of transient good-fellowship with them.”</p> + +<p>“Well, sister, no doubt you are altogether right; after this I shall +drop the <i>fine</i>, and call Dates nothing but <i>fellow</i>;—Fellow, come +here!—how will that answer?”</p> + +<p>“Not at all, Pierre—but you are a Romeo, you know, and so for the +present I pass over your nonsense.”</p> + +<p>“Romeo! oh, no. I am far from being Romeo—” sighed Pierre. “I laugh, +but he cried; poor Romeo! alas Romeo! woe is me, Romeo! he came to a +very deplorable end, did Romeo, sister Mary.”</p> + +<p>“It was his own fault though.”</p> + +<p>“Poor Romeo!”</p> + +<p>“He was disobedient to his parents.”</p> + +<p>“Alas Romeo!”</p> + +<p>“He married against their particular wishes.”</p> + +<p>“Woe is me, Romeo!”</p> + +<p>“But you, Pierre, are going to be married before long, I trust, not to a +Capulet, but to one of our own Montagues; and so Romeo’s evil fortune +will hardly be yours. You will be happy.”</p> + +<p>“The more miserable Romeo!”<a name="page_023"></a></p> + +<p>“Don’t be so ridiculous, brother Pierre; so you are going to take Lucy +that long ride among the hills this morning? She is a sweet girl; a most +lovely girl.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, that is rather my opinion, sister Mary.—By heavens, mother, the +five zones hold not such another! She is—yes—though I say +it—Dates!—he’s a precious long time getting that milk!”</p> + +<p>“Let him stay.—Don’t be a milk-sop, Pierre!”</p> + +<p>“Ha! my sister is a little satirical this morning. I comprehend.”</p> + +<p>“Never rave, Pierre; and never rant. Your father never did either; nor +is it written of Socrates; and both were very wise men. Your father was +profoundly in love—that I know to my certain knowledge—but I never +heard him rant about it. He was always exceedingly gentlemanly: and +gentlemen never rant. Milk-sops and Muggletonians rant, but gentlemen +never.”</p> + +<p>“Thank you, sister.—There, put it down, Dates; are the horses ready?”</p> + +<p>“Just driving round, sir, I believe.”</p> + +<p>“Why, Pierre,” said his mother, glancing out at the window, “are you +going to Santa Fe De Bogota with that enormous old phaeton;—what do you +take that Juggernaut out for?”</p> + +<p>“Humor, sister, humor; I like it because it’s old-fashioned, and because +the seat is such a wide sofa of a seat, and finally because a young lady +by the name of Lucy Tartan cherishes a high regard for it. She vows she +would like to be married in it.”</p> + +<p>“Well, Pierre, all I have to say, is, be sure that Christopher puts the +coach-hammer and nails, and plenty of cords and screws into the box. And +you had better let him follow you in one of the farm wagons, with a +spare axle and some boards.”</p> + +<p>“No fear, sister; no fear;—I shall take the best of care of the old +phaeton. The quaint old arms on the panel, always remind me who it was +that first rode in it.”<a name="page_024"></a></p> + +<p>“I am glad you have that memory, brother Pierre.”</p> + +<p>“And who it was that <i>next</i> rode in it.”</p> + +<p>“Bless you!—God bless you, my dear son!—always think of him and you +can never err; yes, always think of your dear perfect father, Pierre.”</p> + +<p>“Well, kiss me now, dear sister, for I must go.”</p> + +<p>“There; this is my cheek, and the other is Lucy’s; though now that I +look at them both, I think that hers is getting to be the most blooming; +sweeter dews fall on that one, I suppose.”</p> + +<p>Pierre laughed, and ran out of the room, for old Christopher was getting +impatient. His mother went to the window and stood there.</p> + +<p>“A noble boy, and docile”—she murmured—“he has all the frolicsomeness +of youth, with little of its giddiness. And he does not grow +vain-glorious in sophomorean wisdom. I thank heaven I sent him not to +college. A noble boy, and docile. A fine, proud, loving, docile, +vigorous boy. Pray God, he never becomes otherwise to me. His little +wife, that is to be, will not estrange him from me; for she too is +docile,—beautiful, and reverential, and most docile. Seldom yet have I +known such blue eyes as hers, that were not docile, and would not follow +a bold black one, as two meek blue-ribboned ewes, follow their martial +leader. How glad am I that Pierre loves her so, and not some dark-eyed +haughtiness, with whom I could never live in peace; but who would be +ever setting her young married state before my elderly widowed one, and +claiming all the homage of my dear boy—the fine, proud, loving, docile, +vigorous boy!—the lofty-minded, well-born, noble boy; and with such +sweet docilities! See his hair! He does in truth illustrate that fine +saying of his father’s, that as the noblest colts, in three +points—abundant hair, swelling chest, and sweet docility—should +resemble a fine woman, so should a noble youth. Well, good-bye, Pierre, +and a merry morning to ye!”<a name="page_025"></a></p> + +<p>So saying she crossed the room, and—resting in a corner—her glad proud +eye met the old General’s baton, which the day before in one of his +frolic moods Pierre had taken from its accustomed place in the +pictured-bannered hall. She lifted it, and musingly swayed it to and +fro; then paused, and staff-wise rested with it in her hand. Her stately +beauty had ever somewhat martial in it; and now she looked the daughter +of a General, as she was; for Pierre’s was a double revolutionary +descent. On both sides he sprang from heroes.</p> + +<p>“This is his inheritance—this symbol of command! and I swell out to +think it. Yet but just now I fondled the conceit that Pierre was so +sweetly docile! Here sure is a most strange inconsistency! For is sweet +docility a general’s badge? and is this baton but a distaff +then?—Here’s something widely wrong. Now I almost wish him otherwise +than sweet and docile to me, seeing that it must be hard for man to be +an uncompromising hero and a commander among his race, and yet never +ruffle any domestic brow. Pray heaven he show his heroicness in some +smooth way of favoring fortune, not be called out to be a hero of some +dark hope forlorn;—of some dark hope forlorn, whose cruelness makes a +savage of a man. Give him, O God, regardful gales! Fan him with +unwavering prosperities! So shall he remain all docility to me, and yet +prove a haughty hero to the world!”<a name="page_026"></a></p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="BOOK_II"></a>BOOK II.<br /> +LOVE, DELIGHT, AND ALARM.</h2> + +<h4>I.</h4> + +<p>O<small>N</small> the previous evening, Pierre had arranged with Lucy the plan of a +long winding ride, among the hills which stretched around to the +southward from the wide plains of Saddle-Meadows.</p> + +<p>Though the vehicle was a sexagenarian, the animals that drew it, were +but six-year colts. The old phaeton had outlasted several generations of +its drawers.</p> + +<p>Pierre rolled beneath the village elms in billowy style, and soon drew +up before the white cottage door. Flinging his reins upon the ground he +entered the house.</p> + +<p>The two colts were his particular and confidential friends; born on the +same land with him, and fed with the same corn, which, in the form of +Indian-cakes, Pierre himself was often wont to eat for breakfast. The +same fountain that by one branch supplied the stables with water, by +another supplied Pierre’s pitcher. They were a sort of family cousins to +Pierre, those horses; and they were splendid young cousins; very showy +in their redundant manes and mighty paces, but not at all vain or +arrogant. They acknowledged Pierre as the undoubted head of the house of +Glendinning. They well knew that they were but an inferior and +subordinate branch of the Glendinnings, bound in perpetual feudal fealty +to its headmost representative.<a name="page_027"></a> Therefore, these young cousins never +permitted themselves to run from Pierre; they were impatient in their +paces, but very patient in the halt. They were full of good-humor too, +and kind as kittens.</p> + +<p>“Bless me, how can you let them stand all alone that way, Pierre,” cried +Lucy, as she and Pierre stepped forth from the cottage door, Pierre +laden with shawls, parasol, reticule, and a small hamper.</p> + +<p>“Wait a bit,” cried Pierre, dropping his load; “I will show you what my +colts are.”</p> + +<p>So saying, he spoke to them mildly, and went close up to them, and +patted them. The colts neighed; the nigh colt neighing a little +jealously, as if Pierre had not patted impartially. Then, with a low, +long, almost inaudible whistle, Pierre got between the colts, among the +harness. Whereat Lucy started, and uttered a faint cry, but Pierre told +her to keep perfectly quiet, for there was not the least danger in the +world. And Lucy did keep quiet; for somehow, though she always started +when Pierre seemed in the slightest jeopardy, yet at bottom she rather +cherished a notion that Pierre bore a charmed life, and by no earthly +possibility could die from her, or experience any harm, when she was +within a thousand leagues.</p> + +<p>Pierre, still between the horses, now stepped upon the pole of the +phaeton; then stepping down, indefinitely disappeared, or became +partially obscured among the living colonnade of the horses’ eight +slender and glossy legs. He entered the colonnade one way, and after a +variety of meanderings, came out another way; during all of which +equestrian performance, the two colts kept gayly neighing, and +good-humoredly moving their heads perpendicularly up and down; and +sometimes turning them sideways toward Lucy; as much as to say—We +understand young master; we understand him, Miss; never fear, pretty +lady: why, bless your delicious little heart, we played with Pierre +before you ever did.<a name="page_028"></a></p> + +<p>“Are you afraid of their running away now, Lucy?” said Pierre, returning +to her.</p> + +<p>“Not much, Pierre; the superb fellows! Why, Pierre, they have made an +officer of you—look!” and she pointed to two foam-flakes epauletting +his shoulders. “Bravissimo again! I called you my recruit, when you left +my window this morning, and here you are promoted.”</p> + +<p>“Very prettily conceited, Lucy. But see, you don’t admire their coats; +they wear nothing but the finest Genoa velvet, Lucy. See! did you ever +see such well-groomed horses?”</p> + +<p>“Never!”</p> + +<p>“Then what say you to have them for my groomsmen, Lucy? Glorious +groomsmen they would make, I declare. They should have a hundred ells of +white favors all over their manes and tails; and when they drew us to +church, they would be still all the time scattering white favors from +their mouths, just as they did here on me. Upon my soul, they shall be +my groomsmen, Lucy. Stately stags! playful dogs! heroes, Lucy. We shall +have no marriage bells; they shall neigh for us, Lucy; we shall be +wedded to the martial sound of Job’s trumpeters, Lucy. Hark! they are +neighing now to think of it.”</p> + +<p>“Neighing at your lyrics, Pierre. Come, let us be off. Here, the shawl, +the parasol, the basket: what are you looking at them so for?”</p> + +<p>“I was thinking, Lucy, of the sad state I am in. Not six months ago, I +saw a poor affianced fellow, an old comrade of mine, trudging along with +his Lucy Tartan, a hillock of bundles under either arm; and I said to +myself—There goes a sumpter, now; poor devil, he’s a lover. And now +look at me! Well, life’s a burden, they say; why not be burdened +cheerily? But look ye, Lucy, I am going to enter a formal declaration +and protest before matters go further with us. When we are<a name="page_029"></a> married, I +am not to carry any bundles, unless in cases of real need; and what is +more, when there are any of your young lady acquaintances in sight, I am +not to be unnecessarily called upon to back up, and load for their +particular edification.”</p> + +<p>“Now I am really vexed with you, Pierre; that is the first ill-natured +innuendo I ever heard from you. Are there any of my young lady +acquaintances in sight now, I should like to know?”</p> + +<p>“Six of them, right over the way,” said Pierre; “but they keep behind +the curtains. I never trust your solitary village streets, Lucy. +Sharp-shooters behind every clap-board, Lucy.”</p> + +<p>“Pray, then, dear Pierre, do let us be off!”</p> + +<hr /> + +<h4>II.</h4> + +<p>W<small>HILE</small> Pierre and Lucy are now rolling along under the elms, let it be +said who Lucy Tartan was. It is needless to say that she was a beauty; +because chestnut-haired, bright-cheeked youths like Pierre Glendinning, +seldom fall in love with any but a beauty. And in the times to come, +there must be—as in the present times, and in the times gone by—some +splendid men, and some transcendent women; and how can they ever be, +unless always, throughout all time, here and there, a handsome youth +weds with a handsome maid!</p> + +<p>But though owing to the above-named provisions of dame Nature, there +always will be beautiful women in the world; yet the world will never +see another Lucy Tartan. Her cheeks were tinted with the most delicate +white and red, the white predominating. Her eyes some god brought down +from heaven; her hair was Danae’s, spangled with Jove’s shower; her +teeth were dived for in the Persian Sea.<a name="page_030"></a></p> + +<p>If long wont to fix his glance on those who, trudging through the +humbler walks of life, and whom unequal toil and poverty deform; if that +man shall haply view some fair and gracious daughter of the gods, who, +from unknown climes of loveliness and affluence, comes floating into +sight, all symmetry and radiance; how shall he be transported, that in a +world so full of vice and misery as ours, there should yet shine forth +this visible semblance of the heavens. For a lovely woman is not +entirely of this earth. Her own sex regard her not as such. A crowd of +women eye a transcendent beauty entering a room, much as though a bird +from Arabia had lighted on the window sill. Say what you will, their +jealousy—if any—is but an afterbirth to their open admiration. Do men +envy the gods? And shall women envy the goddesses? A beautiful woman is +born Queen of men and women both, as Mary Stuart was born Queen of +Scots, whether men or women. All mankind are her Scots; her leal clans +are numbered by the nations. A true gentleman in Kentucky would +cheerfully die for a beautiful woman in Hindostan, though he never saw +her. Yea, count down his heart in death-drops for her; and go to Pluto, +that she might go to Paradise. He would turn Turk before he would disown +an allegiance hereditary to all gentlemen, from the hour their Grand +Master, Adam, first knelt to Eve.</p> + +<p>A plain-faced Queen of Spain dwells not in half the glory a beautiful +milliner does. Her soldiers can break heads, but her Highness can not +crack a heart; and the beautiful milliner might string hearts for +necklaces. Undoubtedly, Beauty made the first Queen. If ever again the +succession to the German Empire should be contested, and one poor lame +lawyer should present the claims of the first excellingly beautiful +woman he chanced to see—she would thereupon be unanimously elected +Empress of the Holy Roman German Empire;—that is to say, if all the +Germans were true, free-hearted and magnanimous gentlemen, at all +capable of appreciating so immense an honor.<a name="page_031"></a></p> + +<p>It is nonsense to talk of France as the seat of all civility. Did not +those French heathen have a Salique law? Three of the most bewitching +creatures,—immortal flowers of the line of Valois—were excluded from +the French throne by that infamous provision. France, indeed! whose +Catholic millions still worship Mary Queen of Heaven; and for ten +generations refused cap and knee to many angel Maries, rightful Queens +of France. Here is cause for universal war. See how vilely nations, as +well as men, assume and wear unchallenged the choicest titles, however +without merit. The Americans, and not the French, are the world’s models +of chivalry. Our Salique Law provides that universal homage shall be +paid all beautiful women. No man’s most solid rights shall weigh against +her airiest whims. If you buy the best seat in the coach, to go and +consult a doctor on a matter of life and death, you shall cheerfully +abdicate that best seat, and limp away on foot, if a pretty woman, +traveling, shake one feather from the stage-house door.</p> + +<p>Now, since we began by talking of a certain young lady that went out +riding with a certain youth; and yet find ourselves, after leading such +a merry dance, fast by a stage-house window;—this may seem rather +irregular sort of writing. But whither indeed should Lucy Tartan conduct +us, but among mighty Queens, and all other creatures of high degree; and +finally set us roaming, to see whether the wide world can match so fine +a wonder. By immemorial usage, am I not bound to celebrate this Lucy +Tartan? Who shall stay me? Is she not my hero’s own affianced? What can +be gainsaid? Where underneath the tester of the night sleeps such +another?</p> + +<p>Yet, how would Lucy Tartan shrink from all this noise and clatter! She +is bragged of, but not brags. Thus far she hath floated as stilly +through this life, as thistle-down floats over meadows. Noiseless, she, +except with Pierre; and even with him she lives through many a panting +hush. Oh, those love-pauses<a name="page_032"></a> that they know—how ominous of their +future; for pauses precede the earthquake, and every other terrible +commotion! But blue be their sky awhile, and lightsome all their chat, +and frolicsome their humors.</p> + +<p>Never shall I get down the vile inventory! How, if with paper and with +pencil I went out into the starry night to inventorize the heavens? Who +shall tell stars as teaspoons? Who shall put down the charms of Lucy +Tartan upon paper?</p> + +<p>And for the rest; her parentage, what fortune she would possess, how +many dresses in her wardrobe, and how many rings upon her fingers; +cheerfully would I let the genealogists, tax-gatherers, and upholsterers +attend to that. My proper province is with the angelical part of Lucy. +But as in some quarters, there prevails a sort of prejudice against +angels, who are merely angels and nothing more; therefore I shall +martyrize myself, by letting such gentlemen and ladies into some details +of Lucy Tartan’s history.</p> + +<p>She was the daughter of an early and most cherished friend of Pierre’s +father. But that father was now dead, and she resided an only daughter +with her mother, in a very fine house in the city. But though her home +was in the city, her heart was twice a year in the country. She did not +at all love the city and its empty, heartless, ceremonial ways. It was +very strange, but most eloquently significant of her own natural +angelhood that, though born among brick and mortar in a sea-port, she +still pined for unbaked earth and inland grass. So the sweet linnet, +though born inside of wires in a lady’s chamber on the ocean coast, and +ignorant all its life of any other spot; yet, when spring-time comes, it +is seized with flutterings and vague impatiences; it can not eat or +drink for these wild longings. Though unlearned by any experience, still +the inspired linnet divinely knows that the inland migrating time has +come. And just so with Lucy in her first longings for the verdure. Every +spring those wild flutterings shook her; every<a name="page_033"></a> spring, this sweet +linnet girl did migrate inland. Oh God grant that those other and long +after nameless flutterings of her inmost soul, when all life was become +weary to her—God grant, that those deeper flutterings in her were +equally significant of her final heavenly migration from this heavy +earth.</p> + +<p>It was fortunate for Lucy that her Aunt Lanyllyn—a pensive, childless, +white-turbaned widow—possessed and occupied a pretty cottage in the +village of Saddle Meadows; and still more fortunate, that this excellent +old aunt was very partial to her, and always felt a quiet delight in +having Lucy near her. So Aunt Lanyllyn’s cottage, in effect, was Lucy’s. +And now, for some years past, she had annually spent several months at +Saddle Meadows; and it was among the pure and soft incitements of the +country that Pierre first had felt toward Lucy the dear passion which +now made him wholly hers.</p> + +<p>Lucy had two brothers; one her senior, by three years, and the other her +junior by two. But these young men were officers in the navy; and so +they did not permanently live with Lucy and her mother.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Tartan was mistress of an ample fortune. She was, moreover, +perfectly aware that such was the fact, and was somewhat inclined to +force it upon the notice of other people, nowise interested in the +matter. In other words, Mrs. Tartan, instead of being daughter-proud, +for which she had infinite reason, was a little inclined to being +purse-proud, for which she had not the slightest reason; seeing that the +Great Mogul probably possessed a larger fortune than she, not to speak +of the Shah of Persia and Baron Rothschild, and a thousand other +millionaires; whereas, the Grand Turk, and all their other majesties of +Europe, Asia, and Africa to boot, could not, in all their joint +dominions, boast so sweet a girl as Lucy. Nevertheless, Mrs. Tartan was +an excellent sort of lady, as this lady-like world goes. She subscribed +to charities, and owned five pews in as many churches, and went about +trying to promote the<a name="page_034"></a> general felicity of the world, by making all the +handsome young people of her acquaintance marry one another. In other +words, she was a match-maker—not a Lucifer match-maker—though, to tell +the truth, she may have kindled the matrimonial blues in certain +dissatisfied gentlemen’s breasts, who had been wedded under her +particular auspices, and by her particular advice. Rumor said—but rumor +is always fibbing—that there was a secret society of dissatisfied young +husbands, who were at the pains of privately circulating handbills among +all unmarried young strangers, warning them against the insidious +approaches of Mrs. Tartan; and, for reference, named themselves in +cipher. But this could not have been true; for, flushed with a thousand +matches—burning blue or bright, it made little matter—Mrs. Tartan +sailed the seas of fashion, causing all topsails to lower to her; and +towing flotillas of young ladies, for all of whom she was bound to find +the finest husband harbors in the world.</p> + +<p>But does not match-making, like charity, begin at home? Why is her own +daughter Lucy without a mate? But not so fast; Mrs. Tartan years ago +laid out that sweet programme concerning Pierre and Lucy; but in this +case, her programme happened to coincide, in some degree, with a +previous one in heaven, and only for that cause did it come to pass, +that Pierre Glendinning was the proud elect of Lucy Tartan. Besides, +this being a thing so nearly affecting herself, Mrs. Tartan had, for the +most part, been rather circumspect and cautious in all her +manœuvrings with Pierre and Lucy. Moreover, the thing demanded no +manœuvring at all. The two Platonic particles, after roaming in quest +of each other, from the time of Saturn and Ops till now; they came +together before Mrs. Tartan’s own eyes; and what more could Mrs. Tartan +do toward making them forever one and indivisible? Once, and only once, +had a dim suspicion passed through Pierre’s mind, that Mrs. Tartan was a +lady thimble-rigger, and slyly rolled the pea.</p> + +<p>In their less mature acquaintance, he was breakfasting with<a name="page_035"></a> Lucy and +her mother in the city, and the first cup of coffee had been poured out +by Mrs. Tartan, when she declared she smelt matches burning somewhere in +the house, and she must see them extinguished. So banning all pursuit, +she rose to seek for the burning matches, leaving the pair alone to +interchange the civilities of the coffee; and finally sent word to them, +from above stairs, that the matches, or something else, had given her a +headache, and begged Lucy to send her up some toast and tea, for she +would breakfast in her own chamber that morning.</p> + +<p>Upon this, Pierre looked from Lucy to his boots, and as he lifted his +eyes again, saw Anacreon on the sofa on one side of him, and Moore’s +Melodies on the other, and some honey on the table, and a bit of white +satin on the floor, and a sort of bride’s veil on the chandelier.</p> + +<p>Never mind though—thought Pierre, fixing his gaze on Lucy—I’m entirely +willing to be caught, when the bait is set in Paradise, and the bait is +such an angel. Again he glanced at Lucy, and saw a look of infinite +subdued vexation, and some unwonted pallor on her cheek. Then willingly +he would have kissed the delicious bait, that so gently hated to be +tasted in the trap. But glancing round again, and seeing that the music, +which Mrs. Tartan, under the pretense of putting in order, had been +adjusting upon the piano; seeing that this music was now in a vertical +pile against the wall, with—“<i>Love was once a little boy</i>,” for the +outermost and only visible sheet; and thinking this to be a remarkable +coincidence under the circumstances; Pierre could not refrain from a +humorous smile, though it was a very gentle one, and immediately +repented of, especially as Lucy seeing and interpreting it, immediately +arose, with an unaccountable, indignant, angelical, adorable, and +all-persuasive “Mr. Glendinning?” utterly confounded in him the +slightest germ of suspicion as to Lucy’s collusion in her mother’s +imagined artifices.</p> + +<p>Indeed, Mrs. Tartan’s having any thing whatever to do, or<a name="page_036"></a> hint, or +finesse in this matter of the loves of Pierre and Lucy, was nothing less +than immensely gratuitous and sacrilegious. Would Mrs. Tartan doctor +lilies when they blow? Would Mrs. Tartan set about match-making between +the steel and magnet? Preposterous Mrs. Tartan! But this whole world is +a preposterous one, with many preposterous people in it; chief among +whom was Mrs. Tartan, match-maker to the nation.</p> + +<p>This conduct of Mrs. Tartan, was the more absurd, seeing that she could +not but know that Mrs. Glendinning desired the thing. And was not Lucy +wealthy?—going to be, that is, very wealthy when her mother died;—(sad +thought that for Mrs. Tartan)—and was not her husband’s family of the +best; and had not Lucy’s father been a bosom friend of Pierre’s father? +And though Lucy might be matched to some one man, where among women was +the match for Lucy? Exceedingly preposterous Mrs. Tartan! But when a +lady like Mrs. Tartan has nothing positive and useful to do, then she +will do just such preposterous things as Mrs. Tartan did.</p> + +<p>Well, time went on; and Pierre loved Lucy, and Lucy, Pierre; till at +last the two young naval gentlemen, her brothers, happened to arrive in +Mrs. Tartan’s drawing-room, from their first cruise—a three years’ one +up the Mediterranean. They rather stared at Pierre, finding him on the +sofa, and Lucy not very remote.</p> + +<p>“Pray, be seated, gentlemen,” said Pierre. “Plenty of room.”</p> + +<p>“My darling brothers!” cried Lucy, embracing them.</p> + +<p>“My darling brothers and sister!” cried Pierre, folding them together.</p> + +<p>“Pray, hold off, sir,” said the elder brother, who had served as a +passed midshipman for the last two weeks. The younger brother retreated +a little, and clapped his hand upon his dirk, saying, “Sir, we are from +the Mediterranean. Sir, permit me to say, this is decidedly improper! +Who may you be, sir?”<a name="page_037"></a></p> + +<p>“I can’t explain for joy,” cried Pierre, hilariously embracing them all +again.</p> + +<p>“Most extraordinary!” cried the elder brother, extricating his +shirt-collar from the embrace, and pulling it up vehemently.</p> + +<p>“Draw!” cried the younger, intrepidly.</p> + +<p>“Peace, foolish fellows,” cried Lucy—“this is your old play-fellow, +Pierre Glendinning.”</p> + +<p>“Pierre? why, Pierre?” cried the lads—“a hug all round again! You’ve +grown a fathom!—who would have known you? But, then—Lucy? I say, +Lucy?—what business have you here in this—eh? eh?—hugging-match, I +should call it?”</p> + +<p>“Oh! Lucy don’t mean any thing,” cried Pierre—“come, one more all +round.”</p> + +<p>So they all embraced again; and that evening it was publicly known that +Pierre was to wed with Lucy.</p> + +<p>Whereupon, the young officers took it upon themselves to think—though +they by no means presumed to breathe it—that they had authoritatively, +though indirectly, accelerated a before ambiguous and highly +incommendable state of affairs between the now affianced lovers.</p> + +<hr /> + +<h4>III.</h4> + +<p>I<small>N</small> the fine old robust times of Pierre’s grandfather, an American +gentleman of substantial person and fortune spent his time in a somewhat +different style from the green-house gentlemen of the present day. The +grandfather of Pierre measured six feet four inches in height; during a +fire in the old manorial mansion, with one dash of his foot, he had +smitten down an oaken door, to admit the buckets of his negro slaves; +Pierre had often tried on his military vest, which still remained an +heirloom at Saddle Meadows, and found the pockets below<a name="page_038"></a> his knees, and +plenty additional room for a fair-sized quarter-cask within its buttoned +girth; in a night-scuffle in the wilderness before the Revolutionary +War, he had annihilated two Indian savages by making reciprocal +bludgeons of their heads. And all this was done by the mildest hearted, +and most blue-eyed gentleman in the world, who, according to the +patriarchal fashion of those days, was a gentle, white-haired worshiper +of all the household gods; the gentlest husband, and the gentlest +father; the kindest of masters to his slaves; of the most wonderful +unruffledness of temper; a serene smoker of his after-dinner pipe; a +forgiver of many injuries; a sweet-hearted, charitable Christian; in +fine, a pure, cheerful, child-like, blue-eyed, divine old man; in whose +meek, majestic soul, the lion and the lamb embraced—fit image of his +God.</p> + +<p>Never could Pierre look upon his fine military portrait without an +infinite and mournful longing to meet his living aspect in actual life. +The majestic sweetness of this portrait was truly wonderful in its +effects upon any sensitive and generous-minded young observer. For such, +that portrait possessed the heavenly persuasiveness of angelic speech; a +glorious gospel framed and hung upon the wall, and declaring to all +people, as from the Mount, that man is a noble, god-like being, full of +choicest juices; made up of strength and beauty.</p> + +<p>Now, this grand old Pierre Glendinning was a great lover of horses; but +not in the modern sense, for he was no jockey;—one of his most intimate +friends of the masculine gender was a huge, proud, gray horse, of a +surprising reserve of manner, his saddle-beast; he had his horses’ +mangers carved like old trenchers, out of solid maple logs; the key of +the corn-bin hung in his library; and no one grained his steeds, but +himself; unless his absence from home promoted Moyar, an incorruptible +and most punctual old black, to that honorable office. He said that no +man loved his horses, unless his own hands grained them. Every Christmas +he gave them brimming measures. “I<a name="page_039"></a> keep Christmas with my horses,” said +grand old Pierre. This grand old Pierre always rose at sunrise; washed +his face and chest in the open air; and then, returning to his closet, +and being completely arrayed at last, stepped forth to make a +ceremonious call at his stables, to bid his very honorable friends there +a very good and joyful morning. Woe to Cranz, Kit, Douw, or any other of +his stable slaves, if grand old Pierre found one horse unblanketed, or +one weed among the hay that filled their rack. Not that he ever had +Cranz, Kit, Douw, or any of them flogged—a thing unknown in that +patriarchal time and country—but he would refuse to say his wonted +pleasant word to them; and that was very bitter to them, for Cranz, Kit, +Douw, and all of them, loved grand old Pierre, as his shepherds loved +old Abraham.</p> + +<p>What decorous, lordly, gray-haired steed is this? What old Chaldean +rides abroad?—’Tis grand old Pierre; who, every morning before he eats, +goes out promenading with his saddle-beast; nor mounts him, without +first asking leave. But time glides on, and grand old Pierre grows old: +his life’s glorious grape now swells with fatness; he has not the +conscience to saddle his majestic beast with such a mighty load of +manliness. Besides, the noble beast himself is growing old, and has a +touching look of meditativeness in his large, attentive eyes. Leg of +man, swears grand old Pierre, shall never more bestride my steed; no +more shall harness touch him! Then every spring he sowed a field with +clover for his steed; and at mid-summer sorted all his meadow grasses, +for the choicest hay to winter him; and had his destined grain thrashed +out with a flail, whose handle had once borne a flag in a brisk battle, +into which this same old steed had pranced with grand old Pierre; one +waving mane, one waving sword!</p> + +<p>Now needs must grand old Pierre take a morning drive; he rides no more +with the old gray steed. He has a phaeton built, fit for a vast General, +in whose sash three common men<a name="page_040"></a> might hide. Doubled, trebled are the +huge S shaped leather springs; the wheels seem stolen from some mill; +the canopied seat is like a testered bed. From beneath the old archway, +not one horse, but two, every morning now draw forth old Pierre, as the +Chinese draw their fat god Josh, once every year from out his fane.</p> + +<p>But time glides on, and a morning comes, when the phaeton emerges not; +but all the yards and courts are full; helmets line the ways; +sword-points strike the stone steps of the porch; muskets ring upon the +stairs; and mournful martial melodies are heard in all the halls. Grand +old Pierre is dead; and like a hero of old battles, he dies on the eve +of another war; ere wheeling to fire on the foe, his platoons fire over +their old commander’s grave; in A. D. 1812, died grand old Pierre. The +drum that beat in brass his funeral march, was a British kettle-drum, +that had once helped beat the vain-glorious march, for the thirty +thousand predestined prisoners, led into sure captivity by that bragging +boy, Burgoyne.</p> + +<p>Next day the old gray steed turned from his grain; turned round, and +vainly whinnied in his stall. By gracious Moyar’s hand, he refuses to be +patted now; plain as horse can speak, the old gray steed says—“I smell +not the wonted hand; where is grand old Pierre? Grain me not, and groom +me not;—Where is grand old Pierre?”</p> + +<p>He sleeps not far from his master now; beneath the field he cropt, he +has softly lain him down; and long ere this, grand old Pierre and steed +have passed through that grass to glory.</p> + +<p>But his phaeton—like his plumed hearse, outlives the noble load it +bore. And the dark bay steeds that drew grand old Pierre alive, and by +his testament drew him dead, and followed the lordly lead of the led +gray horse; those dark bay steeds are still extant; not in themselves or +in their issue; but in the two descendants of stallions of their own +breed. For<a name="page_041"></a> on the lands of Saddle Meadows, man and horse are both +hereditary; and this bright morning Pierre Glendinning, grandson of +grand old Pierre, now drives forth with Lucy Tartan, seated where his +own ancestor had sat, and reining steeds, whose +great-great-great-grandfathers grand old Pierre had reined before.</p> + +<p>How proud felt Pierre: In fancy’s eye, he saw the horse-ghosts a-tandem +in the van; “These are but wheelers”—cried young Pierre—“the leaders +are the generations.”</p> + +<hr /> + +<h4>IV.</h4> + +<p>B<small>UT</small> Love has more to do with his own possible and probable posterities, +than with the once living but now impossible ancestries in the past. So +Pierre’s glow of family pride quickly gave place to a deeper hue, when +Lucy bade love’s banner blush out from his cheek.</p> + +<p>That morning was the choicest drop that Time had in his vase. Ineffable +distillations of a soft delight were wafted from the fields and hills. +Fatal morning that, to all lovers unbetrothed; “Come to your +confessional,” it cried. “Behold our airy loves,” the birds chirped from +the trees; far out at sea, no more the sailors tied their bowline-knots; +their hands had lost their cunning; will they, nill they, Love tied +love-knots on every spangled spar.</p> + +<p>Oh, praised be the beauty of this earth, the beauty, and the bloom, and +the mirthfulness thereof! The first worlds made were winter worlds; the +second made, were vernal worlds; the third, and last, and perfectest, +was this summer world of ours. In the cold and nether spheres, preachers +preach of earth, as we of Paradise above. Oh, there, my friends, they +say, they have a season, in their language known as summer. Then<a name="page_042"></a> their +fields spin themselves green carpets; snow and ice are not in all the +land; then a million strange, bright, fragrant things powder that sward +with perfumes; and high, majestic beings, dumb and grand, stand up with +outstretched arms, and hold their green canopies over merry angels—men +and women—who love and wed, and sleep and dream, beneath the approving +glances of their visible god and goddess, glad-hearted sun, and pensive +moon!</p> + +<p>Oh, praised be the beauty of this earth; the beauty, and the bloom, and +the mirthfulness thereof. We lived before, and shall live again; and as +we hope for a fairer world than this to come; so we came from one less +fine. From each successive world, the demon Principle is more and more +dislodged; he is the accursed clog from chaos, and thither, by every new +translation, we drive him further and further back again. Hosannahs to +this world! so beautiful itself, and the vestibule to more. Out of some +past Egypt, we have come to this new Canaan; and from this new Canaan, +we press on to some Circassia. Though still the villains, Want and Woe, +followed us out of Egypt, and now beg in Canaan’s streets: yet +Circassia’s gates shall not admit them; they, with their sire, the demon +Principle, must back to chaos, whence they came.</p> + +<p>Love was first begot by Mirth and Peace, in Eden, when the world was +young. The man oppressed with cares, he can not love; the man of gloom +finds not the god. So, as youth, for the most part, has no cares, and +knows no gloom, therefore, ever since time did begin, youth belongs to +love. Love may end in grief and age, and pain and need, and all other +modes of human mournfulness; but love begins in joy. Love’s first sigh +is never breathed, till after love hath laughed. Love laughs first, and +then sighs after. Love has not hands, but cymbals; Love’s mouth is +chambered like a bugle, and the instinctive breathings of his life +breathe jubilee notes of joy!</p> + +<p>That morning, two bay horses drew two Laughs along the<a name="page_043"></a> road that led to +the hills from Saddle Meadows. Apt time they kept; Pierre Glendinning’s +young, manly tenor, to Lucy Tartan’s girlish treble.</p> + +<p>Wondrous fair of face, blue-eyed, and golden-haired, the bright blonde, +Lucy, was arrayed in colors harmonious with the heavens. Light blue be +thy perpetual color, Lucy; light blue becomes thee best—such the +repeated azure counsel of Lucy Tartan’s mother. On both sides, from the +hedges, came to Pierre the clover bloom of Saddle Meadows, and from +Lucy’s mouth and cheek came the fresh fragrance of her violet young +being.</p> + +<p>“Smell I the flowers, or thee?” cried Pierre.</p> + +<p>“See I lakes, or eyes?” cried Lucy, her own gazing down into his soul, +as two stars gaze down into a tarn.</p> + +<p>No Cornwall miner ever sunk so deep a shaft beneath the sea, as Love +will sink beneath the floatings of the eyes. Love sees ten million +fathoms down, till dazzled by the floor of pearls. The eye is Love’s own +magic glass, where all things that are not of earth, glide in +supernatural light. There are not so many fishes in the sea, as there +are sweet images in lovers’ eyes. In those miraculous translucencies +swim the strange eye-fish with wings, that sometimes leap out, instinct +with joy; moist fish-wings wet the lover’s cheek. Love’s eyes are holy +things; therein the mysteries of life are lodged; looking in each +other’s eyes, lovers see the ultimate secret of the worlds; and with +thrills eternally untranslatable, feel that Love is god of all. Man or +woman who has never loved, nor once looked deep down into their own +lover’s eyes, they know not the sweetest and the loftiest religion of +this earth. Love is both Creator’s and Saviour’s gospel to mankind; a +volume bound in rose-leaves, clasped with violets, and by the beaks of +humming-birds printed with peach-juice on the leaves of lilies.</p> + +<p>Endless is the account of Love. Time and space can not contain Love’s +story. All things that are sweet to see, or taste, or<a name="page_044"></a> feel, or hear, +all these things were made by Love; and none other things were made by +Love. Love made not the Arctic zones, but Love is ever reclaiming them. +Say, are not the fierce things of this earth daily, hourly going out? +Where now are your wolves of Britain? Where in Virginia now, find you +the panther and the pard? Oh, love is busy everywhere. Everywhere Love +hath Moravian missionaries. No Propagandist like to love. The south wind +wooes the barbarous north; on many a distant shore the gentler west wind +persuades the arid east.</p> + +<p>All this Earth is Love’s affianced; vainly the demon Principle howls to +stay the banns. Why round her middle wears this world so rich a zone of +torrid verdure, if she be not dressing for the final rites? And why +provides she orange blossoms and lilies of the valley, if she would not +that all men and maids should love and marry? For every wedding where +true lovers wed, helps on the march of universal Love. Who are brides +here shall be Love’s bridemaids in the marriage world to come. So on all +sides Love allures; can contain himself what youth who views the wonders +of the beauteous woman-world? Where a beautiful woman is, there is all +Asia and her Bazars. Italy hath not a sight before the beauty of a +Yankee girl; nor heaven a blessing beyond her earthly love. Did not the +angelical Lotharios come down to earth, that they might taste of mortal +woman’s Love and Beauty? even while her own silly brothers were pining +after the self-same Paradise they left? Yes, those envying angels did +come down; did emigrate; and who emigrates except to be better off?</p> + +<p>Love is this world’s great redeemer and reformer; and as all beautiful +women are her selectest emissaries, so hath Love gifted them with a +magnetical persuasiveness, that no youth can possibly repel. The own +heart’s choice of every youth, seems ever as an inscrutable witch to +him; and by ten thousand concentric spells and circling incantations, +glides round<a name="page_045"></a> and round him, as he turns: murmuring meanings of +unearthly import; and summoning up to him all the subterranean sprites +and gnomes; and unpeopling all the sea for naiads to swim round him; so +that mysteries are evoked as in exhalations by this Love;—what wonder +then that Love was aye a mystic?</p> + +<hr /> + +<h4>V.</h4> + +<p>A<small>ND</small> this self-same morning Pierre was very mystical; not continually, +though; but most mystical one moment, and overflowing with mad, +unbridled merriment, the next. He seemed a youthful Magian, and almost a +mountebank together. Chaldaic improvisations burst from him, in quick +Golden Verses, on the heel of humorous retort and repartee. More +especially, the bright glance of Lucy was transporting to him. Now, +reckless of his horses, with both arms holding Lucy in his embrace, like +a Sicilian diver he dives deep down in the Adriatic of her eyes, and +brings up some king’s-cup of joy. All the waves in Lucy’s eyes seemed +waves of infinite glee to him. And as if, like veritable seas, they did +indeed catch the reflected irradiations of that pellucid azure morning; +in Lucy’s eyes, there seemed to shine all the blue glory of the general +day, and all the sweet inscrutableness of the sky. And certainly, the +blue eye of woman, like the sea, is not uninfluenced by the atmosphere. +Only in the open air of some divinest, summer day, will you see its +ultramarine,—its fluid lapis lazuli. Then would Pierre burst forth in +some screaming shout of joy; and the striped tigers of his chestnut eyes +leaped in their lashed cages with a fierce delight. Lucy shrank from him +in extreme love; for the extremest top of love, is Fear and Wonder.</p> + +<p>Soon the swift horses drew this fair god and goddess nigh the wooded +hills, whose distant blue, now changed into a variously<a name="page_046"></a>-shaded green, +stood before them like old Babylonian walls, overgrown with verdure; +while here and there, at regular intervals, the scattered peaks seemed +mural towers; and the clumped pines surmounting them, as lofty archers, +and vast, out-looking watchers of the glorious Babylonian City of the +Day. Catching that hilly air, the prancing horses neighed; laughed on +the ground with gleeful feet. Felt they the gay delightsome spurrings of +the day; for the day was mad with excessive joy; and high in heaven you +heard the neighing of the horses of the sun; and down dropt their +nostrils’ froth in many a fleecy vapor from the hills.</p> + +<p>From the plains, the mists rose slowly; reluctant yet to quit so fair a +mead. At those green slopings, Pierre reined in his steeds, and soon the +twain were seated on the bank, gazing far, and far away; over many a +grove and lake; corn-crested uplands, and Herd’s-grass lowlands; and +long-stretching swales of vividest green, betokening where the greenest +bounty of this earth seeks its winding channels; as ever, the most +heavenly bounteousness most seeks the lowly places; making green and +glad many a humble mortal’s breast, and leaving to his own lonely +aridness, many a hill-top prince’s state.</p> + +<p>But Grief, not Joy, is a moralizer; and small moralizing wisdom caught +Pierre from that scene. With Lucy’s hand in his, and feeling, softly +feeling of its soft tinglingness; he seemed as one placed in linked +correspondence with the summer lightnings; and by sweet shock on shock, +receiving intimating fore-tastes of the etherealest delights of earth.</p> + +<p>Now, prone on the grass he falls, with his attentive upward glance fixed +on Lucy’s eyes. “Thou art my heaven, Lucy; and here I lie thy +shepherd-king, watching for new eye-stars to rise in thee. Ha! I see +Venus’ transit now;—lo! a new planet there;—and behind all, an +infinite starry nebulousness, as if thy being were backgrounded by some +spangled vail of mystery.”<a name="page_047"></a></p> + +<p>Is Lucy deaf to all these ravings of his lyric love? Why looks she down, +and vibrates so; and why now from her over-charged lids, drops such warm +drops as these? No joy now in Lucy’s eyes, and seeming tremor on her +lips.</p> + +<p>“Ah! thou too ardent and impetuous Pierre!”</p> + +<p>“Nay, thou too moist and changeful April! know’st thou not, that the +moist and changeful April is followed by the glad, assured, and +showerless joy of June? And this, Lucy, this day should be thy June, +even as it is the earth’s?”</p> + +<p>“Ah Pierre! not June to me. But say, are not the sweets of June made +sweet by the April tears?”</p> + +<p>“Ay, love! but here fall more drops,—more and more;—these showers are +longer than beseem the April, and pertain not to the June.”</p> + +<p>“June! June!—thou bride’s month of the summer,—following the spring’s +sweet courtship of the earth,—my June, my June is yet to come!”</p> + +<p>“Oh! yet to come, but fixedly decreed;—good as come, and better.”</p> + +<p>“Then no flower that, in the bud, the April showers have nurtured; no +such flower may untimely perish, ere the June unfolds it? Ye will not +swear that, Pierre?”</p> + +<p>“The audacious immortalities of divinest love are in me; and I now swear +to thee all the immutable eternities of joyfulness, that ever woman +dreamed of, in this dream-house of the earth. A god decrees to thee +unchangeable felicity; and to me, the unchallenged possession of thee +and them, for my inalienable fief.—Do I rave? Look on me, Lucy; think +on me, girl.”</p> + +<p>“Thou art young, and beautiful, and strong; and a joyful manliness +invests thee, Pierre; and thy intrepid heart never yet felt the touch of +fear;—But—”</p> + +<p>“But what?”</p> + +<p>“Ah, my best Pierre!”<a name="page_048"></a></p> + +<p>“With kisses I will suck thy secret from thy cheek!—but what?”</p> + +<p>“Let us hie homeward, Pierre. Some nameless sadness, faintness, +strangely comes to me. Foretaste I feel of endless dreariness. Tell me +once more the story of that face, Pierre,—that mysterious, haunting +face, which thou once told’st me, thou didst thrice vainly try to shun. +Blue is the sky, oh, bland the air, Pierre;—but—tell me the story of +the face,—the dark-eyed, lustrous, imploring, mournful face, that so +mystically paled, and shrunk at thine. Ah, Pierre, sometimes I have +thought,—never will I wed with my best Pierre, until the riddle of that +face be known. Tell me, tell me, Pierre;—as a fixed basilisk, with eyes +of steady, flaming mournfulness, that face this instant fastens me.”</p> + +<p>“Bewitched! bewitched!—Cursed be the hour I acted on the thought, that +Love hath no reserves. Never should I have told thee the story of that +face, Lucy. I have bared myself too much to thee. Oh, never should Love +know all!”</p> + +<p>“Knows not all, then loves not all, Pierre. Never shalt thou so say +again;—and Pierre, listen to me. Now,—now, in this inexplicable +trepidation that I feel, I do conjure thee, that thou wilt ever continue +to do as thou hast done; so that I may ever continue to know all that +agitatest thee, the airiest and most transient thought, that ever shall +sweep into thee from the wide atmosphere of all things that hem +mortality. Did I doubt thee here;—could I ever think, that thy heart +hath yet one private nook or corner from me;—fatal disenchanting day +for me, my Pierre, would that be. I tell thee, Pierre—and ’tis Love’s +own self that now speaks through me—only in unbounded confidence and +interchangings of all subtlest secrets, can Love possibly endure. Love’s +self is a secret, and so feeds on secrets, Pierre. Did I only know of +thee, what the whole common world may know—what then were Pierre to +me?—Thou must be wholly a disclosed secret to me; Love is vain<a name="page_049"></a> and +proud; and when I walk the streets, and meet thy friends, I must still +be laughing and hugging to myself the thought,—They know him not;—I +only know my Pierre;—none else beneath the circuit of yon sun. Then, +swear to me, dear Pierre, that thou wilt never keep a secret from +me—no, never, never;—swear!”</p> + +<p>“Something seizes me. Thy inexplicable tears, falling, falling on my +heart, have now turned it to a stone. I feel icy cold and hard; I will +not swear!”</p> + +<p>“Pierre! Pierre!”</p> + +<p>“God help thee, and God help me, Lucy. I can not think, that in this +most mild and dulcet air, the invisible agencies are plotting treasons +against our loves. Oh! if ye be now nigh us, ye things I have no name +for; then by a name that should be efficacious—by Christ’s holy name, I +warn ye back from her and me. Touch her not, ye airy devils; hence to +your appointed hell! why come ye prowling in these heavenly perlieus? +Can not the chains of Love omnipotent bind ye, fiends?”</p> + +<p>“Is this Pierre? His eyes glare fearfully; now I see layer on layer +deeper in him; he turns round and menaces the air and talks to it, as if +defied by the air. Woe is me, that fairy love should raise this evil +spell!—Pierre?”</p> + +<p>“But now I was infinite distances from thee, oh my Lucy, wandering +baffled in the choking night; but thy voice might find me, though I had +wandered to the Boreal realm, Lucy. Here I sit down by thee; I catch a +soothing from thee.”</p> + +<p>“My own, own Pierre! Pierre, into ten trillion pieces I could now be +torn for thee; in my bosom would yet hide thee, and there keep thee +warm, though I sat down on Arctic ice-floes, frozen to a corpse. My own, +best, blessed Pierre! Now, could I plant some poniard in me, that my +silly ailings should have power to move thee thus, and pain thee thus. +Forgive me, Pierre; thy changed face hath chased the other from me; the +fright of thee exceeds all other frights. It does not so<a name="page_050"></a> haunt me now. +Press hard my hand; look hard on me, my love, that its last trace may +pass away. Now I feel almost whole again; now, ’tis gone. Up, my Pierre; +let us up, and fly these hills, whence, I fear, too wide a prospect +meets us. Fly we to the plain. See, thy steeds neigh for thee—they call +thee—see, the clouds fly down toward the plain—lo, these hills now +seem all desolate to me, and the vale all verdure. Thank thee, +Pierre.—See, now, I quit the hills, dry-cheeked; and leave all tears +behind to be sucked in by these evergreens, meet emblems of the +unchanging love, my own sadness nourishes in me. Hard fate, that Love’s +best verdure should feed so on tears!”</p> + +<p>Now they rolled swiftly down the slopes; nor tempted the upper hills; +but sped fast for the plain. Now the cloud hath passed from Lucy’s eye; +no more the lurid slanting light forks upward from her lover’s brow. In +the plain they find peace, and love, and joy again.</p> + +<p>“It was the merest, idling, wanton vapor, Lucy!”</p> + +<p>“An empty echo, Pierre, of a sad sound, long past. Bless thee, my +Pierre!”</p> + +<p>“The great God wrap thee ever, Lucy. So, now, we are home.”</p> + +<hr /> + +<h4>VI.</h4> + +<p>A<small>FTER</small> seeing Lucy into her aunt’s most cheerful parlor, and seating her +by the honeysuckle that half clambered into the window there; and near +to which was her easel for crayon-sketching, upon part of whose frame +Lucy had cunningly trained two slender vines, into whose earth-filled +pots two of the three legs of the easel were inserted; and sitting down +himself by her, and by his pleasant, lightsome chat, striving to<a name="page_051"></a> chase +the last trace of sadness from her; and not till his object seemed fully +gained; Pierre rose to call her good aunt to her, and so take his leave +till evening, when Lucy called him back, begging him first to bring her +the blue portfolio from her chamber, for she wished to kill her last +lingering melancholy—if any indeed did linger now—by diverting her +thoughts, in a little pencil sketch, to scenes widely different from +those of Saddle Meadows and its hills.</p> + +<p>So Pierre went up stairs, but paused on the threshold of the open door. +He never had entered that chamber but with feelings of a wonderful +reverentialness. The carpet seemed as holy ground. Every chair seemed +sanctified by some departed saint, there once seated long ago. Here his +book of Love was all a rubric, and said—Bow now, Pierre, bow. But this +extreme loyalty to the piety of love, called from him by such glimpses +of its most secret inner shrine, was not unrelieved betimes by such +quickenings of all his pulses, that in fantasy he pressed the wide +beauty of the world in his embracing arms; for all his world resolved +itself into his heart’s best love for Lucy.</p> + +<p>Now, crossing the magic silence of the empty chamber, he caught the +snow-white bed reflected in the toilet-glass. This rooted him. For one +swift instant, he seemed to see in that one glance the two separate +beds—the real one and the reflected one—and an unbidden, most +miserable presentiment thereupon stole into him. But in one breath it +came and went. So he advanced, and with a fond and gentle joyfulness, +his eye now fell upon the spotless bed itself, and fastened on a +snow-white roll that lay beside the pillow. Now he started; Lucy seemed +coming in upon him; but no—’tis only the foot of one of her little +slippers, just peeping into view from under the narrow nether curtains +of the bed. Then again his glance fixed itself upon the slender, +snow-white, ruffled roll; and he stood as one enchanted. Never precious +parchment of the Greek<a name="page_052"></a> was half so precious in his eyes. Never +trembling scholar longed more to unroll the mystic vellum, than Pierre +longed to unroll the sacred secrets of that snow-white, ruffled thing. +But his hands touched not any object in that chamber, except the one he +had gone thither for.</p> + +<p>“Here is the blue portfolio, Lucy. See, the key hangs to its silver +lock;—were you not fearful I would open it?—’twas tempting, I must +confess.”</p> + +<p>“Open it!” said Lucy—“why, yes, Pierre, yes; what secret thing keep I +from thee? Read me through and through. I am entirely thine. See!” and +tossing open the portfolio, all manner of rosy things came floating from +it, and a most delicate perfume of some invisible essence.</p> + +<p>“Ah! thou holy angel, Lucy!”</p> + +<p>“Why, Pierre, thou art transfigured; thou now lookest as one who—why, +Pierre?”</p> + +<p>“As one who had just peeped in at paradise, Lucy; and——”</p> + +<p>“Again wandering in thy mind, Pierre; no more—Come, you must leave me, +now. I am quite rested again. Quick, call my aunt, and leave me. Stay, +this evening we are to look over the book of plates from the city, you +know. Be early;—go now, Pierre.”</p> + +<p>“Well, good-bye, till evening, thou height of all delight.”</p> + +<hr /> + +<h4>VII.</h4> + +<p>A<small>S</small> Pierre drove through the silent village, beneath the vertical shadows +of the noon-day trees, the sweet chamber scene abandoned him, and the +mystical face recurred to him, and kept with him. At last, arrived at +home, he found his mother absent; so passing straight through the wide +middle hall of the<a name="page_053"></a> mansion, he descended the piazza on the other ride, +and wandered away in reveries down to the river bank.</p> + +<p>Here one primeval pine-tree had been luckily left standing by the +otherwise unsparing woodmen, who long ago had cleared that meadow. It +was once crossing to this noble pine, from a clump of hemlocks far +across the river, that Pierre had first noticed the significant fact, +that while the hemlock and the pine are trees of equal growth and +stature, and are so similar in their general aspect, that people unused +to woods sometimes confound them; and while both trees are proverbially +trees of sadness, yet the dark hemlock hath no music in its thoughtful +boughs; but the gentle pine-tree drops melodious mournfulness.</p> + +<p>At its half-bared roots of sadness, Pierre sat down, and marked the +mighty bulk and far out-reaching length of one particular root, which, +straying down the bank, the storms and rains had years ago exposed.</p> + +<p>“How wide, how strong these roots must spread! Sure, this pine-tree +takes powerful hold of this fair earth! Yon bright flower hath not so +deep a root. This tree hath outlived a century of that gay flower’s +generations, and will outlive a century of them yet to come. This is +most sad. Hark, now I hear the pyramidical and numberless, flame-like +complainings of this Eolean pine;—the wind breathes now upon it:—the +wind,—that is God’s breath! Is He so sad? Oh, tree! so mighty thou, so +lofty, yet so mournful! This is most strange! Hark! as I look up into +thy high secrecies, oh, tree, the face, the face, peeps down on +me!—‘Art thou Pierre? Come to me’—oh, thou mysterious girl,—what an +ill-matched pendant thou, to that other countenance of sweet Lucy, which +also hangs, and first did hang within my heart! Is grief a pendant then +to pleasantness? Is grief a self-willed guest that <i>will</i> come in? Yet I +have never known thee, Grief;—thou art a legend to me. I have known +some fiery broils of glorious<a name="page_054"></a> frenzy; I have oft tasted of revery; +whence comes pensiveness; whence comes sadness; whence all delicious +poetic presentiments;—but thou, Grief! art still a ghost-story to me. I +know thee not,—do half disbelieve in thee. Not that I would be without +my too little cherished fits of sadness now and then; but God keep me +from thee, thou other shape of far profounder gloom! I shudder at thee! +The face!—the face!—forth again from thy high secrecies, oh, tree! the +face steals down upon me. Mysterious girl! who art thou? by what right +snatchest thou thus my deepest thoughts? Take thy thin fingers from +me;—I am affianced, and not to thee. Leave me!—what share hast thou in +me? Surely, thou lovest not me?—that were most miserable for thee, and +me, and Lucy. It can not be. What, <i>who</i> art thou? Oh! wretched +vagueness—too familiar to me, yet inexplicable,—unknown, utterly +unknown! I seem to founder in this perplexity. Thou seemest to know +somewhat of me, that I know not of myself,—what is it then? If thou +hast a secret in thy eyes of mournful mystery, out with it; Pierre +demands it; what is that thou hast veiled in thee so imperfectly, that I +seem to see its motion, but not its form? It visibly rustles behind the +concealing screen. Now, never into the soul of Pierre, stole there +before, a muffledness like this! If aught really lurks in it, ye +sovereign powers that claim all my leal worshipings, I conjure ye to +lift the veil; I must see it face to face. Tread I on a mine, warn me; +advance I on a precipice, hold me back; but abandon me to an unknown +misery, that it shall suddenly seize me, and possess me, wholly,—that +ye will never do; else, Pierre’s fond faith in ye—now clean, +untouched—may clean depart; and give me up to be a railing atheist! Ah, +now the face departs. Pray heaven it hath not only stolen back, and +hidden again in thy high secrecies, oh tree! But ’tis +gone—gone—entirely gone; and I thank God, and I feel joy again; joy, +which I also feel to be my right as man;<a name="page_055"></a> deprived of joy, I feel I +should find cause for deadly feuds with things invisible. Ha! a coat of +iron-mail seems to grow round, and husk me now; and I have heard, that +the bitterest winters are foretold by a thicker husk upon the Indian +corn; so our old farmers say. But ’tis a dark similitude. Quit thy +analogies; sweet in the orator’s mouth, bitter in the thinker’s belly. +Now, then, I’ll up with my own joyful will; and with my joy’s face scare +away all phantoms:—so, they go; and Pierre is Joy’s, and Life’s again. +Thou pine-tree!—henceforth I will resist thy too treacherous +persuasiveness. Thou’lt not so often woo me to thy airy tent, to ponder +on the gloomy rooted stakes that bind it. Hence now I go; and peace be +with thee, pine! That blessed sereneness which lurks ever at the heart +of sadness—mere sadness—and remains when all the rest has gone;—that +sweet feeling is now mine, and cheaply mine. I am not sorry I was sad, I +feel so blessed now. Dearest Lucy!—well, well;—’twill be a pretty time +we’ll have this evening; there’s the book of Flemish prints—that first +we must look over; then, second, is Flaxman’s Homer—clear-cut outlines, +yet full of unadorned barbaric nobleness. Then Flaxman’s Dante;—Dante! +Night’s and Hell’s poet he. No, we will not open Dante. Methinks now the +face—the face—minds me a little of pensive, sweet Francesca’s +face—or, rather, as it had been Francesca’s daughter’s face—wafted on +the sad dark wind, toward observant Virgil and the blistered Florentine. +No, we will not open Flaxman’s Dante. Francesca’s mournful face is now +ideal to me. Flaxman might evoke it wholly,—make it present in lines of +misery—bewitching power. No! I will not open Flaxman’s Dante! Damned be +the hour I read in Dante! more damned than that wherein Paolo and +Francesca read in fatal Launcelot!”<a name="page_056"></a></p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="BOOK_III"></a>BOOK III.<br /> +THE PRESENTIMENT AND THE VERIFICATION.</h2> + +<h4>I.</h4> + +<p>T<small>HE</small> face, of which Pierre and Lucy so strangely and fearfully hinted, +was not of enchanted air; but its mortal lineaments of mournfulness had +been visibly beheld by Pierre. Nor had it accosted him in any privacy; +or in any lonely byeway; or beneath the white light of the crescent +moon; but in a joyous chamber, bright with candles, and ringing with two +score women’s gayest voices. Out of the heart of mirthfulness, this +shadow had come forth to him. Encircled by bandelets of light, it had +still beamed upon him; vaguely historic and prophetic; backward, hinting +of some irrevocable sin; forward, pointing to some inevitable ill. One +of those faces, which now and then appear to man, and without one word +of speech, still reveal glimpses of some fearful gospel. In natural +guise, but lit by supernatural light; palpable to the senses, but +inscrutable to the soul; in their perfectest impression on us, ever +hovering between Tartarean misery and Paradisaic beauty; such faces, +compounded so of hell and heaven, overthrow in us all foregone +persuasions, and make us wondering children in this world again.</p> + +<p>The face had accosted Pierre some weeks previous to his ride with Lucy +to the hills beyond Saddle Meadows; and before her arrival for the +summer at the village; moreover it had accosted<a name="page_057"></a> him in a very common +and homely scene; but this enhanced the wonder.</p> + +<p>On some distant business, with a farmer-tenant, he had been absent from +the mansion during the best part of the day, and had but just come home, +early of a pleasant moonlight evening, when Dates delivered a message to +him from his mother, begging him to come for her about half-past seven +that night to Miss Llanyllyn’s cottage, in order to accompany her thence +to that of the two Miss Pennies. At the mention of that last name, +Pierre well knew what he must anticipate. Those elderly and truly pious +spinsters, gifted with the most benevolent hearts in the world, and at +mid-age deprived by envious nature of their hearing, seemed to have made +it a maxim of their charitable lives, that since God had not given them +any more the power to hear Christ’s gospel preached, they would +therefore thenceforth do what they could toward practicing it. +Wherefore, as a matter of no possible interest to them now, they +abstained from church; and while with prayer-books in their hands the +Rev. Mr. Falsgrave’s congregation were engaged in worshiping their God, +according to the divine behest; the two Miss Pennies, with thread and +needle, were hard at work in serving him; making up shirts and gowns for +the poor people of the parish. Pierre had heard that they had recently +been at the trouble of organizing a regular society, among the +neighboring farmers’ wives and daughters, to meet twice a month at their +own house (the Miss Pennies) for the purpose of sewing in concert for +the benefit of various settlements of necessitous emigrants, who had +lately pitched their populous shanties further up the river. But though +this enterprise had not been started without previously acquainting Mrs. +Glendinning of it,—for indeed she was much loved and honored by the +pious spinsters,—and their promise of solid assistance from that +gracious manorial lady; yet Pierre had not heard that his mother had +been officially invited to preside, or be at all present at the +semi-monthly meetings;<a name="page_058"></a> though he supposed, that far from having any +scruples against so doing, she would be very glad to associate that way, +with the good people of the village.</p> + +<p>“Now, brother Pierre”—said Mrs. Glendinning, rising from Miss +Llanyllyn’s huge cushioned chair—“throw my shawl around me; and +good-evening to Lucy’s aunt.—There, we shall be late.”</p> + +<p>As they walked along, she added—“Now, Pierre, I know you are apt to be +a little impatient sometimes, of these sewing scenes; but courage; I +merely want to peep in on them; so as to get some inkling of what they +would indeed be at; and then my promised benefactions can be better +selected by me. Besides, Pierre, I could have had Dates escort me, but I +preferred you; because I want you to know who they are you live among; +how many really pretty, and naturally-refined dames and girls you shall +one day be lord of the manor of. I anticipate a rare display of rural +red and white.”</p> + +<p>Cheered by such pleasant promises, Pierre soon found himself leading his +mother into a room full of faces. The instant they appeared, a +gratuitous old body, seated with her knitting near the door, squeaked +out shrilly—“Ah! dames, dames,—Madam Glendinning!—Master Pierre +Glendinning!”</p> + +<p>Almost immediately following this sound, there came a sudden, +long-drawn, unearthly, girlish shriek, from the further corner of the +long, double room. Never had human voice so affected Pierre before. +Though he saw not the person from whom it came, and though the voice was +wholly strange to him, yet the sudden shriek seemed to split its way +clean through his heart, and leave a yawning gap there. For an instant, +he stood bewildered; but started at his mother’s voice; her arm being +still in his. “Why do you clutch my arm so, Pierre? You pain me. Pshaw! +some one has fainted,—nothing more.”</p> + +<p>Instantly Pierre recovered himself, and affecting to mock at his own +trepidation, hurried across the room to offer his services,<a name="page_059"></a> if such +were needed. But dames and maidens had been all beforehand with him; the +lights were wildly flickering in the air-current made by the flinging +open of the casement, near to where the shriek had come. But the climax +of the tumult was soon past; and presently, upon closing the casement, +it subsided almost wholly. The elder of the spinster Pennies, advancing +to Mrs. Glendinning, now gave her to understand, that one of the further +crowd of industrious girls present, had been attacked by a sudden, but +fleeting fit, vaguely imputable to some constitutional disorder or +other. She was now quite well again. And so the company, one and all, +seemingly acting upon their natural good-breeding, which in any one at +bottom, is but delicacy and charity, refrained from all further +curiosity; reminded not the girl of what had passed; noted her scarce at +all; and all needles stitched away as before.</p> + +<p>Leaving his mother to speak with whom she pleased, and attend alone to +her own affairs with the society; Pierre, oblivious now in such a lively +crowd, of any past unpleasantness, after some courtly words to the Miss +Pennies,—insinuated into their understandings through a long coiled +trumpet, which, when not in use, the spinsters wore, hanging like a +powder-horn from their girdles:—and likewise, after manifesting the +profoundest and most intelligent interest in the mystic mechanism of a +huge woolen sock, in course of completion by a spectacled old lady of +his more particular acquaintance; after all this had been gone through, +and something more too tedious to detail, but which occupied him for +nearly half an hour, Pierre, with a slightly blushing, and imperfectly +balanced assurance, advanced toward the further crowd of maidens; where, +by the light of many a well-snuffed candle, they clubbed all their +bright contrasting cheeks, like a dense bed of garden tulips. There were +the shy and pretty Maries, Marthas, Susans, Betties, Jennies, Nellies; +and forty more fair nymphs, who skimmed the cream, and made the butter +of the fat farms of Saddle Meadows.<a name="page_060"></a></p> + +<p>Assurance is in presence of the assured. Where embarrassments prevail, +they affect the most disembarrassed. What wonder, then, that gazing on +such a thick array of wreathing, roguish, half-averted, blushing +faces—still audacious in their very embarrassment—Pierre, too, should +flush a bit, and stammer in his attitudes a little? Youthful love and +graciousness were in his heart; kindest words upon his tongue; but there +he stood, target for the transfixing glances of those ambushed archers +of the eye.</p> + +<p>But his abashments last too long; his cheek hath changed from blush to +pallor; what strange thing does Pierre Glendinning see? Behind the first +close, busy breast-work of young girls, are several very little stands, +or circular tables, where sit small groups of twos and threes, sewing in +small comparative solitudes, as it were. They would seem to be the less +notable of the rural company; or else, for some cause, they have +voluntarily retired into their humble banishment. Upon one of these +persons engaged at the furthermost and least conspicuous of these little +stands, and close by a casement, Pierre’s glance is palely fixed.</p> + +<p>The girl sits steadily sewing; neither she nor her two companions speak. +Her eyes are mostly upon her work; but now and then a very close +observer would notice that she furtively lifts them, and moves them +sideways and timidly toward Pierre; and then, still more furtively and +timidly toward his lady mother, further off. All the while, her +preternatural calmness sometimes seems only made to cover the intensest +struggle in her bosom. Her unadorned and modest dress is black; fitting +close up to her neck, and clasping it with a plain, velvet border. To a +nice perception, that velvet shows elastically; contracting and +expanding, as though some choked, violent thing were risen up there +within from the teeming region of her heart. But her dark, olive cheek +is without a blush, or sign of any disquietude. So far as this girl lies +upon<a name="page_061"></a> the common surface, ineffable composure steeps her. But still, she +sideways steals the furtive, timid glance. Anon, as yielding to the +irresistible climax of her concealed emotion, whatever that may be, she +lifts her whole marvelous countenance into the radiant candlelight, and +for one swift instant, that face of supernaturalness unreservedly meets +Pierre’s. Now, wonderful loveliness, and a still more wonderful +loneliness, have with inexplicable implorings, looked up to him from +that henceforth immemorial face. There, too, he seemed to see the fair +ground where Anguish had contended with Beauty, and neither being +conqueror, both had laid down on the field.</p> + +<p>Recovering at length from his all too obvious emotion, Pierre turned +away still farther, to regain the conscious possession of himself. A +wild, bewildering, and incomprehensible curiosity had seized him, to +know something definite of that face. To this curiosity, at the moment, +he entirely surrendered himself; unable as he was to combat it, or +reason with it in the slightest way. So soon as he felt his outward +composure returned to him, he purposed to chat his way behind the +breastwork of bright eyes and cheeks, and on some parlor pretense or +other, hear, if possible, an audible syllable from one whose mere silent +aspect had so potentially moved him. But at length, as with this object +in mind, he was crossing the room again, he heard his mother’s voice, +gayly calling him away; and turning, saw her shawled and bonneted. He +could now make no plausible stay, and smothering the agitation in him, +he bowed a general and hurried adieu to the company, and went forth with +his mother.</p> + +<p>They had gone some way homeward, in perfect silence, when his mother +spoke.</p> + +<p>“Well, Pierre, what can it possibly be!”</p> + +<p>“My God, mother, did you see her then!”</p> + +<p>“My son!” cried Mrs. Glendinning, instantly stopping in terror, and +withdrawing her arm from Pierre, “what—what under heaven ails you? This +is most strange! I but playfully<a name="page_062"></a> asked, what you were so steadfastly +thinking of; and here you answer me by the strangest question, in a +voice that seems to come from under your great-grandfather’s tomb! What, +in heaven’s name, does this mean, Pierre? Why were you so silent, and +why now are you so ill-timed in speaking! Answer me;—explain all +this;—<i>she</i>—<i>she</i>—what <i>she</i> should you be thinking of but Lucy +Tartan?—Pierre, beware, beware! I had thought you firmer in your lady’s +faith, than such strange behavior as this would seem to hint. Answer me, +Pierre, what may this mean? Come, I hate a mystery; speak, my son.”</p> + +<p>Fortunately, this prolonged verbalized wonder in his mother afforded +Pierre time to rally from his double and aggravated astonishment, +brought about by first suspecting that his mother also had been struck +by the strange aspect of the face, and then, having that suspicion so +violently beaten back upon him, by her apparently unaffected alarm at +finding him in some region of thought wholly unshared by herself at the +time.</p> + +<p>“It is nothing—nothing, sister Mary; just nothing at all in the world. +I believe I was dreaming—sleep-walking, or something of that sort. They +were vastly pretty girls there this evening, sister Mary, were they not? +Come, let us walk on—do, sister mine.”</p> + +<p>“Pierre, Pierre!—but I will take your arm again;—and have you really +nothing more to say? were you really wandering, Pierre?”</p> + +<p>“I swear to you, my dearest mother, that never before in my whole +existence, have I so completely gone wandering in my soul, as at that +very moment. But it is all over now.” Then in a less earnest and +somewhat playful tone, he added: “And sister mine, if you know aught of +the physical and sanitary authors, you must be aware, that the only +treatment for such a case of harmless temporary aberration, is for all +persons to ignore it in the subject. So no more of this foolishness. +Talking<a name="page_063"></a> about it only makes me feel very unpleasantly silly, and there +is no knowing that it may not bring it back upon me.”</p> + +<p>“Then by all means, my dear boy, not another word about it. But it’s +passing strange—very, very strange indeed. Well, about that morning +business; how fared you? Tell me about it.”</p> + +<hr /> + +<h4>II.</h4> + +<p>S<small>O</small> Pierre, gladly plunging into this welcome current of talk, was +enabled to attend his mother home without furnishing further cause for +her concern or wonderment. But not by any means so readily could he +allay his own concern and wonderment. Too really true in itself, however +evasive in its effect at the time, was that earnest answer to his +mother, declaring that never in his whole existence had he been so +profoundly stirred. The face haunted him as some imploring, and +beauteous, impassioned, ideal Madonna’s haunts the morbidly longing and +enthusiastic, but ever-baffled artist. And ever, as the mystic face thus +rose before his fancy’s sight, another sense was touched in him; the +long-drawn, unearthly, girlish shriek pealed through and through his +soul; for now he knew the shriek came from the face—such Delphic shriek +could only come from such a source. And wherefore that shriek? thought +Pierre. Bodes it ill to the face, or me, or both? How am I changed, that +my appearance on any scene should have power to work such woe? But it +was mostly the face—the face, that wrought upon him. The shriek seemed +as incidentally embodied there.</p> + +<p>The emotions he experienced seemed to have taken hold of the deepest +roots and subtlest fibres of his being. And so much the more that it was +so subterranean in him, so much the more did he feel its weird +inscrutableness. What was one unknown, sad-eyed, shrieking girl to him? +There must be sad-eyed<a name="page_064"></a> girls somewhere in the world, and this was only +one of them. And what was the most beautiful sad-eyed girl to him? +Sadness might be beautiful, as well as mirth—he lost himself trying to +follow out this tangle. “I will no more of this infatuation,” he would +cry; but forth from regions of irradiated air, the divine beauty and +imploring sufferings of the face, stole into his view.</p> + +<p>Hitherto I have ever held but lightly, thought Pierre, all stories of +ghostly mysticalness in man; my creed of this world leads me to believe +in visible, beautiful flesh, and audible breath, however sweet and +scented; but only in visible flesh, and audible breath, have I hitherto +believed. But now!—now!—and again he would lose himself in the most +surprising and preternatural ponderings, which baffled all the +introspective cunning of his mind. Himself was too much for himself. He +felt that what he had always before considered the solid land of +veritable reality, was now being audaciously encroached upon by bannered +armies of hooded phantoms, disembarking in his soul, as from flotillas +of specter-boats.</p> + +<p>The terrors of the face were not those of Gorgon; not by repelling +hideousness did it smite him so; but bewilderingly allured him, by its +nameless beauty, and its long-suffering, hopeless anguish.</p> + +<p>But he was sensible that this general effect upon him, was also special; +the face somehow mystically appealing to his own private and individual +affections; and by a silent and tyrannic call, challenging him in his +deepest moral being, and summoning Truth, Love, Pity, Conscience, to the +stand. Apex of all wonders! thought Pierre; this indeed almost unmans me +with its wonderfulness. Escape the face he could not. Muffling his own +in his bed-clothes—that did not hide it. Flying from it by sunlight +down the meadows, was as vain.</p> + +<p>Most miraculous of all to Pierre was the vague impression, that +somewhere he had seen traits of the likeness of that face<a name="page_065"></a> before. But +where, he could not say; nor could he, in the remotest degree, imagine. +He was not unaware—for in one or two instances, he had experienced the +fact—that sometimes a man may see a passing countenance in the street, +which shall irresistibly and magnetically affect him, for a moment, as +wholly unknown to him, and yet strangely reminiscent of some vague face +he has previously encountered, in some fancied time, too, of extreme +interest to his life. But not so was it now with Pierre. The face had +not perplexed him for a few speculative minutes, and then glided from +him, to return no more. It stayed close by him; only—and not +invariably—could he repel it, by the exertion of all his resolution and +self-will. Besides, what of general enchantment lurked in his strange +sensations, seemed concentringly condensed, and pointed to a spear-head, +that pierced his heart with an inexplicable pang, whenever the +specializing emotion—to call it so—seized the possession of his +thoughts, and waved into his visions, a thousand forms of by-gone times, +and many an old legendary family scene, which he had heard related by +his elderly relations, some of them now dead.</p> + +<p>Disguising his wild reveries as best he might from the notice of his +mother, and all other persons of her household, for two days Pierre +wrestled with his own haunted spirit; and at last, so effectually purged +it of all weirdnesses, and so effectually regained the general mastery +of himself, that for a time, life went with him, as though he had never +been stirred so strangely. Once more, the sweet unconditional thought of +Lucy slid wholly into his soul, dislodging thence all such phantom +occupants. Once more he rode, he walked, he swam, he vaulted; and with +new zest threw himself into the glowing practice of all those manly +exercises, he so dearly loved. It almost seemed in him, that ere +promising forever to protect, as well as eternally to love, his Lucy, he +must first completely invigorate and embrawn himself into the possession +of such a noble muscular<a name="page_066"></a> manliness, that he might champion Lucy against +the whole physical world.</p> + +<p>Still—even before the occasional reappearance of the face to +him—Pierre, for all his willful ardor in his gymnasticals and other +diversions, whether in-doors or out, or whether by book or foil; still, +Pierre could not but be secretly annoyed, and not a little perplexed, as +to the motive, which, for the first time in his recollection, had +impelled him, not merely to conceal from his mother a singular +circumstance in his life (for that, he felt would have been but venial; +and besides, as will eventually be seen, he could find one particular +precedent for it, in his past experience) but likewise, and +superaddedly, to parry, nay, to evade, and, in effect, to return +something alarmingly like a fib, to an explicit question put to him by +his mother;—such being the guise, in which part of the conversation +they had had that eventful night, now appeared to his fastidious sense. +He considered also, that his evasive answer had not pantheistically +burst from him in a momentary interregnum of self-command. No; his +mother had made quite a lengthy speech to him; during which he well +remembered, he had been carefully, though with trepidation, turning over +in his mind, how best he might recall her from her unwished-for and +untimely scent. Why had this been so? Was this his wont? What +inscrutable thing was it, that so suddenly had seized him, and made him +a falsifyer—ay, a falsifyer and nothing less—to his own +dearly-beloved, and confiding mother? Here, indeed, was something +strange for him; here was stuff for his utmost ethical meditations. But, +nevertheless, on strict introspection, he felt, that he would not +willingly have it otherwise; not willingly would he now undissemble +himself in this matter to his mother. Why was this, too? Was this his +wont? Here, again, was food for mysticism. Here, in imperfect inklings, +tinglings, presentiments, Pierre began to feel—what all mature men, who +are Magians, sooner or later know, and more or less assuredly<a name="page_067"></a>—that not +always in our actions, are we our own factors. But this conceit was very +dim in Pierre; and dimness is ever suspicious and repugnant to us; and +so, Pierre shrank abhorringly from the infernal catacombs of thought, +down into which, this fœtal fancy beckoned him. Only this, though in +secret, did he cherish; only this, he felt persuaded of; namely, that +not for both worlds would he have his mother made a partner to his +sometime mystic mood.</p> + +<p>But with this nameless fascination of the face upon him, during those +two days that it had first and fully possessed him for its own, did +perplexed Pierre refrain from that apparently most natural of all +resources,—boldly seeking out, and returning to the palpable cause, and +questioning her, by look or voice, or both together—the mysterious girl +herself? No; not entirely did Pierre here refrain. But his profound +curiosity and interest in the matter—strange as it may seem—did not so +much appear to be embodied in the mournful person of the olive girl, as +by some radiations from her, embodied in the vague conceits which +agitated his own soul. <i>There</i>, lurked the subtler secret: <i>that</i>, +Pierre had striven to tear away. From without, no wonderful effect is +wrought within ourselves, unless some interior, responding wonder meets +it. That the starry vault shall surcharge the heart with all rapturous +marvelings, is only because we ourselves are greater miracles, and +superber trophies than all the stars in universal space. Wonder +interlocks with wonder; and then the confounding feeling comes. No cause +have we to fancy, that a horse, a dog, a fowl, ever stand transfixed +beneath yon skyey load of majesty. But our soul’s arches underfit into +its; and so, prevent the upper arch from falling on us with +unsustainable inscrutableness. “Explain ye my deeper mystery,” said the +shepherd Chaldean king, smiting his breast, lying on his back upon the +plain; “and then, I will bestow all my wonderings upon ye, ye stately +stars!” So, in some sort, with Pierre. Explain thou this<a name="page_068"></a> strange +integral feeling in me myself, he thought—turning upon the fancied +face—and I will then renounce all other wonders, to gaze wonderingly at +thee. But thou hast evoked in me profounder spells than the evoking one, +thou face! For me, thou hast uncovered one infinite, dumb, beseeching +countenance of mystery, underlying all the surfaces of visible time and +space.</p> + +<p>But during those two days of his first wild vassalage to his original +sensations, Pierre had not been unvisited by less mysterious impulses. +Two or three very plain and practical plannings of desirable procedures +in reference to some possible homely explication of all this +nonsense—so he would momentarily denominate it—now and then flittingly +intermitted his pervading mood of semi-madness. Once he had seized his +hat, careless of his accustomed gloves and cane, and found himself in +the street, walking very rapidly in the direction of the Miss Pennies’. +But whither now? he disenchantingly interrogated himself. Where would +you go? A million to one, those deaf old spinsters can tell you nothing +you burn to know. Deaf old spinsters are not used to be the depositaries +of such mystical secrecies. But then, they may reveal her name—where +she dwells, and something, however fragmentary and unsatisfactory, of +who she is, and whence. Ay; but then, in ten minutes after your leaving +them, all the houses in Saddle Meadows would be humming with the gossip +of Pierre Glendinning engaged to marry Lucy Tartan, and yet running +about the country, in ambiguous pursuit of strange young women. That +will never do. You remember, do you not, often seeing the Miss Pennies, +hatless and without a shawl, hurrying through the village, like two +postmen intent on dropping some tit-bit of precious gossip? What a +morsel for them, Pierre, have you, if you now call upon them. Verily, +their trumpets are both for use and for significance. Though very<a name="page_069"></a> deaf, +the Miss Pennies are by no means dumb. They blazon very wide.</p> + +<p>“Now be sure, and say that it was the Miss Pennies, who left the +news—be sure—we—the Miss Pennies—remember—say to Mrs. Glendinning +it was we.” Such was the message that now half-humorously occurred to +Pierre, as having been once confided to him by the sister spinsters, one +evening when they called with a choice present of some very <i>recherche</i> +chit-chat for his mother; but found the manorial lady out; and so +charged her son with it; hurrying away to all the inferior houses, so as +not to be anywhere forestalled in their disclosure.</p> + +<p>Now, I wish it had been any other house than the Miss Pennies; any other +house but theirs, and on my soul I believe I should have gone. But not +to them—no, that I can not do. It would be sure to reach my mother, and +then she would put this and that together—stir a little—let it +simmer—and farewell forever to all her majestic notions of my +immaculate integrity. Patience, Pierre, the population of this region is +not so immense. No dense mobs of Nineveh confound all personal +identities in Saddle Meadows. Patience; thou shalt see it soon again; +catch it passing thee in some green lane, sacred to thy evening +reveries. She that bears it can not dwell remote. Patience, Pierre. Ever +are such mysteries best and soonest unraveled by the eventual unraveling +of themselves. Or, if you will, go back and get your gloves, and more +especially your cane, and begin your own secret voyage of discovery +after it. Your cane, I say; because it will probably be a very long and +weary walk. True, just now I hinted, that she that bears it can not +dwell very remote; but then her nearness may not be at all conspicuous. +So, homeward, and put off thy hat, and let thy cane stay still, good +Pierre. Seek not to mystify the mystery so.</p> + +<p>Thus, intermittingly, ever and anon during those sad two<a name="page_070"></a> days of +deepest sufferance, Pierre would stand reasoning and expostulating with +himself; and by such meditative treatment, reassure his own spontaneous +impulses. Doubtless, it was wise and right that so he did; doubtless: +but in a world so full of all dubieties as this, one can never be +entirely certain whether another person, however carefully and +cautiously conscientious, has acted in all respects conceivable for the +very best.</p> + +<p>But when the two days were gone by, and Pierre began to recognize his +former self as restored to him from its mystic exile, then the thoughts +of personally and pointedly seeking out the unknown, either +preliminarily by a call upon the sister spinsters, or generally by +performing the observant lynx-eyed circuit of the country on foot, and +as a crafty inquisitor, dissembling his cause of inquisition; these and +all similar intentions completely abandoned Pierre.</p> + +<p>He was now diligently striving, with all his mental might, forever to +drive the phantom from him. He seemed to feel that it begat in him a +certain condition of his being, which was most painful, and every way +uncongenial to his natural, wonted self. It had a touch of he knew not +what sort of unhealthiness in it, so to speak; for, in his then +ignorance, he could find no better term; it seemed to have in it a germ +of somewhat which, if not quickly extirpated, might insidiously poison +and embitter his whole life—that choice, delicious life which he had +vowed to Lucy for his one pure and comprehensive offering—at once a +sacrifice and a delight.</p> + +<p>Nor in these endeavorings did he entirely fail. For the most part, he +felt now that he had a power over the comings and the goings of the +face; but not on all occasions. Sometimes the old, original mystic +tyranny would steal upon him; the long, dark, locks of mournful hair +would fall upon his soul, and trail their wonderful melancholy along +with them; the two full, steady, over-brimming eyes of loveliness and<a name="page_071"></a> +anguish would converge their magic rays, till he felt them kindling he +could not tell what mysterious fires in the heart at which they aimed.</p> + +<p>When once this feeling had him fully, then was the perilous time for +Pierre. For supernatural as the feeling was, and appealing to all things +ultramontane to his soul; yet was it a delicious sadness to him. Some +hazy fairy swam above him in the heavenly ether, and showered down upon +him the sweetest pearls of pensiveness. Then he would be seized with a +singular impulse to reveal the secret to some one other individual in +the world. Only one, not more; he could not hold all this strange +fullness in himself. It must be shared. In such an hour it was, that +chancing to encounter Lucy (her, whom above all others, he did +confidingly adore), she heard the story of the face; nor slept at all +that night; nor for a long time freed her pillow completely from wild, +Beethoven sounds of distant, waltzing melodies, as of ambiguous fairies +dancing on the heath.</p> + +<hr /> + +<h4>III.</h4> + +<p>T<small>HIS</small> history goes forward and goes backward, as occasion calls. Nimble +center, circumference elastic you must have. Now we return to Pierre, +wending homeward from his reveries beneath the pine-tree.</p> + +<p>His burst of impatience against the sublime Italian, Dante, arising from +that poet being the one who, in a former time, had first opened to his +shuddering eyes the infinite cliffs and gulfs of human mystery and +misery;—though still more in the way of experimental vision, than of +sensational presentiment or experience (for as yet he had not seen so +far and deep as Dante, and therefore was entirely incompetent to meet +the grim bard fairly on his peculiar ground), this ignorant burst of<a name="page_072"></a> +his young impatience,—also arising from that half contemptuous dislike, +and sometimes selfish loathing, with which, either naturally feeble or +undeveloped minds, regard those dark ravings of the loftier poets, which +are in eternal opposition to their own fine-spun, shallow dreams of +rapturous or prudential Youth;—this rash, untutored burst of Pierre’s +young impatience, seemed to have carried off with it, all the other +forms of his melancholy—if melancholy it had been—and left him now +serene again, and ready for any tranquil pleasantness the gods might +have in store. For his, indeed, was true Youth’s temperament,—summary +with sadness, swift to joyfulness, and long protracting, and detaining +with that joyfulness, when once it came fully nigh to him.</p> + +<p>As he entered the dining-hall, he saw Dates retiring from another door +with his tray. Alone and meditative, by the bared half of the polished +table, sat his mother at her dessert; fruit-baskets, and a decanter were +before her. On the other leaf of the same table, still lay the cloth, +folded back upon itself, and set out with one plate and its usual +accompaniments.</p> + +<p>“Sit down, Pierre; when I came home, I was surprised to hear that the +phaeton had returned so early, and here I waited dinner for you, until I +could wait no more. But go to the green pantry now, and get what Dates +has but just put away for you there. Heigh-ho! too plainly I foresee +it—no more regular dinner-hours, or tea-hours, or supper-hours, in +Saddle Meadows, till its young lord is wedded. And that puts me in mind +of something, Pierre; but I’ll defer it till you have eaten a little. Do +you know, Pierre, that if you continue these irregular meals of yours, +and deprive me so entirely almost of your company, that I shall run +fearful risk of getting to be a terrible wine-bibber;—yes, could you +unalarmed see me sitting all alone here with this decanter, like any old +nurse, Pierre; some solitary, forlorn old nurse, Pierre, deserted by her +last friend, and therefore forced to embrace her flask?”<a name="page_073"></a></p> + +<p>“No, I did not feel any great alarm, sister,” said Pierre, smiling, +“since I could not but perceive that the decanter was still full to the +stopple.”</p> + +<p>“Possibly it may be only a fresh decanter, Pierre;” then changing her +voice suddenly—“but mark me, Mr. Pierre Glendinning!”</p> + +<p>“Well, Mrs. Mary Glendinning!”</p> + +<p>“Do you know, sir, that you are very shortly to be married,—that indeed +the day is all but fixed?”</p> + +<p>“How-!” cried Pierre, in real joyful astonishment, both at the nature of +the tidings, and the earnest tones in which they were conveyed—“dear, +dear mother, you have strangely changed your mind then, my dear mother.”</p> + +<p>“It is even so, dear brother;—before this day month I hope to have a +little sister Tartan.”</p> + +<p>“You talk very strangely, mother,” rejoined Pierre, quickly. “I suppose, +then, I have next to nothing to say in the matter!”</p> + +<p>“Next to nothing, Pierre! What indeed could you say to the purpose? what +at all have you to do with it, I should like to know? Do you so much as +dream, you silly boy, that men ever have the marrying of themselves? +Juxtaposition marries men. There is but one match-maker in the world, +Pierre, and that is Mrs. Juxtaposition, a most notorious lady!”</p> + +<p>“Very peculiar, disenchanting sort of talk, this, under the +circumstances, sister Mary,” laying down his fork. “Mrs. Juxtaposition, +ah! And in your opinion, mother, does this fine glorious passion only +amount to that?”</p> + +<p>“Only to that, Pierre; but mark you: according to my creed—though this +part of it is a little hazy—Mrs. Juxtaposition moves her pawns only as +she herself is moved to so doing by the spirit.”</p> + +<p>“Ah! that sets it all right again,” said Pierre, resuming his fork—“my +appetite returns. But what was that about my being married so soon?” he +added, vainly striving to assume an air<a name="page_074"></a> of incredulity and unconcern; +“you were joking, I suppose; it seems to me, sister, either you or I was +but just now wandering in the mind a little, on that subject. Are you +really thinking of any such thing? and have you really vanquished your +sagacious scruples by yourself, after I had so long and ineffectually +sought to do it for you? Well, I am a million times delighted; tell me +quick!”</p> + +<p>“I will, Pierre. You very well know, that from the first hour you +apprised me—or rather, from a period prior to that—from the moment +that I, by my own insight, became aware of your love for Lucy, I have +always approved it. Lucy is a delicious girl; of honorable descent, a +fortune, well-bred, and the very pattern of all that I think amiable and +attractive in a girl of seventeen.”</p> + +<p>“Well, well, well,” cried Pierre rapidly and impetuously; “we both knew +that before.”</p> + +<p>“Well, well, well, Pierre,” retorted his mother, mockingly.</p> + +<p>“It is not well, well, well; but ill, ill, ill, to torture me so, +mother; go on, do!”</p> + +<p>“But notwithstanding my admiring approval of your choice, Pierre; yet, +as you know, I have resisted your entreaties for my consent to your +speedy marriage, because I thought that a girl of scarcely seventeen, +and a boy scarcely twenty, should not be in such a hurry;—there was +plenty of time, I thought, which could be profitably employed by both.”</p> + +<p>“Permit me here to interrupt you, mother. Whatever you may have seen in +me; she,—I mean Lucy,—has never been in the slightest hurry to be +married;—that’s all. But I shall regard it as a <i>lapsus-lingua</i> in +you.”</p> + +<p>“Undoubtedly, a <i>lapsus</i>. But listen to me. I have been carefully +observing both you and Lucy of late; and that has made me think further +of the matter. Now, Pierre, if you were in any profession, or in any +business at all; nay, if I were a farmer’s wife, and you my child, +working in my fields; why,<a name="page_075"></a> then, you and Lucy should still wait awhile. +But as you have nothing to do but to think of Lucy by day, and dream of +her by night, and as she is in the same predicament, I suppose; with +respect to you; and as the consequence of all this begins to be +discernible in a certain, just perceptible, and quite harmless thinness, +so to speak, of the cheek; but a very conspicuous and dangerous +febrileness of the eye; therefore, I choose the lesser of two evils; and +now you have my permission to be married, as soon as the thing can be +done with propriety. I dare say you have no objection to have the +wedding take place before Christmas, the present month being the first +of summer.”</p> + +<p>Pierre said nothing; but leaping to his feet, threw his two arms around +his mother, and kissed her repeatedly.</p> + +<p>“A most sweet and eloquent answer, Pierre; but sit down again. I desire +now to say a little concerning less attractive, but quite necessary +things connected with this affair. You know, that by your father’s will, +these lands and—”</p> + +<p>“Miss Lucy, my mistress;” said Dates, throwing open the door.</p> + +<p>Pierre sprang to his feet; but as if suddenly mindful of his mother’s +presence, composed himself again, though he still approached the door.</p> + +<p>Lucy entered, carrying a little basket of strawberries.</p> + +<p>“Why, how do you do, my dear,” said Mrs. Glendinning affectionately. +“This is an unexpected pleasure.”</p> + +<p>“Yes; and I suppose that Pierre here is a little surprised too; seeing +that he was to call upon me this evening, and not I upon him before +sundown. But I took a sudden fancy for a solitary stroll,—the afternoon +was such a delicious one; and chancing—it was only chancing—to pass +through the Locust Lane leading hither, I met the strangest little +fellow, with this basket in his hand.—‘Yes, buy them, miss’—said he. +‘And how do you know I want to buy them,’ returned I, ‘I don’t want to +buy them.’—‘Yes you do, miss; they ought to be<a name="page_076"></a> twenty-six cents, but +I’ll take thirteen cents, that being my shilling. I always want the odd +half cent, I do. Come, I can’t wait, I have been expecting you long +enough.’”</p> + +<p>“A very sagacious little imp,” laughed Mrs. Glendinning.</p> + +<p>“Impertinent little rascal,” cried Pierre.</p> + +<p>“And am I not now the silliest of all silly girls, to be telling you my +adventures so very frankly,” smiled Lucy.</p> + +<p>“No; but the most celestial of all innocents,” cried Pierre, in a +rhapsody of delight. “Frankly open is the flower, that hath nothing but +purity to show.”</p> + +<p>“Now, my dear little Lucy,” said Mrs. Glendinning, “let Pierre take off +your shawl, and come now and stay to tea with us. Pierre has put back +the dinner so, the tea-hour will come now very soon.”</p> + +<p>“Thank you; but I can not stay this time. Look, I have forgotten my own +errand; I brought these strawberries for you, Mrs. Glendinning, and for +Pierre;—Pierre is so wonderfully fond of them.”</p> + +<p>“I was audacious enough to think as much,” cried Pierre, “for you <i>and</i> +me, you see, mother; for you <i>and</i> me, you understand that, I hope.”</p> + +<p>“Perfectly, my dear brother.”</p> + +<p>Lucy blushed.</p> + +<p>“How warm it is, Mrs. Glendinning.”</p> + +<p>“Very warm, Lucy. So you won’t stay to tea?”</p> + +<p>“No, I must go now; just a little stroll, that’s all; good-bye! Now +don’t be following me, Pierre. Mrs. Glendinning, will you keep Pierre +back? I know you want him; you were talking over some private affair +when I entered; you both looked so very confidential.”</p> + +<p>“And you were not very far from right, Lucy,” said Mrs. Glendinning, +making no sign to stay her departure.</p> + +<p>“Yes, business of the highest importance,” said Pierre, fixing his eyes +upon Lucy significantly.<a name="page_077"></a></p> + +<p>At this moment, Lucy just upon the point of her departure, was hovering +near the door; the setting sun, streaming through the window, bathed her +whole form in golden loveliness and light; that wonderful, and most +vivid transparency of her clear Welsh complexion, now fairly glowed like +rosy snow. Her flowing, white, blue-ribboned dress, fleecily invested +her. Pierre almost thought that she could only depart the house by +floating out of the open window, instead of actually stepping from the +door. All her aspect to him, was that moment touched with an +indescribable gayety, buoyancy, fragility, and an unearthly evanescence.</p> + +<p>Youth is no philosopher. Not into young Pierre’s heart did there then +come the thought, that as the glory of the rose endures but for a day, +so the full bloom of girlish airiness and bewitchingness, passes from +the earth almost as soon; as jealously absorbed by those frugal +elements, which again incorporate that translated girlish bloom, into +the first expanding flower-bud. Not into young Pierre, did there then +steal that thought of utmost sadness; pondering on the inevitable +evanescence of all earthly loveliness; which makes the sweetest things +of life only food for ever-devouring and omnivorous melancholy. Pierre’s +thought was different from this, and yet somehow akin to it.</p> + +<p>This to be my wife? I that but the other day weighed an hundred and +fifty pounds of solid avoirdupois;—<i>I</i> to wed this heavenly fleece? +Methinks one husbandly embrace would break her airy zone, and she exhale +upward to that heaven whence she hath hither come, condensed to mortal +sight. It can not be; I am of heavy earth, and she of airy light. By +heaven, but marriage is an impious thing!</p> + +<p>Meanwhile, as these things ran through his soul, Mrs. Glendinning also +had thinkings of her own.</p> + +<p>“A very beautiful tableau,” she cried, at last, artistically turning her +gay head a little sideways—“very beautiful, indeed;<a name="page_078"></a> this, I suppose is +all premeditated for my entertainment. Orpheus finding his Eurydice; or +Pluto stealing Proserpine. Admirable! It might almost stand for either.”</p> + +<p>“No,” said Pierre, gravely; “it is the last. Now, first I see a meaning +there.” Yes, he added to himself inwardly, I am Pluto stealing +Proserpine; and every accepted lover is.</p> + +<p>“And you would be very stupid, brother Pierre, if you did not see +something there,” said his mother, still that way pursuing her own +different train of thought. “The meaning thereof is this: Lucy has +commanded me to stay you; but in reality she wants you to go along with +her. Well, you may go as far as the porch; but then, you must return, +for we have not concluded our little affair, you know. Adieu, little +lady!”</p> + +<p>There was ever a slight degree of affectionate patronizing in the manner +of the resplendent, full-blown Mrs. Glendinning, toward the delicate and +shrinking girlhood of young Lucy. She treated her very much as she might +have treated some surpassingly beautiful and precocious child; and this +was precisely what Lucy was. Looking beyond the present period, Mrs. +Glendinning could not but perceive, that even in Lucy’s womanly +maturity, Lucy would still be a child to her; because, she, elated, +felt, that in a certain intellectual vigor, so to speak, she was the +essential opposite of Lucy, whose sympathetic mind and person had both +been cast in one mould of wondrous delicacy. But here Mrs. Glendinning +was both right and wrong. So far as she here saw a difference between +herself and Lucy Tartan, she did not err; but so far—and that was very +far—as she thought she saw her innate superiority to her in the +absolute scale of being, here she very widely and immeasurably erred. +For what may be artistically styled angelicalness, this is the highest +essence compatible with created being; and angelicalness hath no vulgar +vigor in it. And that thing which very often prompts to the display of +any vigor—which thing, in man or woman, is at bottom nothing but +ambition<a name="page_079"></a>—this quality is purely earthly, and not angelical. It is +false, that any angels fell by reason of ambition. Angels never fall; +and never feel ambition. Therefore, benevolently, and affectionately, +and all-sincerely, as thy heart, oh, Mrs. Glendinning! now standest +affected toward the fleecy Lucy; still, lady, thou dost very sadly +mistake it, when the proud, double-arches of the bright breastplate of +thy bosom, expand with secret triumph over one, whom thou so sweetly, +but still so patronizingly stylest, The Little Lucy.</p> + +<p>But ignorant of these further insights, that very superb-looking lady, +now waiting Pierre’s return from the portico door, sat in a very +matronly revery; her eyes fixed upon the decanter of amber-hued wine +before her. Whether it was that she somehow saw some lurking analogical +similitude between that remarkably slender, and gracefully cut little +pint-decanter, brimfull of light, golden wine, or not, there is no +absolute telling now. But really, the peculiarly, and reminiscently, and +forecastingly complacent expression of her beaming and benevolent +countenance, seemed a tell-tale of some conceit very much like the +following:—Yes, she’s a very pretty little pint-decanter of a girl: a +very pretty little Pale Sherry pint-decanter of a girl; and I—I’m a +quart decanter of—of—Port—potent Port! Now, Sherry for boys, and Port +for men—so I’ve heard men say; and Pierre is but a boy; but when his +father wedded me,—why, his father was turned of five-and-thirty years.</p> + +<p>After a little further waiting for him, Mrs. Glendinning heard Pierre’s +voice—“Yes, before eight o’clock at least, Lucy—no fear;” and then the +hall door banged, and Pierre returned to her.</p> + +<p>But now she found that this unforeseen visit of Lucy had completely +routed all business capacity in her mercurial son; fairly capsizing him +again into, there was no telling what sea of pleasant pensiveness.</p> + +<p>“Dear me! some other time, sister Mary.”<a name="page_080"></a></p> + +<p>“Not this time; that is very certain, Pierre. Upon my word I shall have +to get Lucy kidnapped, and temporarily taken out of the country, and you +handcuffed to the table, else there will be no having a preliminary +understanding with you, previous to calling in the lawyers. Well, I +shall yet manage you, one way or other. Good-bye, Pierre; I see you +don’t want me now. I suppose I shan’t see you till to-morrow morning. +Luckily, I have a very interesting book to read. Adieu!”</p> + +<p>But Pierre remained in his chair; his gaze fixed upon the stilly sunset +beyond the meadows, and far away to the now golden hills. A glorious, +softly glorious, and most gracious evening, which seemed plainly a +tongue to all humanity, saying: I go down in beauty to rise in joy; Love +reigns throughout all worlds that sunsets visit; it is a foolish ghost +story; there is no such thing as misery. Would Love, which is +omnipotent, have misery in his domain? Would the god of sunlight decree +gloom? It is a flawless, speckless, fleckless, beautiful world +throughout; joy now, and joy forever!</p> + +<p>Then the face, which before had seemed mournfully and reproachfully +looking out upon him from the effulgent sunset’s heart; the face slid +from him; and left alone there with his soul’s joy, thinking that that +very night he would utter the magic word of marriage to his Lucy; not a +happier youth than Pierre Glendinning sat watching that day’s sun go +down.</p> + +<hr /> + +<h4>IV.</h4> + +<p>A<small>FTER</small> this morning of gayety, this noon of tragedy, and this evening so +full of chequered pensiveness; Pierre now possessed his soul in joyful +mildness and steadfastness; feeling none of that wild anguish of +anticipative rapture, which, in weaker minds, too often dislodges Love’s +sweet bird from her nest.<a name="page_081"></a></p> + +<p>The early night was warm, but dark—for the moon was not risen yet—and +as Pierre passed on beneath the pendulous canopies of the long arms of +the weeping elms of the village, an almost impenetrable blackness +surrounded him, but entered not the gently illuminated halls of his +heart. He had not gone very far, when in the distance beyond, he noticed +a light moving along the opposite side of the road, and slowly +approaching. As it was the custom for some of the more elderly, and +perhaps timid inhabitants of the village, to carry a lantern when going +abroad of so dark a night, this object conveyed no impression of novelty +to Pierre; still, as it silently drew nearer and nearer, the one only +distinguishable thing before him, he somehow felt a nameless +presentiment that the light must be seeking him. He had nearly gained +the cottage door, when the lantern crossed over toward him; and as his +nimble hand was laid at last upon the little wicket-gate, which he +thought was now to admit him to so much delight; a heavy hand was laid +upon himself, and at the same moment, the lantern was lifted toward his +face, by a hooded and obscure-looking figure, whose half-averted +countenance he could but indistinctly discern. But Pierre’s own open +aspect, seemed to have been quickly scrutinized by the other.</p> + +<p>“I have a letter for Pierre Glendinning,” said the stranger, “and I +believe this is he.” At the same moment, a letter was drawn forth, and +sought his hand.</p> + +<p>“For me!” exclaimed Pierre, faintly, starting at the strangeness of the +encounter;—“methinks this is an odd time and place to deliver your +mail;—who are you?—Stay!”</p> + +<p>But without waiting an answer, the messenger had already turned about, +and was re-crossing the road. In the first impulse of the moment, Pierre +stept forward, and would have pursued him; but smiling at his own +causeless curiosity and trepidation, paused again; and softly turned +over the letter in his hand. What mysterious correspondent is this, +thought he,<a name="page_082"></a> circularly moving his thumb upon the seal; no one writes me +but from abroad; and their letters come through the office; and as for +Lucy—pooh!—when she herself is within, she would hardly have her notes +delivered at her own gate. Strange! but I’ll in, and read it;—no, not +that;—I come to read again in her own sweet heart—that dear missive to +me from heaven,—and this impertinent letter would pre-occupy me. I’ll +wait till I go home.</p> + +<p>He entered the gate, and laid his hand upon the cottage knocker. Its +sudden coolness caused a slight, and, at any other time, an +unaccountable sympathetic sensation in his hand. To his unwonted mood, +the knocker seemed to say—“Enter not!—Begone, and first read thy +note.”</p> + +<p>Yielding now, half alarmed, and half bantering with himself, to these +shadowy interior monitions, he half-unconsciously quitted the door; +repassed the gate; and soon found himself retracing his homeward path.</p> + +<p>He equivocated with himself no more; the gloom of the air had now burst +into his heart, and extinguished its light; then, first in all his life, +Pierre felt the irresistible admonitions and intuitions of Fate.</p> + +<p>He entered the hall unnoticed, passed up to his chamber, and hurriedly +locking the door in the dark, lit his lamp. As the summoned flame +illuminated the room, Pierre, standing before the round center-table, +where the lamp was placed, with his hand yet on the brass circle which +regulated the wick, started at a figure in the opposite mirror. It bore +the outline of Pierre, but now strangely filled with features +transformed, and unfamiliar to him; feverish eagerness, fear, and +nameless forebodings of ill! He threw himself into a chair, and for a +time vainly struggled with the incomprehensible power that possessed +him. Then, as he avertedly drew the letter from his bosom, he whispered +to himself—Out on thee, Pierre! how sheepish now will ye feel when this +tremendous note will turn<a name="page_083"></a> out to be an invitation to a supper to-morrow +night; quick, fool, and write the stereotyped reply: Mr. Pierre +Glendinning will be very happy to accept Miss so and so’s polite +invitation.</p> + +<p>Still for the moment he held the letter averted. The messenger had so +hurriedly accosted him, and delivered his duty, that Pierre had not yet +so much as gained one glance at the superscription of the note. And now +the wild thought passed through his mind of what would be the result, +should he deliberately destroy the note, without so much as looking at +the hand that had addressed it. Hardly had this half-crazy conceit fully +made itself legible in his soul, when he was conscious of his two hands +meeting in the middle of the sundered note! He leapt from his chair—By +heaven! he murmured, unspeakably shocked at the intensity of that mood +which had caused him unwittingly as it were, to do for the first time in +his whole life, an act of which he was privately ashamed. Though the +mood that was on him was none of his own willful seeking; yet now he +swiftly felt conscious that he had perhaps a little encouraged it, +through that certain strange infatuation of fondness, which the human +mind, however vigorous, sometimes feels for any emotion at once novel +and mystical. Not willingly, at such times—never mind how fearful we +may be—do we try to dissolve the spell which seems, for the time, to +admit us, all astonished, into the vague vestibule of the spiritual +worlds.</p> + +<p>Pierre now seemed distinctly to feel two antagonistic agencies within +him; one of which was just struggling into his consciousness, and each +of which was striving for the mastery; and between whose respective +final ascendencies, he thought he could perceive, though but shadowly, +that he himself was to be the only umpire. One bade him finish the +selfish destruction of the note; for in some dark way the reading of it +would irretrievably entangle his fate. The other bade him dismiss all +misgivings; not because there was no possible ground for<a name="page_084"></a> them, but +because to dismiss them was the manlier part, never mind what might +betide. This good angel seemed mildly to say—Read, Pierre, though by +reading thou may’st entangle thyself, yet may’st thou thereby +disentangle others. Read, and feel that best blessedness which, with the +sense of all duties discharged, holds happiness indifferent. The bad +angel insinuatingly breathed—Read it not, dearest Pierre; but destroy +it, and be happy. Then, at the blast of his noble heart, the bad angel +shrunk up into nothingness; and the good one defined itself clearer and +more clear, and came nigher and more nigh to him, smiling sadly but +benignantly; while forth from the infinite distances wonderful harmonies +stole into his heart; so that every vein in him pulsed to some heavenly +swell.</p> + +<hr /> + +<h4>V.</h4> + +<p>“The name at the end of this letter will be wholly strange to thee. +Hitherto my existence has been utterly unknown to thee. This letter will +touch thee and pain thee. Willingly would I spare thee, but I can not. +My heart bears me witness, that did I think that the suffering these +lines would give thee, would, in the faintest degree, compare with what +mine has been, I would forever withhold them.</p> + +<p>“Pierre Glendinning, thou art not the only child of thy father; in the +eye of the sun, the hand that traces this is thy sister’s; yes, Pierre, +Isabel calls thee her brother—her brother! oh, sweetest of words, which +so often I have thought to myself, and almost deemed it profanity for an +outcast like me to speak or think. Dearest Pierre, my brother, my own +father’s child! art thou an angel, that thou canst overleap all the +heartless usages and fashions of a banded world, that will call thee +fool, fool, fool! and curse thee, if thou yieldest to that heavenly +impulse<a name="page_085"></a> which alone can lead thee to respond to the long tyrannizing, +and now at last unquenchable yearnings of my bursting heart? Oh, my +brother!</p> + +<p>“But, Pierre Glendinning, I will be proud with thee. Let not my hapless +condition extinguish in me, the nobleness which I equally inherit with +thee. Thou shall not be cozened, by my tears and my anguish, into any +thing which thy most sober hour will repent. Read no further. If it suit +thee, burn this letter; so shalt thou escape the certainty of that +knowledge, which, if thou art now cold and selfish, may hereafter, in +some maturer, remorseful, and helpless hour, cause thee a poignant +upbraiding. No, I shall not, I will not implore thee.—Oh, my brother, +my dear, dear Pierre,—help me, fly to me; see, I perish without +thee;—pity, pity,—here I freeze in the wide, wide world;—no father, +no mother, no sister, no brother, no living thing in the fair form of +humanity, that holds me dear. No more, oh no more, dear Pierre, can I +endure to be an outcast in the world, for which the dear Savior died. +Fly to me, Pierre;—nay, I could tear what I now write,—as I have torn +so many other sheets, all written for thy eye, but which never reached +thee, because in my distraction, I knew not how to write to thee, nor +what to say to thee; and so, behold again how I rave.</p> + +<p>“Nothing more; I will write no more;—silence becomes this grave;—the +heart-sickness steals over me, Pierre, my brother.</p> + +<p>“Scarce know I what I have written. Yet will I write thee the fatal +line, and leave all the rest to thee, Pierre, my brother.—She that is +called Isabel Banford dwells in the little red farm-house, three miles +from the village, on the slope toward the lake. To-morrow +night-fall—not before—not by day, not by day, Pierre.</p> + +<p class="r">T<small>HY</small> S<small>ISTER,</small> I<small>SABEL.</small>”</p> + +<hr /> + +<h4>VI.</h4> + +<p>T<small>HIS</small> letter, inscribed in a feminine, but irregular hand, and in some +places almost illegible, plainly attesting the state of the mind which +had dictated it;—stained, too, here and there, with spots of tears, +which chemically acted upon by the ink, assumed a strange and reddish +hue—as if blood and not tears had dropped upon the sheet;—and so +completely torn in two by Pierre’s own hand, that it indeed seemed the +fit scroll of a torn, as well as bleeding heart;—this amazing letter, +deprived Pierre for the time of all lucid and definite thought or +feeling. He hung half-lifeless in his chair; his hand, clutching the +letter, was pressed against his heart, as if some assassin had stabbed +him and fled; and Pierre was now holding the dagger in the wound, to +stanch the outgushing of the blood.</p> + +<p>Ay, Pierre, now indeed art thou hurt with a wound, never to be +completely healed but in heaven; for thee, the before undistrusted moral +beauty of the world is forever fled; for thee, thy sacred father is no +more a saint; all brightness hath gone from thy hills, and all peace +from thy plains; and now, now, for the first time, Pierre, Truth rolls a +black billow through thy soul! Ah, miserable thou, to whom Truth, in her +first tides, bears nothing but wrecks!</p> + +<p>The perceptible forms of things; the shapes of thoughts; the pulses of +life, but slowly came back to Pierre. And as the mariner, shipwrecked +and cast on the beach, has much ado to escape the recoil of the wave +that hurled him there; so Pierre long struggled, and struggled, to +escape the recoil of that anguish, which had dashed him out of itself, +upon the beach of his swoon.</p> + +<p>But man was not made to succumb to the villain Woe. Youth is not young +and a wrestler in vain. Pierre staggeringly<a name="page_087"></a> rose to his feet; his wide +eyes fixed, and his whole form in a tremble.</p> + +<p>“Myself am left, at least,” he slowly and half-chokingly murmured. “With +myself I front thee! Unhand me all fears, and unlock me all spells! +Henceforth I will know nothing but Truth; glad Truth, or sad Truth; I +will know what is, and do what my deepest angel dictates.—The +letter!—Isabel,—sister,—brother,—me, <i>me</i>—my sacred father!—This +is some accursed dream!—nay, but this paper thing is forged,—a base +and malicious forgery, I swear;—Well didst thou hide thy face from me, +thou vile lanterned messenger, that didst accost me on the threshold of +Joy, with this lying warrant of Woe! Doth Truth come in the dark, and +steal on us, and rob us so, and then depart, deaf to all pursuing +invocations? If this night, which now wraps my soul, be genuine as that +which now wraps this half of the world; then Fate, I have a choice +quarrel with thee. Thou art a palterer and a cheat; thou hast lured me +on through gay gardens to a gulf. Oh! falsely guided in the days of my +Joy, am I now truly led in this night of my grief?—I will be a raver, +and none shall stay me! I will lift my hand in fury, for am I not +struck? I will be bitter in my breath, for is not this cup of gall? Thou +Black Knight, that with visor down, thus confrontest me, and mockest at +me; Lo! I strike through thy helm, and will see thy face, be it +Gorgon!—Let me go, ye fond affections; all piety leave me;—I will be +impious, for piety hath juggled me, and taught me to revere, where I +should spurn. From all idols, I tear all veils; henceforth I will see +the hidden things; and live right out in my own hidden life!—Now I feel +that nothing but Truth can move me so. This letter is not a forgery. Oh! +Isabel, thou art my sister; and I will love thee, and protect thee, ay, +and own thee through all. Ah! forgive me, ye heavens, for my ignorant +ravings, and accept this my vow.—Here I swear myself Isabel’s. Oh! thou +poor castaway girl, that in loneliness<a name="page_088"></a> and anguish must have long +breathed that same air, which I have only inhaled for delight; thou who +must even now be weeping, and weeping, cast into an ocean of uncertainty +as to thy fate, which heaven hath placed in my hands; sweet Isabel! +would I not be baser than brass, and harder, and colder than ice, if I +could be insensible to such claims as thine? Thou movest before me, in +rainbows spun of thy tears! I see thee long weeping, and God demands me +for thy comforter; and comfort thee, stand by thee, and fight for thee, +will thy leapingly-acknowledging brother, whom thy own father named +Pierre!”</p> + +<p>He could not stay in his chamber: the house contracted to a nut-shell +around him; the walls smote his forehead; bare-headed he rushed from the +place, and only in the infinite air, found scope for that boundless +expansion of his life.<a name="page_089"></a></p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="BOOK_IV"></a>BOOK IV.<br /> +RETROSPECTIVE.</h2> + +<h4>I.</h4> + +<p>I<small>N</small> their precise tracings-out and subtile causations, the strongest and +fieriest emotions of life defy all analytical insight. We see the cloud, +and feel its bolt; but meteorology only idly essays a critical scrutiny +as to how that cloud became charged, and how this bolt so stuns. The +metaphysical writers confess, that the most impressive, sudden, and +overwhelming event, as well as the minutest, is but the product of an +infinite series of infinitely involved and untraceable foregoing +occurrences. Just so with every motion of the heart. Why this cheek +kindles with a noble enthusiasm; why that lip curls in scorn; these are +things not wholly imputable to the immediate apparent cause, which is +only one link in the chain; but to a long line of dependencies whose +further part is lost in the mid-regions of the impalpable air.</p> + +<p>Idle then would it be to attempt by any winding way so to penetrate into +the heart, and memory, and inmost life, and nature of Pierre, as to show +why it was that a piece of intelligence which, in the natural course of +things, many amiable gentlemen, both young and old, have been known to +receive with a momentary feeling of surprise, and then a little +curiosity to know more, and at last an entire unconcern; idle would it +be, to attempt to show how to Pierre it rolled down on his soul<a name="page_090"></a> like +melted lava, and left so deep a deposit of desolation, that all his +subsequent endeavors never restored the original temples to the soil, +nor all his culture completely revived its buried bloom.</p> + +<p>But some random hints may suffice to deprive a little of its +strangeness, that tumultuous mood, into which so small a note had thrown +him.</p> + +<p>There had long stood a shrine in the fresh-foliaged heart of Pierre, up +to which he ascended by many tableted steps of remembrance; and around +which annually he had hung fresh wreaths of a sweet and holy affection. +Made one green bower of at last, by such successive votive offerings of +his being; this shrine seemed, and was indeed, a place for the +celebration of a chastened joy, rather than for any melancholy rites. +But though thus mantled, and tangled with garlands, this shrine was of +marble—a niched pillar, deemed solid and eternal, and from whose top +radiated all those innumerable sculptured scrolls and branches, which +supported the entire one-pillared temple of his moral life; as in some +beautiful gothic oratories, one central pillar, trunk-like, upholds the +roof. In this shrine, in this niche of this pillar, stood the perfect +marble form of his departed father; without blemish, unclouded, +snow-white, and serene; Pierre’s fond personification of perfect human +goodness and virtue. Before this shrine, Pierre poured out the fullness +of all young life’s most reverential thoughts and beliefs. Not to God +had Pierre ever gone in his heart, unless by ascending the steps of that +shrine, and so making it the vestibule of his abstractest religion.</p> + +<p>Blessed and glorified in his tomb beyond Prince Mausolus is that mortal +sire, who, after an honorable, pure course of life, dies, and is buried, +as in a choice fountain, in the filial breast of a tender-hearted and +intellectually appreciative child. For at that period, the Solomonic +insights have not poured their turbid tributaries into the pure-flowing +well of the childish life. Rare<a name="page_091"></a> preservative virtue, too, have those +heavenly waters. Thrown into that fountain, all sweet recollections +become marbleized; so that things which in themselves were evanescent, +thus became unchangeable and eternal. So, some rare waters in Derbyshire +will petrify birds’-nests. But if fate preserves the father to a later +time, too often the filial obsequies are less profound; the canonization +less ethereal. The eye-expanded boy perceives, or vaguely thinks he +perceives, slight specks and flaws in the character he once so wholly +reverenced.</p> + +<p>When Pierre was twelve years old, his father had died, leaving behind +him, in the general voice of the world, a marked reputation as a +gentleman and a Christian; in the heart of his wife, a green memory of +many healthy days of unclouded and joyful wedded life, and in the inmost +soul of Pierre, the impression of a bodily form of rare manly beauty and +benignity, only rivaled by the supposed perfect mould in which his +virtuous heart had been cast. Of pensive evenings, by the wide winter +fire, or in summer, in the southern piazza, when that mystical +night-silence so peculiar to the country would summon up in the minds of +Pierre and his mother, long trains of the images of the past; leading +all that spiritual procession, majestically and holily walked the +venerated form of the departed husband and father. Then their talk would +be reminiscent and serious, but sweet; and again, and again, still deep +and deeper, was stamped in Pierre’s soul the cherished conceit, that his +virtuous father, so beautiful on earth, was now uncorruptibly sainted in +heaven. So choicely, and in some degree, secludedly nurtured, Pierre, +though now arrived at the age of nineteen, had never yet become so +thoroughly initiated into that darker, though truer aspect of things, +which an entire residence in the city from the earliest period of life, +almost inevitably engraves upon the mind of any keenly observant and +reflective youth of Pierre’s present years. So that up to this period, +in his breast, all remained as it had been; and to Pierre, his father’s +shrine<a name="page_092"></a> seemed spotless, and still new as the marble of the tomb of him +of Arimathea.</p> + +<p>Judge, then, how all-desolating and withering the blast, that for +Pierre, in one night, stripped his holiest shrine of all over-laid +bloom, and buried the mild statue of the saint beneath the prostrated +ruins of the soul’s temple itself.</p> + +<hr /> + +<h4>II.</h4> + +<p>A<small>S</small> the vine flourishes, and the grape empurples close up to the very +walls and muzzles of cannoned Ehrenbreitstein; so do the sweetest joys +of life grow in the very jaws of its perils.</p> + +<p>But is life, indeed, a thing for all infidel levities, and we, its +misdeemed beneficiaries, so utterly fools and infatuate, that what we +take to be our strongest tower of delight, only stands at the caprice of +the minutest event—the falling of a leaf, the hearing of a voice, or +the receipt of one little bit of paper scratched over with a few small +characters by a sharpened feather? Are we so entirely insecure, that +that casket, wherein we have placed our holiest and most final joy, and +which we have secured by a lock of infinite deftness; can that casket be +picked and desecrated at the merest stranger’s touch, when we think that +we alone hold the only and chosen key?</p> + +<p>Pierre! thou art foolish; rebuild—no, not that, for thy shrine still +stands; it stands, Pierre, firmly stands; smellest thou not its yet +undeparted, embowering bloom? Such a note as thine can be easily enough +written, Pierre; impostors are not unknown in this curious world; or the +brisk novelist, Pierre, will write thee fifty such notes, and so steal +gushing tears from his reader’s eyes; even as <i>thy</i> note so strangely +made thine own manly eyes so arid; so glazed, and so arid, +Pierre—foolish Pierre!<a name="page_093"></a></p> + +<p>Oh! mock not the poniarded heart. The stabbed man knows the steel; prate +not to him that it is only a tickling feather. Feels he not the interior +gash? What does this blood on my vesture? and what does this pang in my +soul?</p> + +<p>And here again, not unreasonably, might invocations go up to those Three +Weird Ones, that tend Life’s loom. Again we might ask them, What threads +were those, oh, ye Weird Ones, that ye wove in the years foregone; that +now to Pierre, they so unerringly conduct electric presentiments, that +his woe is woe, his father no more a saint, and Isabel a sister indeed?</p> + +<p>Ah, fathers and mothers! all the world round, be heedful,—give heed! +Thy little one may not now comprehend the meaning of those words and +those signs, by which, in its innocent presence, thou thinkest to +disguise the sinister thing ye would hint. Not now he knows; not very +much even of the externals he consciously remarks; but if, in +after-life, Fate puts the chemic key of the cipher into his hands; then +how swiftly and how wonderfully, he reads all the obscurest and most +obliterate inscriptions he finds in his memory; yea, and rummages +himself all over, for still hidden writings to read. Oh, darkest lessons +of Life have thus been read; all faith in Virtue been murdered, and +youth gives itself up to an infidel scorn.</p> + +<p>But not thus, altogether, was it now with Pierre; yet so like, in some +points, that the above true warning may not misplacedly stand.</p> + +<p>His father had died of a fever; and, as is not uncommon in such +maladies, toward his end, he at intervals lowly wandered in his mind. At +such times, by unobserved, but subtle arts, the devoted family +attendants, had restrained his wife from being present at his side. But +little Pierre, whose fond, filial love drew him ever to that bed; they +heeded not innocent little Pierre, when his father was delirious; and +so, one evening, when the shadows intermingled with the curtains; and +all the chamber was hushed; and Pierre but dimly saw his father’s<a name="page_094"></a> face; +and the fire on the hearth lay in a broken temple of wonderful coals; +then a strange, plaintive, infinitely pitiable, low voice, stole forth +from the testered bed; and Pierre heard,—“My daughter! my daughter!”</p> + +<p>“He wanders again,” said the nurse.</p> + +<p>“Dear, dear father!” sobbed the child—“thou hast not a daughter, but +here is thy own little Pierre.”</p> + +<p>But again the unregardful voice in the bed was heard; and now in a +sudden, pealing wail,—“My daughter!—God! God!—my daughter!”</p> + +<p>The child snatched the dying man’s hand; it faintly grew to his grasp; +but on the other side of the bed, the other hand now also emptily lifted +itself and emptily caught, as if at some other childish fingers. Then +both hands dropped on the sheet; and in the twinkling shadows of the +evening little Pierre seemed to see, that while the hand which he held +wore a faint, feverish flush, the other empty one was ashy white as a +leper’s.</p> + +<p>“It is past,” whispered the nurse, “he will wander so no more now till +midnight,—that is his wont.” And then, in her heart, she wondered how +it was, that so excellent a gentleman, and so thoroughly good a man, +should wander so ambiguously in his mind; and trembled to think of that +mysterious thing in the soul, which seems to acknowledge no human +jurisdiction, but in spite of the individual’s own innocent self, will +still dream horrid dreams, and mutter unmentionable thoughts; and into +Pierre’s awe-stricken, childish soul, there entered a kindred, though +still more nebulous conceit. But it belonged to the spheres of the +impalpable ether; and the child soon threw other and sweeter +remembrances over it, and covered it up; and at last, it was blended +with all other dim things, and imaginings of dimness; and so, seemed to +survive to no real life in Pierre. But though through many long years +the henbane showed no leaves in his soul; yet the sunken seed was<a name="page_095"></a> +there: and the first glimpse of Isabel’s letter caused it to spring +forth, as by magic. Then, again, the long-hushed, plaintive and +infinitely pitiable voice was heard,—“My daughter! my daughter!” +followed by the compunctious “God! God!” And to Pierre, once again the +empty hand lifted itself, and once again the ashy hand fell.</p> + +<hr /> + +<h4>III.</h4> + +<p>I<small>N</small> the cold courts of justice the dull head demands oaths, and holy writ +proofs; but in the warm halls of the heart one single, untestified +memory’s spark shall suffice to enkindle such a blaze of evidence, that +all the corners of conviction are as suddenly lighted up as a midnight +city by a burning building, which on every side whirls its reddened +brands.</p> + +<p>In a locked, round-windowed closet connecting with the chamber of +Pierre, and whither he had always been wont to go, in those sweetly +awful hours, when the spirit crieth to the spirit, Come into solitude +with me, twin-brother; come away: a secret have I; let me whisper it to +thee aside; in this closet, sacred to the Tadmore privacies and repose +of the sometimes solitary Pierre, there hung, by long cords from the +cornice, a small portrait in oil, before which Pierre had many a time +trancedly stood. Had this painting hung in any annual public exhibition, +and in its turn been described in print by the casual glancing critics, +they would probably have described it thus, and truthfully: “An +impromptu portrait of a fine-looking, gay-hearted, youthful gentleman. +He is lightly, and, as it were, airily and but grazingly seated in, or +rather flittingly tenanting an old-fashioned chair of Malacca. One arm +confining his hat and cane is loungingly thrown over the back of the +chair, while the fingers of the other hand play with his gold +watch-seal<a name="page_096"></a> and key. The free-templed head is sideways turned, with a +peculiarly bright, and care-free, morning expression. He seems as if +just dropped in for a visit upon some familiar acquaintance. Altogether, +the painting is exceedingly clever and cheerful; with a fine, off-handed +expression about it. Undoubtedly a portrait, and no fancy-piece; and, to +hazard a vague conjecture, by an amateur.”</p> + +<p>So bright, and so cheerful then; so trim, and so young; so singularly +healthful, and handsome; what subtile element could so steep this whole +portrait, that, to the wife of the original, it was namelessly +unpleasant and repelling? The mother of Pierre could never abide this +picture which she had always asserted did signally belie her husband. +Her fond memories of the departed refused to hang one single wreath +around it. It is not he, she would emphatically and almost indignantly +exclaim, when more urgently besought to reveal the cause for so +unreasonable a dissent from the opinion of nearly all the other +connections and relatives of the deceased. But the portrait which she +held to do justice to her husband, correctly to convey his features in +detail, and more especially their truest, and finest, and noblest +combined expression; this portrait was a much larger one, and in the +great drawing-room below occupied the most conspicuous and honorable +place on the wall.</p> + +<p>Even to Pierre these two paintings had always seemed strangely +dissimilar. And as the larger one had been painted many years after the +other, and therefore brought the original pretty nearly within his own +childish recollections; therefore, he himself could not but deem it by +far the more truthful and life-like presentation of his father. So that +the mere preference of his mother, however strong, was not at all +surprising to him, but rather coincided with his own conceit. Yet not +for this, must the other portrait be so decidedly rejected. Because, in +the first place, there was a difference in time, and some difference of +costume to be considered, and the wide<a name="page_097"></a> difference of the styles of the +respective artiste, and the wide difference of those respective, +semi-reflected, ideal faces, which, even in the presence of the +original, a spiritual artist will rather choose to draw from than from +the fleshy face, however brilliant and fine. Moreover, while the larger +portrait was that of a middle-aged, married man, and seemed to possess +all the nameless and slightly portly tranquillities, incident to that +condition when a felicitous one; the smaller portrait painted a brisk, +unentangled, young bachelor, gayly ranging up and down in the world; +light-hearted, and a very little bladish perhaps; and charged to the +lips with the first uncloying morning fullness and freshness of life. +Here, certainly, large allowance was to be made in any careful, candid +estimation of these portraits. To Pierre this conclusion had become +well-nigh irresistible, when he placed side by side two portraits of +himself; one taken in his early childhood, a frocked and belted boy of +four years old; and the other, a grown youth of sixteen. Except an +indestructible, all-surviving something in the eyes and on the temples, +Pierre could hardly recognize the loud-laughing boy in the tall, and +pensively smiling youth. If a few years, then, can have in me made all +this difference, why not in my father? thought Pierre.</p> + +<p>Besides all this, Pierre considered the history, and, so to speak, the +family legend of the smaller painting. In his fifteenth year, it was +made a present to him by an old maiden aunt, who resided in the city, +and who cherished the memory of Pierre’s father, with all that wonderful +amaranthine devotion which an advanced maiden sister ever feels for the +idea of a beloved younger brother, now dead and irrevocably gone. As the +only child of that brother, Pierre was an object of the warmest and most +extravagant attachment on the part of this lonely aunt, who seemed to +see, transformed into youth once again, the likeness, and very soul of +her brother, in the fair, inheriting brow of Pierre. Though the portrait +we speak of was<a name="page_098"></a> inordinately prized by her, yet at length the strict +canon of her romantic and imaginative love asserted the portrait to be +Pierre’s—for Pierre was not only his father’s only child, but his +namesake—so soon as Pierre should be old enough to value aright so holy +and inestimable a treasure. She had accordingly sent it to him, trebly +boxed, and finally covered with a water-proof cloth; and it was +delivered at Saddle Meadows, by an express, confidential messenger, an +old gentleman of leisure, once her forlorn, because rejected gallant, +but now her contented, and chatty neighbor. Henceforth, before a +gold-framed and gold-lidded ivory miniature,—a fraternal gift—aunt +Dorothea now offered up her morning and her evening rites, to the memory +of the noblest and handsomest of brothers. Yet an annual visit to the +far closet of Pierre—no slight undertaking now for one so stricken in +years, and every way infirm—attested the earnestness of that strong +sense of duty, that painful renunciation of self, which had induced her +voluntarily to part with the precious memorial.</p> + +<hr /> + +<h4>IV.</h4> + +<p>“Tell me, aunt,” the child Pierre had early said to her, long before the +portrait became his—“tell me, aunt, how this chair-portrait, as you +call it, was painted;—who painted it?—whose chair was this?—have you +the chair now?—I don’t see it in your room here;—what is papa looking +at so strangely?—I should like to know now, what papa was thinking of, +then. Do, now, dear aunt, tell me all about this picture, so that when +it is mine, as you promise me, I shall know its whole history.”</p> + +<p>“Sit down, then, and be very still and attentive, my dear child,” said +aunt Dorothea; while she a little averted her head, and tremulously and +inaccurately sought her pocket, till little<a name="page_099"></a> Pierre cried—“Why, aunt, +the story of the picture is not in any little book, is it, that you are +going to take out and read to me?”</p> + +<p>“My handkerchief, my child.”</p> + +<p>“Why, aunt, here it is, at your elbow; here, on the table; here, aunt; +take it, do; Oh, don’t tell me any thing about the picture, now; I won’t +hear it.”</p> + +<p>“Be still, my darling Pierre,” said his aunt, taking the handkerchief, +“draw the curtain a little, dearest; the light hurts my eyes. Now, go +into the closet, and bring me my dark shawl;—take your time.—There; +thank you, Pierre; now sit down again, and I will begin.—The picture +was painted long ago, my child; you were not born then.”</p> + +<p>“Not born?” cried little Pierre.</p> + +<p>“Not born,” said his aunt.</p> + +<p>“Well, go on, aunt; but don’t tell me again that once upon a time I was +not little Pierre at all, and yet my father was alive. Go on, aunt,—do, +do!”</p> + +<p>“Why, how nervous you are getting, my child;—Be patient; I am very old, +Pierre; and old people never like to be hurried.”</p> + +<p>“Now, my own dear Aunt Dorothea, do forgive me this once, and go on with +your story.”</p> + +<p>“When your poor father was quite a young man, my child, and was on one +of his long autumnal visits to his friends in this city, he was rather +intimate at times with a cousin of his, Ralph Winwood, who was about his +own age,—a fine youth he was, too, Pierre.”</p> + +<p>“I never saw him, aunt; pray, where is he now?” interrupted +Pierre;—“does he live in the country, now, as mother and I do?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, my child; but a far-away, beautiful country, I hope;—he’s in +heaven, I trust.”</p> + +<p>“Dead,” sighed little Pierre—“go on, aunt.”</p> + +<p>“Now, cousin Ralph had a great love for painting, my child;<a name="page_100"></a> and he +spent many hours in a room, hung all round with pictures and portraits; +and there he had his easel and brushes; and much liked to paint his +friends, and hang their faces on his walls; so that when all alone by +himself, he yet had plenty of company, who always wore their best +expressions to him, and never once ruffled him, by ever getting cross or +ill-natured, little Pierre. Often, he had besought your father to sit to +him; saying, that his silent circle of friends would never be complete, +till your father consented to join them. But in those days, my child, +your father was always in motion. It was hard for me to get him to stand +still, while I tied his cravat; for he never came to any one but me for +that. So he was always putting off, and putting off cousin Ralph. ‘Some +other time, cousin; not to-day;—to-morrow, perhaps;—or next +week;’—and so, at last cousin Ralph began to despair. But I’ll catch +him yet, cried sly cousin Ralph. So now he said nothing more to your +father about the matter of painting him; but every pleasant morning kept +his easel and brushes and every thing in readiness; so as to be ready +the first moment your father should chance to drop in upon him from his +long strolls; for it was now and then your father’s wont to pay flying +little visits to cousin Ralph in his painting-room.—But, my child, you +may draw back the curtain now—it’s getting very dim here, seems to me.”</p> + +<p>“Well, I thought so all along, aunt,” said little Pierre, obeying; “but +didn’t you say the light hurt your eyes.”</p> + +<p>“But it does not now, little Pierre.”</p> + +<p>“Well, well; go on, go on, aunt; you can’t think how interested I am,” +said little Pierre, drawing his stool close up to the quilted satin hem +of his good Aunt Dorothea’s dress.</p> + +<p>“I will, my child. But first let me tell you, that about this time there +arrived in the port, a cabin-full of French emigrants of quality;—poor +people, Pierre, who were forced to fly from their native land, because +of the cruel, blood-shedding times<a name="page_101"></a> there. But you have read all that in +the little history I gave you, a good while ago.”</p> + +<p>“I know all about it;—the French Revolution,” said little Pierre.</p> + +<p>“What a famous little scholar you are, my dear child,”—said Aunt +Dorothea, faintly smiling—“among those poor, but noble emigrants, there +was a beautiful young girl, whose sad fate afterward made a great noise +in the city, and made many eyes to weep, but in vain, for she never was +heard of any more.”</p> + +<p>“How? how? aunt;—I don’t understand;—did she disappear then, aunt?”</p> + +<p>“I was a little before my story, child. Yes, she did disappear, and +never was heard of again; but that was afterward, some time afterward, +my child. I am very sure it was; I could take my oath of that, Pierre.”</p> + +<p>“Why, dear aunt,” said little Pierre, “how earnestly you talk—after +what? your voice is getting very strange; do now;—don’t talk that way; +you frighten me so, aunt.”</p> + +<p>“Perhaps it is this bad cold I have to-day; it makes my voice a little +hoarse, I fear, Pierre. But I will try and not talk so hoarsely again. +Well, my child, some time before this beautiful young lady disappeared, +indeed it was only shortly after the poor emigrants landed, your father +made her acquaintance; and with many other humane gentlemen of the city, +provided for the wants of the strangers, for they were very poor indeed, +having been stripped of every thing, save a little trifling jewelry, +which could not go very far. At last, the friends of your father +endeavored to dissuade him from visiting these people so much; they were +fearful that as the young lady was so very beautiful, and a little +inclined to be intriguing—so some said—your father might be tempted to +marry her; which would not have been a wise thing in him; for though the +young lady might have been very beautiful, and good-hearted, yet no one +on this side the water certainly knew her history; and she was<a name="page_102"></a> a +foreigner; and would not have made so suitable and excellent a match for +your father as your dear mother afterward did, my child. But, for +myself, I—who always knew your father very well in all his intentions, +and he was very confidential with me, too—I, for my part, never +credited that he would do so unwise a thing as marry the strange young +lady. At any rate, he at last discontinued his visits to the emigrants; +and it was after this that the young lady disappeared. Some said that +she must have voluntarily but secretly returned into her own country; +and others declared that she must have been kidnapped by French +emissaries; for, after her disappearance, rumor began to hint that she +was of the noblest birth, and some ways allied to the royal family; and +then, again, there were some who shook their heads darkly, and muttered +of drownings, and other dark things; which one always hears hinted when +people disappear, and no one can find them. But though your father and +many other gentlemen moved heaven and earth to find trace of her, yet, +as I said before, my child, she never re-appeared.”</p> + +<p>“The poor French lady!” sighed little Pierre. “Aunt, I’m afraid she was +murdered.”</p> + +<p>“Poor lady, there is no telling,” said his aunt. “But listen, for I am +coming to the picture again. Now, at the time your father was so often +visiting the emigrants, my child, cousin Ralph was one of those who a +little fancied that your father was courting her; but cousin Ralph being +a quiet young man, and a scholar, not well acquainted with what is wise, +or what is foolish in the great world; cousin Ralph would not have been +at all mortified had your father really wedded with the refugee young +lady. So vainly thinking, as I told you, that your father was courting +her, he fancied it would be a very fine thing if he could paint your +father as her wooer; that is, paint him just after his coming from his +daily visits to the emigrants. So he watched his chance; every thing +being ready in his painting<a name="page_103"></a>-room, as I told you before; and one +morning, sure enough, in dropt your father from his walk. But before he +came into the room, cousin Ralph had spied him from the window; and when +your father entered, cousin Ralph had the sitting-chair ready drawn out, +back of his easel, but still fronting toward him, and pretended to be +very busy painting. He said to your father—‘Glad to see you, cousin +Pierre; I am just about something here; sit right down there now, and +tell me the news; and I’ll sally out with you presently. And tell us +something of the emigrants, cousin Pierre,’ he slyly added—wishing, you +see, to get your father’s thoughts running that supposed wooing way, so +that he might catch some sort of corresponding expression you see, +little Pierre.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t know that I precisely understand, aunt; but go on, I am so +interested; do go on, dear aunt.”</p> + +<p>“Well, by many little cunning shifts and contrivances, cousin Ralph kept +your father there sitting, and sitting in the chair, rattling and +rattling away, and so self-forgetful too, that he never heeded that all +the while sly cousin Ralph was painting and painting just as fast as +ever he could; and only making believe laugh at your father’s wit; in +short, cousin Ralph was stealing his portrait, my child.”</p> + +<p>“Not <i>stealing</i> it, I hope,” said Pierre, “that would be very wicked.”</p> + +<p>“Well, then, we won’t call it stealing, since I am sure that cousin +Ralph kept your father all the time off from him, and so, could not have +possibly picked his pocket, though indeed, he slyly picked his portrait, +so to speak. And if indeed it was stealing, or any thing of that sort; +yet seeing how much comfort that portrait has been to me, Pierre, and +how much it will yet be to you, I hope; I think we must very heartily +forgive cousin Ralph, for what he then did.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, I think we must indeed,” chimed in little Pierre, now<a name="page_104"></a> eagerly +eying the very portrait in question, which hung over the mantle.</p> + +<p>“Well, by catching your father two or three times more in that way, +cousin Ralph at last finished the painting; and when it was all framed, +and every way completed, he would have surprised your father by hanging +it boldly up in his room among his other portraits, had not your father +one morning suddenly come to him—while, indeed, the very picture itself +was placed face down on a table and cousin Ralph fixing the cord to +it—came to him, and frightened cousin Ralph by quietly saying, that now +that he thought of it, it seemed to him that cousin Ralph had been +playing tricks with him; but he hoped it was not so. ‘What do you mean?’ +said cousin Ralph, a little flurried. ‘You have not been hanging my +portrait up here, have you, cousin Ralph?’ said your father, glancing +along the walls. ‘I’m glad I don’t see it. It is my whim, cousin +Ralph,—and perhaps it is a very silly one,—but if you have been lately +painting my portrait, I want you to destroy it; at any rate, don’t show +it to any one, keep it out of sight. What’s that you have there, cousin +Ralph?’</p> + +<p>“Cousin Ralph was now more and more fluttered; not knowing what to +make—as indeed, to this day, I don’t completely myself—of your +father’s strange manner. But he rallied, and said—‘This, cousin Pierre, +is a secret portrait I have here; you must be aware that we +portrait-painters are sometimes called upon to paint such. I, therefore, +can not show it to you, or tell you any thing about it.’</p> + +<p>“‘Have you been painting my portrait or not, cousin Ralph?’ said your +father, very suddenly and pointedly.</p> + +<p>“‘I have painted nothing that looks as you there look,’ said cousin +Ralph, evasively, observing in your father’s face a fierce-like +expression, which he had never seen there before. And more than that, +your father could not get from him.”</p> + +<p>“And what then?” said little Pierre.<a name="page_105"></a></p> + +<p>“Why not much, my child; only your father never so much as caught one +glimpse of that picture; indeed, never knew for certain, whether there +was such a painting in the world. Cousin Ralph secretly gave it to me, +knowing how tenderly I loved your father; making me solemnly promise +never to expose it anywhere where your father could ever see it, or any +way hear of it. This promise I faithfully kept; and it was only after +your dear father’s death, that I hung it in my chamber. There, Pierre, +you now have the story of the chair-portrait.”</p> + +<p>“And a very strange one it is,” said Pierre—“and so interesting, I +shall never forget it, aunt.”</p> + +<p>“I hope you never will, my child. Now ring the bell, and we will have a +little fruit-cake, and I will take a glass of wine, Pierre;—do you +hear, my child?—the bell—ring it. Why, what do you do standing there, +Pierre?”</p> + +<p>“<i>Why</i> didn’t papa want to have cousin Ralph paint his picture, aunt?”</p> + +<p>“How these children’s minds do run!” exclaimed old aunt Dorothea staring +at little Pierre in amazement—“That indeed is more than I can tell you, +little Pierre. But cousin Ralph had a foolish fancy about it. He used to +tell me, that being in your father’s room some few days after the last +scene I described, he noticed there a very wonderful work on +Physiognomy, as they call it, in which the strangest and shadowiest +rules were laid down for detecting people’s innermost secrets by +studying their faces. And so, foolish cousin Ralph always flattered +himself, that the reason your father did not want his portrait taken +was, because he was secretly in love with the French young lady, and did +not want his secret published in a portrait; since the wonderful work on +Physiognomy had, as it were, indirectly warned him against running that +risk. But cousin Ralph being such a retired and solitary sort of a +youth, he always had such curious whimsies about things. For my<a name="page_106"></a> part, I +don’t believe your father ever had any such ridiculous ideas on the +subject. To be sure, I myself can not tell you <i>why</i> he did not want his +picture taken; but when you get to be as old as I am, little Pierre, you +will find that every one, even the best of us, at times, is apt to act +very queerly and unaccountably; indeed some things we do, we can not +entirely explain the reason of, even to ourselves, little Pierre. But +you will know all about these strange matters by and by.”</p> + +<p>“I hope I shall, aunt,” said little Pierre—“But, dear aunt, I thought +Marten was to bring in some fruit-cake?”</p> + +<p>“Ring the bell for him, then, my child.”</p> + +<p>“Oh! I forgot,” said little Pierre, doing her bidding.</p> + +<p>By-and-by, while the aunt was sipping her wine; and the boy eating his +cake, and both their eyes were fixed on the portrait in question; little +Pierre, pushing his stool nearer the picture exclaimed—“Now, aunt, did +papa really look exactly like that? Did you ever see him in that same +buff vest, and huge-figured neckcloth? I remember the seal and key, +pretty well; and it was only a week ago that I saw mamma take them out +of a little locked drawer in her wardrobe—but I don’t remember the +queer whiskers; nor the buff vest; nor the huge white-figured neckcloth; +did you ever see papa in that very neckcloth, aunt?”</p> + +<p>“My child, it was I that chose the stuff for that neckcloth; yes, and +hemmed it for him, and worked P. G. in one corner; but that aint in the +picture. It is an excellent likeness, my child, neckcloth and all; as he +looked at that time. Why, little Pierre, sometimes I sit here all alone +by myself, gazing, and gazing, and gazing at that face, till I begin to +think your father is looking at me, and smiling at me, and nodding at +me, and saying—Dorothea! Dorothea!”</p> + +<p>“How strange,” said little Pierre, “I think it begins to look at me now, +aunt. Hark! aunt, it’s so silent all round in this old-fashioned room, +that I think I hear a little jingling in the<a name="page_107"></a> picture, as if the +watch-seal was striking against the key—Hark! aunt.”</p> + +<p>“Bless me, don’t talk so strangely, my child.”</p> + +<p>“I heard mamma say once—but she did not say so to me—that, for her +part, she did not like aunt Dorothea’s picture; it was not a good +likeness, so she said. Why don’t mamma like the picture, aunt?”</p> + +<p>“My child, you ask very queer questions. If your mamma don’t like the +picture, it is for a very plain reason. She has a much larger and finer +one at home, which she had painted for herself; yes, and paid I don’t +know how many hundred dollars for it; and that, too, is an excellent +likeness, <i>that</i> must be the reason, little Pierre.”</p> + +<p>And thus the old aunt and the little child ran on; each thinking the +other very strange; and both thinking the picture still stranger; and +the face in the picture still looked at them frankly, and cheerfully, as +if there was nothing kept concealed; and yet again, a little ambiguously +and mockingly, as if slyly winking to some other picture, to mark what a +very foolish old sister, and what a very silly little son, were growing +so monstrously grave and speculative about a huge white-figured +neckcloth, a buff vest, and a very gentleman-like and amiable +countenance.</p> + +<p>And so, after this scene, as usual, one by one, the fleet years ran on; +till the little child Pierre had grown up to be the tall Master Pierre, +and could call the picture his own; and now, in the privacy of his own +little closet, could stand, or lean, or sit before it all day long, if +he pleased, and keep thinking, and thinking, and thinking, and thinking, +till by-and-by all thoughts were blurred, and at last there were no +thoughts at all.</p> + +<p>Before the picture was sent to him, in his fifteenth year, it had been +only through the inadvertence of his mother, or rather through a casual +passing into a parlor by Pierre, that he had any way learned that his +mother did not approve of the<a name="page_108"></a> picture. Because, as then Pierre was +still young, and the picture was the picture of his father, and the +cherished property of a most excellent, and dearly-beloved, affectionate +aunt; therefore the mother, with an intuitive delicacy, had refrained +from knowingly expressing her peculiar opinion in the presence of little +Pierre. And this judicious, though half-unconscious delicacy in the +mother, had been perhaps somewhat singularly answered by a like nicety +of sentiment in the child; for children of a naturally refined +organization, and a gentle nurture, sometimes possess a wonderful, and +often undreamed of, daintiness of propriety, and thoughtfulness, and +forbearance, in matters esteemed a little subtile even by their elders, +and self-elected betters. The little Pierre never disclosed to his +mother that he had, through another person, become aware of her thoughts +concerning Aunt Dorothea’s portrait; he seemed to possess an intuitive +knowledge of the circumstance, that from the difference of their +relationship to his father, and for other minute reasons, he could in +some things, with the greater propriety, be more inquisitive concerning +him, with his aunt, than with his mother, especially touching the matter +of the chair-portrait. And Aunt Dorothea’s reasons accounting for his +mother’s distaste, long continued satisfactory, or at least not +unsufficiently explanatory.</p> + +<p>And when the portrait arrived at the Meadows, it so chanced that his +mother was abroad; and so Pierre silently hung it up in his closet; and +when after a day or two his mother returned, he said nothing to her +about its arrival, being still strangely alive to that certain mild +mystery which invested it, and whose sacredness now he was fearful of +violating, by provoking any discussion with his mother about Aunt +Dorothea’s gift, or by permitting himself to be improperly curious +concerning the reasons of his mother’s private and self-reserved +opinions of it. But the first time—and it was not long after the +arrival of the portrait—that he knew of his mother’s having entered +his<a name="page_109"></a> closet; then, when he next saw her, he was prepared to hear what +she should voluntarily say about the late addition to its +embellishments; but as she omitted all mention of any thing of that +sort, he unobtrusively scanned her countenance, to mark whether any +little clouding emotion might be discoverable there. But he could +discern none. And as all genuine delicacies are by their nature +accumulative; therefore this reverential, mutual, but only tacit +forbearance of the mother and son, ever after continued uninvaded. And +it was another sweet, and sanctified, and sanctifying bond between them. +For, whatever some lovers may sometimes say, love does not always abhor +a secret, as nature is said to abhor a vacuum. Love is built upon +secrets, as lovely Venice upon invisible and incorruptible piles in the +sea. Love’s secrets, being mysteries, ever pertain to the transcendent +and the infinite; and so they are as airy bridges, by which our further +shadows pass over into the regions of the golden mists and exhalations; +whence all poetical, lovely thoughts are engendered, and drop into us, +as though pearls should drop from rainbows.</p> + +<p>As time went on, the chasteness and pure virginity of this mutual +reservation, only served to dress the portrait in sweeter, because still +more mysterious attractions; and to fling, as it were, fresh fennel and +rosemary around the revered memory of the father. Though, indeed, as +previously recounted, Pierre now and then loved to present to himself +for some fanciful solution the penultimate secret of the portrait, in so +far, as that involved his mother’s distaste; yet the cunning analysis in +which such a mental procedure would involve him, never voluntarily +transgressed that sacred limit, where his mother’s peculiar repugnance +began to shade off into ambiguous considerations, touching any unknown +possibilities in the character and early life of the original. Not, that +he had altogether forbidden his fancy to range in such fields of +speculation; but all such imaginings<a name="page_110"></a> must be contributory to that pure, +exalted idea of his father, which, in his soul, was based upon the known +acknowledged facts of his father’s life.</p> + +<hr /> + +<h4>V.</h4> + +<p>I<small>F</small>, when the mind roams up and down in the ever-elastic regions of +evanescent invention, any definite form or feature can be assigned to +the multitudinous shapes it creates out of the incessant dissolvings of +its own prior creations; then might we here attempt to hold and define +the least shadowy of those reasons, which about the period of +adolescence we now treat of, more frequently occurred to Pierre, +whenever he essayed to account for his mother’s remarkable distaste for +the portrait. Yet will we venture one sketch.</p> + +<p>Yes—sometimes dimly thought Pierre—who knows but cousin Ralph, after +all, may have been not so very far from the truth, when he surmised that +at one time my father did indeed cherish some passing emotion for the +beautiful young Frenchwoman. And this portrait being painted at that +precise time, and indeed with the precise purpose of perpetuating some +shadowy testification of the fact in the countenance of the original: +therefore, its expression is not congenial, is not familiar, is not +altogether agreeable to my mother: because, not only did my father’s +features never look so to her (since it was afterward that she first +became acquainted with him), but also, that certain womanliness of +women; that thing I should perhaps call a tender jealousy, a fastidious +vanity, in any other lady, enables her to perceive that the glance of +the face in the portrait, is not, in some nameless way, dedicated to +herself, but to some other and unknown object; and therefore, is she +impatient of it, and it is repelling to her; for she must naturally<a name="page_111"></a> be +intolerant of any imputed reminiscence in my father, which is not in +some way connected with her own recollections of him.</p> + +<p>Whereas, the larger and more expansive portrait in the great +drawing-room, taken in the prime of life; during the best and rosiest +days of their wedded union; at the particular desire of my mother; and +by a celebrated artist of her own election, and costumed after her own +taste; and on all hands considered to be, by those who know, a +singularly happy likeness at the period; a belief spiritually reinforced +by my own dim infantile remembrances; for all these reasons, this +drawing-room portrait possesses an inestimable charm to her; there, she +indeed beholds her husband as he had really appeared to her; she does +not vacantly gaze upon an unfamiliar phantom called up from the distant, +and, to her, well-nigh fabulous days of my father’s bachelor life. But +in that other portrait, she sees rehearsed to her fond eyes, the latter +tales and legends of his devoted wedded love. Yes, I think now that I +plainly see it must be so. And yet, ever new conceits come vaporing up +in me, as I look on the strange chair-portrait: which, though so very +much more unfamiliar to me, than it can possibly be to my mother, still +sometimes seems to say—Pierre, believe not the drawing-room painting; +that is not thy father; or, at least, is not <i>all</i> of thy father. +Consider in thy mind, Pierre, whether we two paintings may not make only +one. Faithful wives are ever over-fond to a certain imaginary image of +their husbands; and faithful widows are ever over-reverential to a +certain imagined ghost of that same imagined image, Pierre. Look again, +I am thy father as he more truly was. In mature life, the world overlays +and varnishes us, Pierre; the thousand proprieties and polished +finenesses and grimaces intervene, Pierre; then, we, as it were, +abdicate ourselves, and take unto us another self, Pierre; in youth we +<i>are</i>, Pierre, but in age we <i>seem</i>. Look again. I am thy real father, +so much the more<a name="page_112"></a> truly, as thou thinkest thou recognizest me not, +Pierre. To their young children, fathers are not wont to unfold +themselves entirely, Pierre. There are a thousand and one odd little +youthful peccadilloes, that we think we may as well not divulge to them, +Pierre. Consider this strange, ambiguous smile, Pierre; more narrowly +regard this mouth. Behold, what is this too ardent and, as it were, +unchastened light in these eyes, Pierre? I am thy father, boy. There was +once a certain, oh, but too lovely young Frenchwoman, Pierre. Youth is +hot, and temptation strong, Pierre; and in the minutest moment momentous +things are irrevocably done, Pierre; and Time sweeps on, and the thing +is not always carried down by its stream, but may be left stranded on +its bank; away beyond, in the young, green countries, Pierre. Look +again. Doth thy mother dislike me for naught? Consider. Do not all her +spontaneous, loving impressions, ever strive to magnify, and +spiritualize, and deify, her husband’s memory, Pierre? Then why doth she +cast despite upon me; and never speak to thee of me; and why dost thou +thyself keep silence before her, Pierre? Consider. Is there no little +mystery here? Probe a little, Pierre. Never fear, never fear. No matter +for thy father now. Look, do I not smile?—yes, and with an unchangeable +smile; and thus have I unchangeably smiled for many long years gone by, +Pierre. Oh, it is a permanent smile! Thus I smiled to cousin Ralph; and +thus in thy dear old Aunt Dorothea’s parlor, Pierre; and just so, I +smile here to thee, and even thus in thy father’s later life, when his +body may have been in grief, still—hidden away in Aunt Dorothea’s +secretary—I thus smiled as before; and just so I’d smile were I now +hung up in the deepest dungeon of the Spanish Inquisition, Pierre; +though suspended in outer darkness, still would I smile with this smile, +though then not a soul should be near. Consider; for a smile is the +chosen vehicle for all ambiguities, Pierre. When we would deceive, we +smile; when we are<a name="page_113"></a> hatching any nice little artifice, Pierre; only just +a little gratifying our own sweet little appetites, Pierre; then watch +us, and out comes the odd little smile. Once upon a time, there was a +lovely young Frenchwoman, Pierre. Have you carefully, and analytically, +and psychologically, and metaphysically, considered her belongings and +surroundings, and all her incidentals, Pierre? Oh, a strange sort of +story, that, thy dear old Aunt Dorothea once told thee, Pierre. I once +knew a credulous old soul, Pierre. Probe, probe a little—see—there +seems one little crack there, Pierre—a wedge, a wedge. Something ever +comes of all persistent inquiry; we are not so continually curious for +nothing, Pierre; not for nothing, do we so intrigue and become wily +diplomatists, and glozers with our own minds, Pierre; and afraid of +following the Indian trail from the open plain into the dark thickets, +Pierre; but enough; a word to the wise.</p> + +<p>Thus sometimes in the mystical, outer quietude of the long country +nights; either when the hushed mansion was banked round by the +thick-fallen December snows, or banked round by the immovable white +August moonlight; in the haunted repose of a wide story, tenanted only +by himself; and sentineling his own little closet; and standing guard, +as it were, before the mystical tent of the picture; and ever watching +the strangely concealed lights of the meanings that so mysteriously +moved to and fro within; thus sometimes stood Pierre before the portrait +of his father, unconsciously throwing himself open to all those +ineffable hints and ambiguities, and undefined half-suggestions, which +now and then people the soul’s atmosphere, as thickly as in a soft, +steady snow-storm, the snow-flakes people the air. Yet as often starting +from these reveries and trances, Pierre would regain the assured element +of consciously bidden and self-propelled thought; and then in a moment +the air all cleared, not a snow-flake descended, and Pierre, upbraiding +himself for his self-indulgent infatuation, would promise<a name="page_114"></a> never again +to fall into a midnight revery before the chair-portrait of his father. +Nor did the streams of these reveries seem to leave any conscious +sediment in his mind; they were so light and so rapid, that they rolled +their own alluvial along; and seemed to leave all Pierre’s +thought-channels as clean and dry as though never any alluvial stream +had rolled there at all.</p> + +<p>And so still in his sober, cherishing memories, his father’s +beatification remained untouched; and all the strangeness of the +portrait only served to invest his idea with a fine, legendary romance; +the essence whereof was that very mystery, which at other times was so +subtly and evilly significant.</p> + +<p>But now, <i>now!</i>—Isabel’s letter read: swift as the first light that +slides from the sun, Pierre saw all preceding ambiguities, all mysteries +ripped open as if with a keen sword, and forth trooped thickening +phantoms of an infinite gloom. Now his remotest infantile +reminiscences—the wandering mind of his father—the empty hand, and the +ashen—the strange story of Aunt Dorothea—the mystical midnight +suggestions of the portrait itself; and, above all, his mother’s +intuitive aversion, all, all overwhelmed him with reciprocal +testimonies.</p> + +<p>And now, by irresistible intuitions, all that had been inexplicably +mysterious to him in the portrait, and all that had been inexplicably +familiar in the face, most magically these now coincided; the merriness +of the one not inharmonious with the mournfulness of the other, but by +some ineffable correlativeness, they reciprocally identified each other, +and, as it were, melted into each other, and thus interpenetratingly +uniting, presented lineaments of an added supernaturalness.</p> + +<p>On all sides, the physical world of solid objects now slidingly +displaced itself from around him, and he floated into an ether of +visions; and, starting to his feet with clenched hands and outstaring +eyes at the transfixed face in the air, he ejaculated<a name="page_115"></a> that wonderful +verse from Dante, descriptive of the two mutually absorbing shapes in +the Inferno:</p> + +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary=""> +<tr><td align="left"><span style="margin-left: 3em;">“Ah! how dost thou change,</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span style="margin-left: 0em;">Agnello! See! thou art not double now,</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span style="margin-left: 0em;">Nor only one!”</span></td></tr> +</table> + +<p><a name="page_116"></a></p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="BOOK_V"></a>BOOK V.<br /> +MISGIVINGS AND PREPARATIONS.</h2> + +<h4>I.</h4> + +<p>I<small>T</small> was long after midnight when Pierre returned to the house. He had +rushed forth in that complete abandonment of soul, which, in so ardent a +temperament, attends the first stages of any sudden and tremendous +affliction; but now he returned in pallid composure, for the calm spirit +of the night, and the then risen moon, and the late revealed stars, had +all at last become as a strange subduing melody to him, which, though at +first trampled and scorned, yet by degrees had stolen into the windings +of his heart, and so shed abroad its own quietude in him. Now, from his +height of composure, he firmly gazed abroad upon the charred landscape +within him; as the timber man of Canada, forced to fly from the +conflagration of his forests, comes back again when the fires have +waned, and unblinkingly eyes the immeasurable fields of fire-brands that +here and there glow beneath the wide canopy of smoke.</p> + +<p>It has been said, that always when Pierre would seek solitude in its +material shelter and walled isolation, then the closet communicating +with his chamber was his elected haunt. So, going to his room, he took +up the now dim-burning lamp he had left there, and instinctively entered +that retreat, seating himself, with folded arms and bowed head, in the +accustomed dragon-footed old chair. With leaden feet, and heart now +changing<a name="page_117"></a> from iciness to a strange sort of indifference, and a numbing +sensation stealing over him, he sat there awhile, till, like the resting +traveler in snows, he began to struggle against this inertness as the +most treacherous and deadliest of symptoms. He looked up, and found +himself fronted by the no longer wholly enigmatical, but still +ambiguously smiling picture of his father. Instantly all his +consciousness and his anguish returned, but still without power to shake +the grim tranquillity which possessed him. Yet endure the smiling +portrait he could not; and obeying an irresistible nameless impulse, he +rose, and without unhanging it, reversed the picture on the wall.</p> + +<p>This brought to sight the defaced and dusty back, with some wrinkled, +tattered paper over the joints, which had become loosened from the +paste. “Oh, symbol of thy reversed idea in my soul,” groaned Pierre; +“thou shalt not hang thus. Rather cast thee utterly out, than +conspicuously insult thee so. I will no more have a father.” He removed +the picture wholly from the wall, and the closet; and concealed it in a +large chest, covered with blue chintz, and locked it up there. But +still, in a square space of slightly discolored wall, the picture still +left its shadowy, but vacant and desolate trace. He now strove to banish +the least trace of his altered father, as fearful that at present all +thoughts concerning him were not only entirely vain, but would prove +fatally distracting and incapacitating to a mind, which was now loudly +called upon, not only to endure a signal grief, but immediately to act +upon it. Wild and cruel case, youth ever thinks; but mistakenly; for +Experience well knows, that action, though it seems an aggravation of +woe, is really an alleviative; though permanently to alleviate pain, we +must first dart some added pangs.</p> + +<p>Nor now, though profoundly sensible that his whole previous moral being +was overturned, and that for him the fair structure of the world must, +in some then unknown way, be entirely rebuilded again, from the +lowermost corner stone up; nor now<a name="page_118"></a> did Pierre torment himself with the +thought of that last desolation; and how the desolate place was to be +made flourishing again. He seemed to feel that in his deepest soul, +lurked an indefinite but potential faith, which could rule in the +interregnum of all hereditary beliefs, and circumstantial persuasions; +not wholly, he felt, was his soul in anarchy. The indefinite regent had +assumed the scepter as its right; and Pierre was not entirely given up +to his grief’s utter pillage and sack.</p> + +<p>To a less enthusiastic heart than Pierre’s the foremost question in +respect to Isabel which would have presented itself, would have been, +<i>What</i> must I do? But such a question never presented itself to Pierre; +the spontaneous responsiveness of his being left no shadow of +dubiousness as to the direct point he must aim at. But if the object was +plain, not so the path to it. <i>How</i> must I do it? was a problem for +which at first there seemed no chance of solution. But without being +entirely aware of it himself, Pierre was one of those spirits, which not +in a determinate and sordid scrutiny of small pros and cons—but in an +impulsive subservience to the god-like dictation of events themselves, +find at length the surest solution of perplexities, and the brightest +prerogative of command. And as for him, <i>What</i> must I do? was a question +already answered by the inspiration of the difficulty itself; so now he, +as it were, unconsciously discharged his mind, for the present, of all +distracting considerations concerning <i>How</i> he should do it; assured +that the coming interview with Isabel could not but unerringly inspire +him there. Still, the inspiration which had thus far directed him had +not been entirely mute and undivulging as to many very bitter things +which Pierre foresaw in the wide sea of trouble into which he was +plunged.</p> + +<p>If it be the sacred province and—by the wisest, deemed—the inestimable +compensation of the heavier woes, that they both purge the soul of +gay-hearted errors and replenish it with a saddened truth; that holy +office is not so much accomplished<a name="page_119"></a> by any covertly inductive reasoning +process, whose original motive is received from the particular +affliction; as it is the magical effect of the admission into man’s +inmost spirit of a before unexperienced and wholly inexplicable element, +which like electricity suddenly received into any sultry atmosphere of +the dark, in all directions splits itself into nimble lances of +purifying light; which at one and the same instant discharge all the air +of sluggishness and inform it with an illuminating property; so that +objects which before, in the uncertainty of the dark, assumed shadowy +and romantic outlines, now are lighted up in their substantial +realities; so that in these flashing revelations of grief’s wonderful +fire, we see all things as they are; and though, when the electric +element is gone, the shadows once more descend, and the false outlines +of objects again return; yet not with their former power to deceive; for +now, even in the presence of the falsest aspects, we still retain the +impressions of their immovable true ones, though, indeed, once more +concealed.</p> + +<p>Thus with Pierre. In the joyous young times, ere his great grief came +upon him, all the objects which surrounded him were concealingly +deceptive. Not only was the long-cherished image of his rather now +transfigured before him from a green foliaged tree into a blasted trunk, +but every other image in his mind attested the universality of that +electral light which had darted into his soul. Not even his lovely, +immaculate mother, remained entirely untouched, unaltered by the shock. +At her changed aspect, when first revealed to him, Pierre had gazed in a +panic; and now, when the electrical storm had gone by, he retained in +his mind, that so suddenly revealed image, with an infinite +mournfulness. She, who in her less splendid but finer and more spiritual +part, had ever seemed to Pierre not only as a beautiful saint before +whom to offer up his daily orisons, but also as a gentle lady-counsellor +and confessor, and her revered chamber as a soft satin-hung cabinet and +confessional;—his<a name="page_120"></a> mother was no longer this all-alluring thing; no +more, he too keenly felt, could he go to his mother, as to one who +entirely sympathized with him; as to one before whom he could almost +unreservedly unbosom himself; as to one capable of pointing out to him +the true path where he seemed most beset. Wonderful, indeed, was that +electric insight which Fate had now given him into the vital character +of his mother. She well might have stood all ordinary tests; but when +Pierre thought of the touchstone of his immense strait applied to her +spirit, he felt profoundly assured that she would crumble into nothing +before it.</p> + +<p>She was a noble creature, but formed chiefly for the gilded prosperities +of life, and hitherto mostly used to its unruffled serenities; bred and +expanded, in all developments, under the sole influence of hereditary +forms and world-usages. Not his refined, courtly, loving, equable +mother, Pierre felt, could unreservedly, and like a heaven’s heroine, +meet the shock of his extraordinary emergency, and applaud, to his +heart’s echo, a sublime resolve, whose execution should call down the +astonishment and the jeers of the world.</p> + +<p>My mother!—dearest mother!—God hath given me a sister, and unto thee a +daughter, and covered her with the world’s extremest infamy and scorn, +that so I and thou—<i>thou</i>, my mother, mightest gloriously own her, and +acknowledge her, and,—— Nay, nay, groaned Pierre, never, never, could +such syllables be one instant tolerated by her. Then, high-up, and +towering, and all-forbidding before Pierre grew the before unthought of +wonderful edifice of his mother’s immense pride;—her pride of birth, +her pride of affluence, her pride of purity, and all the pride of +high-born, refined, and wealthy Life, and all the Semiramian pride of +woman. Then he staggered back upon himself, and only found support in +himself. Then Pierre felt that deep in him lurked a divine +unidentifiableness, that owned no earthly kith or kin. Yet was this +feeling entirely<a name="page_121"></a> lonesome, and orphan-like. Fain, then, for one moment, +would he have recalled the thousand sweet illusions of Life; tho’ +purchased at the price of Life’s Truth; so that once more he might not +feel himself driven out an infant Ishmael into the desert, with no +maternal Hagar to accompany and comfort him.</p> + +<p>Still, were these emotions without prejudice to his own love for his +mother, and without the slightest bitterness respecting her; and, least +of all, there was no shallow disdain toward her of superior virtue. He +too plainly saw, that not his mother had made his mother; but the +Infinite Haughtiness had first fashioned her; and then the haughty world +had further molded her; nor had a haughty Ritual omitted to finish her.</p> + +<p>Wonderful, indeed, we repeat it, was the electrical insight which Pierre +now had into the character of his mother, for not even the vivid +recalling of her lavish love for him could suffice to gainsay his sudden +persuasion. Love me she doth, thought Pierre, but how? Loveth she me +with the love past all understanding? that love, which in the loved +one’s behalf, would still calmly confront all hate? whose most +triumphing hymn, triumphs only by swelling above all opposing taunts and +despite?—Loving mother, here have I a loved, but world-infamous sister +to own;—and if thou lovest me, mother, thy love will love her, too, and +in the proudest drawing-room take her so much the more proudly by the +hand.—And as Pierre thus in fancy led Isabel before his mother; and in +fancy led her away, and felt his tongue cleave to the roof of his mouth, +with her transfixing look of incredulous, scornful horror; then Pierre’s +enthusiastic heart sunk in and in, and caved clean away in him, as he so +poignantly felt his first feeling of the dreary heart-vacancies of the +conventional life. Oh heartless, proud, ice-gilded world, how I hate +thee, he thought, that thy tyrannous, insatiate grasp, thus now in my +bitterest need—thus doth rob me even of my mother; thus doth make me +now doubly an<a name="page_122"></a> orphan, without a green grave to bedew. My tears,—could +I weep them,—must now be wept in the desolate places; now to me is it, +as though both father and mother had gone on distant voyages, and, +returning, died in unknown seas.</p> + +<p>She loveth me, ay;—but why? Had I been cast in a cripple’s mold, how +then? Now, do I remember that in her most caressing love, there ever +gleamed some scaly, glittering folds of pride. Me she loveth with +pride’s love; in me she thinks she seeth her own curled and haughty +beauty; before my glass she stands,—pride’s priestess—and to her +mirrored image, not to me, she offers up her offerings of kisses. Oh, +small thanks I owe thee, Favorable Goddess, that didst clothe this form +with all the beauty of a man, that so thou mightest hide from me all the +truth of a man. Now I see that in his beauty a man is snared, and made +stone-blind, as the worm within its silk. Welcome then be Ugliness and +Poverty and Infamy, and all ye other crafty ministers of Truth, that +beneath the hoods and rags of beggars hide yet the belts and crowns of +kings. And dimmed be all beauty that must own the clay; and dimmed be +all wealth, and all delight, and all the annual prosperities of earth, +that but gild the links, and stud with diamonds the base rivets and the +chains of Lies. Oh, now methinks I a little see why of old the men <i>of</i> +Truth went barefoot, girded with a rope, and ever moving under +mournfulness as underneath a canopy. I remember now those first wise +words, wherewith our Savior Christ first spoke in his first speech to +men:—‘Blessed are the poor in spirit, and blessed they that mourn.’ Oh, +hitherto I have but piled up words; bought books, and bought some small +experiences, and builded me in libraries; now I sit down and read. Oh, +now I know the night, and comprehend the sorceries of the moon, and all +the dark persuadings that have their birth in storms and winds. Oh, not +long will Joy abide, when Truth doth come; nor Grief her laggard be. +Well may this head hang on my breast—it holds<a name="page_123"></a> too much; well may my +heart knock at my ribs,—prisoner impatient of his iron bars. Oh, men +are jailers all; jailers of themselves; and in Opinion’s world +ignorantly hold their noblest part a captive to their vilest; as +disguised royal Charles when caught by peasants. The heart! the heart! +’tis God’s anointed; let me pursue the heart!</p> + +<hr /> + +<h4>II.</h4> + +<p>B<small>UT</small> if the presentiment in Pierre of his mother’s pride, as bigotedly +hostile to the noble design he cherished; if this feeling was so +wretched to him; far more so was the thought of another and a deeper +hostility, arising from her more spiritual part. For her pride would not +be so scornful, as her wedded memories reject with horror, the +unmentionable imputation involved in the mere fact of Isabel’s +existence. In what galleries of conjecture, among what horrible haunting +toads and scorpions, would such a revelation lead her? When Pierre +thought of this, the idea of at all divulging his secret to his mother, +not only was made repelling by its hopelessness, as an infirm attack +upon her citadel of pride, but was made in the last degree inhuman, as +torturing her in her tenderest recollections, and desecrating the +whitest altar in her sanctuary.</p> + +<p>Though the conviction that he must never disclose his secret to his +mother was originally an unmeditated, and as it were, an inspired one; +yet now he was almost pains-taking in scrutinizing the entire +circumstances of the matter, in order that nothing might be overlooked. +For already he vaguely felt, that upon the concealment, or the +disclosure of this thing, with reference to his mother, hinged his whole +future course of conduct, his whole earthly weal, and Isabel’s. But the +more and the more that he pondered upon it, the more and the more fixed +became<a name="page_124"></a> his original conviction. He considered that in the case of a +disclosure, all human probability pointed to his mother’s scornful +rejection of his suit as a pleader for Isabel’s honorable admission into +the honorable mansion of the Glendinnings. Then in that case, +unconsciously thought Pierre, I shall have given the deep poison of a +miserable truth to my mother, without benefit to any, and positive harm +to all. And through Pierre’s mind there then darted a baleful thought; +how that the truth should not always be paraded; how that sometimes a +lie is heavenly, and truth infernal. Filially infernal, truly, thought +Pierre, if I should by one vile breath of truth, blast my father’s +blessed memory in the bosom of my mother, and plant the sharpest dagger +of grief in her soul. I will not do it!</p> + +<p>But as this resolution in him opened up so dark and wretched a +background to his view, he strove to think no more of it now, but +postpone it until the interview with Isabel should have in some way more +definitely shaped his purposes. For, when suddenly encountering the +shock of new and unanswerable revelations, which he feels must +revolutionize all the circumstances of his life, man, at first, ever +seeks to shun all conscious definitiveness in his thoughts and purposes; +as assured, that the lines that shall precisely define his present +misery, and thereby lay out his future path; these can only be defined +by sharp stakes that cut into his heart.</p> + +<hr /> + +<h4>III.</h4> + +<p>M<small>OST</small> melancholy of all the hours of earth, is that one long, gray hour, +which to the watcher by the lamp intervenes between the night and day; +when both lamp and watcher, over-tasked, grow sickly in the pallid +light; and the watcher, seeking for no gladness in the dawn, sees naught +but garish vapors<a name="page_125"></a> there; and almost invokes a curse upon the public +day, that shall invade his lonely night of sufferance.</p> + +<p>The one small window of his closet looked forth upon the meadow, and +across the river, and far away to the distant heights, storied with the +great deeds of the Glendinnings. Many a time had Pierre sought this +window before sunrise, to behold the blood-red, out-flinging dawn, that +would wrap those purple hills as with a banner. But now the morning +dawned in mist and rain, and came drizzlingly upon his heart. Yet as the +day advanced, and once more showed to him the accustomed features of his +room by that natural light, which, till this very moment, had never +lighted him but to his joy; now that the day, and not the night, was +witness to his woe; now first the dread reality came appallingly upon +him. A sense of horrible forlornness, feebleness, impotence, and +infinite, eternal desolation possessed him. It was not merely mental, +but corporeal also. He could not stand; and when he tried to sit, his +arms fell floorwards as tied to leaden weights. Dragging his ball and +chain, he fell upon his bed; for when the mind is cast down, only in +sympathetic proneness can the body rest; whence the bed is often Grief’s +first refuge. Half stupefied, as with opium, he fell into the +profoundest sleep.</p> + +<p>In an hour he awoke, instantly recalling all the previous night; and now +finding himself a little strengthened, and lying so quietly and silently +there, almost without bodily consciousness, but his soul unobtrusively +alert; careful not to break the spell by the least movement of a limb, +or the least turning of his head. Pierre steadfastly faced his grief, +and looked deep down into its eyes; and thoroughly, and calmly, and +summarily comprehended it now—so at least he thought—and what it +demanded from him; and what he must quickly do in its more immediate +sequences; and what that course of conduct was, which he must pursue in +the coming unevadable breakfast interview with his mother; and what, for +the present must be his plan<a name="page_126"></a> with Lucy. His time of thought was brief. +Rising from his bed, he steadied himself upright a moment; and then +going to his writing-desk, in a few at first faltering, but at length +unlagging lines, traced the following note:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“I must ask pardon of you, Lucy, for so strangely absenting myself +last night. But you know me well enough to be very sure that I +would not have done so without important cause. I was in the street +approaching your cottage, when a message reached me, imperatively +calling me away. It is a matter which will take up all my time and +attention for, possibly, two or three days. I tell you this, now, +that you may be prepared for it. And I know that however unwelcome +this may be to you, you will yet bear with it for my sake; for, +indeed, and indeed, Lucy dear, I would not dream of staying from +you so long, unless irresistibly coerced to it. Do not come to the +mansion until I come to you; and do not manifest any curiosity or +anxiety about me, should you chance in the interval to see my +mother in any other place. Keep just as cheerful as if I were by +you all the time. Do this, now, I conjure you; and so farewell!”</p></div> + +<p>He folded the note, and was about sealing it, when he hesitated a +moment, and instantly unfolding it, read it to himself. But he could not +adequately comprehend his own writing, for a sudden cloud came over him. +This passed; and taking his pen hurriedly again, he added the following +postscript:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“Lucy, this note may seem mysterious; but if it shall, I did not +mean to make it so; nor do I know that I could have helped it. But +the only reason is this, Lucy: the matter which I have alluded to, +is of such a nature, that, for the present I stand virtually +pledged not to disclose it to any person but those more directly +involved in it. But where one can not<a name="page_127"></a> reveal the thing itself, it +only makes it the more mysterious to write round it this way. So +merely know me entirely unmenaced in person, and eternally faithful +to you; and so be at rest till I see you.”</p></div> + +<p>Then sealing the note, and ringing the bell, he gave it in strict charge +to a servant, with directions to deliver it at the earliest practicable +moment, and not wait for any answer. But as the messenger was departing +the chamber, he called him back, and taking the sealed note again, and +hollowing it in his hand, scrawled inside of it in pencil the following +words: “Don’t write me; don’t inquire for me;” and then returned it to +the man, who quitted him, leaving Pierre rooted in thought in the middle +of the room.</p> + +<p>But he soon roused himself, and left the mansion; and seeking the cool, +refreshing meadow stream, where it formed a deep and shady pool, he +bathed; and returning invigorated to his chamber, changed his entire +dress; in the little trifling concernments of his toilette, striving +utterly to banish all thought of that weight upon his soul. Never did he +array himself with more solicitude for effect. It was one of his fond +mother’s whims to perfume the lighter contents of his wardrobe; and it +was one of his own little femininenesses—of the sort sometimes +curiously observable in very robust-bodied and big-souled men, as +Mohammed, for example—to be very partial to all pleasant essences. So +that when once more he left the mansion in order to freshen his cheek +anew to meet the keen glance of his mother—to whom the secret of his +possible pallor could not be divulged; Pierre went forth all redolent; +but alas! his body only the embalming cerements of his buried dead +within.<a name="page_128"></a></p> + +<hr /> + +<h4>IV.</h4> + +<p>H<small>IS</small> stroll was longer than he meant; and when he returned up the Linden +walk leading to the breakfast-room, and ascended the piazza steps, and +glanced into the wide window there, he saw his mother seated not far +from the table; her face turned toward his own; and heard her gay voice, +and peculiarly light and buoyant laugh, accusing him, and not her, of +being the morning’s laggard now. Dates was busy among some spoons and +napkins at a side-stand.</p> + +<p>Summoning all possible cheerfulness to his face, Pierre entered the +room. Remembering his carefulness in bathing and dressing; and knowing +that there is no air so calculated to give bloom to the cheek as that of +a damply fresh, cool, and misty morning, Pierre persuaded himself that +small trace would now be found on him of his long night of watching.</p> + +<p>‘Good morning, sister;—Such a famous stroll! I have been all the way +to——’</p> + +<p>‘Where? good heavens! where? for such a look as that!—why, Pierre, +Pierre? what ails thee? Dates, I will touch the bell presently.’</p> + +<p>As the good servitor fumbled for a moment among the napkins, as if +unwilling to stir so summarily from his accustomed duty, and not without +some of a well and long-tried old domestic’s vague, intermitted +murmuring, at being wholly excluded from a matter of family interest; +Mrs. Glendinning kept her fixed eye on Pierre, who, unmindful that the +breakfast was not yet entirely ready, seating himself at the table, +began helping himself—though but nervously enough—to the cream and +sugar. The moment the door closed on Dates, the mother sprang to her +feet, and threw her arms around her son; but in that embrace, Pierre +miserably felt that their two hearts beat not together in such unison as +before.<a name="page_129"></a></p> + +<p>‘What haggard thing possesses thee, my son? Speak, this is +incomprehensible! Lucy;—fie!—not she?—no love-quarrel there;—speak, +speak, my darling boy!</p> + +<p>‘My dear sister,’ began Pierre.</p> + +<p>‘Sister me not, now, Pierre;—I am thy mother.’</p> + +<p>‘Well, then, dear mother, thou art quite as incomprehensible to me as I +to——’</p> + +<p>‘Talk faster, Pierre—this calmness freezes me. Tell me; for, by my +soul, something most wonderful must have happened to thee. Thou art my +son, and I command thee. It is not Lucy; it is something else. Tell me.’</p> + +<p>‘My dear mother,’ said Pierre, impulsively moving his chair backward +from the table, ‘if thou wouldst only believe me when I say it, I have +really nothing to tell thee. Thou knowest that sometimes, when I happen +to feel very foolishly studious and philosophical, I sit up late in my +chamber; and then, regardless of the hour, foolishly run out into the +air, for a long stroll across the meadows. I took such a stroll last +night; and had but little time left for napping afterward; and what nap +I had I was none the better for. But I won’t be so silly again, soon; so +do, dearest mother, stop looking at me, and let us to breakfast.—Dates! +Touch the bell there, sister.’</p> + +<p>‘Stay, Pierre!—There is a heaviness in this hour. I feel, I know, that +thou art deceiving me;—perhaps I erred in seeking to wrest thy secret +from thee; but believe me, my son, I never thought thou hadst any secret +thing from me, except thy first love for Lucy—and that, my own +womanhood tells me, was most pardonable and right. But now, what can it +be? Pierre, Pierre! consider well before thou determinest upon +withholding confidence from me. I am thy mother. It may prove a fatal +thing. Can that be good and virtuous, Pierre, which shrinks from a +mother’s knowledge? Let us not loose hands so, Pierre; thy confidence +from me, mine goes from thee. Now, shall I touch the bell?’<a name="page_130"></a></p> + +<p>Pierre, who had thus far been vainly seeking to occupy his hands with +his cap and spoon; he now paused, and unconsciously fastened a +speechless glance of mournfulness upon his mother. Again he felt +presentiments of his mother’s newly-revealed character. He foresaw the +supposed indignation of her wounded pride; her gradually estranged +affections thereupon; he knew her firmness, and her exaggerated ideas of +the inalienable allegiance of a son. He trembled to think, that now +indeed was come the first initial moment of his heavy trial. But though +he knew all the significance of his mother’s attitude, as she stood +before him, intently eying him, with one hand upon the bell-cord; and +though he felt that the same opening of the door that should now admit +Dates, could not but give eternal exit to all confidence between him and +his mother; and though he felt, too, that this was his mother’s latent +thought; nevertheless, he was girded up in his well-considered +resolution.</p> + +<p>“Pierre, Pierre! shall I touch the bell?”</p> + +<p>“Mother, stay!—yes do, sister.”</p> + +<p>The bell was rung; and at the summons Dates entered; and looking with +some significance at Mrs. Glendinning, said,—“His Reverence has come, +my mistress, and is now in the west parlor.”</p> + +<p>“Show Mr. Falsgrave in here immediately; and bring up the coffee; did I +not tell you I expected him to breakfast this morning?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, my mistress; but I thought that—that—just then”—glancing +alarmedly from mother to son.</p> + +<p>“Oh, my good Dates, nothing has happened,” cried Mrs. Glendinning, +lightly, and with a bitter smile, looking toward her son,—“show Mr. +Falsgrave in. Pierre, I did not see thee, to tell thee, last night; but +Mr. Falsgrave breakfasts with us by invitation. I was at the parsonage +yesterday, to see him about that wretched affair of Delly, and we are +finally to settle upon what is to be done this morning. But my mind is +made<a name="page_131"></a> up concerning Ned; no such profligate shall pollute this place; +nor shall the disgraceful Delly.”</p> + +<p>Fortunately, the abrupt entrance of the clergyman, here turned away +attention from the sudden pallor of Pierre’s countenance, and afforded +him time to rally.</p> + +<p>“Good morning, madam; good morning, sir;” said Mr. Falsgrave, in a +singularly mild, flute-like voice, turning to Mrs. Glendinning and her +son; the lady receiving him with answering cordiality, but Pierre too +embarrassed just then to be equally polite. As for one brief moment Mr. +Falsgrave stood before the pair, ere taking the offered chair from +Dates, his aspect was eminently attractive.</p> + +<p>There are certain ever-to-be-cherished moments in the life of almost any +man, when a variety of little foregoing circumstances all unite to make +him temporarily oblivious of whatever may be hard and bitter in his +life, and also to make him most amiably and ruddily disposed; when the +scene and company immediately before him are highly agreeable; and if at +such a time he chance involuntarily to put himself into a scenically +favorable bodily posture; then, in that posture, however transient, thou +shalt catch the noble stature of his Better Angel; catch a heavenly +glimpse of the latent heavenliness of man. It was so with Mr. Falsgrave +now. Not a house within a circuit of fifty miles that he preferred +entering before the mansion-house of Saddle Meadows; and though the +business upon which he had that morning come, was any thing but +relishable to him, yet that subject was not in his memory then. Before +him stood united in one person, the most exalted lady and the most +storied beauty of all the country round; and the finest, most +intellectual, and most congenial youth he knew. Before him also, stood +the generous foundress and the untiring patroness of the beautiful +little marble church, consecrated by the good Bishop, not four years +gone by. Before him also, stood—though in polite disguise—the<a name="page_132"></a> same +untiring benefactress, from whose purse, he could not help suspecting, +came a great part of his salary, nominally supplied by the rental of the +pews. He had been invited to breakfast; a meal, which, in a +well-appointed country family, is the most cheerful circumstance of +daily life; he smelt all Java’s spices in the aroma from the silver +coffee-urn; and well he knew, what liquid deliciousness would soon come +from it. Besides all this, and many more minutenesses of the kind, he +was conscious that Mrs. Glendinning entertained a particular partiality +for him (though not enough to marry him, as he ten times knew by very +bitter experience), and that Pierre was not behindhand in his esteem.</p> + +<p>And the clergyman was well worthy of it. Nature had been royally +bountiful to him in his person. In his happier moments, as the present, +his face was radiant with a courtly, but mild benevolence; his person +was nobly robust and dignified; while the remarkable smallness of his +feet, and the almost infantile delicacy, and vivid whiteness and purity +of his hands, strikingly contrasted with his fine girth and stature. For +in countries like America, where there is no distinct hereditary caste +of gentlemen, whose order is factitiously perpetuated as race-horses and +lords are in kingly lands; and especially, in those agricultural +districts, where, of a hundred hands, that drop a ballot for the +Presidency, ninety-nine shall be of the brownest and the brawniest; in +such districts, this daintiness of the fingers, when united with a +generally manly aspect, assumes a remarkableness unknown in European +nations.</p> + +<p>This most prepossessing form of the clergyman lost nothing by the +character of his manners, which were polished and unobtrusive, but +peculiarly insinuating, without the least appearance of craftiness or +affectation. Heaven had given him his fine, silver-keyed person for a +flute to play on in this world; and he was nearly the perfect master of +it. His graceful motions had the undulatoriness of melodious sounds. +You<a name="page_133"></a> almost thought you heard, not saw him. So much the wonderful, yet +natural gentleman he seemed, that more than once Mrs. Glendinning had +held him up to Pierre as a splendid example of the polishing and +gentlemanizing influences of Christianity upon the mind and manners; +declaring, that extravagant as it might seem, she had always been of his +father’s fancy,—that no man could be a complete gentleman, and preside +with dignity at his own table, unless he partook of the church’s +sacraments. Nor in Mr. Falsgrave’s case was this maxim entirely absurd. +The child of a poor northern farmer who had wedded a pretty sempstress, +the clergyman had no heraldic line of ancestry to show, as warrant and +explanation of his handsome person and gentle manners; the first, being +the willful partiality of nature; and the second, the consequence of a +scholastic life, attempered by a taste for the choicest female society, +however small, which he had always regarded as the best relish of +existence. If now his manners thus responded to his person, his mind +answered to them both, and was their finest illustration. Besides his +eloquent persuasiveness in the pulpit, various fugitive papers upon +subjects of nature, art, and literature, attested not only his refined +affinity to all beautiful things, visible or invisible; but likewise +that he possessed a genius for celebrating such things, which in a less +indolent and more ambitious nature, would have been sure to have gained +a fair poet’s name ere now. For this Mr. Falsgrave was just hovering +upon his prime of years; a period which, in such a man, is the sweetest, +and, to a mature woman, by far the most attractive of manly life. Youth +has not yet completely gone with its beauty, grace, and strength; nor +has age at all come with its decrepitudes; though the finest undrossed +parts of it—its mildness and its wisdom—have gone on before, as +decorous chamberlains precede the sedan of some crutched king.</p> + +<p>Such was this Mr. Falsgrave, who now sat at Mrs. Glendinning’s breakfast +table, a corner of one of that lady’s generous<a name="page_134"></a> napkins so inserted into +his snowy bosom, that its folds almost invested him as far down as the +table’s edge; and he seemed a sacred priest, indeed, breakfasting in his +surplice.</p> + +<p>“Pray, Mr. Falsgrave,” said Mrs. Glendinning, “break me off a bit of +that roll.”</p> + +<p>Whether or not his sacerdotal experiences had strangely refined and +spiritualized so simple a process as breaking bread; or whether it was +from the spotless aspect of his hands: certain it is that Mr. Falsgrave +acquitted himself on this little occasion, in a manner that beheld of +old by Leonardo, might have given that artist no despicable hint +touching his celestial painting. As Pierre regarded him, sitting there +so mild and meek; such an image of white-browed and white-handed, and +napkined immaculateness; and as he felt the gentle humane radiations +which came from the clergyman’s manly and rounded beautifulness; and as +he remembered all the good that he knew of this man, and all the good +that he had heard of him, and could recall no blemish in his character; +and as in his own concealed misery and forlornness, he contemplated the +open benevolence, and beaming excellent-heartedness of Mr. Falsgrave, +the thought darted through his mind, that if any living being was +capable of giving him worthy counsel in his strait; and if to any one he +could go with Christian propriety and some small hopefulness, that +person was the one before him.</p> + +<p>“Pray, Mr. Glendinning,” said the clergyman, pleasantly, as Pierre was +silently offering to help him to some tongue—“don’t let me rob you of +it—pardon me, but you seem to have very little yourself this morning, I +think. An execrable pun, I know: but”—turning toward Mrs. +Glendinning—“when one is made to feel very happy, one is somehow apt to +say very silly things. Happiness and silliness—ah, it’s a suspicious +coincidence.”</p> + +<p>“Mr. Falsgrave,” said the hostess—“Your cup is empty. Dates!—We were +talking yesterday, Mr. Falsgrave, concerning that vile fellow, Ned.”<a name="page_135"></a></p> + +<p>“Well, Madam,” responded the gentleman, a very little uneasily.</p> + +<p>“He shall not stay on any ground of mine; my mind is made up, sir. +Infamous man!—did he not have a wife as virtuous and beautiful now, as +when I first gave her away at your altar?—It was the sheerest and most +gratuitous profligacy.”</p> + +<p>The clergyman mournfully and assentingly moved his head.</p> + +<p>“Such men,” continued the lady, flushing with the sincerest +indignation—“are to my way of thinking more detestable than murderers.”</p> + +<p>“That is being a little hard upon them, my dear Madam,” said Mr. +Falsgrave, mildly.</p> + +<p>“Do you not think so, Pierre”—now, said the lady, turning earnestly +upon her son—“is not the man, who has sinned like that Ned, worse than +a murderer? Has he not sacrificed one woman completely, and given infamy +to another—to both of them—for their portion. If his own legitimate +boy should now hate him, I could hardly blame him.”</p> + +<p>“My dear Madam,” said the clergyman, whose eyes having followed Mrs. +Glendinning’s to her son’s countenance, and marking a strange +trepidation there, had thus far been earnestly scrutinizing Pierre’s not +wholly repressible emotion;—“My dear Madam,” he said, slightly bending +over his stately episcopal-looking person—“Virtue has, perhaps, an +over-ardent champion in you; you grow too warm; but Mr. Glendinning, +here, he seems to grow too cold. Pray, favor us with your views, Mr. +Glendinning?”</p> + +<p>“I will not think now of the man,” said Pierre, slowly, and looking away +from both his auditors—“let us speak of Delly and her infant—she has, +or had one, I have loosely heard;—their case is miserable indeed.”</p> + +<p>“The mother deserves it,” said the lady, inflexibly—“and the +child—Reverend sir, what are the words of the Bible?”<a name="page_136"></a></p> + +<p>“‘The sins of the father shall be visited upon the children to the third +generation,’” said Mr. Falsgrave, with some slight reluctance in his +tones. “But Madam, that does not mean, that the community is in any way +to take the infamy of the children into their own voluntary hands, as +the conscious delegated stewards of God’s inscrutable dispensations. +Because it is declared that the infamous consequences of sin shall be +hereditary, it does not follow that our personal and active loathing of +sin, should descend from the sinful sinner to his sinless child.”</p> + +<p>“I understand you, sir,” said Mrs. Glendinning, coloring slightly, “you +think me too censorious. But if we entirely forget the parentage of the +child, and every way receive the child as we would any other, feel for +it in all respects the same, and attach no sign of ignominy to it—how +then is the Bible dispensation to be fulfilled? Do we not then put +ourselves in the way of its fulfilment, and is that wholly free from +impiety?”</p> + +<p>Here it was the clergyman’s turn to color a little, and there was a just +perceptible tremor of the under lip.</p> + +<p>“Pardon me,” continued the lady, courteously, “but if there is any one +blemish in the character of the Reverend Mr. Falsgrave, it is that the +benevolence of his heart, too much warps in him the holy rigor of our +Church’s doctrines. For my part, as I loathe the man, I loathe the +woman, and never desire to behold the child.”</p> + +<p>A pause ensued, during which it was fortunate for Pierre, that by the +social sorcery of such occasions as the present, the eyes of all three +were intent upon the cloth; all three for the moment, giving loose to +their own distressful meditations upon the subject in debate, and Mr. +Falsgrave vexedly thinking that the scene was becoming a little +embarrassing.</p> + +<p>Pierre was the first who spoke; as before, he steadfastly kept his eyes +away from both his auditors; but though he did not designate his mother, +something in the tone of his voice showed that what he said was +addressed more particularly to her.<a name="page_137"></a></p> + +<p>“Since we seem to have been strangely drawn into the ethical aspect of +this melancholy matter,” said he, “suppose we go further in it; and let +me ask, how it should be between the legitimate and the illegitimate +child—children of one father—when they shall have passed their +childhood?”</p> + +<p>Here the clergyman quickly raising his eyes, looked as surprised and +searchingly at Pierre, as his politeness would permit.</p> + +<p>“Upon my word”—said Mrs. Glendinning, hardly less surprised, and making +no attempt at disguising it—“this is an odd question you put; you have +been more attentive to the subject than I had fancied. But what do you +mean, Pierre? I did not entirely understand you.”</p> + +<p>“Should the legitimate child shun the illegitimate, when one father is +father to both?” rejoined Pierre, bending his head still further over +his plate.</p> + +<p>The clergyman looked a little down again, and was silent; but still +turned his head slightly sideways toward his hostess, as if awaiting +some reply to Pierre from her.</p> + +<p>“Ask the world, Pierre”—said Mrs. Glendinning warmly—“and ask your own +heart.”</p> + +<p>“My own heart? I will, Madam”—said Pierre, now looking up steadfastly; +“but what do <i>you</i> think, Mr. Falsgrave?” letting his glance drop +again—“should the one shun the other; should the one refuse his highest +sympathy and perfect love for the other, especially if that other be +deserted by all the rest of the world? What think you would have been +our blessed Savior’s thoughts on such a matter? And what was that he so +mildly said to the adulteress?”</p> + +<p>A swift color passed over the clergyman’s countenance, suffusing even +his expanded brow; he slightly moved in his chair, and looked +uncertainly from Pierre to his mother. He seemed as a shrewd, +benevolent-minded man, placed between opposite opinions—merely +opinions—who, with a full, and doubly-differing persuasion in himself, +still refrains from uttering it, because<a name="page_138"></a> of an irresistible dislike to +manifesting an absolute dissent from the honest convictions of any +person, whom he both socially and morally esteems.</p> + +<p>“Well, what do you reply to my son?”—said Mrs. Glendinning at last.</p> + +<p>“Madam and sir”—said the clergyman, now regaining his entire +self-possession. “It is one of the social disadvantages which we of the +pulpit labor under, that we are supposed to know more of the moral +obligations of humanity than other people. And it is a still more +serious disadvantage to the world, that our unconsidered, conversational +opinions on the most complex problems of ethics, are too apt to be +considered authoritative, as indirectly proceeding from the church +itself. Now, nothing can be more erroneous than such notions; and +nothing so embarrasses me, and deprives me of that entire serenity, +which is indispensable to the delivery of a careful opinion on moral +subjects, than when sudden questions of this sort are put to me in +company. Pardon this long preamble, for I have little more to say. It is +not every question, however direct, Mr. Glendinning, which can be +conscientiously answered with a yes or no. Millions of circumstances +modify all moral questions; so that though conscience may possibly +dictate freely in any known special case; yet, by one universal maxim, +to embrace all moral contingencies,—this is not only impossible, but +the attempt, to me, seems foolish.”</p> + +<p>At this instant, the surplice-like napkin dropped from the clergyman’s +bosom, showing a minute but exquisitely cut cameo brooch, representing +the allegorical union of the serpent and dove. It had been the gift of +an appreciative friend, and was sometimes worn on secular occasions like +the present.</p> + +<p>“I agree with you, sir”—said Pierre, bowing. “I fully agree with you. +And now, madam, let us talk of something else.”</p> + +<p>“You madam me very punctiliously this morning, Mr. Glendinning”—said +his mother, half-bitterly smiling, and half-openly<a name="page_139"></a> offended, but still +more surprised at Pierre’s frigid demeanor.</p> + +<p>“‘Honor thy father and mother;’” said Pierre—“<i>both</i> father and +mother,” he unconsciously added. “And now that it strikes me, Mr. +Falsgrave, and now that we have become so strangely polemical this +morning, let me say, that as that command is justly said to be the only +one with a promise, so it seems to be without any contingency in the +application. It would seem—would it not, sir?—that the most deceitful +and hypocritical of fathers should be equally honored by the son, as the +purest.”</p> + +<p>“So it would certainly seem, according to the strict letter of the +Decalogue—certainly.”</p> + +<p>“And do you think, sir, that it should be so held, and so applied in +actual life? For instance, should I honor my father, if I knew him to be +a seducer?”</p> + +<p>“Pierre! Pierre!” said his mother, profoundly coloring, and half rising; +“there is no need of these argumentative assumptions. You very immensely +forget yourself this morning.”</p> + +<p>“It is merely the interest of the general question, Madam,” returned +Pierre, coldly. “I am sorry. If your former objection does not apply +here, Mr. Falsgrave, will you favor me with an answer to my question?”</p> + +<p>“There you are again, Mr. Glendinning,” said the clergyman, thankful for +Pierre’s hint; “that is another question in morals absolutely incapable +of a definite answer, which shall be universally applicable.” Again the +surplice-like napkin chanced to drop.</p> + +<p>“I am tacitly rebuked again then, sir,” said Pierre, slowly; “but I +admit that perhaps you are again in the right. And now, Madam, since Mr. +Falsgrave and yourself have a little business together, to which my +presence is not necessary, and may possibly prove quite dispensable, +permit me to leave you. I am going off on a long ramble, so you need not +wait dinner<a name="page_140"></a> for me. Good morning, Mr. Falsgrave; good morning, Madam,” +looking toward his mother.</p> + +<p>As the door closed upon him, Mr. Falsgrave spoke—“Mr. Glendinning looks +a little pale to-day: has he been ill?”</p> + +<p>“Not that I know of,” answered the lady, indifferently, “but did you +ever see young gentleman so stately as he was! Extraordinary!” she +murmured; “what can this mean—Madam—Madam? But your cup is empty +again, sir”—reaching forth her hand.</p> + +<p>“No more, no more, Madam,” said the clergyman.</p> + +<p>“Madam? pray don’t Madam me any more, Mr. Falsgrave; I have taken a +sudden hatred to that title.”</p> + +<p>“Shall it be Your Majesty, then?” said the clergyman, gallantly; “the +May Queens are so styled, and so should be the Queens of October.”</p> + +<p>Here the lady laughed. “Come,” said she, “let us go into another room, +and settle the affair of that infamous Ned and that miserable Delly.”</p> + +<hr /> + +<h4>V.</h4> + +<p>T<small>HE</small> swiftness and unrepellableness of the billow which, with its first +shock, had so profoundly whelmed Pierre, had not only poured into his +soul a tumult of entirely new images and emotions, but, for the time, it +almost entirely drove out of him all previous ones. The things that any +way bore directly upon the pregnant fact of Isabel, these things were +all animate and vividly present to him; but the things which bore more +upon himself, and his own personal condition, as now forever involved +with his sister’s, these things were not so animate and present to him. +The conjectured past of Isabel took mysterious hold of his father; +therefore, the idea of his father tyrannized over<a name="page_141"></a> his imagination; and +the possible future of Isabel, as so essentially though indirectly +compromisable by whatever course of conduct his mother might hereafter +ignorantly pursue with regard to himself, as henceforth, through Isabel, +forever altered to her; these considerations brought his mother with +blazing prominence before him.</p> + +<p>Heaven, after all, hath been a little merciful to the miserable man; not +entirely untempered to human nature are the most direful blasts of Fate. +When on all sides assailed by prospects of disaster, whose final ends +are in terror hidden from it, the soul of man—either, as instinctively +convinced that it can not battle with the whole host at once; or else, +benevolently blinded to the larger arc of the circle which menacingly +hems it in;—whichever be the truth, the soul of man, thus surrounded, +can not, and does never intelligently confront the totality of its +wretchedness. The bitter drug is divided into separate draughts for him: +to-day he takes one part of his woe; to-morrow he takes more; and so on, +till the last drop is drunk.</p> + +<p>Not that in the despotism of other things, the thought of Lucy, and the +unconjecturable suffering into which she might so soon be plunged, owing +to the threatening uncertainty of the state of his own future, as now in +great part and at all hazards dedicated to Isabel; not that this thought +had thus far been alien to him. Icy-cold, and serpent-like, it had +overlayingly crawled in upon his other shuddering imaginings; but those +other thoughts would as often upheave again, and absorb it into +themselves, so that it would in that way soon disappear from his +cotemporary apprehension. The prevailing thoughts connected with Isabel +he now could front with prepared and open eyes; but the occasional +thought of Lucy, when <i>that</i> started up before him, he could only cover +his bewildered eyes with his bewildered hands. Nor was this the +cowardice of selfishness, but the infinite sensitiveness of his soul. He +could bear the agonizing thought of Isabel, because he was immediately<a name="page_142"></a> +resolved to help her, and to assuage a fellow-being’s grief; but, as +yet, he could not bear the thought of Lucy, because the very resolution +that promised balm to Isabel obscurely involved the everlasting peace of +Lucy, and therefore aggravatingly threatened a far more than +fellow-being’s happiness.</p> + +<p>Well for Pierre it was, that the penciling presentiments of his mind +concerning Lucy as quickly erased as painted their tormenting images. +Standing half-befogged upon the mountain of his Fate, all that part of +the wide panorama was wrapped in clouds to him; but anon those +concealings slid aside, or rather, a quick rent was made in them; +disclosing far below, half-vailed in the lower mist, the winding +tranquil vale and stream of Lucy’s previous happy life; through the +swift cloud-rent he caught one glimpse of her expectant and angelic face +peeping from the honey-suckled window of her cottage; and the next +instant the stormy pinions of the clouds locked themselves over it +again; and all was hidden as before; and all went confused in whirling +rack and vapor as before. Only by unconscious inspiration, caught from +the agencies invisible to man, had he been enabled to write that first +obscurely announcing note to Lucy; wherein the collectedness, and the +mildness, and the calmness, were but the natural though insidious +precursors of the stunning bolts on bolts to follow.</p> + +<p>But, while thus, for the most part wrapped from his consciousness and +vision, still, the condition of his Lucy, as so deeply affected now, was +still more and more disentangling and defining itself from out its +nearer mist, and even beneath the general upper fog. For when +unfathomably stirred, the subtler elements of man do not always reveal +themselves in the concocting act; but, as with all other potencies, show +themselves chiefly in their ultimate resolvings and results. Strange +wild work, and awfully symmetrical and reciprocal, was that now going on +within the self-apparently chaotic breast of Pierre. As in his own +conscious determinations, the mournful<a name="page_143"></a> Isabel was being snatched from +her captivity of world-wide abandonment; so, deeper down in the more +secret chambers of his unsuspecting soul, the smiling Lucy, now as dead +and ashy pale, was being bound a ransom for Isabel’s salvation. Eye for +eye, and tooth for tooth. Eternally inexorable and unconcerned is Fate, +a mere heartless trader in men’s joys and woes.</p> + +<p>Nor was this general and spontaneous self-concealment of all the most +momentous interests of his love, as irretrievably involved with Isabel +and his resolution respecting her; nor was this unbidden thing in him +unseconded by the prompting of his own conscious judgment, when in the +tyranny of the master-event itself, that judgment was permitted some +infrequent play. He could not but be aware, that all meditation on Lucy +now was worse than useless. How could he now map out his and her young +life-chart, when all was yet misty-white with creamy breakers! Still +more: divinely dedicated as he felt himself to be; with divine commands +upon him to befriend and champion Isabel, through all conceivable +contingencies of Time and Chance; how could he insure himself against +the insidious inroads of self-interest, and hold intact all his +unselfish magnanimities, if once he should permit the distracting +thought of Lucy to dispute with Isabel’s the pervading possession of his +soul?</p> + +<p>And if—though but unconsciously as yet—he was almost superhumanly +prepared to make a sacrifice of all objects dearest to him, and cut +himself away from his last hopes of common happiness, should they cross +his grand enthusiast resolution;—if this was so with him; then, how +light as gossamer, and thinner and more impalpable than airiest threads +of gauze, did he hold all common conventional regardings;—his +hereditary duty to his mother, his pledged worldly faith and honor to +the hand and seal of his affiancement?</p> + +<p>Not that at present all these things did thus present themselves<a name="page_144"></a> to +Pierre; but these things were fœtally forming in him. Impregnations +from high enthusiasms he had received; and the now incipient offspring +which so stirred, with such painful, vague vibrations in his soul; this, +in its mature development, when it should at last come forth in living +deeds, would scorn all personal relationship with Pierre, and hold his +heart’s dearest interests for naught.</p> + +<p>Thus, in the Enthusiast to Duty, the heaven-begotten Christ is born; and +will not own a mortal parent, and spurns and rends all mortal bonds.</p> + +<hr /> + +<h4>VI.</h4> + +<p>O<small>NE</small> night, one day, and a small part of the one ensuing evening had been +given to Pierre to prepare for the momentous interview with Isabel.</p> + +<p>Now, thank God, thought Pierre, the night is past,—the night of Chaos +and of Doom; the day only, and the skirt of evening now remain. May +heaven new-string my soul, and confirm me in the Christ-like feeling I +first felt. May I, in all my least shapeful thoughts still square myself +by the inflexible rule of holy right. Let no unmanly, mean temptation +cross my path this day; let no base stone lie in it. This day I will +forsake the censuses of men, and seek the suffrages of the god-like +population of the trees, which now seem to me a nobler race than man. +Their high foliage shall drop heavenliness upon me; my feet in contact +with their mighty roots, immortal vigor shall so steal into me. Guide +me, gird me, guard me, this day, ye sovereign powers! Bind me in bonds I +can not break; remove all sinister allurings from me; eternally this day +deface in me the detested and distorted images of all the convenient +lies and duty-subterfuges of the diving and ducking moralities of this<a name="page_145"></a> +earth. Fill me with consuming fire for them; to my life’s muzzle, cram +me with your own intent. Let no world-syren come to sing to me this day, +and wheedle from me my undauntedness. I cast my eternal die this day, ye +powers. On my strong faith in ye Invisibles, I stake three whole +felicities, and three whole lives this day. If ye forsake me +now,—farewell to Faith, farewell to Truth, farewell to God; exiled for +aye from God and man, I shall declare myself an equal power with both; +free to make war on Night and Day, and all thoughts and things of mind +and matter, which the upper and the nether firmaments do clasp!</p> + +<hr /> + +<h4>VII.</h4> + +<p>B<small>UT</small> Pierre, though, charged with the fire of all divineness, his +containing thing was made of clay. Ah, muskets the gods have made to +carry infinite combustions, and yet made them of clay!</p> + +<p>Save me from being bound to Truth, liege lord, as I am now. How shall I +steal yet further into Pierre, and show how this heavenly fire was +helped to be contained in him, by mere contingent things, and things +that he knew not. But I shall follow the endless, winding way,—the +flowing river in the cave of man; careless whither I be led, reckless +where I land.</p> + +<p>Was not the face—though mutely mournful—beautiful, bewitchingly? How +unfathomable those most wondrous eyes of supernatural light! In those +charmed depths, Grief and Beauty plunged and dived together. So +beautiful, so mystical, so bewilderingly alluring; speaking of a +mournfulness infinitely sweeter and more attractive than all +mirthfulness; that face of glorious suffering; that face of touching +loveliness; that face was Pierre’s own sister’s; that face was Isabel’s; +that face<a name="page_146"></a> Pierre had visibly seen; into those same supernatural eyes +our Pierre had looked. Thus, already, and ere the proposed encounter, he +was assured that, in a transcendent degree, womanly beauty, and not +womanly ugliness, invited him to champion the right. Be naught concealed +in this book of sacred truth. How, if accosted in some squalid lane, a +humped, and crippled, hideous girl should have snatched his garment’s +hem, with—“Save me, Pierre—love me, own me, brother; I am thy +sister!”—Ah, if man were wholly made in heaven, why catch we +hell-glimpses? Why in the noblest marble pillar that stands beneath the +all-comprising vault, ever should we descry the sinister vein? We lie in +nature very close to God; and though, further on, the stream may be +corrupted by the banks it flows through; yet at the fountain’s rim, +where mankind stand, there the stream infallibly bespeaks the fountain.</p> + +<p>So let no censorious word be here hinted of mortal Pierre. Easy for me +to slyly hide these things, and always put him before the eye as perfect +as immaculate; unsusceptible to the inevitable nature and the lot of +common men. I am more frank with Pierre than the best men are with +themselves. I am all unguarded and magnanimous with Pierre; therefore +you see his weakness, and therefore only. In reserves men build imposing +characters; not in revelations. He who shall be wholly honest, though +nobler than Ethan Allen; that man shall stand in danger of the meanest +mortal’s scorn.<a name="page_147"></a></p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="BOOK_VI"></a>BOOK VI.<br /> +ISABEL, AND THE FIRST PART OF THE STORY OF ISABEL.</h2> + +<h4>I.</h4> + +<p>H<small>ALF</small> wishful that the hour would come; half shuddering that every moment +it still came nearer and more near to him; dry-eyed, but wet with that +dark day’s rain; at fall of eve, Pierre emerged from long wanderings in +the primeval woods of Saddle Meadows, and for one instant stood +motionless upon their sloping skirt.</p> + +<p>Where he stood was in the rude wood road, only used by sledges in the +time of snow; just where the out-posted trees formed a narrow arch, and +fancied gateway leading upon the far, wide pastures sweeping down toward +the lake. In that wet and misty eve the scattered, shivering pasture +elms seemed standing in a world inhospitable, yet rooted by inscrutable +sense of duty to their place. Beyond, the lake lay in one sheet of +blankness and of dumbness, unstirred by breeze or breath; fast bound +there it lay, with not life enough to reflect the smallest shrub or +twig. Yet in that lake was seen the duplicate, stirless sky above. Only +in sunshine did that lake catch gay, green images; and these but +displaced the imaged muteness of the unfeatured heavens.</p> + +<p>On both sides, in the remoter distance, and also far beyond the mild +lake’s further shore, rose the long, mysterious mountain<a name="page_148"></a> masses; shaggy +with pines and hemlocks, mystical with nameless, vapory exhalations, and +in that dim air black with dread and gloom. At their base, profoundest +forests lay entranced, and from their far owl-haunted depths of caves +and rotted leaves, and unused and unregarded inland overgrowth of +decaying wood—for smallest sticks of which, in other climes many a +pauper was that moment perishing; from out the infinite inhumanities of +those profoundest forests, came a moaning, muttering, roaring, +intermitted, changeful sound: rain-shakings of the palsied trees, +slidings of rocks undermined, final crashings of long-riven boughs, and +devilish gibberish of the forest-ghosts.</p> + +<p>But more near, on the mild lake’s hither shore, where it formed a long +semi-circular and scooped acclivity of corn-fields, there the small and +low red farm-house lay; its ancient roof a bed of brightest mosses; its +north front (from the north the moss-wind blows), also moss-incrusted, +like the north side of any vast-trunked maple in the groves. At one +gabled end, a tangled arbor claimed support, and paid for it by generous +gratuities of broad-flung verdure, one viny shaft of which pointed +itself upright against the chimney-bricks, as if a waving lightning-rod. +Against the other gable, you saw the lowly dairy-shed; its sides close +netted with traced Madeira vines; and had you been close enough, peeping +through that imprisoning tracery, and through the light slats barring +the little embrasure of a window, you might have seen the gentle and +contented captives—the pans of milk, and the snow-white Dutch cheeses +in a row, and the molds of golden butter, and the jars of lily cream. In +front, three straight gigantic lindens stood guardians of this verdant +spot. A long way up, almost to the ridge-pole of the house, they showed +little foliage; but then, suddenly, as three huge green balloons, they +poised their three vast, inverted, rounded cones of verdure in the air.</p> + +<p>Soon as Pierre’s eye rested on the place, a tremor shook him.<a name="page_149"></a> Not alone +because of Isabel, as there a harborer now, but because of two dependent +and most strange coincidences which that day’s experience had brought to +him. He had gone to breakfast with his mother, his heart charged to +overflowing with presentiments of what would probably be her haughty +disposition concerning such a being as Isabel, claiming her maternal +love: and lo! the Reverend Mr. Falsgrave enters, and Ned and Delly are +discussed, and that whole sympathetic matter, which Pierre had despaired +of bringing before his mother in all its ethic bearings, so as +absolutely to learn her thoughts upon it, and thereby test his own +conjectures; all that matter had been fully talked about; so that, +through that strange coincidence, he now perfectly knew his mother’s +mind, and had received forewarnings, as if from heaven, not to make any +present disclosure to her. That was in the morning; and now, at eve +catching a glimpse of the house where Isabel was harboring, at once he +recognized it as the rented farm-house of old Walter Ulver, father to +the self-same Delly, forever ruined through the cruel arts of Ned.</p> + +<p>Strangest feelings, almost supernatural, now stole into Pierre. With +little power to touch with awe the souls of less susceptible, +reflective, and poetic beings, such coincidences, however frequently +they may recur, ever fill the finer organization with sensations which +transcend all verbal renderings. They take hold of life’s subtlest +problem. With the lightning’s flash, the query is spontaneously +propounded—chance, or God? If too, the mind thus influenced be likewise +a prey to any settled grief, then on all sides the query magnifies, and +at last takes in the all-comprehending round of things. For ever is it +seen, that sincere souls in suffering, then most ponder upon final +causes. The heart, stirred to its depths, finds correlative sympathy in +the head, which likewise is profoundly moved. Before miserable men, when +intellectual, all the ages of the world pass as<a name="page_150"></a> in a manacled +procession, and all their myriad links rattle in the mournful mystery.</p> + +<p>Pacing beneath the long-skirting shadows of the elevated wood, waiting +for the appointed hour to come, Pierre strangely strove to imagine to +himself the scene which was destined to ensue. But imagination utterly +failed him here; the reality was too real for him; only the face, the +face alone now visited him; and so accustomed had he been of late to +confound it with the shapes of air, that he almost trembled when he +thought that face to face, that face must shortly meet his own.</p> + +<p>And now the thicker shadows begin to fall; the place is lost to him; +only the three dim, tall lindens pilot him as he descends the hill, +hovering upon the house. He knows it not, but his meditative route is +sinuous; as if that moment his thought’s stream was likewise +serpentining: laterally obstructed by insinuated misgivings as to the +ultimate utilitarian advisability of the enthusiast resolution that was +his. His steps decrease in quickness as he comes more nigh, and sees one +feeble light struggling in the rustic double-casement. Infallibly he +knows that his own voluntary steps are taking him forever from the +brilliant chandeliers of the mansion of Saddle Meadows, to join company +with the wretched rush-lights of poverty and woe. But his sublime +intuitiveness also paints to him the sun-like glories of god-like truth +and virtue; which though ever obscured by the dense fogs of earth, still +shall shine eventually in unclouded radiance, casting illustrative light +upon the sapphire throne of God.<a name="page_151"></a></p> + +<hr /> + +<h4>II.</h4> + +<p>H<small>E</small> stands before the door; the house is steeped in silence; he knocks; +the casement light flickers for a moment, and then moves away; within, +he hears a door creak on its hinges; then his whole heart beats wildly +as the outer latch is lifted; and holding the light above her +supernatural head, Isabel stands before him. It is herself. No word is +spoken; no other soul is seen. They enter the room of the double +casement; and Pierre sits down, overpowered with bodily faintness and +spiritual awe. He lifts his eyes to Isabel’s gaze of loveliness and +loneliness; and then a low, sweet, half-sobbing voice of more than +natural musicalness is heard:—</p> + +<p>“And so, thou art my brother;—shall I call thee Pierre?”</p> + +<p>Steadfastly, with his one first and last fraternal inquisition of the +person of the mystic girl, Pierre now for an instant eyes her; and in +that one instant sees in the imploring face, not only the nameless +touchingness of that of the sewing-girl, but also the subtler expression +of the portrait of his then youthful father, strangely translated, and +intermarryingly blended with some before unknown, foreign feminineness. +In one breath, Memory and Prophecy, and Intuition tell him—“Pierre, +have no reserves; no minutest possible doubt;—this being is thy sister; +thou gazest on thy father’s flesh.”</p> + +<p>“And so thou art my brother!—shall I call thee Pierre?”</p> + +<p>He sprang to his feet, and caught her in his undoubting arms.</p> + +<p>“Thou art! thou art!”</p> + +<p>He felt a faint struggling within his clasp; her head drooped against +him; his whole form was bathed in the flowing glossiness of her long and +unimprisoned hair. Brushing the locks aside, he now gazed upon the +death-like beauty of the face, and caught immortal sadness from it. She +seemed as dead; as<a name="page_152"></a> suffocated,—the death that leaves most unimpaired +the latent tranquillities and sweetnesses of the human countenance.</p> + +<p>He would have called aloud for succor; but the slow eyes opened upon +him; and slowly he felt the girl’s supineness leaving her; and now she +recovers herself a little,—and again he feels her faintly struggling in +his arms, as if somehow abashed, and incredulous of mortal right to hold +her so. Now Pierre repents his over-ardent and incautious warmth, and +feels himself all reverence for her. Tenderly he leads her to a bench +within the double casement; and sits beside her; and waits in silence, +till the first shock of this encounter shall have left her more composed +and more prepared to hold communion with him.</p> + +<p>“How feel’st thou now, my sister?”</p> + +<p>“Bless thee! bless thee!”</p> + +<p>Again the sweet, wild power of the musicalness of the voice, and some +soft, strange touch of foreignness in the accent,—so it fancifully +seemed to Pierre, thrills through and through his soul. He bent and +kissed her brow; and then feels her hand seeking his, and then clasping +it without one uttered word.</p> + +<p>All his being is now condensed in that one sensation of the clasping +hand. He feels it as very small and smooth, but strangely hard. Then he +knew that by the lonely labor of her hands, his own father’s daughter +had earned her living in the same world, where he himself, her own +brother, had so idly dwelled. Once more he reverently kissed her brow, +and his warm breath against it murmured with a prayer to heaven.</p> + +<p>“I have no tongue to speak to thee, Pierre, my brother. My whole being, +all my life’s thoughts and longings are in endless arrears to thee; then +how can I speak to thee? Were it God’s will, Pierre, my utmost blessing +now, were to lie down and die. Then should I be at peace. Bear with me, +Pierre.”</p> + +<p>“Eternally will I do that, my beloved Isabel! Speak not to me yet +awhile, if that seemeth best to thee, if that only is possible<a name="page_153"></a> to thee. +This thy clasping hand, my sister, <i>this</i> is now thy tongue to me.”</p> + +<p>“I know not where to begin to speak to thee, Pierre; and yet my soul +o’erbrims in me.”</p> + +<p>“From my heart’s depths, I love and reverence thee; and feel for thee, +backward and forward, through all eternity!”</p> + +<p>“Oh, Pierre, can’st thou not cure in me this dreaminess, this +bewilderingness I feel? My poor head swims and swims, and will not +pause. My life can not last long thus; I am too full without discharge. +Conjure tears for me, Pierre; that my heart may not break with the +present feeling,—more death-like to me than all my grief gone by!”</p> + +<p>“Ye thirst-slaking evening skies, ye hilly dews and mists, distil your +moisture here! The bolt hath passed; why comes not the following +shower?—Make her to weep!”</p> + +<p>Then her head sought his support; and big drops fell on him; and anon, +Isabel gently slid her head from him, and sat a little composedly beside +him.</p> + +<p>“If thou feelest in endless arrears of thought to me, my sister; so do I +feel toward thee. I too, scarce know what I should speak to thee. But +when thou lookest on me, my sister, thou beholdest one, who in his soul +hath taken vows immutable, to be to thee, in all respects, and to the +uttermost bounds and possibilities of Fate, thy protecting and +all-acknowledging brother!”</p> + +<p>“Not mere sounds of common words, but inmost tones of my heart’s deepest +melodies should now be audible to thee. Thou speakest to a human thing, +but something heavenly should answer thee;—some flute heard in the air +should answer thee; for sure thy most undreamed-of accents, Pierre, sure +they have not been unheard on high. Blessings that are imageless to all +mortal fancyings, these shall be thine for this.”</p> + +<p>“Blessing like to thine, doth but recoil and bless homeward to the heart +that uttered it. I can not bless thee, my sister,<a name="page_154"></a> as thou dost bless +thyself in blessing my unworthiness. But, Isabel, by still keeping +present the first wonder of our meeting, we shall make our hearts all +feebleness. Let me then rehearse to thee what Pierre is; what life +hitherto he hath been leading; and what hereafter he shall lead;—so +thou wilt be prepared.”</p> + +<p>“Nay, Pierre, that is my office; thou art first entitled to my tale, +then, if it suit thee, thou shalt make me the unentitled gift of thine. +Listen to me, now. The invisible things will give me strength;—it is +not much, Pierre;—nor aught very marvelous. Listen then;—I feel +soothed down to utterance now.”</p> + +<p>During some brief, interluding, silent pauses in their interview thus +far, Pierre had heard a soft, slow, sad, to-and-fro, meditative stepping +on the floor above; and in the frequent pauses that intermitted the +strange story in the following chapter, that same soft, slow, sad, +to-and-fro, meditative, and most melancholy stepping, was again and +again audible in the silent room.</p> + +<hr /> + +<h4>III.</h4> + +<p>“I never knew a mortal mother. The farthest stretch of my life’s memory +can not recall one single feature of such a face. If, indeed, mother of +mine hath lived, she is long gone, and cast no shadow on the ground she +trod. Pierre, the lips that do now speak to thee, never touched a +woman’s breast; I seem not of woman born. My first dim life-thoughts +cluster round an old, half-ruinous house in some region, for which I now +have no chart to seek it out. If such a spot did ever really exist, that +too seems to have been withdrawn from all the remainder of the earth. It +was a wild, dark house, planted in the midst of a round, cleared, +deeply-sloping space, scooped out of the middle<a name="page_155"></a> of deep stunted pine +woods. Ever I shrunk at evening from peeping out of my window, lest the +ghostly pines should steal near to me, and reach out their grim arms to +snatch me into their horrid shadows. In summer the forest unceasingly +hummed with unconjecturable voices of unknown birds and beasts. In +winter its deep snows were traced like any paper map, with dotting +night-tracks of four-footed creatures, that, even to the sun, were never +visible, and never were seen by man at all. In the round open space the +dark house stood, without one single green twig or leaf to shelter it; +shadeless and shelterless in the heart of shade and shelter. Some of the +windows were rudely boarded up, with boards nailed straight up and down; +and those rooms were utterly empty, and never were entered, though they +were doorless. But often, from the echoing corridor, I gazed into them +with fear; for the great fire-places were all in ruins; the lower tier +of back-stones were burnt into one white, common crumbling; and the +black bricks above had fallen upon the hearths, heaped here and there +with the still falling soot of long-extinguished fires. Every +hearth-stone in that house had one long crack through it; every floor +drooped at the corners; and outside, the whole base of the house, where +it rested on the low foundation of greenish stones, was strewn with +dull, yellow molderings of the rotting sills. No name; no scrawled or +written thing; no book, was in the house; no one memorial speaking of +its former occupants. It was dumb as death. No grave-stone, or mound, or +any little hillock around the house, betrayed any past burials of man or +child. And thus, with no trace then to me of its past history, thus it +hath now entirely departed and perished from my slightest knowledge as +to where that house so stood, or in what region it so stood. None other +house like it have I ever seen. But once I saw plates of the outside of +French chateaux which powerfully recalled its dim image to me, +especially the two rows of small dormer windows projecting from the +inverted<a name="page_156"></a> hopper-roof. But that house was of wood, and these of stone. +Still, sometimes I think that house was not in this country, but +somewhere in Europe; perhaps in France; but it is all bewildering to me; +and so you must not start at me, for I can not but talk wildly upon so +wild a theme.</p> + +<p>“In this house I never saw any living human soul, but an old man and +woman. The old man’s face was almost black with age, and was one purse +of wrinkles, his hoary beard always tangled, streaked with dust and +earthy crumbs. I think in summer he toiled a little in the garden, or +some spot like that, which lay on one side of the house. All my ideas +are in uncertainty and confusion here. But the old man and the old woman +seem to have fastened themselves indelibly upon my memory. I suppose +their being the only human things around me then, <i>that</i> caused the hold +they took upon me. They seldom spoke to me; but would sometimes, of +dark, gusty nights, sit by the fire and stare at me, and then mumble to +each other, and then stare at me again. They were not entirely unkind to +me; but, I repeat, they seldom or never spoke to me. What words or +language they used to each other, this it is impossible for me to +recall. I have often wished to; for then I might at least have some +additional idea whether the house was in this country or somewhere +beyond the sea. And here I ought to say, that sometimes I have, I know +not what sort of vague remembrances of at one time—shortly after the +period I now speak of—chattering in two different childish languages; +one of which waned in me as the other and latter grew. But more of this +anon. It was the woman that gave me my meals; for I did not eat with +them. Once they sat by the fire with a loaf between them, and a bottle +of some thin sort of reddish wine; and I went up to them, and asked to +eat with them, and touched the loaf. But instantly the old man made a +motion as if to strike me, but did not, and the woman, glaring at me, +snatched the loaf and threw it into the fire before them. I<a name="page_157"></a> ran +frightened from the room; and sought a cat, which I had often tried to +coax into some intimacy, but, for some strange cause, without success. +But in my frightened loneliness, then, I sought the cat again, and found +her up-stairs, softly scratching for some hidden thing among the litter +of the abandoned fire-places. I called to her, for I dared not go into +the haunted chamber; but she only gazed sideways and unintelligently +toward me; and continued her noiseless searchings. I called again, and +then she turned round and hissed at me; and I ran down stairs, still +stung with the thought of having been driven away there, too. I now knew +not where to go to rid myself of my loneliness. At last I went outside +of the house, and sat down on a stone, but its coldness went up to my +heart, and I rose and stood on my feet. But my head was dizzy; I could +not stand; I fell, and knew no more. But next morning I found myself in +bed in my uncheerable room, and some dark bread and a cup of water by +me.</p> + +<p>“It has only been by chance that I have told thee this one particular +reminiscence of my early life in that house. I could tell many more like +it, but this is enough to show what manner of life I led at that time. +Every day that I then lived, I felt all visible sights and all audible +sounds growing stranger and stranger, and fearful and more fearful to +me. To me the man and the woman were just like the cat; none of them +would speak to me; none of them were comprehensible to me. And the man, +and the woman, and the cat, were just like the green foundation stones +of the house to me; I knew not whence they came, or what cause they had +for being there. I say again, no living human soul came to the house but +the man and the woman; but sometimes the old man early trudged away to a +road that led through the woods, and would not come back till late in +the evening; he brought the dark bread, and the thin, reddish wine with +him. Though the entrance to the wood was not so very far from the door, +yet he came so slowly and<a name="page_158"></a> infirmly trudging with his little load, that +it seemed weary hours on hours between my first descrying him among the +trees, and his crossing the splintered threshold.</p> + +<p>“Now the wide and vacant blurrings of my early life thicken in my mind. +All goes wholly memoryless to me now. It may have been that about that +time I grew sick with some fever, in which for a long interval I lost +myself. Or it may be true, which I have heard, that after the period of +our very earliest recollections, then a space intervenes of entire +unknowingness, followed again by the first dim glimpses of the +succeeding memory, more or less distinctly embracing all our past up to +that one early gap in it.</p> + +<p>“However this may be, nothing more can I recall of the house in the wide +open space; nothing of how at last I came to leave it; but I must have +been still extremely young then. But some uncertain, tossing memory have +I of being at last in another round, open space, but immensely larger +than the first one, and with no encircling belt of woods. Yet often it +seems to me that there were three tall, straight things like pine-trees +somewhere there nigh to me at times; and that they fearfully shook and +snapt as the old trees used to in the mountain storms. And the floors +seemed sometimes to droop at the corners still more steeply than the old +floors did; and changefully drooped too, so that I would even seem to +feel them drooping under me.</p> + +<p>“Now, too, it was that, as it sometimes seems to me, I first and last +chattered in the two childish languages I spoke of a little time ago. +There seemed people about me, some of whom talked one, and some the +other; but I talked both; yet one not so readily as the other; and but +beginningly as it were; still this other was the one which was gradually +displacing the former. The men who—as it sometimes dreamily seems to me +at times—often climbed the three strange tree-like things, they +talked—I needs must think—if indeed I have<a name="page_159"></a> any real thought about so +bodiless a phantom as this is—they talked the language which I speak of +as at this time gradually waning in me. It was a bonny tongue; oh, seems +to me so sparkling-gay and lightsome; just the tongue for a child like +me, if the child had not been so sad always. It was pure children’s +language, Pierre; so twittering—such a chirp.</p> + +<p>“In thy own mind, thou must now perceive, that most of these dim +remembrances in me, hint vaguely of a ship at sea. But all is dim and +vague to me. Scarce know I at any time whether I tell you real things, +or the unrealest dreams. Always in me, the solidest things melt into +dreams, and dreams into solidities. Never have I wholly recovered from +the effects of my strange early life. This it is, that even now—this +moment—surrounds thy visible form, my brother, with a mysterious +mistiness; so that a second face, and a third face, and a fourth face +peep at me from within thy own. Now dim, and more dim, grows in me all +the memory of how thou and I did come to meet. I go groping again amid +all sorts of shapes, which part to me; so that I seem to advance through +the shapes; and yet the shapes have eyes that look at me. I turn round, +and they look at me; I step forward, and they look at me.—Let me be +silent now; do not speak to me.”</p> + +<hr /> + +<h4>IV.</h4> + +<p>F<small>ILLED</small> with nameless wonderings at this strange being, Pierre sat mute, +intensely regarding her half-averted aspect. Her immense soft tresses of +the jettiest hair had slantingly fallen over her as though a curtain +were half drawn from before some saint enshrined. To Pierre, she seemed +half unearthly; but this unearthliness was only her mysteriousness, not +any thing that was repelling or menacing to him. And still, the low +melodies<a name="page_160"></a> of her far interior voice hovered in sweet echoes in the room; +and were trodden upon, and pressed like gushing grapes, by the steady +invisible pacing on the floor above.</p> + +<p>She moved a little now, and after some strange wanderings more +coherently continued.</p> + +<p>“My next memory which I think I can in some degree rely upon, was yet +another house, also situated away from human haunts, in the heart of a +not entirely silent country. Through this country, and by the house, +wound a green and lagging river. That house must have been in some +lowland; for the first house I spoke of seems to me to have been +somewhere among mountains, or near to mountains;—the sounds of the far +waterfalls,—I seem to hear them now; the steady up-pointed cloud-shapes +behind the house in the sunset sky—I seem to see them now. But this +other house, this second one, or third one, I know not which, I say +again it was in some lowland. There were no pines around it; few trees +of any sort; the ground did not slope so steeply as around the first +house. There were cultivated fields about it, and in the distance +farm-houses, and out-houses, and cattle, and fowls, and many objects of +that familiar sort. This house I am persuaded was in this country; on +this side of the sea. It was a very large house, and full of people; but +for the most part they lived separately. There were some old people in +it, and there were young men, and young women in it,—some very +handsome; and there were children in it. It seemed a happy place to some +of these people; many of them were always laughing; but it was not a +happy place for me.</p> + +<p>“But here I may err, because of my own consciousness I can not identify +in myself—I mean in the memory of my whole foregoing life,—I say, I +can not identify that thing which is called happiness; that thing whose +token is a laugh, or a smile, or a silent serenity on the lip. I may +have been happy, but it is not in my conscious memory now. Nor do I feel +a<a name="page_161"></a> longing for it, as though I had never had it; my spirit seeks +different food from happiness; for I think I have a suspicion of what it +is. I have suffered wretchedness, but not because of the absence of +happiness, and without praying for happiness. I pray for peace—for +motionlessness—for the feeling of myself, as of some plant, absorbing +life without seeking it, and existing without individual sensation. I +feel that there can be no perfect peace in individualness. Therefore I +hope one day to feel myself drank up into the pervading spirit animating +all things. I feel I am an exile here. I still go straying.—Yes; in thy +speech, thou smilest.—But let me be silent again. Do not answer me. +When I resume, I will not wander so, but make short end.”</p> + +<p>Reverently resolved not to offer the slightest let or hinting hindrance +to the singular tale rehearsing to him, but to sit passively and receive +its marvelous droppings into his soul, however long the pauses; and as +touching less mystical considerations, persuaded that by so doing he +should ultimately derive the least nebulous and imperfect account of +Isabel’s history; Pierre still sat waiting her resuming, his eyes fixed +upon the girl’s wonderfully beautiful ear, which chancing to peep forth +from among her abundant tresses, nestled in that blackness like a +transparent sea-shell of pearl.</p> + +<p>She moved a little now; and after some strange wanderings more +coherently continued; while the sound of the stepping on the floor +above—it seemed to cease.</p> + +<p>“I have spoken of the second or rather the third spot in my memory of +the past, as it first appeared to me; I mean, I have spoken of the +people in the house, according to my very earliest recallable impression +of them. But I stayed in that house for several years—five, six, +perhaps, seven years—and during that interval of my stay, all things +changed to me, because I learned more, though always dimly. Some of its +occupants departed; some changed from smiles to tears; some went moping +all the<a name="page_162"></a> day; some grew as savages and outrageous, and were dragged +below by dumb-like men into deep places, that I knew nothing of, but +dismal sounds came through the lower floor, groans and clanking +fallings, as of iron in straw. Now and then, I saw coffins silently at +noon-day carried into the house, and in five minutes’ time emerge again, +seemingly heavier than they entered; but I saw not who was in them. +Once, I saw an immense-sized coffin, endwise pushed through a lower +window by three men who did not speak; and watching, I saw it pushed out +again, and they drove off with it. But the numbers of those invisible +persons who thus departed from the house, were made good by other +invisible persons arriving in close carriages. Some in rags and tatters +came on foot, or rather were driven on foot. Once I heard horrible +outcries, and peeping from my window, saw a robust but squalid and +distorted man, seemingly a peasant, tied by cords with four long ends to +them, held behind by as many ignorant-looking men who with a lash drove +the wild squalid being that way toward the house. Then I heard answering +hand-clappings, shrieks, howls, laughter, blessings, prayers, oaths, +hymns, and all audible confusions issuing from all the chambers of the +house.</p> + +<p>“Sometimes there entered the house—though only transiently, departing +within the hour they came—people of a then remarkable aspect to me. +They were very composed of countenance; did not laugh; did not groan; +did not weep; did not make strange faces; did not look endlessly +fatigued; were not strangely and fantastically dressed; in short, did +not at all resemble any people I had ever seen before, except a little +like some few of the persons of the house, who seemed to have authority +over the rest. These people of a remarkable aspect to me, I thought they +were strangely demented people;—composed of countenance, but wandering +of mind; soul-composed and bodily-wandering, and strangely demented +people.<a name="page_163"></a></p> + +<p>“By-and-by, the house seemed to change again, or else my mind took in +more, and modified its first impressions. I was lodged up-stairs in a +little room; there was hardly any furniture in the room; sometimes I +wished to go out of it; but the door was locked. Sometimes the people +came and took me out of the room, into a much larger and very long room, +and here I would collectively see many of the other people of the house, +who seemed likewise brought from distant and separate chambers. In this +long room they would vacantly roam about, and talk vacant talk to each +other. Some would stand in the middle of the room gazing steadily on the +floor for hours together, and never stirred, but only breathed and gazed +upon the floor. Some would sit crouching in the corner, and sit +crouching there, and only breathe and crouch in the corners. Some kept +their hands tight on their hearts, and went slowly promenading up and +down, moaning and moaning to themselves. One would say to another—“Feel +of it—here, put thy hand in the break.” Another would mutter—“Broken, +broken, broken”—and would mutter nothing but that one word broken. But +most of them were dumb, and could not, or would not speak, or had +forgotten how to speak. They were nearly all pale people. Some had hair +white as snow, and yet were quite young people. Some were always talking +about Hell, Eternity, and God; and some of all things as fixedly +decreed; others would say nay to this, and then they would argue, but +without much conviction either way. But once nearly all the people +present—even the dumb moping people, and the sluggish persons crouching +in the corners—nearly all of them laughed once, when after a whole +day’s loud babbling, two of these predestinarian opponents, said each to +the other—‘Thou hast convinced me, friend; but we are quits; for so +also, have I convinced thee, the other way; now then, let’s argue it all +over again; for still, though mutually converted, we are still at odds.’ +Some harangued the wall;<a name="page_164"></a> some apostrophized the air; some hissed at the +air; some lolled their tongues out at the air; some struck the air; some +made motions, as if wrestling with the air, and fell out of the arms of +the air, panting from the invisible hug.</p> + +<p>“Now, as in the former thing, thou must, ere this, have suspected what +manner of place this second or third house was, that I then lived in. +But do not speak the word to me. That word has never passed my lips; +even now, when I hear the word, I run from it; when I see it printed in +a book, I run from the book. The word is wholly unendurable to me. Who +brought me to the house; how I came there, I do not know. I lived a long +time in the house; that alone I know; I say I know, but still I am +uncertain; still Pierre, still the—oh the dreaminess, the +bewilderingness—it never entirely leaves me. Let me be still again.”</p> + +<p>She leaned away from him; she put her small hard hand to her forehead; +then moved it down, very slowly, but still hardly over her eyes, and +kept it there, making no other sign, and still as death. Then she moved +and continued her vague tale of terribleness.</p> + +<p>“I must be shorter; I did not mean to turn off into the mere +offshootings of my story, here and there; but the dreaminess I speak of +leads me sometimes; and I, as impotent then, obey the dreamy prompting. +Bear with me; now I will be briefer.”</p> + +<p>“It came to pass, at last, that there was a contention about me in the +house; some contention which I heard in the after rumor only, not at the +actual time. Some strangers had arrived; or had come in haste, being +sent for to the house. Next day they dressed me in new and pretty, but +still plain clothes, and they took me down stairs, and out into the air, +and into a carriage with a pleasant-looking woman, a stranger to me; and +I was driven off a good way, two days nearly we drove away, stopping +somewhere over-night; and on the evening of the<a name="page_165"></a> second day we came to +another house, and went into it, and stayed there.</p> + +<p>“This house was a much smaller one than the other, and seemed sweetly +quiet to me after that. There was a beautiful infant in it; and this +beautiful infant always archly and innocently smiling on me, and +strangely beckoning me to come and play with it, and be glad with it; +and be thoughtless, and be glad and gleeful with it; this beautiful +infant first brought me to my own mind, as it were; first made me +sensible that I was something different from stones, trees, cats; first +undid in me the fancy that all people were as stones, trees, cats; first +filled me with the sweet idea of humanness; first made me aware of the +infinite mercifulness, and tenderness, and beautifulness of humanness; +and this beautiful infant first filled me with the dim thought of +Beauty; and equally, and at the same time, with the feeling of the +Sadness; of the immortalness and universalness of the Sadness. I now +feel that I should soon have gone,—— stop me now; do not let me go +that way. I owe all things to that beautiful infant. Oh, how I envied +it, lying in its happy mother’s breast, and drawing life and gladness, +and all its perpetual smilingness from that white and smiling breast. +That infant saved me; but still gave me vague desirings. Now I first +began to reflect in my mind; to endeavor after the recalling past +things; but try as I would, little could I recall, but the +bewilderingness;—and the stupor, and the torpor, and the blackness, and +the dimness, and the vacant whirlingness of the bewilderingness. Let me +be still again.”</p> + +<p>And the stepping on the floor above,—it then resumed.<a name="page_166"></a></p> + +<hr /> + +<h4>V.</h4> + +<p>“I must have been nine, or ten, or eleven years old, when the +pleasant-looking woman carried me away from the large house. She was a +farmer’s wife; and now that was my residence, the farm-house. They +taught me to sew, and work with wool, and spin the wool; I was nearly +always busy now. This being busy, too, this it must have been, which +partly brought to me the power of being sensible of myself as something +human. Now I began to feel strange differences. When I saw a snake +trailing through the grass, and darting out the fire-fork from its +mouth, I said to myself, That thing is not human, but I am human. When +the lightning flashed, and split some beautiful tree, and left it to rot +from all its greenness, I said, That lightning is not human, but I am +human. And so with all other things. I can not speak coherently here; +but somehow I felt that all good, harmless men and women were human +things, placed at cross-purposes, in a world of snakes and lightnings, +in a world of horrible and inscrutable inhumanities. I have had no +training of any sort. All my thoughts well up in me; I know not whether +they pertain to the old bewilderings or not; but as they are, they are, +and I can not alter them, for I had nothing to do with putting them in +my mind, and I never affect any thoughts, and I never adulterate any +thoughts; but when I speak, think forth from the tongue, speech being +sometimes before the thought; so, often, my own tongue teaches me new +things.</p> + +<p>“Now as yet I never had questioned the woman, or her husband, or the +young girls, their children, why I had been brought to the house, or how +long I was to stay in the house. There I was; just as I found myself in +the world; there I was; for what cause I had been brought into the +world, would have been no stranger question to me, than for what cause I +had<a name="page_167"></a> been brought to the house. I knew nothing of myself, or any thing +pertaining to myself; I felt my pulse, my thought; but other things I +was ignorant of, except the general feeling of my humanness among the +inhumanities. But as I grew older, I expanded in my mind. I began to +learn things out of me; to see still stranger, and minuter differences. +I called the woman mother, and so did the other girls; yet the woman +often kissed them, but seldom me. She always helped them first at table. +The farmer scarcely ever spoke to me. Now months, years rolled on, and +the young girls began to stare at me. Then the bewilderingness of the +old starings of the solitary old man and old woman, by the cracked +hearth-stone of the desolate old house, in the desolate, round, open +space; the bewilderingness of those old starings now returned to me; and +the green starings, and the serpent hissings of the uncompanionable cat, +recurred to me, and the feeling of the infinite forlornness of my life +rolled over me. But the woman was very kind to me; she taught the girls +not to be cruel to me; she would call me to her, and speak cheerfully to +me, and I thanked—not God, for I had been taught no God—I thanked the +bright human summer, and the joyful human sun in the sky; I thanked the +human summer and the sun, that they had given me the woman; and I would +sometimes steal away into the beautiful grass, and worship the kind +summer and the sun; and often say over to myself the soft words, summer +and the sun.</p> + +<p>“Still, weeks and years ran on, and my hair began to vail me with its +fullness and its length; and now often I heard the word beautiful, +spoken of my hair, and beautiful, spoken of myself. They would not say +the word openly to me, but I would by chance overhear them whispering +it. The word joyed me with the human feeling of it. They were wrong not +to say it openly to me; my joy would have been so much the more assured +for the openness of their saying beautiful, to me; and I know it would +have filled me with all conceivable kindness<a name="page_168"></a> toward every one. Now I +had heard the word beautiful, whispered, now and then, for some months, +when a new being came to the house; they called him gentleman. His face +was wonderful to me. Something strangely like it, and yet again unlike +it, I had seen before, but where, I could not tell. But one day, looking +into the smooth water behind the house, there I saw the +likeness—something strangely like, and yet unlike, the likeness of his +face. This filled me with puzzlings. The new being, the gentleman, he +was very gracious to me; he seemed astonished, confounded at me; he +looked at me, then at a very little, round picture—so it seemed—which +he took from his pocket, and yet concealed from me. Then he kissed me, +and looked with tenderness and grief upon me; and I felt a tear fall on +me from him. Then he whispered a word into my ear. ‘Father,’ was the +word he whispered; the same word by which the young girls called the +farmer. Then I knew it was the word of kindness and of kisses. I kissed +the gentleman.</p> + +<p>“When he left the house I wept for him to come again. And he did come +again. All called him my father now. He came to see me once every month +or two; till at last he came not at all; and when I wept and asked for +him, they said the word <i>Dead</i> to me. Then the bewilderings of the +comings and the goings of the coffins at the large and populous house; +these bewilderings came over me. What was it to be dead? What is it to +be living? Wherein is the difference between the words Death and Life? +Had I been ever dead? Was I living? Let me be still again. Do not speak +to me.”</p> + +<p>And the stepping on the floor above; again it did resume.</p> + +<p>“Months ran on; and now I somehow learned that my father had every now +and then sent money to the woman to keep me with her in the house; and +that no more money had come to her after he was dead; the last penny of +the former money was now gone. Now the farmer’s wife looked troubledly<a name="page_169"></a> +and painfully at me; and the farmer looked unpleasantly and impatiently +at me. I felt that something was miserably wrong; I said to myself, I am +one too many; I must go away from the pleasant house. Then the +bewilderings of all the loneliness and forlornness of all my forlorn and +lonely life; all these bewilderings and the whelmings of the +bewilderings rolled over me; and I sat down without the house, but could +not weep.</p> + +<p>“But I was strong, and I was a grown girl now. I said to the woman—Keep +me hard at work; let me work all the time, but let me stay with thee. +But the other girls were sufficient to do the work; me they wanted not. +The farmer looked out of his eyes at me, and the out-lookings of his +eyes said plainly to me—Thee we do not want; go from us; thou art one +too many; and thou art more than one too many. Then I said to the +woman—Hire me out to some one; let me work for some one.—But I spread +too wide my little story. I must make an end.</p> + +<p>“The woman listened to me, and through her means I went to live at +another house, and earned wages there. My work was milking the cows, and +making butter, and spinning wool, and weaving carpets of thin strips of +cloth. One day there came to this house a pedler. In his wagon he had a +guitar, an old guitar, yet a very pretty one, but with broken strings. +He had got it slyly in part exchange from the servants of a grand house +some distance off. Spite of the broken strings, the thing looked very +graceful and beautiful to me; and I knew there was melodiousness lurking +in the thing, though I had never seen a guitar before, nor heard of one; +but there was a strange humming in my heart that seemed to prophesy of +the hummings of the guitar. Intuitively, I knew that the strings were +not as they should be. I said to the man—I will buy of thee the thing +thou callest a guitar. But thou must put new strings to it. So he went +to search for them; and brought the strings, and restringing the guitar, +tuned it<a name="page_170"></a> for me. So with part of my earnings I bought the guitar. +Straightway I took it to my little chamber in the gable, and softly laid +it on my bed. Then I murmured; sung and murmured to it; very lowly, very +softly; I could hardly hear myself. And I changed the modulations of my +singings and my murmurings; and still sung, and murmured, lowly, +softly,—more and more; and presently I heard a sudden sound: sweet and +low beyond all telling was the sweet and sudden sound. I clapt my hands; +the guitar was speaking to me; the dear guitar was singing to me; +murmuring and singing to me, the guitar. Then I sung and murmured to it +with a still different modulation; and once more it answered me from a +different string; and once more it murmured to me, and it answered to me +with a different string. The guitar was human; the guitar taught me the +secret of the guitar; the guitar learned me to play on the guitar. No +music-master have I ever had but the guitar. I made a loving friend of +it; a heart friend of it. It sings to me as I to it. Love is not all on +one side with my guitar. All the wonders that are unimaginable and +unspeakable; all these wonders are translated in the mysterious +melodiousness of the guitar. It knows all my past history. Sometimes it +plays to me the mystic visions of the confused large house I never name. +Sometimes it brings to me the bird-twitterings in the air; and sometimes +it strikes up in me rapturous pulsations of legendary delights eternally +unexperienced and unknown to me. Bring me the guitar.”<a name="page_171"></a></p> + +<hr /> + +<h4>VI.</h4> + +<p>E<small>NTRANCED</small>, lost, as one wandering bedazzled and amazed among innumerable +dancing lights, Pierre had motionlessly listened to this +abundant-haired, and large-eyed girl of mystery.</p> + +<p>“Bring me the guitar!”</p> + +<p>Starting from his enchantment, Pierre gazed round the room, and saw the +instrument leaning against a corner. Silently he brought it to the girl, +and silently sat down again.</p> + +<p>“Now listen to the guitar; and the guitar shall sing to thee the sequel +of my story; for not in words can it be spoken. So listen to the +guitar.”</p> + +<p>Instantly the room was populous with sounds of melodiousness, and +mournfulness, and wonderfulness; the room swarmed with the +unintelligible but delicious sounds. The sounds seemed waltzing in the +room; the sounds hung pendulous like glittering icicles from the corners +of the room; and fell upon him with a ringing silveryness; and were +drawn up again to the ceiling, and hung pendulous again, and dropt down +upon him again with the ringing silveryness. Fire-flies seemed buzzing +in the sounds; summer-lightnings seemed vividly yet softly audible in +the sounds.</p> + +<p>And still the wild girl played on the guitar; and her long dark shower +of curls fell over it, and vailed it; and still, out from the vail came +the swarming sweetness, and the utter unintelligibleness, but the +infinite significancies of the sounds of the guitar.</p> + +<p>“Girl of all-bewildering mystery!” cried Pierre—“Speak to me;—sister, +if thou indeed canst be a thing that’s mortal—speak to me, if thou be +Isabel!”</p> + +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary=""> +<tr><td align="left">“Mystery! Mystery!</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"> Mystery of Isabel!</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"> Mystery! Mystery!</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"> Isabel and Mystery!”</td></tr> +</table> + +<p>Among the waltzings, and the droppings, and the swarmings of the sounds, +Pierre now heard the tones above deftly stealing and winding among the +myriad serpentinings of the other melody:—deftly stealing and winding +as respected the instrumental sounds, but in themselves wonderfully and +abandonedly free and bold—bounding and rebounding as from multitudinous +reciprocal walls; while with every syllable the hair-shrouded form of +Isabel swayed to and fro with a like abandonment, and suddenness, and +wantonness:—then it seemed not like any song; seemed not issuing from +any mouth; but it came forth from beneath the same vail concealing the +guitar.</p> + +<p>Now a strange wild heat burned upon his brow; he put his hand to it. +Instantly the music changed; and drooped and changed; and changed and +changed; and lingeringly retreated as it changed; and at last was wholly +gone.</p> + +<p>Pierre was the first to break the silence.</p> + +<p>“Isabel, thou hast filled me with such wonderings; I am so distraught +with thee, that the particular things I had to tell to thee, when I +hither came; these things I can not now recall, to speak them to +thee:—I feel that something is still unsaid by thee, which at some +other time thou wilt reveal. But now I can stay no longer with thee. +Know me eternally as thy loving, revering, and most marveling brother, +who will never desert thee, Isabel. Now let me kiss thee and depart, +till to-morrow night; when I shall open to thee all my mind, and all my +plans concerning me and thee. Let me kiss thee, and adieu!”</p> + +<p>As full of unquestioning and unfaltering faith in him, the girl sat +motionless and heard him out. Then silently rose, and turned her +boundlessly confiding brow to him. He kissed it thrice, and without +another syllable left the place.<a name="page_173"></a></p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="BOOK_VII"></a>BOOK VII.<br /> +INTERMEDIATE BETWEEN PIERRE’S TWO INTERVIEWS WITH ISABEL AT THE +FARM-HOUSE.</h2> + +<h4>I.</h4> + +<p>N<small>OT</small> immediately, not for a long time, could Pierre fully, or by any +approximation, realize the scene which he had just departed. But the +vague revelation was now in him, that the visible world, some of which +before had seemed but too common and prosaic to him; and but too +intelligible; he now vaguely felt, that all the world, and every +misconceivedly common and prosaic thing in it, was steeped a million +fathoms in a mysteriousness wholly hopeless of solution. First, the +enigmatical story of the girl, and the profound sincerity of it, and yet +the ever accompanying haziness, obscurity, and almost miraculousness of +it;—first, this wonderful story of the girl had displaced all +commonness and prosaicness from his soul; and then, the inexplicable +spell of the guitar, and the subtleness of the melodious appealings of +the few brief words from Isabel sung in the conclusion of the +melody—all this had bewitched him, and enchanted him, till he had sat +motionless and bending over, as a tree-transformed and mystery-laden +visitant, caught and fast bound in some necromancer’s garden.</p> + +<p>But as now burst from these sorceries, he hurried along the open road, +he strove for the time to dispel the mystic feeling, or at least +postpone it for a while, until he should have time to<a name="page_174"></a> rally both body +and soul from the more immediate consequences of that day’s long +fastings and wanderings, and that night’s never-to-be-forgotten scene. +He now endeavored to beat away all thoughts from him, but of present +bodily needs.</p> + +<p>Passing through the silent village, he heard the clock tell the mid hour +of night. Hurrying on, he entered the mansion by a private door, the key +of which hung in a secret outer place. Without undressing, he flung +himself upon the bed. But remembering himself again, he rose and +adjusted his alarm-clock, so that it would emphatically repeat the hour +of five. Then to bed again, and driving off all intrudings of +thoughtfulness, and resolutely bending himself to slumber, he by-and-by +fell into its at first reluctant, but at last welcoming and hospitable +arms. At five he rose; and in the east saw the first spears of the +advanced-guard of the day.</p> + +<p>It had been his purpose to go forth at that early hour, and so avoid all +casual contact with any inmate of the mansion, and spend the entire day +in a second wandering in the woods, as the only fit prelude to the +society of so wild a being as his new-found sister Isabel. But the +familiar home-sights of his chamber strangely worked upon him. For an +instant, he almost could have prayed Isabel back into the wonder-world +from which she had so slidingly emerged. For an instant, the fond, +all-understood blue eyes of Lucy displaced the as tender, but mournful +and inscrutable dark glance of Isabel. He seemed placed between them, to +choose one or the other; then both seemed his; but into Lucy’s eyes +there stole half of the mournfulness of Isabel’s, without diminishing +hers.</p> + +<p>Again the faintness, and the long life-weariness benumbed him. He left +the mansion, and put his bare forehead against the restoring wind. He +re-entered the mansion, and adjusted the clock to repeat emphatically +the call of seven; and then lay upon his bed. But now he could not +sleep. At seven he changed his dress; and at half-past eight went below +to meet<a name="page_175"></a> his mother at the breakfast table, having a little before +overheard her step upon the stair.</p> + +<hr /> + +<h4>II.</h4> + +<p>H<small>E</small> saluted her; but she looked gravely and yet alarmedly, and then in a +sudden, illy-repressed panic, upon him. Then he knew he must be +wonderfully changed. But his mother spoke not to him, only to return his +good-morning. He saw that she was deeply offended with him, on many +accounts; moreover, that she was vaguely frightened about him, and +finally that notwithstanding all this, her stung pride conquered all +apprehensiveness in her; and he knew his mother well enough to be very +certain that, though he should unroll a magician’s parchment before her +now, she would verbally express no interest, and seek no explanation +from him. Nevertheless, he could not entirely abstain from testing the +power of her reservedness.</p> + +<p>“I have been quite an absentee, sister Mary,” said he, with ill-affected +pleasantness.</p> + +<p>“Yes, Pierre. How does the coffee suit you this morning? It is some new +coffee.”</p> + +<p>“It is very nice; very rich and odorous, sister Mary.”</p> + +<p>“I am glad you find it so, Pierre.”</p> + +<p>“Why don’t you call me brother Pierre?”</p> + +<p>“Have I not called you so? Well, then, brother Pierre,—is that better?”</p> + +<p>“Why do you look so indifferently and icily upon me, sister Mary?”</p> + +<p>“Do I look indifferently and icily? Then I will endeavor to look +otherwise. Give me the toast there, Pierre.”</p> + +<p>“You are very deeply offended at me, my dear mother.”<a name="page_176"></a></p> + +<p>“Not in the slightest degree, Pierre. Have you seen Lucy lately?”</p> + +<p>“I have not, my mother.”</p> + +<p>“Ah! A bit of salmon, Pierre.”</p> + +<p>“You are too proud to show toward me what you are this moment feeling, +my mother.”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Glendinning slowly rose to her feet, and her full stature of +womanly beauty and majesty stood imposingly over him.</p> + +<p>“Tempt me no more, Pierre. I will ask no secret from thee; all shall be +voluntary between us, as it ever has been, until very lately, or all +shall be nothing between us. Beware of me, Pierre. There lives not that +being in the world of whom thou hast more reason to beware, so you +continue but a little longer to act thus with me.”</p> + +<p>She reseated herself, and spoke no more. Pierre kept silence; and after +snatching a few mouthfuls of he knew not what, silently quitted the +table, and the room, and the mansion.</p> + +<hr /> + +<h4>III.</h4> + +<p>A<small>S</small> the door of the breakfast-room closed upon Pierre, Mrs. Glendinning +rose, her fork unconsciously retained in her hand. Presently, as she +paced the room in deep, rapid thought, she became conscious of something +strange in her grasp, and without looking at it, to mark what it was, +impulsively flung it from her. A dashing noise was heard, and then a +quivering. She turned; and hanging by the side of Pierre’s portrait, she +saw her own smiling picture pierced through, and the fork, whose silver +tines had caught in the painted bosom, vibratingly rankled in the wound.</p> + +<p>She advanced swiftly to the picture, and stood intrepidly before it.<a name="page_177"></a></p> + +<p>“Yes, thou art stabbed! but the wrong hand stabbed thee; this should +have been <i>thy</i> silver blow,” turning to Pierre’s portrait face. +“Pierre, Pierre, thou hast stabbed me with a poisoned point. I feel my +blood chemically changing in me. I, the mother of the only surnamed +Glendinning, I feel now as though I had borne the last of a swiftly to +be extinguished race. For swiftly to be extinguished is that race, whose +only heir but so much as impends upon a deed of shame. And some deed of +shame, or something most dubious and most dark, is in thy soul, or else +some belying specter, with a cloudy, shame-faced front, sat at yon seat +but now! What can it be? Pierre, unbosom. Smile not so lightly upon my +heavy grief. Answer; what is it, boy? Can it? can it? +no—yes—surely—can it? it can not be! But he was not at Lucy’s +yesterday; nor was she here; and she would not see me when I called. +What can this bode? But not a mere broken match—broken as lovers +sometimes break, to mend the break with joyful tears, so soon again—not +a mere broken match can break my proud heart so. If that indeed be part, +it is not all. But no, no, no; it can not, can not be. He would not, +could not, do so mad, so impious a thing. It was a most surprising face, +though I confessed it not to him, nor even hinted that I saw it. But no, +no, no, it can not be. Such young peerlessness in such humbleness, can +not have an honest origin. Lilies are not stalked on weeds, though +polluted, they sometimes may stand among them. She must be both poor and +vile—some chance-blow of a splendid, worthless rake, doomed to inherit +both parts of her infecting portion—vileness and beauty. No, I will not +think it of him. But what then? Sometimes I have feared that my pride +would work me some woe incurable, by closing both my lips, and +varnishing all my front, where I perhaps ought to be wholly in the +melted and invoking mood. But who can get at one’s own heart, to mend +it? Right one’s self against another, that, one may sometimes do; but +when that other is<a name="page_178"></a> one’s own self, these ribs forbid. Then I will live +my nature out. I will stand on pride. I will not budge. Let come what +will, I shall not half-way run to meet it, to beat it off. Shall a +mother abase herself before her stripling boy? Let him tell me of +himself, or let him slide adown!”</p> + +<hr /> + +<h4>IV.</h4> + +<p>P<small>IERRE</small> plunged deep into the woods, and paused not for several miles; +paused not till he came to a remarkable stone, or rather, smoothed mass +of rock, huge as a barn, which, wholly isolated horizontally, was yet +sweepingly overarched by beech-trees and chestnuts.</p> + +<p>It was shaped something like a lengthened egg, but flattened more; and, +at the ends, pointed more; and yet not pointed, but irregularly +wedge-shaped. Somewhere near the middle of its under side, there was a +lateral ridge; and an obscure point of this ridge rested on a second +lengthwise-sharpened rock, slightly protruding from the ground. Beside +that one obscure and minute point of contact, the whole enormous and +most ponderous mass touched not another object in the wide terraqueous +world. It was a breathless thing to see. One broad haunched end hovered +within an inch of the soil, all along to the point of teetering contact; +but yet touched not the soil. Many feet from that—beneath one part of +the opposite end, which was all seamed and half-riven—the vacancy was +considerably larger, so as to make it not only possible, but convenient +to admit a crawling man; yet no mortal being had ever been known to have +the intrepid heart to crawl there.</p> + +<p>It might well have been the wonder of all the country round. But strange +to tell, though hundreds of cottage hearthstones—where, of long +winter-evenings, both old men<a name="page_179"></a> smoked their pipes and young men shelled +their corn—surrounded it, at no very remote distance, yet had the +youthful Pierre been the first known publishing discoverer of this +stone, which he had thereupon fancifully christened the Memnon Stone. +Possibly, the reason why this singular object had so long remained +unblazoned to the world, was not so much because it had never before +been lighted on—though indeed, both belted and topped by the dense deep +luxuriance of the aboriginal forest, it lay like Captain Kidd’s sunken +hull in the gorge of the river Hudson’s Highlands,—its crown being full +eight fathoms under high-foliage mark during the great spring-tide of +foliage;—and besides this, the cottagers had no special motive for +visiting its more immediate vicinity at all; their timber and fuel being +obtained from more accessible woodlands—as because, even, if any of the +simple people should have chanced to have beheld it, they, in their +hoodwinked unappreciativeness, would not have accounted it any very +marvelous sight, and therefore, would never have thought it worth their +while to publish it abroad. So that in real truth, they might have seen +it, and yet afterward have forgotten so inconsiderable a circumstance. +In short, this wondrous Memnon Stone could be no Memnon Stone to them; +nothing but a huge stumbling-block, deeply to be regretted as a vast +prospective obstacle in the way of running a handy little cross-road +through that wild part of the Manor.</p> + +<p>Now one day while reclining near its flank, and intently eying it, and +thinking how surprising it was, that in so long-settled a country he +should have been the first discerning and appreciative person to light +upon such a great natural curiosity, Pierre happened to brush aside +several successive layers of old, gray-haired, close cropped, nappy +moss, and beneath, to his no small amazement, he saw rudely hammered in +the rock some half-obliterate initials—“S. y<sup>e</sup> W.” Then he knew, that +ignorant of the stone, as all the simple country round might<a name="page_180"></a> +immemorially have been, yet was not himself the only human being who had +discovered that marvelous impending spectacle: but long and long ago, in +quite another age, the stone had been beheld, and its wonderfulness +fully appreciated—as the painstaking initials seemed to testify—by +some departed man, who, were he now alive, might possibly wag a beard +old as the most venerable oak of centuries’ growth. But who,—who in +Methuselah’s name,—who might have been this “S. y<sup>e</sup> W?” Pierre +pondered long, but could not possibly imagine; for the initials, in +their antiqueness, seemed to point to some period before the era of +Columbus’ discovery of the hemisphere. Happening in the end to mention +the strange matter of these initials to a white-haired old gentleman, +his city kinsman, who, after a long and richly varied, but unfortunate +life, had at last found great solace in the Old Testament, which he was +continually studying with ever-increasing admiration; this white-haired +old kinsman, after having learnt all the particulars about the +stone—its bulk, its height, the precise angle of its critical +impendings, and all that,—and then, after much prolonged cogitation +upon it, and several long-drawn sighs, and aged looks of hoar +significance, and reading certain verses in Ecclesiastes; after all +these tedious preliminaries, this not-at-all-to-be-hurried white-haired +old kinsman, had laid his tremulous hand upon Pierre’s firm young +shoulder, and slowly whispered—“Boy; ’tis Solomon the Wise.” Pierre +could not repress a merry laugh at this; wonderfully diverted by what +seemed to him so queer and crotchety a conceit; which he imputed to the +alledged dotage of his venerable kinsman, who he well knew had once +maintained, that the old Scriptural Ophir was somewhere on our northern +sea-coast; so no wonder the old gentleman should fancy that King Solomon +might have taken a trip—as a sort of amateur supercargo—of some Tyre +or Sidon gold-ship across the water, and happened to light on the Memnon +Stone, while rambling about with bow and quiver shooting partridges.<a name="page_181"></a></p> + +<p>But merriment was by no means Pierre’s usual mood when thinking of this +stone; much less when seated in the woods, he, in the profound +significance of that deep forest silence, viewed its marvelous +impendings. A flitting conceit had often crossed him, that he would like +nothing better for a head-stone than this same imposing pile; in which, +at times, during the soft swayings of the surrounding foliage, there +seemed to lurk some mournful and lamenting plaint, as for some sweet boy +long since departed in the antediluvian time.</p> + +<p>Not only might this stone well have been the wonder of the simple +country round, but it might well have been its terror. Sometimes, +wrought to a mystic mood by contemplating its ponderous inscrutableness, +Pierre had called it the Terror Stone. Few could be bribed to climb its +giddy height, and crawl out upon its more hovering end. It seemed as if +the dropping of one seed from the beak of the smallest flying bird would +topple the immense mass over, crashing against the trees.</p> + +<p>It was a very familiar thing to Pierre; he had often climbed it, by +placing long poles against it, and so creeping up to where it sloped in +little crumbling stepping-places; or by climbing high up the neighboring +beeches, and then lowering himself down upon the forehead-like summit by +the elastic branches. But never had he been fearless enough—or rather +fool-hardy enough, it may be, to crawl on the ground beneath the vacancy +of the higher end; that spot first menaced by the Terror Stone should it +ever really topple.</p> + +<hr /> + +<h4>V.</h4> + +<p>Y<small>ET</small> now advancing steadily, and as if by some interior +pre-determination, and eying the mass unfalteringly; he then threw +himself prone upon the wood’s last year’s leaves, and slid<a name="page_182"></a> himself +straight into the horrible interspace, and lay there as dead. He spoke +not, for speechless thoughts were in him. These gave place at last to +things less and less unspeakable; till at last, from beneath the very +brow of the beetlings and the menacings of the Terror Stone came the +audible words of Pierre:—</p> + +<p>“If the miseries of the undisclosable things in me, shall ever unhorse +me from my manhood’s seat; if to vow myself all Virtue’s and all +Truth’s, be but to make a trembling, distrusted slave of me; if Life is +to prove a burden I can not bear without ignominious cringings; if +indeed our actions are all fore-ordained, and we are Russian serfs to +Fate; if invisible devils do titter at us when we most nobly strive; if +Life be a cheating dream, and virtue as unmeaning and unsequeled with +any blessing as the midnight mirth of wine; if by sacrificing myself for +Duty’s sake, my own mother re-sacrifices me; if Duty’s self be but a +bugbear, and all things are allowable and unpunishable to man;—then do +thou, Mute Massiveness, fall on me! Ages thou hast waited; and if these +things be thus, then wait no more; for whom better canst thou crush than +him who now lies here invoking thee?”</p> + +<p>A down-darting bird, all song, swiftly lighted on the unmoved and +eternally immovable balancings of the Terror Stone, and cheerfully +chirped to Pierre. The tree-boughs bent and waved to the rushes of a +sudden, balmy wind; and slowly Pierre crawled forth, and stood haughtily +upon his feet, as he owed thanks to none, and went his moody way.<a name="page_183"></a></p> + +<hr /> + +<h4>VI.</h4> + +<p>W<small>HEN</small> in his imaginative ruminating moods of early youth, Pierre had +christened the wonderful stone by the old resounding name of Memnon, he +had done so merely from certain associative remembrances of that +Egyptian marvel, of which all Eastern travelers speak. And when the +fugitive thought had long ago entered him of desiring that same stone +for his head-stone, when he should be no more; then he had only yielded +to one of those innumerable fanciful notions, tinged with dreamy +painless melancholy, which are frequently suggested to the mind of a +poetic boy. But in after-times, when placed in far different +circumstances from those surrounding him at the Meadows, Pierre pondered +on the stone, and his young thoughts concerning it, and, later, his +desperate act in crawling under it; then an immense significance came to +him, and the long-passed unconscious movements of his then youthful +heart seemed now prophetic to him, and allegorically verified by the +subsequent events.</p> + +<p>For, not to speak of the other and subtler meanings which lie crouching +behind the colossal haunches of this stone, regarded as the menacingly +impending Terror Stone—hidden to all the simple cottagers, but revealed +to Pierre—consider its aspects as the Memnon Stone. For Memnon was that +dewey, royal boy, son of Aurora, and born King of Egypt, who, with +enthusiastic rashness flinging himself on another’s account into a +rightful quarrel, fought hand to hand with his overmatch, and met his +boyish and most dolorous death beneath the walls of Troy. His wailing +subjects built a monument in Egypt to commemorate his untimely fate. +Touched by the breath of the bereaved Aurora, every sunrise that statue +gave forth a mournful broken sound, as of a harp-string suddenly +sundered, being too harshly wound.<a name="page_184"></a></p> + +<p>Herein lies an unsummed world of grief. For in this plaintive fable we +find embodied the Hamletism of the antique world; the Hamletism of three +thousand years ago: “The flower of virtue cropped by a too rare +mischance.” And the English Tragedy is but Egyptian Memnon, Montaignized +and modernized; for being but a mortal man Shakspeare had his fathers +too.</p> + +<p>Now as the Memnon Statue survives down to this present day, so does that +nobly-striving but ever-shipwrecked character in some royal youths (for +both Memnon and Hamlet were the sons of kings), of which that statue is +the melancholy type. But Memnon’s sculptured woes did once melodiously +resound; now all is mute. Fit emblem that of old, poetry was a +consecration and an obsequy to all hapless modes of human life; but in a +bantering, barren, and prosaic, heartless age, Aurora’s music-moan is +lost among our drifting sands which whelm alike the monument and the +dirge.</p> + +<hr /> + +<h4>VII.</h4> + +<p>A<small>S</small> Pierre went on through the woods, all thoughts now left him but those +investing Isabel. He strove to condense her mysterious haze into some +definite and comprehensible shape. He could not but infer that the +feeling of bewilderment, which she had so often hinted of during their +interview, had caused her continually to go aside from the straight line +of her narration; and finally to end it in an abrupt and enigmatical +obscurity. But he also felt assured, that as this was entirely +unintended, and now, doubtless, regretted by herself, so their coming +second interview would help to clear up much of this mysteriousness; +considering that the elapsing interval would do much to tranquilize her, +and rally her into less of wonderfulness<a name="page_185"></a> to him; he did not therefore +so much accuse his unthinkingness in naming the postponing hour he had. +For, indeed, looking from the morning down the vista of the day, it +seemed as indefinite and interminable to him. He could not bring himself +to confront any face or house; a plowed field, any sign of tillage, the +rotted stump of a long-felled pine, the slightest passing trace of man +was uncongenial and repelling to him. Likewise in his own mind all +remembrances and imaginings that had to do with the common and general +humanity had become, for the time, in the most singular manner +distasteful to him. Still, while thus loathing all that was common in +the two different worlds—that without, and that within—nevertheless, +even in the most withdrawn and subtlest region of his own essential +spirit, Pierre could not now find one single agreeable twig of thought +whereon to perch his weary soul.</p> + +<p>Men in general seldom suffer from this utter pauperism of the spirit. If +God hath not blessed them with incurable frivolity, men in general have +still some secret thing of self-conceit or virtuous gratulation; men in +general have always done some small self-sacrificing deed for some other +man; and so, in those now and then recurring hours of despondent +lassitude, which must at various and differing intervals overtake almost +every civilized human being; such persons straightway bethink them of +their one, or two, or three small self-sacrificing things, and suck +respite, consolation, and more or less compensating deliciousness from +it. But with men of self-disdainful spirits; in whose chosen souls +heaven itself hath by a primitive persuasion unindoctrinally fixed that +most true Christian doctrine of the utter nothingness of good works; the +casual remembrance of their benevolent well-doings, does never distill +one drop of comfort for them, even as (in harmony with the correlative +Scripture doctrine) the recalling of their outlived errors and +mis-deeds, conveys to them no slightest pang or shadow of reproach.<a name="page_186"></a></p> + +<p>Though the clew-defying mysteriousness of Isabel’s narration, did now +for the time, in this particular mood of his, put on a repelling aspect +to our Pierre; yet something must occupy the soul of man; and Isabel was +nearest to him then; and Isabel he thought of; at first, with great +discomfort and with pain, but anon (for heaven eventually rewards the +resolute and duteous thinker) with lessening repugnance, and at last +with still-increasing willingness and congenialness. Now he recalled his +first impressions, here and there, while she was rehearsing to him her +wild tale; he recalled those swift but mystical corroborations in his +own mind and memory, which by shedding another twinkling light upon her +history, had but increased its mystery, while at the same time +remarkably substantiating it.</p> + +<p>Her first recallable recollection was of an old deserted chateau-like +house in a strange, French-like country, which she dimly imagined to be +somewhere beyond the sea. Did not this surprisingly correspond with +certain natural inferences to be drawn from his Aunt Dorothea’s account +of the disappearance of the French young lady? Yes; the French young +lady’s disappearance on this side the water was only contingent upon her +reappearance on the other; then he shuddered as he darkly pictured the +possible sequel of her life, and the wresting from her of her infant, +and its immurement in the savage mountain wilderness.</p> + +<p>But Isabel had also vague impressions of herself crossing the +sea;—<i>re</i>crossing, emphatically thought Pierre, as he pondered on the +unbidden conceit, that she had probably first unconsciously and +smuggledly crossed it hidden beneath her sorrowing mother’s heart. But +in attempting to draw any inferences, from what he himself had ever +heard, for a coinciding proof or elucidation of this assumption of +Isabel’s actual crossing the sea at so tender an age; here Pierre felt +all the inadequateness of both his own and Isabel’s united knowledge, to +clear up the<a name="page_187"></a> profound mysteriousness of her early life. To the +certainty of this irremovable obscurity he bowed himself, and strove to +dismiss it from his mind, as worse than hopeless. So, also, in a good +degree, did he endeavor to drive out of him, Isabel’s reminiscence of +the, to her, unnameable large house, from which she had been finally +removed by the pleasant woman in the coach. This episode in her life, +above all other things, was most cruelly suggestive to him, as possibly +involving his father in the privity to a thing, at which Pierre’s inmost +soul fainted with amazement and abhorrence. Here the helplessness of all +further light, and the eternal impossibility of logically exonerating +his dead father, in his own mind, from the liability to this, and many +other of the blackest self-insinuated suppositions; all this came over +Pierre with a power so infernal and intense, that it could only have +proceeded from the unretarded malice of the Evil One himself. But +subtilly and wantonly as these conceits stole into him, Pierre as +subtilly opposed them; and with the hue-and-cry of his whole indignant +soul, pursued them forth again into the wide Tartarean realm from which +they had emerged.</p> + +<p>The more and the more that Pierre now revolved the story of Isabel in +his mind, so much the more he amended his original idea, that much of +its obscurity would depart upon a second interview. He saw, or seemed to +see, that it was not so much Isabel who had by her wild idiosyncrasies +mystified the narration of her history, as it was the essential and +unavoidable mystery of her history itself, which had invested Isabel +with such wonderful enigmas to him.<a name="page_188"></a></p> + +<hr /> + +<h4>VIII.</h4> + +<p>T<small>HE</small> issue of these reconsiderings was the conviction, that all he could +now reasonably anticipate from Isabel, in further disclosure on the +subject of her life, were some few additional particulars bringing it +down to the present moment; and, also, possibly filling out the latter +portion of what she had already revealed to him. Nor here, could he +persuade himself, that she would have much to say. Isabel had not been +so digressive and withholding as he had thought. What more, indeed, +could she now have to impart, except by what strange means she had at +last come to find her brother out; and the dreary recital of how she had +pecuniarily wrestled with her destitute condition; how she had come to +leave one place of toiling refuge for another, till now he found her in +humble servitude at farmer Ulver’s? Is it possible then, thought Pierre, +that there lives a human creature in this common world of everydays, +whose whole history may be told in little less than two-score words, and +yet embody in that smallness a fathomless fountain of ever-welling +mystery? Is it possible, after all, that spite of bricks and shaven +faces, this world we live in is brimmed with wonders, and I and all +mankind, beneath our garbs of common-placeness, conceal enigmas that the +stars themselves, and perhaps the highest seraphim can not resolve?</p> + +<p>The intuitively certain, however literally unproven fact of Isabel’s +sisterhood to him, was a link that he now felt binding him to a before +unimagined and endless chain of wondering. His very blood seemed to flow +through all his arteries with unwonted subtileness, when he thought that +the same tide flowed through the mystic veins of Isabel. All his +occasional pangs of dubiousness as to the grand governing thing of +all—the reality of the physical relationship—only recoiled back upon +him with added tribute of both certainty and insolubleness.<a name="page_189"></a></p> + +<p>She is my sister—my own father’s daughter. Well; why do I believe it? +The other day I had not so much as heard the remotest rumor of her +existence; and what has since occurred to change me? What so new and +incontestable vouchers have I handled? None at all. But I have seen her. +Well; grant it; I might have seen a thousand other girls, whom I had +never seen before; but for that, I would not own any one among them for +my sister. But the portrait, the chair-portrait, Pierre? Think of that. +But that was painted before Isabel was born; what can that portrait have +to do with Isabel? It is not the portrait of Isabel, it is my father’s +portrait; and yet my mother swears it is not he.</p> + +<p>Now alive as he was to all these searching argumentative itemizings of +the minutest known facts any way bearing upon the subject; and yet, at +the same time, persuaded, strong as death, that in spite of them, Isabel +was indeed his sister; how could Pierre, naturally poetic, and therefore +piercing as he was; how could he fail to acknowledge the existence of +that all-controlling and all-permeating wonderfulness, which, when +imperfectly and isolatedly recognized by the generality, is so +significantly denominated The Finger of God? But it is not merely the +Finger, it is the whole outspread Hand of God; for doth not Scripture +intimate, that He holdeth all of us in the hollow of His hand?—a +Hollow, truly!</p> + +<p>Still wandering through the forest, his eye pursuing its ever-shifting +shadowy vistas; remote from all visible haunts and traces of that +strangely wilful race, who, in the sordid traffickings of clay and mud, +are ever seeking to denationalize the natural heavenliness of their +souls; there came into the mind of Pierre, thoughts and fancies never +imbibed within the gates of towns; but only given forth by the +atmosphere of primeval forests, which, with the eternal ocean, are the +only unchanged general objects remaining to this day, from those that +originally met the gaze of Adam. For so it is, that the apparently most<a name="page_190"></a> +inflammable or evaporable of all earthly things, wood and water, are, in +this view, immensely the most endurable.</p> + +<p>Now all his ponderings, however excursive, wheeled round Isabel as their +center; and back to her they came again from every excursion; and again +derived some new, small germs for wonderment.</p> + +<p>The question of Time occurred to Pierre. How old was Isabel? According +to all reasonable inferences from the presumed circumstances of her +life, she was his elder, certainly, though by uncertain years; yet her +whole aspect was that of more than childlikeness; nevertheless, not only +did he feel his muscular superiority to her, so to speak, which made him +spontaneously alive to a feeling of elderly protectingness over her; not +only did he experience the thoughts of superior world-acquaintance, and +general cultured knowledge; but spite of reason’s self, and irrespective +of all mere computings, he was conscious of a feeling which +independently pronounced him her senior in point of Time, and Isabel a +child of everlasting youngness. This strange, though strong conceit of +his mysterious persuasion, doubtless, had its untraced, and but +little-suspected origin in his mind, from ideas born of his devout +meditations upon the artless infantileness of her face; which, though +profoundly mournful in the general expression, yet did not, by any +means, for that cause, lose one whit in its singular infantileness; as +the faces of real infants, in their earliest visibleness, do oft-times +wear a look of deep and endless sadness. But it was not the sadness, nor +indeed, strictly speaking, the infantileness of the face of Isabel which +so singularly impressed him with the idea of her original and changeless +youthfulness. It was something else; yet something which entirely eluded +him.</p> + +<p>Imaginatively exalted by the willing suffrages of all mankind into +higher and purer realms than men themselves inhabit; beautiful +women—those of them at least who are beautiful in soul as well as +body—do, notwithstanding the relentless law of<a name="page_191"></a> earthly fleetingness, +still seem, for a long interval, mysteriously exempt from the +incantations of decay; for as the outward loveliness touch by touch +departs, the interior beauty touch by touch replaces that departing +bloom, with charms, which, underivable from earth, possess the +ineffaceableness of stars. Else, why at the age of sixty, have some +women held in the strongest bonds of love and fealty, men young enough +to be their grandsons? And why did all-seducing Ninon unintendingly +break scores of hearts at seventy? It is because of the perennialness of +womanly sweetness.</p> + +<p>Out from the infantile, yet eternal mournfulness of the face of Isabel, +there looked on Pierre that angelic childlikeness, which our Savior +hints is the one only investiture of translated souls; for of such—even +of little children—is the other world.</p> + +<p>Now, unending as the wonderful rivers, which once bathed the feet of the +primeval generations, and still remain to flow fast by the graves of all +succeeding men, and by the beds of all now living; unending, +ever-flowing, ran through the soul of Pierre, fresh and fresher, further +and still further, thoughts of Isabel. But the more his thoughtful river +ran, the more mysteriousness it floated to him; and yet the more +certainty that the mysteriousness was unchangeable. In her life there +was an unraveled plot; and he felt that unraveled it would eternally +remain to him. No slightest hope or dream had he, that what was dark and +mournful in her would ever be cleared up into some coming atmosphere of +light and mirth. Like all youths, Pierre had conned his novel-lessons; +had read more novels than most persons of his years; but their false, +inverted attempts at systematizing eternally unsystemizable elements; +their audacious, intermeddling impotency, in trying to unravel, and +spread out, and classify, the more thin than gossamer threads which make +up the complex web of life; these things over Pierre had no power now. +Straight through their helpless miserableness he pierced; the one +sensational truth in him<a name="page_192"></a> transfixed like beetles all the speculative +lies in them. He saw that human life doth truly come from that, which +all men are agreed to call by the name of <i>God</i>; and that it partakes of +the unravelable inscrutableness of God. By infallible presentiment he +saw, that not always doth life’s beginning gloom conclude in gladness; +that wedding-bells peal not ever in the last scene of life’s fifth act; +that while the countless tribes of common novels laboriously spin veils +of mystery, only to complacently clear them up at last; and while the +countless tribe of common dramas do but repeat the same; yet the +profounder emanations of the human mind, intended to illustrate all that +can be humanly known of human life; these never unravel their own +intricacies, and have no proper endings; but in imperfect, +unanticipated, and disappointing sequels (as mutilated stumps), hurry to +abrupt intermergings with the eternal tides of time and fate.</p> + +<p>So Pierre renounced all thought of ever having Isabel’s dark lantern +illuminated to him. Her light was lidded, and the lid was locked. Nor +did he feel a pang at this. By posting hither and thither among the +reminiscences of his family, and craftily interrogating his remaining +relatives on his father’s side, he might possibly rake forth some few +small grains of dubious and most unsatisfying things, which, were he +that way strongly bent, would only serve the more hopelessly to cripple +him in his practical resolves. He determined to pry not at all into this +sacred problem. For him now the mystery of Isabel possessed all the +bewitchingness of the mysterious vault of night, whose very darkness +evokes the witchery.</p> + +<p>The thoughtful river still ran on in him, and now it floated still +another thing to him.</p> + +<p>Though the letter of Isabel gushed with all a sister’s sacred longings +to embrace her brother, and in the most abandoned terms painted the +anguish of her life-long estrangement from him; and though, in effect, +it took vows to this,—that without<a name="page_193"></a> his continual love and sympathy, +further life for her was only fit to be thrown into the nearest +unfathomed pool, or rushing stream; yet when the brother and the sister +had encountered, according to the set appointment, none of these +impassionedments had been repeated. She had more than thrice thanked +God, and most earnestly blessed himself, that now he had come near to +her in her loneliness; but no gesture of common and customary sisterly +affection. Nay, from his embrace had she not struggled? nor kissed him +once; nor had he kissed her, except when the salute was solely sought by +him.</p> + +<p>Now Pierre began to see mysteries interpierced with mysteries, and +mysteries eluding mysteries; and began to seem to see the mere +imaginariness of the so supposed solidest principle of human +association. Fate had done this thing for them. Fate had separated the +brother and the sister, till to each other they somehow seemed so not at +all. Sisters shrink not from their brother’s kisses. And Pierre felt +that never, never would he be able to embrace Isabel with the mere +brotherly embrace; while the thought of any other caress, which took +hold of any domesticness, was entirely vacant from his uncontaminated +soul, for it had never consciously intruded there.</p> + +<p>Therefore, forever unsistered for him by the stroke of Fate, and +apparently forever, and twice removed from the remotest possibility of +that love which had drawn him to his Lucy; yet still the object of the +ardentest and deepest emotions of his soul; therefore, to him, Isabel +wholly soared out of the realms of mortalness, and for him became +transfigured in the highest heaven of uncorrupted Love.<a name="page_194"></a></p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="BOOK_VIII"></a>BOOK VIII.<br /> +THE SECOND INTERVIEW AT THE FARM-HOUSE, AND THE SECOND PART OF THE STORY +OF ISABEL. THEIR IMMEDIATE IMPULSIVE EFFECT UPON PIERRE.</h2> + +<h4>I.</h4> + +<p>H<small>IS</small> second interview with Isabel was more satisfying, but none the less +affecting and mystical than the first, though in the beginning, to his +no small surprise, it was far more strange and embarrassing.</p> + +<p>As before, Isabel herself admitted him into the farm-house, and spoke no +word to him till they were both seated in the room of the double +casement, and himself had first addressed her. If Pierre had any way +predetermined how to deport himself at the moment, it was to manifest by +some outward token the utmost affection for his sister; but her rapt +silence and that atmosphere of unearthliness which invested her, now +froze him to his seat; his arms refused to open, his lips refused to +meet in the fraternal kiss; while all the while his heart was +overflowing with the deepest love, and he knew full well, that his +presence was inexpressibly grateful to the girl. Never did love and +reverence so intimately react and blend; never did pity so join with +wonder in casting a spell upon the movements of his body, and impeding +him in its command.</p> + +<p>After a few embarrassed words from Pierre, and a brief reply, a pause +ensued, during which not only was the slow, soft stepping<a name="page_195"></a> overhead +quite audible, as at intervals on the night before, but also some slight +domestic sounds were heard from the adjoining room; and noticing the +unconsciously interrogating expression of Pierre’s face, Isabel thus +spoke to him:</p> + +<p>“I feel, my brother, that thou dost appreciate the peculiarity and the +mystery of my life, and of myself, and therefore I am at rest concerning +the possibility of thy misconstruing any of my actions. It is only when +people refuse to admit the uncommonness of some persons and the +circumstances surrounding them, that erroneous conceits are nourished, +and their feelings pained. My brother, if ever I shall seem reserved and +unembracing to thee, still thou must ever trust the heart of Isabel, and +permit no doubt to cross thee there. My brother, the sounds thou hast +just overheard in yonder room, have suggested to thee interesting +questions connected with myself. Do not speak; I fervently understand +thee. I will tell thee upon what terms I have been living here; and how +it is that I, a hired person, am enabled to receive thee in this seemly +privacy; for as thou mayest very readily imagine, this room is not my +own. And this reminds me also that I have yet some few further trifling +things to tell thee respecting the circumstances which have ended in +bestowing upon me so angelical a brother.”</p> + +<p>“I can not retain that word”—said Pierre, with earnest lowness, and +drawing a little nearer to her—“of right, it only pertains to thee.”</p> + +<p>“My brother, I will now go on, and tell thee all that I think thou +couldst wish to know, in addition to what was so dimly rehearsed last +night. Some three months ago, the people of the distant farm-house, +where I was then staying, broke up their household and departed for some +Western country. No place immediately presented itself where my services +were wanted, but I was hospitably received at an old neighbor’s hearth, +and most kindly invited to tarry there, till some employ should offer. +But I did not wait for chance to help me; my inquiries resulted in +ascertaining<a name="page_196"></a> the sad story of Delly Ulver, and that through the fate +which had overtaken her, her aged parents were not only plunged into the +most poignant grief, but were deprived of the domestic help of an only +daughter, a circumstance whose deep discomfort can not be easily +realized by persons who have always been ministered to by servants. +Though indeed my natural mood—if I may call it so, for want of a better +term—was strangely touched by thinking that the misery of Delly should +be the source of benefit to me; yet this had no practically operative +effect upon me,—my most inmost and truest thoughts seldom have;—and so +I came hither, and my hands will testify that I did not come entirely +for naught. Now, my brother, since thou didst leave me yesterday, I have +felt no small surprise, that thou didst not then seek from me, how and +when I came to learn the name of Glendinning as so closely associated +with myself; and how I came to know Saddle Meadows to be the family +seat, and how I at last resolved upon addressing thee, Pierre, and none +other; and to what may be attributed that very memorable scene in the +sewing-circle at the Miss Pennies.”</p> + +<p>“I have myself been wondering at myself that these things should +hitherto have so entirely absented themselves from my mind,” responded +Pierre;—“but truly, Isabel, thy all-abounding hair falls upon me with +some spell which dismisses all ordinary considerations from me, and +leaves me only sensible to the Nubian power in thine eyes. But go on, +and tell me every thing and any thing. I desire to know all, Isabel, and +yet, nothing which thou wilt not voluntarily disclose. I feel that +already I know the pith of all; that already I feel toward thee to the +very limit of all; and that, whatever remains for thee to tell me, can +but corroborate and confirm. So go on, my dearest,—ay, my only sister.”</p> + +<p>Isabel fixed her wonderful eyes upon him with a gaze of long +impassionment; then rose suddenly to her feet, and advanced<a name="page_197"></a> swiftly +toward him; but more suddenly paused, and reseated herself in silence, +and continued so for a time, with her head averted from him, and mutely +resting on her hand, gazing out of the open casement upon the soft +heat-lightning, occasionally revealed there.</p> + +<p>She resumed anon.</p> + +<hr /> + +<h4>II.</h4> + +<p>“My brother, thou wilt remember that certain part of my story which in +reference to my more childish years spent remote from here, introduced +the gentleman—my—yes, <i>our</i> father, Pierre. I can not describe to +thee, for indeed, I do not myself comprehend how it was, that though at +the time I sometimes called him my father, and the people of the house +also called him so, sometimes when speaking of him to me; yet—partly, I +suppose, because of the extraordinary secludedness of my previous +life—I did not then join in my mind with the word father, all those +peculiar associations which the term ordinarily inspires in children. +The word father only seemed a word of general love and endearment to +me—little or nothing more; it did not seem to involve any claims of any +sort, one way or the other. I did not ask the name of my father; for I +could have had no motive to hear him named, except to individualize the +person who was so peculiarly kind to me; and individualized in that way +he already was, since he was generally called by us <i>the gentleman</i>, and +sometimes <i>my father</i>. As I have no reason to suppose that had I then or +afterward, questioned the people of the house as to what more particular +name my father went by in the world, they would have at all disclosed it +to me; and, indeed, since, for certain singular reasons, I now feel +convinced that on that point they were<a name="page_198"></a> pledged to secrecy; I do not +know that I ever would have come to learn my father’s name,—and by +consequence, ever have learned the least shade or shadow of knowledge as +to you, Pierre, or any of your kin—had it not been for the merest +little accident, which early revealed it to me, though at the moment I +did not know the value of that knowledge. The last time my father +visited the house, he chanced to leave his handkerchief behind him. It +was the farmer’s wife who first discovered it. She picked it up, and +fumbling at it a moment, as if rapidly examining the corners, tossed it +to me, saying, ‘Here, Isabel, here is the good gentleman’s handkerchief; +keep it for him now, till he comes to see little Bell again.’ Gladly I +caught the handkerchief, and put it into my bosom. It was a white one; +and upon closely scanning it, I found a small line of fine faded +yellowish writing in the middle of it. At that time I could not read +either print or writing, so I was none the wiser then; but still, some +secret instinct told me, that the woman would not so freely have given +me the handkerchief, had she known there was any writing on it. I +forbore questioning her on the subject; I waited till my father should +return, to secretly question him. The handkerchief had become dusty by +lying on the uncarpeted floor. I took it to the brook and washed it, and +laid it out on the grass where none would chance to pass; and I ironed +it under my little apron, so that none would be attracted to it, to look +at it again. But my father never returned; so, in my grief, the +handkerchief became the more and the more endeared to me; it absorbed +many of the secret tears I wept in memory of my dear departed friend, +whom, in my child-like ignorance, I then equally called <i>my father</i> and +<i>the gentleman</i>. But when the impression of his death became a fixed +thing to me, then again I washed and dried and ironed the precious +memorial of him, and put it away where none should find it but myself, +and resolved never more to soil it with my tears; and I folded it in +such a manner,<a name="page_199"></a> that the name was invisibly buried in the heart of it, +and it was like opening a book and turning over many blank leaves before +I came to the mysterious writing, which I knew should be one day read by +me, without direct help from any one. Now I resolved to learn my +letters, and learn to read, in order that of myself I might learn the +meaning of those faded characters. No other purpose but that only one, +did I have in learning then to read. I easily induced the woman to give +me my little teachings, and being uncommonly quick, and moreover, most +eager to learn, I soon mastered the alphabet, and went on to spelling, +and by-and-by to reading, and at last to the complete deciphering of the +talismanic word—Glendinning. I was yet very ignorant. <i>Glendinning</i>, +thought I, what is that? It sounds something like +<i>gentleman</i>;—Glen-din-ning;—just as many syllables as <i>gentleman</i>; +and—G—it begins with the same letter; yes, it must mean <i>my father</i>. I +will think of him by that word now;—I will not think of the +<i>gentleman</i>, but of <i>Glendinning</i>. When at last I removed from that +house and went to another, and still another, and as I still grew up and +thought more to myself, that word was ever humming in my head, I saw it +would only prove the key to more. But I repressed all undue curiosity, +if any such has ever filled my breast. I would not ask of any one, who +it was that had been Glendinning; where he had lived; whether, ever any +other girl or boy had called him father as I had done. I resolved to +hold myself in perfect patience, as somehow mystically certain, that +Fate would at last disclose to me, of itself, and at the suitable time, +whatever Fate thought it best for me to know. But now, my brother, I +must go aside a little for a moment.—Hand me the guitar.”</p> + +<p>Surprised and rejoiced thus far at the unanticipated newness, and the +sweet lucidness and simplicity of Isabel’s narrating, as compared with +the obscure and marvelous revelations of the night before, and all eager +for her to continue her story in the<a name="page_200"></a> same limpid manner, but +remembering into what a wholly tumultuous and unearthly frame of mind +the melodies of her guitar had formerly thrown him; Pierre now, in +handing the instrument to Isabel, could not entirely restrain something +like a look of half-regret, accompanied rather strangely with a +half-smile of gentle humor. It did not pass unnoticed by his sister, who +receiving the guitar, looked up into his face with an expression which +would almost have been arch and playful, were it not for the +ever-abiding shadows cast from her infinite hair into her unfathomed +eyes, and redoubledly shot back again from them.</p> + +<p>“Do not be alarmed, my brother; and do not smile at me; I am not going +to play the Mystery of Isabel to thee to-night. Draw nearer to me now. +Hold the light near to me.”</p> + +<p>So saying she loosened some ivory screws of the guitar, so as to open a +peep lengthwise through its interior.</p> + +<p>“Now hold it thus, my brother; thus; and see what thou wilt see; but +wait one instant till I hold the lamp.” So saying, as Pierre held the +instrument before him as directed, Isabel held the lamp so as to cast +its light through the round sounding-hole into the heart of the guitar.</p> + +<p>“Now, Pierre, now.”</p> + +<p>Eagerly Pierre did as he was bid; but somehow felt disappointed, and yet +surprised at what he saw. He saw the word <i>Isabel</i>, quite legibly but +still fadedly gilded upon a part of one side of the interior, where it +made a projecting curve.</p> + +<p>“A very curious place thou hast chosen, Isabel, wherein to have the +ownership of the guitar engraved. How did ever any person get in there +to do it, I should like to know?”</p> + +<p>The girl looked surprisedly at him a moment; then took the instrument +from him, and looked into it herself. She put it down, and continued.</p> + +<p>“I see, my brother, thou dost not comprehend. When one knows every thing +about any object, one is too apt to suppose<a name="page_201"></a> that the slightest hint +will suffice to throw it quite as open to any other person. <i>I</i> did not +have the name gilded there, my brother.”</p> + +<p>“How?” cried Pierre.</p> + +<p>“The name was gilded there when I first got the guitar, though then I +did not know it. The guitar must have been expressly made for some one +by the name of Isabel; because the lettering could only have been put +there before the guitar was put together.”</p> + +<p>“Go on—hurry,” said Pierre.</p> + +<p>“Yes, one day, after I had owned it a long time, a strange whim came +into me. Thou know’st that it is not at all uncommon for children to +break their dearest playthings in order to gratify a half-crazy +curiosity to find out what is in the hidden heart of them. So it is with +children, sometimes. And, Pierre, I have always been, and feel that I +must always continue to be a child, though I should grow to three score +years and ten. Seized with this sudden whim, I unscrewed the part I +showed thee, and peeped in, and saw ‘Isabel.’ Now I have not yet told +thee, that from as early a time as I can remember, I have nearly always +gone by the name of Bell. And at the particular time I now speak of, my +knowledge of general and trivial matters was sufficiently advanced to +make it quite a familiar thing to me, that Bell was often a diminutive +for Isabella, or Isabel. It was therefore no very strange affair, that +considering my age, and other connected circumstances at the time, I +should have instinctively associated the word Isabel, found in the +guitar, with my own abbreviated name, and so be led into all sorts of +fancyings. They return upon me now. Do not speak to me.”</p> + +<p>She leaned away from him, toward the occasionally illuminated casement, +in the same manner as on the previous night, and for a few moments +seemed struggling with some wild bewilderment But now she suddenly +turned, and fully confronted<a name="page_202"></a> Pierre with all the wonderfulness of her +most surprising face.</p> + +<p>“I am called woman, and thou, man, Pierre; but there is neither man nor +woman about it. Why should I not speak out to thee? There is no sex in +our immaculateness. Pierre, the secret name in the guitar even now +thrills me through and through. Pierre, think! think! Oh, canst thou not +comprehend? see it?—what I mean, Pierre? The secret name in the guitar +thrills me, thrills me, whirls me, whirls me; so secret, wholly hidden, +yet constantly carried about in it; unseen, unsuspected, always +vibrating to the hidden heart-strings—broken heart-strings; oh, my +mother, my mother, my mother!”</p> + +<p>As the wild plaints of Isabel pierced into his bosom’s core, they +carried with them the first inkling of the extraordinary conceit, so +vaguely and shrinkingly hinted at in her till now entirely +unintelligible words.</p> + +<p>She lifted her dry burning eyes of long-fringed fire to him.</p> + +<p>“Pierre—I have no slightest proof—but the guitar was <i>hers</i>, I know, I +feel it was. Say, did I not last night tell thee, how it first sung to +me upon the bed, and answered me, without my once touching it? and how +it always sung to me and answered me, and soothed and loved me,—Hark +now; thou shalt hear my mother’s spirit.”</p> + +<p>She carefully scanned the strings, and tuned them carefully; then placed +the guitar in the casement-bench, and knelt before it; and in low, +sweet, and changefully modulated notes, so barely audible, that Pierre +bent over to catch them; breathed the word <i>mother, mother, mother</i>! +There was profound silence for a time; when suddenly, to the lowest and +least audible note of all, the magical untouched guitar responded with a +quick spark of melody, which in the following hush, long vibrated and +subsidingly tingled through the room; while to his augmented wonder, he +now espied, quivering along the metallic strings of the guitar, some +minute scintillations, seemingly<a name="page_203"></a> caught from the instrument’s close +proximity to the occasionally irradiated window.</p> + +<p>The girl still kept kneeling; but an altogether unwonted expression +suddenly overcast her whole countenance. She darted one swift glance at +Pierre; and then with a single toss of her hand tumbled her unrestrained +locks all over her, so that they tent-wise invested her whole kneeling +form close to the floor, and yet swept the floor with their wild +redundancy. Never Saya of Limeean girl, at dim mass in St. Dominic’s +cathedral, so completely muffled the human figure. To Pierre, the deep +oaken recess of the double-casement, before which Isabel was kneeling, +seemed now the immediate vestibule of some awful shrine, mystically +revealed through the obscurely open window, which ever and anon was +still softly illumined by the mild heat-lightnings and +ground-lightnings, that wove their wonderfulness without, in the +unsearchable air of that ebonly warm and most noiseless summer night.</p> + +<p>Some unsubduable word was on Pierre’s lip, but a sudden voice from out +the veil bade him be silent.</p> + +<p>“Mother—mother—mother!”</p> + +<p>Again, after a preluding silence, the guitar as magically responded as +before; the sparks quivered along its strings; and again Pierre felt as +in the immediate presence of the spirit.</p> + +<p>“Shall I, mother?—Art thou ready? Wilt thou tell me?—Now? Now?”</p> + +<p>These words were lowly and sweetly murmured in the same way with the +word <i>mother</i>, being changefully varied in their modulations, till at +the last <i>now</i>, the magical guitar again responded; and the girl swiftly +drew it to her beneath her dark tent of hair. In this act, as the long +curls swept over the strings of the guitar, the strange sparks—still +quivering there—caught at those attractive curls; the entire casement +was suddenly and wovenly illumined; then waned again; while now, in the +succeeding dimness, every downward undulating wave<a name="page_204"></a> and billow of +Isabel’s tossed tresses gleamed here and there like a tract of +phosphorescent midnight sea; and, simultaneously, all the four winds of +the world of melody broke loose, and again as on the previous night, +only in a still more subtile, and wholly inexplicable way, Pierre felt +himself surrounded by ten thousand sprites and gnomes, and his whole +soul was swayed and tossed by supernatural tides; and again he heard the +wondrous, rebounding, chanted words:</p> + +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary=""> +<tr><td align="left">“Mystery! Mystery!</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"> Mystery of Isabel!</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"> Mystery! Mystery!</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"> Isabel and Mystery!”</td></tr> +<tr><td align="center">Mystery!</td></tr> +</table> + +<hr /> + +<h4>III.</h4> + +<p>A<small>LMOST</small> deprived of consciousness by the spell flung over him by the +marvelous girl, Pierre unknowingly gazed away from her, as on vacancy; +and when at last stillness had once more fallen upon the room—all +except the stepping—and he recovered his self-possession, and turned to +look where he might now be, he was surprised to see Isabel composedly, +though avertedly, seated on the bench; the longer and fuller tresses of +her now ungleaming hair flung back, and the guitar quietly leaning in +the corner.</p> + +<p>He was about to put some unconsidered question to her, but she +half-anticipated it by bidding him, in a low, but nevertheless almost +authoritative tone, not to make any allusion to the scene he had just +beheld.</p> + +<p>He paused, profoundly thinking to himself, and now felt certain that the +entire scene, from the first musical invocation of the guitar, must have +unpremeditatedly proceeded from a<a name="page_205"></a> sudden impulse in the girl, inspired +by the peculiar mood into which the preceding conversation, and +especially the handling of the guitar under such circumstances, had +irresistibly thrown her.</p> + +<p>But that certain something of the preternatural in the scene, of which +he could not rid his mind:—the, so to speak, voluntary and all but +intelligent responsiveness of the guitar—its strangely scintillating +strings—the so suddenly glorified head of Isabel; altogether, these +things seemed not at the time entirely produced by customary or natural +causes. To Pierre’s dilated senses Isabel seemed to swim in an electric +fluid; the vivid buckler of her brow seemed as a magnetic plate. Now +first this night was Pierre made aware of what, in the superstitiousness +of his rapt enthusiasm, he could not help believing was an extraordinary +physical magnetism in Isabel. And—as it were derived from this +marvelous quality thus imputed to her—he now first became vaguely +sensible of a certain still more marvelous power in the girl over +himself and his most interior thoughts and motions;—a power so hovering +upon the confines of the invisible world, that it seemed more inclined +that way than this;—a power which not only seemed irresistibly to draw +him toward Isabel, but to draw him away from another quarter—wantonly +as it were, and yet quite ignorantly and unintendingly; and, besides, +without respect apparently to any thing ulterior, and yet again, only +under cover of drawing him to her. For over all these things, and +interfusing itself with the sparkling electricity in which she seemed to +swim, was an ever-creeping and condensing haze of ambiguities. Often, in +after-times with her, did he recall this first magnetic night, and would +seem to see that she then had bound him to her by an extraordinary +atmospheric spell—both physical and spiritual—which henceforth it had +become impossible for him to break, but whose full potency he never +recognized till long after he had become habituated to its sway. This +spell seemed one with that Pantheistic master-spell, which<a name="page_206"></a> eternally +locks in mystery and in muteness the universal subject world, and the +physical electricalness of Isabel seemed reciprocal with the +heat-lightnings and the ground-lightnings nigh to which it had first +become revealed to Pierre. She seemed molded from fire and air, and +vivified at some Voltaic pile of August thunder-clouds heaped against +the sunset.</p> + +<p>The occasional sweet simplicity, and innocence, and humbleness of her +story; her often serene and open aspect; her deep-seated, but mostly +quiet, unobtrusive sadness, and that touchingness of her less unwonted +tone and air;—these only the more signalized and contrastingly +emphasized the profounder, subtler, and more mystic part of her. +Especially did Pierre feel this, when after another silent interval, she +now proceeded with her story in a manner so gently confiding, so +entirely artless, so almost peasant-like in its simplicity, and dealing +in some details so little sublimated in themselves, that it seemed well +nigh impossible that this unassuming maid should be the same dark, regal +being who had but just now bade Pierre be silent in so imperious a tone, +and around whose wondrous temples the strange electric glory had been +playing. Yet not very long did she now thus innocently proceed, ere, at +times, some fainter flashes of her electricalness came from her, but +only to be followed by such melting, human, and most feminine traits as +brought all his soft, enthusiast tears into the sympathetic but still +unshedding eyes of Pierre.</p> + +<hr /> + +<h4>IV.</h4> + +<p>“Thou rememberest, my brother, my telling thee last night, how +the—the—thou knowest what I mean—<i>that, there</i>”—avertedly pointing +to the guitar; “thou rememberest how it came into my possession. But +perhaps I did not tell thee, that the<a name="page_207"></a> pedler said he had got it in +barter from the servants of a great house some distance from the place +where I was then residing.”</p> + +<p>Pierre signed his acquiescence, and Isabel proceeded:</p> + +<p>“Now, at long though stated intervals, that man passed the farm-house in +his trading route between the small towns and villages. When I +discovered the gilding in the guitar, I kept watch for him; for though I +truly felt persuaded that Fate had the dispensing of her own secrets in +her own good time; yet I also felt persuaded that in some cases Fate +drops us one little hint, leaving our own minds to follow it up, so that +we of ourselves may come to the grand secret in reserve. So I kept +diligent watch for him; and the next time he stopped, without permitting +him at all to guess my motives, I contrived to steal out of him what +great house it was from which the guitar had come. And, my brother, it +was the mansion of Saddle Meadows.”</p> + +<p>Pierre started, and the girl went on:</p> + +<p>“Yes, my brother, Saddle Meadows; ‘old General Glendinning’s place,’ he +said; ‘but the old hero’s long dead and gone now; and—the more’s the +pity—so is the young General, his son, dead and gone; but then there is +a still younger grandson General left; that family always keep the title +and the name a-going; yes, even to the surname,—Pierre. Pierre +Glendinning was the white-haired old General’s name, who fought in the +old French and Indian wars; and Pierre Glendinning is his young +great-grandson’s name.’ Thou may’st well look at me so, my +brother;—yes, he meant thee, <i>thee</i>, my brother.”</p> + +<p>“But the guitar—the guitar!”—cried Pierre—“how came the guitar openly +at Saddle Meadows, and how came it to be bartered away by servants? Tell +me that, Isabel!”</p> + +<p>“Do not put such impetuous questions to me, Pierre; else thou mayst +recall the old—may be, it is the evil spell upon me. I can not +precisely and knowingly answer thee. I could surmise;<a name="page_208"></a> but what are +surmises worth? Oh, Pierre, better, a million times, and far sweeter are +mysteries than surmises: though the mystery be unfathomable, it is still +the unfathomableness of fullness; but the surmise, that is but shallow +and unmeaning emptiness.”</p> + +<p>“But this is the most inexplicable point of all. Tell me, Isabel; surely +thou must have thought something about this thing.”</p> + +<p>“Much, Pierre, very much; but only about the mystery of it—nothing +more. Could I, I would not now be fully told, how the guitar came to be +at Saddle Meadows, and came to be bartered away by the servants of +Saddle Meadows. Enough, that it found me out, and came to me, and spoke +and sung to me, and soothed me, and has been every thing to me.”</p> + +<p>She paused a moment; while vaguely to his secret self Pierre revolved +these strange revealings; but now he was all attention again as Isabel +resumed.</p> + +<p>“I now held in my mind’s hand the clew, my brother. But I did not +immediately follow it further up. Sufficient to me in my loneliness was +the knowledge, that I now knew where my father’s family was to be found. +As yet not the slightest intention of ever disclosing myself to them, +had entered my mind. And assured as I was, that for obvious reasons, +none of his surviving relatives could possibly know me, even if they saw +me, for what I really was, I felt entire security in the event of +encountering any of them by chance. But my unavoidable displacements and +migrations from one house to another, at last brought me within twelve +miles of Saddle Meadows. I began to feel an increasing longing in me; +but side by side with it, a new-born and competing pride,—yes, pride, +Pierre. Do my eyes flash? They belie me, if they do not. But it is no +common pride, Pierre; for what has Isabel to be proud of in this world? +It is the pride of—of—a too, too longing, loving heart, Pierre—the +pride of lasting suffering and grief, my brother!<a name="page_209"></a> Yes, I conquered the +great longing with the still more powerful pride, Pierre; and so I would +not now be here, in this room,—nor wouldst thou ever have received any +line from me; nor, in all worldly probability, ever so much as heard of +her who is called Isabel Banford, had it not been for my hearing that at +Walter Ulver’s, only three miles from the mansion of Saddle Meadows, +poor Bell would find people kind enough to give her wages for her work. +Feel my hand, my brother.”</p> + +<p>“Dear divine girl, my own exalted Isabel!” cried Pierre, catching the +offered hand with ungovernable emotion, “how most unbeseeming, that this +strange hardness, and this still stranger littleness should be united in +any human hand. But hard and small, it by an opposite analogy hints of +the soft capacious heart that made the hand so hard with heavenly +submission to thy most undeserved and martyred lot. Would, Isabel, that +these my kisses on the hand, were on the heart itself, and dropt the +seeds of eternal joy and comfort there.”</p> + +<p>He leaped to his feet, and stood before her with such warm, god-like +majesty of love and tenderness, that the girl gazed up at him as though +he were the one benignant star in all her general night.</p> + +<p>“Isabel,” cried Pierre, “I stand the sweet penance in my father’s stead, +thou, in thy mother’s. By our earthly acts we shall redeemingly bless +both their eternal lots; we will love with the pure and perfect love of +angel to an angel. If ever I fall from thee, dear Isabel, may Pierre +fall from himself; fall back forever into vacant nothingness and night!”</p> + +<p>“My brother, my brother, speak not so to me; it is too much; unused to +any love ere now, thine, so heavenly and immense, falls crushing on me! +Such love is almost hard to bear as hate. Be still; do not speak to me.”</p> + +<p>They were both silent for a time; when she went on.</p> + +<p>“Yes, my brother, Fate had now brought me within three miles of thee; +and—but shall I go straight on, and tell thee<a name="page_210"></a> all, Pierre? all? every +thing? art thou of such divineness, that I may speak straight on, in all +my thoughts, heedless whither they may flow, or what things they may +float to me?”</p> + +<p>“Straight on, and fearlessly,” said Pierre.</p> + +<p>“By chance I saw thy mother, Pierre, and under such circumstances that I +<i>knew</i> her to be thy mother; and—but shall I go on?”</p> + +<p>“Straight on, my Isabel; thou didst see my mother—well?”</p> + +<p>“And when I saw her, though I spake not to her, nor she to me, yet +straightway my heart knew that she would love me not.”</p> + +<p>“Thy heart spake true,” muttered Pierre to himself; “go on.”</p> + +<p>“I re-swore an oath never to reveal myself to thy mother.”</p> + +<p>“Oath well sworn,” again he muttered; “go on.”</p> + +<p>“But I saw <i>thee</i>, Pierre; and, more than ever filled my mother toward +thy father, Pierre, then upheaved in me. Straightway I knew that if ever +I should come to be made known to thee, then thy own generous love would +open itself to me.”</p> + +<p>“Again thy heart spake true,” he murmured; “go on—and didst thou +re-swear again?”</p> + +<p>“No, Pierre; but yes, I did. I swore that thou wert my brother; with +love and pride I swore, that young and noble Pierre Glendinning was my +brother!”</p> + +<p>“And only that?”</p> + +<p>“Nothing more, Pierre; not to thee even, did I ever think to reveal +myself.”</p> + +<p>“How then? thou <i>art</i> revealed to me.”</p> + +<p>“Yes; but the great God did it, Pierre—not poor Bell. Listen.</p> + +<p>“I felt very dreary here; poor, dear Delly—thou must have heard +something of her story—a most sorrowful house, Pierre. Hark! that is +her seldom-pausing pacing thou hearest from the<a name="page_211"></a> floor above. So she +keeps ever pacing, pacing, pacing; in her track, all thread-bare, +Pierre, is her chamber-rug. Her father will not look upon her; her +mother, she hath cursed her to her face. Out of yon chamber, Pierre, +Delly hath not slept, for now four weeks and more; nor ever hath she +once laid upon her bed; it was last made up five weeks ago; but paces, +paces, paces, all through the night, till after twelve; and then sits +vacant in her chair. Often I would go to her to comfort her; but she +says, ‘Nay, nay, nay,’ to me through the door; says ‘Nay, nay, nay,’ and +only nay to me, through the bolted door; bolted three weeks ago—when I +by cunning arts stole her dead baby from her, and with these fingers, +alone, by night, scooped out a hollow, and, seconding heaven’s own +charitable stroke, buried that sweet, wee symbol of her not unpardonable +shame far from the ruthless foot of man—yes, bolted three weeks ago, +not once unbolted since; her food I must thrust through the little +window in her closet. Pierre, hardly these two handfuls has she eaten in +a week.”</p> + +<p>“Curses, wasp-like, cohere on that villain, Ned, and sting him to his +death!” cried Pierre, smit by this most piteous tale. “What can be done +for her, sweet Isabel; can Pierre do aught?”</p> + +<p>“If thou or I do not, then the ever-hospitable grave will prove her +quick refuge, Pierre. Father and mother both, are worse than dead and +gone to her. They would have turned her forth, I think, but for my own +poor petitionings, unceasing in her behalf!”</p> + +<p>Pierre’s deep concern now gave place to a momentary look of benevolent +intelligence.</p> + +<p>“Isabel, a thought of benefit to Delly has just entered me; but I am +still uncertain how best it may be acted on. Resolved I am though to +succor her. Do thou still hold her here yet awhile, by thy sweet +petitionings, till my further plans are<a name="page_212"></a> more matured. Now run on with +thy story, and so divert me from the pacing;—her every step steps in my +soul.”</p> + +<p>“Thy noble heart hath many chambers, Pierre; the records of thy wealth, +I see, are not bound up in the one poor book of Isabel, my brother. Thou +art a visible token, Pierre, of the invisible angel-hoods, which in our +darker hours we do sometimes distrust. The gospel of thy acts goes very +far, my brother. Were all men like to thee, then were there no men at +all,—mankind extinct in seraphim!”</p> + +<p>“Praises are for the base, my sister, cunningly to entice them to fair +Virtue by our ignorings of the ill in them, and our imputings of the +good not theirs. So make not my head to hang, sweet Isabel. Praise me +not. Go on now with thy tale.”</p> + +<p>“I have said to thee, my brother, how most dreary I found it here, and +from the first. Wonted all my life to sadness—if it be such—still, +this house hath such acuteness in its general grief, such hopelessness +and despair of any slightest remedy—that even poor Bell could scarce +abide it always, without some little going forth into contrasting +scenes. So I went forth into the places of delight, only that I might +return more braced to minister in the haunts of woe. For continual +unchanging residence therein, doth but bring on woe’s stupor, and make +us as dead. So I went forth betimes; visiting the neighboring cottages; +where there were chattering children, and no one place vacant at the +cheerful board. Thus at last I chanced to hear of the Sewing Circle to +be held at the Miss Pennies’; and how that they were anxious to press +into their kind charity all the maidens of the country round. In various +cottages, I was besought to join; and they at length persuaded me; not +that I was naturally loth to it, and needed such entreaties; but at +first I felt great fear, lest at such a scene I might closely encounter +some of the Glendinnings; and that thought was then namelessly repulsive +to me. But by stealthy inquiries I<a name="page_213"></a> learned, that the lady of the +manorial-house would not be present;—it proved deceptive +information;—but I went; and all the rest thou knowest.”</p> + +<p>“I do, sweet Isabel, but thou must tell it over to me; and all thy +emotions there.”</p> + +<hr /> + +<h4>V.</h4> + +<p>“Though but one day hath passed, my brother, since we first met in life, +yet thou hast that heavenly magnet in thee, which draws all my soul’s +interior to thee. I will go on.—Having to wait for a neighbor’s wagon, +I arrived but late at the Sewing Circle. When I entered, the two joined +rooms were very full. With the farmer’s girls, our neighbors, I passed +along to the further corner, where thou didst see me; and as I went, +some heads were turned, and some whisperings I heard, of—‘She’s the new +help at poor Walter Ulver’s—the strange girl they’ve got—she thinks +herself ’mazing pretty, I’ll be bound;—but nobody knows her—Oh, how +demure!—but not over-good, I guess;—I wouldn’t be her, not I—mayhap +she’s some other ruined Delly, run away;—minx!’ It was the first time +poor Bell had ever mixed in such a general crowded company; and knowing +little or nothing of such things, I had thought, that the meeting being +for charity’s sweet sake, uncharity could find no harbor there; but no +doubt it was mere thoughtlessness, not malice in them. Still, it made my +heart ache in me sadly; for then I very keenly felt the dread +suspiciousness, in which a strange and lonely grief invests itself to +common eyes; as if grief itself were not enough, nor innocence any armor +to us, but despite must also come, and icy infamy! Miserable returnings +then I had—even in the midst of bright-budding girls and full-blown +women—miserable returnings then<a name="page_214"></a> I had of the feeling, the bewildering +feeling of the inhumanities I spoke of in my earlier story. But Pierre, +blessed Pierre, do not look so sadly and half-reproachfully upon me. +Lone and lost though I have been, I love my kind; and charitably and +intelligently pity them, who uncharitably and unintelligently do me +despite. And thou, <i>thou</i>, blessed brother, hath glorified many somber +places in my soul, and taught me once for all to know, that my kind are +capable of things which would be glorious in angels. So look away from +me, dear Pierre, till thou hast taught thine eyes more wonted glances.”</p> + +<p>“They are vile falsifying telegraphs of me, then, sweet Isabel. What my +look was I can not tell, but my heart was only dark with ill-restrained +upbraidings against heaven that could unrelentingly see such innocence +as thine so suffer. Go on with thy too-touching tale.”</p> + +<p>“Quietly I sat there sewing, not brave enough to look up at all, and +thanking my good star, that had led me to so concealed a nook behind the +rest: quietly I sat there, sewing on a flannel shirt, and with each +stitch praying God, that whatever heart it might be folded over, the +flannel might hold it truly warm; and keep out the wide-world-coldness +which I felt myself; and which no flannel, or thickest fur, or any fire +then could keep off from me; quietly I sat there sewing, when I heard +the announcing words—oh, how deep and ineffaceably engraved they +are!—‘Ah, dames, dames, Madame Glendinning,—Master Pierre +Glendinning.’ Instantly, my sharp needle went through my side and +stitched my heart; the flannel dropt from my hand; thou heard’st my +shriek. But the good people bore me still nearer to the casement close +at hand, and threw it open wide; and God’s own breath breathed on me; +and I rallied; and said it was some merest passing fit—’twas quite over +now—I was used to it—they had my heart’s best thanks—but would they +now only leave me to myself, it were best for me;—I would go on and +sew. And thus it came and<a name="page_215"></a> passed away; and again I sat sewing on the +flannel, hoping either that the unanticipated persons would soon depart, +or else that some spirit would catch me away from there; I sat sewing +on—till, Pierre! Pierre!—without looking up—for that I dared not do +at any time that evening—only once—without looking up, or knowing +aught but the flannel on my knee, and the needle in my heart, I +felt,—Pierre, <i>felt</i>—a glance of magnetic meaning on me. Long, I, +shrinking, sideways turned to meet it, but could not; till some helping +spirit seized me, and all my soul looked up at thee in my full-fronting +face. It was enough. Fate was in that moment. All the loneliness of my +life, all the choked longings of my soul, now poured over me. I could +not away from them. Then first I felt the complete deplorableness of my +state; that while thou, my brother, had a mother, and troops of aunts +and cousins, and plentiful friends in city and in country—I, I, Isabel, +thy own father’s daughter, was thrust out of all hearts’ gates, and +shivered in the winter way. But this was but the least. Not poor Bell +can tell thee all the feelings of poor Bell, or what feelings she felt +first. It was all one whirl of old and new bewilderings, mixed and +slanted with a driving madness. But it was most the sweet, inquisitive, +kindly interested aspect of thy face,—so strangely like thy father’s, +too—the one only being that I first did love—it was that which most +stirred the distracting storm in me; most charged me with the immense +longings for some one of my blood to know me, and to own me, though but +once, and then away. Oh, my dear brother—Pierre! Pierre!—could’st thou +take out my heart, and look at it in thy hand, then thou would’st find +it all over written, this way and that, and crossed again, and yet +again, with continual lines of longings, that found no end but in +suddenly calling thee. Call him! Call him! He will come!—so cried my +heart to me; so cried the leaves and stars to me, as I that night went +home. But pride rose up—the very pride in my<a name="page_216"></a> own longings,—and as one +arm pulled, the other held. So I stood still, and called thee not. But +Fate will be Fate, and it was fated. Once having met thy fixed regardful +glance; once having seen the full angelicalness in thee, my whole soul +was undone by thee; my whole pride was cut off at the root, and soon +showed a blighting in the bud; which spread deep into my whole being, +till I knew, that utterly decay and die away I must, unless pride let me +go, and I, with the one little trumpet of a pen, blew my heart’s +shrillest blast, and called dear Pierre to me. My soul was full; and as +my beseeching ink went tracing o’er the page, my tears contributed their +mite, and made a strange alloy. How blest I felt that my so bitterly +tear-mingled ink—that last depth of my anguish—would never be visibly +known to thee, but the tears would dry upon the page, and all be fair +again, ere the so submerged-freighted letter should meet thine eye.</p> + +<p>“Ah, there thou wast deceived, poor Isabel,” cried Pierre impulsively; +“thy tears dried not fair, but dried red, almost like blood; and nothing +so much moved my inmost soul as that tragic sight.”</p> + +<p>“How? how? Pierre, my brother? Dried they red? Oh, horrible! +enchantment! most undreamed of!”</p> + +<p>“Nay, the ink—the ink! something chemic in it changed thy real tears to +seeming blood;—only that, my sister.”</p> + +<p>“Oh Pierre! thus wonderfully is it—seems to me—that our own hearts do +not ever know the extremity of their own sufferings; sometimes we bleed +blood, when we think it only water. Of our sufferings, as of our +talents, others sometimes are the better judges. But stop me! force me +backward to my story! Yet methinks that now thou knowest all;—no, not +entirely all. Thou dost not know what planned and winnowed motive I did +have in writing thee; nor does poor Bell know that; for poor Bell was +too delirious to have planned and winnowed motives then. The impulse in +me called thee, not poor Bell. God<a name="page_217"></a> called thee, Pierre, not poor Bell. +Even now, when I have passed one night after seeing thee, and hearkening +to all thy full love and graciousness; even now, I stand as one amazed, +and feel not what may be coming to me, or what will now befall me, from +having so rashly claimed thee for mine. Pierre, now, <i>now</i>, this instant +a vague anguish fills me. Tell me, by loving me, by owning me, publicly +or secretly,—tell me, doth it involve any vital hurt to thee? Speak +without reserve; speak honestly; as I do to thee! Speak now, Pierre, and +tell me all!”</p> + +<p>“Is Love a harm? Can Truth betray to pain? Sweet Isabel, how can hurt +come in the path to God? Now, when I know thee all, now did I forget +thee, fail to acknowledge thee, and love thee before the wide world’s +whole brazen width—could I do that; then might’st thou ask thy question +reasonably and say—Tell me, Pierre, does not the suffocating in thee of +poor Bell’s holy claims, does not that involve for thee unending misery? +And my truthful soul would echo—Unending misery! Nay, nay, nay. Thou +art my sister and I am thy brother; and that part of the world which +knows me, shall acknowledge thee; or by heaven I will crush the +disdainful world down on its knees to thee, my sweet Isabel!”</p> + +<p>“The menacings in thy eyes are dear delights to me; I grow up with thy +own glorious stature; and in thee, my brother, I see God’s indignant +embassador to me, saying—Up, up, Isabel, and take no terms from the +common world, but do thou make terms to it, and grind thy fierce rights +out of it! Thy catching nobleness unsexes me, my brother; and now I know +that in her most exalted moment, then woman no more feels the twin-born +softness of her breasts, but feels chain-armor palpitating there!”</p> + +<p>Her changed attitude of beautiful audacity; her long scornful hair, that +trailed out a disheveled banner; her wonderful transfigured eyes, in +which some meteors seemed playing up;<a name="page_218"></a> all this now seemed to Pierre the +work of an invisible enchanter. Transformed she stood before him; and +Pierre, bowing low over to her, owned that irrespective, darting majesty +of humanity, which can be majestical and menacing in woman as in man.</p> + +<p>But her gentler sex returned to Isabel at last; and she sat silent in +the casement’s niche, looking out upon the soft ground-lightnings of the +electric summer night.</p> + +<hr /> + +<h4>VI.</h4> + +<p>S<small>ADLY</small> smiling, Pierre broke the pause.</p> + +<p>“My sister, thou art so rich, that thou must do me alms; I am very +hungry; I have forgotten to eat since breakfast;—and now thou shalt +bring me bread and a cup of water, Isabel, ere I go forth from thee. +Last night I went rummaging in a pantry, like a bake-house burglar; but +to-night thou and I must sup together, Isabel; for as we may henceforth +live together, let us begin forthwith to eat in company.”</p> + +<p>Isabel looked up at him, with sudden and deep emotion, then all +acquiescing sweetness, and silently left the room.</p> + +<p>As she returned, Pierre, casting his eyes toward the ceiling, said—“She +is quiet now, the pacing hath entirely ceased.”</p> + +<p>“Not the beating, tho’; her foot hath paused, not her unceasing heart. +My brother, she is not quiet now; quiet for her hath gone; so that the +pivoted stillness of this night is yet a noisy madness to her.”</p> + +<p>“Give me pen or pencil, and some paper, Isabel.”</p> + +<p>She laid down her loaf, and plate, and knife, and brought him pen, and +ink, and paper.</p> + +<p>Pierre took the pen.</p> + +<p>“Was this the one, dear Isabel?”<a name="page_219"></a></p> + +<p>“It is the one, my brother; none other is in this poor cot.”</p> + +<p>He gazed at it intensely. Then turning to the table, steadily wrote the +following note:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“For Delly Ulver: with the deep and true regard and sympathy of +Pierre Glendinning.</p> + +<p>“Thy sad story—partly known before—hath now more fully come to +me, from one who sincerely feels for thee, and who hath imparted +her own sincerity to me. Thou desirest to quit this neighborhood, +and be somewhere at peace, and find some secluded employ fitted to +thy sex and age. With this, I now willingly charge myself, and +insure it to thee, so far as my utmost ability can go. +Therefore—if consolation be not wholly spurned by thy great grief, +which too often happens, though it be but grief’s great folly so to +feel—therefore, two true friends of thine do here beseech thee to +take some little heart to thee, and bethink thee, that all thy life +is not yet lived; that Time hath surest healing in his continuous +balm. Be patient yet a little while, till thy future lot be +disposed for thee, through our best help; and so, know me and +Isabel thy earnest friends and true-hearted lovers.”</p></div> + +<p>He handed the note to Isabel. She read it silently, and put it down, and +spread her two hands over him, and with one motion lifted her eyes +toward Delly and toward God.</p> + +<p>“Thou think’st it will not pain her to receive the note, Isabel? Thou +know’st best. I thought, that ere our help do really reach her, some +promise of it now might prove slight comfort. But keep it, and do as +thou think’st best.”</p> + +<p>“Then straightway will I give it her, my brother,” said Isabel, quitting +him.</p> + +<p>An infixing stillness, now thrust a long rivet through the night, and +fast nailed it to that side of the world. And alone again in such an +hour, Pierre could not but listen. He heard<a name="page_220"></a> Isabel’s step on the stair; +then it approached him from above; then he heard a gentle knock, and +thought he heard a rustling, as of paper slid over a threshold +underneath a door. Then another advancing and opposite step tremblingly +met Isabel’s; and then both steps stepped from each other, and soon +Isabel came back to him.</p> + +<p>“Thou did’st knock, and slide it underneath the door?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, and she hath it now. Hark! a sobbing! Thank God, long arid grief +hath found a tear at last. Pity, sympathy hath done this.—Pierre, for +thy dear deed thou art already sainted, ere thou be dead.”</p> + +<p>“Do saints hunger, Isabel?” said Pierre, striving to call her away from +this. “Come, give me the loaf; but no, thou shalt help me, my +sister.—Thank thee;—this is twice over the bread of sweetness.—Is +this of thine own making, Isabel?”</p> + +<p>“My own making, my brother.”</p> + +<p>“Give me the cup; hand it me with thine own hand. So:—Isabel, my heart +and soul are now full of deepest reverence; yet I do dare to call this +the real sacrament of the supper.—Eat with me.”</p> + +<p>They eat together without a single word; and without a single word, +Pierre rose, and kissed her pure and spotless brow, and without a single +word departed from the place.</p> + +<hr /> + +<h4>VII.</h4> + +<p>W<small>E</small> know not Pierre Glendinning’s thoughts as he gained the village and +passed on beneath its often shrouding trees, and saw no light from man, +and heard no sound from man, but only, by intervals, saw at his feet the +soft ground-lightnings, snake-like, playing in and out among the blades +of grass; and between the trees, caught the far dim light from heaven, +and<a name="page_221"></a> heard the far wide general hum of the sleeping but still breathing +earth.</p> + +<p>He paused before a detached and pleasant house, with much shrubbery +about it. He mounted the portico and knocked distinctly there, just as +the village clock struck one. He knocked, but no answer came. He knocked +again, and soon he heard a sash thrown up in the second story, and an +astonished voice inquired who was there?</p> + +<p>“It is Pierre Glendinning, and he desires an instant interview with the +Reverend Mr. Falsgrave.”</p> + +<p>“Do I hear right?—in heaven’s name, what is the matter, young +gentleman?”</p> + +<p>“Every thing is the matter; the whole world is the matter. Will you +admit me, sir?”</p> + +<p>“Certainly—but I beseech thee—nay, stay, I will admit thee.”</p> + +<p>In quicker time than could have been anticipated, the door was opened to +Pierre by Mr. Falsgrave in person, holding a candle, and invested in his +very becoming student’s wrapper of Scotch plaid.</p> + +<p>“For heaven’s sake, what is the matter, Mr. Glendinning?”</p> + +<p>“Heaven and earth is the matter, sir! shall we go up to the study?”</p> + +<p>“Certainly, but—but—”</p> + +<p>“Well, let us proceed, then.”</p> + +<p>They went up-stairs, and soon found themselves in the clergyman’s +retreat, and both sat down; the amazed host still holding the candle in +his hand, and intently eying Pierre, with an apprehensive aspect.</p> + +<p>“Thou art a man of God, sir, I believe.”</p> + +<p>“I? I? I? upon my word, Mr. Glendinning!”</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir, the world calls thee a man of God. Now, what hast thou, the +man of God, decided, with my mother, concerning Delly Ulver?”<a name="page_222"></a></p> + +<p>“Delly Ulver! why, why—what can this madness mean?”</p> + +<p>“It means, sir, what have thou and my mother decided concerning Delly +Ulver.”</p> + +<p>“She?—Delly Ulver? She is to depart the neighborhood; why, her own +parents want her not.”</p> + +<p>“<i>How</i> is she to depart? <i>Who</i> is to take her? Art <i>thou</i> to take her? +<i>Where</i> is she to go? <i>Who</i> has food for her? <i>What</i> is to keep her from +the pollution to which such as she are every day driven to contribute, +by the detestable uncharitableness and heartlessness of the world?”</p> + +<p>“Mr. Glendinning,” said the clergyman, now somewhat calmly putting down +the candle, and folding himself with dignity in his gown; “Mr. +Glendinning, I will not now make any mention of my natural astonishment +at this most unusual call, and the most extraordinary time of it. Thou +hast sought information upon a certain point, and I have given it to +thee, to the best of my knowledge. All thy after and incidental +questions, I choose to have no answer for. I will be most happy to see +thee at any other time, but for the present thou must excuse my +presence. Good-night, sir.”</p> + +<p>But Pierre sat entirely still, and the clergyman could not but remain +standing still.</p> + +<p>“I perfectly comprehend the whole, sir. Delly Ulver, then, is to be +driven out to starve or rot; and this, too, by the acquiescence of a man +of God. Mr. Falsgrave, the subject of Delly, deeply interesting as it is +to me, is only the preface to another, still more interesting to me, and +concerning which I once cherished some slight hope that thou wouldst +have been able, in thy Christian character, to sincerely and honestly +counsel me. But a hint from heaven assures me now, that thou hast no +earnest and world-disdaining counsel for me. I must seek it direct from +God himself, whom, I now know, never delegates his holiest admonishings. +But I do not blame thee; I think I begin to see how thy profession is +unavoidably entangled by all<a name="page_223"></a> fleshly alliances, and can not move with +godly freedom in a world of benefices. I am more sorry than indignant. +Pardon me for my most uncivil call, and know me as not thy enemy. +Good-night, sir.”<a name="page_224"></a></p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="BOOK_IX"></a>BOOK IX.<br /> +MORE LIGHT, AND THE GLOOM OF THAT LIGHT. MORE GLOOM, AND THE LIGHT OF +THAT GLOOM.</h2> + +<h4>I.</h4> + +<p>I<small>N</small> those Hyperborean regions, to which enthusiastic Truth, and +Earnestness, and Independence, will invariably lead a mind fitted by +nature for profound and fearless thought, all objects are seen in a +dubious, uncertain, and refracting light. Viewed through that rarefied +atmosphere the most immemorially admitted maxims of men begin to slide +and fluctuate, and finally become wholly inverted; the very heavens +themselves being not innocent of producing this confounding effect, +since it is mostly in the heavens themselves that these wonderful +mirages are exhibited.</p> + +<p>But the example of many minds forever lost, like undiscoverable Arctic +explorers, amid those treacherous regions, warns us entirely away from +them; and we learn that it is not for man to follow the trail of truth +too far, since by so doing he entirely loses the directing compass of +his mind; for arrived at the Pole, to whose barrenness only it points, +there, the needle indifferently respects all points of the horizon +alike.</p> + +<p>But even the less distant regions of thought are not without their +singular introversions. Hardly any sincere man of ordinary reflective +powers, and accustomed to exercise them at all, but must have been +independently struck by the thought, that,<a name="page_225"></a> after all, what is so +enthusiastically applauded as the march of mind,—meaning the inroads of +Truth into Error—which has ever been regarded by hopeful persons as the +one fundamental thing most earnestly to be prayed for as the greatest +possible Catholic blessing to the world;—almost every thinking man must +have been some time or other struck with the idea, that, in certain +respects, a tremendous mistake may be lurking here, since all the world +does never gregariously advance to Truth, but only here and there some +of its individuals do; and by advancing, leave the rest behind; cutting +themselves forever adrift from their sympathy, and making themselves +always liable to be regarded with distrust, dislike, and often, +downright—though, ofttimes, concealed—fear and hate. What wonder, +then, that those advanced minds, which in spite of advance, happen still +to remain, for the time, ill-regulated, should now and then be goaded +into turning round in acts of wanton aggression upon sentiments and +opinions now forever left in their rear. Certain it is, that in their +earlier stages of advance, especially in youthful minds, as yet +untranquilized by long habituation to the world as it inevitably and +eternally is; this aggressiveness is almost invariably manifested, and +as invariably afterward deplored by themselves.</p> + +<p>That amazing shock of practical truth, which in the compass of a very +few days and hours had not so much advanced, as magically transplanted +the youthful mind of Pierre far beyond all common discernments; it had +not been entirely unattended by the lamentable rearward aggressiveness +we have endeavored to portray above. Yielding to that unwarrantable +mood, he had invaded the profound midnight slumbers of the Reverend Mr. +Falsgrave, and most discourteously made war upon that really amiable and +estimable person. But as through the strange force of circumstances his +advance in insight had been so surprisingly rapid, so also was now his +advance in some sort of wisdom, in charitableness; and his concluding +words to Mr.<a name="page_226"></a> Falsgrave, sufficiently evinced that already, ere quitting +that gentleman’s study, he had begun to repent his ever entering it on +such a mission.</p> + +<p>And as he now walked on in the profound meditations induced by the hour; +and as all that was in him stirred to and fro, intensely agitated by the +ever-creative fire of enthusiastic earnestness, he became fully alive to +many palliating considerations, which had they previously occurred to +him would have peremptorily forbidden his impulsive intrusion upon the +respectable clergyman.</p> + +<p>But it is through the malice of this earthly air, that only by being +guilty of Folly does mortal man in many cases arrive at the perception +of Sense. A thought which should forever free us from hasty imprecations +upon our ever-recurring intervals of Folly; since though Folly be our +teacher, Sense is the lesson she teaches; since if Folly wholly depart +from us, Further Sense will be her companion in the flight, and we will +be left standing midway in wisdom. For it is only the miraculous vanity +of man which ever persuades him, that even for the most richly gifted +mind, there ever arrives an earthly period, where it can truly say to +itself, I have come to the Ultimate of Human Speculative Knowledge; +hereafter, at this present point I will abide. Sudden onsets of new +truth will assail him, and over-turn him as the Tartars did China; for +there is no China Wall that man can build in his soul, which shall +permanently stay the irruptions of those barbarous hordes which Truth +ever nourishes in the loins of her frozen, yet teeming North; so that +the Empire of Human Knowledge can never be lasting in any one dynasty, +since Truth still gives new Emperors to the earth.</p> + +<p>But the thoughts we here indite as Pierre’s are to be very carefully +discriminated from those we indite concerning him. Ignorant at this time +of the ideas concerning the reciprocity and partnership of Folly and +Sense, in contributing to the mental<a name="page_227"></a> and moral growth of the mind; +Pierre keenly upbraided his thoughtlessness, and began to stagger in his +soul; as distrustful of that radical change in his general sentiments, +which had thus hurried him into a glaring impropriety and folly; as +distrustful of himself, the most wretched distrust of all. But this last +distrust was not of the heart; for heaven itself, so he felt, had +sanctified that with its blessing; but it was the distrust of his +intellect, which in undisciplinedly espousing the manly enthusiast cause +of his heart, seemed to cast a reproach upon that cause itself.</p> + +<p>But though evermore hath the earnest heart an eventual balm for the most +deplorable error of the head; yet in the interval small alleviation is +to be had, and the whole man droops into nameless melancholy. Then it +seems as though the most magnanimous and virtuous resolutions were only +intended for fine spiritual emotions, not as mere preludes to their +bodily translation into acts; since in essaying their embodiment, we +have but proved ourselves miserable bunglers, and thereupon taken +ignominious shame to ourselves. Then, too, the never-entirely repulsed +hosts of Commonness, and Conventionalness, and Worldly +Prudent-mindedness return to the charge; press hard on the faltering +soul; and with inhuman hootings deride all its nobleness as mere +eccentricity, which further wisdom and experience shall assuredly cure. +The man is as seized by arms and legs, and convulsively pulled either +way by his own indecisions and doubts. Blackness advances her banner +over this cruel altercation, and he droops and swoons beneath its folds.</p> + +<p>It was precisely in this mood of mind that, at about two in the morning, +Pierre, with a hanging head, now crossed the private threshold of the +Mansion of Saddle Meadows.<a name="page_228"></a></p> + +<hr /> + +<h4>II.</h4> + +<p>I<small>N</small> the profoundly silent heart of a house full of sleeping serving-men +and maids, Pierre now sat in his chamber before his accustomed round +table, still tossed with the books and the papers which, three days +before, he had abruptly left, for a sudden and more absorbing object. +Uppermost and most conspicuous among the books were the Inferno of +Dante, and the Hamlet of Shakspeare.</p> + +<p>His mind was wandering and vague; his arm wandered and was vague. Soon +he found the open Inferno in his hand, and his eye met the following +lines, allegorically overscribed within the arch of the outgoings of the +womb of human life:</p> + +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary=""> +<tr><td align="left">“Through me you pass into the city of Woe;</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"> Through me you pass into eternal pain;</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"> Through me, among the people lost for aye.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="center"> * * * * + * </td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"> All hope abandon, ye who enter here.”</td></tr> +</table> + +<p>He dropped the fatal volume from his hand; he dropped his fated head +upon his chest.</p> + +<p>His mind was wandering and vague; his arm wandered and was vague. Some +moments passed, and he found the open Hamlet in his hand, and his eyes +met the following lines:</p> + +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary=""> +<tr><td align="left">“The time is out of joint;—Oh cursed spite,</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"> That ever I was born to set it right!”</td></tr> +</table> + +<p>He dropped the too true volume from his hand; his petrifying heart +dropped hollowly within him, as a pebble down Carrisbrook well.<a name="page_229"></a></p> + +<hr /> + +<h4>III.</h4> + +<p>T<small>HE</small> man Dante Alighieri received unforgivable affronts and insults from +the world; and the poet Dante Alighieri bequeathed his immortal curse to +it, in the sublime malediction of the Inferno. The fiery tongue whose +political forkings lost him the solacements of this world, found its +malicious counterpart in that muse of fire, which would forever bar the +vast bulk of mankind from all solacement in the worlds to come. +Fortunately for the felicity of the Dilletante in Literature, the +horrible allegorical meanings of the Inferno, lie not on the surface; +but unfortunately for the earnest and youthful piercers into truth and +reality, those horrible meanings, when first discovered, infuse their +poison into a spot previously unprovided with that sovereign antidote of +a sense of uncapitulatable security, which is only the possession of the +furthest advanced and profoundest souls.</p> + +<p>Judge ye, then, ye Judicious, the mood of Pierre, so far as the passage +in Dante touched him.</p> + +<p>If among the deeper significances of its pervading indefiniteness, which +significances are wisely hidden from all but the rarest adepts, the +pregnant tragedy of Hamlet convey any one particular moral at all fitted +to the ordinary uses of man, it is this:—that all meditation is +worthless, unless it prompt to action; that it is not for man to stand +shilly-shallying amid the conflicting invasions of surrounding impulses; +that in the earliest instant of conviction, the roused man must strike, +and, if possible, with the precision and the force of the +lightning-bolt.</p> + +<p>Pierre had always been an admiring reader of Hamlet; but neither his age +nor his mental experience thus far, had qualified him either to catch +initiating glimpses into the hopeless gloom of its interior meaning, or +to draw from the general story those superficial and purely incidental +lessons, wherein the painstaking moralist so complacently expatiates.<a name="page_230"></a></p> + +<p>The intensest light of reason and revelation combined, can not shed such +blazonings upon the deeper truths in man, as will sometimes proceed from +his own profoundest gloom. Utter darkness is then his light, and +cat-like he distinctly sees all objects through a medium which is mere +blindness to common vision. Wherefore have Gloom and Grief been +celebrated of old as the selectest chamberlains to knowledge? Wherefore +is it, that not to know Gloom and Grief is not to know aught that an +heroic man should learn?</p> + +<p>By the light of that gloom, Pierre now turned over the soul of Hamlet in +his hand. He knew not—at least, felt not—then, that Hamlet, though a +thing of life, was, after all, but a thing of breath, evoked by the +wanton magic of a creative hand, and as wantonly dismissed at last into +endless halls of hell and night.</p> + +<p>It is the not impartially bestowed privilege of the more final insights, +that at the same moment they reveal the depths, they do, sometimes, also +reveal—though by no means so distinctly—some answering heights. But +when only midway down the gulf, its crags wholly conceal the upper +vaults, and the wanderer thinks it all one gulf of downward dark.</p> + +<p>Judge ye, then, ye Judicious, the mood of Pierre, so far as the passage +in Hamlet touched him.</p> + +<hr /> + +<h4>IV.</h4> + +<p>T<small>ORN</small> into a hundred shreds the printed pages of Hell and Hamlet lay at +his feet, which trampled them, while their vacant covers mocked him with +their idle titles. Dante had made him fierce, and Hamlet had insinuated +that there was none to strike. Dante had taught him that he had bitter +cause of quarrel; Hamlet taunted him with faltering in the fight. Now he +began to curse anew his fate, for now he began to see that after all he<a name="page_231"></a> +had been finely juggling with himself, and postponing with himself, and +in meditative sentimentalities wasting the moments consecrated to +instant action.</p> + +<p>Eight-and-forty hours and more had passed. Was Isabel acknowledged? Had +she yet hung on his public arm? Who knew yet of Isabel but Pierre? Like +a skulking coward he had gone prowling in the woods by day, and like a +skulking coward he had stolen to her haunt by night! Like a thief he had +sat and stammered and turned pale before his mother, and in the cause of +Holy Right, permitted a woman to grow tall and hector over him! Ah! Easy +for man to think like a hero; but hard for man to act like one. All +imaginable audacities readily enter into the soul; few come boldly forth +from it.</p> + +<p>Did he, or did he not vitally mean to do this thing? Was the immense +stuff to do it his, or was it not his? Why defer? Why put off? What was +there to be gained by deferring and putting off? His resolution had been +taken, why was it not executed? What more was there to learn? What more +which was essential to the public acknowledgment of Isabel, had remained +to be learned, after his first glance at her first letter? Had doubts of +her identity come over him to stay him?—None at all. Against the wall +of the thick darkness of the mystery of Isabel, recorded as by some +phosphoric finger was the burning fact, that Isabel was his sister. Why +then? How then? Whence then this utter nothing of his acts? Did he +stagger at the thought, that at the first announcement to his mother +concerning Isabel, and his resolution to own her boldly and lovingly, +his proud mother, spurning the reflection on his father, would likewise +spurn Pierre and Isabel, and denounce both him and her, and hate them +both alike, as unnatural accomplices against the good name of the purest +of husbands and parents? Not at all. Such a thought was not in him. For +had he not already resolved, that his mother should know nothing of the +fact of Isabel?—But how now? What then? How was Isabel<a name="page_232"></a> to be +acknowledged to the world, if his mother was to know nothing of that +acknowledgment?—Short-sighted, miserable palterer and huckster, thou +hast been playing a most fond and foolish game with thyself! Fool and +coward! Coward and fool! Tear thyself open, and read there the +confounding story of thy blind dotishness! Thy two grand +resolutions—the public acknowledgment of Isabel, and the charitable +withholding of her existence from thy own mother,—these are impossible +adjuncts.—Likewise, thy so magnanimous purpose to screen thy father’s +honorable memory from reproach, and thy other intention, the open +vindication of thy fraternalness to Isabel,—these also are impossible +adjuncts. And the having individually entertained four such resolves, +without perceiving that once brought together, they all mutually expire; +this, this ineffable folly, Pierre, brands thee in the forehead for an +unaccountable infatuate!</p> + +<p>Well may’st thou distrust thyself, and curse thyself, and tear thy +Hamlet and thy Hell! Oh! fool, blind fool, and a million times an ass! +Go, go, thou poor and feeble one! High deeds are not for such blind +grubs as thou! Quit Isabel, and go to Lucy! Beg humble pardon of thy +mother, and hereafter be a more obedient and good boy to her, +Pierre—Pierre, Pierre,—infatuate!</p> + +<p>Impossible would it be now to tell all the confusion and confoundings in +the soul of Pierre, so soon as the above absurdities in his mind +presented themselves first to his combining consciousness. He would fain +have disowned the very memory and the mind which produced to him such an +immense scandal upon his common sanity. Now indeed did all the fiery +floods in the Inferno, and all the rolling gloom in Hamlet suffocate him +at once in flame and smoke. The cheeks of his soul collapsed in him: he +dashed himself in blind fury and swift madness against the wall, and +fell dabbling in the vomit of his loathed identity.<a name="page_233"></a></p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="BOOK_X"></a>BOOK X.<br /> +THE UNPRECEDENTED FINAL RESOLUTION OF PIERRE.</h2> + +<h4>I.</h4> + +<p>G<small>LORIFIED</small> be his gracious memory who first said, The deepest gloom +precedes the day. We care not whether the saying will prove true to the +utmost bounds of things; sufficient that it sometimes does hold true +within the bounds of earthly finitude.</p> + +<p>Next morning Pierre rose from the floor of his chamber, haggard and +tattered in body from his past night’s utter misery, but stoically +serene and symmetrical in soul, with the foretaste of what then seemed +to him a planned and perfect Future. Now he thinks he knows that the +wholly unanticipated storm which had so terribly burst upon him, had yet +burst upon him for his good; for the place, which in its undetected +incipiency, the storm had obscurely occupied in his soul, seemed now +clear sky to him; and all his horizon seemed distinctly commanded by +him.</p> + +<p>His resolution was a strange and extraordinary one; but therefore it +only the better met a strange and extraordinary emergency. But it was +not only strange and extraordinary in its novelty of mere aspect, but it +was wonderful in its unequaled renunciation of himself.</p> + +<p>From the first, determined at all hazards to hold his father’s<a name="page_234"></a> fair +fame inviolate from any thing he should do in reference to protecting +Isabel, and extending to her a brother’s utmost devotedness and love; +and equally determined not to shake his mother’s lasting peace by any +useless exposure of unwelcome facts; and yet vowed in his deepest soul +some way to embrace Isabel before the world, and yield to her his +constant consolation and companionship; and finding no possible mode of +unitedly compassing all these ends, without a most singular act of pious +imposture, which he thought all heaven would justify in him, since he +himself was to be the grand self-renouncing victim; therefore, this was +his settled and immovable purpose now; namely: to assume before the +world, that by secret rites, Pierre Glendinning was already become the +husband of Isabel Banford—an assumption which would entirely warrant +his dwelling in her continual company, and upon equal terms, taking her +wherever the world admitted him; and at the same time foreclose all +sinister inquisitions bearing upon his deceased parent’s memory, or any +way affecting his mother’s lasting peace, as indissolubly linked with +that. True, he in embryo, foreknew, that the extraordinary thing he had +resolved, would, in another way, indirectly though inevitably, dart a +most keen pang into his mother’s heart; but this then seemed to him part +of the unavoidable vast price of his enthusiastic virtue; and, thus +minded, rather would he privately pain his living mother with a wound +that might be curable, than cast world-wide and irremediable +dishonor—so it seemed to him—upon his departed father.</p> + +<p>Probably no other being than Isabel could have produced upon Pierre +impressions powerful enough to eventuate in a final resolution so +unparalleled as the above. But the wonderful melodiousness of her grief +had touched the secret monochord within his breast, by an apparent +magic, precisely similar to that which had moved the stringed tongue of +her guitar to respond to the heart-strings of her own melancholy +plaints. The<a name="page_235"></a> deep voice of the being of Isabel called to him from out +the immense distances of sky and air, and there seemed no veto of the +earth that could forbid her heavenly claim.</p> + +<p>During the three days that he had personally known her, and so been +brought into magnetic contact with her, other persuasions and potencies +than those direct ones, involved in her bewildering eyes and marvelous +story, had unconsciously left their ineffaceable impressions on him, and +perhaps without his privity, had mainly contributed to his resolve. She +had impressed him as the glorious child of Pride and Grief, in whose +countenance were traceable the divinest lineaments of both her parents. +Pride gave to her her nameless nobleness; Grief touched that nobleness +with an angelical softness; and again that softness was steeped in a +most charitable humility, which was the foundation of her loftiest +excellence of all.</p> + +<p>Neither by word or letter had Isabel betrayed any spark of those more +common emotions and desires which might not unreasonably be ascribed to +an ordinary person placed in circumstances like hers. Though almost +penniless, she had not invoked the pecuniary bounty of Pierre; and +though she was altogether silent on that subject, yet Pierre could not +but be strangely sensible of something in her which disdained to +voluntarily hang upon the mere bounty even of a brother. Nor, though she +by various nameless ways, manifested her consciousness of being +surrounded by uncongenial and inferior beings, while yet descended from +a generous stock, and personally meriting the most refined +companionships which the wide world could yield; nevertheless, she had +not demanded of Pierre that he should array her in brocade, and lead her +forth among the rare and opulent ladies of the land. But while thus +evincing her intuitive, true lady-likeness and nobleness by this entire +freedom from all sordid motives, neither had she merged all her feelings +in any sickly sentimentalities of sisterly affection toward her so +suddenly discovered brother; which, in the case<a name="page_236"></a> of a naturally +unattractive woman in her circumstances, would not have been altogether +alluring to Pierre. No. That intense and indescribable longing, which +her letter by its very incoherencies had best embodied, proceeded from +no base, vain, or ordinary motive whatever; but was the unsuppressible +and unmistakable cry of the godhead through her soul, commanding Pierre +to fly to her, and do his highest and most glorious duty in the world.</p> + +<p>Nor now, as it changedly seemed to Pierre, did that duty consist in +stubbornly flying in the marble face of the Past, and striving to +reverse the decree which had pronounced that Isabel could never +perfectly inherit all the privileges of a legitimate child of her +father. And thoroughly now he felt, that even as this would in the +present case be both preposterous in itself and cruel in effect to both +the living and the dead, so was it entirely undesired by Isabel, who +though once yielding to a momentary burst of aggressive enthusiasm, yet +in her more wonted mood of mournfulness and sweetness, evinced no such +lawless wandering. Thoroughly, now he felt, that Isabel was content to +live obscure in her paternal identity, so long as she could any way +appease her deep longings for the constant love and sympathy and close +domestic contact of some one of her blood. So that Pierre had no +slightest misgiving that upon learning the character of his scheme, she +would deem it to come short of her natural expectations; while so far as +its apparent strangeness was concerned,—a strangeness, perhaps +invincible to squeamish and humdrum women—here Pierre anticipated no +obstacle in Isabel; for her whole past was strange, and strangeness +seemed best befitting to her future.</p> + +<p>But had Pierre now reread the opening paragraph of her letter to him, he +might have very quickly derived a powerful anticipative objection from +his sister, which his own complete disinterestedness concealed from him. +Though Pierre had every reason to believe that—owing to her secluded +and humble<a name="page_237"></a> life—Isabel was in entire ignorance of the fact of his +precise relation to Lucy Tartan:—an ignorance, whose first indirect and +unconscious manifestation in Isabel, had been unspeakably welcome to +him;—and though, of course, he had both wisely and benevolently +abstained from enlightening her on that point; still, notwithstanding +this, was it possible that any true-hearted noble girl like Isabel, +would, to benefit herself, willingly become a participator in an act, +which would prospectively and forever bar the blessed boon of +marriageable love from one so young and generous as Pierre, and +eternally entangle him in a fictitious alliance, which, though in +reality but a web of air, yet in effect would prove a wall of iron; for +the same powerful motive which induced the thought of forming such an +alliance, would always thereafter forbid that tacit exposure of its +fictitiousness, which would be consequent upon its public +discontinuance, and the real nuptials of Pierre with any other being +during the lifetime of Isabel.</p> + +<p>But according to what view you take of it, it is either the gracious or +the malicious gift of the great gods to man, that on the threshold of +any wholly new and momentous devoted enterprise, the thousand ulterior +intricacies and emperilings to which it must conduct; these, at the +outset, are mostly withheld from sight; and so, through her +ever-primeval wilderness Fortune’s Knight rides on, alike ignorant of +the palaces or the pitfalls in its heart. Surprising, and past all +ordinary belief, are those strange oversights and inconsistencies, into +which the enthusiastic meditation upon unique or extreme resolves will +sometimes beget in young and over-ardent souls. That all-comprehending +oneness, that calm representativeness, by which a steady philosophic +mind reaches forth and draws to itself, in their collective entirety, +the objects of its contemplations; that pertains not to the young +enthusiast. By his eagerness, all objects are deceptively foreshortened; +by his intensity each object is viewed as detached; so that essentially +and relatively every thing is<a name="page_238"></a> misseen by him. Already have we exposed +that passing preposterousness in Pierre, which by reason of the +above-named cause which we have endeavored to portray, induced him to +cherish for a time four unitedly impossible designs. And now we behold +this hapless youth all eager to involve himself in such an inextricable +twist of Fate, that the three dextrous maids themselves could hardly +disentangle him, if once he tie the complicating knots about him and +Isabel.</p> + +<p>Ah, thou rash boy! are there no couriers in the air to warn thee away +from these emperilings, and point thee to those Cretan labyrinths, to +which thy life’s cord is leading thee? Where now are the high +beneficences? Whither fled the sweet angels that are alledged guardians +to man?</p> + +<p>Not that the impulsive Pierre wholly overlooked all that was menacing to +him in his future, if now he acted out his most rare resolve; but +eagerly foreshortened by him, they assumed not their full magnitude of +menacing; nor, indeed,—so riveted now his purpose—were they pushed up +to his face, would he for that renounce his self-renunciation; while +concerning all things more immediately contingent upon his central +resolution; these were, doubtless, in a measure, foreseen and understood +by him. Perfectly, at least, he seemed to foresee and understand, that +the present hope of Lucy Tartan must be banished from his being; that +this would carry a terrible pang to her, which in the natural recoil +would but redouble his own; that to the world all his heroicness, +standing equally unexplained and unsuspected, therefore the world would +denounce him as infamously false to his betrothed; reckless of the most +binding human vows; a secret wooer and wedder of an unknown and +enigmatic girl; a spurner of all a loving mother’s wisest counselings; a +bringer down of lasting reproach upon an honorable name; a besotted +self-exile from a most prosperous house and bounteous fortune; and +lastly, that now his whole life would, in the eyes of the wide humanity, +be covered with<a name="page_239"></a> an all-pervading haze of incurable sinisterness, +possibly not to be removed even in the concluding hour of death.</p> + +<p>Such, oh thou son of man! are the perils and the miseries thou callest +down on thee, when, even in a virtuous cause, thou steppest aside from +those arbitrary lines of conduct, by which the common world, however +base and dastardly, surrounds thee for thy worldly good.</p> + +<p>Ofttimes it is very wonderful to trace the rarest and profoundest +things, and find their probable origin in something extremely trite or +trivial. Yet so strange and complicate is the human soul; so much is +confusedly evolved from out itself, and such vast and varied accessions +come to it from abroad, and so impossible is it always to distinguish +between these two, that the wisest man were rash, positively to assign +the precise and incipient origination of his final thoughts and acts. +Far as we blind moles can see, man’s life seems but an acting upon +mysterious hints; it is somehow hinted to us, to do thus or thus. For +surely no mere mortal who has at all gone down into himself will ever +pretend that his slightest thought or act solely originates in his own +defined identity. This preamble seems not entirely unnecessary as usher +of the strange conceit, that possibly the latent germ of Pierre’s +proposed extraordinary mode of executing his proposed extraordinary +resolve—namely, the nominal conversion of a sister into a wife—might +have been found in the previous conversational conversion of a mother +into a sister; for hereby he had habituated his voice and manner to a +certain fictitiousness in one of the closest domestic relations of life; +and since man’s moral texture is very porous, and things assumed upon +the surface, at last strike in—hence, this outward habituation to the +above-named fictitiousness had insensibly disposed his mind to it as it +were; but only innocently and pleasantly as yet. If, by any possibility, +this general conceit be so, then to Pierre the times of sportfulness +were as pregnant with the hours of earnestness; and in sport he learnt +the terms of woe.<a name="page_240"></a></p> + +<hr /> + +<h4>II.</h4> + +<p>I<small>F</small> next to that resolve concerning his lasting fraternal succor to +Isabel, there was at this present time any determination in Pierre +absolutely inflexible, and partaking at once of the sacredness and the +indissolubleness of the most solemn oath, it was the enthusiastic, and +apparently wholly supererogatory resolution to hold his father’s memory +untouched; nor to one single being in the world reveal the paternity of +Isabel. Unrecallably dead and gone from out the living world, again +returned to utter helplessness, so far as this world went; his perished +father seemed to appeal to the dutifulness and mercifulness of Pierre, +in terms far more moving than though the accents proceeded from his +mortal mouth. And what though not through the sin of Pierre, but through +his father’s sin, that father’s fair fame now lay at the mercy of the +son, and could only be kept inviolate by the son’s free sacrifice of all +earthly felicity;—what if this were so? It but struck a still loftier +chord in the bosom of the son, and filled him with infinite +magnanimities. Never had the generous Pierre cherished the heathenish +conceit, that even in the general world, Sin is a fair object to be +stretched on the cruelest racks by self-complacent Virtue, that +self-complacent Virtue may feed her lily-liveredness on the pallor of +Sin’s anguish. For perfect Virtue does not more loudly claim our +approbation, than repented Sin in its concludedness does demand our +utmost tenderness and concern. And as the more immense the Virtue, so +should be the more immense our approbation; likewise the more immense +the Sin, the more infinite our pity. In some sort, Sin hath its +sacredness, not less than holiness. And great Sin calls forth more +magnanimity than small Virtue. What man, who is a man, does not feel +livelier and more generous emotions toward the great god of +Sin—Satan,—than toward yonder haberdasher,<a name="page_241"></a> who only is a sinner in +the small and entirely honorable way of trade?</p> + +<p>Though Pierre profoundly shuddered at that impenetrable yet blackly +significant nebulousness, which the wild story of Isabel threw around +the early life of his father; yet as he recalled the dumb anguish of the +invocation of the empty and the ashy hand uplifted from his father’s +death-bed, he most keenly felt that of whatsoever unknown shade his +father’s guilt might be, yet in the final hour of death it had been most +dismally repented of; by a repentance only the more full of utter +wretchedness, that it was a consuming secret in him. Mince the matter +how his family would, had not his father died a raver? Whence that +raving, following so prosperous a life? Whence, but from the cruelest +compunctions?</p> + +<p>Touched thus, and strung in all his sinews and his nerves to the holding +of his father’s memory intact,—Pierre turned his confronting and +unfrightened face toward Lucy Tartan, and stilly vowed that not even she +should know the whole; no, not know the least.</p> + +<p>There is an inevitable keen cruelty in the loftier heroism. It is not +heroism only to stand unflinched ourselves in the hour of suffering; but +it is heroism to stand unflinched both at our own and at some loved +one’s united suffering; a united suffering, which we could put an +instant period to, if we would but renounce the glorious cause for which +ourselves do bleed, and see our most loved one bleed. If he would not +reveal his father’s shame to the common world, whose favorable opinion +for himself, Pierre now despised; how then reveal it to the woman he +adored? To her, above all others, would he now uncover his father’s +tomb, and bid her behold from what vile attaintings he himself had +sprung? So Pierre turned round and tied Lucy to the same stake which +must hold himself, for he too plainly saw, that it could not be, but +that both their hearts must burn.</p> + +<p>Yes, his resolve concerning his father’s memory involved the<a name="page_242"></a> necessity +of assuming even to Lucy his marriage with Isabel. Here he could not +explain himself, even to her. This would aggravate the sharp pang of +parting, by self-suggested, though wholly groundless surmising in Lucy’s +mind, in the most miserable degree contaminating to her idea of him. But +on this point, he still fondly trusted that without at all marring his +filial bond, he would be enabled by some significant intimations to +arrest in Lucy’s mind those darker imaginings which might find entrance +there; and if he could not set her wholly right, yet prevent her from +going wildly wrong.</p> + +<p>For his mother Pierre was more prepared. He considered that by an +inscrutable decree, which it was but foolishness to try to evade, or +shun, or deny existence to, since he felt it so profoundly pressing on +his inmost soul; the family of the Glendinnings was imperiously called +upon to offer up a victim to the gods of woe; one grand victim at the +least; and that grand victim must be his mother, or himself. If he +disclosed his secret to the world, then his mother was made the victim; +if at all hazards he kept it to himself, then himself would be the +victim. A victim as respecting his mother, because under the peculiar +circumstances of the case, the non-disclosure of the secret involved her +entire and infamy-engendering misconception of himself. But to this he +bowed submissive.</p> + +<p>One other thing—and the last to be here named, because the very least +in the conscious thoughts of Pierre; one other thing remained to menace +him with assured disastrousness. This thing it was, which though but +dimly hinted of as yet, still in the apprehension must have exerted a +powerful influence upon Pierre, in preparing him for the worst.</p> + +<p>His father’s last and fatal sickness had seized him suddenly. Both the +probable concealed distraction of his mind with reference to his early +life as recalled to him in an evil hour, and his consequent mental +wanderings; these, with other reasons, had prevented him from framing a +new will to supersede<a name="page_243"></a> one made shortly after his marriage, and ere +Pierre was born. By that will which as yet had never been dragged into +the courts of law; and which, in the fancied security of her own and her +son’s congenial and loving future, Mrs. Glendinning had never but once, +and then inconclusively, offered to discuss, with a view to a better and +more appropriate ordering of things to meet circumstances non-existent +at the period the testament was framed; by that will, all the +Glendinning property was declared his mother’s.</p> + +<p>Acutely sensible to those prophetic intimations in him, which painted in +advance the haughty temper of his offended mother, as all bitterness and +scorn toward a son, once the object of her proudest joy, but now become +a deep reproach, as not only rebellious to her, but glaringly +dishonorable before the world; Pierre distinctly foresaw, that as she +never would have permitted Isabel Banford in her true character to cross +her threshold; neither would she now permit Isabel Banford to cross her +threshold in any other, and disguised character; least of all, as that +unknown and insidious girl, who by some pernicious arts had lured her +only son from honor into infamy. But not to admit Isabel, was now to +exclude Pierre, if indeed on independent grounds of exasperation against +himself, his mother would not cast him out.</p> + +<p>Nor did the same interior intimations in him which fore-painted the +above bearing of his mother, abstain to trace her whole haughty heart as +so unrelentingly set against him, that while she would close her doors +against both him and his fictitious wife, so also she would not +willingly contribute one copper to support them in a supposed union so +entirely abhorrent to her. And though Pierre was not so familiar with +the science of the law, as to be quite certain what the law, if appealed +to concerning the provisions of his father’s will, would decree +concerning any possible claims of the son to share with the mother in +the property of the sire; yet he prospectively felt an invincible<a name="page_244"></a> +repugnance to dragging his dead father’s hand and seal into open Court, +and fighting over them with a base mercenary motive, and with his own +mother for the antagonist. For so thoroughly did his infallible +presentiments paint his mother’s character to him, as operated upon and +disclosed in all those fiercer traits,—hitherto held in abeyance by the +mere chance and felicity of circumstances,—that he felt assured that +her exasperation against him would even meet the test of a public legal +contention concerning the Glendinning property. For indeed there was a +reserved strength and masculineness in the character of his mother, from +which on all these points Pierre had every thing to dread. Besides, will +the matter how he would, Pierre for nearly two whole years to come, +would still remain a minor, an infant in the eye of the law, incapable +of personally asserting any legal claim; and though he might sue by his +next friend, yet who would be his voluntary next friend, when the +execution of his great resolve would, for him, depopulate all the world +of friends?</p> + +<p>Now to all these things, and many more, seemed the soul of this +infatuated young enthusiast braced.</p> + +<hr /> + +<h4>III.</h4> + +<p>T<small>HERE</small> is a dark, mad mystery in some human hearts, which, sometimes, +during the tyranny of a usurper mood, leads them to be all eagerness to +cast off the most intense beloved bond, as a hindrance to the attainment +of whatever transcendental object that usurper mood so tyrannically +suggests. Then the beloved bond seems to hold us to no essential good; +lifted to exalted mounts, we can dispense with all the vale; endearments +we spurn; kisses are blisters to us; and forsaking the palpitating forms +of mortal love, we emptily embrace the boundless<a name="page_245"></a> and the unbodied air. +We think we are not human; we become as immortal bachelors and gods; but +again, like the Greek gods themselves, prone we descend to earth; glad +to be uxorious once more; glad to hide these god-like heads within the +bosoms made of too-seducing clay.</p> + +<p>Weary with the invariable earth, the restless sailor breaks from every +enfolding arm, and puts to sea in height of tempest that blows off +shore. But in long night-watches at the antipodes, how heavily that +ocean gloom lies in vast bales upon the deck; thinking that that very +moment in his deserted hamlet-home the household sun is high, and many a +sun-eyed maiden meridian as the sun. He curses Fate; himself he curses; +his senseless madness, which is himself. For whoso once has known this +sweet knowledge, and then fled it; in absence, to him the avenging dream +will come.</p> + +<p>Pierre was now this vulnerable god; this self-upbraiding sailor; this +dreamer of the avenging dream. Though in some things he had unjuggled +himself, and forced himself to eye the prospect as it was; yet, so far +as Lucy was concerned, he was at bottom still a juggler. True, in his +extraordinary scheme, Lucy was so intimately interwoven, that it seemed +impossible for him at all to cast his future without some way having +that heart’s love in view. But ignorant of its quantity as yet, or +fearful of ascertaining it; like an algebraist, for the real Lucy he, in +his scheming thoughts, had substituted but a sign—some empty <i>x</i>—and +in the ultimate solution of the problem, that empty <i>x</i> still figured; +not the real Lucy.</p> + +<p>But now, when risen from the abasement of his chamber-floor, and risen +from the still profounder prostration of his soul, Pierre had thought +that all the horizon of his dark fate was commanded by him; all his +resolutions clearly defined, and immovably decreed; now finally, to top +all, there suddenly slid into his inmost heart the living and breathing +form of Lucy. His lungs collapsed; his eyeballs glared; for the sweet +imagined<a name="page_246"></a> form, so long buried alive in him, seemed now as gliding on +him from the grave; and her light hair swept far adown her shroud.</p> + +<p>Then, for the time, all minor things were whelmed in him; his mother, +Isabel, the whole wide world; and one only thing remained to him;—this +all-including query—Lucy or God?</p> + +<p>But here we draw a vail. Some nameless struggles of the soul can not be +painted, and some woes will not be told. Let the ambiguous procession of +events reveal their own ambiguousness.<a name="page_247"></a></p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="BOOK_XI"></a>BOOK XI.<br /> +HE CROSSES THE RUBICON</h2> + +<h4>I.</h4> + +<p>S<small>UCKED</small> within the Maelstrom, man must go round. Strike at one end the +longest conceivable row of billiard balls in close contact, and the +furthermost ball will start forth, while all the rest stand still; and +yet that last ball was not struck at all. So, through long previous +generations, whether of births or thoughts, Fate strikes the present +man. Idly he disowns the blow’s effect, because he felt no blow, and +indeed, received no blow. But Pierre was not arguing Fixed Fate and Free +Will, now; Fixed Fate and Free Will were arguing him, and Fixed Fate got +the better in the debate.</p> + +<p>The peculiarities of those influences which on the night and early +morning following the last interview with Isabel, persuaded Pierre to +the adoption of his final resolve, did now irresistibly impel him to a +remarkable instantaneousness in his actions, even as before he had +proved a lagger.</p> + +<p>Without being consciously that way pointed, through the desire of +anticipating any objections on the part of Isabel to the assumption of a +marriage between himself and her; Pierre was now impetuously hurried +into an act, which should have the effective virtue of such an executed +intention, without its corresponding motive.<a name="page_248"></a> Because, as the primitive +resolve so deplorably involved Lucy, her image was then prominent in his +mind; and hence, because he felt all eagerness to hold her no longer in +suspense, but by a certain sort of charity of cruelty, at once to +pronounce to her her fate; therefore, it was among his first final +thoughts that morning to go to Lucy. And to this, undoubtedly, so +trifling a circumstance as her being nearer to him, geographically, than +Isabel, must have contributed some added, though unconscious influence, +in his present fateful frame of mind.</p> + +<p>On the previous undetermined days, Pierre had solicitously sought to +disguise his emotions from his mother, by a certain carefulness and +choiceness in his dress. But now, since his very soul was forced to wear +a mask, he would wear no paltry palliatives and disguisements on his +body. He went to the cottage of Lucy as disordered in his person, as +haggard in his face.</p> + +<hr /> + +<h4>II.</h4> + +<p>S<small>HE</small> was not risen yet. So, the strange imperious instantaneousness in +him, impelled him to go straight to her chamber-door, and in a voice of +mild invincibleness, demand immediate audience, for the matter pressed.</p> + +<p>Already namelessly concerned and alarmed for her lover, now +eight-and-forty hours absent on some mysterious and undisclosable +affair; Lucy, at this surprising summons was overwhelmed with sudden +terror; and in oblivion of all ordinary proprieties, responded to +Pierre’s call, by an immediate assent.</p> + +<p>Opening the door, he advanced slowly and deliberately toward her; and as +Lucy caught his pale determined figure, she gave a cry of groping +misery, which knew not the pang that caused it, and lifted herself +trembling in her bed; but without uttering one word.<a name="page_249"></a></p> + +<p>Pierre sat down on the bedside; and his set eyes met her terrified and +virgin aspect.</p> + +<p>“Decked in snow-white, and pale of cheek, thou indeed art fitted for the +altar; but not that one of which thy fond heart did’st dream:—so fair a +victim!”</p> + +<p>“Pierre!”</p> + +<p>“’Tis the last cruelty of tyrants to make their enemies slay each +other.”</p> + +<p>“My heart! my heart!”</p> + +<p>“Nay;—— Lucy, I am married.”</p> + +<p>The girl was no more pale, but white as any leper; the bed-clothes +trembled to the concealed shudderings of all her limbs; one moment she +sat looking vacantly into the blank eyes of Pierre, and then fell over +toward him in a swoon.</p> + +<p>Swift madness mounted into the brain of Pierre; all the past seemed as a +dream, and all the present an unintelligible horror. He lifted her, and +extended her motionless form upon the bed, and stamped for succor. The +maid Martha came running into the room, and beholding those two +inexplicable figures, shrieked, and turned in terror. But Pierre’s +repeated cry rallied Martha from this, and darting out of the chamber, +she returned with a sharp restorative, which at length brought Lucy back +to life.</p> + +<p>“Martha! Martha!” now murmured Lucy, in a scarce audible whispering, and +shuddering in the maid’s own shuddering arms, “quick, quick; come to +me—drive it away! wake me! wake me!”</p> + +<p>“Nay, pray God to sleep again,” cried Martha, bending over her and +embracing her, and half-turning upon Pierre with a glance of loathing +indignation. “In God’s holy name, sir, what may this be? How came you +here; accursed!”</p> + +<p>“Accursed?—it is well. Is she herself again, Martha?”</p> + +<p>“Thou hast somehow murdered her; how then be herself<a name="page_250"></a> again? My sweet +mistress! oh, my young mistress! Tell me! tell me!” and she bent low +over her.</p> + +<p>Pierre now advanced toward the bed, making a gesture for the maid to +leave them; but soon as Lucy re-caught his haggard form, she +whisperingly wailed again, “Martha! Martha! drive it +away!—there—there! him—him!” and shut her eyes convulsively, with +arms abhorrently outstretched.</p> + +<p>“Monster! incomprehensible fiend!” cried the anew terror-smitten +maid—“depart! See! she dies away at the sight of thee—begone! Wouldst +thou murder her afresh? Begone!”</p> + +<p>Starched and frozen by his own emotion, Pierre silently turned and +quitted the chamber; and heavily descending the stairs, tramped +heavily—as a man slowly bearing a great burden—through a long narrow +passage leading to a wing in the rear of the cottage, and knocking at +Miss Lanyllyn’s door, summoned her to Lucy, who, he briefly said, had +fainted. Then, without waiting for any response, left the house, and +went directly to the mansion.</p> + +<hr /> + +<h4>III.</h4> + +<p>“Is my mother up yet?” said he to Dates, whom he met in the hall.</p> + +<p>“Not yet, sir;—heavens, sir! are you sick?”</p> + +<p>“To death! Let me pass.”</p> + +<p>Ascending toward his mother’s chamber, he heard a coming step, and met +her on the great middle landing of the stairs, where in an ample niche, +a marble group of the temple-polluting Laocoon and his two innocent +children, caught in inextricable snarls of snakes, writhed in eternal +torments.</p> + +<p>“Mother, go back with me to thy chamber.”</p> + +<p>She eyed his sudden presence with a dark but repressed foreboding;<a name="page_251"></a> drew +herself up haughtily and repellingly, and with a quivering lip, said, +“Pierre, thou thyself hast denied me thy confidence, and thou shall not +force me back to it so easily. Speak! what is that now between thee and +me?”</p> + +<p>“I am married, mother.”</p> + +<p>“Great God! To whom?”</p> + +<p>“Not to Lucy Tartan, mother.”</p> + +<p>“That thou merely sayest ’tis not Lucy, without saying who indeed it is, +this is good proof she is something vile. Does Lucy know thy marriage?”</p> + +<p>“I am but just from Lucy’s.”</p> + +<p>Thus far Mrs. Glendinning’s rigidity had been slowly relaxing. Now she +clutched the balluster, bent over, and trembled, for a moment. Then +erected all her haughtiness again, and stood before Pierre in incurious, +unappeasable grief and scorn for him.</p> + +<p>“My dark soul prophesied something dark. If already thou hast not found +other lodgment, and other table than this house supplies, then seek it +straight. Beneath my roof, and at my table, he who was once Pierre +Glendinning no more puts himself.”</p> + +<p>She turned from him, and with a tottering step climbed the winding +stairs, and disappeared from him; while in the balluster he held, Pierre +seemed to feel the sudden thrill running down to him from his mother’s +convulsive grasp.</p> + +<p>He stared about him with an idiot eye; staggered to the floor below, to +dumbly quit the house; but as he crossed its threshold, his foot tripped +upon its raised ledge; he pitched forward upon the stone portico, and +fell. He seemed as jeeringly hurled from beneath his own ancestral +roof.<a name="page_252"></a></p> + +<hr /> + +<h4>IV.</h4> + +<p>P<small>ASSING</small> through the broad court-yard’s postern, Pierre closed it after +him, and then turned and leaned upon it, his eyes fixed upon the great +central chimney of the mansion, from which a light blue smoke was +wreathing gently into the morning air.</p> + +<p>“The hearth-stone from which thou risest, never more, I inly feel, will +these feet press. Oh God, what callest thou that which has thus made +Pierre a vagabond?”</p> + +<p>He walked slowly away, and passing the windows of Lucy, looked up, and +saw the white curtains closely drawn, the white-cottage profoundly +still, and a white saddle-horse tied before the gate.</p> + +<p>“I would enter, but again would her abhorrent wails repel; what more can +I now say or do to her? I can not explain. She knows all I purposed to +disclose. Ay, but thou didst cruelly burst upon her with it; thy +impetuousness, thy instantaneousness hath killed her, Pierre!—Nay, nay, +nay!—Cruel tidings who can gently break? If to stab be inevitable; then +instant be the dagger! Those curtains are close drawn upon her; so let +me upon her sweet image draw the curtains of my soul. Sleep, sleep, +sleep, sleep, thou angel!—wake no more to Pierre, nor to thyself, my +Lucy!”</p> + +<p>Passing on now hurriedly and blindly, he jostled against some +oppositely-going wayfarer. The man paused amazed; and looking up, Pierre +recognized a domestic of the Mansion. That instantaneousness which now +impelled him in all his actions, again seized the ascendency in him. +Ignoring the dismayed expression of the man at thus encountering his +young master, Pierre commanded him to follow him. Going straight to the +“Black Swan,” the little village Inn, he entered the first<a name="page_253"></a> vacant room, +and bidding the man be seated, sought the keeper of the house, and +ordered pen and paper.</p> + +<p>If fit opportunity offer in the hour of unusual affliction, minds of a +certain temperament find a strange, hysterical relief, in a wild, +perverse humorousness, the more alluring from its entire unsuitableness +to the occasion; although they seldom manifest this trait toward those +individuals more immediately involved in the cause or the effect of +their suffering. The cool censoriousness of the mere philosopher would +denominate such conduct as nothing short of temporary madness; and +perhaps it is, since, in the inexorable and inhuman eye of mere +undiluted reason, all grief, whether on our own account, or that of +others, is the sheerest unreason and insanity.</p> + +<p>The note now written was the following:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p class="c">“<i>For that Fine Old Fellow, Dates.</i></p> + +<p>“Dates, my old boy, bestir thyself now. Go to my room, Dates, and +bring me down my mahogany strong-box and lock-up, the thing covered +with blue chintz; strap it very carefully, my sweet Dates, it is +rather heavy, and set it just without the postern. Then back and +bring me down my writing-desk, and set that, too, just without the +postern. Then back yet again, and bring me down the old camp-bed +(see that all the parts be there), and bind the case well with a +cord. Then go to the left corner little drawer in my wardrobe, and +thou wilt find my visiting-cards. Tack one on the chest, and the +desk, and the camp-bed case. Then get all my clothes together, and +pack them in trunks (not forgetting the two old military cloaks, my +boy), and tack cards on them also, my good Dates. Then fly round +three times indefinitely, my good Dates, and wipe a little of the +perspiration off. And then—let me see—then, my good Dates—why +what then? Why, this much. Pick up all papers of all sorts that may +be lying round my chamber, and<a name="page_254"></a> see them burned. And then—have old +White Hoof put to the lightest farm-wagon, and send the chest, and +the desk, and the camp-bed, and the trunks to the ‘Black Swan,’ +where I shall call for them, when I am ready, and not before, sweet +Dates. So God bless thee, my fine, old, imperturbable Dates, and +adieu!</p> + +<p class="c">“Thy old young master, P<small>IERRE</small>.</p> + +<p>“<i>Nota bene</i>—Mark well, though, Dates. Should my mother possibly +interrupt thee, say that it is my orders, and mention what it is I +send for; but on no account show this to thy mistress—D’ye hear? P<small>IERRE</small> again.”<br /></p></div> + +<p>Folding this scrawl into a grotesque shape, Pierre ordered the man to +take it forthwith to Dates. But the man, all perplexed, hesitated, +turning the billet over in his hand; till Pierre loudly and violently +bade him begone; but as the man was then rapidly departing in a panic, +Pierre called him back and retracted his rude words; but as the servant +now lingered again, perhaps thinking to avail himself of this repentant +mood in Pierre, to say something in sympathy or remonstrance to him, +Pierre ordered him off with augmented violence, and stamped for him to +begone.</p> + +<p>Apprising the equally perplexed old landlord that certain things would +in the course of that forenoon be left for him, (Pierre,) at the Inn; +and also desiring him to prepare a chamber for himself and wife that +night; some chamber with a commodious connecting room, which might +answer for a dressing-room; and likewise still another chamber for a +servant; Pierre departed the place, leaving the old landlord staring +vacantly at him, and dumbly marveling what horrible thing had happened +to turn the brain of his fine young favorite and old shooting comrade, +Master Pierre.</p> + +<p>Soon the short old man went out bare-headed upon the low<a name="page_255"></a> porch of the +Inn, descended its one step, and crossed over to the middle of the road, +gazing after Pierre. And only as Pierre turned up a distant lane, did +his amazement and his solicitude find utterance.</p> + +<p>“I taught him—yes, old Casks;—the best shot in all the country round +is Master Pierre;—pray God he hits not now the bull’s eye in +himself.—Married? married? and coming here?—This is pesky strange!”<a name="page_256"></a></p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="BOOK_XII"></a>BOOK XII.<br /> +ISABEL: MRS. GLENDINNING: THE PORTRAIT: AND LUCY.</h2> + +<h4>I.</h4> + +<p>W<small>HEN</small> on the previous night Pierre had left the farm-house where Isabel +harbored, it will be remembered that no hour, either of night or day, no +special time at all had been assigned for a succeeding interview. It was +Isabel, who for some doubtlessly sufficient reason of her own, had, for +the first meeting, assigned the early hour of darkness.</p> + +<p>As now, when the full sun was well up the heavens, Pierre drew near the +farm-house of the Ulvers, he descried Isabel, standing without the +little dairy-wing, occupied in vertically arranging numerous glittering +shield-like milk-pans on a long shelf, where they might purifyingly meet +the sun. Her back was toward him. As Pierre passed through the open +wicket and crossed the short soft green sward, he unconsciously muffled +his footsteps, and now standing close behind his sister, touched her +shoulder and stood still.</p> + +<p>She started, trembled, turned upon him swiftly, made a low, strange cry, +and then gazed rivetedly and imploringly upon him.</p> + +<p>“I look rather queerish, sweet Isabel, do I not?” said Pierre at last +with a writhed and painful smile.</p> + +<p>“My brother, my blessed brother!—speak—tell me—what<a name="page_257"></a> has +happened—what hast thou done? Oh! Oh! I should have warned thee before, +Pierre, Pierre; it is my fault—mine, mine!”</p> + +<p>“<i>What</i> is thy fault, sweet Isabel?”</p> + +<p>“Thou hast revealed Isabel to thy mother, Pierre.”</p> + +<p>“I have not, Isabel. Mrs. Glendinning knows not thy secret at all.”</p> + +<p>“Mrs. Glendinning?—that’s,—that’s thine own mother, Pierre! In +heaven’s name, my brother, explain thyself. Knows not my secret, and yet +thou here so suddenly, and with such a fatal aspect? Come, come with me +into the house. Quick, Pierre, why dost thou not stir? Oh, my God! if +mad myself sometimes, I am to make mad him who loves me best, and who, I +fear, has in some way ruined himself for me;—then, let me no more stand +upright on this sod, but fall prone beneath it, that I may be hidden! +Tell me!” catching Pierre’s arms in both her frantic hands—“tell me, do +I blast where I look? is my face Gorgon’s?”</p> + +<p>“Nay, sweet Isabel; but it hath a more sovereign power; that turned to +stone; thine might turn white marble into mother’s milk.”</p> + +<p>“Come with me—come quickly.”</p> + +<p>They passed into the dairy, and sat down on a bench by the honey-suckled +casement.</p> + +<p>“Pierre, forever fatal and accursed be the day my longing heart called +thee to me, if now, in the very spring-time of our related love, thou +art minded to play deceivingly with me, even though thou should’st fancy +it for my good. Speak to me; oh speak to me, my brother!”</p> + +<p>“Thou hintest of deceiving one for one’s good. Now supposing, sweet +Isabel, that in no case would I affirmatively deceive thee;—in no case +whatever;—would’st thou then be willing for thee and me to piously +deceive others, for both their and our united good?—Thou sayest +nothing. Now, then, is<a name="page_258"></a> it <i>my</i> turn, sweet Isabel, to bid thee speak to +me, oh speak to me!”</p> + +<p>“That unknown, approaching thing, seemeth ever ill, my brother, which +must have unfrank heralds to go before. Oh, Pierre, dear, dear Pierre; +be very careful with me! This strange, mysterious, unexampled love +between us, makes me all plastic in thy hand. Be very careful with me. I +know little out of me. The world seems all one unknown India to me. Look +up, look on me, Pierre; say now, thou wilt be very careful; say so, say +so, Pierre!”</p> + +<p>“If the most exquisite, and fragile filagree of Genoa be carefully +handled by its artisan; if sacred nature carefully folds, and warms, and +by inconceivable attentivenesses eggs round and round her minute and +marvelous embryoes; then, Isabel, do I most carefully and most tenderly +egg thee, gentlest one, and the fate of thee! Short of the great God, +Isabel, there lives none who will be more careful with thee, more +infinitely considerate and delicate with thee.”</p> + +<p>“From my deepest heart, do I believe thee, Pierre. Yet thou mayest be +very delicate in some point, where delicateness is not all essential, +and in some quick impulsive hour, omit thy fullest heedfulness somewhere +where heedlessness were most fatal. Nay, nay, my brother; bleach these +locks snow-white, thou sun! if I have any thought to reproach thee, +Pierre, or betray distrust of thee. But earnestness must sometimes seem +suspicious, else it is none. Pierre, Pierre, all thy aspect speaks +eloquently of some already executed resolution, born in suddenness. +Since I last saw thee, Pierre, some deed irrevocable has been done by +thee. My soul is stiff and starched to it; now tell me what it is?”</p> + +<p>“Thou, and I, and Delly Ulver, to-morrow morning depart this whole +neighborhood, and go to the distant city.—That is it.”</p> + +<p>“No more?”<a name="page_259"></a></p> + +<p>“Is it not enough?”</p> + +<p>“There is something more, Pierre.”</p> + +<p>“Thou hast not yet answered a question I put to thee but just now. +Bethink thee, Isabel. The deceiving of others by thee and me, in a thing +wholly pertaining to ourselves, for their and our united good. Wouldst +thou?”</p> + +<p>“I would do any thing that does not tend to the marring of thy best +lasting fortunes, Pierre. What is it thou wouldst have thee and me to do +together? I wait; I wait!”</p> + +<p>“Let us go into the room of the double casement, my sister,” said +Pierre, rising.</p> + +<p>“Nay, then; if it can not be said here, then can I not do it anywhere, +my brother; for it would harm thee.”</p> + +<p>“Girl!” cried Pierre, sternly, “if for thee I have lost”—but he checked +himself.</p> + +<p>“Lost? for me? Now does the very worst blacken on me. Pierre! Pierre!”</p> + +<p>“I was foolish, and sought but to frighten thee, my sister. It was very +foolish. Do thou now go on with thine innocent work here, and I will +come again a few hours hence. Let me go now.”</p> + +<p>He was turning from her, when Isabel sprang forward to him, caught him +with both her arms round him, and held him so convulsively, that her +hair sideways swept over him, and half concealed him.</p> + +<p>“Pierre, if indeed my soul hath cast on thee the same black shadow that +my hair now flings on thee; if thou hast lost aught for me; then +eternally is Isabel lost to Isabel, and Isabel will not outlive this +night. If I am indeed an accursing thing, I will not act the given part, +but cheat the air, and die from it. See; I let thee go, lest some poison +I know not of distill upon thee from me.”</p> + +<p>She slowly drooped, and trembled from him. But Pierre caught her, and +supported her.<a name="page_260"></a></p> + +<p>“Foolish, foolish one! Behold, in the very bodily act of loosing hold of +me, thou dost reel and fall;—unanswerable emblem of the indispensable +heart-stay, I am to thee, my sweet, sweet Isabel! Prate not then of +parting.”</p> + +<p>“What hast thou lost for me? Tell me!”</p> + +<p>“A gainful loss, my sister!”</p> + +<p>“’Tis mere rhetoric! What hast thou lost?”</p> + +<p>“Nothing that my inmost heart would now recall. I have bought inner love +and glory by a price, which, large or small, I would not now have paid +me back, so I must return the thing I bought.”</p> + +<p>“Is love then cold, and glory white? Thy cheek is snowy, Pierre.”</p> + +<p>“It should be, for I believe to God that I am pure, let the world think +how it may.”</p> + +<p>“What hast thou lost?”</p> + +<p>“Not thee, nor the pride and glory of ever loving thee, and being a +continual brother to thee, my best sister. Nay, why dost thou now turn +thy face from me?”</p> + +<p>“With fine words he wheedles me, and coaxes me, not to know some secret +thing. Go, go, Pierre, come to me when thou wilt. I am steeled now to +the worst, and to the last. Again I tell thee, I will do any thing—yes, +any thing that Pierre commands—for, though outer ill do lower upon us, +still, deep within, thou wilt be careful, very careful with me, Pierre?”</p> + +<p>“Thou art made of that fine, unshared stuff of which God makes his +seraphim. But thy divine devotedness to me, is met by mine to thee. Well +mayest thou trust me, Isabel; and whatever strangest thing I may yet +propose to thee, thy confidence,—will it not bear me out? Surely thou +will not hesitate to plunge, when I plunge first;—already have I +plunged! now thou canst not stay upon the bank. Hearken, hearken to +me.—I seek not now to gain thy prior assent to a thing as yet undone; +but I call to thee now, Isabel, from the depth of a foregone<a name="page_261"></a> act, to +ratify it, backward, by thy consent. Look not so hard upon me. Listen. I +will tell all. Isabel, though thou art all fearfulness to injure any +living thing, least of all, thy brother; still thy true heart +foreknoweth not the myriad alliances and criss-crossings among mankind, +the infinite entanglements of all social things, which forbids that one +thread should fly the general fabric, on some new line of duty, without +tearing itself and tearing others. Listen. All that has happened up to +this moment, and all that may be yet to happen, some sudden inspiration +now assures me, inevitably proceeded from the first hour I saw thee. Not +possibly could it, or can it, be otherwise. Therefore feel I, that I +have some patience. Listen. Whatever outer things might possibly be +mine; whatever seeming brightest blessings; yet now to live uncomforting +and unloving to thee, Isabel; now to dwell domestically away from thee; +so that only by stealth, and base connivances of the night, I could come +to thee as thy related brother; this would be, and is, unutterably +impossible. In my bosom a secret adder of self-reproach and self-infamy +would never leave off its sting. Listen. But without gratuitous dishonor +to a memory which—for right cause or wrong—is ever sacred and +inviolate to me, I can not be an open brother to thee, Isabel. But thou +wantest not the openness; for thou dost not pine for empty nominalness, +but for vital realness; what thou wantest, is not the occasional +openness of my brotherly love; but its continual domestic confidence. Do +I not speak thine own hidden heart to thee? say, Isabel? Well, then, +still listen to me. One only way presents to this; a most strange way, +Isabel; to the world, that never throbbed for thee in love, a most +deceitful way; but to all a harmless way; so harmless in its essence, +Isabel, that, seems to me, Pierre hath consulted heaven itself upon it, +and heaven itself did not say Nay. Still, listen to me; mark me. As thou +knowest that thou wouldst now droop and die without me; so would I +without thee. We are equal there; mark<a name="page_262"></a> <i>that</i>, too, Isabel. I do not +stoop to thee, nor thou to me; but we both reach up alike to a glorious +ideal! Now the continualness, the secretness, yet the always present +domesticness of our love; how may we best compass that, without +jeopardizing the ever-sacred memory I hinted of? One way—one way—only +one! A strange way, but most pure. Listen. Brace thyself: here, let me +hold thee now; and then whisper it to thee, Isabel. Come, I holding +thee, thou canst not fall.”</p> + +<p>He held her tremblingly; she bent over toward him; his mouth wet her +ear; he whispered it.</p> + +<p>The girl moved not; was done with all her tremblings; leaned closer to +him, with an inexpressible strangeness of an intense love, new and +inexplicable. Over the face of Pierre there shot a terrible +self-revelation; he imprinted repeated burning kisses upon her; pressed +hard her hand; would not let go her sweet and awful passiveness.</p> + +<p>Then they changed; they coiled together, and entangledly stood mute.</p> + +<hr /> + +<h4>II.</h4> + +<p>M<small>RS</small>. Glendinning walked her chamber; her dress loosened.</p> + +<p>“That such accursed vileness should proceed from me! Now will the +tongued world say—See the vile boy of Mary Glendinning!—Deceitful! +thick with guilt, where I thought it was all guilelessness and gentlest +docility to me. It has not happened! It is not day! Were this thing so, +I should go mad, and be shut up, and not walk here where every door is +open to me.—My own only son married to an unknown—thing! My own only +son, false to his holiest plighted public vow—and the wide world +knowing to it! He bears my name—Glendinning. I will disown it; were it +like this dress, I<a name="page_263"></a> would tear my name off from me, and burn it till it +shriveled to a crisp!—Pierre! Pierre! come back, come back, and swear +it is not so! It can not be! Wait: I will ring the bell, and see if it +be so.”</p> + +<p>She rung the bell with violence, and soon heard a responsive knock.</p> + +<p>“Come in!—Nay, falter not;” (throwing a shawl over her) “come in. Stand +there and tell me if thou darest, that my son was in this house this +morning and met me on the stairs. Darest thou say that?”</p> + +<p>Dates looked confounded at her most unwonted aspect.</p> + +<p>“Say it! find thy tongue! Or I will root mine out and fling it at thee! +Say it!”</p> + +<p>“My dear mistress!”</p> + +<p>“I am not thy mistress! but thou my master; for, if thou sayest it, thou +commandest me to madness.—Oh, vile boy!—Begone from me!”</p> + +<p>She locked the door upon him, and swiftly and distractedly walked her +chamber. She paused, and tossing down the curtains, shut out the sun +from the two windows.</p> + +<p>Another, but an unsummoned knock, was at the door. She opened it.</p> + +<p>“My mistress, his Reverence is below. I would not call you, but he +insisted.”</p> + +<p>“Let him come up.”</p> + +<p>“Here? Immediately?”</p> + +<p>“Didst thou hear me? Let Mr. Falsgrave come up.”</p> + +<p>As if suddenly and admonishingly made aware, by Dates, of the +ungovernable mood of Mrs. Glendinning, the clergyman entered the open +door of her chamber with a most deprecating but honest reluctance, and +apprehensiveness of he knew not what.</p> + +<p>“Be seated, sir; stay, shut the door and lock it.”</p> + +<p>“Madam!”<a name="page_264"></a></p> + +<p>“<i>I</i> will do it. Be seated. Hast thou seen him?”</p> + +<p>“Whom, Madam?—Master Pierre?”</p> + +<p>“Him!—quick!”</p> + +<p>“It was to speak of him I came, Madam. He made a most extraordinary call +upon me last night—midnight.”</p> + +<p>“And thou marriedst him?—Damn thee!”</p> + +<p>“Nay, nay, nay, Madam; there is something here I know not of—I came to +tell thee news, but thou hast some o’erwhelming tidings to reveal to +me.”</p> + +<p>“I beg no pardons; but I may be sorry. Mr. Falsgrave, my son, standing +publicly plighted to Lucy Tartan, has privately wedded some other +girl—some slut!”</p> + +<p>“Impossible!”</p> + +<p>“True as thou art there. Thou knowest nothing of it then?”</p> + +<p>“Nothing, nothing—not one grain till now. Who is it he has wedded?”</p> + +<p>“Some <i>slut</i>, I tell thee!—I am no lady now, but something deeper,—a +woman!—an outraged and pride-poisoned woman!”</p> + +<p>She turned from him swiftly, and again paced the room, as frantic and +entirely regardless of any presence. Waiting for her to pause, but in +vain, Mr. Falsgrave advanced toward her cautiously, and with the +profoundest deference, which was almost a cringing, spoke:—</p> + +<p>“It is the hour of woe to thee; and I confess my cloth hath no +consolation for thee yet awhile. Permit me to withdraw from thee, +leaving my best prayers for thee, that thou mayst know some peace, ere +this now shut-out sun goes down. Send for me whenever thou desirest +me.—May I go now?”</p> + +<p>“Begone! and let me not hear thy soft, mincing voice, which is an infamy +to a man! Begone, thou helpless, and unhelping one!”</p> + +<p>She swiftly paced the room again, swiftly muttering to herself. “Now, +now, now, now I see it clearer, clearer—clear now as day! My first dim +suspicions pointed right!—too right!<a name="page_265"></a> Ay—the sewing! it was the +sewing!—The shriek!—I saw him gazing rooted at her. He would not speak +going home with me. I charged him with his silence; he put me off with +lies, lies, lies! Ay, ay, he is married to her, to her;—to +her!—perhaps was then. And yet,—and yet,—how can it be?—Lucy, +Lucy—I saw him, after that, look on her as if he would be glad to die +for her, and go to hell for her, whither he deserves to go!—Oh! oh! oh! +Thus ruthlessly to cut off, at one gross sensual dash, the fair +succession of an honorable race! Mixing the choicest wine with filthy +water from the plebeian pool, and so turning all to undistinguishable +rankness!—Oh viper! had I thee now in me, I would be a suicide and a +murderer with one blow!”</p> + +<p>A third knock was at the door. She opened it.</p> + +<p>“My mistress, I thought it would disturb you,—it is so just +overhead,—so I have not removed them yet.”</p> + +<p>“Unravel thy gibberish!—what is it?”</p> + +<p>“Pardon, my mistress, I somehow thought you knew it, but you can not.”</p> + +<p>“What is that writing crumpling in thy hand? Give it me.”</p> + +<p>“I have promised my young master not to, my mistress.”</p> + +<p>“I will snatch it, then, and so leave thee blameless.—What? what? +what?—He’s mad sure!—‘Fine old fellow Dates’—what? what?—mad and +merry!—chest?—clothes?—trunks?—he wants them?—Tumble them out of +his window!—and if he stand right beneath, tumble them out! Dismantle +that whole room. Tear up the carpet. I swear, he shall leave no smallest +vestige in this house.—Here! this very spot—here, here, where I stand, +he may have stood upon;—yes, he tied my shoe-string here; it’s +slippery! Dates!”</p> + +<p>“My mistress.”</p> + +<p>“Do his bidding. By reflection he has made me infamous to the world; and +I will make him infamous to it. Listen, and<a name="page_266"></a> do not delude thyself that +I am crazy. Go up to yonder room” (pointing upward), “and remove every +article in it, and where he bid thee set down the chest and trunks, +there set down all the contents of that room.”</p> + +<p>“’Twas before the house—this house!”</p> + +<p>“And if it had not been there, I would not order thee to put them there. +Dunce! I would have the world know that I disown and scorn him! Do my +bidding!—Stay. Let the room stand; but take him what he asks for.”</p> + +<p>“I will, my mistress.”</p> + +<p>As Dates left the chamber, Mrs. Glendinning again paced it swiftly, and +again swiftly muttered: “Now, if I were less a strong and haughty woman, +the fit would have gone by ere now. But deep volcanoes long burn, ere +they burn out.—Oh, that the world were made of such malleable stuff, +that we could recklessly do our fieriest heart’s-wish before it, and not +falter. Accursed be those four syllables of sound which make up that +vile word Propriety. It is a chain and bell to drag;—drag? what sound +is that? there’s dragging—his trunks—the traveler’s—dragging out. Oh +would I could so drag my heart, as fishers for the drowned do, as that I +might drag up my sunken happiness! Boy! boy! worse than brought in +dripping drowned to me,—drowned in icy infamy! Oh! oh! oh!”</p> + +<p>She threw herself upon the bed, covered her face, and lay motionless. +But suddenly rose again, and hurriedly rang the bell.</p> + +<p>“Open that desk, and draw the stand to me. Now wait and take this to +Miss Lucy.”</p> + +<p>With a pencil she rapidly traced these lines:—</p> + +<p>“My heart bleeds for thee, sweet Lucy. I can not speak—I know it all. +Look for me the first hour I regain myself.”</p> + +<p>Again she threw herself upon the bed, and lay motionless.<a name="page_267"></a></p> + +<hr /> + +<h4>III.</h4> + +<p>T<small>OWARD</small> sundown that evening, Pierre stood in one of the three bespoken +chambers in the Black Swan Inn; the blue chintz-covered chest and the +writing-desk before him. His hands were eagerly searching through his +pockets.</p> + +<p>“The key! the key! Nay, then, I must force it open. It bodes ill, too. +Yet lucky is it, some bankers can break into their own vaults, when +other means do fail. Not so, ever. Let me see:—yes, the tongs there. +Now then for the sweet sight of gold and silver. I never loved it till +this day. How long it has been hoarded;—little token pieces, of years +ago, from aunts, uncles, cousins innumerable, and from—but I won’t +mention <i>them</i>; dead henceforth to me! Sure there’ll be a premium on +such ancient gold. There’s some broad bits, token pieces to my—I name +him not—more than half a century ago. Well, well, I never thought to +cast them back into the sordid circulations whence they came. But if +they must be spent, now is the time, in this last necessity, and in this +sacred cause. ’Tis a most stupid, dunderheaded crowbar. Hoy! so! ah, now +for it:—snake’s nest!”</p> + +<p>Forced suddenly back, the chest-lid had as suddenly revealed to him the +chair-portrait lying on top of all the rest, where he had secreted it +some days before. Face up, it met him with its noiseless, ever-nameless, +and ambiguous, unchanging smile. Now his first repugnance was augmented +by an emotion altogether new. That certain lurking lineament in the +portrait, whose strange transfer blended with far other, and sweeter, +and nobler characteristics, was visible in the countenance of Isabel; +that lineament in the portrait was somehow now detestable; nay, +altogether loathsome, ineffably so, to Pierre. He argued not with +himself why this was so; he only felt it, and most keenly.<a name="page_268"></a></p> + +<p>Omitting more subtile inquisition into this deftly-winding theme, it +will be enough to hint, perhaps, that possibly one source of this new +hatefulness had its primary and unconscious rise in one of those +profound ideas, which at times atmospherically, as it were, do insinuate +themselves even into very ordinary minds. In the strange relativeness, +reciprocalness, and transmittedness, between the long-dead father’s +portrait, and the living daughter’s face, Pierre might have seemed to +see reflected to him, by visible and uncontradictable symbols, the +tyranny of Time and Fate. Painted before the daughter was conceived or +born, like a dumb seer, the portrait still seemed leveling its prophetic +finger at that empty air, from which Isabel did finally emerge. There +seemed to lurk some mystical intelligence and vitality in the picture; +because, since in his own memory of his father, Pierre could not recall +any distinct lineament transmitted to Isabel, but vaguely saw such in +the portrait; therefore, not Pierre’s parent, as any way rememberable by +him, but the portrait’s painted <i>self</i> seemed the real father of Isabel; +for, so far as all sense went, Isabel had inherited one peculiar trait +no-whither traceable but to it.</p> + +<p>And as his father was now sought to be banished from his mind, as a most +bitter presence there, but Isabel was become a thing of intense and +fearful love for him; therefore, it was loathsome to him, that in the +smiling and ambiguous portrait, her sweet mournful image should be so +sinisterly becrooked, bemixed, and mutilated to him.</p> + +<p>When, the first shock, and then the pause were over, he lifted the +portrait in his two hands, and held it averted from him.</p> + +<p>“It shall not live. Hitherto I have hoarded up mementoes and monuments +of the past; been a worshiper of all heirlooms; a fond filer away of +letters, locks of hair, bits of ribbon, flowers, and the +thousand-and-one minutenesses which love and memory think they +sanctify:—but it is forever over now! If to me any memory shall +henceforth be dear, I will not mummy<a name="page_269"></a> it in a visible memorial for every +passing beggar’s dust to gather on. Love’s museum is vain and foolish as +the Catacombs, where grinning apes and abject lizards are embalmed, as, +forsooth, significant of some imagined charm. It speaks merely of decay +and death, and nothing more; decay and death of endless innumerable +generations; it makes of earth one mold. How can lifelessness be fit +memorial of life?—So far, for mementoes of the sweetest. As for the +rest—now I know this, that in commonest memorials, the twilight fact of +death first discloses in some secret way, all the ambiguities of that +departed thing or person; obliquely it casts hints, and insinuates +surmises base, and eternally incapable of being cleared. Decreed by God +Omnipotent it is, that Death should be the last scene of the last act of +man’s play;—a play, which begin how it may, in farce or comedy, ever +hath its tragic end; the curtain inevitably falls upon a corpse. +Therefore, never more will I play the vile pigmy, and by small memorials +after death, attempt to reverse the decree of death, by essaying the +poor perpetuating of the image of the original. Let all die, and mix +again! As for this—this!—why longer should I preserve it? Why preserve +that on which one can not patient look? If I am resolved to hold his +public memory inviolate,—destroy this thing; for here is the one great, +condemning, and unsuborned proof, whose mysticalness drives me half +mad.—Of old Greek times, before man’s brain went into doting bondage, +and bleached and beaten in Baconian fulling-mills, his four limbs lost +their barbaric tan and beauty; when the round world was fresh, and rosy, +and spicy, as a new-plucked apple;—all’s wilted now!—in those bold +times, the great dead were not, turkey-like, dished in trenchers, and +set down all garnished in the ground, to glut the damned Cyclop like a +cannibal; but nobly envious Life cheated the glutton worm, and +gloriously burned the corpse; so that the spirit up-pointed, and visibly +forked to heaven!<a name="page_270"></a></p> + +<p>“So now will I serve thee. Though that solidity of which thou art the +unsolid duplicate, hath long gone to its hideous church-yard +account;—and though, God knows! but for one part of thee it may have +been fit auditing;—yet will I now a second time see thy obsequies +performed, and by now burning thee, urn thee in the great vase of air! +Come now!”</p> + +<p>A small wood-fire had been kindled on the hearth to purify the +long-closed room; it was now diminished to a small pointed heap of +glowing embers. Detaching and dismembering the gilded but tarnished +frame, Pierre laid the four pieces on the coals; as their dryness soon +caught the sparks, he rolled the reversed canvas into a scroll, and tied +it, and committed it to the now crackling, clamorous flames. Steadfastly +Pierre watched the first crispings and blackenings of the painted +scroll, but started as suddenly unwinding from the burnt string that had +tied it, for one swift instant, seen through the flame and smoke, the +upwrithing portrait tormentedly stared at him in beseeching horror, and +then, wrapped in one broad sheet of oily fire, disappeared forever.</p> + +<p>Yielding to a sudden ungovernable impulse, Pierre darted his hand among +the flames, to rescue the imploring face; but as swiftly drew back his +scorched and bootless grasp. His hand was burnt and blackened, but he +did not heed it.</p> + +<p>He ran back to the chest, and seizing repeated packages of family +letters, and all sorts of miscellaneous memorials in paper, he threw +them one after the other upon the fire.</p> + +<p>“Thus, and thus, and thus! on thy manes I fling fresh spoils; pour out +all my memory in one libation!—so, so, so—lower, lower, lower; now all +is done, and all is ashes! Henceforth, cast-out Pierre hath no +paternity, and no past; and since the Future is one blank to all; +therefore, twice-disinherited Pierre stands untrammeledly his +ever-present self!—free to do his own self-will and present fancy to +whatever end!”<a name="page_271"></a></p> + +<hr /> + +<h4>IV.</h4> + +<p>T<small>HAT</small> same sunset Lucy lay in her chamber. A knock was heard at its door, +and the responding Martha was met by the now self-controlled and +resolute face of Mrs. Glendinning.</p> + +<p>“How is your young mistress, Martha? May I come in?”</p> + +<p>But waiting for no answer, with the same breath she passed the maid, and +determinately entered the room.</p> + +<p>She sat down by the bed, and met the open eye, but closed and pallid +mouth of Lucy. She gazed rivetedly and inquisitively a moment; then +turned a quick aghast look toward Martha, as if seeking warrant for some +shuddering thought.</p> + +<p>“Miss Lucy”—said Martha—“it is your—it is Mrs. Glendinning. Speak to +her, Miss Lucy.”</p> + +<p>As if left in the last helpless attitude of some spent contortion of her +grief, Lucy was not lying in the ordinary posture of one in bed, but lay +half crosswise upon it, with the pale pillows propping her hueless form, +and but a single sheet thrown over her, as though she were so heart +overladen, that her white body could not bear one added feather. And as +in any snowy marble statue, the drapery clings to the limbs; so as one +found drowned, the thin, defining sheet invested Lucy.</p> + +<p>“It is Mrs. Glendinning. Will you speak to her, Miss Lucy?”</p> + +<p>The thin lips moved and trembled for a moment, and then were still +again, and augmented pallor shrouded her.</p> + +<p>Martha brought restoratives; and when all was as before, she made a +gesture for the lady to depart, and in a whisper, said, “She will not +speak to any; she does not speak to me. The doctor has just left—he has +been here five times since morning—and says she must be kept entirely +quiet.” Then pointing to the stand, added, “You see what he has +left—mere restoratives. Quiet is her best medicine now, he says. Quiet, +quiet, quiet! Oh, sweet quiet, wilt thou now ever come?”<a name="page_272"></a></p> + +<p>“Has Mrs. Tartan been written to?” whispered the lady. Martha nodded.</p> + +<p>So the lady moved to quit the room, saying that once every two hours she +would send to know how Lucy fared.</p> + +<p>“But where, where is her aunt, Martha?” she exclaimed, lowly, pausing at +the door, and glancing in sudden astonishment about the room; “surely, +surely, Mrs. Lanyllyn—”</p> + +<p>“Poor, poor old lady,” weepingly whispered Martha, “she hath caught +infection from sweet Lucy’s woe; she hurried hither, caught one glimpse +of that bed, and fell like dead upon the floor. The Doctor hath two +patients now, lady”—glancing at the bed, and tenderly feeling Lucy’s +bosom, to mark if yet it heaved; “Alack! Alack! oh, reptile! reptile! +that could sting so sweet a breast! fire would be too cold for +him—accursed!”</p> + +<p>“Thy own tongue blister the roof of thy mouth!” cried Mrs. Glendinning, +in a half-stifled, whispering scream. “’Tis not for thee, hired one, to +rail at my son, though he were Lucifer, simmering in Hell! Mend thy +manners, minx!”</p> + +<p>And she left the chamber, dilated with her unconquerable pride, leaving +Martha aghast at such venom in such beauty.<a name="page_273"></a></p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="BOOK_XIII"></a>BOOK XIII.<br /> +THEY DEPART THE MEADOWS.</h2> + +<h4>I.</h4> + +<p>I<small>T</small> was just dusk when Pierre approached the Ulver farm-house, in a wagon +belonging to the Black Swan Inn. He met his sister shawled and bonneted +in the porch.</p> + +<p>“Now then, Isabel, is all ready? Where is Delly? I see two most small +and inconsiderable portmanteaux. Wee is the chest that holds the goods +of the disowned! The wagon waits, Isabel. Now is all ready? and nothing +left?”</p> + +<p>“Nothing, Pierre; unless in going hence—but I’ll not think of that; +all’s fated.”</p> + +<p>“Delly! where is she? Let us go in for her,” said Pierre, catching the +hand of Isabel, and turning rapidly. As he thus half dragged her into +the little lighted entry, and then dropping her hand, placed his touch +on the catch of the inner door, Isabel stayed his arm, as if to keep him +back, till she should forewarn him against something concerning Delly; +but suddenly she started herself; and for one instant, eagerly pointing +at his right hand, seemed almost to half shrink from Pierre.</p> + +<p>“’Tis nothing. I am not hurt; a slight burn—the merest accidental +scorch this morning. But what’s this?” he added, lifting his hand +higher; “smoke! soot! this comes of going in the dark; sunlight, and I +had seen it. But I have not touched thee, Isabel?”<a name="page_274"></a></p> + +<p>Isabel lifted her hand and showed the marks.—“But it came from thee, my +brother; and I would catch the plague from thee, so that it should make +me share thee. Do thou clean thy hand; let mine alone.”</p> + +<p>“Delly! Delly!”—cried Pierre—“why may I not go to her, to bring her +forth?”</p> + +<p>Placing her finger upon her lip, Isabel softly opened the door, and +showed the object of his inquiry avertedly seated, muffled, on a chair.</p> + +<p>“Do not speak to her, my brother,” whispered Isabel, “and do not seek to +behold her face, as yet. It will pass over now, ere long, I trust. Come, +shall we go now? Take Delly forth, but do not speak to her. I have +bidden all good-by; the old people are in yonder room in the rear; I am +glad that they chose not to come out, to attend our going forth. Come +now, be very quick, Pierre; this is an hour I like not; be it swiftly +past.”</p> + +<p>Soon all three alighted at the inn. Ordering lights, Pierre led the way +above-stairs, and ushered his two companions into one of the two +outermost rooms of the three adjoining chambers prepared for all.</p> + +<p>“See,” said he, to the mute and still self-averting figure of +Delly;—“see, this is thy room, Miss Ulver; Isabel has told thee all; +thou know’st our till now secret marriage; she will stay with thee now, +till I return from a little business down the street. To-morrow, thou +know’st, very early, we take the stage. I may not see thee again till +then, so, be steadfast, and cheer up a very little, Miss Ulver, and +good-night. All will be well.”<a name="page_275"></a></p> + +<hr /> + +<h4>II.</h4> + +<p>N<small>EXT</small> morning, by break of day, at four o’clock, the four swift hours +were personified in four impatient horses, which shook their trappings +beneath the windows of the inn. Three figures emerged into the cool dim +air and took their places in the coach.</p> + +<p>The old landlord had silently and despondently shaken Pierre by the +hand; the vainglorious driver was on his box, threadingly adjusting the +four reins among the fingers of his buck-skin gloves; the usual thin +company of admiring ostlers and other early on-lookers were gathered +about the porch; when—on his companions’ account—all eager to cut +short any vain delay, at such a painful crisis, Pierre impetuously +shouted for the coach to move. In a moment, the four meadow-fed young +horses leaped forward their own generous lengths, and the four +responsive wheels rolled their complete circles; while making vast +rearward flourishes with his whip, the elated driver seemed as a +bravado-hero signing his ostentatious farewell signature in the empty +air. And so, in the dim of the dawn—and to the defiant crackings of +that long and sharp-resounding whip, the three forever fled the sweet +fields of Saddle Meadows.</p> + +<p>The short old landlord gazed after the coach awhile, and then +re-entering the inn, stroked his gray beard and muttered to himself:—“I +have kept this house, now, three-and-thirty years, and have had plenty +of bridal-parties come and go; in their long train of wagons, +break-downs, buggies, gigs—a gay and giggling train—Ha!—there’s a +pun! popt out like a cork—ay, and once in ox-carts, all garlanded; ay, +and once, the merry bride was bedded on a load of sweet-scented new-cut +clover. But such a bridal-party as this morning’s—why, it’s as sad as +funerals. And brave Master Pierre Glendinning is<a name="page_276"></a> the groom! Well, well, +wonders is all the go. I thought I had done with wondering when I passed +fifty; but I keep wondering still. Ah, somehow, now, I feel as though I +had just come from lowering some old friend beneath the sod, and yet +felt the grating cord-marks in my palms.—’Tis early, but I’ll drink. +Let’s see; cider,—a mug of cider;—’tis sharp, and pricks like a +game-cock’s spur,—cider’s the drink for grief. Oh, Lord! that fat men +should be so thin-skinned, and suffer in pure sympathy on others’ +account. A thin-skinned, thin man, he don’t suffer so, because there +ain’t so much stuff in him for his thin skin to cover. Well, well, well, +well, well; of all colics, save me from the melloncholics; green melons +is the greenest thing!”<a name="page_277"></a></p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="BOOK_XIV"></a>BOOK XIV.<br /> +THE JOURNEY AND THE PAMPHLET.</h2> + +<h4>I.</h4> + +<p>A<small>LL</small> profound things, and emotions of things are preceded and attended by +Silence. What a silence is that with which the pale bride precedes the +responsive <i>I will</i>, to the priest’s solemn question, <i>Wilt thou have +this man for thy husband?</i> In silence, too, the wedded hands are +clasped. Yea, in silence the child Christ was born into the world. +Silence is the general consecration of the universe. Silence is the +invisible laying on of the Divine Pontiff’s hands upon the world. +Silence is at once the most harmless and the most awful thing in all +nature. It speaks of the Reserved Forces of Fate. Silence is the only +Voice of our God.</p> + +<p>Nor is this so august Silence confined to things simply touching or +grand. Like the air, Silence permeates all things, and produces its +magical power, as well during that peculiar mood which prevails at a +solitary traveler’s first setting forth on a journey, as at the +unimaginable time when before the world was, Silence brooded on the face +of the waters.</p> + +<p>No word was spoken by its inmates, as the coach bearing our young +Enthusiast, Pierre, and his mournful party, sped forth through the dim +dawn into the deep midnight, which still occupied, unrepulsed, the +hearts of the old woods through which the road wound, very shortly after +quitting the village.<a name="page_278"></a></p> + +<p>When first entering the coach, Pierre had pressed his hand upon the +cushioned seat to steady his way, some crumpled leaves of paper had met +his fingers. He had instinctively clutched them; and the same strange +clutching mood of his soul which had prompted that instinctive act, did +also prevail in causing him now to retain the crumpled paper in his hand +for an hour or more of that wonderful intense silence, which the rapid +coach bore through the heart of the general stirless morning silence of +the fields and the woods.</p> + +<p>His thoughts were very dark and wild; for a space there was rebellion +and horrid anarchy and infidelity in his soul. This temporary mood may +best be likened to that, which—according to a singular story once told +in the pulpit by a reverend man of God—invaded the heart of an +excellent priest. In the midst of a solemn cathedral, upon a cloudy +Sunday afternoon, this priest was in the act of publicly administering +the bread at the Holy Sacrament of the Supper, when the Evil One +suddenly propounded to him the possibility of the mere moonshine of the +Christian Religion. Just such now was the mood of Pierre; to him the +Evil One propounded the possibility of the mere moonshine of all his +self-renouncing Enthusiasm. The Evil One hooted at him, and called him a +fool. But by instant and earnest prayer—closing his two eyes, with his +two hands still holding the sacramental bread—the devout priest had +vanquished the impious Devil. Not so with Pierre. The imperishable +monument of his holy Catholic Church; the imperishable record of his +Holy Bible; the imperishable intuition of the innate truth of +Christianity;—these were the indestructible anchors which still held +the priest to his firm Faith’s rock, when the sudden storm raised by the +Evil One assailed him. But Pierre—where could <i>he</i> find the Church, the +monument, the Bible, which unequivocally said to him—“Go on; thou art +in the Right; I endorse thee all over; go on.”—So the difference +between the Priest and Pierre was herein:—with the<a name="page_279"></a> priest it was a +matter, whether certain bodiless thoughts of his were true or not true; +but with Pierre it was a question whether certain vital acts of his were +right or wrong. In this little nut lie germ-like the possible solution +of some puzzling problems; and also the discovery of additional, and +still more profound problems ensuing upon the solution of the former. +For so true is this last, that some men refuse to solve any present +problem, for fear of making still more work for themselves in that way.</p> + +<p>Now, Pierre thought of the magical, mournful letter of Isabel, he +recalled the divine inspiration of that hour when the heroic words burst +from his heart—“Comfort thee, and stand by thee, and fight for thee, +will thy leapingly-acknowledging brother!” These remembrances unfurled +themselves in proud exultations in his soul; and from before such +glorious banners of Virtue, the club-footed Evil One limped away in +dismay. But now the dread, fateful parting look of his mother came over +him; anew he heard the heart-proscribing words—“Beneath my roof and at +my table, he who was once Pierre Glendinning no more puts +himself;”—swooning in her snow-white bed, the lifeless Lucy lay before +him, wrapt as in the reverberating echoings of her own agonizing shriek: +“My heart! my heart!” Then how swift the recurrence to Isabel, and the +nameless awfulness of his still imperfectly conscious, incipient, +new-mingled emotion toward this mysterious being. “Lo! I leave corpses +wherever I go!” groaned Pierre to himself—“Can then my conduct be +right? Lo! by my conduct I seem threatened by the possibility of a sin +anomalous and accursed, so anomalous, it may well be the one for which +Scripture says, there is never forgiveness. Corpses behind me, and the +last sin before, how then can my conduct be right?”</p> + +<p>In this mood, the silence accompanied him, and the first visible rays of +the morning sun in this same mood found him and saluted him. The +excitement and the sleepless night just<a name="page_280"></a> passed, and the strange +narcotic of a quiet, steady anguish, and the sweet quiescence of the +air, and the monotonous cradle-like motion of the coach over a road made +firm and smooth by a refreshing shower over night; these had wrought +their wonted effect upon Isabel and Delly; with hidden faces they leaned +fast asleep in Pierre’s sight. Fast asleep—thus unconscious, oh sweet +Isabel, oh forlorn Delly, your swift destinies I bear in my own!</p> + +<p>Suddenly, as his sad eye fell lower and lower from scanning their +magically quiescent persons, his glance lit upon his own clutched hand, +which rested on his knee. Some paper protruded from that clutch. He knew +not how it had got there, or whence it had come, though himself had +closed his own gripe upon it. He lifted his hand and slowly unfingered +and unbolted the paper, and unrolled it, and carefully smoothed it, to +see what it might be.</p> + +<p>It was a thin, tattered, dried-fish-like thing; printed with blurred ink +upon mean, sleazy paper. It seemed the opening pages of some ruinous old +pamphlet—a pamphlet containing a chapter or so of some very voluminous +disquisition. The conclusion was gone. It must have been accidentally +left there by some previous traveler, who perhaps in drawing out his +handkerchief, had ignorantly extracted his waste paper.</p> + +<p>There is a singular infatuation in most men, which leads them in odd +moments, intermitting between their regular occupations, and when they +find themselves all alone in some quiet corner or nook, to fasten with +unaccountable fondness upon the merest rag of old printed paper—some +shred of a long-exploded advertisement perhaps—and read it, and study +it, and reread it, and pore over it, and fairly agonize themselves over +this miserable, sleazy paper-rag, which at any other time, or in any +other place, they would hardly touch with St. Dunstan’s long tongs. So +now, in a degree, with Pierre. But notwithstanding that he, with most +other human beings, shared in the<a name="page_281"></a> strange hallucination above +mentioned, yet the first glimpse of the title of the dried-fish-like, +pamphlet-shaped rag, did almost tempt him to pitch it out of the window. +For, be a man’s mood what it may, what sensible and ordinary mortal +could have patience for any considerable period, to knowingly hold in +his conscious hand a printed document (and that too a very blurred one +as to ink, and a very sleazy one as to paper), so metaphysically and +insufferably entitled as this:—“Chronometricals & Horologicals?”</p> + +<p>Doubtless, it was something vastly profound; but it is to be observed, +that when a man is in a really profound mood, then all merely verbal or +written profundities are unspeakably repulsive, and seem downright +childish to him. Nevertheless, the silence still continued; the road ran +through an almost unplowed and uninhabited region; the slumberers still +slumbered before him; the evil mood was becoming well nigh insupportable +to him; so, more to force his mind away from the dark realities of +things than from any other motive, Pierre finally tried his best to +plunge himself into the pamphlet.</p> + +<hr /> + +<h4>II.</h4> + +<p>S<small>OONER</small> or later in this life, the earnest, or enthusiastic youth comes +to know, and more or less appreciate this startling solecism:—That +while, as the grand condition of acceptance to God, Christianity calls +upon all men to renounce this world; yet by all odds the most Mammonish +part of this world—Europe and America—are owned by none but professed +Christian nations, who glory in the owning, and seem to have some reason +therefor.</p> + +<p>This solecism once vividly and practically apparent; then comes the +earnest reperusal of the Gospels: the intense self-absorption<a name="page_282"></a> into that +greatest real miracle of all religions, the Sermon on the Mount. From +that divine mount, to all earnest loving youths, flows an inexhaustible +soul-melting stream of tenderness and loving-kindness; and they leap +exulting to their feet, to think that the founder of their holy religion +gave utterance to sentences so infinitely sweet and soothing as these +sentences which embody all the love of the Past, and all the love which +can be imagined in any conceivable Future. Such emotions as that Sermon +raises in the enthusiastic heart; such emotions all youthful hearts +refuse to ascribe to humanity as their origin. This is of God! cries the +heart, and in that cry ceases all inquisition. Now, with this fresh-read +sermon in his soul, the youth again gazes abroad upon the world. +Instantly, in aggravation of the former solecism, an overpowering sense +of the world’s downright positive falsity comes over him; the world +seems to lie saturated and soaking with lies. The sense of this thing is +so overpowering, that at first the youth is apt to refuse the evidence +of his own senses; even as he does that same evidence in the matter of +the movement of the visible sun in the heavens, which with his own eyes +he plainly sees to go round the world, but nevertheless on the authority +of other persons,—the Copernican astronomers, whom he never saw—he +believes it <i>not</i> to go round the world, but the world round it. Just +so, too, he hears good and wise people sincerely say: This world only +<i>seems</i> to be saturated and soaking with lies; but in reality it does +not so lie soaking and saturate; along with some lies, there is much +truth in this world. But again he refers to his Bible, and there he +reads most explicitly, that this world is unconditionally depraved and +accursed; and that at all hazards men must come out of it. But why come +out of it, if it be a True World and not a Lying World? Assuredly, then, +this world is a lie.</p> + +<p>Hereupon then in the soul of the enthusiast youth two armies come to the +shock; and unless he prove recreant, or unless<a name="page_283"></a> he prove gullible, or +unless he can find the talismanic secret, to reconcile this world with +his own soul, then there is no peace for him, no slightest truce for him +in this life. Now without doubt this Talismanic Secret has never yet +been found; and in the nature of human things it seems as though it +never can be. Certain philosophers have time and again pretended to have +found it; but if they do not in the end discover their own delusion, +other people soon discover it for themselves, and so those philosophers +and their vain philosophy are let glide away into practical oblivion. +Plato, and Spinoza, and Goethe, and many more belong to this guild of +self-impostors, with a preposterous rabble of Muggletonian Scots and +Yankees, whose vile brogue still the more bestreaks the stripedness of +their Greek or German Neoplatonical originals. That profound Silence, +that only Voice of our God, which I before spoke of; from that divine +thing without a name, those impostor philosophers pretend somehow to +have got an answer; which is as absurd, as though they should say they +had got water out of stone; for how can a man get a Voice out of +Silence?</p> + +<p>Certainly, all must admit, that if for any one this problem of the +possible reconcilement of this world with our own souls possessed a +peculiar and potential interest, that one was Pierre Glendinning at the +period we now write of. For in obedience to the loftiest behest of his +soul, he had done certain vital acts, which had already lost him his +worldly felicity, and which he felt must in the end indirectly work him +some still additional and not-to-be-thought-of woe.</p> + +<p>Soon then, as after his first distaste at the mystical title, and after +his then reading on, merely to drown himself, Pierre at last began to +obtain a glimmering into the profound intent of the writer of the sleazy +rag pamphlet, he felt a great interest awakened in him. The more he read +and re-read, the more this interest deepened, but still the more +likewise did his failure to comprehend the writer increase. He seemed +somehow to<a name="page_284"></a> derive some general vague inkling concerning it, but the +central conceit refused to become clear to him. The reason whereof is +not so easy to be laid down; seeing that the reason-originating heart +and mind of man, these organic things themselves are not so easily to be +expounded. Something, however, more or less to the point, may be +adventured here.</p> + +<p>If a man be in any vague latent doubt about the intrinsic correctness +and excellence of his general life-theory and practical course of life; +then, if that man chance to light on any other man, or any little +treatise, or sermon, which unintendingly, as it were, yet very palpably +illustrates to him the intrinsic incorrectness and non-excellence of +both the theory and the practice of his life; then that man will—more +or less unconsciously—try hard to hold himself back from the +self-admitted comprehension of a matter which thus condemns him. For in +this case, to comprehend, is himself to condemn himself, which is always +highly inconvenient and uncomfortable to a man. Again. If a man be told +a thing wholly new, then—during the time of its first announcement to +him—it is entirely impossible for him to comprehend it. For—absurd as +it may seem—men are only made to comprehend things which they +comprehended before (though but in the embryo, as it were). Things new +it is impossible to make them comprehend, by merely talking to them +about it. True, sometimes they pretend to comprehend; in their own +hearts they really believe they do comprehend; outwardly look as though +they <i>did</i> comprehend; wag their bushy tails comprehendingly; but for +all that, they do not comprehend. Possibly, they may afterward come, of +themselves, to inhale this new idea from the circumambient air, and so +come to comprehend it; but not otherwise at all. It will be observed, +that, neither points of the above speculations do we, in set terms, +attribute to Pierre in connection with the rag pamphlet. Possibly both +might be applicable; possibly neither. Certain it is, however, that at +the time, in his own heart, he<a name="page_285"></a> seemed to think that he did not fully +comprehend the strange writer’s conceit in all its bearings. Yet was +this conceit apparently one of the plainest in the world; so natural, a +child might almost have originated it. Nevertheless, again so profound, +that scarce Juggularius himself could be the author; and still again so +exceedingly trivial, that Juggularius’ smallest child might well have +been ashamed of it.</p> + +<p>Seeing then that this curious paper rag so puzzled Pierre; foreseeing, +too, that Pierre may not in the end be entirely uninfluenced in his +conduct by the torn pamphlet, when afterwards perhaps by other means he +shall come to understand it; or, peradventure, come to know that he, in +the first place, did—seeing too that the author thereof came to be made +known to him by reputation, and though Pierre never spoke to him, yet +exerted a surprising sorcery upon his spirit by the mere distant glimpse +of his countenance;—all these reasons I account sufficient apology for +inserting in the following chapters the initial part of what seems to me +a very fanciful and mystical, rather than philosophical Lecture, from +which, I confess, that I myself can derive no conclusion which +permanently satisfies those peculiar motions in my soul, to which that +Lecture seems more particularly addressed. For to me it seems more the +excellently illustrated re-statement of a problem, than the solution of +the problem itself. But as such mere illustrations are almost +universally taken for solutions (and perhaps they are the only possible +human solutions), therefore it may help to the temporary quiet of some +inquiring mind; and so not be wholly without use. At the worst, each +person can now skip, or read and rail for himself.<a name="page_286"></a></p> + +<hr /> + +<h4>III.</h4> + +<p class="c">“<i>EI</i>,”</p> + +<p class="c">BY<br /> +PLOTINUS PLINLIMMON,</p> + +<p class="c">(<i>In Three Hundred and Thirty-three Lectures.</i>)</p> + +<p class="c">LECTURE FIRST.<br /><br /> +<small>C H R O N O M E T R I C A L S A N D H O R O L O G I C A L S</small>,</p> + +<p class="c">(<i>Being not to much the Portal, as part of the temporary Scaffold to the +Portal of this new Philosophy.</i>)</p> + +<p>“F<small>EW</small> of us doubt, gentlemen, that human life on this earth is but a +state of probation; which among other things implies, that here below, +we mortals have only to do with things provisional. Accordingly, I hold +that all our so-called wisdom is likewise but provisional.</p> + +<p>“This preamble laid down, I begin.</p> + +<p>“It seems to me, in my visions, that there is a certain most rare order +of human souls, which if carefully carried in the body will almost +always and everywhere give Heaven’s own Truth, with some small grains of +variance. For peculiarly coming from God, the sole source of that +heavenly truth, and the great Greenwich hill and tower from which the +universal meridians are far out into infinity reckoned; such souls seem +as London sea-chronometers (<i>Greek</i>, time-namers) which as the London +ship floats past Greenwich down the Thames, are accurately adjusted by +Greenwich time, and if heedfully kept, will still give that same time, +even though carried to the Azores. True, in nearly all cases of long, +remote voyages—to China, say—chronometers of the best make, and the +most carefully treated,<a name="page_287"></a> will gradually more or less vary from Greenwich +time, without the possibility of the error being corrected by direct +comparison with their great standard; but skillful and devout +observations of the stars by the sextant will serve materially to lessen +such errors. And besides, there is such a thing as <i>rating</i> a +chronometer; that is, having ascertained its degree of organic +inaccuracy, however small, then in all subsequent chronometrical +calculations, that ascertained loss or gain can be readily added or +deducted, as the case may be. Then again, on these long voyages, the +chronometer may be corrected by comparing it with the chronometer of +some other ship at sea, more recently from home.</p> + +<p>“Now in an artificial world like ours, the soul of man is further +removed from its God and the Heavenly Truth, than the chronometer +carried to China, is from Greenwich. And, as that chronometer, if at all +accurate, will pronounce it to be 12 o’clock high-noon, when the China +local watches say, perhaps, it is 12 o’clock midnight; so the +chronometric soul, if in this world true to its great Greenwich in the +other, will always, in its so-called intuitions of right and wrong, be +contradicting the mere local standards and watch-maker’s brains of this +earth.</p> + +<p>“Bacon’s brains were mere watch-maker’s brains; but Christ was a +chronometer; and the most exquisitely adjusted and exact one, and the +least affected by all terrestrial jarrings, of any that have ever come +to us. And the reason why his teachings seemed folly to the Jews, was +because he carried that Heaven’s time in Jerusalem, while the Jews +carried Jerusalem time there. Did he not expressly say—My wisdom (time) +is not of this world? But whatever is really peculiar in the wisdom of +Christ seems precisely the same folly to-day as it did 1850 years ago. +Because, in all that interval his bequeathed chronometer has still +preserved its original Heaven’s time, and the general Jerusalem of this +world has likewise carefully preserved its own.<a name="page_288"></a></p> + +<p>“But though the chronometer carried from Greenwich to China, should +truly exhibit in China what the time may be at Greenwich at any moment; +yet, though thereby it must necessarily contradict China time, it does +by no means thence follow, that with respect to China, the China watches +are at all out of the way. Precisely the reverse. For the fact of that +variance is a presumption that, with respect to China, the Chinese +watches must be all right; and consequently as the China watches are +right as to China, so the Greenwich chronometers must be wrong as to +China. Besides, of what use to the Chinaman would a Greenwich +chronometer, keeping Greenwich time, be? Were he thereby to regulate his +daily actions, he would be guilty of all manner of absurdities:—going +to bed at noon, say, when his neighbors would be sitting down to dinner. +And thus, though the earthly wisdom of man be heavenly folly to God; so +also, conversely, is the heavenly wisdom of God an earthly folly to man. +Literally speaking, this is so. Nor does the God at the heavenly +Greenwich expect common men to keep Greenwich wisdom in this remote +Chinese world of ours; because such a thing were unprofitable for them +here, and, indeed, a falsification of Himself, inasmuch as in that case, +China time would be identical with Greenwich time, which would make +Greenwich time wrong.</p> + +<p>“But why then does God now and then send a heavenly chronometer (as a +meteoric stone) into the world, uselessly as it would seem, to give the +lie to all the world’s time-keepers? Because he is unwilling to leave +man without some occasional testimony to this:—that though man’s +Chinese notions of things may answer well enough here, they are by no +means universally applicable, and that the central Greenwich in which He +dwells goes by a somewhat different method from this world. And yet it +follows not from this, that God’s truth is one thing and man’s truth +another; but—as above hinted,<a name="page_289"></a> and as will be further elucidated in +subsequent lectures—by their very contradictions they are made to +correspond.</p> + +<p>“By inference it follows, also, that he who finding in himself a +chronometrical soul, seeks practically to force that heavenly time upon +the earth; in such an attempt he can never succeed, with an absolute and +essential success. And as for himself, if he seek to regulate his own +daily conduct by it, he will but array all men’s earthly time-keepers +against him, and thereby work himself woe and death. Both these things +are plainly evinced in the character and fate of Christ, and the past +and present condition of the religion he taught. But here one thing is +to be especially observed. Though Christ encountered woe in both the +precept and the practice of his chronometricals, yet did he remain +throughout entirely without folly or sin. Whereas, almost invariably, +with inferior beings, the absolute effort to live in this world +according to the strict letter of the chronometricals is, somehow, apt +to involve those inferior beings eventually in strange, <i>unique</i> follies +and sins, unimagined before. It is the story of the Ephesian matron, +allegorized.</p> + +<p>“To any earnest man of insight, a faithful contemplation of these ideas +concerning Chronometricals and Horologicals, will serve to render +provisionally far less dark some few of the otherwise obscurest things +which have hitherto tormented the honest-thinking men of all ages. What +man who carries a heavenly soul in him, has not groaned to perceive, +that unless he committed a sort of suicide as to the practical things of +this world, he never can hope to regulate his earthly conduct by that +same heavenly soul? And yet by an infallible instinct he knows, that +that monitor can not be wrong in itself.</p> + +<p>“And where is the earnest and righteous philosopher, gentlemen, who +looking right and left, and up and down, through all the ages of the +world, the present included; where is there such an one who has not a +thousand times been struck with a sort of infidel idea, that whatever +other worlds God may be Lord of,<a name="page_290"></a> he is not the Lord of this; for else +this world would seem to give the lie to Him; so utterly repugnant seem +its ways to the instinctively known ways of Heaven. But it is not, and +can not be so; nor will he who regards this chronometrical conceit +aright, ever more be conscious of that horrible idea. For he will then +see, or seem to see, that this world’s seeming incompatibility with God, +absolutely results from its meridianal correspondence with him.</p> + +<p class="c">* +* +* +* +* *</p> + +<p>“This chronometrical conceit does by no means involve the justification +of all the acts which wicked men may perform. For in their wickedness +downright wicked men sin as much against their own horologes, as against +the heavenly chronometer. That this is so, their spontaneous liability +to remorse does plainly evince. No, this conceit merely goes to show, +that for the mass of men, the highest abstract heavenly righteousness is +not only impossible, but would be entirely out of place, and positively +wrong in a world like this. To turn the left cheek if the right be +smitten, is chronometrical; hence, no average son of man ever did such a +thing. To give <i>all</i> that thou hast to the poor, this too is +chronometrical; hence no average son of man ever did such a thing. +Nevertheless, if a man gives with a certain self-considerate generosity +to the poor; abstains from doing downright ill to any man; does his +convenient best in a general way to do good to his whole race; takes +watchful loving care of his wife and children, relatives, and friends; +is perfectly tolerant to all other men’s opinions, whatever they may be; +is an honest dealer, an honest citizen, and all that; and more +especially if he believe that there is a God for infidels, as well as +for believers, and acts upon that belief; then, though such a man falls +infinitely short of the chronometrical standard, though all his actions +are entirely horologic;—yet such a man need never lastingly despond, +because he is sometimes guilty of some minor offense:—hasty words, +impulsively returning a<a name="page_291"></a> blow, fits of domestic petulance, selfish +enjoyment of a glass of wine while he knows there are those around him +who lack a loaf of bread. I say he need never lastingly despond on +account of his perpetual liability to these things; because <i>not</i> to do +them, and their like, would be to be an angel, a chronometer; whereas, +he is a man and a horologe.</p> + +<p>“Yet does the horologe itself teach, that all liabilities to these +things should be checked as much as possible, though it is certain they +can never be utterly eradicated. They are only to be checked, then, +because, if entirely unrestrained, they would finally run into utter +selfishness and human demonism, which, as before hinted, are not by any +means justified by the horologe.</p> + +<p>“In short, this Chronometrical and Horological conceit, in sum, seems to +teach this:—That in things terrestrial (horological) a man must not be +governed by ideas celestial (chronometrical); that certain minor +self-renunciations in this life his own mere instinct for his own +every-day general well-being will teach him to make, but he must by no +means make a complete unconditional sacrifice of himself in behalf of +any other being, or any cause, or any conceit. (For, does aught else +completely and unconditionally sacrifice itself for him? God’s own sun +does not abate one tittle of its heat in July, however you swoon with +that heat in the sun. And if it <i>did</i> abate its heat on your behalf, +then the wheat and the rye would not ripen; and so, for the incidental +benefit of one, a whole population would suffer.)</p> + +<p>“A virtuous expediency, then, seems the highest desirable or attainable +earthly excellence for the mass of men, and is the only earthly +excellence that their Creator intended for them. When they go to heaven, +it will be quite another thing. There, they can freely turn the left +cheek, because there the right cheek will never be smitten. There they +can freely give all to the poor, for <i>there</i> there will be no poor to +give to. A due appreciation<a name="page_292"></a> of this matter will do good to man. For, +hitherto, being authoritatively taught by his dogmatical teachers that +he must, while on earth, aim at heaven, and attain it, too, in all his +earthly acts, on pain of eternal wrath; and finding by experience that +this is utterly impossible; in his despair, he is too apt to run clean +away into all manner of moral abandonment, self-deceit, and hypocrisy +(cloaked, however, mostly under an aspect of the most respectable +devotion); or else he openly runs, like a mad dog, into atheism. +Whereas, let men be taught those Chronometricals and Horologicals, and +while still retaining every common-sense incentive to whatever of virtue +be practicable and desirable, and having these incentives strengthened, +too, by the consciousness of powers to attain their mark; then there +would be an end to that fatal despair of becoming at all good, which has +too often proved the vice-producing result in many minds of the +undiluted chronometrical doctrines hitherto taught to mankind. But if +any man say, that such a doctrine as this I lay down is false, is +impious; I would charitably refer that man to the history of Christendom +for the last 1800 years; and ask him, whether, in spite of all the +maxims of Christ, that history is not just as full of blood, violence, +wrong, and iniquity of every kind, as any previous portion of the +world’s story? Therefore, it follows, that so far as practical results +are concerned—regarded in a purely earthly light—the only great +original moral doctrine of Christianity (<i>i. e.</i> the chronometrical +gratuitous return of good for evil, as distinguished from the +horological forgiveness of injuries taught by some of the Pagan +philosophers), has been found (horologically) a false one; because after +1800 years’ inculcation from tens of thousands of pulpits, it has proved +entirely impracticable.</p> + +<p>“I but lay down, then, what the best mortal men do daily practice; and +what all really wicked men are very far removed from. I present +consolation to the earnest man, who, among all his human frailties, is +still agonizingly conscious of<a name="page_293"></a> the beauty of chronometrical excellence. +I hold up a practicable virtue to the vicious; and interfere not with +the eternal truth, that, sooner or later, in all cases, downright vice +is downright woe.</p> + +<p>“Moreover: if——”</p> + +<p>But here the pamphlet was torn, and came to a most untidy termination.<a name="page_294"></a></p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="BOOK_XV"></a>BOOK XV.<br /> +THE COUSINS.</h2> + +<h4>I.</h4> + +<p>T<small>HOUGH</small> resolved to face all out to the last, at whatever desperate +hazard, Pierre had not started for the city without some reasonable +plans, both with reference to his more immediate circumstances, and his +ulterior condition.</p> + +<p>There resided in the city a cousin of his, Glendinning Stanly, better +known in the general family as Glen Stanly, and by Pierre, as Cousin +Glen. Like Pierre, he was an only son; his parents had died in his early +childhood; and within the present year he had returned from a protracted +sojourn in Europe, to enter, at the age of twenty-one, into the +untrammeled possession of a noble property, which in the hands of +faithful guardians, had largely accumulated.</p> + +<p>In their boyhood and earlier adolescence, Pierre and Glen had cherished +a much more than cousinly attachment. At the age of ten, they had +furnished an example of the truth, that the friendship of fine-hearted, +generous boys, nurtured amid the romance-engendering comforts and +elegancies of life, sometimes transcends the bounds of mere boyishness, +and revels for a while in the empyrean of a love which only comes short, +by one degree, of the sweetest sentiment entertained between the sexes. +Nor is this boy-love without the occasional fillips and spicinesses,<a name="page_295"></a> +which at times, by an apparent abatement, enhance the permanent delights +of those more advanced lovers who love beneath the cestus of Venus. +Jealousies are felt. The sight of another lad too much consorting with +the boy’s beloved object, shall fill him with emotions akin to those of +Othello’s; a fancied slight, or lessening of the every-day indications +of warm feelings, shall prompt him to bitter upbraidings and reproaches; +or shall plunge him into evil moods, for which grim solitude only is +congenial.</p> + +<p>Nor are the letters of Aphroditean devotees more charged with headlong +vows and protestations, more cross-written and crammed with discursive +sentimentalities, more undeviating in their semi-weekliness, or +dayliness, as the case may be, than are the love-friendship missives of +boys. Among those bundles of papers which Pierre, in an ill hour, so +frantically destroyed in the chamber of the inn, were two large packages +of letters, densely written, and in many cases inscribed crosswise +throughout with red ink upon black; so that the love in those letters +was two layers deep, and one pen and one pigment were insufficient to +paint it. The first package contained the letters of Glen to Pierre, the +other those of Pierre to Glen, which, just prior to Glen’s departure for +Europe, Pierre had obtained from him, in order to re-read them in his +absence, and so fortify himself the more in his affection, by reviving +reference to the young, ardent hours of its earliest manifestations.</p> + +<p>But as the advancing fruit itself extrudes the beautiful blossom, so in +many cases, does the eventual love for the other sex forever dismiss the +preliminary love-friendship of boys. The mere outer friendship may in +some degree—greater or less—survive; but the singular love in it has +perishingly dropped away.</p> + +<p>If in the eye of unyielding reality and truth, the earthly heart of man +do indeed ever fix upon some one woman, to<a name="page_296"></a> whom alone, thenceforth +eternally to be a devotee, without a single shadow of the misgiving of +its faith; and who, to him, does perfectly embody his finest, loftiest +dream of feminine loveliness, if this indeed be so—and may Heaven grant +that it be—nevertheless, in metropolitan cases, the love of the most +single-eyed lover, almost invariably, is nothing more than the ultimate +settling of innumerable wandering glances upon some one specific object; +as admonished, that the wonderful scope and variety of female +loveliness, if too long suffered to sway us without decision, shall +finally confound all power of selection. The confirmed bachelor is, in +America, at least, quite as often the victim of a too profound +appreciation of the infinite charmingness of woman, as made solitary for +life by the legitimate empire of a cold and tasteless temperament.</p> + +<p>Though the peculiar heart-longings pertaining to his age, had at last +found their glowing response in the bosom of Lucy; yet for some period +prior to that, Pierre had not been insensible to the miscellaneous +promptings of the passion. So that even before he became a declarative +lover, Love had yet made him her general votary; and so already there +had gradually come a cooling over that ardent sentiment which in earlier +years he had cherished for Glen.</p> + +<p>All round and round does the world lie as in a sharp-shooter’s ambush, +to pick off the beautiful illusions of youth, by the pitiless cracking +rifles of the realities of the age. If the general love for women, had +in Pierre sensibly modified his particular sentiment toward Glen; +neither had the thousand nameless fascinations of the then brilliant +paradises of France and Italy, failed to exert their seductive influence +on many of the previous feelings of Glen. For as the very best +advantages of life are not without some envious drawback, so it is among +the evils of enlarged foreign travel, that in young and unsolid minds, +it dislodges some of the finest feelings of the home-born nature; +replacing them with a fastidious superciliousness, which like the<a name="page_297"></a> +alledged bigoted Federalism of old times would not—according to a +political legend—grind its daily coffee in any mill save of European +manufacture, and was satirically said to have thought of importing +European air for domestic consumption. The mutually curtailed, +lessening, long-postponed, and at last altogether ceasing letters of +Pierre and Glen were the melancholy attestations of a fact, which +perhaps neither of them took very severely to heart, as certainly, +concerning it, neither took the other to task.</p> + +<p>In the earlier periods of that strange transition from the generous +impulsiveness of youth to the provident circumspectness of age, there +generally intervenes a brief pause of unpleasant reconsidering; when +finding itself all wide of its former spontaneous self, the soul +hesitates to commit itself wholly to selfishness; more than repents its +wanderings;—yet all this is but transient; and again hurried on by the +swift current of life, the prompt-hearted boy scarce longer is to be +recognized in matured man,—very slow to feel, deliberate even in love, +and statistical even in piety. During the sway of this peculiar period, +the boy shall still make some strenuous efforts to retrieve his +departing spontaneities; but so alloyed are all such endeavors with the +incipiencies of selfishness, that they were best not made at all; since +too often they seem but empty and self-deceptive sallies, or still +worse, the merest hypocritical assumptions.</p> + +<p>Upon the return of Glen from abroad, the commonest courtesy, not to say +the blood-relation between them, prompted Pierre to welcome him home, +with a letter, which though not over-long, and little enthusiastic, +still breathed a spirit of cousinly consideration and kindness, +pervadingly touched by the then naturally frank and all-attractive +spirit of Pierre. To this, the less earnest and now Europeanized Glen +had replied in a letter all sudden suavity; and in a strain of artistic +artlessness, mourned the apparent decline of their friendship; yet +fondly<a name="page_298"></a> trusted that now, notwithstanding their long separation, it +would revive with added sincerity. Yet upon accidentally fixing his +glance upon the opening salutation of this delicate missive, Pierre +thought he perceived certain, not wholly disguisable chirographic +tokens, that the “My very dear Pierre,” with which the letter seemed to +have been begun, had originally been written “Dear Pierre;” but that +when all was concluded, and Glen’s signature put to it, then the ardent +words “My very” had been prefixed to the reconsidered “Dear Pierre;” a +casual supposition, which possibly, however unfounded, materially +retarded any answering warmth in Pierre, lest his generous flame should +only embrace a flaunted feather. Nor was this idea altogether +unreinforced, when on the reception of a second, and now half-business +letter (of which mixed sort nearly all the subsequent ones were), from +Glen, he found that the “My very dear Pierre” had already retreated into +“My dear Pierre;” and on a third occasion, into “Dear Pierre;” and on a +fourth, had made a forced and very spirited advanced march up to “My +dearest Pierre.” All of which fluctuations augured ill for the +determinateness of that love, which, however immensely devoted to one +cause, could yet hoist and sail under the flags of all nations. Nor +could he but now applaud a still subsequent letter from Glen, which +abruptly, and almost with apparent indecorousness, under the +circumstances, commenced the strain of friendship without any overture +of salutation whatever; as if at last, owing to its infinite +delicateness, entirely hopeless of precisely defining the nature of +their mystical love, Glen chose rather to leave that precise definition +to the sympathetical heart and imagination of Pierre; while he himself +would go on to celebrate the general relation, by many a sugared +sentence of miscellaneous devotion. It was a little curious and rather +sardonically diverting, to compare these masterly, yet not wholly +successful, and indeterminate tactics of the accomplished Glen, with the +unfaltering stream of <i>Beloved<a name="page_299"></a> Pierres</i>, which not only flowed along +the top margin of all his earlier letters, but here and there, from +their subterranean channel, flashed out in bright intervals, through all +the succeeding lines. Nor had the chance recollection of these things at +all restrained the reckless hand of Pierre, when he threw the whole +package of letters, both new and old, into that most honest and summary +of all elements, which is neither a respecter of persons, nor a finical +critic of what manner of writings it burns; but like ultimate Truth +itself, of which it is the eloquent symbol, consumes all, and only +consumes.</p> + +<p>When the betrothment of Pierre to Lucy had become an acknowledged thing, +the courtly Glen, besides the customary felicitations upon that event, +had not omitted so fit an opportunity to re-tender to his cousin all his +previous jars of honey and treacle, accompanied by additional boxes of +candied citron and plums. Pierre thanked him kindly; but in certain +little roguish ambiguities begged leave, on the ground of cloying, to +return him inclosed by far the greater portion of his present; whose +non-substantialness was allegorically typified in the containing letter +itself, prepaid with only the usual postage.</p> + +<p>True love, as every one knows, will still withstand many repulses, even +though rude. But whether it was the love or the politeness of Glen, +which on this occasion proved invincible, is a matter we will not +discuss. Certain it was, that quite undaunted, Glen nobly returned to +the charge, and in a very prompt and unexpected answer, extended to +Pierre all the courtesies of the general city, and all the hospitalities +of five sumptuous chambers, which he and his luxurious environments +contrived nominally to occupy in the most fashionable private hotel of a +very opulent town. Nor did Glen rest here; but like Napoleon, now seemed +bent upon gaining the battle by throwing all his regiments upon one +point of attack, and gaining that point at all hazards. Hearing of some +rumor at the tables of his relatives that the day was being fixed for +the positive<a name="page_300"></a> nuptials of Pierre; Glen called all his Parisian +portfolios for his rosiest sheet, and with scented ink, and a pen of +gold, indited a most burnished and redolent letter, which, after +invoking all the blessings of Apollo and Venus, and the Nine Muses, and +the Cardinal Virtues upon the coming event; concluded at last with a +really magnificent testimonial to his love.</p> + +<p>According to this letter, among his other real estate in the city, Glen +had inherited a very charming, little, old house, completely furnished +in the style of the last century, in a quarter of the city which, though +now not so garishly fashionable as of yore, still in its quiet +secludedness, possessed great attractions for the retired billings and +cooings of a honeymoon. Indeed he begged leave now to christen it the +Cooery, and if after his wedding jaunt, Pierre would deign to visit the +city with his bride for a month or two’s sojourn, then the Cooery would +be but too happy in affording him a harbor. His sweet cousin need be +under no apprehension. Owing to the absence of any fit applicant for it, +the house had now long been without a tenant, save an old, confidential, +bachelor clerk of his father’s, who on a nominal rent, and more by way +of safe-keeping to the house than any thing else, was now hanging up his +well-furbished hat in its hall. This accommodating old clerk would +quickly unpeg his beaver at the first hint of new occupants. Glen would +charge himself with supplying the house in advance with a proper retinue +of servants; fires would be made in the long-unoccupied chambers; the +venerable, grotesque, old mahoganies, and marbles, and mirror-frames, +and moldings could be very soon dusted and burnished; the kitchen was +amply provided with the necessary utensils for cooking; the strong box +of old silver immemorially pertaining to the mansion, could be readily +carted round from the vaults of the neighboring Bank; while the hampers +of old china, still retained in the house, needed but little trouble to +unpack; so that silver and china would soon stand assorted in their +appropriate<a name="page_301"></a> closets; at the turning of a faucet in the cellar, the best +of the city’s water would not fail to contribute its ingredient to the +concocting of a welcoming glass of negus before retiring on the first +night of their arrival.</p> + +<p>The over-fastidiousness of some unhealthily critical minds, as well as +the moral pusillanimity of others, equally bars the acceptance of +effectually substantial favors from persons whose motive in proffering +them, is not altogether clear and unimpeachable; and toward whom, +perhaps, some prior coolness or indifference has been shown. But when +the acceptance of such a favor would be really convenient and desirable +to the one party, and completely unattended with any serious distress to +the other; there would seem to be no sensible objection to an immediate +embrace of the offer. And when the acceptor is in rank and fortune the +general equal of the profferer, and perhaps his superior, so that any +courtesy he receives, can be amply returned in the natural course of +future events, then all motives to decline are very materially lessened. +And as for the thousand inconceivable finicalnesses of small pros and +cons about imaginary fitnesses, and proprieties, and self-consistencies; +thank heaven, in the hour of heart-health, none such shilly-shallying +sail-trimmers ever balk the onward course of a bluff-minded man. He +takes the world as it is; and carelessly accommodates himself to its +whimsical humors; nor ever feels any compunction at receiving the +greatest possible favors from those who are as able to grant, as free to +bestow. He himself bestows upon occasion; so that, at bottom, common +charity steps in to dictate a favorable consideration for all possible +profferings; seeing that the acceptance shall only the more enrich him, +indirectly, for new and larger beneficences of his own.</p> + +<p>And as for those who noways pretend with themselves to regulate their +deportment by considerations of genuine benevolence, and to whom such +courteous profferings hypocritically come from persons whom they suspect +for secret enemies; then<a name="page_302"></a> to such minds not only will their own worldly +tactics at once forbid the uncivil blank repulse of such offers; but if +they are secretly malicious as well as frigid, or if they are at all +capable of being fully gratified by the sense of concealed superiority +and mastership (which precious few men are) then how delightful for such +persons under the guise of mere acquiescence in his own voluntary +civilities, to make genteel use of their foe. For one would like to +know, what were foes made for except to be used? In the rude ages men +hunted and javelined the tiger, because they hated him for a +mischief-minded wild-beast; but in these enlightened times, though we +love the tiger as little as ever, still we mostly hunt him for the sake +of his skin. A wise man then will wear his tiger; every morning put on +his tiger for a robe to keep him warm and adorn him. In this view, foes +are far more desirable than friends; for who would hunt and kill his own +faithful affectionate dog for the sake of his skin? and is a dog’s skin +as valuable as a tiger’s? Cases there are where it becomes soberly +advisable, by direct arts to convert some well-wishers into foes. It is +false that in point of policy a man should never make enemies. As +well-wishers some men may not only be nugatory but positive obstacles in +your peculiar plans; but as foes you may subordinately cement them into +your general design.</p> + +<p>But into these ulterior refinements of cool Tuscan policy, Pierre as yet +had never become initiated; his experiences hitherto not having been +varied and ripe enough for that; besides, he had altogether too much +generous blood in his heart. Nevertheless, thereafter, in a less +immature hour, though still he shall not have the heart to practice upon +such maxims as the above, yet shall he have the brain thoroughly to +comprehend their practicability; which is not always the case. And +generally, in worldly wisdom, men will deny to one the possession of all +insight, which one does not by his every-day outward life practically +reveal. It is a very common error of some unscrupulously<a name="page_303"></a> +infidel-minded, selfish, unprincipled, or downright knavish men, to +suppose that believing men, or benevolent-hearted men, or good men, do +not know enough to be unscrupulously selfish, do not know enough to be +unscrupulous knaves. And thus—thanks to the world!—are there many +spies in the world’s camp, who are mistaken for strolling simpletons. +And these strolling simpletons seem to act upon the principle, that in +certain things, we do not so much learn, by showing that already we know +a vast deal, as by negatively seeming rather ignorant. But here we press +upon the frontiers of that sort of wisdom, which it is very well to +possess, but not sagacious to show that you possess. Still, men there +are, who having quite done with the world, all its mere worldly contents +are become so far indifferent, that they care little of what mere +worldly imprudence they may be guilty.</p> + +<p>Now, if it were not conscious considerations like the really benevolent +or neutral ones first mentioned above, it was certainly something akin +to them, which had induced Pierre to return a straightforward, manly, +and entire acceptance to his cousin of the offer of the house; thanking +him, over and over, for his most supererogatory kindness concerning the +pre-engagement of servants and so forth, and the setting in order of the +silver and china; but reminding him, nevertheless, that he had +overlooked all special mention of wines, and begged him to store the +bins with a few of the very best brands. He would likewise be obliged, +if he would personally purchase at a certain celebrated grocer’s, a +small bag of undoubted Mocha coffee; but Glen need not order it to be +roasted or ground, because Pierre preferred that both those highly +important and flavor-deciding operations should be performed +instantaneously previous to the final boiling and serving. Nor did he +say that he would pay for the wines and the Mocha; he contented himself +with merely stating the remissness on the part of his cousin, and +pointing out the best way of remedying it.<a name="page_304"></a></p> + +<p>He concluded his letter by intimating that though the rumor of a set +day, and a near one, for his nuptials, was unhappily but ill-founded, +yet he would not hold Glen’s generous offer as merely based upon that +presumption, and consequently falling with it; but on the contrary, +would consider it entirely good for whatever time it might prove +available to Pierre. He was betrothed beyond a peradventure; and hoped +to be married ere death. Meanwhile, Glen would further oblige him by +giving the confidential clerk a standing notice to quit.</p> + +<p>Though at first quite amazed at this letter,—for indeed, his offer +might possibly have proceeded as much from ostentation as any thing +else, nor had he dreamed of so unhesitating an acceptance,—Pierre’s +cousin was too much of a precocious young man of the world, disclosedly +to take it in any other than a very friendly, and cousinly, and +humorous, and yet practical way; which he plainly evinced by a reply far +more sincere and every way creditable, apparently, both to his heart and +head, than any letter he had written to Pierre since the days of their +boyhood. And thus, by the bluffness and, in some sort, +uncompunctuousness of Pierre, this very artificial youth was well +betrayed into an act of effective kindness; being forced now to drop the +empty mask of ostentation, and put on the solid hearty features of a +genuine face. And just so, are some people in the world to be joked into +occasional effective goodness, when all coyness, and coolness, all +resentments, and all solemn preaching, would fail.</p> + +<hr /> + +<h4>II.</h4> + +<p>B<small>UT</small> little would we comprehend the peculiar relation between Pierre and +Glen—a relation involving in the end the most serious results—were +there not here thrown over the whole equivocal, preceding account of it, +another and more<a name="page_305"></a> comprehensive equivocalness, which shall absorb all +minor ones in itself; and so make one pervading ambiguity the only +possible explanation for all the ambiguous details.</p> + +<p>It had long been imagined by Pierre, that prior to his own special +devotion to Lucy, the splendid Glen had not been entirely insensible to +her surprising charms. Yet this conceit in its incipiency, he knew not +how to account for. Assuredly his cousin had never in the slightest +conceivable hint betrayed it; and as for Lucy, the same intuitive +delicacy which forever forbade Pierre to question her on the subject, +did equally close her own voluntary lips. Between Pierre and Lucy, +delicateness put her sacred signet on this chest of secrecy; which like +the wax of an executor upon a desk, though capable of being melted into +nothing by the smallest candle, for all this, still possesses to the +reverent the prohibitive virtue of inexorable bars and bolts.</p> + +<p>If Pierre superficially considered the deportment of Glen toward him, +therein he could find no possible warrant for indulging the suspicious +idea. Doth jealousy smile so benignantly and offer its house to the +bride? Still, on the other hand, to quit the mere surface of the +deportment of Glen, and penetrate beneath its brocaded vesture; there +Pierre sometimes seemed to see the long-lurking and yet unhealed wound +of all a rejected lover’s most rankling detestation of a supplanting +rival, only intensified by their former friendship, and the unimpairable +blood-relation between them. Now, viewed by the light of this +master-solution, all the singular enigmas in Glen; his capriciousness in +the matter of the epistolary—“Dear Pierres” and “Dearest Pierres;” the +mercurial fall from the fever-heat of cordiality, to below the Zero of +indifference; then the contrary rise to fever-heat; and, above all, his +emphatic redundancy of devotion so soon as the positive espousals of +Pierre seemed on the point of consummation; thus read, all these riddles +apparently found their cunning solution. For the deeper that some men +feel a secret and poignant feeling, the<a name="page_306"></a> higher they pile the belying +surfaces. The friendly deportment of Glen then was to be considered as +in direct proportion to his hoarded hate; and the climax of that hate +was evinced in throwing open his house to the bride. Yet if hate was the +abstract cause, hate could not be the immediate motive of the conduct of +Glen. Is hate so hospitable? The immediate motive of Glen then must be +the intense desire to disguise from the wide world, a fact unspeakably +humiliating to his gold-laced and haughty soul: the fact that in the +profoundest desire of his heart, Pierre had so victoriously supplanted +him. Yet was it that very artful deportment in Glen, which Glen +profoundly assumed to this grand end; that consummately artful +deportment it was, which first obtruded upon Pierre the surmise, which +by that identical method his cousin was so absorbedly intent upon +rendering impossible to him. Hence we here see that as in the negative +way the secrecy of any strong emotion is exceedingly difficult to be +kept lastingly private to one’s own bosom by any human being; so it is +one of the most fruitless undertakings in the world, to attempt by +affirmative assumptions to tender to men, the precisely opposite emotion +as yours. Therefore the final wisdom decrees, that if you have aught +which you desire to keep a secret to yourself, be a Quietist there, and +do and say nothing at all about it. For among all the poor chances, this +is the least poor. Pretensions and substitutions are only the recourse +of under-graduates in the science of the world; in which science, on his +own ground, my Lord Chesterfield, is the poorest possible preceptor. The +earliest instinct of the child, and the ripest experience of age, unite +in affirming simplicity to be the truest and profoundest part for man. +Likewise this simplicity is so universal and all-containing as a rule +for human life, that the subtlest bad man, and the purest good man, as +well as the profoundest wise man, do all alike present it on that side +which they socially turn to the inquisitive and unscrupulous world.<a name="page_307"></a></p> + +<hr /> + +<h4>III.</h4> + +<p>N<small>OW</small> the matter of the house had remained in precisely the above-stated +awaiting predicament, down to the time of Pierre’s great +life-revolution, the receipt of Isabel’s letter. And though, indeed, +Pierre could not but naturally hesitate at still accepting the use of +the dwelling, under the widely different circumstances in which he now +found himself; and though at first the strongest possible spontaneous +objections on the ground of personal independence, pride, and general +scorn, all clamorously declared in his breast against such a course; +yet, finally, the same uncompunctuous, ever-adaptive sort of motive +which had induced his original acceptation, prompted him, in the end, +still to maintain it unrevoked. It would at once set him at rest from +all immediate tribulations of mere bed and board; and by affording him a +shelter, for an indefinite term, enable him the better to look about +him, and consider what could best be done to further the permanent +comfort of those whom Fate had intrusted to his charge.</p> + +<p>Irrespective, it would seem, of that wide general awaking of his +profounder being, consequent upon the extraordinary trials he had so +aggregatively encountered of late; the thought was indignantly suggested +to him, that the world must indeed be organically despicable, if it held +that an offer, superfluously accepted in the hour of his abundance, +should now, be rejected in that of his utmost need. And without at all +imputing any singularity of benevolent-mindedness to his cousin, he did +not for a moment question, that under the changed aspect of affairs, +Glen would at least pretend the more eagerly to welcome him to the +house, now that the mere thing of apparent courtesy had become +transformed into something like a thing of positive and urgent +necessity. When Pierre also considered that not himself only was +concerned, but likewise two peculiarly<a name="page_308"></a> helpless fellow-beings, one of +them bound to him from the first by the most sacred ties, and lately +inspiring an emotion which passed all human precedent in its mixed and +mystical import; these added considerations completely overthrew in +Pierre all remaining dictates of his vague pride and false independence, +if such indeed had ever been his.</p> + +<p>Though the interval elapsing between his decision to depart with his +companions for the city, and his actual start in the coach, had not +enabled him to receive any replying word from his cousin; and though +Pierre knew better than to expect it; yet a preparative letter to him he +had sent; and did not doubt that this proceeding would prove +well-advised in the end.</p> + +<p>In naturally strong-minded men, however young and inexperienced in some +things, those great and sudden emergencies, which but confound the timid +and the weak, only serve to call forth all their generous latentness, +and teach them, as by inspiration, extraordinary maxims of conduct, +whose counterpart, in other men, is only the result of a long, +variously-tried and pains-taking life. One of those maxims is, that +when, through whatever cause, we are suddenly translated from opulence +to need, or from a fair fame to a foul; and straightway it becomes +necessary not to contradict the thing—so far at least as the mere +imputation goes,—to some one previously entertaining high conventional +regard for us, and from whom we would now solicit some genuine helping +offices; then, all explanation or palation should be scorned; +promptness, boldness, utter gladiatorianism, and a defiant non-humility +should mark every syllable we breathe, and every line we trace.</p> + +<p>The preparative letter of Pierre to Glen, plunged at once into the very +heart of the matter, and was perhaps the briefest letter he had ever +written him. Though by no means are such characteristics invariable +exponents of the predominant mood or general disposition of a man (since +so accidental a thing as a numb finger, or a bad quill, or poor ink, or +squalid<a name="page_309"></a> paper, or a rickety desk may produce all sorts of +modifications), yet in the present instance, the handwriting of Pierre +happened plainly to attest and corroborate the spirit of his +communication. The sheet was large; but the words were placarded upon it +in heavy though rapid lines, only six or eight to the page. And as the +footman of a haughty visitor—some Count or Duke—announces the chariot +of his lord by a thunderous knock on the portal; so to Glen did Pierre, +in the broad, sweeping, and prodigious superscription of his letter, +forewarn him what manner of man was on the road.</p> + +<p>In the moment of strong feeling a wonderful condensativeness points the +tongue and pen; so that ideas, then enunciated sharp and quick as +minute-guns, in some other hour of unruffledness or unstimulatedness, +require considerable time and trouble to verbally recall.</p> + +<p>Not here and now can we set down the precise contents of Pierre’s +letter, without a tautology illy doing justice to the ideas themselves. +And though indeed the dread of tautology be the continual torment of +some earnest minds, and, as such, is surely a weakness in them; and +though no wise man will wonder at conscientious Virgil all eager at +death to burn his Æniad for a monstrous heap of inefficient superfluity; +yet not to dread tautology at times only belongs to those enviable +dunces, whom the partial God hath blessed, over all the earth, with the +inexhaustible self-riches of vanity, and folly, and a blind +self-complacency.</p> + +<p>Some rumor of the discontinuance of his betrothment to Lucy Tartan; of +his already consummated marriage with a poor and friendless orphan; of +his mother’s disowning him consequent upon these events; such rumors, +Pierre now wrote to his cousin, would very probably, in the parlors of +his city-relatives and acquaintances, precede his arrival in town. But +he hinted no word of any possible commentary on these things. He simply +went on to say, that now, through the fortune of life—<a name="page_310"></a>which was but +the proverbially unreliable fortune of war—he was, for the present, +thrown entirely upon his own resources, both for his own support and +that of his wife, as well as for the temporary maintenance of a girl, +whom he had lately had excellent reason for taking under his especial +protection. He proposed a permanent residence in the city; not without +some nearly quite settled plans as to the procuring of a competent +income, without any ulterior reference to any member of their wealthy +and widely ramified family. The house, whose temporary occupancy Glen +had before so handsomely proffered him, would now be doubly and trebly +desirable to him. But the pre-engaged servants, and the old china, and +the old silver, and the old wines, and the Mocha, were now become +altogether unnecessary. Pierre would merely take the place—for a short +interval—of the worthy old clerk; and, so far as Glen was concerned, +simply stand guardian of the dwelling, till his plans were matured. His +cousin had originally made his most bounteous overture, to welcome the +coming of the presumed bride of Pierre; and though another lady had now +taken her place at the altar, yet Pierre would still regard the offer of +Glen as impersonal in that respect, and bearing equal reference to any +young lady, who should prove her claim to the possessed hand of Pierre.</p> + +<p>Since there was no universal law of opinion in such matters, Glen, on +general worldly grounds, might not consider the real Mrs. Glendinning +altogether so suitable a match for Pierre, as he possibly might have +held numerous other young ladies in his eye: nevertheless, Glen would +find her ready to return with sincerity all his cousinly regard and +attention. In conclusion, Pierre said, that he and his party meditated +an immediate departure, and would very probably arrive in town in +eight-and-forty hours after the mailing of the present letter. He +therefore begged Glen to see the more indispensable domestic appliances +of the house set in some little order against their arrival;<a name="page_311"></a> to have +the rooms aired and lighted; and also forewarn the confidential clerk of +what he might soon expect. Then, without any tapering sequel +of—“<i>Yours, very truly and faithfully, my dear Cousin Glen</i>,” he +finished the letter with the abrupt and isolated signature +of—“P<small>IERRE</small>.”<a name="page_312"></a></p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="BOOK_XVI"></a>BOOK XVI.<br /> +FIRST NIGHT OF THEIR ARRIVAL IN THE CITY.</h2> + +<h4>I.</h4> + +<p>T<small>HE</small> stage was belated.</p> + +<p>The country road they traveled entered the city by a remarkably wide and +winding street, a great thoroughfare for its less opulent inhabitants. +There was no moon and few stars. It was that preluding hour of the night +when the shops are just closing, and the aspect of almost every +wayfarer, as he passes through the unequal light reflected from the +windows, speaks of one hurrying not abroad, but homeward. Though the +thoroughfare was winding, yet no sweep that it made greatly obstructed +its long and imposing vista; so that when the coach gained the top of +the long and very gradual slope running toward the obscure heart of the +town, and the twinkling perspective of two long and parallel rows of +lamps was revealed—lamps which seemed not so much intended to dispel +the general gloom, as to show some dim path leading through it, into +some gloom still deeper beyond—when the coach gained this critical +point, the whole vast triangular town, for a moment, seemed dimly and +despondently to capitulate to the eye.</p> + +<p>And now, ere descending the gradually-sloping declivity, and just on its +summit as it were, the inmates of the coach, by numerous hard, painful +joltings, and ponderous, dragging trundlings, are suddenly made sensible +of some great change in the<a name="page_313"></a> character of the road. The coach seems +rolling over cannon-balls of all calibers. Grasping Pierre’s arm, Isabel +eagerly and forebodingly demands what is the cause of this most strange +and unpleasant transition.</p> + +<p>“The pavements, Isabel; this is the town.”</p> + +<p>Isabel was silent.</p> + +<p>But, the first time for many weeks, Delly voluntarily spoke:</p> + +<p>“It feels not so soft as the green sward, Master Pierre.”</p> + +<p>“No, Miss Ulver,” said Pierre, very bitterly, “the buried hearts of some +dead citizens have perhaps come to the surface.”</p> + +<p>“Sir?” said Delly.</p> + +<p>“And are they so hard-hearted here?” asked Isabel.</p> + +<p>“Ask yonder pavements, Isabel. Milk dropt from the milkman’s can in +December, freezes not more quickly on those stones, than does snow-white +innocence, if in poverty, it chance to fall in these streets.”</p> + +<p>“Then God help my hard fate, Master Pierre,” sobbed Delly. “Why didst +thou drag hither a poor outcast like me?”</p> + +<p>“Forgive me, Miss Ulver,” exclaimed Pierre, with sudden warmth, and yet +most marked respect; “forgive me; never yet have I entered the city by +night, but, somehow, it made me feel both bitter and sad. Come, be +cheerful, we shall soon be comfortably housed, and have our comfort all +to ourselves; the old clerk I spoke to you about, is now doubtless +ruefully eying his hat on the peg. Come, cheer up, Isabel;—’tis a long +ride, but here we are, at last. Come! ’Tis not very far now to our +welcome.”</p> + +<p>“I hear a strange shuffling and clattering,” said Delly, with a shudder.</p> + +<p>“It does not seem so light as just now,” said Isabel.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” returned Pierre, “it is the shop-shutters being put on; it is the +locking, and bolting, and barring of windows and doors; the +town’s-people are going to their rest.”<a name="page_314"></a></p> + +<p>“Please God they may find it!” sighed Delly.</p> + +<p>“They lock and bar out, then, when they rest, do they, Pierre?” said +Isabel.</p> + +<p>“Yes, and you were thinking that does not bode well for the welcome I +spoke of.”</p> + +<p>“Thou read’st all my soul; yes, I was thinking of that. But whither lead +these long, narrow, dismal side-glooms we pass every now and then? What +are they? They seem terribly still. I see scarce any body in +them;—there’s another, now. See how haggardly look its criss-cross, +far-separate lamps.—What are these side-glooms, dear Pierre; whither +lead they?”</p> + +<p>“They are the thin tributaries, sweet Isabel, to the great Oronoco +thoroughfare we are in; and like true tributaries, they come from the +far-hidden places; from under dark beetling secrecies of mortar and +stone; through the long marsh-grasses of villainy, and by many a +transplanted bough-beam, where the wretched have hung.”</p> + +<p>“I know nothing of these things, Pierre. But I like not the town. +Think’st thou, Pierre, the time will ever come when all the earth shall +be paved?”</p> + +<p>“Thank God, that never can be!”</p> + +<p>“These silent side-glooms are horrible;—look! Methinks, not for the +world would I turn into one.”</p> + +<p>That moment the nigh fore-wheel sharply grated under the body of the +coach.</p> + +<p>“Courage!” cried Pierre, “we are in it!—Not so very solitary either; +here comes a traveler.”</p> + +<p>“Hark, what is that?” said Delly, “that keen iron-ringing sound? It +passed us just now.”</p> + +<p>“The keen traveler,” said Pierre, “he has steel plates to his +boot-heels;—some tender-souled elder son, I suppose.”</p> + +<p>“Pierre,” said Isabel, “this silence is unnatural, is fearful. The +forests are never so still.”<a name="page_315"></a></p> + +<p>“Because brick and mortar have deeper secrets than wood or fell, sweet +Isabel. But here we turn again; now if I guess right, two more turns +will bring us to the door. Courage, all will be well; doubtless he has +prepared a famous supper. Courage, Isabel. Come, shall it be tea or +coffee? Some bread, or crisp toast? We’ll have eggs, too; and some cold +chicken, perhaps.”—Then muttering to himself—“I hope not that, either; +no cold collations! there’s too much of that in these paving-stones +here, set out for the famishing beggars to eat. No. I won’t have the +cold chicken.” Then aloud—“But here we turn again; yes, just as I +thought. Ho, driver!” (thrusting his head out of the window) “to the +right! to the right! it should be on the right! the first house with a +light on the right!”</p> + +<p>“No lights yet but the street’s,” answered the surly voice of the +driver.</p> + +<p>“Stupid! he has passed it—yes, yes—he has! Ho! ho! stop; turn back. +Have you not passed lighted windows?”</p> + +<p>“No lights but the street’s,” was the rough reply. “What’s the number? +the number? Don’t keep me beating about here all night! The number, I +say!”</p> + +<p>“I do not know it,” returned Pierre; “but I well know the house; you +must have passed it, I repeat. You must turn back. Surely you have +passed lighted windows?”</p> + +<p>“Then them lights must burn black; there’s no lighted windows in the +street; I knows the city; old maids lives here, and they are all to bed; +rest is warehouses.”</p> + +<p>“Will you stop the coach, or not?” cried Pierre, now incensed at his +surliness in continuing to drive on.</p> + +<p>“I obeys orders: the first house with a light; and ’cording to my +reck’ning—though to be sure, I don’t know nothing of the city where I +was born and bred all my life—no, I knows nothing at all about +it—’cording to my reck’ning, the first light in this here street will +be the watch-house of the ward—yes,<a name="page_316"></a> there it is—all right! cheap +lodgings ye’ve engaged—nothing to pay, and wictuals in.”</p> + +<p>To certain temperaments, especially when previously agitated by any deep +feeling, there is perhaps nothing more exasperating, and which sooner +explodes all self-command, than the coarse, jeering insolence of a +porter, cabman, or hack-driver. Fetchers and carriers of the worst city +infamy as many of them are; professionally familiar with the most +abandoned haunts; in the heart of misery, they drive one of the most +mercenary of all the trades of guilt. Day-dozers and sluggards on their +lazy boxes in the sunlight, and felinely wakeful and cat-eyed in the +dark; most habituated to midnight streets, only trod by sneaking +burglars, wantons, and debauchees; often in actual pandering league with +the most abhorrent sinks; so that they are equally solicitous and +suspectful that every customer they encounter in the dark, will prove a +profligate or a knave; this hideous tribe of ogres, and Charon ferry-men +to corruption and death, naturally slide into the most practically +Calvinistical view of humanity, and hold every man at bottom a fit +subject for the coarsest ribaldry and jest; only fine coats and full +pockets can whip such mangy hounds into decency. The least impatience, +any quickness of temper, a sharp remonstrating word from a customer in a +seedy coat, or betraying any other evidence of poverty, however minute +and indirect (for in that pecuniary respect they are the most piercing +and infallible of all the judgers of men), will be almost sure to +provoke, in such cases, their least endurable disdain.</p> + +<p>Perhaps it was the unconscious transfer to the stage-driver of some such +ideas as these, which now prompted the highly irritated Pierre to an +act, which, in a more benignant hour, his better reason would have +restrained him from.</p> + +<p>He did not see the light to which the driver had referred; and was +heedless, in his sudden wrath, that the coach was now going slower in +approaching it. Ere Isabel could prevent him,<a name="page_317"></a> he burst open the door, +and leaping to the pavement, sprang ahead of the horses, and violently +reined back the leaders by their heads. The driver seized his +four-in-hand whip, and with a volley of oaths was about striking out its +long, coiling lash at Pierre, when his arm was arrested by a policeman, +who suddenly leaping on the stayed coach, commanded him to keep the +peace.</p> + +<p>“Speak! what is the difficulty here? Be quiet, ladies, nothing serious +has happened. Speak you!”</p> + +<p>“Pierre! Pierre!” cried the alarmed Isabel. In an instant Pierre was at +her side by the window; and now turning to the officer, explained to him +that the driver had persisted in passing the house at which he was +ordered to stop.</p> + +<p>“Then he shall turn to the right about with you, sir;—in double quick +time too; do ye hear? I know you rascals well enough. Turn about, you +sir, and take the gentleman where he directed.”</p> + +<p>The cowed driver was beginning a long string of criminating +explanations, when turning to Pierre, the policeman calmly desired him +to re-enter the coach; he would see him safely at his destination; and +then seating himself beside the driver on the box, commanded him to tell +the number given him by the gentleman.</p> + +<p>“He don’t know no numbers—didn’t I say he didn’t—that’s what I got mad +about.”</p> + +<p>“Be still”—said the officer. “Sir”—turning round and addressing Pierre +within; “where do you wish to go?”</p> + +<p>“I do not know the number, but it is a house in this street; we have +passed it; it is, I think, the fourth or fifth house this side of the +last corner we turned. It must be lighted up too. It is the small +old-fashioned dwelling with stone lion-heads above the windows. But make +him turn round, and drive slowly, and I will soon point it out.”<a name="page_318"></a></p> + +<p>“Can’t see lions in the dark”—growled the driver—“lions; ha! ha! +jackasses more likely!”</p> + +<p>“Look you,” said the officer, “I shall see you tightly housed this +night, my fine fellow, if you don’t cease your jabber. Sir,” he added, +resuming with Pierre, “I am sure there is some mistake here. I perfectly +well know now the house you mean. I passed it within the last half-hour; +all as quiet there as ever. No one lives there, I think; I never saw a +light in it. Are you not mistaken in something, then?”</p> + +<p>Pierre paused in perplexity and foreboding. Was it possible that Glen +had willfully and utterly neglected his letter? Not possible. But it +might not have come to his hand; the mails sometimes delayed. Then +again, it was not wholly out of the question, that the house was +prepared for them after all, even though it showed no outward sign. But +that was not probable. At any rate, as the driver protested, that his +four horses and lumbering vehicle could not turn short round in that +street; and that if he must go back, it could only be done by driving +on, and going round the block, and so retracing his road; and as after +such a procedure, on his part, then in case of a confirmed +disappointment respecting the house, the driver would seem warranted, at +least in some of his unmannerliness; and as Pierre loathed the villain +altogether, therefore, in order to run no such risks, he came to a +sudden determination on the spot.</p> + +<p>“I owe you very much, my good friend,” said he to the officer, “for your +timely assistance. To be frank, what you have just told me has indeed +perplexed me not a little concerning the place where I proposed to stop. +Is there no hotel in this neighborhood, where I could leave these ladies +while I seek my friend?”</p> + +<p>Wonted to all manner of deceitfulness, and engaged in a calling which +unavoidably makes one distrustful of mere appearances, however specious, +however honest; the really good-hearted<a name="page_319"></a> officer, now eyed Pierre in the +dubious light with a most unpleasant scrutiny; and he abandoned the +“Sir,” and the tone of his voice sensibly changed, as he +replied:—“There is no hotel in this neighborhood; it is too off the +thoroughfares.”</p> + +<p>“Come! come!”—cried the driver, now growing bold again—“though you’re +an officer, I’m a citizen for all that. You haven’t any further right to +keep me out of my bed now. He don’t know where he wants to go to, cause +he haint got no place at all to go to; so I’ll just dump him here, and +you dar’n’t stay me.”</p> + +<p>“Don’t be impertinent now,” said the officer, but not so sternly as +before.</p> + +<p>“I’ll have my rights though, I tell you that! Leave go of my arm; damn +ye, get off the box; I’ve the law now. I say mister, come tramp, here +goes your luggage,” and so saying he dragged toward him a light trunk on +the top of the stage.</p> + +<p>“Keep a clean tongue in ye now”—said the officer—“and don’t be in +quite so great a hurry,” then addressing Pierre, who had now re-alighted +from the coach—“Well, this can’t continue; what do you intend to do?”</p> + +<p>“Not to ride further with that man, at any rate,” said Pierre; “I will +stop right here for the present.”</p> + +<p>“He! he!” laughed the driver; “he! he! ’mazing ’commodating now—we +hitches now, we do—stops right afore the watch-house—he! he!—that’s +funny!”</p> + +<p>“Off with the luggage then, driver,” said the policeman—“here hand the +small trunk, and now away and unlash there behind.”</p> + +<p>During all this scene, Delly had remained perfectly silent in her +trembling and rustic alarm; while Isabel, by occasional cries to Pierre, +had vainly besought some explanation. But though their complete +ignorance of city life had caused Pierre’s two companions to regard the +scene thus far with too much<a name="page_320"></a> trepidation; yet now, when in the +obscurity of night, and in the heart of a strange town, Pierre handed +them out of the coach into the naked street, and they saw their luggage +piled so near the white light of a watch-house, the same ignorance, in +some sort, reversed its effects on them; for they little fancied in what +really untoward and wretched circumstances they first touched the +flagging of the city.</p> + +<p>As the coach lumbered off, and went rolling into the wide murkiness +beyond, Pierre spoke to the officer.</p> + +<p>“It is a rather strange accident, I confess, my friend, but strange +accidents will sometimes happen.”</p> + +<p>“In the best of families,” rejoined the other, a little ironically.</p> + +<p>Now, I must not quarrel with this man, thought Pierre to himself, stung +at the officer’s tone. Then said:—“Is there any one in your—office?”</p> + +<p>“No one as yet—not late enough.”</p> + +<p>“Will you have the kindness then to house these ladies there for the +present, while I make haste to provide them with better lodgment? Lead +on, if you please.”</p> + +<p>The man seemed to hesitate a moment, but finally acquiesced; and soon +they passed under the white light, and entered a large, plain, and most +forbidding-looking room, with hacked wooden benches and bunks ranged +along the sides, and a railing before a desk in one corner. The +permanent keeper of the place was quietly reading a paper by the long +central double bat’s-wing gas-light; and three officers off duty were +nodding on a bench.</p> + +<p>“Not very liberal accommodations”—said the officer, quietly; “nor +always the best of company, but we try to be civil. Be seated, ladies,” +politely drawing a small bench toward them.</p> + +<p>“Hallo, my friends,” said Pierre, approaching the nodding three beyond, +and tapping them on the shoulder—“Hallo, I say! Will you do me a little +favor? Will you help bring<a name="page_321"></a> some trunks in from the street? I will +satisfy you for your trouble, and be much obliged into the bargain.”</p> + +<p>Instantly the three noddies, used to sudden awakenings, opened their +eyes, and stared hard; and being further enlightened by the bat’s-wings +and first officer, promptly brought in the luggage as desired.</p> + +<p>Pierre hurriedly sat down by Isabel, and in a few words gave her to +understand, that she was now in a perfectly secure place, however +unwelcoming; that the officers would take every care of her, while he +made all possible speed in running to the house, and indubitably +ascertaining how matters stood there. He hoped to be back in less than +ten minutes with good tidings. Explaining his intention to the first +officer, and begging him not to leave the girls till he should return, +he forthwith sallied into the street. He quickly came to the house, and +immediately identified it. But all was profoundly silent and dark. He +rang the bell, but no answer; and waiting long enough to be certain, +that either the house was indeed deserted, or else the old clerk was +unawakeable or absent; and at all events, certain that no slightest +preparation had been made for their arrival; Pierre, bitterly +disappointed, returned to Isabel with this most unpleasant information.</p> + +<p>Nevertheless something must be done, and quickly. Turning to one of the +officers, he begged him to go and seek a hack, that the whole party +might be taken to some respectable lodging. But the man, as well as his +comrades, declined the errand on the score, that there was no stand on +their beat, and they could not, on any account, leave their beat. So +Pierre himself must go. He by no means liked to leave Isabel and Delly +again, on an expedition which might occupy some time. But there seemed +no resource, and time now imperiously pressed. Communicating his +intention therefore to Isabel, and again entreating the officer’s +particular services as before, and promising not to leave him +unrequited; Pierre again sallied<a name="page_322"></a> out. He looked up and down the street, +and listened; but no sound of any approaching vehicle was audible. He +ran on, and turning the first corner, bent his rapid steps toward the +greatest and most central avenue of the city, assured that there, if +anywhere, he would find what he wanted. It was some distance off; and he +was not without hope that an empty hack would meet him ere he arrived +there. But the few stray ones he encountered had all muffled fares. He +continued on, and at last gained the great avenue. Not habitually used +to such scenes, Pierre for a moment was surprised, that the instant he +turned out of the narrow, and dark, and death-like bye-street, he should +find himself suddenly precipitated into the not-yet-repressed noise and +contention, and all the garish night-life of a vast thoroughfare, +crowded and wedged by day, and even now, at this late hour, brilliant +with occasional illuminations, and echoing to very many swift wheels and +footfalls.</p> + +<hr /> + +<h4>II.</h4> + +<p>“I say, my pretty one! Dear! Dear! young man! Oh, love, you are in a +vast hurry, aint you? Can’t you stop a bit, now, my dear: do—there’s a +sweet fellow.”</p> + +<p>Pierre turned; and in the flashing, sinister, evil cross-lights of a +druggist’s window, his eye caught the person of a wonderfully +beautifully-featured girl; scarlet-cheeked, glaringly-arrayed, and of a +figure all natural grace but unnatural vivacity. Her whole form, +however, was horribly lit by the green and yellow rays from the +druggist’s.</p> + +<p>“My God!” shuddered Pierre, hurrying forward, “the town’s first welcome +to youth!”</p> + +<p>He was just crossing over to where a line of hacks were<a name="page_323"></a> drawn up +against the opposite curb, when his eye was arrested by a short, gilded +name, rather reservedly and aristocratically denominating a large and +very handsome house, the second story of which was profusely lighted. He +looked up, and was very certain that in this house were the apartments +of Glen. Yielding to a sudden impulse, he mounted the single step toward +the door, and rang the bell, which was quickly responded to by a very +civil black.</p> + +<p>As the door opened, he heard the distant interior sound of dancing-music +and merriment.</p> + +<p>“Is Mr. Stanly in?”</p> + +<p>“Mr. Stanly? Yes, but he’s engaged.”</p> + +<p>“How?”</p> + +<p>“He is somewhere in the drawing rooms. My mistress is giving a party to +the lodgers.”</p> + +<p>“Ay? Tell Mr. Stanly I wish to see him for one moment if you please; +only one moment.”</p> + +<p>“I dare not call him, sir. He said that possibly some one might call for +him to-night—they are calling every night for Mr. Stanly—but I must +admit no one, on the plea of the party.”</p> + +<p>A dark and bitter suspicion now darted through the mind of Pierre; and +ungovernably yielding to it, and resolved to prove or falsify it without +delay, he said to the black:</p> + +<p>“My business is pressing. I must see Mr. Stanly.”</p> + +<p>“I am sorry, sir, but orders are orders: I am his particular servant +here—the one that sees his silver every holyday. I can’t disobey him. +May I shut the door, sir? for as it is, I can not admit you.”</p> + +<p>“The drawing-rooms are on the second floor, are they not?” said Pierre +quietly.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said the black pausing in surprise, and holding the door.</p> + +<p>“Yonder are the stairs, I think?”<a name="page_324"></a></p> + +<p>“That way, sir; but this is yours;” and the now suspicious black was +just on the point of closing the portal violently upon him, when Pierre +thrust him suddenly aside, and springing up the long stairs, found +himself facing an open door, from whence proceeded a burst of combined +brilliancy and melody, doubly confusing to one just emerged from the +street. But bewildered and all demented as he momentarily felt, he +instantly stalked in, and confounded the amazed company with his +unremoved slouched hat, pale cheek, and whole dusty, travel-stained, and +ferocious aspect.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Stanly! where is Mr. Stanly?” he cried, advancing straight through +a startled quadrille, while all the music suddenly hushed, and every eye +was fixed in vague affright upon him.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Stanly! Mr. Stanly!” cried several bladish voices, toward the +further end of the further drawing-room, into which the first one widely +opened, “Here is a most peculiar fellow after you; who the devil is he?”</p> + +<p>“I think I see him,” replied a singularly cool, deliberate, and rather +drawling voice, yet a very silvery one, and at bottom perhaps a very +resolute one; “I think I see him; stand aside, my good fellow, will you; +ladies, remove, remove from between me and yonder hat.”</p> + +<p>The polite compliance of the company thus addressed, now revealed to the +advancing Pierre, the tall, robust figure of a remarkably +splendid-looking, and brown-bearded young man, dressed with surprising +plainness, almost demureness, for such an occasion; but this plainness +of his dress was not so obvious at first, the material was so fine, and +admirably fitted. He was carelessly lounging in a half side-long +attitude upon a large sofa, and appeared as if but just interrupted in +some very agreeable chat with a diminutive but vivacious brunette, +occupying the other end. The dandy and the man; strength and effeminacy; +courage and indolence, were so strangely blended<a name="page_325"></a> in this superb-eyed +youth, that at first sight, it seemed impossible to decide whether there +was any genuine mettle in him, or not.</p> + +<p>Some years had gone by since the cousins had met; years peculiarly +productive of the greatest conceivable changes in the general personal +aspect of human beings. Nevertheless, the eye seldom alters. The instant +their eyes met, they mutually recognized each other. But both did not +betray the recognition.</p> + +<p>“Glen!” cried Pierre, and paused a few steps from him.</p> + +<p>But the superb-eyed only settled himself lower down in his lounging +attitude, and slowly withdrawing a small, unpretending, and unribboned +glass from his vest pocket, steadily, yet not entirely insultingly, +notwithstanding the circumstances, scrutinized Pierre. Then, dropping +his glass, turned slowly round upon the gentlemen near him, saying in +the same peculiar, mixed, and musical voice as before:</p> + +<p>“I do not know him; it is an entire mistake; why don’t the servants take +him out, and the music go on?—— As I was saying, Miss Clara, the +statues you saw in the Louvre are not to be mentioned with those in +Florence and Rome. Why, there now is that vaunted <i>chef d’œuvre</i>, the +Fighting Gladiator of the Louvre——”</p> + +<p>“Fighting Gladiator it is!” yelled Pierre, leaping toward him like +Spartacus. But the savage impulse in him was restrained by the alarmed +female shrieks and wild gestures around him. As he paused, several +gentlemen made motions to pinion him; but shaking them off fiercely, he +stood erect, and isolated for an instant, and fastening his glance upon +his still reclining, and apparently unmoved cousin, thus spoke:—</p> + +<p>“Glendinning Stanly, thou disown’st Pierre not so abhorrently as Pierre +does thee. By Heaven, had I a knife, Glen, I could prick thee on the +spot; let out all thy Glendinning blood, and then sew up the vile +remainder. Hound, and base blot upon the general humanity!”<a name="page_326"></a></p> + +<p>“This is very extraordinary:—remarkable case of combined imposture and +insanity; but where are the servants? why don’t that black advance? Lead +him out, my good Doc, lead him out. Carefully, carefully! stay”—putting +his hand in his pocket—“there, take that, and have the poor fellow +driven off somewhere.”</p> + +<p>Bolting his rage in him, as impossible to be sated by any conduct, in +such a place, Pierre now turned, sprang down the stairs, and fled the +house.</p> + +<hr /> + +<h4>III.</h4> + +<p>“Hack, sir? Hack, sir? Hack, sir?”</p> + +<p>“Cab, sir? Cab, sir? Cab, sir?”</p> + +<p>“This way, sir! This way, sir! This way, sir!”</p> + +<p>“He’s a rogue! Not him! he’s a rogue!”</p> + +<p>Pierre was surrounded by a crowd of contending hackmen, all holding long +whips in their hands; while others eagerly beckoned to him from their +boxes, where they sat elevated between their two coach-lamps like +shabby, discarded saints. The whip-stalks thickened around him, and +several reports of the cracking lashes sharply sounded in his ears. Just +bursting from a scene so goading as his interview with the scornful Glen +in the dazzling drawing-room, to Pierre, this sudden tumultuous +surrounding of him by whip-stalks and lashes, seemed like the onset of +the chastising fiends upon Orestes. But, breaking away from them, he +seized the first plated door-handle near him, and, leaping into the +hack, shouted for whoever was the keeper of it, to mount his box +forthwith and drive off in a given direction.</p> + +<p>The vehicle had proceeded some way down the great avenue<a name="page_327"></a> when it +paused, and the driver demanded whither now; what place?</p> + +<p>“The Watch-house of the—— Ward,” cried Pierre.</p> + +<p>“Hi! hi! Goin’ to deliver himself up, hey!” grinned the fellow to +himself—“Well, that’s a sort of honest, any way:—g’lang, you +dogs!—whist! whee! wha!—g’lang!”</p> + +<p>The sights and sounds which met the eye of Pierre on re-entering the +watch-house, filled him with inexpressible horror and fury. The before +decent, drowsy place, now fairly reeked with all things unseemly. Hardly +possible was it to tell what conceivable cause or occasion had, in the +comparatively short absence of Pierre, collected such a base +congregation. In indescribable disorder, frantic, diseased-looking men +and women of all colors, and in all imaginable flaunting, immodest, +grotesque, and shattered dresses, were leaping, yelling, and cursing +around him. The torn Madras handkerchiefs of negresses, and the red +gowns of yellow girls, hanging in tatters from their naked bosoms, mixed +with the rent dresses of deep-rouged white women, and the split coats, +checkered vests, and protruding shirts of pale, or whiskered, or +haggard, or mustached fellows of all nations, some of whom seemed scared +from their beds, and others seemingly arrested in the midst of some +crazy and wanton dance. On all sides, were heard drunken male and female +voices, in English, French, Spanish, and Portuguese, interlarded now and +then, with the foulest of all human lingoes, that dialect of sin and +death, known as the Cant language, or the Flash.</p> + +<p>Running among this combined babel of persons and voices, several of the +police were vainly striving to still the tumult; while others were busy +handcuffing the more desperate; and here and there the distracted +wretches, both men and women, gave downright battle to the officers; and +still others already handcuffed struck out at them with their joined +ironed arms. Meanwhile, words and phrases unrepeatable in God’s +sunlight,<a name="page_328"></a> and whose very existence was utterly unknown, and undreamed +of by tens of thousands of the decent people of the city; syllables +obscene and accursed were shouted forth in tones plainly evincing that +they were the common household breath of their utterers. The +thieves’-quarters, and all the brothels, Lock-and-Sin hospitals for +incurables, and infirmaries and infernoes of hell seemed to have made +one combined sortie, and poured out upon earth through the vile vomitory +of some unmentionable cellar.</p> + +<p>Though the hitherto imperfect and casual city experiences of Pierre illy +fitted him entirely to comprehend the specific purport of this terrific +spectacle; still he knew enough by hearsay of the more infamous life of +the town, to imagine from whence, and who, were the objects before him. +But all his consciousness at the time was absorbed by the one horrified +thought of Isabel and Delly, forced to witness a sight hardly endurable +for Pierre himself; or, possibly, sucked into the tumult, and in close +personal contact with its loathsomeness. Rushing into the crowd, +regardless of the random blows and curses he encountered, he wildly +sought for Isabel, and soon descried her struggling from the delirious +reaching arms of a half-clad reeling whiskerando. With an immense blow +of his mailed fist, he sent the wretch humming, and seizing Isabel, +cried out to two officers near, to clear a path for him to the door. +They did so. And in a few minutes the panting Isabel was safe in the +open air. He would have stayed by her, but she conjured him to return +for Delly, exposed to worse insults than herself. An additional posse of +officers now approaching, Pierre committing her to the care of one of +them, and summoning two others to join himself, now re-entered the room. +In another quarter of it, he saw Delly seized on each hand by two +bleared and half-bloody women, who with fiendish grimaces were +ironically twitting her upon her close-necked dress, and had already +stript her handkerchief from her. She uttered<a name="page_329"></a> a cry of mixed anguish +and joy at the sight of him; and Pierre soon succeeded in returning with +her to Isabel.</p> + +<p>During the absence of Pierre in quest of the hack, and while Isabel and +Delly were quietly awaiting his return, the door had suddenly burst +open, and a detachment of the police drove in, and caged, the entire +miscellaneous night-occupants of a notorious stew, which they had +stormed and carried during the height of some outrageous orgie. The +first sight of the interior of the watch-house, and their being so +quickly huddled together within its four blank walls, had suddenly +lashed the mob into frenzy; so that for the time, oblivious of all other +considerations, the entire force of the police was directed to the +quelling of the in-door riot; and consequently, abandoned to their own +protection, Isabel and Delly had been temporarily left to its mercy.</p> + +<p>It was no time for Pierre to manifest his indignation at the +officer—even if he could now find him—who had thus falsified his +individual pledge concerning the precious charge committed to him. Nor +was it any time to distress himself about his luggage, still somewhere +within. Quitting all, he thrust the bewildered and half-lifeless girls +into the waiting hack, which, by his orders, drove back in the direction +of the stand, where Pierre had first taken it up.</p> + +<p>When the coach had rolled them well away from the tumult, Pierre stopped +it, and said to the man, that he desired to be taken to the nearest +respectable hotel or boarding-house of any kind, that he knew of. The +fellow—maliciously diverted by what had happened thus far—made some +ambiguous and rudely merry rejoinder. But warned by his previous rash +quarrel with the stage-driver, Pierre passed this unnoticed, and in a +controlled, calm, decided manner repeated his directions.</p> + +<p>The issue was, that after a rather roundabout drive they drew up in a +very respectable side-street, before a large respectable-looking house, +illuminated by two tall white lights<a name="page_330"></a> flanking its portico. Pierre was +glad to notice some little remaining stir within, spite of the +comparative lateness of the hour. A bare-headed, tidily-dressed, and +very intelligent-looking man, with a broom clothes-brush in his hand, +appearing, scrutinized him rather sharply at first; but as Pierre +advanced further into the light, and his countenance became visible, the +man, assuming a respectful but still slightly perplexed air, invited the +whole party into a closely adjoining parlor, whose disordered chairs and +general dustiness, evinced that after a day’s activity it now awaited +the morning offices of the housemaids.</p> + +<p>“Baggage, sir?”</p> + +<p>“I have left my baggage at another place,” said Pierre, “I shall send +for it to-morrow.”</p> + +<p>“Ah!” exclaimed the very intelligent-looking man, rather dubiously, +“shall I discharge the hack, then?”</p> + +<p>“Stay,” said Pierre, bethinking him, that it would be well not to let +the man know from whence they had last come, “I will discharge it +myself, thank you.”</p> + +<p>So returning to the sidewalk, without debate, he paid the hackman an +exorbitant fare, who, anxious to secure such illegal gains beyond all +hope of recovery, quickly mounted his box and drove off at a gallop.</p> + +<p>“Will you step into the office, sir, now?” said the man, slightly +flourishing with his brush—“this way, sir, if you please.”</p> + +<p>Pierre followed him, into an almost deserted, dimly lit room with a +stand in it. Going behind the stand, the man turned round to him a large +ledger-like book, thickly inscribed with names, like any directory, and +offered him a pen ready dipped in ink.</p> + +<p>Understanding the general hint, though secretly irritated at something +in the manner of the man, Pierre drew the book to him, and wrote in a +firm hand, at the bottom of the last-named column,—<a name="page_331"></a></p> + +<p>“Mr. and Mrs. Pierre Glendinning, and Miss Ulver.”</p> + +<p>The man glanced at the writing inquiringly, and then said—“The other +column, sir—where from.”</p> + +<p>“True,” said Pierre, and wrote “Saddle Meadows.”</p> + +<p>The very intelligent-looking man re-examined the page, and then slowly +stroking his shaven chin, with a fork, made of his thumb for one tine, +and his united four fingers for the other, said softly and +whisperingly—“Anywheres in this country, sir?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, in the country,” said Pierre, evasively, and bridling his ire. +“But now show me to two chambers, will you; the one for myself and wife, +I desire to have opening into another, a third one, never mind how +small; but I must have a dressing-room.”</p> + +<p>“Dressing-room,” repeated the man, in an ironically deliberative +voice—“Dressing-room;—Hem!—You will have your luggage taken into the +dressing-room, then, I suppose.—Oh, I forgot—your luggage aint come +yet—ah, yes, yes, yes—luggage is coming to-morrow—Oh, yes, +yes,—certainly—to-morrow—of course. By the way, sir; I dislike to +seem at all uncivil, and I am sure you will not deem me so; but—”</p> + +<p>“Well,” said Pierre, mustering all his self-command for the coming +impertinence.</p> + +<p>“When stranger gentlemen come to this house without luggage, we think +ourselves bound to ask them to pay their bills in advance, sir; that is +all, sir.”</p> + +<p>“I shall stay here to-night and the whole of to-morrow, at any rate,” +rejoined Pierre, thankful that this was all; “how much will it be?” and +he drew out his purse.</p> + +<p>The man’s eyes fastened with eagerness on the purse; he looked from it +to the face of him who held it; then seemed half hesitating an instant; +then brightening up, said, with sudden suavity—“Never mind, sir, never +mind, sir; though rogues sometimes be gentlemanly; gentlemen that are +gentlemen<a name="page_332"></a> never go abroad without their diplomas. Their diplomas are +their friends; and their only friends are their dollars; you have a +purse-full of friends.—We have chambers, sir, that will exactly suit +you, I think. Bring your ladies and I will show you up to them +immediately.” So saying, dropping his brush, the very +intelligent-looking man lighted one lamp, and taking two unlighted ones +in his other hand, led the way down the dusky lead-sheeted hall, Pierre +following him with Isabel and Delly.<a name="page_333"></a></p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="BOOK_XVII"></a>BOOK XVII.<br /> +YOUNG AMERICA IN LITERATURE.</h2> + +<h4>I.</h4> + +<p>A<small>MONG</small> the various conflicting modes of writing history, there would seem +to be two grand practical distinctions, under which all the rest must +subordinately range. By the one mode, all contemporaneous circumstances, +facts, and events must be set down contemporaneously; by the other, they +are only to be set down as the general stream of the narrative shall +dictate; for matters which are kindred in time, may be very irrelative +in themselves. I elect neither of these; I am careless of either; both +are well enough in their way; I write precisely as I please.</p> + +<p>In the earlier chapters of this volume, it has somewhere been passingly +intimated, that Pierre was not only a reader of the poets and other fine +writers, but likewise—and what is a very different thing from the +other—a thorough allegorical understander of them, a profound emotional +sympathizer with them; in other words, Pierre himself possessed the +poetic nature; in himself absolutely, though but latently and +floatingly, possessed every whit of the imaginative wealth which he so +admired, when by vast pains-takings, and all manner of unrecompensed +agonies, systematized on the printed page. Not that as yet his young and +immature soul had been accosted by the Wonderful Mutes, and through the +vast halls of Silent Truth, had been ushered into the full, secret, +eternally inviolable Sanhedrim,<a name="page_334"></a> where the Poetic Magi discuss, in +glorious gibberish, the Alpha and Omega of the Universe. But among the +beautiful imaginings of the second and third degree of poets, he freely +and comprehendingly ranged.</p> + +<p>But it still remains to be said, that Pierre himself had written many a +fugitive thing, which had brought him, not only vast credit and +compliments from his more immediate acquaintances, but the less partial +applauses of the always intelligent, and extremely discriminating +public. In short, Pierre had frequently done that, which many other boys +have done—published. Not in the imposing form of a book, but in the +more modest and becoming way of occasional contributions to magazines +and other polite periodicals. His magnificent and victorious <i>debut</i> had +been made in that delightful love-sonnet, entitled “The Tropical +Summer.” Not only the public had applauded his gemmed little sketches of +thought and fancy, whether in poetry or prose; but the high and mighty +Campbell clan of editors of all sorts had bestowed upon him those +generous commendations, which, with one instantaneous glance, they had +immediately perceived was his due. They spoke in high terms of his +surprising command of language; they begged to express their wonder at +his euphonious construction of sentences; they regarded with reverence +the pervading symmetry of his general style. But transcending even this +profound insight into the deep merits of Pierre, they looked infinitely +beyond, and confessed their complete inability to restrain their +unqualified admiration for the highly judicious smoothness and +genteelness of the sentiments and fancies expressed. “This writer,” said +one,—in an ungovernable burst of admiring fury—“is characterized +throughout by Perfect Taste.” Another, after endorsingly quoting that +sapient, suppressed maxim of Dr. Goldsmith’s, which asserts that +whatever is new is false, went on to apply it to the excellent +productions before him; concluding with this: “He has translated the +unruffled gentleman<a name="page_335"></a> from the drawing-room into the general levee of +letters; he never permits himself to astonish; is never betrayed into +any thing coarse or new; as assured that whatever astonishes is vulgar, +and whatever is new must be crude. Yes, it is the glory of this +admirable young author, that vulgarity and vigor—two inseparable +adjuncts—are equally removed from him.”</p> + +<p>A third, perorated a long and beautifully written review, by the bold +and startling announcement—“This writer is unquestionably a highly +respectable youth.”</p> + +<p>Nor had the editors of various moral and religious periodicals failed to +render the tribute of their severer appreciation, and more enviable, +because more chary applause. A renowned clerical and philological +conductor of a weekly publication of this kind, whose surprising +proficiency in the Greek, Hebrew, and Chaldaic, to which he had devoted +by far the greater part of his life, peculiarly fitted him to pronounce +unerring judgment upon works of taste in the English, had unhesitatingly +delivered himself thus:—“He is blameless in morals, and harmless +throughout.” Another, had unhesitatingly recommended his effusions to +the family-circle. A third, had no reserve in saying, that the +predominant end and aim of this author was evangelical piety.</p> + +<p>A mind less naturally strong than Pierre’s might well have been hurried +into vast self-complacency, by such eulogy as this, especially as there +could be no possible doubt, that the primitive verdict pronounced by the +editors was irreversible, except in the highly improbable event of the +near approach of the Millennium, which might establish a different +dynasty of taste, and possibly eject the editors. It is true, that in +view of the general practical vagueness of these panegyrics, and the +circumstance that, in essence, they were all somehow of the prudently +indecisive sort; and, considering that they were panegyrics, and nothing +but panegyrics, without any thing analytical about them; an elderly +friend of a literary turn,<a name="page_336"></a> had made bold to say to our hero—“Pierre, +this is very high praise, I grant, and you are a surprisingly young +author to receive it; but I do not see any criticisms as yet.”</p> + +<p>“Criticisms?” cried Pierre, in amazement; “why, sir, they are all +criticisms! I am the idol of the critics!”</p> + +<p>“Ah!” sighed the elderly friend, as if suddenly reminded that that was +true after all—“Ah!” and went on with his inoffensive, non-committal +cigar.</p> + +<p>Nevertheless, thanks to the editors, such at last became the popular +literary enthusiasm in behalf of Pierre, that two young men, recently +abandoning the ignoble pursuit of tailoring for the more honorable trade +of the publisher (probably with an economical view of working up in +books, the linen and cotton shreds of the cutter’s counter, after having +been subjected to the action of the paper-mill), had on the daintiest +scolloped-edged paper, and in the neatest possible, and fine-needle-work +hand, addressed him a letter, couched in the following terms; the +general style of which letter will sufficiently evince that, +though—thanks to the manufacturer—their linen and cotton shreds may +have been very completely transmuted into paper, yet the cutters +themselves were not yet entirely out of the metamorphosing mill.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p class="nind">“Hon. Pierre Glendinning,<br /> + “Revered Sir,</p> + +<p> “The fine cut, the judicious fit of your productions fill us with +amazement. The fabric is excellent—the finest broadcloth of +genius. We have just started in business. Your +pantaloons—productions, we mean—have never yet been collected. +They should be published in the Library form. The tailors—we mean +the librarians, demand it. Your fame is now in its finest nap. +Now—before the gloss is off—now is the time for the library form. +<a name="page_337"></a> We have recently received an invoice of Chamois—— Russia +leather. The library form should be a durable form. We respectfully +offer to dress your amazing productions in the library form. If you +please, we will transmit you a sample of the cloth—— we mean a +sample-page, with a pattern of the leather. We are ready to give +you one tenth of the profits (less discount) for the privilege of +arraying your wonderful productions in the library form:—you +cashing the seamstresses’—— printer’s and binder’s bills on the +day of publication. An answer at your earliest convenience will +greatly oblige,—</p> + +<p class="r"><span style="margin-right: 10%;">“Sir, your most obsequious servants,</span><br /> +“W<small>ONDER</small> & W<small>EN</small>.”</p> +</div> + +<p>“P. S.—We respectfully submit the enclosed block—— sheet, as some +earnest of our intentions to do every thing in your behalf possible to +any firm in the trade.</p> + +<p>“N. B.—If the list does not comprise all your illustrious wardrobe—— +works, we mean——, we shall exceedingly regret it. We have hunted +through all the drawers—— magazines.</p> + +<p>“Sample of a coat—— title for the works of Glendinning:</p> + +<p class="c">THE<br /> +<span style="font-size:175%;">COMPLETE WORKS</span><br /><br /> +OF<br /><br /> +<span style="font-size:175%;">GLENDINNING,</span><br /><br /> + +AUTHOR OF<br /><br /> + +<i>That world-famed production</i>, “<i>The Tropical Summer: a Sonnet.</i>”<br /> +“<i>The Weather: a Thought.</i>” “<i>Life: an Impromptu.</i>” “<i>The</i><br /> +<i>late Reverend Mark Graceman: an Obituary.</i>” “<i>Honor:</i><br /> +<i>a Stanza.</i>” “<i>Beauty: an Acrostic.</i>” “<i>Edgar:</i><br /> +<i>an Anagram.</i>” “<i>The Pippin: a Paragraph.</i>”<br /> +<i>&c. &c. &c. &c.<br /> +&c. &c. &c.<br /> +&c. &c.<br /> +&c.</i>”<br /> +<span style="margin-right: 4em;">P</span></p> + +<p>From a designer, Pierre had received the following:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“Sir: I approach you with unfeigned trepidation. For though you are +young in age, you are old in fame and ability. I can not express to +you my ardent admiration of your works; nor can I but deeply regret +that the productions of such graphic descriptive power, should be +unaccompanied by the humbler illustrative labors of the designer. +My services in this line are entirely at your command. I need not +say how proud I should be, if this hint, on my part, however +presuming, should induce you to reply in terms upon which I could +found the hope of honoring myself and my profession by a few +designs for the works of the illustrious Glendinning. But the +cursory mention of your name here fills me with such swelling +emotions, that I can say nothing more. I would only add, however, +that not being at all connected with the Trade, my business +situation unpleasantly forces me to make cash down on delivery of +each design, the basis of all my professional arrangements. Your +noble soul, however, would disdain to suppose, that this sordid +necessity, in my merely business concerns, could ever impair——</p> + +<p class="r"><span style="margin-right: 2em;">“That profound private veneration and admiration</span><br /> +<span style="margin-right: 10%;">With which I unmercenarily am,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-right: 8%;">Great and good Glendinning,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-right: 5%;">Yours most humbly,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-right: 2%;">P<small>ETER</small> P<small>ENCE</small>.”</span><br /> +</p></div> + +<hr /> + +<h4>II.</h4> + +<p>T<small>HESE</small> were stirring letters. The Library Form! an Illustrated Edition! +His whole heart swelled.</p> + +<p>But unfortunately it occurred to Pierre, that as all his writings<a name="page_339"></a> were +not only fugitive, but if put together could not possibly fill more than +a very small duodecimo; therefore the Library Edition seemed a little +premature, perhaps; possibly, in a slight degree, preposterous. Then, as +they were chiefly made up of little sonnets, brief meditative poems, and +moral essays, the matter for the designer ran some small risk of being +but meager. In his inexperience, he did not know that such was the great +height of invention to which the designer’s art had been carried, that +certain gentlemen of that profession had gone to an eminent +publishing-house with overtures for an illustrated edition of “Coke upon +Lyttleton.” Even the City Directory was beautifully illustrated with +exquisite engravings of bricks, tongs, and flat-irons.</p> + +<p>Concerning the draught for the title-page, it must be confessed, that on +seeing the imposing enumeration of his titles—long and magnificent as +those preceding the proclamations of some German Prince (“<i>Hereditary +Lord of the back-yard of Crantz Jacobi; Undoubted Proprietor by Seizure +of the bedstead of the late Widow Van Lorn; Heir Apparent to the +Bankrupt Bakery of Fletz and Flitz; Residuary Legatee of the Confiscated +Pin-Money of the Late Dowager Dunker; &c. &c. &c.</i>”) Pierre could not +entirely repress a momentary feeling of elation. Yet did he also bow low +under the weight of his own ponderosity, as the author of such a vast +load of literature. It occasioned him some slight misgivings, however, +when he considered, that already in his eighteenth year, his title-page +should so immensely surpass in voluminous statisticals the simple page, +which in his father’s edition prefixed the vast speculations of Plato. +Still, he comforted himself with the thought, that as he could not +presume to interfere with the bill-stickers of the Gazelle Magazine, who +every month covered the walls of the city with gigantic announcements of +his name among the other contributors; so neither could he now—in the +highly improbable event of closing with the offer of Messrs.<a name="page_340"></a> Wonder and +Wen—presume to interfere with the bill-sticking department of their +business concern; for it was plain that they esteemed one’s title-page +but another unwindowed wall, infinitely more available than most walls, +since here was at least one spot in the city where no rival +bill-stickers dared to encroach. Nevertheless, resolved as he was to let +all such bill-sticking matters take care of themselves, he was sensible +of some coy inclination toward that modest method of certain kid-gloved +and dainty authors, who scorning the vulgarity of a sounding parade, +contented themselves with simply subscribing their name to the +title-page; as confident, that that was sufficient guarantee to the +notice of all true gentlemen of taste. It was for petty German princes +to sound their prolonged titular flourishes. The Czar of Russia +contented himself with putting the simple word “N<small>ICHOLAS</small>” to his +loftiest decrees.</p> + +<p>This train of thought terminated at last in various considerations upon +the subject of anonymousness in authorship. He regretted that he had not +started his literary career under that mask. At present, it might be too +late; already the whole universe knew him, and it was in vain at this +late day to attempt to hood himself. But when he considered the +essential dignity and propriety at all points, of the inviolably +anonymous method, he could not but feel the sincerest sympathy for those +unfortunate fellows, who, not only naturally averse to any sort of +publicity, but progressively ashamed of their own successive +productions—written chiefly for the merest cash—were yet cruelly +coerced into sounding title-pages by sundry baker’s and butcher’s bills, +and other financial considerations; inasmuch as the placard of the +title-page indubitably must assist the publisher in his sales.</p> + +<p>But perhaps the ruling, though not altogether conscious motive of Pierre +in finally declining—as he did—the services of Messrs. Wonder and Wen, +those eager applicants for the privilege of extending and solidifying +his fame, arose from the idea<a name="page_341"></a> that being at this time not very far +advanced in years, the probability was, that his future productions +might at least equal, if not surpass, in some small degree, those +already given to the world. He resolved to wait for his literary +canonization until he should at least have outgrown the sophomorean +insinuation of the Law; which, with a singular affectation of benignity, +pronounced him an “infant.” His modesty obscured from him the +circumstance, that the greatest lettered celebrities of the time, had, +by the divine power of genius, become full graduates in the University +of Fame, while yet as legal minors forced to go to their mammas for +pennies wherewith to keep them in peanuts.</p> + +<p>Not seldom Pierre’s social placidity was ruffled by polite entreaties +from the young ladies that he would be pleased to grace their Albums +with some nice little song. We say that here his social placidity was +ruffled; for the true charm of agreeable parlor society is, that there +you lose your own sharp individuality and become delightfully merged in +that soft social Pantheism, as it were, that rosy melting of all into +one, ever prevailing in those drawing-rooms, which pacifically and +deliciously belie their own name; inasmuch as there no one draws the +sword of his own individuality, but all such ugly weapons are left—as +of old—with your hat and cane in the hall. It was very awkward to +decline the albums; but somehow it was still worse, and peculiarly +distasteful for Pierre to comply. With equal justice apparently, you +might either have called this his weakness or his idiosyncrasy. He +summoned all his suavity, and refused. And the refusal of +Pierre—according to Miss Angelica Amabilia of Ambleside—was sweeter +than the compliance of others. But then—prior to the proffer of her +album—in a copse at Ambleside, Pierre in a gallant whim had in the +lady’s own presence voluntarily carved Miss Angelica’s initials upon the +bark of a beautiful maple. But all young ladies are not Miss Angelicas. +Blandly denied in the parlor, they courted repulse in the study. In +lovely envelopes they dispatched their<a name="page_342"></a> albums to Pierre, not omitting +to drop a little attar-of-rose in the palm of the domestic who carried +them. While now Pierre—pushed to the wall in his +gallantry—shilly-shallied as to what he must do, the awaiting albums +multiplied upon him; and by-and-by monopolized an entire shelf in his +chamber; so that while their combined ornate bindings fairly dazzled his +eyes, their excessive redolence all but made him to faint, though +indeed, in moderation, he was very partial to perfumes. So that of +really chilly afternoons, he was still obliged to drop the upper sashes +a few inches.</p> + +<p>The simplest of all things it is to write in a lady’s album. But Cui +Bono? Is there such a dearth of printed reading, that the monkish times +must be revived, and ladies books be in manuscript? What could Pierre +write of his own on Love or any thing else, that would surpass what +divine Hafiz wrote so many long centuries ago? Was there not Anacreon +too, and Catullus, and Ovid—all translated, and readily accessible? And +then—bless all their souls!—had the dear creatures forgotten Tom +Moore? But the handwriting, Pierre,—they want the sight of your hand. +Well, thought Pierre, actual feeling is better than transmitted sight, +any day. I will give them the actual feeling of my hand, as much as they +want. And lips are still better than hands. Let them send their sweet +faces to me, and I will kiss <i>lipographs</i> upon them forever and a day. +This was a felicitous idea. He called Dates, and had the albums carried +down by the basket-full into the dining-room. He opened and spread them +all out upon the extension-table there; then, modeling himself by the +Pope, when His Holiness collectively blesses long crates of rosaries—he +waved one devout kiss to the albums; and summoning three servants sent +the albums all home, with his best compliments, accompanied with a +confectioner’s <i>kiss</i> for each album, rolled up in the most ethereal +tissue.</p> + +<p>From various quarters of the land, both town and country,<a name="page_343"></a> and +especially during the preliminary season of autumn, Pierre received +various pressing invitations to lecture before Lyceums, Young Men’s +Associations, and other Literary and Scientific Societies. The letters +conveying these invitations possessed quite an imposing and most +flattering aspect to the unsophisticated Pierre. One was as follows:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p class="r">“<i>Urquhartian Club for the Immediate Extension of the Limits<br /> +of all Knowledge, both Human and<br /> +Divine.</i></p> + +<p class="r">“Z<small>ADOCKPRATTSVILLE</small>,<br /> +“<i>June 11th, 18—</i>.</p> + +<p class="nind">“<i>Author of the ‘Tropical Summer,’ &c.</i><br /> + “H<small>ONORED AND</small> D<small>EAR</small> S<small>IR</small>:—<br /> +</p> + +<p> “Official duty and private inclination in this present case most +delightfully blend. What was the ardent desire of my heart, has now +by the action of the <i>Committee on Lectures</i> become professionally +obligatory upon me. As Chairman of our <i>Committee on Lectures</i>, I +hereby beg the privilege of entreating that you will honor this +Society by lecturing before it on any subject you may choose, and +at any day most convenient to yourself. The subject of Human +Destiny we would respectfully suggest, without however at all +wishing to impede you in your own unbiased selection.</p> + +<p>“If you honor us by complying with this invitation, be assured, +sir, that the Committee on Lectures will take the best care of you +throughout your stay, and endeavor to make Zadockprattsville +agreeable to you. A carriage will be in attendance at the +Stage-house to convey yourself and luggage to the Inn, under full +escort of the <i>Committee on Lectures</i>, with the Chairman at their +head.</p> + +<p class="r"><span style="margin-right: 10%;">“Permit me to join my private homage</span><br /> +<span style="margin-right: 5%;">To my high official consideration for you,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-right: 10%;">And to subscribe myself</span><br /> +<span style="margin-right: 2%;">Very humbly your servant,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-right: 0%;">D<small>ONALD</small> D<small>UNDONALD</small>.”</span></p></div> + +<hr /> + +<h4>III.</h4> + +<p>B<small>UT</small> it was more especially the Lecture invitations coming from +venerable, gray-headed metropolitan Societies, and indited by venerable +gray-headed Secretaries, which far from elating filled the youthful +Pierre with the sincerest sense of humility. Lecture? lecture? such a +stripling as I lecture to fifty benches, with ten gray heads on each? +five hundred gray heads in all! Shall my one, poor, inexperienced brain +presume to lay down the law in a lecture to five hundred life-ripened +understandings? It seemed too absurd for thought. Yet the five hundred, +through their spokesman, had voluntarily extended this identical +invitation to him. Then how could it be otherwise, than that an +incipient Timonism should slide into Pierre, when he considered all the +disgraceful inferences to be derived from such a fact. He called to +mind, how that once upon a time, during a visit of his to the city, the +police were called out to quell a portentous riot, occasioned by the +vast press and contention for seats at the first lecture of an +illustrious lad of nineteen, the author of “A Week at Coney Island.”</p> + +<p>It is needless to say that Pierre most conscientiously and respectfully +declined all polite overtures of this sort.</p> + +<p>Similar disenchantments of his cooler judgment did likewise deprive of +their full lusciousness several other equally marked demonstrations of +his literary celebrity. Applications for autographs showered in upon +him; but in sometimes humorously gratifying the more urgent requests of +these singular people Pierre could not but feel a pang of regret, that +owing to the very youthful and quite unformed character of his +handwriting, his signature did not possess that inflexible uniformity, +which—for mere prudential reasons, if nothing more—should always mark +the hand of illustrious men. His heart thrilled with sympathetic anguish +for posterity, which would be certain to<a name="page_345"></a> stand hopelessly perplexed +before so many contradictory signatures of one supereminent name. Alas! +posterity would be sure to conclude that they were forgeries all; that +no chirographic relic of the sublime poet Glendinning survived to their +miserable times.</p> + +<p>From the proprietors of the Magazines whose pages were honored by his +effusions, he received very pressing epistolary solicitations for the +loan of his portrait in oil, in order to take an engraving therefrom, +for a frontispiece to their periodicals. But here again the most +melancholy considerations obtruded. It had always been one of the lesser +ambitions of Pierre, to sport a flowing beard, which he deemed the most +noble corporeal badge of the man, not to speak of the illustrious +author. But as yet he was beardless; and no cunning compound of Rowland +and Son could force a beard which should arrive at maturity in any +reasonable time for the frontispiece. Besides, his boyish features and +whole expression were daily changing. Would he lend his authority to +this unprincipled imposture upon Posterity? Honor forbade.</p> + +<p>These epistolary petitions were generally couched in an elaborately +respectful style; thereby intimating with what deep reverence his +portrait would be handled, while unavoidably subjected to the discipline +indispensable to obtain from it the engraved copy they prayed for. But +one or two of the persons who made occasional oral requisitions upon him +in this matter of his engraved portrait, seemed less regardful of the +inherent respect due to every man’s portrait, much more, to that of a +genius so celebrated as Pierre. They did not even seem to remember that +the portrait of any man generally receives, and indeed is entitled to +more reverence than the original man himself; since one may freely clap +a celebrated friend on the shoulder, yet would by no means tweak his +nose in his portrait. The reason whereof may be this: that the portrait +is better entitled to reverence than the man; inasmuch as nothing +belittling<a name="page_346"></a> can be imagined concerning the portrait, whereas many +unavoidably belittling things can be fancied as touching the man.</p> + +<p>Upon one occasion, happening suddenly to encounter a literary +acquaintance—a joint editor of the “Captain Kidd Monthly”—who suddenly +popped upon him round a corner, Pierre was startled by a +rapid—“Good-morning, good-morning;—just the man I wanted:—come, step +round now with me, and have your Daguerreotype taken;—get it engraved +then in no time;—want it for the next issue.”</p> + +<p>So saying, this chief mate of Captain Kidd seized Pierre’s arm, and in +the most vigorous manner was walking him off, like an officer a +pickpocket, when Pierre civilly said—“Pray, sir, hold, if you please, I +shall do no such thing.”—“Pooh, pooh—must have it—public +property—come along—only a door or two now.”—“Public property!” +rejoined Pierre, “that may do very well for the ‘Captain Kidd +Monthly;’—it’s very Captain Kiddish to say so. But I beg to repeat that +I do not intend to accede.”—“Don’t? Really?” cried the other, amazedly +staring Pierre full in the countenance;—“why bless your soul, <i>my</i> +portrait is published—long ago published!”—“Can’t help that, +sir”—said Pierre. “Oh! come along, come along,” and the chief mate +seized him again with the most uncompunctious familiarity by the arm. +Though the sweetest-tempered youth in the world when but decently +treated, Pierre had an ugly devil in him sometimes, very apt to be +evoked by the personal profaneness of gentlemen of the Captain Kidd +school of literature. “Look you, my good fellow,” said he, submitting to +his impartial inspection a determinately double fist,—“drop my arm +now—or I’ll drop you. To the devil with you and your Daguerreotype!”</p> + +<p>This incident, suggestive as it was at the time, in the sequel had a +surprising effect upon Pierre. For he considered with what infinite +readiness now, the most faithful portrait of any one<a name="page_347"></a> could be taken by +the Daguerreotype, whereas in former times a faithful portrait was only +within the power of the moneyed, or mental aristocrats of the earth. How +natural then the inference, that instead, as in old times, immortalizing +a genius, a portrait now only <i>dayalized</i> a dunce. Besides, when every +body has his portrait published, true distinction lies in not having +yours published at all. For if you are published along with Tom, Dick, +and Harry, and wear a coat of their cut, how then are you distinct from +Tom, Dick, and Harry? Therefore, even so miserable a motive as downright +personal vanity helped to operate in this matter with Pierre.</p> + +<p>Some zealous lovers of the general literature of the age, as well as +declared devotees to his own great genius, frequently petitioned him for +the materials wherewith to frame his biography. They assured him, that +life of all things was most insecure. He might feel many years in him +yet; time might go lightly by him; but in any sudden and fatal sickness, +how would his last hours be embittered by the thought, that he was about +to depart forever, leaving the world utterly unprovided with the +knowledge of what were the precise texture and hue of the first trowsers +he wore. These representations did certainly touch him in a very tender +spot, not previously unknown to the schoolmaster. But when Pierre +considered, that owing to his extreme youth, his own recollections of +the past soon merged into all manner of half-memories and a general +vagueness, he could not find it in his conscience to present such +materials to the impatient biographers, especially as his chief +verifying authority in these matters of his past career, was now +eternally departed beyond all human appeal. His excellent nurse Clarissa +had been dead four years and more. In vain a young literary friend, the +well-known author of two Indexes and one Epic, to whom the subject +happened to be mentioned, warmly espoused the cause of the distressed +biographers; saying that<a name="page_348"></a> however unpleasant, one must needs pay the +penalty of celebrity; it was no use to stand back; and concluded by +taking from the crown of his hat the proof-sheets of his own biography, +which, with the most thoughtful consideration for the masses, was +shortly to be published in the pamphlet form, price only a shilling.</p> + +<p>It only the more bewildered and pained him, when still other and less +delicate applicants sent him their regularly printed +<i>Biographico-Solicito Circulars</i>, with his name written in ink; begging +him to honor them and the world with a neat draft of his life, including +criticisms on his own writings; the printed circular indiscriminately +protesting, that undoubtedly he knew more of his own life than any other +living man; and that only he who had put together the great works of +Glendinning could be fully qualified thoroughly to analyze them, and +cast the ultimate judgment upon their remarkable construction.</p> + +<p>Now, it was under the influence of the humiliating emotions engendered +by things like the above; it was when thus haunted by publishers, +engravers, editors, critics, autograph-collectors, portrait-fanciers, +biographers, and petitioning and remonstrating literary friends of all +sorts; it was then, that there stole into the youthful soul of Pierre, +melancholy forebodings of the utter unsatisfactoriness of all human +fame; since the most ardent profferings of the most martyrizing +demonstrations in his behalf,—these he was sorrowfully obliged to turn +away.</p> + +<p>And it may well be believed, that after the wonderful vital +world-revelation so suddenly made to Pierre at the Meadows—a revelation +which, at moments, in some certain things, fairly Timonized him—he had +not failed to clutch with peculiar nervous detestation and contempt that +ample parcel, containing the letters of his Biographico and other silly +correspondents, which, in a less ferocious hour, he had filed away as +curiosities. It was with an almost infernal grin, that he saw that +particular<a name="page_349"></a> heap of rubbish eternally quenched in the fire, and felt +that as it was consumed before his eyes, so in his soul was forever +killed the last and minutest undeveloped microscopic germ of that most +despicable vanity to which those absurd correspondents thought to +appeal.<a name="page_350"></a></p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="BOOK_XVIII"></a>BOOK XVIII.<br /> +PIERRE, AS A JUVENILE AUTHOR, RECONSIDERED.</h2> + +<h4>I.</h4> + +<p>I<small>NASMUCH</small> as by various indirect intimations much more than ordinary +natural genius has been imputed to Pierre, it may have seemed an +inconsistency, that only the merest magazine papers should have been +thus far the sole productions of his mind. Nor need it be added, that, +in the soberest earnest, those papers contained nothing uncommon; +indeed—entirely now to drop all irony, if hitherto any thing like that +has been indulged in—those fugitive things of Master Pierre’s were the +veriest common-place.</p> + +<p>It is true, as I long before said, that Nature at Saddle Meadows had +very early been as a benediction to Pierre;—had blown her wind-clarion +to him from the blue hills, and murmured melodious secrecies to him by +her streams and her woods. But while nature thus very early and very +abundantly feeds us, she is very late in tutoring us as to the proper +methodization of our diet. Or,—to change the metaphor,—there are +immense quarries of fine marble; but how to get it out; how to chisel +it; how to construct any temple? Youth must wholly quit, then, the +quarry, for awhile; and not only go forth, and get tools to use in the +quarry, but must go and thoroughly study architecture. Now the +quarry-discoverer is long before the stone-cutter; and the stone-cutter +is long before<a name="page_351"></a> the architect; and the architect is long before the +temple; for the temple is the crown of the world.</p> + +<p>Yes; Pierre was not only very unarchitectural at that time, but Pierre +was very young, indeed, at that time. And it is often to be observed, +that as in digging for precious metals in the mines, much earthy rubbish +has first to be troublesomely handled and thrown out; so, in digging in +one’s soul for the fine gold of genius, much dullness and common-place +is first brought to light. Happy would it be, if the man possessed in +himself some receptacle for his own rubbish of this sort: but he is like +the occupant of a dwelling, whose refuse can not be clapped into his own +cellar, but must be deposited in the street before his own door, for the +public functionaries to take care of. No common-place is ever +effectually got rid of, except by essentially emptying one’s self of it +into a book; for once trapped in a book, then the book can be put into +the fire, and all will be well. But they are not always put into the +fire; and this accounts for the vast majority of miserable books over +those of positive merit. Nor will any thoroughly sincere man, who is an +author, ever be rash in precisely defining the period, when he has +completely ridded himself of his rubbish, and come to the latent gold in +his mine. It holds true, in every case, that the wiser a man is, the +more misgivings he has on certain points.</p> + +<p>It is well enough known, that the best productions of the best human +intellects, are generally regarded by those intellects as mere immature +freshman exercises, wholly worthless in themselves, except as +initiatives for entering the great University of God after death. +Certain it is, that if any inferences can be drawn from observations of +the familiar lives of men of the greatest mark, their finest things, +those which become the foolish glory of the world, are not only very +poor and inconsiderable to themselves, but often positively distasteful; +they would rather not have the book in the room. In minds comparatively<a name="page_352"></a> +inferior as compared with the above, these surmising considerations so +sadden and unfit, that they become careless of what they write; go to +their desks with discontent, and only remain there—victims to headache, +and pain in the back—by the hard constraint of some social necessity. +Equally paltry and despicable to them, are the works thus composed; born +of unwillingness and the bill of the baker; the rickety offspring of a +parent, careless of life herself, and reckless of the germ-life she +contains. Let not the short-sighted world for a moment imagine, that any +vanity lurks in such minds; only hired to appear on the stage, not +voluntarily claiming the public attention; their utmost life-redness and +glow is but rouge, washed off in private with bitterest tears; their +laugh only rings because it is hollow; and the answering laugh is no +laughter to them.</p> + +<p>There is nothing so slipperily alluring as sadness; we become sad in the +first place by having nothing stirring to do; we continue in it, because +we have found a snug sofa at last. Even so, it may possibly be, that +arrived at this quiet retrospective little episode in the career of my +hero—this shallowly expansive embayed Tappan Zee of my otherwise +deep-heady Hudson—I too begin to loungingly expand, and wax harmlessly +sad and sentimental.</p> + +<p>Now, what has been hitherto presented in reference to Pierre, concerning +rubbish, as in some cases the unavoidable first-fruits of genius, is in +no wise contradicted by the fact, that the first published works of many +meritorious authors have given mature token of genius; for we do not +know how many they previously published to the flames; or privately +published in their own brains, and suppressed there as quickly. And in +the inferior instances of an immediate literary success, in very young +writers, it will be almost invariably observable, that for that instant +success they were chiefly indebted to some rich and peculiar experience +in life, embodied in a book, which because, for that cause, containing +original matter, the author himself,<a name="page_353"></a> forsooth, is to be considered +original; in this way, many very original books, being the product of +very unoriginal minds. Indeed, man has only to be but a little +circumspect, and away flies the last rag of his vanity. The world is +forever babbling of originality; but there never yet was an original +man, in the sense intended by the world; the first man himself—who +according to the Rabbins was also the first author—not being an +original; the only original author being God. Had Milton’s been the lot +of Caspar Hauser, Milton would have been vacant as he. For though the +naked soul of man doth assuredly contain one latent element of +intellectual productiveness; yet never was there a child born solely +from one parent; the visible world of experience being that procreative +thing which impregnates the muses; self-reciprocally efficient +hermaphrodites being but a fable.</p> + +<p>There is infinite nonsense in the world on all of these matters; hence +blame me not if I contribute my mite. It is impossible to talk or to +write without apparently throwing oneself helplessly open; the +Invulnerable Knight wears his visor down. Still, it is pleasant to chat; +for it passes the time ere we go to our beds; and speech is farther +incited, when like strolling improvisatores of Italy, we are paid for +our breath. And we are only too thankful when the gapes of the audience +dismiss us with the few ducats we earn.</p> + +<hr /> + +<h4>II.</h4> + +<p>I<small>T</small> may have been already inferred, that the pecuniary plans of Pierre +touching his independent means of support in the city were based upon +his presumed literary capabilities. For what else could he do? He knew +no profession, no trade. Glad now perhaps might he have been, if Fate +had made him<a name="page_354"></a> a blacksmith, and not a gentleman, a Glendinning, and a +genius. But here he would have been unpardonably rash, had he not +already, in some degree, actually tested the fact, in his own personal +experience, that it is not altogether impossible for a magazine +contributor to Juvenile American literature to receive a few pence in +exchange for his ditties. Such cases stand upon imperishable record, and +it were both folly and ingratitude to disown them.</p> + +<p>But since the fine social position and noble patrimony of Pierre, had +thus far rendered it altogether unnecessary for him to earn the least +farthing of his own in the world, whether by hand or by brain; it may +seem desirable to explain a little here as we go. We shall do so, but +always including, the preamble.</p> + +<p>Sometimes every possible maxim or thought seems an old one; yet it is +among the elder of the things in that unaugmentable stock, that never +mind what one’s situation may be, however prosperous and happy, he will +still be impatient of it; he will still reach out of himself, and beyond +every present condition. So, while many a poor be-inked galley-slave, +toiling with the heavy oar of a quill, to gain something wherewithal to +stave off the cravings of nature; and in his hours of morbid +self-reproach, regarding his paltry wages, at all events, as an +unavoidable disgrace to him; while this galley-slave of letters would +have leaped with delight—reckless of the feeble seams of his +pantaloons—at the most distant prospect of inheriting the broad farms +of Saddle Meadows, lord of an all-sufficing income, and forever exempt +from wearing on his hands those treacherous plague-spots of +indigence—videlicet, blots from the inkstand;—Pierre himself, the +undoubted and actual possessor of the things only longingly and +hopelessly imagined by the other; the then top of Pierre’s worldly +ambition, was the being able to boast that he had written such matters +as publishers would pay something for in the way of a mere business +transaction,<a name="page_355"></a> which they thought would prove profitable. Yet altogether +weak and silly as this may seem in Pierre, let us preambillically +examine a little further, and see if it be so indeed.</p> + +<p>Pierre was proud; and a proud man—proud with the sort of pride now +meant—ever holds but lightly those things, however beneficent, which he +did not for himself procure. Were such pride carried out to its +legitimate end, the man would eat no bread, the seeds whereof he had not +himself put into the soil, not entirely without humiliation, that even +that seed must be borrowed from some previous planter. A proud man likes +to feel himself in himself, and not by reflection in others. He likes to +be not only his own Alpha and Omega, but to be distinctly all the +intermediate gradations, and then to slope off on his own spine either +way, into the endless impalpable ether. What a glory it was then to +Pierre, when first in his two gentlemanly hands he jingled the wages of +labor! Talk of drums and the fife; the echo of coin of one’s own earning +is more inspiring than all the trumpets of Sparta. How disdainfully now +he eyed the sumptuousness of his hereditary halls—the hangings, and the +pictures, and the bragging historic armorials and the banners of the +Glendinning renown; confident, that if need should come, he would not be +forced to turn resurrectionist, and dig up his grandfather’s +Indian-chief grave for the ancestral sword and shield, ignominiously to +pawn them for a living! He could live on himself. Oh, twice-blessed now, +in the feeling of practical capacity, was Pierre.</p> + +<p>The mechanic, the day-laborer, has but one way to live; his body must +provide for his body. But not only could Pierre in some sort, do that; +he could do the other; and letting his body stay lazily at home, send +off his soul to labor, and his soul would come faithfully back and pay +his body her wages. So, some unprofessional gentlemen of the +aristocratic South, who happen to own slaves, give those slaves liberty +to go and seek work, and every night return with their wages, which +constitute<a name="page_356"></a> those idle gentlemen’s income. Both ambidexter and +quadruple-armed is that man, who in a day-laborer’s body, possesses a +day-laboring soul. Yet let not such an one be over-confident. Our God is +a jealous God; He wills not that any man should permanently possess the +least shadow of His own self-sufficient attributes. Yoke the body to the +soul, and put both to the plough, and the one or the other must in the +end assuredly drop in the furrow. Keep, then, thy body effeminate for +labor, and thy soul laboriously robust; or else thy soul effeminate for +labor, and thy body laboriously robust. Elect! the two will not +lastingly abide in one yoke. Thus over the most vigorous and soaring +conceits, doth the cloud of Truth come stealing; thus doth the shot, +even of a sixty-two-pounder pointed upward, light at last on the earth; +for strive we how we may, we can not overshoot the earth’s orbit, to +receive the attractions of other planets; Earth’s law of gravitation +extends far beyond her own atmosphere.</p> + +<p>In the operative opinion of this world, he who is already fully provided +with what is necessary for him, that man shall have more; while he who +is deplorably destitute of the same, he shall have taken away from him +even that which he hath. Yet the world vows it is a very plain, +downright matter-of-fact, plodding, humane sort of world. It is governed +only by the simplest principles, and scorns all ambiguities, all +transcendentals, and all manner of juggling. Now some imaginatively +heterodoxical men are often surprisingly twitted upon their willful +inverting of all common-sense notions, their absurd and all-displacing +transcendentals, which say three is four, and two and two make ten. But +if the eminent Jugglarius himself ever advocated in mere words a +doctrine one thousandth part so ridiculous and subversive of all +practical sense, as that doctrine which the world actually and eternally +practices, of giving unto him who already hath more than enough, still +more of the superfluous article, and taking away from him who hath<a name="page_357"></a> +nothing at all, even that which he hath,—then is the truest book in the +world a lie.</p> + +<p>Wherefore we see that the so-called Transcendentalists are not the only +people who deal in Transcendentals. On the contrary, we seem to see that +the Utilitarians,—the every-day world’s people themselves, far +transcend those inferior Transcendentalists by their own +incomprehensible worldly maxims. And—what is vastly more—with the one +party, their Transcendentals are but theoretic and inactive, and +therefore harmless; whereas with the other, they are actually clothed in +living deeds.</p> + +<p>The highly graveling doctrine and practice of the world, above cited, +had in some small degree been manifested in the case of Pierre. He +prospectively possessed the fee of several hundred farms scattered over +part of two adjoining counties; and now the proprietor of that popular +periodical, the Gazelle Magazine, sent him several additional dollars +for his sonnets. That proprietor (though in sooth, he never read the +sonnets, but referred them to his professional adviser; and was so +ignorant, that, for a long time previous to the periodical’s actually +being started, he insisted upon spelling the Gazelle with a <i>g</i> for the +<i>z</i>, as thus: <i>Gagelle</i>; maintaining, that in the Gazelle connection, +the <i>z</i> was a mere impostor, and that the <i>g</i> was soft; for he was a +judge of softness, and could speak from experience); that proprietor was +undoubtedly a Transcendentalist; for did he not act upon the +Transcendental doctrine previously set forth?</p> + +<p>Now, the dollars derived from his ditties, these Pierre had always +invested in cigars; so that the puffs which indirectly brought him his +dollars were again returned, but as perfumed puffs; perfumed with the +sweet leaf of Havanna. So that this highly-celebrated and world-renowned +Pierre—the great author—whose likeness the world had never seen (for +had he not repeatedly refused the world his likeness?), this famous<a name="page_358"></a> +poet, and philosopher, author of “<i>The Tropical Summer: a Sonnet</i>;” +against whose very life several desperadoes were darkly plotting (for +had not the biographers sworn they would have it!); this towering +celebrity—there he would sit smoking, and smoking, mild and +self-festooned as a vapory mountain. It was very involuntarily and +satisfactorily reciprocal. His cigars were lighted in two ways: lighted +by the sale of his sonnets, and lighted by the printed sonnets +themselves.</p> + +<p>For even at that early time in his authorial life, Pierre, however vain +of his fame, was not at all proud of his paper. Not only did he make +allumettes of his sonnets when published, but was very careless about +his discarded manuscripts; they were to be found lying all round the +house; gave a great deal of trouble to the housemaids in sweeping; went +for kindlings to the fires; and were forever flitting out of the +windows, and under the door-sills, into the faces of people passing the +manorial mansion. In this reckless, indifferent way of his, Pierre +himself was a sort of publisher. It is true his more familiar admirers +often earnestly remonstrated with him, against this irreverence to the +primitive vestments of his immortal productions; saying, that whatever +had once felt the nib of his mighty pen, was thenceforth sacred as the +lips which had but once saluted the great toe of the Pope. But hardened +as he was to these friendly censurings, Pierre never forbade that ardent +appreciation of “The Tear,” who, finding a small fragment of the +original manuscript containing a dot (<i>tear</i>), over an <i>i</i> (<i>eye</i>), +esteemed the significant event providential; and begged the +distinguished favor of being permitted to have it for a brooch; and +ousted a cameo-head of Homer, to replace it with the more invaluable +gem. He became inconsolable, when being caught in a rain, the dot +(<i>tear</i>) disappeared from over the <i>i</i> (<i>eye</i>); so that the strangeness +and wonderfulness of the sonnet was still conspicuous; in that though +the least fragment of it could weep in a drought, yet did it become all +tearless in a shower.<a name="page_359"></a></p> + +<p>But this indifferent and supercilious amateur—deaf to the admiration of +the world; the enigmatically merry and renowned author of “The Tear;” +the pride of the Gazelle Magazine, on whose flaunting cover his name +figured at the head of all contributors—(no small men either; for their +lives had all been fraternally written by each other, and they had +clubbed, and had their likenesses all taken by the aggregate job, and +published on paper, all bought at one shop) this high-prestiged +Pierre—whose future popularity and voluminousness had become so +startlingly announced by what he had already written, that certain +speculators came to the Meadows to survey its water-power, if any, with +a view to start a paper-mill expressly for the great author, and so +monopolize his stationery dealings;—this vast being,—spoken of with +awe by all merely youthful aspirants for fame; this age-neutralizing +Pierre;—before whom an old gentleman of sixty-five, formerly librarian +to Congress, on being introduced to him at the Magazine publishers’, +devoutly took off his hat, and kept it so, and remained standing, though +Pierre was socially seated with his hat on;—this wonderful, disdainful +genius—but only life-amateur as yet—is now soon to appear in a far +different guise. He shall now learn, and very bitterly learn, that +though the world worship Mediocrity and Common Place, yet hath it fire +and sword for all cotemporary Grandeur; that though it swears that it +fiercely assails all Hypocrisy, yet hath it not always an ear for +Earnestness.</p> + +<p>And though this state of things, united with the ever multiplying +freshets of new books, seems inevitably to point to a coming time, when +the mass of humanity reduced to one level of dotage, authors shall be +scarce as alchymists are to-day, and the printing-press be reckoned a +small invention:—yet even now, in the foretaste of this let us hug +ourselves, oh, my Aurelian! that though the age of authors be passing, +the hours of earnestness shall remain!<a name="page_360"></a></p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="BOOK_XIX"></a>BOOK XIX.<br /> +THE CHURCH OF THE APOSTLES.</h2> + +<h4>I.</h4> + +<p>I<small>N</small> the lower old-fashioned part of the city, in a narrow street—almost +a lane—once filled with demure-looking dwellings, but now chiefly with +immense lofty warehouses of foreign importers; and not far from the +corner where the lane intersected with a very considerable but +contracted thoroughfare for merchants and their clerks, and their carmen +and porters; stood at this period a rather singular and ancient edifice, +a relic of the more primitive time. The material was a grayish stone, +rudely cut and masoned into walls of surprising thickness and strength; +along two of which walls—the side ones—were distributed as many rows +of arched and stately windows. A capacious, square, and wholly +unornamented tower rose in front to twice the height of the body of the +church; three sides of this tower were pierced with small and narrow +apertures. Thus far, in its external aspect, the building—now more than +a century old,—sufficiently attested for what purpose it had originally +been founded. In its rear, was a large and lofty plain brick structure, +with its front to the rearward street, but its back presented to the +back of the church, leaving a small, flagged, and quadrangular vacancy +between. At the sides of this quadrangle, three stories of homely brick +colonnades afforded covered communication between the ancient church, +and its less elderly<a name="page_361"></a> adjunct. A dismantled, rusted, and forlorn old +railing of iron fencing in a small courtyard in front of the rearward +building, seemed to hint, that the latter had usurped an unoccupied +space formerly sacred as the old church’s burial inclosure. Such a fancy +would have been entirely true. Built when that part of the city was +devoted to private residences, and not to warehouses and offices as now, +the old Church of the Apostles had had its days of sanctification and +grace; but the tide of change and progress had rolled clean through its +broad-aisle and side-aisles, and swept by far the greater part of its +congregation two or three miles up town. Some stubborn and elderly old +merchants and accountants, lingered awhile among its dusty pews, +listening to the exhortations of a faithful old pastor, who, sticking to +his post in this flight of his congregation, still propped his +half-palsied form in the worm-eaten pulpit, and occasionally +pounded—though now with less vigorous hand—the moth-eaten covering of +its desk. But it came to pass, that this good old clergyman died; and +when the gray-headed and bald-headed remaining merchants and accountants +followed his coffin out of the broad-aisle to see it reverently +interred; then that was the last time that ever the old edifice +witnessed the departure of a regular worshiping assembly from its walls. +The venerable merchants and accountants held a meeting, at which it was +finally decided, that, hard and unwelcome as the necessity might be, yet +it was now no use to disguise the fact, that the building could no +longer be efficiently devoted to its primitive purpose. It must be +divided into stores; cut into offices; and given for a roost to the +gregarious lawyers. This intention was executed, even to the making +offices high up in the tower; and so well did the thing succeed, that +ultimately the church-yard was invaded for a supplemental edifice, +likewise to be promiscuously rented to the legal crowd. But this new +building very much exceeded the body of the church in height. It was +some seven stories; a fearful pile of Titanic<a name="page_362"></a> bricks, lifting its tiled +roof almost to a level with the top of the sacred tower.</p> + +<p>In this ambitious erection the proprietors went a few steps, or rather a +few stories, too far. For as people would seldom willingly fall into +legal altercations unless the lawyers were always very handy to help +them; so it is ever an object with lawyers to have their offices as +convenient as feasible to the street; on the ground-floor, if possible, +without a single acclivity of a step; but at any rate not in the seventh +story of any house, where their clients might be deterred from employing +them at all, if they were compelled to mount seven long flights of +stairs, one over the other, with very brief landings, in order even to +pay their preliminary retaining fees. So, from some time after its +throwing open, the upper stories of the less ancient attached edifice +remained almost wholly without occupants; and by the forlorn echoes of +their vacuities, right over the head of the business-thriving legal +gentlemen below, must—to some few of them at least—have suggested +unwelcome similitudes, having reference to the crowded state of their +basement-pockets, as compared with the melancholy condition of their +attics;—alas! full purses and empty heads! This dreary posture of +affairs, however, was at last much altered for the better, by the +gradual filling up of the vacant chambers on high, by scores of those +miscellaneous, bread-and-cheese adventurers, and ambiguously +professional nondescripts in very genteel but shabby black, and +unaccountable foreign-looking fellows in blue spectacles; who, +previously issuing from unknown parts of the world, like storks in +Holland, light on the eaves, and in the attics of lofty old buildings in +most large sea-port towns. Here they sit and talk like magpies; or +descending in quest of improbable dinners, are to be seen drawn up along +the curb in front of the eating-houses, like lean rows of broken-hearted +pelicans on a beach; their pockets loose, hanging down and flabby, like +the pelican’s pouches when fish are hard to be caught.<a name="page_363"></a> But these poor, +penniless devils still strive to make ample amends for their physical +forlornness, by resolutely reveling in the region of blissful ideals.</p> + +<p>They are mostly artists of various sorts; painters, or sculptors, or +indigent students, or teachers of languages, or poets, or fugitive +French politicians, or German philosophers. Their mental tendencies, +however heterodox at times, are still very fine and spiritual upon the +whole; since the vacuity of their exchequers leads them to reject the +coarse materialism of Hobbs, and incline to the airy exaltations of the +Berkelyan philosophy. Often groping in vain in their pockets, they can +not but give in to the Descartian vortices; while the abundance of +leisure in their attics (physical and figurative), unite with the +leisure in their stomachs, to fit them in an eminent degree for that +undivided attention indispensable to the proper digesting of the +sublimated Categories of Kant; especially as Kant (can’t) is the one +great palpable fact in their pervadingly impalpable lives. These are the +glorious paupers, from whom I learn the profoundest mysteries of things; +since their very existence in the midst of such a terrible +precariousness of the commonest means of support, affords a problem on +which many speculative nutcrackers have been vainly employed. Yet let me +here offer up three locks of my hair, to the memory of all such glorious +paupers who have lived and died in this world. Surely, and truly I honor +them—noble men often at bottom—and for that very reason I make bold to +be gamesome about them; for where fundamental nobleness is, and +fundamental honor is due, merriment is never accounted irreverent. The +fools and pretenders of humanity, and the impostors and baboons among +the gods, these only are offended with raillery; since both those gods +and men whose titles to eminence are secure, seldom worry themselves +about the seditious gossip of old apple-women, and the skylarkings of +funny little boys in the street.</p> + +<p>When the substance is gone, men cling to the shadow.<a name="page_364"></a> Places once set +apart to lofty purposes, still retain the name of that loftiness, even +when converted to the meanest uses. It would seem, as if forced by +imperative Fate to renounce the reality of the romantic and lofty, the +people of the present would fain make a compromise by retaining some +purely imaginative remainder. The curious effects of this tendency is +oftenest evinced in those venerable countries of the old transatlantic +world; where still over the Thames one bridge yet retains the monastic +tide of Blackfriars; though not a single Black Friar, but many a +pickpocket, has stood on that bank since a good ways beyond the days of +Queen Bess; where still innumerable other historic anomalies sweetly and +sadly remind the present man of the wonderful procession that preceded +him in his new generation. Nor—though the comparative recentness of our +own foundation upon these Columbian shores, excludes any considerable +participation in these attractive anomalies,—yet are we not altogether, +in our more elderly towns, wholly without some touch of them, here and +there. It was thus with the ancient Church of the Apostles—better +known, even in its primitive day, under the abbreviative of The +Apostles—which, though now converted from its original purpose to one +so widely contrasting, yet still retained its majestical name. The +lawyer or artist tenanting its chambers, whether in the new building or +the old, when asked where he was to be found, invariably replied,—<i>At +the Apostles’</i>. But because now, at last, in the course of the +inevitable transplantations of the more notable localities of the +various professions in a thriving and amplifying town, the venerable +spot offered not such inducements as before to the legal gentlemen; and +as the strange nondescript adventurers and artists, and indigent +philosophers of all sorts, crowded in as fast as the others left; +therefore, in reference to the metaphysical strangeness of these curious +inhabitants, and owing in some sort to the circumstance, that several of +them were well-known Teleological<a name="page_365"></a> Theorists, and Social Reformers, and +political propagandists of all manner of heterodoxical tenets; +therefore, I say, and partly, peradventure, from some slight waggishness +in the public; the immemorial popular name of the ancient church itself +was participatingly transferred to the dwellers therein. So it came to +pass, that in the general fashion of the day, he who had chambers in the +old church was familiarly styled an <i>Apostle</i>.</p> + +<p>But as every effect is but the cause of another and a subsequent one, so +it now happened that finding themselves thus clannishly, and not +altogether infelicitously entitled, the occupants of the venerable +church began to come together out of their various dens, in more social +communion; attracted toward each other by a title common to all. +By-and-by, from this, they went further; and insensibly, at last became +organized in a peculiar society, which, though exceedingly +inconspicuous, and hardly perceptible in its public demonstrations, was +still secretly suspected to have some mysterious ulterior object, +vaguely connected with the absolute overturning of Church and State, and +the hasty and premature advance of some unknown great political and +religious Millennium. Still, though some zealous conservatives and +devotees of morals, several times left warning at the police-office, to +keep a wary eye on the old church; and though, indeed, sometimes an +officer would look up inquiringly at the suspicious narrow window-slits +in the lofty tower; yet, to say the truth, was the place, to all +appearance, a very quiet and decorous one, and its occupants a company +of harmless people, whose greatest reproach was efflorescent coats and +crack-crowned hats all podding in the sun.</p> + +<p>Though in the middle of the day many bales and boxes would be trundled +along the stores in front of the Apostles’; and along its critically +narrow sidewalk, the merchants would now and then hurry to meet their +checks ere the banks should<a name="page_366"></a> close: yet the street, being mostly devoted +to mere warehousing purposes, and not used as a general thoroughfare, it +was at all times a rather secluded and silent place. But from an hour or +two before sundown to ten or eleven o’clock the next morning, it was +remarkably silent and depopulated, except by the Apostles themselves; +while every Sunday it presented an aspect of surprising and startling +quiescence; showing nothing but one long vista of six or seven stories +of inexorable iron shutters on both sides of the way. It was pretty much +the same with the other street, which, as before said, intersected with +the warehousing lane, not very far from the Apostles’. For though that +street was indeed a different one from the latter, being full of cheap +refectories for clerks, foreign restaurants, and other places of +commercial resort; yet the only hum in it was restricted to business +hours; by night it was deserted of every occupant but the lamp-posts; +and on Sunday, to walk through it, was like walking through an avenue of +sphinxes.</p> + +<p>Such, then, was the present condition of the ancient Church of the +Apostles; buzzing with a few lingering, equivocal lawyers in the +basement, and populous with all sorts of poets, painters, paupers and +philosophers above. A mysterious professor of the flute was perched in +one of the upper stories of the tower; and often, of silent, moonlight +nights, his lofty, melodious notes would be warbled forth over the roofs +of the ten thousand warehouses around him—as of yore, the bell had +pealed over the domestic gables of a long-departed generation.</p> + +<hr /> + +<h4>II.</h4> + +<p>O<small>N</small> the third night following the arrival of the party in the city, +Pierre sat at twilight by a lofty window in the rear building of the +Apostles’. The chamber was meager even to meanness.<a name="page_367"></a> No carpet on the +floor, no picture on the wall; nothing but a low, long, and very +curious-looking single bedstead, that might possibly serve for an +indigent bachelor’s pallet, a large, blue, chintz-covered chest, a +rickety, rheumatic, and most ancient mahogany chair, and a wide board of +the toughest live-oak, about six feet long, laid upon two upright empty +flour-barrels, and loaded with a large bottle of ink, an unfastened +bundle of quills, a pen-knife, a folder, and a still unbound ream of +foolscap paper, significantly stamped, “Ruled; Blue.”</p> + +<p>There, on the third night, at twilight, sat Pierre by that lofty window +of a beggarly room in the rear-building of the Apostles’. He was +entirely idle, apparently; there was nothing in his hands; but there +might have been something on his heart. Now and then he fixedly gazes at +the curious-looking, rusty old bedstead. It seemed powerfully symbolical +to him; and most symbolical it was. For it was the ancient dismemberable +and portable camp-bedstead of his grandfather, the defiant defender of +the Fort, the valiant captain in many an unsuccumbing campaign. On that +very camp-bedstead, there, beneath his tent on the field, the glorious +old mild-eyed and warrior-hearted general had slept, and but waked to +buckle his knight-making sword by his side; for it was noble knighthood +to be slain by grand Pierre; in the other world his foes’ ghosts bragged +of the hand that had given them their passports.</p> + +<p>But has that hard bed of War, descended for an inheritance to the soft +body of Peace? In the peaceful time of full barns, and when the noise of +the peaceful flail is abroad, and the hum of peaceful commerce resounds, +is the grandson of two Generals a warrior too? Oh, not for naught, in +the time of this seeming peace, are warrior grandsires given to Pierre! +For Pierre is a warrior too; Life his campaign, and three fierce allies, +Woe and Scorn and Want, his foes. The wide world is banded against him; +for lo you! he holds up the standard of Right, and swears by the Eternal +and True! But ah, Pierre, Pierre,<a name="page_368"></a> when thou goest to that bed, how +humbling the thought, that thy most extended length measures not the +proud six feet four of thy grand John of Gaunt sire! The stature of the +warrior is cut down to the dwindled glory of the fight. For more +glorious in real tented field to strike down your valiant foe, than in +the conflicts of a noble soul with a dastardly world to chase a vile +enemy who ne’er will show front.</p> + +<p>There, then, on the third night, at twilight, by the lofty window of +that beggarly room, sat Pierre in the rear building of the Apostles’. He +is gazing out from the window now. But except the donjon form of the old +gray tower, seemingly there is nothing to see but a wilderness of tiles, +slate, shingles, and tin;—the desolate hanging wildernesses of tiles, +slate, shingles and tin, wherewith we modern Babylonians replace the +fair hanging-gardens of the fine old Asiatic times when the excellent +Nebuchadnezzar was king.</p> + +<p>There he sits, a strange exotic, transplanted from the delectable +alcoves of the old manorial mansion, to take root in this niggard soil. +No more do the sweet purple airs of the hills round about the green +fields of Saddle Meadows come revivingly wafted to his cheek. Like a +flower he feels the change; his bloom is gone from his cheek; his cheek +is wilted and pale.</p> + +<p>From the lofty window of that beggarly room, what is it that Pierre is +so intently eying? There is no street at his feet; like a profound black +gulf the open area of the quadrangle gapes beneath him. But across it, +and at the further end of the steep roof of the ancient church, there +looms the gray and grand old tower; emblem to Pierre of an unshakable +fortitude, which, deep-rooted in the heart of the earth, defied all the +howls of the air.</p> + +<p>There is a door in Pierre’s room opposite the window of Pierre: and now +a soft knock is heard in that direction, accompanied by gentle words, +asking whether the speaker might enter.</p> + +<p>“Yes, always, sweet Isabel”—answered Pierre, rising and<a name="page_369"></a> approaching +the door;—“here: let us drag out the old camp-bed for a sofa; come, sit +down now, my sister, and let us fancy ourselves anywhere thou wilt.”</p> + +<p>“Then, my brother, let us fancy ourselves in realms of everlasting +twilight and peace, where no bright sun shall rise, because the black +night is always its follower. Twilight and peace, my brother, twilight +and peace!”</p> + +<p>“It is twilight now, my sister; and surely, this part of the city at +least seems still.”</p> + +<p>“Twilight now, but night soon; then a brief sun, and then another long +night. Peace now, but sleep and nothingness soon, and then hard work for +thee, my brother, till the sweet twilight come again.”</p> + +<p>“Let us light a candle, my sister; the evening is deepening.”</p> + +<p>“For what light a candle, dear Pierre?—Sit close to me, my brother.”</p> + +<p>He moved nearer to her, and stole one arm around her; her sweet head +leaned against his breast; each felt the other’s throbbing.</p> + +<p>“Oh, my dear Pierre, why should we always be longing for peace, and then +be impatient of peace when it comes? Tell me, my brother! Not two hours +ago, thou wert wishing for twilight, and now thou wantest a candle to +hurry the twilight’s last lingering away.”</p> + +<p>But Pierre did not seem to hear her; his arm embraced her tighter; his +whole frame was invisibly trembling. Then suddenly in a low tone of +wonderful intensity he breathed:</p> + +<p>“Isabel! Isabel!”</p> + +<p>She caught one arm around him, as his was around herself; the tremor ran +from him to her; both sat dumb.</p> + +<p>He rose, and paced the room.</p> + +<p>“Well, Pierre; thou camest in here to arrange thy matters, thou saidst. +Now what hast thou done? Come, we will light a candle now.”<a name="page_370"></a></p> + +<p>The candle was lighted, and their talk went on.</p> + +<p>“How about the papers, my brother? Dost thou find every thing right? +Hast thou decided upon what to publish first, while thou art writing the +new thing thou didst hint of?”</p> + +<p>“Look at that chest, my sister. Seest thou not that the cords are yet +untied?”</p> + +<p>“Then thou hast not been into it at all as yet?”</p> + +<p>“Not at all, Isabel. In ten days I have lived ten thousand years. +Forewarned now of the rubbish in that chest, I can not summon the heart +to open it. Trash! Dross! Dirt!”</p> + +<p>“Pierre! Pierre! what change is this? Didst thou not tell me, ere we +came hither, that thy chest not only contained some silver and gold, but +likewise far more precious things, readily convertible into silver and +gold? Ah, Pierre, thou didst swear we had naught to fear!”</p> + +<p>“If I have ever willfully deceived thee, Isabel, may the high gods prove +Benedict Arnolds to me, and go over to the devils to reinforce them +against me! But to have ignorantly deceived myself and thee together, +Isabel; that is a very different thing. Oh, what a vile juggler and +cheat is man! Isabel, in that chest are things which in the hour of +composition, I thought the very heavens looked in from the windows in +astonishment at their beauty and power. Then, afterward, when days +cooled me down, and again I took them up and scanned them, some +underlying suspicions intruded; but when in the open air, I recalled the +fresh, unwritten images of the bunglingly written things; then I felt +buoyant and triumphant again; as if by that act of ideal recalling, I +had, forsooth, transferred the perfect ideal to the miserable written +attempt at embodying it. This mood remained. So that afterward how I +talked to thee about the wonderful things I had done; the gold and the +silver mine I had long before sprung for thee and for me, who never were +to come to want in body or mind. Yet all this time, there was the latent +suspicion of folly; but I would<a name="page_371"></a> not admit it; I shut my soul’s door in +its face. Yet now, the ten thousand universal revealings brand me on the +forehead with fool! and like protested notes at the Bankers, all those +written things of mine, are jaggingly cut through and through with the +protesting hammer of Truth!—Oh, I am sick, sick, sick!”</p> + +<p>“Let the arms that never were filled but by thee, lure thee back again, +Pierre, to the peace of the twilight, even though it be of the dimmest!”</p> + +<p>She blew out the light, and made Pierre sit down by her; and their hands +were placed in each other’s.</p> + +<p>“Say, are not thy torments now gone, my brother?”</p> + +<p>“But replaced by—by—by—Oh God, Isabel, unhand me!” cried Pierre, +starting up. “Ye heavens, that have hidden yourselves in the black hood +of the night, I call to ye! If to follow Virtue to her uttermost vista, +where common souls never go; if by that I take hold on hell, and the +uttermost virtue, after all, prove but a betraying pander to the +monstrousest vice,—then close in and crush me, ye stony walls, and into +one gulf let all things tumble together!”</p> + +<p>“My brother! this is some incomprehensible raving,” pealed Isabel, +throwing both arms around him;—“my brother, my brother!”</p> + +<p>“Hark thee to thy furthest inland soul”—thrilled Pierre in a steeled +and quivering voice. “Call me brother no more! How knowest thou I am thy +brother? Did thy mother tell thee? Did my father say so to me?—I am +Pierre, and thou Isabel, wide brother and sister in the common +humanity,—no more. For the rest, let the gods look after their own +combustibles. If they have put powder-casks in me—let them look to it! +let them look to it! Ah! now I catch glimpses, and seem to half-see, +somehow, that the uttermost ideal of moral perfection in man is wide of +the mark. The demigods trample on trash, and Virtue and Vice are trash! +Isabel, I will write such things—I will gospelize the world anew, and +show them<a name="page_372"></a> deeper secrets than the Apocalypse!—I will write it, I will +write it!”</p> + +<p>“Pierre, I am a poor girl, born in the midst of a mystery, bred in +mystery, and still surviving to mystery. So mysterious myself, the air +and the earth are unutterable to me; no word have I to express them. But +these are the circumambient mysteries; thy words, thy thoughts, open +other wonder-worlds to me, whither by myself I might fear to go. But +trust to me, Pierre. With thee, with thee, I would boldly swim a +starless sea, and be buoy to thee, there, when thou the strong swimmer +shouldst faint. Thou, Pierre, speakest of Virtue and Vice; life-secluded +Isabel knows neither the one nor the other, but by hearsay. What are +they, in their real selves, Pierre? Tell me first what is +Virtue:—begin!”</p> + +<p>“If on that point the gods are dumb, shall a pigmy speak? Ask the air!”</p> + +<p>“Then Virtue is nothing.”</p> + +<p>“Not that!”</p> + +<p>“Then Vice?”</p> + +<p>“Look: a nothing is the substance, it casts one shadow one way, and +another the other way; and these two shadows cast from one nothing; +these, seems to me, are Virtue and Vice.”</p> + +<p>“Then why torment thyself so, dearest Pierre?”</p> + +<p>“It is the law.”</p> + +<p>“What?”</p> + +<p>“That a nothing should torment a nothing; for I am a nothing. It is all +a dream—we dream that we dreamed we dream.”</p> + +<p>“Pierre, when thou just hovered on the verge, thou wert a riddle to me; +but now, that thou art deep down in the gulf of the soul,—now, when +thou wouldst be lunatic to wise men, perhaps—now doth poor ignorant +Isabel begin to comprehend thee. Thy feeling hath long been mine, +Pierre. Long loneliness and anguish have opened miracles to me. Yes, it +is all a dream!”<a name="page_373"></a></p> + +<p>Swiftly he caught her in his arms:—“From nothing proceeds nothing, +Isabel! How can one sin in a dream?”</p> + +<p>“First what is sin, Pierre?”</p> + +<p>“Another name for the other name, Isabel.”</p> + +<p>“For Virtue, Pierre?”</p> + +<p>“No, for Vice.”</p> + +<p>“Let us sit down again, my brother.”</p> + +<p>“I am Pierre.”</p> + +<p>“Let us sit down again, Pierre; sit close; thy arm!”</p> + +<p>And so, on the third night, when the twilight was gone, and no lamp was +lit, within the lofty window of that beggarly room, sat Pierre and +Isabel hushed.<a name="page_374"></a></p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="BOOK_XX"></a>BOOK XX.<br /> +CHARLIE MILLTHORPE.</h2> + +<h4>I.</h4> + +<p>P<small>IERRE</small> had been induced to take chambers at the Apostles’, by one of the +Apostles themselves, an old acquaintance of his, and a native of Saddle +Meadows.</p> + +<p>Millthorpe was the son of a very respectable farmer—now dead—of more +than common intelligence, and whose bowed shoulders and homely garb had +still been surmounted by a head fit for a Greek philosopher, and +features so fine and regular that they would have well graced an opulent +gentleman. The political and social levelings and confoundings of all +manner of human elements in America, produce many striking individual +anomalies unknown in other lands. Pierre well remembered old farmer +Millthorpe:—the handsome, melancholy, calm-tempered, mute, old man; in +whose countenance—refinedly ennobled by nature, and yet coarsely tanned +and attenuated by many a prolonged day’s work in the harvest—rusticity +and classicalness were strangely united. The delicate profile of his +face, bespoke the loftiest aristocracy; his knobbed and bony hands +resembled a beggar’s.</p> + +<p>Though for several generations the Millthorpes had lived on the +Glendinning lands, they loosely and unostentatiously traced their origin +to an emigrating English Knight, who had crossed the sea in the time of +the elder Charles. But that indigence<a name="page_375"></a> which had prompted the knight to +forsake his courtly country for the howling wilderness, was the only +remaining hereditament left to his bedwindled descendants in the fourth +and fifth remove. At the time that Pierre first recollected this +interesting man, he had, a year or two previous, abandoned an ample farm +on account of absolute inability to meet the manorial rent, and was +become the occupant of a very poor and contracted little place, on which +was a small and half-ruinous house. There, he then harbored with his +wife,—a very gentle and retiring person,—his three little daughters, +and his only son, a lad of Pierre’s own age. The hereditary beauty and +youthful bloom of this boy; his sweetness of temper, and something of +natural refinement as contrasted with the unrelieved rudeness, and +oftentimes sordidness, of his neighbors; these things had early +attracted the sympathetic, spontaneous friendliness of Pierre. They were +often wont to take their boyish rambles together; and even the severely +critical Mrs. Glendinning, always fastidiously cautious as to the +companions of Pierre, had never objected to his intimacy with so +prepossessing and handsome a rustic as Charles.</p> + +<p>Boys are often very swiftly acute in forming a judgment on character. +The lads had not long companioned, ere Pierre concluded, that however +fine his face, and sweet his temper, young Millthorpe was but little +vigorous in mind; besides possessing a certain constitutional, +sophomorean presumption and egotism; which, however, having nothing to +feed on but his father’s meal and potatoes, and his own essentially +timid and humane disposition, merely presented an amusing and harmless, +though incurable, anomalous feature in his character, not at all +impairing the good-will and companionableness of Pierre; for even in his +boyhood, Pierre possessed a sterling charity, which could cheerfully +overlook all minor blemishes in his inferiors, whether in fortune or +mind; content and glad to embrace the good whenever presented, or with +whatever<a name="page_376"></a> conjoined. So, in youth, do we unconsciously act upon those +peculiar principles, which in conscious and verbalized maxims shall +systematically regulate our maturer lives;—a fact, which forcibly +illustrates the necessitarian dependence of our lives, and their +subordination, not to ourselves, but to Fate.</p> + +<p>If the grown man of taste, possess not only some eye to detect the +picturesque in the natural landscape, so also, has he as keen a +perception of what may not unfitly be here styled, the <i>povertiresque</i> +in the social landscape. To such an one, not more picturesquely +conspicuous is the dismantled thatch in a painted cottage of +Gainsborough, than the time-tangled and want-thinned locks of a beggar, +<i>povertiresquely</i> diversifying those snug little cabinet-pictures of the +world, which, exquisitely varnished and framed, are hung up in the +drawing-room minds of humane men of taste, and amiable philosophers of +either the “Compensation,” or “Optimist” school. They deny that any +misery is in the world, except for the purpose of throwing the fine +<i>povertiresque</i> element into its general picture. Go to! God hath +deposited cash in the Bank subject to our gentlemanly order; he hath +bounteously blessed the world with a summer carpet of green. Begone, +Heraclitus! The lamentations of the rain are but to make us our +rainbows!</p> + +<p>Not that in equivocal reference to the <i>povertiresque</i> old farmer +Millthorpe, Pierre is here intended to be hinted at. Still, man can not +wholly escape his surroundings. Unconsciously Mrs. Glendinning had +always been one of these curious Optimists; and in his boyish life +Pierre had not wholly escaped the maternal contagion. Yet often, in +calling at the old farmer’s for Charles of some early winter mornings, +and meeting the painfully embarrassed, thin, feeble features of Mrs. +Millthorpe, and the sadly inquisitive and hopelessly half-envious +glances of the three little girls; and standing on the threshold, Pierre +would catch low, aged, life-weary groans from a recess<a name="page_377"></a> out of sight +from the door; then would Pierre have some boyish inklings of something +else than the pure <i>povertiresque</i> in poverty: some inklings of what it +might be, to be old, and poor, and worn, and rheumatic, with shivering +death drawing nigh, and present life itself but a dull and a chill! some +inklings of what it might be, for him who in youth had vivaciously +leaped from his bed, impatient to meet the earliest sun, and lose no +sweet drop of his life, now hating the beams he once so dearly loved; +turning round in his bed to the wall to avoid them; and still postponing +the foot which should bring him back to the dismal day; when the sun is +not gold, but copper; and the sky is not blue, but gray; and the blood, +like Rhenish wine, too long unquaffed by Death, grows thin and sour in +the veins.</p> + +<p>Pierre had not forgotten that the augmented penury of the Millthorpe’s +was, at the time we now retrospectively treat of, gravely imputed by the +gossiping frequenters of the Black Swan Inn, to certain insinuated moral +derelictions of the farmer. “The old man tipped his elbow too often,” +once said in Pierre’s hearing an old bottle-necked fellow, performing +the identical same act with a half-emptied glass in his hand. But though +the form of old Millthorpe was broken, his countenance, however sad and +thin, betrayed no slightest sign of the sot, either past or present. He +never was publicly known to frequent the inn, and seldom quitted the few +acres he cultivated with his son. And though, alas, indigent enough, yet +was he most punctually honest in paying his little debts of shillings +and pence for his groceries. And though, heaven knows, he had plenty of +occasion for all the money he could possibly earn, yet Pierre +remembered, that when, one autumn, a hog was bought of him for the +servants’ hall at the Mansion, the old man never called for his money +till the midwinter following; and then, as with trembling fingers he +eagerly clutched the silver, he unsteadily said, “I have no use for it +now; it might just as well<a name="page_378"></a> have stood over.” It was then, that chancing +to overhear this, Mrs. Glendinning had looked at the old man, with a +kindly and benignantly interested eye to the <i>povertiresque</i>; and +murmured, “Ah! the old English Knight is not yet out of his blood. +Bravo, old man!”</p> + +<p>One day, in Pierre’s sight, nine silent figures emerged from the door of +old Millthorpe; a coffin was put into a neighbor’s farm-wagon; and a +procession, some thirty feet long, including the elongated pole and box +of the wagon, wound along Saddle Meadows to a hill, where, at last, old +Millthorpe was laid down in a bed, where the rising sun should affront +him no more. Oh, softest and daintiest of Holland linen is the motherly +earth! There, beneath the sublime tester of the infinite sky, like +emperors and kings, sleep, in grand state, the beggars and paupers of +earth! I joy that Death is this Democrat; and hopeless of all other real +and permanent democracies, still hug the thought, that though in life +some heads are crowned with gold, and some bound round with thorns, yet +chisel them how they will, head-stones are all alike.</p> + +<p>This somewhat particular account of the father of young Millthorpe, will +better set forth the less immature condition and character of the son, +on whom had now descended the maintenance of his mother and sisters. +But, though the son of a farmer, Charles was peculiarly averse to hard +labor. It was not impossible that by resolute hard labor he might +eventually have succeeded in placing his family in a far more +comfortable situation than he had ever remembered them. But it was not +so fated; the benevolent State had in its great wisdom decreed +otherwise.</p> + +<p>In the village of Saddle Meadows there was an institution, half +common-school and half academy, but mainly supported by a general +ordinance and financial provision of the government Here, not only were +the rudiments of an English education taught, but likewise some touch of +belles lettres, and<a name="page_379"></a> composition, and that great American bulwark and +bore—elocution. On the high-raised, stage platform of the Saddle +Meadows Academy, the sons of the most indigent day-laborers were wont to +drawl out the fiery revolutionary rhetoric of Patrick Henry, or +gesticulate impetuously through the soft cadences of Drake’s “Culprit +Fay.” What wonder, then, that of Saturdays, when there was no elocution +and poesy, these boys should grow melancholy and disdainful over the +heavy, plodding handles of dung-forks and hoes?</p> + +<p>At the age of fifteen, the ambition of Charles Millthorpe was to be +either an orator, or a poet; at any rate, a great genius of one sort or +other. He recalled the ancestral Knight, and indignantly spurned the +plow. Detecting in him the first germ of this inclination, old +Millthorpe had very seriously reasoned with his son; warning him against +the evils of his vagrant ambition. Ambition of that sort was either for +undoubted genius, rich boys, or poor boys, standing entirely alone in +the world, with no one relying upon them. Charles had better consider +the case; his father was old and infirm; he could not last very long; he +had nothing to leave behind him but his plow and his hoe; his mother was +sickly; his sisters pale and delicate; and finally, life was a fact, and +the winters in that part of the country exceedingly bitter and long. +Seven months out of the twelve the pastures bore nothing, and all cattle +must be fed in the barns. But Charles was a boy; advice often seems the +most wantonly wasted of all human breath; man will not take wisdom on +trust; may be, it is well; for such wisdom is worthless; we must find +the true gem for ourselves; and so we go groping and groping for many +and many a day.</p> + +<p>Yet was Charles Millthorpe as affectionate and dutiful a boy as ever +boasted of his brain, and knew not that he possessed a far more +excellent and angelical thing in the possession of a generous heart. His +father died; to his family he resolved to be a second father, and a +careful provider now. But not by<a name="page_380"></a> hard toil of his hand; but by gentler +practices of his mind. Already he had read many books—history, poetry, +romance, essays, and all. The manorial book-shelves had often been +honored by his visits, and Pierre had kindly been his librarian. Not to +lengthen the tale, at the age of seventeen, Charles sold the horse, the +cow, the pig, the plow, the hoe, and almost every movable thing on the +premises; and, converting all into cash, departed with his mother and +sisters for the city; chiefly basing his expectations of success on some +vague representations of an apothecary relative there resident. How he +and his mother and sisters battled it out; how they pined and +half-starved for a while; how they took in sewing; and Charles took in +copying; and all but scantily sufficed for a livelihood; all this may be +easily imagined. But some mysterious latent good-will of Fate toward +him, had not only thus far kept Charles from the Poor-House, but had +really advanced his fortunes in a degree. At any rate, that certain +harmless presumption and innocent egotism which have been previously +adverted to as sharing in his general character, these had by no means +retarded him; for it is often to be observed of the shallower men, that +they are the very last to despond. It is the glory of the bladder that +nothing can sink it; it is the reproach of a box of treasure, that once +overboard it must down.</p> + +<hr /> + +<h4>II.</h4> + +<p>W<small>HEN</small> arrived in the city, and discovering the heartless neglect of Glen, +Pierre,—looking about him for whom to apply to in this +strait,—bethought him of his old boy-companion Charlie, and went out to +seek him, and found him at last; he saw before him, a tall, well-grown, +but rather thin and pale yet strikingly handsome young man of +two-and-twenty; occupying<a name="page_381"></a> a small dusty law-office on the third floor +of the older building of the Apostles; assuming to be doing a very +large, and hourly increasing business among empty pigeon-holes, and +directly under the eye of an unopened bottle of ink; his mother and +sisters dwelling in a chamber overhead; and himself, not only following +the law for a corporeal living, but likewise inter-linked with the +peculiar secret, theologico-politico-social schemes of the masonic order +of the seedy-coated Apostles; and pursuing some crude, transcendental +Philosophy, for both a contributory means of support, as well as for his +complete intellectual aliment.</p> + +<p>Pierre was at first somewhat startled by his exceedingly frank and +familiar manner; all old manorial deference for Pierre was clean gone +and departed; though at the first shock of their encounter, Charlie +could not possibly have known that Pierre was cast off.</p> + +<p>“Ha, Pierre! glad to see you, my boy! Hark ye, next month I am to +deliver an address before the Omega order of the Apostles. The Grand +Master, Plinlimmon, will be there. I have heard on the best authority +that he once said of me—‘That youth has the Primitive Categories in +him; he is destined to astonish the world.’ Why, lad, I have received +propositions from the Editors of the Spinozaist to contribute a weekly +column to their paper, and you know how very few can understand the +Spinozaist; nothing is admitted there but the Ultimate Transcendentals. +Hark now, in your ear; I think of throwing off the Apostolic disguise +and coming boldly out; Pierre! I think of stumping the State, and +preaching our philosophy to the masses.—When did you arrive in town?”</p> + +<p>Spite of all his tribulations, Pierre could not restrain a smile at this +highly diverting reception; but well knowing the youth, he did not +conclude from this audacious burst of enthusiastic egotism that his +heart had at all corroded; for egotism is one thing, and selfishness +another. No sooner did Pierre intimate<a name="page_382"></a> his condition to him, than +immediately, Charlie was all earnest and practical kindness; recommended +the Apostles as the best possible lodgment for him,—cheap, snug, and +convenient to most public places; he offered to procure a cart and see +himself to the transport of Pierre’s luggage; but finally thought it +best to mount the stairs and show him the vacant rooms. But when these +at last were decided upon; and Charlie, all cheerfulness and alacrity, +started with Pierre for the hotel, to assist him in the removal; +grasping his arm the moment they emerged from the great arched door +under the tower of the Apostles; he instantly launched into his amusing +heroics, and continued the strain till the trunks were fairly in sight.</p> + +<p>“Lord! my law-business overwhelms me! I must drive away some of my +clients; I must have my exercise, and this ever-growing business denies +it to me. Besides, I owe something to the sublime cause of the general +humanity; I must displace some of my briefs for my metaphysical +treatises. I can not waste all my oil over bonds and mortgages.—You +said you were married, I think?”</p> + +<p>But without stopping for any reply, he rattled on. “Well, I suppose it +is wise after all. It settles, centralizes, and confirms a man, I have +heard.—No, I didn’t; it is a random thought of my own, that!—Yes, it +makes the world definite to him; it removes his morbid <i>sub</i>jectiveness, +and makes all things <i>ob</i>jective; nine small children, for instance, may +be considered <i>ob</i>jective. Marriage, hey!—A fine thing, no doubt, no +doubt:—domestic—pretty—nice, all round. But I owe something to the +world, my boy! By marriage, I might contribute to the population of men, +but not to the census of mind. The great men are all bachelors, you +know. Their family is the universe: I should say the planet Saturn was +their elder son; and Plato their uncle.—So you are married?”</p> + +<p>But again, reckless of answers, Charlie went on. “Pierre, a thought, my +boy;—a thought for you! You do not say it,<a name="page_383"></a> but you hint of a low +purse. Now I shall help you to fill it—Stump the State on the Kantian +Philosophy! A dollar a head, my boy! Pass round your beaver, and you’ll +get it. I have every confidence in the penetration and magnanimousness +of the people! Pierre, hark in your ear;—it’s my opinion the world is +all wrong. Hist, I say—an entire mistake. Society demands an Avatar,—a +Curtius, my boy! to leap into the fiery gulf, and by perishing himself, +save the whole empire of men! Pierre, I have long renounced the +allurements of life and fashion. Look at my coat, and see how I spurn +them! Pierre! but, stop, have you ever a shilling! let’s take a cold cut +here—it’s a cheap place; I go here sometimes. Come, let’s in.”<a name="page_384"></a></p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="BOOK_XXI"></a>BOOK XXI.<br /> +PIERRE IMMATURELY ATTEMPTS A MATURE WORK. TIDINGS FROM THE MEADOWS. +PLINLIMMON.</h2> + +<h4>I.</h4> + +<p>W<small>E</small> are now to behold Pierre permanently lodged in three lofty adjoining +chambers of the Apostles. And passing on a little further in time, and +overlooking the hundred and one domestic details, of how their internal +arrangements were finally put into steady working order; how poor Delly, +now giving over the sharper pangs of her grief, found in the lighter +occupations of a handmaid and familiar companion to Isabel, the only +practical relief from the memories of her miserable past; how Isabel +herself in the otherwise occupied hours of Pierre, passed some of her +time in mastering the chirographical incoherencies of his manuscripts, +with a view to eventually copying them out in a legible hand for the +printer; or went below stairs to the rooms of the Millthorpes, and in +the modest and amiable society of the three young ladies and their +excellent mother, found some little solace for the absence of Pierre; +or, when his day’s work was done, sat by him in the twilight, and played +her mystic guitar till Pierre felt chapter after chapter born of its +wondrous suggestiveness; but alas! eternally incapable of being +translated into words; for where the deepest words end, there music +begins with its supersensuous and all-confounding intimations.<a name="page_385"></a></p> + +<p>Disowning now all previous exertions of his mind, and burning in scorn +even those fine fruits of a care-free fancy, which, written at Saddle +Meadows in the sweet legendary time of Lucy and her love, he had +jealously kept from the publishers, as too true and good to be +published; renouncing all his foregone self, Pierre was now engaged in a +comprehensive compacted work, to whose speedy completion two tremendous +motives unitedly impelled;—the burning desire to deliver what he +thought to be new, or at least miserably neglected Truth to the world; +and the prospective menace of being absolutely penniless, unless by the +sale of his book, he could realize money. Swayed to universality of +thought by the widely-explosive mental tendencies of the profound events +which had lately befallen him, and the unprecedented situation in which +he now found himself; and perceiving, by presentiment, that most grand +productions of the best human intellects ever are built round a circle, +as atolls (<i>i. e.</i> the primitive coral islets which, raising themselves +in the depths of profoundest seas, rise funnel-like to the surface, and +present there a hoop of white rock, which though on the outside +everywhere lashed by the ocean, yet excludes all tempests from the quiet +lagoon within), digestively including the whole range of all that can be +known or dreamed; Pierre was resolved to give the world a book, which +the world should hail with surprise and delight. A varied scope of +reading, little suspected by his friends, and randomly acquired by a +random but lynx-eyed mind, in the course of the multifarious, +incidental, bibliographic encounterings of almost any civilized young +inquirer after Truth; this poured one considerable contributary stream +into that bottomless spring of original thought which the occasion and +time had caused to burst out in himself. Now he congratulated himself +upon all his cursory acquisitions of this sort; ignorant that in reality +to a mind bent on producing some thoughtful thing of absolute Truth, all +mere reading is apt to prove but an obstacle<a name="page_386"></a> hard to overcome; and not +an accelerator helpingly pushing him along.</p> + +<p>While Pierre was thinking that he was entirely transplanted into a new +and wonderful element of Beauty and Power, he was, in fact, but in one +of the stages of the transition. That ultimate element once fairly +gained, then books no more are needed for buoys to our souls; our own +strong limbs support us, and we float over all bottomlessnesses with a +jeering impunity. He did not see,—or if he did, he could not yet name +the true cause for it,—that already, in the incipiency of his work, the +heavy unmalleable element of mere book-knowledge would not congenially +weld with the wide fluidness and ethereal airiness of spontaneous +creative thought. He would climb Parnassus with a pile of folios on his +back. He did not see, that it was nothing at all to him, what other men +had written; that though Plato was indeed a transcendently great man in +himself, yet Plato must not be transcendently great to him (Pierre), so +long as he (Pierre himself) would also do something transcendently +great. He did not see that there is no such thing as a standard for the +creative spirit; that no one great book must ever be separately +regarded, and permitted to domineer with its own uniqueness upon the +creative mind; but that all existing great works must be federated in +the fancy; and so regarded as a miscellaneous and Pantheistic whole; and +then,—without at all dictating to his own mind, or unduly biasing it +any way,—thus combined, they would prove simply an exhilarative and +provocative to him. He did not see, that even when thus combined, all +was but one small mite, compared to the latent infiniteness and +inexhaustibility in himself; that all the great books in the world are +but the mutilated shadowings-forth of invisible and eternally unembodied +images in the soul; so that they are but the mirrors, distortedly +reflecting to us our own things; and never mind<a name="page_387"></a> what the mirror may be, +if we would see the object, we must look at the object itself, and not +at its reflection.</p> + +<p>But, as to the resolute traveler in Switzerland, the Alps do never in +one wide and comprehensive sweep, instantaneously reveal their full +awfulness of amplitude—their overawing extent of peak crowded on peak, +and spur sloping on spur, and chain jammed behind chain, and all their +wonderful battalionings of might; so hath heaven wisely ordained, that +on first entering into the Switzerland of his soul, man shall not at +once perceive its tremendous immensity; lest illy prepared for such an +encounter, his spirit should sink and perish in the lowermost snows. +Only by judicious degrees, appointed of God, does man come at last to +gain his Mont Blanc and take an overtopping view of these Alps; and even +then, the tithe is not shown; and far over the invisible Atlantic, the +Rocky Mountains and the Andes are yet unbeheld. Appalling is the soul of +a man! Better might one be pushed off into the material spaces beyond +the uttermost orbit of our sun, than once feel himself fairly afloat in +himself!</p> + +<p>But not now to consider these ulterior things, Pierre, though strangely +and very newly alive to many before unregarded wonders in the general +world; still, had he not as yet procured for himself that enchanter’s +wand of the soul, which but touching the humblest experiences in one’s +life, straightway it starts up all eyes, in every one of which are +endless significancies. Not yet had he dropped his angle into the well +of his childhood, to find what fish might be there; for who dreams to +find fish in a well? the running stream of the outer world, there +doubtless swim the golden perch and the pickerel! Ten million things +were as yet uncovered to Pierre. The old mummy lies buried in cloth on +cloth; it takes time to unwrap this Egyptian king. Yet now, forsooth, +because Pierre began to see through the first superficiality of the +world, he fondly weens he has come to the unlayered substance. But, far +as any<a name="page_388"></a> geologist has yet gone down into the world, it is found to +consist of nothing but surface stratified on surface. To its axis, the +world being nothing but superinduced superficies. By vast pains we mine +into the pyramid; by horrible gropings we come to the central room; with +joy we espy the sarcophagus; but we lift the lid—and no body is +there!—appallingly vacant as vast is the soul of a man!</p> + +<hr /> + +<h4>II.</h4> + +<p>H<small>E</small> had been engaged some weeks upon his book—in pursuance of his +settled plan avoiding all contact with any of his city-connections or +friends, even as in his social downfall they sedulously avoided seeking +him out—nor ever once going or sending to the post-office, though it +was but a little round the corner from where he was, since having +dispatched no letters himself, he expected none; thus isolated from the +world, and intent upon his literary enterprise, Pierre had passed some +weeks, when verbal tidings came to him, of three most momentous events.</p> + +<p>First: his mother was dead.</p> + +<p>Second: all Saddle Meadows was become Glen Stanly’s.</p> + +<p>Third: Glen Stanly was believed to be the suitor of Lucy; who, +convalescent from an almost mortal illness, was now dwelling at her +mother’s house in town.</p> + +<p>It was chiefly the first-mentioned of these events which darted a sharp +natural anguish into Pierre. No letter had come to him; no smallest ring +or memorial been sent him; no slightest mention made of him in the will; +and yet it was reported that an inconsolable grief had induced his +mother’s mortal malady, and driven her at length into insanity, which +suddenly terminated<a name="page_389"></a> in death; and when he first heard of that event, +she had been cold in the ground for twenty-five days.</p> + +<p>How plainly did all this speak of the equally immense pride and grief of +his once magnificent mother; and how agonizedly now did it hint of her +mortally-wounded love for her only and best-beloved Pierre! In vain he +reasoned with himself; in vain remonstrated with himself; in vain sought +to parade all his stoic arguments to drive off the onslaught of natural +passion. Nature prevailed; and with tears that like acid burned and +scorched as they flowed, he wept, he raved, at the bitter loss of his +parent; whose eyes had been closed by unrelated hands that were hired; +but whose heart had been broken, and whose very reason been ruined, by +the related hands of her son.</p> + +<p>For some interval it almost seemed as if his own heart would snap; his +own reason go down. Unendurable grief of a man, when Death itself gives +the stab, and then snatches all availments to solacement away. For in +the grave is no help, no prayer thither may go, no forgiveness thence +come; so that the penitent whose sad victim lies in the ground, for that +useless penitent his doom is eternal, and though it be Christmas-day +with all Christendom, with him it is Hell-day and an eaten liver +forever.</p> + +<p>With what marvelous precision and exactitude he now went over in his +mind all the minutest details of his old joyous life with his mother at +Saddle Meadows. He began with his own toilet in the morning; then his +mild stroll into the fields; then his cheerful return to call his mother +in her chamber; then the gay breakfast—and so on, and on, all through +the sweet day, till mother and son kissed, and with light, loving hearts +separated to their beds, to prepare themselves for still another day of +affectionate delight. This recalling of innocence and joy in the hour of +remorsefulness and woe; this is as heating red-hot the pincers that tear +us. But in this delirium of his<a name="page_390"></a> soul, Pierre could not define where +that line was, which separated the natural grief for the loss of a +parent from that other one which was born of compunction. He strove hard +to define it, but could not. He tried to cozen himself into believing +that all his grief was but natural, or if there existed any other, that +must spring—not from the consciousness of having done any possible +wrong—but from the pang at what terrible cost the more exalted virtues +are gained. Nor did he wholly fail in this endeavor. At last he +dismissed his mother’s memory into that same profound vault where +hitherto had reposed the swooned form of his Lucy. But, as sometimes men +are coffined in a trance, being thereby mistaken for dead; so it is +possible to bury a tranced grief in the soul, erroneously supposing that +it hath no more vitality of suffering. Now, immortal things only can +beget immortality. It would almost seem one presumptive argument for the +endless duration of the human soul, that it is impossible in time and +space to kill any compunction arising from having cruelly injured a +departed fellow-being.</p> + +<p>Ere he finally committed his mother to the profoundest vault of his +soul, fain would he have drawn one poor alleviation from a circumstance, +which nevertheless, impartially viewed, seemed equally capable either of +soothing or intensifying his grief. His mother’s will, which without the +least mention of his own name, bequeathed several legacies to her +friends, and concluded by leaving all Saddle Meadows and its rent-rolls +to Glendinning Stanly; this will bore the date of the day immediately +succeeding his fatal announcement on the landing of the stairs, of his +assumed nuptials with Isabel. It plausibly pressed upon him, that as all +the evidences of his mother’s dying unrelentingness toward him were +negative; and the only positive evidence—so to speak—of even that +negativeness, was the will which omitted all mention of Pierre; +therefore, as that will bore so significant a date, it must needs be +most reasonable to conclude,<a name="page_391"></a> that it was dictated in the not yet +subsided transports of his mother’s first indignation. But small +consolation was this, when he considered the final insanity of his +mother; for whence that insanity but from a hate-grief unrelenting, even +as his father must have become insane from a sin-grief irreparable? Nor +did this remarkable double-doom of his parents wholly fail to impress +his mind with presentiments concerning his own fate—his own hereditary +liability to madness. Presentiment, I say; but what is a presentiment? +how shall you coherently define a presentiment, or how make any thing +out of it which is at all lucid, unless you say that a presentiment is +but a judgment in disguise? And if a judgment in disguise, and yet +possessing this preternaturalness of prophecy, how then shall you escape +the fateful conclusion, that you are helplessly held in the six hands of +the Sisters? For while still dreading your doom, you foreknow it. Yet +how foreknow and dread in one breath, unless with this divine seeming +power of prescience, you blend the actual slimy powerlessness of +defense?</p> + +<p>That his cousin, Glen Stanly, had been chosen by his mother to inherit +the domain of the Meadows, was not entirely surprising to Pierre. Not +only had Glen always been a favorite with his mother by reason of his +superb person and his congeniality of worldly views with herself, but +excepting only Pierre, he was her nearest surviving blood relation; and +moreover, in his christian name, bore the hereditary syllables, +Glendinning. So that if to any one but Pierre the Meadows must descend, +Glen, on these general grounds, seemed the appropriate heir.</p> + +<p>But it is not natural for a man, never mind who he may be, to see a +noble patrimony, rightfully his, go over to a soul-alien, and that alien +once his rival in love, and now his heartless, sneering foe; for so +Pierre could not but now argue of Glen; it is not natural for a man to +see this without singular emotions of discomfort and hate. Nor in Pierre +were these feelings at all soothed by the report of Glen’s renewed +attentions to Lucy.<a name="page_392"></a> For there is something in the breast of almost +every man, which at bottom takes offense at the attentions of any other +man offered to a woman, the hope of whose nuptial love he himself may +have discarded. Fain would a man selfishly appropriate all the hearts +which have ever in any way confessed themselves his. Besides, in +Pierre’s case, this resentment was heightened by Glen’s previous +hypocritical demeanor. For now all his suspicions seemed abundantly +verified; and comparing all dates, he inferred that Glen’s visit to +Europe had only been undertaken to wear off the pang of his rejection by +Lucy, a rejection tacitly consequent upon her not denying her affianced +relation to Pierre.</p> + +<p>But now, under the mask of profound sympathy—in time, ripening into +love—for a most beautiful girl, ruffianly deserted by her betrothed, +Glen could afford to be entirely open in his new suit, without at all +exposing his old scar to the world. So at least it now seemed to Pierre. +Moreover, Glen could now approach Lucy under the most favorable possible +auspices. He could approach her as a deeply sympathizing friend, all +wishful to assuage her sorrow, but hinting nothing, at present, of any +selfish matrimonial intent; by enacting this prudent and unclamorous +part, the mere sight of such tranquil, disinterested, but indestructible +devotedness, could not but suggest in Lucy’s mind, very natural +comparisons between Glen and Pierre, most deplorably abasing to the +latter. Then, no woman—as it would sometimes seem—no woman is utterly +free from the influence of a princely social position in her suitor, +especially if he be handsome and young. And Glen would come to her now +the master of two immense fortunes, and the heir, by voluntary election, +no less than by blood propinquity, to the ancestral bannered hall, and +the broad manorial meadows of the Glendinnings. And thus, too, the +spirit of Pierre’s own mother would seem to press Glen’s suit. Indeed, +situated now as he was Glen would seem all the finest part of Pierre, +without any of<a name="page_393"></a> Pierre’s shame; would almost seem Pierre himself—what +Pierre had once been to Lucy. And as in the case of a man who has lost a +sweet wife, and who long refuses the least consolation; as this man at +last finds a singular solace in the companionship of his wife’s sister, +who happens to bear a peculiar family resemblance to the dead; and as +he, in the end, proposes marriage to this sister, merely from the force +of such magical associative influences; so it did not seem wholly out of +reason to suppose, that the great manly beauty of Glen, possessing a +strong related similitude to Pierre’s, might raise in Lucy’s heart +associations, which would lead her at least to seek—if she could not +find—solace for one now regarded as dead and gone to her forever, in +the devotedness of another, who would notwithstanding almost seem as +that dead one brought back to life.</p> + +<p>Deep, deep, and still deep and deeper must we go, if we would find out +the heart of a man; descending into which is as descending a spiral +stair in a shaft, without any end, and where that endlessness is only +concealed by the spiralness of the stair, and the blackness of the +shaft.</p> + +<p>As Pierre conjured up this phantom of Glen transformed into the seeming +semblance of himself; as he figured it advancing toward Lucy and raising +her hand in devotion; an infinite quenchless rage and malice possessed +him. Many commingled emotions combined to provoke this storm. But chief +of all was something strangely akin to that indefinable detestation +which one feels for any impostor who has dared to assume one’s own name +and aspect in any equivocal or dishonorable affair; an emotion greatly +intensified if this impostor be known for a mean villain at bottom, and +also, by the freak of nature to be almost the personal duplicate of the +man whose identity he assumes. All these and a host of other distressful +and resentful fancies now ran through the breast of Pierre. All his +Faith-born, enthusiastic, high-wrought, stoic, and philosophic defenses, +were now beaten down by this sudden storm of nature<a name="page_394"></a> in his soul. For +there is no faith, and no stoicism, and no philosophy, that a mortal man +can possibly evoke, which will stand the final test of a real +impassioned onset of Life and Passion upon him. Then all the fair +philosophic or Faith-phantoms that he raised from the mist, slide away +and disappear as ghosts at cock-crow. For Faith and philosophy are air, +but events are brass. Amidst his gray philosophizings, Life breaks upon +a man like a morning.</p> + +<p>While this mood was on him, Pierre cursed himself for a heartless +villain and an idiot fool;—heartless villain, as the murderer of his +mother—idiot fool, because he had thrown away all his felicity; because +he had himself, as it were, resigned his noble birthright to a cunning +kinsman for a mess of pottage, which now proved all but ashes in his +mouth.</p> + +<p>Resolved to hide these new, and—as it latently seemed to him—unworthy +pangs, from Isabel, as also their cause, he quitted his chamber, +intending a long vagabond stroll in the suburbs of the town, to wear off +his sharper grief, ere he should again return into her sight.</p> + +<hr /> + +<h4>III.</h4> + +<p>A<small>S</small> Pierre, now hurrying from his chamber, was rapidly passing through +one of the higher brick colonnades connecting the ancient building with +the modern, there advanced toward him from the direction of the latter, +a very plain, composed, manly figure, with a countenance rather pale if +any thing, but quite clear and without wrinkle. Though the brow and the +beard, and the steadiness of the head and settledness of the step +indicated mature age, yet the blue, bright, but still quiescent eye +offered a very striking contrast. In that eye, the gay immortal youth +Apollo, seemed enshrined; while on that ivory-throned<a name="page_395"></a> brow, old Saturn +cross-legged sat. The whole countenance of this man, the whole air and +look of this man, expressed a cheerful content. Cheerful is the +adjective, for it was the contrary of gloom; content—perhaps +acquiescence—is the substantive, for it was not Happiness or Delight. +But while the personal look and air of this man were thus winning, there +was still something latently visible in him which repelled. That +something may best be characterized as non-Benevolence. Non-Benevolence +seems the best word, for it was neither Malice nor Ill-will; but +something passive. To crown all, a certain floating atmosphere seemed to +invest and go along with this man. That atmosphere seems only renderable +in words by the term Inscrutableness. Though the clothes worn by this +man were strictly in accordance with the general style of any +unobtrusive gentleman’s dress, yet his clothes seemed to disguise this +man. One would almost have said, his very face, the apparently natural +glance of his very eye disguised this man.</p> + +<p>Now, as this person deliberately passed by Pierre, he lifted his hat, +gracefully bowed, smiled gently, and passed on. But Pierre was all +confusion; he flushed, looked askance, stammered with his hand at his +hat to return the courtesy of the other; he seemed thoroughly upset by +the mere sight of this hat-lifting, gracefully bowing, gently-smiling, +and most miraculously self-possessed, non-benevolent man.</p> + +<p>Now who was this man? This man was Plotinus Plinlimmon. Pierre had read +a treatise of his in a stage-coach coming to the city, and had heard him +often spoken of by Millthorpe and others as the Grand Master of a +certain mystic Society among the Apostles. Whence he came, no one could +tell. His surname was Welsh, but he was a Tennesseean by birth. He +seemed to have no family or blood ties of any sort. He never was known +to work with his hands; never to write with his hands (he would not even +write a letter); he never was known<a name="page_396"></a> to open a book. There were no books +in his chamber. Nevertheless, some day or other he must have read books, +but that time seemed gone now; as for the sleazy works that went under +his name, they were nothing more than his verbal things, taken down at +random, and bunglingly methodized by his young disciples.</p> + +<p>Finding Plinlimmon thus unfurnished either with books or pen and paper, +and imputing it to something like indigence, a foreign scholar, a rich +nobleman, who chanced to meet him once, sent him a fine supply of +stationery, with a very fine set of volumes,—Cardan, Epictetus, the +Book of Mormon, Abraham Tucker, Condorcet and the Zenda-Vesta. But this +noble foreign scholar calling next day—perhaps in expectation of some +compliment for his great kindness—started aghast at his own package +deposited just without the door of Plinlimmon, and with all fastenings +untouched.</p> + +<p>“Missent,” said Plotinus Plinlimmon placidly: “if any thing, I looked +for some choice Curaçoa from a nobleman like you. I should be very +happy, my dear Count, to accept a few jugs of choice Curaçoa.”</p> + +<p>“I thought that the society of which you are the head, excluded all +things of that sort”—replied the Count.</p> + +<p>“Dear Count, so they do; but Mohammed hath his own dispensation.”</p> + +<p>“Ah! I see,” said the noble scholar archly.</p> + +<p>“I am afraid you do not see, dear Count”—said Plinlimmon; and instantly +before the eyes of the Count, the inscrutable atmosphere eddied and +eddied roundabout this Plotinus Plinlimmon.</p> + +<p>His chance brushing encounter in the corridor was the first time that +ever Pierre had without medium beheld the form or the face of +Plinlimmon. Very early after taking chambers at the Apostles’, he had +been struck by a steady observant blue-eyed countenance at one of the +loftiest windows of the old gray<a name="page_397"></a> tower, which on the opposite side of +the quadrangular space, rose prominently before his own chamber. Only +through two panes of glass—his own and the stranger’s—had Pierre +hitherto beheld that remarkable face of repose,—repose neither divine +nor human, nor any thing made up of either or both—but a repose +separate and apart—a repose of a face by itself. One adequate look at +that face conveyed to most philosophical observers a notion of something +not before included in their scheme of the Universe.</p> + +<p>Now as to the mild sun, glass is no hindrance at all, but he transmits +his light and life through the glass; even so through Pierre’s panes did +the tower face transmit its strange mystery.</p> + +<p>Becoming more and more interested in this face, he had questioned +Millthorpe concerning it “Bless your soul”—replied Millthorpe—“that is +Plotinus Plinlimmon! our Grand Master, Plotinus Plinlimmon! By gad, you +must know Plotinus thoroughly, as I have long done. Come away with me, +now, and let me introduce you instanter to Plotinus Plinlimmon.”</p> + +<p>But Pierre declined; and could not help thinking, that though in all +human probability Plotinus well understood Millthorpe, yet Millthorpe +could hardly yet have wound himself into Plotinus;—though indeed +Plotinus—who at times was capable of assuming a very off-hand, +confidential, and simple, sophomorean air—might, for reasons best known +to himself, have tacitly pretended to Millthorpe, that he (Millthorpe) +had thoroughly wriggled himself into his (Plotinus’) innermost soul.</p> + +<p>A man will be given a book, and when the donor’s back is turned, will +carelessly drop it in the first corner; he is not over-anxious to be +bothered with the book. But now personally point out to him the author, +and ten to one he goes back to the corner, picks up the book, dusts the +cover, and very carefully reads that invaluable work. One does not +vitally believe in a man till one’s own two eyes have beheld him. If +then, by<a name="page_398"></a> the force of peculiar circumstances, Pierre while in the +stage, had formerly been drawn into an attentive perusal of the work on +“Chronometricals and Horologicals;” how then was his original interest +heightened by catching a subsequent glimpse of the author. But at the +first reading, not being able—as he thought—to master the pivot-idea +of the pamphlet; and as every incomprehended idea is not only a +perplexity but a taunting reproach to one’s mind, Pierre had at last +ceased studying it altogether; nor consciously troubled himself further +about it during the remainder of the journey. But still thinking now it +might possibly have been mechanically retained by him, he searched all +the pockets of his clothes, but without success. He begged Millthorpe to +do his best toward procuring him another copy; but it proved impossible +to find one. Plotinus himself could not furnish it.</p> + +<p>Among other efforts, Pierre in person had accosted a limping half-deaf +old book-stall man, not very far from the Apostles’. “Have you the +‘<i>Chronometrics</i>,’ my friend?” forgetting the exact title.</p> + +<p>“Very bad, very bad!” said the old man, rubbing his back;—“has had the +<i>chronic-rheumatics</i> ever so long; what’s good for ’em?”</p> + +<p>Perceiving his mistake, Pierre replied that he did not know what was the +infallible remedy.</p> + +<p>“Whist! let me tell ye, then, young ’un,” said the old cripple, limping +close up to him, and putting his mouth in Pierre’s ear—“Never catch +’em!—now’s the time, while you’re young:—never catch ’em!”</p> + +<p>By-and-by the blue-eyed, mystic-mild face in the upper window of the old +gray tower began to domineer in a very remarkable manner upon Pierre. +When in his moods of peculiar depression and despair; when dark thoughts +of his miserable condition would steal over him; and black doubts as to +the integrity of his unprecedented course in life would most +malignantly<a name="page_399"></a> suggest themselves; when a thought of the vanity of his +deep book would glidingly intrude; if glancing at his closet-window that +mystic-mild face met Pierre’s; under any of these influences the effect +was surprising, and not to be adequately detailed in any possible words.</p> + +<p>Vain! vain! vain! said the face to him. Fool! fool! fool! said the face +to him. Quit! quit! quit! said the face to him. But when he mentally +interrogated the face as to why it thrice said Vain! Fool! Quit! to him; +here there was no response. For that face did not respond to any thing. +Did I not say before that that face was something separate, and apart; a +face by itself? Now, any thing which is thus a thing by itself never +responds to any other thing. If to affirm, be to expand one’s isolated +self; and if to deny, be to contract one’s isolated self; then to +respond is a suspension of all isolation. Though this face in the tower +was so clear and so mild; though the gay youth Apollo was enshrined in +that eye, and paternal old Saturn sat cross-legged on that ivory brow; +yet somehow to Pierre the face at last wore a sort of malicious leer to +him. But the Kantists might say, that this was a <i>subjective</i> sort of +leer in Pierre. Any way, the face seemed to leer upon Pierre. And now it +said to him—<i>Ass! ass! ass!</i> This expression was insufferable. He +procured some muslin for his closet-window; and the face became +curtained like any portrait. But this did not mend the leer. Pierre knew +that still the face leered behind the muslin. What was most terrible was +the idea that by some magical means or other the face had got hold of +his secret. “Ay,” shuddered Pierre, “the face knows that Isabel is not +my wife! And that seems the reason it leers.”</p> + +<p>Then would all manner of wild fancyings float through his soul, and +detached sentences of the “Chronometrics” would vividly recur to +him—sentences before but imperfectly comprehended, but now shedding a +strange, baleful light upon his peculiar condition, and emphatically +denouncing it. Again he<a name="page_400"></a> tried his best to procure the pamphlet, to read +it now by the commentary of the mystic-mild face; again he searched +through the pockets of his clothes for the stage-coach copy, but in +vain.</p> + +<p>And when—at the critical moment of quitting his chambers that morning +of the receipt of the fatal tidings—the face itself—the man +himself—this inscrutable Plotinus Plinlimmon himself—did visibly brush +by him in the brick corridor, and all the trepidation he had ever before +felt at the mild-mystic aspect in the tower window, now redoubled upon +him, so that, as before said, he flushed, looked askance, and stammered +with his saluting hand to his hat;—then anew did there burn in him the +desire of procuring the pamphlet. “Cursed fate that I should have lost +it”—he cried;—“more cursed, that when I did have it, and did read it, +I was such a ninny as not to comprehend; and now it is all too late!”</p> + +<p>Yet—to anticipate here—when years after, an old Jew Clothesman +rummaged over a surtout of Pierre’s—which by some means had come into +his hands—his lynx-like fingers happened to feel something foreign +between the cloth and the heavy quilted bombazine lining. He ripped open +the skirt, and found several old pamphlet pages, soft and worn almost to +tissue, but still legible enough to reveal the title—“Chronometricals +and Horologicals.” Pierre must have ignorantly thrust it into his +pocket, in the stage, and it had worked through a rent there, and worked +its way clean down into the skirt, and there helped pad the padding. So +that all the time he was hunting for this pamphlet, he himself was +wearing the pamphlet. When he brushed past Plinlimmon in the brick +corridor, and felt that renewed intense longing for the pamphlet, then +his right hand was not two inches from the pamphlet.</p> + +<p>Possibly this curious circumstance may in some sort illustrate his +self-supposed non-understanding of the pamphlet, as<a name="page_401"></a> first read by him +in the stage. Could he likewise have carried about with him in his mind +the thorough understanding of the book, and yet not be aware that he so +understood it? I think that—regarded in one light—the final career of +Pierre will seem to show, that he <i>did</i> understand it. And here it may +be randomly suggested, by way of bagatelle, whether some things that men +think they do not know, are not for all that thoroughly comprehended by +them; and yet, so to speak, though contained in themselves, are kept a +secret from themselves? The idea of Death seems such a thing.<a name="page_402"></a></p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="BOOK_XXII"></a>BOOK XXII.<br /> +THE FLOWER-CURTAIN LIFTED FROM BEFORE A TROPICAL AUTHOR, WITH SOME +REMARKS ON THE TRANSCENDENTAL FLESH-BRUSH PHILOSOPHY.</h2> + +<h4>I.</h4> + +<p>S<small>OME</small> days passed after the fatal tidings from the Meadows, and at +length, somewhat mastering his emotions, Pierre again sits down in his +chamber; for grieve how he will, yet work he must. And now day succeeds +day, and week follows week, and Pierre still sits in his chamber. The +long rows of cooled brick-kilns around him scarce know of the change; +but from the fair fields of his great-great-great-grandfather’s manor, +Summer hath flown like a swallow-guest; the perfidious wight, Autumn, +hath peeped in at the groves of the maple, and under pretense of +clothing them in rich russet and gold, hath stript them at last of the +slightest rag, and then ran away laughing; prophetic icicles depend from +the arbors round about the old manorial mansion—now locked up and +abandoned; and the little, round, marble table in the viny summer-house +where, of July mornings, he had sat chatting and drinking negus with his +gay mother, is now spread with a shivering napkin of frost; sleety +varnish hath encrusted that once gay mother’s grave, preparing it for +its final cerements of wrapping snow upon snow; wild howl the winds in +the woods: it is Winter. Sweet Summer is done; and Autumn is done; but +the book, like the bitter winter, is yet to be finished.<a name="page_403"></a></p> + +<p>That season’s wheat is long garnered, Pierre; that season’s ripe apples +and grapes are in; no crop, no plant, no fruit is out; the whole harvest +is done. Oh, woe to that belated winter-overtaken plant, which the +summer could not bring to maturity! The drifting winter snows shall +whelm it. Think, Pierre, doth not thy plant belong to some other and +tropical clime? Though transplanted to northern Maine, the orange-tree +of the Floridas will put forth leaves in that parsimonious summer, and +show some few tokens of fruitage; yet November will find no golden +globes thereon; and the passionate old lumber-man, December, shall peel +the whole tree, wrench it off at the ground, and toss it for a fagot to +some lime-kiln. Ah, Pierre, Pierre, make haste! make haste! force thy +fruitage, lest the winter force thee.</p> + +<p>Watch yon little toddler, how long it is learning to stand by itself! +First it shrieks and implores, and will not try to stand at all, unless +both father and mother uphold it; then a little more bold, it must, at +least, feel one parental hand, else again the cry and the tremble; long +time is it ere by degrees this child comes to stand without any support. +But, by-and-by, grown up to man’s estate, it shall leave the very mother +that bore it, and the father that begot it, and cross the seas, perhaps, +or settle in far Oregon lands. There now, do you see the soul. In its +germ on all sides it is closely folded by the world, as the husk folds +the tenderest fruit; then it is born from the world-husk, but still now +outwardly clings to it;—still clamors for the support of its mother the +world, and its father the Deity. But it shall yet learn to stand +independent, though not without many a bitter wail, and many a miserable +fall.</p> + +<p>That hour of the life of a man when first the help of humanity fails +him, and he learns that in his obscurity and indigence humanity holds +him a dog and no man: that hour is a hard one, but not the hardest. +There is still another hour which follows, when he learns that in his +infinite comparative minuteness<a name="page_404"></a> and abjectness, the gods do likewise +despise him, and own him not of their clan. Divinity and humanity then +are equally willing that he should starve in the street for all that +either will do for him. Now cruel father and mother have both let go his +hand, and the little soul-toddler, now you shall hear his shriek and his +wail, and often his fall.</p> + +<p>When at Saddle Meadows, Pierre had wavered and trembled in those first +wretched hours ensuing upon the receipt of Isabel’s letter; then +humanity had let go the hand of Pierre, and therefore his cry; but when +at last inured to this, Pierre was seated at his book, willing that +humanity should desert him, so long as he thought he felt a far higher +support; then, ere long, he began to feel the utter loss of that other +support, too; ay, even the paternal gods themselves did now desert +Pierre; the toddler was toddling entirely alone, and not without +shrieks.</p> + +<p>If man must wrestle, perhaps it is well that it should be on the +nakedest possible plain.</p> + +<p>The three chambers of Pierre at the Apostles’ were connecting ones. The +first—having a little retreat where Delly slept—was used for the more +exacting domestic purposes: here also their meals were taken; the second +was the chamber of Isabel; the third was the closet of Pierre. In the +first—the dining room, as they called it—there was a stove which +boiled the water for their coffee and tea, and where Delly concocted +their light repasts. This was their only fire; for, warned again and +again to economize to the uttermost, Pierre did not dare to purchase any +additional warmth. But by prudent management, a very little warmth may +go a great way. In the present case, it went some forty feet or more. A +horizontal pipe, after elbowing away from above the stove in the +dining-room, pierced the partition wall, and passing straight through +Isabel’s chamber, entered the closet of Pierre at one corner, and then +abruptly disappeared into the wall, where all further caloric—if +any—went<a name="page_405"></a> up through the chimney into the air, to help warm the +December sun. Now, the great distance of Pierre’s calorical stream from +its fountain, sadly impaired it, and weakened it. It hardly had the +flavor of heat. It would have had but very inconsiderable influence in +raising the depressed spirits of the most mercurial thermometer; +certainly it was not very elevating to the spirits of Pierre. Besides, +this calorical stream, small as it was, did not flow through the room, +but only entered it, to elbow right out of it, as some coquettish +maidens enter the heart; moreover, it was in the furthest corner from +the only place where, with a judicious view to the light, Pierre’s +desk-barrels and board could advantageously stand. Often, Isabel +insisted upon his having a separate stove to himself; but Pierre would +not listen to such a thing. Then Isabel would offer her own room to him; +saying it was of no indispensable use to her by day; she could easily +spend her time in the dining-room; but Pierre would not listen to such a +thing; he would not deprive her of the comfort of a continually +accessible privacy; besides, he was now used to his own room, and must +sit by that particular window there, and no other. Then Isabel would +insist upon keeping her connecting door open while Pierre was employed +at his desk, that so the heat of her room might bodily go into his; but +Pierre would not listen to such a thing: because he must be religiously +locked up while at work; outer love and hate must alike be excluded +then. In vain Isabel said she would make not the slightest noise, and +muffle the point of the very needle she used. All in vain. Pierre was +inflexible here.</p> + +<p>Yes, he was resolved to battle it out in his own solitary closet; though +a strange, transcendental conceit of one of the more erratic and +non-conforming Apostles,—who was also at this time engaged upon a +profound work above stairs, and who denied himself his full sufficiency +of food, in order to insure an abundant fire;—the strange conceit of +this Apostle, I say,<a name="page_406"></a>—accidentally communicated to Pierre,—that, +through all the kingdoms of Nature, caloric was the great universal +producer and vivifyer, and could not be prudently excluded from the spot +where great books were in the act of creation; and therefore, he (the +Apostle) for one, was resolved to plant his head in a hot-bed of +stove-warmed air, and so force his brain to germinate and blossom, and +bud, and put forth the eventual, crowning, victorious flower;—though +indeed this conceit rather staggered Pierre—for in truth, there was no +small smack of plausible analogy in it—yet one thought of his purse +would wholly expel the unwelcome intrusion, and reinforce his own +previous resolve.</p> + +<p>However lofty and magnificent the movements of the stars; whatever +celestial melodies they may thereby beget; yet the astronomers assure us +that they are the most rigidly methodical of all the things that exist. +No old housewife goes her daily domestic round with one millionth part +the precision of the great planet Jupiter in his stated and unalterable +revolutions. He has found his orbit, and stays in it; he has timed +himself, and adheres to his periods. So, in some degree with Pierre, now +revolving in the troubled orbit of his book.</p> + +<p>Pierre rose moderately early; and the better to inure himself to the +permanent chill of his room, and to defy and beard to its face, the +cruelest cold of the outer air; he would—behind the curtain—throw down +the upper sash of his window; and on a square of old painted canvas, +formerly wrapping some bale of goods in the neighborhood, treat his +limbs, of those early December mornings, to a copious ablution, in water +thickened with incipient ice. Nor, in this stoic performance, was he at +all without company,—not present, but adjoiningly sympathetic; for +scarce an Apostle in all those scores and scores of chambers, but +undeviatingly took his daily December bath. Pierre had only to peep out +of his pane and glance round the multi-windowed, inclosing walls of the +quadrangle,<a name="page_407"></a> to catch plentiful half-glimpses, all round him, of many a +lean, philosophical nudity, refreshing his meager bones with crash-towel +and cold water. “Quick be the play,” was their motto: “Lively our +elbows, and nimble all our tenuities.” Oh, the dismal echoings of the +raspings of flesh-brushes, perverted to the filing and polishing of the +merest ribs! Oh, the shuddersome splashings of pails of ice-water over +feverish heads, not unfamiliar with aches! Oh, the rheumatical +cracklings of rusted joints, in that defied air of December! for every +thick-frosted sash was down, and every lean nudity courted the zephyr!</p> + +<p>Among all the innate, hyena-like repellants to the reception of any set +form of a spiritually-minded and pure archetypical faith, there is +nothing so potent in its skeptical tendencies, as that inevitable +perverse ridiculousness, which so often bestreaks some of the +essentially finest and noblest aspirations of those men, who disgusted +with the common conventional quackeries, strive, in their clogged +terrestrial humanities, after some imperfectly discerned, but heavenly +ideals: ideals, not only imperfectly discerned in themselves, but the +path to them so little traceable, that no two minds will entirely agree +upon it.</p> + +<p>Hardly a new-light Apostle, but who, in superaddition to his +revolutionary scheme for the minds and philosophies of men, entertains +some insane, heterodoxical notions about the economy of his body. His +soul, introduced by the gentlemanly gods, into the supernal +society,—practically rejects that most sensible maxim of men of the +world, who chancing to gain the friendship of any great character, never +make that the ground of boring him with the supplemental acquaintance of +their next friend, who perhaps, is some miserable ninny. Love me, love +my dog, is only an adage for the old country-women who affectionately +kiss their cows. The gods love the soul of a man; often, they will +frankly accost it; but they abominate his body; and will forever cut it +dead, both here and hereafter.<a name="page_408"></a> So, if thou wouldst go to the gods, +leave thy dog of a body behind thee. And most impotently thou strivest +with thy purifying cold baths, and thy diligent scrubbings with +flesh-brushes, to prepare it as a meet offering for their altar. Nor +shall all thy Pythagorean and Shellian dietings on apple-parings, dried +prunes, and crumbs of oat-meal cracker, ever fit thy body for heaven. +Feed all things with food convenient for them,—that is, if the food be +procurable. The food of thy soul is light and space; feed it then on +light and space. But the food of thy body is champagne and oysters; feed +it then on champagne and oysters; and so shall it merit a joyful +resurrection, if there is any to be. Say, wouldst thou rise with a +lantern jaw and a spavined knee? Rise with brawn on thee, and a most +royal corporation before thee; so shalt thou in that day claim +respectful attention. Know this: that while many a consumptive dietarian +has but produced the merest literary flatulencies to the world; +convivial authors have alike given utterance to the sublimest wisdom, +and created the least gross and most ethereal forms. And for men of +demonstrative muscle and action, consider that right royal epitaph which +Cyrus the Great caused to be engraved on his tomb—“I could drink a +great deal of wine, and it did me a great deal of good.” Ah, foolish! to +think that by starving thy body, thou shalt fatten thy soul! Is yonder +ox fatted because yonder lean fox starves in the winter wood? And prate +not of despising thy body, while still thou flourisheth thy flesh-brush! +The finest houses are most cared for within; the outer walls are freely +left to the dust and the soot. Put venison in thee, and so wit shall +come out of thee. It is one thing in the mill, but another in the sack.</p> + +<p>Now it was the continual, quadrangular example of those forlorn fellows, +the Apostles, who, in this period of his half-developments and +transitions, had deluded Pierre into the Flesh-Brush Philosophy, and had +almost tempted him into the Apple-Parings<a name="page_409"></a> Dialectics. For all the long +wards, corridors, and multitudinous chambers of the Apostles’ were +scattered with the stems of apples, the stones of prunes, and the shells +of peanuts. They went about huskily muttering the Kantian Categories +through teeth and lips dry and dusty as any miller’s, with the crumbs of +Graham crackers. A tumbler of cold water was the utmost welcome to their +reception rooms; at the grand supposed Sanhedrim presided over by one of +the deputies of Plotinus Plinlimmon, a huge jug of Adam’s Ale, and a +bushel-basket of Graham crackers were the only convivials. Continually +bits of cheese were dropping from their pockets, and old shiny apple +parchments were ignorantly exhibited every time they drew out a +manuscript to read you. Some were curious in the vintages of waters; and +in three glass decanters set before you, Fairmount, Croton, and +Cochituate; they held that Croton was the most potent, Fairmount a +gentle tonic, and Cochituate the mildest and least inebriating of all. +Take some more of the Croton, my dear sir! Be brisk with the Fairmount! +Why stops that Cochituate? So on their philosophical tables went round +their Port, their Sherry, and their Claret.</p> + +<p>Some, further advanced, rejected mere water in the bath, as altogether +too coarse an element; and so, took to the Vapor-baths, and steamed +their lean ribs every morning. The smoke which issued from their heads, +and overspread their pages, was prefigured in the mists that issued from +under their door-sills and out of their windows. Some could not sit down +of a morning until after first applying the Vapor-bath outside and then +thoroughly rinsing out their interiors with five cups of cold Croton. +They were as faithfully replenished fire-buckets; and could they, +standing in one cordon, have consecutively pumped themselves into each +other, then the great fire of 1835 had been far less wide-spread and +disastrous.</p> + +<p>Ah! ye poor lean ones! ye wretched Soakites and Vaporites! have not your +niggardly fortunes enough rinsed ye out,<a name="page_410"></a> and wizened ye, but ye must +still be dragging the hose-pipe, and throwing still more cold Croton on +yourselves and the world? Ah! attach the screw of your hose-pipe to some +fine old butt of Madeira! pump us some sparkling wine into the world! +see, see, already, from all eternity, two-thirds of it have lain +helplessly soaking!</p> + +<hr /> + +<h4>II.</h4> + +<p>W<small>ITH</small> cheek rather pale, then, and lips rather blue, Pierre sits down to +his plank.</p> + +<p>But is Pierre packed in the mail for St. Petersburg this morning? Over +his boots are his moccasins; over his ordinary coat is his surtout; and +over that, a cloak of Isabel’s. Now he is squared to his plank; and at +his hint, the affectionate Isabel gently pushes his chair closer to it, +for he is so muffled, he can hardly move of himself. Now Delly comes in +with bricks hot from the stove; and now Isabel and she with devoted +solicitude pack away these comforting stones in the folds of an old blue +cloak, a military garment of the grandfather of Pierre, and tenderly +arrange it both over and under his feet; but putting the warm flagging +beneath. Then Delly brings still another hot brick to put under his +inkstand, to prevent the ink from thickening. Then Isabel drags the +camp-bedstead nearer to him, on which are the two or three books he may +possibly have occasion to refer to that day, with a biscuit or two, and +some water, and a clean towel, and a basin. Then she leans against the +plank by the elbow of Pierre, a crook-ended stick. Is Pierre a shepherd, +or a bishop, or a cripple? No, but he has in effect, reduced himself to +the miserable condition of the last. With the crook-ended cane, +Pierre—unable to rise without sadly impairing his manifold +intrenchments, and admitting the cold<a name="page_411"></a> air into their innermost +nooks,—Pierre, if in his solitude, he should chance to need any thing +beyond the reach of his arm, then the crook-ended cane drags it to his +immediate vicinity.</p> + +<p>Pierre glances slowly all round him; every thing seems to be right; he +looks up with a grateful, melancholy satisfaction at Isabel; a tear +gathers in her eye; but she conceals it from him by coming very close to +him, stooping over, and kissing his brow. ’Tis her lips that leave the +warm moisture there; not her tears, she says.</p> + +<p>“I suppose I must go now, Pierre. Now don’t, don’t be so long to-day. I +will call thee at half-past four. Thou shalt not strain thine eyes in +the twilight.”</p> + +<p>“We will <i>see</i> about that,” says Pierre, with an unobserved attempt at a +very sad pun. “Come, thou must go. Leave me.”</p> + +<p>And there he is left.</p> + +<p>Pierre is young; heaven gave him the divinest, freshest form of a man; +put light into his eye, and fire into his blood, and brawn into his arm, +and a joyous, jubilant, overflowing, upbubbling, universal life in him +everywhere. Now look around in that most miserable room, and at that +most miserable of all the pursuits of a man, and say if here be the +place, and this be the trade, that God intended him for. A rickety +chair, two hollow barrels, a plank, paper, pens, and infernally black +ink, four leprously dingy white walls, no carpet, a cup of water, and a +dry biscuit or two. Oh, I hear the leap of the Texan Camanche, as at +this moment he goes crashing like a wild deer through the green +underbrush; I hear his glorious whoop of savage and untamable health; +and then I look in at Pierre. If physical, practical unreason make the +savage, which is he? Civilization, Philosophy, Ideal Virtue! behold your +victim!<a name="page_412"></a></p> + +<hr /> + +<h4>III.</h4> + +<p>S<small>OME</small> hours pass. Let us peep over the shoulder of Pierre, and see what +it is he is writing there, in that most melancholy closet. Here, topping +the reeking pile by his side, is the last sheet from his hand, the +frenzied ink not yet entirely dry. It is much to our purpose; for in +this sheet, he seems to have directly plagiarized from his own +experiences, to fill out the mood of his apparent author-hero, Vivia, +who thus soliloquizes: “A deep-down, unutterable mournfulness is in me. +Now I drop all humorous or indifferent disguises, and all philosophical +pretensions. I own myself a brother of the clod, a child of the Primeval +Gloom. Hopelessness and despair are over me, as pall on pall. Away, ye +chattering apes of a sophomorean Spinoza and Plato, who once didst all +but delude me that the night was day, and pain only a tickle. Explain +this darkness, exorcise this devil, ye can not. Tell me not, thou +inconceivable coxcomb of a Goethe, that the universe can not spare thee +and thy immortality, so long as—like a hired waiter—thou makest +thyself ‘generally useful.’ Already the universe gets on without thee, +and could still spare a million more of the same identical kidney. +Corporations have no souls, and thy Pantheism, what was that? Thou wert +but the pretensious, heartless part of a man. Lo! I hold thee in this +hand, and thou art crushed in it like an egg from which the meat hath +been sucked.”</p> + +<p>Here is a slip from the floor.</p> + +<p>“Whence flow the panegyrical melodies that precede the march of these +heroes? From what but from a sounding brass and a tinkling cymbal!”</p> + +<p>And here is a second.</p> + +<p>“Cast thy eye in there on Vivia; tell me why those four limbs should be +clapt in a dismal jail—day out, day in—week out, week in—month out, +month in—and himself the voluntary<a name="page_413"></a> jailer! Is this the end of +philosophy? This the larger, and spiritual life? This your boasted +empyrean? Is it for this that a man should grow wise, and leave off his +most excellent and calumniated folly?”</p> + +<p>And here is a third.</p> + +<p>“Cast thy eye in there on Vivia; he, who in the pursuit of the highest +health of virtue and truth, shows but a pallid cheek! Weigh his heart in +thy hand, oh, thou gold-laced, virtuoso Goethe! and tell me whether it +does not exceed thy standard weight!”</p> + +<p>And here is a fourth.</p> + +<p>“Oh God, that man should spoil and rust on the stalk, and be wilted and +threshed ere the harvest hath come! And oh God, that men that call +themselves men should still insist on a laugh! I hate the world, and +could trample all lungs of mankind as grapes, and heel them out of their +breath, to think of the woe and the cant,—to think of the Truth and the +Lie! Oh! blessed be the twenty-first day of December, and cursed be the +twenty-first day of June!”</p> + +<p>From these random slips, it would seem, that Pierre is quite conscious +of much that is so anomalously hard and bitter in his lot, of much that +is so black and terrific in his soul. Yet that knowing his fatal +condition does not one whit enable him to change or better his +condition. Conclusive proof that he has no power over his condition. For +in tremendous extremities human souls are like drowning men; well enough +they know they are in peril; well enough they know the causes of that +peril;—nevertheless, the sea is the sea, and these drowning men do +drown.<a name="page_414"></a></p> + +<hr /> + +<h4>IV.</h4> + +<p>F<small>ROM</small> eight o’clock in the morning till half-past four in the evening, +Pierre sits there in his room;—eight hours and a half!</p> + +<p>From throbbing neck-bands, and swinging belly-bands of gay-hearted +horses, the sleigh-bells chimingly jingle;—but Pierre sits there in his +room; Thanksgiving comes, with its glad thanks, and crisp turkeys;—but +Pierre sits there in his room; soft through the snows, on tinted Indian +moccasin, Merry Christmas comes stealing;—but Pierre sits there in his +room; it is New-Year’s, and like a great flagon, the vast city overbrims +at all curb-stones, wharves, and piers, with bubbling jubilations;—but +Pierre sits there in his room:—Nor jingling sleigh-bells at throbbing +neck-band, or swinging belly-band; nor glad thanks, and crisp turkeys of +Thanksgiving; nor tinted Indian moccasin of Merry Christmas softly +stealing through the snows; nor New-Year’s curb-stones, wharves, and +piers, over-brimming with bubbling jubilations:—Nor jingling +sleigh-bells, nor glad Thanksgiving, nor Merry Christmas, nor jubilating +New Year’s:—Nor Bell, Thank, Christ, Year;—none of these are for +Pierre. In the midst of the merriments of the mutations of Time, Pierre +hath ringed himself in with the grief of Eternity. Pierre is a peak +inflexible in the heart of Time, as the isle-peak, Piko, stands +unassaultable in the midst of waves.</p> + +<p>He will not be called to; he will not be stirred. Sometimes the intent +ear of Isabel in the next room, overhears the alternate silence, and +then the long lonely scratch of his pen. It is, as if she heard the busy +claw of some midnight mole in the ground. Sometimes, she hears a low +cough, and sometimes the scrape of his crook-handled cane.</p> + +<p>Here surely is a wonderful stillness of eight hours and a half, repeated +day after day. In the heart of such silence, surely something is at +work. Is it creation, or destruction?<a name="page_415"></a> Builds Pierre the noble world of +a new book? or does the Pale Haggardness unbuild the lungs and the life +in him?—Unutterable, that a man should be thus!</p> + +<p>When in the meridian flush of the day, we recall the black apex of +night; then night seems impossible; this sun can never go down. Oh that +the memory of the uttermost gloom as an already tasted thing to the +dregs, should be no security against its return. One may be passibly +well one day, but the next, he may sup at black broth with Pluto.</p> + +<p>Is there then all this work to one book, which shall be read in a very +few hours; and, far more frequently, utterly skipped in one second; and +which, in the end, whatever it be, must undoubtedly go to the worms?</p> + +<p>Not so; that which now absorbs the time and the life of Pierre, is not +the book, but the primitive elementalizing of the strange stuff, which +in the act of attempting that book, have upheaved and upgushed in his +soul. Two books are being writ; of which the world shall only see one, +and that the bungled one. The larger book, and the infinitely better, is +for Pierre’s own private shelf. That it is, whose unfathomable cravings +drink his blood; the other only demands his ink. But circumstances have +so decreed, that the one can not be composed on the paper, but only as +the other is writ down in his soul. And the one of the soul is +elephantinely sluggish, and will not budge at a breath. Thus Pierre is +fastened on by two leeches;—how then can the life of Pierre last? Lo! +he is fitting himself for the highest life, by thinning his blood and +collapsing his heart. He is learning how to live, by rehearsing the part +of death.</p> + +<p>Who shall tell all the thoughts and feelings of Pierre in that desolate +and shivering room, when at last the idea obtruded, that the wiser and +the profounder he should grow, the more and the more he lessened the +chances for bread; that could he now hurl his deep book out of the +window, and fall to<a name="page_416"></a> on some shallow nothing of a novel, composable in a +month at the longest, then could he reasonably hope for both +appreciation and cash. But the devouring profundities, now opened up in +him, consume all his vigor; would he, he could not now be entertainingly +and profitably shallow in some pellucid and merry romance. Now he sees, +that with every accession of the personal divine to him, some great +land-slide of the general surrounding divineness slips from him, and +falls crashing away. Said I not that the gods, as well as mankind, had +unhanded themselves from this Pierre? So now in him you behold the baby +toddler I spoke of; forced now to stand and toddle alone.</p> + +<p>Now and then he turns to the camp-bed, and wetting his towel in the +basin, presses it against his brow. Now he leans back in his chair, as +if to give up; but again bends over and plods.</p> + +<p>Twilight draws on, the summons of Isabel is heard from the door; the +poor, frozen, blue-lipped, soul-shivering traveler for St. Petersburg is +unpacked; and for a moment stands toddling on the floor. Then his hat, +and his cane, and out he sallies for fresh air. A most comfortless +staggering of a stroll! People gaze at him passing, as at some imprudent +sick man, willfully burst from his bed. If an acquaintance is met, and +would say a pleasant newsmonger’s word in his ear, that acquaintance +turns from him, affronted at his hard aspect of icy discourtesy. +“Bad-hearted,” mutters the man, and goes on.</p> + +<p>He comes back to his chambers, and sits down at the neat table of Delly; +and Isabel soothingly eyes him, and presses him to eat and be strong. +But his is the famishing which loathes all food. He can not eat but by +force. He has assassinated the natural day; how then can he eat with an +appetite? If he lays him down, he can not sleep; he has waked the +infinite wakefulness in him; then how can he slumber? Still his book, +like a vast lumbering planet, revolves in his aching<a name="page_417"></a> head. He can not +command the thing out of its orbit; fain would he behead himself, to +gain one night’s repose. At last the heavy hours move on; and sheer +exhaustion overtakes him, and he lies still—not asleep as children and +day-laborers sleep—but he lies still from his throbbings, and for that +interval holdingly sheaths the beak of the vulture in his hand, and lets +it not enter his heart.</p> + +<p>Morning comes; again the dropt sash, the icy water, the flesh-brush, the +breakfast, the hot bricks, the ink, the pen, the +from-eight-o’clock-to-half-past-four, and the whole general inclusive +hell of the same departed day.</p> + +<p>Ah! shivering thus day after day in his wrappers and cloaks, is this the +warm lad that once sung to the world of the Tropical Summer?<a name="page_418"></a></p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="BOOK_XXIII"></a>BOOK XXIII.<br /> +A LETTER FOR PIERRE. ISABEL. ARRIVAL OF LUCY’S EASEL AND TRUNKS AT THE +APOSTLES’.</h2> + +<h4>I.</h4> + +<p>I<small>F</small> a frontier man be seized by wild Indians, and carried far and deep +into the wilderness, and there held a captive, with no slightest +probability of eventual deliverance; then the wisest thing for that man +is to exclude from his memory by every possible method, the least images +of those beloved objects now forever reft from him. For the more +delicious they were to him in the now departed possession, so much the +more agonizing shall they be in the present recalling. And though a +strong man may sometimes succeed in strangling such tormenting memories; +yet, if in the beginning permitted to encroach upon him unchecked, the +same man shall, in the end, become as an idiot. With a continent and an +ocean between him and his wife—thus sundered from her, by whatever +imperative cause, for a term of long years;—the husband, if +passionately devoted to her, and by nature broodingly sensitive of soul, +is wise to forget her till he embrace her again;—is wise never to +remember her if he hear of her death. And though such complete suicidal +forgettings prove practically impossible, yet is it the shallow and +ostentatious affections alone which are bustling in the offices of +obituarian memories. <i>The love deep as death</i>—what mean those five +words, but that such love can not<a name="page_419"></a> live, and be continually remembering +that the loved one is no more? If it be thus then in cases where entire +unremorsefulness as regards the beloved absent objects is presumed, how +much more intolerable, when the knowledge of their hopeless wretchedness +occurs, attended by the visitations of before latent upbraidings in the +rememberer as having been any way—even unwillingly—the producers of +their sufferings. There seems no other sane recourse for some moody +organizations on whom such things, under such circumstances intrude, but +right and left to flee them, whatever betide.</p> + +<p>If little or nothing hitherto has been said of Lucy Tartan in reference +to the condition of Pierre after his departure from the Meadows, it has +only been because her image did not willingly occupy his soul. He had +striven his utmost to banish it thence; and only once—on receiving the +tidings of Glen’s renewed attentions—did he remit the intensity of +those strivings, or rather feel them, as impotent in him in that hour of +his manifold and overwhelming prostration.</p> + +<p>Not that the pale form of Lucy, swooning on her snow-white bed; not that +the inexpressible anguish of the shriek—“My heart! my heart!” would not +now at times force themselves upon him, and cause his whole being to +thrill with a nameless horror and terror. But the very thrillingness of +the phantom made him to shun it, with all remaining might of his spirit.</p> + +<p>Nor were there wanting still other, and far more wonderful, though but +dimly conscious influences in the breast of Pierre, to meet as +repellants the imploring form. Not to speak of his being devoured by the +all-exacting theme of his book, there were sinister preoccupations in +him of a still subtler and more fearful sort, of which some inklings +have already been given.</p> + +<p>It was while seated solitary in his room one morning; his flagging +faculties seeking a momentary respite; his head sideways turned toward +the naked floor, following the seams in it, which, as wires, led +straight from where he sat to the connecting<a name="page_420"></a> door, and disappeared +beneath it into the chamber of Isabel; that he started at a tap at that +very door, followed by the wonted, low, sweet voice,—</p> + +<p>“Pierre! a letter for thee—dost thou hear? a letter,—may I come in?”</p> + +<p>At once he felt a dart of surprise and apprehension; for he was +precisely in that general condition with respect to the outer world, +that he could not reasonably look for any tidings but disastrous, or at +least, unwelcome ones. He assented; and Isabel entered, holding out the +billet in her hand.</p> + +<p>“’Tis from some lady, Pierre; who can it be?—not thy mother though, of +that I am certain;—the expression of her face, as seen by me, not at +all answering to the expression of this handwriting here.”</p> + +<p>“My mother? from my mother?” muttered Pierre, in wild vacancy—“no! no! +it can scarce be from her.—Oh, she writes no more, even in her own +private tablets now! Death hath stolen the last leaf, and rubbed all +out, to scribble his own ineffaceable <i>hic jacet</i> there!”</p> + +<p>“Pierre!” cried Isabel, in affright.</p> + +<p>“Give it me!” he shouted, vehemently, extending his hand. “Forgive me, +sweet, sweet Isabel, I have wandered in my mind; this book makes me mad. +There; I have it now”—in a tone of indifference—“now, leave me again. +It is from some pretty aunt, or cousin, I suppose,” carelessly balancing +the letter in his hand.</p> + +<p>Isabel quitted the room; the moment the door closed upon her, Pierre +eagerly split open the letter, and read:—<a name="page_421"></a></p> + +<hr /> + +<h4>II.</h4> + +<p>“This morning I vowed it, my own dearest, dearest Pierre I feel stronger +to-day; for to-day I have still more thought of thine own superhuman, +angelical strength; which so, has a very little been transferred to me. +Oh, Pierre, Pierre, with what words shall I write thee now;—now, when +still knowing nothing, yet something of thy secret I, as a seer, +suspect. Grief,—deep, unspeakable grief, hath made me this seer. I +could murder myself, Pierre, when I think of my previous blindness; but +that only came from my swoon. It was horrible and most murdersome; but +now I see thou wert right in being so instantaneous with me, and in +never afterward writing to me, Pierre; yes, now I see it, and adore thee +the more.</p> + +<p>“Ah! thou too noble and angelical Pierre, now I feel that a being like +thee, can possibly have no love as other men love; but thou lovest as +angels do; not for thyself, but wholly for others. But still are we one, +Pierre; thou art sacrificing thyself, and I hasten to re-tie myself to +thee, that so I may catch thy fire, and all the ardent multitudinous +arms of our common flames may embrace. I will ask of thee nothing, +Pierre; thou shalt tell me no secret. Very right wert thou, Pierre, +when, in that ride to the hills, thou wouldst not swear the fond, +foolish oath I demanded. Very right, very right; now I see it.</p> + +<p>“If then I solemnly vow, never to seek from thee any slightest thing +which thou wouldst not willingly have me know; if ever I, in all outward +actions, shall recognize, just as thou dost, the peculiar position of +that mysterious, and ever-sacred being;—then, may I not come and live +with thee? I will be no encumbrance to thee. I know just where thou art, +and how thou art living; and only just there, Pierre, and only just so, +is any further life endurable, or possible for me. She will never +know—for thus far I am sure thou thyself hast never disclosed it to +her<a name="page_422"></a> what I once was to thee. Let it seem, as though I were some +nun-like cousin immovably vowed to dwell with thee in thy strange exile. +Show not to me,—never show more any visible conscious token of love. I +will never to thee. Our mortal lives, oh, my heavenly Pierre, shall +henceforth be one mute wooing of each other; with no declaration; no +bridal; till we meet in the pure realms of God’s final blessedness for +us;—till we meet where the ever-interrupting and ever-marring world can +not and shall not come; where all thy hidden, glorious unselfishness +shall be gloriously revealed in the full splendor of that heavenly +light; where, no more forced to these cruelest disguises, she, <i>she</i> too +shall assume her own glorious place, nor take it hard, but rather feel +the more blessed, when, there, thy sweet heart, shall be openly and +unreservedly mine. Pierre, Pierre, my Pierre!—only this thought, this +hope, this sublime faith now supports me. Well was it, that the swoon, +in which thou didst leave me, that long eternity ago—well was it, dear +Pierre, that though I came out of it to stare and grope, yet it was only +to stare and grope, and then I swooned again, and then groped again, and +then again swooned. But all this was vacancy; little I clutched; nothing +I knew; ’twas less than a dream, my Pierre, I had no conscious thought +of thee, love; but felt an utter blank, a vacancy;—for wert thou not +then utterly gone from me? and what could there then be left of poor +Lucy?—But now, this long, long swoon is past; I come out again into +life and light; but how could I come out, how could I any way <i>be</i>, my +Pierre, if not in thee? So the moment I came out of the long, long +swoon, straightway came to me the immortal faith in thee, which though +it could offer no one slightest possible argument of mere sense in thy +behalf, yet was it only the more mysteriously imperative for that, my +Pierre. Know then, dearest Pierre, that with every most glaring earthly +reason to disbelieve in thy love; I do yet wholly give myself up to the +unshakable belief in it. For I feel, that always is love love, and can +not<a name="page_423"></a> know change, Pierre; I feel that heaven hath called me to a +wonderful office toward thee. By throwing me into that long, long +swoon,—during which, Martha tells me, I hardly ate altogether, three +ordinary meals,—by that, heaven, I feel now, was preparing me for the +superhuman office I speak of; was wholly estranging me from this earth, +even while I yet lingered in it; was fitting me for a celestial mission +in terrestrial elements. Oh, give to me of thine own dear strength! I am +but a poor weak girl, dear Pierre; one that didst once love thee but too +fondly, and with earthly frailty. But now I shall be wafted far upward +from that; shall soar up to thee, where thou sittest in thine own calm, +sublime heaven of heroism.</p> + +<p>“Oh seek not to dissuade me, Pierre. Wouldst thou slay me, and slay me a +million times more? and never have done with murdering me? I must come! +I must come! God himself can not stay me, for it is He that commands +me.—I know all that will follow my flight to thee;—my amazed mother, +my enraged brothers, the whole taunting and despising world.—But thou +art my mother and my brothers, and all the world, and all heaven, and +all the universe to me—thou <i>art</i> my Pierre. One only being does this +soul in me serve—and that is thee, Pierre.—So I am coming to thee, +Pierre, and quickly;—to-morrow it shall be, and never more will I quit +thee, Pierre. Speak thou immediately to her about me; thou shalt know +best what to say. Is there not some connection between our families, +Pierre? I have heard my mother sometimes trace such a thing out,—some +indirect cousinship. If thou approvest then, thou shalt say to her, I am +thy cousin, Pierre;—thy resolved and immovable nun-like cousin; vowed +to dwell with thee forever; to serve thee and her, to guard thee and her +without end. Prepare some little corner for me somewhere; but let it be +very near. Ere I come, I shall send a few little things,—the tools I +shall work by, Pierre, and so contribute to the welfare of all. Look for +me then. I am coming! I am<a name="page_424"></a> coming, my Pierre; for a deep, deep voice +assures me, that all noble as thou art, Pierre, some terrible jeopardy +involves thee, which my continual presence only can drive away. I am +coming! I am coming!”</p> + +<p class="r">L<small>UCY.</small></p> + +<hr /> + +<h4>III.</h4> + +<p>W<small>HEN</small> surrounded by the base and mercenary crew, man, too long wonted to +eye his race with a suspicious disdain, suddenly is brushed by some +angelical plume of humanity, and the human accents of superhuman love, +and the human eyes of superhuman beauty and glory, suddenly burst on his +being; then how wonderful and fearful the shock! It is as if the +sky-cope were rent, and from the black valley of Jehoshaphat, he caught +upper glimpses of the seraphim in the visible act of adoring.</p> + +<p>He held the artless, angelical letter in his unrealizing hand; he +started, and gazed round his room, and out at the window, commanding the +bare, desolate, all-forbidding quadrangle, and then asked himself +whether this was the place that an angel should choose for its visit to +earth. Then he felt a vast, out-swelling triumphantness, that the girl +whose rare merits his intuitive soul had once so clearly and +passionately discerned, should indeed, in this most tremendous of all +trials, have acquitted herself with such infinite majesty. Then again, +he sunk utterly down from her, as in a bottomless gulf, and ran +shuddering through hideous galleries of despair, in pursuit of some +vague, white shape, and lo! two unfathomable dark eyes met his, and +Isabel stood mutely and mournfully, yet all-ravishingly before him.</p> + +<p>He started up from his plank; cast off his manifold wrappings, and +crossed the floor to remove himself from the spot,<a name="page_425"></a> where such sweet, +such sublime, such terrific revelations had been made him.</p> + +<p>Then a timid little rap was heard at the door.</p> + +<p>“Pierre, Pierre; now that thou art risen, may I not come in—just for a +moment, Pierre.”</p> + +<p>“Come in, Isabel.”</p> + +<p>She was approaching him in her wonted most strange and sweetly mournful +manner, when he retreated a step from her, and held out his arm, not +seemingly to invite, but rather as if to warn.</p> + +<p>She looked fixedly in his face, and stood rooted.</p> + +<p>“Isabel, another is coming to me. Thou dost not speak, Isabel. She is +coming to dwell with us so long as we live, Isabel. Wilt thou not +speak?”</p> + +<p>The girl still stood rooted; the eyes, which she had first fixed on him, +still remained wide-openly riveted.</p> + +<p>“Wilt thou not speak, Isabel?” said Pierre, terrified at her frozen, +immovable aspect, yet too terrified to manifest his own terror to her; +and still coming slowly near her. She slightly raised one arm, as if to +grasp some support; then turned her head slowly sideways toward the door +by which she had entered; then her dry lips slowly parted—“My bed; lay +me; lay me!”</p> + +<p>The verbal effort broke her stiffening enchantment of frost; her thawed +form sloped sidelong into the air; but Pierre caught her, and bore her +into her own chamber, and laid her there on the bed.</p> + +<p>“Fan me; fan me!”</p> + +<p>He fanned the fainting flame of her life; by-and-by she turned slowly +toward him.</p> + +<p>“Oh! that feminine word from thy mouth, dear Pierre:—that <i>she</i>, that +<i>she</i>!”</p> + +<p>Pierre sat silent, fanning her.</p> + +<p>“Oh, I want none in the world but thee, my brother—but<a name="page_426"></a> thee, but thee! +and, oh God! am <i>I</i> not enough for thee? Bare earth with my brother were +all heaven for me; but all my life, all my full soul, contents not my +brother.”</p> + +<p>Pierre spoke not; he but listened; a terrible, burning curiosity was in +him, that made him as heartless. But still all that she had said thus +far was ambiguous.</p> + +<p>“Had I known—had I but known it before! Oh bitterly cruel to reveal it +now. That <i>she</i>! That <i>she</i>!”</p> + +<p>She raised herself suddenly, and almost fiercely confronted him.</p> + +<p>“Either thou hast told thy secret, or she is not worthy the commonest +love of man! Speak Pierre,—which?”</p> + +<p>“The secret is still a secret, Isabel.”</p> + +<p>“Then is she worthless, Pierre, whoever she be—foolishly, madly +fond!—Doth not the world know me for thy wife?—She shall not come! +’Twere a foul blot on thee and me. She shall not come! One look from me +shall murder her, Pierre!”</p> + +<p>“This is madness, Isabel. Look: now reason with me. Did I not before +opening the letter, say to thee, that doubtless it was from some pretty +young aunt or cousin?”</p> + +<p>“Speak quick!—a cousin?”</p> + +<p>“A cousin, Isabel.”</p> + +<p>“Yet, yet, that is not wholly out of the degree, I have heard. Tell me +more, and quicker! more! more!”</p> + +<p>“A very strange cousin, Isabel; almost a nun in her notions. Hearing of +our mysterious exile, she, without knowing the cause, hath yet as +mysteriously vowed herself ours—not so much mine, Isabel, as ours, +<i>ours</i>—to serve <i>us</i>; and by some sweet heavenly fancying, to guide us +and guard us here.”</p> + +<p>“Then, possibly, it may be all very well, Pierre, my brother—my +<i>brother</i>—I can say that now?”</p> + +<p>“Any,—all words are thine, Isabel; words and worlds with all their +containings, shall be slaves to thee, Isabel.”</p> + +<p>She looked eagerly and inquiringly at him; then dropped<a name="page_427"></a> her eyes, and +touched his hand; then gazed again. “Speak so more to me, Pierre! Thou +art my brother; art thou not my brother?—But tell me now more of—her; +it is all newness, and utter strangeness to me, Pierre.”</p> + +<p>“I have said, my sweetest sister, that she has this wild, nun-like +notion in her. She is willful in it; in this letter she vows she must +and will come, and nothing on earth shall stay her. Do not have any +sisterly jealousy, then, my sister. Thou wilt find her a most gentle, +unobtrusive, ministering girl, Isabel. She will never name the +not-to-be-named things to thee; nor hint of them; because she knows them +not. Still, without knowing the secret, she yet hath the vague, +unspecializing sensation of the secret—the mystical presentiment, +somehow, of the secret. And her divineness hath drowned all womanly +curiosity in her; so that she desires not, in any way, to verify the +presentiment; content with the vague presentiment only; for in that, she +thinks, the heavenly summons to come to us, lies;—even there, in that, +Isabel. Dost thou now comprehend me?”</p> + +<p>“I comprehend nothing, Pierre; there is nothing these eyes have ever +looked upon, Pierre, that this soul comprehended. Ever, as now, do I go +all a-grope amid the wide mysteriousness of things. Yes, she shall come; +it is only one mystery the more. Doth she talk in her sleep, Pierre? +Would it be well, if I slept with her, my brother?”</p> + +<p>“On thy account; wishful for thy sake; to leave thee incommoded; +and—and—not knowing precisely how things really are;—she probably +anticipates and desires otherwise, my sister.”</p> + +<p>She gazed steadfastly at his outwardly firm, but not interiorly +unfaltering aspect; and then dropped her glance in silence.</p> + +<p>“Yes, she shall come, my brother; she shall come. But it weaves its +thread into the general riddle, my brother.—Hath she that which they +call the memory, Pierre; the memory? Hath she that?”<a name="page_428"></a></p> + +<p>“We all have the memory, my sister.”</p> + +<p>“Not all! not all!—poor Bell hath but very little. Pierre! I have seen +her in some dream. She is fair-haired—blue eyes—she is not quite so +tall as I, yet a very little slighter.”</p> + +<p>Pierre started. “Thou hast seen Lucy Tartan, at Saddle Meadows?”</p> + +<p>“Is Lucy Tartan the name?—Perhaps, perhaps;—but also, in the dream, +Pierre; she came, with her blue eyes turned beseechingly on me; she +seemed as if persuading me from thee;—methought she was then more than +thy cousin;—methought she was that good angel, which some say, hovers +over every human soul; and methought—oh, methought that I was thy +other,—thy other angel, Pierre. Look: see these eyes,—this hair—nay, +this cheek;—all dark, dark, dark,—and she—the blue-eyed—the +fair-haired—oh, once the red-cheeked!”</p> + +<p>She tossed her ebon tresses over her; she fixed her ebon eyes on him.</p> + +<p>“Say, Pierre; doth not a funerealness invest me? Was ever hearse so +plumed?—Oh, God! that I had been born with blue eyes, and fair hair! +Those make the livery of heaven! Heard ye ever yet of a good angel with +dark eyes, Pierre?—no, no, no—all blue, blue, blue—heaven’s own +blue—the clear, vivid, unspeakable blue, which we see in June skies, +when all clouds are swept by.—But the good angel shall come to thee, +Pierre. Then both will be close by thee, my brother; and thou mayest +perhaps elect,—elect!—She shall come; she shall come.—When is it to +be, dear Pierre?”</p> + +<p>“To-morrow, Isabel. So it is here written.”</p> + +<p>She fixed her eye on the crumpled billet in his hand. “It were vile to +ask, but not wrong to suppose the asking.—Pierre,—no, I need not say +it,—wouldst thou?”</p> + +<p>“No; I would not let thee read it, my sister; I would not; because I +have no right to—no right—no right;—that is it; no: I have no right. +I will burn it this instant, Isabel.”<a name="page_429"></a></p> + +<p>He stepped from her into the adjoining room; threw the billet into the +stove, and watching its last ashes, returned to Isabel.</p> + +<p>She looked with endless intimations upon him.</p> + +<p>“It is burnt, but not consumed; it is gone, but not lost. Through stove, +pipe, and flue, it hath mounted in flame, and gone as a scroll to +heaven! It shall appear again, my brother.—Woe is me—woe, woe!—woe is +me, oh, woe! Do not speak to me, Pierre; leave me now. She shall come. +The Bad angel shall tend the Good; she shall dwell with us, Pierre. +Mistrust me not; her considerateness to me, shall be outdone by mine to +her.—Let me be alone now, my brother.”</p> + +<hr /> + +<h4>IV.</h4> + +<p>T<small>HOUGH</small> by the unexpected petition to enter his privacy—a petition he +could scarce ever deny to Isabel, since she so religiously abstained +from preferring it, unless for some very reasonable cause, Pierre, in +the midst of those conflicting, secondary emotions, immediately +following the first wonderful effect of Lucy’s strange letter, had been +forced to put on, toward Isabel, some air of assurance and understanding +concerning its contents; yet at bottom, he was still a prey to all +manner of devouring mysteries.</p> + +<p>Soon, now, as he left the chamber of Isabel, these mysteriousnesses +re-mastered him completely; and as he mechanically sat down in the +dining-room chair, gently offered him by Delly—for the silent girl saw +that some strangeness that sought stillness was in him;—Pierre’s mind +was revolving how it was possible, or any way conceivable, that Lucy +should have been inspired with such seemingly wonderful presentiments of +something assumed, or disguising, or non-substantial, somewhere<a name="page_430"></a> and +somehow, in his present most singular apparent position in the eye of +world. The wild words of Isabel yet rang in his ears. It were an outrage +upon all womanhood to imagine that Lucy, however yet devoted to him in +her hidden heart, should be willing to come to him, so long as she +supposed, with the rest of the world, that Pierre was an ordinarily +married man. But how—what possible reason—what possible intimation +could she have had to suspect the contrary, or to suspect any thing +unsound? For neither at this present time, nor at any subsequent period, +did Pierre, or could Pierre, possibly imagine that in her marvelous +presentiments of Love she had any definite conceit of the precise nature +of the secret which so unrevealingly and enchantedly wrapt him. But a +peculiar thought passingly recurred to him here.</p> + +<p>Within his social recollections there was a very remarkable case of a +youth, who, while all but affianced to a beautiful girl—one returning +his own throbbings with incipient passion—became somehow casually and +momentarily betrayed into an imprudent manifested tenderness toward a +second lady; or else, that second lady’s deeply-concerned friends caused +it to be made known to the poor youth, that such committal tenderness +toward her he had displayed, nor had it failed to exert its natural +effect upon her; certain it is, this second lady drooped and drooped, +and came nigh to dying, all the while raving of the cruel infidelity of +her supposed lover; so that those agonizing appeals, from so really +lovely a girl, that seemed dying of grief for him, at last so moved the +youth, that—morbidly disregardful of the fact, that inasmuch as two +ladies claimed him, the prior lady had the best title to his hand—his +conscience insanely upbraided him concerning the second lady; he thought +that eternal woe would surely overtake him both here and hereafter if he +did not renounce his first love—terrible as the effort would be both to +him and her—and wed with the second lady; which he accordingly did; +while, through his whole subsequent<a name="page_431"></a> life, delicacy and honor toward his +thus wedded wife, forbade that by explaining to his first love how it +was with him in this matter, he should tranquilize her heart; and, +therefore, in her complete ignorance, she believed that he was willfully +and heartlessly false to her; and so came to a lunatic’s death on his +account.</p> + +<p>This strange story of real life, Pierre knew to be also familiar to +Lucy; for they had several times conversed upon it; and the first love +of the demented youth had been a school-mate of Lucy’s, and Lucy had +counted upon standing up with her as bridesmaid. Now, the passing idea +was self-suggested to Pierre, whether into Lucy’s mind some such conceit +as this, concerning himself and Isabel, might not possibly have stolen. +But then again such a supposition proved wholly untenable in the end; +for it did by no means suffice for a satisfactory solution of the +absolute motive of the extraordinary proposed step of Lucy; nor indeed +by any ordinary law of propriety, did it at all seem to justify that +step. Therefore, he know not what to think; hardly what to dream. +Wonders, nay, downright miracles and no less were sung about Love; but +here was the absolute miracle itself—the out-acted miracle. For +infallibly certain he inwardly felt, that whatever her strange conceit; +whatever her enigmatical delusion; whatever her most secret and +inexplicable motive; still Lucy in her own virgin heart remained +transparently immaculate, without shadow of flaw or vein. Nevertheless, +what inconceivable conduct this was in her, which she in her letter so +passionately proposed! Altogether, it amazed him; it confounded him.</p> + +<p>Now, that vague, fearful feeling stole into him, that, rail as all +atheists will, there is a mysterious, inscrutable divineness in the +world—a God—a Being positively present everywhere;—nay, He is now in +this room; the air did part when I here sat down. I displaced the Spirit +then—condensed it a little off from this<a name="page_432"></a> spot. He looked +apprehensively around him; he felt overjoyed at the sight of the +humanness of Delly.</p> + +<p>While he was thus plunged into this mysteriousness, a knock was heard at +the door.</p> + +<p>Delly hesitatingly rose—“Shall I let any one in, sir?—I think it is +Mr. Millthorpe’s knock.”</p> + +<p>“Go and see—go and see”—said Pierre, vacantly.</p> + +<p>The moment the door was opened, Millthorpe—for it was he—catching a +glimpse of Pierre’s seated form, brushed past Delly, and loudly entered +the room.</p> + +<p>“Ha, ha! well, my boy, how comes on the Inferno? That is it you are +writing; one is apt to look black while writing Infernoes; you always +loved Dante. My lad! I have finished ten metaphysical treatises; argued +five cases before the court; attended all our society’s meetings; +accompanied our great Professor, Monsieur Volvoon, the lecturer, through +his circuit in the philosophical saloons, sharing all the honors of his +illustrious triumph; and by the way, let me tell you, Volvoon secretly +gives me even more credit than is my due; for ’pon my soul, I did not +help write more than one half, at most, of his Lectures; +edited—anonymously, though—a learned, scientific work on ‘The Precise +Cause of the Modifications in the Undulatory Motion in Waves,’ a +posthumous work of a poor fellow—fine lad he was, too—a friend of +mine. Yes, here I have been doing all this, while you still are +hammering away at that one poor plaguy Inferno! Oh, there’s a secret in +dispatching these things; patience! patience! you will yet learn the +secret. Time! time! I can’t teach it to you, my boy, but Time can: I +wish I could, but I can’t.”</p> + +<p>There was another knock at the door.</p> + +<p>“Oh!” cried Millthorpe, suddenly turning round to it, “I forgot, my boy. +I came to tell you that there is a porter, with some queer things, +inquiring for you. I happened to meet him down stairs in the corridors, +and I told him to follow me up—I<a name="page_433"></a> would show him the road; here he is; +let him in, let him in, good Delly, my girl.”</p> + +<p>Thus far, the rattlings of Millthorpe, if producing any effect at all, +had but stunned the averted Pierre. But now he started to his feet. A +man with his hat on, stood in the door, holding an easel before him.</p> + +<p>“Is this Mr. Glendinning’s room, gentlemen?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, come in, come in,” cried Millthorpe, “all right.”</p> + +<p>“Oh! is that <i>you</i>, sir? well, well, then;” and the man set down the +easel.</p> + +<p>“Well, my boy,” exclaimed Millthorpe to Pierre; “you are in the Inferno +dream yet. Look; that’s what people call an <i>easel</i>, my boy. An <i>easel</i>, +an <i>easel</i>—not a <i>weasel</i>; you look at it as though you thought it a +weasel. Come; wake up, wake up! You ordered it, I suppose, and here it +is. Going to paint and illustrate the Inferno, as you go along, I +suppose. Well, my friends tell me it is a great pity my own things aint +illustrated. But I can’t afford it. There now is that Hymn to the Niger, +which I threw into a pigeon-hole, a year or two ago—that would be fine +for illustrations.”</p> + +<p>“Is it for Mr. Glendinning you inquire?” said Pierre now, in a slow, icy +tone, to the porter.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Glendinning, sir; all right, aint it?”</p> + +<p>“Perfectly,” said Pierre mechanically, and casting another strange, +rapt, bewildered glance at the easel. “But something seems strangely +wanting here. Ay, now I see, I see it:—Villain!—the vines! Thou hast +torn the green heart-strings! Thou hast but left the cold skeleton of +the sweet arbor wherein she once nestled! Thou besotted, heartless hind +and fiend, dost thou so much as dream in thy shriveled liver of the +eternal mischief thou hast done? Restore thou the green vines! untrample +them, thou accursed!—Oh my God, my God, trampled vines pounded and +crushed in all fibers, how can they live over again, even though they be +replanted! Curse<a name="page_434"></a> thee, thou!—Nay, nay,” he added moodily—“I was but +wandering to myself.” Then rapidly and mockingly—“Pardon, +pardon!—porter; I most humbly crave thy most haughty pardon.” Then +imperiously—“Come, stir thyself, man; thou hast more below: bring all +up.”</p> + +<p>As the astounded porter turned, he whispered to Millthorpe—“Is he +safe?—shall I bring ’em?”</p> + +<p>“Oh certainly,” smiled Millthorpe: “I’ll look out for him; he’s never +really dangerous when I’m present; there, go!”</p> + +<p>Two trunks now followed, with “L. T.” blurredly marked upon the ends.</p> + +<p>“Is that all, my man?” said Pierre, as the trunks were being put down +before him; “well, how much?”—that moment his eyes first caught the +blurred letters.</p> + +<p>“Prepaid, sir; but no objection to more.”</p> + +<p>Pierre stood mute and unmindful, still fixedly eying the blurred +letters; his body contorted, and one side drooping, as though that +moment half-way down-stricken with a paralysis, and yet unconscious of +the stroke.</p> + +<p>His two companions, momentarily stood motionless in those respective +attitudes, in which they had first caught sight of the remarkable change +that had come over him. But, as if ashamed of having been thus affected, +Millthorpe summoning a loud, merry voice, advanced toward Pierre, and, +tapping his shoulder, cried, “Wake up, wake up, my boy!—He says he is +prepaid, but no objection to more.”</p> + +<p>“Prepaid;—what’s that? Go, go, and jabber to apes!”</p> + +<p>“A curious young gentleman, is he not?” said Millthorpe lightly to the +porter;—“Look you, my boy, I’ll repeat:—He says he’s prepaid, but no +objection to more.”</p> + +<p>“Ah?—take that then,” said Pierre, vacantly putting something into the +porter’s hand.</p> + +<p>“And what shall I do with this, sir?” said the porter, staring.</p> + +<p>“Drink a health; but not mine; that were mockery!”<a name="page_435"></a></p> + +<p>“With a key, sir? This is a key you gave me.”</p> + +<p>“Ah!—well, you at least shall not have the thing that unlocks me. Give +me the key, and take this.”</p> + +<p>“Ay, ay!—here’s the chink! Thank’ee sir, thank’ee. This’ll drink. I +aint called a porter for nothing; Stout’s the word; 2151 is my number; +any jobs, call on me.”</p> + +<p>“Do you ever cart a coffin, my man?” said Pierre.</p> + +<p>“’Pon my soul!” cried Millthorpe, gayly laughing, “if you aint writing +an Inferno, then—but never mind. Porter! this gentleman is under +medical treatment at present. You had better—ab’—you +understand—’squatulate, porter! There, my boy, he is gone; I understand +how to manage these fellows; there’s a trick in it, my boy—an +off-handed sort of what d’ye call it?—you understand—the trick! the +trick!—the whole world’s a trick. Know the trick of it, all’s right; +don’t know, all’s wrong. Ha! ha!”</p> + +<p>“The porter is gone then?” said Pierre, calmly. “Well, Mr. Millthorpe, +you will have the goodness to follow him.”</p> + +<p>“Rare joke! admirable!—Good morning, sir. Ha, ha!”</p> + +<p>And with his unruffleable hilariousness, Millthorpe quitted the room.</p> + +<p>But hardly had the door closed upon him, nor had he yet removed his hand +from its outer knob, when suddenly it swung half open again, and +thrusting his fair curly head within, Millthorpe cried: “By the way, my +boy, I have a word for you. You know that greasy fellow who has been +dunning you so of late. Well, be at rest there; he’s paid. I was +suddenly made flush yesterday:—regular flood-tide. You can return it +any day, you know—no hurry; that’s all.—But, by the way,—as you look +as though you were going to have company here—just send for me in case +you want to use me—any bedstead to put up, or heavy things to be lifted +about. Don’t you and the women do it, now, mind! That’s all again. +Addios, my boy. Take care of yourself!”<a name="page_436"></a></p> + +<p>“Stay!” cried Pierre, reaching forth one hand, but moving neither +foot—“Stay!”—in the midst of all his prior emotions struck by these +singular traits in Millthorpe. But the door was abruptly closed; and +singing Fa, la, la: Millthorpe in his seedy coat went tripping down the +corridor.</p> + +<p>“Plus heart, minus head,” muttered Pierre, his eyes fixed on the door. +“Now, by heaven! the god that made Millthorpe was both a better and a +greater than the god that made Napoleon or Byron.—Plus head, minus +heart—Pah! the brains grow maggoty without a heart; but the heart’s the +preserving salt itself, and can keep sweet without the head.—Delly!”</p> + +<p>“Sir?”</p> + +<p>“My cousin Miss Tartan is coming here to live with us, Delly. That +easel,—those trunks are hers.”</p> + +<p>“Good heavens!—coming here?—your cousin?—Miss Tartan?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, I thought you must have heard of her and me;—but it was broken +off; Delly.”</p> + +<p>“Sir? Sir?”</p> + +<p>“I have no explanation, Delly; and from you, I must have no amazement. +My cousin,—mind, my <i>cousin</i>, Miss Tartan, is coming to live with us. +The next room to this, on the other side there, is unoccupied. That room +shall be hers. You must wait upon her, too, Delly.”</p> + +<p>“Certainly sir, certainly; I will do any thing;” said Delly trembling; +“but,—but—does Mrs. Glendin-din—does my mistress know this?”</p> + +<p>“My wife knows all”—said Pierre sternly. “I will go down and get the +key of the room; and you must sweep it out.”</p> + +<p>“What is to be put into it, sir?” said Delly. “Miss Tartan—why, she is +used to all sorts of fine things,—rich +carpets—wardrobes—mirrors—curtains;—why, why, why!”</p> + +<p>“Look,” said Pierre, touching an old rug with his foot;—“here is a bit +of carpet; drag that into her room; here is a<a name="page_437"></a> chair, put that in; and +for a bed,—ay, ay,” he muttered to himself; “I have made it for her, +and she ignorantly lies on it now!—as made—so lie. Oh God!”</p> + +<p>“Hark! my mistress is calling”—cried Delly, moving toward the opposite +room.</p> + +<p>“Stay!”—cried Pierre, grasping her shoulder; “if both called at one +time from these opposite chambers, and both were swooning, which door +would you first fly to?”</p> + +<p>The girl gazed at him uncomprehendingly and affrighted a moment; and +then said,—“This one, sir”—out of mere confusion perhaps, putting her +hand on Isabel’s latch.</p> + +<p>“It is well. Now go.”</p> + +<p>He stood in an intent unchanged attitude till Delly returned.</p> + +<p>“How is my wife, now?”</p> + +<p>Again startled by the peculiar emphasis placed on the magical word +<i>wife</i>, Delly, who had long before this, been occasionally struck with +the infrequency of his using that term; she looked at him perplexedly, +and said half-unconsciously—</p> + +<p>“Your wife, sir?”</p> + +<p>“Ay, is she not?”</p> + +<p>“God grant that she be—Oh, ’tis most cruel to ask that of poor, poor +Delly, sir!”</p> + +<p>“Tut for thy tears! Never deny it again then!—I swear to heaven, she +is!”</p> + +<p>With these wild words, Pierre seized his hat, and departed the room, +muttering something about bringing the key of the additional chamber.</p> + +<p>As the door closed on him, Delly dropped on her knees. She lifted her +head toward the ceiling, but dropped it again, as if tyrannically awed +downward, and bent it low over, till her whole form tremulously cringed +to the floor.</p> + +<p>“God that made me, and that wast not so hard to me as wicked Delly +deserved,—God that made me, I pray to thee! ward it off from me, if it +be coming to me. Be not deaf to me;<a name="page_438"></a> these stony walls—Thou canst hear +through them. Pity! pity!—mercy, my God!—If they are not married; if +I, penitentially seeking to be pure, am now but the servant to a greater +sin, than I myself committed: then, pity! pity! pity! pity! pity! Oh God +that made me,—See me, see me here—what can Delly do? If I go hence, +none will take me in but villains. If I stay, then—for stay I must—and +they be not married,—then pity, pity, pity, pity, pity!”<a name="page_439"></a></p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="BOOK_XXIV"></a>BOOK XXIV.<br /> +LUCY AT THE APOSTLES.</h2> + +<h4>I.</h4> + +<p>N<small>EXT</small> morning, the recently appropriated room adjoining on the other side +of the dining-room, presented a different aspect from that which met the +eye of Delly upon first unlocking it with Pierre on the previous +evening. Two squares of faded carpeting of different patterns, covered +the middle of the floor, leaving, toward the surbase, a wide, blank +margin around them. A small glass hung in the pier; beneath that, a +little stand, with a foot or two of carpet before it. In one corner was +a cot, neatly equipped with bedding. At the outer side of the cot, +another strip of carpeting was placed. Lucy’s delicate feet should not +shiver on the naked floor.</p> + +<p>Pierre, Isabel, and Delly were standing in the room; Isabel’s eyes were +fixed on the cot.</p> + +<p>“I think it will be pretty cosy now,” said Delly, palely glancing all +round, and then adjusting the pillow anew.</p> + +<p>“There is no warmth, though,” said Isabel. “Pierre, there is no stove in +the room. She will be very cold. The pipe—can we not send it this way?” +And she looked more intently at him, than the question seemed to +warrant.</p> + +<p>“Let the pipe stay where it is, Isabel,” said Pierre, answering her own +pointed gaze. “The dining-room door can stand open. She never liked +sleeping in a heated room. Let all be;<a name="page_440"></a> it is well. Eh! but there is a +grate here, I see. I will buy coals. Yes, yes—that can be easily done; +a little fire of a morning—the expense will be nothing. Stay, we will +have a little fire here now for a welcome. She shall always have fire.”</p> + +<p>“Better change the pipe, Pierre,” said Isabel, “that will be permanent, +and save the coals.”</p> + +<p>“It shall not be done, Isabel. Doth not that pipe and that warmth go +into thy room? Shall I rob my wife, good Delly, even to benefit my most +devoted and true-hearted cousin?”</p> + +<p>“Oh! I should say not, sir; not at all,” said Delly hysterically.</p> + +<p>A triumphant fire flashed in Isabel’s eye; her full bosom arched out; +but she was silent.</p> + +<p>“She may be here, now, at any moment, Isabel,” said Pierre; “come, we +will meet her in the dining-room; that is our reception-place, thou +knowest.”</p> + +<p>So the three went into the dining-room.</p> + +<hr /> + +<h4>II.</h4> + +<p>T<small>HEY</small> had not been there long, when Pierre, who had been pacing up and +down, suddenly paused, as if struck by some laggard thought, which had +just occurred to him at the eleventh hour. First he looked toward Delly, +as if about to bid her quit the apartment, while he should say something +private to Isabel; but as if, on a second thought, holding the contrary +of this procedure most advisable, he, without preface, at once addressed +Isabel, in his ordinary conversational tone, so that Delly could not but +plainly hear him, whether she would or no.</p> + +<p>“My dear Isabel, though, as I said to thee before, my cousin,<a name="page_441"></a> Miss +Tartan, that strange, and willful, nun-like girl, is at all hazards, +mystically resolved to come and live with us, yet it must be quite +impossible that her friends can approve in her such a singular step; a +step even more singular, Isabel, than thou, in thy unsophisticatedness, +can’st at all imagine. I shall be immensely deceived if they do not, to +their very utmost, strive against it. Now what I am going to add may be +quite unnecessary, but I can not avoid speaking it, for all that.”</p> + +<p>Isabel with empty hands sat silent, but intently and expectantly eying +him; while behind her chair, Delly was bending her face low over her +knitting—which she had seized so soon as Pierre had begun speaking—and +with trembling fingers was nervously twitching the points of her long +needles. It was plain that she awaited Pierre’s accents with hardly much +less eagerness than Isabel. Marking well this expression in Delly, and +apparently not unpleased with it, Pierre continued; but by no slightest +outward tone or look seemed addressing his remarks to any one but +Isabel.</p> + +<p>“Now what I mean, dear Isabel, is this: if that very probable hostility +on the part of Miss Tartan’s friends to her fulfilling her strange +resolution—if any of that hostility should chance to be manifested +under thine eye, then thou certainly wilt know how to account for it; +and as certainly wilt draw no inference from it in the minutest +conceivable degree involving any thing sinister in me. No, I am sure +thou wilt not, my dearest Isabel. For, understand me, regarding this +strange mood in my cousin as a thing wholly above my comprehension, and +indeed regarding my poor cousin herself as a rapt enthusiast in some +wild mystery utterly unknown to me; and unwilling ignorantly to +interfere in what almost seems some supernatural thing, I shall not +repulse her coming, however violently her friends may seek to stay it. I +shall not repulse, as certainly as I have not invited. But a neutral +attitude sometimes seems a suspicious one. Now what I mean is this: let +all such vague suspicions<a name="page_442"></a> of me, if any, be confined to Lucy’s friends; +but let not such absurd misgivings come near my dearest Isabel, to give +the least uneasiness. Isabel! tell me; have I not now said enough to +make plain what I mean? Or, indeed, is not all I have said wholly +unnecessary; seeing that when one feels deeply conscientious, one is +often apt to seem superfluously, and indeed unpleasantly and +unbeseemingly scrupulous? Speak, my own Isabel,”—and he stept nearer to +her, reaching forth his arm.</p> + +<p>“Thy hand is the caster’s ladle, Pierre, which holds me entirely fluid. +Into thy forms and slightest moods of thought, thou pourest me; and I +there solidify to that form, and take it on, and thenceforth wear it, +till once more thou moldest me anew. If what thou tellest me be thy +thought, then how can I help its being mine, my Pierre?”</p> + +<p>“The gods made thee of a holyday, when all the common world was done, +and shaped thee leisurely in elaborate hours, thou paragon!”</p> + +<p>So saying, in a burst of admiring love and wonder, Pierre paced the +room; while Isabel sat silent, leaning on her hand, and half-vailed with +her hair. Delly’s nervous stitches became less convulsive. She seemed +soothed; some dark and vague conceit seemed driven out of her by +something either directly expressed by Pierre, or inferred from his +expressions.</p> + +<hr /> + +<h4>III.</h4> + +<p>“Pierre! Pierre!—Quick! Quick!—They are dragging me back!—oh, quick, +dear Pierre!”</p> + +<p>“What is that?” swiftly cried Isabel, rising to her feet, and amazedly +glancing toward the door leading into the corridor.<a name="page_443"></a></p> + +<p>But Pierre darted from the room, prohibiting any one from following him.</p> + +<p>Half-way down the stairs, a slight, airy, almost unearthly figure was +clinging to the balluster; and two young men, one in naval uniform, were +vainly seeking to remove the two thin white hands without hurting them. +They were Glen Stanly, and Frederic, the elder brother of Lucy.</p> + +<p>In a moment, Pierre’s hands were among the rest.</p> + +<p>“Villain!—Damn thee!” cried Frederic; and letting go the hand of his +sister, he struck fiercely at Pierre.</p> + +<p>But the blow was intercepted by Pierre.</p> + +<p>“Thou hast bewitched, thou damned juggler, the sweetest angel! Defend +thyself!”</p> + +<p>“Nay, nay,” cried Glen, catching the drawn rapier of the frantic +brother, and holding him in his powerful grasp; “he is unarmed; this is +no time or place to settle our feud with him. Thy sister,—sweet +Lucy—let us save her first, and then what thou wilt. Pierre +Glendinning—if thou art but the little finger of a man—begone with +thee from hence! Thy depravity, thy pollutedness, is that of a +fiend!—Thou canst not desire this thing:—the sweet girl is mad!”</p> + +<p>Pierre stepped back a little, and looked palely and haggardly at all +three.</p> + +<p>“I render no accounts: I am what I am. This sweet girl—this angel whom +ye two defile by your touches—she is of age by the law:—she is her own +mistress by the law. And now, I swear she shall have her will! Unhand +the girl! Let her stand alone. See; she will faint; let her go, I say!” +And again his hands were among them.</p> + +<p>Suddenly, as they all, for the one instant vaguely struggled, the pale +girl drooped, and fell sideways toward Pierre; and, unprepared for this, +the two opposite champions, unconsciously relinquished their hold, +tripped, and stumbled against each other, and both fell on the stairs. +Snatching Lucy in his arms,<a name="page_444"></a> Pierre darted from them; gained the door; +drove before him Isabel and Delly,—who, affrighted, had been lingering +there;—and bursting into the prepared chamber, laid Lucy on her cot; +then swiftly turned out of the room, and locked them all three in: and +so swiftly—like lightning—was this whole thing done, that not till the +lock clicked, did he find Glen and Frederic fiercely fronting him.</p> + +<p>“Gentlemen, it is all over. This door is locked. She is in women’s +hands.—Stand back!”</p> + +<p>As the two infuriated young men now caught at him to hurl him aside, +several of the Apostles rapidly entered, having been attracted by the +noise.</p> + +<p>“Drag them off from me!” cried Pierre. “They are trespassers! drag them +off!”</p> + +<p>Immediately Glen and Frederic were pinioned by twenty hands; and, in +obedience to a sign from Pierre, were dragged out of the room, and +dragged down stairs; and given into the custody of a passing officer, as +two disorderly youths invading the sanctuary of a private retreat.</p> + +<p>In vain they fiercely expostulated; but at last, as if now aware that +nothing farther could be done without some previous legal action, they +most reluctantly and chafingly declared themselves ready to depart. +Accordingly they were let go; but not without a terrible menace of swift +retribution directed to Pierre.</p> + +<hr /> + +<h4>IV.</h4> + +<p>H<small>APPY</small> is the dumb man in the hour of passion. He makes no impulsive +threats, and therefore seldom falsifies himself in the transition from +choler to calm.</p> + +<p>Proceeding into the thoroughfare, after leaving the Apostles’,<a name="page_445"></a> it was +not very long ere Glen and Frederic concluded between themselves, that +Lucy could not so easily be rescued by threat or force. The pale, +inscrutable determinateness, and flinchless intrepidity of Pierre, now +began to domineer upon them; for any social unusualness or greatness is +sometimes most impressive in the retrospect. What Pierre had said +concerning Lucy’s being her own mistress in the eye of the law; this now +recurred to them. After much tribulation of thought, the more collected +Glen proposed, that Frederic’s mother should visit the rooms of Pierre; +he imagined, that though insensible to their own united intimidations, +Lucy might not prove deaf to the maternal prayers. Had Mrs. Tartan been +a different woman than she was; had she indeed any disinterested agonies +of a generous heart, and not mere match-making mortifications, however +poignant; then the hope of Frederic and Glen might have had more +likelihood in it. Nevertheless, the experiment was tried, but signally +failed.</p> + +<p>In the combined presence of her mother, Pierre, Isabel, and Delly; and +addressing Pierre and Isabel as Mr. and Mrs. Glendinning; Lucy took the +most solemn vows upon herself, to reside with her present host and +hostess until they should cast her off. In vain her by turns suppliant, +and exasperated mother went down on her knees to her, or seemed almost +on the point of smiting her; in vain she painted all the scorn and the +loathing; sideways hinted of the handsome and gallant Glen; threatened +her that in case she persisted, her entire family would renounce her; +and though she should be starving, would not bestow one morsel upon such +a recreant, and infinitely worse than dishonorable girl.</p> + +<p>To all this, Lucy—now entirely unmenaced in person—replied in the +gentlest and most heavenly manner; yet with a collectedness, and +steadfastness, from which there was nothing to hope. What she was doing +was not of herself; she had been moved to it by all-encompassing +influences above, around,<a name="page_446"></a> and beneath. She felt no pain for her own +condition; her only suffering was sympathetic. She looked for no reward; +the essence of well-doing was the consciousness of having done well +without the least hope of reward. Concerning the loss of worldly wealth +and sumptuousness, and all the brocaded applauses of drawing-rooms; +these were no loss to her, for they had always been valueless. Nothing +was she now renouncing; but in acting upon her present inspiration she +was inheriting every thing. Indifferent to scorn, she craved no pity. As +to the question of her sanity, that matter she referred to the verdict +of angels, and not to the sordid opinions of man. If any one protested +that she was defying the sacred counsels of her mother, she had nothing +to answer but this: that her mother possessed all her daughterly +deference, but her unconditional obedience was elsewhere due. Let all +hope of moving her be immediately, and once for all, abandoned. One only +thing could move her; and that would only move her, to make her forever +immovable;—that thing was death.</p> + +<p>Such wonderful strength in such wonderful sweetness; such inflexibility +in one so fragile, would have been matter for marvel to any observer. +But to her mother it was very much more; for, like many other +superficial observers, forming her previous opinion of Lucy upon the +slightness of her person, and the dulcetness of her temper, Mrs. Tartan +had always imagined that her daughter was quite incapable of any such +daring act. As if sterling heavenliness were incompatible with +heroicness. These two are never found apart. Nor, though Pierre knew +more of Lucy than any one else, did this most singular behavior in her +fail to amaze him. Seldom even had the mystery of Isabel fascinated him +more, with a fascination partaking of the terrible. The mere bodily +aspect of Lucy, as changed by her more recent life, filled him with the +most powerful and novel emotions. That unsullied complexion of bloom was +now entirely gone, without being any way replaced by sallowness, as is +usual in<a name="page_447"></a> similar instances. And as if her body indeed were the temple +of God, and marble indeed were the only fit material for so holy a +shrine, a brilliant, supernatural whiteness now gleamed in her cheek. +Her head sat on her shoulders as a chiseled statue’s head; and the soft, +firm light in her eye seemed as much a prodigy, as though a chiseled +statue should give token of vision and intelligence.</p> + +<p>Isabel also was most strangely moved by this sweet unearthliness in the +aspect of Lucy. But it did not so much persuade her by any common +appeals to her heart, as irrespectively commend her by the very signet +of heaven. In the deference with which she ministered to Lucy’s little +occasional wants, there was more of blank spontaneousness than +compassionate voluntariness. And when it so chanced, that—owing perhaps +to some momentary jarring of the distant and lonely guitar—as Lucy was +so mildly speaking in the presence of her mother, a sudden, just +audible, submissively answering musical, stringed tone, came through the +open door from the adjoining chamber; then Isabel, as if seized by some +spiritual awe, fell on her knees before Lucy, and made a rapid gesture +of homage; yet still, somehow, as it were, without evidence of voluntary +will.</p> + +<p>Finding all her most ardent efforts ineffectual, Mrs. Tartan now +distressedly motioned to Pierre and Isabel to quit the chamber, that she +might urge her entreaties and menaces in private. But Lucy gently waved +them to stay; and then turned to her mother. Henceforth she had no +secrets but those which would also be secrets in heaven. Whatever was +publicly known in heaven, should be publicly known on earth. There was +no slightest secret between her and her mother.</p> + +<p>Wholly confounded by this inscrutableness of her so alienated and +infatuated daughter, Mrs. Tartan turned inflamedly upon Pierre, and bade +him follow her forth. But again Lucy said nay, there were no secrets +between her mother and Pierre. She would anticipate every thing there. +Calling for pen and<a name="page_448"></a> paper, and a book to hold on her knee and write, +she traced the following lines, and reached them to her mother:</p> + +<p>“I am Lucy Tartan. I have come to dwell during their pleasure with Mr. +and Mrs. Pierre Glendinning, of my own unsolicited free-will. If they +desire it, I shall go; but no other power shall remove me, except by +violence; and against any violence I have the ordinary appeal to the +law.”</p> + +<p>“Read this, madam,” said Mrs. Tartan, tremblingly handing it to Isabel, +and eying her with a passionate and disdainful significance.</p> + +<p>“I have read it,” said Isabel, quietly, after a glance, and handing it +to Pierre, as if by that act to show, that she had no separate decision +in the matter.</p> + +<p>“And do you, sir, too, indirectly connive?” said Mrs. Tartan to Pierre, +when he had read it.</p> + +<p>“I render no accounts, madam. This seems to be the written and final +calm will of your daughter. As such, you had best respect it, and +depart.”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Tartan glanced despairingly and incensedly about her; then fixing +her eyes on her daughter, spoke.</p> + +<p>“Girl! here where I stand, I forever cast thee off. Never more shalt +thou be vexed by my maternal entreaties. I shall instruct thy brothers +to disown thee; I shall instruct Glen Stanly to banish thy worthless +image from his heart, if banished thence it be not already by thine own +incredible folly and depravity. For thee, Mr. Monster! the judgment of +God will overtake thee for this. And for thee, madam, I have no words +for the woman who will connivingly permit her own husband’s paramour to +dwell beneath her roof. For thee, frail one,” (to Delly), “thou needest +no amplification.—A nest of vileness! And now, surely, whom God himself +hath abandoned forever, a mother may quit, never more to revisit.”</p> + +<p>This parting maternal malediction seemed to work no visibly +corresponding effect upon Lucy; already she was so marble-white,<a name="page_449"></a> that +fear could no more blanch her, if indeed fear was then at all within her +heart. For as the highest, and purest, and thinnest ether remains +unvexed by all the tumults of the inferior air; so that transparent +ether of her cheek, that clear mild azure of her eye, showed no sign of +passion, as her terrestrial mother stormed below. Helpings she had from +unstirring arms; glimpses she caught of aid invisible; sustained she was +by those high powers of immortal Love, that once siding with the weakest +reed which the utmost tempest tosses; then that utmost tempest shall be +broken down before the irresistible resistings of that weakest reed.<a name="page_450"></a></p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="BOOK_XXV"></a>BOOK XXV.<br /> +LUCY, ISABEL, AND PIERRE. PIERRE AT HIS BOOK. ENCELADUS.</h2> + +<h4>I.</h4> + +<p>A <small>DAY</small> or two after the arrival of Lucy, when she had quite recovered +from any possible ill-effects of recent events,—events conveying such a +shock to both Pierre and Isabel,—though to each in a quite different +way,—but not, apparently, at least, moving Lucy so intensely—as they +were all three sitting at coffee, Lucy expressed her intention to +practice her crayon art professionally. It would be so pleasant an +employment for her, besides contributing to their common fund. Pierre +well knew her expertness in catching likenesses, and judiciously and +truthfully beautifying them; not by altering the features so much, as by +steeping them in a beautifying atmosphere. For even so, said Lucy, +thrown into the Lagoon, and there beheld—as I have heard—the roughest +stones, without transformation, put on the softest aspects. If Pierre +would only take a little trouble to bring sitters to her room, she +doubted not a fine harvest of heads might easily be secured. Certainly, +among the numerous inmates of the old Church, Pierre must know many who +would have no objections to being sketched. Moreover, though as yet she +had had small opportunity to see them; yet among such a remarkable +company of poets, philosophers, and mystics of all sorts, there must be +some striking heads. In conclusion, she<a name="page_451"></a> expressed her satisfaction at +the chamber prepared for her, inasmuch as having been formerly the +studio of an artist, one window had been considerably elevated, while by +a singular arrangement of the interior shutters, the light could in any +direction be thrown about at will.</p> + +<p>Already Pierre had anticipated something of this sort; the first sight +of the easel having suggested it to him. His reply was therefore not +wholly unconsidered. He said, that so far as she herself was concerned, +the systematic practice of her art at present would certainly be a great +advantage in supplying her with a very delightful occupation. But since +she could hardly hope for any patronage from her mother’s fashionable +and wealthy associates; indeed, as such a thing must be very far from +her own desires; and as it was only from the Apostles she could—for +some time to come, at least—reasonably anticipate sitters; and as those +Apostles were almost universally a very forlorn and penniless +set—though in truth there were some wonderfully rich-looking heads +among them—therefore, Lucy must not look for much immediate pecuniary +emolument. Ere long she might indeed do something very handsome; but at +the outset, it was well to be moderate in her expectations. This +admonishment came, modifiedly, from that certain stoic, dogged mood of +Pierre, born of his recent life, which taught him never to expect any +good from any thing; but always to anticipate ill; however not in +unreadiness to meet the contrary; and then, if good came, so much the +better. He added that he would that very morning go among the rooms and +corridors of the Apostles, familiarly announcing that his cousin, a +lady-artist in crayons, occupied a room adjoining his, where she would +be very happy to receive any sitters.</p> + +<p>“And now, Lucy, what shall be the terms? That is a very important point, +thou knowest.”</p> + +<p>“I suppose, Pierre, they must be very low,” said Lucy, looking at him +meditatively.<a name="page_452"></a></p> + +<p>“Very low, Lucy; very low, indeed.”</p> + +<p>“Well, ten dollars, then.”</p> + +<p>“Ten Banks of England, Lucy!” exclaimed Pierre. “Why, Lucy, that were +almost a quarter’s income for some of the Apostles!”</p> + +<p>“Four dollars, Pierre.”</p> + +<p>“I will tell thee now, Lucy—but first, how long does it take to +complete one portrait?”</p> + +<p>“Two sittings; and two mornings’ work by myself, Pierre.”</p> + +<p>“And let me see; what are thy materials? They are not very costly, I +believe. ’Tis not like cutting glass,—thy tools must not be pointed +with diamonds, Lucy?”</p> + +<p>“See, Pierre!” said Lucy, holding out her little palm, “see; this +handful of charcoal, a bit of bread, a crayon or two, and a square of +paper:—that is all.”</p> + +<p>“Well, then, thou shalt charge one-seventy-five for a portrait.”</p> + +<p>“Only one-seventy-five, Pierre?”</p> + +<p>“I am half afraid now we have set it far too high, Lucy. Thou must not +be extravagant. Look: if thy terms were ten dollars, and thou didst +crayon on trust; then thou wouldst have plenty of sitters, but small +returns. But if thou puttest thy terms right-down, and also sayest thou +must have thy cash right-down too—don’t start so at that <i>cash</i>—then +not so many sitters to be sure, but more returns. Thou understandest.”</p> + +<p>“It shall be just as thou say’st, Pierre.”</p> + +<p>“Well, then, I will write a card for thee, stating thy terms; and put it +up conspicuously in thy room, so that every Apostle may know what he has +to expect.”</p> + +<p>“Thank thee, thank thee, cousin Pierre,” said Lucy, rising. “I rejoice +at thy pleasant and not entirely unhopeful view of my poor little plan. +But I must be doing something; I must be earning money. See, I have +eaten ever so much bread this morning, but have not earned one penny.”<a name="page_453"></a></p> + +<p>With a humorous sadness Pierre measured the large remainder of the one +only piece she had touched, and then would have spoken banteringly to +her; but she had slid away into her own room.</p> + +<p>He was presently roused from the strange revery into which the +conclusion of this scene had thrown him, by the touch of Isabel’s hand +upon his knee, and her large expressive glance upon his face. During all +the foregoing colloquy, she had remained entirely silent; but an +unoccupied observer would perhaps have noticed, that some new and very +strong emotions were restrainedly stirring within her.</p> + +<p>“Pierre!” she said, intently bending over toward him.</p> + +<p>“Well, well, Isabel,” stammeringly replied Pierre; while a mysterious +color suffused itself over his whole face, neck, and brow; and +involuntarily he started a little back from her self-proffering form.</p> + +<p>Arrested by this movement Isabel eyed him fixedly; then slowly rose, and +with immense mournful stateliness, drew herself up, and said: “If thy +sister can ever come too nigh to thee, Pierre, tell thy sister so, +beforehand; for the September sun draws not up the valley-vapor more +jealously from the disdainful earth, than my secret god shall draw me up +from thee, if ever I can come too nigh to thee.”</p> + +<p>Thus speaking, one hand was on her bosom, as if resolutely feeling of +something deadly there concealed; but, riveted by her general manner +more than by her particular gesture, Pierre, at the instant, did not so +particularly note the all-significant movement of the hand upon her +bosom, though afterward he recalled it, and darkly and thoroughly +comprehended its meaning.</p> + +<p>“Too nigh to me, Isabel? Sun or dew, thou fertilizest me! Can sunbeams +or drops of dew come too nigh the thing they warm and water? Then sit +down by me, Isabel, and sit close; wind in within my ribs,—if so thou +canst,—that my one frame may be the continent of two.”<a name="page_454"></a></p> + +<p>“Fine feathers make fine birds, so I have heard,” said Isabel, most +bitterly—“but do fine sayings always make fine deeds? Pierre, thou +didst but just now draw away from me!”</p> + +<p>“When we would most dearly embrace, we first throw back our arms, +Isabel; I but drew away, to draw so much the closer to thee.”</p> + +<p>“Well; all words are arrant skirmishers; deeds are the army’s self! be +it as thou sayest. I yet trust to thee.—Pierre.”</p> + +<p>“My breath waits thine; what is it, Isabel?”</p> + +<p>“I have been more blockish than a block; I am mad to think of it! More +mad, that her great sweetness should first remind me of mine own +stupidity. But she shall not get the start of me! Pierre, some way I +must work for thee! See, I will sell this hair; have these teeth pulled +out; but some way I will earn money for thee!”</p> + +<p>Pierre now eyed her startledly. Touches of a determinate meaning shone +in her; some hidden thing was deeply wounded in her. An affectionate +soothing syllable was on his tongue; his arm was out; when shifting his +expression, he whisperingly and alarmedly exclaimed—“Hark! she is +coming.—Be still.”</p> + +<p>But rising boldly, Isabel threw open the connecting door, exclaiming +half-hysterically—“Look, Lucy; here is the strangest husband; fearful +of being caught speaking to his wife!”</p> + +<p>With an artist’s little box before her—whose rattling, perhaps, had +startled Pierre—Lucy was sitting midway in her room, opposite the +opened door; so that at that moment, both Pierre and Isabel were plainly +visible to her. The singular tone of Isabel’s voice instantly caused her +to look up intently. At once, a sudden irradiation of some subtile +intelligence—but whether welcome to her, or otherwise, could not be +determined—shot over her whole aspect. She murmured some vague random +reply; and then bent low over her box, saying she was very busy.</p> + +<p>Isabel closed the door, and sat down again by Pierre. Her<a name="page_455"></a> countenance +wore a mixed and writhing, impatient look. She seemed as one in whom the +most powerful emotion of life is caught in inextricable toils of +circumstances, and while longing to disengage itself, still knows that +all struggles will prove worse than vain; and so, for the moment, grows +madly reckless and defiant of all obstacles. Pierre trembled as he gazed +upon her. But soon the mood passed from her; her old, sweet mournfulness +returned; again the clear unfathomableness was in her mystic eye.</p> + +<p>“Pierre, ere now,—ere I ever knew thee—I have done mad things, which I +have never been conscious of, but in the dim recalling. I hold such +things no things of mine. What I now remember, as just now done, was one +of them.”</p> + +<p>“Thou hast done nothing but shown thy strength, while I have shown my +weakness, Isabel;—yes, to the whole world thou art my wife—to her, +too, thou art my wife. Have I not told her so, myself? I was weaker than +a kitten, Isabel; and thou, strong as those high things angelical, from +which utmost beauty takes not strength.”</p> + +<p>“Pierre, once such syllables from thee, were all refreshing, and +bedewing to me; now, though they drop as warmly and as fluidly from +thee, yet falling through another and an intercepting zone, they freeze +on the way, and clatter on my heart like hail, Pierre.—— Thou didst +not speak thus to her!”</p> + +<p>“She is not Isabel.”</p> + +<p>The girl gazed at him with a quick and piercing scrutiny; then looked +quite calm, and spoke. “My guitar, Pierre: thou know’st how complete a +mistress I am of it; now, before thou gettest sitters for the +portrait-sketcher, thou shalt get pupils for the music-teacher. Wilt +thou?” and she looked at him with a persuasiveness and touchingness, +which to Pierre, seemed more than mortal.</p> + +<p>“My poor poor, Isabel!” cried Pierre; “thou art the mistress of the +natural sweetness of the guitar, not of its invented<a name="page_456"></a> regulated +artifices; and these are all that the silly pupil will pay for learning. +And what thou hast can not be taught. Ah, thy sweet ignorance is all +transporting to me! my sweet, my sweet!—dear, divine girl!” And +impulsively he caught her in his arms.</p> + +<p>While the first fire of his feeling plainly glowed upon him, but ere he +had yet caught her to him, Isabel had backward glided close to the +connecting door; which, at the instant of his embrace, suddenly opened, +as by its own volition.</p> + +<p>Before the eyes of seated Lucy, Pierre and Isabel stood locked; Pierre’s +lips upon her cheek.</p> + +<hr /> + +<h4>II.</h4> + +<p>N<small>OTWITHSTANDING</small> the maternal visit of Mrs. Tartan, and the +peremptoriness with which it had been closed by her declared departure +never to return, and her vow to teach all Lucy’s relatives and friends, +and Lucy’s own brothers, and her suitor, to disown her, and forget her; +yet Pierre fancied that he knew too much in general of the human heart, +and too much in particular of the character of both Glen and Frederic, +to remain entirely untouched by disquietude, concerning what those two +fiery youths might now be plotting against him, as the imagined monster, +by whose infernal tricks Lucy Tartan was supposed to have been seduced +from every earthly seemliness. Not happily, but only so much the more +gloomily, did he augur from the fact, that Mrs. Tartan had come to Lucy +unattended; and that Glen and Frederic had let eight-and-forty hours and +more go by, without giving the slightest hostile or neutral sign. At +first he thought, that bridling their impulsive fierceness, they were +resolved to take the slower, but perhaps the surer method, to wrest Lucy +back to them, by instituting some legal<a name="page_457"></a> process. But this idea was +repulsed by more than one consideration.</p> + +<p>Not only was Frederic of that sort of temper, peculiar to military men, +which would prompt him, in so closely personal and intensely private and +family a matter, to scorn the hireling publicity of the law’s lingering +arm; and impel him, as by the furiousness of fire, to be his own righter +and avenger; for, in him, it was perhaps quite as much the feeling of an +outrageous family affront to himself, through Lucy, as her own presumed +separate wrong, however black, which stung him to the quick: not only +were these things so respecting Frederic; but concerning Glen, Pierre +well knew, that be Glen heartless as he might, to do a deed of love, +Glen was not heartless to do a deed of hate; that though, on that +memorable night of his arrival in the city, Glen had heartlessly closed +his door upon him, yet now Glen might heartfully burst Pierre’s open, if +by that he at all believed, that permanent success would crown the fray.</p> + +<p>Besides, Pierre knew this;—that so invincible is the natural, +untamable, latent spirit of a courageous manliness in man, that though +now socially educated for thousands of years in an arbitrary homage to +the Law, as the one only appointed redress for every injured person; yet +immemorially and universally, among all gentlemen of spirit, once to +have uttered independent personal threats of personal vengeance against +your foe, and then, after that, to fall back slinking into a court, and +hire with sops a pack of yelping pettifoggers to fight the battle so +valiantly proclaimed; this, on the surface, is ever deemed very +decorous, and very prudent—a most wise second thought; but, at bottom, +a miserably ignoble thing. Frederic was not the watery man for +that,—Glen had more grapey blood in him.</p> + +<p>Moreover, it seemed quite clear to Pierre, that only by making out Lucy +absolutely mad, and striving to prove it by a thousand despicable little +particulars, could the law succeed in tearing her from the refuge she +had voluntarily sought; a<a name="page_458"></a> course equally abhorrent to all the parties +possibly to be concerned on either side.</p> + +<p>What then would those two boiling bloods do? Perhaps they would patrol +the streets; and at the first glimpse of lonely Lucy, kidnap her home. +Or if Pierre were with her, then, smite him down by hook or crook, fair +play or foul; and then, away with Lucy! Or if Lucy systematically kept +her room, then fall on Pierre in the most public way, fell him, and +cover him from all decent recognition beneath heaps on heaps of hate and +insult; so that broken on the wheel of such dishonor, Pierre might feel +himself unstrung, and basely yield the prize.</p> + +<p>Not the gibbering of ghosts in any old haunted house; no sulphurous and +portentous sign at night beheld in heaven, will so make the hair to +stand, as when a proud and honorable man is revolving in his soul the +possibilities of some gross public and corporeal disgrace. It is not +fear; it is a pride-horror, which is more terrible than any fear. Then, +by tremendous imagery, the murderer’s mark of Cain is felt burning on +the brow, and the already acquitted knife blood-rusts in the clutch of +the anticipating hand.</p> + +<p>Certain that those two youths must be plotting something furious against +him; with the echoes of their scorning curses on the stairs still +ringing in his ears—curses, whose swift responses from himself, he, at +the time, had had much ado to check;—thoroughly alive to the +supernaturalism of that mad frothing hate which a spirited brother forks +forth at the insulter of a sister’s honor—beyond doubt the most +uncompromising of all the social passions known to man—and not blind to +the anomalous fact, that if such a brother stab his foe at his own +mother’s table, all people and all juries would bear him out, accounting +every thing allowable to a noble soul made mad by a sweet sister’s shame +caused by a damned seducer;—imagining to himself his own feelings, if +he were actually in the position<a name="page_459"></a> which Frederic so vividly fancied to +be his; remembering that in love matters jealousy is as an adder, and +that the jealousy of Glen was double-addered by the extraordinary malice +of the apparent circumstances under which Lucy had spurned Glen’s arms, +and fled to his always successful and now married rival, as if wantonly +and shamelessly to nestle there;—remembering all these intense +incitements of both those foes of his, Pierre could not but look forward +to wild work very soon to come. Nor was the storm of passion in his soul +unratified by the decision of his coolest possible hour. Storm and calm +both said to him,—Look to thyself, oh Pierre!</p> + +<p>Murders are done by maniacs; but the earnest thoughts of murder, these +are the collected desperadoes. Pierre was such; fate, or what you will, +had made him such. But such he was. And when these things now swam +before him; when he thought of all the ambiguities which hemmed him in; +the stony walls all round that he could not overleap; the million +aggravations of his most malicious lot; the last lingering hope of +happiness licked up from him as by flames of fire, and his one only +prospect a black, bottomless gulf of guilt, upon whose verge he +imminently teetered every hour;—then the utmost hate of Glen and +Frederic were jubilantly welcome to him; and murder, done in the act of +warding off their ignominious public blow, seemed the one only congenial +sequel to such a desperate career.</p> + +<hr /> + +<h4>III.</h4> + +<p>A<small>S</small> a statue, planted on a revolving pedestal, shows now this limb, now +that; now front, now back, now side; continually changing, too, its +general profile; so does the pivoted, statued soul of man, when turned +by the hand of Truth. Lies only never vary; look for no invariableness +in Pierre. Nor does<a name="page_460"></a> any canting showman here stand by to announce his +phases as he revolves. Catch his phases as your insight may.</p> + +<p>Another day passed on; Glen and Frederic still absenting themselves, and +Pierre and Isabel and Lucy all dwelling together. The domestic presence +of Lucy had begun to produce a remarkable effect upon Pierre. Sometimes, +to the covertly watchful eye of Isabel, he would seem to look upon Lucy +with an expression illy befitting their singular and so-supposed merely +cousinly relation; and yet again, with another expression still more +unaccountable to her,—one of fear and awe, not unmixed with impatience. +But his general detailed manner toward Lucy was that of the most +delicate and affectionate considerateness—nothing more. He was never +alone with her; though, as before, at times alone with Isabel.</p> + +<p>Lucy seemed entirely undesirous of usurping any place about him; +manifested no slightest unwelcome curiosity as to Pierre, and no painful +embarrassment as to Isabel. Nevertheless, more and more did she seem, +hour by hour, to be somehow inexplicably sliding between them, without +touching them. Pierre felt that some strange heavenly influence was near +him, to keep him from some uttermost harm; Isabel was alive to some +untraceable displacing agency. Though when all three were together, the +marvelous serenity, and sweetness, and utter unsuspectingness of Lucy +obviated any thing like a common embarrassment: yet if there was any +embarrassment at all beneath that roof, it was sometimes when Pierre was +alone with Isabel, after Lucy would innocently quit them.</p> + +<p>Meantime Pierre was still going on with his book; every moment becoming +still the more sensible of the intensely inauspicious circumstances of +all sorts under which that labor was proceeding. And as the now +advancing and concentring enterprise demanded more and more compacted +vigor from him, he felt that he was having less and less to bring to it. +For not only was it the signal misery of Pierre, to be +invisibly—though<a name="page_461"></a> but accidentally—goaded, in the hour of mental +immaturity, to the attempt at a mature work,—a circumstance +sufficiently lamentable in itself; but also, in the hour of his +clamorous pennilessness, he was additionally goaded into an enterprise +long and protracted in the execution, and of all things least calculated +for pecuniary profit in the end. How these things were so, whence they +originated, might be thoroughly and very beneficially explained; but +space and time here forbid.</p> + +<p>At length, domestic matters—rent and bread—had come to such a pass +with him, that whether or no, the first pages must go to the printer; +and thus was added still another tribulation; because the printed pages +now dictated to the following manuscript, and said to all subsequent +thoughts and inventions of Pierre—<i>Thus and thus</i>; <i>so and so</i>; <i>else +an ill match</i>. Therefore, was his book already limited, bound over, and +committed to imperfection, even before it had come to any confirmed form +or conclusion at all. Oh, who shall reveal the horrors of poverty in +authorship that is high? While the silly Millthorpe was railing against +his delay of a few weeks and months; how bitterly did unreplying Pierre +feel in his heart, that to most of the great works of humanity, their +authors had given, not weeks and months, not years and years, but their +wholly surrendered and dedicated lives. On either hand clung to by a +girl who would have laid down her life for him; Pierre, nevertheless, in +his deepest, highest part, was utterly without sympathy from any thing +divine, human, brute, or vegetable. One in a city of hundreds of +thousands of human beings, Pierre was solitary as at the Pole.</p> + +<p>And the great woe of all was this: that all these things were +unsuspected without, and undivulgible from within; the very daggers that +stabbed him were joked at by Imbecility, Ignorance, Blockheadedness, +Self-Complacency, and the universal Blearedness and Besottedness around +him. Now he began to feel that in him, the thews of a Titan were +forestallingly cut<a name="page_462"></a> by the scissors of Fate. He felt as a moose, +hamstrung. All things that think, or move, or lie still, seemed as +created to mock and torment him. He seemed gifted with loftiness, merely +that it might be dragged down to the mud. Still, the profound +willfulness in him would not give up. Against the breaking heart, and +the bursting head; against all the dismal lassitude, and deathful +faintness and sleeplessness, and whirlingness, and craziness, still he +like a demigod bore up. His soul’s ship foresaw the inevitable rocks, +but resolved to sail on, and make a courageous wreck. Now he gave jeer +for jeer, and taunted the apes that jibed him. With the soul of an +Atheist, he wrote down the godliest things; with the feeling of misery +and death in him, he created forms of gladness and life. For the pangs +in his heart, he put down hoots on the paper. And every thing else he +disguised under the so conveniently adjustable drapery of +all-stretchable Philosophy. For the more and the more that he wrote, and +the deeper and the deeper that he dived, Pierre saw the everlasting +elusiveness of Truth; the universal lurking insincerity of even the +greatest and purest written thoughts. Like knavish cards, the leaves of +all great books were covertly packed. He was but packing one set the +more; and that a very poor jaded set and pack indeed. So that there was +nothing he more spurned, than his own aspirations; nothing he more +abhorred than the loftiest part of himself. The brightest success, now +seemed intolerable to him, since he so plainly saw, that the brightest +success could not be the sole offspring of Merit; but of Merit for the +one thousandth part, and nine hundred and ninety-nine combining and +dove-tailing accidents for the rest. So beforehand he despised those +laurels which in the very nature of things, can never be impartially +bestowed. But while thus all the earth was depopulated of ambition for +him; still circumstances had put him in the attitude of an eager +contender for renown. So beforehand he felt the unrevealable sting of +receiving either plaudits or<a name="page_463"></a> censures, equally unsought for, and +equally loathed ere given. So, beforehand he felt the pyramidical scorn +of the genuine loftiness for the whole infinite company of infinitesimal +critics. His was the scorn which thinks it not worth the while to be +scornful. Those he most scorned, never knew it. In that lonely little +closet of his, Pierre foretasted all that this world hath either of +praise or dispraise; and thus foretasting both goblets, anticipatingly +hurled them both in its teeth. All panegyric, all denunciation, all +criticism of any sort, would come too late for Pierre.</p> + +<p>But man does never give himself up thus, a doorless and shutterless +house for the four loosened winds of heaven to howl through, without +still additional dilapidations. Much oftener than before, Pierre laid +back in his chair with the deadly feeling of faintness. Much oftener +than before, came staggering home from his evening walk, and from sheer +bodily exhaustion economized the breath that answered the anxious +inquiries as to what might be done for him. And as if all the leagued +spiritual inveteracies and malices, combined with his general bodily +exhaustion, were not enough, a special corporeal affliction now +descended like a sky-hawk upon him. His incessant application told upon +his eyes. They became so affected, that some days he wrote with the lids +nearly closed, fearful of opening them wide to the light. Through the +lashes he peered upon the paper, which so seemed fretted with wires. +Sometimes he blindly wrote with his eyes turned away from the +paper;—thus unconsciously symbolizing the hostile necessity and +distaste, the former whereof made of him this most unwilling +states-prisoner of letters.</p> + +<p>As every evening, after his day’s writing was done, the proofs of the +beginning of his work came home for correction, Isabel would read them +to him. They were replete with errors; but preoccupied by the thronging, +and undiluted, pure imaginings of things, he became impatient of such +minute,<a name="page_464"></a> gnat-like torments; he randomly corrected the worst, and let +the rest go; jeering with himself at the rich harvest thus furnished to +the entomological critics.</p> + +<p>But at last he received a tremendous interior intimation, to hold +off—to be still from his unnatural struggle.</p> + +<p>In the earlier progress of his book, he had found some relief in making +his regular evening walk through the greatest thoroughfare of the city; +that so, the utter isolation of his soul, might feel itself the more +intensely from the incessant jogglings of his body against the bodies of +the hurrying thousands. Then he began to be sensible of more fancying +stormy nights, than pleasant ones; for then, the great thoroughfares +were less thronged, and the innumerable shop-awnings flapped and beat +like schooners’ broad sails in a gale, and the shutters banged like +lashed bulwarks; and the slates fell hurtling like displaced ship’s +blocks from aloft. Stemming such tempests through the deserted streets, +Pierre felt a dark, triumphant joy; that while others had crawled in +fear to their kennels, he alone defied the storm-admiral, whose most +vindictive peltings of hail-stones,—striking his iron-framed fiery +furnace of a body,—melted into soft dew, and so, harmlessly trickled +from off him.</p> + +<p>By-and-by, of such howling, pelting nights, he began to bend his steps +down the dark, narrow side-streets, in quest of the more secluded and +mysterious tap-rooms. There he would feel a singular satisfaction, in +sitting down all dripping in a chair, ordering his half-pint of ale +before him, and drawing over his cap to protect his eyes from the light, +eye the varied faces of the social castaways, who here had their haunts +from the bitterest midnights.</p> + +<p>But at last he began to feel a distaste for even these; and now nothing +but the utter night-desolation of the obscurest warehousing lanes would +content him, or be at all sufferable to him. Among these he had now been +accustomed to wind in and out every evening; till one night as he paused +a moment<a name="page_465"></a> previous to turning about for home, a sudden, unwonted, and +all-pervading sensation seized him. He knew not where he was; he did not +have any ordinary life-feeling at all. He could not see; though +instinctively putting his hand to his eyes, he seemed to feel that the +lids were open. Then he was sensible of a combined blindness, and +vertigo, and staggering; before his eyes a million green meteors danced; +he felt his foot tottering upon the curb, he put out his hands, and knew +no more for the time. When he came to himself he found that he was lying +crosswise in the gutter, dabbled with mud and slime. He raised himself +to try if he could stand; but the fit was entirely gone. Immediately he +quickened his steps homeward, forbearing to rest or pause at all on the +way, lest that rush of blood to his head, consequent upon his sudden +cessation from walking, should again smite him down. This circumstance +warned him away from those desolate streets, lest the repetition of the +fit should leave him there to perish by night in unknown and unsuspected +loneliness. But if that terrible vertigo had been also intended for +another and deeper warning, he regarded such added warning not at all; +but again plied heart and brain as before.</p> + +<p>But now at last since the very blood in his body had in vain rebelled +against his Titanic soul; now the only visible outward symbols of that +soul—his eyes—did also turn downright traitors to him, and with more +success than the rebellious blood. He had abused them so recklessly, +that now they absolutely refused to look on paper. He turned them on +paper, and they blinked and shut. The pupils of his eyes rolled away +from him in their own orbits. He put his hand up to them, and sat back +in his seat. Then, without saying one word, he continued there for his +usual term, suspended, motionless, blank.</p> + +<p>But next morning—it was some few days after the arrival of Lucy—still +feeling that a certain downright infatuation, and<a name="page_466"></a> no less, is both +unavoidable and indispensable in the composition of any great, deep +book, or even any wholly unsuccessful attempt at any great, deep book; +next morning he returned to the charge. But again the pupils of his eyes +rolled away from him in their orbits: and now a general and nameless +torpor—some horrible foretaste of death itself—seemed stealing upon +him.</p> + +<hr /> + +<h4>IV.</h4> + +<p>D<small>URING</small> this state of semi-unconsciousness, or rather trance, a +remarkable dream or vision came to him. The actual artificial objects +around him slid from him, and were replaced by a baseless yet most +imposing spectacle of natural scenery. But though a baseless vision in +itself, this airy spectacle assumed very familiar features to Pierre. It +was the phantasmagoria of the Mount of the Titans, a singular height +standing quite detached in a wide solitude not far from the grand range +of dark blue hills encircling his ancestral manor.</p> + +<p>Say what some poets will, Nature is not so much her own ever-sweet +interpreter, as the mere supplier of that cunning alphabet, whereby +selecting and combining as he pleases, each man reads his own peculiar +lesson according to his own peculiar mind and mood. Thus a +high-aspiring, but most moody, disappointed bard, chancing once to visit +the Meadows and beholding that fine eminence, christened it by the name +it ever after bore; completely extinguishing its former title—The +Delectable Mountain—one long ago bestowed by an old Baptist farmer, an +hereditary admirer of Bunyan and his most marvelous book. From the spell +of that name the mountain never afterward escaped; for now, gazing upon +it by the light of those suggestive syllables, no poetical observer +could resist the<a name="page_467"></a> apparent felicity of the title. For as if indeed the +immemorial mount would fain adapt itself to its so recent name, some +people said that it had insensibly changed its pervading aspect within a +score or two of winters. Nor was this strange conceit entirely without +foundation, seeing that the annual displacements of huge rocks and +gigantic trees were continually modifying its whole front and general +contour.</p> + +<p>On the north side, where it fronted the old Manor-house, some fifteen +miles distant, the height, viewed from the piazza of a soft +haze-canopied summer’s noon, presented a long and beautiful, but not +entirely inaccessible-looking purple precipice, some two thousand feet +in air, and on each hand sideways sloping down to lofty terraces of +pastures.</p> + +<p>Those hill-side pastures, be it said, were thickly sown with a small +white amaranthine flower, which, being irreconcilably distasteful to the +cattle, and wholly rejected by them, and yet, continually multiplying on +every hand, did by no means contribute to the agricultural value of +those elevated lands. Insomuch, that for this cause, the disheartened +dairy tenants of that part of the Manor, had petitioned their +lady-landlord for some abatement in their annual tribute of upland +grasses, in the Juny-load; rolls of butter in the October crock; and +steers and heifers on the October hoof; with turkeys in the Christmas +sleigh.</p> + +<p>“The small white flower, it is our bane!” the imploring tenants cried. +“The aspiring amaranth, every year it climbs and adds new terraces to +its sway! The immortal amaranth, it will not die, but last year’s +flowers survive to this! The terraced pastures grow glittering white, +and in warm June still show like banks of snow:—fit token of the +sterileness the amaranth begets! Then free us from the amaranth, good +lady, or be pleased to abate our rent!”</p> + +<p>Now, on a somewhat nearer approach, the precipice did not belie its +purple promise from the manorial piazza—that sweet<a name="page_468"></a> imposing purple +promise, which seemed fully to vindicate the Bunyanish old title +originally bestowed;—but showed the profuse aerial foliage of a hanging +forest. Nevertheless, coming still more nigh, long and frequent rents +among the mass of leaves revealed horrible glimpses of dark-dripping +rocks, and mysterious mouths of wolfish caves. Struck by this most +unanticipated view, the tourist now quickened his impulsive steps to +verify the change by coming into direct contact with so chameleon a +height. As he would now speed on, the lower ground, which from the +manor-house piazza seemed all a grassy level, suddenly merged into a +very long and weary acclivity, slowly rising close up to the precipice’s +base; so that the efflorescent grasses rippled against it, as the +efflorescent waves of some great swell or long rolling billow ripple +against the water-line of a steep gigantic war-ship on the sea. And, as +among the rolling sea-like sands of Egypt, disordered rows of broken +Sphinxes lead to the Cheopian pyramid itself; so this long acclivity was +thickly strewn with enormous rocky masses, grotesque in shape, and with +wonderful features on them, which seemed to express that slumbering +intelligence visible in some recumbent beasts—beasts whose intelligence +seems struck dumb in them by some sorrowful and inexplicable spell. +Nevertheless, round and round those still enchanted rocks, hard by their +utmost rims, and in among their cunning crevices, the misanthropic +hill-scaling goat nibbled his sweetest food; for the rocks, so barren in +themselves, distilled a subtile moisture, which fed with greenness all +things that grew about their igneous marge.</p> + +<p>Quitting those recumbent rocks, you still ascended toward the hanging +forest, and piercing within its lowermost fringe, then suddenly you +stood transfixed, as a marching soldier confounded at the sight of an +impregnable redoubt, where he had fancied it a practicable vault to his +courageous thews. Cunningly masked hitherto, by the green tapestry of +the interlacing leaves,<a name="page_469"></a> a terrific towering palisade of dark mossy +massiness confronted you; and, trickling with unevaporable moisture, +distilled upon you from its beetling brow slow thunder-showers of +water-drops, chill as the last dews of death. Now you stood and shivered +in that twilight, though it were high noon and burning August down the +meads. All round and round, the grim scarred rocks rallied and +re-rallied themselves; shot up, protruded, stretched, swelled, and +eagerly reached forth; on every side bristlingly radiating with a +hideous repellingness. Tossed, and piled, and indiscriminate among +these, like bridging rifts of logs up-jammed in alluvial-rushing streams +of far Arkansas: or, like great masts and yards of overwhelmed fleets +hurled high and dashed amain, all splintering together, on hovering +ridges of the Atlantic sea,—you saw the melancholy trophies which the +North Wind, championing the unquenchable quarrel of the Winter, had +wrested from the forests, and dismembered them on their own chosen +battle-ground, in barbarous disdain. ’Mid this spectacle of wide and +wanton spoil, insular noises of falling rocks would boomingly explode +upon the silence and fright all the echoes, which ran shrieking in and +out among the caves, as wailing women and children in some assaulted +town.</p> + +<p>Stark desolation; ruin, merciless and ceaseless; chills and gloom,—all +here lived a hidden life, curtained by that cunning purpleness, which, +from the piazza of the manor house, so beautifully invested the mountain +once called Delectable, but now styled Titanic.</p> + +<p>Beaten off by such undreamed-of glooms and steeps, you now sadly +retraced your steps, and, mayhap, went skirting the inferior sideway +terraces of pastures; where the multiple and most sterile inodorous +immortalness of the small, white flower furnished no aliment for the +mild cow’s meditative cud. But here and there you still might smell from +far the sweet aromaticness of clumps of catnip, that dear farm-house +herb. Soon you would see the modest verdure of the plant itself; and<a name="page_470"></a> +wheresoever you saw that sight, old foundation stones and rotting +timbers of log-houses long extinct would also meet your eye; their +desolation illy hid by the green solicitudes of the unemigrating herb. +Most fitly named the catnip; since, like the unrunagate cat, though all +that’s human forsake the place, that plant will long abide, long bask +and bloom on the abandoned hearth. Illy hid; for every spring the +amaranthine and celestial flower gained on the mortal household herb; +for every autumn the catnip died, but never an autumn made the amaranth +to wane. The catnip and the amaranth!—man’s earthly household peace, +and the ever-encroaching appetite for God.</p> + +<p>No more now you sideways followed the sad pasture’s skirt, but took your +way adown the long declivity, fronting the mystic height. In mid field +again you paused among the recumbent sphinx-like shapes thrown off from +the rocky steep. You paused; fixed by a form defiant, a form of +awfulness. You saw Enceladus the Titan, the most potent of all the +giants, writhing from out the imprisoning earth;—turbaned with upborn +moss he writhed; still, though armless, resisting with his whole +striving trunk, the Pelion and the Ossa hurled back at him;—turbaned +with upborn moss he writhed; still turning his unconquerable front +toward that majestic mount eternally in vain assailed by him, and which, +when it had stormed him off, had heaved his undoffable incubus upon him, +and deridingly left him there to bay out his ineffectual howl.</p> + +<p>To Pierre this wondrous shape had always been a thing of interest, +though hitherto all its latent significance had never fully and +intelligibly smitten him. In his earlier boyhood a strolling company of +young collegian pedestrians had chanced to light upon the rock; and, +struck with its remarkableness, had brought a score of picks and spades, +and dug round it to unearth it, and find whether indeed it were a +demoniac freak of nature, or some stern thing of antediluvian art. +Accompanying this eager party, Pierre first beheld that deathless son of +Terra. At<a name="page_471"></a> that time, in its untouched natural state, the statue +presented nothing but the turbaned head of igneous rock rising from out +the soil, with its unabasable face turned upward toward the mountain, +and the bull-like neck clearly defined. With distorted features, scarred +and broken, and a black brow mocked by the upborn moss, Enceladus there +subterraneously stood, fast frozen into the earth at the junction of the +neck. Spades and picks soon heaved part of his Ossa from him, till at +last a circular well was opened round him to the depth of some thirteen +feet. At that point the wearied young collegians gave over their +enterprise in despair. With all their toil, they had not yet come to the +girdle of Enceladus. But they had bared good part of his mighty chest, +and exposed his mutilated shoulders, and the stumps of his once +audacious arms. Thus far uncovering his shame, in that cruel plight they +had abandoned him, leaving stark naked his in vain indignant chest to +the defilements of the birds, which for untold ages had cast their +foulness on his vanquished crest.</p> + +<p>Not unworthy to be compared with that leaden Titan, wherewith the art of +Marsy and the broad-flung pride of Bourbon enriched the enchanted +gardens of Versailles;—and from whose still twisted mouth for sixty +feet the waters yet upgush, in elemental rivalry with those Etna flames, +of old asserted to be the malicious breath of the borne-down giant;—not +unworthy to be compared with that leaden demi-god—piled with costly +rocks, and with one bent wrenching knee protruding from the broken +bronze;—not unworthy to be compared with that bold trophy of high art, +this American Enceladus, wrought by the vigorous hand of Nature’s self, +it did go further than compare;—it did far surpass that fine figure +molded by the inferior skill of man. Marsy gave arms to the eternally +defenseless; but Nature, more truthful, performed an amputation, and +left the impotent Titan without one serviceable ball-and-socket above +the thigh.<a name="page_472"></a></p> + +<p>Such was the wild scenery—the Mount of Titans, and the repulsed group +of heaven-assaulters, with Enceladus in their midst shamefully recumbent +at its base;—such was the wild scenery, which now to Pierre, in his +strange vision, displaced the four blank walls, the desk, and camp-bed, +and domineered upon his trance. But no longer petrified in all their +ignominious attitudes, the herded Titans now sprung to their feet; flung +themselves up the slope; and anew battered at the precipice’s +unresounding wall. Foremost among them all, he saw a moss-turbaned, +armless giant, who despairing of any other mode of wreaking his +immitigable hate, turned his vast trunk into a battering-ram, and hurled +his own arched-out ribs again and yet again against the invulnerable +steep.</p> + +<p>“Enceladus! it is Enceladus!”—Pierre cried out in his sleep. That +moment the phantom faced him; and Pierre saw Enceladus no more; but on +the Titan’s armless trunk, his own duplicate face and features +magnifiedly gleamed upon him with prophetic discomfiture and woe. With +trembling frame he started from his chair, and woke from that ideal +horror to all his actual grief.</p> + +<hr /> + +<h4>V.</h4> + +<p>N<small>OR</small> did Pierre’s random knowledge of the ancient fables fail still +further to elucidate the vision which so strangely had supplied a tongue +to muteness. But that elucidation was most repulsively fateful and +foreboding; possibly because Pierre did not leap the final barrier of +gloom; possibly because Pierre did not willfully wrest some final +comfort from the fable; did not flog this stubborn rock as Moses his, +and force even aridity itself to quench his painful thirst.<a name="page_473"></a></p> + +<p>Thus smitten, the Mount of Titans seems to yield this following +stream:—</p> + +<p>Old Titan’s self was the son of incestuous Cœlus and Terra, the son +of incestuous Heaven and Earth. And Titan married his mother Terra, +another and accumulatively incestuous match. And thereof Enceladus was +one issue. So Enceladus was both the son and grandson of an incest; and +even thus, there had been born from the organic blended heavenliness and +earthliness of Pierre, another mixed, uncertain, heaven-aspiring, but +still not wholly earth-emancipated mood; which again, by its terrestrial +taint held down to its terrestrial mother, generated there the present +doubly incestuous Enceladus within him; so that the present mood of +Pierre—that reckless sky-assaulting mood of his, was nevertheless on +one side the grandson of the sky. For it is according to eternal +fitness, that the precipitated Titan should still seek to regain his +paternal birthright even by fierce escalade. Wherefore whoso storms the +sky gives best proof he came from thither! But whatso crawls contented +in the moat before that crystal fort, shows it was born within that +slime, and there forever will abide.</p> + +<p>Recovered somewhat from the after-spell of this wild vision folded in +his trance, Pierre composed his front as best he might, and straightway +left his fatal closet. Concentrating all the remaining stuff in him, he +resolved by an entire and violent change, and by a willful act against +his own most habitual inclinations, to wrestle with the strange malady +of his eyes, this new death-fiend of the trance, and this Inferno of his +Titanic vision.</p> + +<p>And now, just as he crossed the threshold of the closet, he writhingly +strove to assume an expression intended to be not uncheerful—though how +indeed his countenance at all looked, he could not tell; for dreading +some insupportably dark revealments in his glass, he had of late wholly +abstained from appealing to it—and in his mind he rapidly conned over, +what<a name="page_474"></a> indifferent, disguising, or light-hearted gamesome things he +should say, when proposing to his companions the little design he +cherished.</p> + +<p>And even so, to grim Enceladus, the world the gods had chained for a +ball to drag at his o’erfreighted feet;—even so that globe put forth a +thousand flowers, whose fragile smiles disguised his ponderous load.<a name="page_475"></a></p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="BOOK_XXVI"></a>BOOK XXVI.<br /> +A WALK: A FOREIGN PORTRAIT: A SAIL: AND THE END.</h2> + +<h4>I.</h4> + +<p>“Come, Isabel, come, Lucy; we have not had a single walk together yet. +It is cold, but clear; and once out of the city, we shall find it sunny. +Come: get ready now, and away for a stroll down to the wharf, and then +for some of the steamers on the bay. No doubt, Lucy, you will find in +the bay scenery some hints for that secret sketch you are so busily +occupied with—ere real living sitters do come—and which you so +devotedly work at, all alone and behind closed doors.”</p> + +<p>Upon this, Lucy’s original look of pale-rippling pleasantness and +surprise—evoked by Pierre’s unforeseen proposition to give himself some +relaxation—changed into one of infinite, mute, but unrenderable +meaning, while her swimming eyes gently, yet all-bewildered, fell to the +floor.</p> + +<p>“It is finished, then,” cried Isabel,—not unmindful of this by-scene, +and passionately stepping forward so as to intercept Pierre’s momentary +rapt glance at the agitated Lucy,—“That vile book, it is +finished!—Thank Heaven!”</p> + +<p>“Not so,” said Pierre; and, displacing all disguisements, a hectic +unsummoned expression suddenly came to his face;—“but ere that vile +book be finished, I must get on some other element than earth. I have +sat on earth’s saddle till I am weary; I must now vault over to the +other saddle awhile. Oh, seems<a name="page_476"></a> to me, there should be two ceaseless +steeds for a bold man to ride,—the Land and the Sea; and like +circus-men we should never dismount, but only be steadied and rested by +leaping from one to the other, while still, side by side, they both race +round the sun. I have been on the Land steed so long, oh I am dizzy!”</p> + +<p>“Thou wilt never listen to me, Pierre,” said Lucy lowly; “there is no +need of this incessant straining. See, Isabel and I have both offered to +be thy amanuenses;—not in mere copying, but in the original writing; I +am sure that would greatly assist thee.”</p> + +<p>“Impossible! I fight a duel in which all seconds are forbid.”</p> + +<p>“Ah Pierre! Pierre!” cried Lucy, dropping the shawl in her hand, and +gazing at him with unspeakable longings of some unfathomable emotion.</p> + +<p>Namelessly glancing at Lucy, Isabel slid near to him, seized his hand +and spoke.</p> + +<p>“I would go blind for thee, Pierre; here, take out these eyes, and use +them for glasses.” So saying, she looked with a strange momentary +haughtiness and defiance at Lucy.</p> + +<p>A general half involuntary movement was now made, as if they were about +to depart.</p> + +<p>“Ye are ready; go ye before”—said Lucy meekly; “I will follow.”</p> + +<p>“Nay, one on each arm”—said Pierre—“come!”</p> + +<p>As they passed through the low arched vestibule into the street, a +cheek-burnt, gamesome sailor passing, exclaimed—“Steer small, my lad; +’tis a narrow strait thou art in!”</p> + +<p>“What says he?”—said Lucy gently. “Yes, it is a narrow strait of a +street indeed.”</p> + +<p>But Pierre felt a sudden tremble transferred to him from Isabel, who +whispered something inarticulate in his ear.</p> + +<p>Gaining one of the thoroughfares, they drew near to a conspicuous +placard over a door, announcing that above stairs was<a name="page_477"></a> a gallery of +paintings, recently imported from Europe, and now on free exhibition +preparatory to their sale by auction. Though this encounter had been +entirely unforeseen by Pierre, yet yielding to the sudden impulse, he at +once proposed their visiting the pictures. The girls assented, and they +ascended the stairs.</p> + +<p>In the anteroom, a catalogue was put into his hand. He paused to give +one hurried, comprehensive glance at it. Among long columns of such +names as Rubens, Raphael, Angelo, Domenichino, Da Vinci, all shamelessly +prefaced with the words “undoubted,” or “testified,” Pierre met the +following brief line:—“<i>No. 99. A stranger’s head, by an unknown +hand.</i>”</p> + +<p>It seemed plain that the whole must be a collection of those wretched +imported daubs, which with the incredible effrontery peculiar to some of +the foreign picture-dealers in America, were christened by the loftiest +names known to Art. But as the most mutilated torsoes of the perfections +of antiquity are not unworthy the student’s attention, neither are the +most bungling modern incompletenesses: for both are torsoes; one of +perished perfections in the past; the other, by anticipation, of yet +unfulfilled perfections in the future. Still, as Pierre walked along by +the thickly hung walls, and seemed to detect the infatuated vanity which +must have prompted many of these utterly unknown artists in the +attempted execution by feeble hand of vigorous themes; he could not +repress the most melancholy foreboding concerning himself. All the walls +of the world seemed thickly hung with the empty and impotent scope of +pictures, grandly outlined, but miserably filled. The smaller and +humbler pictures, representing little familiar things, were by far the +best executed; but these, though touching him not unpleasingly, in one +restricted sense, awoke no dormant majesties in his soul, and therefore, +upon the whole, were contemptibly inadequate and unsatisfactory.</p> + +<p>At last Pierre and Isabel came to that painting of which Pierre was +capriciously in search—No. 99.<a name="page_478"></a></p> + +<p>“My God! see! see!” cried Isabel, under strong excitement, “only my +mirror has ever shown me that look before! See! see!”</p> + +<p>By some mere hocus-pocus of chance, or subtly designing knavery, a real +Italian gem of art had found its way into this most hybrid collection of +impostures.</p> + +<p>No one who has passed through the great galleries of Europe, +unbewildered by their wonderful multitudinousness of surpassing +excellence—a redundancy which neutralizes all discrimination or +individualizing capacity in most ordinary minds—no calm, penetrative +person can have victoriously run that painted gauntlet of the gods, +without certain very special emotions, called forth by some one or more +individual paintings, to which, however, both the catalogues and the +criticisms of the greatest connoisseurs deny any all-transcending merit, +at all answering to the effect thus casually produced. There is no time +now to show fully how this is; suffice it, that in such instances, it is +not the abstract excellence always, but often the accidental +congeniality, which occasions this wonderful emotion. Still, the +individual himself is apt to impute it to a different cause; hence, the +headlong enthusiastic admiration of some one or two men for things not +at all praised by—or at most, which are indifferent to—the rest of the +world;—a matter so often considered inexplicable.</p> + +<p>But in this Stranger’s Head by the Unknown Hand, the abstract general +excellence united with the all-surprising, accidental congeniality in +producing an accumulated impression of power upon both Pierre and +Isabel. Nor was the strangeness of this at all impaired by the apparent +uninterestedness of Lucy concerning that very picture. Indeed, +Lucy—who, owing to the occasional jolting of the crowd, had loosened +her arm from Pierre’s, and so, gradually, had gone on along the pictured +hall in advance—Lucy had thus passed the strange painting, without the +least special pause, and had now wandered round to the<a name="page_479"></a> precisely +opposite side of the hall; where, at this present time, she was standing +motionless before a very tolerable copy (the only other good thing in +the collection) of that sweetest, most touching, but most awful of all +feminine heads—The Cenci of Guido. The wonderfulness of which head +consists chiefly, perhaps, in a striking, suggested contrast, +half-identical with, and half-analogous to, that almost supernatural +one—sometimes visible in the maidens of tropical nations—namely, soft +and light blue eyes, with an extremely fair complexion; vailed by +funereally jetty hair. But with blue eyes and fair complexion, the +Cenci’s hair is golden—physically, therefore, all is in strict, natural +keeping; which, nevertheless, still the more intensifies the suggested +fanciful anomaly of so sweetly and seraphically <i>blonde</i> a being, being +double-hooded, as it were, by the black crape of the two most horrible +crimes (of one of which she is the object, and of the other the agent) +possible to civilized humanity—incest and parricide.</p> + +<p>Now, this Cenci and “the Stranger” were hung at a good elevation in one +of the upper tiers; and, from the opposite walls, exactly faced each +other; so that in secret they seemed pantomimically talking over and +across the heads of the living spectators below.</p> + +<p>With the aspect of the Cenci every one is familiar. “The Stranger” was a +dark, comely, youthful man’s head, portentously looking out of a dark, +shaded ground, and ambiguously smiling. There was no discoverable +drapery; the dark head, with its crisp, curly, jetty hair, seemed just +disentangling itself from out of curtains and clouds. But to Isabel, in +the eye and on the brow, were certain shadowy traces of her own +unmistakable likeness; while to Pierre, this face was in part as the +resurrection of the one he had burnt at the Inn. Not that the separate +features were the same; but the pervading look of it, the subtler +interior keeping of the entirety, was almost identical; still, for all +this, there was an unequivocal aspect of foreignness,<a name="page_480"></a> of Europeanism, +about both the face itself and the general painting.</p> + +<p>“Is it? Is it? Can it be?” whispered Isabel, intensely.</p> + +<p>Now, Isabel knew nothing of the painting which Pierre had destroyed. But +she solely referred to the living being who—under the designation of +her father—had visited her at the cheerful house to which she had been +removed during childhood from the large and unnamable one by the +pleasant woman in the coach. Without doubt—though indeed she might not +have been at all conscious of it in her own mystic mind—she must have +somehow vaguely fancied, that this being had always through life worn +the same aspect to every body else which he had to her, for so very +brief an interval of his possible existence. Solely knowing him—or +dreaming of him, it may have been—under that one aspect, she could not +conceive of him under any other. Whether or not these considerations +touching Isabel’s ideas occurred to Pierre at this moment is very +improbable. At any rate, he said nothing to her, either to deceive or +undeceive, either to enlighten or obscure. For, indeed, he was too much +riveted by his own far-interior emotions to analyze now the cotemporary +ones of Isabel. So that there here came to pass a not unremarkable +thing: for though both were intensely excited by one object, yet their +two minds and memories were thereby directed to entirely different +contemplations; while still each, for the time—however +unreasonably—might have vaguely supposed the other occupied by one and +the same contemplation. Pierre was thinking of the chair-portrait: +Isabel, of the living face. Yet Isabel’s fervid exclamations having +reference to the living face, were now, as it were, mechanically +responded to by Pierre, in syllables having reference to the +chair-portrait. Nevertheless, so subtile and spontaneous was it all, +that neither perhaps ever afterward discovered this contradiction; for, +events whirled them so rapidly and peremptorily<a name="page_481"></a> after this, that they +had no time for those calm retrospective reveries indispensable perhaps +to such a discovery.</p> + +<p>“Is it? is it? can it be?” was the intense whisper of Isabel.</p> + +<p>“No, it can not be, it is not,” replied Pierre; “one of the wonderful +coincidences, nothing more.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, by that word, Pierre, we but vainly seek to explain the +inexplicable. Tell me: it is! it must be! it is wonderful!”</p> + +<p>“Let us begone; and let us keep eternal silence,” said Pierre, quickly; +and, seeking Lucy, they abruptly left the place; as before, Pierre, +seemingly unwilling to be accosted by any one he knew, or who knew his +companions, unconsciously accelerating their steps while forced for a +space to tread the thoroughfares.</p> + +<hr /> + +<h4>II.</h4> + +<p>A<small>S</small> they hurried on, Pierre was silent; but wild thoughts were hurrying +and shouting in his heart. The most tremendous displacing and +revolutionizing thoughts were upheaving in him, with reference to +Isabel; nor—though at the time he was hardly conscious of such a +thing—were these thoughts wholly unwelcome to him.</p> + +<p>How did he know that Isabel was his sister? Setting aside Aunt +Dorothea’s nebulous legend, to which, in some shadowy points, here and +there Isabel’s still more nebulous story seemed to fit on,—though but +uncertainly enough—and both of which thus blurredly conjoining +narrations, regarded in the unscrupulous light of real naked reason, +were any thing but legitimately conclusive; and setting aside his own +dim reminiscences of his wandering father’s death-bed; (for though, in +one point of view, those reminiscences might have afforded some degree +of presumption as to his father’s having been the parent of an +unacknowledged<a name="page_482"></a> daughter, yet were they entirely inconclusive as to that +presumed daughter’s identity; and the grand point now with Pierre was, +not the general question whether his father had had a daughter, but +whether, assuming that he had had, <i>Isabel</i>, rather than any other +living being, <i>was that daughter</i>;)—and setting aside all his own +manifold and inter-enfolding mystic and transcendental +persuasions,—originally born, as he now seemed to feel, purely of an +intense procreative enthusiasm:—an enthusiasm no longer so +all-potential with him as of yore; setting all these aside, and coming +to the plain, palpable facts,—how did he <i>know</i> that Isabel was his +sister? Nothing that he saw in her face could he remember as having seen +in his father’s. The chair-portrait, <i>that</i> was the entire sum and +substance of all possible, rakable, downright presumptive evidence, +which peculiarly appealed to his own separate self. Yet here was another +portrait of a complete stranger—a European; a portrait imported from +across the seas, and to be sold at public auction, which was just as +strong an evidence as the other. Then, the original of this second +portrait was as much the father of Isabel as the original of the +chair-portrait. But perhaps there was no original at all to this second +portrait; it might have been a pure fancy piece; to which conceit, +indeed, the uncharacterizing style of the filling-up seemed to furnish +no small testimony.</p> + +<p>With such bewildering meditations as these in him, running up like +clasping waves upon the strand of the most latent secrecies of his soul, +and with both Isabel and Lucy bodily touching his sides as he walked; +the feelings of Pierre were entirely untranslatable into any words that +can be used.</p> + +<p>Of late to Pierre, much more vividly than ever before, the whole story +of Isabel had seemed an enigma, a mystery, an imaginative delirium; +especially since he had got so deep into the inventional mysteries of +his book. For he who is most practically and deeply conversant with +mysticisms and mysteries;<a name="page_483"></a> he who professionally deals in mysticisms and +mysteries himself; often that man, more than any body else, is disposed +to regard such things in others as very deceptively bejuggling; and +likewise is apt to be rather materialistic in all his own merely +personal notions (as in their practical lives, with priests of +Eleusinian religions), and more than any other man, is often inclined, +at the bottom of his soul, to be uncompromisingly skeptical on all novel +visionary hypotheses of any kind. It is only the no-mystics, or the +half-mystics, who, properly speaking, are credulous. So that in Pierre, +was presented the apparent anomaly of a mind, which by becoming really +profound in itself, grew skeptical of all tendered profundities; +whereas, the contrary is generally supposed.</p> + +<p>By some strange arts Isabel’s wonderful story might have been, someway, +and for some cause, forged for her, in her childhood, and craftily +impressed upon her youthful mind; which so—like a slight mark in a +young tree—had now enlargingly grown with her growth, till it had +become this immense staring marvel. Tested by any thing real, practical, +and reasonable, what less probable, for instance, than that fancied +crossing of the sea in her childhood, when upon Pierre’s subsequent +questioning of her, she did not even know that the sea was salt.</p> + +<hr /> + +<h4>III.</h4> + +<p>I<small>N</small> the midst of all these mental confusions they arrived at the wharf; +and selecting the most inviting of the various boats which lay about +them in three or four adjacent ferry-slips, and one which was bound for +a half-hour’s sail across the wide beauty of that glorious bay; they +soon found themselves afloat and in swift gliding motion.</p> + +<p>They stood leaning on the rail of the guard, as the sharp<a name="page_484"></a> craft darted +out from among the lofty pine-forests of ships’-masts, and the tangled +underbrush and cane-brakes of the dwarfed sticks of sloops and scows. +Soon, the spires of stone on the land, blent with the masts of wood on +the water; the crotch of the twin-rivers pressed the great wedged city +almost out of sight. They swept by two little islets distant from the +shore; they wholly curved away from the domes of free-stone and marble, +and gained the great sublime dome of the bay’s wide-open waters.</p> + +<p>Small breeze had been felt in the pent city that day, but the fair +breeze of naked nature now blew in their faces. The waves began to +gather and roll; and just as they gained a point, where—still +beyond—between high promontories of fortresses, the wide bay visibly +sluiced into the Atlantic, Isabel convulsively grasped the arm of Pierre +and convulsively spoke.</p> + +<p>“I feel it! I feel it! It is! It is!”</p> + +<p>“What feelest thou?—what is it?”</p> + +<p>“The motion! the motion!”</p> + +<p>“Dost thou not understand, Pierre?” said Lucy, eying with concern and +wonder his pale, staring aspect—“The waves: it is the motion of the +waves that Isabel speaks of. Look, they are rolling, direct from the sea +now.”</p> + +<p>Again Pierre lapsed into a still stranger silence and revery.</p> + +<p>It was impossible altogether to resist the force of this striking +corroboration of by far the most surprising and improbable thing in the +whole surprising and improbable story of Isabel. Well did he remember +her vague reminiscence of the teetering sea, that did not slope exactly +as the floors of the unknown, abandoned, old house among the French-like +mountains.</p> + +<p>While plunged in these mutually neutralizing thoughts of the strange +picture and the last exclamations of Isabel, the boat arrived at its +destination—a little hamlet on the beach, not very far from the great +blue sluice-way into the ocean, which was now yet more distinctly +visible than before.<a name="page_485"></a></p> + +<p>“Don’t let us stop here”—cried Isabel. “Look, let us go through there! +Bell must go through there! See! see! out there upon the blue! yonder, +yonder! far away—out, out!—far, far away, and away, and away, out +there! where the two blues meet, and are nothing—Bell must go!”</p> + +<p>“Why, Isabel,” murmured Lucy, “that would be to go to far England or +France; thou wouldst find but few friends in far France, Isabel.”</p> + +<p>“Friends in far France? And what friends have I here?—Art thou my +friend? In thy secret heart dost thou wish me well? And for thee, +Pierre, what am I but a vile clog to thee; dragging thee back from all +thy felicity? Yes, I will go yonder—yonder; out there! I will, I will! +Unhand me! Let me plunge!”</p> + +<p>For an instant, Lucy looked incoherently from one to the other. But both +she and Pierre now mechanically again seized Isabel’s frantic arms, as +they were again thrown over the outer rail of the boat. They dragged her +back; they spoke to her; they soothed her; but though less vehement, +Isabel still looked deeply distrustfully at Lucy, and deeply +reproachfully at Pierre.</p> + +<p>They did not leave the boat as intended; too glad were they all, when it +unloosed from its fastenings, and turned about upon the backward trip.</p> + +<p>Stepping to shore, Pierre once more hurried his companions through the +unavoidable publicity of the thoroughfares; but less rapidly proceeded, +soon as they gained the more secluded streets.</p> + +<hr /> + +<h4>IV.</h4> + +<p>G<small>AINING</small> the Apostles’, and leaving his two companions to the privacy of +their chambers, Pierre sat silent and intent<a name="page_486"></a> by the stove in the +dining-room for a time, and then was on the point of entering his closet +from the corridor, when Delly, suddenly following him, said to him, that +she had forgotten to mention it before, but he would find two letters in +his room, which had been separately left at the door during the absence +of the party.</p> + +<p>He passed into the closet, and slowly shooting the bolt—which, for want +of something better, happened to be an old blunted dagger—walked, with +his cap yet unmoved, slowly up to the table, and beheld the letters. +They were lying with their sealed sides up; one in either hand, he +lifted them; and held them straight out sideways from him.</p> + +<p>“I see not the writing; know not yet, by mine own eye, that they are +meant for me; yet, in these hands I feel that I now hold the final +poniards that shall stab me; and by stabbing me, make <i>me</i> too a most +swift stabber in the recoil. Which point first?—this!”</p> + +<p>He tore open the left-hand letter:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“S<small>IR</small>:—You are a swindler. Upon the pretense of writing a popular +novel for us, you have been receiving cash advances from us, while +passing through our press the sheets of a blasphemous rhapsody, +filched from the vile Atheists, Lucian and Voltaire. Our great +press of publication has hitherto prevented our slightest +inspection of our reader’s proofs of your book. Send not another +sheet to us. Our bill for printing thus far, and also for our cash +advances, swindled out of us by you, is now in the hands of our +lawyer, who is instructed to proceed with instant rigor.</p> + +<p class="r">(<i>Signed</i>) + + + + S<small>TEEL</small>, F<small>LINT</small> & A<small>SBESTOS</small>.”</p> +</div> + +<p>He folded the left-hand letter, and put it beneath his left heel, and +stood upon it so; and then opened the right-hand letter.<a name="page_487"></a></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“Thou, Pierre Glendinning, art a villainous and perjured liar. It +is the sole object of this letter imprintedly to convey the point +blank lie to thee; that taken in at thy heart, it may be thence +pulsed with thy blood, throughout thy system. We have let some +interval pass inactive, to confirm and solidify our hate. +Separately, and together, we brand thee, in thy every lung-cell, a +liar;—liar, because that is the scornfullest and loathsomest title +for a man; which in itself is the compend of all infamous things.</p> + +<p class="r">(<i>Signed</i>) + + + + G<small>LENDINNING</small> S<small>TANLY</small>,<br /> +F<small>REDERIC</small> T<small>ARTAN</small>.” </p></div> + +<p>He folded the right-hand letter, and put it beneath his right heel; then +folding his two arms, stood upon both the letters.</p> + +<p>“These are most small circumstances; but happening just now to me, +become indices to all immensities. For now am I hate-shod! On these I +will skate to my acquittal! No longer do I hold terms with aught. +World’s bread of life, and world’s breath of honor, both are snatched +from me; but I defy all world’s bread and breath. Here I step out before +the drawn-up worlds in widest space, and challenge one and all of them +to battle! Oh, Glen! oh, Fred! most fraternally do I leap to your +rib-crushing hugs! Oh, how I love ye two, that yet can make me lively +hate, in a world which elsewise only merits stagnant scorn!—Now, then, +where is this swindler’s, this coiner’s book? Here, on this vile +counter, over which the coiner thought to pass it to the world, here +will I nail it fast, for a detected cheat! And thus nailed fast now, do +I spit upon it, and so get the start of the wise world’s worst abuse of +it! Now I go out to meet my fate, walking toward me in the street.”</p> + +<p>As with hat on, and Glen and Frederic’s letter invisibly crumpled in his +hand, he—as it were somnambulously—passed into the room of Isabel, she +gave loose to a thin, long shriek, at his wondrous white and haggard +plight; and then, without the<a name="page_488"></a> power to stir toward him, sat petrified +in her chair, as one embalmed and glazed with icy varnish.</p> + +<p>He heeded her not, but passed straight on through both intervening +rooms, and without a knock unpremeditatedly entered Lucy’s chamber. He +would have passed out of that, also, into the corridor, without one +word; but something stayed him.</p> + +<p>The marble girl sat before her easel; a small box of pointed charcoal, +and some pencils by her side; her painter’s wand held out against the +frame; the charcoal-pencil suspended in two fingers, while with the same +hand, holding a crust of bread, she was lightly brushing the +portrait-paper, to efface some ill-considered stroke. The floor was +scattered with the bread-crumbs and charcoal-dust; he looked behind the +easel, and saw his own portrait, in the skeleton.</p> + +<p>At the first glimpse of him, Lucy started not, nor stirred; but as if +her own wand had there enchanted her, sat tranced.</p> + +<p>“Dead embers of departed fires lie by thee, thou pale girl; with dead +embers thou seekest to relume the flame of all extinguished love! Waste +not so that bread; eat it—in bitterness!”</p> + +<p>He turned, and entered the corridor, and then, with outstretched arms, +paused between the two outer doors of Isabel and Lucy.</p> + +<p>“For ye two, my most undiluted prayer is now, that from your here unseen +and frozen chairs ye may never stir alive;—the fool of Truth, the fool +of Virtue, the fool of Fate, now quits ye forever!”</p> + +<p>As he now sped down the long winding passage, some one eagerly hailed +him from a stair.</p> + +<p>“What, what, my boy? where now in such a squally hurry? Hallo, I say!”</p> + +<p>But without heeding him at all, Pierre drove on. Millthorpe looked +anxiously and alarmedly after him a moment, then made a movement in +pursuit, but paused again.<a name="page_489"></a></p> + +<p>“There was ever a black vein in this Glendinning; and now that vein is +swelled, as if it were just one peg above a tourniquet drawn over-tight. +I scarce durst dog him now; yet my heart misgives me that I +should.—Shall I go to his rooms and ask what black thing this is that +hath befallen him?—No; not yet;—might be thought officious—they say +I’m given to that. I’ll wait; something may turn up soon. I’ll into the +front street, and saunter some; and then—we’ll see.”</p> + +<hr /> + +<h4>V.</h4> + +<p>P<small>IERRE</small> passed on to a remote quarter of the building, and abruptly +entered the room of one of the Apostles whom he knew. There was no one +in it. He hesitated an instant; then walked up to a book-case, with a +chest of drawers in the lower part.</p> + +<p>“Here I saw him put them:—this,—no—here—ay—we’ll try this.”</p> + +<p>Wrenching open the locked drawer, a brace of pistols, a powder flask, a +bullet-bag, and a round green box of percussion-caps lay before him.</p> + +<p>“Ha! what wondrous tools Prometheus used, who knows? but more wondrous +these, that in an instant, can unmake the topmost +three-score-years-and-ten of all Prometheus’ makings. Come: here’s two +tubes that’ll outroar the thousand pipes of Harlem.—Is the music in +’em?—No?—Well then, here’s powder for the shrill treble; and wadding +for the tenor; and a lead bullet for the concluding bass! +And,—and,—and,—ay; for the top-wadding, I’ll send ’em back their lie, +and plant it scorching in their brains!”</p> + +<p>He tore off that part of Glen and Fred’s letter, which more<a name="page_490"></a> +particularly gave the lie; and halving it, rammed it home upon the +bullets.</p> + +<p>He thrust a pistol into either breast of his coat; and taking the +rearward passages, went down into the back street; directing his rapid +steps toward the grand central thoroughfare of the city.</p> + +<p>It was a cold, but clear, quiet, and slantingly sunny day; it was +between four and five of the afternoon; that hour, when the great +glaring avenue was most thronged with haughty-rolling carriages, and +proud-rustling promenaders, both men and women. But these last were +mostly confined to the one wide pavement to the West; the other pavement +was well nigh deserted, save by porters, waiters, and parcel-carriers of +the shops. On the west pave, up and down, for three long miles, two +streams of glossy, shawled, or broadcloth life unceasingly brushed by +each other, as long, resplendent, drooping trains of rival peacocks +brush.</p> + +<p>Mixing with neither of these, Pierre stalked midway between. From his +wild and fatal aspect, one way the people took the wall, the other way +they took the curb. Unentangledly Pierre threaded all their host, though +in its inmost heart. Bent he was, on a straightforward, mathematical +intent. His eyes were all about him as he went; especially he glanced +over to the deserted pavement opposite; for that emptiness did not +deceive him; he himself had often walked that side, the better to scan +the pouring throng upon the other.</p> + +<p>Just as he gained a large, open, triangular space, built round with the +stateliest public erections;—the very proscenium of the town;—he saw +Glen and Fred advancing, in the distance, on the other side. He +continued on; and soon he saw them crossing over to him obliquely, so as +to take him face-and-face. He continued on; when suddenly running ahead +of Fred, who now chafingly stood still (because Fred would not make two, +in the direct personal assault upon one) and shouting “Liar!<a name="page_491"></a> Villain!” +Glen leaped toward Pierre from front, and with such lightning-like +ferocity, that the simultaneous blow of his cowhide smote Pierre across +the cheek, and left a half-livid and half-bloody brand.</p> + +<p>For that one moment, the people fell back on all sides from them; and +left them—momentarily recoiled from each other—in a ring of panics.</p> + +<p>But clapping both hands to his two breasts, Pierre, on both sides +shaking off the sudden white grasp of two rushing girls, tore out both +pistols, and rushed headlong upon Glen.</p> + +<p>“For thy one blow, take here two deaths! ’Tis speechless sweet to murder +thee!”</p> + +<p>Spatterings of his own kindred blood were upon the pavement; his own +hand had extinguished his house in slaughtering the only unoutlawed +human being by the name of Glendinning;—and Pierre was seized by a +hundred contending hands.</p> + +<hr /> + +<h4>VI.</h4> + +<p>T<small>HAT</small> sundown, Pierre stood solitary in a low dungeon of the city prison. +The cumbersome stone ceiling almost rested on his brow; so that the long +tiers of massive cell-galleries above seemed partly piled on him. His +immortal, immovable, bleached cheek was dry; but the stone cheeks of the +walls were trickling. The pent twilight of the contracted yard, coming +through the barred arrow-slit, fell in dim bars upon the granite floor.</p> + +<p>“Here, then, is the untimely, timely end;—Life’s last chapter well +stitched into the middle! Nor book, nor author of the book, hath any +sequel, though each hath its last lettering!—It is ambiguous still. Had +I been heartless now, disowned,<a name="page_492"></a> and spurningly portioned off the girl +at Saddle Meadows, then had I been happy through a long life on earth, +and perchance through a long eternity in heaven! Now, ’tis merely hell +in both worlds. Well, be it hell. I will mold a trumpet of the flames, +and, with my breath of flame, breathe back my defiance! But give me +first another body! I long and long to die, to be rid of this dishonored +cheek. <i>Hung by the neck till thou be dead.</i>—Not if I forestall you, +though!—Oh now to live is death, and now to die is life; now, to my +soul, were a sword my midwife!—Hark!—the hangman?—who comes?”</p> + +<p>“Thy wife and cousin—so they say;—hope they may be; they may stay till +twelve;” wheezingly answered a turnkey, pushing the tottering girls into +the cell, and locking the door upon them.</p> + +<p>“Ye two pale ghosts, were this the other world, ye were not welcome. +Away!—Good Angel and Bad Angel both!—For Pierre is neuter now!”</p> + +<p>“Oh, ye stony roofs, and seven-fold stony skies!—not thou art the +murderer, but thy sister hath murdered thee, my brother, oh my brother!”</p> + +<p>At these wailed words from Isabel, Lucy shrunk up like a scroll, and +noiselessly fell at the feet of Pierre.</p> + +<p>He touched her heart.—“Dead!—Girl! wife or sister, saint or +fiend!”—seizing Isabel in his grasp—“in thy breasts, life for infants +lodgeth not, but death-milk for thee and me!—The drug!” and tearing her +bosom loose, he seized the secret vial nesting there.<a name="page_493"></a></p> + +<hr /> + +<h4>VII.</h4> + +<p>A<small>T</small> night the squat-framed, asthmatic turnkey tramped the dim-lit iron +gallery before one of the long honey-combed rows of cells.</p> + +<p>“Mighty still there, in that hole, them two mice I let in;—humph!”</p> + +<p>Suddenly, at the further end of the gallery, he discerned a shadowy +figure emerging from the archway there, and running on before an +officer, and impetuously approaching where the turnkey stood.</p> + +<p>“More relations coming. These wind-broken chaps are always in before the +second death, seeing they always miss the first.—Humph! What a froth +the fellow’s in?—Wheezes worse than me!”</p> + +<p>“Where is she?” cried Fred Tartan, fiercely, to him; “she’s not at the +murderer’s rooms! I sought the sweet girl there, instant upon the blow; +but the lone dumb thing I found there only wrung her speechless hands +and pointed to the door;—both birds were flown! Where is she, turnkey? +I’ve searched all lengths and breadths but this. Hath any angel swept +adown and lighted in your granite hell?”</p> + +<p>“Broken his wind, and broken loose, too, aint he?” wheezed the turnkey +to the officer who now came up.</p> + +<p>“This gentleman seeks a young lady, his sister, someway innocently +connected with the prisoner last brought in. Have any females been here +to see him?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, ay,—two of ’em in there now;” jerking his stumped thumb behind +him.</p> + +<p>Fred darted toward the designated cell.</p> + +<p>“Oh, easy, easy, young gentleman”—jingling at his huge bunch of +keys—“easy, easy, till I get the picks—I’m housewife here.—Hallo, +here comes another.”<a name="page_494"></a></p> + +<p>Hurrying through the same archway toward them, there now rapidly +advanced a second impetuous figure, running on in advance of a second +officer.</p> + +<p>“Where is the cell?” demanded Millthorpe.</p> + +<p>“He seeks an interview with the last prisoner,” explained the second +officer.</p> + +<p>“Kill ’em both with one stone, then,” wheezed the turnkey, gratingly +throwing open the door of the cell. “There’s his pretty parlor, +gentlemen; step in. Reg’lar mouse-hole, arn’t it?—Might hear a rabbit +burrow on the world’s t’other side;—are they all ’sleep?”</p> + +<p>“I stumble!” cried Fred, from within; “Lucy! A light! a light!—Lucy!” +And he wildly groped about the cell, and blindly caught Millthorpe, who +was also wildly groping.</p> + +<p>“Blister me not! take off thy bloody touch!—Ho, ho, the light!—Lucy! +Lucy!—she’s fainted!”</p> + +<p>Then both stumbled again, and fell from each other in the cell: and for +a moment all seemed still, as though all breaths were held.</p> + +<p>As the light was now thrust in, Fred was seen on the floor holding his +sister in his arms; and Millthorpe kneeling by the side of Pierre, the +unresponsive hand in his; while Isabel, feebly moving, reclined between, +against the wall.</p> + +<p>“Yes! Yes!—Dead! Dead! Dead!—without one visible wound—her sweet +plumage hides it.—Thou hellish carrion, this is thy hellish work! Thy +juggler’s rifle brought down this heavenly bird! Oh, my God, my God! +Thou scalpest me with this sight!”</p> + +<p>“The dark vein’s burst, and here’s the deluge-wreck—all stranded here! +Ah, Pierre! my old companion, +Pierre;—school-mate—play-mate—friend!—Our sweet boy’s walks within +the woods!—Oh, I would have rallied thee, and banteringly warned thee +from thy too moody ways, but thou wouldst never heed! What scornful +innocence rests on thy lips, my friend!<a name="page_495"></a>—Hand scorched with murderer’s +powder, yet how woman-soft!—By heaven, these fingers move!—one +speechless clasp!—all’s o’er!”</p> + +<p>“All’s o’er, and ye know him not!” came gasping from the wall; and from +the fingers of Isabel dropped an empty vial—as it had been a run-out +sand-glass—and shivered upon the floor; and her whole form sloped +sideways, and she fell upon Pierre’s heart, and her long hair ran over +him, and arbored him in ebon vines.</p> + +<p> +<br /><br /> +</p> + +<p class="c">FINIS.</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PIERRE; OR THE AMBIGUITIES ***</div> +<div style='text-align:left'> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will +be renamed. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United +States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. 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Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..b2cfdb0 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #34970 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/34970) diff --git a/old/34970-8.txt b/old/34970-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..10daedd --- /dev/null +++ b/old/34970-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,16640 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Pierre; or The Ambiguities, by Herman Melville + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Pierre; or The Ambiguities + +Author: Herman Melville + +Release Date: January 15, 2011 [EBook #34970] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PIERRE; OR THE AMBIGUITIES *** + + + + +Produced by Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This book was +produced from scanned images of public domain material +from the Google Print project.) + + + + + + + + +PIERRE: +OR, +THE AMBIGUITIES. + +BY +HERMAN MELVILLE. + +NEW YORK: +HARPER & BROTHERS, PUBLISHERS +329 & 331 PEARL STREET, +FRANKLIN SQUARE. +1852. + + Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1852, by + HERMAN MELVILLE, + In the Clerk's Office of the Southern District of New York. + + + + +TO + +Greylock's Most Excellent Majesty. + + +In old times authors were proud of the privilege of dedicating their +works to Majesty. A right noble custom, which we of Berkshire must +revive. For whether we will or no, Majesty is all around us here in +Berkshire, sitting as in a grand Congress of Vienna of majestical +hill-tops, and eternally challenging our homage. + +But since the majestic mountain, Greylock--my own more immediate +sovereign lord and king--hath now, for innumerable ages, been the one +grand dedicatee of the earliest rays of all the Berkshire mornings, I +know not how his Imperial Purple Majesty (royal-born: Porphyrogenitus) +will receive the dedication of my own poor solitary ray. + +Nevertheless, forasmuch as I, dwelling with my loyal neighbors, the +Maples and the Beeches, in the amphitheater over which his central +majesty presides, have received his most bounteous and unstinted +fertilizations, it is but meet, that I here devoutly kneel, and render +up my gratitude, whether, thereto, The Most Excellent Purple Majesty of +Greylock benignantly incline his hoary crown or no. + +_Pittsfield, Mass._ + + + + +TABLE OF CONTENTS. + + +BOOK I. + +PAGE + +PIERRE JUST EMERGING FROM HIS TEENS 1 + + +BOOK II. + +LOVE, DELIGHT, AND ALARM 26 + + +BOOK III. + +THE PRESENTIMENT AND THE VERIFICATION 56 + + +BOOK IV. + +RETROSPECTIVE 89 + + +BOOK V. + +MISGIVINGS AND PREPARATIVES 116 + + +BOOK VI. + +ISABEL, AND THE FIRST PART OF THE STORY OF ISABEL 147 + + +BOOK VII. + +INTERMEDIATE BETWEEN PIERRE'S TWO INTERVIEWS +WITH ISABEL AT THE FARM-HOUSE 173 + + +BOOK VIII. + +THE SECOND INTERVIEW, AND THE SECOND PART OF +THE STORY OF ISABEL. THEIR IMMEDIATE IMPULSIVE +EFFECT UPON PIERRE 194 + + +BOOK IX. + +MORE LIGHT, AND THE GLOOM OF THAT LIGHT. MORE +GLOOM, AND THE LIGHT OF THAT GLOOM 224 + + +BOOK X. + +THE UNPRECEDENTED FINAL RESOLUTION OF PIERRE 233 + + +BOOK XI. + +HE CROSSES THE RUBICON 247 + + +BOOK XII. + +ISABEL, MRS. GLENDINNING, THE PORTRAIT, AND LUCY 256 + + +BOOK XIII. + +THEY DEPART THE MEADOWS 273 + +BOOK XIV. + +THE JOURNEY AND THE PAMPHLET 277 + + +BOOK XV. + +THE COUSINS 294 + + +BOOK XVI. + +FIRST NIGHT OF THEIR ARRIVAL IN THE CITY 312 + + +BOOK XVII. + +YOUNG AMERICA IN LITERATURE 333 + + +BOOK XVIII. + +PIERRE, AS A JUVENILE AUTHOR, RECONSIDERED 350 + + +BOOK XIX. + +THE CHURCH OF THE APOSTLES 360 + + +BOOK XX. + +CHARLIE MILLTHORPE 374 + + +BOOK XXI. + +PIERRE IMMATURELY ATTEMPTS A MATURE BOOK. TIDINGS +FROM THE MEADOWS. PLINLIMMON 384 + +BOOK XXII. + +THE FLOWER-CURTAIN LIFTED FROM BEFORE A TROPICAL +AUTHOR; WITH SOME REMARKS ON THE TRANSCENDENTAL +FLESH-BRUSH PHILOSOPHY 402 + + +BOOK XXIII. + +A LETTER FOR PIERRE. ISABEL. ARRIVAL OF LUCY'S +EASEL AND TRUNKS AT THE APOSTLES' 418 + + +BOOK XXIV. + +LUCY AT THE APOSTLES' 439 + + +BOOK XXV. + +LUCY, ISABEL, AND PIERRE. PIERRE AT HIS BOOK. +ENCELADUS 450 + + +BOOK XXVI. + +A WALK; A FOREIGN PORTRAIT; A SAIL. AND THE +END 475 + + + + +PIERRE. + + + + +BOOK I. + +PIERRE JUST EMERGING FROM HIS TEENS. + + +I. + +There are some strange summer mornings in the country, when he who is +but a sojourner from the city shall early walk forth into the fields, +and be wonder-smitten with the trance-like aspect of the green and +golden world. Not a flower stirs; the trees forget to wave; the grass +itself seems to have ceased to grow; and all Nature, as if suddenly +become conscious of her own profound mystery, and feeling no refuge from +it but silence, sinks into this wonderful and indescribable repose. + +Such was the morning in June, when, issuing from the embowered and +high-gabled old home of his fathers, Pierre, dewily refreshed and +spiritualized by sleep, gayly entered the long, wide, elm-arched street +of the village, and half unconsciously bent his steps toward a cottage, +which peeped into view near the end of the vista. + +The verdant trance lay far and wide; and through it nothing came but the +brindled kine, dreamily wandering to their pastures, followed, not +driven, by ruddy-cheeked, white-footed boys. + +As touched and bewitched by the loveliness of this silence, Pierre +neared the cottage, and lifted his eyes, he swiftly paused, fixing his +glance upon one upper, open casement there. Why now this impassioned, +youthful pause? Why this enkindled cheek and eye? Upon the sill of the +casement, a snow-white glossy pillow reposes, and a trailing shrub has +softly rested a rich, crimson flower against it. + +Well mayst thou seek that pillow, thou odoriferous flower, thought +Pierre; not an hour ago, her own cheek must have rested there. "Lucy!" + +"Pierre!" + +As heart rings to heart those voices rang, and for a moment, in the +bright hush of the morning, the two stood silently but ardently eying +each other, beholding mutual reflections of a boundless admiration and +love. + +"Nothing but Pierre," laughed the youth, at last; "thou hast forgotten +to bid me good-morning." + +"That would be little. Good-mornings, good-evenings, good days, weeks, +months, and years to thee, Pierre;--bright Pierre!--Pierre!" + +Truly, thought the youth, with a still gaze of inexpressible fondness; +truly the skies do ope, and this invoking angel looks down.--"I would +return thee thy manifold good-mornings, Lucy, did not that presume thou +had'st lived through a night; and by Heaven, thou belong'st to the +regions of an infinite day!" + +"Fie, now, Pierre; why should ye youths always swear when ye love!" + +"Because in us love is profane, since it mortally reaches toward the +heaven in ye!" + +"There thou fly'st again, Pierre; thou art always circumventing me so. +Tell me, why should ye youths ever show so sweet an expertness in +turning all trifles of ours into trophies of yours?" + +"I know not how that is, but ever was it our fashion to do." And shaking +the casement shrub, he dislodged the flower, and conspicuously fastened +it in his bosom.--"I must away now, Lucy; see! under these colors I +march." + +"Bravissimo! oh, my only recruit!" + + +II. + +Pierre was the only son of an affluent, and haughty widow; a lady who +externally furnished a singular example of the preservative and +beautifying influences of unfluctuating rank, health, and wealth, when +joined to a fine mind of medium culture, uncankered by any inconsolable +grief, and never worn by sordid cares. In mature age, the rose still +miraculously clung to her cheek; litheness had not yet completely +uncoiled itself from her waist, nor smoothness unscrolled itself from +her brow, nor diamondness departed from her eyes. So that when lit up +and bediademed by ball-room lights, Mrs. Glendinning still eclipsed far +younger charms, and had she chosen to encourage them, would have been +followed by a train of infatuated suitors, little less young than her +own son Pierre. + +But a reverential and devoted son seemed lover enough for this widow +Bloom; and besides all this, Pierre when namelessly annoyed, and +sometimes even jealously transported by the too ardent admiration of the +handsome youths, who now and then, caught in unintended snares, seemed +to entertain some insane hopes of wedding this unattainable being; +Pierre had more than once, with a playful malice, openly sworn, that the +man--gray-beard, or beardless--who should dare to propose marriage to +his mother, that man would by some peremptory unrevealed agency +immediately disappear from the earth. + +This romantic filial love of Pierre seemed fully returned by the +triumphant maternal pride of the widow, who in the clear-cut lineaments +and noble air of the son, saw her own graces strangely translated into +the opposite sex. There was a striking personal resemblance between +them; and as the mother seemed to have long stood still in her beauty, +heedless of the passing years; so Pierre seemed to meet her half-way, +and by a splendid precocity of form and feature, almost advanced himself +to that mature stand-point in Time, where his pedestaled mother so long +had stood. In the playfulness of their unclouded love, and with that +strange license which a perfect confidence and mutual understanding at +all points, had long bred between them, they were wont to call each +other brother and sister. Both in public and private this was their +usage; nor when thrown among strangers, was this mode of address ever +suspected for a sportful assumption; since the amaranthiness of Mrs. +Glendinning fully sustained this youthful pretension.--Thus freely and +lightsomely for mother and son flowed on the pure joined current of +life. But as yet the fair river had not borne its waves to those +sideways repelling rocks, where it was thenceforth destined to be +forever divided into two unmixing streams. + +An excellent English author of these times enumerating the prime +advantages of his natal lot, cites foremost, that he first saw the rural +light. So with Pierre. It had been his choice fate to have been born and +nurtured in the country, surrounded by scenery whose uncommon loveliness +was the perfect mould of a delicate and poetic mind; while the popular +names of its finest features appealed to the proudest patriotic and +family associations of the historic line of Glendinning. On the meadows +which sloped away from the shaded rear of the manorial mansion, far to +the winding river, an Indian battle had been fought, in the earlier days +of the colony, and in that battle the paternal great-grandfather of +Pierre, mortally wounded, had sat unhorsed on his saddle in the grass, +with his dying voice, still cheering his men in the fray. This was +Saddle-Meadows, a name likewise extended to the mansion and the +village. Far beyond these plains, a day's walk for Pierre, rose the +storied heights, where in the Revolutionary War his grandfather had for +several months defended a rude but all-important stockaded fort, against +the repeated combined assaults of Indians, Tories, and Regulars. From +before that fort, the gentlemanly, but murderous half-breed, Brandt, had +fled, but had survived to dine with General Glendinning, in the amicable +times which followed that vindictive war. All the associations of +Saddle-Meadows were full of pride to Pierre. The Glendinning deeds by +which their estate had so long been held, bore the cyphers of three +Indian kings, the aboriginal and only conveyancers of those noble woods +and plains. Thus loftily, in the days of his circumscribed youth, did +Pierre glance along the background of his race; little recking of that +maturer and larger interior development, which should forever deprive +these things of their full power of pride in his soul. + +But the breeding of Pierre would have been unwisely contracted, had his +youth been unintermittingly passed in these rural scenes. At a very +early period he had begun to accompany his father and mother--and +afterwards his mother alone--in their annual visits to the city; where +naturally mingling in a large and polished society, Pierre had +insensibly formed himself in the airier graces of life, without +enfeebling the vigor derived from a martial race, and fostered in the +country's clarion air. + +Nor while thus liberally developed in person and manners, was Pierre +deficient in a still better and finer culture. Not in vain had he spent +long summer afternoons in the deep recesses of his father's fastidiously +picked and decorous library; where the Spenserian nymphs had early led +him into many a maze of all-bewildering beauty. Thus, with a graceful +glow on his limbs, and soft, imaginative flames in his heart, did this +Pierre glide toward maturity, thoughtless of that period of remorseless +insight, when all these delicate warmths should seem frigid to him, and +he should madly demand more ardent fires. + +Nor had that pride and love which had so bountifully provided for the +youthful nurture of Pierre, neglected his culture in the deepest element +of all. It had been a maxim with the father of Pierre, that all +gentlemanhood was vain; all claims to it preposterous and absurd, unless +the primeval gentleness and golden humanities of religion had been so +thoroughly wrought into the complete texture of the character, that he +who pronounced himself gentleman, could also rightfully assume the meek, +but kingly style of Christian. At the age of sixteen, Pierre partook +with his mother of the Holy Sacraments. + +It were needless, and more difficult, perhaps, to trace out precisely +the absolute motives which prompted these youthful vows. Enough, that as +to Pierre had descended the numerous other noble qualities of his +ancestors; and as he now stood heir to their forests and farms; so by +the same insensible sliding process, he seemed to have inherited their +docile homage to a venerable Faith, which the first Glendinning had +brought over sea, from beneath the shadow of an English minister. Thus +in Pierre was the complete polished steel of the gentleman, girded with +Religion's silken sash; and his great-grandfather's soldierly fate had +taught him that the generous sash should, in the last bitter trial, +furnish its wearer with Glory's shroud; so that what through life had +been worn for Grace's sake, in death might safely hold the man. But +while thus all alive to the beauty and poesy of his father's faith, +Pierre little foresaw that this world hath a secret deeper than beauty, +and Life some burdens heavier than death. + +So perfect to Pierre had long seemed the illuminated scroll of his life +thus far, that only one hiatus was discoverable by him in that +sweetly-writ manuscript. A sister had been omitted from the text. He +mourned that so delicious a feeling as fraternal love had been denied +him. Nor could the fictitious title, which he so often lavished upon his +mother, at all supply the absent reality. This emotion was most natural; +and the full cause and reason of it even Pierre did not at that time +entirely appreciate. For surely a gentle sister is the second best gift +to a man; and it is first in point of occurrence; for the wife comes +after. He who is sisterless, is as a bachelor before his time. For much +that goes to make up the deliciousness of a wife, already lies in the +sister. + +"Oh, had my father but had a daughter!" cried Pierre; "some one whom I +might love, and protect, and fight for, if need be. It must be a +glorious thing to engage in a mortal quarrel on a sweet sister's behalf! +Now, of all things, would to heaven, I had a sister!" + +Thus, ere entranced in the gentler bonds of a lover; thus often would +Pierre invoke heaven for a sister; but Pierre did not then know, that if +there be any thing a man might well pray against, that thing is the +responsive gratification of some of the devoutest prayers of his youth. + +It may have been that this strange yearning of Pierre for a sister, had +part of its origin in that still stranger feeling of loneliness he +sometimes experienced, as not only the solitary head of his family, but +the only surnamed male Glendinning extant. A powerful and populous +family had by degrees run off into the female branches; so that Pierre +found himself surrounded by numerous kinsmen and kinswomen, yet +companioned by no surnamed male Glendinning, but the duplicate one +reflected to him in the mirror. But in his more wonted natural mood, +this thought was not wholly sad to him. Nay, sometimes it mounted into +an exultant swell. For in the ruddiness, and flushfulness, and +vain-gloriousness of his youthful soul, he fondly hoped to have a +monopoly of glory in capping the fame-column, whose tall shaft had been +erected by his noble sires. + +In all this, how unadmonished was our Pierre by that foreboding and +prophetic lesson taught, not less by Palmyra's quarries, than by +Palmyra's ruins. Among those ruins is a crumbling, uncompleted shaft, +and some leagues off, ages ago left in the quarry, is the crumbling +corresponding capital, also incomplete. These Time seized and spoiled; +these Time crushed in the egg; and the proud stone that should have +stood among the clouds, Time left abased beneath the soil. Oh, what +quenchless feud is this, that Time hath with the sons of Men! + + +III. + +It has been said that the beautiful country round about Pierre appealed +to very proud memories. But not only through the mere chances of things, +had that fine country become ennobled by the deeds of his sires, but in +Pierre's eyes, all its hills and swales seemed as sanctified through +their very long uninterrupted possession by his race. + +That fond ideality which, in the eyes of affection, hallows the least +trinket once familiar to the person of a departed love; with Pierre that +talisman touched the whole earthly landscape about him; for remembering +that on those hills his own fine fathers had gazed; through those woods, +over these lawns, by that stream, along these tangled paths, many a +grand-dame of his had merrily strolled when a girl; vividly recalling +these things, Pierre deemed all that part of the earth a love-token; so +that his very horizon was to him as a memorial ring. + +The monarchical world very generally imagines, that in demagoguical +America the sacred Past hath no fixed statues erected to it, but all +things irreverently seethe and boil in the vulgar caldron of an +everlasting uncrystalizing Present. This conceit would seem peculiarly +applicable to the social condition. With no chartered aristocracy, and +no law of entail, how can any family in America imposingly perpetuate +itself? Certainly that common saying among us, which declares, that be a +family conspicuous as it may, a single half-century shall see it abased; +that maxim undoubtedly holds true with the commonalty. In our cities +families rise and burst like bubbles in a vat. For indeed the democratic +element operates as a subtile acid among us; forever producing new +things by corroding the old; as in the south of France verdigris, the +primitive material of one kind of green paint, is produced by +grape-vinegar poured upon copper plates. Now in general nothing can be +more significant of decay than the idea of corrosion; yet on the other +hand, nothing can more vividly suggest luxuriance of life, than the idea +of green as a color; for green is the peculiar signet of all-fertile +Nature herself. Herein by apt analogy we behold the marked anomalousness +of America; whose character abroad, we need not be surprised, is +misconceived, when we consider how strangely she contradicts all prior +notions of human things; and how wonderfully to her, Death itself +becomes transmuted into Life. So that political institutions, which in +other lands seem above all things intensely artificial, with America +seem to possess the divine virtue of a natural law; for the most mighty +of nature's laws is this, that out of Death she brings Life. + +Still, are there things in the visible world, over which ever-shifting +Nature hath not so unbounded a sway. The grass is annually changed; but +the limbs of the oak, for a long term of years, defy that annual decree. +And if in America the vast mass of families be as the blades of grass, +yet some few there are that stand as the oak; which, instead of +decaying, annually puts forth new branches; whereby Time, instead of +subtracting, is made to capitulate into a multiple virtue. + +In this matter we will--not superciliously, but in fair spirit--compare +pedigrees with England, and strange as it may seem at the first blush, +not without some claim to equality. I dare say, that in this thing the +Peerage Book is a good statistical standard whereby to judge her; since +the compilers of that work can not be entirely insensible on whose +patronage they most rely; and the common intelligence of our own people +shall suffice to judge us. But the magnificence of names must not +mislead us as to the humility of things. For as the breath in all our +lungs is hereditary, and my present breath at this moment, is further +descended than the body of the present High Priest of the Jews, so far +as he can assuredly trace it; so mere names, which are also but air, do +likewise revel in this endless descendedness. But if Richmond, and St. +Albans, and Grafton, and Portland, and Buccleugh, be names almost old as +England herself, the present Dukes of those names stop in their own +genuine pedigrees at Charles II., and there find no very fine fountain; +since what we would deem the least glorious parentage under the sun, is +precisely the parentage of a Buccleugh, for example; whose ancestress +could not well avoid being a mother, it is true, but had accidentally +omitted the preliminary rite. Yet a king was the sire. Then only so much +the worse; for if it be small insult to be struck by a pauper, but +mortal offense to receive a blow from a gentleman, then of all things +the bye-blows of kings must be signally unflattering. In England the +Peerage is kept alive by incessant restorations and creations. One man, +George III., manufactured five hundred and twenty-two peers. An earldom, +in abeyance for five centuries, has suddenly been assumed by some +commoner, to whom it had not so much descended, as through the art of +the lawyers been made flexibly to bend in that direction. For not Thames +is so sinuous in his natural course, not the Bridgewater Canal more +artificially conducted, than blood in the veins of that winding or +manufactured nobility. Perishable as stubble, and fungous as the fungi, +those grafted families successively live and die on the eternal soil of +a name. In England this day, twenty-five hundred peerages are extinct; +but the names survive. So that the empty air of a name is more +endurable than a man, or than dynasties of men; the air fills man's +lungs and puts life into a man, but man fills not the air, nor puts life +into that. + +All honor to the names then, and all courtesy to the men; but if St. +Albans tell me he is all-honorable and all-eternal, I must still +politely refer him to Nell Gwynne. + +Beyond Charles II. very few indeed--hardly worthy of note--are the +present titled English families which can trace any thing like a direct +unvitiated blood-descent from the thief knights of the Norman. Beyond +Charles II. their direct genealogies seem vain as though some Jew +clothesman, with a tea-canister on his head, turned over the first +chapter of St. Matthew to make out his unmingled participation in the +blood of King Saul, who had long died ere the career of the Cæsar began. + +Now, not preliminarily to enlarge upon the fact that, while in England +an immense mass of state-masonry is brought to bear as a buttress in +upholding the hereditary existence of certain houses, while with us +nothing of that kind can possibly be admitted; and to omit all mention +of the hundreds of unobtrusive families in New England who, +nevertheless, might easily trace their uninterrupted English lineage to +a time before Charles the Blade: not to speak of the old and +oriental-like English planter families of Virginia and the South; the +Randolphs for example, one of whose ancestors, in King James' time, +married Pocahontas the Indian Princess, and in whose blood therefore an +underived aboriginal royalty was flowing over two hundred years ago; +consider those most ancient and magnificent Dutch Manors at the North, +whose perches are miles--whose meadows overspread adjacent +countries--and whose haughty rent-deeds are held by their thousand +farmer tenants, so long as grass grows and water runs; which hints of a +surprising eternity for a deed, and seem to make lawyer's ink +unobliterable as the sea. Some of those manors are two centuries old; +and their present patrons or lords will show you stakes and stones on +their estates put there--the stones at least--before Nell Gwynne the +Duke-mother was born, and genealogies which, like their own river, +Hudson, flow somewhat farther and straighter than the Serpentine +brooklet in Hyde Park. + +These far-descended Dutch meadows lie steeped in a Hindooish haze; an +eastern patriarchalness sways its mild crook over pastures, whose tenant +flocks shall there feed, long as their own grass grows, long as their +own water shall run. Such estates seem to defy Time's tooth, and by +conditions which take hold of the indestructible earth seem to +contemporize their fee-simples with eternity. Unimaginable audacity of a +worm that but crawls through the soil he so imperially claims! + +In midland counties of England they boast of old oaken dining-halls +where three hundred men-at-arms could exercise of a rainy afternoon, in +the reign of the Plantagenets. But our lords, the Patroons, appeal not +to the past, but they point to the present. One will show you that the +public census of a county is but part of the roll of his tenants. Ranges +of mountains, high as Ben Nevis or Snowdon, are their walls; and regular +armies, with staffs of officers, crossing rivers with artillery, and +marching through primeval woods, and threading vast rocky defiles, have +been sent out to distrain upon three thousand farmer-tenants of one +landlord, at a blow. A fact most suggestive two ways; both whereof shall +be nameless here. + +But whatever one may think of the existence of such mighty lordships in +the heart of a republic, and however we may wonder at their thus +surviving, like Indian mounds, the Revolutionary flood; yet survive and +exist they do, and are now owned by their present proprietors, by as +good nominal title as any peasant owns his father's old hat, or any duke +his great-uncle's old coronet. + +For all this, then, we shall not err very widely if we humbly conceive, +that--should she choose to glorify herself in that inconsiderable +way--our America will make out a good general case with England in this +short little matter of large estates, and long pedigrees--pedigrees I +mean, wherein is no flaw. + + +IV. + +In general terms we have been thus decided in asserting the great +genealogical and real-estate dignity of some families in America, +because in so doing we poetically establish the richly aristocratic +condition of Master Pierre Glendinning, for whom we have before claimed +some special family distinction. And to the observant reader the sequel +will not fail to show, how important is this circumstance, considered +with reference to the singularly developed character and most singular +life-career of our hero. Nor will any man dream that the last chapter +was merely intended for a foolish bravado, and not with a solid purpose +in view. + +Now Pierre stands on this noble pedestal; we shall see if he keeps that +fine footing; we shall see if Fate hath not just a little bit of a small +word or two to say in this world. But it is not laid down here that the +Glendinnings dated back beyond Pharaoh, or the deeds of Saddle-Meadows +to the Three Magi in the Gospels. Nevertheless, those deeds, as before +hinted, did indeed date back to three kings--Indian kings--only so much +the finer for that. + +But if Pierre did not date back to the Pharaohs, and if the English +farmer Hampdens were somewhat the seniors of even the oldest +Glendinning; and if some American manors boasted a few additional years +and square miles over his, yet think you that it is at all possible, +that a youth of nineteen should--merely by way of trial of the +thing--strew his ancestral kitchen hearth-stone with wheat in the stalk, +and there standing in the chimney thresh out that grain with a flail, +whose aerial evolutions had free play among all that masonry; were it +not impossible for such a flailer so to thresh wheat in his own +ancestral kitchen chimney without feeling just a little twinge or two of +what one might call family pride? I should say not. + +Or how think you it would be with this youthful Pierre, if every day +descending to breakfast, he caught sight of an old tattered British +banner or two, hanging over an arched window in his hall; and those +banners captured by his grandfather, the general, in fair fight? Or how +think you it would be if every time he heard the band of the military +company of the village, he should distinctly recognize the peculiar tap +of a British kettle-drum also captured by his grandfather in fair fight, +and afterwards suitably inscribed on the brass and bestowed upon the +Saddle-Meadows Artillery Corps? Or how think you it would be, if +sometimes of a mild meditative Fourth of July morning in the country, he +carried out with him into the garden by way of ceremonial cane, a long, +majestic, silver-tipped staff, a Major-General's baton, once wielded on +the plume-nodding and musket-flashing review by the same grandfather +several times here-in-before mentioned? I should say that considering +Pierre was quite young and very unphilosophical as yet, and withal +rather high-blooded; and sometimes read the History of the Revolutionary +War, and possessed a mother who very frequently made remote social +allusions to the epaulettes of the Major-General his grandfather;--I +should say that upon all of these occasions, the way it must have been +with him, was a very proud, elated sort of way. And if this seem but too +fond and foolish in Pierre; and if you tell me that this sort of thing +in him showed him no sterling Democrat, and that a truly noble man +should never brag of any arm but his own; then I beg you to consider +again that this Pierre was but a youngster as yet. And believe me you +will pronounce Pierre a thoroughgoing Democrat in time; perhaps a little +too Radical altogether to your fancy. + +In conclusion, do not blame me if I here make repetition, and do +verbally quote my own words in saying that _it had been the choice fate +of Pierre to have been born and bred in the country_. For to a noble +American youth this indeed--more than in any other land--this indeed is +a most rare and choice lot. For it is to be observed, that while in +other countries, the finest families boast of the country as their home; +the more prominent among us, proudly cite the city as their seat. Too +often the American that himself makes his fortune, builds him a great +metropolitan house, in the most metropolitan street of the most +metropolitan town. Whereas a European of the same sort would thereupon +migrate into the country. That herein the European hath the better of +it, no poet, no philosopher, and no aristocrat will deny. For the +country is not only the most poetical and philosophical, but it is the +most aristocratic part of this earth, for it is the most venerable, and +numerous bards have ennobled it by many fine titles. Whereas the town is +the more plebeian portion: which, besides many other things, is plainly +evinced by the dirty unwashed face perpetually worn by the town; but the +country, like any Queen, is ever attended by scrupulous lady's maids in +the guise of the seasons, and the town hath but one dress of brick +turned up with stone; but the country hath a brave dress for every week +in the year; sometimes she changes her dress twenty-four times in the +twenty-four hours; and the country weareth her sun by day as a diamond +on a Queen's brow; and the stars by night as necklaces of gold beads; +whereas the town's sun is smoky paste, and no diamond, and the town's +stars are pinchbeck and not gold. + +In the country then Nature planted our Pierre; because Nature intended a +rare and original development in Pierre. Never mind if hereby she proved +ambiguous to him in the end; nevertheless, in the beginning she did +bravely. She blew her wind-clarion from the blue hills, and Pierre +neighed out lyrical thoughts, as at the trumpet-blast, a war-horse paws +himself into a lyric of foam. She whispered through her deep groves at +eve, and gentle whispers of humanness, and sweet whispers of love, ran +through Pierre's thought-veins, musical as water over pebbles. She +lifted her spangled crest of a thickly-starred night, and forth at that +glimpse of their divine Captain and Lord, ten thousand mailed thoughts +of heroicness started up in Pierre's soul, and glared round for some +insulted good cause to defend. + +So the country was a glorious benediction to young Pierre; we shall see +if that blessing pass from him as did the divine blessing from the +Hebrews; we shall yet see again, I say, whether Fate hath not just a +little bit of a word or two to say in this world; we shall see whether +this wee little bit scrap of latinity be very far out of the way--_Nemo +contra Deum nisi Deus ipse._ + + +V. + +"Sister Mary," said Pierre, returned from his sunrise stroll, and +tapping at his mother's chamber door:--"do you know, sister Mary, that +the trees which have been up all night, are all abroad again this +morning before you?--Do you not smell something like coffee, my sister?" + +A light step moved from within toward the door; which opened, showing +Mrs. Glendinning, in a resplendently cheerful morning robe, and holding +a gay wide ribbon in her hand. + +"Good morning, madam," said Pierre, slowly, and with a bow, whose +genuine and spontaneous reverence amusingly contrasted with the sportive +manner that had preceded it. For thus sweetly and religiously was the +familiarity of his affections bottomed on the profoundest filial +respect. + +"Good afternoon to you, Pierre, for I suppose it is afternoon. But come, +you shall finish my toilette;--here, brother--" reaching the +ribbon--"now acquit yourself bravely--" and seating herself away from +the glass, she awaited the good offices of Pierre. + +"First Lady in waiting to the Dowager Duchess Glendinning," laughed +Pierre, as bowing over before his mother, he gracefully passed the +ribbon round her neck, simply crossing the ends in front. + +"Well, what is to hold it there, Pierre?" + +"I am going to try and tack it with a kiss, sister,--there!--oh, what a +pity that sort of fastening won't always hold!--where's the cameo with +the fawns, I gave you last night?--Ah! on the slab--you were going to +wear it then?--Thank you, my considerate and most politic +sister--there!--but stop--here's a ringlet gone romping--so now, dear +sister, give that Assyrian toss to your head." + +The haughtily happy mother rose to her feet, and as she stood before the +mirror to criticize her son's adornings, Pierre, noticing the straggling +tie of her slipper, knelt down and secured it. "And now for the urn," he +cried, "madam!" and with a humorous gallantry, offering his arm to his +mother, the pair descended to breakfast. + +With Mrs. Glendinning it was one of those spontaneous maxims, which +women sometimes act upon without ever thinking of, never to appear in +the presence of her son in any dishabille that was not eminently +becoming. Her own independent observation of things, had revealed to her +many very common maxims, which often become operatively lifeless from a +vicarious reception of them. She was vividly aware how immense was that +influence, which, even in the closest ties of the heart, the merest +appearances make upon the mind. And as in the admiring love and +graceful devotion of Pierre lay now her highest joy in life; so she +omitted no slightest trifle which could possibly contribute to the +preservation of so sweet and flattering a thing. + +Besides all this, Mary Glendinning was a woman, and with more than the +ordinary vanity of women--if vanity it can be called--which in a life of +nearly fifty years had never betrayed her into a single published +impropriety, or caused her one known pang at the heart. Moreover, she +had never yearned for admiration; because that was her birthright by the +eternal privilege of beauty; she had always possessed it; she had not to +turn her head for it, since spontaneously it always encompassed her. +Vanity, which in so many women approaches to a spiritual vice, and +therefore to a visible blemish; in her peculiar case--and though +possessed in a transcendent degree--was still the token of the highest +health; inasmuch as never knowing what it was to yearn for its +gratification, she was almost entirely unconscious of possessing it at +all. Many women carry this light of their lives flaming on their +foreheads; but Mary Glendinning unknowingly bore hers within. Through +all the infinite traceries of feminine art, she evenly glowed like a +vase which, internally illuminated, gives no outward sign of the +lighting flame, but seems to shine by the very virtue of the exquisite +marble itself. But that bluff corporeal admiration, with which some +ball-room women are content, was no admiration to the mother of Pierre. +Not the general homage of men, but the selected homage of the noblest +men, was what she felt to be her appropriate right. And as her own +maternal partialities were added to, and glorified the rare and absolute +merits of Pierre; she considered the voluntary allegiance of his +affectionate soul, the representative fealty of the choicest guild of +his race. Thus, though replenished through all her veins with the +subtlest vanity, with the homage of Pierre alone she was content. + +But as to a woman of sense and spirit, the admiration of even the +noblest and most gifted man, is esteemed as nothing, so long as she +remains conscious of possessing no directly influencing and practical +sorcery over his soul; and as notwithstanding all his intellectual +superiority to his mother, Pierre, through the unavoidable weakness of +inexperienced and unexpanded youth, was strangely docile to the maternal +tuitions in nearly all the things which thus far had any ways interested +or affected him; therefore it was, that to Mary Glendinning this +reverence of Pierre was invested with all the proudest delights and +witcheries of self-complacency, which it is possible for the most +conquering virgin to feel. Still more. That nameless and infinitely +delicate aroma of inexpressible tenderness and attentiveness which, in +every refined and honorable attachment, is cotemporary with the +courtship, and precedes the final banns and the rite; but which, like +the _bouquet_ of the costliest German wines, too often evaporates upon +pouring love out to drink, in the disenchanting glasses of the +matrimonial days and nights; this highest and airiest thing in the whole +compass of the experience of our mortal life; this heavenly +evanescence--still further etherealized in the filial breast--was for +Mary Glendinning, now not very far from her grand climacteric, +miraculously revived in the courteous lover-like adoration of Pierre. + +Altogether having its origin in a wonderful but purely fortuitous +combination of the happiest and rarest accidents of earth; and not to be +limited in duration by that climax which is so fatal to ordinary love; +this softened spell which still wheeled the mother and son in one orbit +of joy, seemed a glimpse of the glorious possibility, that the divinest +of those emotions, which are incident to the sweetest season of love, is +capable of an indefinite translation into many of the less signal +relations of our many chequered life. In a detached and individual way, +it seemed almost to realize here below the sweet dreams of those +religious enthusiasts, who paint to us a Paradise to come, when +etherealized from all drosses and stains, the holiest passion of man +shall unite all kindreds and climes in one circle of pure and +unimpairable delight. + + +VI. + +There was one little uncelestial trait, which, in the opinion of some, +may mar the romantic merits of the gentlemanly Pierre Glendinning. He +always had an excellent appetite, and especially for his breakfast. But +when we consider that though Pierre's hands were small, and his ruffles +white, yet his arm was by no means dainty, and his complexion inclined +to brown; and that he generally rose with the sun, and could not sleep +without riding his twenty, or walking his twelve miles a day, or felling +a fair-sized hemlock in the forest, or boxing, or fencing, or boating, +or performing some other gymnastical feat; when we consider these +athletic habitudes of Pierre, and the great fullness of brawn and muscle +they built round about him; all of which manly brawn and muscle, three +times a day loudly clamored for attention; we shall very soon perceive +that to have a bountiful appetite, was not only no vulgar reproach, but +a right royal grace and honor to Pierre; attesting him a man and a +gentleman; for a thoroughly developed gentleman is always robust and +healthy; and Robustness and Health are great trencher-men. + +So when Pierre and his mother descended to breakfast, and Pierre had +scrupulously seen her supplied with whatever little things were +convenient to her; and had twice or thrice ordered the respectable and +immemorial Dates, the servitor, to adjust and re-adjust the +window-sashes, so that no unkind current of air should take undue +liberties with his mother's neck; after seeing to all this, but in a +very quiet and inconspicuous way; and also after directing the unruffled +Dates, to swing out, horizontally into a particular light, a fine joyous +painting, in the good-fellow, Flemish style (which painting was so +attached to the wall as to be capable of that mode of adjusting), and +furthermore after darting from where he sat a few invigorating glances +over the river-meadows to the blue mountains beyond; Pierre made a +masonic sort of mysterious motion to the excellent Dates, who in +automaton obedience thereto, brought from a certain agreeable little +side-stand, a very prominent-looking cold pasty; which, on careful +inspection with the knife, proved to be the embossed savory nest of a +few uncommonly tender pigeons of Pierre's own shooting. + +"Sister Mary," said he, lifting on his silver trident one of the +choicest of the many fine pigeon morsels; "Sister Mary," said he, "in +shooting these pigeons, I was very careful to bring down one in such a +manner that the breast is entirely unmarred. It was intended for you! +and here it is. Now Sergeant Dates, help hither your mistress' plate. +No?--nothing but the crumbs of French rolls, and a few peeps into a +coffee-cup--is that a breakfast for the daughter of yonder bold +General?"--pointing to a full-length of his gold-laced grandfather on +the opposite wall. "Well, pitiable is my case when I have to breakfast +for two. Dates!" + +"Sir." + +"Remove that toast-rack, Dates; and this plate of tongue, and bring the +rolls nearer, and wheel the stand farther off, good Dates." + +Having thus made generous room for himself, Pierre commenced operations, +interrupting his mouthfuls by many sallies of mirthfulness. + +"You seem to be in prodigious fine spirits this morning, brother +Pierre," said his mother. + +"Yes, very tolerable; at least I can't say, that I am low-spirited +exactly, sister Mary;--Dates, my fine fellow, bring me three bowls of +milk." + +"One bowl, sir, you mean," said Dates, gravely and imperturbably. + +As the servitor left the room, Mrs. Glendinning spoke. "My dear Pierre, +how often have I begged you never to permit your hilariousness to betray +you into overstepping the exact line of propriety in your intercourse +with servants. Dates' look was a respectful reproof to you just now. You +must not call Dates, _My fine fellow_. He _is_ a fine fellow, a very +fine fellow, indeed; but there is no need of telling him so at my table. +It is very easy to be entirely kind and pleasant to servants, without +the least touch of any shade of transient good-fellowship with them." + +"Well, sister, no doubt you are altogether right; after this I shall +drop the _fine_, and call Dates nothing but _fellow_;--Fellow, come +here!--how will that answer?" + +"Not at all, Pierre--but you are a Romeo, you know, and so for the +present I pass over your nonsense." + +"Romeo! oh, no. I am far from being Romeo--" sighed Pierre. "I laugh, +but he cried; poor Romeo! alas Romeo! woe is me, Romeo! he came to a +very deplorable end, did Romeo, sister Mary." + +"It was his own fault though." + +"Poor Romeo!" + +"He was disobedient to his parents." + +"Alas Romeo!" + +"He married against their particular wishes." + +"Woe is me, Romeo!" + +"But you, Pierre, are going to be married before long, I trust, not to a +Capulet, but to one of our own Montagues; and so Romeo's evil fortune +will hardly be yours. You will be happy." + +"The more miserable Romeo!" + +"Don't be so ridiculous, brother Pierre; so you are going to take Lucy +that long ride among the hills this morning? She is a sweet girl; a most +lovely girl." + +"Yes, that is rather my opinion, sister Mary.--By heavens, mother, the +five zones hold not such another! She is--yes--though I say +it--Dates!--he's a precious long time getting that milk!" + +"Let him stay.--Don't be a milk-sop, Pierre!" + +"Ha! my sister is a little satirical this morning. I comprehend." + +"Never rave, Pierre; and never rant. Your father never did either; nor +is it written of Socrates; and both were very wise men. Your father was +profoundly in love--that I know to my certain knowledge--but I never +heard him rant about it. He was always exceedingly gentlemanly: and +gentlemen never rant. Milk-sops and Muggletonians rant, but gentlemen +never." + +"Thank you, sister.--There, put it down, Dates; are the horses ready?" + +"Just driving round, sir, I believe." + +"Why, Pierre," said his mother, glancing out at the window, "are you +going to Santa Fe De Bogota with that enormous old phaeton;--what do you +take that Juggernaut out for?" + +"Humor, sister, humor; I like it because it's old-fashioned, and because +the seat is such a wide sofa of a seat, and finally because a young lady +by the name of Lucy Tartan cherishes a high regard for it. She vows she +would like to be married in it." + +"Well, Pierre, all I have to say, is, be sure that Christopher puts the +coach-hammer and nails, and plenty of cords and screws into the box. And +you had better let him follow you in one of the farm wagons, with a +spare axle and some boards." + +"No fear, sister; no fear;--I shall take the best of care of the old +phaeton. The quaint old arms on the panel, always remind me who it was +that first rode in it." + +"I am glad you have that memory, brother Pierre." + +"And who it was that _next_ rode in it." + +"Bless you!--God bless you, my dear son!--always think of him and you +can never err; yes, always think of your dear perfect father, Pierre." + +"Well, kiss me now, dear sister, for I must go." + +"There; this is my cheek, and the other is Lucy's; though now that I +look at them both, I think that hers is getting to be the most blooming; +sweeter dews fall on that one, I suppose." + +Pierre laughed, and ran out of the room, for old Christopher was getting +impatient. His mother went to the window and stood there. + +"A noble boy, and docile"--she murmured--"he has all the frolicsomeness +of youth, with little of its giddiness. And he does not grow +vain-glorious in sophomorean wisdom. I thank heaven I sent him not to +college. A noble boy, and docile. A fine, proud, loving, docile, +vigorous boy. Pray God, he never becomes otherwise to me. His little +wife, that is to be, will not estrange him from me; for she too is +docile,--beautiful, and reverential, and most docile. Seldom yet have I +known such blue eyes as hers, that were not docile, and would not follow +a bold black one, as two meek blue-ribboned ewes, follow their martial +leader. How glad am I that Pierre loves her so, and not some dark-eyed +haughtiness, with whom I could never live in peace; but who would be +ever setting her young married state before my elderly widowed one, and +claiming all the homage of my dear boy--the fine, proud, loving, docile, +vigorous boy!--the lofty-minded, well-born, noble boy; and with such +sweet docilities! See his hair! He does in truth illustrate that fine +saying of his father's, that as the noblest colts, in three +points--abundant hair, swelling chest, and sweet docility--should +resemble a fine woman, so should a noble youth. Well, good-bye, Pierre, +and a merry morning to ye!" + +So saying she crossed the room, and--resting in a corner--her glad proud +eye met the old General's baton, which the day before in one of his +frolic moods Pierre had taken from its accustomed place in the +pictured-bannered hall. She lifted it, and musingly swayed it to and +fro; then paused, and staff-wise rested with it in her hand. Her stately +beauty had ever somewhat martial in it; and now she looked the daughter +of a General, as she was; for Pierre's was a double revolutionary +descent. On both sides he sprang from heroes. + +"This is his inheritance--this symbol of command! and I swell out to +think it. Yet but just now I fondled the conceit that Pierre was so +sweetly docile! Here sure is a most strange inconsistency! For is sweet +docility a general's badge? and is this baton but a distaff +then?--Here's something widely wrong. Now I almost wish him otherwise +than sweet and docile to me, seeing that it must be hard for man to be +an uncompromising hero and a commander among his race, and yet never +ruffle any domestic brow. Pray heaven he show his heroicness in some +smooth way of favoring fortune, not be called out to be a hero of some +dark hope forlorn;--of some dark hope forlorn, whose cruelness makes a +savage of a man. Give him, O God, regardful gales! Fan him with +unwavering prosperities! So shall he remain all docility to me, and yet +prove a haughty hero to the world!" + + + + +BOOK II. + +LOVE, DELIGHT, AND ALARM. + + +I. + +On the previous evening, Pierre had arranged with Lucy the plan of a +long winding ride, among the hills which stretched around to the +southward from the wide plains of Saddle-Meadows. + +Though the vehicle was a sexagenarian, the animals that drew it, were +but six-year colts. The old phaeton had outlasted several generations of +its drawers. + +Pierre rolled beneath the village elms in billowy style, and soon drew +up before the white cottage door. Flinging his reins upon the ground he +entered the house. + +The two colts were his particular and confidential friends; born on the +same land with him, and fed with the same corn, which, in the form of +Indian-cakes, Pierre himself was often wont to eat for breakfast. The +same fountain that by one branch supplied the stables with water, by +another supplied Pierre's pitcher. They were a sort of family cousins to +Pierre, those horses; and they were splendid young cousins; very showy +in their redundant manes and mighty paces, but not at all vain or +arrogant. They acknowledged Pierre as the undoubted head of the house of +Glendinning. They well knew that they were but an inferior and +subordinate branch of the Glendinnings, bound in perpetual feudal fealty +to its headmost representative. Therefore, these young cousins never +permitted themselves to run from Pierre; they were impatient in their +paces, but very patient in the halt. They were full of good-humor too, +and kind as kittens. + +"Bless me, how can you let them stand all alone that way, Pierre," cried +Lucy, as she and Pierre stepped forth from the cottage door, Pierre +laden with shawls, parasol, reticule, and a small hamper. + +"Wait a bit," cried Pierre, dropping his load; "I will show you what my +colts are." + +So saying, he spoke to them mildly, and went close up to them, and +patted them. The colts neighed; the nigh colt neighing a little +jealously, as if Pierre had not patted impartially. Then, with a low, +long, almost inaudible whistle, Pierre got between the colts, among the +harness. Whereat Lucy started, and uttered a faint cry, but Pierre told +her to keep perfectly quiet, for there was not the least danger in the +world. And Lucy did keep quiet; for somehow, though she always started +when Pierre seemed in the slightest jeopardy, yet at bottom she rather +cherished a notion that Pierre bore a charmed life, and by no earthly +possibility could die from her, or experience any harm, when she was +within a thousand leagues. + +Pierre, still between the horses, now stepped upon the pole of the +phaeton; then stepping down, indefinitely disappeared, or became +partially obscured among the living colonnade of the horses' eight +slender and glossy legs. He entered the colonnade one way, and after a +variety of meanderings, came out another way; during all of which +equestrian performance, the two colts kept gayly neighing, and +good-humoredly moving their heads perpendicularly up and down; and +sometimes turning them sideways toward Lucy; as much as to say--We +understand young master; we understand him, Miss; never fear, pretty +lady: why, bless your delicious little heart, we played with Pierre +before you ever did. + +"Are you afraid of their running away now, Lucy?" said Pierre, returning +to her. + +"Not much, Pierre; the superb fellows! Why, Pierre, they have made an +officer of you--look!" and she pointed to two foam-flakes epauletting +his shoulders. "Bravissimo again! I called you my recruit, when you left +my window this morning, and here you are promoted." + +"Very prettily conceited, Lucy. But see, you don't admire their coats; +they wear nothing but the finest Genoa velvet, Lucy. See! did you ever +see such well-groomed horses?" + +"Never!" + +"Then what say you to have them for my groomsmen, Lucy? Glorious +groomsmen they would make, I declare. They should have a hundred ells of +white favors all over their manes and tails; and when they drew us to +church, they would be still all the time scattering white favors from +their mouths, just as they did here on me. Upon my soul, they shall be +my groomsmen, Lucy. Stately stags! playful dogs! heroes, Lucy. We shall +have no marriage bells; they shall neigh for us, Lucy; we shall be +wedded to the martial sound of Job's trumpeters, Lucy. Hark! they are +neighing now to think of it." + +"Neighing at your lyrics, Pierre. Come, let us be off. Here, the shawl, +the parasol, the basket: what are you looking at them so for?" + +"I was thinking, Lucy, of the sad state I am in. Not six months ago, I +saw a poor affianced fellow, an old comrade of mine, trudging along with +his Lucy Tartan, a hillock of bundles under either arm; and I said to +myself--There goes a sumpter, now; poor devil, he's a lover. And now +look at me! Well, life's a burden, they say; why not be burdened +cheerily? But look ye, Lucy, I am going to enter a formal declaration +and protest before matters go further with us. When we are married, I +am not to carry any bundles, unless in cases of real need; and what is +more, when there are any of your young lady acquaintances in sight, I am +not to be unnecessarily called upon to back up, and load for their +particular edification." + +"Now I am really vexed with you, Pierre; that is the first ill-natured +innuendo I ever heard from you. Are there any of my young lady +acquaintances in sight now, I should like to know?" + +"Six of them, right over the way," said Pierre; "but they keep behind +the curtains. I never trust your solitary village streets, Lucy. +Sharp-shooters behind every clap-board, Lucy." + +"Pray, then, dear Pierre, do let us be off!" + + +II. + +While Pierre and Lucy are now rolling along under the elms, let it be +said who Lucy Tartan was. It is needless to say that she was a beauty; +because chestnut-haired, bright-cheeked youths like Pierre Glendinning, +seldom fall in love with any but a beauty. And in the times to come, +there must be--as in the present times, and in the times gone by--some +splendid men, and some transcendent women; and how can they ever be, +unless always, throughout all time, here and there, a handsome youth +weds with a handsome maid! + +But though owing to the above-named provisions of dame Nature, there +always will be beautiful women in the world; yet the world will never +see another Lucy Tartan. Her cheeks were tinted with the most delicate +white and red, the white predominating. Her eyes some god brought down +from heaven; her hair was Danae's, spangled with Jove's shower; her +teeth were dived for in the Persian Sea. + +If long wont to fix his glance on those who, trudging through the +humbler walks of life, and whom unequal toil and poverty deform; if that +man shall haply view some fair and gracious daughter of the gods, who, +from unknown climes of loveliness and affluence, comes floating into +sight, all symmetry and radiance; how shall he be transported, that in a +world so full of vice and misery as ours, there should yet shine forth +this visible semblance of the heavens. For a lovely woman is not +entirely of this earth. Her own sex regard her not as such. A crowd of +women eye a transcendent beauty entering a room, much as though a bird +from Arabia had lighted on the window sill. Say what you will, their +jealousy--if any--is but an afterbirth to their open admiration. Do men +envy the gods? And shall women envy the goddesses? A beautiful woman is +born Queen of men and women both, as Mary Stuart was born Queen of +Scots, whether men or women. All mankind are her Scots; her leal clans +are numbered by the nations. A true gentleman in Kentucky would +cheerfully die for a beautiful woman in Hindostan, though he never saw +her. Yea, count down his heart in death-drops for her; and go to Pluto, +that she might go to Paradise. He would turn Turk before he would disown +an allegiance hereditary to all gentlemen, from the hour their Grand +Master, Adam, first knelt to Eve. + +A plain-faced Queen of Spain dwells not in half the glory a beautiful +milliner does. Her soldiers can break heads, but her Highness can not +crack a heart; and the beautiful milliner might string hearts for +necklaces. Undoubtedly, Beauty made the first Queen. If ever again the +succession to the German Empire should be contested, and one poor lame +lawyer should present the claims of the first excellingly beautiful +woman he chanced to see--she would thereupon be unanimously elected +Empress of the Holy Roman German Empire;--that is to say, if all the +Germans were true, free-hearted and magnanimous gentlemen, at all +capable of appreciating so immense an honor. + +It is nonsense to talk of France as the seat of all civility. Did not +those French heathen have a Salique law? Three of the most bewitching +creatures,--immortal flowers of the line of Valois--were excluded from +the French throne by that infamous provision. France, indeed! whose +Catholic millions still worship Mary Queen of Heaven; and for ten +generations refused cap and knee to many angel Maries, rightful Queens +of France. Here is cause for universal war. See how vilely nations, as +well as men, assume and wear unchallenged the choicest titles, however +without merit. The Americans, and not the French, are the world's models +of chivalry. Our Salique Law provides that universal homage shall be +paid all beautiful women. No man's most solid rights shall weigh against +her airiest whims. If you buy the best seat in the coach, to go and +consult a doctor on a matter of life and death, you shall cheerfully +abdicate that best seat, and limp away on foot, if a pretty woman, +traveling, shake one feather from the stage-house door. + +Now, since we began by talking of a certain young lady that went out +riding with a certain youth; and yet find ourselves, after leading such +a merry dance, fast by a stage-house window;--this may seem rather +irregular sort of writing. But whither indeed should Lucy Tartan conduct +us, but among mighty Queens, and all other creatures of high degree; and +finally set us roaming, to see whether the wide world can match so fine +a wonder. By immemorial usage, am I not bound to celebrate this Lucy +Tartan? Who shall stay me? Is she not my hero's own affianced? What can +be gainsaid? Where underneath the tester of the night sleeps such +another? + +Yet, how would Lucy Tartan shrink from all this noise and clatter! She +is bragged of, but not brags. Thus far she hath floated as stilly +through this life, as thistle-down floats over meadows. Noiseless, she, +except with Pierre; and even with him she lives through many a panting +hush. Oh, those love-pauses that they know--how ominous of their +future; for pauses precede the earthquake, and every other terrible +commotion! But blue be their sky awhile, and lightsome all their chat, +and frolicsome their humors. + +Never shall I get down the vile inventory! How, if with paper and with +pencil I went out into the starry night to inventorize the heavens? Who +shall tell stars as teaspoons? Who shall put down the charms of Lucy +Tartan upon paper? + +And for the rest; her parentage, what fortune she would possess, how +many dresses in her wardrobe, and how many rings upon her fingers; +cheerfully would I let the genealogists, tax-gatherers, and upholsterers +attend to that. My proper province is with the angelical part of Lucy. +But as in some quarters, there prevails a sort of prejudice against +angels, who are merely angels and nothing more; therefore I shall +martyrize myself, by letting such gentlemen and ladies into some details +of Lucy Tartan's history. + +She was the daughter of an early and most cherished friend of Pierre's +father. But that father was now dead, and she resided an only daughter +with her mother, in a very fine house in the city. But though her home +was in the city, her heart was twice a year in the country. She did not +at all love the city and its empty, heartless, ceremonial ways. It was +very strange, but most eloquently significant of her own natural +angelhood that, though born among brick and mortar in a sea-port, she +still pined for unbaked earth and inland grass. So the sweet linnet, +though born inside of wires in a lady's chamber on the ocean coast, and +ignorant all its life of any other spot; yet, when spring-time comes, it +is seized with flutterings and vague impatiences; it can not eat or +drink for these wild longings. Though unlearned by any experience, still +the inspired linnet divinely knows that the inland migrating time has +come. And just so with Lucy in her first longings for the verdure. Every +spring those wild flutterings shook her; every spring, this sweet +linnet girl did migrate inland. Oh God grant that those other and long +after nameless flutterings of her inmost soul, when all life was become +weary to her--God grant, that those deeper flutterings in her were +equally significant of her final heavenly migration from this heavy +earth. + +It was fortunate for Lucy that her Aunt Lanyllyn--a pensive, childless, +white-turbaned widow--possessed and occupied a pretty cottage in the +village of Saddle Meadows; and still more fortunate, that this excellent +old aunt was very partial to her, and always felt a quiet delight in +having Lucy near her. So Aunt Lanyllyn's cottage, in effect, was Lucy's. +And now, for some years past, she had annually spent several months at +Saddle Meadows; and it was among the pure and soft incitements of the +country that Pierre first had felt toward Lucy the dear passion which +now made him wholly hers. + +Lucy had two brothers; one her senior, by three years, and the other her +junior by two. But these young men were officers in the navy; and so +they did not permanently live with Lucy and her mother. + +Mrs. Tartan was mistress of an ample fortune. She was, moreover, +perfectly aware that such was the fact, and was somewhat inclined to +force it upon the notice of other people, nowise interested in the +matter. In other words, Mrs. Tartan, instead of being daughter-proud, +for which she had infinite reason, was a little inclined to being +purse-proud, for which she had not the slightest reason; seeing that the +Great Mogul probably possessed a larger fortune than she, not to speak +of the Shah of Persia and Baron Rothschild, and a thousand other +millionaires; whereas, the Grand Turk, and all their other majesties of +Europe, Asia, and Africa to boot, could not, in all their joint +dominions, boast so sweet a girl as Lucy. Nevertheless, Mrs. Tartan was +an excellent sort of lady, as this lady-like world goes. She subscribed +to charities, and owned five pews in as many churches, and went about +trying to promote the general felicity of the world, by making all the +handsome young people of her acquaintance marry one another. In other +words, she was a match-maker--not a Lucifer match-maker--though, to tell +the truth, she may have kindled the matrimonial blues in certain +dissatisfied gentlemen's breasts, who had been wedded under her +particular auspices, and by her particular advice. Rumor said--but rumor +is always fibbing--that there was a secret society of dissatisfied young +husbands, who were at the pains of privately circulating handbills among +all unmarried young strangers, warning them against the insidious +approaches of Mrs. Tartan; and, for reference, named themselves in +cipher. But this could not have been true; for, flushed with a thousand +matches--burning blue or bright, it made little matter--Mrs. Tartan +sailed the seas of fashion, causing all topsails to lower to her; and +towing flotillas of young ladies, for all of whom she was bound to find +the finest husband harbors in the world. + +But does not match-making, like charity, begin at home? Why is her own +daughter Lucy without a mate? But not so fast; Mrs. Tartan years ago +laid out that sweet programme concerning Pierre and Lucy; but in this +case, her programme happened to coincide, in some degree, with a +previous one in heaven, and only for that cause did it come to pass, +that Pierre Glendinning was the proud elect of Lucy Tartan. Besides, +this being a thing so nearly affecting herself, Mrs. Tartan had, for the +most part, been rather circumspect and cautious in all her +manoeuvrings with Pierre and Lucy. Moreover, the thing demanded no +manoeuvring at all. The two Platonic particles, after roaming in quest +of each other, from the time of Saturn and Ops till now; they came +together before Mrs. Tartan's own eyes; and what more could Mrs. Tartan +do toward making them forever one and indivisible? Once, and only once, +had a dim suspicion passed through Pierre's mind, that Mrs. Tartan was a +lady thimble-rigger, and slyly rolled the pea. + +In their less mature acquaintance, he was breakfasting with Lucy and +her mother in the city, and the first cup of coffee had been poured out +by Mrs. Tartan, when she declared she smelt matches burning somewhere in +the house, and she must see them extinguished. So banning all pursuit, +she rose to seek for the burning matches, leaving the pair alone to +interchange the civilities of the coffee; and finally sent word to them, +from above stairs, that the matches, or something else, had given her a +headache, and begged Lucy to send her up some toast and tea, for she +would breakfast in her own chamber that morning. + +Upon this, Pierre looked from Lucy to his boots, and as he lifted his +eyes again, saw Anacreon on the sofa on one side of him, and Moore's +Melodies on the other, and some honey on the table, and a bit of white +satin on the floor, and a sort of bride's veil on the chandelier. + +Never mind though--thought Pierre, fixing his gaze on Lucy--I'm entirely +willing to be caught, when the bait is set in Paradise, and the bait is +such an angel. Again he glanced at Lucy, and saw a look of infinite +subdued vexation, and some unwonted pallor on her cheek. Then willingly +he would have kissed the delicious bait, that so gently hated to be +tasted in the trap. But glancing round again, and seeing that the music, +which Mrs. Tartan, under the pretense of putting in order, had been +adjusting upon the piano; seeing that this music was now in a vertical +pile against the wall, with--"_Love was once a little boy_," for the +outermost and only visible sheet; and thinking this to be a remarkable +coincidence under the circumstances; Pierre could not refrain from a +humorous smile, though it was a very gentle one, and immediately +repented of, especially as Lucy seeing and interpreting it, immediately +arose, with an unaccountable, indignant, angelical, adorable, and +all-persuasive "Mr. Glendinning?" utterly confounded in him the +slightest germ of suspicion as to Lucy's collusion in her mother's +imagined artifices. + +Indeed, Mrs. Tartan's having any thing whatever to do, or hint, or +finesse in this matter of the loves of Pierre and Lucy, was nothing less +than immensely gratuitous and sacrilegious. Would Mrs. Tartan doctor +lilies when they blow? Would Mrs. Tartan set about match-making between +the steel and magnet? Preposterous Mrs. Tartan! But this whole world is +a preposterous one, with many preposterous people in it; chief among +whom was Mrs. Tartan, match-maker to the nation. + +This conduct of Mrs. Tartan, was the more absurd, seeing that she could +not but know that Mrs. Glendinning desired the thing. And was not Lucy +wealthy?--going to be, that is, very wealthy when her mother died;--(sad +thought that for Mrs. Tartan)--and was not her husband's family of the +best; and had not Lucy's father been a bosom friend of Pierre's father? +And though Lucy might be matched to some one man, where among women was +the match for Lucy? Exceedingly preposterous Mrs. Tartan! But when a +lady like Mrs. Tartan has nothing positive and useful to do, then she +will do just such preposterous things as Mrs. Tartan did. + +Well, time went on; and Pierre loved Lucy, and Lucy, Pierre; till at +last the two young naval gentlemen, her brothers, happened to arrive in +Mrs. Tartan's drawing-room, from their first cruise--a three years' one +up the Mediterranean. They rather stared at Pierre, finding him on the +sofa, and Lucy not very remote. + +"Pray, be seated, gentlemen," said Pierre. "Plenty of room." + +"My darling brothers!" cried Lucy, embracing them. + +"My darling brothers and sister!" cried Pierre, folding them together. + +"Pray, hold off, sir," said the elder brother, who had served as a +passed midshipman for the last two weeks. The younger brother retreated +a little, and clapped his hand upon his dirk, saying, "Sir, we are from +the Mediterranean. Sir, permit me to say, this is decidedly improper! +Who may you be, sir?" + +"I can't explain for joy," cried Pierre, hilariously embracing them all +again. + +"Most extraordinary!" cried the elder brother, extricating his +shirt-collar from the embrace, and pulling it up vehemently. + +"Draw!" cried the younger, intrepidly. + +"Peace, foolish fellows," cried Lucy--"this is your old play-fellow, +Pierre Glendinning." + +"Pierre? why, Pierre?" cried the lads--"a hug all round again! You've +grown a fathom!--who would have known you? But, then--Lucy? I say, +Lucy?--what business have you here in this--eh? eh?--hugging-match, I +should call it?" + +"Oh! Lucy don't mean any thing," cried Pierre--"come, one more all +round." + +So they all embraced again; and that evening it was publicly known that +Pierre was to wed with Lucy. + +Whereupon, the young officers took it upon themselves to think--though +they by no means presumed to breathe it--that they had authoritatively, +though indirectly, accelerated a before ambiguous and highly +incommendable state of affairs between the now affianced lovers. + + +III. + +In the fine old robust times of Pierre's grandfather, an American +gentleman of substantial person and fortune spent his time in a somewhat +different style from the green-house gentlemen of the present day. The +grandfather of Pierre measured six feet four inches in height; during a +fire in the old manorial mansion, with one dash of his foot, he had +smitten down an oaken door, to admit the buckets of his negro slaves; +Pierre had often tried on his military vest, which still remained an +heirloom at Saddle Meadows, and found the pockets below his knees, and +plenty additional room for a fair-sized quarter-cask within its buttoned +girth; in a night-scuffle in the wilderness before the Revolutionary +War, he had annihilated two Indian savages by making reciprocal +bludgeons of their heads. And all this was done by the mildest hearted, +and most blue-eyed gentleman in the world, who, according to the +patriarchal fashion of those days, was a gentle, white-haired worshiper +of all the household gods; the gentlest husband, and the gentlest +father; the kindest of masters to his slaves; of the most wonderful +unruffledness of temper; a serene smoker of his after-dinner pipe; a +forgiver of many injuries; a sweet-hearted, charitable Christian; in +fine, a pure, cheerful, child-like, blue-eyed, divine old man; in whose +meek, majestic soul, the lion and the lamb embraced--fit image of his +God. + +Never could Pierre look upon his fine military portrait without an +infinite and mournful longing to meet his living aspect in actual life. +The majestic sweetness of this portrait was truly wonderful in its +effects upon any sensitive and generous-minded young observer. For such, +that portrait possessed the heavenly persuasiveness of angelic speech; a +glorious gospel framed and hung upon the wall, and declaring to all +people, as from the Mount, that man is a noble, god-like being, full of +choicest juices; made up of strength and beauty. + +Now, this grand old Pierre Glendinning was a great lover of horses; but +not in the modern sense, for he was no jockey;--one of his most intimate +friends of the masculine gender was a huge, proud, gray horse, of a +surprising reserve of manner, his saddle-beast; he had his horses' +mangers carved like old trenchers, out of solid maple logs; the key of +the corn-bin hung in his library; and no one grained his steeds, but +himself; unless his absence from home promoted Moyar, an incorruptible +and most punctual old black, to that honorable office. He said that no +man loved his horses, unless his own hands grained them. Every Christmas +he gave them brimming measures. "I keep Christmas with my horses," said +grand old Pierre. This grand old Pierre always rose at sunrise; washed +his face and chest in the open air; and then, returning to his closet, +and being completely arrayed at last, stepped forth to make a +ceremonious call at his stables, to bid his very honorable friends there +a very good and joyful morning. Woe to Cranz, Kit, Douw, or any other of +his stable slaves, if grand old Pierre found one horse unblanketed, or +one weed among the hay that filled their rack. Not that he ever had +Cranz, Kit, Douw, or any of them flogged--a thing unknown in that +patriarchal time and country--but he would refuse to say his wonted +pleasant word to them; and that was very bitter to them, for Cranz, Kit, +Douw, and all of them, loved grand old Pierre, as his shepherds loved +old Abraham. + +What decorous, lordly, gray-haired steed is this? What old Chaldean +rides abroad?--'Tis grand old Pierre; who, every morning before he eats, +goes out promenading with his saddle-beast; nor mounts him, without +first asking leave. But time glides on, and grand old Pierre grows old: +his life's glorious grape now swells with fatness; he has not the +conscience to saddle his majestic beast with such a mighty load of +manliness. Besides, the noble beast himself is growing old, and has a +touching look of meditativeness in his large, attentive eyes. Leg of +man, swears grand old Pierre, shall never more bestride my steed; no +more shall harness touch him! Then every spring he sowed a field with +clover for his steed; and at mid-summer sorted all his meadow grasses, +for the choicest hay to winter him; and had his destined grain thrashed +out with a flail, whose handle had once borne a flag in a brisk battle, +into which this same old steed had pranced with grand old Pierre; one +waving mane, one waving sword! + +Now needs must grand old Pierre take a morning drive; he rides no more +with the old gray steed. He has a phaeton built, fit for a vast General, +in whose sash three common men might hide. Doubled, trebled are the +huge S shaped leather springs; the wheels seem stolen from some mill; +the canopied seat is like a testered bed. From beneath the old archway, +not one horse, but two, every morning now draw forth old Pierre, as the +Chinese draw their fat god Josh, once every year from out his fane. + +But time glides on, and a morning comes, when the phaeton emerges not; +but all the yards and courts are full; helmets line the ways; +sword-points strike the stone steps of the porch; muskets ring upon the +stairs; and mournful martial melodies are heard in all the halls. Grand +old Pierre is dead; and like a hero of old battles, he dies on the eve +of another war; ere wheeling to fire on the foe, his platoons fire over +their old commander's grave; in A. D. 1812, died grand old Pierre. The +drum that beat in brass his funeral march, was a British kettle-drum, +that had once helped beat the vain-glorious march, for the thirty +thousand predestined prisoners, led into sure captivity by that bragging +boy, Burgoyne. + +Next day the old gray steed turned from his grain; turned round, and +vainly whinnied in his stall. By gracious Moyar's hand, he refuses to be +patted now; plain as horse can speak, the old gray steed says--"I smell +not the wonted hand; where is grand old Pierre? Grain me not, and groom +me not;--Where is grand old Pierre?" + +He sleeps not far from his master now; beneath the field he cropt, he +has softly lain him down; and long ere this, grand old Pierre and steed +have passed through that grass to glory. + +But his phaeton--like his plumed hearse, outlives the noble load it +bore. And the dark bay steeds that drew grand old Pierre alive, and by +his testament drew him dead, and followed the lordly lead of the led +gray horse; those dark bay steeds are still extant; not in themselves or +in their issue; but in the two descendants of stallions of their own +breed. For on the lands of Saddle Meadows, man and horse are both +hereditary; and this bright morning Pierre Glendinning, grandson of +grand old Pierre, now drives forth with Lucy Tartan, seated where his +own ancestor had sat, and reining steeds, whose +great-great-great-grandfathers grand old Pierre had reined before. + +How proud felt Pierre: In fancy's eye, he saw the horse-ghosts a-tandem +in the van; "These are but wheelers"--cried young Pierre--"the leaders +are the generations." + + +IV. + +But Love has more to do with his own possible and probable posterities, +than with the once living but now impossible ancestries in the past. So +Pierre's glow of family pride quickly gave place to a deeper hue, when +Lucy bade love's banner blush out from his cheek. + +That morning was the choicest drop that Time had in his vase. Ineffable +distillations of a soft delight were wafted from the fields and hills. +Fatal morning that, to all lovers unbetrothed; "Come to your +confessional," it cried. "Behold our airy loves," the birds chirped from +the trees; far out at sea, no more the sailors tied their bowline-knots; +their hands had lost their cunning; will they, nill they, Love tied +love-knots on every spangled spar. + +Oh, praised be the beauty of this earth, the beauty, and the bloom, and +the mirthfulness thereof! The first worlds made were winter worlds; the +second made, were vernal worlds; the third, and last, and perfectest, +was this summer world of ours. In the cold and nether spheres, preachers +preach of earth, as we of Paradise above. Oh, there, my friends, they +say, they have a season, in their language known as summer. Then their +fields spin themselves green carpets; snow and ice are not in all the +land; then a million strange, bright, fragrant things powder that sward +with perfumes; and high, majestic beings, dumb and grand, stand up with +outstretched arms, and hold their green canopies over merry angels--men +and women--who love and wed, and sleep and dream, beneath the approving +glances of their visible god and goddess, glad-hearted sun, and pensive +moon! + +Oh, praised be the beauty of this earth; the beauty, and the bloom, and +the mirthfulness thereof. We lived before, and shall live again; and as +we hope for a fairer world than this to come; so we came from one less +fine. From each successive world, the demon Principle is more and more +dislodged; he is the accursed clog from chaos, and thither, by every new +translation, we drive him further and further back again. Hosannahs to +this world! so beautiful itself, and the vestibule to more. Out of some +past Egypt, we have come to this new Canaan; and from this new Canaan, +we press on to some Circassia. Though still the villains, Want and Woe, +followed us out of Egypt, and now beg in Canaan's streets: yet +Circassia's gates shall not admit them; they, with their sire, the demon +Principle, must back to chaos, whence they came. + +Love was first begot by Mirth and Peace, in Eden, when the world was +young. The man oppressed with cares, he can not love; the man of gloom +finds not the god. So, as youth, for the most part, has no cares, and +knows no gloom, therefore, ever since time did begin, youth belongs to +love. Love may end in grief and age, and pain and need, and all other +modes of human mournfulness; but love begins in joy. Love's first sigh +is never breathed, till after love hath laughed. Love laughs first, and +then sighs after. Love has not hands, but cymbals; Love's mouth is +chambered like a bugle, and the instinctive breathings of his life +breathe jubilee notes of joy! + +That morning, two bay horses drew two Laughs along the road that led to +the hills from Saddle Meadows. Apt time they kept; Pierre Glendinning's +young, manly tenor, to Lucy Tartan's girlish treble. + +Wondrous fair of face, blue-eyed, and golden-haired, the bright blonde, +Lucy, was arrayed in colors harmonious with the heavens. Light blue be +thy perpetual color, Lucy; light blue becomes thee best--such the +repeated azure counsel of Lucy Tartan's mother. On both sides, from the +hedges, came to Pierre the clover bloom of Saddle Meadows, and from +Lucy's mouth and cheek came the fresh fragrance of her violet young +being. + +"Smell I the flowers, or thee?" cried Pierre. + +"See I lakes, or eyes?" cried Lucy, her own gazing down into his soul, +as two stars gaze down into a tarn. + +No Cornwall miner ever sunk so deep a shaft beneath the sea, as Love +will sink beneath the floatings of the eyes. Love sees ten million +fathoms down, till dazzled by the floor of pearls. The eye is Love's own +magic glass, where all things that are not of earth, glide in +supernatural light. There are not so many fishes in the sea, as there +are sweet images in lovers' eyes. In those miraculous translucencies +swim the strange eye-fish with wings, that sometimes leap out, instinct +with joy; moist fish-wings wet the lover's cheek. Love's eyes are holy +things; therein the mysteries of life are lodged; looking in each +other's eyes, lovers see the ultimate secret of the worlds; and with +thrills eternally untranslatable, feel that Love is god of all. Man or +woman who has never loved, nor once looked deep down into their own +lover's eyes, they know not the sweetest and the loftiest religion of +this earth. Love is both Creator's and Saviour's gospel to mankind; a +volume bound in rose-leaves, clasped with violets, and by the beaks of +humming-birds printed with peach-juice on the leaves of lilies. + +Endless is the account of Love. Time and space can not contain Love's +story. All things that are sweet to see, or taste, or feel, or hear, +all these things were made by Love; and none other things were made by +Love. Love made not the Arctic zones, but Love is ever reclaiming them. +Say, are not the fierce things of this earth daily, hourly going out? +Where now are your wolves of Britain? Where in Virginia now, find you +the panther and the pard? Oh, love is busy everywhere. Everywhere Love +hath Moravian missionaries. No Propagandist like to love. The south wind +wooes the barbarous north; on many a distant shore the gentler west wind +persuades the arid east. + +All this Earth is Love's affianced; vainly the demon Principle howls to +stay the banns. Why round her middle wears this world so rich a zone of +torrid verdure, if she be not dressing for the final rites? And why +provides she orange blossoms and lilies of the valley, if she would not +that all men and maids should love and marry? For every wedding where +true lovers wed, helps on the march of universal Love. Who are brides +here shall be Love's bridemaids in the marriage world to come. So on all +sides Love allures; can contain himself what youth who views the wonders +of the beauteous woman-world? Where a beautiful woman is, there is all +Asia and her Bazars. Italy hath not a sight before the beauty of a +Yankee girl; nor heaven a blessing beyond her earthly love. Did not the +angelical Lotharios come down to earth, that they might taste of mortal +woman's Love and Beauty? even while her own silly brothers were pining +after the self-same Paradise they left? Yes, those envying angels did +come down; did emigrate; and who emigrates except to be better off? + +Love is this world's great redeemer and reformer; and as all beautiful +women are her selectest emissaries, so hath Love gifted them with a +magnetical persuasiveness, that no youth can possibly repel. The own +heart's choice of every youth, seems ever as an inscrutable witch to +him; and by ten thousand concentric spells and circling incantations, +glides round and round him, as he turns: murmuring meanings of +unearthly import; and summoning up to him all the subterranean sprites +and gnomes; and unpeopling all the sea for naiads to swim round him; so +that mysteries are evoked as in exhalations by this Love;--what wonder +then that Love was aye a mystic? + + +V. + +And this self-same morning Pierre was very mystical; not continually, +though; but most mystical one moment, and overflowing with mad, +unbridled merriment, the next. He seemed a youthful Magian, and almost a +mountebank together. Chaldaic improvisations burst from him, in quick +Golden Verses, on the heel of humorous retort and repartee. More +especially, the bright glance of Lucy was transporting to him. Now, +reckless of his horses, with both arms holding Lucy in his embrace, like +a Sicilian diver he dives deep down in the Adriatic of her eyes, and +brings up some king's-cup of joy. All the waves in Lucy's eyes seemed +waves of infinite glee to him. And as if, like veritable seas, they did +indeed catch the reflected irradiations of that pellucid azure morning; +in Lucy's eyes, there seemed to shine all the blue glory of the general +day, and all the sweet inscrutableness of the sky. And certainly, the +blue eye of woman, like the sea, is not uninfluenced by the atmosphere. +Only in the open air of some divinest, summer day, will you see its +ultramarine,--its fluid lapis lazuli. Then would Pierre burst forth in +some screaming shout of joy; and the striped tigers of his chestnut eyes +leaped in their lashed cages with a fierce delight. Lucy shrank from him +in extreme love; for the extremest top of love, is Fear and Wonder. + +Soon the swift horses drew this fair god and goddess nigh the wooded +hills, whose distant blue, now changed into a variously-shaded green, +stood before them like old Babylonian walls, overgrown with verdure; +while here and there, at regular intervals, the scattered peaks seemed +mural towers; and the clumped pines surmounting them, as lofty archers, +and vast, out-looking watchers of the glorious Babylonian City of the +Day. Catching that hilly air, the prancing horses neighed; laughed on +the ground with gleeful feet. Felt they the gay delightsome spurrings of +the day; for the day was mad with excessive joy; and high in heaven you +heard the neighing of the horses of the sun; and down dropt their +nostrils' froth in many a fleecy vapor from the hills. + +From the plains, the mists rose slowly; reluctant yet to quit so fair a +mead. At those green slopings, Pierre reined in his steeds, and soon the +twain were seated on the bank, gazing far, and far away; over many a +grove and lake; corn-crested uplands, and Herd's-grass lowlands; and +long-stretching swales of vividest green, betokening where the greenest +bounty of this earth seeks its winding channels; as ever, the most +heavenly bounteousness most seeks the lowly places; making green and +glad many a humble mortal's breast, and leaving to his own lonely +aridness, many a hill-top prince's state. + +But Grief, not Joy, is a moralizer; and small moralizing wisdom caught +Pierre from that scene. With Lucy's hand in his, and feeling, softly +feeling of its soft tinglingness; he seemed as one placed in linked +correspondence with the summer lightnings; and by sweet shock on shock, +receiving intimating fore-tastes of the etherealest delights of earth. + +Now, prone on the grass he falls, with his attentive upward glance fixed +on Lucy's eyes. "Thou art my heaven, Lucy; and here I lie thy +shepherd-king, watching for new eye-stars to rise in thee. Ha! I see +Venus' transit now;--lo! a new planet there;--and behind all, an +infinite starry nebulousness, as if thy being were backgrounded by some +spangled vail of mystery." + +Is Lucy deaf to all these ravings of his lyric love? Why looks she down, +and vibrates so; and why now from her over-charged lids, drops such warm +drops as these? No joy now in Lucy's eyes, and seeming tremor on her +lips. + +"Ah! thou too ardent and impetuous Pierre!" + +"Nay, thou too moist and changeful April! know'st thou not, that the +moist and changeful April is followed by the glad, assured, and +showerless joy of June? And this, Lucy, this day should be thy June, +even as it is the earth's?" + +"Ah Pierre! not June to me. But say, are not the sweets of June made +sweet by the April tears?" + +"Ay, love! but here fall more drops,--more and more;--these showers are +longer than beseem the April, and pertain not to the June." + +"June! June!--thou bride's month of the summer,--following the spring's +sweet courtship of the earth,--my June, my June is yet to come!" + +"Oh! yet to come, but fixedly decreed;--good as come, and better." + +"Then no flower that, in the bud, the April showers have nurtured; no +such flower may untimely perish, ere the June unfolds it? Ye will not +swear that, Pierre?" + +"The audacious immortalities of divinest love are in me; and I now swear +to thee all the immutable eternities of joyfulness, that ever woman +dreamed of, in this dream-house of the earth. A god decrees to thee +unchangeable felicity; and to me, the unchallenged possession of thee +and them, for my inalienable fief.--Do I rave? Look on me, Lucy; think +on me, girl." + +"Thou art young, and beautiful, and strong; and a joyful manliness +invests thee, Pierre; and thy intrepid heart never yet felt the touch of +fear;--But--" + +"But what?" + +"Ah, my best Pierre!" + +"With kisses I will suck thy secret from thy cheek!--but what?" + +"Let us hie homeward, Pierre. Some nameless sadness, faintness, +strangely comes to me. Foretaste I feel of endless dreariness. Tell me +once more the story of that face, Pierre,--that mysterious, haunting +face, which thou once told'st me, thou didst thrice vainly try to shun. +Blue is the sky, oh, bland the air, Pierre;--but--tell me the story of +the face,--the dark-eyed, lustrous, imploring, mournful face, that so +mystically paled, and shrunk at thine. Ah, Pierre, sometimes I have +thought,--never will I wed with my best Pierre, until the riddle of that +face be known. Tell me, tell me, Pierre;--as a fixed basilisk, with eyes +of steady, flaming mournfulness, that face this instant fastens me." + +"Bewitched! bewitched!--Cursed be the hour I acted on the thought, that +Love hath no reserves. Never should I have told thee the story of that +face, Lucy. I have bared myself too much to thee. Oh, never should Love +know all!" + +"Knows not all, then loves not all, Pierre. Never shalt thou so say +again;--and Pierre, listen to me. Now,--now, in this inexplicable +trepidation that I feel, I do conjure thee, that thou wilt ever continue +to do as thou hast done; so that I may ever continue to know all that +agitatest thee, the airiest and most transient thought, that ever shall +sweep into thee from the wide atmosphere of all things that hem +mortality. Did I doubt thee here;--could I ever think, that thy heart +hath yet one private nook or corner from me;--fatal disenchanting day +for me, my Pierre, would that be. I tell thee, Pierre--and 'tis Love's +own self that now speaks through me--only in unbounded confidence and +interchangings of all subtlest secrets, can Love possibly endure. Love's +self is a secret, and so feeds on secrets, Pierre. Did I only know of +thee, what the whole common world may know--what then were Pierre to +me?--Thou must be wholly a disclosed secret to me; Love is vain and +proud; and when I walk the streets, and meet thy friends, I must still +be laughing and hugging to myself the thought,--They know him not;--I +only know my Pierre;--none else beneath the circuit of yon sun. Then, +swear to me, dear Pierre, that thou wilt never keep a secret from +me--no, never, never;--swear!" + +"Something seizes me. Thy inexplicable tears, falling, falling on my +heart, have now turned it to a stone. I feel icy cold and hard; I will +not swear!" + +"Pierre! Pierre!" + +"God help thee, and God help me, Lucy. I can not think, that in this +most mild and dulcet air, the invisible agencies are plotting treasons +against our loves. Oh! if ye be now nigh us, ye things I have no name +for; then by a name that should be efficacious--by Christ's holy name, I +warn ye back from her and me. Touch her not, ye airy devils; hence to +your appointed hell! why come ye prowling in these heavenly perlieus? +Can not the chains of Love omnipotent bind ye, fiends?" + +"Is this Pierre? His eyes glare fearfully; now I see layer on layer +deeper in him; he turns round and menaces the air and talks to it, as if +defied by the air. Woe is me, that fairy love should raise this evil +spell!--Pierre?" + +"But now I was infinite distances from thee, oh my Lucy, wandering +baffled in the choking night; but thy voice might find me, though I had +wandered to the Boreal realm, Lucy. Here I sit down by thee; I catch a +soothing from thee." + +"My own, own Pierre! Pierre, into ten trillion pieces I could now be +torn for thee; in my bosom would yet hide thee, and there keep thee +warm, though I sat down on Arctic ice-floes, frozen to a corpse. My own, +best, blessed Pierre! Now, could I plant some poniard in me, that my +silly ailings should have power to move thee thus, and pain thee thus. +Forgive me, Pierre; thy changed face hath chased the other from me; the +fright of thee exceeds all other frights. It does not so haunt me now. +Press hard my hand; look hard on me, my love, that its last trace may +pass away. Now I feel almost whole again; now, 'tis gone. Up, my Pierre; +let us up, and fly these hills, whence, I fear, too wide a prospect +meets us. Fly we to the plain. See, thy steeds neigh for thee--they call +thee--see, the clouds fly down toward the plain--lo, these hills now +seem all desolate to me, and the vale all verdure. Thank thee, +Pierre.--See, now, I quit the hills, dry-cheeked; and leave all tears +behind to be sucked in by these evergreens, meet emblems of the +unchanging love, my own sadness nourishes in me. Hard fate, that Love's +best verdure should feed so on tears!" + +Now they rolled swiftly down the slopes; nor tempted the upper hills; +but sped fast for the plain. Now the cloud hath passed from Lucy's eye; +no more the lurid slanting light forks upward from her lover's brow. In +the plain they find peace, and love, and joy again. + +"It was the merest, idling, wanton vapor, Lucy!" + +"An empty echo, Pierre, of a sad sound, long past. Bless thee, my +Pierre!" + +"The great God wrap thee ever, Lucy. So, now, we are home." + + +VI. + +After seeing Lucy into her aunt's most cheerful parlor, and seating her +by the honeysuckle that half clambered into the window there; and near +to which was her easel for crayon-sketching, upon part of whose frame +Lucy had cunningly trained two slender vines, into whose earth-filled +pots two of the three legs of the easel were inserted; and sitting down +himself by her, and by his pleasant, lightsome chat, striving to chase +the last trace of sadness from her; and not till his object seemed fully +gained; Pierre rose to call her good aunt to her, and so take his leave +till evening, when Lucy called him back, begging him first to bring her +the blue portfolio from her chamber, for she wished to kill her last +lingering melancholy--if any indeed did linger now--by diverting her +thoughts, in a little pencil sketch, to scenes widely different from +those of Saddle Meadows and its hills. + +So Pierre went up stairs, but paused on the threshold of the open door. +He never had entered that chamber but with feelings of a wonderful +reverentialness. The carpet seemed as holy ground. Every chair seemed +sanctified by some departed saint, there once seated long ago. Here his +book of Love was all a rubric, and said--Bow now, Pierre, bow. But this +extreme loyalty to the piety of love, called from him by such glimpses +of its most secret inner shrine, was not unrelieved betimes by such +quickenings of all his pulses, that in fantasy he pressed the wide +beauty of the world in his embracing arms; for all his world resolved +itself into his heart's best love for Lucy. + +Now, crossing the magic silence of the empty chamber, he caught the +snow-white bed reflected in the toilet-glass. This rooted him. For one +swift instant, he seemed to see in that one glance the two separate +beds--the real one and the reflected one--and an unbidden, most +miserable presentiment thereupon stole into him. But in one breath it +came and went. So he advanced, and with a fond and gentle joyfulness, +his eye now fell upon the spotless bed itself, and fastened on a +snow-white roll that lay beside the pillow. Now he started; Lucy seemed +coming in upon him; but no--'tis only the foot of one of her little +slippers, just peeping into view from under the narrow nether curtains +of the bed. Then again his glance fixed itself upon the slender, +snow-white, ruffled roll; and he stood as one enchanted. Never precious +parchment of the Greek was half so precious in his eyes. Never +trembling scholar longed more to unroll the mystic vellum, than Pierre +longed to unroll the sacred secrets of that snow-white, ruffled thing. +But his hands touched not any object in that chamber, except the one he +had gone thither for. + +"Here is the blue portfolio, Lucy. See, the key hangs to its silver +lock;--were you not fearful I would open it?--'twas tempting, I must +confess." + +"Open it!" said Lucy--"why, yes, Pierre, yes; what secret thing keep I +from thee? Read me through and through. I am entirely thine. See!" and +tossing open the portfolio, all manner of rosy things came floating from +it, and a most delicate perfume of some invisible essence. + +"Ah! thou holy angel, Lucy!" + +"Why, Pierre, thou art transfigured; thou now lookest as one who--why, +Pierre?" + +"As one who had just peeped in at paradise, Lucy; and----" + +"Again wandering in thy mind, Pierre; no more--Come, you must leave me, +now. I am quite rested again. Quick, call my aunt, and leave me. Stay, +this evening we are to look over the book of plates from the city, you +know. Be early;--go now, Pierre." + +"Well, good-bye, till evening, thou height of all delight." + + +VII. + +As Pierre drove through the silent village, beneath the vertical shadows +of the noon-day trees, the sweet chamber scene abandoned him, and the +mystical face recurred to him, and kept with him. At last, arrived at +home, he found his mother absent; so passing straight through the wide +middle hall of the mansion, he descended the piazza on the other ride, +and wandered away in reveries down to the river bank. + +Here one primeval pine-tree had been luckily left standing by the +otherwise unsparing woodmen, who long ago had cleared that meadow. It +was once crossing to this noble pine, from a clump of hemlocks far +across the river, that Pierre had first noticed the significant fact, +that while the hemlock and the pine are trees of equal growth and +stature, and are so similar in their general aspect, that people unused +to woods sometimes confound them; and while both trees are proverbially +trees of sadness, yet the dark hemlock hath no music in its thoughtful +boughs; but the gentle pine-tree drops melodious mournfulness. + +At its half-bared roots of sadness, Pierre sat down, and marked the +mighty bulk and far out-reaching length of one particular root, which, +straying down the bank, the storms and rains had years ago exposed. + +"How wide, how strong these roots must spread! Sure, this pine-tree +takes powerful hold of this fair earth! Yon bright flower hath not so +deep a root. This tree hath outlived a century of that gay flower's +generations, and will outlive a century of them yet to come. This is +most sad. Hark, now I hear the pyramidical and numberless, flame-like +complainings of this Eolean pine;--the wind breathes now upon it:--the +wind,--that is God's breath! Is He so sad? Oh, tree! so mighty thou, so +lofty, yet so mournful! This is most strange! Hark! as I look up into +thy high secrecies, oh, tree, the face, the face, peeps down on +me!--'Art thou Pierre? Come to me'--oh, thou mysterious girl,--what an +ill-matched pendant thou, to that other countenance of sweet Lucy, which +also hangs, and first did hang within my heart! Is grief a pendant then +to pleasantness? Is grief a self-willed guest that _will_ come in? Yet I +have never known thee, Grief;--thou art a legend to me. I have known +some fiery broils of glorious frenzy; I have oft tasted of revery; +whence comes pensiveness; whence comes sadness; whence all delicious +poetic presentiments;--but thou, Grief! art still a ghost-story to me. I +know thee not,--do half disbelieve in thee. Not that I would be without +my too little cherished fits of sadness now and then; but God keep me +from thee, thou other shape of far profounder gloom! I shudder at thee! +The face!--the face!--forth again from thy high secrecies, oh, tree! the +face steals down upon me. Mysterious girl! who art thou? by what right +snatchest thou thus my deepest thoughts? Take thy thin fingers from +me;--I am affianced, and not to thee. Leave me!--what share hast thou in +me? Surely, thou lovest not me?--that were most miserable for thee, and +me, and Lucy. It can not be. What, _who_ art thou? Oh! wretched +vagueness--too familiar to me, yet inexplicable,--unknown, utterly +unknown! I seem to founder in this perplexity. Thou seemest to know +somewhat of me, that I know not of myself,--what is it then? If thou +hast a secret in thy eyes of mournful mystery, out with it; Pierre +demands it; what is that thou hast veiled in thee so imperfectly, that I +seem to see its motion, but not its form? It visibly rustles behind the +concealing screen. Now, never into the soul of Pierre, stole there +before, a muffledness like this! If aught really lurks in it, ye +sovereign powers that claim all my leal worshipings, I conjure ye to +lift the veil; I must see it face to face. Tread I on a mine, warn me; +advance I on a precipice, hold me back; but abandon me to an unknown +misery, that it shall suddenly seize me, and possess me, wholly,--that +ye will never do; else, Pierre's fond faith in ye--now clean, +untouched--may clean depart; and give me up to be a railing atheist! Ah, +now the face departs. Pray heaven it hath not only stolen back, and +hidden again in thy high secrecies, oh tree! But 'tis +gone--gone--entirely gone; and I thank God, and I feel joy again; joy, +which I also feel to be my right as man; deprived of joy, I feel I +should find cause for deadly feuds with things invisible. Ha! a coat of +iron-mail seems to grow round, and husk me now; and I have heard, that +the bitterest winters are foretold by a thicker husk upon the Indian +corn; so our old farmers say. But 'tis a dark similitude. Quit thy +analogies; sweet in the orator's mouth, bitter in the thinker's belly. +Now, then, I'll up with my own joyful will; and with my joy's face scare +away all phantoms:--so, they go; and Pierre is Joy's, and Life's again. +Thou pine-tree!--henceforth I will resist thy too treacherous +persuasiveness. Thou'lt not so often woo me to thy airy tent, to ponder +on the gloomy rooted stakes that bind it. Hence now I go; and peace be +with thee, pine! That blessed sereneness which lurks ever at the heart +of sadness--mere sadness--and remains when all the rest has gone;--that +sweet feeling is now mine, and cheaply mine. I am not sorry I was sad, I +feel so blessed now. Dearest Lucy!--well, well;--'twill be a pretty time +we'll have this evening; there's the book of Flemish prints--that first +we must look over; then, second, is Flaxman's Homer--clear-cut outlines, +yet full of unadorned barbaric nobleness. Then Flaxman's Dante;--Dante! +Night's and Hell's poet he. No, we will not open Dante. Methinks now the +face--the face--minds me a little of pensive, sweet Francesca's +face--or, rather, as it had been Francesca's daughter's face--wafted on +the sad dark wind, toward observant Virgil and the blistered Florentine. +No, we will not open Flaxman's Dante. Francesca's mournful face is now +ideal to me. Flaxman might evoke it wholly,--make it present in lines of +misery--bewitching power. No! I will not open Flaxman's Dante! Damned be +the hour I read in Dante! more damned than that wherein Paolo and +Francesca read in fatal Launcelot!" + + + + +BOOK III. + +THE PRESENTIMENT AND THE VERIFICATION. + + +I. + +The face, of which Pierre and Lucy so strangely and fearfully hinted, +was not of enchanted air; but its mortal lineaments of mournfulness had +been visibly beheld by Pierre. Nor had it accosted him in any privacy; +or in any lonely byeway; or beneath the white light of the crescent +moon; but in a joyous chamber, bright with candles, and ringing with two +score women's gayest voices. Out of the heart of mirthfulness, this +shadow had come forth to him. Encircled by bandelets of light, it had +still beamed upon him; vaguely historic and prophetic; backward, hinting +of some irrevocable sin; forward, pointing to some inevitable ill. One +of those faces, which now and then appear to man, and without one word +of speech, still reveal glimpses of some fearful gospel. In natural +guise, but lit by supernatural light; palpable to the senses, but +inscrutable to the soul; in their perfectest impression on us, ever +hovering between Tartarean misery and Paradisaic beauty; such faces, +compounded so of hell and heaven, overthrow in us all foregone +persuasions, and make us wondering children in this world again. + +The face had accosted Pierre some weeks previous to his ride with Lucy +to the hills beyond Saddle Meadows; and before her arrival for the +summer at the village; moreover it had accosted him in a very common +and homely scene; but this enhanced the wonder. + +On some distant business, with a farmer-tenant, he had been absent from +the mansion during the best part of the day, and had but just come home, +early of a pleasant moonlight evening, when Dates delivered a message to +him from his mother, begging him to come for her about half-past seven +that night to Miss Llanyllyn's cottage, in order to accompany her thence +to that of the two Miss Pennies. At the mention of that last name, +Pierre well knew what he must anticipate. Those elderly and truly pious +spinsters, gifted with the most benevolent hearts in the world, and at +mid-age deprived by envious nature of their hearing, seemed to have made +it a maxim of their charitable lives, that since God had not given them +any more the power to hear Christ's gospel preached, they would +therefore thenceforth do what they could toward practicing it. +Wherefore, as a matter of no possible interest to them now, they +abstained from church; and while with prayer-books in their hands the +Rev. Mr. Falsgrave's congregation were engaged in worshiping their God, +according to the divine behest; the two Miss Pennies, with thread and +needle, were hard at work in serving him; making up shirts and gowns for +the poor people of the parish. Pierre had heard that they had recently +been at the trouble of organizing a regular society, among the +neighboring farmers' wives and daughters, to meet twice a month at their +own house (the Miss Pennies) for the purpose of sewing in concert for +the benefit of various settlements of necessitous emigrants, who had +lately pitched their populous shanties further up the river. But though +this enterprise had not been started without previously acquainting Mrs. +Glendinning of it,--for indeed she was much loved and honored by the +pious spinsters,--and their promise of solid assistance from that +gracious manorial lady; yet Pierre had not heard that his mother had +been officially invited to preside, or be at all present at the +semi-monthly meetings; though he supposed, that far from having any +scruples against so doing, she would be very glad to associate that way, +with the good people of the village. + +"Now, brother Pierre"--said Mrs. Glendinning, rising from Miss +Llanyllyn's huge cushioned chair--"throw my shawl around me; and +good-evening to Lucy's aunt.--There, we shall be late." + +As they walked along, she added--"Now, Pierre, I know you are apt to be +a little impatient sometimes, of these sewing scenes; but courage; I +merely want to peep in on them; so as to get some inkling of what they +would indeed be at; and then my promised benefactions can be better +selected by me. Besides, Pierre, I could have had Dates escort me, but I +preferred you; because I want you to know who they are you live among; +how many really pretty, and naturally-refined dames and girls you shall +one day be lord of the manor of. I anticipate a rare display of rural +red and white." + +Cheered by such pleasant promises, Pierre soon found himself leading his +mother into a room full of faces. The instant they appeared, a +gratuitous old body, seated with her knitting near the door, squeaked +out shrilly--"Ah! dames, dames,--Madam Glendinning!--Master Pierre +Glendinning!" + +Almost immediately following this sound, there came a sudden, +long-drawn, unearthly, girlish shriek, from the further corner of the +long, double room. Never had human voice so affected Pierre before. +Though he saw not the person from whom it came, and though the voice was +wholly strange to him, yet the sudden shriek seemed to split its way +clean through his heart, and leave a yawning gap there. For an instant, +he stood bewildered; but started at his mother's voice; her arm being +still in his. "Why do you clutch my arm so, Pierre? You pain me. Pshaw! +some one has fainted,--nothing more." + +Instantly Pierre recovered himself, and affecting to mock at his own +trepidation, hurried across the room to offer his services, if such +were needed. But dames and maidens had been all beforehand with him; the +lights were wildly flickering in the air-current made by the flinging +open of the casement, near to where the shriek had come. But the climax +of the tumult was soon past; and presently, upon closing the casement, +it subsided almost wholly. The elder of the spinster Pennies, advancing +to Mrs. Glendinning, now gave her to understand, that one of the further +crowd of industrious girls present, had been attacked by a sudden, but +fleeting fit, vaguely imputable to some constitutional disorder or +other. She was now quite well again. And so the company, one and all, +seemingly acting upon their natural good-breeding, which in any one at +bottom, is but delicacy and charity, refrained from all further +curiosity; reminded not the girl of what had passed; noted her scarce at +all; and all needles stitched away as before. + +Leaving his mother to speak with whom she pleased, and attend alone to +her own affairs with the society; Pierre, oblivious now in such a lively +crowd, of any past unpleasantness, after some courtly words to the Miss +Pennies,--insinuated into their understandings through a long coiled +trumpet, which, when not in use, the spinsters wore, hanging like a +powder-horn from their girdles:--and likewise, after manifesting the +profoundest and most intelligent interest in the mystic mechanism of a +huge woolen sock, in course of completion by a spectacled old lady of +his more particular acquaintance; after all this had been gone through, +and something more too tedious to detail, but which occupied him for +nearly half an hour, Pierre, with a slightly blushing, and imperfectly +balanced assurance, advanced toward the further crowd of maidens; where, +by the light of many a well-snuffed candle, they clubbed all their +bright contrasting cheeks, like a dense bed of garden tulips. There were +the shy and pretty Maries, Marthas, Susans, Betties, Jennies, Nellies; +and forty more fair nymphs, who skimmed the cream, and made the butter +of the fat farms of Saddle Meadows. + +Assurance is in presence of the assured. Where embarrassments prevail, +they affect the most disembarrassed. What wonder, then, that gazing on +such a thick array of wreathing, roguish, half-averted, blushing +faces--still audacious in their very embarrassment--Pierre, too, should +flush a bit, and stammer in his attitudes a little? Youthful love and +graciousness were in his heart; kindest words upon his tongue; but there +he stood, target for the transfixing glances of those ambushed archers +of the eye. + +But his abashments last too long; his cheek hath changed from blush to +pallor; what strange thing does Pierre Glendinning see? Behind the first +close, busy breast-work of young girls, are several very little stands, +or circular tables, where sit small groups of twos and threes, sewing in +small comparative solitudes, as it were. They would seem to be the less +notable of the rural company; or else, for some cause, they have +voluntarily retired into their humble banishment. Upon one of these +persons engaged at the furthermost and least conspicuous of these little +stands, and close by a casement, Pierre's glance is palely fixed. + +The girl sits steadily sewing; neither she nor her two companions speak. +Her eyes are mostly upon her work; but now and then a very close +observer would notice that she furtively lifts them, and moves them +sideways and timidly toward Pierre; and then, still more furtively and +timidly toward his lady mother, further off. All the while, her +preternatural calmness sometimes seems only made to cover the intensest +struggle in her bosom. Her unadorned and modest dress is black; fitting +close up to her neck, and clasping it with a plain, velvet border. To a +nice perception, that velvet shows elastically; contracting and +expanding, as though some choked, violent thing were risen up there +within from the teeming region of her heart. But her dark, olive cheek +is without a blush, or sign of any disquietude. So far as this girl lies +upon the common surface, ineffable composure steeps her. But still, she +sideways steals the furtive, timid glance. Anon, as yielding to the +irresistible climax of her concealed emotion, whatever that may be, she +lifts her whole marvelous countenance into the radiant candlelight, and +for one swift instant, that face of supernaturalness unreservedly meets +Pierre's. Now, wonderful loveliness, and a still more wonderful +loneliness, have with inexplicable implorings, looked up to him from +that henceforth immemorial face. There, too, he seemed to see the fair +ground where Anguish had contended with Beauty, and neither being +conqueror, both had laid down on the field. + +Recovering at length from his all too obvious emotion, Pierre turned +away still farther, to regain the conscious possession of himself. A +wild, bewildering, and incomprehensible curiosity had seized him, to +know something definite of that face. To this curiosity, at the moment, +he entirely surrendered himself; unable as he was to combat it, or +reason with it in the slightest way. So soon as he felt his outward +composure returned to him, he purposed to chat his way behind the +breastwork of bright eyes and cheeks, and on some parlor pretense or +other, hear, if possible, an audible syllable from one whose mere silent +aspect had so potentially moved him. But at length, as with this object +in mind, he was crossing the room again, he heard his mother's voice, +gayly calling him away; and turning, saw her shawled and bonneted. He +could now make no plausible stay, and smothering the agitation in him, +he bowed a general and hurried adieu to the company, and went forth with +his mother. + +They had gone some way homeward, in perfect silence, when his mother +spoke. + +"Well, Pierre, what can it possibly be!" + +"My God, mother, did you see her then!" + +"My son!" cried Mrs. Glendinning, instantly stopping in terror, and +withdrawing her arm from Pierre, "what--what under heaven ails you? This +is most strange! I but playfully asked, what you were so steadfastly +thinking of; and here you answer me by the strangest question, in a +voice that seems to come from under your great-grandfather's tomb! What, +in heaven's name, does this mean, Pierre? Why were you so silent, and +why now are you so ill-timed in speaking! Answer me;--explain all +this;--_she_--_she_--what _she_ should you be thinking of but Lucy +Tartan?--Pierre, beware, beware! I had thought you firmer in your lady's +faith, than such strange behavior as this would seem to hint. Answer me, +Pierre, what may this mean? Come, I hate a mystery; speak, my son." + +Fortunately, this prolonged verbalized wonder in his mother afforded +Pierre time to rally from his double and aggravated astonishment, +brought about by first suspecting that his mother also had been struck +by the strange aspect of the face, and then, having that suspicion so +violently beaten back upon him, by her apparently unaffected alarm at +finding him in some region of thought wholly unshared by herself at the +time. + +"It is nothing--nothing, sister Mary; just nothing at all in the world. +I believe I was dreaming--sleep-walking, or something of that sort. They +were vastly pretty girls there this evening, sister Mary, were they not? +Come, let us walk on--do, sister mine." + +"Pierre, Pierre!--but I will take your arm again;--and have you really +nothing more to say? were you really wandering, Pierre?" + +"I swear to you, my dearest mother, that never before in my whole +existence, have I so completely gone wandering in my soul, as at that +very moment. But it is all over now." Then in a less earnest and +somewhat playful tone, he added: "And sister mine, if you know aught of +the physical and sanitary authors, you must be aware, that the only +treatment for such a case of harmless temporary aberration, is for all +persons to ignore it in the subject. So no more of this foolishness. +Talking about it only makes me feel very unpleasantly silly, and there +is no knowing that it may not bring it back upon me." + +"Then by all means, my dear boy, not another word about it. But it's +passing strange--very, very strange indeed. Well, about that morning +business; how fared you? Tell me about it." + + +II. + +So Pierre, gladly plunging into this welcome current of talk, was +enabled to attend his mother home without furnishing further cause for +her concern or wonderment. But not by any means so readily could he +allay his own concern and wonderment. Too really true in itself, however +evasive in its effect at the time, was that earnest answer to his +mother, declaring that never in his whole existence had he been so +profoundly stirred. The face haunted him as some imploring, and +beauteous, impassioned, ideal Madonna's haunts the morbidly longing and +enthusiastic, but ever-baffled artist. And ever, as the mystic face thus +rose before his fancy's sight, another sense was touched in him; the +long-drawn, unearthly, girlish shriek pealed through and through his +soul; for now he knew the shriek came from the face--such Delphic shriek +could only come from such a source. And wherefore that shriek? thought +Pierre. Bodes it ill to the face, or me, or both? How am I changed, that +my appearance on any scene should have power to work such woe? But it +was mostly the face--the face, that wrought upon him. The shriek seemed +as incidentally embodied there. + +The emotions he experienced seemed to have taken hold of the deepest +roots and subtlest fibres of his being. And so much the more that it was +so subterranean in him, so much the more did he feel its weird +inscrutableness. What was one unknown, sad-eyed, shrieking girl to him? +There must be sad-eyed girls somewhere in the world, and this was only +one of them. And what was the most beautiful sad-eyed girl to him? +Sadness might be beautiful, as well as mirth--he lost himself trying to +follow out this tangle. "I will no more of this infatuation," he would +cry; but forth from regions of irradiated air, the divine beauty and +imploring sufferings of the face, stole into his view. + +Hitherto I have ever held but lightly, thought Pierre, all stories of +ghostly mysticalness in man; my creed of this world leads me to believe +in visible, beautiful flesh, and audible breath, however sweet and +scented; but only in visible flesh, and audible breath, have I hitherto +believed. But now!--now!--and again he would lose himself in the most +surprising and preternatural ponderings, which baffled all the +introspective cunning of his mind. Himself was too much for himself. He +felt that what he had always before considered the solid land of +veritable reality, was now being audaciously encroached upon by bannered +armies of hooded phantoms, disembarking in his soul, as from flotillas +of specter-boats. + +The terrors of the face were not those of Gorgon; not by repelling +hideousness did it smite him so; but bewilderingly allured him, by its +nameless beauty, and its long-suffering, hopeless anguish. + +But he was sensible that this general effect upon him, was also special; +the face somehow mystically appealing to his own private and individual +affections; and by a silent and tyrannic call, challenging him in his +deepest moral being, and summoning Truth, Love, Pity, Conscience, to the +stand. Apex of all wonders! thought Pierre; this indeed almost unmans me +with its wonderfulness. Escape the face he could not. Muffling his own +in his bed-clothes--that did not hide it. Flying from it by sunlight +down the meadows, was as vain. + +Most miraculous of all to Pierre was the vague impression, that +somewhere he had seen traits of the likeness of that face before. But +where, he could not say; nor could he, in the remotest degree, imagine. +He was not unaware--for in one or two instances, he had experienced the +fact--that sometimes a man may see a passing countenance in the street, +which shall irresistibly and magnetically affect him, for a moment, as +wholly unknown to him, and yet strangely reminiscent of some vague face +he has previously encountered, in some fancied time, too, of extreme +interest to his life. But not so was it now with Pierre. The face had +not perplexed him for a few speculative minutes, and then glided from +him, to return no more. It stayed close by him; only--and not +invariably--could he repel it, by the exertion of all his resolution and +self-will. Besides, what of general enchantment lurked in his strange +sensations, seemed concentringly condensed, and pointed to a spear-head, +that pierced his heart with an inexplicable pang, whenever the +specializing emotion--to call it so--seized the possession of his +thoughts, and waved into his visions, a thousand forms of by-gone times, +and many an old legendary family scene, which he had heard related by +his elderly relations, some of them now dead. + +Disguising his wild reveries as best he might from the notice of his +mother, and all other persons of her household, for two days Pierre +wrestled with his own haunted spirit; and at last, so effectually purged +it of all weirdnesses, and so effectually regained the general mastery +of himself, that for a time, life went with him, as though he had never +been stirred so strangely. Once more, the sweet unconditional thought of +Lucy slid wholly into his soul, dislodging thence all such phantom +occupants. Once more he rode, he walked, he swam, he vaulted; and with +new zest threw himself into the glowing practice of all those manly +exercises, he so dearly loved. It almost seemed in him, that ere +promising forever to protect, as well as eternally to love, his Lucy, he +must first completely invigorate and embrawn himself into the possession +of such a noble muscular manliness, that he might champion Lucy against +the whole physical world. + +Still--even before the occasional reappearance of the face to +him--Pierre, for all his willful ardor in his gymnasticals and other +diversions, whether in-doors or out, or whether by book or foil; still, +Pierre could not but be secretly annoyed, and not a little perplexed, as +to the motive, which, for the first time in his recollection, had +impelled him, not merely to conceal from his mother a singular +circumstance in his life (for that, he felt would have been but venial; +and besides, as will eventually be seen, he could find one particular +precedent for it, in his past experience) but likewise, and +superaddedly, to parry, nay, to evade, and, in effect, to return +something alarmingly like a fib, to an explicit question put to him by +his mother;--such being the guise, in which part of the conversation +they had had that eventful night, now appeared to his fastidious sense. +He considered also, that his evasive answer had not pantheistically +burst from him in a momentary interregnum of self-command. No; his +mother had made quite a lengthy speech to him; during which he well +remembered, he had been carefully, though with trepidation, turning over +in his mind, how best he might recall her from her unwished-for and +untimely scent. Why had this been so? Was this his wont? What +inscrutable thing was it, that so suddenly had seized him, and made him +a falsifyer--ay, a falsifyer and nothing less--to his own +dearly-beloved, and confiding mother? Here, indeed, was something +strange for him; here was stuff for his utmost ethical meditations. But, +nevertheless, on strict introspection, he felt, that he would not +willingly have it otherwise; not willingly would he now undissemble +himself in this matter to his mother. Why was this, too? Was this his +wont? Here, again, was food for mysticism. Here, in imperfect inklings, +tinglings, presentiments, Pierre began to feel--what all mature men, who +are Magians, sooner or later know, and more or less assuredly--that not +always in our actions, are we our own factors. But this conceit was very +dim in Pierre; and dimness is ever suspicious and repugnant to us; and +so, Pierre shrank abhorringly from the infernal catacombs of thought, +down into which, this foetal fancy beckoned him. Only this, though in +secret, did he cherish; only this, he felt persuaded of; namely, that +not for both worlds would he have his mother made a partner to his +sometime mystic mood. + +But with this nameless fascination of the face upon him, during those +two days that it had first and fully possessed him for its own, did +perplexed Pierre refrain from that apparently most natural of all +resources,--boldly seeking out, and returning to the palpable cause, and +questioning her, by look or voice, or both together--the mysterious girl +herself? No; not entirely did Pierre here refrain. But his profound +curiosity and interest in the matter--strange as it may seem--did not so +much appear to be embodied in the mournful person of the olive girl, as +by some radiations from her, embodied in the vague conceits which +agitated his own soul. _There_, lurked the subtler secret: _that_, +Pierre had striven to tear away. From without, no wonderful effect is +wrought within ourselves, unless some interior, responding wonder meets +it. That the starry vault shall surcharge the heart with all rapturous +marvelings, is only because we ourselves are greater miracles, and +superber trophies than all the stars in universal space. Wonder +interlocks with wonder; and then the confounding feeling comes. No cause +have we to fancy, that a horse, a dog, a fowl, ever stand transfixed +beneath yon skyey load of majesty. But our soul's arches underfit into +its; and so, prevent the upper arch from falling on us with +unsustainable inscrutableness. "Explain ye my deeper mystery," said the +shepherd Chaldean king, smiting his breast, lying on his back upon the +plain; "and then, I will bestow all my wonderings upon ye, ye stately +stars!" So, in some sort, with Pierre. Explain thou this strange +integral feeling in me myself, he thought--turning upon the fancied +face--and I will then renounce all other wonders, to gaze wonderingly at +thee. But thou hast evoked in me profounder spells than the evoking one, +thou face! For me, thou hast uncovered one infinite, dumb, beseeching +countenance of mystery, underlying all the surfaces of visible time and +space. + +But during those two days of his first wild vassalage to his original +sensations, Pierre had not been unvisited by less mysterious impulses. +Two or three very plain and practical plannings of desirable procedures +in reference to some possible homely explication of all this +nonsense--so he would momentarily denominate it--now and then flittingly +intermitted his pervading mood of semi-madness. Once he had seized his +hat, careless of his accustomed gloves and cane, and found himself in +the street, walking very rapidly in the direction of the Miss Pennies'. +But whither now? he disenchantingly interrogated himself. Where would +you go? A million to one, those deaf old spinsters can tell you nothing +you burn to know. Deaf old spinsters are not used to be the depositaries +of such mystical secrecies. But then, they may reveal her name--where +she dwells, and something, however fragmentary and unsatisfactory, of +who she is, and whence. Ay; but then, in ten minutes after your leaving +them, all the houses in Saddle Meadows would be humming with the gossip +of Pierre Glendinning engaged to marry Lucy Tartan, and yet running +about the country, in ambiguous pursuit of strange young women. That +will never do. You remember, do you not, often seeing the Miss Pennies, +hatless and without a shawl, hurrying through the village, like two +postmen intent on dropping some tit-bit of precious gossip? What a +morsel for them, Pierre, have you, if you now call upon them. Verily, +their trumpets are both for use and for significance. Though very deaf, +the Miss Pennies are by no means dumb. They blazon very wide. + +"Now be sure, and say that it was the Miss Pennies, who left the +news--be sure--we--the Miss Pennies--remember--say to Mrs. Glendinning +it was we." Such was the message that now half-humorously occurred to +Pierre, as having been once confided to him by the sister spinsters, one +evening when they called with a choice present of some very _recherche_ +chit-chat for his mother; but found the manorial lady out; and so +charged her son with it; hurrying away to all the inferior houses, so as +not to be anywhere forestalled in their disclosure. + +Now, I wish it had been any other house than the Miss Pennies; any other +house but theirs, and on my soul I believe I should have gone. But not +to them--no, that I can not do. It would be sure to reach my mother, and +then she would put this and that together--stir a little--let it +simmer--and farewell forever to all her majestic notions of my +immaculate integrity. Patience, Pierre, the population of this region is +not so immense. No dense mobs of Nineveh confound all personal +identities in Saddle Meadows. Patience; thou shalt see it soon again; +catch it passing thee in some green lane, sacred to thy evening +reveries. She that bears it can not dwell remote. Patience, Pierre. Ever +are such mysteries best and soonest unraveled by the eventual unraveling +of themselves. Or, if you will, go back and get your gloves, and more +especially your cane, and begin your own secret voyage of discovery +after it. Your cane, I say; because it will probably be a very long and +weary walk. True, just now I hinted, that she that bears it can not +dwell very remote; but then her nearness may not be at all conspicuous. +So, homeward, and put off thy hat, and let thy cane stay still, good +Pierre. Seek not to mystify the mystery so. + +Thus, intermittingly, ever and anon during those sad two days of +deepest sufferance, Pierre would stand reasoning and expostulating with +himself; and by such meditative treatment, reassure his own spontaneous +impulses. Doubtless, it was wise and right that so he did; doubtless: +but in a world so full of all dubieties as this, one can never be +entirely certain whether another person, however carefully and +cautiously conscientious, has acted in all respects conceivable for the +very best. + +But when the two days were gone by, and Pierre began to recognize his +former self as restored to him from its mystic exile, then the thoughts +of personally and pointedly seeking out the unknown, either +preliminarily by a call upon the sister spinsters, or generally by +performing the observant lynx-eyed circuit of the country on foot, and +as a crafty inquisitor, dissembling his cause of inquisition; these and +all similar intentions completely abandoned Pierre. + +He was now diligently striving, with all his mental might, forever to +drive the phantom from him. He seemed to feel that it begat in him a +certain condition of his being, which was most painful, and every way +uncongenial to his natural, wonted self. It had a touch of he knew not +what sort of unhealthiness in it, so to speak; for, in his then +ignorance, he could find no better term; it seemed to have in it a germ +of somewhat which, if not quickly extirpated, might insidiously poison +and embitter his whole life--that choice, delicious life which he had +vowed to Lucy for his one pure and comprehensive offering--at once a +sacrifice and a delight. + +Nor in these endeavorings did he entirely fail. For the most part, he +felt now that he had a power over the comings and the goings of the +face; but not on all occasions. Sometimes the old, original mystic +tyranny would steal upon him; the long, dark, locks of mournful hair +would fall upon his soul, and trail their wonderful melancholy along +with them; the two full, steady, over-brimming eyes of loveliness and +anguish would converge their magic rays, till he felt them kindling he +could not tell what mysterious fires in the heart at which they aimed. + +When once this feeling had him fully, then was the perilous time for +Pierre. For supernatural as the feeling was, and appealing to all things +ultramontane to his soul; yet was it a delicious sadness to him. Some +hazy fairy swam above him in the heavenly ether, and showered down upon +him the sweetest pearls of pensiveness. Then he would be seized with a +singular impulse to reveal the secret to some one other individual in +the world. Only one, not more; he could not hold all this strange +fullness in himself. It must be shared. In such an hour it was, that +chancing to encounter Lucy (her, whom above all others, he did +confidingly adore), she heard the story of the face; nor slept at all +that night; nor for a long time freed her pillow completely from wild, +Beethoven sounds of distant, waltzing melodies, as of ambiguous fairies +dancing on the heath. + + +III. + +This history goes forward and goes backward, as occasion calls. Nimble +center, circumference elastic you must have. Now we return to Pierre, +wending homeward from his reveries beneath the pine-tree. + +His burst of impatience against the sublime Italian, Dante, arising from +that poet being the one who, in a former time, had first opened to his +shuddering eyes the infinite cliffs and gulfs of human mystery and +misery;--though still more in the way of experimental vision, than of +sensational presentiment or experience (for as yet he had not seen so +far and deep as Dante, and therefore was entirely incompetent to meet +the grim bard fairly on his peculiar ground), this ignorant burst of +his young impatience,--also arising from that half contemptuous dislike, +and sometimes selfish loathing, with which, either naturally feeble or +undeveloped minds, regard those dark ravings of the loftier poets, which +are in eternal opposition to their own fine-spun, shallow dreams of +rapturous or prudential Youth;--this rash, untutored burst of Pierre's +young impatience, seemed to have carried off with it, all the other +forms of his melancholy--if melancholy it had been--and left him now +serene again, and ready for any tranquil pleasantness the gods might +have in store. For his, indeed, was true Youth's temperament,--summary +with sadness, swift to joyfulness, and long protracting, and detaining +with that joyfulness, when once it came fully nigh to him. + +As he entered the dining-hall, he saw Dates retiring from another door +with his tray. Alone and meditative, by the bared half of the polished +table, sat his mother at her dessert; fruit-baskets, and a decanter were +before her. On the other leaf of the same table, still lay the cloth, +folded back upon itself, and set out with one plate and its usual +accompaniments. + +"Sit down, Pierre; when I came home, I was surprised to hear that the +phaeton had returned so early, and here I waited dinner for you, until I +could wait no more. But go to the green pantry now, and get what Dates +has but just put away for you there. Heigh-ho! too plainly I foresee +it--no more regular dinner-hours, or tea-hours, or supper-hours, in +Saddle Meadows, till its young lord is wedded. And that puts me in mind +of something, Pierre; but I'll defer it till you have eaten a little. Do +you know, Pierre, that if you continue these irregular meals of yours, +and deprive me so entirely almost of your company, that I shall run +fearful risk of getting to be a terrible wine-bibber;--yes, could you +unalarmed see me sitting all alone here with this decanter, like any old +nurse, Pierre; some solitary, forlorn old nurse, Pierre, deserted by her +last friend, and therefore forced to embrace her flask?" + +"No, I did not feel any great alarm, sister," said Pierre, smiling, +"since I could not but perceive that the decanter was still full to the +stopple." + +"Possibly it may be only a fresh decanter, Pierre;" then changing her +voice suddenly--"but mark me, Mr. Pierre Glendinning!" + +"Well, Mrs. Mary Glendinning!" + +"Do you know, sir, that you are very shortly to be married,--that indeed +the day is all but fixed?" + +"How-!" cried Pierre, in real joyful astonishment, both at the nature of +the tidings, and the earnest tones in which they were conveyed--"dear, +dear mother, you have strangely changed your mind then, my dear mother." + +"It is even so, dear brother;--before this day month I hope to have a +little sister Tartan." + +"You talk very strangely, mother," rejoined Pierre, quickly. "I suppose, +then, I have next to nothing to say in the matter!" + +"Next to nothing, Pierre! What indeed could you say to the purpose? what +at all have you to do with it, I should like to know? Do you so much as +dream, you silly boy, that men ever have the marrying of themselves? +Juxtaposition marries men. There is but one match-maker in the world, +Pierre, and that is Mrs. Juxtaposition, a most notorious lady!" + +"Very peculiar, disenchanting sort of talk, this, under the +circumstances, sister Mary," laying down his fork. "Mrs. Juxtaposition, +ah! And in your opinion, mother, does this fine glorious passion only +amount to that?" + +"Only to that, Pierre; but mark you: according to my creed--though this +part of it is a little hazy--Mrs. Juxtaposition moves her pawns only as +she herself is moved to so doing by the spirit." + +"Ah! that sets it all right again," said Pierre, resuming his fork--"my +appetite returns. But what was that about my being married so soon?" he +added, vainly striving to assume an air of incredulity and unconcern; +"you were joking, I suppose; it seems to me, sister, either you or I was +but just now wandering in the mind a little, on that subject. Are you +really thinking of any such thing? and have you really vanquished your +sagacious scruples by yourself, after I had so long and ineffectually +sought to do it for you? Well, I am a million times delighted; tell me +quick!" + +"I will, Pierre. You very well know, that from the first hour you +apprised me--or rather, from a period prior to that--from the moment +that I, by my own insight, became aware of your love for Lucy, I have +always approved it. Lucy is a delicious girl; of honorable descent, a +fortune, well-bred, and the very pattern of all that I think amiable and +attractive in a girl of seventeen." + +"Well, well, well," cried Pierre rapidly and impetuously; "we both knew +that before." + +"Well, well, well, Pierre," retorted his mother, mockingly. + +"It is not well, well, well; but ill, ill, ill, to torture me so, +mother; go on, do!" + +"But notwithstanding my admiring approval of your choice, Pierre; yet, +as you know, I have resisted your entreaties for my consent to your +speedy marriage, because I thought that a girl of scarcely seventeen, +and a boy scarcely twenty, should not be in such a hurry;--there was +plenty of time, I thought, which could be profitably employed by both." + +"Permit me here to interrupt you, mother. Whatever you may have seen in +me; she,--I mean Lucy,--has never been in the slightest hurry to be +married;--that's all. But I shall regard it as a _lapsus-lingua_ in +you." + +"Undoubtedly, a _lapsus_. But listen to me. I have been carefully +observing both you and Lucy of late; and that has made me think further +of the matter. Now, Pierre, if you were in any profession, or in any +business at all; nay, if I were a farmer's wife, and you my child, +working in my fields; why, then, you and Lucy should still wait awhile. +But as you have nothing to do but to think of Lucy by day, and dream of +her by night, and as she is in the same predicament, I suppose; with +respect to you; and as the consequence of all this begins to be +discernible in a certain, just perceptible, and quite harmless thinness, +so to speak, of the cheek; but a very conspicuous and dangerous +febrileness of the eye; therefore, I choose the lesser of two evils; and +now you have my permission to be married, as soon as the thing can be +done with propriety. I dare say you have no objection to have the +wedding take place before Christmas, the present month being the first +of summer." + +Pierre said nothing; but leaping to his feet, threw his two arms around +his mother, and kissed her repeatedly. + +"A most sweet and eloquent answer, Pierre; but sit down again. I desire +now to say a little concerning less attractive, but quite necessary +things connected with this affair. You know, that by your father's will, +these lands and--" + +"Miss Lucy, my mistress;" said Dates, throwing open the door. + +Pierre sprang to his feet; but as if suddenly mindful of his mother's +presence, composed himself again, though he still approached the door. + +Lucy entered, carrying a little basket of strawberries. + +"Why, how do you do, my dear," said Mrs. Glendinning affectionately. +"This is an unexpected pleasure." + +"Yes; and I suppose that Pierre here is a little surprised too; seeing +that he was to call upon me this evening, and not I upon him before +sundown. But I took a sudden fancy for a solitary stroll,--the afternoon +was such a delicious one; and chancing--it was only chancing--to pass +through the Locust Lane leading hither, I met the strangest little +fellow, with this basket in his hand.--'Yes, buy them, miss'--said he. +'And how do you know I want to buy them,' returned I, 'I don't want to +buy them.'--'Yes you do, miss; they ought to be twenty-six cents, but +I'll take thirteen cents, that being my shilling. I always want the odd +half cent, I do. Come, I can't wait, I have been expecting you long +enough.'" + +"A very sagacious little imp," laughed Mrs. Glendinning. + +"Impertinent little rascal," cried Pierre. + +"And am I not now the silliest of all silly girls, to be telling you my +adventures so very frankly," smiled Lucy. + +"No; but the most celestial of all innocents," cried Pierre, in a +rhapsody of delight. "Frankly open is the flower, that hath nothing but +purity to show." + +"Now, my dear little Lucy," said Mrs. Glendinning, "let Pierre take off +your shawl, and come now and stay to tea with us. Pierre has put back +the dinner so, the tea-hour will come now very soon." + +"Thank you; but I can not stay this time. Look, I have forgotten my own +errand; I brought these strawberries for you, Mrs. Glendinning, and for +Pierre;--Pierre is so wonderfully fond of them." + +"I was audacious enough to think as much," cried Pierre, "for you _and_ +me, you see, mother; for you _and_ me, you understand that, I hope." + +"Perfectly, my dear brother." + +Lucy blushed. + +"How warm it is, Mrs. Glendinning." + +"Very warm, Lucy. So you won't stay to tea?" + +"No, I must go now; just a little stroll, that's all; good-bye! Now +don't be following me, Pierre. Mrs. Glendinning, will you keep Pierre +back? I know you want him; you were talking over some private affair +when I entered; you both looked so very confidential." + +"And you were not very far from right, Lucy," said Mrs. Glendinning, +making no sign to stay her departure. + +"Yes, business of the highest importance," said Pierre, fixing his eyes +upon Lucy significantly. + +At this moment, Lucy just upon the point of her departure, was hovering +near the door; the setting sun, streaming through the window, bathed her +whole form in golden loveliness and light; that wonderful, and most +vivid transparency of her clear Welsh complexion, now fairly glowed like +rosy snow. Her flowing, white, blue-ribboned dress, fleecily invested +her. Pierre almost thought that she could only depart the house by +floating out of the open window, instead of actually stepping from the +door. All her aspect to him, was that moment touched with an +indescribable gayety, buoyancy, fragility, and an unearthly evanescence. + +Youth is no philosopher. Not into young Pierre's heart did there then +come the thought, that as the glory of the rose endures but for a day, +so the full bloom of girlish airiness and bewitchingness, passes from +the earth almost as soon; as jealously absorbed by those frugal +elements, which again incorporate that translated girlish bloom, into +the first expanding flower-bud. Not into young Pierre, did there then +steal that thought of utmost sadness; pondering on the inevitable +evanescence of all earthly loveliness; which makes the sweetest things +of life only food for ever-devouring and omnivorous melancholy. Pierre's +thought was different from this, and yet somehow akin to it. + +This to be my wife? I that but the other day weighed an hundred and +fifty pounds of solid avoirdupois;--_I_ to wed this heavenly fleece? +Methinks one husbandly embrace would break her airy zone, and she exhale +upward to that heaven whence she hath hither come, condensed to mortal +sight. It can not be; I am of heavy earth, and she of airy light. By +heaven, but marriage is an impious thing! + +Meanwhile, as these things ran through his soul, Mrs. Glendinning also +had thinkings of her own. + +"A very beautiful tableau," she cried, at last, artistically turning her +gay head a little sideways--"very beautiful, indeed; this, I suppose is +all premeditated for my entertainment. Orpheus finding his Eurydice; or +Pluto stealing Proserpine. Admirable! It might almost stand for either." + +"No," said Pierre, gravely; "it is the last. Now, first I see a meaning +there." Yes, he added to himself inwardly, I am Pluto stealing +Proserpine; and every accepted lover is. + +"And you would be very stupid, brother Pierre, if you did not see +something there," said his mother, still that way pursuing her own +different train of thought. "The meaning thereof is this: Lucy has +commanded me to stay you; but in reality she wants you to go along with +her. Well, you may go as far as the porch; but then, you must return, +for we have not concluded our little affair, you know. Adieu, little +lady!" + +There was ever a slight degree of affectionate patronizing in the manner +of the resplendent, full-blown Mrs. Glendinning, toward the delicate and +shrinking girlhood of young Lucy. She treated her very much as she might +have treated some surpassingly beautiful and precocious child; and this +was precisely what Lucy was. Looking beyond the present period, Mrs. +Glendinning could not but perceive, that even in Lucy's womanly +maturity, Lucy would still be a child to her; because, she, elated, +felt, that in a certain intellectual vigor, so to speak, she was the +essential opposite of Lucy, whose sympathetic mind and person had both +been cast in one mould of wondrous delicacy. But here Mrs. Glendinning +was both right and wrong. So far as she here saw a difference between +herself and Lucy Tartan, she did not err; but so far--and that was very +far--as she thought she saw her innate superiority to her in the +absolute scale of being, here she very widely and immeasurably erred. +For what may be artistically styled angelicalness, this is the highest +essence compatible with created being; and angelicalness hath no vulgar +vigor in it. And that thing which very often prompts to the display of +any vigor--which thing, in man or woman, is at bottom nothing but +ambition--this quality is purely earthly, and not angelical. It is +false, that any angels fell by reason of ambition. Angels never fall; +and never feel ambition. Therefore, benevolently, and affectionately, +and all-sincerely, as thy heart, oh, Mrs. Glendinning! now standest +affected toward the fleecy Lucy; still, lady, thou dost very sadly +mistake it, when the proud, double-arches of the bright breastplate of +thy bosom, expand with secret triumph over one, whom thou so sweetly, +but still so patronizingly stylest, The Little Lucy. + +But ignorant of these further insights, that very superb-looking lady, +now waiting Pierre's return from the portico door, sat in a very +matronly revery; her eyes fixed upon the decanter of amber-hued wine +before her. Whether it was that she somehow saw some lurking analogical +similitude between that remarkably slender, and gracefully cut little +pint-decanter, brimfull of light, golden wine, or not, there is no +absolute telling now. But really, the peculiarly, and reminiscently, and +forecastingly complacent expression of her beaming and benevolent +countenance, seemed a tell-tale of some conceit very much like the +following:--Yes, she's a very pretty little pint-decanter of a girl: a +very pretty little Pale Sherry pint-decanter of a girl; and I--I'm a +quart decanter of--of--Port--potent Port! Now, Sherry for boys, and Port +for men--so I've heard men say; and Pierre is but a boy; but when his +father wedded me,--why, his father was turned of five-and-thirty years. + +After a little further waiting for him, Mrs. Glendinning heard Pierre's +voice--"Yes, before eight o'clock at least, Lucy--no fear;" and then the +hall door banged, and Pierre returned to her. + +But now she found that this unforeseen visit of Lucy had completely +routed all business capacity in her mercurial son; fairly capsizing him +again into, there was no telling what sea of pleasant pensiveness. + +"Dear me! some other time, sister Mary." + +"Not this time; that is very certain, Pierre. Upon my word I shall have +to get Lucy kidnapped, and temporarily taken out of the country, and you +handcuffed to the table, else there will be no having a preliminary +understanding with you, previous to calling in the lawyers. Well, I +shall yet manage you, one way or other. Good-bye, Pierre; I see you +don't want me now. I suppose I shan't see you till to-morrow morning. +Luckily, I have a very interesting book to read. Adieu!" + +But Pierre remained in his chair; his gaze fixed upon the stilly sunset +beyond the meadows, and far away to the now golden hills. A glorious, +softly glorious, and most gracious evening, which seemed plainly a +tongue to all humanity, saying: I go down in beauty to rise in joy; Love +reigns throughout all worlds that sunsets visit; it is a foolish ghost +story; there is no such thing as misery. Would Love, which is +omnipotent, have misery in his domain? Would the god of sunlight decree +gloom? It is a flawless, speckless, fleckless, beautiful world +throughout; joy now, and joy forever! + +Then the face, which before had seemed mournfully and reproachfully +looking out upon him from the effulgent sunset's heart; the face slid +from him; and left alone there with his soul's joy, thinking that that +very night he would utter the magic word of marriage to his Lucy; not a +happier youth than Pierre Glendinning sat watching that day's sun go +down. + + +IV. + +After this morning of gayety, this noon of tragedy, and this evening so +full of chequered pensiveness; Pierre now possessed his soul in joyful +mildness and steadfastness; feeling none of that wild anguish of +anticipative rapture, which, in weaker minds, too often dislodges Love's +sweet bird from her nest. + +The early night was warm, but dark--for the moon was not risen yet--and +as Pierre passed on beneath the pendulous canopies of the long arms of +the weeping elms of the village, an almost impenetrable blackness +surrounded him, but entered not the gently illuminated halls of his +heart. He had not gone very far, when in the distance beyond, he noticed +a light moving along the opposite side of the road, and slowly +approaching. As it was the custom for some of the more elderly, and +perhaps timid inhabitants of the village, to carry a lantern when going +abroad of so dark a night, this object conveyed no impression of novelty +to Pierre; still, as it silently drew nearer and nearer, the one only +distinguishable thing before him, he somehow felt a nameless +presentiment that the light must be seeking him. He had nearly gained +the cottage door, when the lantern crossed over toward him; and as his +nimble hand was laid at last upon the little wicket-gate, which he +thought was now to admit him to so much delight; a heavy hand was laid +upon himself, and at the same moment, the lantern was lifted toward his +face, by a hooded and obscure-looking figure, whose half-averted +countenance he could but indistinctly discern. But Pierre's own open +aspect, seemed to have been quickly scrutinized by the other. + +"I have a letter for Pierre Glendinning," said the stranger, "and I +believe this is he." At the same moment, a letter was drawn forth, and +sought his hand. + +"For me!" exclaimed Pierre, faintly, starting at the strangeness of the +encounter;--"methinks this is an odd time and place to deliver your +mail;--who are you?--Stay!" + +But without waiting an answer, the messenger had already turned about, +and was re-crossing the road. In the first impulse of the moment, Pierre +stept forward, and would have pursued him; but smiling at his own +causeless curiosity and trepidation, paused again; and softly turned +over the letter in his hand. What mysterious correspondent is this, +thought he, circularly moving his thumb upon the seal; no one writes me +but from abroad; and their letters come through the office; and as for +Lucy--pooh!--when she herself is within, she would hardly have her notes +delivered at her own gate. Strange! but I'll in, and read it;--no, not +that;--I come to read again in her own sweet heart--that dear missive to +me from heaven,--and this impertinent letter would pre-occupy me. I'll +wait till I go home. + +He entered the gate, and laid his hand upon the cottage knocker. Its +sudden coolness caused a slight, and, at any other time, an +unaccountable sympathetic sensation in his hand. To his unwonted mood, +the knocker seemed to say--"Enter not!--Begone, and first read thy +note." + +Yielding now, half alarmed, and half bantering with himself, to these +shadowy interior monitions, he half-unconsciously quitted the door; +repassed the gate; and soon found himself retracing his homeward path. + +He equivocated with himself no more; the gloom of the air had now burst +into his heart, and extinguished its light; then, first in all his life, +Pierre felt the irresistible admonitions and intuitions of Fate. + +He entered the hall unnoticed, passed up to his chamber, and hurriedly +locking the door in the dark, lit his lamp. As the summoned flame +illuminated the room, Pierre, standing before the round center-table, +where the lamp was placed, with his hand yet on the brass circle which +regulated the wick, started at a figure in the opposite mirror. It bore +the outline of Pierre, but now strangely filled with features +transformed, and unfamiliar to him; feverish eagerness, fear, and +nameless forebodings of ill! He threw himself into a chair, and for a +time vainly struggled with the incomprehensible power that possessed +him. Then, as he avertedly drew the letter from his bosom, he whispered +to himself--Out on thee, Pierre! how sheepish now will ye feel when this +tremendous note will turn out to be an invitation to a supper to-morrow +night; quick, fool, and write the stereotyped reply: Mr. Pierre +Glendinning will be very happy to accept Miss so and so's polite +invitation. + +Still for the moment he held the letter averted. The messenger had so +hurriedly accosted him, and delivered his duty, that Pierre had not yet +so much as gained one glance at the superscription of the note. And now +the wild thought passed through his mind of what would be the result, +should he deliberately destroy the note, without so much as looking at +the hand that had addressed it. Hardly had this half-crazy conceit fully +made itself legible in his soul, when he was conscious of his two hands +meeting in the middle of the sundered note! He leapt from his chair--By +heaven! he murmured, unspeakably shocked at the intensity of that mood +which had caused him unwittingly as it were, to do for the first time in +his whole life, an act of which he was privately ashamed. Though the +mood that was on him was none of his own willful seeking; yet now he +swiftly felt conscious that he had perhaps a little encouraged it, +through that certain strange infatuation of fondness, which the human +mind, however vigorous, sometimes feels for any emotion at once novel +and mystical. Not willingly, at such times--never mind how fearful we +may be--do we try to dissolve the spell which seems, for the time, to +admit us, all astonished, into the vague vestibule of the spiritual +worlds. + +Pierre now seemed distinctly to feel two antagonistic agencies within +him; one of which was just struggling into his consciousness, and each +of which was striving for the mastery; and between whose respective +final ascendencies, he thought he could perceive, though but shadowly, +that he himself was to be the only umpire. One bade him finish the +selfish destruction of the note; for in some dark way the reading of it +would irretrievably entangle his fate. The other bade him dismiss all +misgivings; not because there was no possible ground for them, but +because to dismiss them was the manlier part, never mind what might +betide. This good angel seemed mildly to say--Read, Pierre, though by +reading thou may'st entangle thyself, yet may'st thou thereby +disentangle others. Read, and feel that best blessedness which, with the +sense of all duties discharged, holds happiness indifferent. The bad +angel insinuatingly breathed--Read it not, dearest Pierre; but destroy +it, and be happy. Then, at the blast of his noble heart, the bad angel +shrunk up into nothingness; and the good one defined itself clearer and +more clear, and came nigher and more nigh to him, smiling sadly but +benignantly; while forth from the infinite distances wonderful harmonies +stole into his heart; so that every vein in him pulsed to some heavenly +swell. + + +V. + +"The name at the end of this letter will be wholly strange to thee. +Hitherto my existence has been utterly unknown to thee. This letter will +touch thee and pain thee. Willingly would I spare thee, but I can not. +My heart bears me witness, that did I think that the suffering these +lines would give thee, would, in the faintest degree, compare with what +mine has been, I would forever withhold them. + +"Pierre Glendinning, thou art not the only child of thy father; in the +eye of the sun, the hand that traces this is thy sister's; yes, Pierre, +Isabel calls thee her brother--her brother! oh, sweetest of words, which +so often I have thought to myself, and almost deemed it profanity for an +outcast like me to speak or think. Dearest Pierre, my brother, my own +father's child! art thou an angel, that thou canst overleap all the +heartless usages and fashions of a banded world, that will call thee +fool, fool, fool! and curse thee, if thou yieldest to that heavenly +impulse which alone can lead thee to respond to the long tyrannizing, +and now at last unquenchable yearnings of my bursting heart? Oh, my +brother! + +"But, Pierre Glendinning, I will be proud with thee. Let not my hapless +condition extinguish in me, the nobleness which I equally inherit with +thee. Thou shall not be cozened, by my tears and my anguish, into any +thing which thy most sober hour will repent. Read no further. If it suit +thee, burn this letter; so shalt thou escape the certainty of that +knowledge, which, if thou art now cold and selfish, may hereafter, in +some maturer, remorseful, and helpless hour, cause thee a poignant +upbraiding. No, I shall not, I will not implore thee.--Oh, my brother, +my dear, dear Pierre,--help me, fly to me; see, I perish without +thee;--pity, pity,--here I freeze in the wide, wide world;--no father, +no mother, no sister, no brother, no living thing in the fair form of +humanity, that holds me dear. No more, oh no more, dear Pierre, can I +endure to be an outcast in the world, for which the dear Savior died. +Fly to me, Pierre;--nay, I could tear what I now write,--as I have torn +so many other sheets, all written for thy eye, but which never reached +thee, because in my distraction, I knew not how to write to thee, nor +what to say to thee; and so, behold again how I rave. + +"Nothing more; I will write no more;--silence becomes this grave;--the +heart-sickness steals over me, Pierre, my brother. + +"Scarce know I what I have written. Yet will I write thee the fatal +line, and leave all the rest to thee, Pierre, my brother.--She that is +called Isabel Banford dwells in the little red farm-house, three miles +from the village, on the slope toward the lake. To-morrow +night-fall--not before--not by day, not by day, Pierre. + +THY SISTER, ISABEL." + + +VI. + +This letter, inscribed in a feminine, but irregular hand, and in some +places almost illegible, plainly attesting the state of the mind which +had dictated it;--stained, too, here and there, with spots of tears, +which chemically acted upon by the ink, assumed a strange and reddish +hue--as if blood and not tears had dropped upon the sheet;--and so +completely torn in two by Pierre's own hand, that it indeed seemed the +fit scroll of a torn, as well as bleeding heart;--this amazing letter, +deprived Pierre for the time of all lucid and definite thought or +feeling. He hung half-lifeless in his chair; his hand, clutching the +letter, was pressed against his heart, as if some assassin had stabbed +him and fled; and Pierre was now holding the dagger in the wound, to +stanch the outgushing of the blood. + +Ay, Pierre, now indeed art thou hurt with a wound, never to be +completely healed but in heaven; for thee, the before undistrusted moral +beauty of the world is forever fled; for thee, thy sacred father is no +more a saint; all brightness hath gone from thy hills, and all peace +from thy plains; and now, now, for the first time, Pierre, Truth rolls a +black billow through thy soul! Ah, miserable thou, to whom Truth, in her +first tides, bears nothing but wrecks! + +The perceptible forms of things; the shapes of thoughts; the pulses of +life, but slowly came back to Pierre. And as the mariner, shipwrecked +and cast on the beach, has much ado to escape the recoil of the wave +that hurled him there; so Pierre long struggled, and struggled, to +escape the recoil of that anguish, which had dashed him out of itself, +upon the beach of his swoon. + +But man was not made to succumb to the villain Woe. Youth is not young +and a wrestler in vain. Pierre staggeringly rose to his feet; his wide +eyes fixed, and his whole form in a tremble. + +"Myself am left, at least," he slowly and half-chokingly murmured. "With +myself I front thee! Unhand me all fears, and unlock me all spells! +Henceforth I will know nothing but Truth; glad Truth, or sad Truth; I +will know what is, and do what my deepest angel dictates.--The +letter!--Isabel,--sister,--brother,--me, _me_--my sacred father!--This +is some accursed dream!--nay, but this paper thing is forged,--a base +and malicious forgery, I swear;--Well didst thou hide thy face from me, +thou vile lanterned messenger, that didst accost me on the threshold of +Joy, with this lying warrant of Woe! Doth Truth come in the dark, and +steal on us, and rob us so, and then depart, deaf to all pursuing +invocations? If this night, which now wraps my soul, be genuine as that +which now wraps this half of the world; then Fate, I have a choice +quarrel with thee. Thou art a palterer and a cheat; thou hast lured me +on through gay gardens to a gulf. Oh! falsely guided in the days of my +Joy, am I now truly led in this night of my grief?--I will be a raver, +and none shall stay me! I will lift my hand in fury, for am I not +struck? I will be bitter in my breath, for is not this cup of gall? Thou +Black Knight, that with visor down, thus confrontest me, and mockest at +me; Lo! I strike through thy helm, and will see thy face, be it +Gorgon!--Let me go, ye fond affections; all piety leave me;--I will be +impious, for piety hath juggled me, and taught me to revere, where I +should spurn. From all idols, I tear all veils; henceforth I will see +the hidden things; and live right out in my own hidden life!--Now I feel +that nothing but Truth can move me so. This letter is not a forgery. Oh! +Isabel, thou art my sister; and I will love thee, and protect thee, ay, +and own thee through all. Ah! forgive me, ye heavens, for my ignorant +ravings, and accept this my vow.--Here I swear myself Isabel's. Oh! thou +poor castaway girl, that in loneliness and anguish must have long +breathed that same air, which I have only inhaled for delight; thou who +must even now be weeping, and weeping, cast into an ocean of uncertainty +as to thy fate, which heaven hath placed in my hands; sweet Isabel! +would I not be baser than brass, and harder, and colder than ice, if I +could be insensible to such claims as thine? Thou movest before me, in +rainbows spun of thy tears! I see thee long weeping, and God demands me +for thy comforter; and comfort thee, stand by thee, and fight for thee, +will thy leapingly-acknowledging brother, whom thy own father named +Pierre!" + +He could not stay in his chamber: the house contracted to a nut-shell +around him; the walls smote his forehead; bare-headed he rushed from the +place, and only in the infinite air, found scope for that boundless +expansion of his life. + + + + +BOOK IV. + +RETROSPECTIVE. + + +I. + + +In their precise tracings-out and subtile causations, the strongest and +fieriest emotions of life defy all analytical insight. We see the cloud, +and feel its bolt; but meteorology only idly essays a critical scrutiny +as to how that cloud became charged, and how this bolt so stuns. The +metaphysical writers confess, that the most impressive, sudden, and +overwhelming event, as well as the minutest, is but the product of an +infinite series of infinitely involved and untraceable foregoing +occurrences. Just so with every motion of the heart. Why this cheek +kindles with a noble enthusiasm; why that lip curls in scorn; these are +things not wholly imputable to the immediate apparent cause, which is +only one link in the chain; but to a long line of dependencies whose +further part is lost in the mid-regions of the impalpable air. + +Idle then would it be to attempt by any winding way so to penetrate into +the heart, and memory, and inmost life, and nature of Pierre, as to show +why it was that a piece of intelligence which, in the natural course of +things, many amiable gentlemen, both young and old, have been known to +receive with a momentary feeling of surprise, and then a little +curiosity to know more, and at last an entire unconcern; idle would it +be, to attempt to show how to Pierre it rolled down on his soul like +melted lava, and left so deep a deposit of desolation, that all his +subsequent endeavors never restored the original temples to the soil, +nor all his culture completely revived its buried bloom. + +But some random hints may suffice to deprive a little of its +strangeness, that tumultuous mood, into which so small a note had thrown +him. + +There had long stood a shrine in the fresh-foliaged heart of Pierre, up +to which he ascended by many tableted steps of remembrance; and around +which annually he had hung fresh wreaths of a sweet and holy affection. +Made one green bower of at last, by such successive votive offerings of +his being; this shrine seemed, and was indeed, a place for the +celebration of a chastened joy, rather than for any melancholy rites. +But though thus mantled, and tangled with garlands, this shrine was of +marble--a niched pillar, deemed solid and eternal, and from whose top +radiated all those innumerable sculptured scrolls and branches, which +supported the entire one-pillared temple of his moral life; as in some +beautiful gothic oratories, one central pillar, trunk-like, upholds the +roof. In this shrine, in this niche of this pillar, stood the perfect +marble form of his departed father; without blemish, unclouded, +snow-white, and serene; Pierre's fond personification of perfect human +goodness and virtue. Before this shrine, Pierre poured out the fullness +of all young life's most reverential thoughts and beliefs. Not to God +had Pierre ever gone in his heart, unless by ascending the steps of that +shrine, and so making it the vestibule of his abstractest religion. + +Blessed and glorified in his tomb beyond Prince Mausolus is that mortal +sire, who, after an honorable, pure course of life, dies, and is buried, +as in a choice fountain, in the filial breast of a tender-hearted and +intellectually appreciative child. For at that period, the Solomonic +insights have not poured their turbid tributaries into the pure-flowing +well of the childish life. Rare preservative virtue, too, have those +heavenly waters. Thrown into that fountain, all sweet recollections +become marbleized; so that things which in themselves were evanescent, +thus became unchangeable and eternal. So, some rare waters in Derbyshire +will petrify birds'-nests. But if fate preserves the father to a later +time, too often the filial obsequies are less profound; the canonization +less ethereal. The eye-expanded boy perceives, or vaguely thinks he +perceives, slight specks and flaws in the character he once so wholly +reverenced. + +When Pierre was twelve years old, his father had died, leaving behind +him, in the general voice of the world, a marked reputation as a +gentleman and a Christian; in the heart of his wife, a green memory of +many healthy days of unclouded and joyful wedded life, and in the inmost +soul of Pierre, the impression of a bodily form of rare manly beauty and +benignity, only rivaled by the supposed perfect mould in which his +virtuous heart had been cast. Of pensive evenings, by the wide winter +fire, or in summer, in the southern piazza, when that mystical +night-silence so peculiar to the country would summon up in the minds of +Pierre and his mother, long trains of the images of the past; leading +all that spiritual procession, majestically and holily walked the +venerated form of the departed husband and father. Then their talk would +be reminiscent and serious, but sweet; and again, and again, still deep +and deeper, was stamped in Pierre's soul the cherished conceit, that his +virtuous father, so beautiful on earth, was now uncorruptibly sainted in +heaven. So choicely, and in some degree, secludedly nurtured, Pierre, +though now arrived at the age of nineteen, had never yet become so +thoroughly initiated into that darker, though truer aspect of things, +which an entire residence in the city from the earliest period of life, +almost inevitably engraves upon the mind of any keenly observant and +reflective youth of Pierre's present years. So that up to this period, +in his breast, all remained as it had been; and to Pierre, his father's +shrine seemed spotless, and still new as the marble of the tomb of him +of Arimathea. + +Judge, then, how all-desolating and withering the blast, that for +Pierre, in one night, stripped his holiest shrine of all over-laid +bloom, and buried the mild statue of the saint beneath the prostrated +ruins of the soul's temple itself. + + +II. + +As the vine flourishes, and the grape empurples close up to the very +walls and muzzles of cannoned Ehrenbreitstein; so do the sweetest joys +of life grow in the very jaws of its perils. + +But is life, indeed, a thing for all infidel levities, and we, its +misdeemed beneficiaries, so utterly fools and infatuate, that what we +take to be our strongest tower of delight, only stands at the caprice of +the minutest event--the falling of a leaf, the hearing of a voice, or +the receipt of one little bit of paper scratched over with a few small +characters by a sharpened feather? Are we so entirely insecure, that +that casket, wherein we have placed our holiest and most final joy, and +which we have secured by a lock of infinite deftness; can that casket be +picked and desecrated at the merest stranger's touch, when we think that +we alone hold the only and chosen key? + +Pierre! thou art foolish; rebuild--no, not that, for thy shrine still +stands; it stands, Pierre, firmly stands; smellest thou not its yet +undeparted, embowering bloom? Such a note as thine can be easily enough +written, Pierre; impostors are not unknown in this curious world; or the +brisk novelist, Pierre, will write thee fifty such notes, and so steal +gushing tears from his reader's eyes; even as _thy_ note so strangely +made thine own manly eyes so arid; so glazed, and so arid, +Pierre--foolish Pierre! + +Oh! mock not the poniarded heart. The stabbed man knows the steel; prate +not to him that it is only a tickling feather. Feels he not the interior +gash? What does this blood on my vesture? and what does this pang in my +soul? + +And here again, not unreasonably, might invocations go up to those Three +Weird Ones, that tend Life's loom. Again we might ask them, What threads +were those, oh, ye Weird Ones, that ye wove in the years foregone; that +now to Pierre, they so unerringly conduct electric presentiments, that +his woe is woe, his father no more a saint, and Isabel a sister indeed? + +Ah, fathers and mothers! all the world round, be heedful,--give heed! +Thy little one may not now comprehend the meaning of those words and +those signs, by which, in its innocent presence, thou thinkest to +disguise the sinister thing ye would hint. Not now he knows; not very +much even of the externals he consciously remarks; but if, in +after-life, Fate puts the chemic key of the cipher into his hands; then +how swiftly and how wonderfully, he reads all the obscurest and most +obliterate inscriptions he finds in his memory; yea, and rummages +himself all over, for still hidden writings to read. Oh, darkest lessons +of Life have thus been read; all faith in Virtue been murdered, and +youth gives itself up to an infidel scorn. + +But not thus, altogether, was it now with Pierre; yet so like, in some +points, that the above true warning may not misplacedly stand. + +His father had died of a fever; and, as is not uncommon in such +maladies, toward his end, he at intervals lowly wandered in his mind. At +such times, by unobserved, but subtle arts, the devoted family +attendants, had restrained his wife from being present at his side. But +little Pierre, whose fond, filial love drew him ever to that bed; they +heeded not innocent little Pierre, when his father was delirious; and +so, one evening, when the shadows intermingled with the curtains; and +all the chamber was hushed; and Pierre but dimly saw his father's face; +and the fire on the hearth lay in a broken temple of wonderful coals; +then a strange, plaintive, infinitely pitiable, low voice, stole forth +from the testered bed; and Pierre heard,--"My daughter! my daughter!" + +"He wanders again," said the nurse. + +"Dear, dear father!" sobbed the child--"thou hast not a daughter, but +here is thy own little Pierre." + +But again the unregardful voice in the bed was heard; and now in a +sudden, pealing wail,--"My daughter!--God! God!--my daughter!" + +The child snatched the dying man's hand; it faintly grew to his grasp; +but on the other side of the bed, the other hand now also emptily lifted +itself and emptily caught, as if at some other childish fingers. Then +both hands dropped on the sheet; and in the twinkling shadows of the +evening little Pierre seemed to see, that while the hand which he held +wore a faint, feverish flush, the other empty one was ashy white as a +leper's. + +"It is past," whispered the nurse, "he will wander so no more now till +midnight,--that is his wont." And then, in her heart, she wondered how +it was, that so excellent a gentleman, and so thoroughly good a man, +should wander so ambiguously in his mind; and trembled to think of that +mysterious thing in the soul, which seems to acknowledge no human +jurisdiction, but in spite of the individual's own innocent self, will +still dream horrid dreams, and mutter unmentionable thoughts; and into +Pierre's awe-stricken, childish soul, there entered a kindred, though +still more nebulous conceit. But it belonged to the spheres of the +impalpable ether; and the child soon threw other and sweeter +remembrances over it, and covered it up; and at last, it was blended +with all other dim things, and imaginings of dimness; and so, seemed to +survive to no real life in Pierre. But though through many long years +the henbane showed no leaves in his soul; yet the sunken seed was +there: and the first glimpse of Isabel's letter caused it to spring +forth, as by magic. Then, again, the long-hushed, plaintive and +infinitely pitiable voice was heard,--"My daughter! my daughter!" +followed by the compunctious "God! God!" And to Pierre, once again the +empty hand lifted itself, and once again the ashy hand fell. + + +III. + +In the cold courts of justice the dull head demands oaths, and holy writ +proofs; but in the warm halls of the heart one single, untestified +memory's spark shall suffice to enkindle such a blaze of evidence, that +all the corners of conviction are as suddenly lighted up as a midnight +city by a burning building, which on every side whirls its reddened +brands. + +In a locked, round-windowed closet connecting with the chamber of +Pierre, and whither he had always been wont to go, in those sweetly +awful hours, when the spirit crieth to the spirit, Come into solitude +with me, twin-brother; come away: a secret have I; let me whisper it to +thee aside; in this closet, sacred to the Tadmore privacies and repose +of the sometimes solitary Pierre, there hung, by long cords from the +cornice, a small portrait in oil, before which Pierre had many a time +trancedly stood. Had this painting hung in any annual public exhibition, +and in its turn been described in print by the casual glancing critics, +they would probably have described it thus, and truthfully: "An +impromptu portrait of a fine-looking, gay-hearted, youthful gentleman. +He is lightly, and, as it were, airily and but grazingly seated in, or +rather flittingly tenanting an old-fashioned chair of Malacca. One arm +confining his hat and cane is loungingly thrown over the back of the +chair, while the fingers of the other hand play with his gold +watch-seal and key. The free-templed head is sideways turned, with a +peculiarly bright, and care-free, morning expression. He seems as if +just dropped in for a visit upon some familiar acquaintance. Altogether, +the painting is exceedingly clever and cheerful; with a fine, off-handed +expression about it. Undoubtedly a portrait, and no fancy-piece; and, to +hazard a vague conjecture, by an amateur." + +So bright, and so cheerful then; so trim, and so young; so singularly +healthful, and handsome; what subtile element could so steep this whole +portrait, that, to the wife of the original, it was namelessly +unpleasant and repelling? The mother of Pierre could never abide this +picture which she had always asserted did signally belie her husband. +Her fond memories of the departed refused to hang one single wreath +around it. It is not he, she would emphatically and almost indignantly +exclaim, when more urgently besought to reveal the cause for so +unreasonable a dissent from the opinion of nearly all the other +connections and relatives of the deceased. But the portrait which she +held to do justice to her husband, correctly to convey his features in +detail, and more especially their truest, and finest, and noblest +combined expression; this portrait was a much larger one, and in the +great drawing-room below occupied the most conspicuous and honorable +place on the wall. + +Even to Pierre these two paintings had always seemed strangely +dissimilar. And as the larger one had been painted many years after the +other, and therefore brought the original pretty nearly within his own +childish recollections; therefore, he himself could not but deem it by +far the more truthful and life-like presentation of his father. So that +the mere preference of his mother, however strong, was not at all +surprising to him, but rather coincided with his own conceit. Yet not +for this, must the other portrait be so decidedly rejected. Because, in +the first place, there was a difference in time, and some difference of +costume to be considered, and the wide difference of the styles of the +respective artiste, and the wide difference of those respective, +semi-reflected, ideal faces, which, even in the presence of the +original, a spiritual artist will rather choose to draw from than from +the fleshy face, however brilliant and fine. Moreover, while the larger +portrait was that of a middle-aged, married man, and seemed to possess +all the nameless and slightly portly tranquillities, incident to that +condition when a felicitous one; the smaller portrait painted a brisk, +unentangled, young bachelor, gayly ranging up and down in the world; +light-hearted, and a very little bladish perhaps; and charged to the +lips with the first uncloying morning fullness and freshness of life. +Here, certainly, large allowance was to be made in any careful, candid +estimation of these portraits. To Pierre this conclusion had become +well-nigh irresistible, when he placed side by side two portraits of +himself; one taken in his early childhood, a frocked and belted boy of +four years old; and the other, a grown youth of sixteen. Except an +indestructible, all-surviving something in the eyes and on the temples, +Pierre could hardly recognize the loud-laughing boy in the tall, and +pensively smiling youth. If a few years, then, can have in me made all +this difference, why not in my father? thought Pierre. + +Besides all this, Pierre considered the history, and, so to speak, the +family legend of the smaller painting. In his fifteenth year, it was +made a present to him by an old maiden aunt, who resided in the city, +and who cherished the memory of Pierre's father, with all that wonderful +amaranthine devotion which an advanced maiden sister ever feels for the +idea of a beloved younger brother, now dead and irrevocably gone. As the +only child of that brother, Pierre was an object of the warmest and most +extravagant attachment on the part of this lonely aunt, who seemed to +see, transformed into youth once again, the likeness, and very soul of +her brother, in the fair, inheriting brow of Pierre. Though the portrait +we speak of was inordinately prized by her, yet at length the strict +canon of her romantic and imaginative love asserted the portrait to be +Pierre's--for Pierre was not only his father's only child, but his +namesake--so soon as Pierre should be old enough to value aright so holy +and inestimable a treasure. She had accordingly sent it to him, trebly +boxed, and finally covered with a water-proof cloth; and it was +delivered at Saddle Meadows, by an express, confidential messenger, an +old gentleman of leisure, once her forlorn, because rejected gallant, +but now her contented, and chatty neighbor. Henceforth, before a +gold-framed and gold-lidded ivory miniature,--a fraternal gift--aunt +Dorothea now offered up her morning and her evening rites, to the memory +of the noblest and handsomest of brothers. Yet an annual visit to the +far closet of Pierre--no slight undertaking now for one so stricken in +years, and every way infirm--attested the earnestness of that strong +sense of duty, that painful renunciation of self, which had induced her +voluntarily to part with the precious memorial. + + +IV. + +"Tell me, aunt," the child Pierre had early said to her, long before the +portrait became his--"tell me, aunt, how this chair-portrait, as you +call it, was painted;--who painted it?--whose chair was this?--have you +the chair now?--I don't see it in your room here;--what is papa looking +at so strangely?--I should like to know now, what papa was thinking of, +then. Do, now, dear aunt, tell me all about this picture, so that when +it is mine, as you promise me, I shall know its whole history." + +"Sit down, then, and be very still and attentive, my dear child," said +aunt Dorothea; while she a little averted her head, and tremulously and +inaccurately sought her pocket, till little Pierre cried--"Why, aunt, +the story of the picture is not in any little book, is it, that you are +going to take out and read to me?" + +"My handkerchief, my child." + +"Why, aunt, here it is, at your elbow; here, on the table; here, aunt; +take it, do; Oh, don't tell me any thing about the picture, now; I won't +hear it." + +"Be still, my darling Pierre," said his aunt, taking the handkerchief, +"draw the curtain a little, dearest; the light hurts my eyes. Now, go +into the closet, and bring me my dark shawl;--take your time.--There; +thank you, Pierre; now sit down again, and I will begin.--The picture +was painted long ago, my child; you were not born then." + +"Not born?" cried little Pierre. + +"Not born," said his aunt. + +"Well, go on, aunt; but don't tell me again that once upon a time I was +not little Pierre at all, and yet my father was alive. Go on, aunt,--do, +do!" + +"Why, how nervous you are getting, my child;--Be patient; I am very old, +Pierre; and old people never like to be hurried." + +"Now, my own dear Aunt Dorothea, do forgive me this once, and go on with +your story." + +"When your poor father was quite a young man, my child, and was on one +of his long autumnal visits to his friends in this city, he was rather +intimate at times with a cousin of his, Ralph Winwood, who was about his +own age,--a fine youth he was, too, Pierre." + +"I never saw him, aunt; pray, where is he now?" interrupted +Pierre;--"does he live in the country, now, as mother and I do?" + +"Yes, my child; but a far-away, beautiful country, I hope;--he's in +heaven, I trust." + +"Dead," sighed little Pierre--"go on, aunt." + +"Now, cousin Ralph had a great love for painting, my child; and he +spent many hours in a room, hung all round with pictures and portraits; +and there he had his easel and brushes; and much liked to paint his +friends, and hang their faces on his walls; so that when all alone by +himself, he yet had plenty of company, who always wore their best +expressions to him, and never once ruffled him, by ever getting cross or +ill-natured, little Pierre. Often, he had besought your father to sit to +him; saying, that his silent circle of friends would never be complete, +till your father consented to join them. But in those days, my child, +your father was always in motion. It was hard for me to get him to stand +still, while I tied his cravat; for he never came to any one but me for +that. So he was always putting off, and putting off cousin Ralph. 'Some +other time, cousin; not to-day;--to-morrow, perhaps;--or next +week;'--and so, at last cousin Ralph began to despair. But I'll catch +him yet, cried sly cousin Ralph. So now he said nothing more to your +father about the matter of painting him; but every pleasant morning kept +his easel and brushes and every thing in readiness; so as to be ready +the first moment your father should chance to drop in upon him from his +long strolls; for it was now and then your father's wont to pay flying +little visits to cousin Ralph in his painting-room.--But, my child, you +may draw back the curtain now--it's getting very dim here, seems to me." + +"Well, I thought so all along, aunt," said little Pierre, obeying; "but +didn't you say the light hurt your eyes." + +"But it does not now, little Pierre." + +"Well, well; go on, go on, aunt; you can't think how interested I am," +said little Pierre, drawing his stool close up to the quilted satin hem +of his good Aunt Dorothea's dress. + +"I will, my child. But first let me tell you, that about this time there +arrived in the port, a cabin-full of French emigrants of quality;--poor +people, Pierre, who were forced to fly from their native land, because +of the cruel, blood-shedding times there. But you have read all that in +the little history I gave you, a good while ago." + +"I know all about it;--the French Revolution," said little Pierre. + +"What a famous little scholar you are, my dear child,"--said Aunt +Dorothea, faintly smiling--"among those poor, but noble emigrants, there +was a beautiful young girl, whose sad fate afterward made a great noise +in the city, and made many eyes to weep, but in vain, for she never was +heard of any more." + +"How? how? aunt;--I don't understand;--did she disappear then, aunt?" + +"I was a little before my story, child. Yes, she did disappear, and +never was heard of again; but that was afterward, some time afterward, +my child. I am very sure it was; I could take my oath of that, Pierre." + +"Why, dear aunt," said little Pierre, "how earnestly you talk--after +what? your voice is getting very strange; do now;--don't talk that way; +you frighten me so, aunt." + +"Perhaps it is this bad cold I have to-day; it makes my voice a little +hoarse, I fear, Pierre. But I will try and not talk so hoarsely again. +Well, my child, some time before this beautiful young lady disappeared, +indeed it was only shortly after the poor emigrants landed, your father +made her acquaintance; and with many other humane gentlemen of the city, +provided for the wants of the strangers, for they were very poor indeed, +having been stripped of every thing, save a little trifling jewelry, +which could not go very far. At last, the friends of your father +endeavored to dissuade him from visiting these people so much; they were +fearful that as the young lady was so very beautiful, and a little +inclined to be intriguing--so some said--your father might be tempted to +marry her; which would not have been a wise thing in him; for though the +young lady might have been very beautiful, and good-hearted, yet no one +on this side the water certainly knew her history; and she was a +foreigner; and would not have made so suitable and excellent a match for +your father as your dear mother afterward did, my child. But, for +myself, I--who always knew your father very well in all his intentions, +and he was very confidential with me, too--I, for my part, never +credited that he would do so unwise a thing as marry the strange young +lady. At any rate, he at last discontinued his visits to the emigrants; +and it was after this that the young lady disappeared. Some said that +she must have voluntarily but secretly returned into her own country; +and others declared that she must have been kidnapped by French +emissaries; for, after her disappearance, rumor began to hint that she +was of the noblest birth, and some ways allied to the royal family; and +then, again, there were some who shook their heads darkly, and muttered +of drownings, and other dark things; which one always hears hinted when +people disappear, and no one can find them. But though your father and +many other gentlemen moved heaven and earth to find trace of her, yet, +as I said before, my child, she never re-appeared." + +"The poor French lady!" sighed little Pierre. "Aunt, I'm afraid she was +murdered." + +"Poor lady, there is no telling," said his aunt. "But listen, for I am +coming to the picture again. Now, at the time your father was so often +visiting the emigrants, my child, cousin Ralph was one of those who a +little fancied that your father was courting her; but cousin Ralph being +a quiet young man, and a scholar, not well acquainted with what is wise, +or what is foolish in the great world; cousin Ralph would not have been +at all mortified had your father really wedded with the refugee young +lady. So vainly thinking, as I told you, that your father was courting +her, he fancied it would be a very fine thing if he could paint your +father as her wooer; that is, paint him just after his coming from his +daily visits to the emigrants. So he watched his chance; every thing +being ready in his painting-room, as I told you before; and one +morning, sure enough, in dropt your father from his walk. But before he +came into the room, cousin Ralph had spied him from the window; and when +your father entered, cousin Ralph had the sitting-chair ready drawn out, +back of his easel, but still fronting toward him, and pretended to be +very busy painting. He said to your father--'Glad to see you, cousin +Pierre; I am just about something here; sit right down there now, and +tell me the news; and I'll sally out with you presently. And tell us +something of the emigrants, cousin Pierre,' he slyly added--wishing, you +see, to get your father's thoughts running that supposed wooing way, so +that he might catch some sort of corresponding expression you see, +little Pierre." + +"I don't know that I precisely understand, aunt; but go on, I am so +interested; do go on, dear aunt." + +"Well, by many little cunning shifts and contrivances, cousin Ralph kept +your father there sitting, and sitting in the chair, rattling and +rattling away, and so self-forgetful too, that he never heeded that all +the while sly cousin Ralph was painting and painting just as fast as +ever he could; and only making believe laugh at your father's wit; in +short, cousin Ralph was stealing his portrait, my child." + +"Not _stealing_ it, I hope," said Pierre, "that would be very wicked." + +"Well, then, we won't call it stealing, since I am sure that cousin +Ralph kept your father all the time off from him, and so, could not have +possibly picked his pocket, though indeed, he slyly picked his portrait, +so to speak. And if indeed it was stealing, or any thing of that sort; +yet seeing how much comfort that portrait has been to me, Pierre, and +how much it will yet be to you, I hope; I think we must very heartily +forgive cousin Ralph, for what he then did." + +"Yes, I think we must indeed," chimed in little Pierre, now eagerly +eying the very portrait in question, which hung over the mantle. + +"Well, by catching your father two or three times more in that way, +cousin Ralph at last finished the painting; and when it was all framed, +and every way completed, he would have surprised your father by hanging +it boldly up in his room among his other portraits, had not your father +one morning suddenly come to him--while, indeed, the very picture itself +was placed face down on a table and cousin Ralph fixing the cord to +it--came to him, and frightened cousin Ralph by quietly saying, that now +that he thought of it, it seemed to him that cousin Ralph had been +playing tricks with him; but he hoped it was not so. 'What do you mean?' +said cousin Ralph, a little flurried. 'You have not been hanging my +portrait up here, have you, cousin Ralph?' said your father, glancing +along the walls. 'I'm glad I don't see it. It is my whim, cousin +Ralph,--and perhaps it is a very silly one,--but if you have been lately +painting my portrait, I want you to destroy it; at any rate, don't show +it to any one, keep it out of sight. What's that you have there, cousin +Ralph?' + +"Cousin Ralph was now more and more fluttered; not knowing what to +make--as indeed, to this day, I don't completely myself--of your +father's strange manner. But he rallied, and said--'This, cousin Pierre, +is a secret portrait I have here; you must be aware that we +portrait-painters are sometimes called upon to paint such. I, therefore, +can not show it to you, or tell you any thing about it.' + +"'Have you been painting my portrait or not, cousin Ralph?' said your +father, very suddenly and pointedly. + +"'I have painted nothing that looks as you there look,' said cousin +Ralph, evasively, observing in your father's face a fierce-like +expression, which he had never seen there before. And more than that, +your father could not get from him." + +"And what then?" said little Pierre. + +"Why not much, my child; only your father never so much as caught one +glimpse of that picture; indeed, never knew for certain, whether there +was such a painting in the world. Cousin Ralph secretly gave it to me, +knowing how tenderly I loved your father; making me solemnly promise +never to expose it anywhere where your father could ever see it, or any +way hear of it. This promise I faithfully kept; and it was only after +your dear father's death, that I hung it in my chamber. There, Pierre, +you now have the story of the chair-portrait." + +"And a very strange one it is," said Pierre--"and so interesting, I +shall never forget it, aunt." + +"I hope you never will, my child. Now ring the bell, and we will have a +little fruit-cake, and I will take a glass of wine, Pierre;--do you +hear, my child?--the bell--ring it. Why, what do you do standing there, +Pierre?" + +"_Why_ didn't papa want to have cousin Ralph paint his picture, aunt?" + +"How these children's minds do run!" exclaimed old aunt Dorothea staring +at little Pierre in amazement--"That indeed is more than I can tell you, +little Pierre. But cousin Ralph had a foolish fancy about it. He used to +tell me, that being in your father's room some few days after the last +scene I described, he noticed there a very wonderful work on +Physiognomy, as they call it, in which the strangest and shadowiest +rules were laid down for detecting people's innermost secrets by +studying their faces. And so, foolish cousin Ralph always flattered +himself, that the reason your father did not want his portrait taken +was, because he was secretly in love with the French young lady, and did +not want his secret published in a portrait; since the wonderful work on +Physiognomy had, as it were, indirectly warned him against running that +risk. But cousin Ralph being such a retired and solitary sort of a +youth, he always had such curious whimsies about things. For my part, I +don't believe your father ever had any such ridiculous ideas on the +subject. To be sure, I myself can not tell you _why_ he did not want his +picture taken; but when you get to be as old as I am, little Pierre, you +will find that every one, even the best of us, at times, is apt to act +very queerly and unaccountably; indeed some things we do, we can not +entirely explain the reason of, even to ourselves, little Pierre. But +you will know all about these strange matters by and by." + +"I hope I shall, aunt," said little Pierre--"But, dear aunt, I thought +Marten was to bring in some fruit-cake?" + +"Ring the bell for him, then, my child." + +"Oh! I forgot," said little Pierre, doing her bidding. + +By-and-by, while the aunt was sipping her wine; and the boy eating his +cake, and both their eyes were fixed on the portrait in question; little +Pierre, pushing his stool nearer the picture exclaimed--"Now, aunt, did +papa really look exactly like that? Did you ever see him in that same +buff vest, and huge-figured neckcloth? I remember the seal and key, +pretty well; and it was only a week ago that I saw mamma take them out +of a little locked drawer in her wardrobe--but I don't remember the +queer whiskers; nor the buff vest; nor the huge white-figured neckcloth; +did you ever see papa in that very neckcloth, aunt?" + +"My child, it was I that chose the stuff for that neckcloth; yes, and +hemmed it for him, and worked P. G. in one corner; but that aint in the +picture. It is an excellent likeness, my child, neckcloth and all; as he +looked at that time. Why, little Pierre, sometimes I sit here all alone +by myself, gazing, and gazing, and gazing at that face, till I begin to +think your father is looking at me, and smiling at me, and nodding at +me, and saying--Dorothea! Dorothea!" + +"How strange," said little Pierre, "I think it begins to look at me now, +aunt. Hark! aunt, it's so silent all round in this old-fashioned room, +that I think I hear a little jingling in the picture, as if the +watch-seal was striking against the key--Hark! aunt." + +"Bless me, don't talk so strangely, my child." + +"I heard mamma say once--but she did not say so to me--that, for her +part, she did not like aunt Dorothea's picture; it was not a good +likeness, so she said. Why don't mamma like the picture, aunt?" + +"My child, you ask very queer questions. If your mamma don't like the +picture, it is for a very plain reason. She has a much larger and finer +one at home, which she had painted for herself; yes, and paid I don't +know how many hundred dollars for it; and that, too, is an excellent +likeness, _that_ must be the reason, little Pierre." + +And thus the old aunt and the little child ran on; each thinking the +other very strange; and both thinking the picture still stranger; and +the face in the picture still looked at them frankly, and cheerfully, as +if there was nothing kept concealed; and yet again, a little ambiguously +and mockingly, as if slyly winking to some other picture, to mark what a +very foolish old sister, and what a very silly little son, were growing +so monstrously grave and speculative about a huge white-figured +neckcloth, a buff vest, and a very gentleman-like and amiable +countenance. + +And so, after this scene, as usual, one by one, the fleet years ran on; +till the little child Pierre had grown up to be the tall Master Pierre, +and could call the picture his own; and now, in the privacy of his own +little closet, could stand, or lean, or sit before it all day long, if +he pleased, and keep thinking, and thinking, and thinking, and thinking, +till by-and-by all thoughts were blurred, and at last there were no +thoughts at all. + +Before the picture was sent to him, in his fifteenth year, it had been +only through the inadvertence of his mother, or rather through a casual +passing into a parlor by Pierre, that he had any way learned that his +mother did not approve of the picture. Because, as then Pierre was +still young, and the picture was the picture of his father, and the +cherished property of a most excellent, and dearly-beloved, affectionate +aunt; therefore the mother, with an intuitive delicacy, had refrained +from knowingly expressing her peculiar opinion in the presence of little +Pierre. And this judicious, though half-unconscious delicacy in the +mother, had been perhaps somewhat singularly answered by a like nicety +of sentiment in the child; for children of a naturally refined +organization, and a gentle nurture, sometimes possess a wonderful, and +often undreamed of, daintiness of propriety, and thoughtfulness, and +forbearance, in matters esteemed a little subtile even by their elders, +and self-elected betters. The little Pierre never disclosed to his +mother that he had, through another person, become aware of her thoughts +concerning Aunt Dorothea's portrait; he seemed to possess an intuitive +knowledge of the circumstance, that from the difference of their +relationship to his father, and for other minute reasons, he could in +some things, with the greater propriety, be more inquisitive concerning +him, with his aunt, than with his mother, especially touching the matter +of the chair-portrait. And Aunt Dorothea's reasons accounting for his +mother's distaste, long continued satisfactory, or at least not +unsufficiently explanatory. + +And when the portrait arrived at the Meadows, it so chanced that his +mother was abroad; and so Pierre silently hung it up in his closet; and +when after a day or two his mother returned, he said nothing to her +about its arrival, being still strangely alive to that certain mild +mystery which invested it, and whose sacredness now he was fearful of +violating, by provoking any discussion with his mother about Aunt +Dorothea's gift, or by permitting himself to be improperly curious +concerning the reasons of his mother's private and self-reserved +opinions of it. But the first time--and it was not long after the +arrival of the portrait--that he knew of his mother's having entered +his closet; then, when he next saw her, he was prepared to hear what +she should voluntarily say about the late addition to its +embellishments; but as she omitted all mention of any thing of that +sort, he unobtrusively scanned her countenance, to mark whether any +little clouding emotion might be discoverable there. But he could +discern none. And as all genuine delicacies are by their nature +accumulative; therefore this reverential, mutual, but only tacit +forbearance of the mother and son, ever after continued uninvaded. And +it was another sweet, and sanctified, and sanctifying bond between them. +For, whatever some lovers may sometimes say, love does not always abhor +a secret, as nature is said to abhor a vacuum. Love is built upon +secrets, as lovely Venice upon invisible and incorruptible piles in the +sea. Love's secrets, being mysteries, ever pertain to the transcendent +and the infinite; and so they are as airy bridges, by which our further +shadows pass over into the regions of the golden mists and exhalations; +whence all poetical, lovely thoughts are engendered, and drop into us, +as though pearls should drop from rainbows. + +As time went on, the chasteness and pure virginity of this mutual +reservation, only served to dress the portrait in sweeter, because still +more mysterious attractions; and to fling, as it were, fresh fennel and +rosemary around the revered memory of the father. Though, indeed, as +previously recounted, Pierre now and then loved to present to himself +for some fanciful solution the penultimate secret of the portrait, in so +far, as that involved his mother's distaste; yet the cunning analysis in +which such a mental procedure would involve him, never voluntarily +transgressed that sacred limit, where his mother's peculiar repugnance +began to shade off into ambiguous considerations, touching any unknown +possibilities in the character and early life of the original. Not, that +he had altogether forbidden his fancy to range in such fields of +speculation; but all such imaginings must be contributory to that pure, +exalted idea of his father, which, in his soul, was based upon the known +acknowledged facts of his father's life. + + +V. + +If, when the mind roams up and down in the ever-elastic regions of +evanescent invention, any definite form or feature can be assigned to +the multitudinous shapes it creates out of the incessant dissolvings of +its own prior creations; then might we here attempt to hold and define +the least shadowy of those reasons, which about the period of +adolescence we now treat of, more frequently occurred to Pierre, +whenever he essayed to account for his mother's remarkable distaste for +the portrait. Yet will we venture one sketch. + +Yes--sometimes dimly thought Pierre--who knows but cousin Ralph, after +all, may have been not so very far from the truth, when he surmised that +at one time my father did indeed cherish some passing emotion for the +beautiful young Frenchwoman. And this portrait being painted at that +precise time, and indeed with the precise purpose of perpetuating some +shadowy testification of the fact in the countenance of the original: +therefore, its expression is not congenial, is not familiar, is not +altogether agreeable to my mother: because, not only did my father's +features never look so to her (since it was afterward that she first +became acquainted with him), but also, that certain womanliness of +women; that thing I should perhaps call a tender jealousy, a fastidious +vanity, in any other lady, enables her to perceive that the glance of +the face in the portrait, is not, in some nameless way, dedicated to +herself, but to some other and unknown object; and therefore, is she +impatient of it, and it is repelling to her; for she must naturally be +intolerant of any imputed reminiscence in my father, which is not in +some way connected with her own recollections of him. + +Whereas, the larger and more expansive portrait in the great +drawing-room, taken in the prime of life; during the best and rosiest +days of their wedded union; at the particular desire of my mother; and +by a celebrated artist of her own election, and costumed after her own +taste; and on all hands considered to be, by those who know, a +singularly happy likeness at the period; a belief spiritually reinforced +by my own dim infantile remembrances; for all these reasons, this +drawing-room portrait possesses an inestimable charm to her; there, she +indeed beholds her husband as he had really appeared to her; she does +not vacantly gaze upon an unfamiliar phantom called up from the distant, +and, to her, well-nigh fabulous days of my father's bachelor life. But +in that other portrait, she sees rehearsed to her fond eyes, the latter +tales and legends of his devoted wedded love. Yes, I think now that I +plainly see it must be so. And yet, ever new conceits come vaporing up +in me, as I look on the strange chair-portrait: which, though so very +much more unfamiliar to me, than it can possibly be to my mother, still +sometimes seems to say--Pierre, believe not the drawing-room painting; +that is not thy father; or, at least, is not _all_ of thy father. +Consider in thy mind, Pierre, whether we two paintings may not make only +one. Faithful wives are ever over-fond to a certain imaginary image of +their husbands; and faithful widows are ever over-reverential to a +certain imagined ghost of that same imagined image, Pierre. Look again, +I am thy father as he more truly was. In mature life, the world overlays +and varnishes us, Pierre; the thousand proprieties and polished +finenesses and grimaces intervene, Pierre; then, we, as it were, +abdicate ourselves, and take unto us another self, Pierre; in youth we +_are_, Pierre, but in age we _seem_. Look again. I am thy real father, +so much the more truly, as thou thinkest thou recognizest me not, +Pierre. To their young children, fathers are not wont to unfold +themselves entirely, Pierre. There are a thousand and one odd little +youthful peccadilloes, that we think we may as well not divulge to them, +Pierre. Consider this strange, ambiguous smile, Pierre; more narrowly +regard this mouth. Behold, what is this too ardent and, as it were, +unchastened light in these eyes, Pierre? I am thy father, boy. There was +once a certain, oh, but too lovely young Frenchwoman, Pierre. Youth is +hot, and temptation strong, Pierre; and in the minutest moment momentous +things are irrevocably done, Pierre; and Time sweeps on, and the thing +is not always carried down by its stream, but may be left stranded on +its bank; away beyond, in the young, green countries, Pierre. Look +again. Doth thy mother dislike me for naught? Consider. Do not all her +spontaneous, loving impressions, ever strive to magnify, and +spiritualize, and deify, her husband's memory, Pierre? Then why doth she +cast despite upon me; and never speak to thee of me; and why dost thou +thyself keep silence before her, Pierre? Consider. Is there no little +mystery here? Probe a little, Pierre. Never fear, never fear. No matter +for thy father now. Look, do I not smile?--yes, and with an unchangeable +smile; and thus have I unchangeably smiled for many long years gone by, +Pierre. Oh, it is a permanent smile! Thus I smiled to cousin Ralph; and +thus in thy dear old Aunt Dorothea's parlor, Pierre; and just so, I +smile here to thee, and even thus in thy father's later life, when his +body may have been in grief, still--hidden away in Aunt Dorothea's +secretary--I thus smiled as before; and just so I'd smile were I now +hung up in the deepest dungeon of the Spanish Inquisition, Pierre; +though suspended in outer darkness, still would I smile with this smile, +though then not a soul should be near. Consider; for a smile is the +chosen vehicle for all ambiguities, Pierre. When we would deceive, we +smile; when we are hatching any nice little artifice, Pierre; only just +a little gratifying our own sweet little appetites, Pierre; then watch +us, and out comes the odd little smile. Once upon a time, there was a +lovely young Frenchwoman, Pierre. Have you carefully, and analytically, +and psychologically, and metaphysically, considered her belongings and +surroundings, and all her incidentals, Pierre? Oh, a strange sort of +story, that, thy dear old Aunt Dorothea once told thee, Pierre. I once +knew a credulous old soul, Pierre. Probe, probe a little--see--there +seems one little crack there, Pierre--a wedge, a wedge. Something ever +comes of all persistent inquiry; we are not so continually curious for +nothing, Pierre; not for nothing, do we so intrigue and become wily +diplomatists, and glozers with our own minds, Pierre; and afraid of +following the Indian trail from the open plain into the dark thickets, +Pierre; but enough; a word to the wise. + +Thus sometimes in the mystical, outer quietude of the long country +nights; either when the hushed mansion was banked round by the +thick-fallen December snows, or banked round by the immovable white +August moonlight; in the haunted repose of a wide story, tenanted only +by himself; and sentineling his own little closet; and standing guard, +as it were, before the mystical tent of the picture; and ever watching +the strangely concealed lights of the meanings that so mysteriously +moved to and fro within; thus sometimes stood Pierre before the portrait +of his father, unconsciously throwing himself open to all those +ineffable hints and ambiguities, and undefined half-suggestions, which +now and then people the soul's atmosphere, as thickly as in a soft, +steady snow-storm, the snow-flakes people the air. Yet as often starting +from these reveries and trances, Pierre would regain the assured element +of consciously bidden and self-propelled thought; and then in a moment +the air all cleared, not a snow-flake descended, and Pierre, upbraiding +himself for his self-indulgent infatuation, would promise never again +to fall into a midnight revery before the chair-portrait of his father. +Nor did the streams of these reveries seem to leave any conscious +sediment in his mind; they were so light and so rapid, that they rolled +their own alluvial along; and seemed to leave all Pierre's +thought-channels as clean and dry as though never any alluvial stream +had rolled there at all. + +And so still in his sober, cherishing memories, his father's +beatification remained untouched; and all the strangeness of the +portrait only served to invest his idea with a fine, legendary romance; +the essence whereof was that very mystery, which at other times was so +subtly and evilly significant. + +But now, _now!_--Isabel's letter read: swift as the first light that +slides from the sun, Pierre saw all preceding ambiguities, all mysteries +ripped open as if with a keen sword, and forth trooped thickening +phantoms of an infinite gloom. Now his remotest infantile +reminiscences--the wandering mind of his father--the empty hand, and the +ashen--the strange story of Aunt Dorothea--the mystical midnight +suggestions of the portrait itself; and, above all, his mother's +intuitive aversion, all, all overwhelmed him with reciprocal +testimonies. + +And now, by irresistible intuitions, all that had been inexplicably +mysterious to him in the portrait, and all that had been inexplicably +familiar in the face, most magically these now coincided; the merriness +of the one not inharmonious with the mournfulness of the other, but by +some ineffable correlativeness, they reciprocally identified each other, +and, as it were, melted into each other, and thus interpenetratingly +uniting, presented lineaments of an added supernaturalness. + +On all sides, the physical world of solid objects now slidingly +displaced itself from around him, and he floated into an ether of +visions; and, starting to his feet with clenched hands and outstaring +eyes at the transfixed face in the air, he ejaculated that wonderful +verse from Dante, descriptive of the two mutually absorbing shapes in +the Inferno: + + "Ah! how dost thou change, + Agnello! See! thou art not double now, + Nor only one!" + + + + +BOOK V. + +MISGIVINGS AND PREPARATIONS. + + +I. + +It was long after midnight when Pierre returned to the house. He had +rushed forth in that complete abandonment of soul, which, in so ardent a +temperament, attends the first stages of any sudden and tremendous +affliction; but now he returned in pallid composure, for the calm spirit +of the night, and the then risen moon, and the late revealed stars, had +all at last become as a strange subduing melody to him, which, though at +first trampled and scorned, yet by degrees had stolen into the windings +of his heart, and so shed abroad its own quietude in him. Now, from his +height of composure, he firmly gazed abroad upon the charred landscape +within him; as the timber man of Canada, forced to fly from the +conflagration of his forests, comes back again when the fires have +waned, and unblinkingly eyes the immeasurable fields of fire-brands that +here and there glow beneath the wide canopy of smoke. + +It has been said, that always when Pierre would seek solitude in its +material shelter and walled isolation, then the closet communicating +with his chamber was his elected haunt. So, going to his room, he took +up the now dim-burning lamp he had left there, and instinctively entered +that retreat, seating himself, with folded arms and bowed head, in the +accustomed dragon-footed old chair. With leaden feet, and heart now +changing from iciness to a strange sort of indifference, and a numbing +sensation stealing over him, he sat there awhile, till, like the resting +traveler in snows, he began to struggle against this inertness as the +most treacherous and deadliest of symptoms. He looked up, and found +himself fronted by the no longer wholly enigmatical, but still +ambiguously smiling picture of his father. Instantly all his +consciousness and his anguish returned, but still without power to shake +the grim tranquillity which possessed him. Yet endure the smiling +portrait he could not; and obeying an irresistible nameless impulse, he +rose, and without unhanging it, reversed the picture on the wall. + +This brought to sight the defaced and dusty back, with some wrinkled, +tattered paper over the joints, which had become loosened from the +paste. "Oh, symbol of thy reversed idea in my soul," groaned Pierre; +"thou shalt not hang thus. Rather cast thee utterly out, than +conspicuously insult thee so. I will no more have a father." He removed +the picture wholly from the wall, and the closet; and concealed it in a +large chest, covered with blue chintz, and locked it up there. But +still, in a square space of slightly discolored wall, the picture still +left its shadowy, but vacant and desolate trace. He now strove to banish +the least trace of his altered father, as fearful that at present all +thoughts concerning him were not only entirely vain, but would prove +fatally distracting and incapacitating to a mind, which was now loudly +called upon, not only to endure a signal grief, but immediately to act +upon it. Wild and cruel case, youth ever thinks; but mistakenly; for +Experience well knows, that action, though it seems an aggravation of +woe, is really an alleviative; though permanently to alleviate pain, we +must first dart some added pangs. + +Nor now, though profoundly sensible that his whole previous moral being +was overturned, and that for him the fair structure of the world must, +in some then unknown way, be entirely rebuilded again, from the +lowermost corner stone up; nor now did Pierre torment himself with the +thought of that last desolation; and how the desolate place was to be +made flourishing again. He seemed to feel that in his deepest soul, +lurked an indefinite but potential faith, which could rule in the +interregnum of all hereditary beliefs, and circumstantial persuasions; +not wholly, he felt, was his soul in anarchy. The indefinite regent had +assumed the scepter as its right; and Pierre was not entirely given up +to his grief's utter pillage and sack. + +To a less enthusiastic heart than Pierre's the foremost question in +respect to Isabel which would have presented itself, would have been, +_What_ must I do? But such a question never presented itself to Pierre; +the spontaneous responsiveness of his being left no shadow of +dubiousness as to the direct point he must aim at. But if the object was +plain, not so the path to it. _How_ must I do it? was a problem for +which at first there seemed no chance of solution. But without being +entirely aware of it himself, Pierre was one of those spirits, which not +in a determinate and sordid scrutiny of small pros and cons--but in an +impulsive subservience to the god-like dictation of events themselves, +find at length the surest solution of perplexities, and the brightest +prerogative of command. And as for him, _What_ must I do? was a question +already answered by the inspiration of the difficulty itself; so now he, +as it were, unconsciously discharged his mind, for the present, of all +distracting considerations concerning _How_ he should do it; assured +that the coming interview with Isabel could not but unerringly inspire +him there. Still, the inspiration which had thus far directed him had +not been entirely mute and undivulging as to many very bitter things +which Pierre foresaw in the wide sea of trouble into which he was +plunged. + +If it be the sacred province and--by the wisest, deemed--the inestimable +compensation of the heavier woes, that they both purge the soul of +gay-hearted errors and replenish it with a saddened truth; that holy +office is not so much accomplished by any covertly inductive reasoning +process, whose original motive is received from the particular +affliction; as it is the magical effect of the admission into man's +inmost spirit of a before unexperienced and wholly inexplicable element, +which like electricity suddenly received into any sultry atmosphere of +the dark, in all directions splits itself into nimble lances of +purifying light; which at one and the same instant discharge all the air +of sluggishness and inform it with an illuminating property; so that +objects which before, in the uncertainty of the dark, assumed shadowy +and romantic outlines, now are lighted up in their substantial +realities; so that in these flashing revelations of grief's wonderful +fire, we see all things as they are; and though, when the electric +element is gone, the shadows once more descend, and the false outlines +of objects again return; yet not with their former power to deceive; for +now, even in the presence of the falsest aspects, we still retain the +impressions of their immovable true ones, though, indeed, once more +concealed. + +Thus with Pierre. In the joyous young times, ere his great grief came +upon him, all the objects which surrounded him were concealingly +deceptive. Not only was the long-cherished image of his rather now +transfigured before him from a green foliaged tree into a blasted trunk, +but every other image in his mind attested the universality of that +electral light which had darted into his soul. Not even his lovely, +immaculate mother, remained entirely untouched, unaltered by the shock. +At her changed aspect, when first revealed to him, Pierre had gazed in a +panic; and now, when the electrical storm had gone by, he retained in +his mind, that so suddenly revealed image, with an infinite +mournfulness. She, who in her less splendid but finer and more spiritual +part, had ever seemed to Pierre not only as a beautiful saint before +whom to offer up his daily orisons, but also as a gentle lady-counsellor +and confessor, and her revered chamber as a soft satin-hung cabinet and +confessional;--his mother was no longer this all-alluring thing; no +more, he too keenly felt, could he go to his mother, as to one who +entirely sympathized with him; as to one before whom he could almost +unreservedly unbosom himself; as to one capable of pointing out to him +the true path where he seemed most beset. Wonderful, indeed, was that +electric insight which Fate had now given him into the vital character +of his mother. She well might have stood all ordinary tests; but when +Pierre thought of the touchstone of his immense strait applied to her +spirit, he felt profoundly assured that she would crumble into nothing +before it. + +She was a noble creature, but formed chiefly for the gilded prosperities +of life, and hitherto mostly used to its unruffled serenities; bred and +expanded, in all developments, under the sole influence of hereditary +forms and world-usages. Not his refined, courtly, loving, equable +mother, Pierre felt, could unreservedly, and like a heaven's heroine, +meet the shock of his extraordinary emergency, and applaud, to his +heart's echo, a sublime resolve, whose execution should call down the +astonishment and the jeers of the world. + +My mother!--dearest mother!--God hath given me a sister, and unto thee a +daughter, and covered her with the world's extremest infamy and scorn, +that so I and thou--_thou_, my mother, mightest gloriously own her, and +acknowledge her, and,---- Nay, nay, groaned Pierre, never, never, could +such syllables be one instant tolerated by her. Then, high-up, and +towering, and all-forbidding before Pierre grew the before unthought of +wonderful edifice of his mother's immense pride;--her pride of birth, +her pride of affluence, her pride of purity, and all the pride of +high-born, refined, and wealthy Life, and all the Semiramian pride of +woman. Then he staggered back upon himself, and only found support in +himself. Then Pierre felt that deep in him lurked a divine +unidentifiableness, that owned no earthly kith or kin. Yet was this +feeling entirely lonesome, and orphan-like. Fain, then, for one moment, +would he have recalled the thousand sweet illusions of Life; tho' +purchased at the price of Life's Truth; so that once more he might not +feel himself driven out an infant Ishmael into the desert, with no +maternal Hagar to accompany and comfort him. + +Still, were these emotions without prejudice to his own love for his +mother, and without the slightest bitterness respecting her; and, least +of all, there was no shallow disdain toward her of superior virtue. He +too plainly saw, that not his mother had made his mother; but the +Infinite Haughtiness had first fashioned her; and then the haughty world +had further molded her; nor had a haughty Ritual omitted to finish her. + +Wonderful, indeed, we repeat it, was the electrical insight which Pierre +now had into the character of his mother, for not even the vivid +recalling of her lavish love for him could suffice to gainsay his sudden +persuasion. Love me she doth, thought Pierre, but how? Loveth she me +with the love past all understanding? that love, which in the loved +one's behalf, would still calmly confront all hate? whose most +triumphing hymn, triumphs only by swelling above all opposing taunts and +despite?--Loving mother, here have I a loved, but world-infamous sister +to own;--and if thou lovest me, mother, thy love will love her, too, and +in the proudest drawing-room take her so much the more proudly by the +hand.--And as Pierre thus in fancy led Isabel before his mother; and in +fancy led her away, and felt his tongue cleave to the roof of his mouth, +with her transfixing look of incredulous, scornful horror; then Pierre's +enthusiastic heart sunk in and in, and caved clean away in him, as he so +poignantly felt his first feeling of the dreary heart-vacancies of the +conventional life. Oh heartless, proud, ice-gilded world, how I hate +thee, he thought, that thy tyrannous, insatiate grasp, thus now in my +bitterest need--thus doth rob me even of my mother; thus doth make me +now doubly an orphan, without a green grave to bedew. My tears,--could +I weep them,--must now be wept in the desolate places; now to me is it, +as though both father and mother had gone on distant voyages, and, +returning, died in unknown seas. + +She loveth me, ay;--but why? Had I been cast in a cripple's mold, how +then? Now, do I remember that in her most caressing love, there ever +gleamed some scaly, glittering folds of pride. Me she loveth with +pride's love; in me she thinks she seeth her own curled and haughty +beauty; before my glass she stands,--pride's priestess--and to her +mirrored image, not to me, she offers up her offerings of kisses. Oh, +small thanks I owe thee, Favorable Goddess, that didst clothe this form +with all the beauty of a man, that so thou mightest hide from me all the +truth of a man. Now I see that in his beauty a man is snared, and made +stone-blind, as the worm within its silk. Welcome then be Ugliness and +Poverty and Infamy, and all ye other crafty ministers of Truth, that +beneath the hoods and rags of beggars hide yet the belts and crowns of +kings. And dimmed be all beauty that must own the clay; and dimmed be +all wealth, and all delight, and all the annual prosperities of earth, +that but gild the links, and stud with diamonds the base rivets and the +chains of Lies. Oh, now methinks I a little see why of old the men _of_ +Truth went barefoot, girded with a rope, and ever moving under +mournfulness as underneath a canopy. I remember now those first wise +words, wherewith our Savior Christ first spoke in his first speech to +men:--'Blessed are the poor in spirit, and blessed they that mourn.' Oh, +hitherto I have but piled up words; bought books, and bought some small +experiences, and builded me in libraries; now I sit down and read. Oh, +now I know the night, and comprehend the sorceries of the moon, and all +the dark persuadings that have their birth in storms and winds. Oh, not +long will Joy abide, when Truth doth come; nor Grief her laggard be. +Well may this head hang on my breast--it holds too much; well may my +heart knock at my ribs,--prisoner impatient of his iron bars. Oh, men +are jailers all; jailers of themselves; and in Opinion's world +ignorantly hold their noblest part a captive to their vilest; as +disguised royal Charles when caught by peasants. The heart! the heart! +'tis God's anointed; let me pursue the heart! + + +II. + +But if the presentiment in Pierre of his mother's pride, as bigotedly +hostile to the noble design he cherished; if this feeling was so +wretched to him; far more so was the thought of another and a deeper +hostility, arising from her more spiritual part. For her pride would not +be so scornful, as her wedded memories reject with horror, the +unmentionable imputation involved in the mere fact of Isabel's +existence. In what galleries of conjecture, among what horrible haunting +toads and scorpions, would such a revelation lead her? When Pierre +thought of this, the idea of at all divulging his secret to his mother, +not only was made repelling by its hopelessness, as an infirm attack +upon her citadel of pride, but was made in the last degree inhuman, as +torturing her in her tenderest recollections, and desecrating the +whitest altar in her sanctuary. + +Though the conviction that he must never disclose his secret to his +mother was originally an unmeditated, and as it were, an inspired one; +yet now he was almost pains-taking in scrutinizing the entire +circumstances of the matter, in order that nothing might be overlooked. +For already he vaguely felt, that upon the concealment, or the +disclosure of this thing, with reference to his mother, hinged his whole +future course of conduct, his whole earthly weal, and Isabel's. But the +more and the more that he pondered upon it, the more and the more fixed +became his original conviction. He considered that in the case of a +disclosure, all human probability pointed to his mother's scornful +rejection of his suit as a pleader for Isabel's honorable admission into +the honorable mansion of the Glendinnings. Then in that case, +unconsciously thought Pierre, I shall have given the deep poison of a +miserable truth to my mother, without benefit to any, and positive harm +to all. And through Pierre's mind there then darted a baleful thought; +how that the truth should not always be paraded; how that sometimes a +lie is heavenly, and truth infernal. Filially infernal, truly, thought +Pierre, if I should by one vile breath of truth, blast my father's +blessed memory in the bosom of my mother, and plant the sharpest dagger +of grief in her soul. I will not do it! + +But as this resolution in him opened up so dark and wretched a +background to his view, he strove to think no more of it now, but +postpone it until the interview with Isabel should have in some way more +definitely shaped his purposes. For, when suddenly encountering the +shock of new and unanswerable revelations, which he feels must +revolutionize all the circumstances of his life, man, at first, ever +seeks to shun all conscious definitiveness in his thoughts and purposes; +as assured, that the lines that shall precisely define his present +misery, and thereby lay out his future path; these can only be defined +by sharp stakes that cut into his heart. + + +III. + +Most melancholy of all the hours of earth, is that one long, gray hour, +which to the watcher by the lamp intervenes between the night and day; +when both lamp and watcher, over-tasked, grow sickly in the pallid +light; and the watcher, seeking for no gladness in the dawn, sees naught +but garish vapors there; and almost invokes a curse upon the public +day, that shall invade his lonely night of sufferance. + +The one small window of his closet looked forth upon the meadow, and +across the river, and far away to the distant heights, storied with the +great deeds of the Glendinnings. Many a time had Pierre sought this +window before sunrise, to behold the blood-red, out-flinging dawn, that +would wrap those purple hills as with a banner. But now the morning +dawned in mist and rain, and came drizzlingly upon his heart. Yet as the +day advanced, and once more showed to him the accustomed features of his +room by that natural light, which, till this very moment, had never +lighted him but to his joy; now that the day, and not the night, was +witness to his woe; now first the dread reality came appallingly upon +him. A sense of horrible forlornness, feebleness, impotence, and +infinite, eternal desolation possessed him. It was not merely mental, +but corporeal also. He could not stand; and when he tried to sit, his +arms fell floorwards as tied to leaden weights. Dragging his ball and +chain, he fell upon his bed; for when the mind is cast down, only in +sympathetic proneness can the body rest; whence the bed is often Grief's +first refuge. Half stupefied, as with opium, he fell into the +profoundest sleep. + +In an hour he awoke, instantly recalling all the previous night; and now +finding himself a little strengthened, and lying so quietly and silently +there, almost without bodily consciousness, but his soul unobtrusively +alert; careful not to break the spell by the least movement of a limb, +or the least turning of his head. Pierre steadfastly faced his grief, +and looked deep down into its eyes; and thoroughly, and calmly, and +summarily comprehended it now--so at least he thought--and what it +demanded from him; and what he must quickly do in its more immediate +sequences; and what that course of conduct was, which he must pursue in +the coming unevadable breakfast interview with his mother; and what, for +the present must be his plan with Lucy. His time of thought was brief. +Rising from his bed, he steadied himself upright a moment; and then +going to his writing-desk, in a few at first faltering, but at length +unlagging lines, traced the following note: + + "I must ask pardon of you, Lucy, for so strangely absenting myself + last night. But you know me well enough to be very sure that I + would not have done so without important cause. I was in the street + approaching your cottage, when a message reached me, imperatively + calling me away. It is a matter which will take up all my time and + attention for, possibly, two or three days. I tell you this, now, + that you may be prepared for it. And I know that however unwelcome + this may be to you, you will yet bear with it for my sake; for, + indeed, and indeed, Lucy dear, I would not dream of staying from + you so long, unless irresistibly coerced to it. Do not come to the + mansion until I come to you; and do not manifest any curiosity or + anxiety about me, should you chance in the interval to see my + mother in any other place. Keep just as cheerful as if I were by + you all the time. Do this, now, I conjure you; and so farewell!" + +He folded the note, and was about sealing it, when he hesitated a +moment, and instantly unfolding it, read it to himself. But he could not +adequately comprehend his own writing, for a sudden cloud came over him. +This passed; and taking his pen hurriedly again, he added the following +postscript: + + "Lucy, this note may seem mysterious; but if it shall, I did not + mean to make it so; nor do I know that I could have helped it. But + the only reason is this, Lucy: the matter which I have alluded to, + is of such a nature, that, for the present I stand virtually + pledged not to disclose it to any person but those more directly + involved in it. But where one can not reveal the thing itself, it + only makes it the more mysterious to write round it this way. So + merely know me entirely unmenaced in person, and eternally faithful + to you; and so be at rest till I see you." + +Then sealing the note, and ringing the bell, he gave it in strict charge +to a servant, with directions to deliver it at the earliest practicable +moment, and not wait for any answer. But as the messenger was departing +the chamber, he called him back, and taking the sealed note again, and +hollowing it in his hand, scrawled inside of it in pencil the following +words: "Don't write me; don't inquire for me;" and then returned it to +the man, who quitted him, leaving Pierre rooted in thought in the middle +of the room. + +But he soon roused himself, and left the mansion; and seeking the cool, +refreshing meadow stream, where it formed a deep and shady pool, he +bathed; and returning invigorated to his chamber, changed his entire +dress; in the little trifling concernments of his toilette, striving +utterly to banish all thought of that weight upon his soul. Never did he +array himself with more solicitude for effect. It was one of his fond +mother's whims to perfume the lighter contents of his wardrobe; and it +was one of his own little femininenesses--of the sort sometimes +curiously observable in very robust-bodied and big-souled men, as +Mohammed, for example--to be very partial to all pleasant essences. So +that when once more he left the mansion in order to freshen his cheek +anew to meet the keen glance of his mother--to whom the secret of his +possible pallor could not be divulged; Pierre went forth all redolent; +but alas! his body only the embalming cerements of his buried dead +within. + + +IV. + +His stroll was longer than he meant; and when he returned up the Linden +walk leading to the breakfast-room, and ascended the piazza steps, and +glanced into the wide window there, he saw his mother seated not far +from the table; her face turned toward his own; and heard her gay voice, +and peculiarly light and buoyant laugh, accusing him, and not her, of +being the morning's laggard now. Dates was busy among some spoons and +napkins at a side-stand. + +Summoning all possible cheerfulness to his face, Pierre entered the +room. Remembering his carefulness in bathing and dressing; and knowing +that there is no air so calculated to give bloom to the cheek as that of +a damply fresh, cool, and misty morning, Pierre persuaded himself that +small trace would now be found on him of his long night of watching. + +'Good morning, sister;--Such a famous stroll! I have been all the way +to---- ' + +'Where? good heavens! where? for such a look as that!--why, Pierre, +Pierre? what ails thee? Dates, I will touch the bell presently.' + +As the good servitor fumbled for a moment among the napkins, as if +unwilling to stir so summarily from his accustomed duty, and not without +some of a well and long-tried old domestic's vague, intermitted +murmuring, at being wholly excluded from a matter of family interest; +Mrs. Glendinning kept her fixed eye on Pierre, who, unmindful that the +breakfast was not yet entirely ready, seating himself at the table, +began helping himself--though but nervously enough--to the cream and +sugar. The moment the door closed on Dates, the mother sprang to her +feet, and threw her arms around her son; but in that embrace, Pierre +miserably felt that their two hearts beat not together in such unison as +before. + +'What haggard thing possesses thee, my son? Speak, this is +incomprehensible! Lucy;--fie!--not she?--no love-quarrel there;--speak, +speak, my darling boy! + +'My dear sister,' began Pierre. + +'Sister me not, now, Pierre;--I am thy mother.' + +'Well, then, dear mother, thou art quite as incomprehensible to me as I +to---- ' + +'Talk faster, Pierre--this calmness freezes me. Tell me; for, by my +soul, something most wonderful must have happened to thee. Thou art my +son, and I command thee. It is not Lucy; it is something else. Tell me.' + +'My dear mother,' said Pierre, impulsively moving his chair backward +from the table, 'if thou wouldst only believe me when I say it, I have +really nothing to tell thee. Thou knowest that sometimes, when I happen +to feel very foolishly studious and philosophical, I sit up late in my +chamber; and then, regardless of the hour, foolishly run out into the +air, for a long stroll across the meadows. I took such a stroll last +night; and had but little time left for napping afterward; and what nap +I had I was none the better for. But I won't be so silly again, soon; so +do, dearest mother, stop looking at me, and let us to breakfast.--Dates! +Touch the bell there, sister.' + +'Stay, Pierre!--There is a heaviness in this hour. I feel, I know, that +thou art deceiving me;--perhaps I erred in seeking to wrest thy secret +from thee; but believe me, my son, I never thought thou hadst any secret +thing from me, except thy first love for Lucy--and that, my own +womanhood tells me, was most pardonable and right. But now, what can it +be? Pierre, Pierre! consider well before thou determinest upon +withholding confidence from me. I am thy mother. It may prove a fatal +thing. Can that be good and virtuous, Pierre, which shrinks from a +mother's knowledge? Let us not loose hands so, Pierre; thy confidence +from me, mine goes from thee. Now, shall I touch the bell?' + +Pierre, who had thus far been vainly seeking to occupy his hands with +his cap and spoon; he now paused, and unconsciously fastened a +speechless glance of mournfulness upon his mother. Again he felt +presentiments of his mother's newly-revealed character. He foresaw the +supposed indignation of her wounded pride; her gradually estranged +affections thereupon; he knew her firmness, and her exaggerated ideas of +the inalienable allegiance of a son. He trembled to think, that now +indeed was come the first initial moment of his heavy trial. But though +he knew all the significance of his mother's attitude, as she stood +before him, intently eying him, with one hand upon the bell-cord; and +though he felt that the same opening of the door that should now admit +Dates, could not but give eternal exit to all confidence between him and +his mother; and though he felt, too, that this was his mother's latent +thought; nevertheless, he was girded up in his well-considered +resolution. + +"Pierre, Pierre! shall I touch the bell?" + +"Mother, stay!--yes do, sister." + +The bell was rung; and at the summons Dates entered; and looking with +some significance at Mrs. Glendinning, said,--"His Reverence has come, +my mistress, and is now in the west parlor." + +"Show Mr. Falsgrave in here immediately; and bring up the coffee; did I +not tell you I expected him to breakfast this morning?" + +"Yes, my mistress; but I thought that--that--just then"--glancing +alarmedly from mother to son. + +"Oh, my good Dates, nothing has happened," cried Mrs. Glendinning, +lightly, and with a bitter smile, looking toward her son,--"show Mr. +Falsgrave in. Pierre, I did not see thee, to tell thee, last night; but +Mr. Falsgrave breakfasts with us by invitation. I was at the parsonage +yesterday, to see him about that wretched affair of Delly, and we are +finally to settle upon what is to be done this morning. But my mind is +made up concerning Ned; no such profligate shall pollute this place; +nor shall the disgraceful Delly." + +Fortunately, the abrupt entrance of the clergyman, here turned away +attention from the sudden pallor of Pierre's countenance, and afforded +him time to rally. + +"Good morning, madam; good morning, sir;" said Mr. Falsgrave, in a +singularly mild, flute-like voice, turning to Mrs. Glendinning and her +son; the lady receiving him with answering cordiality, but Pierre too +embarrassed just then to be equally polite. As for one brief moment Mr. +Falsgrave stood before the pair, ere taking the offered chair from +Dates, his aspect was eminently attractive. + +There are certain ever-to-be-cherished moments in the life of almost any +man, when a variety of little foregoing circumstances all unite to make +him temporarily oblivious of whatever may be hard and bitter in his +life, and also to make him most amiably and ruddily disposed; when the +scene and company immediately before him are highly agreeable; and if at +such a time he chance involuntarily to put himself into a scenically +favorable bodily posture; then, in that posture, however transient, thou +shalt catch the noble stature of his Better Angel; catch a heavenly +glimpse of the latent heavenliness of man. It was so with Mr. Falsgrave +now. Not a house within a circuit of fifty miles that he preferred +entering before the mansion-house of Saddle Meadows; and though the +business upon which he had that morning come, was any thing but +relishable to him, yet that subject was not in his memory then. Before +him stood united in one person, the most exalted lady and the most +storied beauty of all the country round; and the finest, most +intellectual, and most congenial youth he knew. Before him also, stood +the generous foundress and the untiring patroness of the beautiful +little marble church, consecrated by the good Bishop, not four years +gone by. Before him also, stood--though in polite disguise--the same +untiring benefactress, from whose purse, he could not help suspecting, +came a great part of his salary, nominally supplied by the rental of the +pews. He had been invited to breakfast; a meal, which, in a +well-appointed country family, is the most cheerful circumstance of +daily life; he smelt all Java's spices in the aroma from the silver +coffee-urn; and well he knew, what liquid deliciousness would soon come +from it. Besides all this, and many more minutenesses of the kind, he +was conscious that Mrs. Glendinning entertained a particular partiality +for him (though not enough to marry him, as he ten times knew by very +bitter experience), and that Pierre was not behindhand in his esteem. + +And the clergyman was well worthy of it. Nature had been royally +bountiful to him in his person. In his happier moments, as the present, +his face was radiant with a courtly, but mild benevolence; his person +was nobly robust and dignified; while the remarkable smallness of his +feet, and the almost infantile delicacy, and vivid whiteness and purity +of his hands, strikingly contrasted with his fine girth and stature. For +in countries like America, where there is no distinct hereditary caste +of gentlemen, whose order is factitiously perpetuated as race-horses and +lords are in kingly lands; and especially, in those agricultural +districts, where, of a hundred hands, that drop a ballot for the +Presidency, ninety-nine shall be of the brownest and the brawniest; in +such districts, this daintiness of the fingers, when united with a +generally manly aspect, assumes a remarkableness unknown in European +nations. + +This most prepossessing form of the clergyman lost nothing by the +character of his manners, which were polished and unobtrusive, but +peculiarly insinuating, without the least appearance of craftiness or +affectation. Heaven had given him his fine, silver-keyed person for a +flute to play on in this world; and he was nearly the perfect master of +it. His graceful motions had the undulatoriness of melodious sounds. +You almost thought you heard, not saw him. So much the wonderful, yet +natural gentleman he seemed, that more than once Mrs. Glendinning had +held him up to Pierre as a splendid example of the polishing and +gentlemanizing influences of Christianity upon the mind and manners; +declaring, that extravagant as it might seem, she had always been of his +father's fancy,--that no man could be a complete gentleman, and preside +with dignity at his own table, unless he partook of the church's +sacraments. Nor in Mr. Falsgrave's case was this maxim entirely absurd. +The child of a poor northern farmer who had wedded a pretty sempstress, +the clergyman had no heraldic line of ancestry to show, as warrant and +explanation of his handsome person and gentle manners; the first, being +the willful partiality of nature; and the second, the consequence of a +scholastic life, attempered by a taste for the choicest female society, +however small, which he had always regarded as the best relish of +existence. If now his manners thus responded to his person, his mind +answered to them both, and was their finest illustration. Besides his +eloquent persuasiveness in the pulpit, various fugitive papers upon +subjects of nature, art, and literature, attested not only his refined +affinity to all beautiful things, visible or invisible; but likewise +that he possessed a genius for celebrating such things, which in a less +indolent and more ambitious nature, would have been sure to have gained +a fair poet's name ere now. For this Mr. Falsgrave was just hovering +upon his prime of years; a period which, in such a man, is the sweetest, +and, to a mature woman, by far the most attractive of manly life. Youth +has not yet completely gone with its beauty, grace, and strength; nor +has age at all come with its decrepitudes; though the finest undrossed +parts of it--its mildness and its wisdom--have gone on before, as +decorous chamberlains precede the sedan of some crutched king. + +Such was this Mr. Falsgrave, who now sat at Mrs. Glendinning's breakfast +table, a corner of one of that lady's generous napkins so inserted into +his snowy bosom, that its folds almost invested him as far down as the +table's edge; and he seemed a sacred priest, indeed, breakfasting in his +surplice. + +"Pray, Mr. Falsgrave," said Mrs. Glendinning, "break me off a bit of +that roll." + +Whether or not his sacerdotal experiences had strangely refined and +spiritualized so simple a process as breaking bread; or whether it was +from the spotless aspect of his hands: certain it is that Mr. Falsgrave +acquitted himself on this little occasion, in a manner that beheld of +old by Leonardo, might have given that artist no despicable hint +touching his celestial painting. As Pierre regarded him, sitting there +so mild and meek; such an image of white-browed and white-handed, and +napkined immaculateness; and as he felt the gentle humane radiations +which came from the clergyman's manly and rounded beautifulness; and as +he remembered all the good that he knew of this man, and all the good +that he had heard of him, and could recall no blemish in his character; +and as in his own concealed misery and forlornness, he contemplated the +open benevolence, and beaming excellent-heartedness of Mr. Falsgrave, +the thought darted through his mind, that if any living being was +capable of giving him worthy counsel in his strait; and if to any one he +could go with Christian propriety and some small hopefulness, that +person was the one before him. + +"Pray, Mr. Glendinning," said the clergyman, pleasantly, as Pierre was +silently offering to help him to some tongue--"don't let me rob you of +it--pardon me, but you seem to have very little yourself this morning, I +think. An execrable pun, I know: but"--turning toward Mrs. +Glendinning--"when one is made to feel very happy, one is somehow apt to +say very silly things. Happiness and silliness--ah, it's a suspicious +coincidence." + +"Mr. Falsgrave," said the hostess--"Your cup is empty. Dates!--We were +talking yesterday, Mr. Falsgrave, concerning that vile fellow, Ned." + +"Well, Madam," responded the gentleman, a very little uneasily. + +"He shall not stay on any ground of mine; my mind is made up, sir. +Infamous man!--did he not have a wife as virtuous and beautiful now, as +when I first gave her away at your altar?--It was the sheerest and most +gratuitous profligacy." + +The clergyman mournfully and assentingly moved his head. + +"Such men," continued the lady, flushing with the sincerest +indignation--"are to my way of thinking more detestable than murderers." + +"That is being a little hard upon them, my dear Madam," said Mr. +Falsgrave, mildly. + +"Do you not think so, Pierre"--now, said the lady, turning earnestly +upon her son--"is not the man, who has sinned like that Ned, worse than +a murderer? Has he not sacrificed one woman completely, and given infamy +to another--to both of them--for their portion. If his own legitimate +boy should now hate him, I could hardly blame him." + +"My dear Madam," said the clergyman, whose eyes having followed Mrs. +Glendinning's to her son's countenance, and marking a strange +trepidation there, had thus far been earnestly scrutinizing Pierre's not +wholly repressible emotion;--"My dear Madam," he said, slightly bending +over his stately episcopal-looking person--"Virtue has, perhaps, an +over-ardent champion in you; you grow too warm; but Mr. Glendinning, +here, he seems to grow too cold. Pray, favor us with your views, Mr. +Glendinning?" + +"I will not think now of the man," said Pierre, slowly, and looking away +from both his auditors--"let us speak of Delly and her infant--she has, +or had one, I have loosely heard;--their case is miserable indeed." + +"The mother deserves it," said the lady, inflexibly--"and the +child--Reverend sir, what are the words of the Bible?" + +"'The sins of the father shall be visited upon the children to the third +generation,'" said Mr. Falsgrave, with some slight reluctance in his +tones. "But Madam, that does not mean, that the community is in any way +to take the infamy of the children into their own voluntary hands, as +the conscious delegated stewards of God's inscrutable dispensations. +Because it is declared that the infamous consequences of sin shall be +hereditary, it does not follow that our personal and active loathing of +sin, should descend from the sinful sinner to his sinless child." + +"I understand you, sir," said Mrs. Glendinning, coloring slightly, "you +think me too censorious. But if we entirely forget the parentage of the +child, and every way receive the child as we would any other, feel for +it in all respects the same, and attach no sign of ignominy to it--how +then is the Bible dispensation to be fulfilled? Do we not then put +ourselves in the way of its fulfilment, and is that wholly free from +impiety?" + +Here it was the clergyman's turn to color a little, and there was a just +perceptible tremor of the under lip. + +"Pardon me," continued the lady, courteously, "but if there is any one +blemish in the character of the Reverend Mr. Falsgrave, it is that the +benevolence of his heart, too much warps in him the holy rigor of our +Church's doctrines. For my part, as I loathe the man, I loathe the +woman, and never desire to behold the child." + +A pause ensued, during which it was fortunate for Pierre, that by the +social sorcery of such occasions as the present, the eyes of all three +were intent upon the cloth; all three for the moment, giving loose to +their own distressful meditations upon the subject in debate, and Mr. +Falsgrave vexedly thinking that the scene was becoming a little +embarrassing. + +Pierre was the first who spoke; as before, he steadfastly kept his eyes +away from both his auditors; but though he did not designate his mother, +something in the tone of his voice showed that what he said was +addressed more particularly to her. + +"Since we seem to have been strangely drawn into the ethical aspect of +this melancholy matter," said he, "suppose we go further in it; and let +me ask, how it should be between the legitimate and the illegitimate +child--children of one father--when they shall have passed their +childhood?" + +Here the clergyman quickly raising his eyes, looked as surprised and +searchingly at Pierre, as his politeness would permit. + +"Upon my word"--said Mrs. Glendinning, hardly less surprised, and making +no attempt at disguising it--"this is an odd question you put; you have +been more attentive to the subject than I had fancied. But what do you +mean, Pierre? I did not entirely understand you." + +"Should the legitimate child shun the illegitimate, when one father is +father to both?" rejoined Pierre, bending his head still further over +his plate. + +The clergyman looked a little down again, and was silent; but still +turned his head slightly sideways toward his hostess, as if awaiting +some reply to Pierre from her. + +"Ask the world, Pierre"--said Mrs. Glendinning warmly--"and ask your own +heart." + +"My own heart? I will, Madam"--said Pierre, now looking up steadfastly; +"but what do _you_ think, Mr. Falsgrave?" letting his glance drop +again--"should the one shun the other; should the one refuse his highest +sympathy and perfect love for the other, especially if that other be +deserted by all the rest of the world? What think you would have been +our blessed Savior's thoughts on such a matter? And what was that he so +mildly said to the adulteress?" + +A swift color passed over the clergyman's countenance, suffusing even +his expanded brow; he slightly moved in his chair, and looked +uncertainly from Pierre to his mother. He seemed as a shrewd, +benevolent-minded man, placed between opposite opinions--merely +opinions--who, with a full, and doubly-differing persuasion in himself, +still refrains from uttering it, because of an irresistible dislike to +manifesting an absolute dissent from the honest convictions of any +person, whom he both socially and morally esteems. + +"Well, what do you reply to my son?"--said Mrs. Glendinning at last. + +"Madam and sir"--said the clergyman, now regaining his entire +self-possession. "It is one of the social disadvantages which we of the +pulpit labor under, that we are supposed to know more of the moral +obligations of humanity than other people. And it is a still more +serious disadvantage to the world, that our unconsidered, conversational +opinions on the most complex problems of ethics, are too apt to be +considered authoritative, as indirectly proceeding from the church +itself. Now, nothing can be more erroneous than such notions; and +nothing so embarrasses me, and deprives me of that entire serenity, +which is indispensable to the delivery of a careful opinion on moral +subjects, than when sudden questions of this sort are put to me in +company. Pardon this long preamble, for I have little more to say. It is +not every question, however direct, Mr. Glendinning, which can be +conscientiously answered with a yes or no. Millions of circumstances +modify all moral questions; so that though conscience may possibly +dictate freely in any known special case; yet, by one universal maxim, +to embrace all moral contingencies,--this is not only impossible, but +the attempt, to me, seems foolish." + +At this instant, the surplice-like napkin dropped from the clergyman's +bosom, showing a minute but exquisitely cut cameo brooch, representing +the allegorical union of the serpent and dove. It had been the gift of +an appreciative friend, and was sometimes worn on secular occasions like +the present. + +"I agree with you, sir"--said Pierre, bowing. "I fully agree with you. +And now, madam, let us talk of something else." + +"You madam me very punctiliously this morning, Mr. Glendinning"--said +his mother, half-bitterly smiling, and half-openly offended, but still +more surprised at Pierre's frigid demeanor. + +"'Honor thy father and mother;'" said Pierre--"_both_ father and +mother," he unconsciously added. "And now that it strikes me, Mr. +Falsgrave, and now that we have become so strangely polemical this +morning, let me say, that as that command is justly said to be the only +one with a promise, so it seems to be without any contingency in the +application. It would seem--would it not, sir?--that the most deceitful +and hypocritical of fathers should be equally honored by the son, as the +purest." + +"So it would certainly seem, according to the strict letter of the +Decalogue--certainly." + +"And do you think, sir, that it should be so held, and so applied in +actual life? For instance, should I honor my father, if I knew him to be +a seducer?" + +"Pierre! Pierre!" said his mother, profoundly coloring, and half rising; +"there is no need of these argumentative assumptions. You very immensely +forget yourself this morning." + +"It is merely the interest of the general question, Madam," returned +Pierre, coldly. "I am sorry. If your former objection does not apply +here, Mr. Falsgrave, will you favor me with an answer to my question?" + +"There you are again, Mr. Glendinning," said the clergyman, thankful for +Pierre's hint; "that is another question in morals absolutely incapable +of a definite answer, which shall be universally applicable." Again the +surplice-like napkin chanced to drop. + +"I am tacitly rebuked again then, sir," said Pierre, slowly; "but I +admit that perhaps you are again in the right. And now, Madam, since Mr. +Falsgrave and yourself have a little business together, to which my +presence is not necessary, and may possibly prove quite dispensable, +permit me to leave you. I am going off on a long ramble, so you need not +wait dinner for me. Good morning, Mr. Falsgrave; good morning, Madam," +looking toward his mother. + +As the door closed upon him, Mr. Falsgrave spoke--"Mr. Glendinning looks +a little pale to-day: has he been ill?" + +"Not that I know of," answered the lady, indifferently, "but did you +ever see young gentleman so stately as he was! Extraordinary!" she +murmured; "what can this mean--Madam--Madam? But your cup is empty +again, sir"--reaching forth her hand. + +"No more, no more, Madam," said the clergyman. + +"Madam? pray don't Madam me any more, Mr. Falsgrave; I have taken a +sudden hatred to that title." + +"Shall it be Your Majesty, then?" said the clergyman, gallantly; "the +May Queens are so styled, and so should be the Queens of October." + +Here the lady laughed. "Come," said she, "let us go into another room, +and settle the affair of that infamous Ned and that miserable Delly." + + +V. + +The swiftness and unrepellableness of the billow which, with its first +shock, had so profoundly whelmed Pierre, had not only poured into his +soul a tumult of entirely new images and emotions, but, for the time, it +almost entirely drove out of him all previous ones. The things that any +way bore directly upon the pregnant fact of Isabel, these things were +all animate and vividly present to him; but the things which bore more +upon himself, and his own personal condition, as now forever involved +with his sister's, these things were not so animate and present to him. +The conjectured past of Isabel took mysterious hold of his father; +therefore, the idea of his father tyrannized over his imagination; and +the possible future of Isabel, as so essentially though indirectly +compromisable by whatever course of conduct his mother might hereafter +ignorantly pursue with regard to himself, as henceforth, through Isabel, +forever altered to her; these considerations brought his mother with +blazing prominence before him. + +Heaven, after all, hath been a little merciful to the miserable man; not +entirely untempered to human nature are the most direful blasts of Fate. +When on all sides assailed by prospects of disaster, whose final ends +are in terror hidden from it, the soul of man--either, as instinctively +convinced that it can not battle with the whole host at once; or else, +benevolently blinded to the larger arc of the circle which menacingly +hems it in;--whichever be the truth, the soul of man, thus surrounded, +can not, and does never intelligently confront the totality of its +wretchedness. The bitter drug is divided into separate draughts for him: +to-day he takes one part of his woe; to-morrow he takes more; and so on, +till the last drop is drunk. + +Not that in the despotism of other things, the thought of Lucy, and the +unconjecturable suffering into which she might so soon be plunged, owing +to the threatening uncertainty of the state of his own future, as now in +great part and at all hazards dedicated to Isabel; not that this thought +had thus far been alien to him. Icy-cold, and serpent-like, it had +overlayingly crawled in upon his other shuddering imaginings; but those +other thoughts would as often upheave again, and absorb it into +themselves, so that it would in that way soon disappear from his +cotemporary apprehension. The prevailing thoughts connected with Isabel +he now could front with prepared and open eyes; but the occasional +thought of Lucy, when _that_ started up before him, he could only cover +his bewildered eyes with his bewildered hands. Nor was this the +cowardice of selfishness, but the infinite sensitiveness of his soul. He +could bear the agonizing thought of Isabel, because he was immediately +resolved to help her, and to assuage a fellow-being's grief; but, as +yet, he could not bear the thought of Lucy, because the very resolution +that promised balm to Isabel obscurely involved the everlasting peace of +Lucy, and therefore aggravatingly threatened a far more than +fellow-being's happiness. + +Well for Pierre it was, that the penciling presentiments of his mind +concerning Lucy as quickly erased as painted their tormenting images. +Standing half-befogged upon the mountain of his Fate, all that part of +the wide panorama was wrapped in clouds to him; but anon those +concealings slid aside, or rather, a quick rent was made in them; +disclosing far below, half-vailed in the lower mist, the winding +tranquil vale and stream of Lucy's previous happy life; through the +swift cloud-rent he caught one glimpse of her expectant and angelic face +peeping from the honey-suckled window of her cottage; and the next +instant the stormy pinions of the clouds locked themselves over it +again; and all was hidden as before; and all went confused in whirling +rack and vapor as before. Only by unconscious inspiration, caught from +the agencies invisible to man, had he been enabled to write that first +obscurely announcing note to Lucy; wherein the collectedness, and the +mildness, and the calmness, were but the natural though insidious +precursors of the stunning bolts on bolts to follow. + +But, while thus, for the most part wrapped from his consciousness and +vision, still, the condition of his Lucy, as so deeply affected now, was +still more and more disentangling and defining itself from out its +nearer mist, and even beneath the general upper fog. For when +unfathomably stirred, the subtler elements of man do not always reveal +themselves in the concocting act; but, as with all other potencies, show +themselves chiefly in their ultimate resolvings and results. Strange +wild work, and awfully symmetrical and reciprocal, was that now going on +within the self-apparently chaotic breast of Pierre. As in his own +conscious determinations, the mournful Isabel was being snatched from +her captivity of world-wide abandonment; so, deeper down in the more +secret chambers of his unsuspecting soul, the smiling Lucy, now as dead +and ashy pale, was being bound a ransom for Isabel's salvation. Eye for +eye, and tooth for tooth. Eternally inexorable and unconcerned is Fate, +a mere heartless trader in men's joys and woes. + +Nor was this general and spontaneous self-concealment of all the most +momentous interests of his love, as irretrievably involved with Isabel +and his resolution respecting her; nor was this unbidden thing in him +unseconded by the prompting of his own conscious judgment, when in the +tyranny of the master-event itself, that judgment was permitted some +infrequent play. He could not but be aware, that all meditation on Lucy +now was worse than useless. How could he now map out his and her young +life-chart, when all was yet misty-white with creamy breakers! Still +more: divinely dedicated as he felt himself to be; with divine commands +upon him to befriend and champion Isabel, through all conceivable +contingencies of Time and Chance; how could he insure himself against +the insidious inroads of self-interest, and hold intact all his +unselfish magnanimities, if once he should permit the distracting +thought of Lucy to dispute with Isabel's the pervading possession of his +soul? + +And if--though but unconsciously as yet--he was almost superhumanly +prepared to make a sacrifice of all objects dearest to him, and cut +himself away from his last hopes of common happiness, should they cross +his grand enthusiast resolution;--if this was so with him; then, how +light as gossamer, and thinner and more impalpable than airiest threads +of gauze, did he hold all common conventional regardings;--his +hereditary duty to his mother, his pledged worldly faith and honor to +the hand and seal of his affiancement? + +Not that at present all these things did thus present themselves to +Pierre; but these things were foetally forming in him. Impregnations +from high enthusiasms he had received; and the now incipient offspring +which so stirred, with such painful, vague vibrations in his soul; this, +in its mature development, when it should at last come forth in living +deeds, would scorn all personal relationship with Pierre, and hold his +heart's dearest interests for naught. + +Thus, in the Enthusiast to Duty, the heaven-begotten Christ is born; and +will not own a mortal parent, and spurns and rends all mortal bonds. + + +VI. + +One night, one day, and a small part of the one ensuing evening had been +given to Pierre to prepare for the momentous interview with Isabel. + +Now, thank God, thought Pierre, the night is past,--the night of Chaos +and of Doom; the day only, and the skirt of evening now remain. May +heaven new-string my soul, and confirm me in the Christ-like feeling I +first felt. May I, in all my least shapeful thoughts still square myself +by the inflexible rule of holy right. Let no unmanly, mean temptation +cross my path this day; let no base stone lie in it. This day I will +forsake the censuses of men, and seek the suffrages of the god-like +population of the trees, which now seem to me a nobler race than man. +Their high foliage shall drop heavenliness upon me; my feet in contact +with their mighty roots, immortal vigor shall so steal into me. Guide +me, gird me, guard me, this day, ye sovereign powers! Bind me in bonds I +can not break; remove all sinister allurings from me; eternally this day +deface in me the detested and distorted images of all the convenient +lies and duty-subterfuges of the diving and ducking moralities of this +earth. Fill me with consuming fire for them; to my life's muzzle, cram +me with your own intent. Let no world-syren come to sing to me this day, +and wheedle from me my undauntedness. I cast my eternal die this day, ye +powers. On my strong faith in ye Invisibles, I stake three whole +felicities, and three whole lives this day. If ye forsake me +now,--farewell to Faith, farewell to Truth, farewell to God; exiled for +aye from God and man, I shall declare myself an equal power with both; +free to make war on Night and Day, and all thoughts and things of mind +and matter, which the upper and the nether firmaments do clasp! + + +VII. + +But Pierre, though, charged with the fire of all divineness, his +containing thing was made of clay. Ah, muskets the gods have made to +carry infinite combustions, and yet made them of clay! + +Save me from being bound to Truth, liege lord, as I am now. How shall I +steal yet further into Pierre, and show how this heavenly fire was +helped to be contained in him, by mere contingent things, and things +that he knew not. But I shall follow the endless, winding way,--the +flowing river in the cave of man; careless whither I be led, reckless +where I land. + +Was not the face--though mutely mournful--beautiful, bewitchingly? How +unfathomable those most wondrous eyes of supernatural light! In those +charmed depths, Grief and Beauty plunged and dived together. So +beautiful, so mystical, so bewilderingly alluring; speaking of a +mournfulness infinitely sweeter and more attractive than all +mirthfulness; that face of glorious suffering; that face of touching +loveliness; that face was Pierre's own sister's; that face was Isabel's; +that face Pierre had visibly seen; into those same supernatural eyes +our Pierre had looked. Thus, already, and ere the proposed encounter, he +was assured that, in a transcendent degree, womanly beauty, and not +womanly ugliness, invited him to champion the right. Be naught concealed +in this book of sacred truth. How, if accosted in some squalid lane, a +humped, and crippled, hideous girl should have snatched his garment's +hem, with--"Save me, Pierre--love me, own me, brother; I am thy +sister!"--Ah, if man were wholly made in heaven, why catch we +hell-glimpses? Why in the noblest marble pillar that stands beneath the +all-comprising vault, ever should we descry the sinister vein? We lie in +nature very close to God; and though, further on, the stream may be +corrupted by the banks it flows through; yet at the fountain's rim, +where mankind stand, there the stream infallibly bespeaks the fountain. + +So let no censorious word be here hinted of mortal Pierre. Easy for me +to slyly hide these things, and always put him before the eye as perfect +as immaculate; unsusceptible to the inevitable nature and the lot of +common men. I am more frank with Pierre than the best men are with +themselves. I am all unguarded and magnanimous with Pierre; therefore +you see his weakness, and therefore only. In reserves men build imposing +characters; not in revelations. He who shall be wholly honest, though +nobler than Ethan Allen; that man shall stand in danger of the meanest +mortal's scorn. + + + + +BOOK VI. + +ISABEL, AND THE FIRST PART OF THE STORY OF ISABEL. + + +I. + +Half wishful that the hour would come; half shuddering that every moment +it still came nearer and more near to him; dry-eyed, but wet with that +dark day's rain; at fall of eve, Pierre emerged from long wanderings in +the primeval woods of Saddle Meadows, and for one instant stood +motionless upon their sloping skirt. + +Where he stood was in the rude wood road, only used by sledges in the +time of snow; just where the out-posted trees formed a narrow arch, and +fancied gateway leading upon the far, wide pastures sweeping down toward +the lake. In that wet and misty eve the scattered, shivering pasture +elms seemed standing in a world inhospitable, yet rooted by inscrutable +sense of duty to their place. Beyond, the lake lay in one sheet of +blankness and of dumbness, unstirred by breeze or breath; fast bound +there it lay, with not life enough to reflect the smallest shrub or +twig. Yet in that lake was seen the duplicate, stirless sky above. Only +in sunshine did that lake catch gay, green images; and these but +displaced the imaged muteness of the unfeatured heavens. + +On both sides, in the remoter distance, and also far beyond the mild +lake's further shore, rose the long, mysterious mountain masses; shaggy +with pines and hemlocks, mystical with nameless, vapory exhalations, and +in that dim air black with dread and gloom. At their base, profoundest +forests lay entranced, and from their far owl-haunted depths of caves +and rotted leaves, and unused and unregarded inland overgrowth of +decaying wood--for smallest sticks of which, in other climes many a +pauper was that moment perishing; from out the infinite inhumanities of +those profoundest forests, came a moaning, muttering, roaring, +intermitted, changeful sound: rain-shakings of the palsied trees, +slidings of rocks undermined, final crashings of long-riven boughs, and +devilish gibberish of the forest-ghosts. + +But more near, on the mild lake's hither shore, where it formed a long +semi-circular and scooped acclivity of corn-fields, there the small and +low red farm-house lay; its ancient roof a bed of brightest mosses; its +north front (from the north the moss-wind blows), also moss-incrusted, +like the north side of any vast-trunked maple in the groves. At one +gabled end, a tangled arbor claimed support, and paid for it by generous +gratuities of broad-flung verdure, one viny shaft of which pointed +itself upright against the chimney-bricks, as if a waving lightning-rod. +Against the other gable, you saw the lowly dairy-shed; its sides close +netted with traced Madeira vines; and had you been close enough, peeping +through that imprisoning tracery, and through the light slats barring +the little embrasure of a window, you might have seen the gentle and +contented captives--the pans of milk, and the snow-white Dutch cheeses +in a row, and the molds of golden butter, and the jars of lily cream. In +front, three straight gigantic lindens stood guardians of this verdant +spot. A long way up, almost to the ridge-pole of the house, they showed +little foliage; but then, suddenly, as three huge green balloons, they +poised their three vast, inverted, rounded cones of verdure in the air. + +Soon as Pierre's eye rested on the place, a tremor shook him. Not alone +because of Isabel, as there a harborer now, but because of two dependent +and most strange coincidences which that day's experience had brought to +him. He had gone to breakfast with his mother, his heart charged to +overflowing with presentiments of what would probably be her haughty +disposition concerning such a being as Isabel, claiming her maternal +love: and lo! the Reverend Mr. Falsgrave enters, and Ned and Delly are +discussed, and that whole sympathetic matter, which Pierre had despaired +of bringing before his mother in all its ethic bearings, so as +absolutely to learn her thoughts upon it, and thereby test his own +conjectures; all that matter had been fully talked about; so that, +through that strange coincidence, he now perfectly knew his mother's +mind, and had received forewarnings, as if from heaven, not to make any +present disclosure to her. That was in the morning; and now, at eve +catching a glimpse of the house where Isabel was harboring, at once he +recognized it as the rented farm-house of old Walter Ulver, father to +the self-same Delly, forever ruined through the cruel arts of Ned. + +Strangest feelings, almost supernatural, now stole into Pierre. With +little power to touch with awe the souls of less susceptible, +reflective, and poetic beings, such coincidences, however frequently +they may recur, ever fill the finer organization with sensations which +transcend all verbal renderings. They take hold of life's subtlest +problem. With the lightning's flash, the query is spontaneously +propounded--chance, or God? If too, the mind thus influenced be likewise +a prey to any settled grief, then on all sides the query magnifies, and +at last takes in the all-comprehending round of things. For ever is it +seen, that sincere souls in suffering, then most ponder upon final +causes. The heart, stirred to its depths, finds correlative sympathy in +the head, which likewise is profoundly moved. Before miserable men, when +intellectual, all the ages of the world pass as in a manacled +procession, and all their myriad links rattle in the mournful mystery. + +Pacing beneath the long-skirting shadows of the elevated wood, waiting +for the appointed hour to come, Pierre strangely strove to imagine to +himself the scene which was destined to ensue. But imagination utterly +failed him here; the reality was too real for him; only the face, the +face alone now visited him; and so accustomed had he been of late to +confound it with the shapes of air, that he almost trembled when he +thought that face to face, that face must shortly meet his own. + +And now the thicker shadows begin to fall; the place is lost to him; +only the three dim, tall lindens pilot him as he descends the hill, +hovering upon the house. He knows it not, but his meditative route is +sinuous; as if that moment his thought's stream was likewise +serpentining: laterally obstructed by insinuated misgivings as to the +ultimate utilitarian advisability of the enthusiast resolution that was +his. His steps decrease in quickness as he comes more nigh, and sees one +feeble light struggling in the rustic double-casement. Infallibly he +knows that his own voluntary steps are taking him forever from the +brilliant chandeliers of the mansion of Saddle Meadows, to join company +with the wretched rush-lights of poverty and woe. But his sublime +intuitiveness also paints to him the sun-like glories of god-like truth +and virtue; which though ever obscured by the dense fogs of earth, still +shall shine eventually in unclouded radiance, casting illustrative light +upon the sapphire throne of God. + + +II. + +He stands before the door; the house is steeped in silence; he knocks; +the casement light flickers for a moment, and then moves away; within, +he hears a door creak on its hinges; then his whole heart beats wildly +as the outer latch is lifted; and holding the light above her +supernatural head, Isabel stands before him. It is herself. No word is +spoken; no other soul is seen. They enter the room of the double +casement; and Pierre sits down, overpowered with bodily faintness and +spiritual awe. He lifts his eyes to Isabel's gaze of loveliness and +loneliness; and then a low, sweet, half-sobbing voice of more than +natural musicalness is heard:-- + +"And so, thou art my brother;--shall I call thee Pierre?" + +Steadfastly, with his one first and last fraternal inquisition of the +person of the mystic girl, Pierre now for an instant eyes her; and in +that one instant sees in the imploring face, not only the nameless +touchingness of that of the sewing-girl, but also the subtler expression +of the portrait of his then youthful father, strangely translated, and +intermarryingly blended with some before unknown, foreign feminineness. +In one breath, Memory and Prophecy, and Intuition tell him--"Pierre, +have no reserves; no minutest possible doubt;--this being is thy sister; +thou gazest on thy father's flesh." + +"And so thou art my brother!--shall I call thee Pierre?" + +He sprang to his feet, and caught her in his undoubting arms. + +"Thou art! thou art!" + +He felt a faint struggling within his clasp; her head drooped against +him; his whole form was bathed in the flowing glossiness of her long and +unimprisoned hair. Brushing the locks aside, he now gazed upon the +death-like beauty of the face, and caught immortal sadness from it. She +seemed as dead; as suffocated,--the death that leaves most unimpaired +the latent tranquillities and sweetnesses of the human countenance. + +He would have called aloud for succor; but the slow eyes opened upon +him; and slowly he felt the girl's supineness leaving her; and now she +recovers herself a little,--and again he feels her faintly struggling in +his arms, as if somehow abashed, and incredulous of mortal right to hold +her so. Now Pierre repents his over-ardent and incautious warmth, and +feels himself all reverence for her. Tenderly he leads her to a bench +within the double casement; and sits beside her; and waits in silence, +till the first shock of this encounter shall have left her more composed +and more prepared to hold communion with him. + +"How feel'st thou now, my sister?" + +"Bless thee! bless thee!" + +Again the sweet, wild power of the musicalness of the voice, and some +soft, strange touch of foreignness in the accent,--so it fancifully +seemed to Pierre, thrills through and through his soul. He bent and +kissed her brow; and then feels her hand seeking his, and then clasping +it without one uttered word. + +All his being is now condensed in that one sensation of the clasping +hand. He feels it as very small and smooth, but strangely hard. Then he +knew that by the lonely labor of her hands, his own father's daughter +had earned her living in the same world, where he himself, her own +brother, had so idly dwelled. Once more he reverently kissed her brow, +and his warm breath against it murmured with a prayer to heaven. + +"I have no tongue to speak to thee, Pierre, my brother. My whole being, +all my life's thoughts and longings are in endless arrears to thee; then +how can I speak to thee? Were it God's will, Pierre, my utmost blessing +now, were to lie down and die. Then should I be at peace. Bear with me, +Pierre." + +"Eternally will I do that, my beloved Isabel! Speak not to me yet +awhile, if that seemeth best to thee, if that only is possible to thee. +This thy clasping hand, my sister, _this_ is now thy tongue to me." + +"I know not where to begin to speak to thee, Pierre; and yet my soul +o'erbrims in me." + +"From my heart's depths, I love and reverence thee; and feel for thee, +backward and forward, through all eternity!" + +"Oh, Pierre, can'st thou not cure in me this dreaminess, this +bewilderingness I feel? My poor head swims and swims, and will not +pause. My life can not last long thus; I am too full without discharge. +Conjure tears for me, Pierre; that my heart may not break with the +present feeling,--more death-like to me than all my grief gone by!" + +"Ye thirst-slaking evening skies, ye hilly dews and mists, distil your +moisture here! The bolt hath passed; why comes not the following +shower?--Make her to weep!" + +Then her head sought his support; and big drops fell on him; and anon, +Isabel gently slid her head from him, and sat a little composedly beside +him. + +"If thou feelest in endless arrears of thought to me, my sister; so do I +feel toward thee. I too, scarce know what I should speak to thee. But +when thou lookest on me, my sister, thou beholdest one, who in his soul +hath taken vows immutable, to be to thee, in all respects, and to the +uttermost bounds and possibilities of Fate, thy protecting and +all-acknowledging brother!" + +"Not mere sounds of common words, but inmost tones of my heart's deepest +melodies should now be audible to thee. Thou speakest to a human thing, +but something heavenly should answer thee;--some flute heard in the air +should answer thee; for sure thy most undreamed-of accents, Pierre, sure +they have not been unheard on high. Blessings that are imageless to all +mortal fancyings, these shall be thine for this." + +"Blessing like to thine, doth but recoil and bless homeward to the heart +that uttered it. I can not bless thee, my sister, as thou dost bless +thyself in blessing my unworthiness. But, Isabel, by still keeping +present the first wonder of our meeting, we shall make our hearts all +feebleness. Let me then rehearse to thee what Pierre is; what life +hitherto he hath been leading; and what hereafter he shall lead;--so +thou wilt be prepared." + +"Nay, Pierre, that is my office; thou art first entitled to my tale, +then, if it suit thee, thou shalt make me the unentitled gift of thine. +Listen to me, now. The invisible things will give me strength;--it is +not much, Pierre;--nor aught very marvelous. Listen then;--I feel +soothed down to utterance now." + +During some brief, interluding, silent pauses in their interview thus +far, Pierre had heard a soft, slow, sad, to-and-fro, meditative stepping +on the floor above; and in the frequent pauses that intermitted the +strange story in the following chapter, that same soft, slow, sad, +to-and-fro, meditative, and most melancholy stepping, was again and +again audible in the silent room. + + +III. + +"I never knew a mortal mother. The farthest stretch of my life's memory +can not recall one single feature of such a face. If, indeed, mother of +mine hath lived, she is long gone, and cast no shadow on the ground she +trod. Pierre, the lips that do now speak to thee, never touched a +woman's breast; I seem not of woman born. My first dim life-thoughts +cluster round an old, half-ruinous house in some region, for which I now +have no chart to seek it out. If such a spot did ever really exist, that +too seems to have been withdrawn from all the remainder of the earth. It +was a wild, dark house, planted in the midst of a round, cleared, +deeply-sloping space, scooped out of the middle of deep stunted pine +woods. Ever I shrunk at evening from peeping out of my window, lest the +ghostly pines should steal near to me, and reach out their grim arms to +snatch me into their horrid shadows. In summer the forest unceasingly +hummed with unconjecturable voices of unknown birds and beasts. In +winter its deep snows were traced like any paper map, with dotting +night-tracks of four-footed creatures, that, even to the sun, were never +visible, and never were seen by man at all. In the round open space the +dark house stood, without one single green twig or leaf to shelter it; +shadeless and shelterless in the heart of shade and shelter. Some of the +windows were rudely boarded up, with boards nailed straight up and down; +and those rooms were utterly empty, and never were entered, though they +were doorless. But often, from the echoing corridor, I gazed into them +with fear; for the great fire-places were all in ruins; the lower tier +of back-stones were burnt into one white, common crumbling; and the +black bricks above had fallen upon the hearths, heaped here and there +with the still falling soot of long-extinguished fires. Every +hearth-stone in that house had one long crack through it; every floor +drooped at the corners; and outside, the whole base of the house, where +it rested on the low foundation of greenish stones, was strewn with +dull, yellow molderings of the rotting sills. No name; no scrawled or +written thing; no book, was in the house; no one memorial speaking of +its former occupants. It was dumb as death. No grave-stone, or mound, or +any little hillock around the house, betrayed any past burials of man or +child. And thus, with no trace then to me of its past history, thus it +hath now entirely departed and perished from my slightest knowledge as +to where that house so stood, or in what region it so stood. None other +house like it have I ever seen. But once I saw plates of the outside of +French chateaux which powerfully recalled its dim image to me, +especially the two rows of small dormer windows projecting from the +inverted hopper-roof. But that house was of wood, and these of stone. +Still, sometimes I think that house was not in this country, but +somewhere in Europe; perhaps in France; but it is all bewildering to me; +and so you must not start at me, for I can not but talk wildly upon so +wild a theme. + +"In this house I never saw any living human soul, but an old man and +woman. The old man's face was almost black with age, and was one purse +of wrinkles, his hoary beard always tangled, streaked with dust and +earthy crumbs. I think in summer he toiled a little in the garden, or +some spot like that, which lay on one side of the house. All my ideas +are in uncertainty and confusion here. But the old man and the old woman +seem to have fastened themselves indelibly upon my memory. I suppose +their being the only human things around me then, _that_ caused the hold +they took upon me. They seldom spoke to me; but would sometimes, of +dark, gusty nights, sit by the fire and stare at me, and then mumble to +each other, and then stare at me again. They were not entirely unkind to +me; but, I repeat, they seldom or never spoke to me. What words or +language they used to each other, this it is impossible for me to +recall. I have often wished to; for then I might at least have some +additional idea whether the house was in this country or somewhere +beyond the sea. And here I ought to say, that sometimes I have, I know +not what sort of vague remembrances of at one time--shortly after the +period I now speak of--chattering in two different childish languages; +one of which waned in me as the other and latter grew. But more of this +anon. It was the woman that gave me my meals; for I did not eat with +them. Once they sat by the fire with a loaf between them, and a bottle +of some thin sort of reddish wine; and I went up to them, and asked to +eat with them, and touched the loaf. But instantly the old man made a +motion as if to strike me, but did not, and the woman, glaring at me, +snatched the loaf and threw it into the fire before them. I ran +frightened from the room; and sought a cat, which I had often tried to +coax into some intimacy, but, for some strange cause, without success. +But in my frightened loneliness, then, I sought the cat again, and found +her up-stairs, softly scratching for some hidden thing among the litter +of the abandoned fire-places. I called to her, for I dared not go into +the haunted chamber; but she only gazed sideways and unintelligently +toward me; and continued her noiseless searchings. I called again, and +then she turned round and hissed at me; and I ran down stairs, still +stung with the thought of having been driven away there, too. I now knew +not where to go to rid myself of my loneliness. At last I went outside +of the house, and sat down on a stone, but its coldness went up to my +heart, and I rose and stood on my feet. But my head was dizzy; I could +not stand; I fell, and knew no more. But next morning I found myself in +bed in my uncheerable room, and some dark bread and a cup of water by +me. + +"It has only been by chance that I have told thee this one particular +reminiscence of my early life in that house. I could tell many more like +it, but this is enough to show what manner of life I led at that time. +Every day that I then lived, I felt all visible sights and all audible +sounds growing stranger and stranger, and fearful and more fearful to +me. To me the man and the woman were just like the cat; none of them +would speak to me; none of them were comprehensible to me. And the man, +and the woman, and the cat, were just like the green foundation stones +of the house to me; I knew not whence they came, or what cause they had +for being there. I say again, no living human soul came to the house but +the man and the woman; but sometimes the old man early trudged away to a +road that led through the woods, and would not come back till late in +the evening; he brought the dark bread, and the thin, reddish wine with +him. Though the entrance to the wood was not so very far from the door, +yet he came so slowly and infirmly trudging with his little load, that +it seemed weary hours on hours between my first descrying him among the +trees, and his crossing the splintered threshold. + +"Now the wide and vacant blurrings of my early life thicken in my mind. +All goes wholly memoryless to me now. It may have been that about that +time I grew sick with some fever, in which for a long interval I lost +myself. Or it may be true, which I have heard, that after the period of +our very earliest recollections, then a space intervenes of entire +unknowingness, followed again by the first dim glimpses of the +succeeding memory, more or less distinctly embracing all our past up to +that one early gap in it. + +"However this may be, nothing more can I recall of the house in the wide +open space; nothing of how at last I came to leave it; but I must have +been still extremely young then. But some uncertain, tossing memory have +I of being at last in another round, open space, but immensely larger +than the first one, and with no encircling belt of woods. Yet often it +seems to me that there were three tall, straight things like pine-trees +somewhere there nigh to me at times; and that they fearfully shook and +snapt as the old trees used to in the mountain storms. And the floors +seemed sometimes to droop at the corners still more steeply than the old +floors did; and changefully drooped too, so that I would even seem to +feel them drooping under me. + +"Now, too, it was that, as it sometimes seems to me, I first and last +chattered in the two childish languages I spoke of a little time ago. +There seemed people about me, some of whom talked one, and some the +other; but I talked both; yet one not so readily as the other; and but +beginningly as it were; still this other was the one which was gradually +displacing the former. The men who--as it sometimes dreamily seems to me +at times--often climbed the three strange tree-like things, they +talked--I needs must think--if indeed I have any real thought about so +bodiless a phantom as this is--they talked the language which I speak of +as at this time gradually waning in me. It was a bonny tongue; oh, seems +to me so sparkling-gay and lightsome; just the tongue for a child like +me, if the child had not been so sad always. It was pure children's +language, Pierre; so twittering--such a chirp. + +"In thy own mind, thou must now perceive, that most of these dim +remembrances in me, hint vaguely of a ship at sea. But all is dim and +vague to me. Scarce know I at any time whether I tell you real things, +or the unrealest dreams. Always in me, the solidest things melt into +dreams, and dreams into solidities. Never have I wholly recovered from +the effects of my strange early life. This it is, that even now--this +moment--surrounds thy visible form, my brother, with a mysterious +mistiness; so that a second face, and a third face, and a fourth face +peep at me from within thy own. Now dim, and more dim, grows in me all +the memory of how thou and I did come to meet. I go groping again amid +all sorts of shapes, which part to me; so that I seem to advance through +the shapes; and yet the shapes have eyes that look at me. I turn round, +and they look at me; I step forward, and they look at me.--Let me be +silent now; do not speak to me." + + +IV. + +Filled with nameless wonderings at this strange being, Pierre sat mute, +intensely regarding her half-averted aspect. Her immense soft tresses of +the jettiest hair had slantingly fallen over her as though a curtain +were half drawn from before some saint enshrined. To Pierre, she seemed +half unearthly; but this unearthliness was only her mysteriousness, not +any thing that was repelling or menacing to him. And still, the low +melodies of her far interior voice hovered in sweet echoes in the room; +and were trodden upon, and pressed like gushing grapes, by the steady +invisible pacing on the floor above. + +She moved a little now, and after some strange wanderings more +coherently continued. + +"My next memory which I think I can in some degree rely upon, was yet +another house, also situated away from human haunts, in the heart of a +not entirely silent country. Through this country, and by the house, +wound a green and lagging river. That house must have been in some +lowland; for the first house I spoke of seems to me to have been +somewhere among mountains, or near to mountains;--the sounds of the far +waterfalls,--I seem to hear them now; the steady up-pointed cloud-shapes +behind the house in the sunset sky--I seem to see them now. But this +other house, this second one, or third one, I know not which, I say +again it was in some lowland. There were no pines around it; few trees +of any sort; the ground did not slope so steeply as around the first +house. There were cultivated fields about it, and in the distance +farm-houses, and out-houses, and cattle, and fowls, and many objects of +that familiar sort. This house I am persuaded was in this country; on +this side of the sea. It was a very large house, and full of people; but +for the most part they lived separately. There were some old people in +it, and there were young men, and young women in it,--some very +handsome; and there were children in it. It seemed a happy place to some +of these people; many of them were always laughing; but it was not a +happy place for me. + +"But here I may err, because of my own consciousness I can not identify +in myself--I mean in the memory of my whole foregoing life,--I say, I +can not identify that thing which is called happiness; that thing whose +token is a laugh, or a smile, or a silent serenity on the lip. I may +have been happy, but it is not in my conscious memory now. Nor do I feel +a longing for it, as though I had never had it; my spirit seeks +different food from happiness; for I think I have a suspicion of what it +is. I have suffered wretchedness, but not because of the absence of +happiness, and without praying for happiness. I pray for peace--for +motionlessness--for the feeling of myself, as of some plant, absorbing +life without seeking it, and existing without individual sensation. I +feel that there can be no perfect peace in individualness. Therefore I +hope one day to feel myself drank up into the pervading spirit animating +all things. I feel I am an exile here. I still go straying.--Yes; in thy +speech, thou smilest.--But let me be silent again. Do not answer me. +When I resume, I will not wander so, but make short end." + +Reverently resolved not to offer the slightest let or hinting hindrance +to the singular tale rehearsing to him, but to sit passively and receive +its marvelous droppings into his soul, however long the pauses; and as +touching less mystical considerations, persuaded that by so doing he +should ultimately derive the least nebulous and imperfect account of +Isabel's history; Pierre still sat waiting her resuming, his eyes fixed +upon the girl's wonderfully beautiful ear, which chancing to peep forth +from among her abundant tresses, nestled in that blackness like a +transparent sea-shell of pearl. + +She moved a little now; and after some strange wanderings more +coherently continued; while the sound of the stepping on the floor +above--it seemed to cease. + +"I have spoken of the second or rather the third spot in my memory of +the past, as it first appeared to me; I mean, I have spoken of the +people in the house, according to my very earliest recallable impression +of them. But I stayed in that house for several years--five, six, +perhaps, seven years--and during that interval of my stay, all things +changed to me, because I learned more, though always dimly. Some of its +occupants departed; some changed from smiles to tears; some went moping +all the day; some grew as savages and outrageous, and were dragged +below by dumb-like men into deep places, that I knew nothing of, but +dismal sounds came through the lower floor, groans and clanking +fallings, as of iron in straw. Now and then, I saw coffins silently at +noon-day carried into the house, and in five minutes' time emerge again, +seemingly heavier than they entered; but I saw not who was in them. +Once, I saw an immense-sized coffin, endwise pushed through a lower +window by three men who did not speak; and watching, I saw it pushed out +again, and they drove off with it. But the numbers of those invisible +persons who thus departed from the house, were made good by other +invisible persons arriving in close carriages. Some in rags and tatters +came on foot, or rather were driven on foot. Once I heard horrible +outcries, and peeping from my window, saw a robust but squalid and +distorted man, seemingly a peasant, tied by cords with four long ends to +them, held behind by as many ignorant-looking men who with a lash drove +the wild squalid being that way toward the house. Then I heard answering +hand-clappings, shrieks, howls, laughter, blessings, prayers, oaths, +hymns, and all audible confusions issuing from all the chambers of the +house. + +"Sometimes there entered the house--though only transiently, departing +within the hour they came--people of a then remarkable aspect to me. +They were very composed of countenance; did not laugh; did not groan; +did not weep; did not make strange faces; did not look endlessly +fatigued; were not strangely and fantastically dressed; in short, did +not at all resemble any people I had ever seen before, except a little +like some few of the persons of the house, who seemed to have authority +over the rest. These people of a remarkable aspect to me, I thought they +were strangely demented people;--composed of countenance, but wandering +of mind; soul-composed and bodily-wandering, and strangely demented +people. + +"By-and-by, the house seemed to change again, or else my mind took in +more, and modified its first impressions. I was lodged up-stairs in a +little room; there was hardly any furniture in the room; sometimes I +wished to go out of it; but the door was locked. Sometimes the people +came and took me out of the room, into a much larger and very long room, +and here I would collectively see many of the other people of the house, +who seemed likewise brought from distant and separate chambers. In this +long room they would vacantly roam about, and talk vacant talk to each +other. Some would stand in the middle of the room gazing steadily on the +floor for hours together, and never stirred, but only breathed and gazed +upon the floor. Some would sit crouching in the corner, and sit +crouching there, and only breathe and crouch in the corners. Some kept +their hands tight on their hearts, and went slowly promenading up and +down, moaning and moaning to themselves. One would say to another--"Feel +of it--here, put thy hand in the break." Another would mutter--"Broken, +broken, broken"--and would mutter nothing but that one word broken. But +most of them were dumb, and could not, or would not speak, or had +forgotten how to speak. They were nearly all pale people. Some had hair +white as snow, and yet were quite young people. Some were always talking +about Hell, Eternity, and God; and some of all things as fixedly +decreed; others would say nay to this, and then they would argue, but +without much conviction either way. But once nearly all the people +present--even the dumb moping people, and the sluggish persons crouching +in the corners--nearly all of them laughed once, when after a whole +day's loud babbling, two of these predestinarian opponents, said each to +the other--'Thou hast convinced me, friend; but we are quits; for so +also, have I convinced thee, the other way; now then, let's argue it all +over again; for still, though mutually converted, we are still at odds.' +Some harangued the wall; some apostrophized the air; some hissed at the +air; some lolled their tongues out at the air; some struck the air; some +made motions, as if wrestling with the air, and fell out of the arms of +the air, panting from the invisible hug. + +"Now, as in the former thing, thou must, ere this, have suspected what +manner of place this second or third house was, that I then lived in. +But do not speak the word to me. That word has never passed my lips; +even now, when I hear the word, I run from it; when I see it printed in +a book, I run from the book. The word is wholly unendurable to me. Who +brought me to the house; how I came there, I do not know. I lived a long +time in the house; that alone I know; I say I know, but still I am +uncertain; still Pierre, still the--oh the dreaminess, the +bewilderingness--it never entirely leaves me. Let me be still again." + +She leaned away from him; she put her small hard hand to her forehead; +then moved it down, very slowly, but still hardly over her eyes, and +kept it there, making no other sign, and still as death. Then she moved +and continued her vague tale of terribleness. + +"I must be shorter; I did not mean to turn off into the mere +offshootings of my story, here and there; but the dreaminess I speak of +leads me sometimes; and I, as impotent then, obey the dreamy prompting. +Bear with me; now I will be briefer." + +"It came to pass, at last, that there was a contention about me in the +house; some contention which I heard in the after rumor only, not at the +actual time. Some strangers had arrived; or had come in haste, being +sent for to the house. Next day they dressed me in new and pretty, but +still plain clothes, and they took me down stairs, and out into the air, +and into a carriage with a pleasant-looking woman, a stranger to me; and +I was driven off a good way, two days nearly we drove away, stopping +somewhere over-night; and on the evening of the second day we came to +another house, and went into it, and stayed there. + +"This house was a much smaller one than the other, and seemed sweetly +quiet to me after that. There was a beautiful infant in it; and this +beautiful infant always archly and innocently smiling on me, and +strangely beckoning me to come and play with it, and be glad with it; +and be thoughtless, and be glad and gleeful with it; this beautiful +infant first brought me to my own mind, as it were; first made me +sensible that I was something different from stones, trees, cats; first +undid in me the fancy that all people were as stones, trees, cats; first +filled me with the sweet idea of humanness; first made me aware of the +infinite mercifulness, and tenderness, and beautifulness of humanness; +and this beautiful infant first filled me with the dim thought of +Beauty; and equally, and at the same time, with the feeling of the +Sadness; of the immortalness and universalness of the Sadness. I now +feel that I should soon have gone,---- stop me now; do not let me go +that way. I owe all things to that beautiful infant. Oh, how I envied +it, lying in its happy mother's breast, and drawing life and gladness, +and all its perpetual smilingness from that white and smiling breast. +That infant saved me; but still gave me vague desirings. Now I first +began to reflect in my mind; to endeavor after the recalling past +things; but try as I would, little could I recall, but the +bewilderingness;--and the stupor, and the torpor, and the blackness, and +the dimness, and the vacant whirlingness of the bewilderingness. Let me +be still again." + +And the stepping on the floor above,--it then resumed. + + +V. + +"I must have been nine, or ten, or eleven years old, when the +pleasant-looking woman carried me away from the large house. She was a +farmer's wife; and now that was my residence, the farm-house. They +taught me to sew, and work with wool, and spin the wool; I was nearly +always busy now. This being busy, too, this it must have been, which +partly brought to me the power of being sensible of myself as something +human. Now I began to feel strange differences. When I saw a snake +trailing through the grass, and darting out the fire-fork from its +mouth, I said to myself, That thing is not human, but I am human. When +the lightning flashed, and split some beautiful tree, and left it to rot +from all its greenness, I said, That lightning is not human, but I am +human. And so with all other things. I can not speak coherently here; +but somehow I felt that all good, harmless men and women were human +things, placed at cross-purposes, in a world of snakes and lightnings, +in a world of horrible and inscrutable inhumanities. I have had no +training of any sort. All my thoughts well up in me; I know not whether +they pertain to the old bewilderings or not; but as they are, they are, +and I can not alter them, for I had nothing to do with putting them in +my mind, and I never affect any thoughts, and I never adulterate any +thoughts; but when I speak, think forth from the tongue, speech being +sometimes before the thought; so, often, my own tongue teaches me new +things. + +"Now as yet I never had questioned the woman, or her husband, or the +young girls, their children, why I had been brought to the house, or how +long I was to stay in the house. There I was; just as I found myself in +the world; there I was; for what cause I had been brought into the +world, would have been no stranger question to me, than for what cause I +had been brought to the house. I knew nothing of myself, or any thing +pertaining to myself; I felt my pulse, my thought; but other things I +was ignorant of, except the general feeling of my humanness among the +inhumanities. But as I grew older, I expanded in my mind. I began to +learn things out of me; to see still stranger, and minuter differences. +I called the woman mother, and so did the other girls; yet the woman +often kissed them, but seldom me. She always helped them first at table. +The farmer scarcely ever spoke to me. Now months, years rolled on, and +the young girls began to stare at me. Then the bewilderingness of the +old starings of the solitary old man and old woman, by the cracked +hearth-stone of the desolate old house, in the desolate, round, open +space; the bewilderingness of those old starings now returned to me; and +the green starings, and the serpent hissings of the uncompanionable cat, +recurred to me, and the feeling of the infinite forlornness of my life +rolled over me. But the woman was very kind to me; she taught the girls +not to be cruel to me; she would call me to her, and speak cheerfully to +me, and I thanked--not God, for I had been taught no God--I thanked the +bright human summer, and the joyful human sun in the sky; I thanked the +human summer and the sun, that they had given me the woman; and I would +sometimes steal away into the beautiful grass, and worship the kind +summer and the sun; and often say over to myself the soft words, summer +and the sun. + +"Still, weeks and years ran on, and my hair began to vail me with its +fullness and its length; and now often I heard the word beautiful, +spoken of my hair, and beautiful, spoken of myself. They would not say +the word openly to me, but I would by chance overhear them whispering +it. The word joyed me with the human feeling of it. They were wrong not +to say it openly to me; my joy would have been so much the more assured +for the openness of their saying beautiful, to me; and I know it would +have filled me with all conceivable kindness toward every one. Now I +had heard the word beautiful, whispered, now and then, for some months, +when a new being came to the house; they called him gentleman. His face +was wonderful to me. Something strangely like it, and yet again unlike +it, I had seen before, but where, I could not tell. But one day, looking +into the smooth water behind the house, there I saw the +likeness--something strangely like, and yet unlike, the likeness of his +face. This filled me with puzzlings. The new being, the gentleman, he +was very gracious to me; he seemed astonished, confounded at me; he +looked at me, then at a very little, round picture--so it seemed--which +he took from his pocket, and yet concealed from me. Then he kissed me, +and looked with tenderness and grief upon me; and I felt a tear fall on +me from him. Then he whispered a word into my ear. 'Father,' was the +word he whispered; the same word by which the young girls called the +farmer. Then I knew it was the word of kindness and of kisses. I kissed +the gentleman. + +"When he left the house I wept for him to come again. And he did come +again. All called him my father now. He came to see me once every month +or two; till at last he came not at all; and when I wept and asked for +him, they said the word _Dead_ to me. Then the bewilderings of the +comings and the goings of the coffins at the large and populous house; +these bewilderings came over me. What was it to be dead? What is it to +be living? Wherein is the difference between the words Death and Life? +Had I been ever dead? Was I living? Let me be still again. Do not speak +to me." + +And the stepping on the floor above; again it did resume. + +"Months ran on; and now I somehow learned that my father had every now +and then sent money to the woman to keep me with her in the house; and +that no more money had come to her after he was dead; the last penny of +the former money was now gone. Now the farmer's wife looked troubledly +and painfully at me; and the farmer looked unpleasantly and impatiently +at me. I felt that something was miserably wrong; I said to myself, I am +one too many; I must go away from the pleasant house. Then the +bewilderings of all the loneliness and forlornness of all my forlorn and +lonely life; all these bewilderings and the whelmings of the +bewilderings rolled over me; and I sat down without the house, but could +not weep. + +"But I was strong, and I was a grown girl now. I said to the woman--Keep +me hard at work; let me work all the time, but let me stay with thee. +But the other girls were sufficient to do the work; me they wanted not. +The farmer looked out of his eyes at me, and the out-lookings of his +eyes said plainly to me--Thee we do not want; go from us; thou art one +too many; and thou art more than one too many. Then I said to the +woman--Hire me out to some one; let me work for some one.--But I spread +too wide my little story. I must make an end. + +"The woman listened to me, and through her means I went to live at +another house, and earned wages there. My work was milking the cows, and +making butter, and spinning wool, and weaving carpets of thin strips of +cloth. One day there came to this house a pedler. In his wagon he had a +guitar, an old guitar, yet a very pretty one, but with broken strings. +He had got it slyly in part exchange from the servants of a grand house +some distance off. Spite of the broken strings, the thing looked very +graceful and beautiful to me; and I knew there was melodiousness lurking +in the thing, though I had never seen a guitar before, nor heard of one; +but there was a strange humming in my heart that seemed to prophesy of +the hummings of the guitar. Intuitively, I knew that the strings were +not as they should be. I said to the man--I will buy of thee the thing +thou callest a guitar. But thou must put new strings to it. So he went +to search for them; and brought the strings, and restringing the guitar, +tuned it for me. So with part of my earnings I bought the guitar. +Straightway I took it to my little chamber in the gable, and softly laid +it on my bed. Then I murmured; sung and murmured to it; very lowly, very +softly; I could hardly hear myself. And I changed the modulations of my +singings and my murmurings; and still sung, and murmured, lowly, +softly,--more and more; and presently I heard a sudden sound: sweet and +low beyond all telling was the sweet and sudden sound. I clapt my hands; +the guitar was speaking to me; the dear guitar was singing to me; +murmuring and singing to me, the guitar. Then I sung and murmured to it +with a still different modulation; and once more it answered me from a +different string; and once more it murmured to me, and it answered to me +with a different string. The guitar was human; the guitar taught me the +secret of the guitar; the guitar learned me to play on the guitar. No +music-master have I ever had but the guitar. I made a loving friend of +it; a heart friend of it. It sings to me as I to it. Love is not all on +one side with my guitar. All the wonders that are unimaginable and +unspeakable; all these wonders are translated in the mysterious +melodiousness of the guitar. It knows all my past history. Sometimes it +plays to me the mystic visions of the confused large house I never name. +Sometimes it brings to me the bird-twitterings in the air; and sometimes +it strikes up in me rapturous pulsations of legendary delights eternally +unexperienced and unknown to me. Bring me the guitar." + + +VI. + +Entranced, lost, as one wandering bedazzled and amazed among innumerable +dancing lights, Pierre had motionlessly listened to this +abundant-haired, and large-eyed girl of mystery. + +"Bring me the guitar!" + +Starting from his enchantment, Pierre gazed round the room, and saw the +instrument leaning against a corner. Silently he brought it to the girl, +and silently sat down again. + +"Now listen to the guitar; and the guitar shall sing to thee the sequel +of my story; for not in words can it be spoken. So listen to the +guitar." + +Instantly the room was populous with sounds of melodiousness, and +mournfulness, and wonderfulness; the room swarmed with the +unintelligible but delicious sounds. The sounds seemed waltzing in the +room; the sounds hung pendulous like glittering icicles from the corners +of the room; and fell upon him with a ringing silveryness; and were +drawn up again to the ceiling, and hung pendulous again, and dropt down +upon him again with the ringing silveryness. Fire-flies seemed buzzing +in the sounds; summer-lightnings seemed vividly yet softly audible in +the sounds. + +And still the wild girl played on the guitar; and her long dark shower +of curls fell over it, and vailed it; and still, out from the vail came +the swarming sweetness, and the utter unintelligibleness, but the +infinite significancies of the sounds of the guitar. + +"Girl of all-bewildering mystery!" cried Pierre--"Speak to me;--sister, +if thou indeed canst be a thing that's mortal--speak to me, if thou be +Isabel!" + + "Mystery! Mystery! + Mystery of Isabel! + Mystery! Mystery! + Isabel and Mystery!" + +Among the waltzings, and the droppings, and the swarmings of the sounds, +Pierre now heard the tones above deftly stealing and winding among the +myriad serpentinings of the other melody:--deftly stealing and winding +as respected the instrumental sounds, but in themselves wonderfully and +abandonedly free and bold--bounding and rebounding as from multitudinous +reciprocal walls; while with every syllable the hair-shrouded form of +Isabel swayed to and fro with a like abandonment, and suddenness, and +wantonness:--then it seemed not like any song; seemed not issuing from +any mouth; but it came forth from beneath the same vail concealing the +guitar. + +Now a strange wild heat burned upon his brow; he put his hand to it. +Instantly the music changed; and drooped and changed; and changed and +changed; and lingeringly retreated as it changed; and at last was wholly +gone. + +Pierre was the first to break the silence. + +"Isabel, thou hast filled me with such wonderings; I am so distraught +with thee, that the particular things I had to tell to thee, when I +hither came; these things I can not now recall, to speak them to +thee:--I feel that something is still unsaid by thee, which at some +other time thou wilt reveal. But now I can stay no longer with thee. +Know me eternally as thy loving, revering, and most marveling brother, +who will never desert thee, Isabel. Now let me kiss thee and depart, +till to-morrow night; when I shall open to thee all my mind, and all my +plans concerning me and thee. Let me kiss thee, and adieu!" + +As full of unquestioning and unfaltering faith in him, the girl sat +motionless and heard him out. Then silently rose, and turned her +boundlessly confiding brow to him. He kissed it thrice, and without +another syllable left the place. + + + + +BOOK VII. + +INTERMEDIATE BETWEEN PIERRE'S TWO INTERVIEWS WITH ISABEL AT THE +FARM-HOUSE. + + +I. + +Not immediately, not for a long time, could Pierre fully, or by any +approximation, realize the scene which he had just departed. But the +vague revelation was now in him, that the visible world, some of which +before had seemed but too common and prosaic to him; and but too +intelligible; he now vaguely felt, that all the world, and every +misconceivedly common and prosaic thing in it, was steeped a million +fathoms in a mysteriousness wholly hopeless of solution. First, the +enigmatical story of the girl, and the profound sincerity of it, and yet +the ever accompanying haziness, obscurity, and almost miraculousness of +it;--first, this wonderful story of the girl had displaced all +commonness and prosaicness from his soul; and then, the inexplicable +spell of the guitar, and the subtleness of the melodious appealings of +the few brief words from Isabel sung in the conclusion of the +melody--all this had bewitched him, and enchanted him, till he had sat +motionless and bending over, as a tree-transformed and mystery-laden +visitant, caught and fast bound in some necromancer's garden. + +But as now burst from these sorceries, he hurried along the open road, +he strove for the time to dispel the mystic feeling, or at least +postpone it for a while, until he should have time to rally both body +and soul from the more immediate consequences of that day's long +fastings and wanderings, and that night's never-to-be-forgotten scene. +He now endeavored to beat away all thoughts from him, but of present +bodily needs. + +Passing through the silent village, he heard the clock tell the mid hour +of night. Hurrying on, he entered the mansion by a private door, the key +of which hung in a secret outer place. Without undressing, he flung +himself upon the bed. But remembering himself again, he rose and +adjusted his alarm-clock, so that it would emphatically repeat the hour +of five. Then to bed again, and driving off all intrudings of +thoughtfulness, and resolutely bending himself to slumber, he by-and-by +fell into its at first reluctant, but at last welcoming and hospitable +arms. At five he rose; and in the east saw the first spears of the +advanced-guard of the day. + +It had been his purpose to go forth at that early hour, and so avoid all +casual contact with any inmate of the mansion, and spend the entire day +in a second wandering in the woods, as the only fit prelude to the +society of so wild a being as his new-found sister Isabel. But the +familiar home-sights of his chamber strangely worked upon him. For an +instant, he almost could have prayed Isabel back into the wonder-world +from which she had so slidingly emerged. For an instant, the fond, +all-understood blue eyes of Lucy displaced the as tender, but mournful +and inscrutable dark glance of Isabel. He seemed placed between them, to +choose one or the other; then both seemed his; but into Lucy's eyes +there stole half of the mournfulness of Isabel's, without diminishing +hers. + +Again the faintness, and the long life-weariness benumbed him. He left +the mansion, and put his bare forehead against the restoring wind. He +re-entered the mansion, and adjusted the clock to repeat emphatically +the call of seven; and then lay upon his bed. But now he could not +sleep. At seven he changed his dress; and at half-past eight went below +to meet his mother at the breakfast table, having a little before +overheard her step upon the stair. + + +II. + +He saluted her; but she looked gravely and yet alarmedly, and then in a +sudden, illy-repressed panic, upon him. Then he knew he must be +wonderfully changed. But his mother spoke not to him, only to return his +good-morning. He saw that she was deeply offended with him, on many +accounts; moreover, that she was vaguely frightened about him, and +finally that notwithstanding all this, her stung pride conquered all +apprehensiveness in her; and he knew his mother well enough to be very +certain that, though he should unroll a magician's parchment before her +now, she would verbally express no interest, and seek no explanation +from him. Nevertheless, he could not entirely abstain from testing the +power of her reservedness. + +"I have been quite an absentee, sister Mary," said he, with ill-affected +pleasantness. + +"Yes, Pierre. How does the coffee suit you this morning? It is some new +coffee." + +"It is very nice; very rich and odorous, sister Mary." + +"I am glad you find it so, Pierre." + +"Why don't you call me brother Pierre?" + +"Have I not called you so? Well, then, brother Pierre,--is that better?" + +"Why do you look so indifferently and icily upon me, sister Mary?" + +"Do I look indifferently and icily? Then I will endeavor to look +otherwise. Give me the toast there, Pierre." + +"You are very deeply offended at me, my dear mother." + +"Not in the slightest degree, Pierre. Have you seen Lucy lately?" + +"I have not, my mother." + +"Ah! A bit of salmon, Pierre." + +"You are too proud to show toward me what you are this moment feeling, +my mother." + +Mrs. Glendinning slowly rose to her feet, and her full stature of +womanly beauty and majesty stood imposingly over him. + +"Tempt me no more, Pierre. I will ask no secret from thee; all shall be +voluntary between us, as it ever has been, until very lately, or all +shall be nothing between us. Beware of me, Pierre. There lives not that +being in the world of whom thou hast more reason to beware, so you +continue but a little longer to act thus with me." + +She reseated herself, and spoke no more. Pierre kept silence; and after +snatching a few mouthfuls of he knew not what, silently quitted the +table, and the room, and the mansion. + + +III. + +As the door of the breakfast-room closed upon Pierre, Mrs. Glendinning +rose, her fork unconsciously retained in her hand. Presently, as she +paced the room in deep, rapid thought, she became conscious of something +strange in her grasp, and without looking at it, to mark what it was, +impulsively flung it from her. A dashing noise was heard, and then a +quivering. She turned; and hanging by the side of Pierre's portrait, she +saw her own smiling picture pierced through, and the fork, whose silver +tines had caught in the painted bosom, vibratingly rankled in the wound. + +She advanced swiftly to the picture, and stood intrepidly before it. + +"Yes, thou art stabbed! but the wrong hand stabbed thee; this should +have been _thy_ silver blow," turning to Pierre's portrait face. +"Pierre, Pierre, thou hast stabbed me with a poisoned point. I feel my +blood chemically changing in me. I, the mother of the only surnamed +Glendinning, I feel now as though I had borne the last of a swiftly to +be extinguished race. For swiftly to be extinguished is that race, whose +only heir but so much as impends upon a deed of shame. And some deed of +shame, or something most dubious and most dark, is in thy soul, or else +some belying specter, with a cloudy, shame-faced front, sat at yon seat +but now! What can it be? Pierre, unbosom. Smile not so lightly upon my +heavy grief. Answer; what is it, boy? Can it? can it? +no--yes--surely--can it? it can not be! But he was not at Lucy's +yesterday; nor was she here; and she would not see me when I called. +What can this bode? But not a mere broken match--broken as lovers +sometimes break, to mend the break with joyful tears, so soon again--not +a mere broken match can break my proud heart so. If that indeed be part, +it is not all. But no, no, no; it can not, can not be. He would not, +could not, do so mad, so impious a thing. It was a most surprising face, +though I confessed it not to him, nor even hinted that I saw it. But no, +no, no, it can not be. Such young peerlessness in such humbleness, can +not have an honest origin. Lilies are not stalked on weeds, though +polluted, they sometimes may stand among them. She must be both poor and +vile--some chance-blow of a splendid, worthless rake, doomed to inherit +both parts of her infecting portion--vileness and beauty. No, I will not +think it of him. But what then? Sometimes I have feared that my pride +would work me some woe incurable, by closing both my lips, and +varnishing all my front, where I perhaps ought to be wholly in the +melted and invoking mood. But who can get at one's own heart, to mend +it? Right one's self against another, that, one may sometimes do; but +when that other is one's own self, these ribs forbid. Then I will live +my nature out. I will stand on pride. I will not budge. Let come what +will, I shall not half-way run to meet it, to beat it off. Shall a +mother abase herself before her stripling boy? Let him tell me of +himself, or let him slide adown!" + + +IV. + +Pierre plunged deep into the woods, and paused not for several miles; +paused not till he came to a remarkable stone, or rather, smoothed mass +of rock, huge as a barn, which, wholly isolated horizontally, was yet +sweepingly overarched by beech-trees and chestnuts. + +It was shaped something like a lengthened egg, but flattened more; and, +at the ends, pointed more; and yet not pointed, but irregularly +wedge-shaped. Somewhere near the middle of its under side, there was a +lateral ridge; and an obscure point of this ridge rested on a second +lengthwise-sharpened rock, slightly protruding from the ground. Beside +that one obscure and minute point of contact, the whole enormous and +most ponderous mass touched not another object in the wide terraqueous +world. It was a breathless thing to see. One broad haunched end hovered +within an inch of the soil, all along to the point of teetering contact; +but yet touched not the soil. Many feet from that--beneath one part of +the opposite end, which was all seamed and half-riven--the vacancy was +considerably larger, so as to make it not only possible, but convenient +to admit a crawling man; yet no mortal being had ever been known to have +the intrepid heart to crawl there. + +It might well have been the wonder of all the country round. But strange +to tell, though hundreds of cottage hearthstones--where, of long +winter-evenings, both old men smoked their pipes and young men shelled +their corn--surrounded it, at no very remote distance, yet had the +youthful Pierre been the first known publishing discoverer of this +stone, which he had thereupon fancifully christened the Memnon Stone. +Possibly, the reason why this singular object had so long remained +unblazoned to the world, was not so much because it had never before +been lighted on--though indeed, both belted and topped by the dense deep +luxuriance of the aboriginal forest, it lay like Captain Kidd's sunken +hull in the gorge of the river Hudson's Highlands,--its crown being full +eight fathoms under high-foliage mark during the great spring-tide of +foliage;--and besides this, the cottagers had no special motive for +visiting its more immediate vicinity at all; their timber and fuel being +obtained from more accessible woodlands--as because, even, if any of the +simple people should have chanced to have beheld it, they, in their +hoodwinked unappreciativeness, would not have accounted it any very +marvelous sight, and therefore, would never have thought it worth their +while to publish it abroad. So that in real truth, they might have seen +it, and yet afterward have forgotten so inconsiderable a circumstance. +In short, this wondrous Memnon Stone could be no Memnon Stone to them; +nothing but a huge stumbling-block, deeply to be regretted as a vast +prospective obstacle in the way of running a handy little cross-road +through that wild part of the Manor. + +Now one day while reclining near its flank, and intently eying it, and +thinking how surprising it was, that in so long-settled a country he +should have been the first discerning and appreciative person to light +upon such a great natural curiosity, Pierre happened to brush aside +several successive layers of old, gray-haired, close cropped, nappy +moss, and beneath, to his no small amazement, he saw rudely hammered in +the rock some half-obliterate initials--"S. ye W." Then he knew, that +ignorant of the stone, as all the simple country round might +immemorially have been, yet was not himself the only human being who had +discovered that marvelous impending spectacle: but long and long ago, in +quite another age, the stone had been beheld, and its wonderfulness +fully appreciated--as the painstaking initials seemed to testify--by +some departed man, who, were he now alive, might possibly wag a beard +old as the most venerable oak of centuries' growth. But who,--who in +Methuselah's name,--who might have been this "S. ye W?" Pierre +pondered long, but could not possibly imagine; for the initials, in +their antiqueness, seemed to point to some period before the era of +Columbus' discovery of the hemisphere. Happening in the end to mention +the strange matter of these initials to a white-haired old gentleman, +his city kinsman, who, after a long and richly varied, but unfortunate +life, had at last found great solace in the Old Testament, which he was +continually studying with ever-increasing admiration; this white-haired +old kinsman, after having learnt all the particulars about the +stone--its bulk, its height, the precise angle of its critical +impendings, and all that,--and then, after much prolonged cogitation +upon it, and several long-drawn sighs, and aged looks of hoar +significance, and reading certain verses in Ecclesiastes; after all +these tedious preliminaries, this not-at-all-to-be-hurried white-haired +old kinsman, had laid his tremulous hand upon Pierre's firm young +shoulder, and slowly whispered--"Boy; 'tis Solomon the Wise." Pierre +could not repress a merry laugh at this; wonderfully diverted by what +seemed to him so queer and crotchety a conceit; which he imputed to the +alledged dotage of his venerable kinsman, who he well knew had once +maintained, that the old Scriptural Ophir was somewhere on our northern +sea-coast; so no wonder the old gentleman should fancy that King Solomon +might have taken a trip--as a sort of amateur supercargo--of some Tyre +or Sidon gold-ship across the water, and happened to light on the Memnon +Stone, while rambling about with bow and quiver shooting partridges. + +But merriment was by no means Pierre's usual mood when thinking of this +stone; much less when seated in the woods, he, in the profound +significance of that deep forest silence, viewed its marvelous +impendings. A flitting conceit had often crossed him, that he would like +nothing better for a head-stone than this same imposing pile; in which, +at times, during the soft swayings of the surrounding foliage, there +seemed to lurk some mournful and lamenting plaint, as for some sweet boy +long since departed in the antediluvian time. + +Not only might this stone well have been the wonder of the simple +country round, but it might well have been its terror. Sometimes, +wrought to a mystic mood by contemplating its ponderous inscrutableness, +Pierre had called it the Terror Stone. Few could be bribed to climb its +giddy height, and crawl out upon its more hovering end. It seemed as if +the dropping of one seed from the beak of the smallest flying bird would +topple the immense mass over, crashing against the trees. + +It was a very familiar thing to Pierre; he had often climbed it, by +placing long poles against it, and so creeping up to where it sloped in +little crumbling stepping-places; or by climbing high up the neighboring +beeches, and then lowering himself down upon the forehead-like summit by +the elastic branches. But never had he been fearless enough--or rather +fool-hardy enough, it may be, to crawl on the ground beneath the vacancy +of the higher end; that spot first menaced by the Terror Stone should it +ever really topple. + + +V. + +Yet now advancing steadily, and as if by some interior +pre-determination, and eying the mass unfalteringly; he then threw +himself prone upon the wood's last year's leaves, and slid himself +straight into the horrible interspace, and lay there as dead. He spoke +not, for speechless thoughts were in him. These gave place at last to +things less and less unspeakable; till at last, from beneath the very +brow of the beetlings and the menacings of the Terror Stone came the +audible words of Pierre:-- + +"If the miseries of the undisclosable things in me, shall ever unhorse +me from my manhood's seat; if to vow myself all Virtue's and all +Truth's, be but to make a trembling, distrusted slave of me; if Life is +to prove a burden I can not bear without ignominious cringings; if +indeed our actions are all fore-ordained, and we are Russian serfs to +Fate; if invisible devils do titter at us when we most nobly strive; if +Life be a cheating dream, and virtue as unmeaning and unsequeled with +any blessing as the midnight mirth of wine; if by sacrificing myself for +Duty's sake, my own mother re-sacrifices me; if Duty's self be but a +bugbear, and all things are allowable and unpunishable to man;--then do +thou, Mute Massiveness, fall on me! Ages thou hast waited; and if these +things be thus, then wait no more; for whom better canst thou crush than +him who now lies here invoking thee?" + +A down-darting bird, all song, swiftly lighted on the unmoved and +eternally immovable balancings of the Terror Stone, and cheerfully +chirped to Pierre. The tree-boughs bent and waved to the rushes of a +sudden, balmy wind; and slowly Pierre crawled forth, and stood haughtily +upon his feet, as he owed thanks to none, and went his moody way. + + +VI. + +When in his imaginative ruminating moods of early youth, Pierre had +christened the wonderful stone by the old resounding name of Memnon, he +had done so merely from certain associative remembrances of that +Egyptian marvel, of which all Eastern travelers speak. And when the +fugitive thought had long ago entered him of desiring that same stone +for his head-stone, when he should be no more; then he had only yielded +to one of those innumerable fanciful notions, tinged with dreamy +painless melancholy, which are frequently suggested to the mind of a +poetic boy. But in after-times, when placed in far different +circumstances from those surrounding him at the Meadows, Pierre pondered +on the stone, and his young thoughts concerning it, and, later, his +desperate act in crawling under it; then an immense significance came to +him, and the long-passed unconscious movements of his then youthful +heart seemed now prophetic to him, and allegorically verified by the +subsequent events. + +For, not to speak of the other and subtler meanings which lie crouching +behind the colossal haunches of this stone, regarded as the menacingly +impending Terror Stone--hidden to all the simple cottagers, but revealed +to Pierre--consider its aspects as the Memnon Stone. For Memnon was that +dewey, royal boy, son of Aurora, and born King of Egypt, who, with +enthusiastic rashness flinging himself on another's account into a +rightful quarrel, fought hand to hand with his overmatch, and met his +boyish and most dolorous death beneath the walls of Troy. His wailing +subjects built a monument in Egypt to commemorate his untimely fate. +Touched by the breath of the bereaved Aurora, every sunrise that statue +gave forth a mournful broken sound, as of a harp-string suddenly +sundered, being too harshly wound. + +Herein lies an unsummed world of grief. For in this plaintive fable we +find embodied the Hamletism of the antique world; the Hamletism of three +thousand years ago: "The flower of virtue cropped by a too rare +mischance." And the English Tragedy is but Egyptian Memnon, Montaignized +and modernized; for being but a mortal man Shakspeare had his fathers +too. + +Now as the Memnon Statue survives down to this present day, so does that +nobly-striving but ever-shipwrecked character in some royal youths (for +both Memnon and Hamlet were the sons of kings), of which that statue is +the melancholy type. But Memnon's sculptured woes did once melodiously +resound; now all is mute. Fit emblem that of old, poetry was a +consecration and an obsequy to all hapless modes of human life; but in a +bantering, barren, and prosaic, heartless age, Aurora's music-moan is +lost among our drifting sands which whelm alike the monument and the +dirge. + + +VII. + +As Pierre went on through the woods, all thoughts now left him but those +investing Isabel. He strove to condense her mysterious haze into some +definite and comprehensible shape. He could not but infer that the +feeling of bewilderment, which she had so often hinted of during their +interview, had caused her continually to go aside from the straight line +of her narration; and finally to end it in an abrupt and enigmatical +obscurity. But he also felt assured, that as this was entirely +unintended, and now, doubtless, regretted by herself, so their coming +second interview would help to clear up much of this mysteriousness; +considering that the elapsing interval would do much to tranquilize her, +and rally her into less of wonderfulness to him; he did not therefore +so much accuse his unthinkingness in naming the postponing hour he had. +For, indeed, looking from the morning down the vista of the day, it +seemed as indefinite and interminable to him. He could not bring himself +to confront any face or house; a plowed field, any sign of tillage, the +rotted stump of a long-felled pine, the slightest passing trace of man +was uncongenial and repelling to him. Likewise in his own mind all +remembrances and imaginings that had to do with the common and general +humanity had become, for the time, in the most singular manner +distasteful to him. Still, while thus loathing all that was common in +the two different worlds--that without, and that within--nevertheless, +even in the most withdrawn and subtlest region of his own essential +spirit, Pierre could not now find one single agreeable twig of thought +whereon to perch his weary soul. + +Men in general seldom suffer from this utter pauperism of the spirit. If +God hath not blessed them with incurable frivolity, men in general have +still some secret thing of self-conceit or virtuous gratulation; men in +general have always done some small self-sacrificing deed for some other +man; and so, in those now and then recurring hours of despondent +lassitude, which must at various and differing intervals overtake almost +every civilized human being; such persons straightway bethink them of +their one, or two, or three small self-sacrificing things, and suck +respite, consolation, and more or less compensating deliciousness from +it. But with men of self-disdainful spirits; in whose chosen souls +heaven itself hath by a primitive persuasion unindoctrinally fixed that +most true Christian doctrine of the utter nothingness of good works; the +casual remembrance of their benevolent well-doings, does never distill +one drop of comfort for them, even as (in harmony with the correlative +Scripture doctrine) the recalling of their outlived errors and +mis-deeds, conveys to them no slightest pang or shadow of reproach. + +Though the clew-defying mysteriousness of Isabel's narration, did now +for the time, in this particular mood of his, put on a repelling aspect +to our Pierre; yet something must occupy the soul of man; and Isabel was +nearest to him then; and Isabel he thought of; at first, with great +discomfort and with pain, but anon (for heaven eventually rewards the +resolute and duteous thinker) with lessening repugnance, and at last +with still-increasing willingness and congenialness. Now he recalled his +first impressions, here and there, while she was rehearsing to him her +wild tale; he recalled those swift but mystical corroborations in his +own mind and memory, which by shedding another twinkling light upon her +history, had but increased its mystery, while at the same time +remarkably substantiating it. + +Her first recallable recollection was of an old deserted chateau-like +house in a strange, French-like country, which she dimly imagined to be +somewhere beyond the sea. Did not this surprisingly correspond with +certain natural inferences to be drawn from his Aunt Dorothea's account +of the disappearance of the French young lady? Yes; the French young +lady's disappearance on this side the water was only contingent upon her +reappearance on the other; then he shuddered as he darkly pictured the +possible sequel of her life, and the wresting from her of her infant, +and its immurement in the savage mountain wilderness. + +But Isabel had also vague impressions of herself crossing the +sea;--_re_crossing, emphatically thought Pierre, as he pondered on the +unbidden conceit, that she had probably first unconsciously and +smuggledly crossed it hidden beneath her sorrowing mother's heart. But +in attempting to draw any inferences, from what he himself had ever +heard, for a coinciding proof or elucidation of this assumption of +Isabel's actual crossing the sea at so tender an age; here Pierre felt +all the inadequateness of both his own and Isabel's united knowledge, to +clear up the profound mysteriousness of her early life. To the +certainty of this irremovable obscurity he bowed himself, and strove to +dismiss it from his mind, as worse than hopeless. So, also, in a good +degree, did he endeavor to drive out of him, Isabel's reminiscence of +the, to her, unnameable large house, from which she had been finally +removed by the pleasant woman in the coach. This episode in her life, +above all other things, was most cruelly suggestive to him, as possibly +involving his father in the privity to a thing, at which Pierre's inmost +soul fainted with amazement and abhorrence. Here the helplessness of all +further light, and the eternal impossibility of logically exonerating +his dead father, in his own mind, from the liability to this, and many +other of the blackest self-insinuated suppositions; all this came over +Pierre with a power so infernal and intense, that it could only have +proceeded from the unretarded malice of the Evil One himself. But +subtilly and wantonly as these conceits stole into him, Pierre as +subtilly opposed them; and with the hue-and-cry of his whole indignant +soul, pursued them forth again into the wide Tartarean realm from which +they had emerged. + +The more and the more that Pierre now revolved the story of Isabel in +his mind, so much the more he amended his original idea, that much of +its obscurity would depart upon a second interview. He saw, or seemed to +see, that it was not so much Isabel who had by her wild idiosyncrasies +mystified the narration of her history, as it was the essential and +unavoidable mystery of her history itself, which had invested Isabel +with such wonderful enigmas to him. + + +VIII. + +The issue of these reconsiderings was the conviction, that all he could +now reasonably anticipate from Isabel, in further disclosure on the +subject of her life, were some few additional particulars bringing it +down to the present moment; and, also, possibly filling out the latter +portion of what she had already revealed to him. Nor here, could he +persuade himself, that she would have much to say. Isabel had not been +so digressive and withholding as he had thought. What more, indeed, +could she now have to impart, except by what strange means she had at +last come to find her brother out; and the dreary recital of how she had +pecuniarily wrestled with her destitute condition; how she had come to +leave one place of toiling refuge for another, till now he found her in +humble servitude at farmer Ulver's? Is it possible then, thought Pierre, +that there lives a human creature in this common world of everydays, +whose whole history may be told in little less than two-score words, and +yet embody in that smallness a fathomless fountain of ever-welling +mystery? Is it possible, after all, that spite of bricks and shaven +faces, this world we live in is brimmed with wonders, and I and all +mankind, beneath our garbs of common-placeness, conceal enigmas that the +stars themselves, and perhaps the highest seraphim can not resolve? + +The intuitively certain, however literally unproven fact of Isabel's +sisterhood to him, was a link that he now felt binding him to a before +unimagined and endless chain of wondering. His very blood seemed to flow +through all his arteries with unwonted subtileness, when he thought that +the same tide flowed through the mystic veins of Isabel. All his +occasional pangs of dubiousness as to the grand governing thing of +all--the reality of the physical relationship--only recoiled back upon +him with added tribute of both certainty and insolubleness. + +She is my sister--my own father's daughter. Well; why do I believe it? +The other day I had not so much as heard the remotest rumor of her +existence; and what has since occurred to change me? What so new and +incontestable vouchers have I handled? None at all. But I have seen her. +Well; grant it; I might have seen a thousand other girls, whom I had +never seen before; but for that, I would not own any one among them for +my sister. But the portrait, the chair-portrait, Pierre? Think of that. +But that was painted before Isabel was born; what can that portrait have +to do with Isabel? It is not the portrait of Isabel, it is my father's +portrait; and yet my mother swears it is not he. + +Now alive as he was to all these searching argumentative itemizings of +the minutest known facts any way bearing upon the subject; and yet, at +the same time, persuaded, strong as death, that in spite of them, Isabel +was indeed his sister; how could Pierre, naturally poetic, and therefore +piercing as he was; how could he fail to acknowledge the existence of +that all-controlling and all-permeating wonderfulness, which, when +imperfectly and isolatedly recognized by the generality, is so +significantly denominated The Finger of God? But it is not merely the +Finger, it is the whole outspread Hand of God; for doth not Scripture +intimate, that He holdeth all of us in the hollow of His hand?--a +Hollow, truly! + +Still wandering through the forest, his eye pursuing its ever-shifting +shadowy vistas; remote from all visible haunts and traces of that +strangely wilful race, who, in the sordid traffickings of clay and mud, +are ever seeking to denationalize the natural heavenliness of their +souls; there came into the mind of Pierre, thoughts and fancies never +imbibed within the gates of towns; but only given forth by the +atmosphere of primeval forests, which, with the eternal ocean, are the +only unchanged general objects remaining to this day, from those that +originally met the gaze of Adam. For so it is, that the apparently most +inflammable or evaporable of all earthly things, wood and water, are, in +this view, immensely the most endurable. + +Now all his ponderings, however excursive, wheeled round Isabel as their +center; and back to her they came again from every excursion; and again +derived some new, small germs for wonderment. + +The question of Time occurred to Pierre. How old was Isabel? According +to all reasonable inferences from the presumed circumstances of her +life, she was his elder, certainly, though by uncertain years; yet her +whole aspect was that of more than childlikeness; nevertheless, not only +did he feel his muscular superiority to her, so to speak, which made him +spontaneously alive to a feeling of elderly protectingness over her; not +only did he experience the thoughts of superior world-acquaintance, and +general cultured knowledge; but spite of reason's self, and irrespective +of all mere computings, he was conscious of a feeling which +independently pronounced him her senior in point of Time, and Isabel a +child of everlasting youngness. This strange, though strong conceit of +his mysterious persuasion, doubtless, had its untraced, and but +little-suspected origin in his mind, from ideas born of his devout +meditations upon the artless infantileness of her face; which, though +profoundly mournful in the general expression, yet did not, by any +means, for that cause, lose one whit in its singular infantileness; as +the faces of real infants, in their earliest visibleness, do oft-times +wear a look of deep and endless sadness. But it was not the sadness, nor +indeed, strictly speaking, the infantileness of the face of Isabel which +so singularly impressed him with the idea of her original and changeless +youthfulness. It was something else; yet something which entirely eluded +him. + +Imaginatively exalted by the willing suffrages of all mankind into +higher and purer realms than men themselves inhabit; beautiful +women--those of them at least who are beautiful in soul as well as +body--do, notwithstanding the relentless law of earthly fleetingness, +still seem, for a long interval, mysteriously exempt from the +incantations of decay; for as the outward loveliness touch by touch +departs, the interior beauty touch by touch replaces that departing +bloom, with charms, which, underivable from earth, possess the +ineffaceableness of stars. Else, why at the age of sixty, have some +women held in the strongest bonds of love and fealty, men young enough +to be their grandsons? And why did all-seducing Ninon unintendingly +break scores of hearts at seventy? It is because of the perennialness of +womanly sweetness. + +Out from the infantile, yet eternal mournfulness of the face of Isabel, +there looked on Pierre that angelic childlikeness, which our Savior +hints is the one only investiture of translated souls; for of such--even +of little children--is the other world. + +Now, unending as the wonderful rivers, which once bathed the feet of the +primeval generations, and still remain to flow fast by the graves of all +succeeding men, and by the beds of all now living; unending, +ever-flowing, ran through the soul of Pierre, fresh and fresher, further +and still further, thoughts of Isabel. But the more his thoughtful river +ran, the more mysteriousness it floated to him; and yet the more +certainty that the mysteriousness was unchangeable. In her life there +was an unraveled plot; and he felt that unraveled it would eternally +remain to him. No slightest hope or dream had he, that what was dark and +mournful in her would ever be cleared up into some coming atmosphere of +light and mirth. Like all youths, Pierre had conned his novel-lessons; +had read more novels than most persons of his years; but their false, +inverted attempts at systematizing eternally unsystemizable elements; +their audacious, intermeddling impotency, in trying to unravel, and +spread out, and classify, the more thin than gossamer threads which make +up the complex web of life; these things over Pierre had no power now. +Straight through their helpless miserableness he pierced; the one +sensational truth in him transfixed like beetles all the speculative +lies in them. He saw that human life doth truly come from that, which +all men are agreed to call by the name of _God_; and that it partakes of +the unravelable inscrutableness of God. By infallible presentiment he +saw, that not always doth life's beginning gloom conclude in gladness; +that wedding-bells peal not ever in the last scene of life's fifth act; +that while the countless tribes of common novels laboriously spin veils +of mystery, only to complacently clear them up at last; and while the +countless tribe of common dramas do but repeat the same; yet the +profounder emanations of the human mind, intended to illustrate all that +can be humanly known of human life; these never unravel their own +intricacies, and have no proper endings; but in imperfect, +unanticipated, and disappointing sequels (as mutilated stumps), hurry to +abrupt intermergings with the eternal tides of time and fate. + +So Pierre renounced all thought of ever having Isabel's dark lantern +illuminated to him. Her light was lidded, and the lid was locked. Nor +did he feel a pang at this. By posting hither and thither among the +reminiscences of his family, and craftily interrogating his remaining +relatives on his father's side, he might possibly rake forth some few +small grains of dubious and most unsatisfying things, which, were he +that way strongly bent, would only serve the more hopelessly to cripple +him in his practical resolves. He determined to pry not at all into this +sacred problem. For him now the mystery of Isabel possessed all the +bewitchingness of the mysterious vault of night, whose very darkness +evokes the witchery. + +The thoughtful river still ran on in him, and now it floated still +another thing to him. + +Though the letter of Isabel gushed with all a sister's sacred longings +to embrace her brother, and in the most abandoned terms painted the +anguish of her life-long estrangement from him; and though, in effect, +it took vows to this,--that without his continual love and sympathy, +further life for her was only fit to be thrown into the nearest +unfathomed pool, or rushing stream; yet when the brother and the sister +had encountered, according to the set appointment, none of these +impassionedments had been repeated. She had more than thrice thanked +God, and most earnestly blessed himself, that now he had come near to +her in her loneliness; but no gesture of common and customary sisterly +affection. Nay, from his embrace had she not struggled? nor kissed him +once; nor had he kissed her, except when the salute was solely sought by +him. + +Now Pierre began to see mysteries interpierced with mysteries, and +mysteries eluding mysteries; and began to seem to see the mere +imaginariness of the so supposed solidest principle of human +association. Fate had done this thing for them. Fate had separated the +brother and the sister, till to each other they somehow seemed so not at +all. Sisters shrink not from their brother's kisses. And Pierre felt +that never, never would he be able to embrace Isabel with the mere +brotherly embrace; while the thought of any other caress, which took +hold of any domesticness, was entirely vacant from his uncontaminated +soul, for it had never consciously intruded there. + +Therefore, forever unsistered for him by the stroke of Fate, and +apparently forever, and twice removed from the remotest possibility of +that love which had drawn him to his Lucy; yet still the object of the +ardentest and deepest emotions of his soul; therefore, to him, Isabel +wholly soared out of the realms of mortalness, and for him became +transfigured in the highest heaven of uncorrupted Love. + + + + +BOOK VIII. + +THE SECOND INTERVIEW AT THE FARM-HOUSE, AND THE SECOND PART OF THE STORY +OF ISABEL. THEIR IMMEDIATE IMPULSIVE EFFECT UPON PIERRE. + + +I. + +His second interview with Isabel was more satisfying, but none the less +affecting and mystical than the first, though in the beginning, to his +no small surprise, it was far more strange and embarrassing. + +As before, Isabel herself admitted him into the farm-house, and spoke no +word to him till they were both seated in the room of the double +casement, and himself had first addressed her. If Pierre had any way +predetermined how to deport himself at the moment, it was to manifest by +some outward token the utmost affection for his sister; but her rapt +silence and that atmosphere of unearthliness which invested her, now +froze him to his seat; his arms refused to open, his lips refused to +meet in the fraternal kiss; while all the while his heart was +overflowing with the deepest love, and he knew full well, that his +presence was inexpressibly grateful to the girl. Never did love and +reverence so intimately react and blend; never did pity so join with +wonder in casting a spell upon the movements of his body, and impeding +him in its command. + +After a few embarrassed words from Pierre, and a brief reply, a pause +ensued, during which not only was the slow, soft stepping overhead +quite audible, as at intervals on the night before, but also some slight +domestic sounds were heard from the adjoining room; and noticing the +unconsciously interrogating expression of Pierre's face, Isabel thus +spoke to him: + +"I feel, my brother, that thou dost appreciate the peculiarity and the +mystery of my life, and of myself, and therefore I am at rest concerning +the possibility of thy misconstruing any of my actions. It is only when +people refuse to admit the uncommonness of some persons and the +circumstances surrounding them, that erroneous conceits are nourished, +and their feelings pained. My brother, if ever I shall seem reserved and +unembracing to thee, still thou must ever trust the heart of Isabel, and +permit no doubt to cross thee there. My brother, the sounds thou hast +just overheard in yonder room, have suggested to thee interesting +questions connected with myself. Do not speak; I fervently understand +thee. I will tell thee upon what terms I have been living here; and how +it is that I, a hired person, am enabled to receive thee in this seemly +privacy; for as thou mayest very readily imagine, this room is not my +own. And this reminds me also that I have yet some few further trifling +things to tell thee respecting the circumstances which have ended in +bestowing upon me so angelical a brother." + +"I can not retain that word"--said Pierre, with earnest lowness, and +drawing a little nearer to her--"of right, it only pertains to thee." + +"My brother, I will now go on, and tell thee all that I think thou +couldst wish to know, in addition to what was so dimly rehearsed last +night. Some three months ago, the people of the distant farm-house, +where I was then staying, broke up their household and departed for some +Western country. No place immediately presented itself where my services +were wanted, but I was hospitably received at an old neighbor's hearth, +and most kindly invited to tarry there, till some employ should offer. +But I did not wait for chance to help me; my inquiries resulted in +ascertaining the sad story of Delly Ulver, and that through the fate +which had overtaken her, her aged parents were not only plunged into the +most poignant grief, but were deprived of the domestic help of an only +daughter, a circumstance whose deep discomfort can not be easily +realized by persons who have always been ministered to by servants. +Though indeed my natural mood--if I may call it so, for want of a better +term--was strangely touched by thinking that the misery of Delly should +be the source of benefit to me; yet this had no practically operative +effect upon me,--my most inmost and truest thoughts seldom have;--and so +I came hither, and my hands will testify that I did not come entirely +for naught. Now, my brother, since thou didst leave me yesterday, I have +felt no small surprise, that thou didst not then seek from me, how and +when I came to learn the name of Glendinning as so closely associated +with myself; and how I came to know Saddle Meadows to be the family +seat, and how I at last resolved upon addressing thee, Pierre, and none +other; and to what may be attributed that very memorable scene in the +sewing-circle at the Miss Pennies." + +"I have myself been wondering at myself that these things should +hitherto have so entirely absented themselves from my mind," responded +Pierre;--"but truly, Isabel, thy all-abounding hair falls upon me with +some spell which dismisses all ordinary considerations from me, and +leaves me only sensible to the Nubian power in thine eyes. But go on, +and tell me every thing and any thing. I desire to know all, Isabel, and +yet, nothing which thou wilt not voluntarily disclose. I feel that +already I know the pith of all; that already I feel toward thee to the +very limit of all; and that, whatever remains for thee to tell me, can +but corroborate and confirm. So go on, my dearest,--ay, my only sister." + +Isabel fixed her wonderful eyes upon him with a gaze of long +impassionment; then rose suddenly to her feet, and advanced swiftly +toward him; but more suddenly paused, and reseated herself in silence, +and continued so for a time, with her head averted from him, and mutely +resting on her hand, gazing out of the open casement upon the soft +heat-lightning, occasionally revealed there. + +She resumed anon. + + +II. + +"My brother, thou wilt remember that certain part of my story which in +reference to my more childish years spent remote from here, introduced +the gentleman--my--yes, _our_ father, Pierre. I can not describe to +thee, for indeed, I do not myself comprehend how it was, that though at +the time I sometimes called him my father, and the people of the house +also called him so, sometimes when speaking of him to me; yet--partly, I +suppose, because of the extraordinary secludedness of my previous +life--I did not then join in my mind with the word father, all those +peculiar associations which the term ordinarily inspires in children. +The word father only seemed a word of general love and endearment to +me--little or nothing more; it did not seem to involve any claims of any +sort, one way or the other. I did not ask the name of my father; for I +could have had no motive to hear him named, except to individualize the +person who was so peculiarly kind to me; and individualized in that way +he already was, since he was generally called by us _the gentleman_, and +sometimes _my father_. As I have no reason to suppose that had I then or +afterward, questioned the people of the house as to what more particular +name my father went by in the world, they would have at all disclosed it +to me; and, indeed, since, for certain singular reasons, I now feel +convinced that on that point they were pledged to secrecy; I do not +know that I ever would have come to learn my father's name,--and by +consequence, ever have learned the least shade or shadow of knowledge as +to you, Pierre, or any of your kin--had it not been for the merest +little accident, which early revealed it to me, though at the moment I +did not know the value of that knowledge. The last time my father +visited the house, he chanced to leave his handkerchief behind him. It +was the farmer's wife who first discovered it. She picked it up, and +fumbling at it a moment, as if rapidly examining the corners, tossed it +to me, saying, 'Here, Isabel, here is the good gentleman's handkerchief; +keep it for him now, till he comes to see little Bell again.' Gladly I +caught the handkerchief, and put it into my bosom. It was a white one; +and upon closely scanning it, I found a small line of fine faded +yellowish writing in the middle of it. At that time I could not read +either print or writing, so I was none the wiser then; but still, some +secret instinct told me, that the woman would not so freely have given +me the handkerchief, had she known there was any writing on it. I +forbore questioning her on the subject; I waited till my father should +return, to secretly question him. The handkerchief had become dusty by +lying on the uncarpeted floor. I took it to the brook and washed it, and +laid it out on the grass where none would chance to pass; and I ironed +it under my little apron, so that none would be attracted to it, to look +at it again. But my father never returned; so, in my grief, the +handkerchief became the more and the more endeared to me; it absorbed +many of the secret tears I wept in memory of my dear departed friend, +whom, in my child-like ignorance, I then equally called _my father_ and +_the gentleman_. But when the impression of his death became a fixed +thing to me, then again I washed and dried and ironed the precious +memorial of him, and put it away where none should find it but myself, +and resolved never more to soil it with my tears; and I folded it in +such a manner, that the name was invisibly buried in the heart of it, +and it was like opening a book and turning over many blank leaves before +I came to the mysterious writing, which I knew should be one day read by +me, without direct help from any one. Now I resolved to learn my +letters, and learn to read, in order that of myself I might learn the +meaning of those faded characters. No other purpose but that only one, +did I have in learning then to read. I easily induced the woman to give +me my little teachings, and being uncommonly quick, and moreover, most +eager to learn, I soon mastered the alphabet, and went on to spelling, +and by-and-by to reading, and at last to the complete deciphering of the +talismanic word--Glendinning. I was yet very ignorant. _Glendinning_, +thought I, what is that? It sounds something like +_gentleman_;--Glen-din-ning;--just as many syllables as _gentleman_; +and--G--it begins with the same letter; yes, it must mean _my father_. I +will think of him by that word now;--I will not think of the +_gentleman_, but of _Glendinning_. When at last I removed from that +house and went to another, and still another, and as I still grew up and +thought more to myself, that word was ever humming in my head, I saw it +would only prove the key to more. But I repressed all undue curiosity, +if any such has ever filled my breast. I would not ask of any one, who +it was that had been Glendinning; where he had lived; whether, ever any +other girl or boy had called him father as I had done. I resolved to +hold myself in perfect patience, as somehow mystically certain, that +Fate would at last disclose to me, of itself, and at the suitable time, +whatever Fate thought it best for me to know. But now, my brother, I +must go aside a little for a moment.--Hand me the guitar." + +Surprised and rejoiced thus far at the unanticipated newness, and the +sweet lucidness and simplicity of Isabel's narrating, as compared with +the obscure and marvelous revelations of the night before, and all eager +for her to continue her story in the same limpid manner, but +remembering into what a wholly tumultuous and unearthly frame of mind +the melodies of her guitar had formerly thrown him; Pierre now, in +handing the instrument to Isabel, could not entirely restrain something +like a look of half-regret, accompanied rather strangely with a +half-smile of gentle humor. It did not pass unnoticed by his sister, who +receiving the guitar, looked up into his face with an expression which +would almost have been arch and playful, were it not for the +ever-abiding shadows cast from her infinite hair into her unfathomed +eyes, and redoubledly shot back again from them. + +"Do not be alarmed, my brother; and do not smile at me; I am not going +to play the Mystery of Isabel to thee to-night. Draw nearer to me now. +Hold the light near to me." + +So saying she loosened some ivory screws of the guitar, so as to open a +peep lengthwise through its interior. + +"Now hold it thus, my brother; thus; and see what thou wilt see; but +wait one instant till I hold the lamp." So saying, as Pierre held the +instrument before him as directed, Isabel held the lamp so as to cast +its light through the round sounding-hole into the heart of the guitar. + +"Now, Pierre, now." + +Eagerly Pierre did as he was bid; but somehow felt disappointed, and yet +surprised at what he saw. He saw the word _Isabel_, quite legibly but +still fadedly gilded upon a part of one side of the interior, where it +made a projecting curve. + +"A very curious place thou hast chosen, Isabel, wherein to have the +ownership of the guitar engraved. How did ever any person get in there +to do it, I should like to know?" + +The girl looked surprisedly at him a moment; then took the instrument +from him, and looked into it herself. She put it down, and continued. + +"I see, my brother, thou dost not comprehend. When one knows every thing +about any object, one is too apt to suppose that the slightest hint +will suffice to throw it quite as open to any other person. _I_ did not +have the name gilded there, my brother." + +"How?" cried Pierre. + +"The name was gilded there when I first got the guitar, though then I +did not know it. The guitar must have been expressly made for some one +by the name of Isabel; because the lettering could only have been put +there before the guitar was put together." + +"Go on--hurry," said Pierre. + +"Yes, one day, after I had owned it a long time, a strange whim came +into me. Thou know'st that it is not at all uncommon for children to +break their dearest playthings in order to gratify a half-crazy +curiosity to find out what is in the hidden heart of them. So it is with +children, sometimes. And, Pierre, I have always been, and feel that I +must always continue to be a child, though I should grow to three score +years and ten. Seized with this sudden whim, I unscrewed the part I +showed thee, and peeped in, and saw 'Isabel.' Now I have not yet told +thee, that from as early a time as I can remember, I have nearly always +gone by the name of Bell. And at the particular time I now speak of, my +knowledge of general and trivial matters was sufficiently advanced to +make it quite a familiar thing to me, that Bell was often a diminutive +for Isabella, or Isabel. It was therefore no very strange affair, that +considering my age, and other connected circumstances at the time, I +should have instinctively associated the word Isabel, found in the +guitar, with my own abbreviated name, and so be led into all sorts of +fancyings. They return upon me now. Do not speak to me." + +She leaned away from him, toward the occasionally illuminated casement, +in the same manner as on the previous night, and for a few moments +seemed struggling with some wild bewilderment But now she suddenly +turned, and fully confronted Pierre with all the wonderfulness of her +most surprising face. + +"I am called woman, and thou, man, Pierre; but there is neither man nor +woman about it. Why should I not speak out to thee? There is no sex in +our immaculateness. Pierre, the secret name in the guitar even now +thrills me through and through. Pierre, think! think! Oh, canst thou not +comprehend? see it?--what I mean, Pierre? The secret name in the guitar +thrills me, thrills me, whirls me, whirls me; so secret, wholly hidden, +yet constantly carried about in it; unseen, unsuspected, always +vibrating to the hidden heart-strings--broken heart-strings; oh, my +mother, my mother, my mother!" + +As the wild plaints of Isabel pierced into his bosom's core, they +carried with them the first inkling of the extraordinary conceit, so +vaguely and shrinkingly hinted at in her till now entirely +unintelligible words. + +She lifted her dry burning eyes of long-fringed fire to him. + +"Pierre--I have no slightest proof--but the guitar was _hers_, I know, I +feel it was. Say, did I not last night tell thee, how it first sung to +me upon the bed, and answered me, without my once touching it? and how +it always sung to me and answered me, and soothed and loved me,--Hark +now; thou shalt hear my mother's spirit." + +She carefully scanned the strings, and tuned them carefully; then placed +the guitar in the casement-bench, and knelt before it; and in low, +sweet, and changefully modulated notes, so barely audible, that Pierre +bent over to catch them; breathed the word _mother, mother, mother_! +There was profound silence for a time; when suddenly, to the lowest and +least audible note of all, the magical untouched guitar responded with a +quick spark of melody, which in the following hush, long vibrated and +subsidingly tingled through the room; while to his augmented wonder, he +now espied, quivering along the metallic strings of the guitar, some +minute scintillations, seemingly caught from the instrument's close +proximity to the occasionally irradiated window. + +The girl still kept kneeling; but an altogether unwonted expression +suddenly overcast her whole countenance. She darted one swift glance at +Pierre; and then with a single toss of her hand tumbled her unrestrained +locks all over her, so that they tent-wise invested her whole kneeling +form close to the floor, and yet swept the floor with their wild +redundancy. Never Saya of Limeean girl, at dim mass in St. Dominic's +cathedral, so completely muffled the human figure. To Pierre, the deep +oaken recess of the double-casement, before which Isabel was kneeling, +seemed now the immediate vestibule of some awful shrine, mystically +revealed through the obscurely open window, which ever and anon was +still softly illumined by the mild heat-lightnings and +ground-lightnings, that wove their wonderfulness without, in the +unsearchable air of that ebonly warm and most noiseless summer night. + +Some unsubduable word was on Pierre's lip, but a sudden voice from out +the veil bade him be silent. + +"Mother--mother--mother!" + +Again, after a preluding silence, the guitar as magically responded as +before; the sparks quivered along its strings; and again Pierre felt as +in the immediate presence of the spirit. + +"Shall I, mother?--Art thou ready? Wilt thou tell me?--Now? Now?" + +These words were lowly and sweetly murmured in the same way with the +word _mother_, being changefully varied in their modulations, till at +the last _now_, the magical guitar again responded; and the girl swiftly +drew it to her beneath her dark tent of hair. In this act, as the long +curls swept over the strings of the guitar, the strange sparks--still +quivering there--caught at those attractive curls; the entire casement +was suddenly and wovenly illumined; then waned again; while now, in the +succeeding dimness, every downward undulating wave and billow of +Isabel's tossed tresses gleamed here and there like a tract of +phosphorescent midnight sea; and, simultaneously, all the four winds of +the world of melody broke loose, and again as on the previous night, +only in a still more subtile, and wholly inexplicable way, Pierre felt +himself surrounded by ten thousand sprites and gnomes, and his whole +soul was swayed and tossed by supernatural tides; and again he heard the +wondrous, rebounding, chanted words: + + "Mystery! Mystery! + Mystery of Isabel! + Mystery! Mystery! + Isabel and Mystery! + Mystery!" + + +III. + +Almost deprived of consciousness by the spell flung over him by the +marvelous girl, Pierre unknowingly gazed away from her, as on vacancy; +and when at last stillness had once more fallen upon the room--all +except the stepping--and he recovered his self-possession, and turned to +look where he might now be, he was surprised to see Isabel composedly, +though avertedly, seated on the bench; the longer and fuller tresses of +her now ungleaming hair flung back, and the guitar quietly leaning in +the corner. + +He was about to put some unconsidered question to her, but she +half-anticipated it by bidding him, in a low, but nevertheless almost +authoritative tone, not to make any allusion to the scene he had just +beheld. + +He paused, profoundly thinking to himself, and now felt certain that the +entire scene, from the first musical invocation of the guitar, must have +unpremeditatedly proceeded from a sudden impulse in the girl, inspired +by the peculiar mood into which the preceding conversation, and +especially the handling of the guitar under such circumstances, had +irresistibly thrown her. + +But that certain something of the preternatural in the scene, of which +he could not rid his mind:--the, so to speak, voluntary and all but +intelligent responsiveness of the guitar--its strangely scintillating +strings--the so suddenly glorified head of Isabel; altogether, these +things seemed not at the time entirely produced by customary or natural +causes. To Pierre's dilated senses Isabel seemed to swim in an electric +fluid; the vivid buckler of her brow seemed as a magnetic plate. Now +first this night was Pierre made aware of what, in the superstitiousness +of his rapt enthusiasm, he could not help believing was an extraordinary +physical magnetism in Isabel. And--as it were derived from this +marvelous quality thus imputed to her--he now first became vaguely +sensible of a certain still more marvelous power in the girl over +himself and his most interior thoughts and motions;--a power so hovering +upon the confines of the invisible world, that it seemed more inclined +that way than this;--a power which not only seemed irresistibly to draw +him toward Isabel, but to draw him away from another quarter--wantonly +as it were, and yet quite ignorantly and unintendingly; and, besides, +without respect apparently to any thing ulterior, and yet again, only +under cover of drawing him to her. For over all these things, and +interfusing itself with the sparkling electricity in which she seemed to +swim, was an ever-creeping and condensing haze of ambiguities. Often, in +after-times with her, did he recall this first magnetic night, and would +seem to see that she then had bound him to her by an extraordinary +atmospheric spell--both physical and spiritual--which henceforth it had +become impossible for him to break, but whose full potency he never +recognized till long after he had become habituated to its sway. This +spell seemed one with that Pantheistic master-spell, which eternally +locks in mystery and in muteness the universal subject world, and the +physical electricalness of Isabel seemed reciprocal with the +heat-lightnings and the ground-lightnings nigh to which it had first +become revealed to Pierre. She seemed molded from fire and air, and +vivified at some Voltaic pile of August thunder-clouds heaped against +the sunset. + +The occasional sweet simplicity, and innocence, and humbleness of her +story; her often serene and open aspect; her deep-seated, but mostly +quiet, unobtrusive sadness, and that touchingness of her less unwonted +tone and air;--these only the more signalized and contrastingly +emphasized the profounder, subtler, and more mystic part of her. +Especially did Pierre feel this, when after another silent interval, she +now proceeded with her story in a manner so gently confiding, so +entirely artless, so almost peasant-like in its simplicity, and dealing +in some details so little sublimated in themselves, that it seemed well +nigh impossible that this unassuming maid should be the same dark, regal +being who had but just now bade Pierre be silent in so imperious a tone, +and around whose wondrous temples the strange electric glory had been +playing. Yet not very long did she now thus innocently proceed, ere, at +times, some fainter flashes of her electricalness came from her, but +only to be followed by such melting, human, and most feminine traits as +brought all his soft, enthusiast tears into the sympathetic but still +unshedding eyes of Pierre. + + +IV. + +"Thou rememberest, my brother, my telling thee last night, how +the--the--thou knowest what I mean--_that, there_"--avertedly pointing +to the guitar; "thou rememberest how it came into my possession. But +perhaps I did not tell thee, that the pedler said he had got it in +barter from the servants of a great house some distance from the place +where I was then residing." + +Pierre signed his acquiescence, and Isabel proceeded: + +"Now, at long though stated intervals, that man passed the farm-house in +his trading route between the small towns and villages. When I +discovered the gilding in the guitar, I kept watch for him; for though I +truly felt persuaded that Fate had the dispensing of her own secrets in +her own good time; yet I also felt persuaded that in some cases Fate +drops us one little hint, leaving our own minds to follow it up, so that +we of ourselves may come to the grand secret in reserve. So I kept +diligent watch for him; and the next time he stopped, without permitting +him at all to guess my motives, I contrived to steal out of him what +great house it was from which the guitar had come. And, my brother, it +was the mansion of Saddle Meadows." + +Pierre started, and the girl went on: + +"Yes, my brother, Saddle Meadows; 'old General Glendinning's place,' he +said; 'but the old hero's long dead and gone now; and--the more's the +pity--so is the young General, his son, dead and gone; but then there is +a still younger grandson General left; that family always keep the title +and the name a-going; yes, even to the surname,--Pierre. Pierre +Glendinning was the white-haired old General's name, who fought in the +old French and Indian wars; and Pierre Glendinning is his young +great-grandson's name.' Thou may'st well look at me so, my +brother;--yes, he meant thee, _thee_, my brother." + +"But the guitar--the guitar!"--cried Pierre--"how came the guitar openly +at Saddle Meadows, and how came it to be bartered away by servants? Tell +me that, Isabel!" + +"Do not put such impetuous questions to me, Pierre; else thou mayst +recall the old--may be, it is the evil spell upon me. I can not +precisely and knowingly answer thee. I could surmise; but what are +surmises worth? Oh, Pierre, better, a million times, and far sweeter are +mysteries than surmises: though the mystery be unfathomable, it is still +the unfathomableness of fullness; but the surmise, that is but shallow +and unmeaning emptiness." + +"But this is the most inexplicable point of all. Tell me, Isabel; surely +thou must have thought something about this thing." + +"Much, Pierre, very much; but only about the mystery of it--nothing +more. Could I, I would not now be fully told, how the guitar came to be +at Saddle Meadows, and came to be bartered away by the servants of +Saddle Meadows. Enough, that it found me out, and came to me, and spoke +and sung to me, and soothed me, and has been every thing to me." + +She paused a moment; while vaguely to his secret self Pierre revolved +these strange revealings; but now he was all attention again as Isabel +resumed. + +"I now held in my mind's hand the clew, my brother. But I did not +immediately follow it further up. Sufficient to me in my loneliness was +the knowledge, that I now knew where my father's family was to be found. +As yet not the slightest intention of ever disclosing myself to them, +had entered my mind. And assured as I was, that for obvious reasons, +none of his surviving relatives could possibly know me, even if they saw +me, for what I really was, I felt entire security in the event of +encountering any of them by chance. But my unavoidable displacements and +migrations from one house to another, at last brought me within twelve +miles of Saddle Meadows. I began to feel an increasing longing in me; +but side by side with it, a new-born and competing pride,--yes, pride, +Pierre. Do my eyes flash? They belie me, if they do not. But it is no +common pride, Pierre; for what has Isabel to be proud of in this world? +It is the pride of--of--a too, too longing, loving heart, Pierre--the +pride of lasting suffering and grief, my brother! Yes, I conquered the +great longing with the still more powerful pride, Pierre; and so I would +not now be here, in this room,--nor wouldst thou ever have received any +line from me; nor, in all worldly probability, ever so much as heard of +her who is called Isabel Banford, had it not been for my hearing that at +Walter Ulver's, only three miles from the mansion of Saddle Meadows, +poor Bell would find people kind enough to give her wages for her work. +Feel my hand, my brother." + +"Dear divine girl, my own exalted Isabel!" cried Pierre, catching the +offered hand with ungovernable emotion, "how most unbeseeming, that this +strange hardness, and this still stranger littleness should be united in +any human hand. But hard and small, it by an opposite analogy hints of +the soft capacious heart that made the hand so hard with heavenly +submission to thy most undeserved and martyred lot. Would, Isabel, that +these my kisses on the hand, were on the heart itself, and dropt the +seeds of eternal joy and comfort there." + +He leaped to his feet, and stood before her with such warm, god-like +majesty of love and tenderness, that the girl gazed up at him as though +he were the one benignant star in all her general night. + +"Isabel," cried Pierre, "I stand the sweet penance in my father's stead, +thou, in thy mother's. By our earthly acts we shall redeemingly bless +both their eternal lots; we will love with the pure and perfect love of +angel to an angel. If ever I fall from thee, dear Isabel, may Pierre +fall from himself; fall back forever into vacant nothingness and night!" + +"My brother, my brother, speak not so to me; it is too much; unused to +any love ere now, thine, so heavenly and immense, falls crushing on me! +Such love is almost hard to bear as hate. Be still; do not speak to me." + +They were both silent for a time; when she went on. + +"Yes, my brother, Fate had now brought me within three miles of thee; +and--but shall I go straight on, and tell thee all, Pierre? all? every +thing? art thou of such divineness, that I may speak straight on, in all +my thoughts, heedless whither they may flow, or what things they may +float to me?" + +"Straight on, and fearlessly," said Pierre. + +"By chance I saw thy mother, Pierre, and under such circumstances that I +_knew_ her to be thy mother; and--but shall I go on?" + +"Straight on, my Isabel; thou didst see my mother--well?" + +"And when I saw her, though I spake not to her, nor she to me, yet +straightway my heart knew that she would love me not." + +"Thy heart spake true," muttered Pierre to himself; "go on." + +"I re-swore an oath never to reveal myself to thy mother." + +"Oath well sworn," again he muttered; "go on." + +"But I saw _thee_, Pierre; and, more than ever filled my mother toward +thy father, Pierre, then upheaved in me. Straightway I knew that if ever +I should come to be made known to thee, then thy own generous love would +open itself to me." + +"Again thy heart spake true," he murmured; "go on--and didst thou +re-swear again?" + +"No, Pierre; but yes, I did. I swore that thou wert my brother; with +love and pride I swore, that young and noble Pierre Glendinning was my +brother!" + +"And only that?" + +"Nothing more, Pierre; not to thee even, did I ever think to reveal +myself." + +"How then? thou _art_ revealed to me." + +"Yes; but the great God did it, Pierre--not poor Bell. Listen. + +"I felt very dreary here; poor, dear Delly--thou must have heard +something of her story--a most sorrowful house, Pierre. Hark! that is +her seldom-pausing pacing thou hearest from the floor above. So she +keeps ever pacing, pacing, pacing; in her track, all thread-bare, +Pierre, is her chamber-rug. Her father will not look upon her; her +mother, she hath cursed her to her face. Out of yon chamber, Pierre, +Delly hath not slept, for now four weeks and more; nor ever hath she +once laid upon her bed; it was last made up five weeks ago; but paces, +paces, paces, all through the night, till after twelve; and then sits +vacant in her chair. Often I would go to her to comfort her; but she +says, 'Nay, nay, nay,' to me through the door; says 'Nay, nay, nay,' and +only nay to me, through the bolted door; bolted three weeks ago--when I +by cunning arts stole her dead baby from her, and with these fingers, +alone, by night, scooped out a hollow, and, seconding heaven's own +charitable stroke, buried that sweet, wee symbol of her not unpardonable +shame far from the ruthless foot of man--yes, bolted three weeks ago, +not once unbolted since; her food I must thrust through the little +window in her closet. Pierre, hardly these two handfuls has she eaten in +a week." + +"Curses, wasp-like, cohere on that villain, Ned, and sting him to his +death!" cried Pierre, smit by this most piteous tale. "What can be done +for her, sweet Isabel; can Pierre do aught?" + +"If thou or I do not, then the ever-hospitable grave will prove her +quick refuge, Pierre. Father and mother both, are worse than dead and +gone to her. They would have turned her forth, I think, but for my own +poor petitionings, unceasing in her behalf!" + +Pierre's deep concern now gave place to a momentary look of benevolent +intelligence. + +"Isabel, a thought of benefit to Delly has just entered me; but I am +still uncertain how best it may be acted on. Resolved I am though to +succor her. Do thou still hold her here yet awhile, by thy sweet +petitionings, till my further plans are more matured. Now run on with +thy story, and so divert me from the pacing;--her every step steps in my +soul." + +"Thy noble heart hath many chambers, Pierre; the records of thy wealth, +I see, are not bound up in the one poor book of Isabel, my brother. Thou +art a visible token, Pierre, of the invisible angel-hoods, which in our +darker hours we do sometimes distrust. The gospel of thy acts goes very +far, my brother. Were all men like to thee, then were there no men at +all,--mankind extinct in seraphim!" + +"Praises are for the base, my sister, cunningly to entice them to fair +Virtue by our ignorings of the ill in them, and our imputings of the +good not theirs. So make not my head to hang, sweet Isabel. Praise me +not. Go on now with thy tale." + +"I have said to thee, my brother, how most dreary I found it here, and +from the first. Wonted all my life to sadness--if it be such--still, +this house hath such acuteness in its general grief, such hopelessness +and despair of any slightest remedy--that even poor Bell could scarce +abide it always, without some little going forth into contrasting +scenes. So I went forth into the places of delight, only that I might +return more braced to minister in the haunts of woe. For continual +unchanging residence therein, doth but bring on woe's stupor, and make +us as dead. So I went forth betimes; visiting the neighboring cottages; +where there were chattering children, and no one place vacant at the +cheerful board. Thus at last I chanced to hear of the Sewing Circle to +be held at the Miss Pennies'; and how that they were anxious to press +into their kind charity all the maidens of the country round. In various +cottages, I was besought to join; and they at length persuaded me; not +that I was naturally loth to it, and needed such entreaties; but at +first I felt great fear, lest at such a scene I might closely encounter +some of the Glendinnings; and that thought was then namelessly repulsive +to me. But by stealthy inquiries I learned, that the lady of the +manorial-house would not be present;--it proved deceptive +information;--but I went; and all the rest thou knowest." + +"I do, sweet Isabel, but thou must tell it over to me; and all thy +emotions there." + + +V. + +"Though but one day hath passed, my brother, since we first met in life, +yet thou hast that heavenly magnet in thee, which draws all my soul's +interior to thee. I will go on.--Having to wait for a neighbor's wagon, +I arrived but late at the Sewing Circle. When I entered, the two joined +rooms were very full. With the farmer's girls, our neighbors, I passed +along to the further corner, where thou didst see me; and as I went, +some heads were turned, and some whisperings I heard, of--'She's the new +help at poor Walter Ulver's--the strange girl they've got--she thinks +herself 'mazing pretty, I'll be bound;--but nobody knows her--Oh, how +demure!--but not over-good, I guess;--I wouldn't be her, not I--mayhap +she's some other ruined Delly, run away;--minx!' It was the first time +poor Bell had ever mixed in such a general crowded company; and knowing +little or nothing of such things, I had thought, that the meeting being +for charity's sweet sake, uncharity could find no harbor there; but no +doubt it was mere thoughtlessness, not malice in them. Still, it made my +heart ache in me sadly; for then I very keenly felt the dread +suspiciousness, in which a strange and lonely grief invests itself to +common eyes; as if grief itself were not enough, nor innocence any armor +to us, but despite must also come, and icy infamy! Miserable returnings +then I had--even in the midst of bright-budding girls and full-blown +women--miserable returnings then I had of the feeling, the bewildering +feeling of the inhumanities I spoke of in my earlier story. But Pierre, +blessed Pierre, do not look so sadly and half-reproachfully upon me. +Lone and lost though I have been, I love my kind; and charitably and +intelligently pity them, who uncharitably and unintelligently do me +despite. And thou, _thou_, blessed brother, hath glorified many somber +places in my soul, and taught me once for all to know, that my kind are +capable of things which would be glorious in angels. So look away from +me, dear Pierre, till thou hast taught thine eyes more wonted glances." + +"They are vile falsifying telegraphs of me, then, sweet Isabel. What my +look was I can not tell, but my heart was only dark with ill-restrained +upbraidings against heaven that could unrelentingly see such innocence +as thine so suffer. Go on with thy too-touching tale." + +"Quietly I sat there sewing, not brave enough to look up at all, and +thanking my good star, that had led me to so concealed a nook behind the +rest: quietly I sat there, sewing on a flannel shirt, and with each +stitch praying God, that whatever heart it might be folded over, the +flannel might hold it truly warm; and keep out the wide-world-coldness +which I felt myself; and which no flannel, or thickest fur, or any fire +then could keep off from me; quietly I sat there sewing, when I heard +the announcing words--oh, how deep and ineffaceably engraved they +are!--'Ah, dames, dames, Madame Glendinning,--Master Pierre +Glendinning.' Instantly, my sharp needle went through my side and +stitched my heart; the flannel dropt from my hand; thou heard'st my +shriek. But the good people bore me still nearer to the casement close +at hand, and threw it open wide; and God's own breath breathed on me; +and I rallied; and said it was some merest passing fit--'twas quite over +now--I was used to it--they had my heart's best thanks--but would they +now only leave me to myself, it were best for me;--I would go on and +sew. And thus it came and passed away; and again I sat sewing on the +flannel, hoping either that the unanticipated persons would soon depart, +or else that some spirit would catch me away from there; I sat sewing +on--till, Pierre! Pierre!--without looking up--for that I dared not do +at any time that evening--only once--without looking up, or knowing +aught but the flannel on my knee, and the needle in my heart, I +felt,--Pierre, _felt_--a glance of magnetic meaning on me. Long, I, +shrinking, sideways turned to meet it, but could not; till some helping +spirit seized me, and all my soul looked up at thee in my full-fronting +face. It was enough. Fate was in that moment. All the loneliness of my +life, all the choked longings of my soul, now poured over me. I could +not away from them. Then first I felt the complete deplorableness of my +state; that while thou, my brother, had a mother, and troops of aunts +and cousins, and plentiful friends in city and in country--I, I, Isabel, +thy own father's daughter, was thrust out of all hearts' gates, and +shivered in the winter way. But this was but the least. Not poor Bell +can tell thee all the feelings of poor Bell, or what feelings she felt +first. It was all one whirl of old and new bewilderings, mixed and +slanted with a driving madness. But it was most the sweet, inquisitive, +kindly interested aspect of thy face,--so strangely like thy father's, +too--the one only being that I first did love--it was that which most +stirred the distracting storm in me; most charged me with the immense +longings for some one of my blood to know me, and to own me, though but +once, and then away. Oh, my dear brother--Pierre! Pierre!--could'st thou +take out my heart, and look at it in thy hand, then thou would'st find +it all over written, this way and that, and crossed again, and yet +again, with continual lines of longings, that found no end but in +suddenly calling thee. Call him! Call him! He will come!--so cried my +heart to me; so cried the leaves and stars to me, as I that night went +home. But pride rose up--the very pride in my own longings,--and as one +arm pulled, the other held. So I stood still, and called thee not. But +Fate will be Fate, and it was fated. Once having met thy fixed regardful +glance; once having seen the full angelicalness in thee, my whole soul +was undone by thee; my whole pride was cut off at the root, and soon +showed a blighting in the bud; which spread deep into my whole being, +till I knew, that utterly decay and die away I must, unless pride let me +go, and I, with the one little trumpet of a pen, blew my heart's +shrillest blast, and called dear Pierre to me. My soul was full; and as +my beseeching ink went tracing o'er the page, my tears contributed their +mite, and made a strange alloy. How blest I felt that my so bitterly +tear-mingled ink--that last depth of my anguish--would never be visibly +known to thee, but the tears would dry upon the page, and all be fair +again, ere the so submerged-freighted letter should meet thine eye. + +"Ah, there thou wast deceived, poor Isabel," cried Pierre impulsively; +"thy tears dried not fair, but dried red, almost like blood; and nothing +so much moved my inmost soul as that tragic sight." + +"How? how? Pierre, my brother? Dried they red? Oh, horrible! +enchantment! most undreamed of!" + +"Nay, the ink--the ink! something chemic in it changed thy real tears to +seeming blood;--only that, my sister." + +"Oh Pierre! thus wonderfully is it--seems to me--that our own hearts do +not ever know the extremity of their own sufferings; sometimes we bleed +blood, when we think it only water. Of our sufferings, as of our +talents, others sometimes are the better judges. But stop me! force me +backward to my story! Yet methinks that now thou knowest all;--no, not +entirely all. Thou dost not know what planned and winnowed motive I did +have in writing thee; nor does poor Bell know that; for poor Bell was +too delirious to have planned and winnowed motives then. The impulse in +me called thee, not poor Bell. God called thee, Pierre, not poor Bell. +Even now, when I have passed one night after seeing thee, and hearkening +to all thy full love and graciousness; even now, I stand as one amazed, +and feel not what may be coming to me, or what will now befall me, from +having so rashly claimed thee for mine. Pierre, now, _now_, this instant +a vague anguish fills me. Tell me, by loving me, by owning me, publicly +or secretly,--tell me, doth it involve any vital hurt to thee? Speak +without reserve; speak honestly; as I do to thee! Speak now, Pierre, and +tell me all!" + +"Is Love a harm? Can Truth betray to pain? Sweet Isabel, how can hurt +come in the path to God? Now, when I know thee all, now did I forget +thee, fail to acknowledge thee, and love thee before the wide world's +whole brazen width--could I do that; then might'st thou ask thy question +reasonably and say--Tell me, Pierre, does not the suffocating in thee of +poor Bell's holy claims, does not that involve for thee unending misery? +And my truthful soul would echo--Unending misery! Nay, nay, nay. Thou +art my sister and I am thy brother; and that part of the world which +knows me, shall acknowledge thee; or by heaven I will crush the +disdainful world down on its knees to thee, my sweet Isabel!" + +"The menacings in thy eyes are dear delights to me; I grow up with thy +own glorious stature; and in thee, my brother, I see God's indignant +embassador to me, saying--Up, up, Isabel, and take no terms from the +common world, but do thou make terms to it, and grind thy fierce rights +out of it! Thy catching nobleness unsexes me, my brother; and now I know +that in her most exalted moment, then woman no more feels the twin-born +softness of her breasts, but feels chain-armor palpitating there!" + +Her changed attitude of beautiful audacity; her long scornful hair, that +trailed out a disheveled banner; her wonderful transfigured eyes, in +which some meteors seemed playing up; all this now seemed to Pierre the +work of an invisible enchanter. Transformed she stood before him; and +Pierre, bowing low over to her, owned that irrespective, darting majesty +of humanity, which can be majestical and menacing in woman as in man. + +But her gentler sex returned to Isabel at last; and she sat silent in +the casement's niche, looking out upon the soft ground-lightnings of the +electric summer night. + + +VI. + +Sadly smiling, Pierre broke the pause. + +"My sister, thou art so rich, that thou must do me alms; I am very +hungry; I have forgotten to eat since breakfast;--and now thou shalt +bring me bread and a cup of water, Isabel, ere I go forth from thee. +Last night I went rummaging in a pantry, like a bake-house burglar; but +to-night thou and I must sup together, Isabel; for as we may henceforth +live together, let us begin forthwith to eat in company." + +Isabel looked up at him, with sudden and deep emotion, then all +acquiescing sweetness, and silently left the room. + +As she returned, Pierre, casting his eyes toward the ceiling, said--"She +is quiet now, the pacing hath entirely ceased." + +"Not the beating, tho'; her foot hath paused, not her unceasing heart. +My brother, she is not quiet now; quiet for her hath gone; so that the +pivoted stillness of this night is yet a noisy madness to her." + +"Give me pen or pencil, and some paper, Isabel." + +She laid down her loaf, and plate, and knife, and brought him pen, and +ink, and paper. + +Pierre took the pen. + +"Was this the one, dear Isabel?" + +"It is the one, my brother; none other is in this poor cot." + +He gazed at it intensely. Then turning to the table, steadily wrote the +following note: + + "For Delly Ulver: with the deep and true regard and sympathy of + Pierre Glendinning. + + "Thy sad story--partly known before--hath now more fully come to + me, from one who sincerely feels for thee, and who hath imparted + her own sincerity to me. Thou desirest to quit this neighborhood, + and be somewhere at peace, and find some secluded employ fitted to + thy sex and age. With this, I now willingly charge myself, and + insure it to thee, so far as my utmost ability can go. + Therefore--if consolation be not wholly spurned by thy great grief, + which too often happens, though it be but grief's great folly so to + feel--therefore, two true friends of thine do here beseech thee to + take some little heart to thee, and bethink thee, that all thy life + is not yet lived; that Time hath surest healing in his continuous + balm. Be patient yet a little while, till thy future lot be + disposed for thee, through our best help; and so, know me and + Isabel thy earnest friends and true-hearted lovers." + +He handed the note to Isabel. She read it silently, and put it down, and +spread her two hands over him, and with one motion lifted her eyes +toward Delly and toward God. + +"Thou think'st it will not pain her to receive the note, Isabel? Thou +know'st best. I thought, that ere our help do really reach her, some +promise of it now might prove slight comfort. But keep it, and do as +thou think'st best." + +"Then straightway will I give it her, my brother," said Isabel, quitting +him. + +An infixing stillness, now thrust a long rivet through the night, and +fast nailed it to that side of the world. And alone again in such an +hour, Pierre could not but listen. He heard Isabel's step on the stair; +then it approached him from above; then he heard a gentle knock, and +thought he heard a rustling, as of paper slid over a threshold +underneath a door. Then another advancing and opposite step tremblingly +met Isabel's; and then both steps stepped from each other, and soon +Isabel came back to him. + +"Thou did'st knock, and slide it underneath the door?" + +"Yes, and she hath it now. Hark! a sobbing! Thank God, long arid grief +hath found a tear at last. Pity, sympathy hath done this.--Pierre, for +thy dear deed thou art already sainted, ere thou be dead." + +"Do saints hunger, Isabel?" said Pierre, striving to call her away from +this. "Come, give me the loaf; but no, thou shalt help me, my +sister.--Thank thee;--this is twice over the bread of sweetness.--Is +this of thine own making, Isabel?" + +"My own making, my brother." + +"Give me the cup; hand it me with thine own hand. So:--Isabel, my heart +and soul are now full of deepest reverence; yet I do dare to call this +the real sacrament of the supper.--Eat with me." + +They eat together without a single word; and without a single word, +Pierre rose, and kissed her pure and spotless brow, and without a single +word departed from the place. + + +VII. + +We know not Pierre Glendinning's thoughts as he gained the village and +passed on beneath its often shrouding trees, and saw no light from man, +and heard no sound from man, but only, by intervals, saw at his feet the +soft ground-lightnings, snake-like, playing in and out among the blades +of grass; and between the trees, caught the far dim light from heaven, +and heard the far wide general hum of the sleeping but still breathing +earth. + +He paused before a detached and pleasant house, with much shrubbery +about it. He mounted the portico and knocked distinctly there, just as +the village clock struck one. He knocked, but no answer came. He knocked +again, and soon he heard a sash thrown up in the second story, and an +astonished voice inquired who was there? + +"It is Pierre Glendinning, and he desires an instant interview with the +Reverend Mr. Falsgrave." + +"Do I hear right?--in heaven's name, what is the matter, young +gentleman?" + +"Every thing is the matter; the whole world is the matter. Will you +admit me, sir?" + +"Certainly--but I beseech thee--nay, stay, I will admit thee." + +In quicker time than could have been anticipated, the door was opened to +Pierre by Mr. Falsgrave in person, holding a candle, and invested in his +very becoming student's wrapper of Scotch plaid. + +"For heaven's sake, what is the matter, Mr. Glendinning?" + +"Heaven and earth is the matter, sir! shall we go up to the study?" + +"Certainly, but--but--" + +"Well, let us proceed, then." + +They went up-stairs, and soon found themselves in the clergyman's +retreat, and both sat down; the amazed host still holding the candle in +his hand, and intently eying Pierre, with an apprehensive aspect. + +"Thou art a man of God, sir, I believe." + +"I? I? I? upon my word, Mr. Glendinning!" + +"Yes, sir, the world calls thee a man of God. Now, what hast thou, the +man of God, decided, with my mother, concerning Delly Ulver?" + +"Delly Ulver! why, why--what can this madness mean?" + +"It means, sir, what have thou and my mother decided concerning Delly +Ulver." + +"She?--Delly Ulver? She is to depart the neighborhood; why, her own +parents want her not." + +"_How_ is she to depart? _Who_ is to take her? Art _thou_ to take her? +_Where_ is she to go? _Who_ has food for her? _What_ is to keep her from +the pollution to which such as she are every day driven to contribute, +by the detestable uncharitableness and heartlessness of the world?" + +"Mr. Glendinning," said the clergyman, now somewhat calmly putting down +the candle, and folding himself with dignity in his gown; "Mr. +Glendinning, I will not now make any mention of my natural astonishment +at this most unusual call, and the most extraordinary time of it. Thou +hast sought information upon a certain point, and I have given it to +thee, to the best of my knowledge. All thy after and incidental +questions, I choose to have no answer for. I will be most happy to see +thee at any other time, but for the present thou must excuse my +presence. Good-night, sir." + +But Pierre sat entirely still, and the clergyman could not but remain +standing still. + +"I perfectly comprehend the whole, sir. Delly Ulver, then, is to be +driven out to starve or rot; and this, too, by the acquiescence of a man +of God. Mr. Falsgrave, the subject of Delly, deeply interesting as it is +to me, is only the preface to another, still more interesting to me, and +concerning which I once cherished some slight hope that thou wouldst +have been able, in thy Christian character, to sincerely and honestly +counsel me. But a hint from heaven assures me now, that thou hast no +earnest and world-disdaining counsel for me. I must seek it direct from +God himself, whom, I now know, never delegates his holiest admonishings. +But I do not blame thee; I think I begin to see how thy profession is +unavoidably entangled by all fleshly alliances, and can not move with +godly freedom in a world of benefices. I am more sorry than indignant. +Pardon me for my most uncivil call, and know me as not thy enemy. +Good-night, sir." + + + + +BOOK IX. + +MORE LIGHT, AND THE GLOOM OF THAT LIGHT. MORE GLOOM, AND THE LIGHT OF +THAT GLOOM. + + +I. + +In those Hyperborean regions, to which enthusiastic Truth, and +Earnestness, and Independence, will invariably lead a mind fitted by +nature for profound and fearless thought, all objects are seen in a +dubious, uncertain, and refracting light. Viewed through that rarefied +atmosphere the most immemorially admitted maxims of men begin to slide +and fluctuate, and finally become wholly inverted; the very heavens +themselves being not innocent of producing this confounding effect, +since it is mostly in the heavens themselves that these wonderful +mirages are exhibited. + +But the example of many minds forever lost, like undiscoverable Arctic +explorers, amid those treacherous regions, warns us entirely away from +them; and we learn that it is not for man to follow the trail of truth +too far, since by so doing he entirely loses the directing compass of +his mind; for arrived at the Pole, to whose barrenness only it points, +there, the needle indifferently respects all points of the horizon +alike. + +But even the less distant regions of thought are not without their +singular introversions. Hardly any sincere man of ordinary reflective +powers, and accustomed to exercise them at all, but must have been +independently struck by the thought, that, after all, what is so +enthusiastically applauded as the march of mind,--meaning the inroads of +Truth into Error--which has ever been regarded by hopeful persons as the +one fundamental thing most earnestly to be prayed for as the greatest +possible Catholic blessing to the world;--almost every thinking man must +have been some time or other struck with the idea, that, in certain +respects, a tremendous mistake may be lurking here, since all the world +does never gregariously advance to Truth, but only here and there some +of its individuals do; and by advancing, leave the rest behind; cutting +themselves forever adrift from their sympathy, and making themselves +always liable to be regarded with distrust, dislike, and often, +downright--though, ofttimes, concealed--fear and hate. What wonder, +then, that those advanced minds, which in spite of advance, happen still +to remain, for the time, ill-regulated, should now and then be goaded +into turning round in acts of wanton aggression upon sentiments and +opinions now forever left in their rear. Certain it is, that in their +earlier stages of advance, especially in youthful minds, as yet +untranquilized by long habituation to the world as it inevitably and +eternally is; this aggressiveness is almost invariably manifested, and +as invariably afterward deplored by themselves. + +That amazing shock of practical truth, which in the compass of a very +few days and hours had not so much advanced, as magically transplanted +the youthful mind of Pierre far beyond all common discernments; it had +not been entirely unattended by the lamentable rearward aggressiveness +we have endeavored to portray above. Yielding to that unwarrantable +mood, he had invaded the profound midnight slumbers of the Reverend Mr. +Falsgrave, and most discourteously made war upon that really amiable and +estimable person. But as through the strange force of circumstances his +advance in insight had been so surprisingly rapid, so also was now his +advance in some sort of wisdom, in charitableness; and his concluding +words to Mr. Falsgrave, sufficiently evinced that already, ere quitting +that gentleman's study, he had begun to repent his ever entering it on +such a mission. + +And as he now walked on in the profound meditations induced by the hour; +and as all that was in him stirred to and fro, intensely agitated by the +ever-creative fire of enthusiastic earnestness, he became fully alive to +many palliating considerations, which had they previously occurred to +him would have peremptorily forbidden his impulsive intrusion upon the +respectable clergyman. + +But it is through the malice of this earthly air, that only by being +guilty of Folly does mortal man in many cases arrive at the perception +of Sense. A thought which should forever free us from hasty imprecations +upon our ever-recurring intervals of Folly; since though Folly be our +teacher, Sense is the lesson she teaches; since if Folly wholly depart +from us, Further Sense will be her companion in the flight, and we will +be left standing midway in wisdom. For it is only the miraculous vanity +of man which ever persuades him, that even for the most richly gifted +mind, there ever arrives an earthly period, where it can truly say to +itself, I have come to the Ultimate of Human Speculative Knowledge; +hereafter, at this present point I will abide. Sudden onsets of new +truth will assail him, and over-turn him as the Tartars did China; for +there is no China Wall that man can build in his soul, which shall +permanently stay the irruptions of those barbarous hordes which Truth +ever nourishes in the loins of her frozen, yet teeming North; so that +the Empire of Human Knowledge can never be lasting in any one dynasty, +since Truth still gives new Emperors to the earth. + +But the thoughts we here indite as Pierre's are to be very carefully +discriminated from those we indite concerning him. Ignorant at this time +of the ideas concerning the reciprocity and partnership of Folly and +Sense, in contributing to the mental and moral growth of the mind; +Pierre keenly upbraided his thoughtlessness, and began to stagger in his +soul; as distrustful of that radical change in his general sentiments, +which had thus hurried him into a glaring impropriety and folly; as +distrustful of himself, the most wretched distrust of all. But this last +distrust was not of the heart; for heaven itself, so he felt, had +sanctified that with its blessing; but it was the distrust of his +intellect, which in undisciplinedly espousing the manly enthusiast cause +of his heart, seemed to cast a reproach upon that cause itself. + +But though evermore hath the earnest heart an eventual balm for the most +deplorable error of the head; yet in the interval small alleviation is +to be had, and the whole man droops into nameless melancholy. Then it +seems as though the most magnanimous and virtuous resolutions were only +intended for fine spiritual emotions, not as mere preludes to their +bodily translation into acts; since in essaying their embodiment, we +have but proved ourselves miserable bunglers, and thereupon taken +ignominious shame to ourselves. Then, too, the never-entirely repulsed +hosts of Commonness, and Conventionalness, and Worldly +Prudent-mindedness return to the charge; press hard on the faltering +soul; and with inhuman hootings deride all its nobleness as mere +eccentricity, which further wisdom and experience shall assuredly cure. +The man is as seized by arms and legs, and convulsively pulled either +way by his own indecisions and doubts. Blackness advances her banner +over this cruel altercation, and he droops and swoons beneath its folds. + +It was precisely in this mood of mind that, at about two in the morning, +Pierre, with a hanging head, now crossed the private threshold of the +Mansion of Saddle Meadows. + + +II. + +In the profoundly silent heart of a house full of sleeping serving-men +and maids, Pierre now sat in his chamber before his accustomed round +table, still tossed with the books and the papers which, three days +before, he had abruptly left, for a sudden and more absorbing object. +Uppermost and most conspicuous among the books were the Inferno of +Dante, and the Hamlet of Shakspeare. + +His mind was wandering and vague; his arm wandered and was vague. Soon +he found the open Inferno in his hand, and his eye met the following +lines, allegorically overscribed within the arch of the outgoings of the +womb of human life: + + "Through me you pass into the city of Woe; + Through me you pass into eternal pain; + Through me, among the people lost for aye. + + * * * * * + + All hope abandon, ye who enter here." + +He dropped the fatal volume from his hand; he dropped his fated head +upon his chest. + +His mind was wandering and vague; his arm wandered and was vague. Some +moments passed, and he found the open Hamlet in his hand, and his eyes +met the following lines: + + "The time is out of joint;--Oh cursed spite, + That ever I was born to set it right!" + +He dropped the too true volume from his hand; his petrifying heart +dropped hollowly within him, as a pebble down Carrisbrook well. + + +III. + +The man Dante Alighieri received unforgivable affronts and insults from +the world; and the poet Dante Alighieri bequeathed his immortal curse to +it, in the sublime malediction of the Inferno. The fiery tongue whose +political forkings lost him the solacements of this world, found its +malicious counterpart in that muse of fire, which would forever bar the +vast bulk of mankind from all solacement in the worlds to come. +Fortunately for the felicity of the Dilletante in Literature, the +horrible allegorical meanings of the Inferno, lie not on the surface; +but unfortunately for the earnest and youthful piercers into truth and +reality, those horrible meanings, when first discovered, infuse their +poison into a spot previously unprovided with that sovereign antidote of +a sense of uncapitulatable security, which is only the possession of the +furthest advanced and profoundest souls. + +Judge ye, then, ye Judicious, the mood of Pierre, so far as the passage +in Dante touched him. + +If among the deeper significances of its pervading indefiniteness, which +significances are wisely hidden from all but the rarest adepts, the +pregnant tragedy of Hamlet convey any one particular moral at all fitted +to the ordinary uses of man, it is this:--that all meditation is +worthless, unless it prompt to action; that it is not for man to stand +shilly-shallying amid the conflicting invasions of surrounding impulses; +that in the earliest instant of conviction, the roused man must strike, +and, if possible, with the precision and the force of the +lightning-bolt. + +Pierre had always been an admiring reader of Hamlet; but neither his age +nor his mental experience thus far, had qualified him either to catch +initiating glimpses into the hopeless gloom of its interior meaning, or +to draw from the general story those superficial and purely incidental +lessons, wherein the painstaking moralist so complacently expatiates. + +The intensest light of reason and revelation combined, can not shed such +blazonings upon the deeper truths in man, as will sometimes proceed from +his own profoundest gloom. Utter darkness is then his light, and +cat-like he distinctly sees all objects through a medium which is mere +blindness to common vision. Wherefore have Gloom and Grief been +celebrated of old as the selectest chamberlains to knowledge? Wherefore +is it, that not to know Gloom and Grief is not to know aught that an +heroic man should learn? + +By the light of that gloom, Pierre now turned over the soul of Hamlet in +his hand. He knew not--at least, felt not--then, that Hamlet, though a +thing of life, was, after all, but a thing of breath, evoked by the +wanton magic of a creative hand, and as wantonly dismissed at last into +endless halls of hell and night. + +It is the not impartially bestowed privilege of the more final insights, +that at the same moment they reveal the depths, they do, sometimes, also +reveal--though by no means so distinctly--some answering heights. But +when only midway down the gulf, its crags wholly conceal the upper +vaults, and the wanderer thinks it all one gulf of downward dark. + +Judge ye, then, ye Judicious, the mood of Pierre, so far as the passage +in Hamlet touched him. + + +IV. + +Torn into a hundred shreds the printed pages of Hell and Hamlet lay at +his feet, which trampled them, while their vacant covers mocked him with +their idle titles. Dante had made him fierce, and Hamlet had insinuated +that there was none to strike. Dante had taught him that he had bitter +cause of quarrel; Hamlet taunted him with faltering in the fight. Now he +began to curse anew his fate, for now he began to see that after all he +had been finely juggling with himself, and postponing with himself, and +in meditative sentimentalities wasting the moments consecrated to +instant action. + +Eight-and-forty hours and more had passed. Was Isabel acknowledged? Had +she yet hung on his public arm? Who knew yet of Isabel but Pierre? Like +a skulking coward he had gone prowling in the woods by day, and like a +skulking coward he had stolen to her haunt by night! Like a thief he had +sat and stammered and turned pale before his mother, and in the cause of +Holy Right, permitted a woman to grow tall and hector over him! Ah! Easy +for man to think like a hero; but hard for man to act like one. All +imaginable audacities readily enter into the soul; few come boldly forth +from it. + +Did he, or did he not vitally mean to do this thing? Was the immense +stuff to do it his, or was it not his? Why defer? Why put off? What was +there to be gained by deferring and putting off? His resolution had been +taken, why was it not executed? What more was there to learn? What more +which was essential to the public acknowledgment of Isabel, had remained +to be learned, after his first glance at her first letter? Had doubts of +her identity come over him to stay him?--None at all. Against the wall +of the thick darkness of the mystery of Isabel, recorded as by some +phosphoric finger was the burning fact, that Isabel was his sister. Why +then? How then? Whence then this utter nothing of his acts? Did he +stagger at the thought, that at the first announcement to his mother +concerning Isabel, and his resolution to own her boldly and lovingly, +his proud mother, spurning the reflection on his father, would likewise +spurn Pierre and Isabel, and denounce both him and her, and hate them +both alike, as unnatural accomplices against the good name of the purest +of husbands and parents? Not at all. Such a thought was not in him. For +had he not already resolved, that his mother should know nothing of the +fact of Isabel?--But how now? What then? How was Isabel to be +acknowledged to the world, if his mother was to know nothing of that +acknowledgment?--Short-sighted, miserable palterer and huckster, thou +hast been playing a most fond and foolish game with thyself! Fool and +coward! Coward and fool! Tear thyself open, and read there the +confounding story of thy blind dotishness! Thy two grand +resolutions--the public acknowledgment of Isabel, and the charitable +withholding of her existence from thy own mother,--these are impossible +adjuncts.--Likewise, thy so magnanimous purpose to screen thy father's +honorable memory from reproach, and thy other intention, the open +vindication of thy fraternalness to Isabel,--these also are impossible +adjuncts. And the having individually entertained four such resolves, +without perceiving that once brought together, they all mutually expire; +this, this ineffable folly, Pierre, brands thee in the forehead for an +unaccountable infatuate! + +Well may'st thou distrust thyself, and curse thyself, and tear thy +Hamlet and thy Hell! Oh! fool, blind fool, and a million times an ass! +Go, go, thou poor and feeble one! High deeds are not for such blind +grubs as thou! Quit Isabel, and go to Lucy! Beg humble pardon of thy +mother, and hereafter be a more obedient and good boy to her, +Pierre--Pierre, Pierre,--infatuate! + +Impossible would it be now to tell all the confusion and confoundings in +the soul of Pierre, so soon as the above absurdities in his mind +presented themselves first to his combining consciousness. He would fain +have disowned the very memory and the mind which produced to him such an +immense scandal upon his common sanity. Now indeed did all the fiery +floods in the Inferno, and all the rolling gloom in Hamlet suffocate him +at once in flame and smoke. The cheeks of his soul collapsed in him: he +dashed himself in blind fury and swift madness against the wall, and +fell dabbling in the vomit of his loathed identity. + + + + +BOOK X. + +THE UNPRECEDENTED FINAL RESOLUTION OF PIERRE. + + +I. + +Glorified be his gracious memory who first said, The deepest gloom +precedes the day. We care not whether the saying will prove true to the +utmost bounds of things; sufficient that it sometimes does hold true +within the bounds of earthly finitude. + +Next morning Pierre rose from the floor of his chamber, haggard and +tattered in body from his past night's utter misery, but stoically +serene and symmetrical in soul, with the foretaste of what then seemed +to him a planned and perfect Future. Now he thinks he knows that the +wholly unanticipated storm which had so terribly burst upon him, had yet +burst upon him for his good; for the place, which in its undetected +incipiency, the storm had obscurely occupied in his soul, seemed now +clear sky to him; and all his horizon seemed distinctly commanded by +him. + +His resolution was a strange and extraordinary one; but therefore it +only the better met a strange and extraordinary emergency. But it was +not only strange and extraordinary in its novelty of mere aspect, but it +was wonderful in its unequaled renunciation of himself. + +From the first, determined at all hazards to hold his father's fair +fame inviolate from any thing he should do in reference to protecting +Isabel, and extending to her a brother's utmost devotedness and love; +and equally determined not to shake his mother's lasting peace by any +useless exposure of unwelcome facts; and yet vowed in his deepest soul +some way to embrace Isabel before the world, and yield to her his +constant consolation and companionship; and finding no possible mode of +unitedly compassing all these ends, without a most singular act of pious +imposture, which he thought all heaven would justify in him, since he +himself was to be the grand self-renouncing victim; therefore, this was +his settled and immovable purpose now; namely: to assume before the +world, that by secret rites, Pierre Glendinning was already become the +husband of Isabel Banford--an assumption which would entirely warrant +his dwelling in her continual company, and upon equal terms, taking her +wherever the world admitted him; and at the same time foreclose all +sinister inquisitions bearing upon his deceased parent's memory, or any +way affecting his mother's lasting peace, as indissolubly linked with +that. True, he in embryo, foreknew, that the extraordinary thing he had +resolved, would, in another way, indirectly though inevitably, dart a +most keen pang into his mother's heart; but this then seemed to him part +of the unavoidable vast price of his enthusiastic virtue; and, thus +minded, rather would he privately pain his living mother with a wound +that might be curable, than cast world-wide and irremediable +dishonor--so it seemed to him--upon his departed father. + +Probably no other being than Isabel could have produced upon Pierre +impressions powerful enough to eventuate in a final resolution so +unparalleled as the above. But the wonderful melodiousness of her grief +had touched the secret monochord within his breast, by an apparent +magic, precisely similar to that which had moved the stringed tongue of +her guitar to respond to the heart-strings of her own melancholy +plaints. The deep voice of the being of Isabel called to him from out +the immense distances of sky and air, and there seemed no veto of the +earth that could forbid her heavenly claim. + +During the three days that he had personally known her, and so been +brought into magnetic contact with her, other persuasions and potencies +than those direct ones, involved in her bewildering eyes and marvelous +story, had unconsciously left their ineffaceable impressions on him, and +perhaps without his privity, had mainly contributed to his resolve. She +had impressed him as the glorious child of Pride and Grief, in whose +countenance were traceable the divinest lineaments of both her parents. +Pride gave to her her nameless nobleness; Grief touched that nobleness +with an angelical softness; and again that softness was steeped in a +most charitable humility, which was the foundation of her loftiest +excellence of all. + +Neither by word or letter had Isabel betrayed any spark of those more +common emotions and desires which might not unreasonably be ascribed to +an ordinary person placed in circumstances like hers. Though almost +penniless, she had not invoked the pecuniary bounty of Pierre; and +though she was altogether silent on that subject, yet Pierre could not +but be strangely sensible of something in her which disdained to +voluntarily hang upon the mere bounty even of a brother. Nor, though she +by various nameless ways, manifested her consciousness of being +surrounded by uncongenial and inferior beings, while yet descended from +a generous stock, and personally meriting the most refined +companionships which the wide world could yield; nevertheless, she had +not demanded of Pierre that he should array her in brocade, and lead her +forth among the rare and opulent ladies of the land. But while thus +evincing her intuitive, true lady-likeness and nobleness by this entire +freedom from all sordid motives, neither had she merged all her feelings +in any sickly sentimentalities of sisterly affection toward her so +suddenly discovered brother; which, in the case of a naturally +unattractive woman in her circumstances, would not have been altogether +alluring to Pierre. No. That intense and indescribable longing, which +her letter by its very incoherencies had best embodied, proceeded from +no base, vain, or ordinary motive whatever; but was the unsuppressible +and unmistakable cry of the godhead through her soul, commanding Pierre +to fly to her, and do his highest and most glorious duty in the world. + +Nor now, as it changedly seemed to Pierre, did that duty consist in +stubbornly flying in the marble face of the Past, and striving to +reverse the decree which had pronounced that Isabel could never +perfectly inherit all the privileges of a legitimate child of her +father. And thoroughly now he felt, that even as this would in the +present case be both preposterous in itself and cruel in effect to both +the living and the dead, so was it entirely undesired by Isabel, who +though once yielding to a momentary burst of aggressive enthusiasm, yet +in her more wonted mood of mournfulness and sweetness, evinced no such +lawless wandering. Thoroughly, now he felt, that Isabel was content to +live obscure in her paternal identity, so long as she could any way +appease her deep longings for the constant love and sympathy and close +domestic contact of some one of her blood. So that Pierre had no +slightest misgiving that upon learning the character of his scheme, she +would deem it to come short of her natural expectations; while so far as +its apparent strangeness was concerned,--a strangeness, perhaps +invincible to squeamish and humdrum women--here Pierre anticipated no +obstacle in Isabel; for her whole past was strange, and strangeness +seemed best befitting to her future. + +But had Pierre now reread the opening paragraph of her letter to him, he +might have very quickly derived a powerful anticipative objection from +his sister, which his own complete disinterestedness concealed from him. +Though Pierre had every reason to believe that--owing to her secluded +and humble life--Isabel was in entire ignorance of the fact of his +precise relation to Lucy Tartan:--an ignorance, whose first indirect and +unconscious manifestation in Isabel, had been unspeakably welcome to +him;--and though, of course, he had both wisely and benevolently +abstained from enlightening her on that point; still, notwithstanding +this, was it possible that any true-hearted noble girl like Isabel, +would, to benefit herself, willingly become a participator in an act, +which would prospectively and forever bar the blessed boon of +marriageable love from one so young and generous as Pierre, and +eternally entangle him in a fictitious alliance, which, though in +reality but a web of air, yet in effect would prove a wall of iron; for +the same powerful motive which induced the thought of forming such an +alliance, would always thereafter forbid that tacit exposure of its +fictitiousness, which would be consequent upon its public +discontinuance, and the real nuptials of Pierre with any other being +during the lifetime of Isabel. + +But according to what view you take of it, it is either the gracious or +the malicious gift of the great gods to man, that on the threshold of +any wholly new and momentous devoted enterprise, the thousand ulterior +intricacies and emperilings to which it must conduct; these, at the +outset, are mostly withheld from sight; and so, through her +ever-primeval wilderness Fortune's Knight rides on, alike ignorant of +the palaces or the pitfalls in its heart. Surprising, and past all +ordinary belief, are those strange oversights and inconsistencies, into +which the enthusiastic meditation upon unique or extreme resolves will +sometimes beget in young and over-ardent souls. That all-comprehending +oneness, that calm representativeness, by which a steady philosophic +mind reaches forth and draws to itself, in their collective entirety, +the objects of its contemplations; that pertains not to the young +enthusiast. By his eagerness, all objects are deceptively foreshortened; +by his intensity each object is viewed as detached; so that essentially +and relatively every thing is misseen by him. Already have we exposed +that passing preposterousness in Pierre, which by reason of the +above-named cause which we have endeavored to portray, induced him to +cherish for a time four unitedly impossible designs. And now we behold +this hapless youth all eager to involve himself in such an inextricable +twist of Fate, that the three dextrous maids themselves could hardly +disentangle him, if once he tie the complicating knots about him and +Isabel. + +Ah, thou rash boy! are there no couriers in the air to warn thee away +from these emperilings, and point thee to those Cretan labyrinths, to +which thy life's cord is leading thee? Where now are the high +beneficences? Whither fled the sweet angels that are alledged guardians +to man? + +Not that the impulsive Pierre wholly overlooked all that was menacing to +him in his future, if now he acted out his most rare resolve; but +eagerly foreshortened by him, they assumed not their full magnitude of +menacing; nor, indeed,--so riveted now his purpose--were they pushed up +to his face, would he for that renounce his self-renunciation; while +concerning all things more immediately contingent upon his central +resolution; these were, doubtless, in a measure, foreseen and understood +by him. Perfectly, at least, he seemed to foresee and understand, that +the present hope of Lucy Tartan must be banished from his being; that +this would carry a terrible pang to her, which in the natural recoil +would but redouble his own; that to the world all his heroicness, +standing equally unexplained and unsuspected, therefore the world would +denounce him as infamously false to his betrothed; reckless of the most +binding human vows; a secret wooer and wedder of an unknown and +enigmatic girl; a spurner of all a loving mother's wisest counselings; a +bringer down of lasting reproach upon an honorable name; a besotted +self-exile from a most prosperous house and bounteous fortune; and +lastly, that now his whole life would, in the eyes of the wide humanity, +be covered with an all-pervading haze of incurable sinisterness, +possibly not to be removed even in the concluding hour of death. + +Such, oh thou son of man! are the perils and the miseries thou callest +down on thee, when, even in a virtuous cause, thou steppest aside from +those arbitrary lines of conduct, by which the common world, however +base and dastardly, surrounds thee for thy worldly good. + +Ofttimes it is very wonderful to trace the rarest and profoundest +things, and find their probable origin in something extremely trite or +trivial. Yet so strange and complicate is the human soul; so much is +confusedly evolved from out itself, and such vast and varied accessions +come to it from abroad, and so impossible is it always to distinguish +between these two, that the wisest man were rash, positively to assign +the precise and incipient origination of his final thoughts and acts. +Far as we blind moles can see, man's life seems but an acting upon +mysterious hints; it is somehow hinted to us, to do thus or thus. For +surely no mere mortal who has at all gone down into himself will ever +pretend that his slightest thought or act solely originates in his own +defined identity. This preamble seems not entirely unnecessary as usher +of the strange conceit, that possibly the latent germ of Pierre's +proposed extraordinary mode of executing his proposed extraordinary +resolve--namely, the nominal conversion of a sister into a wife--might +have been found in the previous conversational conversion of a mother +into a sister; for hereby he had habituated his voice and manner to a +certain fictitiousness in one of the closest domestic relations of life; +and since man's moral texture is very porous, and things assumed upon +the surface, at last strike in--hence, this outward habituation to the +above-named fictitiousness had insensibly disposed his mind to it as it +were; but only innocently and pleasantly as yet. If, by any possibility, +this general conceit be so, then to Pierre the times of sportfulness +were as pregnant with the hours of earnestness; and in sport he learnt +the terms of woe. + + +II. + +If next to that resolve concerning his lasting fraternal succor to +Isabel, there was at this present time any determination in Pierre +absolutely inflexible, and partaking at once of the sacredness and the +indissolubleness of the most solemn oath, it was the enthusiastic, and +apparently wholly supererogatory resolution to hold his father's memory +untouched; nor to one single being in the world reveal the paternity of +Isabel. Unrecallably dead and gone from out the living world, again +returned to utter helplessness, so far as this world went; his perished +father seemed to appeal to the dutifulness and mercifulness of Pierre, +in terms far more moving than though the accents proceeded from his +mortal mouth. And what though not through the sin of Pierre, but through +his father's sin, that father's fair fame now lay at the mercy of the +son, and could only be kept inviolate by the son's free sacrifice of all +earthly felicity;--what if this were so? It but struck a still loftier +chord in the bosom of the son, and filled him with infinite +magnanimities. Never had the generous Pierre cherished the heathenish +conceit, that even in the general world, Sin is a fair object to be +stretched on the cruelest racks by self-complacent Virtue, that +self-complacent Virtue may feed her lily-liveredness on the pallor of +Sin's anguish. For perfect Virtue does not more loudly claim our +approbation, than repented Sin in its concludedness does demand our +utmost tenderness and concern. And as the more immense the Virtue, so +should be the more immense our approbation; likewise the more immense +the Sin, the more infinite our pity. In some sort, Sin hath its +sacredness, not less than holiness. And great Sin calls forth more +magnanimity than small Virtue. What man, who is a man, does not feel +livelier and more generous emotions toward the great god of +Sin--Satan,--than toward yonder haberdasher, who only is a sinner in +the small and entirely honorable way of trade? + +Though Pierre profoundly shuddered at that impenetrable yet blackly +significant nebulousness, which the wild story of Isabel threw around +the early life of his father; yet as he recalled the dumb anguish of the +invocation of the empty and the ashy hand uplifted from his father's +death-bed, he most keenly felt that of whatsoever unknown shade his +father's guilt might be, yet in the final hour of death it had been most +dismally repented of; by a repentance only the more full of utter +wretchedness, that it was a consuming secret in him. Mince the matter +how his family would, had not his father died a raver? Whence that +raving, following so prosperous a life? Whence, but from the cruelest +compunctions? + +Touched thus, and strung in all his sinews and his nerves to the holding +of his father's memory intact,--Pierre turned his confronting and +unfrightened face toward Lucy Tartan, and stilly vowed that not even she +should know the whole; no, not know the least. + +There is an inevitable keen cruelty in the loftier heroism. It is not +heroism only to stand unflinched ourselves in the hour of suffering; but +it is heroism to stand unflinched both at our own and at some loved +one's united suffering; a united suffering, which we could put an +instant period to, if we would but renounce the glorious cause for which +ourselves do bleed, and see our most loved one bleed. If he would not +reveal his father's shame to the common world, whose favorable opinion +for himself, Pierre now despised; how then reveal it to the woman he +adored? To her, above all others, would he now uncover his father's +tomb, and bid her behold from what vile attaintings he himself had +sprung? So Pierre turned round and tied Lucy to the same stake which +must hold himself, for he too plainly saw, that it could not be, but +that both their hearts must burn. + +Yes, his resolve concerning his father's memory involved the necessity +of assuming even to Lucy his marriage with Isabel. Here he could not +explain himself, even to her. This would aggravate the sharp pang of +parting, by self-suggested, though wholly groundless surmising in Lucy's +mind, in the most miserable degree contaminating to her idea of him. But +on this point, he still fondly trusted that without at all marring his +filial bond, he would be enabled by some significant intimations to +arrest in Lucy's mind those darker imaginings which might find entrance +there; and if he could not set her wholly right, yet prevent her from +going wildly wrong. + +For his mother Pierre was more prepared. He considered that by an +inscrutable decree, which it was but foolishness to try to evade, or +shun, or deny existence to, since he felt it so profoundly pressing on +his inmost soul; the family of the Glendinnings was imperiously called +upon to offer up a victim to the gods of woe; one grand victim at the +least; and that grand victim must be his mother, or himself. If he +disclosed his secret to the world, then his mother was made the victim; +if at all hazards he kept it to himself, then himself would be the +victim. A victim as respecting his mother, because under the peculiar +circumstances of the case, the non-disclosure of the secret involved her +entire and infamy-engendering misconception of himself. But to this he +bowed submissive. + +One other thing--and the last to be here named, because the very least +in the conscious thoughts of Pierre; one other thing remained to menace +him with assured disastrousness. This thing it was, which though but +dimly hinted of as yet, still in the apprehension must have exerted a +powerful influence upon Pierre, in preparing him for the worst. + +His father's last and fatal sickness had seized him suddenly. Both the +probable concealed distraction of his mind with reference to his early +life as recalled to him in an evil hour, and his consequent mental +wanderings; these, with other reasons, had prevented him from framing a +new will to supersede one made shortly after his marriage, and ere +Pierre was born. By that will which as yet had never been dragged into +the courts of law; and which, in the fancied security of her own and her +son's congenial and loving future, Mrs. Glendinning had never but once, +and then inconclusively, offered to discuss, with a view to a better and +more appropriate ordering of things to meet circumstances non-existent +at the period the testament was framed; by that will, all the +Glendinning property was declared his mother's. + +Acutely sensible to those prophetic intimations in him, which painted in +advance the haughty temper of his offended mother, as all bitterness and +scorn toward a son, once the object of her proudest joy, but now become +a deep reproach, as not only rebellious to her, but glaringly +dishonorable before the world; Pierre distinctly foresaw, that as she +never would have permitted Isabel Banford in her true character to cross +her threshold; neither would she now permit Isabel Banford to cross her +threshold in any other, and disguised character; least of all, as that +unknown and insidious girl, who by some pernicious arts had lured her +only son from honor into infamy. But not to admit Isabel, was now to +exclude Pierre, if indeed on independent grounds of exasperation against +himself, his mother would not cast him out. + +Nor did the same interior intimations in him which fore-painted the +above bearing of his mother, abstain to trace her whole haughty heart as +so unrelentingly set against him, that while she would close her doors +against both him and his fictitious wife, so also she would not +willingly contribute one copper to support them in a supposed union so +entirely abhorrent to her. And though Pierre was not so familiar with +the science of the law, as to be quite certain what the law, if appealed +to concerning the provisions of his father's will, would decree +concerning any possible claims of the son to share with the mother in +the property of the sire; yet he prospectively felt an invincible +repugnance to dragging his dead father's hand and seal into open Court, +and fighting over them with a base mercenary motive, and with his own +mother for the antagonist. For so thoroughly did his infallible +presentiments paint his mother's character to him, as operated upon and +disclosed in all those fiercer traits,--hitherto held in abeyance by the +mere chance and felicity of circumstances,--that he felt assured that +her exasperation against him would even meet the test of a public legal +contention concerning the Glendinning property. For indeed there was a +reserved strength and masculineness in the character of his mother, from +which on all these points Pierre had every thing to dread. Besides, will +the matter how he would, Pierre for nearly two whole years to come, +would still remain a minor, an infant in the eye of the law, incapable +of personally asserting any legal claim; and though he might sue by his +next friend, yet who would be his voluntary next friend, when the +execution of his great resolve would, for him, depopulate all the world +of friends? + +Now to all these things, and many more, seemed the soul of this +infatuated young enthusiast braced. + + +III. + +There is a dark, mad mystery in some human hearts, which, sometimes, +during the tyranny of a usurper mood, leads them to be all eagerness to +cast off the most intense beloved bond, as a hindrance to the attainment +of whatever transcendental object that usurper mood so tyrannically +suggests. Then the beloved bond seems to hold us to no essential good; +lifted to exalted mounts, we can dispense with all the vale; endearments +we spurn; kisses are blisters to us; and forsaking the palpitating forms +of mortal love, we emptily embrace the boundless and the unbodied air. +We think we are not human; we become as immortal bachelors and gods; but +again, like the Greek gods themselves, prone we descend to earth; glad +to be uxorious once more; glad to hide these god-like heads within the +bosoms made of too-seducing clay. + +Weary with the invariable earth, the restless sailor breaks from every +enfolding arm, and puts to sea in height of tempest that blows off +shore. But in long night-watches at the antipodes, how heavily that +ocean gloom lies in vast bales upon the deck; thinking that that very +moment in his deserted hamlet-home the household sun is high, and many a +sun-eyed maiden meridian as the sun. He curses Fate; himself he curses; +his senseless madness, which is himself. For whoso once has known this +sweet knowledge, and then fled it; in absence, to him the avenging dream +will come. + +Pierre was now this vulnerable god; this self-upbraiding sailor; this +dreamer of the avenging dream. Though in some things he had unjuggled +himself, and forced himself to eye the prospect as it was; yet, so far +as Lucy was concerned, he was at bottom still a juggler. True, in his +extraordinary scheme, Lucy was so intimately interwoven, that it seemed +impossible for him at all to cast his future without some way having +that heart's love in view. But ignorant of its quantity as yet, or +fearful of ascertaining it; like an algebraist, for the real Lucy he, in +his scheming thoughts, had substituted but a sign--some empty _x_--and +in the ultimate solution of the problem, that empty _x_ still figured; +not the real Lucy. + +But now, when risen from the abasement of his chamber-floor, and risen +from the still profounder prostration of his soul, Pierre had thought +that all the horizon of his dark fate was commanded by him; all his +resolutions clearly defined, and immovably decreed; now finally, to top +all, there suddenly slid into his inmost heart the living and breathing +form of Lucy. His lungs collapsed; his eyeballs glared; for the sweet +imagined form, so long buried alive in him, seemed now as gliding on +him from the grave; and her light hair swept far adown her shroud. + +Then, for the time, all minor things were whelmed in him; his mother, +Isabel, the whole wide world; and one only thing remained to him;--this +all-including query--Lucy or God? + +But here we draw a vail. Some nameless struggles of the soul can not be +painted, and some woes will not be told. Let the ambiguous procession of +events reveal their own ambiguousness. + + + + +BOOK XI. + +HE CROSSES THE RUBICON + + +I. + +Sucked within the Maelstrom, man must go round. Strike at one end the +longest conceivable row of billiard balls in close contact, and the +furthermost ball will start forth, while all the rest stand still; and +yet that last ball was not struck at all. So, through long previous +generations, whether of births or thoughts, Fate strikes the present +man. Idly he disowns the blow's effect, because he felt no blow, and +indeed, received no blow. But Pierre was not arguing Fixed Fate and Free +Will, now; Fixed Fate and Free Will were arguing him, and Fixed Fate got +the better in the debate. + +The peculiarities of those influences which on the night and early +morning following the last interview with Isabel, persuaded Pierre to +the adoption of his final resolve, did now irresistibly impel him to a +remarkable instantaneousness in his actions, even as before he had +proved a lagger. + +Without being consciously that way pointed, through the desire of +anticipating any objections on the part of Isabel to the assumption of a +marriage between himself and her; Pierre was now impetuously hurried +into an act, which should have the effective virtue of such an executed +intention, without its corresponding motive. Because, as the primitive +resolve so deplorably involved Lucy, her image was then prominent in his +mind; and hence, because he felt all eagerness to hold her no longer in +suspense, but by a certain sort of charity of cruelty, at once to +pronounce to her her fate; therefore, it was among his first final +thoughts that morning to go to Lucy. And to this, undoubtedly, so +trifling a circumstance as her being nearer to him, geographically, than +Isabel, must have contributed some added, though unconscious influence, +in his present fateful frame of mind. + +On the previous undetermined days, Pierre had solicitously sought to +disguise his emotions from his mother, by a certain carefulness and +choiceness in his dress. But now, since his very soul was forced to wear +a mask, he would wear no paltry palliatives and disguisements on his +body. He went to the cottage of Lucy as disordered in his person, as +haggard in his face. + + +II. + +She was not risen yet. So, the strange imperious instantaneousness in +him, impelled him to go straight to her chamber-door, and in a voice of +mild invincibleness, demand immediate audience, for the matter pressed. + +Already namelessly concerned and alarmed for her lover, now +eight-and-forty hours absent on some mysterious and undisclosable +affair; Lucy, at this surprising summons was overwhelmed with sudden +terror; and in oblivion of all ordinary proprieties, responded to +Pierre's call, by an immediate assent. + +Opening the door, he advanced slowly and deliberately toward her; and as +Lucy caught his pale determined figure, she gave a cry of groping +misery, which knew not the pang that caused it, and lifted herself +trembling in her bed; but without uttering one word. + +Pierre sat down on the bedside; and his set eyes met her terrified and +virgin aspect. + +"Decked in snow-white, and pale of cheek, thou indeed art fitted for the +altar; but not that one of which thy fond heart did'st dream:--so fair a +victim!" + +"Pierre!" + +"'Tis the last cruelty of tyrants to make their enemies slay each +other." + +"My heart! my heart!" + +"Nay;---- Lucy, I am married." + +The girl was no more pale, but white as any leper; the bed-clothes +trembled to the concealed shudderings of all her limbs; one moment she +sat looking vacantly into the blank eyes of Pierre, and then fell over +toward him in a swoon. + +Swift madness mounted into the brain of Pierre; all the past seemed as a +dream, and all the present an unintelligible horror. He lifted her, and +extended her motionless form upon the bed, and stamped for succor. The +maid Martha came running into the room, and beholding those two +inexplicable figures, shrieked, and turned in terror. But Pierre's +repeated cry rallied Martha from this, and darting out of the chamber, +she returned with a sharp restorative, which at length brought Lucy back +to life. + +"Martha! Martha!" now murmured Lucy, in a scarce audible whispering, and +shuddering in the maid's own shuddering arms, "quick, quick; come to +me--drive it away! wake me! wake me!" + +"Nay, pray God to sleep again," cried Martha, bending over her and +embracing her, and half-turning upon Pierre with a glance of loathing +indignation. "In God's holy name, sir, what may this be? How came you +here; accursed!" + +"Accursed?--it is well. Is she herself again, Martha?" + +"Thou hast somehow murdered her; how then be herself again? My sweet +mistress! oh, my young mistress! Tell me! tell me!" and she bent low +over her. + +Pierre now advanced toward the bed, making a gesture for the maid to +leave them; but soon as Lucy re-caught his haggard form, she +whisperingly wailed again, "Martha! Martha! drive it +away!--there--there! him--him!" and shut her eyes convulsively, with +arms abhorrently outstretched. + +"Monster! incomprehensible fiend!" cried the anew terror-smitten +maid--"depart! See! she dies away at the sight of thee--begone! Wouldst +thou murder her afresh? Begone!" + +Starched and frozen by his own emotion, Pierre silently turned and +quitted the chamber; and heavily descending the stairs, tramped +heavily--as a man slowly bearing a great burden--through a long narrow +passage leading to a wing in the rear of the cottage, and knocking at +Miss Lanyllyn's door, summoned her to Lucy, who, he briefly said, had +fainted. Then, without waiting for any response, left the house, and +went directly to the mansion. + + +III. + +"Is my mother up yet?" said he to Dates, whom he met in the hall. + +"Not yet, sir;--heavens, sir! are you sick?" + +"To death! Let me pass." + +Ascending toward his mother's chamber, he heard a coming step, and met +her on the great middle landing of the stairs, where in an ample niche, +a marble group of the temple-polluting Laocoon and his two innocent +children, caught in inextricable snarls of snakes, writhed in eternal +torments. + +"Mother, go back with me to thy chamber." + +She eyed his sudden presence with a dark but repressed foreboding; drew +herself up haughtily and repellingly, and with a quivering lip, said, +"Pierre, thou thyself hast denied me thy confidence, and thou shall not +force me back to it so easily. Speak! what is that now between thee and +me?" + +"I am married, mother." + +"Great God! To whom?" + +"Not to Lucy Tartan, mother." + +"That thou merely sayest 'tis not Lucy, without saying who indeed it is, +this is good proof she is something vile. Does Lucy know thy marriage?" + +"I am but just from Lucy's." + +Thus far Mrs. Glendinning's rigidity had been slowly relaxing. Now she +clutched the balluster, bent over, and trembled, for a moment. Then +erected all her haughtiness again, and stood before Pierre in incurious, +unappeasable grief and scorn for him. + +"My dark soul prophesied something dark. If already thou hast not found +other lodgment, and other table than this house supplies, then seek it +straight. Beneath my roof, and at my table, he who was once Pierre +Glendinning no more puts himself." + +She turned from him, and with a tottering step climbed the winding +stairs, and disappeared from him; while in the balluster he held, Pierre +seemed to feel the sudden thrill running down to him from his mother's +convulsive grasp. + +He stared about him with an idiot eye; staggered to the floor below, to +dumbly quit the house; but as he crossed its threshold, his foot tripped +upon its raised ledge; he pitched forward upon the stone portico, and +fell. He seemed as jeeringly hurled from beneath his own ancestral +roof. + + +IV. + +Passing through the broad court-yard's postern, Pierre closed it after +him, and then turned and leaned upon it, his eyes fixed upon the great +central chimney of the mansion, from which a light blue smoke was +wreathing gently into the morning air. + +"The hearth-stone from which thou risest, never more, I inly feel, will +these feet press. Oh God, what callest thou that which has thus made +Pierre a vagabond?" + +He walked slowly away, and passing the windows of Lucy, looked up, and +saw the white curtains closely drawn, the white-cottage profoundly +still, and a white saddle-horse tied before the gate. + +"I would enter, but again would her abhorrent wails repel; what more can +I now say or do to her? I can not explain. She knows all I purposed to +disclose. Ay, but thou didst cruelly burst upon her with it; thy +impetuousness, thy instantaneousness hath killed her, Pierre!--Nay, nay, +nay!--Cruel tidings who can gently break? If to stab be inevitable; then +instant be the dagger! Those curtains are close drawn upon her; so let +me upon her sweet image draw the curtains of my soul. Sleep, sleep, +sleep, sleep, thou angel!--wake no more to Pierre, nor to thyself, my +Lucy!" + +Passing on now hurriedly and blindly, he jostled against some +oppositely-going wayfarer. The man paused amazed; and looking up, Pierre +recognized a domestic of the Mansion. That instantaneousness which now +impelled him in all his actions, again seized the ascendency in him. +Ignoring the dismayed expression of the man at thus encountering his +young master, Pierre commanded him to follow him. Going straight to the +"Black Swan," the little village Inn, he entered the first vacant room, +and bidding the man be seated, sought the keeper of the house, and +ordered pen and paper. + +If fit opportunity offer in the hour of unusual affliction, minds of a +certain temperament find a strange, hysterical relief, in a wild, +perverse humorousness, the more alluring from its entire unsuitableness +to the occasion; although they seldom manifest this trait toward those +individuals more immediately involved in the cause or the effect of +their suffering. The cool censoriousness of the mere philosopher would +denominate such conduct as nothing short of temporary madness; and +perhaps it is, since, in the inexorable and inhuman eye of mere +undiluted reason, all grief, whether on our own account, or that of +others, is the sheerest unreason and insanity. + +The note now written was the following: + + + "_For that Fine Old Fellow, Dates._ + + "Dates, my old boy, bestir thyself now. Go to my room, Dates, and + bring me down my mahogany strong-box and lock-up, the thing covered + with blue chintz; strap it very carefully, my sweet Dates, it is + rather heavy, and set it just without the postern. Then back and + bring me down my writing-desk, and set that, too, just without the + postern. Then back yet again, and bring me down the old camp-bed + (see that all the parts be there), and bind the case well with a + cord. Then go to the left corner little drawer in my wardrobe, and + thou wilt find my visiting-cards. Tack one on the chest, and the + desk, and the camp-bed case. Then get all my clothes together, and + pack them in trunks (not forgetting the two old military cloaks, my + boy), and tack cards on them also, my good Dates. Then fly round + three times indefinitely, my good Dates, and wipe a little of the + perspiration off. And then--let me see--then, my good Dates--why + what then? Why, this much. Pick up all papers of all sorts that may + be lying round my chamber, and see them burned. And then--have old + White Hoof put to the lightest farm-wagon, and send the chest, and + the desk, and the camp-bed, and the trunks to the 'Black Swan,' + where I shall call for them, when I am ready, and not before, sweet + Dates. So God bless thee, my fine, old, imperturbable Dates, and + adieu! + + "Thy old young master, + PIERRE. + + "_Nota bene_--Mark well, though, Dates. Should my mother possibly + interrupt thee, say that it is my orders, and mention what it is I + send for; but on no account show this to thy mistress--D'ye hear? + + PIERRE again." + +Folding this scrawl into a grotesque shape, Pierre ordered the man to +take it forthwith to Dates. But the man, all perplexed, hesitated, +turning the billet over in his hand; till Pierre loudly and violently +bade him begone; but as the man was then rapidly departing in a panic, +Pierre called him back and retracted his rude words; but as the servant +now lingered again, perhaps thinking to avail himself of this repentant +mood in Pierre, to say something in sympathy or remonstrance to him, +Pierre ordered him off with augmented violence, and stamped for him to +begone. + +Apprising the equally perplexed old landlord that certain things would +in the course of that forenoon be left for him, (Pierre,) at the Inn; +and also desiring him to prepare a chamber for himself and wife that +night; some chamber with a commodious connecting room, which might +answer for a dressing-room; and likewise still another chamber for a +servant; Pierre departed the place, leaving the old landlord staring +vacantly at him, and dumbly marveling what horrible thing had happened +to turn the brain of his fine young favorite and old shooting comrade, +Master Pierre. + +Soon the short old man went out bare-headed upon the low porch of the +Inn, descended its one step, and crossed over to the middle of the road, +gazing after Pierre. And only as Pierre turned up a distant lane, did +his amazement and his solicitude find utterance. + +"I taught him--yes, old Casks;--the best shot in all the country round +is Master Pierre;--pray God he hits not now the bull's eye in +himself.--Married? married? and coming here?--This is pesky strange!" + + + + +BOOK XII. + +ISABEL: MRS. GLENDINNING: THE PORTRAIT: AND LUCY. + + +I. + +When on the previous night Pierre had left the farm-house where Isabel +harbored, it will be remembered that no hour, either of night or day, no +special time at all had been assigned for a succeeding interview. It was +Isabel, who for some doubtlessly sufficient reason of her own, had, for +the first meeting, assigned the early hour of darkness. + +As now, when the full sun was well up the heavens, Pierre drew near the +farm-house of the Ulvers, he descried Isabel, standing without the +little dairy-wing, occupied in vertically arranging numerous glittering +shield-like milk-pans on a long shelf, where they might purifyingly meet +the sun. Her back was toward him. As Pierre passed through the open +wicket and crossed the short soft green sward, he unconsciously muffled +his footsteps, and now standing close behind his sister, touched her +shoulder and stood still. + +She started, trembled, turned upon him swiftly, made a low, strange cry, +and then gazed rivetedly and imploringly upon him. + +"I look rather queerish, sweet Isabel, do I not?" said Pierre at last +with a writhed and painful smile. + +"My brother, my blessed brother!--speak--tell me--what has +happened--what hast thou done? Oh! Oh! I should have warned thee before, +Pierre, Pierre; it is my fault--mine, mine!" + +"_What_ is thy fault, sweet Isabel?" + +"Thou hast revealed Isabel to thy mother, Pierre." + +"I have not, Isabel. Mrs. Glendinning knows not thy secret at all." + +"Mrs. Glendinning?--that's,--that's thine own mother, Pierre! In +heaven's name, my brother, explain thyself. Knows not my secret, and yet +thou here so suddenly, and with such a fatal aspect? Come, come with me +into the house. Quick, Pierre, why dost thou not stir? Oh, my God! if +mad myself sometimes, I am to make mad him who loves me best, and who, I +fear, has in some way ruined himself for me;--then, let me no more stand +upright on this sod, but fall prone beneath it, that I may be hidden! +Tell me!" catching Pierre's arms in both her frantic hands--"tell me, do +I blast where I look? is my face Gorgon's?" + +"Nay, sweet Isabel; but it hath a more sovereign power; that turned to +stone; thine might turn white marble into mother's milk." + +"Come with me--come quickly." + +They passed into the dairy, and sat down on a bench by the honey-suckled +casement. + +"Pierre, forever fatal and accursed be the day my longing heart called +thee to me, if now, in the very spring-time of our related love, thou +art minded to play deceivingly with me, even though thou should'st fancy +it for my good. Speak to me; oh speak to me, my brother!" + +"Thou hintest of deceiving one for one's good. Now supposing, sweet +Isabel, that in no case would I affirmatively deceive thee;--in no case +whatever;--would'st thou then be willing for thee and me to piously +deceive others, for both their and our united good?--Thou sayest +nothing. Now, then, is it _my_ turn, sweet Isabel, to bid thee speak to +me, oh speak to me!" + +"That unknown, approaching thing, seemeth ever ill, my brother, which +must have unfrank heralds to go before. Oh, Pierre, dear, dear Pierre; +be very careful with me! This strange, mysterious, unexampled love +between us, makes me all plastic in thy hand. Be very careful with me. I +know little out of me. The world seems all one unknown India to me. Look +up, look on me, Pierre; say now, thou wilt be very careful; say so, say +so, Pierre!" + +"If the most exquisite, and fragile filagree of Genoa be carefully +handled by its artisan; if sacred nature carefully folds, and warms, and +by inconceivable attentivenesses eggs round and round her minute and +marvelous embryoes; then, Isabel, do I most carefully and most tenderly +egg thee, gentlest one, and the fate of thee! Short of the great God, +Isabel, there lives none who will be more careful with thee, more +infinitely considerate and delicate with thee." + +"From my deepest heart, do I believe thee, Pierre. Yet thou mayest be +very delicate in some point, where delicateness is not all essential, +and in some quick impulsive hour, omit thy fullest heedfulness somewhere +where heedlessness were most fatal. Nay, nay, my brother; bleach these +locks snow-white, thou sun! if I have any thought to reproach thee, +Pierre, or betray distrust of thee. But earnestness must sometimes seem +suspicious, else it is none. Pierre, Pierre, all thy aspect speaks +eloquently of some already executed resolution, born in suddenness. +Since I last saw thee, Pierre, some deed irrevocable has been done by +thee. My soul is stiff and starched to it; now tell me what it is?" + +"Thou, and I, and Delly Ulver, to-morrow morning depart this whole +neighborhood, and go to the distant city.--That is it." + +"No more?" + +"Is it not enough?" + +"There is something more, Pierre." + +"Thou hast not yet answered a question I put to thee but just now. +Bethink thee, Isabel. The deceiving of others by thee and me, in a thing +wholly pertaining to ourselves, for their and our united good. Wouldst +thou?" + +"I would do any thing that does not tend to the marring of thy best +lasting fortunes, Pierre. What is it thou wouldst have thee and me to do +together? I wait; I wait!" + +"Let us go into the room of the double casement, my sister," said +Pierre, rising. + +"Nay, then; if it can not be said here, then can I not do it anywhere, +my brother; for it would harm thee." + +"Girl!" cried Pierre, sternly, "if for thee I have lost"--but he checked +himself. + +"Lost? for me? Now does the very worst blacken on me. Pierre! Pierre!" + +"I was foolish, and sought but to frighten thee, my sister. It was very +foolish. Do thou now go on with thine innocent work here, and I will +come again a few hours hence. Let me go now." + +He was turning from her, when Isabel sprang forward to him, caught him +with both her arms round him, and held him so convulsively, that her +hair sideways swept over him, and half concealed him. + +"Pierre, if indeed my soul hath cast on thee the same black shadow that +my hair now flings on thee; if thou hast lost aught for me; then +eternally is Isabel lost to Isabel, and Isabel will not outlive this +night. If I am indeed an accursing thing, I will not act the given part, +but cheat the air, and die from it. See; I let thee go, lest some poison +I know not of distill upon thee from me." + +She slowly drooped, and trembled from him. But Pierre caught her, and +supported her. + +"Foolish, foolish one! Behold, in the very bodily act of loosing hold of +me, thou dost reel and fall;--unanswerable emblem of the indispensable +heart-stay, I am to thee, my sweet, sweet Isabel! Prate not then of +parting." + +"What hast thou lost for me? Tell me!" + +"A gainful loss, my sister!" + +"'Tis mere rhetoric! What hast thou lost?" + +"Nothing that my inmost heart would now recall. I have bought inner love +and glory by a price, which, large or small, I would not now have paid +me back, so I must return the thing I bought." + +"Is love then cold, and glory white? Thy cheek is snowy, Pierre." + +"It should be, for I believe to God that I am pure, let the world think +how it may." + +"What hast thou lost?" + +"Not thee, nor the pride and glory of ever loving thee, and being a +continual brother to thee, my best sister. Nay, why dost thou now turn +thy face from me?" + +"With fine words he wheedles me, and coaxes me, not to know some secret +thing. Go, go, Pierre, come to me when thou wilt. I am steeled now to +the worst, and to the last. Again I tell thee, I will do any thing--yes, +any thing that Pierre commands--for, though outer ill do lower upon us, +still, deep within, thou wilt be careful, very careful with me, Pierre?" + +"Thou art made of that fine, unshared stuff of which God makes his +seraphim. But thy divine devotedness to me, is met by mine to thee. Well +mayest thou trust me, Isabel; and whatever strangest thing I may yet +propose to thee, thy confidence,--will it not bear me out? Surely thou +will not hesitate to plunge, when I plunge first;--already have I +plunged! now thou canst not stay upon the bank. Hearken, hearken to +me.--I seek not now to gain thy prior assent to a thing as yet undone; +but I call to thee now, Isabel, from the depth of a foregone act, to +ratify it, backward, by thy consent. Look not so hard upon me. Listen. I +will tell all. Isabel, though thou art all fearfulness to injure any +living thing, least of all, thy brother; still thy true heart +foreknoweth not the myriad alliances and criss-crossings among mankind, +the infinite entanglements of all social things, which forbids that one +thread should fly the general fabric, on some new line of duty, without +tearing itself and tearing others. Listen. All that has happened up to +this moment, and all that may be yet to happen, some sudden inspiration +now assures me, inevitably proceeded from the first hour I saw thee. Not +possibly could it, or can it, be otherwise. Therefore feel I, that I +have some patience. Listen. Whatever outer things might possibly be +mine; whatever seeming brightest blessings; yet now to live uncomforting +and unloving to thee, Isabel; now to dwell domestically away from thee; +so that only by stealth, and base connivances of the night, I could come +to thee as thy related brother; this would be, and is, unutterably +impossible. In my bosom a secret adder of self-reproach and self-infamy +would never leave off its sting. Listen. But without gratuitous dishonor +to a memory which--for right cause or wrong--is ever sacred and +inviolate to me, I can not be an open brother to thee, Isabel. But thou +wantest not the openness; for thou dost not pine for empty nominalness, +but for vital realness; what thou wantest, is not the occasional +openness of my brotherly love; but its continual domestic confidence. Do +I not speak thine own hidden heart to thee? say, Isabel? Well, then, +still listen to me. One only way presents to this; a most strange way, +Isabel; to the world, that never throbbed for thee in love, a most +deceitful way; but to all a harmless way; so harmless in its essence, +Isabel, that, seems to me, Pierre hath consulted heaven itself upon it, +and heaven itself did not say Nay. Still, listen to me; mark me. As thou +knowest that thou wouldst now droop and die without me; so would I +without thee. We are equal there; mark _that_, too, Isabel. I do not +stoop to thee, nor thou to me; but we both reach up alike to a glorious +ideal! Now the continualness, the secretness, yet the always present +domesticness of our love; how may we best compass that, without +jeopardizing the ever-sacred memory I hinted of? One way--one way--only +one! A strange way, but most pure. Listen. Brace thyself: here, let me +hold thee now; and then whisper it to thee, Isabel. Come, I holding +thee, thou canst not fall." + +He held her tremblingly; she bent over toward him; his mouth wet her +ear; he whispered it. + +The girl moved not; was done with all her tremblings; leaned closer to +him, with an inexpressible strangeness of an intense love, new and +inexplicable. Over the face of Pierre there shot a terrible +self-revelation; he imprinted repeated burning kisses upon her; pressed +hard her hand; would not let go her sweet and awful passiveness. + +Then they changed; they coiled together, and entangledly stood mute. + + +II. + +Mrs. Glendinning walked her chamber; her dress loosened. + +"That such accursed vileness should proceed from me! Now will the +tongued world say--See the vile boy of Mary Glendinning!--Deceitful! +thick with guilt, where I thought it was all guilelessness and gentlest +docility to me. It has not happened! It is not day! Were this thing so, +I should go mad, and be shut up, and not walk here where every door is +open to me.--My own only son married to an unknown--thing! My own only +son, false to his holiest plighted public vow--and the wide world +knowing to it! He bears my name--Glendinning. I will disown it; were it +like this dress, I would tear my name off from me, and burn it till it +shriveled to a crisp!--Pierre! Pierre! come back, come back, and swear +it is not so! It can not be! Wait: I will ring the bell, and see if it +be so." + +She rung the bell with violence, and soon heard a responsive knock. + +"Come in!--Nay, falter not;" (throwing a shawl over her) "come in. Stand +there and tell me if thou darest, that my son was in this house this +morning and met me on the stairs. Darest thou say that?" + +Dates looked confounded at her most unwonted aspect. + +"Say it! find thy tongue! Or I will root mine out and fling it at thee! +Say it!" + +"My dear mistress!" + +"I am not thy mistress! but thou my master; for, if thou sayest it, thou +commandest me to madness.--Oh, vile boy!--Begone from me!" + +She locked the door upon him, and swiftly and distractedly walked her +chamber. She paused, and tossing down the curtains, shut out the sun +from the two windows. + +Another, but an unsummoned knock, was at the door. She opened it. + +"My mistress, his Reverence is below. I would not call you, but he +insisted." + +"Let him come up." + +"Here? Immediately?" + +"Didst thou hear me? Let Mr. Falsgrave come up." + +As if suddenly and admonishingly made aware, by Dates, of the +ungovernable mood of Mrs. Glendinning, the clergyman entered the open +door of her chamber with a most deprecating but honest reluctance, and +apprehensiveness of he knew not what. + +"Be seated, sir; stay, shut the door and lock it." + +"Madam!" + +"_I_ will do it. Be seated. Hast thou seen him?" + +"Whom, Madam?--Master Pierre?" + +"Him!--quick!" + +"It was to speak of him I came, Madam. He made a most extraordinary call +upon me last night--midnight." + +"And thou marriedst him?--Damn thee!" + +"Nay, nay, nay, Madam; there is something here I know not of--I came to +tell thee news, but thou hast some o'erwhelming tidings to reveal to +me." + +"I beg no pardons; but I may be sorry. Mr. Falsgrave, my son, standing +publicly plighted to Lucy Tartan, has privately wedded some other +girl--some slut!" + +"Impossible!" + +"True as thou art there. Thou knowest nothing of it then?" + +"Nothing, nothing--not one grain till now. Who is it he has wedded?" + +"Some _slut_, I tell thee!--I am no lady now, but something deeper,--a +woman!--an outraged and pride-poisoned woman!" + +She turned from him swiftly, and again paced the room, as frantic and +entirely regardless of any presence. Waiting for her to pause, but in +vain, Mr. Falsgrave advanced toward her cautiously, and with the +profoundest deference, which was almost a cringing, spoke:-- + +"It is the hour of woe to thee; and I confess my cloth hath no +consolation for thee yet awhile. Permit me to withdraw from thee, +leaving my best prayers for thee, that thou mayst know some peace, ere +this now shut-out sun goes down. Send for me whenever thou desirest +me.--May I go now?" + +"Begone! and let me not hear thy soft, mincing voice, which is an infamy +to a man! Begone, thou helpless, and unhelping one!" + +She swiftly paced the room again, swiftly muttering to herself. "Now, +now, now, now I see it clearer, clearer--clear now as day! My first dim +suspicions pointed right!--too right! Ay--the sewing! it was the +sewing!--The shriek!--I saw him gazing rooted at her. He would not speak +going home with me. I charged him with his silence; he put me off with +lies, lies, lies! Ay, ay, he is married to her, to her;--to +her!--perhaps was then. And yet,--and yet,--how can it be?--Lucy, +Lucy--I saw him, after that, look on her as if he would be glad to die +for her, and go to hell for her, whither he deserves to go!--Oh! oh! oh! +Thus ruthlessly to cut off, at one gross sensual dash, the fair +succession of an honorable race! Mixing the choicest wine with filthy +water from the plebeian pool, and so turning all to undistinguishable +rankness!--Oh viper! had I thee now in me, I would be a suicide and a +murderer with one blow!" + +A third knock was at the door. She opened it. + +"My mistress, I thought it would disturb you,--it is so just +overhead,--so I have not removed them yet." + +"Unravel thy gibberish!--what is it?" + +"Pardon, my mistress, I somehow thought you knew it, but you can not." + +"What is that writing crumpling in thy hand? Give it me." + +"I have promised my young master not to, my mistress." + +"I will snatch it, then, and so leave thee blameless.--What? what? +what?--He's mad sure!--'Fine old fellow Dates'--what? what?--mad and +merry!--chest?--clothes?--trunks?--he wants them?--Tumble them out of +his window!--and if he stand right beneath, tumble them out! Dismantle +that whole room. Tear up the carpet. I swear, he shall leave no smallest +vestige in this house.--Here! this very spot--here, here, where I stand, +he may have stood upon;--yes, he tied my shoe-string here; it's +slippery! Dates!" + +"My mistress." + +"Do his bidding. By reflection he has made me infamous to the world; and +I will make him infamous to it. Listen, and do not delude thyself that +I am crazy. Go up to yonder room" (pointing upward), "and remove every +article in it, and where he bid thee set down the chest and trunks, +there set down all the contents of that room." + +"'Twas before the house--this house!" + +"And if it had not been there, I would not order thee to put them there. +Dunce! I would have the world know that I disown and scorn him! Do my +bidding!--Stay. Let the room stand; but take him what he asks for." + +"I will, my mistress." + +As Dates left the chamber, Mrs. Glendinning again paced it swiftly, and +again swiftly muttered: "Now, if I were less a strong and haughty woman, +the fit would have gone by ere now. But deep volcanoes long burn, ere +they burn out.--Oh, that the world were made of such malleable stuff, +that we could recklessly do our fieriest heart's-wish before it, and not +falter. Accursed be those four syllables of sound which make up that +vile word Propriety. It is a chain and bell to drag;--drag? what sound +is that? there's dragging--his trunks--the traveler's--dragging out. Oh +would I could so drag my heart, as fishers for the drowned do, as that I +might drag up my sunken happiness! Boy! boy! worse than brought in +dripping drowned to me,--drowned in icy infamy! Oh! oh! oh!" + +She threw herself upon the bed, covered her face, and lay motionless. +But suddenly rose again, and hurriedly rang the bell. + +"Open that desk, and draw the stand to me. Now wait and take this to +Miss Lucy." + +With a pencil she rapidly traced these lines:-- + +"My heart bleeds for thee, sweet Lucy. I can not speak--I know it all. +Look for me the first hour I regain myself." + +Again she threw herself upon the bed, and lay motionless. + + +III. + +Toward sundown that evening, Pierre stood in one of the three bespoken +chambers in the Black Swan Inn; the blue chintz-covered chest and the +writing-desk before him. His hands were eagerly searching through his +pockets. + +"The key! the key! Nay, then, I must force it open. It bodes ill, too. +Yet lucky is it, some bankers can break into their own vaults, when +other means do fail. Not so, ever. Let me see:--yes, the tongs there. +Now then for the sweet sight of gold and silver. I never loved it till +this day. How long it has been hoarded;--little token pieces, of years +ago, from aunts, uncles, cousins innumerable, and from--but I won't +mention _them_; dead henceforth to me! Sure there'll be a premium on +such ancient gold. There's some broad bits, token pieces to my--I name +him not--more than half a century ago. Well, well, I never thought to +cast them back into the sordid circulations whence they came. But if +they must be spent, now is the time, in this last necessity, and in this +sacred cause. 'Tis a most stupid, dunderheaded crowbar. Hoy! so! ah, now +for it:--snake's nest!" + +Forced suddenly back, the chest-lid had as suddenly revealed to him the +chair-portrait lying on top of all the rest, where he had secreted it +some days before. Face up, it met him with its noiseless, ever-nameless, +and ambiguous, unchanging smile. Now his first repugnance was augmented +by an emotion altogether new. That certain lurking lineament in the +portrait, whose strange transfer blended with far other, and sweeter, +and nobler characteristics, was visible in the countenance of Isabel; +that lineament in the portrait was somehow now detestable; nay, +altogether loathsome, ineffably so, to Pierre. He argued not with +himself why this was so; he only felt it, and most keenly. + +Omitting more subtile inquisition into this deftly-winding theme, it +will be enough to hint, perhaps, that possibly one source of this new +hatefulness had its primary and unconscious rise in one of those +profound ideas, which at times atmospherically, as it were, do insinuate +themselves even into very ordinary minds. In the strange relativeness, +reciprocalness, and transmittedness, between the long-dead father's +portrait, and the living daughter's face, Pierre might have seemed to +see reflected to him, by visible and uncontradictable symbols, the +tyranny of Time and Fate. Painted before the daughter was conceived or +born, like a dumb seer, the portrait still seemed leveling its prophetic +finger at that empty air, from which Isabel did finally emerge. There +seemed to lurk some mystical intelligence and vitality in the picture; +because, since in his own memory of his father, Pierre could not recall +any distinct lineament transmitted to Isabel, but vaguely saw such in +the portrait; therefore, not Pierre's parent, as any way rememberable by +him, but the portrait's painted _self_ seemed the real father of Isabel; +for, so far as all sense went, Isabel had inherited one peculiar trait +no-whither traceable but to it. + +And as his father was now sought to be banished from his mind, as a most +bitter presence there, but Isabel was become a thing of intense and +fearful love for him; therefore, it was loathsome to him, that in the +smiling and ambiguous portrait, her sweet mournful image should be so +sinisterly becrooked, bemixed, and mutilated to him. + +When, the first shock, and then the pause were over, he lifted the +portrait in his two hands, and held it averted from him. + +"It shall not live. Hitherto I have hoarded up mementoes and monuments +of the past; been a worshiper of all heirlooms; a fond filer away of +letters, locks of hair, bits of ribbon, flowers, and the +thousand-and-one minutenesses which love and memory think they +sanctify:--but it is forever over now! If to me any memory shall +henceforth be dear, I will not mummy it in a visible memorial for every +passing beggar's dust to gather on. Love's museum is vain and foolish as +the Catacombs, where grinning apes and abject lizards are embalmed, as, +forsooth, significant of some imagined charm. It speaks merely of decay +and death, and nothing more; decay and death of endless innumerable +generations; it makes of earth one mold. How can lifelessness be fit +memorial of life?--So far, for mementoes of the sweetest. As for the +rest--now I know this, that in commonest memorials, the twilight fact of +death first discloses in some secret way, all the ambiguities of that +departed thing or person; obliquely it casts hints, and insinuates +surmises base, and eternally incapable of being cleared. Decreed by God +Omnipotent it is, that Death should be the last scene of the last act of +man's play;--a play, which begin how it may, in farce or comedy, ever +hath its tragic end; the curtain inevitably falls upon a corpse. +Therefore, never more will I play the vile pigmy, and by small memorials +after death, attempt to reverse the decree of death, by essaying the +poor perpetuating of the image of the original. Let all die, and mix +again! As for this--this!--why longer should I preserve it? Why preserve +that on which one can not patient look? If I am resolved to hold his +public memory inviolate,--destroy this thing; for here is the one great, +condemning, and unsuborned proof, whose mysticalness drives me half +mad.--Of old Greek times, before man's brain went into doting bondage, +and bleached and beaten in Baconian fulling-mills, his four limbs lost +their barbaric tan and beauty; when the round world was fresh, and rosy, +and spicy, as a new-plucked apple;--all's wilted now!--in those bold +times, the great dead were not, turkey-like, dished in trenchers, and +set down all garnished in the ground, to glut the damned Cyclop like a +cannibal; but nobly envious Life cheated the glutton worm, and +gloriously burned the corpse; so that the spirit up-pointed, and visibly +forked to heaven! + +"So now will I serve thee. Though that solidity of which thou art the +unsolid duplicate, hath long gone to its hideous church-yard +account;--and though, God knows! but for one part of thee it may have +been fit auditing;--yet will I now a second time see thy obsequies +performed, and by now burning thee, urn thee in the great vase of air! +Come now!" + +A small wood-fire had been kindled on the hearth to purify the +long-closed room; it was now diminished to a small pointed heap of +glowing embers. Detaching and dismembering the gilded but tarnished +frame, Pierre laid the four pieces on the coals; as their dryness soon +caught the sparks, he rolled the reversed canvas into a scroll, and tied +it, and committed it to the now crackling, clamorous flames. Steadfastly +Pierre watched the first crispings and blackenings of the painted +scroll, but started as suddenly unwinding from the burnt string that had +tied it, for one swift instant, seen through the flame and smoke, the +upwrithing portrait tormentedly stared at him in beseeching horror, and +then, wrapped in one broad sheet of oily fire, disappeared forever. + +Yielding to a sudden ungovernable impulse, Pierre darted his hand among +the flames, to rescue the imploring face; but as swiftly drew back his +scorched and bootless grasp. His hand was burnt and blackened, but he +did not heed it. + +He ran back to the chest, and seizing repeated packages of family +letters, and all sorts of miscellaneous memorials in paper, he threw +them one after the other upon the fire. + +"Thus, and thus, and thus! on thy manes I fling fresh spoils; pour out +all my memory in one libation!--so, so, so--lower, lower, lower; now all +is done, and all is ashes! Henceforth, cast-out Pierre hath no +paternity, and no past; and since the Future is one blank to all; +therefore, twice-disinherited Pierre stands untrammeledly his +ever-present self!--free to do his own self-will and present fancy to +whatever end!" + + +IV. + +That same sunset Lucy lay in her chamber. A knock was heard at its door, +and the responding Martha was met by the now self-controlled and +resolute face of Mrs. Glendinning. + +"How is your young mistress, Martha? May I come in?" + +But waiting for no answer, with the same breath she passed the maid, and +determinately entered the room. + +She sat down by the bed, and met the open eye, but closed and pallid +mouth of Lucy. She gazed rivetedly and inquisitively a moment; then +turned a quick aghast look toward Martha, as if seeking warrant for some +shuddering thought. + +"Miss Lucy"--said Martha--"it is your--it is Mrs. Glendinning. Speak to +her, Miss Lucy." + +As if left in the last helpless attitude of some spent contortion of her +grief, Lucy was not lying in the ordinary posture of one in bed, but lay +half crosswise upon it, with the pale pillows propping her hueless form, +and but a single sheet thrown over her, as though she were so heart +overladen, that her white body could not bear one added feather. And as +in any snowy marble statue, the drapery clings to the limbs; so as one +found drowned, the thin, defining sheet invested Lucy. + +"It is Mrs. Glendinning. Will you speak to her, Miss Lucy?" + +The thin lips moved and trembled for a moment, and then were still +again, and augmented pallor shrouded her. + +Martha brought restoratives; and when all was as before, she made a +gesture for the lady to depart, and in a whisper, said, "She will not +speak to any; she does not speak to me. The doctor has just left--he has +been here five times since morning--and says she must be kept entirely +quiet." Then pointing to the stand, added, "You see what he has +left--mere restoratives. Quiet is her best medicine now, he says. Quiet, +quiet, quiet! Oh, sweet quiet, wilt thou now ever come?" + +"Has Mrs. Tartan been written to?" whispered the lady. Martha nodded. + +So the lady moved to quit the room, saying that once every two hours she +would send to know how Lucy fared. + +"But where, where is her aunt, Martha?" she exclaimed, lowly, pausing at +the door, and glancing in sudden astonishment about the room; "surely, +surely, Mrs. Lanyllyn--" + +"Poor, poor old lady," weepingly whispered Martha, "she hath caught +infection from sweet Lucy's woe; she hurried hither, caught one glimpse +of that bed, and fell like dead upon the floor. The Doctor hath two +patients now, lady"--glancing at the bed, and tenderly feeling Lucy's +bosom, to mark if yet it heaved; "Alack! Alack! oh, reptile! reptile! +that could sting so sweet a breast! fire would be too cold for +him--accursed!" + +"Thy own tongue blister the roof of thy mouth!" cried Mrs. Glendinning, +in a half-stifled, whispering scream. "'Tis not for thee, hired one, to +rail at my son, though he were Lucifer, simmering in Hell! Mend thy +manners, minx!" + +And she left the chamber, dilated with her unconquerable pride, leaving +Martha aghast at such venom in such beauty. + + + + +BOOK XIII. + +THEY DEPART THE MEADOWS. + + +I. + +It was just dusk when Pierre approached the Ulver farm-house, in a wagon +belonging to the Black Swan Inn. He met his sister shawled and bonneted +in the porch. + +"Now then, Isabel, is all ready? Where is Delly? I see two most small +and inconsiderable portmanteaux. Wee is the chest that holds the goods +of the disowned! The wagon waits, Isabel. Now is all ready? and nothing +left?" + +"Nothing, Pierre; unless in going hence--but I'll not think of that; +all's fated." + +"Delly! where is she? Let us go in for her," said Pierre, catching the +hand of Isabel, and turning rapidly. As he thus half dragged her into +the little lighted entry, and then dropping her hand, placed his touch +on the catch of the inner door, Isabel stayed his arm, as if to keep him +back, till she should forewarn him against something concerning Delly; +but suddenly she started herself; and for one instant, eagerly pointing +at his right hand, seemed almost to half shrink from Pierre. + +"'Tis nothing. I am not hurt; a slight burn--the merest accidental +scorch this morning. But what's this?" he added, lifting his hand +higher; "smoke! soot! this comes of going in the dark; sunlight, and I +had seen it. But I have not touched thee, Isabel?" + +Isabel lifted her hand and showed the marks.--"But it came from thee, my +brother; and I would catch the plague from thee, so that it should make +me share thee. Do thou clean thy hand; let mine alone." + +"Delly! Delly!"--cried Pierre--"why may I not go to her, to bring her +forth?" + +Placing her finger upon her lip, Isabel softly opened the door, and +showed the object of his inquiry avertedly seated, muffled, on a chair. + +"Do not speak to her, my brother," whispered Isabel, "and do not seek to +behold her face, as yet. It will pass over now, ere long, I trust. Come, +shall we go now? Take Delly forth, but do not speak to her. I have +bidden all good-by; the old people are in yonder room in the rear; I am +glad that they chose not to come out, to attend our going forth. Come +now, be very quick, Pierre; this is an hour I like not; be it swiftly +past." + +Soon all three alighted at the inn. Ordering lights, Pierre led the way +above-stairs, and ushered his two companions into one of the two +outermost rooms of the three adjoining chambers prepared for all. + +"See," said he, to the mute and still self-averting figure of +Delly;--"see, this is thy room, Miss Ulver; Isabel has told thee all; +thou know'st our till now secret marriage; she will stay with thee now, +till I return from a little business down the street. To-morrow, thou +know'st, very early, we take the stage. I may not see thee again till +then, so, be steadfast, and cheer up a very little, Miss Ulver, and +good-night. All will be well." + + +II. + +Next morning, by break of day, at four o'clock, the four swift hours +were personified in four impatient horses, which shook their trappings +beneath the windows of the inn. Three figures emerged into the cool dim +air and took their places in the coach. + +The old landlord had silently and despondently shaken Pierre by the +hand; the vainglorious driver was on his box, threadingly adjusting the +four reins among the fingers of his buck-skin gloves; the usual thin +company of admiring ostlers and other early on-lookers were gathered +about the porch; when--on his companions' account--all eager to cut +short any vain delay, at such a painful crisis, Pierre impetuously +shouted for the coach to move. In a moment, the four meadow-fed young +horses leaped forward their own generous lengths, and the four +responsive wheels rolled their complete circles; while making vast +rearward flourishes with his whip, the elated driver seemed as a +bravado-hero signing his ostentatious farewell signature in the empty +air. And so, in the dim of the dawn--and to the defiant crackings of +that long and sharp-resounding whip, the three forever fled the sweet +fields of Saddle Meadows. + +The short old landlord gazed after the coach awhile, and then +re-entering the inn, stroked his gray beard and muttered to himself:--"I +have kept this house, now, three-and-thirty years, and have had plenty +of bridal-parties come and go; in their long train of wagons, +break-downs, buggies, gigs--a gay and giggling train--Ha!--there's a +pun! popt out like a cork--ay, and once in ox-carts, all garlanded; ay, +and once, the merry bride was bedded on a load of sweet-scented new-cut +clover. But such a bridal-party as this morning's--why, it's as sad as +funerals. And brave Master Pierre Glendinning is the groom! Well, well, +wonders is all the go. I thought I had done with wondering when I passed +fifty; but I keep wondering still. Ah, somehow, now, I feel as though I +had just come from lowering some old friend beneath the sod, and yet +felt the grating cord-marks in my palms.--'Tis early, but I'll drink. +Let's see; cider,--a mug of cider;--'tis sharp, and pricks like a +game-cock's spur,--cider's the drink for grief. Oh, Lord! that fat men +should be so thin-skinned, and suffer in pure sympathy on others' +account. A thin-skinned, thin man, he don't suffer so, because there +ain't so much stuff in him for his thin skin to cover. Well, well, well, +well, well; of all colics, save me from the melloncholics; green melons +is the greenest thing!" + + + + +BOOK XIV. + +THE JOURNEY AND THE PAMPHLET. + + +I. + +All profound things, and emotions of things are preceded and attended by +Silence. What a silence is that with which the pale bride precedes the +responsive _I will_, to the priest's solemn question, _Wilt thou have +this man for thy husband?_ In silence, too, the wedded hands are +clasped. Yea, in silence the child Christ was born into the world. +Silence is the general consecration of the universe. Silence is the +invisible laying on of the Divine Pontiff's hands upon the world. +Silence is at once the most harmless and the most awful thing in all +nature. It speaks of the Reserved Forces of Fate. Silence is the only +Voice of our God. + +Nor is this so august Silence confined to things simply touching or +grand. Like the air, Silence permeates all things, and produces its +magical power, as well during that peculiar mood which prevails at a +solitary traveler's first setting forth on a journey, as at the +unimaginable time when before the world was, Silence brooded on the face +of the waters. + +No word was spoken by its inmates, as the coach bearing our young +Enthusiast, Pierre, and his mournful party, sped forth through the dim +dawn into the deep midnight, which still occupied, unrepulsed, the +hearts of the old woods through which the road wound, very shortly after +quitting the village. + +When first entering the coach, Pierre had pressed his hand upon the +cushioned seat to steady his way, some crumpled leaves of paper had met +his fingers. He had instinctively clutched them; and the same strange +clutching mood of his soul which had prompted that instinctive act, did +also prevail in causing him now to retain the crumpled paper in his hand +for an hour or more of that wonderful intense silence, which the rapid +coach bore through the heart of the general stirless morning silence of +the fields and the woods. + +His thoughts were very dark and wild; for a space there was rebellion +and horrid anarchy and infidelity in his soul. This temporary mood may +best be likened to that, which--according to a singular story once told +in the pulpit by a reverend man of God--invaded the heart of an +excellent priest. In the midst of a solemn cathedral, upon a cloudy +Sunday afternoon, this priest was in the act of publicly administering +the bread at the Holy Sacrament of the Supper, when the Evil One +suddenly propounded to him the possibility of the mere moonshine of the +Christian Religion. Just such now was the mood of Pierre; to him the +Evil One propounded the possibility of the mere moonshine of all his +self-renouncing Enthusiasm. The Evil One hooted at him, and called him a +fool. But by instant and earnest prayer--closing his two eyes, with his +two hands still holding the sacramental bread--the devout priest had +vanquished the impious Devil. Not so with Pierre. The imperishable +monument of his holy Catholic Church; the imperishable record of his +Holy Bible; the imperishable intuition of the innate truth of +Christianity;--these were the indestructible anchors which still held +the priest to his firm Faith's rock, when the sudden storm raised by the +Evil One assailed him. But Pierre--where could _he_ find the Church, the +monument, the Bible, which unequivocally said to him--"Go on; thou art +in the Right; I endorse thee all over; go on."--So the difference +between the Priest and Pierre was herein:--with the priest it was a +matter, whether certain bodiless thoughts of his were true or not true; +but with Pierre it was a question whether certain vital acts of his were +right or wrong. In this little nut lie germ-like the possible solution +of some puzzling problems; and also the discovery of additional, and +still more profound problems ensuing upon the solution of the former. +For so true is this last, that some men refuse to solve any present +problem, for fear of making still more work for themselves in that way. + +Now, Pierre thought of the magical, mournful letter of Isabel, he +recalled the divine inspiration of that hour when the heroic words burst +from his heart--"Comfort thee, and stand by thee, and fight for thee, +will thy leapingly-acknowledging brother!" These remembrances unfurled +themselves in proud exultations in his soul; and from before such +glorious banners of Virtue, the club-footed Evil One limped away in +dismay. But now the dread, fateful parting look of his mother came over +him; anew he heard the heart-proscribing words--"Beneath my roof and at +my table, he who was once Pierre Glendinning no more puts +himself;"--swooning in her snow-white bed, the lifeless Lucy lay before +him, wrapt as in the reverberating echoings of her own agonizing shriek: +"My heart! my heart!" Then how swift the recurrence to Isabel, and the +nameless awfulness of his still imperfectly conscious, incipient, +new-mingled emotion toward this mysterious being. "Lo! I leave corpses +wherever I go!" groaned Pierre to himself--"Can then my conduct be +right? Lo! by my conduct I seem threatened by the possibility of a sin +anomalous and accursed, so anomalous, it may well be the one for which +Scripture says, there is never forgiveness. Corpses behind me, and the +last sin before, how then can my conduct be right?" + +In this mood, the silence accompanied him, and the first visible rays of +the morning sun in this same mood found him and saluted him. The +excitement and the sleepless night just passed, and the strange +narcotic of a quiet, steady anguish, and the sweet quiescence of the +air, and the monotonous cradle-like motion of the coach over a road made +firm and smooth by a refreshing shower over night; these had wrought +their wonted effect upon Isabel and Delly; with hidden faces they leaned +fast asleep in Pierre's sight. Fast asleep--thus unconscious, oh sweet +Isabel, oh forlorn Delly, your swift destinies I bear in my own! + +Suddenly, as his sad eye fell lower and lower from scanning their +magically quiescent persons, his glance lit upon his own clutched hand, +which rested on his knee. Some paper protruded from that clutch. He knew +not how it had got there, or whence it had come, though himself had +closed his own gripe upon it. He lifted his hand and slowly unfingered +and unbolted the paper, and unrolled it, and carefully smoothed it, to +see what it might be. + +It was a thin, tattered, dried-fish-like thing; printed with blurred ink +upon mean, sleazy paper. It seemed the opening pages of some ruinous old +pamphlet--a pamphlet containing a chapter or so of some very voluminous +disquisition. The conclusion was gone. It must have been accidentally +left there by some previous traveler, who perhaps in drawing out his +handkerchief, had ignorantly extracted his waste paper. + +There is a singular infatuation in most men, which leads them in odd +moments, intermitting between their regular occupations, and when they +find themselves all alone in some quiet corner or nook, to fasten with +unaccountable fondness upon the merest rag of old printed paper--some +shred of a long-exploded advertisement perhaps--and read it, and study +it, and reread it, and pore over it, and fairly agonize themselves over +this miserable, sleazy paper-rag, which at any other time, or in any +other place, they would hardly touch with St. Dunstan's long tongs. So +now, in a degree, with Pierre. But notwithstanding that he, with most +other human beings, shared in the strange hallucination above +mentioned, yet the first glimpse of the title of the dried-fish-like, +pamphlet-shaped rag, did almost tempt him to pitch it out of the window. +For, be a man's mood what it may, what sensible and ordinary mortal +could have patience for any considerable period, to knowingly hold in +his conscious hand a printed document (and that too a very blurred one +as to ink, and a very sleazy one as to paper), so metaphysically and +insufferably entitled as this:--"Chronometricals & Horologicals?" + +Doubtless, it was something vastly profound; but it is to be observed, +that when a man is in a really profound mood, then all merely verbal or +written profundities are unspeakably repulsive, and seem downright +childish to him. Nevertheless, the silence still continued; the road ran +through an almost unplowed and uninhabited region; the slumberers still +slumbered before him; the evil mood was becoming well nigh insupportable +to him; so, more to force his mind away from the dark realities of +things than from any other motive, Pierre finally tried his best to +plunge himself into the pamphlet. + + +II. + +Sooner or later in this life, the earnest, or enthusiastic youth comes +to know, and more or less appreciate this startling solecism:--That +while, as the grand condition of acceptance to God, Christianity calls +upon all men to renounce this world; yet by all odds the most Mammonish +part of this world--Europe and America--are owned by none but professed +Christian nations, who glory in the owning, and seem to have some reason +therefor. + +This solecism once vividly and practically apparent; then comes the +earnest reperusal of the Gospels: the intense self-absorption into that +greatest real miracle of all religions, the Sermon on the Mount. From +that divine mount, to all earnest loving youths, flows an inexhaustible +soul-melting stream of tenderness and loving-kindness; and they leap +exulting to their feet, to think that the founder of their holy religion +gave utterance to sentences so infinitely sweet and soothing as these +sentences which embody all the love of the Past, and all the love which +can be imagined in any conceivable Future. Such emotions as that Sermon +raises in the enthusiastic heart; such emotions all youthful hearts +refuse to ascribe to humanity as their origin. This is of God! cries the +heart, and in that cry ceases all inquisition. Now, with this fresh-read +sermon in his soul, the youth again gazes abroad upon the world. +Instantly, in aggravation of the former solecism, an overpowering sense +of the world's downright positive falsity comes over him; the world +seems to lie saturated and soaking with lies. The sense of this thing is +so overpowering, that at first the youth is apt to refuse the evidence +of his own senses; even as he does that same evidence in the matter of +the movement of the visible sun in the heavens, which with his own eyes +he plainly sees to go round the world, but nevertheless on the authority +of other persons,--the Copernican astronomers, whom he never saw--he +believes it _not_ to go round the world, but the world round it. Just +so, too, he hears good and wise people sincerely say: This world only +_seems_ to be saturated and soaking with lies; but in reality it does +not so lie soaking and saturate; along with some lies, there is much +truth in this world. But again he refers to his Bible, and there he +reads most explicitly, that this world is unconditionally depraved and +accursed; and that at all hazards men must come out of it. But why come +out of it, if it be a True World and not a Lying World? Assuredly, then, +this world is a lie. + +Hereupon then in the soul of the enthusiast youth two armies come to the +shock; and unless he prove recreant, or unless he prove gullible, or +unless he can find the talismanic secret, to reconcile this world with +his own soul, then there is no peace for him, no slightest truce for him +in this life. Now without doubt this Talismanic Secret has never yet +been found; and in the nature of human things it seems as though it +never can be. Certain philosophers have time and again pretended to have +found it; but if they do not in the end discover their own delusion, +other people soon discover it for themselves, and so those philosophers +and their vain philosophy are let glide away into practical oblivion. +Plato, and Spinoza, and Goethe, and many more belong to this guild of +self-impostors, with a preposterous rabble of Muggletonian Scots and +Yankees, whose vile brogue still the more bestreaks the stripedness of +their Greek or German Neoplatonical originals. That profound Silence, +that only Voice of our God, which I before spoke of; from that divine +thing without a name, those impostor philosophers pretend somehow to +have got an answer; which is as absurd, as though they should say they +had got water out of stone; for how can a man get a Voice out of +Silence? + +Certainly, all must admit, that if for any one this problem of the +possible reconcilement of this world with our own souls possessed a +peculiar and potential interest, that one was Pierre Glendinning at the +period we now write of. For in obedience to the loftiest behest of his +soul, he had done certain vital acts, which had already lost him his +worldly felicity, and which he felt must in the end indirectly work him +some still additional and not-to-be-thought-of woe. + +Soon then, as after his first distaste at the mystical title, and after +his then reading on, merely to drown himself, Pierre at last began to +obtain a glimmering into the profound intent of the writer of the sleazy +rag pamphlet, he felt a great interest awakened in him. The more he read +and re-read, the more this interest deepened, but still the more +likewise did his failure to comprehend the writer increase. He seemed +somehow to derive some general vague inkling concerning it, but the +central conceit refused to become clear to him. The reason whereof is +not so easy to be laid down; seeing that the reason-originating heart +and mind of man, these organic things themselves are not so easily to be +expounded. Something, however, more or less to the point, may be +adventured here. + +If a man be in any vague latent doubt about the intrinsic correctness +and excellence of his general life-theory and practical course of life; +then, if that man chance to light on any other man, or any little +treatise, or sermon, which unintendingly, as it were, yet very palpably +illustrates to him the intrinsic incorrectness and non-excellence of +both the theory and the practice of his life; then that man will--more +or less unconsciously--try hard to hold himself back from the +self-admitted comprehension of a matter which thus condemns him. For in +this case, to comprehend, is himself to condemn himself, which is always +highly inconvenient and uncomfortable to a man. Again. If a man be told +a thing wholly new, then--during the time of its first announcement to +him--it is entirely impossible for him to comprehend it. For--absurd as +it may seem--men are only made to comprehend things which they +comprehended before (though but in the embryo, as it were). Things new +it is impossible to make them comprehend, by merely talking to them +about it. True, sometimes they pretend to comprehend; in their own +hearts they really believe they do comprehend; outwardly look as though +they _did_ comprehend; wag their bushy tails comprehendingly; but for +all that, they do not comprehend. Possibly, they may afterward come, of +themselves, to inhale this new idea from the circumambient air, and so +come to comprehend it; but not otherwise at all. It will be observed, +that, neither points of the above speculations do we, in set terms, +attribute to Pierre in connection with the rag pamphlet. Possibly both +might be applicable; possibly neither. Certain it is, however, that at +the time, in his own heart, he seemed to think that he did not fully +comprehend the strange writer's conceit in all its bearings. Yet was +this conceit apparently one of the plainest in the world; so natural, a +child might almost have originated it. Nevertheless, again so profound, +that scarce Juggularius himself could be the author; and still again so +exceedingly trivial, that Juggularius' smallest child might well have +been ashamed of it. + +Seeing then that this curious paper rag so puzzled Pierre; foreseeing, +too, that Pierre may not in the end be entirely uninfluenced in his +conduct by the torn pamphlet, when afterwards perhaps by other means he +shall come to understand it; or, peradventure, come to know that he, in +the first place, did--seeing too that the author thereof came to be made +known to him by reputation, and though Pierre never spoke to him, yet +exerted a surprising sorcery upon his spirit by the mere distant glimpse +of his countenance;--all these reasons I account sufficient apology for +inserting in the following chapters the initial part of what seems to me +a very fanciful and mystical, rather than philosophical Lecture, from +which, I confess, that I myself can derive no conclusion which +permanently satisfies those peculiar motions in my soul, to which that +Lecture seems more particularly addressed. For to me it seems more the +excellently illustrated re-statement of a problem, than the solution of +the problem itself. But as such mere illustrations are almost +universally taken for solutions (and perhaps they are the only possible +human solutions), therefore it may help to the temporary quiet of some +inquiring mind; and so not be wholly without use. At the worst, each +person can now skip, or read and rail for himself. + + +III. + +"_EI_," + +BY PLOTINUS PLINLIMMON, + +(_In Three Hundred and Thirty-three Lectures._) + + +LECTURE FIRST. + +CHRONOMETRICALS AND HOROLOGICALS, + +(_Being not to much the Portal, as part of the temporary Scaffold to the +Portal of this new Philosophy._) + + +"Few of us doubt, gentlemen, that human life on this earth is but a +state of probation; which among other things implies, that here below, +we mortals have only to do with things provisional. Accordingly, I hold +that all our so-called wisdom is likewise but provisional. + +"This preamble laid down, I begin. + +"It seems to me, in my visions, that there is a certain most rare order +of human souls, which if carefully carried in the body will almost +always and everywhere give Heaven's own Truth, with some small grains of +variance. For peculiarly coming from God, the sole source of that +heavenly truth, and the great Greenwich hill and tower from which the +universal meridians are far out into infinity reckoned; such souls seem +as London sea-chronometers (_Greek_, time-namers) which as the London +ship floats past Greenwich down the Thames, are accurately adjusted by +Greenwich time, and if heedfully kept, will still give that same time, +even though carried to the Azores. True, in nearly all cases of long, +remote voyages--to China, say--chronometers of the best make, and the +most carefully treated, will gradually more or less vary from Greenwich +time, without the possibility of the error being corrected by direct +comparison with their great standard; but skillful and devout +observations of the stars by the sextant will serve materially to lessen +such errors. And besides, there is such a thing as _rating_ a +chronometer; that is, having ascertained its degree of organic +inaccuracy, however small, then in all subsequent chronometrical +calculations, that ascertained loss or gain can be readily added or +deducted, as the case may be. Then again, on these long voyages, the +chronometer may be corrected by comparing it with the chronometer of +some other ship at sea, more recently from home. + +"Now in an artificial world like ours, the soul of man is further +removed from its God and the Heavenly Truth, than the chronometer +carried to China, is from Greenwich. And, as that chronometer, if at all +accurate, will pronounce it to be 12 o'clock high-noon, when the China +local watches say, perhaps, it is 12 o'clock midnight; so the +chronometric soul, if in this world true to its great Greenwich in the +other, will always, in its so-called intuitions of right and wrong, be +contradicting the mere local standards and watch-maker's brains of this +earth. + +"Bacon's brains were mere watch-maker's brains; but Christ was a +chronometer; and the most exquisitely adjusted and exact one, and the +least affected by all terrestrial jarrings, of any that have ever come +to us. And the reason why his teachings seemed folly to the Jews, was +because he carried that Heaven's time in Jerusalem, while the Jews +carried Jerusalem time there. Did he not expressly say--My wisdom (time) +is not of this world? But whatever is really peculiar in the wisdom of +Christ seems precisely the same folly to-day as it did 1850 years ago. +Because, in all that interval his bequeathed chronometer has still +preserved its original Heaven's time, and the general Jerusalem of this +world has likewise carefully preserved its own. + +"But though the chronometer carried from Greenwich to China, should +truly exhibit in China what the time may be at Greenwich at any moment; +yet, though thereby it must necessarily contradict China time, it does +by no means thence follow, that with respect to China, the China watches +are at all out of the way. Precisely the reverse. For the fact of that +variance is a presumption that, with respect to China, the Chinese +watches must be all right; and consequently as the China watches are +right as to China, so the Greenwich chronometers must be wrong as to +China. Besides, of what use to the Chinaman would a Greenwich +chronometer, keeping Greenwich time, be? Were he thereby to regulate his +daily actions, he would be guilty of all manner of absurdities:--going +to bed at noon, say, when his neighbors would be sitting down to dinner. +And thus, though the earthly wisdom of man be heavenly folly to God; so +also, conversely, is the heavenly wisdom of God an earthly folly to man. +Literally speaking, this is so. Nor does the God at the heavenly +Greenwich expect common men to keep Greenwich wisdom in this remote +Chinese world of ours; because such a thing were unprofitable for them +here, and, indeed, a falsification of Himself, inasmuch as in that case, +China time would be identical with Greenwich time, which would make +Greenwich time wrong. + +"But why then does God now and then send a heavenly chronometer (as a +meteoric stone) into the world, uselessly as it would seem, to give the +lie to all the world's time-keepers? Because he is unwilling to leave +man without some occasional testimony to this:--that though man's +Chinese notions of things may answer well enough here, they are by no +means universally applicable, and that the central Greenwich in which He +dwells goes by a somewhat different method from this world. And yet it +follows not from this, that God's truth is one thing and man's truth +another; but--as above hinted, and as will be further elucidated in +subsequent lectures--by their very contradictions they are made to +correspond. + +"By inference it follows, also, that he who finding in himself a +chronometrical soul, seeks practically to force that heavenly time upon +the earth; in such an attempt he can never succeed, with an absolute and +essential success. And as for himself, if he seek to regulate his own +daily conduct by it, he will but array all men's earthly time-keepers +against him, and thereby work himself woe and death. Both these things +are plainly evinced in the character and fate of Christ, and the past +and present condition of the religion he taught. But here one thing is +to be especially observed. Though Christ encountered woe in both the +precept and the practice of his chronometricals, yet did he remain +throughout entirely without folly or sin. Whereas, almost invariably, +with inferior beings, the absolute effort to live in this world +according to the strict letter of the chronometricals is, somehow, apt +to involve those inferior beings eventually in strange, _unique_ follies +and sins, unimagined before. It is the story of the Ephesian matron, +allegorized. + +"To any earnest man of insight, a faithful contemplation of these ideas +concerning Chronometricals and Horologicals, will serve to render +provisionally far less dark some few of the otherwise obscurest things +which have hitherto tormented the honest-thinking men of all ages. What +man who carries a heavenly soul in him, has not groaned to perceive, +that unless he committed a sort of suicide as to the practical things of +this world, he never can hope to regulate his earthly conduct by that +same heavenly soul? And yet by an infallible instinct he knows, that +that monitor can not be wrong in itself. + +"And where is the earnest and righteous philosopher, gentlemen, who +looking right and left, and up and down, through all the ages of the +world, the present included; where is there such an one who has not a +thousand times been struck with a sort of infidel idea, that whatever +other worlds God may be Lord of, he is not the Lord of this; for else +this world would seem to give the lie to Him; so utterly repugnant seem +its ways to the instinctively known ways of Heaven. But it is not, and +can not be so; nor will he who regards this chronometrical conceit +aright, ever more be conscious of that horrible idea. For he will then +see, or seem to see, that this world's seeming incompatibility with God, +absolutely results from its meridianal correspondence with him. + + * * * * * + +"This chronometrical conceit does by no means involve the justification +of all the acts which wicked men may perform. For in their wickedness +downright wicked men sin as much against their own horologes, as against +the heavenly chronometer. That this is so, their spontaneous liability +to remorse does plainly evince. No, this conceit merely goes to show, +that for the mass of men, the highest abstract heavenly righteousness is +not only impossible, but would be entirely out of place, and positively +wrong in a world like this. To turn the left cheek if the right be +smitten, is chronometrical; hence, no average son of man ever did such a +thing. To give _all_ that thou hast to the poor, this too is +chronometrical; hence no average son of man ever did such a thing. +Nevertheless, if a man gives with a certain self-considerate generosity +to the poor; abstains from doing downright ill to any man; does his +convenient best in a general way to do good to his whole race; takes +watchful loving care of his wife and children, relatives, and friends; +is perfectly tolerant to all other men's opinions, whatever they may be; +is an honest dealer, an honest citizen, and all that; and more +especially if he believe that there is a God for infidels, as well as +for believers, and acts upon that belief; then, though such a man falls +infinitely short of the chronometrical standard, though all his actions +are entirely horologic;--yet such a man need never lastingly despond, +because he is sometimes guilty of some minor offense:--hasty words, +impulsively returning a blow, fits of domestic petulance, selfish +enjoyment of a glass of wine while he knows there are those around him +who lack a loaf of bread. I say he need never lastingly despond on +account of his perpetual liability to these things; because _not_ to do +them, and their like, would be to be an angel, a chronometer; whereas, +he is a man and a horologe. + +"Yet does the horologe itself teach, that all liabilities to these +things should be checked as much as possible, though it is certain they +can never be utterly eradicated. They are only to be checked, then, +because, if entirely unrestrained, they would finally run into utter +selfishness and human demonism, which, as before hinted, are not by any +means justified by the horologe. + +"In short, this Chronometrical and Horological conceit, in sum, seems to +teach this:--That in things terrestrial (horological) a man must not be +governed by ideas celestial (chronometrical); that certain minor +self-renunciations in this life his own mere instinct for his own +every-day general well-being will teach him to make, but he must by no +means make a complete unconditional sacrifice of himself in behalf of +any other being, or any cause, or any conceit. (For, does aught else +completely and unconditionally sacrifice itself for him? God's own sun +does not abate one tittle of its heat in July, however you swoon with +that heat in the sun. And if it _did_ abate its heat on your behalf, +then the wheat and the rye would not ripen; and so, for the incidental +benefit of one, a whole population would suffer.) + +"A virtuous expediency, then, seems the highest desirable or attainable +earthly excellence for the mass of men, and is the only earthly +excellence that their Creator intended for them. When they go to heaven, +it will be quite another thing. There, they can freely turn the left +cheek, because there the right cheek will never be smitten. There they +can freely give all to the poor, for _there_ there will be no poor to +give to. A due appreciation of this matter will do good to man. For, +hitherto, being authoritatively taught by his dogmatical teachers that +he must, while on earth, aim at heaven, and attain it, too, in all his +earthly acts, on pain of eternal wrath; and finding by experience that +this is utterly impossible; in his despair, he is too apt to run clean +away into all manner of moral abandonment, self-deceit, and hypocrisy +(cloaked, however, mostly under an aspect of the most respectable +devotion); or else he openly runs, like a mad dog, into atheism. +Whereas, let men be taught those Chronometricals and Horologicals, and +while still retaining every common-sense incentive to whatever of virtue +be practicable and desirable, and having these incentives strengthened, +too, by the consciousness of powers to attain their mark; then there +would be an end to that fatal despair of becoming at all good, which has +too often proved the vice-producing result in many minds of the +undiluted chronometrical doctrines hitherto taught to mankind. But if +any man say, that such a doctrine as this I lay down is false, is +impious; I would charitably refer that man to the history of Christendom +for the last 1800 years; and ask him, whether, in spite of all the +maxims of Christ, that history is not just as full of blood, violence, +wrong, and iniquity of every kind, as any previous portion of the +world's story? Therefore, it follows, that so far as practical results +are concerned--regarded in a purely earthly light--the only great +original moral doctrine of Christianity (_i. e._ the chronometrical +gratuitous return of good for evil, as distinguished from the +horological forgiveness of injuries taught by some of the Pagan +philosophers), has been found (horologically) a false one; because after +1800 years' inculcation from tens of thousands of pulpits, it has proved +entirely impracticable. + +"I but lay down, then, what the best mortal men do daily practice; and +what all really wicked men are very far removed from. I present +consolation to the earnest man, who, among all his human frailties, is +still agonizingly conscious of the beauty of chronometrical excellence. +I hold up a practicable virtue to the vicious; and interfere not with +the eternal truth, that, sooner or later, in all cases, downright vice +is downright woe. + +"Moreover: if----" + +But here the pamphlet was torn, and came to a most untidy termination. + + + + +BOOK XV. + +THE COUSINS. + + +I. + +Though resolved to face all out to the last, at whatever desperate +hazard, Pierre had not started for the city without some reasonable +plans, both with reference to his more immediate circumstances, and his +ulterior condition. + +There resided in the city a cousin of his, Glendinning Stanly, better +known in the general family as Glen Stanly, and by Pierre, as Cousin +Glen. Like Pierre, he was an only son; his parents had died in his early +childhood; and within the present year he had returned from a protracted +sojourn in Europe, to enter, at the age of twenty-one, into the +untrammeled possession of a noble property, which in the hands of +faithful guardians, had largely accumulated. + +In their boyhood and earlier adolescence, Pierre and Glen had cherished +a much more than cousinly attachment. At the age of ten, they had +furnished an example of the truth, that the friendship of fine-hearted, +generous boys, nurtured amid the romance-engendering comforts and +elegancies of life, sometimes transcends the bounds of mere boyishness, +and revels for a while in the empyrean of a love which only comes short, +by one degree, of the sweetest sentiment entertained between the sexes. +Nor is this boy-love without the occasional fillips and spicinesses, +which at times, by an apparent abatement, enhance the permanent delights +of those more advanced lovers who love beneath the cestus of Venus. +Jealousies are felt. The sight of another lad too much consorting with +the boy's beloved object, shall fill him with emotions akin to those of +Othello's; a fancied slight, or lessening of the every-day indications +of warm feelings, shall prompt him to bitter upbraidings and reproaches; +or shall plunge him into evil moods, for which grim solitude only is +congenial. + +Nor are the letters of Aphroditean devotees more charged with headlong +vows and protestations, more cross-written and crammed with discursive +sentimentalities, more undeviating in their semi-weekliness, or +dayliness, as the case may be, than are the love-friendship missives of +boys. Among those bundles of papers which Pierre, in an ill hour, so +frantically destroyed in the chamber of the inn, were two large packages +of letters, densely written, and in many cases inscribed crosswise +throughout with red ink upon black; so that the love in those letters +was two layers deep, and one pen and one pigment were insufficient to +paint it. The first package contained the letters of Glen to Pierre, the +other those of Pierre to Glen, which, just prior to Glen's departure for +Europe, Pierre had obtained from him, in order to re-read them in his +absence, and so fortify himself the more in his affection, by reviving +reference to the young, ardent hours of its earliest manifestations. + +But as the advancing fruit itself extrudes the beautiful blossom, so in +many cases, does the eventual love for the other sex forever dismiss the +preliminary love-friendship of boys. The mere outer friendship may in +some degree--greater or less--survive; but the singular love in it has +perishingly dropped away. + +If in the eye of unyielding reality and truth, the earthly heart of man +do indeed ever fix upon some one woman, to whom alone, thenceforth +eternally to be a devotee, without a single shadow of the misgiving of +its faith; and who, to him, does perfectly embody his finest, loftiest +dream of feminine loveliness, if this indeed be so--and may Heaven grant +that it be--nevertheless, in metropolitan cases, the love of the most +single-eyed lover, almost invariably, is nothing more than the ultimate +settling of innumerable wandering glances upon some one specific object; +as admonished, that the wonderful scope and variety of female +loveliness, if too long suffered to sway us without decision, shall +finally confound all power of selection. The confirmed bachelor is, in +America, at least, quite as often the victim of a too profound +appreciation of the infinite charmingness of woman, as made solitary for +life by the legitimate empire of a cold and tasteless temperament. + +Though the peculiar heart-longings pertaining to his age, had at last +found their glowing response in the bosom of Lucy; yet for some period +prior to that, Pierre had not been insensible to the miscellaneous +promptings of the passion. So that even before he became a declarative +lover, Love had yet made him her general votary; and so already there +had gradually come a cooling over that ardent sentiment which in earlier +years he had cherished for Glen. + +All round and round does the world lie as in a sharp-shooter's ambush, +to pick off the beautiful illusions of youth, by the pitiless cracking +rifles of the realities of the age. If the general love for women, had +in Pierre sensibly modified his particular sentiment toward Glen; +neither had the thousand nameless fascinations of the then brilliant +paradises of France and Italy, failed to exert their seductive influence +on many of the previous feelings of Glen. For as the very best +advantages of life are not without some envious drawback, so it is among +the evils of enlarged foreign travel, that in young and unsolid minds, +it dislodges some of the finest feelings of the home-born nature; +replacing them with a fastidious superciliousness, which like the +alledged bigoted Federalism of old times would not--according to a +political legend--grind its daily coffee in any mill save of European +manufacture, and was satirically said to have thought of importing +European air for domestic consumption. The mutually curtailed, +lessening, long-postponed, and at last altogether ceasing letters of +Pierre and Glen were the melancholy attestations of a fact, which +perhaps neither of them took very severely to heart, as certainly, +concerning it, neither took the other to task. + +In the earlier periods of that strange transition from the generous +impulsiveness of youth to the provident circumspectness of age, there +generally intervenes a brief pause of unpleasant reconsidering; when +finding itself all wide of its former spontaneous self, the soul +hesitates to commit itself wholly to selfishness; more than repents its +wanderings;--yet all this is but transient; and again hurried on by the +swift current of life, the prompt-hearted boy scarce longer is to be +recognized in matured man,--very slow to feel, deliberate even in love, +and statistical even in piety. During the sway of this peculiar period, +the boy shall still make some strenuous efforts to retrieve his +departing spontaneities; but so alloyed are all such endeavors with the +incipiencies of selfishness, that they were best not made at all; since +too often they seem but empty and self-deceptive sallies, or still +worse, the merest hypocritical assumptions. + +Upon the return of Glen from abroad, the commonest courtesy, not to say +the blood-relation between them, prompted Pierre to welcome him home, +with a letter, which though not over-long, and little enthusiastic, +still breathed a spirit of cousinly consideration and kindness, +pervadingly touched by the then naturally frank and all-attractive +spirit of Pierre. To this, the less earnest and now Europeanized Glen +had replied in a letter all sudden suavity; and in a strain of artistic +artlessness, mourned the apparent decline of their friendship; yet +fondly trusted that now, notwithstanding their long separation, it +would revive with added sincerity. Yet upon accidentally fixing his +glance upon the opening salutation of this delicate missive, Pierre +thought he perceived certain, not wholly disguisable chirographic +tokens, that the "My very dear Pierre," with which the letter seemed to +have been begun, had originally been written "Dear Pierre;" but that +when all was concluded, and Glen's signature put to it, then the ardent +words "My very" had been prefixed to the reconsidered "Dear Pierre;" a +casual supposition, which possibly, however unfounded, materially +retarded any answering warmth in Pierre, lest his generous flame should +only embrace a flaunted feather. Nor was this idea altogether +unreinforced, when on the reception of a second, and now half-business +letter (of which mixed sort nearly all the subsequent ones were), from +Glen, he found that the "My very dear Pierre" had already retreated into +"My dear Pierre;" and on a third occasion, into "Dear Pierre;" and on a +fourth, had made a forced and very spirited advanced march up to "My +dearest Pierre." All of which fluctuations augured ill for the +determinateness of that love, which, however immensely devoted to one +cause, could yet hoist and sail under the flags of all nations. Nor +could he but now applaud a still subsequent letter from Glen, which +abruptly, and almost with apparent indecorousness, under the +circumstances, commenced the strain of friendship without any overture +of salutation whatever; as if at last, owing to its infinite +delicateness, entirely hopeless of precisely defining the nature of +their mystical love, Glen chose rather to leave that precise definition +to the sympathetical heart and imagination of Pierre; while he himself +would go on to celebrate the general relation, by many a sugared +sentence of miscellaneous devotion. It was a little curious and rather +sardonically diverting, to compare these masterly, yet not wholly +successful, and indeterminate tactics of the accomplished Glen, with the +unfaltering stream of _Beloved Pierres_, which not only flowed along +the top margin of all his earlier letters, but here and there, from +their subterranean channel, flashed out in bright intervals, through all +the succeeding lines. Nor had the chance recollection of these things at +all restrained the reckless hand of Pierre, when he threw the whole +package of letters, both new and old, into that most honest and summary +of all elements, which is neither a respecter of persons, nor a finical +critic of what manner of writings it burns; but like ultimate Truth +itself, of which it is the eloquent symbol, consumes all, and only +consumes. + +When the betrothment of Pierre to Lucy had become an acknowledged thing, +the courtly Glen, besides the customary felicitations upon that event, +had not omitted so fit an opportunity to re-tender to his cousin all his +previous jars of honey and treacle, accompanied by additional boxes of +candied citron and plums. Pierre thanked him kindly; but in certain +little roguish ambiguities begged leave, on the ground of cloying, to +return him inclosed by far the greater portion of his present; whose +non-substantialness was allegorically typified in the containing letter +itself, prepaid with only the usual postage. + +True love, as every one knows, will still withstand many repulses, even +though rude. But whether it was the love or the politeness of Glen, +which on this occasion proved invincible, is a matter we will not +discuss. Certain it was, that quite undaunted, Glen nobly returned to +the charge, and in a very prompt and unexpected answer, extended to +Pierre all the courtesies of the general city, and all the hospitalities +of five sumptuous chambers, which he and his luxurious environments +contrived nominally to occupy in the most fashionable private hotel of a +very opulent town. Nor did Glen rest here; but like Napoleon, now seemed +bent upon gaining the battle by throwing all his regiments upon one +point of attack, and gaining that point at all hazards. Hearing of some +rumor at the tables of his relatives that the day was being fixed for +the positive nuptials of Pierre; Glen called all his Parisian +portfolios for his rosiest sheet, and with scented ink, and a pen of +gold, indited a most burnished and redolent letter, which, after +invoking all the blessings of Apollo and Venus, and the Nine Muses, and +the Cardinal Virtues upon the coming event; concluded at last with a +really magnificent testimonial to his love. + +According to this letter, among his other real estate in the city, Glen +had inherited a very charming, little, old house, completely furnished +in the style of the last century, in a quarter of the city which, though +now not so garishly fashionable as of yore, still in its quiet +secludedness, possessed great attractions for the retired billings and +cooings of a honeymoon. Indeed he begged leave now to christen it the +Cooery, and if after his wedding jaunt, Pierre would deign to visit the +city with his bride for a month or two's sojourn, then the Cooery would +be but too happy in affording him a harbor. His sweet cousin need be +under no apprehension. Owing to the absence of any fit applicant for it, +the house had now long been without a tenant, save an old, confidential, +bachelor clerk of his father's, who on a nominal rent, and more by way +of safe-keeping to the house than any thing else, was now hanging up his +well-furbished hat in its hall. This accommodating old clerk would +quickly unpeg his beaver at the first hint of new occupants. Glen would +charge himself with supplying the house in advance with a proper retinue +of servants; fires would be made in the long-unoccupied chambers; the +venerable, grotesque, old mahoganies, and marbles, and mirror-frames, +and moldings could be very soon dusted and burnished; the kitchen was +amply provided with the necessary utensils for cooking; the strong box +of old silver immemorially pertaining to the mansion, could be readily +carted round from the vaults of the neighboring Bank; while the hampers +of old china, still retained in the house, needed but little trouble to +unpack; so that silver and china would soon stand assorted in their +appropriate closets; at the turning of a faucet in the cellar, the best +of the city's water would not fail to contribute its ingredient to the +concocting of a welcoming glass of negus before retiring on the first +night of their arrival. + +The over-fastidiousness of some unhealthily critical minds, as well as +the moral pusillanimity of others, equally bars the acceptance of +effectually substantial favors from persons whose motive in proffering +them, is not altogether clear and unimpeachable; and toward whom, +perhaps, some prior coolness or indifference has been shown. But when +the acceptance of such a favor would be really convenient and desirable +to the one party, and completely unattended with any serious distress to +the other; there would seem to be no sensible objection to an immediate +embrace of the offer. And when the acceptor is in rank and fortune the +general equal of the profferer, and perhaps his superior, so that any +courtesy he receives, can be amply returned in the natural course of +future events, then all motives to decline are very materially lessened. +And as for the thousand inconceivable finicalnesses of small pros and +cons about imaginary fitnesses, and proprieties, and self-consistencies; +thank heaven, in the hour of heart-health, none such shilly-shallying +sail-trimmers ever balk the onward course of a bluff-minded man. He +takes the world as it is; and carelessly accommodates himself to its +whimsical humors; nor ever feels any compunction at receiving the +greatest possible favors from those who are as able to grant, as free to +bestow. He himself bestows upon occasion; so that, at bottom, common +charity steps in to dictate a favorable consideration for all possible +profferings; seeing that the acceptance shall only the more enrich him, +indirectly, for new and larger beneficences of his own. + +And as for those who noways pretend with themselves to regulate their +deportment by considerations of genuine benevolence, and to whom such +courteous profferings hypocritically come from persons whom they suspect +for secret enemies; then to such minds not only will their own worldly +tactics at once forbid the uncivil blank repulse of such offers; but if +they are secretly malicious as well as frigid, or if they are at all +capable of being fully gratified by the sense of concealed superiority +and mastership (which precious few men are) then how delightful for such +persons under the guise of mere acquiescence in his own voluntary +civilities, to make genteel use of their foe. For one would like to +know, what were foes made for except to be used? In the rude ages men +hunted and javelined the tiger, because they hated him for a +mischief-minded wild-beast; but in these enlightened times, though we +love the tiger as little as ever, still we mostly hunt him for the sake +of his skin. A wise man then will wear his tiger; every morning put on +his tiger for a robe to keep him warm and adorn him. In this view, foes +are far more desirable than friends; for who would hunt and kill his own +faithful affectionate dog for the sake of his skin? and is a dog's skin +as valuable as a tiger's? Cases there are where it becomes soberly +advisable, by direct arts to convert some well-wishers into foes. It is +false that in point of policy a man should never make enemies. As +well-wishers some men may not only be nugatory but positive obstacles in +your peculiar plans; but as foes you may subordinately cement them into +your general design. + +But into these ulterior refinements of cool Tuscan policy, Pierre as yet +had never become initiated; his experiences hitherto not having been +varied and ripe enough for that; besides, he had altogether too much +generous blood in his heart. Nevertheless, thereafter, in a less +immature hour, though still he shall not have the heart to practice upon +such maxims as the above, yet shall he have the brain thoroughly to +comprehend their practicability; which is not always the case. And +generally, in worldly wisdom, men will deny to one the possession of all +insight, which one does not by his every-day outward life practically +reveal. It is a very common error of some unscrupulously +infidel-minded, selfish, unprincipled, or downright knavish men, to +suppose that believing men, or benevolent-hearted men, or good men, do +not know enough to be unscrupulously selfish, do not know enough to be +unscrupulous knaves. And thus--thanks to the world!--are there many +spies in the world's camp, who are mistaken for strolling simpletons. +And these strolling simpletons seem to act upon the principle, that in +certain things, we do not so much learn, by showing that already we know +a vast deal, as by negatively seeming rather ignorant. But here we press +upon the frontiers of that sort of wisdom, which it is very well to +possess, but not sagacious to show that you possess. Still, men there +are, who having quite done with the world, all its mere worldly contents +are become so far indifferent, that they care little of what mere +worldly imprudence they may be guilty. + +Now, if it were not conscious considerations like the really benevolent +or neutral ones first mentioned above, it was certainly something akin +to them, which had induced Pierre to return a straightforward, manly, +and entire acceptance to his cousin of the offer of the house; thanking +him, over and over, for his most supererogatory kindness concerning the +pre-engagement of servants and so forth, and the setting in order of the +silver and china; but reminding him, nevertheless, that he had +overlooked all special mention of wines, and begged him to store the +bins with a few of the very best brands. He would likewise be obliged, +if he would personally purchase at a certain celebrated grocer's, a +small bag of undoubted Mocha coffee; but Glen need not order it to be +roasted or ground, because Pierre preferred that both those highly +important and flavor-deciding operations should be performed +instantaneously previous to the final boiling and serving. Nor did he +say that he would pay for the wines and the Mocha; he contented himself +with merely stating the remissness on the part of his cousin, and +pointing out the best way of remedying it. + +He concluded his letter by intimating that though the rumor of a set +day, and a near one, for his nuptials, was unhappily but ill-founded, +yet he would not hold Glen's generous offer as merely based upon that +presumption, and consequently falling with it; but on the contrary, +would consider it entirely good for whatever time it might prove +available to Pierre. He was betrothed beyond a peradventure; and hoped +to be married ere death. Meanwhile, Glen would further oblige him by +giving the confidential clerk a standing notice to quit. + +Though at first quite amazed at this letter,--for indeed, his offer +might possibly have proceeded as much from ostentation as any thing +else, nor had he dreamed of so unhesitating an acceptance,--Pierre's +cousin was too much of a precocious young man of the world, disclosedly +to take it in any other than a very friendly, and cousinly, and +humorous, and yet practical way; which he plainly evinced by a reply far +more sincere and every way creditable, apparently, both to his heart and +head, than any letter he had written to Pierre since the days of their +boyhood. And thus, by the bluffness and, in some sort, +uncompunctuousness of Pierre, this very artificial youth was well +betrayed into an act of effective kindness; being forced now to drop the +empty mask of ostentation, and put on the solid hearty features of a +genuine face. And just so, are some people in the world to be joked into +occasional effective goodness, when all coyness, and coolness, all +resentments, and all solemn preaching, would fail. + + +II. + +But little would we comprehend the peculiar relation between Pierre and +Glen--a relation involving in the end the most serious results--were +there not here thrown over the whole equivocal, preceding account of it, +another and more comprehensive equivocalness, which shall absorb all +minor ones in itself; and so make one pervading ambiguity the only +possible explanation for all the ambiguous details. + +It had long been imagined by Pierre, that prior to his own special +devotion to Lucy, the splendid Glen had not been entirely insensible to +her surprising charms. Yet this conceit in its incipiency, he knew not +how to account for. Assuredly his cousin had never in the slightest +conceivable hint betrayed it; and as for Lucy, the same intuitive +delicacy which forever forbade Pierre to question her on the subject, +did equally close her own voluntary lips. Between Pierre and Lucy, +delicateness put her sacred signet on this chest of secrecy; which like +the wax of an executor upon a desk, though capable of being melted into +nothing by the smallest candle, for all this, still possesses to the +reverent the prohibitive virtue of inexorable bars and bolts. + +If Pierre superficially considered the deportment of Glen toward him, +therein he could find no possible warrant for indulging the suspicious +idea. Doth jealousy smile so benignantly and offer its house to the +bride? Still, on the other hand, to quit the mere surface of the +deportment of Glen, and penetrate beneath its brocaded vesture; there +Pierre sometimes seemed to see the long-lurking and yet unhealed wound +of all a rejected lover's most rankling detestation of a supplanting +rival, only intensified by their former friendship, and the unimpairable +blood-relation between them. Now, viewed by the light of this +master-solution, all the singular enigmas in Glen; his capriciousness in +the matter of the epistolary--"Dear Pierres" and "Dearest Pierres;" the +mercurial fall from the fever-heat of cordiality, to below the Zero of +indifference; then the contrary rise to fever-heat; and, above all, his +emphatic redundancy of devotion so soon as the positive espousals of +Pierre seemed on the point of consummation; thus read, all these riddles +apparently found their cunning solution. For the deeper that some men +feel a secret and poignant feeling, the higher they pile the belying +surfaces. The friendly deportment of Glen then was to be considered as +in direct proportion to his hoarded hate; and the climax of that hate +was evinced in throwing open his house to the bride. Yet if hate was the +abstract cause, hate could not be the immediate motive of the conduct of +Glen. Is hate so hospitable? The immediate motive of Glen then must be +the intense desire to disguise from the wide world, a fact unspeakably +humiliating to his gold-laced and haughty soul: the fact that in the +profoundest desire of his heart, Pierre had so victoriously supplanted +him. Yet was it that very artful deportment in Glen, which Glen +profoundly assumed to this grand end; that consummately artful +deportment it was, which first obtruded upon Pierre the surmise, which +by that identical method his cousin was so absorbedly intent upon +rendering impossible to him. Hence we here see that as in the negative +way the secrecy of any strong emotion is exceedingly difficult to be +kept lastingly private to one's own bosom by any human being; so it is +one of the most fruitless undertakings in the world, to attempt by +affirmative assumptions to tender to men, the precisely opposite emotion +as yours. Therefore the final wisdom decrees, that if you have aught +which you desire to keep a secret to yourself, be a Quietist there, and +do and say nothing at all about it. For among all the poor chances, this +is the least poor. Pretensions and substitutions are only the recourse +of under-graduates in the science of the world; in which science, on his +own ground, my Lord Chesterfield, is the poorest possible preceptor. The +earliest instinct of the child, and the ripest experience of age, unite +in affirming simplicity to be the truest and profoundest part for man. +Likewise this simplicity is so universal and all-containing as a rule +for human life, that the subtlest bad man, and the purest good man, as +well as the profoundest wise man, do all alike present it on that side +which they socially turn to the inquisitive and unscrupulous world. + + +III. + +Now the matter of the house had remained in precisely the above-stated +awaiting predicament, down to the time of Pierre's great +life-revolution, the receipt of Isabel's letter. And though, indeed, +Pierre could not but naturally hesitate at still accepting the use of +the dwelling, under the widely different circumstances in which he now +found himself; and though at first the strongest possible spontaneous +objections on the ground of personal independence, pride, and general +scorn, all clamorously declared in his breast against such a course; +yet, finally, the same uncompunctuous, ever-adaptive sort of motive +which had induced his original acceptation, prompted him, in the end, +still to maintain it unrevoked. It would at once set him at rest from +all immediate tribulations of mere bed and board; and by affording him a +shelter, for an indefinite term, enable him the better to look about +him, and consider what could best be done to further the permanent +comfort of those whom Fate had intrusted to his charge. + +Irrespective, it would seem, of that wide general awaking of his +profounder being, consequent upon the extraordinary trials he had so +aggregatively encountered of late; the thought was indignantly suggested +to him, that the world must indeed be organically despicable, if it held +that an offer, superfluously accepted in the hour of his abundance, +should now, be rejected in that of his utmost need. And without at all +imputing any singularity of benevolent-mindedness to his cousin, he did +not for a moment question, that under the changed aspect of affairs, +Glen would at least pretend the more eagerly to welcome him to the +house, now that the mere thing of apparent courtesy had become +transformed into something like a thing of positive and urgent +necessity. When Pierre also considered that not himself only was +concerned, but likewise two peculiarly helpless fellow-beings, one of +them bound to him from the first by the most sacred ties, and lately +inspiring an emotion which passed all human precedent in its mixed and +mystical import; these added considerations completely overthrew in +Pierre all remaining dictates of his vague pride and false independence, +if such indeed had ever been his. + +Though the interval elapsing between his decision to depart with his +companions for the city, and his actual start in the coach, had not +enabled him to receive any replying word from his cousin; and though +Pierre knew better than to expect it; yet a preparative letter to him he +had sent; and did not doubt that this proceeding would prove +well-advised in the end. + +In naturally strong-minded men, however young and inexperienced in some +things, those great and sudden emergencies, which but confound the timid +and the weak, only serve to call forth all their generous latentness, +and teach them, as by inspiration, extraordinary maxims of conduct, +whose counterpart, in other men, is only the result of a long, +variously-tried and pains-taking life. One of those maxims is, that +when, through whatever cause, we are suddenly translated from opulence +to need, or from a fair fame to a foul; and straightway it becomes +necessary not to contradict the thing--so far at least as the mere +imputation goes,--to some one previously entertaining high conventional +regard for us, and from whom we would now solicit some genuine helping +offices; then, all explanation or palation should be scorned; +promptness, boldness, utter gladiatorianism, and a defiant non-humility +should mark every syllable we breathe, and every line we trace. + +The preparative letter of Pierre to Glen, plunged at once into the very +heart of the matter, and was perhaps the briefest letter he had ever +written him. Though by no means are such characteristics invariable +exponents of the predominant mood or general disposition of a man (since +so accidental a thing as a numb finger, or a bad quill, or poor ink, or +squalid paper, or a rickety desk may produce all sorts of +modifications), yet in the present instance, the handwriting of Pierre +happened plainly to attest and corroborate the spirit of his +communication. The sheet was large; but the words were placarded upon it +in heavy though rapid lines, only six or eight to the page. And as the +footman of a haughty visitor--some Count or Duke--announces the chariot +of his lord by a thunderous knock on the portal; so to Glen did Pierre, +in the broad, sweeping, and prodigious superscription of his letter, +forewarn him what manner of man was on the road. + +In the moment of strong feeling a wonderful condensativeness points the +tongue and pen; so that ideas, then enunciated sharp and quick as +minute-guns, in some other hour of unruffledness or unstimulatedness, +require considerable time and trouble to verbally recall. + +Not here and now can we set down the precise contents of Pierre's +letter, without a tautology illy doing justice to the ideas themselves. +And though indeed the dread of tautology be the continual torment of +some earnest minds, and, as such, is surely a weakness in them; and +though no wise man will wonder at conscientious Virgil all eager at +death to burn his Æniad for a monstrous heap of inefficient superfluity; +yet not to dread tautology at times only belongs to those enviable +dunces, whom the partial God hath blessed, over all the earth, with the +inexhaustible self-riches of vanity, and folly, and a blind +self-complacency. + +Some rumor of the discontinuance of his betrothment to Lucy Tartan; of +his already consummated marriage with a poor and friendless orphan; of +his mother's disowning him consequent upon these events; such rumors, +Pierre now wrote to his cousin, would very probably, in the parlors of +his city-relatives and acquaintances, precede his arrival in town. But +he hinted no word of any possible commentary on these things. He simply +went on to say, that now, through the fortune of life--which was but +the proverbially unreliable fortune of war--he was, for the present, +thrown entirely upon his own resources, both for his own support and +that of his wife, as well as for the temporary maintenance of a girl, +whom he had lately had excellent reason for taking under his especial +protection. He proposed a permanent residence in the city; not without +some nearly quite settled plans as to the procuring of a competent +income, without any ulterior reference to any member of their wealthy +and widely ramified family. The house, whose temporary occupancy Glen +had before so handsomely proffered him, would now be doubly and trebly +desirable to him. But the pre-engaged servants, and the old china, and +the old silver, and the old wines, and the Mocha, were now become +altogether unnecessary. Pierre would merely take the place--for a short +interval--of the worthy old clerk; and, so far as Glen was concerned, +simply stand guardian of the dwelling, till his plans were matured. His +cousin had originally made his most bounteous overture, to welcome the +coming of the presumed bride of Pierre; and though another lady had now +taken her place at the altar, yet Pierre would still regard the offer of +Glen as impersonal in that respect, and bearing equal reference to any +young lady, who should prove her claim to the possessed hand of Pierre. + +Since there was no universal law of opinion in such matters, Glen, on +general worldly grounds, might not consider the real Mrs. Glendinning +altogether so suitable a match for Pierre, as he possibly might have +held numerous other young ladies in his eye: nevertheless, Glen would +find her ready to return with sincerity all his cousinly regard and +attention. In conclusion, Pierre said, that he and his party meditated +an immediate departure, and would very probably arrive in town in +eight-and-forty hours after the mailing of the present letter. He +therefore begged Glen to see the more indispensable domestic appliances +of the house set in some little order against their arrival; to have +the rooms aired and lighted; and also forewarn the confidential clerk of +what he might soon expect. Then, without any tapering sequel +of--"_Yours, very truly and faithfully, my dear Cousin Glen_," he +finished the letter with the abrupt and isolated signature +of--"PIERRE." + + + + +BOOK XVI. + +FIRST NIGHT OF THEIR ARRIVAL IN THE CITY. + + +I. + +The stage was belated. + +The country road they traveled entered the city by a remarkably wide and +winding street, a great thoroughfare for its less opulent inhabitants. +There was no moon and few stars. It was that preluding hour of the night +when the shops are just closing, and the aspect of almost every +wayfarer, as he passes through the unequal light reflected from the +windows, speaks of one hurrying not abroad, but homeward. Though the +thoroughfare was winding, yet no sweep that it made greatly obstructed +its long and imposing vista; so that when the coach gained the top of +the long and very gradual slope running toward the obscure heart of the +town, and the twinkling perspective of two long and parallel rows of +lamps was revealed--lamps which seemed not so much intended to dispel +the general gloom, as to show some dim path leading through it, into +some gloom still deeper beyond--when the coach gained this critical +point, the whole vast triangular town, for a moment, seemed dimly and +despondently to capitulate to the eye. + +And now, ere descending the gradually-sloping declivity, and just on its +summit as it were, the inmates of the coach, by numerous hard, painful +joltings, and ponderous, dragging trundlings, are suddenly made sensible +of some great change in the character of the road. The coach seems +rolling over cannon-balls of all calibers. Grasping Pierre's arm, Isabel +eagerly and forebodingly demands what is the cause of this most strange +and unpleasant transition. + +"The pavements, Isabel; this is the town." + +Isabel was silent. + +But, the first time for many weeks, Delly voluntarily spoke: + +"It feels not so soft as the green sward, Master Pierre." + +"No, Miss Ulver," said Pierre, very bitterly, "the buried hearts of some +dead citizens have perhaps come to the surface." + +"Sir?" said Delly. + +"And are they so hard-hearted here?" asked Isabel. + +"Ask yonder pavements, Isabel. Milk dropt from the milkman's can in +December, freezes not more quickly on those stones, than does snow-white +innocence, if in poverty, it chance to fall in these streets." + +"Then God help my hard fate, Master Pierre," sobbed Delly. "Why didst +thou drag hither a poor outcast like me?" + +"Forgive me, Miss Ulver," exclaimed Pierre, with sudden warmth, and yet +most marked respect; "forgive me; never yet have I entered the city by +night, but, somehow, it made me feel both bitter and sad. Come, be +cheerful, we shall soon be comfortably housed, and have our comfort all +to ourselves; the old clerk I spoke to you about, is now doubtless +ruefully eying his hat on the peg. Come, cheer up, Isabel;--'tis a long +ride, but here we are, at last. Come! 'Tis not very far now to our +welcome." + +"I hear a strange shuffling and clattering," said Delly, with a shudder. + +"It does not seem so light as just now," said Isabel. + +"Yes," returned Pierre, "it is the shop-shutters being put on; it is the +locking, and bolting, and barring of windows and doors; the +town's-people are going to their rest." + +"Please God they may find it!" sighed Delly. + +"They lock and bar out, then, when they rest, do they, Pierre?" said +Isabel. + +"Yes, and you were thinking that does not bode well for the welcome I +spoke of." + +"Thou read'st all my soul; yes, I was thinking of that. But whither lead +these long, narrow, dismal side-glooms we pass every now and then? What +are they? They seem terribly still. I see scarce any body in +them;--there's another, now. See how haggardly look its criss-cross, +far-separate lamps.--What are these side-glooms, dear Pierre; whither +lead they?" + +"They are the thin tributaries, sweet Isabel, to the great Oronoco +thoroughfare we are in; and like true tributaries, they come from the +far-hidden places; from under dark beetling secrecies of mortar and +stone; through the long marsh-grasses of villainy, and by many a +transplanted bough-beam, where the wretched have hung." + +"I know nothing of these things, Pierre. But I like not the town. +Think'st thou, Pierre, the time will ever come when all the earth shall +be paved?" + +"Thank God, that never can be!" + +"These silent side-glooms are horrible;--look! Methinks, not for the +world would I turn into one." + +That moment the nigh fore-wheel sharply grated under the body of the +coach. + +"Courage!" cried Pierre, "we are in it!--Not so very solitary either; +here comes a traveler." + +"Hark, what is that?" said Delly, "that keen iron-ringing sound? It +passed us just now." + +"The keen traveler," said Pierre, "he has steel plates to his +boot-heels;--some tender-souled elder son, I suppose." + +"Pierre," said Isabel, "this silence is unnatural, is fearful. The +forests are never so still." + +"Because brick and mortar have deeper secrets than wood or fell, sweet +Isabel. But here we turn again; now if I guess right, two more turns +will bring us to the door. Courage, all will be well; doubtless he has +prepared a famous supper. Courage, Isabel. Come, shall it be tea or +coffee? Some bread, or crisp toast? We'll have eggs, too; and some cold +chicken, perhaps."--Then muttering to himself--"I hope not that, either; +no cold collations! there's too much of that in these paving-stones +here, set out for the famishing beggars to eat. No. I won't have the +cold chicken." Then aloud--"But here we turn again; yes, just as I +thought. Ho, driver!" (thrusting his head out of the window) "to the +right! to the right! it should be on the right! the first house with a +light on the right!" + +"No lights yet but the street's," answered the surly voice of the +driver. + +"Stupid! he has passed it--yes, yes--he has! Ho! ho! stop; turn back. +Have you not passed lighted windows?" + +"No lights but the street's," was the rough reply. "What's the number? +the number? Don't keep me beating about here all night! The number, I +say!" + +"I do not know it," returned Pierre; "but I well know the house; you +must have passed it, I repeat. You must turn back. Surely you have +passed lighted windows?" + +"Then them lights must burn black; there's no lighted windows in the +street; I knows the city; old maids lives here, and they are all to bed; +rest is warehouses." + +"Will you stop the coach, or not?" cried Pierre, now incensed at his +surliness in continuing to drive on. + +"I obeys orders: the first house with a light; and 'cording to my +reck'ning--though to be sure, I don't know nothing of the city where I +was born and bred all my life--no, I knows nothing at all about +it--'cording to my reck'ning, the first light in this here street will +be the watch-house of the ward--yes, there it is--all right! cheap +lodgings ye've engaged--nothing to pay, and wictuals in." + +To certain temperaments, especially when previously agitated by any deep +feeling, there is perhaps nothing more exasperating, and which sooner +explodes all self-command, than the coarse, jeering insolence of a +porter, cabman, or hack-driver. Fetchers and carriers of the worst city +infamy as many of them are; professionally familiar with the most +abandoned haunts; in the heart of misery, they drive one of the most +mercenary of all the trades of guilt. Day-dozers and sluggards on their +lazy boxes in the sunlight, and felinely wakeful and cat-eyed in the +dark; most habituated to midnight streets, only trod by sneaking +burglars, wantons, and debauchees; often in actual pandering league with +the most abhorrent sinks; so that they are equally solicitous and +suspectful that every customer they encounter in the dark, will prove a +profligate or a knave; this hideous tribe of ogres, and Charon ferry-men +to corruption and death, naturally slide into the most practically +Calvinistical view of humanity, and hold every man at bottom a fit +subject for the coarsest ribaldry and jest; only fine coats and full +pockets can whip such mangy hounds into decency. The least impatience, +any quickness of temper, a sharp remonstrating word from a customer in a +seedy coat, or betraying any other evidence of poverty, however minute +and indirect (for in that pecuniary respect they are the most piercing +and infallible of all the judgers of men), will be almost sure to +provoke, in such cases, their least endurable disdain. + +Perhaps it was the unconscious transfer to the stage-driver of some such +ideas as these, which now prompted the highly irritated Pierre to an +act, which, in a more benignant hour, his better reason would have +restrained him from. + +He did not see the light to which the driver had referred; and was +heedless, in his sudden wrath, that the coach was now going slower in +approaching it. Ere Isabel could prevent him, he burst open the door, +and leaping to the pavement, sprang ahead of the horses, and violently +reined back the leaders by their heads. The driver seized his +four-in-hand whip, and with a volley of oaths was about striking out its +long, coiling lash at Pierre, when his arm was arrested by a policeman, +who suddenly leaping on the stayed coach, commanded him to keep the +peace. + +"Speak! what is the difficulty here? Be quiet, ladies, nothing serious +has happened. Speak you!" + +"Pierre! Pierre!" cried the alarmed Isabel. In an instant Pierre was at +her side by the window; and now turning to the officer, explained to him +that the driver had persisted in passing the house at which he was +ordered to stop. + +"Then he shall turn to the right about with you, sir;--in double quick +time too; do ye hear? I know you rascals well enough. Turn about, you +sir, and take the gentleman where he directed." + +The cowed driver was beginning a long string of criminating +explanations, when turning to Pierre, the policeman calmly desired him +to re-enter the coach; he would see him safely at his destination; and +then seating himself beside the driver on the box, commanded him to tell +the number given him by the gentleman. + +"He don't know no numbers--didn't I say he didn't--that's what I got mad +about." + +"Be still"--said the officer. "Sir"--turning round and addressing Pierre +within; "where do you wish to go?" + +"I do not know the number, but it is a house in this street; we have +passed it; it is, I think, the fourth or fifth house this side of the +last corner we turned. It must be lighted up too. It is the small +old-fashioned dwelling with stone lion-heads above the windows. But make +him turn round, and drive slowly, and I will soon point it out." + +"Can't see lions in the dark"--growled the driver--"lions; ha! ha! +jackasses more likely!" + +"Look you," said the officer, "I shall see you tightly housed this +night, my fine fellow, if you don't cease your jabber. Sir," he added, +resuming with Pierre, "I am sure there is some mistake here. I perfectly +well know now the house you mean. I passed it within the last half-hour; +all as quiet there as ever. No one lives there, I think; I never saw a +light in it. Are you not mistaken in something, then?" + +Pierre paused in perplexity and foreboding. Was it possible that Glen +had willfully and utterly neglected his letter? Not possible. But it +might not have come to his hand; the mails sometimes delayed. Then +again, it was not wholly out of the question, that the house was +prepared for them after all, even though it showed no outward sign. But +that was not probable. At any rate, as the driver protested, that his +four horses and lumbering vehicle could not turn short round in that +street; and that if he must go back, it could only be done by driving +on, and going round the block, and so retracing his road; and as after +such a procedure, on his part, then in case of a confirmed +disappointment respecting the house, the driver would seem warranted, at +least in some of his unmannerliness; and as Pierre loathed the villain +altogether, therefore, in order to run no such risks, he came to a +sudden determination on the spot. + +"I owe you very much, my good friend," said he to the officer, "for your +timely assistance. To be frank, what you have just told me has indeed +perplexed me not a little concerning the place where I proposed to stop. +Is there no hotel in this neighborhood, where I could leave these ladies +while I seek my friend?" + +Wonted to all manner of deceitfulness, and engaged in a calling which +unavoidably makes one distrustful of mere appearances, however specious, +however honest; the really good-hearted officer, now eyed Pierre in the +dubious light with a most unpleasant scrutiny; and he abandoned the +"Sir," and the tone of his voice sensibly changed, as he +replied:--"There is no hotel in this neighborhood; it is too off the +thoroughfares." + +"Come! come!"--cried the driver, now growing bold again--"though you're +an officer, I'm a citizen for all that. You haven't any further right to +keep me out of my bed now. He don't know where he wants to go to, cause +he haint got no place at all to go to; so I'll just dump him here, and +you dar'n't stay me." + +"Don't be impertinent now," said the officer, but not so sternly as +before. + +"I'll have my rights though, I tell you that! Leave go of my arm; damn +ye, get off the box; I've the law now. I say mister, come tramp, here +goes your luggage," and so saying he dragged toward him a light trunk on +the top of the stage. + +"Keep a clean tongue in ye now"--said the officer--"and don't be in +quite so great a hurry," then addressing Pierre, who had now re-alighted +from the coach--"Well, this can't continue; what do you intend to do?" + +"Not to ride further with that man, at any rate," said Pierre; "I will +stop right here for the present." + +"He! he!" laughed the driver; "he! he! 'mazing 'commodating now--we +hitches now, we do--stops right afore the watch-house--he! he!--that's +funny!" + +"Off with the luggage then, driver," said the policeman--"here hand the +small trunk, and now away and unlash there behind." + +During all this scene, Delly had remained perfectly silent in her +trembling and rustic alarm; while Isabel, by occasional cries to Pierre, +had vainly besought some explanation. But though their complete +ignorance of city life had caused Pierre's two companions to regard the +scene thus far with too much trepidation; yet now, when in the +obscurity of night, and in the heart of a strange town, Pierre handed +them out of the coach into the naked street, and they saw their luggage +piled so near the white light of a watch-house, the same ignorance, in +some sort, reversed its effects on them; for they little fancied in what +really untoward and wretched circumstances they first touched the +flagging of the city. + +As the coach lumbered off, and went rolling into the wide murkiness +beyond, Pierre spoke to the officer. + +"It is a rather strange accident, I confess, my friend, but strange +accidents will sometimes happen." + +"In the best of families," rejoined the other, a little ironically. + +Now, I must not quarrel with this man, thought Pierre to himself, stung +at the officer's tone. Then said:--"Is there any one in your--office?" + +"No one as yet--not late enough." + +"Will you have the kindness then to house these ladies there for the +present, while I make haste to provide them with better lodgment? Lead +on, if you please." + +The man seemed to hesitate a moment, but finally acquiesced; and soon +they passed under the white light, and entered a large, plain, and most +forbidding-looking room, with hacked wooden benches and bunks ranged +along the sides, and a railing before a desk in one corner. The +permanent keeper of the place was quietly reading a paper by the long +central double bat's-wing gas-light; and three officers off duty were +nodding on a bench. + +"Not very liberal accommodations"--said the officer, quietly; "nor +always the best of company, but we try to be civil. Be seated, ladies," +politely drawing a small bench toward them. + +"Hallo, my friends," said Pierre, approaching the nodding three beyond, +and tapping them on the shoulder--"Hallo, I say! Will you do me a little +favor? Will you help bring some trunks in from the street? I will +satisfy you for your trouble, and be much obliged into the bargain." + +Instantly the three noddies, used to sudden awakenings, opened their +eyes, and stared hard; and being further enlightened by the bat's-wings +and first officer, promptly brought in the luggage as desired. + +Pierre hurriedly sat down by Isabel, and in a few words gave her to +understand, that she was now in a perfectly secure place, however +unwelcoming; that the officers would take every care of her, while he +made all possible speed in running to the house, and indubitably +ascertaining how matters stood there. He hoped to be back in less than +ten minutes with good tidings. Explaining his intention to the first +officer, and begging him not to leave the girls till he should return, +he forthwith sallied into the street. He quickly came to the house, and +immediately identified it. But all was profoundly silent and dark. He +rang the bell, but no answer; and waiting long enough to be certain, +that either the house was indeed deserted, or else the old clerk was +unawakeable or absent; and at all events, certain that no slightest +preparation had been made for their arrival; Pierre, bitterly +disappointed, returned to Isabel with this most unpleasant information. + +Nevertheless something must be done, and quickly. Turning to one of the +officers, he begged him to go and seek a hack, that the whole party +might be taken to some respectable lodging. But the man, as well as his +comrades, declined the errand on the score, that there was no stand on +their beat, and they could not, on any account, leave their beat. So +Pierre himself must go. He by no means liked to leave Isabel and Delly +again, on an expedition which might occupy some time. But there seemed +no resource, and time now imperiously pressed. Communicating his +intention therefore to Isabel, and again entreating the officer's +particular services as before, and promising not to leave him +unrequited; Pierre again sallied out. He looked up and down the street, +and listened; but no sound of any approaching vehicle was audible. He +ran on, and turning the first corner, bent his rapid steps toward the +greatest and most central avenue of the city, assured that there, if +anywhere, he would find what he wanted. It was some distance off; and he +was not without hope that an empty hack would meet him ere he arrived +there. But the few stray ones he encountered had all muffled fares. He +continued on, and at last gained the great avenue. Not habitually used +to such scenes, Pierre for a moment was surprised, that the instant he +turned out of the narrow, and dark, and death-like bye-street, he should +find himself suddenly precipitated into the not-yet-repressed noise and +contention, and all the garish night-life of a vast thoroughfare, +crowded and wedged by day, and even now, at this late hour, brilliant +with occasional illuminations, and echoing to very many swift wheels and +footfalls. + + +II. + +"I say, my pretty one! Dear! Dear! young man! Oh, love, you are in a +vast hurry, aint you? Can't you stop a bit, now, my dear: do--there's a +sweet fellow." + +Pierre turned; and in the flashing, sinister, evil cross-lights of a +druggist's window, his eye caught the person of a wonderfully +beautifully-featured girl; scarlet-cheeked, glaringly-arrayed, and of a +figure all natural grace but unnatural vivacity. Her whole form, +however, was horribly lit by the green and yellow rays from the +druggist's. + +"My God!" shuddered Pierre, hurrying forward, "the town's first welcome +to youth!" + +He was just crossing over to where a line of hacks were drawn up +against the opposite curb, when his eye was arrested by a short, gilded +name, rather reservedly and aristocratically denominating a large and +very handsome house, the second story of which was profusely lighted. He +looked up, and was very certain that in this house were the apartments +of Glen. Yielding to a sudden impulse, he mounted the single step toward +the door, and rang the bell, which was quickly responded to by a very +civil black. + +As the door opened, he heard the distant interior sound of dancing-music +and merriment. + +"Is Mr. Stanly in?" + +"Mr. Stanly? Yes, but he's engaged." + +"How?" + +"He is somewhere in the drawing rooms. My mistress is giving a party to +the lodgers." + +"Ay? Tell Mr. Stanly I wish to see him for one moment if you please; +only one moment." + +"I dare not call him, sir. He said that possibly some one might call for +him to-night--they are calling every night for Mr. Stanly--but I must +admit no one, on the plea of the party." + +A dark and bitter suspicion now darted through the mind of Pierre; and +ungovernably yielding to it, and resolved to prove or falsify it without +delay, he said to the black: + +"My business is pressing. I must see Mr. Stanly." + +"I am sorry, sir, but orders are orders: I am his particular servant +here--the one that sees his silver every holyday. I can't disobey him. +May I shut the door, sir? for as it is, I can not admit you." + +"The drawing-rooms are on the second floor, are they not?" said Pierre +quietly. + +"Yes," said the black pausing in surprise, and holding the door. + +"Yonder are the stairs, I think?" + +"That way, sir; but this is yours;" and the now suspicious black was +just on the point of closing the portal violently upon him, when Pierre +thrust him suddenly aside, and springing up the long stairs, found +himself facing an open door, from whence proceeded a burst of combined +brilliancy and melody, doubly confusing to one just emerged from the +street. But bewildered and all demented as he momentarily felt, he +instantly stalked in, and confounded the amazed company with his +unremoved slouched hat, pale cheek, and whole dusty, travel-stained, and +ferocious aspect. + +"Mr. Stanly! where is Mr. Stanly?" he cried, advancing straight through +a startled quadrille, while all the music suddenly hushed, and every eye +was fixed in vague affright upon him. + +"Mr. Stanly! Mr. Stanly!" cried several bladish voices, toward the +further end of the further drawing-room, into which the first one widely +opened, "Here is a most peculiar fellow after you; who the devil is he?" + +"I think I see him," replied a singularly cool, deliberate, and rather +drawling voice, yet a very silvery one, and at bottom perhaps a very +resolute one; "I think I see him; stand aside, my good fellow, will you; +ladies, remove, remove from between me and yonder hat." + +The polite compliance of the company thus addressed, now revealed to the +advancing Pierre, the tall, robust figure of a remarkably +splendid-looking, and brown-bearded young man, dressed with surprising +plainness, almost demureness, for such an occasion; but this plainness +of his dress was not so obvious at first, the material was so fine, and +admirably fitted. He was carelessly lounging in a half side-long +attitude upon a large sofa, and appeared as if but just interrupted in +some very agreeable chat with a diminutive but vivacious brunette, +occupying the other end. The dandy and the man; strength and effeminacy; +courage and indolence, were so strangely blended in this superb-eyed +youth, that at first sight, it seemed impossible to decide whether there +was any genuine mettle in him, or not. + +Some years had gone by since the cousins had met; years peculiarly +productive of the greatest conceivable changes in the general personal +aspect of human beings. Nevertheless, the eye seldom alters. The instant +their eyes met, they mutually recognized each other. But both did not +betray the recognition. + +"Glen!" cried Pierre, and paused a few steps from him. + +But the superb-eyed only settled himself lower down in his lounging +attitude, and slowly withdrawing a small, unpretending, and unribboned +glass from his vest pocket, steadily, yet not entirely insultingly, +notwithstanding the circumstances, scrutinized Pierre. Then, dropping +his glass, turned slowly round upon the gentlemen near him, saying in +the same peculiar, mixed, and musical voice as before: + +"I do not know him; it is an entire mistake; why don't the servants take +him out, and the music go on?---- As I was saying, Miss Clara, the +statues you saw in the Louvre are not to be mentioned with those in +Florence and Rome. Why, there now is that vaunted _chef d'oeuvre_, the +Fighting Gladiator of the Louvre----" + +"Fighting Gladiator it is!" yelled Pierre, leaping toward him like +Spartacus. But the savage impulse in him was restrained by the alarmed +female shrieks and wild gestures around him. As he paused, several +gentlemen made motions to pinion him; but shaking them off fiercely, he +stood erect, and isolated for an instant, and fastening his glance upon +his still reclining, and apparently unmoved cousin, thus spoke:-- + +"Glendinning Stanly, thou disown'st Pierre not so abhorrently as Pierre +does thee. By Heaven, had I a knife, Glen, I could prick thee on the +spot; let out all thy Glendinning blood, and then sew up the vile +remainder. Hound, and base blot upon the general humanity!" + +"This is very extraordinary:--remarkable case of combined imposture and +insanity; but where are the servants? why don't that black advance? Lead +him out, my good Doc, lead him out. Carefully, carefully! stay"--putting +his hand in his pocket--"there, take that, and have the poor fellow +driven off somewhere." + +Bolting his rage in him, as impossible to be sated by any conduct, in +such a place, Pierre now turned, sprang down the stairs, and fled the +house. + + +III. + +"Hack, sir? Hack, sir? Hack, sir?" + +"Cab, sir? Cab, sir? Cab, sir?" + +"This way, sir! This way, sir! This way, sir!" + +"He's a rogue! Not him! he's a rogue!" + +Pierre was surrounded by a crowd of contending hackmen, all holding long +whips in their hands; while others eagerly beckoned to him from their +boxes, where they sat elevated between their two coach-lamps like +shabby, discarded saints. The whip-stalks thickened around him, and +several reports of the cracking lashes sharply sounded in his ears. Just +bursting from a scene so goading as his interview with the scornful Glen +in the dazzling drawing-room, to Pierre, this sudden tumultuous +surrounding of him by whip-stalks and lashes, seemed like the onset of +the chastising fiends upon Orestes. But, breaking away from them, he +seized the first plated door-handle near him, and, leaping into the +hack, shouted for whoever was the keeper of it, to mount his box +forthwith and drive off in a given direction. + +The vehicle had proceeded some way down the great avenue when it +paused, and the driver demanded whither now; what place? + +"The Watch-house of the---- Ward," cried Pierre. + +"Hi! hi! Goin' to deliver himself up, hey!" grinned the fellow to +himself--"Well, that's a sort of honest, any way:--g'lang, you +dogs!--whist! whee! wha!--g'lang!" + +The sights and sounds which met the eye of Pierre on re-entering the +watch-house, filled him with inexpressible horror and fury. The before +decent, drowsy place, now fairly reeked with all things unseemly. Hardly +possible was it to tell what conceivable cause or occasion had, in the +comparatively short absence of Pierre, collected such a base +congregation. In indescribable disorder, frantic, diseased-looking men +and women of all colors, and in all imaginable flaunting, immodest, +grotesque, and shattered dresses, were leaping, yelling, and cursing +around him. The torn Madras handkerchiefs of negresses, and the red +gowns of yellow girls, hanging in tatters from their naked bosoms, mixed +with the rent dresses of deep-rouged white women, and the split coats, +checkered vests, and protruding shirts of pale, or whiskered, or +haggard, or mustached fellows of all nations, some of whom seemed scared +from their beds, and others seemingly arrested in the midst of some +crazy and wanton dance. On all sides, were heard drunken male and female +voices, in English, French, Spanish, and Portuguese, interlarded now and +then, with the foulest of all human lingoes, that dialect of sin and +death, known as the Cant language, or the Flash. + +Running among this combined babel of persons and voices, several of the +police were vainly striving to still the tumult; while others were busy +handcuffing the more desperate; and here and there the distracted +wretches, both men and women, gave downright battle to the officers; and +still others already handcuffed struck out at them with their joined +ironed arms. Meanwhile, words and phrases unrepeatable in God's +sunlight, and whose very existence was utterly unknown, and undreamed +of by tens of thousands of the decent people of the city; syllables +obscene and accursed were shouted forth in tones plainly evincing that +they were the common household breath of their utterers. The +thieves'-quarters, and all the brothels, Lock-and-Sin hospitals for +incurables, and infirmaries and infernoes of hell seemed to have made +one combined sortie, and poured out upon earth through the vile vomitory +of some unmentionable cellar. + +Though the hitherto imperfect and casual city experiences of Pierre illy +fitted him entirely to comprehend the specific purport of this terrific +spectacle; still he knew enough by hearsay of the more infamous life of +the town, to imagine from whence, and who, were the objects before him. +But all his consciousness at the time was absorbed by the one horrified +thought of Isabel and Delly, forced to witness a sight hardly endurable +for Pierre himself; or, possibly, sucked into the tumult, and in close +personal contact with its loathsomeness. Rushing into the crowd, +regardless of the random blows and curses he encountered, he wildly +sought for Isabel, and soon descried her struggling from the delirious +reaching arms of a half-clad reeling whiskerando. With an immense blow +of his mailed fist, he sent the wretch humming, and seizing Isabel, +cried out to two officers near, to clear a path for him to the door. +They did so. And in a few minutes the panting Isabel was safe in the +open air. He would have stayed by her, but she conjured him to return +for Delly, exposed to worse insults than herself. An additional posse of +officers now approaching, Pierre committing her to the care of one of +them, and summoning two others to join himself, now re-entered the room. +In another quarter of it, he saw Delly seized on each hand by two +bleared and half-bloody women, who with fiendish grimaces were +ironically twitting her upon her close-necked dress, and had already +stript her handkerchief from her. She uttered a cry of mixed anguish +and joy at the sight of him; and Pierre soon succeeded in returning with +her to Isabel. + +During the absence of Pierre in quest of the hack, and while Isabel and +Delly were quietly awaiting his return, the door had suddenly burst +open, and a detachment of the police drove in, and caged, the entire +miscellaneous night-occupants of a notorious stew, which they had +stormed and carried during the height of some outrageous orgie. The +first sight of the interior of the watch-house, and their being so +quickly huddled together within its four blank walls, had suddenly +lashed the mob into frenzy; so that for the time, oblivious of all other +considerations, the entire force of the police was directed to the +quelling of the in-door riot; and consequently, abandoned to their own +protection, Isabel and Delly had been temporarily left to its mercy. + +It was no time for Pierre to manifest his indignation at the +officer--even if he could now find him--who had thus falsified his +individual pledge concerning the precious charge committed to him. Nor +was it any time to distress himself about his luggage, still somewhere +within. Quitting all, he thrust the bewildered and half-lifeless girls +into the waiting hack, which, by his orders, drove back in the direction +of the stand, where Pierre had first taken it up. + +When the coach had rolled them well away from the tumult, Pierre stopped +it, and said to the man, that he desired to be taken to the nearest +respectable hotel or boarding-house of any kind, that he knew of. The +fellow--maliciously diverted by what had happened thus far--made some +ambiguous and rudely merry rejoinder. But warned by his previous rash +quarrel with the stage-driver, Pierre passed this unnoticed, and in a +controlled, calm, decided manner repeated his directions. + +The issue was, that after a rather roundabout drive they drew up in a +very respectable side-street, before a large respectable-looking house, +illuminated by two tall white lights flanking its portico. Pierre was +glad to notice some little remaining stir within, spite of the +comparative lateness of the hour. A bare-headed, tidily-dressed, and +very intelligent-looking man, with a broom clothes-brush in his hand, +appearing, scrutinized him rather sharply at first; but as Pierre +advanced further into the light, and his countenance became visible, the +man, assuming a respectful but still slightly perplexed air, invited the +whole party into a closely adjoining parlor, whose disordered chairs and +general dustiness, evinced that after a day's activity it now awaited +the morning offices of the housemaids. + +"Baggage, sir?" + +"I have left my baggage at another place," said Pierre, "I shall send +for it to-morrow." + +"Ah!" exclaimed the very intelligent-looking man, rather dubiously, +"shall I discharge the hack, then?" + +"Stay," said Pierre, bethinking him, that it would be well not to let +the man know from whence they had last come, "I will discharge it +myself, thank you." + +So returning to the sidewalk, without debate, he paid the hackman an +exorbitant fare, who, anxious to secure such illegal gains beyond all +hope of recovery, quickly mounted his box and drove off at a gallop. + +"Will you step into the office, sir, now?" said the man, slightly +flourishing with his brush--"this way, sir, if you please." + +Pierre followed him, into an almost deserted, dimly lit room with a +stand in it. Going behind the stand, the man turned round to him a large +ledger-like book, thickly inscribed with names, like any directory, and +offered him a pen ready dipped in ink. + +Understanding the general hint, though secretly irritated at something +in the manner of the man, Pierre drew the book to him, and wrote in a +firm hand, at the bottom of the last-named column,-- + +"Mr. and Mrs. Pierre Glendinning, and Miss Ulver." + +The man glanced at the writing inquiringly, and then said--"The other +column, sir--where from." + +"True," said Pierre, and wrote "Saddle Meadows." + +The very intelligent-looking man re-examined the page, and then slowly +stroking his shaven chin, with a fork, made of his thumb for one tine, +and his united four fingers for the other, said softly and +whisperingly--"Anywheres in this country, sir?" + +"Yes, in the country," said Pierre, evasively, and bridling his ire. +"But now show me to two chambers, will you; the one for myself and wife, +I desire to have opening into another, a third one, never mind how +small; but I must have a dressing-room." + +"Dressing-room," repeated the man, in an ironically deliberative +voice--"Dressing-room;--Hem!--You will have your luggage taken into the +dressing-room, then, I suppose.--Oh, I forgot--your luggage aint come +yet--ah, yes, yes, yes--luggage is coming to-morrow--Oh, yes, +yes,--certainly--to-morrow--of course. By the way, sir; I dislike to +seem at all uncivil, and I am sure you will not deem me so; but--" + +"Well," said Pierre, mustering all his self-command for the coming +impertinence. + +"When stranger gentlemen come to this house without luggage, we think +ourselves bound to ask them to pay their bills in advance, sir; that is +all, sir." + +"I shall stay here to-night and the whole of to-morrow, at any rate," +rejoined Pierre, thankful that this was all; "how much will it be?" and +he drew out his purse. + +The man's eyes fastened with eagerness on the purse; he looked from it +to the face of him who held it; then seemed half hesitating an instant; +then brightening up, said, with sudden suavity--"Never mind, sir, never +mind, sir; though rogues sometimes be gentlemanly; gentlemen that are +gentlemen never go abroad without their diplomas. Their diplomas are +their friends; and their only friends are their dollars; you have a +purse-full of friends.--We have chambers, sir, that will exactly suit +you, I think. Bring your ladies and I will show you up to them +immediately." So saying, dropping his brush, the very +intelligent-looking man lighted one lamp, and taking two unlighted ones +in his other hand, led the way down the dusky lead-sheeted hall, Pierre +following him with Isabel and Delly. + + + + +BOOK XVII. + +YOUNG AMERICA IN LITERATURE. + + +I. + +Among the various conflicting modes of writing history, there would seem +to be two grand practical distinctions, under which all the rest must +subordinately range. By the one mode, all contemporaneous circumstances, +facts, and events must be set down contemporaneously; by the other, they +are only to be set down as the general stream of the narrative shall +dictate; for matters which are kindred in time, may be very irrelative +in themselves. I elect neither of these; I am careless of either; both +are well enough in their way; I write precisely as I please. + +In the earlier chapters of this volume, it has somewhere been passingly +intimated, that Pierre was not only a reader of the poets and other fine +writers, but likewise--and what is a very different thing from the +other--a thorough allegorical understander of them, a profound emotional +sympathizer with them; in other words, Pierre himself possessed the +poetic nature; in himself absolutely, though but latently and +floatingly, possessed every whit of the imaginative wealth which he so +admired, when by vast pains-takings, and all manner of unrecompensed +agonies, systematized on the printed page. Not that as yet his young and +immature soul had been accosted by the Wonderful Mutes, and through the +vast halls of Silent Truth, had been ushered into the full, secret, +eternally inviolable Sanhedrim, where the Poetic Magi discuss, in +glorious gibberish, the Alpha and Omega of the Universe. But among the +beautiful imaginings of the second and third degree of poets, he freely +and comprehendingly ranged. + +But it still remains to be said, that Pierre himself had written many a +fugitive thing, which had brought him, not only vast credit and +compliments from his more immediate acquaintances, but the less partial +applauses of the always intelligent, and extremely discriminating +public. In short, Pierre had frequently done that, which many other boys +have done--published. Not in the imposing form of a book, but in the +more modest and becoming way of occasional contributions to magazines +and other polite periodicals. His magnificent and victorious _debut_ had +been made in that delightful love-sonnet, entitled "The Tropical +Summer." Not only the public had applauded his gemmed little sketches of +thought and fancy, whether in poetry or prose; but the high and mighty +Campbell clan of editors of all sorts had bestowed upon him those +generous commendations, which, with one instantaneous glance, they had +immediately perceived was his due. They spoke in high terms of his +surprising command of language; they begged to express their wonder at +his euphonious construction of sentences; they regarded with reverence +the pervading symmetry of his general style. But transcending even this +profound insight into the deep merits of Pierre, they looked infinitely +beyond, and confessed their complete inability to restrain their +unqualified admiration for the highly judicious smoothness and +genteelness of the sentiments and fancies expressed. "This writer," said +one,--in an ungovernable burst of admiring fury--"is characterized +throughout by Perfect Taste." Another, after endorsingly quoting that +sapient, suppressed maxim of Dr. Goldsmith's, which asserts that +whatever is new is false, went on to apply it to the excellent +productions before him; concluding with this: "He has translated the +unruffled gentleman from the drawing-room into the general levee of +letters; he never permits himself to astonish; is never betrayed into +any thing coarse or new; as assured that whatever astonishes is vulgar, +and whatever is new must be crude. Yes, it is the glory of this +admirable young author, that vulgarity and vigor--two inseparable +adjuncts--are equally removed from him." + +A third, perorated a long and beautifully written review, by the bold +and startling announcement--"This writer is unquestionably a highly +respectable youth." + +Nor had the editors of various moral and religious periodicals failed to +render the tribute of their severer appreciation, and more enviable, +because more chary applause. A renowned clerical and philological +conductor of a weekly publication of this kind, whose surprising +proficiency in the Greek, Hebrew, and Chaldaic, to which he had devoted +by far the greater part of his life, peculiarly fitted him to pronounce +unerring judgment upon works of taste in the English, had unhesitatingly +delivered himself thus:--"He is blameless in morals, and harmless +throughout." Another, had unhesitatingly recommended his effusions to +the family-circle. A third, had no reserve in saying, that the +predominant end and aim of this author was evangelical piety. + +A mind less naturally strong than Pierre's might well have been hurried +into vast self-complacency, by such eulogy as this, especially as there +could be no possible doubt, that the primitive verdict pronounced by the +editors was irreversible, except in the highly improbable event of the +near approach of the Millennium, which might establish a different +dynasty of taste, and possibly eject the editors. It is true, that in +view of the general practical vagueness of these panegyrics, and the +circumstance that, in essence, they were all somehow of the prudently +indecisive sort; and, considering that they were panegyrics, and nothing +but panegyrics, without any thing analytical about them; an elderly +friend of a literary turn, had made bold to say to our hero--"Pierre, +this is very high praise, I grant, and you are a surprisingly young +author to receive it; but I do not see any criticisms as yet." + +"Criticisms?" cried Pierre, in amazement; "why, sir, they are all +criticisms! I am the idol of the critics!" + +"Ah!" sighed the elderly friend, as if suddenly reminded that that was +true after all--"Ah!" and went on with his inoffensive, non-committal +cigar. + +Nevertheless, thanks to the editors, such at last became the popular +literary enthusiasm in behalf of Pierre, that two young men, recently +abandoning the ignoble pursuit of tailoring for the more honorable trade +of the publisher (probably with an economical view of working up in +books, the linen and cotton shreds of the cutter's counter, after having +been subjected to the action of the paper-mill), had on the daintiest +scolloped-edged paper, and in the neatest possible, and fine-needle-work +hand, addressed him a letter, couched in the following terms; the +general style of which letter will sufficiently evince that, +though--thanks to the manufacturer--their linen and cotton shreds may +have been very completely transmuted into paper, yet the cutters +themselves were not yet entirely out of the metamorphosing mill. + + + "Hon. Pierre Glendinning, + "Revered Sir, + + "The fine cut, the judicious fit of your productions fill us with + amazement. The fabric is excellent--the finest broadcloth of + genius. We have just started in business. Your + pantaloons--productions, we mean--have never yet been collected. + They should be published in the Library form. The tailors--we mean + the librarians, demand it. Your fame is now in its finest nap. + Now--before the gloss is off--now is the time for the library form. + We have recently received an invoice of Chamois---- Russia + leather. The library form should be a durable form. We respectfully + offer to dress your amazing productions in the library form. If you + please, we will transmit you a sample of the cloth---- we mean a + sample-page, with a pattern of the leather. We are ready to give + you one tenth of the profits (less discount) for the privilege of + arraying your wonderful productions in the library form:--you + cashing the seamstresses'---- printer's and binder's bills on the + day of publication. An answer at your earliest convenience will + greatly oblige,-- + + "Sir, your most obsequious servants, + + "WONDER & WEN." + +"P. S.--We respectfully submit the enclosed block---- sheet, as some +earnest of our intentions to do every thing in your behalf possible to +any firm in the trade. + +"N. B.--If the list does not comprise all your illustrious wardrobe---- +works, we mean----, we shall exceedingly regret it. We have hunted +through all the drawers---- magazines. + +"Sample of a coat---- title for the works of Glendinning: + + THE + COMPLETE WORKS + OF + GLENDINNING, + + AUTHOR OF + _That world-famed production_, "_The Tropical Summer: a Sonnet._" + "_The Weather: a Thought._" "_Life: an Impromptu._" "_The + late Reverend Mark Graceman: an Obituary._" "_Honor: + a Stanza._" "_Beauty: an Acrostic._" "_Edgar: + an Anagram._" "_The Pippin: a Paragraph._" + _&c. &c. &c. &c. + &c. &c. &c. + &c. &c. + &c._" + + P + +From a designer, Pierre had received the following: + + "Sir: I approach you with unfeigned trepidation. For though you are + young in age, you are old in fame and ability. I can not express to + you my ardent admiration of your works; nor can I but deeply regret + that the productions of such graphic descriptive power, should be + unaccompanied by the humbler illustrative labors of the designer. + My services in this line are entirely at your command. I need not + say how proud I should be, if this hint, on my part, however + presuming, should induce you to reply in terms upon which I could + found the hope of honoring myself and my profession by a few + designs for the works of the illustrious Glendinning. But the + cursory mention of your name here fills me with such swelling + emotions, that I can say nothing more. I would only add, however, + that not being at all connected with the Trade, my business + situation unpleasantly forces me to make cash down on delivery of + each design, the basis of all my professional arrangements. Your + noble soul, however, would disdain to suppose, that this sordid + necessity, in my merely business concerns, could ever impair---- + + "That profound private veneration and admiration + With which I unmercenarily am, + Great and good Glendinning, + Yours most humbly, + PETER PENCE." + + +II. + +These were stirring letters. The Library Form! an Illustrated Edition! +His whole heart swelled. + +But unfortunately it occurred to Pierre, that as all his writings were +not only fugitive, but if put together could not possibly fill more than +a very small duodecimo; therefore the Library Edition seemed a little +premature, perhaps; possibly, in a slight degree, preposterous. Then, as +they were chiefly made up of little sonnets, brief meditative poems, and +moral essays, the matter for the designer ran some small risk of being +but meager. In his inexperience, he did not know that such was the great +height of invention to which the designer's art had been carried, that +certain gentlemen of that profession had gone to an eminent +publishing-house with overtures for an illustrated edition of "Coke upon +Lyttleton." Even the City Directory was beautifully illustrated with +exquisite engravings of bricks, tongs, and flat-irons. + +Concerning the draught for the title-page, it must be confessed, that on +seeing the imposing enumeration of his titles--long and magnificent as +those preceding the proclamations of some German Prince ("_Hereditary +Lord of the back-yard of Crantz Jacobi; Undoubted Proprietor by Seizure +of the bedstead of the late Widow Van Lorn; Heir Apparent to the +Bankrupt Bakery of Fletz and Flitz; Residuary Legatee of the Confiscated +Pin-Money of the Late Dowager Dunker; &c. &c. &c._") Pierre could not +entirely repress a momentary feeling of elation. Yet did he also bow low +under the weight of his own ponderosity, as the author of such a vast +load of literature. It occasioned him some slight misgivings, however, +when he considered, that already in his eighteenth year, his title-page +should so immensely surpass in voluminous statisticals the simple page, +which in his father's edition prefixed the vast speculations of Plato. +Still, he comforted himself with the thought, that as he could not +presume to interfere with the bill-stickers of the Gazelle Magazine, who +every month covered the walls of the city with gigantic announcements of +his name among the other contributors; so neither could he now--in the +highly improbable event of closing with the offer of Messrs. Wonder and +Wen--presume to interfere with the bill-sticking department of their +business concern; for it was plain that they esteemed one's title-page +but another unwindowed wall, infinitely more available than most walls, +since here was at least one spot in the city where no rival +bill-stickers dared to encroach. Nevertheless, resolved as he was to let +all such bill-sticking matters take care of themselves, he was sensible +of some coy inclination toward that modest method of certain kid-gloved +and dainty authors, who scorning the vulgarity of a sounding parade, +contented themselves with simply subscribing their name to the +title-page; as confident, that that was sufficient guarantee to the +notice of all true gentlemen of taste. It was for petty German princes +to sound their prolonged titular flourishes. The Czar of Russia +contented himself with putting the simple word "NICHOLAS" to his +loftiest decrees. + +This train of thought terminated at last in various considerations upon +the subject of anonymousness in authorship. He regretted that he had not +started his literary career under that mask. At present, it might be too +late; already the whole universe knew him, and it was in vain at this +late day to attempt to hood himself. But when he considered the +essential dignity and propriety at all points, of the inviolably +anonymous method, he could not but feel the sincerest sympathy for those +unfortunate fellows, who, not only naturally averse to any sort of +publicity, but progressively ashamed of their own successive +productions--written chiefly for the merest cash--were yet cruelly +coerced into sounding title-pages by sundry baker's and butcher's bills, +and other financial considerations; inasmuch as the placard of the +title-page indubitably must assist the publisher in his sales. + +But perhaps the ruling, though not altogether conscious motive of Pierre +in finally declining--as he did--the services of Messrs. Wonder and Wen, +those eager applicants for the privilege of extending and solidifying +his fame, arose from the idea that being at this time not very far +advanced in years, the probability was, that his future productions +might at least equal, if not surpass, in some small degree, those +already given to the world. He resolved to wait for his literary +canonization until he should at least have outgrown the sophomorean +insinuation of the Law; which, with a singular affectation of benignity, +pronounced him an "infant." His modesty obscured from him the +circumstance, that the greatest lettered celebrities of the time, had, +by the divine power of genius, become full graduates in the University +of Fame, while yet as legal minors forced to go to their mammas for +pennies wherewith to keep them in peanuts. + +Not seldom Pierre's social placidity was ruffled by polite entreaties +from the young ladies that he would be pleased to grace their Albums +with some nice little song. We say that here his social placidity was +ruffled; for the true charm of agreeable parlor society is, that there +you lose your own sharp individuality and become delightfully merged in +that soft social Pantheism, as it were, that rosy melting of all into +one, ever prevailing in those drawing-rooms, which pacifically and +deliciously belie their own name; inasmuch as there no one draws the +sword of his own individuality, but all such ugly weapons are left--as +of old--with your hat and cane in the hall. It was very awkward to +decline the albums; but somehow it was still worse, and peculiarly +distasteful for Pierre to comply. With equal justice apparently, you +might either have called this his weakness or his idiosyncrasy. He +summoned all his suavity, and refused. And the refusal of +Pierre--according to Miss Angelica Amabilia of Ambleside--was sweeter +than the compliance of others. But then--prior to the proffer of her +album--in a copse at Ambleside, Pierre in a gallant whim had in the +lady's own presence voluntarily carved Miss Angelica's initials upon the +bark of a beautiful maple. But all young ladies are not Miss Angelicas. +Blandly denied in the parlor, they courted repulse in the study. In +lovely envelopes they dispatched their albums to Pierre, not omitting +to drop a little attar-of-rose in the palm of the domestic who carried +them. While now Pierre--pushed to the wall in his +gallantry--shilly-shallied as to what he must do, the awaiting albums +multiplied upon him; and by-and-by monopolized an entire shelf in his +chamber; so that while their combined ornate bindings fairly dazzled his +eyes, their excessive redolence all but made him to faint, though +indeed, in moderation, he was very partial to perfumes. So that of +really chilly afternoons, he was still obliged to drop the upper sashes +a few inches. + +The simplest of all things it is to write in a lady's album. But Cui +Bono? Is there such a dearth of printed reading, that the monkish times +must be revived, and ladies books be in manuscript? What could Pierre +write of his own on Love or any thing else, that would surpass what +divine Hafiz wrote so many long centuries ago? Was there not Anacreon +too, and Catullus, and Ovid--all translated, and readily accessible? And +then--bless all their souls!--had the dear creatures forgotten Tom +Moore? But the handwriting, Pierre,--they want the sight of your hand. +Well, thought Pierre, actual feeling is better than transmitted sight, +any day. I will give them the actual feeling of my hand, as much as they +want. And lips are still better than hands. Let them send their sweet +faces to me, and I will kiss _lipographs_ upon them forever and a day. +This was a felicitous idea. He called Dates, and had the albums carried +down by the basket-full into the dining-room. He opened and spread them +all out upon the extension-table there; then, modeling himself by the +Pope, when His Holiness collectively blesses long crates of rosaries--he +waved one devout kiss to the albums; and summoning three servants sent +the albums all home, with his best compliments, accompanied with a +confectioner's _kiss_ for each album, rolled up in the most ethereal +tissue. + +From various quarters of the land, both town and country, and +especially during the preliminary season of autumn, Pierre received +various pressing invitations to lecture before Lyceums, Young Men's +Associations, and other Literary and Scientific Societies. The letters +conveying these invitations possessed quite an imposing and most +flattering aspect to the unsophisticated Pierre. One was as follows:-- + + "_Urquhartian Club for the Immediate Extension of the Limits of all + Knowledge, both Human and Divine._ + + "ZADOCKPRATTSVILLE, + "_June 11th, 18--_. + + "_Author of the 'Tropical Summer,' &c._ + "HONORED AND DEAR SIR:-- + + "Official duty and private inclination in this present case most + delightfully blend. What was the ardent desire of my heart, has now + by the action of the _Committee on Lectures_ become professionally + obligatory upon me. As Chairman of our _Committee on Lectures_, I + hereby beg the privilege of entreating that you will honor this + Society by lecturing before it on any subject you may choose, and + at any day most convenient to yourself. The subject of Human + Destiny we would respectfully suggest, without however at all + wishing to impede you in your own unbiased selection. + + "If you honor us by complying with this invitation, be assured, + sir, that the Committee on Lectures will take the best care of you + throughout your stay, and endeavor to make Zadockprattsville + agreeable to you. A carriage will be in attendance at the + Stage-house to convey yourself and luggage to the Inn, under full + escort of the _Committee on Lectures_, with the Chairman at their + head. + + "Permit me to join my private homage + To my high official consideration for you, + And to subscribe myself + Very humbly your servant, + DONALD DUNDONALD." + + +III. + +But it was more especially the Lecture invitations coming from +venerable, gray-headed metropolitan Societies, and indited by venerable +gray-headed Secretaries, which far from elating filled the youthful +Pierre with the sincerest sense of humility. Lecture? lecture? such a +stripling as I lecture to fifty benches, with ten gray heads on each? +five hundred gray heads in all! Shall my one, poor, inexperienced brain +presume to lay down the law in a lecture to five hundred life-ripened +understandings? It seemed too absurd for thought. Yet the five hundred, +through their spokesman, had voluntarily extended this identical +invitation to him. Then how could it be otherwise, than that an +incipient Timonism should slide into Pierre, when he considered all the +disgraceful inferences to be derived from such a fact. He called to +mind, how that once upon a time, during a visit of his to the city, the +police were called out to quell a portentous riot, occasioned by the +vast press and contention for seats at the first lecture of an +illustrious lad of nineteen, the author of "A Week at Coney Island." + +It is needless to say that Pierre most conscientiously and respectfully +declined all polite overtures of this sort. + +Similar disenchantments of his cooler judgment did likewise deprive of +their full lusciousness several other equally marked demonstrations of +his literary celebrity. Applications for autographs showered in upon +him; but in sometimes humorously gratifying the more urgent requests of +these singular people Pierre could not but feel a pang of regret, that +owing to the very youthful and quite unformed character of his +handwriting, his signature did not possess that inflexible uniformity, +which--for mere prudential reasons, if nothing more--should always mark +the hand of illustrious men. His heart thrilled with sympathetic anguish +for posterity, which would be certain to stand hopelessly perplexed +before so many contradictory signatures of one supereminent name. Alas! +posterity would be sure to conclude that they were forgeries all; that +no chirographic relic of the sublime poet Glendinning survived to their +miserable times. + +From the proprietors of the Magazines whose pages were honored by his +effusions, he received very pressing epistolary solicitations for the +loan of his portrait in oil, in order to take an engraving therefrom, +for a frontispiece to their periodicals. But here again the most +melancholy considerations obtruded. It had always been one of the lesser +ambitions of Pierre, to sport a flowing beard, which he deemed the most +noble corporeal badge of the man, not to speak of the illustrious +author. But as yet he was beardless; and no cunning compound of Rowland +and Son could force a beard which should arrive at maturity in any +reasonable time for the frontispiece. Besides, his boyish features and +whole expression were daily changing. Would he lend his authority to +this unprincipled imposture upon Posterity? Honor forbade. + +These epistolary petitions were generally couched in an elaborately +respectful style; thereby intimating with what deep reverence his +portrait would be handled, while unavoidably subjected to the discipline +indispensable to obtain from it the engraved copy they prayed for. But +one or two of the persons who made occasional oral requisitions upon him +in this matter of his engraved portrait, seemed less regardful of the +inherent respect due to every man's portrait, much more, to that of a +genius so celebrated as Pierre. They did not even seem to remember that +the portrait of any man generally receives, and indeed is entitled to +more reverence than the original man himself; since one may freely clap +a celebrated friend on the shoulder, yet would by no means tweak his +nose in his portrait. The reason whereof may be this: that the portrait +is better entitled to reverence than the man; inasmuch as nothing +belittling can be imagined concerning the portrait, whereas many +unavoidably belittling things can be fancied as touching the man. + +Upon one occasion, happening suddenly to encounter a literary +acquaintance--a joint editor of the "Captain Kidd Monthly"--who suddenly +popped upon him round a corner, Pierre was startled by a +rapid--"Good-morning, good-morning;--just the man I wanted:--come, step +round now with me, and have your Daguerreotype taken;--get it engraved +then in no time;--want it for the next issue." + +So saying, this chief mate of Captain Kidd seized Pierre's arm, and in +the most vigorous manner was walking him off, like an officer a +pickpocket, when Pierre civilly said--"Pray, sir, hold, if you please, I +shall do no such thing."--"Pooh, pooh--must have it--public +property--come along--only a door or two now."--"Public property!" +rejoined Pierre, "that may do very well for the 'Captain Kidd +Monthly;'--it's very Captain Kiddish to say so. But I beg to repeat that +I do not intend to accede."--"Don't? Really?" cried the other, amazedly +staring Pierre full in the countenance;--"why bless your soul, _my_ +portrait is published--long ago published!"--"Can't help that, +sir"--said Pierre. "Oh! come along, come along," and the chief mate +seized him again with the most uncompunctious familiarity by the arm. +Though the sweetest-tempered youth in the world when but decently +treated, Pierre had an ugly devil in him sometimes, very apt to be +evoked by the personal profaneness of gentlemen of the Captain Kidd +school of literature. "Look you, my good fellow," said he, submitting to +his impartial inspection a determinately double fist,--"drop my arm +now--or I'll drop you. To the devil with you and your Daguerreotype!" + +This incident, suggestive as it was at the time, in the sequel had a +surprising effect upon Pierre. For he considered with what infinite +readiness now, the most faithful portrait of any one could be taken by +the Daguerreotype, whereas in former times a faithful portrait was only +within the power of the moneyed, or mental aristocrats of the earth. How +natural then the inference, that instead, as in old times, immortalizing +a genius, a portrait now only _dayalized_ a dunce. Besides, when every +body has his portrait published, true distinction lies in not having +yours published at all. For if you are published along with Tom, Dick, +and Harry, and wear a coat of their cut, how then are you distinct from +Tom, Dick, and Harry? Therefore, even so miserable a motive as downright +personal vanity helped to operate in this matter with Pierre. + +Some zealous lovers of the general literature of the age, as well as +declared devotees to his own great genius, frequently petitioned him for +the materials wherewith to frame his biography. They assured him, that +life of all things was most insecure. He might feel many years in him +yet; time might go lightly by him; but in any sudden and fatal sickness, +how would his last hours be embittered by the thought, that he was about +to depart forever, leaving the world utterly unprovided with the +knowledge of what were the precise texture and hue of the first trowsers +he wore. These representations did certainly touch him in a very tender +spot, not previously unknown to the schoolmaster. But when Pierre +considered, that owing to his extreme youth, his own recollections of +the past soon merged into all manner of half-memories and a general +vagueness, he could not find it in his conscience to present such +materials to the impatient biographers, especially as his chief +verifying authority in these matters of his past career, was now +eternally departed beyond all human appeal. His excellent nurse Clarissa +had been dead four years and more. In vain a young literary friend, the +well-known author of two Indexes and one Epic, to whom the subject +happened to be mentioned, warmly espoused the cause of the distressed +biographers; saying that however unpleasant, one must needs pay the +penalty of celebrity; it was no use to stand back; and concluded by +taking from the crown of his hat the proof-sheets of his own biography, +which, with the most thoughtful consideration for the masses, was +shortly to be published in the pamphlet form, price only a shilling. + +It only the more bewildered and pained him, when still other and less +delicate applicants sent him their regularly printed +_Biographico-Solicito Circulars_, with his name written in ink; begging +him to honor them and the world with a neat draft of his life, including +criticisms on his own writings; the printed circular indiscriminately +protesting, that undoubtedly he knew more of his own life than any other +living man; and that only he who had put together the great works of +Glendinning could be fully qualified thoroughly to analyze them, and +cast the ultimate judgment upon their remarkable construction. + +Now, it was under the influence of the humiliating emotions engendered +by things like the above; it was when thus haunted by publishers, +engravers, editors, critics, autograph-collectors, portrait-fanciers, +biographers, and petitioning and remonstrating literary friends of all +sorts; it was then, that there stole into the youthful soul of Pierre, +melancholy forebodings of the utter unsatisfactoriness of all human +fame; since the most ardent profferings of the most martyrizing +demonstrations in his behalf,--these he was sorrowfully obliged to turn +away. + +And it may well be believed, that after the wonderful vital +world-revelation so suddenly made to Pierre at the Meadows--a revelation +which, at moments, in some certain things, fairly Timonized him--he had +not failed to clutch with peculiar nervous detestation and contempt that +ample parcel, containing the letters of his Biographico and other silly +correspondents, which, in a less ferocious hour, he had filed away as +curiosities. It was with an almost infernal grin, that he saw that +particular heap of rubbish eternally quenched in the fire, and felt +that as it was consumed before his eyes, so in his soul was forever +killed the last and minutest undeveloped microscopic germ of that most +despicable vanity to which those absurd correspondents thought to +appeal. + + + + +BOOK XVIII. + +PIERRE, AS A JUVENILE AUTHOR, RECONSIDERED. + + +I. + +Inasmuch as by various indirect intimations much more than ordinary +natural genius has been imputed to Pierre, it may have seemed an +inconsistency, that only the merest magazine papers should have been +thus far the sole productions of his mind. Nor need it be added, that, +in the soberest earnest, those papers contained nothing uncommon; +indeed--entirely now to drop all irony, if hitherto any thing like that +has been indulged in--those fugitive things of Master Pierre's were the +veriest common-place. + +It is true, as I long before said, that Nature at Saddle Meadows had +very early been as a benediction to Pierre;--had blown her wind-clarion +to him from the blue hills, and murmured melodious secrecies to him by +her streams and her woods. But while nature thus very early and very +abundantly feeds us, she is very late in tutoring us as to the proper +methodization of our diet. Or,--to change the metaphor,--there are +immense quarries of fine marble; but how to get it out; how to chisel +it; how to construct any temple? Youth must wholly quit, then, the +quarry, for awhile; and not only go forth, and get tools to use in the +quarry, but must go and thoroughly study architecture. Now the +quarry-discoverer is long before the stone-cutter; and the stone-cutter +is long before the architect; and the architect is long before the +temple; for the temple is the crown of the world. + +Yes; Pierre was not only very unarchitectural at that time, but Pierre +was very young, indeed, at that time. And it is often to be observed, +that as in digging for precious metals in the mines, much earthy rubbish +has first to be troublesomely handled and thrown out; so, in digging in +one's soul for the fine gold of genius, much dullness and common-place +is first brought to light. Happy would it be, if the man possessed in +himself some receptacle for his own rubbish of this sort: but he is like +the occupant of a dwelling, whose refuse can not be clapped into his own +cellar, but must be deposited in the street before his own door, for the +public functionaries to take care of. No common-place is ever +effectually got rid of, except by essentially emptying one's self of it +into a book; for once trapped in a book, then the book can be put into +the fire, and all will be well. But they are not always put into the +fire; and this accounts for the vast majority of miserable books over +those of positive merit. Nor will any thoroughly sincere man, who is an +author, ever be rash in precisely defining the period, when he has +completely ridded himself of his rubbish, and come to the latent gold in +his mine. It holds true, in every case, that the wiser a man is, the +more misgivings he has on certain points. + +It is well enough known, that the best productions of the best human +intellects, are generally regarded by those intellects as mere immature +freshman exercises, wholly worthless in themselves, except as +initiatives for entering the great University of God after death. +Certain it is, that if any inferences can be drawn from observations of +the familiar lives of men of the greatest mark, their finest things, +those which become the foolish glory of the world, are not only very +poor and inconsiderable to themselves, but often positively distasteful; +they would rather not have the book in the room. In minds comparatively +inferior as compared with the above, these surmising considerations so +sadden and unfit, that they become careless of what they write; go to +their desks with discontent, and only remain there--victims to headache, +and pain in the back--by the hard constraint of some social necessity. +Equally paltry and despicable to them, are the works thus composed; born +of unwillingness and the bill of the baker; the rickety offspring of a +parent, careless of life herself, and reckless of the germ-life she +contains. Let not the short-sighted world for a moment imagine, that any +vanity lurks in such minds; only hired to appear on the stage, not +voluntarily claiming the public attention; their utmost life-redness and +glow is but rouge, washed off in private with bitterest tears; their +laugh only rings because it is hollow; and the answering laugh is no +laughter to them. + +There is nothing so slipperily alluring as sadness; we become sad in the +first place by having nothing stirring to do; we continue in it, because +we have found a snug sofa at last. Even so, it may possibly be, that +arrived at this quiet retrospective little episode in the career of my +hero--this shallowly expansive embayed Tappan Zee of my otherwise +deep-heady Hudson--I too begin to loungingly expand, and wax harmlessly +sad and sentimental. + +Now, what has been hitherto presented in reference to Pierre, concerning +rubbish, as in some cases the unavoidable first-fruits of genius, is in +no wise contradicted by the fact, that the first published works of many +meritorious authors have given mature token of genius; for we do not +know how many they previously published to the flames; or privately +published in their own brains, and suppressed there as quickly. And in +the inferior instances of an immediate literary success, in very young +writers, it will be almost invariably observable, that for that instant +success they were chiefly indebted to some rich and peculiar experience +in life, embodied in a book, which because, for that cause, containing +original matter, the author himself, forsooth, is to be considered +original; in this way, many very original books, being the product of +very unoriginal minds. Indeed, man has only to be but a little +circumspect, and away flies the last rag of his vanity. The world is +forever babbling of originality; but there never yet was an original +man, in the sense intended by the world; the first man himself--who +according to the Rabbins was also the first author--not being an +original; the only original author being God. Had Milton's been the lot +of Caspar Hauser, Milton would have been vacant as he. For though the +naked soul of man doth assuredly contain one latent element of +intellectual productiveness; yet never was there a child born solely +from one parent; the visible world of experience being that procreative +thing which impregnates the muses; self-reciprocally efficient +hermaphrodites being but a fable. + +There is infinite nonsense in the world on all of these matters; hence +blame me not if I contribute my mite. It is impossible to talk or to +write without apparently throwing oneself helplessly open; the +Invulnerable Knight wears his visor down. Still, it is pleasant to chat; +for it passes the time ere we go to our beds; and speech is farther +incited, when like strolling improvisatores of Italy, we are paid for +our breath. And we are only too thankful when the gapes of the audience +dismiss us with the few ducats we earn. + + +II. + +It may have been already inferred, that the pecuniary plans of Pierre +touching his independent means of support in the city were based upon +his presumed literary capabilities. For what else could he do? He knew +no profession, no trade. Glad now perhaps might he have been, if Fate +had made him a blacksmith, and not a gentleman, a Glendinning, and a +genius. But here he would have been unpardonably rash, had he not +already, in some degree, actually tested the fact, in his own personal +experience, that it is not altogether impossible for a magazine +contributor to Juvenile American literature to receive a few pence in +exchange for his ditties. Such cases stand upon imperishable record, and +it were both folly and ingratitude to disown them. + +But since the fine social position and noble patrimony of Pierre, had +thus far rendered it altogether unnecessary for him to earn the least +farthing of his own in the world, whether by hand or by brain; it may +seem desirable to explain a little here as we go. We shall do so, but +always including, the preamble. + +Sometimes every possible maxim or thought seems an old one; yet it is +among the elder of the things in that unaugmentable stock, that never +mind what one's situation may be, however prosperous and happy, he will +still be impatient of it; he will still reach out of himself, and beyond +every present condition. So, while many a poor be-inked galley-slave, +toiling with the heavy oar of a quill, to gain something wherewithal to +stave off the cravings of nature; and in his hours of morbid +self-reproach, regarding his paltry wages, at all events, as an +unavoidable disgrace to him; while this galley-slave of letters would +have leaped with delight--reckless of the feeble seams of his +pantaloons--at the most distant prospect of inheriting the broad farms +of Saddle Meadows, lord of an all-sufficing income, and forever exempt +from wearing on his hands those treacherous plague-spots of +indigence--videlicet, blots from the inkstand;--Pierre himself, the +undoubted and actual possessor of the things only longingly and +hopelessly imagined by the other; the then top of Pierre's worldly +ambition, was the being able to boast that he had written such matters +as publishers would pay something for in the way of a mere business +transaction, which they thought would prove profitable. Yet altogether +weak and silly as this may seem in Pierre, let us preambillically +examine a little further, and see if it be so indeed. + +Pierre was proud; and a proud man--proud with the sort of pride now +meant--ever holds but lightly those things, however beneficent, which he +did not for himself procure. Were such pride carried out to its +legitimate end, the man would eat no bread, the seeds whereof he had not +himself put into the soil, not entirely without humiliation, that even +that seed must be borrowed from some previous planter. A proud man likes +to feel himself in himself, and not by reflection in others. He likes to +be not only his own Alpha and Omega, but to be distinctly all the +intermediate gradations, and then to slope off on his own spine either +way, into the endless impalpable ether. What a glory it was then to +Pierre, when first in his two gentlemanly hands he jingled the wages of +labor! Talk of drums and the fife; the echo of coin of one's own earning +is more inspiring than all the trumpets of Sparta. How disdainfully now +he eyed the sumptuousness of his hereditary halls--the hangings, and the +pictures, and the bragging historic armorials and the banners of the +Glendinning renown; confident, that if need should come, he would not be +forced to turn resurrectionist, and dig up his grandfather's +Indian-chief grave for the ancestral sword and shield, ignominiously to +pawn them for a living! He could live on himself. Oh, twice-blessed now, +in the feeling of practical capacity, was Pierre. + +The mechanic, the day-laborer, has but one way to live; his body must +provide for his body. But not only could Pierre in some sort, do that; +he could do the other; and letting his body stay lazily at home, send +off his soul to labor, and his soul would come faithfully back and pay +his body her wages. So, some unprofessional gentlemen of the +aristocratic South, who happen to own slaves, give those slaves liberty +to go and seek work, and every night return with their wages, which +constitute those idle gentlemen's income. Both ambidexter and +quadruple-armed is that man, who in a day-laborer's body, possesses a +day-laboring soul. Yet let not such an one be over-confident. Our God is +a jealous God; He wills not that any man should permanently possess the +least shadow of His own self-sufficient attributes. Yoke the body to the +soul, and put both to the plough, and the one or the other must in the +end assuredly drop in the furrow. Keep, then, thy body effeminate for +labor, and thy soul laboriously robust; or else thy soul effeminate for +labor, and thy body laboriously robust. Elect! the two will not +lastingly abide in one yoke. Thus over the most vigorous and soaring +conceits, doth the cloud of Truth come stealing; thus doth the shot, +even of a sixty-two-pounder pointed upward, light at last on the earth; +for strive we how we may, we can not overshoot the earth's orbit, to +receive the attractions of other planets; Earth's law of gravitation +extends far beyond her own atmosphere. + +In the operative opinion of this world, he who is already fully provided +with what is necessary for him, that man shall have more; while he who +is deplorably destitute of the same, he shall have taken away from him +even that which he hath. Yet the world vows it is a very plain, +downright matter-of-fact, plodding, humane sort of world. It is governed +only by the simplest principles, and scorns all ambiguities, all +transcendentals, and all manner of juggling. Now some imaginatively +heterodoxical men are often surprisingly twitted upon their willful +inverting of all common-sense notions, their absurd and all-displacing +transcendentals, which say three is four, and two and two make ten. But +if the eminent Jugglarius himself ever advocated in mere words a +doctrine one thousandth part so ridiculous and subversive of all +practical sense, as that doctrine which the world actually and eternally +practices, of giving unto him who already hath more than enough, still +more of the superfluous article, and taking away from him who hath +nothing at all, even that which he hath,--then is the truest book in the +world a lie. + +Wherefore we see that the so-called Transcendentalists are not the only +people who deal in Transcendentals. On the contrary, we seem to see that +the Utilitarians,--the every-day world's people themselves, far +transcend those inferior Transcendentalists by their own +incomprehensible worldly maxims. And--what is vastly more--with the one +party, their Transcendentals are but theoretic and inactive, and +therefore harmless; whereas with the other, they are actually clothed in +living deeds. + +The highly graveling doctrine and practice of the world, above cited, +had in some small degree been manifested in the case of Pierre. He +prospectively possessed the fee of several hundred farms scattered over +part of two adjoining counties; and now the proprietor of that popular +periodical, the Gazelle Magazine, sent him several additional dollars +for his sonnets. That proprietor (though in sooth, he never read the +sonnets, but referred them to his professional adviser; and was so +ignorant, that, for a long time previous to the periodical's actually +being started, he insisted upon spelling the Gazelle with a _g_ for the +_z_, as thus: _Gagelle_; maintaining, that in the Gazelle connection, +the _z_ was a mere impostor, and that the _g_ was soft; for he was a +judge of softness, and could speak from experience); that proprietor was +undoubtedly a Transcendentalist; for did he not act upon the +Transcendental doctrine previously set forth? + +Now, the dollars derived from his ditties, these Pierre had always +invested in cigars; so that the puffs which indirectly brought him his +dollars were again returned, but as perfumed puffs; perfumed with the +sweet leaf of Havanna. So that this highly-celebrated and world-renowned +Pierre--the great author--whose likeness the world had never seen (for +had he not repeatedly refused the world his likeness?), this famous +poet, and philosopher, author of "_The Tropical Summer: a Sonnet_;" +against whose very life several desperadoes were darkly plotting (for +had not the biographers sworn they would have it!); this towering +celebrity--there he would sit smoking, and smoking, mild and +self-festooned as a vapory mountain. It was very involuntarily and +satisfactorily reciprocal. His cigars were lighted in two ways: lighted +by the sale of his sonnets, and lighted by the printed sonnets +themselves. + +For even at that early time in his authorial life, Pierre, however vain +of his fame, was not at all proud of his paper. Not only did he make +allumettes of his sonnets when published, but was very careless about +his discarded manuscripts; they were to be found lying all round the +house; gave a great deal of trouble to the housemaids in sweeping; went +for kindlings to the fires; and were forever flitting out of the +windows, and under the door-sills, into the faces of people passing the +manorial mansion. In this reckless, indifferent way of his, Pierre +himself was a sort of publisher. It is true his more familiar admirers +often earnestly remonstrated with him, against this irreverence to the +primitive vestments of his immortal productions; saying, that whatever +had once felt the nib of his mighty pen, was thenceforth sacred as the +lips which had but once saluted the great toe of the Pope. But hardened +as he was to these friendly censurings, Pierre never forbade that ardent +appreciation of "The Tear," who, finding a small fragment of the +original manuscript containing a dot (_tear_), over an _i_ (_eye_), +esteemed the significant event providential; and begged the +distinguished favor of being permitted to have it for a brooch; and +ousted a cameo-head of Homer, to replace it with the more invaluable +gem. He became inconsolable, when being caught in a rain, the dot +(_tear_) disappeared from over the _i_ (_eye_); so that the strangeness +and wonderfulness of the sonnet was still conspicuous; in that though +the least fragment of it could weep in a drought, yet did it become all +tearless in a shower. + +But this indifferent and supercilious amateur--deaf to the admiration of +the world; the enigmatically merry and renowned author of "The Tear;" +the pride of the Gazelle Magazine, on whose flaunting cover his name +figured at the head of all contributors--(no small men either; for their +lives had all been fraternally written by each other, and they had +clubbed, and had their likenesses all taken by the aggregate job, and +published on paper, all bought at one shop) this high-prestiged +Pierre--whose future popularity and voluminousness had become so +startlingly announced by what he had already written, that certain +speculators came to the Meadows to survey its water-power, if any, with +a view to start a paper-mill expressly for the great author, and so +monopolize his stationery dealings;--this vast being,--spoken of with +awe by all merely youthful aspirants for fame; this age-neutralizing +Pierre;--before whom an old gentleman of sixty-five, formerly librarian +to Congress, on being introduced to him at the Magazine publishers', +devoutly took off his hat, and kept it so, and remained standing, though +Pierre was socially seated with his hat on;--this wonderful, disdainful +genius--but only life-amateur as yet--is now soon to appear in a far +different guise. He shall now learn, and very bitterly learn, that +though the world worship Mediocrity and Common Place, yet hath it fire +and sword for all cotemporary Grandeur; that though it swears that it +fiercely assails all Hypocrisy, yet hath it not always an ear for +Earnestness. + +And though this state of things, united with the ever multiplying +freshets of new books, seems inevitably to point to a coming time, when +the mass of humanity reduced to one level of dotage, authors shall be +scarce as alchymists are to-day, and the printing-press be reckoned a +small invention:--yet even now, in the foretaste of this let us hug +ourselves, oh, my Aurelian! that though the age of authors be passing, +the hours of earnestness shall remain! + + + + +BOOK XIX. + +THE CHURCH OF THE APOSTLES. + + +I. + +In the lower old-fashioned part of the city, in a narrow street--almost +a lane--once filled with demure-looking dwellings, but now chiefly with +immense lofty warehouses of foreign importers; and not far from the +corner where the lane intersected with a very considerable but +contracted thoroughfare for merchants and their clerks, and their carmen +and porters; stood at this period a rather singular and ancient edifice, +a relic of the more primitive time. The material was a grayish stone, +rudely cut and masoned into walls of surprising thickness and strength; +along two of which walls--the side ones--were distributed as many rows +of arched and stately windows. A capacious, square, and wholly +unornamented tower rose in front to twice the height of the body of the +church; three sides of this tower were pierced with small and narrow +apertures. Thus far, in its external aspect, the building--now more than +a century old,--sufficiently attested for what purpose it had originally +been founded. In its rear, was a large and lofty plain brick structure, +with its front to the rearward street, but its back presented to the +back of the church, leaving a small, flagged, and quadrangular vacancy +between. At the sides of this quadrangle, three stories of homely brick +colonnades afforded covered communication between the ancient church, +and its less elderly adjunct. A dismantled, rusted, and forlorn old +railing of iron fencing in a small courtyard in front of the rearward +building, seemed to hint, that the latter had usurped an unoccupied +space formerly sacred as the old church's burial inclosure. Such a fancy +would have been entirely true. Built when that part of the city was +devoted to private residences, and not to warehouses and offices as now, +the old Church of the Apostles had had its days of sanctification and +grace; but the tide of change and progress had rolled clean through its +broad-aisle and side-aisles, and swept by far the greater part of its +congregation two or three miles up town. Some stubborn and elderly old +merchants and accountants, lingered awhile among its dusty pews, +listening to the exhortations of a faithful old pastor, who, sticking to +his post in this flight of his congregation, still propped his +half-palsied form in the worm-eaten pulpit, and occasionally +pounded--though now with less vigorous hand--the moth-eaten covering of +its desk. But it came to pass, that this good old clergyman died; and +when the gray-headed and bald-headed remaining merchants and accountants +followed his coffin out of the broad-aisle to see it reverently +interred; then that was the last time that ever the old edifice +witnessed the departure of a regular worshiping assembly from its walls. +The venerable merchants and accountants held a meeting, at which it was +finally decided, that, hard and unwelcome as the necessity might be, yet +it was now no use to disguise the fact, that the building could no +longer be efficiently devoted to its primitive purpose. It must be +divided into stores; cut into offices; and given for a roost to the +gregarious lawyers. This intention was executed, even to the making +offices high up in the tower; and so well did the thing succeed, that +ultimately the church-yard was invaded for a supplemental edifice, +likewise to be promiscuously rented to the legal crowd. But this new +building very much exceeded the body of the church in height. It was +some seven stories; a fearful pile of Titanic bricks, lifting its tiled +roof almost to a level with the top of the sacred tower. + +In this ambitious erection the proprietors went a few steps, or rather a +few stories, too far. For as people would seldom willingly fall into +legal altercations unless the lawyers were always very handy to help +them; so it is ever an object with lawyers to have their offices as +convenient as feasible to the street; on the ground-floor, if possible, +without a single acclivity of a step; but at any rate not in the seventh +story of any house, where their clients might be deterred from employing +them at all, if they were compelled to mount seven long flights of +stairs, one over the other, with very brief landings, in order even to +pay their preliminary retaining fees. So, from some time after its +throwing open, the upper stories of the less ancient attached edifice +remained almost wholly without occupants; and by the forlorn echoes of +their vacuities, right over the head of the business-thriving legal +gentlemen below, must--to some few of them at least--have suggested +unwelcome similitudes, having reference to the crowded state of their +basement-pockets, as compared with the melancholy condition of their +attics;--alas! full purses and empty heads! This dreary posture of +affairs, however, was at last much altered for the better, by the +gradual filling up of the vacant chambers on high, by scores of those +miscellaneous, bread-and-cheese adventurers, and ambiguously +professional nondescripts in very genteel but shabby black, and +unaccountable foreign-looking fellows in blue spectacles; who, +previously issuing from unknown parts of the world, like storks in +Holland, light on the eaves, and in the attics of lofty old buildings in +most large sea-port towns. Here they sit and talk like magpies; or +descending in quest of improbable dinners, are to be seen drawn up along +the curb in front of the eating-houses, like lean rows of broken-hearted +pelicans on a beach; their pockets loose, hanging down and flabby, like +the pelican's pouches when fish are hard to be caught. But these poor, +penniless devils still strive to make ample amends for their physical +forlornness, by resolutely reveling in the region of blissful ideals. + +They are mostly artists of various sorts; painters, or sculptors, or +indigent students, or teachers of languages, or poets, or fugitive +French politicians, or German philosophers. Their mental tendencies, +however heterodox at times, are still very fine and spiritual upon the +whole; since the vacuity of their exchequers leads them to reject the +coarse materialism of Hobbs, and incline to the airy exaltations of the +Berkelyan philosophy. Often groping in vain in their pockets, they can +not but give in to the Descartian vortices; while the abundance of +leisure in their attics (physical and figurative), unite with the +leisure in their stomachs, to fit them in an eminent degree for that +undivided attention indispensable to the proper digesting of the +sublimated Categories of Kant; especially as Kant (can't) is the one +great palpable fact in their pervadingly impalpable lives. These are the +glorious paupers, from whom I learn the profoundest mysteries of things; +since their very existence in the midst of such a terrible +precariousness of the commonest means of support, affords a problem on +which many speculative nutcrackers have been vainly employed. Yet let me +here offer up three locks of my hair, to the memory of all such glorious +paupers who have lived and died in this world. Surely, and truly I honor +them--noble men often at bottom--and for that very reason I make bold to +be gamesome about them; for where fundamental nobleness is, and +fundamental honor is due, merriment is never accounted irreverent. The +fools and pretenders of humanity, and the impostors and baboons among +the gods, these only are offended with raillery; since both those gods +and men whose titles to eminence are secure, seldom worry themselves +about the seditious gossip of old apple-women, and the skylarkings of +funny little boys in the street. + +When the substance is gone, men cling to the shadow. Places once set +apart to lofty purposes, still retain the name of that loftiness, even +when converted to the meanest uses. It would seem, as if forced by +imperative Fate to renounce the reality of the romantic and lofty, the +people of the present would fain make a compromise by retaining some +purely imaginative remainder. The curious effects of this tendency is +oftenest evinced in those venerable countries of the old transatlantic +world; where still over the Thames one bridge yet retains the monastic +tide of Blackfriars; though not a single Black Friar, but many a +pickpocket, has stood on that bank since a good ways beyond the days of +Queen Bess; where still innumerable other historic anomalies sweetly and +sadly remind the present man of the wonderful procession that preceded +him in his new generation. Nor--though the comparative recentness of our +own foundation upon these Columbian shores, excludes any considerable +participation in these attractive anomalies,--yet are we not altogether, +in our more elderly towns, wholly without some touch of them, here and +there. It was thus with the ancient Church of the Apostles--better +known, even in its primitive day, under the abbreviative of The +Apostles--which, though now converted from its original purpose to one +so widely contrasting, yet still retained its majestical name. The +lawyer or artist tenanting its chambers, whether in the new building or +the old, when asked where he was to be found, invariably replied,--_At +the Apostles'_. But because now, at last, in the course of the +inevitable transplantations of the more notable localities of the +various professions in a thriving and amplifying town, the venerable +spot offered not such inducements as before to the legal gentlemen; and +as the strange nondescript adventurers and artists, and indigent +philosophers of all sorts, crowded in as fast as the others left; +therefore, in reference to the metaphysical strangeness of these curious +inhabitants, and owing in some sort to the circumstance, that several of +them were well-known Teleological Theorists, and Social Reformers, and +political propagandists of all manner of heterodoxical tenets; +therefore, I say, and partly, peradventure, from some slight waggishness +in the public; the immemorial popular name of the ancient church itself +was participatingly transferred to the dwellers therein. So it came to +pass, that in the general fashion of the day, he who had chambers in the +old church was familiarly styled an _Apostle_. + +But as every effect is but the cause of another and a subsequent one, so +it now happened that finding themselves thus clannishly, and not +altogether infelicitously entitled, the occupants of the venerable +church began to come together out of their various dens, in more social +communion; attracted toward each other by a title common to all. +By-and-by, from this, they went further; and insensibly, at last became +organized in a peculiar society, which, though exceedingly +inconspicuous, and hardly perceptible in its public demonstrations, was +still secretly suspected to have some mysterious ulterior object, +vaguely connected with the absolute overturning of Church and State, and +the hasty and premature advance of some unknown great political and +religious Millennium. Still, though some zealous conservatives and +devotees of morals, several times left warning at the police-office, to +keep a wary eye on the old church; and though, indeed, sometimes an +officer would look up inquiringly at the suspicious narrow window-slits +in the lofty tower; yet, to say the truth, was the place, to all +appearance, a very quiet and decorous one, and its occupants a company +of harmless people, whose greatest reproach was efflorescent coats and +crack-crowned hats all podding in the sun. + +Though in the middle of the day many bales and boxes would be trundled +along the stores in front of the Apostles'; and along its critically +narrow sidewalk, the merchants would now and then hurry to meet their +checks ere the banks should close: yet the street, being mostly devoted +to mere warehousing purposes, and not used as a general thoroughfare, it +was at all times a rather secluded and silent place. But from an hour or +two before sundown to ten or eleven o'clock the next morning, it was +remarkably silent and depopulated, except by the Apostles themselves; +while every Sunday it presented an aspect of surprising and startling +quiescence; showing nothing but one long vista of six or seven stories +of inexorable iron shutters on both sides of the way. It was pretty much +the same with the other street, which, as before said, intersected with +the warehousing lane, not very far from the Apostles'. For though that +street was indeed a different one from the latter, being full of cheap +refectories for clerks, foreign restaurants, and other places of +commercial resort; yet the only hum in it was restricted to business +hours; by night it was deserted of every occupant but the lamp-posts; +and on Sunday, to walk through it, was like walking through an avenue of +sphinxes. + +Such, then, was the present condition of the ancient Church of the +Apostles; buzzing with a few lingering, equivocal lawyers in the +basement, and populous with all sorts of poets, painters, paupers and +philosophers above. A mysterious professor of the flute was perched in +one of the upper stories of the tower; and often, of silent, moonlight +nights, his lofty, melodious notes would be warbled forth over the roofs +of the ten thousand warehouses around him--as of yore, the bell had +pealed over the domestic gables of a long-departed generation. + + +II. + +On the third night following the arrival of the party in the city, +Pierre sat at twilight by a lofty window in the rear building of the +Apostles'. The chamber was meager even to meanness. No carpet on the +floor, no picture on the wall; nothing but a low, long, and very +curious-looking single bedstead, that might possibly serve for an +indigent bachelor's pallet, a large, blue, chintz-covered chest, a +rickety, rheumatic, and most ancient mahogany chair, and a wide board of +the toughest live-oak, about six feet long, laid upon two upright empty +flour-barrels, and loaded with a large bottle of ink, an unfastened +bundle of quills, a pen-knife, a folder, and a still unbound ream of +foolscap paper, significantly stamped, "Ruled; Blue." + +There, on the third night, at twilight, sat Pierre by that lofty window +of a beggarly room in the rear-building of the Apostles'. He was +entirely idle, apparently; there was nothing in his hands; but there +might have been something on his heart. Now and then he fixedly gazes at +the curious-looking, rusty old bedstead. It seemed powerfully symbolical +to him; and most symbolical it was. For it was the ancient dismemberable +and portable camp-bedstead of his grandfather, the defiant defender of +the Fort, the valiant captain in many an unsuccumbing campaign. On that +very camp-bedstead, there, beneath his tent on the field, the glorious +old mild-eyed and warrior-hearted general had slept, and but waked to +buckle his knight-making sword by his side; for it was noble knighthood +to be slain by grand Pierre; in the other world his foes' ghosts bragged +of the hand that had given them their passports. + +But has that hard bed of War, descended for an inheritance to the soft +body of Peace? In the peaceful time of full barns, and when the noise of +the peaceful flail is abroad, and the hum of peaceful commerce resounds, +is the grandson of two Generals a warrior too? Oh, not for naught, in +the time of this seeming peace, are warrior grandsires given to Pierre! +For Pierre is a warrior too; Life his campaign, and three fierce allies, +Woe and Scorn and Want, his foes. The wide world is banded against him; +for lo you! he holds up the standard of Right, and swears by the Eternal +and True! But ah, Pierre, Pierre, when thou goest to that bed, how +humbling the thought, that thy most extended length measures not the +proud six feet four of thy grand John of Gaunt sire! The stature of the +warrior is cut down to the dwindled glory of the fight. For more +glorious in real tented field to strike down your valiant foe, than in +the conflicts of a noble soul with a dastardly world to chase a vile +enemy who ne'er will show front. + +There, then, on the third night, at twilight, by the lofty window of +that beggarly room, sat Pierre in the rear building of the Apostles'. He +is gazing out from the window now. But except the donjon form of the old +gray tower, seemingly there is nothing to see but a wilderness of tiles, +slate, shingles, and tin;--the desolate hanging wildernesses of tiles, +slate, shingles and tin, wherewith we modern Babylonians replace the +fair hanging-gardens of the fine old Asiatic times when the excellent +Nebuchadnezzar was king. + +There he sits, a strange exotic, transplanted from the delectable +alcoves of the old manorial mansion, to take root in this niggard soil. +No more do the sweet purple airs of the hills round about the green +fields of Saddle Meadows come revivingly wafted to his cheek. Like a +flower he feels the change; his bloom is gone from his cheek; his cheek +is wilted and pale. + +From the lofty window of that beggarly room, what is it that Pierre is +so intently eying? There is no street at his feet; like a profound black +gulf the open area of the quadrangle gapes beneath him. But across it, +and at the further end of the steep roof of the ancient church, there +looms the gray and grand old tower; emblem to Pierre of an unshakable +fortitude, which, deep-rooted in the heart of the earth, defied all the +howls of the air. + +There is a door in Pierre's room opposite the window of Pierre: and now +a soft knock is heard in that direction, accompanied by gentle words, +asking whether the speaker might enter. + +"Yes, always, sweet Isabel"--answered Pierre, rising and approaching +the door;--"here: let us drag out the old camp-bed for a sofa; come, sit +down now, my sister, and let us fancy ourselves anywhere thou wilt." + +"Then, my brother, let us fancy ourselves in realms of everlasting +twilight and peace, where no bright sun shall rise, because the black +night is always its follower. Twilight and peace, my brother, twilight +and peace!" + +"It is twilight now, my sister; and surely, this part of the city at +least seems still." + +"Twilight now, but night soon; then a brief sun, and then another long +night. Peace now, but sleep and nothingness soon, and then hard work for +thee, my brother, till the sweet twilight come again." + +"Let us light a candle, my sister; the evening is deepening." + +"For what light a candle, dear Pierre?--Sit close to me, my brother." + +He moved nearer to her, and stole one arm around her; her sweet head +leaned against his breast; each felt the other's throbbing. + +"Oh, my dear Pierre, why should we always be longing for peace, and then +be impatient of peace when it comes? Tell me, my brother! Not two hours +ago, thou wert wishing for twilight, and now thou wantest a candle to +hurry the twilight's last lingering away." + +But Pierre did not seem to hear her; his arm embraced her tighter; his +whole frame was invisibly trembling. Then suddenly in a low tone of +wonderful intensity he breathed: + +"Isabel! Isabel!" + +She caught one arm around him, as his was around herself; the tremor ran +from him to her; both sat dumb. + +He rose, and paced the room. + +"Well, Pierre; thou camest in here to arrange thy matters, thou saidst. +Now what hast thou done? Come, we will light a candle now." + +The candle was lighted, and their talk went on. + +"How about the papers, my brother? Dost thou find every thing right? +Hast thou decided upon what to publish first, while thou art writing the +new thing thou didst hint of?" + +"Look at that chest, my sister. Seest thou not that the cords are yet +untied?" + +"Then thou hast not been into it at all as yet?" + +"Not at all, Isabel. In ten days I have lived ten thousand years. +Forewarned now of the rubbish in that chest, I can not summon the heart +to open it. Trash! Dross! Dirt!" + +"Pierre! Pierre! what change is this? Didst thou not tell me, ere we +came hither, that thy chest not only contained some silver and gold, but +likewise far more precious things, readily convertible into silver and +gold? Ah, Pierre, thou didst swear we had naught to fear!" + +"If I have ever willfully deceived thee, Isabel, may the high gods prove +Benedict Arnolds to me, and go over to the devils to reinforce them +against me! But to have ignorantly deceived myself and thee together, +Isabel; that is a very different thing. Oh, what a vile juggler and +cheat is man! Isabel, in that chest are things which in the hour of +composition, I thought the very heavens looked in from the windows in +astonishment at their beauty and power. Then, afterward, when days +cooled me down, and again I took them up and scanned them, some +underlying suspicions intruded; but when in the open air, I recalled the +fresh, unwritten images of the bunglingly written things; then I felt +buoyant and triumphant again; as if by that act of ideal recalling, I +had, forsooth, transferred the perfect ideal to the miserable written +attempt at embodying it. This mood remained. So that afterward how I +talked to thee about the wonderful things I had done; the gold and the +silver mine I had long before sprung for thee and for me, who never were +to come to want in body or mind. Yet all this time, there was the latent +suspicion of folly; but I would not admit it; I shut my soul's door in +its face. Yet now, the ten thousand universal revealings brand me on the +forehead with fool! and like protested notes at the Bankers, all those +written things of mine, are jaggingly cut through and through with the +protesting hammer of Truth!--Oh, I am sick, sick, sick!" + +"Let the arms that never were filled but by thee, lure thee back again, +Pierre, to the peace of the twilight, even though it be of the dimmest!" + +She blew out the light, and made Pierre sit down by her; and their hands +were placed in each other's. + +"Say, are not thy torments now gone, my brother?" + +"But replaced by--by--by--Oh God, Isabel, unhand me!" cried Pierre, +starting up. "Ye heavens, that have hidden yourselves in the black hood +of the night, I call to ye! If to follow Virtue to her uttermost vista, +where common souls never go; if by that I take hold on hell, and the +uttermost virtue, after all, prove but a betraying pander to the +monstrousest vice,--then close in and crush me, ye stony walls, and into +one gulf let all things tumble together!" + +"My brother! this is some incomprehensible raving," pealed Isabel, +throwing both arms around him;--"my brother, my brother!" + +"Hark thee to thy furthest inland soul"--thrilled Pierre in a steeled +and quivering voice. "Call me brother no more! How knowest thou I am thy +brother? Did thy mother tell thee? Did my father say so to me?--I am +Pierre, and thou Isabel, wide brother and sister in the common +humanity,--no more. For the rest, let the gods look after their own +combustibles. If they have put powder-casks in me--let them look to it! +let them look to it! Ah! now I catch glimpses, and seem to half-see, +somehow, that the uttermost ideal of moral perfection in man is wide of +the mark. The demigods trample on trash, and Virtue and Vice are trash! +Isabel, I will write such things--I will gospelize the world anew, and +show them deeper secrets than the Apocalypse!--I will write it, I will +write it!" + +"Pierre, I am a poor girl, born in the midst of a mystery, bred in +mystery, and still surviving to mystery. So mysterious myself, the air +and the earth are unutterable to me; no word have I to express them. But +these are the circumambient mysteries; thy words, thy thoughts, open +other wonder-worlds to me, whither by myself I might fear to go. But +trust to me, Pierre. With thee, with thee, I would boldly swim a +starless sea, and be buoy to thee, there, when thou the strong swimmer +shouldst faint. Thou, Pierre, speakest of Virtue and Vice; life-secluded +Isabel knows neither the one nor the other, but by hearsay. What are +they, in their real selves, Pierre? Tell me first what is +Virtue:--begin!" + +"If on that point the gods are dumb, shall a pigmy speak? Ask the air!" + +"Then Virtue is nothing." + +"Not that!" + +"Then Vice?" + +"Look: a nothing is the substance, it casts one shadow one way, and +another the other way; and these two shadows cast from one nothing; +these, seems to me, are Virtue and Vice." + +"Then why torment thyself so, dearest Pierre?" + +"It is the law." + +"What?" + +"That a nothing should torment a nothing; for I am a nothing. It is all +a dream--we dream that we dreamed we dream." + +"Pierre, when thou just hovered on the verge, thou wert a riddle to me; +but now, that thou art deep down in the gulf of the soul,--now, when +thou wouldst be lunatic to wise men, perhaps--now doth poor ignorant +Isabel begin to comprehend thee. Thy feeling hath long been mine, +Pierre. Long loneliness and anguish have opened miracles to me. Yes, it +is all a dream!" + +Swiftly he caught her in his arms:--"From nothing proceeds nothing, +Isabel! How can one sin in a dream?" + +"First what is sin, Pierre?" + +"Another name for the other name, Isabel." + +"For Virtue, Pierre?" + +"No, for Vice." + +"Let us sit down again, my brother." + +"I am Pierre." + +"Let us sit down again, Pierre; sit close; thy arm!" + +And so, on the third night, when the twilight was gone, and no lamp was +lit, within the lofty window of that beggarly room, sat Pierre and +Isabel hushed. + + + + +BOOK XX. + +CHARLIE MILLTHORPE. + + +I. + +Pierre had been induced to take chambers at the Apostles', by one of the +Apostles themselves, an old acquaintance of his, and a native of Saddle +Meadows. + +Millthorpe was the son of a very respectable farmer--now dead--of more +than common intelligence, and whose bowed shoulders and homely garb had +still been surmounted by a head fit for a Greek philosopher, and +features so fine and regular that they would have well graced an opulent +gentleman. The political and social levelings and confoundings of all +manner of human elements in America, produce many striking individual +anomalies unknown in other lands. Pierre well remembered old farmer +Millthorpe:--the handsome, melancholy, calm-tempered, mute, old man; in +whose countenance--refinedly ennobled by nature, and yet coarsely tanned +and attenuated by many a prolonged day's work in the harvest--rusticity +and classicalness were strangely united. The delicate profile of his +face, bespoke the loftiest aristocracy; his knobbed and bony hands +resembled a beggar's. + +Though for several generations the Millthorpes had lived on the +Glendinning lands, they loosely and unostentatiously traced their origin +to an emigrating English Knight, who had crossed the sea in the time of +the elder Charles. But that indigence which had prompted the knight to +forsake his courtly country for the howling wilderness, was the only +remaining hereditament left to his bedwindled descendants in the fourth +and fifth remove. At the time that Pierre first recollected this +interesting man, he had, a year or two previous, abandoned an ample farm +on account of absolute inability to meet the manorial rent, and was +become the occupant of a very poor and contracted little place, on which +was a small and half-ruinous house. There, he then harbored with his +wife,--a very gentle and retiring person,--his three little daughters, +and his only son, a lad of Pierre's own age. The hereditary beauty and +youthful bloom of this boy; his sweetness of temper, and something of +natural refinement as contrasted with the unrelieved rudeness, and +oftentimes sordidness, of his neighbors; these things had early +attracted the sympathetic, spontaneous friendliness of Pierre. They were +often wont to take their boyish rambles together; and even the severely +critical Mrs. Glendinning, always fastidiously cautious as to the +companions of Pierre, had never objected to his intimacy with so +prepossessing and handsome a rustic as Charles. + +Boys are often very swiftly acute in forming a judgment on character. +The lads had not long companioned, ere Pierre concluded, that however +fine his face, and sweet his temper, young Millthorpe was but little +vigorous in mind; besides possessing a certain constitutional, +sophomorean presumption and egotism; which, however, having nothing to +feed on but his father's meal and potatoes, and his own essentially +timid and humane disposition, merely presented an amusing and harmless, +though incurable, anomalous feature in his character, not at all +impairing the good-will and companionableness of Pierre; for even in his +boyhood, Pierre possessed a sterling charity, which could cheerfully +overlook all minor blemishes in his inferiors, whether in fortune or +mind; content and glad to embrace the good whenever presented, or with +whatever conjoined. So, in youth, do we unconsciously act upon those +peculiar principles, which in conscious and verbalized maxims shall +systematically regulate our maturer lives;--a fact, which forcibly +illustrates the necessitarian dependence of our lives, and their +subordination, not to ourselves, but to Fate. + +If the grown man of taste, possess not only some eye to detect the +picturesque in the natural landscape, so also, has he as keen a +perception of what may not unfitly be here styled, the _povertiresque_ +in the social landscape. To such an one, not more picturesquely +conspicuous is the dismantled thatch in a painted cottage of +Gainsborough, than the time-tangled and want-thinned locks of a beggar, +_povertiresquely_ diversifying those snug little cabinet-pictures of the +world, which, exquisitely varnished and framed, are hung up in the +drawing-room minds of humane men of taste, and amiable philosophers of +either the "Compensation," or "Optimist" school. They deny that any +misery is in the world, except for the purpose of throwing the fine +_povertiresque_ element into its general picture. Go to! God hath +deposited cash in the Bank subject to our gentlemanly order; he hath +bounteously blessed the world with a summer carpet of green. Begone, +Heraclitus! The lamentations of the rain are but to make us our +rainbows! + +Not that in equivocal reference to the _povertiresque_ old farmer +Millthorpe, Pierre is here intended to be hinted at. Still, man can not +wholly escape his surroundings. Unconsciously Mrs. Glendinning had +always been one of these curious Optimists; and in his boyish life +Pierre had not wholly escaped the maternal contagion. Yet often, in +calling at the old farmer's for Charles of some early winter mornings, +and meeting the painfully embarrassed, thin, feeble features of Mrs. +Millthorpe, and the sadly inquisitive and hopelessly half-envious +glances of the three little girls; and standing on the threshold, Pierre +would catch low, aged, life-weary groans from a recess out of sight +from the door; then would Pierre have some boyish inklings of something +else than the pure _povertiresque_ in poverty: some inklings of what it +might be, to be old, and poor, and worn, and rheumatic, with shivering +death drawing nigh, and present life itself but a dull and a chill! some +inklings of what it might be, for him who in youth had vivaciously +leaped from his bed, impatient to meet the earliest sun, and lose no +sweet drop of his life, now hating the beams he once so dearly loved; +turning round in his bed to the wall to avoid them; and still postponing +the foot which should bring him back to the dismal day; when the sun is +not gold, but copper; and the sky is not blue, but gray; and the blood, +like Rhenish wine, too long unquaffed by Death, grows thin and sour in +the veins. + +Pierre had not forgotten that the augmented penury of the Millthorpe's +was, at the time we now retrospectively treat of, gravely imputed by the +gossiping frequenters of the Black Swan Inn, to certain insinuated moral +derelictions of the farmer. "The old man tipped his elbow too often," +once said in Pierre's hearing an old bottle-necked fellow, performing +the identical same act with a half-emptied glass in his hand. But though +the form of old Millthorpe was broken, his countenance, however sad and +thin, betrayed no slightest sign of the sot, either past or present. He +never was publicly known to frequent the inn, and seldom quitted the few +acres he cultivated with his son. And though, alas, indigent enough, yet +was he most punctually honest in paying his little debts of shillings +and pence for his groceries. And though, heaven knows, he had plenty of +occasion for all the money he could possibly earn, yet Pierre +remembered, that when, one autumn, a hog was bought of him for the +servants' hall at the Mansion, the old man never called for his money +till the midwinter following; and then, as with trembling fingers he +eagerly clutched the silver, he unsteadily said, "I have no use for it +now; it might just as well have stood over." It was then, that chancing +to overhear this, Mrs. Glendinning had looked at the old man, with a +kindly and benignantly interested eye to the _povertiresque_; and +murmured, "Ah! the old English Knight is not yet out of his blood. +Bravo, old man!" + +One day, in Pierre's sight, nine silent figures emerged from the door of +old Millthorpe; a coffin was put into a neighbor's farm-wagon; and a +procession, some thirty feet long, including the elongated pole and box +of the wagon, wound along Saddle Meadows to a hill, where, at last, old +Millthorpe was laid down in a bed, where the rising sun should affront +him no more. Oh, softest and daintiest of Holland linen is the motherly +earth! There, beneath the sublime tester of the infinite sky, like +emperors and kings, sleep, in grand state, the beggars and paupers of +earth! I joy that Death is this Democrat; and hopeless of all other real +and permanent democracies, still hug the thought, that though in life +some heads are crowned with gold, and some bound round with thorns, yet +chisel them how they will, head-stones are all alike. + +This somewhat particular account of the father of young Millthorpe, will +better set forth the less immature condition and character of the son, +on whom had now descended the maintenance of his mother and sisters. +But, though the son of a farmer, Charles was peculiarly averse to hard +labor. It was not impossible that by resolute hard labor he might +eventually have succeeded in placing his family in a far more +comfortable situation than he had ever remembered them. But it was not +so fated; the benevolent State had in its great wisdom decreed +otherwise. + +In the village of Saddle Meadows there was an institution, half +common-school and half academy, but mainly supported by a general +ordinance and financial provision of the government Here, not only were +the rudiments of an English education taught, but likewise some touch of +belles lettres, and composition, and that great American bulwark and +bore--elocution. On the high-raised, stage platform of the Saddle +Meadows Academy, the sons of the most indigent day-laborers were wont to +drawl out the fiery revolutionary rhetoric of Patrick Henry, or +gesticulate impetuously through the soft cadences of Drake's "Culprit +Fay." What wonder, then, that of Saturdays, when there was no elocution +and poesy, these boys should grow melancholy and disdainful over the +heavy, plodding handles of dung-forks and hoes? + +At the age of fifteen, the ambition of Charles Millthorpe was to be +either an orator, or a poet; at any rate, a great genius of one sort or +other. He recalled the ancestral Knight, and indignantly spurned the +plow. Detecting in him the first germ of this inclination, old +Millthorpe had very seriously reasoned with his son; warning him against +the evils of his vagrant ambition. Ambition of that sort was either for +undoubted genius, rich boys, or poor boys, standing entirely alone in +the world, with no one relying upon them. Charles had better consider +the case; his father was old and infirm; he could not last very long; he +had nothing to leave behind him but his plow and his hoe; his mother was +sickly; his sisters pale and delicate; and finally, life was a fact, and +the winters in that part of the country exceedingly bitter and long. +Seven months out of the twelve the pastures bore nothing, and all cattle +must be fed in the barns. But Charles was a boy; advice often seems the +most wantonly wasted of all human breath; man will not take wisdom on +trust; may be, it is well; for such wisdom is worthless; we must find +the true gem for ourselves; and so we go groping and groping for many +and many a day. + +Yet was Charles Millthorpe as affectionate and dutiful a boy as ever +boasted of his brain, and knew not that he possessed a far more +excellent and angelical thing in the possession of a generous heart. His +father died; to his family he resolved to be a second father, and a +careful provider now. But not by hard toil of his hand; but by gentler +practices of his mind. Already he had read many books--history, poetry, +romance, essays, and all. The manorial book-shelves had often been +honored by his visits, and Pierre had kindly been his librarian. Not to +lengthen the tale, at the age of seventeen, Charles sold the horse, the +cow, the pig, the plow, the hoe, and almost every movable thing on the +premises; and, converting all into cash, departed with his mother and +sisters for the city; chiefly basing his expectations of success on some +vague representations of an apothecary relative there resident. How he +and his mother and sisters battled it out; how they pined and +half-starved for a while; how they took in sewing; and Charles took in +copying; and all but scantily sufficed for a livelihood; all this may be +easily imagined. But some mysterious latent good-will of Fate toward +him, had not only thus far kept Charles from the Poor-House, but had +really advanced his fortunes in a degree. At any rate, that certain +harmless presumption and innocent egotism which have been previously +adverted to as sharing in his general character, these had by no means +retarded him; for it is often to be observed of the shallower men, that +they are the very last to despond. It is the glory of the bladder that +nothing can sink it; it is the reproach of a box of treasure, that once +overboard it must down. + + +II. + +When arrived in the city, and discovering the heartless neglect of Glen, +Pierre,--looking about him for whom to apply to in this +strait,--bethought him of his old boy-companion Charlie, and went out to +seek him, and found him at last; he saw before him, a tall, well-grown, +but rather thin and pale yet strikingly handsome young man of +two-and-twenty; occupying a small dusty law-office on the third floor +of the older building of the Apostles; assuming to be doing a very +large, and hourly increasing business among empty pigeon-holes, and +directly under the eye of an unopened bottle of ink; his mother and +sisters dwelling in a chamber overhead; and himself, not only following +the law for a corporeal living, but likewise inter-linked with the +peculiar secret, theologico-politico-social schemes of the masonic order +of the seedy-coated Apostles; and pursuing some crude, transcendental +Philosophy, for both a contributory means of support, as well as for his +complete intellectual aliment. + +Pierre was at first somewhat startled by his exceedingly frank and +familiar manner; all old manorial deference for Pierre was clean gone +and departed; though at the first shock of their encounter, Charlie +could not possibly have known that Pierre was cast off. + +"Ha, Pierre! glad to see you, my boy! Hark ye, next month I am to +deliver an address before the Omega order of the Apostles. The Grand +Master, Plinlimmon, will be there. I have heard on the best authority +that he once said of me--'That youth has the Primitive Categories in +him; he is destined to astonish the world.' Why, lad, I have received +propositions from the Editors of the Spinozaist to contribute a weekly +column to their paper, and you know how very few can understand the +Spinozaist; nothing is admitted there but the Ultimate Transcendentals. +Hark now, in your ear; I think of throwing off the Apostolic disguise +and coming boldly out; Pierre! I think of stumping the State, and +preaching our philosophy to the masses.--When did you arrive in town?" + +Spite of all his tribulations, Pierre could not restrain a smile at this +highly diverting reception; but well knowing the youth, he did not +conclude from this audacious burst of enthusiastic egotism that his +heart had at all corroded; for egotism is one thing, and selfishness +another. No sooner did Pierre intimate his condition to him, than +immediately, Charlie was all earnest and practical kindness; recommended +the Apostles as the best possible lodgment for him,--cheap, snug, and +convenient to most public places; he offered to procure a cart and see +himself to the transport of Pierre's luggage; but finally thought it +best to mount the stairs and show him the vacant rooms. But when these +at last were decided upon; and Charlie, all cheerfulness and alacrity, +started with Pierre for the hotel, to assist him in the removal; +grasping his arm the moment they emerged from the great arched door +under the tower of the Apostles; he instantly launched into his amusing +heroics, and continued the strain till the trunks were fairly in sight. + +"Lord! my law-business overwhelms me! I must drive away some of my +clients; I must have my exercise, and this ever-growing business denies +it to me. Besides, I owe something to the sublime cause of the general +humanity; I must displace some of my briefs for my metaphysical +treatises. I can not waste all my oil over bonds and mortgages.--You +said you were married, I think?" + +But without stopping for any reply, he rattled on. "Well, I suppose it +is wise after all. It settles, centralizes, and confirms a man, I have +heard.--No, I didn't; it is a random thought of my own, that!--Yes, it +makes the world definite to him; it removes his morbid _sub_jectiveness, +and makes all things _ob_jective; nine small children, for instance, may +be considered _ob_jective. Marriage, hey!--A fine thing, no doubt, no +doubt:--domestic--pretty--nice, all round. But I owe something to the +world, my boy! By marriage, I might contribute to the population of men, +but not to the census of mind. The great men are all bachelors, you +know. Their family is the universe: I should say the planet Saturn was +their elder son; and Plato their uncle.--So you are married?" + +But again, reckless of answers, Charlie went on. "Pierre, a thought, my +boy;--a thought for you! You do not say it, but you hint of a low +purse. Now I shall help you to fill it--Stump the State on the Kantian +Philosophy! A dollar a head, my boy! Pass round your beaver, and you'll +get it. I have every confidence in the penetration and magnanimousness +of the people! Pierre, hark in your ear;--it's my opinion the world is +all wrong. Hist, I say--an entire mistake. Society demands an Avatar,--a +Curtius, my boy! to leap into the fiery gulf, and by perishing himself, +save the whole empire of men! Pierre, I have long renounced the +allurements of life and fashion. Look at my coat, and see how I spurn +them! Pierre! but, stop, have you ever a shilling! let's take a cold cut +here--it's a cheap place; I go here sometimes. Come, let's in." + + + + +BOOK XXI. + +PIERRE IMMATURELY ATTEMPTS A MATURE WORK. TIDINGS FROM THE MEADOWS. +PLINLIMMON. + + +I. + +We are now to behold Pierre permanently lodged in three lofty adjoining +chambers of the Apostles. And passing on a little further in time, and +overlooking the hundred and one domestic details, of how their internal +arrangements were finally put into steady working order; how poor Delly, +now giving over the sharper pangs of her grief, found in the lighter +occupations of a handmaid and familiar companion to Isabel, the only +practical relief from the memories of her miserable past; how Isabel +herself in the otherwise occupied hours of Pierre, passed some of her +time in mastering the chirographical incoherencies of his manuscripts, +with a view to eventually copying them out in a legible hand for the +printer; or went below stairs to the rooms of the Millthorpes, and in +the modest and amiable society of the three young ladies and their +excellent mother, found some little solace for the absence of Pierre; +or, when his day's work was done, sat by him in the twilight, and played +her mystic guitar till Pierre felt chapter after chapter born of its +wondrous suggestiveness; but alas! eternally incapable of being +translated into words; for where the deepest words end, there music +begins with its supersensuous and all-confounding intimations. + +Disowning now all previous exertions of his mind, and burning in scorn +even those fine fruits of a care-free fancy, which, written at Saddle +Meadows in the sweet legendary time of Lucy and her love, he had +jealously kept from the publishers, as too true and good to be +published; renouncing all his foregone self, Pierre was now engaged in a +comprehensive compacted work, to whose speedy completion two tremendous +motives unitedly impelled;--the burning desire to deliver what he +thought to be new, or at least miserably neglected Truth to the world; +and the prospective menace of being absolutely penniless, unless by the +sale of his book, he could realize money. Swayed to universality of +thought by the widely-explosive mental tendencies of the profound events +which had lately befallen him, and the unprecedented situation in which +he now found himself; and perceiving, by presentiment, that most grand +productions of the best human intellects ever are built round a circle, +as atolls (_i. e._ the primitive coral islets which, raising themselves +in the depths of profoundest seas, rise funnel-like to the surface, and +present there a hoop of white rock, which though on the outside +everywhere lashed by the ocean, yet excludes all tempests from the quiet +lagoon within), digestively including the whole range of all that can be +known or dreamed; Pierre was resolved to give the world a book, which +the world should hail with surprise and delight. A varied scope of +reading, little suspected by his friends, and randomly acquired by a +random but lynx-eyed mind, in the course of the multifarious, +incidental, bibliographic encounterings of almost any civilized young +inquirer after Truth; this poured one considerable contributary stream +into that bottomless spring of original thought which the occasion and +time had caused to burst out in himself. Now he congratulated himself +upon all his cursory acquisitions of this sort; ignorant that in reality +to a mind bent on producing some thoughtful thing of absolute Truth, all +mere reading is apt to prove but an obstacle hard to overcome; and not +an accelerator helpingly pushing him along. + +While Pierre was thinking that he was entirely transplanted into a new +and wonderful element of Beauty and Power, he was, in fact, but in one +of the stages of the transition. That ultimate element once fairly +gained, then books no more are needed for buoys to our souls; our own +strong limbs support us, and we float over all bottomlessnesses with a +jeering impunity. He did not see,--or if he did, he could not yet name +the true cause for it,--that already, in the incipiency of his work, the +heavy unmalleable element of mere book-knowledge would not congenially +weld with the wide fluidness and ethereal airiness of spontaneous +creative thought. He would climb Parnassus with a pile of folios on his +back. He did not see, that it was nothing at all to him, what other men +had written; that though Plato was indeed a transcendently great man in +himself, yet Plato must not be transcendently great to him (Pierre), so +long as he (Pierre himself) would also do something transcendently +great. He did not see that there is no such thing as a standard for the +creative spirit; that no one great book must ever be separately +regarded, and permitted to domineer with its own uniqueness upon the +creative mind; but that all existing great works must be federated in +the fancy; and so regarded as a miscellaneous and Pantheistic whole; and +then,--without at all dictating to his own mind, or unduly biasing it +any way,--thus combined, they would prove simply an exhilarative and +provocative to him. He did not see, that even when thus combined, all +was but one small mite, compared to the latent infiniteness and +inexhaustibility in himself; that all the great books in the world are +but the mutilated shadowings-forth of invisible and eternally unembodied +images in the soul; so that they are but the mirrors, distortedly +reflecting to us our own things; and never mind what the mirror may be, +if we would see the object, we must look at the object itself, and not +at its reflection. + +But, as to the resolute traveler in Switzerland, the Alps do never in +one wide and comprehensive sweep, instantaneously reveal their full +awfulness of amplitude--their overawing extent of peak crowded on peak, +and spur sloping on spur, and chain jammed behind chain, and all their +wonderful battalionings of might; so hath heaven wisely ordained, that +on first entering into the Switzerland of his soul, man shall not at +once perceive its tremendous immensity; lest illy prepared for such an +encounter, his spirit should sink and perish in the lowermost snows. +Only by judicious degrees, appointed of God, does man come at last to +gain his Mont Blanc and take an overtopping view of these Alps; and even +then, the tithe is not shown; and far over the invisible Atlantic, the +Rocky Mountains and the Andes are yet unbeheld. Appalling is the soul of +a man! Better might one be pushed off into the material spaces beyond +the uttermost orbit of our sun, than once feel himself fairly afloat in +himself! + +But not now to consider these ulterior things, Pierre, though strangely +and very newly alive to many before unregarded wonders in the general +world; still, had he not as yet procured for himself that enchanter's +wand of the soul, which but touching the humblest experiences in one's +life, straightway it starts up all eyes, in every one of which are +endless significancies. Not yet had he dropped his angle into the well +of his childhood, to find what fish might be there; for who dreams to +find fish in a well? the running stream of the outer world, there +doubtless swim the golden perch and the pickerel! Ten million things +were as yet uncovered to Pierre. The old mummy lies buried in cloth on +cloth; it takes time to unwrap this Egyptian king. Yet now, forsooth, +because Pierre began to see through the first superficiality of the +world, he fondly weens he has come to the unlayered substance. But, far +as any geologist has yet gone down into the world, it is found to +consist of nothing but surface stratified on surface. To its axis, the +world being nothing but superinduced superficies. By vast pains we mine +into the pyramid; by horrible gropings we come to the central room; with +joy we espy the sarcophagus; but we lift the lid--and no body is +there!--appallingly vacant as vast is the soul of a man! + + +II. + +He had been engaged some weeks upon his book--in pursuance of his +settled plan avoiding all contact with any of his city-connections or +friends, even as in his social downfall they sedulously avoided seeking +him out--nor ever once going or sending to the post-office, though it +was but a little round the corner from where he was, since having +dispatched no letters himself, he expected none; thus isolated from the +world, and intent upon his literary enterprise, Pierre had passed some +weeks, when verbal tidings came to him, of three most momentous events. + +First: his mother was dead. + +Second: all Saddle Meadows was become Glen Stanly's. + +Third: Glen Stanly was believed to be the suitor of Lucy; who, +convalescent from an almost mortal illness, was now dwelling at her +mother's house in town. + +It was chiefly the first-mentioned of these events which darted a sharp +natural anguish into Pierre. No letter had come to him; no smallest ring +or memorial been sent him; no slightest mention made of him in the will; +and yet it was reported that an inconsolable grief had induced his +mother's mortal malady, and driven her at length into insanity, which +suddenly terminated in death; and when he first heard of that event, +she had been cold in the ground for twenty-five days. + +How plainly did all this speak of the equally immense pride and grief of +his once magnificent mother; and how agonizedly now did it hint of her +mortally-wounded love for her only and best-beloved Pierre! In vain he +reasoned with himself; in vain remonstrated with himself; in vain sought +to parade all his stoic arguments to drive off the onslaught of natural +passion. Nature prevailed; and with tears that like acid burned and +scorched as they flowed, he wept, he raved, at the bitter loss of his +parent; whose eyes had been closed by unrelated hands that were hired; +but whose heart had been broken, and whose very reason been ruined, by +the related hands of her son. + +For some interval it almost seemed as if his own heart would snap; his +own reason go down. Unendurable grief of a man, when Death itself gives +the stab, and then snatches all availments to solacement away. For in +the grave is no help, no prayer thither may go, no forgiveness thence +come; so that the penitent whose sad victim lies in the ground, for that +useless penitent his doom is eternal, and though it be Christmas-day +with all Christendom, with him it is Hell-day and an eaten liver +forever. + +With what marvelous precision and exactitude he now went over in his +mind all the minutest details of his old joyous life with his mother at +Saddle Meadows. He began with his own toilet in the morning; then his +mild stroll into the fields; then his cheerful return to call his mother +in her chamber; then the gay breakfast--and so on, and on, all through +the sweet day, till mother and son kissed, and with light, loving hearts +separated to their beds, to prepare themselves for still another day of +affectionate delight. This recalling of innocence and joy in the hour of +remorsefulness and woe; this is as heating red-hot the pincers that tear +us. But in this delirium of his soul, Pierre could not define where +that line was, which separated the natural grief for the loss of a +parent from that other one which was born of compunction. He strove hard +to define it, but could not. He tried to cozen himself into believing +that all his grief was but natural, or if there existed any other, that +must spring--not from the consciousness of having done any possible +wrong--but from the pang at what terrible cost the more exalted virtues +are gained. Nor did he wholly fail in this endeavor. At last he +dismissed his mother's memory into that same profound vault where +hitherto had reposed the swooned form of his Lucy. But, as sometimes men +are coffined in a trance, being thereby mistaken for dead; so it is +possible to bury a tranced grief in the soul, erroneously supposing that +it hath no more vitality of suffering. Now, immortal things only can +beget immortality. It would almost seem one presumptive argument for the +endless duration of the human soul, that it is impossible in time and +space to kill any compunction arising from having cruelly injured a +departed fellow-being. + +Ere he finally committed his mother to the profoundest vault of his +soul, fain would he have drawn one poor alleviation from a circumstance, +which nevertheless, impartially viewed, seemed equally capable either of +soothing or intensifying his grief. His mother's will, which without the +least mention of his own name, bequeathed several legacies to her +friends, and concluded by leaving all Saddle Meadows and its rent-rolls +to Glendinning Stanly; this will bore the date of the day immediately +succeeding his fatal announcement on the landing of the stairs, of his +assumed nuptials with Isabel. It plausibly pressed upon him, that as all +the evidences of his mother's dying unrelentingness toward him were +negative; and the only positive evidence--so to speak--of even that +negativeness, was the will which omitted all mention of Pierre; +therefore, as that will bore so significant a date, it must needs be +most reasonable to conclude, that it was dictated in the not yet +subsided transports of his mother's first indignation. But small +consolation was this, when he considered the final insanity of his +mother; for whence that insanity but from a hate-grief unrelenting, even +as his father must have become insane from a sin-grief irreparable? Nor +did this remarkable double-doom of his parents wholly fail to impress +his mind with presentiments concerning his own fate--his own hereditary +liability to madness. Presentiment, I say; but what is a presentiment? +how shall you coherently define a presentiment, or how make any thing +out of it which is at all lucid, unless you say that a presentiment is +but a judgment in disguise? And if a judgment in disguise, and yet +possessing this preternaturalness of prophecy, how then shall you escape +the fateful conclusion, that you are helplessly held in the six hands of +the Sisters? For while still dreading your doom, you foreknow it. Yet +how foreknow and dread in one breath, unless with this divine seeming +power of prescience, you blend the actual slimy powerlessness of +defense? + +That his cousin, Glen Stanly, had been chosen by his mother to inherit +the domain of the Meadows, was not entirely surprising to Pierre. Not +only had Glen always been a favorite with his mother by reason of his +superb person and his congeniality of worldly views with herself, but +excepting only Pierre, he was her nearest surviving blood relation; and +moreover, in his christian name, bore the hereditary syllables, +Glendinning. So that if to any one but Pierre the Meadows must descend, +Glen, on these general grounds, seemed the appropriate heir. + +But it is not natural for a man, never mind who he may be, to see a +noble patrimony, rightfully his, go over to a soul-alien, and that alien +once his rival in love, and now his heartless, sneering foe; for so +Pierre could not but now argue of Glen; it is not natural for a man to +see this without singular emotions of discomfort and hate. Nor in Pierre +were these feelings at all soothed by the report of Glen's renewed +attentions to Lucy. For there is something in the breast of almost +every man, which at bottom takes offense at the attentions of any other +man offered to a woman, the hope of whose nuptial love he himself may +have discarded. Fain would a man selfishly appropriate all the hearts +which have ever in any way confessed themselves his. Besides, in +Pierre's case, this resentment was heightened by Glen's previous +hypocritical demeanor. For now all his suspicions seemed abundantly +verified; and comparing all dates, he inferred that Glen's visit to +Europe had only been undertaken to wear off the pang of his rejection by +Lucy, a rejection tacitly consequent upon her not denying her affianced +relation to Pierre. + +But now, under the mask of profound sympathy--in time, ripening into +love--for a most beautiful girl, ruffianly deserted by her betrothed, +Glen could afford to be entirely open in his new suit, without at all +exposing his old scar to the world. So at least it now seemed to Pierre. +Moreover, Glen could now approach Lucy under the most favorable possible +auspices. He could approach her as a deeply sympathizing friend, all +wishful to assuage her sorrow, but hinting nothing, at present, of any +selfish matrimonial intent; by enacting this prudent and unclamorous +part, the mere sight of such tranquil, disinterested, but indestructible +devotedness, could not but suggest in Lucy's mind, very natural +comparisons between Glen and Pierre, most deplorably abasing to the +latter. Then, no woman--as it would sometimes seem--no woman is utterly +free from the influence of a princely social position in her suitor, +especially if he be handsome and young. And Glen would come to her now +the master of two immense fortunes, and the heir, by voluntary election, +no less than by blood propinquity, to the ancestral bannered hall, and +the broad manorial meadows of the Glendinnings. And thus, too, the +spirit of Pierre's own mother would seem to press Glen's suit. Indeed, +situated now as he was Glen would seem all the finest part of Pierre, +without any of Pierre's shame; would almost seem Pierre himself--what +Pierre had once been to Lucy. And as in the case of a man who has lost a +sweet wife, and who long refuses the least consolation; as this man at +last finds a singular solace in the companionship of his wife's sister, +who happens to bear a peculiar family resemblance to the dead; and as +he, in the end, proposes marriage to this sister, merely from the force +of such magical associative influences; so it did not seem wholly out of +reason to suppose, that the great manly beauty of Glen, possessing a +strong related similitude to Pierre's, might raise in Lucy's heart +associations, which would lead her at least to seek--if she could not +find--solace for one now regarded as dead and gone to her forever, in +the devotedness of another, who would notwithstanding almost seem as +that dead one brought back to life. + +Deep, deep, and still deep and deeper must we go, if we would find out +the heart of a man; descending into which is as descending a spiral +stair in a shaft, without any end, and where that endlessness is only +concealed by the spiralness of the stair, and the blackness of the +shaft. + +As Pierre conjured up this phantom of Glen transformed into the seeming +semblance of himself; as he figured it advancing toward Lucy and raising +her hand in devotion; an infinite quenchless rage and malice possessed +him. Many commingled emotions combined to provoke this storm. But chief +of all was something strangely akin to that indefinable detestation +which one feels for any impostor who has dared to assume one's own name +and aspect in any equivocal or dishonorable affair; an emotion greatly +intensified if this impostor be known for a mean villain at bottom, and +also, by the freak of nature to be almost the personal duplicate of the +man whose identity he assumes. All these and a host of other distressful +and resentful fancies now ran through the breast of Pierre. All his +Faith-born, enthusiastic, high-wrought, stoic, and philosophic defenses, +were now beaten down by this sudden storm of nature in his soul. For +there is no faith, and no stoicism, and no philosophy, that a mortal man +can possibly evoke, which will stand the final test of a real +impassioned onset of Life and Passion upon him. Then all the fair +philosophic or Faith-phantoms that he raised from the mist, slide away +and disappear as ghosts at cock-crow. For Faith and philosophy are air, +but events are brass. Amidst his gray philosophizings, Life breaks upon +a man like a morning. + +While this mood was on him, Pierre cursed himself for a heartless +villain and an idiot fool;--heartless villain, as the murderer of his +mother--idiot fool, because he had thrown away all his felicity; because +he had himself, as it were, resigned his noble birthright to a cunning +kinsman for a mess of pottage, which now proved all but ashes in his +mouth. + +Resolved to hide these new, and--as it latently seemed to him--unworthy +pangs, from Isabel, as also their cause, he quitted his chamber, +intending a long vagabond stroll in the suburbs of the town, to wear off +his sharper grief, ere he should again return into her sight. + + +III. + +As Pierre, now hurrying from his chamber, was rapidly passing through +one of the higher brick colonnades connecting the ancient building with +the modern, there advanced toward him from the direction of the latter, +a very plain, composed, manly figure, with a countenance rather pale if +any thing, but quite clear and without wrinkle. Though the brow and the +beard, and the steadiness of the head and settledness of the step +indicated mature age, yet the blue, bright, but still quiescent eye +offered a very striking contrast. In that eye, the gay immortal youth +Apollo, seemed enshrined; while on that ivory-throned brow, old Saturn +cross-legged sat. The whole countenance of this man, the whole air and +look of this man, expressed a cheerful content. Cheerful is the +adjective, for it was the contrary of gloom; content--perhaps +acquiescence--is the substantive, for it was not Happiness or Delight. +But while the personal look and air of this man were thus winning, there +was still something latently visible in him which repelled. That +something may best be characterized as non-Benevolence. Non-Benevolence +seems the best word, for it was neither Malice nor Ill-will; but +something passive. To crown all, a certain floating atmosphere seemed to +invest and go along with this man. That atmosphere seems only renderable +in words by the term Inscrutableness. Though the clothes worn by this +man were strictly in accordance with the general style of any +unobtrusive gentleman's dress, yet his clothes seemed to disguise this +man. One would almost have said, his very face, the apparently natural +glance of his very eye disguised this man. + +Now, as this person deliberately passed by Pierre, he lifted his hat, +gracefully bowed, smiled gently, and passed on. But Pierre was all +confusion; he flushed, looked askance, stammered with his hand at his +hat to return the courtesy of the other; he seemed thoroughly upset by +the mere sight of this hat-lifting, gracefully bowing, gently-smiling, +and most miraculously self-possessed, non-benevolent man. + +Now who was this man? This man was Plotinus Plinlimmon. Pierre had read +a treatise of his in a stage-coach coming to the city, and had heard him +often spoken of by Millthorpe and others as the Grand Master of a +certain mystic Society among the Apostles. Whence he came, no one could +tell. His surname was Welsh, but he was a Tennesseean by birth. He +seemed to have no family or blood ties of any sort. He never was known +to work with his hands; never to write with his hands (he would not even +write a letter); he never was known to open a book. There were no books +in his chamber. Nevertheless, some day or other he must have read books, +but that time seemed gone now; as for the sleazy works that went under +his name, they were nothing more than his verbal things, taken down at +random, and bunglingly methodized by his young disciples. + +Finding Plinlimmon thus unfurnished either with books or pen and paper, +and imputing it to something like indigence, a foreign scholar, a rich +nobleman, who chanced to meet him once, sent him a fine supply of +stationery, with a very fine set of volumes,--Cardan, Epictetus, the +Book of Mormon, Abraham Tucker, Condorcet and the Zenda-Vesta. But this +noble foreign scholar calling next day--perhaps in expectation of some +compliment for his great kindness--started aghast at his own package +deposited just without the door of Plinlimmon, and with all fastenings +untouched. + +"Missent," said Plotinus Plinlimmon placidly: "if any thing, I looked +for some choice Curaçoa from a nobleman like you. I should be very +happy, my dear Count, to accept a few jugs of choice Curaçoa." + +"I thought that the society of which you are the head, excluded all +things of that sort"--replied the Count. + +"Dear Count, so they do; but Mohammed hath his own dispensation." + +"Ah! I see," said the noble scholar archly. + +"I am afraid you do not see, dear Count"--said Plinlimmon; and instantly +before the eyes of the Count, the inscrutable atmosphere eddied and +eddied roundabout this Plotinus Plinlimmon. + +His chance brushing encounter in the corridor was the first time that +ever Pierre had without medium beheld the form or the face of +Plinlimmon. Very early after taking chambers at the Apostles', he had +been struck by a steady observant blue-eyed countenance at one of the +loftiest windows of the old gray tower, which on the opposite side of +the quadrangular space, rose prominently before his own chamber. Only +through two panes of glass--his own and the stranger's--had Pierre +hitherto beheld that remarkable face of repose,--repose neither divine +nor human, nor any thing made up of either or both--but a repose +separate and apart--a repose of a face by itself. One adequate look at +that face conveyed to most philosophical observers a notion of something +not before included in their scheme of the Universe. + +Now as to the mild sun, glass is no hindrance at all, but he transmits +his light and life through the glass; even so through Pierre's panes did +the tower face transmit its strange mystery. + +Becoming more and more interested in this face, he had questioned +Millthorpe concerning it "Bless your soul"--replied Millthorpe--"that is +Plotinus Plinlimmon! our Grand Master, Plotinus Plinlimmon! By gad, you +must know Plotinus thoroughly, as I have long done. Come away with me, +now, and let me introduce you instanter to Plotinus Plinlimmon." + +But Pierre declined; and could not help thinking, that though in all +human probability Plotinus well understood Millthorpe, yet Millthorpe +could hardly yet have wound himself into Plotinus;--though indeed +Plotinus--who at times was capable of assuming a very off-hand, +confidential, and simple, sophomorean air--might, for reasons best known +to himself, have tacitly pretended to Millthorpe, that he (Millthorpe) +had thoroughly wriggled himself into his (Plotinus') innermost soul. + +A man will be given a book, and when the donor's back is turned, will +carelessly drop it in the first corner; he is not over-anxious to be +bothered with the book. But now personally point out to him the author, +and ten to one he goes back to the corner, picks up the book, dusts the +cover, and very carefully reads that invaluable work. One does not +vitally believe in a man till one's own two eyes have beheld him. If +then, by the force of peculiar circumstances, Pierre while in the +stage, had formerly been drawn into an attentive perusal of the work on +"Chronometricals and Horologicals;" how then was his original interest +heightened by catching a subsequent glimpse of the author. But at the +first reading, not being able--as he thought--to master the pivot-idea +of the pamphlet; and as every incomprehended idea is not only a +perplexity but a taunting reproach to one's mind, Pierre had at last +ceased studying it altogether; nor consciously troubled himself further +about it during the remainder of the journey. But still thinking now it +might possibly have been mechanically retained by him, he searched all +the pockets of his clothes, but without success. He begged Millthorpe to +do his best toward procuring him another copy; but it proved impossible +to find one. Plotinus himself could not furnish it. + +Among other efforts, Pierre in person had accosted a limping half-deaf +old book-stall man, not very far from the Apostles'. "Have you the +'_Chronometrics_,' my friend?" forgetting the exact title. + +"Very bad, very bad!" said the old man, rubbing his back;--"has had the +_chronic-rheumatics_ ever so long; what's good for 'em?" + +Perceiving his mistake, Pierre replied that he did not know what was the +infallible remedy. + +"Whist! let me tell ye, then, young 'un," said the old cripple, limping +close up to him, and putting his mouth in Pierre's ear--"Never catch +'em!--now's the time, while you're young:--never catch 'em!" + +By-and-by the blue-eyed, mystic-mild face in the upper window of the old +gray tower began to domineer in a very remarkable manner upon Pierre. +When in his moods of peculiar depression and despair; when dark thoughts +of his miserable condition would steal over him; and black doubts as to +the integrity of his unprecedented course in life would most +malignantly suggest themselves; when a thought of the vanity of his +deep book would glidingly intrude; if glancing at his closet-window that +mystic-mild face met Pierre's; under any of these influences the effect +was surprising, and not to be adequately detailed in any possible words. + +Vain! vain! vain! said the face to him. Fool! fool! fool! said the face +to him. Quit! quit! quit! said the face to him. But when he mentally +interrogated the face as to why it thrice said Vain! Fool! Quit! to him; +here there was no response. For that face did not respond to any thing. +Did I not say before that that face was something separate, and apart; a +face by itself? Now, any thing which is thus a thing by itself never +responds to any other thing. If to affirm, be to expand one's isolated +self; and if to deny, be to contract one's isolated self; then to +respond is a suspension of all isolation. Though this face in the tower +was so clear and so mild; though the gay youth Apollo was enshrined in +that eye, and paternal old Saturn sat cross-legged on that ivory brow; +yet somehow to Pierre the face at last wore a sort of malicious leer to +him. But the Kantists might say, that this was a _subjective_ sort of +leer in Pierre. Any way, the face seemed to leer upon Pierre. And now it +said to him--_Ass! ass! ass!_ This expression was insufferable. He +procured some muslin for his closet-window; and the face became +curtained like any portrait. But this did not mend the leer. Pierre knew +that still the face leered behind the muslin. What was most terrible was +the idea that by some magical means or other the face had got hold of +his secret. "Ay," shuddered Pierre, "the face knows that Isabel is not +my wife! And that seems the reason it leers." + +Then would all manner of wild fancyings float through his soul, and +detached sentences of the "Chronometrics" would vividly recur to +him--sentences before but imperfectly comprehended, but now shedding a +strange, baleful light upon his peculiar condition, and emphatically +denouncing it. Again he tried his best to procure the pamphlet, to read +it now by the commentary of the mystic-mild face; again he searched +through the pockets of his clothes for the stage-coach copy, but in +vain. + +And when--at the critical moment of quitting his chambers that morning +of the receipt of the fatal tidings--the face itself--the man +himself--this inscrutable Plotinus Plinlimmon himself--did visibly brush +by him in the brick corridor, and all the trepidation he had ever before +felt at the mild-mystic aspect in the tower window, now redoubled upon +him, so that, as before said, he flushed, looked askance, and stammered +with his saluting hand to his hat;--then anew did there burn in him the +desire of procuring the pamphlet. "Cursed fate that I should have lost +it"--he cried;--"more cursed, that when I did have it, and did read it, +I was such a ninny as not to comprehend; and now it is all too late!" + +Yet--to anticipate here--when years after, an old Jew Clothesman +rummaged over a surtout of Pierre's--which by some means had come into +his hands--his lynx-like fingers happened to feel something foreign +between the cloth and the heavy quilted bombazine lining. He ripped open +the skirt, and found several old pamphlet pages, soft and worn almost to +tissue, but still legible enough to reveal the title--"Chronometricals +and Horologicals." Pierre must have ignorantly thrust it into his +pocket, in the stage, and it had worked through a rent there, and worked +its way clean down into the skirt, and there helped pad the padding. So +that all the time he was hunting for this pamphlet, he himself was +wearing the pamphlet. When he brushed past Plinlimmon in the brick +corridor, and felt that renewed intense longing for the pamphlet, then +his right hand was not two inches from the pamphlet. + +Possibly this curious circumstance may in some sort illustrate his +self-supposed non-understanding of the pamphlet, as first read by him +in the stage. Could he likewise have carried about with him in his mind +the thorough understanding of the book, and yet not be aware that he so +understood it? I think that--regarded in one light--the final career of +Pierre will seem to show, that he _did_ understand it. And here it may +be randomly suggested, by way of bagatelle, whether some things that men +think they do not know, are not for all that thoroughly comprehended by +them; and yet, so to speak, though contained in themselves, are kept a +secret from themselves? The idea of Death seems such a thing. + + + + +BOOK XXII. + +THE FLOWER-CURTAIN LIFTED FROM BEFORE A TROPICAL AUTHOR, WITH SOME +REMARKS ON THE TRANSCENDENTAL FLESH-BRUSH PHILOSOPHY. + + +I. + +Some days passed after the fatal tidings from the Meadows, and at +length, somewhat mastering his emotions, Pierre again sits down in his +chamber; for grieve how he will, yet work he must. And now day succeeds +day, and week follows week, and Pierre still sits in his chamber. The +long rows of cooled brick-kilns around him scarce know of the change; +but from the fair fields of his great-great-great-grandfather's manor, +Summer hath flown like a swallow-guest; the perfidious wight, Autumn, +hath peeped in at the groves of the maple, and under pretense of +clothing them in rich russet and gold, hath stript them at last of the +slightest rag, and then ran away laughing; prophetic icicles depend from +the arbors round about the old manorial mansion--now locked up and +abandoned; and the little, round, marble table in the viny summer-house +where, of July mornings, he had sat chatting and drinking negus with his +gay mother, is now spread with a shivering napkin of frost; sleety +varnish hath encrusted that once gay mother's grave, preparing it for +its final cerements of wrapping snow upon snow; wild howl the winds in +the woods: it is Winter. Sweet Summer is done; and Autumn is done; but +the book, like the bitter winter, is yet to be finished. + +That season's wheat is long garnered, Pierre; that season's ripe apples +and grapes are in; no crop, no plant, no fruit is out; the whole harvest +is done. Oh, woe to that belated winter-overtaken plant, which the +summer could not bring to maturity! The drifting winter snows shall +whelm it. Think, Pierre, doth not thy plant belong to some other and +tropical clime? Though transplanted to northern Maine, the orange-tree +of the Floridas will put forth leaves in that parsimonious summer, and +show some few tokens of fruitage; yet November will find no golden +globes thereon; and the passionate old lumber-man, December, shall peel +the whole tree, wrench it off at the ground, and toss it for a fagot to +some lime-kiln. Ah, Pierre, Pierre, make haste! make haste! force thy +fruitage, lest the winter force thee. + +Watch yon little toddler, how long it is learning to stand by itself! +First it shrieks and implores, and will not try to stand at all, unless +both father and mother uphold it; then a little more bold, it must, at +least, feel one parental hand, else again the cry and the tremble; long +time is it ere by degrees this child comes to stand without any support. +But, by-and-by, grown up to man's estate, it shall leave the very mother +that bore it, and the father that begot it, and cross the seas, perhaps, +or settle in far Oregon lands. There now, do you see the soul. In its +germ on all sides it is closely folded by the world, as the husk folds +the tenderest fruit; then it is born from the world-husk, but still now +outwardly clings to it;--still clamors for the support of its mother the +world, and its father the Deity. But it shall yet learn to stand +independent, though not without many a bitter wail, and many a miserable +fall. + +That hour of the life of a man when first the help of humanity fails +him, and he learns that in his obscurity and indigence humanity holds +him a dog and no man: that hour is a hard one, but not the hardest. +There is still another hour which follows, when he learns that in his +infinite comparative minuteness and abjectness, the gods do likewise +despise him, and own him not of their clan. Divinity and humanity then +are equally willing that he should starve in the street for all that +either will do for him. Now cruel father and mother have both let go his +hand, and the little soul-toddler, now you shall hear his shriek and his +wail, and often his fall. + +When at Saddle Meadows, Pierre had wavered and trembled in those first +wretched hours ensuing upon the receipt of Isabel's letter; then +humanity had let go the hand of Pierre, and therefore his cry; but when +at last inured to this, Pierre was seated at his book, willing that +humanity should desert him, so long as he thought he felt a far higher +support; then, ere long, he began to feel the utter loss of that other +support, too; ay, even the paternal gods themselves did now desert +Pierre; the toddler was toddling entirely alone, and not without +shrieks. + +If man must wrestle, perhaps it is well that it should be on the +nakedest possible plain. + +The three chambers of Pierre at the Apostles' were connecting ones. The +first--having a little retreat where Delly slept--was used for the more +exacting domestic purposes: here also their meals were taken; the second +was the chamber of Isabel; the third was the closet of Pierre. In the +first--the dining room, as they called it--there was a stove which +boiled the water for their coffee and tea, and where Delly concocted +their light repasts. This was their only fire; for, warned again and +again to economize to the uttermost, Pierre did not dare to purchase any +additional warmth. But by prudent management, a very little warmth may +go a great way. In the present case, it went some forty feet or more. A +horizontal pipe, after elbowing away from above the stove in the +dining-room, pierced the partition wall, and passing straight through +Isabel's chamber, entered the closet of Pierre at one corner, and then +abruptly disappeared into the wall, where all further caloric--if +any--went up through the chimney into the air, to help warm the +December sun. Now, the great distance of Pierre's calorical stream from +its fountain, sadly impaired it, and weakened it. It hardly had the +flavor of heat. It would have had but very inconsiderable influence in +raising the depressed spirits of the most mercurial thermometer; +certainly it was not very elevating to the spirits of Pierre. Besides, +this calorical stream, small as it was, did not flow through the room, +but only entered it, to elbow right out of it, as some coquettish +maidens enter the heart; moreover, it was in the furthest corner from +the only place where, with a judicious view to the light, Pierre's +desk-barrels and board could advantageously stand. Often, Isabel +insisted upon his having a separate stove to himself; but Pierre would +not listen to such a thing. Then Isabel would offer her own room to him; +saying it was of no indispensable use to her by day; she could easily +spend her time in the dining-room; but Pierre would not listen to such a +thing; he would not deprive her of the comfort of a continually +accessible privacy; besides, he was now used to his own room, and must +sit by that particular window there, and no other. Then Isabel would +insist upon keeping her connecting door open while Pierre was employed +at his desk, that so the heat of her room might bodily go into his; but +Pierre would not listen to such a thing: because he must be religiously +locked up while at work; outer love and hate must alike be excluded +then. In vain Isabel said she would make not the slightest noise, and +muffle the point of the very needle she used. All in vain. Pierre was +inflexible here. + +Yes, he was resolved to battle it out in his own solitary closet; though +a strange, transcendental conceit of one of the more erratic and +non-conforming Apostles,--who was also at this time engaged upon a +profound work above stairs, and who denied himself his full sufficiency +of food, in order to insure an abundant fire;--the strange conceit of +this Apostle, I say,--accidentally communicated to Pierre,--that, +through all the kingdoms of Nature, caloric was the great universal +producer and vivifyer, and could not be prudently excluded from the spot +where great books were in the act of creation; and therefore, he (the +Apostle) for one, was resolved to plant his head in a hot-bed of +stove-warmed air, and so force his brain to germinate and blossom, and +bud, and put forth the eventual, crowning, victorious flower;--though +indeed this conceit rather staggered Pierre--for in truth, there was no +small smack of plausible analogy in it--yet one thought of his purse +would wholly expel the unwelcome intrusion, and reinforce his own +previous resolve. + +However lofty and magnificent the movements of the stars; whatever +celestial melodies they may thereby beget; yet the astronomers assure us +that they are the most rigidly methodical of all the things that exist. +No old housewife goes her daily domestic round with one millionth part +the precision of the great planet Jupiter in his stated and unalterable +revolutions. He has found his orbit, and stays in it; he has timed +himself, and adheres to his periods. So, in some degree with Pierre, now +revolving in the troubled orbit of his book. + +Pierre rose moderately early; and the better to inure himself to the +permanent chill of his room, and to defy and beard to its face, the +cruelest cold of the outer air; he would--behind the curtain--throw down +the upper sash of his window; and on a square of old painted canvas, +formerly wrapping some bale of goods in the neighborhood, treat his +limbs, of those early December mornings, to a copious ablution, in water +thickened with incipient ice. Nor, in this stoic performance, was he at +all without company,--not present, but adjoiningly sympathetic; for +scarce an Apostle in all those scores and scores of chambers, but +undeviatingly took his daily December bath. Pierre had only to peep out +of his pane and glance round the multi-windowed, inclosing walls of the +quadrangle, to catch plentiful half-glimpses, all round him, of many a +lean, philosophical nudity, refreshing his meager bones with crash-towel +and cold water. "Quick be the play," was their motto: "Lively our +elbows, and nimble all our tenuities." Oh, the dismal echoings of the +raspings of flesh-brushes, perverted to the filing and polishing of the +merest ribs! Oh, the shuddersome splashings of pails of ice-water over +feverish heads, not unfamiliar with aches! Oh, the rheumatical +cracklings of rusted joints, in that defied air of December! for every +thick-frosted sash was down, and every lean nudity courted the zephyr! + +Among all the innate, hyena-like repellants to the reception of any set +form of a spiritually-minded and pure archetypical faith, there is +nothing so potent in its skeptical tendencies, as that inevitable +perverse ridiculousness, which so often bestreaks some of the +essentially finest and noblest aspirations of those men, who disgusted +with the common conventional quackeries, strive, in their clogged +terrestrial humanities, after some imperfectly discerned, but heavenly +ideals: ideals, not only imperfectly discerned in themselves, but the +path to them so little traceable, that no two minds will entirely agree +upon it. + +Hardly a new-light Apostle, but who, in superaddition to his +revolutionary scheme for the minds and philosophies of men, entertains +some insane, heterodoxical notions about the economy of his body. His +soul, introduced by the gentlemanly gods, into the supernal +society,--practically rejects that most sensible maxim of men of the +world, who chancing to gain the friendship of any great character, never +make that the ground of boring him with the supplemental acquaintance of +their next friend, who perhaps, is some miserable ninny. Love me, love +my dog, is only an adage for the old country-women who affectionately +kiss their cows. The gods love the soul of a man; often, they will +frankly accost it; but they abominate his body; and will forever cut it +dead, both here and hereafter. So, if thou wouldst go to the gods, +leave thy dog of a body behind thee. And most impotently thou strivest +with thy purifying cold baths, and thy diligent scrubbings with +flesh-brushes, to prepare it as a meet offering for their altar. Nor +shall all thy Pythagorean and Shellian dietings on apple-parings, dried +prunes, and crumbs of oat-meal cracker, ever fit thy body for heaven. +Feed all things with food convenient for them,--that is, if the food be +procurable. The food of thy soul is light and space; feed it then on +light and space. But the food of thy body is champagne and oysters; feed +it then on champagne and oysters; and so shall it merit a joyful +resurrection, if there is any to be. Say, wouldst thou rise with a +lantern jaw and a spavined knee? Rise with brawn on thee, and a most +royal corporation before thee; so shalt thou in that day claim +respectful attention. Know this: that while many a consumptive dietarian +has but produced the merest literary flatulencies to the world; +convivial authors have alike given utterance to the sublimest wisdom, +and created the least gross and most ethereal forms. And for men of +demonstrative muscle and action, consider that right royal epitaph which +Cyrus the Great caused to be engraved on his tomb--"I could drink a +great deal of wine, and it did me a great deal of good." Ah, foolish! to +think that by starving thy body, thou shalt fatten thy soul! Is yonder +ox fatted because yonder lean fox starves in the winter wood? And prate +not of despising thy body, while still thou flourisheth thy flesh-brush! +The finest houses are most cared for within; the outer walls are freely +left to the dust and the soot. Put venison in thee, and so wit shall +come out of thee. It is one thing in the mill, but another in the sack. + +Now it was the continual, quadrangular example of those forlorn fellows, +the Apostles, who, in this period of his half-developments and +transitions, had deluded Pierre into the Flesh-Brush Philosophy, and had +almost tempted him into the Apple-Parings Dialectics. For all the long +wards, corridors, and multitudinous chambers of the Apostles' were +scattered with the stems of apples, the stones of prunes, and the shells +of peanuts. They went about huskily muttering the Kantian Categories +through teeth and lips dry and dusty as any miller's, with the crumbs of +Graham crackers. A tumbler of cold water was the utmost welcome to their +reception rooms; at the grand supposed Sanhedrim presided over by one of +the deputies of Plotinus Plinlimmon, a huge jug of Adam's Ale, and a +bushel-basket of Graham crackers were the only convivials. Continually +bits of cheese were dropping from their pockets, and old shiny apple +parchments were ignorantly exhibited every time they drew out a +manuscript to read you. Some were curious in the vintages of waters; and +in three glass decanters set before you, Fairmount, Croton, and +Cochituate; they held that Croton was the most potent, Fairmount a +gentle tonic, and Cochituate the mildest and least inebriating of all. +Take some more of the Croton, my dear sir! Be brisk with the Fairmount! +Why stops that Cochituate? So on their philosophical tables went round +their Port, their Sherry, and their Claret. + +Some, further advanced, rejected mere water in the bath, as altogether +too coarse an element; and so, took to the Vapor-baths, and steamed +their lean ribs every morning. The smoke which issued from their heads, +and overspread their pages, was prefigured in the mists that issued from +under their door-sills and out of their windows. Some could not sit down +of a morning until after first applying the Vapor-bath outside and then +thoroughly rinsing out their interiors with five cups of cold Croton. +They were as faithfully replenished fire-buckets; and could they, +standing in one cordon, have consecutively pumped themselves into each +other, then the great fire of 1835 had been far less wide-spread and +disastrous. + +Ah! ye poor lean ones! ye wretched Soakites and Vaporites! have not your +niggardly fortunes enough rinsed ye out, and wizened ye, but ye must +still be dragging the hose-pipe, and throwing still more cold Croton on +yourselves and the world? Ah! attach the screw of your hose-pipe to some +fine old butt of Madeira! pump us some sparkling wine into the world! +see, see, already, from all eternity, two-thirds of it have lain +helplessly soaking! + + +II. + +With cheek rather pale, then, and lips rather blue, Pierre sits down to +his plank. + +But is Pierre packed in the mail for St. Petersburg this morning? Over +his boots are his moccasins; over his ordinary coat is his surtout; and +over that, a cloak of Isabel's. Now he is squared to his plank; and at +his hint, the affectionate Isabel gently pushes his chair closer to it, +for he is so muffled, he can hardly move of himself. Now Delly comes in +with bricks hot from the stove; and now Isabel and she with devoted +solicitude pack away these comforting stones in the folds of an old blue +cloak, a military garment of the grandfather of Pierre, and tenderly +arrange it both over and under his feet; but putting the warm flagging +beneath. Then Delly brings still another hot brick to put under his +inkstand, to prevent the ink from thickening. Then Isabel drags the +camp-bedstead nearer to him, on which are the two or three books he may +possibly have occasion to refer to that day, with a biscuit or two, and +some water, and a clean towel, and a basin. Then she leans against the +plank by the elbow of Pierre, a crook-ended stick. Is Pierre a shepherd, +or a bishop, or a cripple? No, but he has in effect, reduced himself to +the miserable condition of the last. With the crook-ended cane, +Pierre--unable to rise without sadly impairing his manifold +intrenchments, and admitting the cold air into their innermost +nooks,--Pierre, if in his solitude, he should chance to need any thing +beyond the reach of his arm, then the crook-ended cane drags it to his +immediate vicinity. + +Pierre glances slowly all round him; every thing seems to be right; he +looks up with a grateful, melancholy satisfaction at Isabel; a tear +gathers in her eye; but she conceals it from him by coming very close to +him, stooping over, and kissing his brow. 'Tis her lips that leave the +warm moisture there; not her tears, she says. + +"I suppose I must go now, Pierre. Now don't, don't be so long to-day. I +will call thee at half-past four. Thou shalt not strain thine eyes in +the twilight." + +"We will _see_ about that," says Pierre, with an unobserved attempt at a +very sad pun. "Come, thou must go. Leave me." + +And there he is left. + +Pierre is young; heaven gave him the divinest, freshest form of a man; +put light into his eye, and fire into his blood, and brawn into his arm, +and a joyous, jubilant, overflowing, upbubbling, universal life in him +everywhere. Now look around in that most miserable room, and at that +most miserable of all the pursuits of a man, and say if here be the +place, and this be the trade, that God intended him for. A rickety +chair, two hollow barrels, a plank, paper, pens, and infernally black +ink, four leprously dingy white walls, no carpet, a cup of water, and a +dry biscuit or two. Oh, I hear the leap of the Texan Camanche, as at +this moment he goes crashing like a wild deer through the green +underbrush; I hear his glorious whoop of savage and untamable health; +and then I look in at Pierre. If physical, practical unreason make the +savage, which is he? Civilization, Philosophy, Ideal Virtue! behold your +victim! + + +III. + +Some hours pass. Let us peep over the shoulder of Pierre, and see what +it is he is writing there, in that most melancholy closet. Here, topping +the reeking pile by his side, is the last sheet from his hand, the +frenzied ink not yet entirely dry. It is much to our purpose; for in +this sheet, he seems to have directly plagiarized from his own +experiences, to fill out the mood of his apparent author-hero, Vivia, +who thus soliloquizes: "A deep-down, unutterable mournfulness is in me. +Now I drop all humorous or indifferent disguises, and all philosophical +pretensions. I own myself a brother of the clod, a child of the Primeval +Gloom. Hopelessness and despair are over me, as pall on pall. Away, ye +chattering apes of a sophomorean Spinoza and Plato, who once didst all +but delude me that the night was day, and pain only a tickle. Explain +this darkness, exorcise this devil, ye can not. Tell me not, thou +inconceivable coxcomb of a Goethe, that the universe can not spare thee +and thy immortality, so long as--like a hired waiter--thou makest +thyself 'generally useful.' Already the universe gets on without thee, +and could still spare a million more of the same identical kidney. +Corporations have no souls, and thy Pantheism, what was that? Thou wert +but the pretensious, heartless part of a man. Lo! I hold thee in this +hand, and thou art crushed in it like an egg from which the meat hath +been sucked." + +Here is a slip from the floor. + +"Whence flow the panegyrical melodies that precede the march of these +heroes? From what but from a sounding brass and a tinkling cymbal!" + +And here is a second. + +"Cast thy eye in there on Vivia; tell me why those four limbs should be +clapt in a dismal jail--day out, day in--week out, week in--month out, +month in--and himself the voluntary jailer! Is this the end of +philosophy? This the larger, and spiritual life? This your boasted +empyrean? Is it for this that a man should grow wise, and leave off his +most excellent and calumniated folly?" + +And here is a third. + +"Cast thy eye in there on Vivia; he, who in the pursuit of the highest +health of virtue and truth, shows but a pallid cheek! Weigh his heart in +thy hand, oh, thou gold-laced, virtuoso Goethe! and tell me whether it +does not exceed thy standard weight!" + +And here is a fourth. + +"Oh God, that man should spoil and rust on the stalk, and be wilted and +threshed ere the harvest hath come! And oh God, that men that call +themselves men should still insist on a laugh! I hate the world, and +could trample all lungs of mankind as grapes, and heel them out of their +breath, to think of the woe and the cant,--to think of the Truth and the +Lie! Oh! blessed be the twenty-first day of December, and cursed be the +twenty-first day of June!" + +From these random slips, it would seem, that Pierre is quite conscious +of much that is so anomalously hard and bitter in his lot, of much that +is so black and terrific in his soul. Yet that knowing his fatal +condition does not one whit enable him to change or better his +condition. Conclusive proof that he has no power over his condition. For +in tremendous extremities human souls are like drowning men; well enough +they know they are in peril; well enough they know the causes of that +peril;--nevertheless, the sea is the sea, and these drowning men do +drown. + + +IV. + +From eight o'clock in the morning till half-past four in the evening, +Pierre sits there in his room;--eight hours and a half! + +From throbbing neck-bands, and swinging belly-bands of gay-hearted +horses, the sleigh-bells chimingly jingle;--but Pierre sits there in his +room; Thanksgiving comes, with its glad thanks, and crisp turkeys;--but +Pierre sits there in his room; soft through the snows, on tinted Indian +moccasin, Merry Christmas comes stealing;--but Pierre sits there in his +room; it is New-Year's, and like a great flagon, the vast city overbrims +at all curb-stones, wharves, and piers, with bubbling jubilations;--but +Pierre sits there in his room:--Nor jingling sleigh-bells at throbbing +neck-band, or swinging belly-band; nor glad thanks, and crisp turkeys of +Thanksgiving; nor tinted Indian moccasin of Merry Christmas softly +stealing through the snows; nor New-Year's curb-stones, wharves, and +piers, over-brimming with bubbling jubilations:--Nor jingling +sleigh-bells, nor glad Thanksgiving, nor Merry Christmas, nor jubilating +New Year's:--Nor Bell, Thank, Christ, Year;--none of these are for +Pierre. In the midst of the merriments of the mutations of Time, Pierre +hath ringed himself in with the grief of Eternity. Pierre is a peak +inflexible in the heart of Time, as the isle-peak, Piko, stands +unassaultable in the midst of waves. + +He will not be called to; he will not be stirred. Sometimes the intent +ear of Isabel in the next room, overhears the alternate silence, and +then the long lonely scratch of his pen. It is, as if she heard the busy +claw of some midnight mole in the ground. Sometimes, she hears a low +cough, and sometimes the scrape of his crook-handled cane. + +Here surely is a wonderful stillness of eight hours and a half, repeated +day after day. In the heart of such silence, surely something is at +work. Is it creation, or destruction? Builds Pierre the noble world of +a new book? or does the Pale Haggardness unbuild the lungs and the life +in him?--Unutterable, that a man should be thus! + +When in the meridian flush of the day, we recall the black apex of +night; then night seems impossible; this sun can never go down. Oh that +the memory of the uttermost gloom as an already tasted thing to the +dregs, should be no security against its return. One may be passibly +well one day, but the next, he may sup at black broth with Pluto. + +Is there then all this work to one book, which shall be read in a very +few hours; and, far more frequently, utterly skipped in one second; and +which, in the end, whatever it be, must undoubtedly go to the worms? + +Not so; that which now absorbs the time and the life of Pierre, is not +the book, but the primitive elementalizing of the strange stuff, which +in the act of attempting that book, have upheaved and upgushed in his +soul. Two books are being writ; of which the world shall only see one, +and that the bungled one. The larger book, and the infinitely better, is +for Pierre's own private shelf. That it is, whose unfathomable cravings +drink his blood; the other only demands his ink. But circumstances have +so decreed, that the one can not be composed on the paper, but only as +the other is writ down in his soul. And the one of the soul is +elephantinely sluggish, and will not budge at a breath. Thus Pierre is +fastened on by two leeches;--how then can the life of Pierre last? Lo! +he is fitting himself for the highest life, by thinning his blood and +collapsing his heart. He is learning how to live, by rehearsing the part +of death. + +Who shall tell all the thoughts and feelings of Pierre in that desolate +and shivering room, when at last the idea obtruded, that the wiser and +the profounder he should grow, the more and the more he lessened the +chances for bread; that could he now hurl his deep book out of the +window, and fall to on some shallow nothing of a novel, composable in a +month at the longest, then could he reasonably hope for both +appreciation and cash. But the devouring profundities, now opened up in +him, consume all his vigor; would he, he could not now be entertainingly +and profitably shallow in some pellucid and merry romance. Now he sees, +that with every accession of the personal divine to him, some great +land-slide of the general surrounding divineness slips from him, and +falls crashing away. Said I not that the gods, as well as mankind, had +unhanded themselves from this Pierre? So now in him you behold the baby +toddler I spoke of; forced now to stand and toddle alone. + +Now and then he turns to the camp-bed, and wetting his towel in the +basin, presses it against his brow. Now he leans back in his chair, as +if to give up; but again bends over and plods. + +Twilight draws on, the summons of Isabel is heard from the door; the +poor, frozen, blue-lipped, soul-shivering traveler for St. Petersburg is +unpacked; and for a moment stands toddling on the floor. Then his hat, +and his cane, and out he sallies for fresh air. A most comfortless +staggering of a stroll! People gaze at him passing, as at some imprudent +sick man, willfully burst from his bed. If an acquaintance is met, and +would say a pleasant newsmonger's word in his ear, that acquaintance +turns from him, affronted at his hard aspect of icy discourtesy. +"Bad-hearted," mutters the man, and goes on. + +He comes back to his chambers, and sits down at the neat table of Delly; +and Isabel soothingly eyes him, and presses him to eat and be strong. +But his is the famishing which loathes all food. He can not eat but by +force. He has assassinated the natural day; how then can he eat with an +appetite? If he lays him down, he can not sleep; he has waked the +infinite wakefulness in him; then how can he slumber? Still his book, +like a vast lumbering planet, revolves in his aching head. He can not +command the thing out of its orbit; fain would he behead himself, to +gain one night's repose. At last the heavy hours move on; and sheer +exhaustion overtakes him, and he lies still--not asleep as children and +day-laborers sleep--but he lies still from his throbbings, and for that +interval holdingly sheaths the beak of the vulture in his hand, and lets +it not enter his heart. + +Morning comes; again the dropt sash, the icy water, the flesh-brush, the +breakfast, the hot bricks, the ink, the pen, the +from-eight-o'clock-to-half-past-four, and the whole general inclusive +hell of the same departed day. + +Ah! shivering thus day after day in his wrappers and cloaks, is this the +warm lad that once sung to the world of the Tropical Summer? + + + + +BOOK XXIII. + +A LETTER FOR PIERRE. ISABEL. ARRIVAL OF LUCY'S EASEL AND TRUNKS AT THE +APOSTLES'. + + +I. + +If a frontier man be seized by wild Indians, and carried far and deep +into the wilderness, and there held a captive, with no slightest +probability of eventual deliverance; then the wisest thing for that man +is to exclude from his memory by every possible method, the least images +of those beloved objects now forever reft from him. For the more +delicious they were to him in the now departed possession, so much the +more agonizing shall they be in the present recalling. And though a +strong man may sometimes succeed in strangling such tormenting memories; +yet, if in the beginning permitted to encroach upon him unchecked, the +same man shall, in the end, become as an idiot. With a continent and an +ocean between him and his wife--thus sundered from her, by whatever +imperative cause, for a term of long years;--the husband, if +passionately devoted to her, and by nature broodingly sensitive of soul, +is wise to forget her till he embrace her again;--is wise never to +remember her if he hear of her death. And though such complete suicidal +forgettings prove practically impossible, yet is it the shallow and +ostentatious affections alone which are bustling in the offices of +obituarian memories. _The love deep as death_--what mean those five +words, but that such love can not live, and be continually remembering +that the loved one is no more? If it be thus then in cases where entire +unremorsefulness as regards the beloved absent objects is presumed, how +much more intolerable, when the knowledge of their hopeless wretchedness +occurs, attended by the visitations of before latent upbraidings in the +rememberer as having been any way--even unwillingly--the producers of +their sufferings. There seems no other sane recourse for some moody +organizations on whom such things, under such circumstances intrude, but +right and left to flee them, whatever betide. + +If little or nothing hitherto has been said of Lucy Tartan in reference +to the condition of Pierre after his departure from the Meadows, it has +only been because her image did not willingly occupy his soul. He had +striven his utmost to banish it thence; and only once--on receiving the +tidings of Glen's renewed attentions--did he remit the intensity of +those strivings, or rather feel them, as impotent in him in that hour of +his manifold and overwhelming prostration. + +Not that the pale form of Lucy, swooning on her snow-white bed; not that +the inexpressible anguish of the shriek--"My heart! my heart!" would not +now at times force themselves upon him, and cause his whole being to +thrill with a nameless horror and terror. But the very thrillingness of +the phantom made him to shun it, with all remaining might of his spirit. + +Nor were there wanting still other, and far more wonderful, though but +dimly conscious influences in the breast of Pierre, to meet as +repellants the imploring form. Not to speak of his being devoured by the +all-exacting theme of his book, there were sinister preoccupations in +him of a still subtler and more fearful sort, of which some inklings +have already been given. + +It was while seated solitary in his room one morning; his flagging +faculties seeking a momentary respite; his head sideways turned toward +the naked floor, following the seams in it, which, as wires, led +straight from where he sat to the connecting door, and disappeared +beneath it into the chamber of Isabel; that he started at a tap at that +very door, followed by the wonted, low, sweet voice,-- + +"Pierre! a letter for thee--dost thou hear? a letter,--may I come in?" + +At once he felt a dart of surprise and apprehension; for he was +precisely in that general condition with respect to the outer world, +that he could not reasonably look for any tidings but disastrous, or at +least, unwelcome ones. He assented; and Isabel entered, holding out the +billet in her hand. + +"'Tis from some lady, Pierre; who can it be?--not thy mother though, of +that I am certain;--the expression of her face, as seen by me, not at +all answering to the expression of this handwriting here." + +"My mother? from my mother?" muttered Pierre, in wild vacancy--"no! no! +it can scarce be from her.--Oh, she writes no more, even in her own +private tablets now! Death hath stolen the last leaf, and rubbed all +out, to scribble his own ineffaceable _hic jacet_ there!" + +"Pierre!" cried Isabel, in affright. + +"Give it me!" he shouted, vehemently, extending his hand. "Forgive me, +sweet, sweet Isabel, I have wandered in my mind; this book makes me mad. +There; I have it now"--in a tone of indifference--"now, leave me again. +It is from some pretty aunt, or cousin, I suppose," carelessly balancing +the letter in his hand. + +Isabel quitted the room; the moment the door closed upon her, Pierre +eagerly split open the letter, and read:-- + + +II. + +"This morning I vowed it, my own dearest, dearest Pierre I feel stronger +to-day; for to-day I have still more thought of thine own superhuman, +angelical strength; which so, has a very little been transferred to me. +Oh, Pierre, Pierre, with what words shall I write thee now;--now, when +still knowing nothing, yet something of thy secret I, as a seer, +suspect. Grief,--deep, unspeakable grief, hath made me this seer. I +could murder myself, Pierre, when I think of my previous blindness; but +that only came from my swoon. It was horrible and most murdersome; but +now I see thou wert right in being so instantaneous with me, and in +never afterward writing to me, Pierre; yes, now I see it, and adore thee +the more. + +"Ah! thou too noble and angelical Pierre, now I feel that a being like +thee, can possibly have no love as other men love; but thou lovest as +angels do; not for thyself, but wholly for others. But still are we one, +Pierre; thou art sacrificing thyself, and I hasten to re-tie myself to +thee, that so I may catch thy fire, and all the ardent multitudinous +arms of our common flames may embrace. I will ask of thee nothing, +Pierre; thou shalt tell me no secret. Very right wert thou, Pierre, +when, in that ride to the hills, thou wouldst not swear the fond, +foolish oath I demanded. Very right, very right; now I see it. + +"If then I solemnly vow, never to seek from thee any slightest thing +which thou wouldst not willingly have me know; if ever I, in all outward +actions, shall recognize, just as thou dost, the peculiar position of +that mysterious, and ever-sacred being;--then, may I not come and live +with thee? I will be no encumbrance to thee. I know just where thou art, +and how thou art living; and only just there, Pierre, and only just so, +is any further life endurable, or possible for me. She will never +know--for thus far I am sure thou thyself hast never disclosed it to +her what I once was to thee. Let it seem, as though I were some +nun-like cousin immovably vowed to dwell with thee in thy strange exile. +Show not to me,--never show more any visible conscious token of love. I +will never to thee. Our mortal lives, oh, my heavenly Pierre, shall +henceforth be one mute wooing of each other; with no declaration; no +bridal; till we meet in the pure realms of God's final blessedness for +us;--till we meet where the ever-interrupting and ever-marring world can +not and shall not come; where all thy hidden, glorious unselfishness +shall be gloriously revealed in the full splendor of that heavenly +light; where, no more forced to these cruelest disguises, she, _she_ too +shall assume her own glorious place, nor take it hard, but rather feel +the more blessed, when, there, thy sweet heart, shall be openly and +unreservedly mine. Pierre, Pierre, my Pierre!--only this thought, this +hope, this sublime faith now supports me. Well was it, that the swoon, +in which thou didst leave me, that long eternity ago--well was it, dear +Pierre, that though I came out of it to stare and grope, yet it was only +to stare and grope, and then I swooned again, and then groped again, and +then again swooned. But all this was vacancy; little I clutched; nothing +I knew; 'twas less than a dream, my Pierre, I had no conscious thought +of thee, love; but felt an utter blank, a vacancy;--for wert thou not +then utterly gone from me? and what could there then be left of poor +Lucy?--But now, this long, long swoon is past; I come out again into +life and light; but how could I come out, how could I any way _be_, my +Pierre, if not in thee? So the moment I came out of the long, long +swoon, straightway came to me the immortal faith in thee, which though +it could offer no one slightest possible argument of mere sense in thy +behalf, yet was it only the more mysteriously imperative for that, my +Pierre. Know then, dearest Pierre, that with every most glaring earthly +reason to disbelieve in thy love; I do yet wholly give myself up to the +unshakable belief in it. For I feel, that always is love love, and can +not know change, Pierre; I feel that heaven hath called me to a +wonderful office toward thee. By throwing me into that long, long +swoon,--during which, Martha tells me, I hardly ate altogether, three +ordinary meals,--by that, heaven, I feel now, was preparing me for the +superhuman office I speak of; was wholly estranging me from this earth, +even while I yet lingered in it; was fitting me for a celestial mission +in terrestrial elements. Oh, give to me of thine own dear strength! I am +but a poor weak girl, dear Pierre; one that didst once love thee but too +fondly, and with earthly frailty. But now I shall be wafted far upward +from that; shall soar up to thee, where thou sittest in thine own calm, +sublime heaven of heroism. + +"Oh seek not to dissuade me, Pierre. Wouldst thou slay me, and slay me a +million times more? and never have done with murdering me? I must come! +I must come! God himself can not stay me, for it is He that commands +me.--I know all that will follow my flight to thee;--my amazed mother, +my enraged brothers, the whole taunting and despising world.--But thou +art my mother and my brothers, and all the world, and all heaven, and +all the universe to me--thou _art_ my Pierre. One only being does this +soul in me serve--and that is thee, Pierre.--So I am coming to thee, +Pierre, and quickly;--to-morrow it shall be, and never more will I quit +thee, Pierre. Speak thou immediately to her about me; thou shalt know +best what to say. Is there not some connection between our families, +Pierre? I have heard my mother sometimes trace such a thing out,--some +indirect cousinship. If thou approvest then, thou shalt say to her, I am +thy cousin, Pierre;--thy resolved and immovable nun-like cousin; vowed +to dwell with thee forever; to serve thee and her, to guard thee and her +without end. Prepare some little corner for me somewhere; but let it be +very near. Ere I come, I shall send a few little things,--the tools I +shall work by, Pierre, and so contribute to the welfare of all. Look for +me then. I am coming! I am coming, my Pierre; for a deep, deep voice +assures me, that all noble as thou art, Pierre, some terrible jeopardy +involves thee, which my continual presence only can drive away. I am +coming! I am coming!" + +LUCY. + + +III. + +When surrounded by the base and mercenary crew, man, too long wonted to +eye his race with a suspicious disdain, suddenly is brushed by some +angelical plume of humanity, and the human accents of superhuman love, +and the human eyes of superhuman beauty and glory, suddenly burst on his +being; then how wonderful and fearful the shock! It is as if the +sky-cope were rent, and from the black valley of Jehoshaphat, he caught +upper glimpses of the seraphim in the visible act of adoring. + +He held the artless, angelical letter in his unrealizing hand; he +started, and gazed round his room, and out at the window, commanding the +bare, desolate, all-forbidding quadrangle, and then asked himself +whether this was the place that an angel should choose for its visit to +earth. Then he felt a vast, out-swelling triumphantness, that the girl +whose rare merits his intuitive soul had once so clearly and +passionately discerned, should indeed, in this most tremendous of all +trials, have acquitted herself with such infinite majesty. Then again, +he sunk utterly down from her, as in a bottomless gulf, and ran +shuddering through hideous galleries of despair, in pursuit of some +vague, white shape, and lo! two unfathomable dark eyes met his, and +Isabel stood mutely and mournfully, yet all-ravishingly before him. + +He started up from his plank; cast off his manifold wrappings, and +crossed the floor to remove himself from the spot, where such sweet, +such sublime, such terrific revelations had been made him. + +Then a timid little rap was heard at the door. + +"Pierre, Pierre; now that thou art risen, may I not come in--just for a +moment, Pierre." + +"Come in, Isabel." + +She was approaching him in her wonted most strange and sweetly mournful +manner, when he retreated a step from her, and held out his arm, not +seemingly to invite, but rather as if to warn. + +She looked fixedly in his face, and stood rooted. + +"Isabel, another is coming to me. Thou dost not speak, Isabel. She is +coming to dwell with us so long as we live, Isabel. Wilt thou not +speak?" + +The girl still stood rooted; the eyes, which she had first fixed on him, +still remained wide-openly riveted. + +"Wilt thou not speak, Isabel?" said Pierre, terrified at her frozen, +immovable aspect, yet too terrified to manifest his own terror to her; +and still coming slowly near her. She slightly raised one arm, as if to +grasp some support; then turned her head slowly sideways toward the door +by which she had entered; then her dry lips slowly parted--"My bed; lay +me; lay me!" + +The verbal effort broke her stiffening enchantment of frost; her thawed +form sloped sidelong into the air; but Pierre caught her, and bore her +into her own chamber, and laid her there on the bed. + +"Fan me; fan me!" + +He fanned the fainting flame of her life; by-and-by she turned slowly +toward him. + +"Oh! that feminine word from thy mouth, dear Pierre:--that _she_, that +_she_!" + +Pierre sat silent, fanning her. + +"Oh, I want none in the world but thee, my brother--but thee, but thee! +and, oh God! am _I_ not enough for thee? Bare earth with my brother were +all heaven for me; but all my life, all my full soul, contents not my +brother." + +Pierre spoke not; he but listened; a terrible, burning curiosity was in +him, that made him as heartless. But still all that she had said thus +far was ambiguous. + +"Had I known--had I but known it before! Oh bitterly cruel to reveal it +now. That _she_! That _she_!" + +She raised herself suddenly, and almost fiercely confronted him. + +"Either thou hast told thy secret, or she is not worthy the commonest +love of man! Speak Pierre,--which?" + +"The secret is still a secret, Isabel." + +"Then is she worthless, Pierre, whoever she be--foolishly, madly +fond!--Doth not the world know me for thy wife?--She shall not come! +'Twere a foul blot on thee and me. She shall not come! One look from me +shall murder her, Pierre!" + +"This is madness, Isabel. Look: now reason with me. Did I not before +opening the letter, say to thee, that doubtless it was from some pretty +young aunt or cousin?" + +"Speak quick!--a cousin?" + +"A cousin, Isabel." + +"Yet, yet, that is not wholly out of the degree, I have heard. Tell me +more, and quicker! more! more!" + +"A very strange cousin, Isabel; almost a nun in her notions. Hearing of +our mysterious exile, she, without knowing the cause, hath yet as +mysteriously vowed herself ours--not so much mine, Isabel, as ours, +_ours_--to serve _us_; and by some sweet heavenly fancying, to guide us +and guard us here." + +"Then, possibly, it may be all very well, Pierre, my brother--my +_brother_--I can say that now?" + +"Any,--all words are thine, Isabel; words and worlds with all their +containings, shall be slaves to thee, Isabel." + +She looked eagerly and inquiringly at him; then dropped her eyes, and +touched his hand; then gazed again. "Speak so more to me, Pierre! Thou +art my brother; art thou not my brother?--But tell me now more of--her; +it is all newness, and utter strangeness to me, Pierre." + +"I have said, my sweetest sister, that she has this wild, nun-like +notion in her. She is willful in it; in this letter she vows she must +and will come, and nothing on earth shall stay her. Do not have any +sisterly jealousy, then, my sister. Thou wilt find her a most gentle, +unobtrusive, ministering girl, Isabel. She will never name the +not-to-be-named things to thee; nor hint of them; because she knows them +not. Still, without knowing the secret, she yet hath the vague, +unspecializing sensation of the secret--the mystical presentiment, +somehow, of the secret. And her divineness hath drowned all womanly +curiosity in her; so that she desires not, in any way, to verify the +presentiment; content with the vague presentiment only; for in that, she +thinks, the heavenly summons to come to us, lies;--even there, in that, +Isabel. Dost thou now comprehend me?" + +"I comprehend nothing, Pierre; there is nothing these eyes have ever +looked upon, Pierre, that this soul comprehended. Ever, as now, do I go +all a-grope amid the wide mysteriousness of things. Yes, she shall come; +it is only one mystery the more. Doth she talk in her sleep, Pierre? +Would it be well, if I slept with her, my brother?" + +"On thy account; wishful for thy sake; to leave thee incommoded; +and--and--not knowing precisely how things really are;--she probably +anticipates and desires otherwise, my sister." + +She gazed steadfastly at his outwardly firm, but not interiorly +unfaltering aspect; and then dropped her glance in silence. + +"Yes, she shall come, my brother; she shall come. But it weaves its +thread into the general riddle, my brother.--Hath she that which they +call the memory, Pierre; the memory? Hath she that?" + +"We all have the memory, my sister." + +"Not all! not all!--poor Bell hath but very little. Pierre! I have seen +her in some dream. She is fair-haired--blue eyes--she is not quite so +tall as I, yet a very little slighter." + +Pierre started. "Thou hast seen Lucy Tartan, at Saddle Meadows?" + +"Is Lucy Tartan the name?--Perhaps, perhaps;--but also, in the dream, +Pierre; she came, with her blue eyes turned beseechingly on me; she +seemed as if persuading me from thee;--methought she was then more than +thy cousin;--methought she was that good angel, which some say, hovers +over every human soul; and methought--oh, methought that I was thy +other,--thy other angel, Pierre. Look: see these eyes,--this hair--nay, +this cheek;--all dark, dark, dark,--and she--the blue-eyed--the +fair-haired--oh, once the red-cheeked!" + +She tossed her ebon tresses over her; she fixed her ebon eyes on him. + +"Say, Pierre; doth not a funerealness invest me? Was ever hearse so +plumed?--Oh, God! that I had been born with blue eyes, and fair hair! +Those make the livery of heaven! Heard ye ever yet of a good angel with +dark eyes, Pierre?--no, no, no--all blue, blue, blue--heaven's own +blue--the clear, vivid, unspeakable blue, which we see in June skies, +when all clouds are swept by.--But the good angel shall come to thee, +Pierre. Then both will be close by thee, my brother; and thou mayest +perhaps elect,--elect!--She shall come; she shall come.--When is it to +be, dear Pierre?" + +"To-morrow, Isabel. So it is here written." + +She fixed her eye on the crumpled billet in his hand. "It were vile to +ask, but not wrong to suppose the asking.--Pierre,--no, I need not say +it,--wouldst thou?" + +"No; I would not let thee read it, my sister; I would not; because I +have no right to--no right--no right;--that is it; no: I have no right. +I will burn it this instant, Isabel." + +He stepped from her into the adjoining room; threw the billet into the +stove, and watching its last ashes, returned to Isabel. + +She looked with endless intimations upon him. + +"It is burnt, but not consumed; it is gone, but not lost. Through stove, +pipe, and flue, it hath mounted in flame, and gone as a scroll to +heaven! It shall appear again, my brother.--Woe is me--woe, woe!--woe is +me, oh, woe! Do not speak to me, Pierre; leave me now. She shall come. +The Bad angel shall tend the Good; she shall dwell with us, Pierre. +Mistrust me not; her considerateness to me, shall be outdone by mine to +her.--Let me be alone now, my brother." + + +IV. + +Though by the unexpected petition to enter his privacy--a petition he +could scarce ever deny to Isabel, since she so religiously abstained +from preferring it, unless for some very reasonable cause, Pierre, in +the midst of those conflicting, secondary emotions, immediately +following the first wonderful effect of Lucy's strange letter, had been +forced to put on, toward Isabel, some air of assurance and understanding +concerning its contents; yet at bottom, he was still a prey to all +manner of devouring mysteries. + +Soon, now, as he left the chamber of Isabel, these mysteriousnesses +re-mastered him completely; and as he mechanically sat down in the +dining-room chair, gently offered him by Delly--for the silent girl saw +that some strangeness that sought stillness was in him;--Pierre's mind +was revolving how it was possible, or any way conceivable, that Lucy +should have been inspired with such seemingly wonderful presentiments of +something assumed, or disguising, or non-substantial, somewhere and +somehow, in his present most singular apparent position in the eye of +world. The wild words of Isabel yet rang in his ears. It were an outrage +upon all womanhood to imagine that Lucy, however yet devoted to him in +her hidden heart, should be willing to come to him, so long as she +supposed, with the rest of the world, that Pierre was an ordinarily +married man. But how--what possible reason--what possible intimation +could she have had to suspect the contrary, or to suspect any thing +unsound? For neither at this present time, nor at any subsequent period, +did Pierre, or could Pierre, possibly imagine that in her marvelous +presentiments of Love she had any definite conceit of the precise nature +of the secret which so unrevealingly and enchantedly wrapt him. But a +peculiar thought passingly recurred to him here. + +Within his social recollections there was a very remarkable case of a +youth, who, while all but affianced to a beautiful girl--one returning +his own throbbings with incipient passion--became somehow casually and +momentarily betrayed into an imprudent manifested tenderness toward a +second lady; or else, that second lady's deeply-concerned friends caused +it to be made known to the poor youth, that such committal tenderness +toward her he had displayed, nor had it failed to exert its natural +effect upon her; certain it is, this second lady drooped and drooped, +and came nigh to dying, all the while raving of the cruel infidelity of +her supposed lover; so that those agonizing appeals, from so really +lovely a girl, that seemed dying of grief for him, at last so moved the +youth, that--morbidly disregardful of the fact, that inasmuch as two +ladies claimed him, the prior lady had the best title to his hand--his +conscience insanely upbraided him concerning the second lady; he thought +that eternal woe would surely overtake him both here and hereafter if he +did not renounce his first love--terrible as the effort would be both to +him and her--and wed with the second lady; which he accordingly did; +while, through his whole subsequent life, delicacy and honor toward his +thus wedded wife, forbade that by explaining to his first love how it +was with him in this matter, he should tranquilize her heart; and, +therefore, in her complete ignorance, she believed that he was willfully +and heartlessly false to her; and so came to a lunatic's death on his +account. + +This strange story of real life, Pierre knew to be also familiar to +Lucy; for they had several times conversed upon it; and the first love +of the demented youth had been a school-mate of Lucy's, and Lucy had +counted upon standing up with her as bridesmaid. Now, the passing idea +was self-suggested to Pierre, whether into Lucy's mind some such conceit +as this, concerning himself and Isabel, might not possibly have stolen. +But then again such a supposition proved wholly untenable in the end; +for it did by no means suffice for a satisfactory solution of the +absolute motive of the extraordinary proposed step of Lucy; nor indeed +by any ordinary law of propriety, did it at all seem to justify that +step. Therefore, he know not what to think; hardly what to dream. +Wonders, nay, downright miracles and no less were sung about Love; but +here was the absolute miracle itself--the out-acted miracle. For +infallibly certain he inwardly felt, that whatever her strange conceit; +whatever her enigmatical delusion; whatever her most secret and +inexplicable motive; still Lucy in her own virgin heart remained +transparently immaculate, without shadow of flaw or vein. Nevertheless, +what inconceivable conduct this was in her, which she in her letter so +passionately proposed! Altogether, it amazed him; it confounded him. + +Now, that vague, fearful feeling stole into him, that, rail as all +atheists will, there is a mysterious, inscrutable divineness in the +world--a God--a Being positively present everywhere;--nay, He is now in +this room; the air did part when I here sat down. I displaced the Spirit +then--condensed it a little off from this spot. He looked +apprehensively around him; he felt overjoyed at the sight of the +humanness of Delly. + +While he was thus plunged into this mysteriousness, a knock was heard at +the door. + +Delly hesitatingly rose--"Shall I let any one in, sir?--I think it is +Mr. Millthorpe's knock." + +"Go and see--go and see"--said Pierre, vacantly. + +The moment the door was opened, Millthorpe--for it was he--catching a +glimpse of Pierre's seated form, brushed past Delly, and loudly entered +the room. + +"Ha, ha! well, my boy, how comes on the Inferno? That is it you are +writing; one is apt to look black while writing Infernoes; you always +loved Dante. My lad! I have finished ten metaphysical treatises; argued +five cases before the court; attended all our society's meetings; +accompanied our great Professor, Monsieur Volvoon, the lecturer, through +his circuit in the philosophical saloons, sharing all the honors of his +illustrious triumph; and by the way, let me tell you, Volvoon secretly +gives me even more credit than is my due; for 'pon my soul, I did not +help write more than one half, at most, of his Lectures; +edited--anonymously, though--a learned, scientific work on 'The Precise +Cause of the Modifications in the Undulatory Motion in Waves,' a +posthumous work of a poor fellow--fine lad he was, too--a friend of +mine. Yes, here I have been doing all this, while you still are +hammering away at that one poor plaguy Inferno! Oh, there's a secret in +dispatching these things; patience! patience! you will yet learn the +secret. Time! time! I can't teach it to you, my boy, but Time can: I +wish I could, but I can't." + +There was another knock at the door. + +"Oh!" cried Millthorpe, suddenly turning round to it, "I forgot, my boy. +I came to tell you that there is a porter, with some queer things, +inquiring for you. I happened to meet him down stairs in the corridors, +and I told him to follow me up--I would show him the road; here he is; +let him in, let him in, good Delly, my girl." + +Thus far, the rattlings of Millthorpe, if producing any effect at all, +had but stunned the averted Pierre. But now he started to his feet. A +man with his hat on, stood in the door, holding an easel before him. + +"Is this Mr. Glendinning's room, gentlemen?" + +"Oh, come in, come in," cried Millthorpe, "all right." + +"Oh! is that _you_, sir? well, well, then;" and the man set down the +easel. + +"Well, my boy," exclaimed Millthorpe to Pierre; "you are in the Inferno +dream yet. Look; that's what people call an _easel_, my boy. An _easel_, +an _easel_--not a _weasel_; you look at it as though you thought it a +weasel. Come; wake up, wake up! You ordered it, I suppose, and here it +is. Going to paint and illustrate the Inferno, as you go along, I +suppose. Well, my friends tell me it is a great pity my own things aint +illustrated. But I can't afford it. There now is that Hymn to the Niger, +which I threw into a pigeon-hole, a year or two ago--that would be fine +for illustrations." + +"Is it for Mr. Glendinning you inquire?" said Pierre now, in a slow, icy +tone, to the porter. + +"Mr. Glendinning, sir; all right, aint it?" + +"Perfectly," said Pierre mechanically, and casting another strange, +rapt, bewildered glance at the easel. "But something seems strangely +wanting here. Ay, now I see, I see it:--Villain!--the vines! Thou hast +torn the green heart-strings! Thou hast but left the cold skeleton of +the sweet arbor wherein she once nestled! Thou besotted, heartless hind +and fiend, dost thou so much as dream in thy shriveled liver of the +eternal mischief thou hast done? Restore thou the green vines! untrample +them, thou accursed!--Oh my God, my God, trampled vines pounded and +crushed in all fibers, how can they live over again, even though they be +replanted! Curse thee, thou!--Nay, nay," he added moodily--"I was but +wandering to myself." Then rapidly and mockingly--"Pardon, +pardon!--porter; I most humbly crave thy most haughty pardon." Then +imperiously--"Come, stir thyself, man; thou hast more below: bring all +up." + +As the astounded porter turned, he whispered to Millthorpe--"Is he +safe?--shall I bring 'em?" + +"Oh certainly," smiled Millthorpe: "I'll look out for him; he's never +really dangerous when I'm present; there, go!" + +Two trunks now followed, with "L. T." blurredly marked upon the ends. + +"Is that all, my man?" said Pierre, as the trunks were being put down +before him; "well, how much?"--that moment his eyes first caught the +blurred letters. + +"Prepaid, sir; but no objection to more." + +Pierre stood mute and unmindful, still fixedly eying the blurred +letters; his body contorted, and one side drooping, as though that +moment half-way down-stricken with a paralysis, and yet unconscious of +the stroke. + +His two companions, momentarily stood motionless in those respective +attitudes, in which they had first caught sight of the remarkable change +that had come over him. But, as if ashamed of having been thus affected, +Millthorpe summoning a loud, merry voice, advanced toward Pierre, and, +tapping his shoulder, cried, "Wake up, wake up, my boy!--He says he is +prepaid, but no objection to more." + +"Prepaid;--what's that? Go, go, and jabber to apes!" + +"A curious young gentleman, is he not?" said Millthorpe lightly to the +porter;--"Look you, my boy, I'll repeat:--He says he's prepaid, but no +objection to more." + +"Ah?--take that then," said Pierre, vacantly putting something into the +porter's hand. + +"And what shall I do with this, sir?" said the porter, staring. + +"Drink a health; but not mine; that were mockery!" + +"With a key, sir? This is a key you gave me." + +"Ah!--well, you at least shall not have the thing that unlocks me. Give +me the key, and take this." + +"Ay, ay!--here's the chink! Thank'ee sir, thank'ee. This'll drink. I +aint called a porter for nothing; Stout's the word; 2151 is my number; +any jobs, call on me." + +"Do you ever cart a coffin, my man?" said Pierre. + +"'Pon my soul!" cried Millthorpe, gayly laughing, "if you aint writing +an Inferno, then--but never mind. Porter! this gentleman is under +medical treatment at present. You had better--ab'--you +understand--'squatulate, porter! There, my boy, he is gone; I understand +how to manage these fellows; there's a trick in it, my boy--an +off-handed sort of what d'ye call it?--you understand--the trick! the +trick!--the whole world's a trick. Know the trick of it, all's right; +don't know, all's wrong. Ha! ha!" + +"The porter is gone then?" said Pierre, calmly. "Well, Mr. Millthorpe, +you will have the goodness to follow him." + +"Rare joke! admirable!--Good morning, sir. Ha, ha!" + +And with his unruffleable hilariousness, Millthorpe quitted the room. + +But hardly had the door closed upon him, nor had he yet removed his hand +from its outer knob, when suddenly it swung half open again, and +thrusting his fair curly head within, Millthorpe cried: "By the way, my +boy, I have a word for you. You know that greasy fellow who has been +dunning you so of late. Well, be at rest there; he's paid. I was +suddenly made flush yesterday:--regular flood-tide. You can return it +any day, you know--no hurry; that's all.--But, by the way,--as you look +as though you were going to have company here--just send for me in case +you want to use me--any bedstead to put up, or heavy things to be lifted +about. Don't you and the women do it, now, mind! That's all again. +Addios, my boy. Take care of yourself!" + +"Stay!" cried Pierre, reaching forth one hand, but moving neither +foot--"Stay!"--in the midst of all his prior emotions struck by these +singular traits in Millthorpe. But the door was abruptly closed; and +singing Fa, la, la: Millthorpe in his seedy coat went tripping down the +corridor. + +"Plus heart, minus head," muttered Pierre, his eyes fixed on the door. +"Now, by heaven! the god that made Millthorpe was both a better and a +greater than the god that made Napoleon or Byron.--Plus head, minus +heart--Pah! the brains grow maggoty without a heart; but the heart's the +preserving salt itself, and can keep sweet without the head.--Delly!" + +"Sir?" + +"My cousin Miss Tartan is coming here to live with us, Delly. That +easel,--those trunks are hers." + +"Good heavens!--coming here?--your cousin?--Miss Tartan?" + +"Yes, I thought you must have heard of her and me;--but it was broken +off; Delly." + +"Sir? Sir?" + +"I have no explanation, Delly; and from you, I must have no amazement. +My cousin,--mind, my _cousin_, Miss Tartan, is coming to live with us. +The next room to this, on the other side there, is unoccupied. That room +shall be hers. You must wait upon her, too, Delly." + +"Certainly sir, certainly; I will do any thing;" said Delly trembling; +"but,--but--does Mrs. Glendin-din--does my mistress know this?" + +"My wife knows all"--said Pierre sternly. "I will go down and get the +key of the room; and you must sweep it out." + +"What is to be put into it, sir?" said Delly. "Miss Tartan--why, she is +used to all sorts of fine things,--rich +carpets--wardrobes--mirrors--curtains;--why, why, why!" + +"Look," said Pierre, touching an old rug with his foot;--"here is a bit +of carpet; drag that into her room; here is a chair, put that in; and +for a bed,--ay, ay," he muttered to himself; "I have made it for her, +and she ignorantly lies on it now!--as made--so lie. Oh God!" + +"Hark! my mistress is calling"--cried Delly, moving toward the opposite +room. + +"Stay!"--cried Pierre, grasping her shoulder; "if both called at one +time from these opposite chambers, and both were swooning, which door +would you first fly to?" + +The girl gazed at him uncomprehendingly and affrighted a moment; and +then said,--"This one, sir"--out of mere confusion perhaps, putting her +hand on Isabel's latch. + +"It is well. Now go." + +He stood in an intent unchanged attitude till Delly returned. + +"How is my wife, now?" + +Again startled by the peculiar emphasis placed on the magical word +_wife_, Delly, who had long before this, been occasionally struck with +the infrequency of his using that term; she looked at him perplexedly, +and said half-unconsciously-- + +"Your wife, sir?" + +"Ay, is she not?" + +"God grant that she be--Oh, 'tis most cruel to ask that of poor, poor +Delly, sir!" + +"Tut for thy tears! Never deny it again then!--I swear to heaven, she +is!" + +With these wild words, Pierre seized his hat, and departed the room, +muttering something about bringing the key of the additional chamber. + +As the door closed on him, Delly dropped on her knees. She lifted her +head toward the ceiling, but dropped it again, as if tyrannically awed +downward, and bent it low over, till her whole form tremulously cringed +to the floor. + +"God that made me, and that wast not so hard to me as wicked Delly +deserved,--God that made me, I pray to thee! ward it off from me, if it +be coming to me. Be not deaf to me; these stony walls--Thou canst hear +through them. Pity! pity!--mercy, my God!--If they are not married; if +I, penitentially seeking to be pure, am now but the servant to a greater +sin, than I myself committed: then, pity! pity! pity! pity! pity! Oh God +that made me,--See me, see me here--what can Delly do? If I go hence, +none will take me in but villains. If I stay, then--for stay I must--and +they be not married,--then pity, pity, pity, pity, pity!" + + + + +BOOK XXIV. + +LUCY AT THE APOSTLES. + + +I. + +Next morning, the recently appropriated room adjoining on the other side +of the dining-room, presented a different aspect from that which met the +eye of Delly upon first unlocking it with Pierre on the previous +evening. Two squares of faded carpeting of different patterns, covered +the middle of the floor, leaving, toward the surbase, a wide, blank +margin around them. A small glass hung in the pier; beneath that, a +little stand, with a foot or two of carpet before it. In one corner was +a cot, neatly equipped with bedding. At the outer side of the cot, +another strip of carpeting was placed. Lucy's delicate feet should not +shiver on the naked floor. + +Pierre, Isabel, and Delly were standing in the room; Isabel's eyes were +fixed on the cot. + +"I think it will be pretty cosy now," said Delly, palely glancing all +round, and then adjusting the pillow anew. + +"There is no warmth, though," said Isabel. "Pierre, there is no stove in +the room. She will be very cold. The pipe--can we not send it this way?" +And she looked more intently at him, than the question seemed to +warrant. + +"Let the pipe stay where it is, Isabel," said Pierre, answering her own +pointed gaze. "The dining-room door can stand open. She never liked +sleeping in a heated room. Let all be; it is well. Eh! but there is a +grate here, I see. I will buy coals. Yes, yes--that can be easily done; +a little fire of a morning--the expense will be nothing. Stay, we will +have a little fire here now for a welcome. She shall always have fire." + +"Better change the pipe, Pierre," said Isabel, "that will be permanent, +and save the coals." + +"It shall not be done, Isabel. Doth not that pipe and that warmth go +into thy room? Shall I rob my wife, good Delly, even to benefit my most +devoted and true-hearted cousin?" + +"Oh! I should say not, sir; not at all," said Delly hysterically. + +A triumphant fire flashed in Isabel's eye; her full bosom arched out; +but she was silent. + +"She may be here, now, at any moment, Isabel," said Pierre; "come, we +will meet her in the dining-room; that is our reception-place, thou +knowest." + +So the three went into the dining-room. + + +II. + +They had not been there long, when Pierre, who had been pacing up and +down, suddenly paused, as if struck by some laggard thought, which had +just occurred to him at the eleventh hour. First he looked toward Delly, +as if about to bid her quit the apartment, while he should say something +private to Isabel; but as if, on a second thought, holding the contrary +of this procedure most advisable, he, without preface, at once addressed +Isabel, in his ordinary conversational tone, so that Delly could not but +plainly hear him, whether she would or no. + +"My dear Isabel, though, as I said to thee before, my cousin, Miss +Tartan, that strange, and willful, nun-like girl, is at all hazards, +mystically resolved to come and live with us, yet it must be quite +impossible that her friends can approve in her such a singular step; a +step even more singular, Isabel, than thou, in thy unsophisticatedness, +can'st at all imagine. I shall be immensely deceived if they do not, to +their very utmost, strive against it. Now what I am going to add may be +quite unnecessary, but I can not avoid speaking it, for all that." + +Isabel with empty hands sat silent, but intently and expectantly eying +him; while behind her chair, Delly was bending her face low over her +knitting--which she had seized so soon as Pierre had begun speaking--and +with trembling fingers was nervously twitching the points of her long +needles. It was plain that she awaited Pierre's accents with hardly much +less eagerness than Isabel. Marking well this expression in Delly, and +apparently not unpleased with it, Pierre continued; but by no slightest +outward tone or look seemed addressing his remarks to any one but +Isabel. + +"Now what I mean, dear Isabel, is this: if that very probable hostility +on the part of Miss Tartan's friends to her fulfilling her strange +resolution--if any of that hostility should chance to be manifested +under thine eye, then thou certainly wilt know how to account for it; +and as certainly wilt draw no inference from it in the minutest +conceivable degree involving any thing sinister in me. No, I am sure +thou wilt not, my dearest Isabel. For, understand me, regarding this +strange mood in my cousin as a thing wholly above my comprehension, and +indeed regarding my poor cousin herself as a rapt enthusiast in some +wild mystery utterly unknown to me; and unwilling ignorantly to +interfere in what almost seems some supernatural thing, I shall not +repulse her coming, however violently her friends may seek to stay it. I +shall not repulse, as certainly as I have not invited. But a neutral +attitude sometimes seems a suspicious one. Now what I mean is this: let +all such vague suspicions of me, if any, be confined to Lucy's friends; +but let not such absurd misgivings come near my dearest Isabel, to give +the least uneasiness. Isabel! tell me; have I not now said enough to +make plain what I mean? Or, indeed, is not all I have said wholly +unnecessary; seeing that when one feels deeply conscientious, one is +often apt to seem superfluously, and indeed unpleasantly and +unbeseemingly scrupulous? Speak, my own Isabel,"--and he stept nearer to +her, reaching forth his arm. + +"Thy hand is the caster's ladle, Pierre, which holds me entirely fluid. +Into thy forms and slightest moods of thought, thou pourest me; and I +there solidify to that form, and take it on, and thenceforth wear it, +till once more thou moldest me anew. If what thou tellest me be thy +thought, then how can I help its being mine, my Pierre?" + +"The gods made thee of a holyday, when all the common world was done, +and shaped thee leisurely in elaborate hours, thou paragon!" + +So saying, in a burst of admiring love and wonder, Pierre paced the +room; while Isabel sat silent, leaning on her hand, and half-vailed with +her hair. Delly's nervous stitches became less convulsive. She seemed +soothed; some dark and vague conceit seemed driven out of her by +something either directly expressed by Pierre, or inferred from his +expressions. + + +III. + +"Pierre! Pierre!--Quick! Quick!--They are dragging me back!--oh, quick, +dear Pierre!" + +"What is that?" swiftly cried Isabel, rising to her feet, and amazedly +glancing toward the door leading into the corridor. + +But Pierre darted from the room, prohibiting any one from following him. + +Half-way down the stairs, a slight, airy, almost unearthly figure was +clinging to the balluster; and two young men, one in naval uniform, were +vainly seeking to remove the two thin white hands without hurting them. +They were Glen Stanly, and Frederic, the elder brother of Lucy. + +In a moment, Pierre's hands were among the rest. + +"Villain!--Damn thee!" cried Frederic; and letting go the hand of his +sister, he struck fiercely at Pierre. + +But the blow was intercepted by Pierre. + +"Thou hast bewitched, thou damned juggler, the sweetest angel! Defend +thyself!" + +"Nay, nay," cried Glen, catching the drawn rapier of the frantic +brother, and holding him in his powerful grasp; "he is unarmed; this is +no time or place to settle our feud with him. Thy sister,--sweet +Lucy--let us save her first, and then what thou wilt. Pierre +Glendinning--if thou art but the little finger of a man--begone with +thee from hence! Thy depravity, thy pollutedness, is that of a +fiend!--Thou canst not desire this thing:--the sweet girl is mad!" + +Pierre stepped back a little, and looked palely and haggardly at all +three. + +"I render no accounts: I am what I am. This sweet girl--this angel whom +ye two defile by your touches--she is of age by the law:--she is her own +mistress by the law. And now, I swear she shall have her will! Unhand +the girl! Let her stand alone. See; she will faint; let her go, I say!" +And again his hands were among them. + +Suddenly, as they all, for the one instant vaguely struggled, the pale +girl drooped, and fell sideways toward Pierre; and, unprepared for this, +the two opposite champions, unconsciously relinquished their hold, +tripped, and stumbled against each other, and both fell on the stairs. +Snatching Lucy in his arms, Pierre darted from them; gained the door; +drove before him Isabel and Delly,--who, affrighted, had been lingering +there;--and bursting into the prepared chamber, laid Lucy on her cot; +then swiftly turned out of the room, and locked them all three in: and +so swiftly--like lightning--was this whole thing done, that not till the +lock clicked, did he find Glen and Frederic fiercely fronting him. + +"Gentlemen, it is all over. This door is locked. She is in women's +hands.--Stand back!" + +As the two infuriated young men now caught at him to hurl him aside, +several of the Apostles rapidly entered, having been attracted by the +noise. + +"Drag them off from me!" cried Pierre. "They are trespassers! drag them +off!" + +Immediately Glen and Frederic were pinioned by twenty hands; and, in +obedience to a sign from Pierre, were dragged out of the room, and +dragged down stairs; and given into the custody of a passing officer, as +two disorderly youths invading the sanctuary of a private retreat. + +In vain they fiercely expostulated; but at last, as if now aware that +nothing farther could be done without some previous legal action, they +most reluctantly and chafingly declared themselves ready to depart. +Accordingly they were let go; but not without a terrible menace of swift +retribution directed to Pierre. + + +IV. + +Happy is the dumb man in the hour of passion. He makes no impulsive +threats, and therefore seldom falsifies himself in the transition from +choler to calm. + +Proceeding into the thoroughfare, after leaving the Apostles', it was +not very long ere Glen and Frederic concluded between themselves, that +Lucy could not so easily be rescued by threat or force. The pale, +inscrutable determinateness, and flinchless intrepidity of Pierre, now +began to domineer upon them; for any social unusualness or greatness is +sometimes most impressive in the retrospect. What Pierre had said +concerning Lucy's being her own mistress in the eye of the law; this now +recurred to them. After much tribulation of thought, the more collected +Glen proposed, that Frederic's mother should visit the rooms of Pierre; +he imagined, that though insensible to their own united intimidations, +Lucy might not prove deaf to the maternal prayers. Had Mrs. Tartan been +a different woman than she was; had she indeed any disinterested agonies +of a generous heart, and not mere match-making mortifications, however +poignant; then the hope of Frederic and Glen might have had more +likelihood in it. Nevertheless, the experiment was tried, but signally +failed. + +In the combined presence of her mother, Pierre, Isabel, and Delly; and +addressing Pierre and Isabel as Mr. and Mrs. Glendinning; Lucy took the +most solemn vows upon herself, to reside with her present host and +hostess until they should cast her off. In vain her by turns suppliant, +and exasperated mother went down on her knees to her, or seemed almost +on the point of smiting her; in vain she painted all the scorn and the +loathing; sideways hinted of the handsome and gallant Glen; threatened +her that in case she persisted, her entire family would renounce her; +and though she should be starving, would not bestow one morsel upon such +a recreant, and infinitely worse than dishonorable girl. + +To all this, Lucy--now entirely unmenaced in person--replied in the +gentlest and most heavenly manner; yet with a collectedness, and +steadfastness, from which there was nothing to hope. What she was doing +was not of herself; she had been moved to it by all-encompassing +influences above, around, and beneath. She felt no pain for her own +condition; her only suffering was sympathetic. She looked for no reward; +the essence of well-doing was the consciousness of having done well +without the least hope of reward. Concerning the loss of worldly wealth +and sumptuousness, and all the brocaded applauses of drawing-rooms; +these were no loss to her, for they had always been valueless. Nothing +was she now renouncing; but in acting upon her present inspiration she +was inheriting every thing. Indifferent to scorn, she craved no pity. As +to the question of her sanity, that matter she referred to the verdict +of angels, and not to the sordid opinions of man. If any one protested +that she was defying the sacred counsels of her mother, she had nothing +to answer but this: that her mother possessed all her daughterly +deference, but her unconditional obedience was elsewhere due. Let all +hope of moving her be immediately, and once for all, abandoned. One only +thing could move her; and that would only move her, to make her forever +immovable;--that thing was death. + +Such wonderful strength in such wonderful sweetness; such inflexibility +in one so fragile, would have been matter for marvel to any observer. +But to her mother it was very much more; for, like many other +superficial observers, forming her previous opinion of Lucy upon the +slightness of her person, and the dulcetness of her temper, Mrs. Tartan +had always imagined that her daughter was quite incapable of any such +daring act. As if sterling heavenliness were incompatible with +heroicness. These two are never found apart. Nor, though Pierre knew +more of Lucy than any one else, did this most singular behavior in her +fail to amaze him. Seldom even had the mystery of Isabel fascinated him +more, with a fascination partaking of the terrible. The mere bodily +aspect of Lucy, as changed by her more recent life, filled him with the +most powerful and novel emotions. That unsullied complexion of bloom was +now entirely gone, without being any way replaced by sallowness, as is +usual in similar instances. And as if her body indeed were the temple +of God, and marble indeed were the only fit material for so holy a +shrine, a brilliant, supernatural whiteness now gleamed in her cheek. +Her head sat on her shoulders as a chiseled statue's head; and the soft, +firm light in her eye seemed as much a prodigy, as though a chiseled +statue should give token of vision and intelligence. + +Isabel also was most strangely moved by this sweet unearthliness in the +aspect of Lucy. But it did not so much persuade her by any common +appeals to her heart, as irrespectively commend her by the very signet +of heaven. In the deference with which she ministered to Lucy's little +occasional wants, there was more of blank spontaneousness than +compassionate voluntariness. And when it so chanced, that--owing perhaps +to some momentary jarring of the distant and lonely guitar--as Lucy was +so mildly speaking in the presence of her mother, a sudden, just +audible, submissively answering musical, stringed tone, came through the +open door from the adjoining chamber; then Isabel, as if seized by some +spiritual awe, fell on her knees before Lucy, and made a rapid gesture +of homage; yet still, somehow, as it were, without evidence of voluntary +will. + +Finding all her most ardent efforts ineffectual, Mrs. Tartan now +distressedly motioned to Pierre and Isabel to quit the chamber, that she +might urge her entreaties and menaces in private. But Lucy gently waved +them to stay; and then turned to her mother. Henceforth she had no +secrets but those which would also be secrets in heaven. Whatever was +publicly known in heaven, should be publicly known on earth. There was +no slightest secret between her and her mother. + +Wholly confounded by this inscrutableness of her so alienated and +infatuated daughter, Mrs. Tartan turned inflamedly upon Pierre, and bade +him follow her forth. But again Lucy said nay, there were no secrets +between her mother and Pierre. She would anticipate every thing there. +Calling for pen and paper, and a book to hold on her knee and write, +she traced the following lines, and reached them to her mother: + +"I am Lucy Tartan. I have come to dwell during their pleasure with Mr. +and Mrs. Pierre Glendinning, of my own unsolicited free-will. If they +desire it, I shall go; but no other power shall remove me, except by +violence; and against any violence I have the ordinary appeal to the +law." + +"Read this, madam," said Mrs. Tartan, tremblingly handing it to Isabel, +and eying her with a passionate and disdainful significance. + +"I have read it," said Isabel, quietly, after a glance, and handing it +to Pierre, as if by that act to show, that she had no separate decision +in the matter. + +"And do you, sir, too, indirectly connive?" said Mrs. Tartan to Pierre, +when he had read it. + +"I render no accounts, madam. This seems to be the written and final +calm will of your daughter. As such, you had best respect it, and +depart." + +Mrs. Tartan glanced despairingly and incensedly about her; then fixing +her eyes on her daughter, spoke. + +"Girl! here where I stand, I forever cast thee off. Never more shalt +thou be vexed by my maternal entreaties. I shall instruct thy brothers +to disown thee; I shall instruct Glen Stanly to banish thy worthless +image from his heart, if banished thence it be not already by thine own +incredible folly and depravity. For thee, Mr. Monster! the judgment of +God will overtake thee for this. And for thee, madam, I have no words +for the woman who will connivingly permit her own husband's paramour to +dwell beneath her roof. For thee, frail one," (to Delly), "thou needest +no amplification.--A nest of vileness! And now, surely, whom God himself +hath abandoned forever, a mother may quit, never more to revisit." + +This parting maternal malediction seemed to work no visibly +corresponding effect upon Lucy; already she was so marble-white, that +fear could no more blanch her, if indeed fear was then at all within her +heart. For as the highest, and purest, and thinnest ether remains +unvexed by all the tumults of the inferior air; so that transparent +ether of her cheek, that clear mild azure of her eye, showed no sign of +passion, as her terrestrial mother stormed below. Helpings she had from +unstirring arms; glimpses she caught of aid invisible; sustained she was +by those high powers of immortal Love, that once siding with the weakest +reed which the utmost tempest tosses; then that utmost tempest shall be +broken down before the irresistible resistings of that weakest reed. + + + + +BOOK XXV. + +LUCY, ISABEL, AND PIERRE. PIERRE AT HIS BOOK. ENCELADUS. + + +I. + +A day or two after the arrival of Lucy, when she had quite recovered +from any possible ill-effects of recent events,--events conveying such a +shock to both Pierre and Isabel,--though to each in a quite different +way,--but not, apparently, at least, moving Lucy so intensely--as they +were all three sitting at coffee, Lucy expressed her intention to +practice her crayon art professionally. It would be so pleasant an +employment for her, besides contributing to their common fund. Pierre +well knew her expertness in catching likenesses, and judiciously and +truthfully beautifying them; not by altering the features so much, as by +steeping them in a beautifying atmosphere. For even so, said Lucy, +thrown into the Lagoon, and there beheld--as I have heard--the roughest +stones, without transformation, put on the softest aspects. If Pierre +would only take a little trouble to bring sitters to her room, she +doubted not a fine harvest of heads might easily be secured. Certainly, +among the numerous inmates of the old Church, Pierre must know many who +would have no objections to being sketched. Moreover, though as yet she +had had small opportunity to see them; yet among such a remarkable +company of poets, philosophers, and mystics of all sorts, there must be +some striking heads. In conclusion, she expressed her satisfaction at +the chamber prepared for her, inasmuch as having been formerly the +studio of an artist, one window had been considerably elevated, while by +a singular arrangement of the interior shutters, the light could in any +direction be thrown about at will. + +Already Pierre had anticipated something of this sort; the first sight +of the easel having suggested it to him. His reply was therefore not +wholly unconsidered. He said, that so far as she herself was concerned, +the systematic practice of her art at present would certainly be a great +advantage in supplying her with a very delightful occupation. But since +she could hardly hope for any patronage from her mother's fashionable +and wealthy associates; indeed, as such a thing must be very far from +her own desires; and as it was only from the Apostles she could--for +some time to come, at least--reasonably anticipate sitters; and as those +Apostles were almost universally a very forlorn and penniless +set--though in truth there were some wonderfully rich-looking heads +among them--therefore, Lucy must not look for much immediate pecuniary +emolument. Ere long she might indeed do something very handsome; but at +the outset, it was well to be moderate in her expectations. This +admonishment came, modifiedly, from that certain stoic, dogged mood of +Pierre, born of his recent life, which taught him never to expect any +good from any thing; but always to anticipate ill; however not in +unreadiness to meet the contrary; and then, if good came, so much the +better. He added that he would that very morning go among the rooms and +corridors of the Apostles, familiarly announcing that his cousin, a +lady-artist in crayons, occupied a room adjoining his, where she would +be very happy to receive any sitters. + +"And now, Lucy, what shall be the terms? That is a very important point, +thou knowest." + +"I suppose, Pierre, they must be very low," said Lucy, looking at him +meditatively. + +"Very low, Lucy; very low, indeed." + +"Well, ten dollars, then." + +"Ten Banks of England, Lucy!" exclaimed Pierre. "Why, Lucy, that were +almost a quarter's income for some of the Apostles!" + +"Four dollars, Pierre." + +"I will tell thee now, Lucy--but first, how long does it take to +complete one portrait?" + +"Two sittings; and two mornings' work by myself, Pierre." + +"And let me see; what are thy materials? They are not very costly, I +believe. 'Tis not like cutting glass,--thy tools must not be pointed +with diamonds, Lucy?" + +"See, Pierre!" said Lucy, holding out her little palm, "see; this +handful of charcoal, a bit of bread, a crayon or two, and a square of +paper:--that is all." + +"Well, then, thou shalt charge one-seventy-five for a portrait." + +"Only one-seventy-five, Pierre?" + +"I am half afraid now we have set it far too high, Lucy. Thou must not +be extravagant. Look: if thy terms were ten dollars, and thou didst +crayon on trust; then thou wouldst have plenty of sitters, but small +returns. But if thou puttest thy terms right-down, and also sayest thou +must have thy cash right-down too--don't start so at that _cash_--then +not so many sitters to be sure, but more returns. Thou understandest." + +"It shall be just as thou say'st, Pierre." + +"Well, then, I will write a card for thee, stating thy terms; and put it +up conspicuously in thy room, so that every Apostle may know what he has +to expect." + +"Thank thee, thank thee, cousin Pierre," said Lucy, rising. "I rejoice +at thy pleasant and not entirely unhopeful view of my poor little plan. +But I must be doing something; I must be earning money. See, I have +eaten ever so much bread this morning, but have not earned one penny." + +With a humorous sadness Pierre measured the large remainder of the one +only piece she had touched, and then would have spoken banteringly to +her; but she had slid away into her own room. + +He was presently roused from the strange revery into which the +conclusion of this scene had thrown him, by the touch of Isabel's hand +upon his knee, and her large expressive glance upon his face. During all +the foregoing colloquy, she had remained entirely silent; but an +unoccupied observer would perhaps have noticed, that some new and very +strong emotions were restrainedly stirring within her. + +"Pierre!" she said, intently bending over toward him. + +"Well, well, Isabel," stammeringly replied Pierre; while a mysterious +color suffused itself over his whole face, neck, and brow; and +involuntarily he started a little back from her self-proffering form. + +Arrested by this movement Isabel eyed him fixedly; then slowly rose, and +with immense mournful stateliness, drew herself up, and said: "If thy +sister can ever come too nigh to thee, Pierre, tell thy sister so, +beforehand; for the September sun draws not up the valley-vapor more +jealously from the disdainful earth, than my secret god shall draw me up +from thee, if ever I can come too nigh to thee." + +Thus speaking, one hand was on her bosom, as if resolutely feeling of +something deadly there concealed; but, riveted by her general manner +more than by her particular gesture, Pierre, at the instant, did not so +particularly note the all-significant movement of the hand upon her +bosom, though afterward he recalled it, and darkly and thoroughly +comprehended its meaning. + +"Too nigh to me, Isabel? Sun or dew, thou fertilizest me! Can sunbeams +or drops of dew come too nigh the thing they warm and water? Then sit +down by me, Isabel, and sit close; wind in within my ribs,--if so thou +canst,--that my one frame may be the continent of two." + +"Fine feathers make fine birds, so I have heard," said Isabel, most +bitterly--"but do fine sayings always make fine deeds? Pierre, thou +didst but just now draw away from me!" + +"When we would most dearly embrace, we first throw back our arms, +Isabel; I but drew away, to draw so much the closer to thee." + +"Well; all words are arrant skirmishers; deeds are the army's self! be +it as thou sayest. I yet trust to thee.--Pierre." + +"My breath waits thine; what is it, Isabel?" + +"I have been more blockish than a block; I am mad to think of it! More +mad, that her great sweetness should first remind me of mine own +stupidity. But she shall not get the start of me! Pierre, some way I +must work for thee! See, I will sell this hair; have these teeth pulled +out; but some way I will earn money for thee!" + +Pierre now eyed her startledly. Touches of a determinate meaning shone +in her; some hidden thing was deeply wounded in her. An affectionate +soothing syllable was on his tongue; his arm was out; when shifting his +expression, he whisperingly and alarmedly exclaimed--"Hark! she is +coming.--Be still." + +But rising boldly, Isabel threw open the connecting door, exclaiming +half-hysterically--"Look, Lucy; here is the strangest husband; fearful +of being caught speaking to his wife!" + +With an artist's little box before her--whose rattling, perhaps, had +startled Pierre--Lucy was sitting midway in her room, opposite the +opened door; so that at that moment, both Pierre and Isabel were plainly +visible to her. The singular tone of Isabel's voice instantly caused her +to look up intently. At once, a sudden irradiation of some subtile +intelligence--but whether welcome to her, or otherwise, could not be +determined--shot over her whole aspect. She murmured some vague random +reply; and then bent low over her box, saying she was very busy. + +Isabel closed the door, and sat down again by Pierre. Her countenance +wore a mixed and writhing, impatient look. She seemed as one in whom the +most powerful emotion of life is caught in inextricable toils of +circumstances, and while longing to disengage itself, still knows that +all struggles will prove worse than vain; and so, for the moment, grows +madly reckless and defiant of all obstacles. Pierre trembled as he gazed +upon her. But soon the mood passed from her; her old, sweet mournfulness +returned; again the clear unfathomableness was in her mystic eye. + +"Pierre, ere now,--ere I ever knew thee--I have done mad things, which I +have never been conscious of, but in the dim recalling. I hold such +things no things of mine. What I now remember, as just now done, was one +of them." + +"Thou hast done nothing but shown thy strength, while I have shown my +weakness, Isabel;--yes, to the whole world thou art my wife--to her, +too, thou art my wife. Have I not told her so, myself? I was weaker than +a kitten, Isabel; and thou, strong as those high things angelical, from +which utmost beauty takes not strength." + +"Pierre, once such syllables from thee, were all refreshing, and +bedewing to me; now, though they drop as warmly and as fluidly from +thee, yet falling through another and an intercepting zone, they freeze +on the way, and clatter on my heart like hail, Pierre.---- Thou didst +not speak thus to her!" + +"She is not Isabel." + +The girl gazed at him with a quick and piercing scrutiny; then looked +quite calm, and spoke. "My guitar, Pierre: thou know'st how complete a +mistress I am of it; now, before thou gettest sitters for the +portrait-sketcher, thou shalt get pupils for the music-teacher. Wilt +thou?" and she looked at him with a persuasiveness and touchingness, +which to Pierre, seemed more than mortal. + +"My poor poor, Isabel!" cried Pierre; "thou art the mistress of the +natural sweetness of the guitar, not of its invented regulated +artifices; and these are all that the silly pupil will pay for learning. +And what thou hast can not be taught. Ah, thy sweet ignorance is all +transporting to me! my sweet, my sweet!--dear, divine girl!" And +impulsively he caught her in his arms. + +While the first fire of his feeling plainly glowed upon him, but ere he +had yet caught her to him, Isabel had backward glided close to the +connecting door; which, at the instant of his embrace, suddenly opened, +as by its own volition. + +Before the eyes of seated Lucy, Pierre and Isabel stood locked; Pierre's +lips upon her cheek. + + +II. + +Notwithstanding the maternal visit of Mrs. Tartan, and the +peremptoriness with which it had been closed by her declared departure +never to return, and her vow to teach all Lucy's relatives and friends, +and Lucy's own brothers, and her suitor, to disown her, and forget her; +yet Pierre fancied that he knew too much in general of the human heart, +and too much in particular of the character of both Glen and Frederic, +to remain entirely untouched by disquietude, concerning what those two +fiery youths might now be plotting against him, as the imagined monster, +by whose infernal tricks Lucy Tartan was supposed to have been seduced +from every earthly seemliness. Not happily, but only so much the more +gloomily, did he augur from the fact, that Mrs. Tartan had come to Lucy +unattended; and that Glen and Frederic had let eight-and-forty hours and +more go by, without giving the slightest hostile or neutral sign. At +first he thought, that bridling their impulsive fierceness, they were +resolved to take the slower, but perhaps the surer method, to wrest Lucy +back to them, by instituting some legal process. But this idea was +repulsed by more than one consideration. + +Not only was Frederic of that sort of temper, peculiar to military men, +which would prompt him, in so closely personal and intensely private and +family a matter, to scorn the hireling publicity of the law's lingering +arm; and impel him, as by the furiousness of fire, to be his own righter +and avenger; for, in him, it was perhaps quite as much the feeling of an +outrageous family affront to himself, through Lucy, as her own presumed +separate wrong, however black, which stung him to the quick: not only +were these things so respecting Frederic; but concerning Glen, Pierre +well knew, that be Glen heartless as he might, to do a deed of love, +Glen was not heartless to do a deed of hate; that though, on that +memorable night of his arrival in the city, Glen had heartlessly closed +his door upon him, yet now Glen might heartfully burst Pierre's open, if +by that he at all believed, that permanent success would crown the fray. + +Besides, Pierre knew this;--that so invincible is the natural, +untamable, latent spirit of a courageous manliness in man, that though +now socially educated for thousands of years in an arbitrary homage to +the Law, as the one only appointed redress for every injured person; yet +immemorially and universally, among all gentlemen of spirit, once to +have uttered independent personal threats of personal vengeance against +your foe, and then, after that, to fall back slinking into a court, and +hire with sops a pack of yelping pettifoggers to fight the battle so +valiantly proclaimed; this, on the surface, is ever deemed very +decorous, and very prudent--a most wise second thought; but, at bottom, +a miserably ignoble thing. Frederic was not the watery man for +that,--Glen had more grapey blood in him. + +Moreover, it seemed quite clear to Pierre, that only by making out Lucy +absolutely mad, and striving to prove it by a thousand despicable little +particulars, could the law succeed in tearing her from the refuge she +had voluntarily sought; a course equally abhorrent to all the parties +possibly to be concerned on either side. + +What then would those two boiling bloods do? Perhaps they would patrol +the streets; and at the first glimpse of lonely Lucy, kidnap her home. +Or if Pierre were with her, then, smite him down by hook or crook, fair +play or foul; and then, away with Lucy! Or if Lucy systematically kept +her room, then fall on Pierre in the most public way, fell him, and +cover him from all decent recognition beneath heaps on heaps of hate and +insult; so that broken on the wheel of such dishonor, Pierre might feel +himself unstrung, and basely yield the prize. + +Not the gibbering of ghosts in any old haunted house; no sulphurous and +portentous sign at night beheld in heaven, will so make the hair to +stand, as when a proud and honorable man is revolving in his soul the +possibilities of some gross public and corporeal disgrace. It is not +fear; it is a pride-horror, which is more terrible than any fear. Then, +by tremendous imagery, the murderer's mark of Cain is felt burning on +the brow, and the already acquitted knife blood-rusts in the clutch of +the anticipating hand. + +Certain that those two youths must be plotting something furious against +him; with the echoes of their scorning curses on the stairs still +ringing in his ears--curses, whose swift responses from himself, he, at +the time, had had much ado to check;--thoroughly alive to the +supernaturalism of that mad frothing hate which a spirited brother forks +forth at the insulter of a sister's honor--beyond doubt the most +uncompromising of all the social passions known to man--and not blind to +the anomalous fact, that if such a brother stab his foe at his own +mother's table, all people and all juries would bear him out, accounting +every thing allowable to a noble soul made mad by a sweet sister's shame +caused by a damned seducer;--imagining to himself his own feelings, if +he were actually in the position which Frederic so vividly fancied to +be his; remembering that in love matters jealousy is as an adder, and +that the jealousy of Glen was double-addered by the extraordinary malice +of the apparent circumstances under which Lucy had spurned Glen's arms, +and fled to his always successful and now married rival, as if wantonly +and shamelessly to nestle there;--remembering all these intense +incitements of both those foes of his, Pierre could not but look forward +to wild work very soon to come. Nor was the storm of passion in his soul +unratified by the decision of his coolest possible hour. Storm and calm +both said to him,--Look to thyself, oh Pierre! + +Murders are done by maniacs; but the earnest thoughts of murder, these +are the collected desperadoes. Pierre was such; fate, or what you will, +had made him such. But such he was. And when these things now swam +before him; when he thought of all the ambiguities which hemmed him in; +the stony walls all round that he could not overleap; the million +aggravations of his most malicious lot; the last lingering hope of +happiness licked up from him as by flames of fire, and his one only +prospect a black, bottomless gulf of guilt, upon whose verge he +imminently teetered every hour;--then the utmost hate of Glen and +Frederic were jubilantly welcome to him; and murder, done in the act of +warding off their ignominious public blow, seemed the one only congenial +sequel to such a desperate career. + + +III. + +As a statue, planted on a revolving pedestal, shows now this limb, now +that; now front, now back, now side; continually changing, too, its +general profile; so does the pivoted, statued soul of man, when turned +by the hand of Truth. Lies only never vary; look for no invariableness +in Pierre. Nor does any canting showman here stand by to announce his +phases as he revolves. Catch his phases as your insight may. + +Another day passed on; Glen and Frederic still absenting themselves, and +Pierre and Isabel and Lucy all dwelling together. The domestic presence +of Lucy had begun to produce a remarkable effect upon Pierre. Sometimes, +to the covertly watchful eye of Isabel, he would seem to look upon Lucy +with an expression illy befitting their singular and so-supposed merely +cousinly relation; and yet again, with another expression still more +unaccountable to her,--one of fear and awe, not unmixed with impatience. +But his general detailed manner toward Lucy was that of the most +delicate and affectionate considerateness--nothing more. He was never +alone with her; though, as before, at times alone with Isabel. + +Lucy seemed entirely undesirous of usurping any place about him; +manifested no slightest unwelcome curiosity as to Pierre, and no painful +embarrassment as to Isabel. Nevertheless, more and more did she seem, +hour by hour, to be somehow inexplicably sliding between them, without +touching them. Pierre felt that some strange heavenly influence was near +him, to keep him from some uttermost harm; Isabel was alive to some +untraceable displacing agency. Though when all three were together, the +marvelous serenity, and sweetness, and utter unsuspectingness of Lucy +obviated any thing like a common embarrassment: yet if there was any +embarrassment at all beneath that roof, it was sometimes when Pierre was +alone with Isabel, after Lucy would innocently quit them. + +Meantime Pierre was still going on with his book; every moment becoming +still the more sensible of the intensely inauspicious circumstances of +all sorts under which that labor was proceeding. And as the now +advancing and concentring enterprise demanded more and more compacted +vigor from him, he felt that he was having less and less to bring to it. +For not only was it the signal misery of Pierre, to be +invisibly--though but accidentally--goaded, in the hour of mental +immaturity, to the attempt at a mature work,--a circumstance +sufficiently lamentable in itself; but also, in the hour of his +clamorous pennilessness, he was additionally goaded into an enterprise +long and protracted in the execution, and of all things least calculated +for pecuniary profit in the end. How these things were so, whence they +originated, might be thoroughly and very beneficially explained; but +space and time here forbid. + +At length, domestic matters--rent and bread--had come to such a pass +with him, that whether or no, the first pages must go to the printer; +and thus was added still another tribulation; because the printed pages +now dictated to the following manuscript, and said to all subsequent +thoughts and inventions of Pierre--_Thus and thus_; _so and so_; _else +an ill match_. Therefore, was his book already limited, bound over, and +committed to imperfection, even before it had come to any confirmed form +or conclusion at all. Oh, who shall reveal the horrors of poverty in +authorship that is high? While the silly Millthorpe was railing against +his delay of a few weeks and months; how bitterly did unreplying Pierre +feel in his heart, that to most of the great works of humanity, their +authors had given, not weeks and months, not years and years, but their +wholly surrendered and dedicated lives. On either hand clung to by a +girl who would have laid down her life for him; Pierre, nevertheless, in +his deepest, highest part, was utterly without sympathy from any thing +divine, human, brute, or vegetable. One in a city of hundreds of +thousands of human beings, Pierre was solitary as at the Pole. + +And the great woe of all was this: that all these things were +unsuspected without, and undivulgible from within; the very daggers that +stabbed him were joked at by Imbecility, Ignorance, Blockheadedness, +Self-Complacency, and the universal Blearedness and Besottedness around +him. Now he began to feel that in him, the thews of a Titan were +forestallingly cut by the scissors of Fate. He felt as a moose, +hamstrung. All things that think, or move, or lie still, seemed as +created to mock and torment him. He seemed gifted with loftiness, merely +that it might be dragged down to the mud. Still, the profound +willfulness in him would not give up. Against the breaking heart, and +the bursting head; against all the dismal lassitude, and deathful +faintness and sleeplessness, and whirlingness, and craziness, still he +like a demigod bore up. His soul's ship foresaw the inevitable rocks, +but resolved to sail on, and make a courageous wreck. Now he gave jeer +for jeer, and taunted the apes that jibed him. With the soul of an +Atheist, he wrote down the godliest things; with the feeling of misery +and death in him, he created forms of gladness and life. For the pangs +in his heart, he put down hoots on the paper. And every thing else he +disguised under the so conveniently adjustable drapery of +all-stretchable Philosophy. For the more and the more that he wrote, and +the deeper and the deeper that he dived, Pierre saw the everlasting +elusiveness of Truth; the universal lurking insincerity of even the +greatest and purest written thoughts. Like knavish cards, the leaves of +all great books were covertly packed. He was but packing one set the +more; and that a very poor jaded set and pack indeed. So that there was +nothing he more spurned, than his own aspirations; nothing he more +abhorred than the loftiest part of himself. The brightest success, now +seemed intolerable to him, since he so plainly saw, that the brightest +success could not be the sole offspring of Merit; but of Merit for the +one thousandth part, and nine hundred and ninety-nine combining and +dove-tailing accidents for the rest. So beforehand he despised those +laurels which in the very nature of things, can never be impartially +bestowed. But while thus all the earth was depopulated of ambition for +him; still circumstances had put him in the attitude of an eager +contender for renown. So beforehand he felt the unrevealable sting of +receiving either plaudits or censures, equally unsought for, and +equally loathed ere given. So, beforehand he felt the pyramidical scorn +of the genuine loftiness for the whole infinite company of infinitesimal +critics. His was the scorn which thinks it not worth the while to be +scornful. Those he most scorned, never knew it. In that lonely little +closet of his, Pierre foretasted all that this world hath either of +praise or dispraise; and thus foretasting both goblets, anticipatingly +hurled them both in its teeth. All panegyric, all denunciation, all +criticism of any sort, would come too late for Pierre. + +But man does never give himself up thus, a doorless and shutterless +house for the four loosened winds of heaven to howl through, without +still additional dilapidations. Much oftener than before, Pierre laid +back in his chair with the deadly feeling of faintness. Much oftener +than before, came staggering home from his evening walk, and from sheer +bodily exhaustion economized the breath that answered the anxious +inquiries as to what might be done for him. And as if all the leagued +spiritual inveteracies and malices, combined with his general bodily +exhaustion, were not enough, a special corporeal affliction now +descended like a sky-hawk upon him. His incessant application told upon +his eyes. They became so affected, that some days he wrote with the lids +nearly closed, fearful of opening them wide to the light. Through the +lashes he peered upon the paper, which so seemed fretted with wires. +Sometimes he blindly wrote with his eyes turned away from the +paper;--thus unconsciously symbolizing the hostile necessity and +distaste, the former whereof made of him this most unwilling +states-prisoner of letters. + +As every evening, after his day's writing was done, the proofs of the +beginning of his work came home for correction, Isabel would read them +to him. They were replete with errors; but preoccupied by the thronging, +and undiluted, pure imaginings of things, he became impatient of such +minute, gnat-like torments; he randomly corrected the worst, and let +the rest go; jeering with himself at the rich harvest thus furnished to +the entomological critics. + +But at last he received a tremendous interior intimation, to hold +off--to be still from his unnatural struggle. + +In the earlier progress of his book, he had found some relief in making +his regular evening walk through the greatest thoroughfare of the city; +that so, the utter isolation of his soul, might feel itself the more +intensely from the incessant jogglings of his body against the bodies of +the hurrying thousands. Then he began to be sensible of more fancying +stormy nights, than pleasant ones; for then, the great thoroughfares +were less thronged, and the innumerable shop-awnings flapped and beat +like schooners' broad sails in a gale, and the shutters banged like +lashed bulwarks; and the slates fell hurtling like displaced ship's +blocks from aloft. Stemming such tempests through the deserted streets, +Pierre felt a dark, triumphant joy; that while others had crawled in +fear to their kennels, he alone defied the storm-admiral, whose most +vindictive peltings of hail-stones,--striking his iron-framed fiery +furnace of a body,--melted into soft dew, and so, harmlessly trickled +from off him. + +By-and-by, of such howling, pelting nights, he began to bend his steps +down the dark, narrow side-streets, in quest of the more secluded and +mysterious tap-rooms. There he would feel a singular satisfaction, in +sitting down all dripping in a chair, ordering his half-pint of ale +before him, and drawing over his cap to protect his eyes from the light, +eye the varied faces of the social castaways, who here had their haunts +from the bitterest midnights. + +But at last he began to feel a distaste for even these; and now nothing +but the utter night-desolation of the obscurest warehousing lanes would +content him, or be at all sufferable to him. Among these he had now been +accustomed to wind in and out every evening; till one night as he paused +a moment previous to turning about for home, a sudden, unwonted, and +all-pervading sensation seized him. He knew not where he was; he did not +have any ordinary life-feeling at all. He could not see; though +instinctively putting his hand to his eyes, he seemed to feel that the +lids were open. Then he was sensible of a combined blindness, and +vertigo, and staggering; before his eyes a million green meteors danced; +he felt his foot tottering upon the curb, he put out his hands, and knew +no more for the time. When he came to himself he found that he was lying +crosswise in the gutter, dabbled with mud and slime. He raised himself +to try if he could stand; but the fit was entirely gone. Immediately he +quickened his steps homeward, forbearing to rest or pause at all on the +way, lest that rush of blood to his head, consequent upon his sudden +cessation from walking, should again smite him down. This circumstance +warned him away from those desolate streets, lest the repetition of the +fit should leave him there to perish by night in unknown and unsuspected +loneliness. But if that terrible vertigo had been also intended for +another and deeper warning, he regarded such added warning not at all; +but again plied heart and brain as before. + +But now at last since the very blood in his body had in vain rebelled +against his Titanic soul; now the only visible outward symbols of that +soul--his eyes--did also turn downright traitors to him, and with more +success than the rebellious blood. He had abused them so recklessly, +that now they absolutely refused to look on paper. He turned them on +paper, and they blinked and shut. The pupils of his eyes rolled away +from him in their own orbits. He put his hand up to them, and sat back +in his seat. Then, without saying one word, he continued there for his +usual term, suspended, motionless, blank. + +But next morning--it was some few days after the arrival of Lucy--still +feeling that a certain downright infatuation, and no less, is both +unavoidable and indispensable in the composition of any great, deep +book, or even any wholly unsuccessful attempt at any great, deep book; +next morning he returned to the charge. But again the pupils of his eyes +rolled away from him in their orbits: and now a general and nameless +torpor--some horrible foretaste of death itself--seemed stealing upon +him. + + +IV. + +During this state of semi-unconsciousness, or rather trance, a +remarkable dream or vision came to him. The actual artificial objects +around him slid from him, and were replaced by a baseless yet most +imposing spectacle of natural scenery. But though a baseless vision in +itself, this airy spectacle assumed very familiar features to Pierre. It +was the phantasmagoria of the Mount of the Titans, a singular height +standing quite detached in a wide solitude not far from the grand range +of dark blue hills encircling his ancestral manor. + +Say what some poets will, Nature is not so much her own ever-sweet +interpreter, as the mere supplier of that cunning alphabet, whereby +selecting and combining as he pleases, each man reads his own peculiar +lesson according to his own peculiar mind and mood. Thus a +high-aspiring, but most moody, disappointed bard, chancing once to visit +the Meadows and beholding that fine eminence, christened it by the name +it ever after bore; completely extinguishing its former title--The +Delectable Mountain--one long ago bestowed by an old Baptist farmer, an +hereditary admirer of Bunyan and his most marvelous book. From the spell +of that name the mountain never afterward escaped; for now, gazing upon +it by the light of those suggestive syllables, no poetical observer +could resist the apparent felicity of the title. For as if indeed the +immemorial mount would fain adapt itself to its so recent name, some +people said that it had insensibly changed its pervading aspect within a +score or two of winters. Nor was this strange conceit entirely without +foundation, seeing that the annual displacements of huge rocks and +gigantic trees were continually modifying its whole front and general +contour. + +On the north side, where it fronted the old Manor-house, some fifteen +miles distant, the height, viewed from the piazza of a soft +haze-canopied summer's noon, presented a long and beautiful, but not +entirely inaccessible-looking purple precipice, some two thousand feet +in air, and on each hand sideways sloping down to lofty terraces of +pastures. + +Those hill-side pastures, be it said, were thickly sown with a small +white amaranthine flower, which, being irreconcilably distasteful to the +cattle, and wholly rejected by them, and yet, continually multiplying on +every hand, did by no means contribute to the agricultural value of +those elevated lands. Insomuch, that for this cause, the disheartened +dairy tenants of that part of the Manor, had petitioned their +lady-landlord for some abatement in their annual tribute of upland +grasses, in the Juny-load; rolls of butter in the October crock; and +steers and heifers on the October hoof; with turkeys in the Christmas +sleigh. + +"The small white flower, it is our bane!" the imploring tenants cried. +"The aspiring amaranth, every year it climbs and adds new terraces to +its sway! The immortal amaranth, it will not die, but last year's +flowers survive to this! The terraced pastures grow glittering white, +and in warm June still show like banks of snow:--fit token of the +sterileness the amaranth begets! Then free us from the amaranth, good +lady, or be pleased to abate our rent!" + +Now, on a somewhat nearer approach, the precipice did not belie its +purple promise from the manorial piazza--that sweet imposing purple +promise, which seemed fully to vindicate the Bunyanish old title +originally bestowed;--but showed the profuse aerial foliage of a hanging +forest. Nevertheless, coming still more nigh, long and frequent rents +among the mass of leaves revealed horrible glimpses of dark-dripping +rocks, and mysterious mouths of wolfish caves. Struck by this most +unanticipated view, the tourist now quickened his impulsive steps to +verify the change by coming into direct contact with so chameleon a +height. As he would now speed on, the lower ground, which from the +manor-house piazza seemed all a grassy level, suddenly merged into a +very long and weary acclivity, slowly rising close up to the precipice's +base; so that the efflorescent grasses rippled against it, as the +efflorescent waves of some great swell or long rolling billow ripple +against the water-line of a steep gigantic war-ship on the sea. And, as +among the rolling sea-like sands of Egypt, disordered rows of broken +Sphinxes lead to the Cheopian pyramid itself; so this long acclivity was +thickly strewn with enormous rocky masses, grotesque in shape, and with +wonderful features on them, which seemed to express that slumbering +intelligence visible in some recumbent beasts--beasts whose intelligence +seems struck dumb in them by some sorrowful and inexplicable spell. +Nevertheless, round and round those still enchanted rocks, hard by their +utmost rims, and in among their cunning crevices, the misanthropic +hill-scaling goat nibbled his sweetest food; for the rocks, so barren in +themselves, distilled a subtile moisture, which fed with greenness all +things that grew about their igneous marge. + +Quitting those recumbent rocks, you still ascended toward the hanging +forest, and piercing within its lowermost fringe, then suddenly you +stood transfixed, as a marching soldier confounded at the sight of an +impregnable redoubt, where he had fancied it a practicable vault to his +courageous thews. Cunningly masked hitherto, by the green tapestry of +the interlacing leaves, a terrific towering palisade of dark mossy +massiness confronted you; and, trickling with unevaporable moisture, +distilled upon you from its beetling brow slow thunder-showers of +water-drops, chill as the last dews of death. Now you stood and shivered +in that twilight, though it were high noon and burning August down the +meads. All round and round, the grim scarred rocks rallied and +re-rallied themselves; shot up, protruded, stretched, swelled, and +eagerly reached forth; on every side bristlingly radiating with a +hideous repellingness. Tossed, and piled, and indiscriminate among +these, like bridging rifts of logs up-jammed in alluvial-rushing streams +of far Arkansas: or, like great masts and yards of overwhelmed fleets +hurled high and dashed amain, all splintering together, on hovering +ridges of the Atlantic sea,--you saw the melancholy trophies which the +North Wind, championing the unquenchable quarrel of the Winter, had +wrested from the forests, and dismembered them on their own chosen +battle-ground, in barbarous disdain. 'Mid this spectacle of wide and +wanton spoil, insular noises of falling rocks would boomingly explode +upon the silence and fright all the echoes, which ran shrieking in and +out among the caves, as wailing women and children in some assaulted +town. + +Stark desolation; ruin, merciless and ceaseless; chills and gloom,--all +here lived a hidden life, curtained by that cunning purpleness, which, +from the piazza of the manor house, so beautifully invested the mountain +once called Delectable, but now styled Titanic. + +Beaten off by such undreamed-of glooms and steeps, you now sadly +retraced your steps, and, mayhap, went skirting the inferior sideway +terraces of pastures; where the multiple and most sterile inodorous +immortalness of the small, white flower furnished no aliment for the +mild cow's meditative cud. But here and there you still might smell from +far the sweet aromaticness of clumps of catnip, that dear farm-house +herb. Soon you would see the modest verdure of the plant itself; and +wheresoever you saw that sight, old foundation stones and rotting +timbers of log-houses long extinct would also meet your eye; their +desolation illy hid by the green solicitudes of the unemigrating herb. +Most fitly named the catnip; since, like the unrunagate cat, though all +that's human forsake the place, that plant will long abide, long bask +and bloom on the abandoned hearth. Illy hid; for every spring the +amaranthine and celestial flower gained on the mortal household herb; +for every autumn the catnip died, but never an autumn made the amaranth +to wane. The catnip and the amaranth!--man's earthly household peace, +and the ever-encroaching appetite for God. + +No more now you sideways followed the sad pasture's skirt, but took your +way adown the long declivity, fronting the mystic height. In mid field +again you paused among the recumbent sphinx-like shapes thrown off from +the rocky steep. You paused; fixed by a form defiant, a form of +awfulness. You saw Enceladus the Titan, the most potent of all the +giants, writhing from out the imprisoning earth;--turbaned with upborn +moss he writhed; still, though armless, resisting with his whole +striving trunk, the Pelion and the Ossa hurled back at him;--turbaned +with upborn moss he writhed; still turning his unconquerable front +toward that majestic mount eternally in vain assailed by him, and which, +when it had stormed him off, had heaved his undoffable incubus upon him, +and deridingly left him there to bay out his ineffectual howl. + +To Pierre this wondrous shape had always been a thing of interest, +though hitherto all its latent significance had never fully and +intelligibly smitten him. In his earlier boyhood a strolling company of +young collegian pedestrians had chanced to light upon the rock; and, +struck with its remarkableness, had brought a score of picks and spades, +and dug round it to unearth it, and find whether indeed it were a +demoniac freak of nature, or some stern thing of antediluvian art. +Accompanying this eager party, Pierre first beheld that deathless son of +Terra. At that time, in its untouched natural state, the statue +presented nothing but the turbaned head of igneous rock rising from out +the soil, with its unabasable face turned upward toward the mountain, +and the bull-like neck clearly defined. With distorted features, scarred +and broken, and a black brow mocked by the upborn moss, Enceladus there +subterraneously stood, fast frozen into the earth at the junction of the +neck. Spades and picks soon heaved part of his Ossa from him, till at +last a circular well was opened round him to the depth of some thirteen +feet. At that point the wearied young collegians gave over their +enterprise in despair. With all their toil, they had not yet come to the +girdle of Enceladus. But they had bared good part of his mighty chest, +and exposed his mutilated shoulders, and the stumps of his once +audacious arms. Thus far uncovering his shame, in that cruel plight they +had abandoned him, leaving stark naked his in vain indignant chest to +the defilements of the birds, which for untold ages had cast their +foulness on his vanquished crest. + +Not unworthy to be compared with that leaden Titan, wherewith the art of +Marsy and the broad-flung pride of Bourbon enriched the enchanted +gardens of Versailles;--and from whose still twisted mouth for sixty +feet the waters yet upgush, in elemental rivalry with those Etna flames, +of old asserted to be the malicious breath of the borne-down giant;--not +unworthy to be compared with that leaden demi-god--piled with costly +rocks, and with one bent wrenching knee protruding from the broken +bronze;--not unworthy to be compared with that bold trophy of high art, +this American Enceladus, wrought by the vigorous hand of Nature's self, +it did go further than compare;--it did far surpass that fine figure +molded by the inferior skill of man. Marsy gave arms to the eternally +defenseless; but Nature, more truthful, performed an amputation, and +left the impotent Titan without one serviceable ball-and-socket above +the thigh. + +Such was the wild scenery--the Mount of Titans, and the repulsed group +of heaven-assaulters, with Enceladus in their midst shamefully recumbent +at its base;--such was the wild scenery, which now to Pierre, in his +strange vision, displaced the four blank walls, the desk, and camp-bed, +and domineered upon his trance. But no longer petrified in all their +ignominious attitudes, the herded Titans now sprung to their feet; flung +themselves up the slope; and anew battered at the precipice's +unresounding wall. Foremost among them all, he saw a moss-turbaned, +armless giant, who despairing of any other mode of wreaking his +immitigable hate, turned his vast trunk into a battering-ram, and hurled +his own arched-out ribs again and yet again against the invulnerable +steep. + +"Enceladus! it is Enceladus!"--Pierre cried out in his sleep. That +moment the phantom faced him; and Pierre saw Enceladus no more; but on +the Titan's armless trunk, his own duplicate face and features +magnifiedly gleamed upon him with prophetic discomfiture and woe. With +trembling frame he started from his chair, and woke from that ideal +horror to all his actual grief. + + +V. + +Nor did Pierre's random knowledge of the ancient fables fail still +further to elucidate the vision which so strangely had supplied a tongue +to muteness. But that elucidation was most repulsively fateful and +foreboding; possibly because Pierre did not leap the final barrier of +gloom; possibly because Pierre did not willfully wrest some final +comfort from the fable; did not flog this stubborn rock as Moses his, +and force even aridity itself to quench his painful thirst. + +Thus smitten, the Mount of Titans seems to yield this following +stream:-- + +Old Titan's self was the son of incestuous Coelus and Terra, the son +of incestuous Heaven and Earth. And Titan married his mother Terra, +another and accumulatively incestuous match. And thereof Enceladus was +one issue. So Enceladus was both the son and grandson of an incest; and +even thus, there had been born from the organic blended heavenliness and +earthliness of Pierre, another mixed, uncertain, heaven-aspiring, but +still not wholly earth-emancipated mood; which again, by its terrestrial +taint held down to its terrestrial mother, generated there the present +doubly incestuous Enceladus within him; so that the present mood of +Pierre--that reckless sky-assaulting mood of his, was nevertheless on +one side the grandson of the sky. For it is according to eternal +fitness, that the precipitated Titan should still seek to regain his +paternal birthright even by fierce escalade. Wherefore whoso storms the +sky gives best proof he came from thither! But whatso crawls contented +in the moat before that crystal fort, shows it was born within that +slime, and there forever will abide. + +Recovered somewhat from the after-spell of this wild vision folded in +his trance, Pierre composed his front as best he might, and straightway +left his fatal closet. Concentrating all the remaining stuff in him, he +resolved by an entire and violent change, and by a willful act against +his own most habitual inclinations, to wrestle with the strange malady +of his eyes, this new death-fiend of the trance, and this Inferno of his +Titanic vision. + +And now, just as he crossed the threshold of the closet, he writhingly +strove to assume an expression intended to be not uncheerful--though how +indeed his countenance at all looked, he could not tell; for dreading +some insupportably dark revealments in his glass, he had of late wholly +abstained from appealing to it--and in his mind he rapidly conned over, +what indifferent, disguising, or light-hearted gamesome things he +should say, when proposing to his companions the little design he +cherished. + +And even so, to grim Enceladus, the world the gods had chained for a +ball to drag at his o'erfreighted feet;--even so that globe put forth a +thousand flowers, whose fragile smiles disguised his ponderous load. + + + + +BOOK XXVI. + +A WALK: A FOREIGN PORTRAIT: A SAIL: AND THE END. + + +I. + +"Come, Isabel, come, Lucy; we have not had a single walk together yet. +It is cold, but clear; and once out of the city, we shall find it sunny. +Come: get ready now, and away for a stroll down to the wharf, and then +for some of the steamers on the bay. No doubt, Lucy, you will find in +the bay scenery some hints for that secret sketch you are so busily +occupied with--ere real living sitters do come--and which you so +devotedly work at, all alone and behind closed doors." + +Upon this, Lucy's original look of pale-rippling pleasantness and +surprise--evoked by Pierre's unforeseen proposition to give himself some +relaxation--changed into one of infinite, mute, but unrenderable +meaning, while her swimming eyes gently, yet all-bewildered, fell to the +floor. + +"It is finished, then," cried Isabel,--not unmindful of this by-scene, +and passionately stepping forward so as to intercept Pierre's momentary +rapt glance at the agitated Lucy,--"That vile book, it is +finished!--Thank Heaven!" + +"Not so," said Pierre; and, displacing all disguisements, a hectic +unsummoned expression suddenly came to his face;--"but ere that vile +book be finished, I must get on some other element than earth. I have +sat on earth's saddle till I am weary; I must now vault over to the +other saddle awhile. Oh, seems to me, there should be two ceaseless +steeds for a bold man to ride,--the Land and the Sea; and like +circus-men we should never dismount, but only be steadied and rested by +leaping from one to the other, while still, side by side, they both race +round the sun. I have been on the Land steed so long, oh I am dizzy!" + +"Thou wilt never listen to me, Pierre," said Lucy lowly; "there is no +need of this incessant straining. See, Isabel and I have both offered to +be thy amanuenses;--not in mere copying, but in the original writing; I +am sure that would greatly assist thee." + +"Impossible! I fight a duel in which all seconds are forbid." + +"Ah Pierre! Pierre!" cried Lucy, dropping the shawl in her hand, and +gazing at him with unspeakable longings of some unfathomable emotion. + +Namelessly glancing at Lucy, Isabel slid near to him, seized his hand +and spoke. + +"I would go blind for thee, Pierre; here, take out these eyes, and use +them for glasses." So saying, she looked with a strange momentary +haughtiness and defiance at Lucy. + +A general half involuntary movement was now made, as if they were about +to depart. + +"Ye are ready; go ye before"--said Lucy meekly; "I will follow." + +"Nay, one on each arm"--said Pierre--"come!" + +As they passed through the low arched vestibule into the street, a +cheek-burnt, gamesome sailor passing, exclaimed--"Steer small, my lad; +'tis a narrow strait thou art in!" + +"What says he?"--said Lucy gently. "Yes, it is a narrow strait of a +street indeed." + +But Pierre felt a sudden tremble transferred to him from Isabel, who +whispered something inarticulate in his ear. + +Gaining one of the thoroughfares, they drew near to a conspicuous +placard over a door, announcing that above stairs was a gallery of +paintings, recently imported from Europe, and now on free exhibition +preparatory to their sale by auction. Though this encounter had been +entirely unforeseen by Pierre, yet yielding to the sudden impulse, he at +once proposed their visiting the pictures. The girls assented, and they +ascended the stairs. + +In the anteroom, a catalogue was put into his hand. He paused to give +one hurried, comprehensive glance at it. Among long columns of such +names as Rubens, Raphael, Angelo, Domenichino, Da Vinci, all shamelessly +prefaced with the words "undoubted," or "testified," Pierre met the +following brief line:--"_No. 99. A stranger's head, by an unknown +hand._" + +It seemed plain that the whole must be a collection of those wretched +imported daubs, which with the incredible effrontery peculiar to some of +the foreign picture-dealers in America, were christened by the loftiest +names known to Art. But as the most mutilated torsoes of the perfections +of antiquity are not unworthy the student's attention, neither are the +most bungling modern incompletenesses: for both are torsoes; one of +perished perfections in the past; the other, by anticipation, of yet +unfulfilled perfections in the future. Still, as Pierre walked along by +the thickly hung walls, and seemed to detect the infatuated vanity which +must have prompted many of these utterly unknown artists in the +attempted execution by feeble hand of vigorous themes; he could not +repress the most melancholy foreboding concerning himself. All the walls +of the world seemed thickly hung with the empty and impotent scope of +pictures, grandly outlined, but miserably filled. The smaller and +humbler pictures, representing little familiar things, were by far the +best executed; but these, though touching him not unpleasingly, in one +restricted sense, awoke no dormant majesties in his soul, and therefore, +upon the whole, were contemptibly inadequate and unsatisfactory. + +At last Pierre and Isabel came to that painting of which Pierre was +capriciously in search--No. 99. + +"My God! see! see!" cried Isabel, under strong excitement, "only my +mirror has ever shown me that look before! See! see!" + +By some mere hocus-pocus of chance, or subtly designing knavery, a real +Italian gem of art had found its way into this most hybrid collection of +impostures. + +No one who has passed through the great galleries of Europe, +unbewildered by their wonderful multitudinousness of surpassing +excellence--a redundancy which neutralizes all discrimination or +individualizing capacity in most ordinary minds--no calm, penetrative +person can have victoriously run that painted gauntlet of the gods, +without certain very special emotions, called forth by some one or more +individual paintings, to which, however, both the catalogues and the +criticisms of the greatest connoisseurs deny any all-transcending merit, +at all answering to the effect thus casually produced. There is no time +now to show fully how this is; suffice it, that in such instances, it is +not the abstract excellence always, but often the accidental +congeniality, which occasions this wonderful emotion. Still, the +individual himself is apt to impute it to a different cause; hence, the +headlong enthusiastic admiration of some one or two men for things not +at all praised by--or at most, which are indifferent to--the rest of the +world;--a matter so often considered inexplicable. + +But in this Stranger's Head by the Unknown Hand, the abstract general +excellence united with the all-surprising, accidental congeniality in +producing an accumulated impression of power upon both Pierre and +Isabel. Nor was the strangeness of this at all impaired by the apparent +uninterestedness of Lucy concerning that very picture. Indeed, +Lucy--who, owing to the occasional jolting of the crowd, had loosened +her arm from Pierre's, and so, gradually, had gone on along the pictured +hall in advance--Lucy had thus passed the strange painting, without the +least special pause, and had now wandered round to the precisely +opposite side of the hall; where, at this present time, she was standing +motionless before a very tolerable copy (the only other good thing in +the collection) of that sweetest, most touching, but most awful of all +feminine heads--The Cenci of Guido. The wonderfulness of which head +consists chiefly, perhaps, in a striking, suggested contrast, +half-identical with, and half-analogous to, that almost supernatural +one--sometimes visible in the maidens of tropical nations--namely, soft +and light blue eyes, with an extremely fair complexion; vailed by +funereally jetty hair. But with blue eyes and fair complexion, the +Cenci's hair is golden--physically, therefore, all is in strict, natural +keeping; which, nevertheless, still the more intensifies the suggested +fanciful anomaly of so sweetly and seraphically _blonde_ a being, being +double-hooded, as it were, by the black crape of the two most horrible +crimes (of one of which she is the object, and of the other the agent) +possible to civilized humanity--incest and parricide. + +Now, this Cenci and "the Stranger" were hung at a good elevation in one +of the upper tiers; and, from the opposite walls, exactly faced each +other; so that in secret they seemed pantomimically talking over and +across the heads of the living spectators below. + +With the aspect of the Cenci every one is familiar. "The Stranger" was a +dark, comely, youthful man's head, portentously looking out of a dark, +shaded ground, and ambiguously smiling. There was no discoverable +drapery; the dark head, with its crisp, curly, jetty hair, seemed just +disentangling itself from out of curtains and clouds. But to Isabel, in +the eye and on the brow, were certain shadowy traces of her own +unmistakable likeness; while to Pierre, this face was in part as the +resurrection of the one he had burnt at the Inn. Not that the separate +features were the same; but the pervading look of it, the subtler +interior keeping of the entirety, was almost identical; still, for all +this, there was an unequivocal aspect of foreignness, of Europeanism, +about both the face itself and the general painting. + +"Is it? Is it? Can it be?" whispered Isabel, intensely. + +Now, Isabel knew nothing of the painting which Pierre had destroyed. But +she solely referred to the living being who--under the designation of +her father--had visited her at the cheerful house to which she had been +removed during childhood from the large and unnamable one by the +pleasant woman in the coach. Without doubt--though indeed she might not +have been at all conscious of it in her own mystic mind--she must have +somehow vaguely fancied, that this being had always through life worn +the same aspect to every body else which he had to her, for so very +brief an interval of his possible existence. Solely knowing him--or +dreaming of him, it may have been--under that one aspect, she could not +conceive of him under any other. Whether or not these considerations +touching Isabel's ideas occurred to Pierre at this moment is very +improbable. At any rate, he said nothing to her, either to deceive or +undeceive, either to enlighten or obscure. For, indeed, he was too much +riveted by his own far-interior emotions to analyze now the cotemporary +ones of Isabel. So that there here came to pass a not unremarkable +thing: for though both were intensely excited by one object, yet their +two minds and memories were thereby directed to entirely different +contemplations; while still each, for the time--however +unreasonably--might have vaguely supposed the other occupied by one and +the same contemplation. Pierre was thinking of the chair-portrait: +Isabel, of the living face. Yet Isabel's fervid exclamations having +reference to the living face, were now, as it were, mechanically +responded to by Pierre, in syllables having reference to the +chair-portrait. Nevertheless, so subtile and spontaneous was it all, +that neither perhaps ever afterward discovered this contradiction; for, +events whirled them so rapidly and peremptorily after this, that they +had no time for those calm retrospective reveries indispensable perhaps +to such a discovery. + +"Is it? is it? can it be?" was the intense whisper of Isabel. + +"No, it can not be, it is not," replied Pierre; "one of the wonderful +coincidences, nothing more." + +"Oh, by that word, Pierre, we but vainly seek to explain the +inexplicable. Tell me: it is! it must be! it is wonderful!" + +"Let us begone; and let us keep eternal silence," said Pierre, quickly; +and, seeking Lucy, they abruptly left the place; as before, Pierre, +seemingly unwilling to be accosted by any one he knew, or who knew his +companions, unconsciously accelerating their steps while forced for a +space to tread the thoroughfares. + + +II. + +As they hurried on, Pierre was silent; but wild thoughts were hurrying +and shouting in his heart. The most tremendous displacing and +revolutionizing thoughts were upheaving in him, with reference to +Isabel; nor--though at the time he was hardly conscious of such a +thing--were these thoughts wholly unwelcome to him. + +How did he know that Isabel was his sister? Setting aside Aunt +Dorothea's nebulous legend, to which, in some shadowy points, here and +there Isabel's still more nebulous story seemed to fit on,--though but +uncertainly enough--and both of which thus blurredly conjoining +narrations, regarded in the unscrupulous light of real naked reason, +were any thing but legitimately conclusive; and setting aside his own +dim reminiscences of his wandering father's death-bed; (for though, in +one point of view, those reminiscences might have afforded some degree +of presumption as to his father's having been the parent of an +unacknowledged daughter, yet were they entirely inconclusive as to that +presumed daughter's identity; and the grand point now with Pierre was, +not the general question whether his father had had a daughter, but +whether, assuming that he had had, _Isabel_, rather than any other +living being, _was that daughter_;)--and setting aside all his own +manifold and inter-enfolding mystic and transcendental +persuasions,--originally born, as he now seemed to feel, purely of an +intense procreative enthusiasm:--an enthusiasm no longer so +all-potential with him as of yore; setting all these aside, and coming +to the plain, palpable facts,--how did he _know_ that Isabel was his +sister? Nothing that he saw in her face could he remember as having seen +in his father's. The chair-portrait, _that_ was the entire sum and +substance of all possible, rakable, downright presumptive evidence, +which peculiarly appealed to his own separate self. Yet here was another +portrait of a complete stranger--a European; a portrait imported from +across the seas, and to be sold at public auction, which was just as +strong an evidence as the other. Then, the original of this second +portrait was as much the father of Isabel as the original of the +chair-portrait. But perhaps there was no original at all to this second +portrait; it might have been a pure fancy piece; to which conceit, +indeed, the uncharacterizing style of the filling-up seemed to furnish +no small testimony. + +With such bewildering meditations as these in him, running up like +clasping waves upon the strand of the most latent secrecies of his soul, +and with both Isabel and Lucy bodily touching his sides as he walked; +the feelings of Pierre were entirely untranslatable into any words that +can be used. + +Of late to Pierre, much more vividly than ever before, the whole story +of Isabel had seemed an enigma, a mystery, an imaginative delirium; +especially since he had got so deep into the inventional mysteries of +his book. For he who is most practically and deeply conversant with +mysticisms and mysteries; he who professionally deals in mysticisms and +mysteries himself; often that man, more than any body else, is disposed +to regard such things in others as very deceptively bejuggling; and +likewise is apt to be rather materialistic in all his own merely +personal notions (as in their practical lives, with priests of +Eleusinian religions), and more than any other man, is often inclined, +at the bottom of his soul, to be uncompromisingly skeptical on all novel +visionary hypotheses of any kind. It is only the no-mystics, or the +half-mystics, who, properly speaking, are credulous. So that in Pierre, +was presented the apparent anomaly of a mind, which by becoming really +profound in itself, grew skeptical of all tendered profundities; +whereas, the contrary is generally supposed. + +By some strange arts Isabel's wonderful story might have been, someway, +and for some cause, forged for her, in her childhood, and craftily +impressed upon her youthful mind; which so--like a slight mark in a +young tree--had now enlargingly grown with her growth, till it had +become this immense staring marvel. Tested by any thing real, practical, +and reasonable, what less probable, for instance, than that fancied +crossing of the sea in her childhood, when upon Pierre's subsequent +questioning of her, she did not even know that the sea was salt. + + +III. + +In the midst of all these mental confusions they arrived at the wharf; +and selecting the most inviting of the various boats which lay about +them in three or four adjacent ferry-slips, and one which was bound for +a half-hour's sail across the wide beauty of that glorious bay; they +soon found themselves afloat and in swift gliding motion. + +They stood leaning on the rail of the guard, as the sharp craft darted +out from among the lofty pine-forests of ships'-masts, and the tangled +underbrush and cane-brakes of the dwarfed sticks of sloops and scows. +Soon, the spires of stone on the land, blent with the masts of wood on +the water; the crotch of the twin-rivers pressed the great wedged city +almost out of sight. They swept by two little islets distant from the +shore; they wholly curved away from the domes of free-stone and marble, +and gained the great sublime dome of the bay's wide-open waters. + +Small breeze had been felt in the pent city that day, but the fair +breeze of naked nature now blew in their faces. The waves began to +gather and roll; and just as they gained a point, where--still +beyond--between high promontories of fortresses, the wide bay visibly +sluiced into the Atlantic, Isabel convulsively grasped the arm of Pierre +and convulsively spoke. + +"I feel it! I feel it! It is! It is!" + +"What feelest thou?--what is it?" + +"The motion! the motion!" + +"Dost thou not understand, Pierre?" said Lucy, eying with concern and +wonder his pale, staring aspect--"The waves: it is the motion of the +waves that Isabel speaks of. Look, they are rolling, direct from the sea +now." + +Again Pierre lapsed into a still stranger silence and revery. + +It was impossible altogether to resist the force of this striking +corroboration of by far the most surprising and improbable thing in the +whole surprising and improbable story of Isabel. Well did he remember +her vague reminiscence of the teetering sea, that did not slope exactly +as the floors of the unknown, abandoned, old house among the French-like +mountains. + +While plunged in these mutually neutralizing thoughts of the strange +picture and the last exclamations of Isabel, the boat arrived at its +destination--a little hamlet on the beach, not very far from the great +blue sluice-way into the ocean, which was now yet more distinctly +visible than before. + +"Don't let us stop here"--cried Isabel. "Look, let us go through there! +Bell must go through there! See! see! out there upon the blue! yonder, +yonder! far away--out, out!--far, far away, and away, and away, out +there! where the two blues meet, and are nothing--Bell must go!" + +"Why, Isabel," murmured Lucy, "that would be to go to far England or +France; thou wouldst find but few friends in far France, Isabel." + +"Friends in far France? And what friends have I here?--Art thou my +friend? In thy secret heart dost thou wish me well? And for thee, +Pierre, what am I but a vile clog to thee; dragging thee back from all +thy felicity? Yes, I will go yonder--yonder; out there! I will, I will! +Unhand me! Let me plunge!" + +For an instant, Lucy looked incoherently from one to the other. But both +she and Pierre now mechanically again seized Isabel's frantic arms, as +they were again thrown over the outer rail of the boat. They dragged her +back; they spoke to her; they soothed her; but though less vehement, +Isabel still looked deeply distrustfully at Lucy, and deeply +reproachfully at Pierre. + +They did not leave the boat as intended; too glad were they all, when it +unloosed from its fastenings, and turned about upon the backward trip. + +Stepping to shore, Pierre once more hurried his companions through the +unavoidable publicity of the thoroughfares; but less rapidly proceeded, +soon as they gained the more secluded streets. + + +IV. + +Gaining the Apostles', and leaving his two companions to the privacy of +their chambers, Pierre sat silent and intent by the stove in the +dining-room for a time, and then was on the point of entering his closet +from the corridor, when Delly, suddenly following him, said to him, that +she had forgotten to mention it before, but he would find two letters in +his room, which had been separately left at the door during the absence +of the party. + +He passed into the closet, and slowly shooting the bolt--which, for want +of something better, happened to be an old blunted dagger--walked, with +his cap yet unmoved, slowly up to the table, and beheld the letters. +They were lying with their sealed sides up; one in either hand, he +lifted them; and held them straight out sideways from him. + +"I see not the writing; know not yet, by mine own eye, that they are +meant for me; yet, in these hands I feel that I now hold the final +poniards that shall stab me; and by stabbing me, make _me_ too a most +swift stabber in the recoil. Which point first?--this!" + +He tore open the left-hand letter:-- + + "SIR:--You are a swindler. Upon the pretense of writing a popular + novel for us, you have been receiving cash advances from us, while + passing through our press the sheets of a blasphemous rhapsody, + filched from the vile Atheists, Lucian and Voltaire. Our great + press of publication has hitherto prevented our slightest + inspection of our reader's proofs of your book. Send not another + sheet to us. Our bill for printing thus far, and also for our cash + advances, swindled out of us by you, is now in the hands of our + lawyer, who is instructed to proceed with instant rigor. + + (_Signed_) STEEL, FLINT & ASBESTOS." + +He folded the left-hand letter, and put it beneath his left heel, and +stood upon it so; and then opened the right-hand letter. + + "Thou, Pierre Glendinning, art a villainous and perjured liar. It + is the sole object of this letter imprintedly to convey the point + blank lie to thee; that taken in at thy heart, it may be thence + pulsed with thy blood, throughout thy system. We have let some + interval pass inactive, to confirm and solidify our hate. + Separately, and together, we brand thee, in thy every lung-cell, a + liar;--liar, because that is the scornfullest and loathsomest title + for a man; which in itself is the compend of all infamous things. + + (_Signed_) GLENDINNING STANLY, + FREDERIC TARTAN." + +He folded the right-hand letter, and put it beneath his right heel; then +folding his two arms, stood upon both the letters. + +"These are most small circumstances; but happening just now to me, +become indices to all immensities. For now am I hate-shod! On these I +will skate to my acquittal! No longer do I hold terms with aught. +World's bread of life, and world's breath of honor, both are snatched +from me; but I defy all world's bread and breath. Here I step out before +the drawn-up worlds in widest space, and challenge one and all of them +to battle! Oh, Glen! oh, Fred! most fraternally do I leap to your +rib-crushing hugs! Oh, how I love ye two, that yet can make me lively +hate, in a world which elsewise only merits stagnant scorn!--Now, then, +where is this swindler's, this coiner's book? Here, on this vile +counter, over which the coiner thought to pass it to the world, here +will I nail it fast, for a detected cheat! And thus nailed fast now, do +I spit upon it, and so get the start of the wise world's worst abuse of +it! Now I go out to meet my fate, walking toward me in the street." + +As with hat on, and Glen and Frederic's letter invisibly crumpled in his +hand, he--as it were somnambulously--passed into the room of Isabel, she +gave loose to a thin, long shriek, at his wondrous white and haggard +plight; and then, without the power to stir toward him, sat petrified +in her chair, as one embalmed and glazed with icy varnish. + +He heeded her not, but passed straight on through both intervening +rooms, and without a knock unpremeditatedly entered Lucy's chamber. He +would have passed out of that, also, into the corridor, without one +word; but something stayed him. + +The marble girl sat before her easel; a small box of pointed charcoal, +and some pencils by her side; her painter's wand held out against the +frame; the charcoal-pencil suspended in two fingers, while with the same +hand, holding a crust of bread, she was lightly brushing the +portrait-paper, to efface some ill-considered stroke. The floor was +scattered with the bread-crumbs and charcoal-dust; he looked behind the +easel, and saw his own portrait, in the skeleton. + +At the first glimpse of him, Lucy started not, nor stirred; but as if +her own wand had there enchanted her, sat tranced. + +"Dead embers of departed fires lie by thee, thou pale girl; with dead +embers thou seekest to relume the flame of all extinguished love! Waste +not so that bread; eat it--in bitterness!" + +He turned, and entered the corridor, and then, with outstretched arms, +paused between the two outer doors of Isabel and Lucy. + +"For ye two, my most undiluted prayer is now, that from your here unseen +and frozen chairs ye may never stir alive;--the fool of Truth, the fool +of Virtue, the fool of Fate, now quits ye forever!" + +As he now sped down the long winding passage, some one eagerly hailed +him from a stair. + +"What, what, my boy? where now in such a squally hurry? Hallo, I say!" + +But without heeding him at all, Pierre drove on. Millthorpe looked +anxiously and alarmedly after him a moment, then made a movement in +pursuit, but paused again. + +"There was ever a black vein in this Glendinning; and now that vein is +swelled, as if it were just one peg above a tourniquet drawn over-tight. +I scarce durst dog him now; yet my heart misgives me that I +should.--Shall I go to his rooms and ask what black thing this is that +hath befallen him?--No; not yet;--might be thought officious--they say +I'm given to that. I'll wait; something may turn up soon. I'll into the +front street, and saunter some; and then--we'll see." + + +V. + +Pierre passed on to a remote quarter of the building, and abruptly +entered the room of one of the Apostles whom he knew. There was no one +in it. He hesitated an instant; then walked up to a book-case, with a +chest of drawers in the lower part. + +"Here I saw him put them:--this,--no--here--ay--we'll try this." + +Wrenching open the locked drawer, a brace of pistols, a powder flask, a +bullet-bag, and a round green box of percussion-caps lay before him. + +"Ha! what wondrous tools Prometheus used, who knows? but more wondrous +these, that in an instant, can unmake the topmost +three-score-years-and-ten of all Prometheus' makings. Come: here's two +tubes that'll outroar the thousand pipes of Harlem.--Is the music in +'em?--No?--Well then, here's powder for the shrill treble; and wadding +for the tenor; and a lead bullet for the concluding bass! +And,--and,--and,--ay; for the top-wadding, I'll send 'em back their lie, +and plant it scorching in their brains!" + +He tore off that part of Glen and Fred's letter, which more +particularly gave the lie; and halving it, rammed it home upon the +bullets. + +He thrust a pistol into either breast of his coat; and taking the +rearward passages, went down into the back street; directing his rapid +steps toward the grand central thoroughfare of the city. + +It was a cold, but clear, quiet, and slantingly sunny day; it was +between four and five of the afternoon; that hour, when the great +glaring avenue was most thronged with haughty-rolling carriages, and +proud-rustling promenaders, both men and women. But these last were +mostly confined to the one wide pavement to the West; the other pavement +was well nigh deserted, save by porters, waiters, and parcel-carriers of +the shops. On the west pave, up and down, for three long miles, two +streams of glossy, shawled, or broadcloth life unceasingly brushed by +each other, as long, resplendent, drooping trains of rival peacocks +brush. + +Mixing with neither of these, Pierre stalked midway between. From his +wild and fatal aspect, one way the people took the wall, the other way +they took the curb. Unentangledly Pierre threaded all their host, though +in its inmost heart. Bent he was, on a straightforward, mathematical +intent. His eyes were all about him as he went; especially he glanced +over to the deserted pavement opposite; for that emptiness did not +deceive him; he himself had often walked that side, the better to scan +the pouring throng upon the other. + +Just as he gained a large, open, triangular space, built round with the +stateliest public erections;--the very proscenium of the town;--he saw +Glen and Fred advancing, in the distance, on the other side. He +continued on; and soon he saw them crossing over to him obliquely, so as +to take him face-and-face. He continued on; when suddenly running ahead +of Fred, who now chafingly stood still (because Fred would not make two, +in the direct personal assault upon one) and shouting "Liar! Villain!" +Glen leaped toward Pierre from front, and with such lightning-like +ferocity, that the simultaneous blow of his cowhide smote Pierre across +the cheek, and left a half-livid and half-bloody brand. + +For that one moment, the people fell back on all sides from them; and +left them--momentarily recoiled from each other--in a ring of panics. + +But clapping both hands to his two breasts, Pierre, on both sides +shaking off the sudden white grasp of two rushing girls, tore out both +pistols, and rushed headlong upon Glen. + +"For thy one blow, take here two deaths! 'Tis speechless sweet to murder +thee!" + +Spatterings of his own kindred blood were upon the pavement; his own +hand had extinguished his house in slaughtering the only unoutlawed +human being by the name of Glendinning;--and Pierre was seized by a +hundred contending hands. + + +VI. + +That sundown, Pierre stood solitary in a low dungeon of the city prison. +The cumbersome stone ceiling almost rested on his brow; so that the long +tiers of massive cell-galleries above seemed partly piled on him. His +immortal, immovable, bleached cheek was dry; but the stone cheeks of the +walls were trickling. The pent twilight of the contracted yard, coming +through the barred arrow-slit, fell in dim bars upon the granite floor. + +"Here, then, is the untimely, timely end;--Life's last chapter well +stitched into the middle! Nor book, nor author of the book, hath any +sequel, though each hath its last lettering!--It is ambiguous still. Had +I been heartless now, disowned, and spurningly portioned off the girl +at Saddle Meadows, then had I been happy through a long life on earth, +and perchance through a long eternity in heaven! Now, 'tis merely hell +in both worlds. Well, be it hell. I will mold a trumpet of the flames, +and, with my breath of flame, breathe back my defiance! But give me +first another body! I long and long to die, to be rid of this dishonored +cheek. _Hung by the neck till thou be dead._--Not if I forestall you, +though!--Oh now to live is death, and now to die is life; now, to my +soul, were a sword my midwife!--Hark!--the hangman?--who comes?" + +"Thy wife and cousin--so they say;--hope they may be; they may stay till +twelve;" wheezingly answered a turnkey, pushing the tottering girls into +the cell, and locking the door upon them. + +"Ye two pale ghosts, were this the other world, ye were not welcome. +Away!--Good Angel and Bad Angel both!--For Pierre is neuter now!" + +"Oh, ye stony roofs, and seven-fold stony skies!--not thou art the +murderer, but thy sister hath murdered thee, my brother, oh my brother!" + +At these wailed words from Isabel, Lucy shrunk up like a scroll, and +noiselessly fell at the feet of Pierre. + +He touched her heart.--"Dead!--Girl! wife or sister, saint or +fiend!"--seizing Isabel in his grasp--"in thy breasts, life for infants +lodgeth not, but death-milk for thee and me!--The drug!" and tearing her +bosom loose, he seized the secret vial nesting there. + + +VII. + +At night the squat-framed, asthmatic turnkey tramped the dim-lit iron +gallery before one of the long honey-combed rows of cells. + +"Mighty still there, in that hole, them two mice I let in;--humph!" + +Suddenly, at the further end of the gallery, he discerned a shadowy +figure emerging from the archway there, and running on before an +officer, and impetuously approaching where the turnkey stood. + +"More relations coming. These wind-broken chaps are always in before the +second death, seeing they always miss the first.--Humph! What a froth +the fellow's in?--Wheezes worse than me!" + +"Where is she?" cried Fred Tartan, fiercely, to him; "she's not at the +murderer's rooms! I sought the sweet girl there, instant upon the blow; +but the lone dumb thing I found there only wrung her speechless hands +and pointed to the door;--both birds were flown! Where is she, turnkey? +I've searched all lengths and breadths but this. Hath any angel swept +adown and lighted in your granite hell?" + +"Broken his wind, and broken loose, too, aint he?" wheezed the turnkey +to the officer who now came up. + +"This gentleman seeks a young lady, his sister, someway innocently +connected with the prisoner last brought in. Have any females been here +to see him?" + +"Oh, ay,--two of 'em in there now;" jerking his stumped thumb behind +him. + +Fred darted toward the designated cell. + +"Oh, easy, easy, young gentleman"--jingling at his huge bunch of +keys--"easy, easy, till I get the picks--I'm housewife here.--Hallo, +here comes another." + +Hurrying through the same archway toward them, there now rapidly +advanced a second impetuous figure, running on in advance of a second +officer. + +"Where is the cell?" demanded Millthorpe. + +"He seeks an interview with the last prisoner," explained the second +officer. + +"Kill 'em both with one stone, then," wheezed the turnkey, gratingly +throwing open the door of the cell. "There's his pretty parlor, +gentlemen; step in. Reg'lar mouse-hole, arn't it?--Might hear a rabbit +burrow on the world's t'other side;--are they all 'sleep?" + +"I stumble!" cried Fred, from within; "Lucy! A light! a light!--Lucy!" +And he wildly groped about the cell, and blindly caught Millthorpe, who +was also wildly groping. + +"Blister me not! take off thy bloody touch!--Ho, ho, the light!--Lucy! +Lucy!--she's fainted!" + +Then both stumbled again, and fell from each other in the cell: and for +a moment all seemed still, as though all breaths were held. + +As the light was now thrust in, Fred was seen on the floor holding his +sister in his arms; and Millthorpe kneeling by the side of Pierre, the +unresponsive hand in his; while Isabel, feebly moving, reclined between, +against the wall. + +"Yes! Yes!--Dead! Dead! Dead!--without one visible wound--her sweet +plumage hides it.--Thou hellish carrion, this is thy hellish work! Thy +juggler's rifle brought down this heavenly bird! Oh, my God, my God! +Thou scalpest me with this sight!" + +"The dark vein's burst, and here's the deluge-wreck--all stranded here! +Ah, Pierre! my old companion, +Pierre;--school-mate--play-mate--friend!--Our sweet boy's walks within +the woods!--Oh, I would have rallied thee, and banteringly warned thee +from thy too moody ways, but thou wouldst never heed! What scornful +innocence rests on thy lips, my friend!--Hand scorched with murderer's +powder, yet how woman-soft!--By heaven, these fingers move!--one +speechless clasp!--all's o'er!" + +"All's o'er, and ye know him not!" came gasping from the wall; and from +the fingers of Isabel dropped an empty vial--as it had been a run-out +sand-glass--and shivered upon the floor; and her whole form sloped +sideways, and she fell upon Pierre's heart, and her long hair ran over +him, and arbored him in ebon vines. + + +FINIS. + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Pierre; or The Ambiguities, by Herman Melville + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PIERRE; OR THE AMBIGUITIES *** + +***** This file should be named 34970-8.txt or 34970-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/4/9/7/34970/ + +Produced by Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This book was +produced from scanned images of public domain material +from the Google Print project.) + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + http://www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. diff --git a/old/34970-8.zip b/old/34970-8.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..f619c34 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/34970-8.zip diff --git a/old/34970.txt b/old/34970.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..a08856b --- /dev/null +++ b/old/34970.txt @@ -0,0 +1,16640 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Pierre; or The Ambiguities, by Herman Melville + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Pierre; or The Ambiguities + +Author: Herman Melville + +Release Date: January 15, 2011 [EBook #34970] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PIERRE; OR THE AMBIGUITIES *** + + + + +Produced by Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This book was +produced from scanned images of public domain material +from the Google Print project.) + + + + + + + + +PIERRE: +OR, +THE AMBIGUITIES. + +BY +HERMAN MELVILLE. + +NEW YORK: +HARPER & BROTHERS, PUBLISHERS +329 & 331 PEARL STREET, +FRANKLIN SQUARE. +1852. + + Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1852, by + HERMAN MELVILLE, + In the Clerk's Office of the Southern District of New York. + + + + +TO + +Greylock's Most Excellent Majesty. + + +In old times authors were proud of the privilege of dedicating their +works to Majesty. A right noble custom, which we of Berkshire must +revive. For whether we will or no, Majesty is all around us here in +Berkshire, sitting as in a grand Congress of Vienna of majestical +hill-tops, and eternally challenging our homage. + +But since the majestic mountain, Greylock--my own more immediate +sovereign lord and king--hath now, for innumerable ages, been the one +grand dedicatee of the earliest rays of all the Berkshire mornings, I +know not how his Imperial Purple Majesty (royal-born: Porphyrogenitus) +will receive the dedication of my own poor solitary ray. + +Nevertheless, forasmuch as I, dwelling with my loyal neighbors, the +Maples and the Beeches, in the amphitheater over which his central +majesty presides, have received his most bounteous and unstinted +fertilizations, it is but meet, that I here devoutly kneel, and render +up my gratitude, whether, thereto, The Most Excellent Purple Majesty of +Greylock benignantly incline his hoary crown or no. + +_Pittsfield, Mass._ + + + + +TABLE OF CONTENTS. + + +BOOK I. + +PAGE + +PIERRE JUST EMERGING FROM HIS TEENS 1 + + +BOOK II. + +LOVE, DELIGHT, AND ALARM 26 + + +BOOK III. + +THE PRESENTIMENT AND THE VERIFICATION 56 + + +BOOK IV. + +RETROSPECTIVE 89 + + +BOOK V. + +MISGIVINGS AND PREPARATIVES 116 + + +BOOK VI. + +ISABEL, AND THE FIRST PART OF THE STORY OF ISABEL 147 + + +BOOK VII. + +INTERMEDIATE BETWEEN PIERRE'S TWO INTERVIEWS +WITH ISABEL AT THE FARM-HOUSE 173 + + +BOOK VIII. + +THE SECOND INTERVIEW, AND THE SECOND PART OF +THE STORY OF ISABEL. THEIR IMMEDIATE IMPULSIVE +EFFECT UPON PIERRE 194 + + +BOOK IX. + +MORE LIGHT, AND THE GLOOM OF THAT LIGHT. MORE +GLOOM, AND THE LIGHT OF THAT GLOOM 224 + + +BOOK X. + +THE UNPRECEDENTED FINAL RESOLUTION OF PIERRE 233 + + +BOOK XI. + +HE CROSSES THE RUBICON 247 + + +BOOK XII. + +ISABEL, MRS. GLENDINNING, THE PORTRAIT, AND LUCY 256 + + +BOOK XIII. + +THEY DEPART THE MEADOWS 273 + +BOOK XIV. + +THE JOURNEY AND THE PAMPHLET 277 + + +BOOK XV. + +THE COUSINS 294 + + +BOOK XVI. + +FIRST NIGHT OF THEIR ARRIVAL IN THE CITY 312 + + +BOOK XVII. + +YOUNG AMERICA IN LITERATURE 333 + + +BOOK XVIII. + +PIERRE, AS A JUVENILE AUTHOR, RECONSIDERED 350 + + +BOOK XIX. + +THE CHURCH OF THE APOSTLES 360 + + +BOOK XX. + +CHARLIE MILLTHORPE 374 + + +BOOK XXI. + +PIERRE IMMATURELY ATTEMPTS A MATURE BOOK. TIDINGS +FROM THE MEADOWS. PLINLIMMON 384 + +BOOK XXII. + +THE FLOWER-CURTAIN LIFTED FROM BEFORE A TROPICAL +AUTHOR; WITH SOME REMARKS ON THE TRANSCENDENTAL +FLESH-BRUSH PHILOSOPHY 402 + + +BOOK XXIII. + +A LETTER FOR PIERRE. ISABEL. ARRIVAL OF LUCY'S +EASEL AND TRUNKS AT THE APOSTLES' 418 + + +BOOK XXIV. + +LUCY AT THE APOSTLES' 439 + + +BOOK XXV. + +LUCY, ISABEL, AND PIERRE. PIERRE AT HIS BOOK. +ENCELADUS 450 + + +BOOK XXVI. + +A WALK; A FOREIGN PORTRAIT; A SAIL. AND THE +END 475 + + + + +PIERRE. + + + + +BOOK I. + +PIERRE JUST EMERGING FROM HIS TEENS. + + +I. + +There are some strange summer mornings in the country, when he who is +but a sojourner from the city shall early walk forth into the fields, +and be wonder-smitten with the trance-like aspect of the green and +golden world. Not a flower stirs; the trees forget to wave; the grass +itself seems to have ceased to grow; and all Nature, as if suddenly +become conscious of her own profound mystery, and feeling no refuge from +it but silence, sinks into this wonderful and indescribable repose. + +Such was the morning in June, when, issuing from the embowered and +high-gabled old home of his fathers, Pierre, dewily refreshed and +spiritualized by sleep, gayly entered the long, wide, elm-arched street +of the village, and half unconsciously bent his steps toward a cottage, +which peeped into view near the end of the vista. + +The verdant trance lay far and wide; and through it nothing came but the +brindled kine, dreamily wandering to their pastures, followed, not +driven, by ruddy-cheeked, white-footed boys. + +As touched and bewitched by the loveliness of this silence, Pierre +neared the cottage, and lifted his eyes, he swiftly paused, fixing his +glance upon one upper, open casement there. Why now this impassioned, +youthful pause? Why this enkindled cheek and eye? Upon the sill of the +casement, a snow-white glossy pillow reposes, and a trailing shrub has +softly rested a rich, crimson flower against it. + +Well mayst thou seek that pillow, thou odoriferous flower, thought +Pierre; not an hour ago, her own cheek must have rested there. "Lucy!" + +"Pierre!" + +As heart rings to heart those voices rang, and for a moment, in the +bright hush of the morning, the two stood silently but ardently eying +each other, beholding mutual reflections of a boundless admiration and +love. + +"Nothing but Pierre," laughed the youth, at last; "thou hast forgotten +to bid me good-morning." + +"That would be little. Good-mornings, good-evenings, good days, weeks, +months, and years to thee, Pierre;--bright Pierre!--Pierre!" + +Truly, thought the youth, with a still gaze of inexpressible fondness; +truly the skies do ope, and this invoking angel looks down.--"I would +return thee thy manifold good-mornings, Lucy, did not that presume thou +had'st lived through a night; and by Heaven, thou belong'st to the +regions of an infinite day!" + +"Fie, now, Pierre; why should ye youths always swear when ye love!" + +"Because in us love is profane, since it mortally reaches toward the +heaven in ye!" + +"There thou fly'st again, Pierre; thou art always circumventing me so. +Tell me, why should ye youths ever show so sweet an expertness in +turning all trifles of ours into trophies of yours?" + +"I know not how that is, but ever was it our fashion to do." And shaking +the casement shrub, he dislodged the flower, and conspicuously fastened +it in his bosom.--"I must away now, Lucy; see! under these colors I +march." + +"Bravissimo! oh, my only recruit!" + + +II. + +Pierre was the only son of an affluent, and haughty widow; a lady who +externally furnished a singular example of the preservative and +beautifying influences of unfluctuating rank, health, and wealth, when +joined to a fine mind of medium culture, uncankered by any inconsolable +grief, and never worn by sordid cares. In mature age, the rose still +miraculously clung to her cheek; litheness had not yet completely +uncoiled itself from her waist, nor smoothness unscrolled itself from +her brow, nor diamondness departed from her eyes. So that when lit up +and bediademed by ball-room lights, Mrs. Glendinning still eclipsed far +younger charms, and had she chosen to encourage them, would have been +followed by a train of infatuated suitors, little less young than her +own son Pierre. + +But a reverential and devoted son seemed lover enough for this widow +Bloom; and besides all this, Pierre when namelessly annoyed, and +sometimes even jealously transported by the too ardent admiration of the +handsome youths, who now and then, caught in unintended snares, seemed +to entertain some insane hopes of wedding this unattainable being; +Pierre had more than once, with a playful malice, openly sworn, that the +man--gray-beard, or beardless--who should dare to propose marriage to +his mother, that man would by some peremptory unrevealed agency +immediately disappear from the earth. + +This romantic filial love of Pierre seemed fully returned by the +triumphant maternal pride of the widow, who in the clear-cut lineaments +and noble air of the son, saw her own graces strangely translated into +the opposite sex. There was a striking personal resemblance between +them; and as the mother seemed to have long stood still in her beauty, +heedless of the passing years; so Pierre seemed to meet her half-way, +and by a splendid precocity of form and feature, almost advanced himself +to that mature stand-point in Time, where his pedestaled mother so long +had stood. In the playfulness of their unclouded love, and with that +strange license which a perfect confidence and mutual understanding at +all points, had long bred between them, they were wont to call each +other brother and sister. Both in public and private this was their +usage; nor when thrown among strangers, was this mode of address ever +suspected for a sportful assumption; since the amaranthiness of Mrs. +Glendinning fully sustained this youthful pretension.--Thus freely and +lightsomely for mother and son flowed on the pure joined current of +life. But as yet the fair river had not borne its waves to those +sideways repelling rocks, where it was thenceforth destined to be +forever divided into two unmixing streams. + +An excellent English author of these times enumerating the prime +advantages of his natal lot, cites foremost, that he first saw the rural +light. So with Pierre. It had been his choice fate to have been born and +nurtured in the country, surrounded by scenery whose uncommon loveliness +was the perfect mould of a delicate and poetic mind; while the popular +names of its finest features appealed to the proudest patriotic and +family associations of the historic line of Glendinning. On the meadows +which sloped away from the shaded rear of the manorial mansion, far to +the winding river, an Indian battle had been fought, in the earlier days +of the colony, and in that battle the paternal great-grandfather of +Pierre, mortally wounded, had sat unhorsed on his saddle in the grass, +with his dying voice, still cheering his men in the fray. This was +Saddle-Meadows, a name likewise extended to the mansion and the +village. Far beyond these plains, a day's walk for Pierre, rose the +storied heights, where in the Revolutionary War his grandfather had for +several months defended a rude but all-important stockaded fort, against +the repeated combined assaults of Indians, Tories, and Regulars. From +before that fort, the gentlemanly, but murderous half-breed, Brandt, had +fled, but had survived to dine with General Glendinning, in the amicable +times which followed that vindictive war. All the associations of +Saddle-Meadows were full of pride to Pierre. The Glendinning deeds by +which their estate had so long been held, bore the cyphers of three +Indian kings, the aboriginal and only conveyancers of those noble woods +and plains. Thus loftily, in the days of his circumscribed youth, did +Pierre glance along the background of his race; little recking of that +maturer and larger interior development, which should forever deprive +these things of their full power of pride in his soul. + +But the breeding of Pierre would have been unwisely contracted, had his +youth been unintermittingly passed in these rural scenes. At a very +early period he had begun to accompany his father and mother--and +afterwards his mother alone--in their annual visits to the city; where +naturally mingling in a large and polished society, Pierre had +insensibly formed himself in the airier graces of life, without +enfeebling the vigor derived from a martial race, and fostered in the +country's clarion air. + +Nor while thus liberally developed in person and manners, was Pierre +deficient in a still better and finer culture. Not in vain had he spent +long summer afternoons in the deep recesses of his father's fastidiously +picked and decorous library; where the Spenserian nymphs had early led +him into many a maze of all-bewildering beauty. Thus, with a graceful +glow on his limbs, and soft, imaginative flames in his heart, did this +Pierre glide toward maturity, thoughtless of that period of remorseless +insight, when all these delicate warmths should seem frigid to him, and +he should madly demand more ardent fires. + +Nor had that pride and love which had so bountifully provided for the +youthful nurture of Pierre, neglected his culture in the deepest element +of all. It had been a maxim with the father of Pierre, that all +gentlemanhood was vain; all claims to it preposterous and absurd, unless +the primeval gentleness and golden humanities of religion had been so +thoroughly wrought into the complete texture of the character, that he +who pronounced himself gentleman, could also rightfully assume the meek, +but kingly style of Christian. At the age of sixteen, Pierre partook +with his mother of the Holy Sacraments. + +It were needless, and more difficult, perhaps, to trace out precisely +the absolute motives which prompted these youthful vows. Enough, that as +to Pierre had descended the numerous other noble qualities of his +ancestors; and as he now stood heir to their forests and farms; so by +the same insensible sliding process, he seemed to have inherited their +docile homage to a venerable Faith, which the first Glendinning had +brought over sea, from beneath the shadow of an English minister. Thus +in Pierre was the complete polished steel of the gentleman, girded with +Religion's silken sash; and his great-grandfather's soldierly fate had +taught him that the generous sash should, in the last bitter trial, +furnish its wearer with Glory's shroud; so that what through life had +been worn for Grace's sake, in death might safely hold the man. But +while thus all alive to the beauty and poesy of his father's faith, +Pierre little foresaw that this world hath a secret deeper than beauty, +and Life some burdens heavier than death. + +So perfect to Pierre had long seemed the illuminated scroll of his life +thus far, that only one hiatus was discoverable by him in that +sweetly-writ manuscript. A sister had been omitted from the text. He +mourned that so delicious a feeling as fraternal love had been denied +him. Nor could the fictitious title, which he so often lavished upon his +mother, at all supply the absent reality. This emotion was most natural; +and the full cause and reason of it even Pierre did not at that time +entirely appreciate. For surely a gentle sister is the second best gift +to a man; and it is first in point of occurrence; for the wife comes +after. He who is sisterless, is as a bachelor before his time. For much +that goes to make up the deliciousness of a wife, already lies in the +sister. + +"Oh, had my father but had a daughter!" cried Pierre; "some one whom I +might love, and protect, and fight for, if need be. It must be a +glorious thing to engage in a mortal quarrel on a sweet sister's behalf! +Now, of all things, would to heaven, I had a sister!" + +Thus, ere entranced in the gentler bonds of a lover; thus often would +Pierre invoke heaven for a sister; but Pierre did not then know, that if +there be any thing a man might well pray against, that thing is the +responsive gratification of some of the devoutest prayers of his youth. + +It may have been that this strange yearning of Pierre for a sister, had +part of its origin in that still stranger feeling of loneliness he +sometimes experienced, as not only the solitary head of his family, but +the only surnamed male Glendinning extant. A powerful and populous +family had by degrees run off into the female branches; so that Pierre +found himself surrounded by numerous kinsmen and kinswomen, yet +companioned by no surnamed male Glendinning, but the duplicate one +reflected to him in the mirror. But in his more wonted natural mood, +this thought was not wholly sad to him. Nay, sometimes it mounted into +an exultant swell. For in the ruddiness, and flushfulness, and +vain-gloriousness of his youthful soul, he fondly hoped to have a +monopoly of glory in capping the fame-column, whose tall shaft had been +erected by his noble sires. + +In all this, how unadmonished was our Pierre by that foreboding and +prophetic lesson taught, not less by Palmyra's quarries, than by +Palmyra's ruins. Among those ruins is a crumbling, uncompleted shaft, +and some leagues off, ages ago left in the quarry, is the crumbling +corresponding capital, also incomplete. These Time seized and spoiled; +these Time crushed in the egg; and the proud stone that should have +stood among the clouds, Time left abased beneath the soil. Oh, what +quenchless feud is this, that Time hath with the sons of Men! + + +III. + +It has been said that the beautiful country round about Pierre appealed +to very proud memories. But not only through the mere chances of things, +had that fine country become ennobled by the deeds of his sires, but in +Pierre's eyes, all its hills and swales seemed as sanctified through +their very long uninterrupted possession by his race. + +That fond ideality which, in the eyes of affection, hallows the least +trinket once familiar to the person of a departed love; with Pierre that +talisman touched the whole earthly landscape about him; for remembering +that on those hills his own fine fathers had gazed; through those woods, +over these lawns, by that stream, along these tangled paths, many a +grand-dame of his had merrily strolled when a girl; vividly recalling +these things, Pierre deemed all that part of the earth a love-token; so +that his very horizon was to him as a memorial ring. + +The monarchical world very generally imagines, that in demagoguical +America the sacred Past hath no fixed statues erected to it, but all +things irreverently seethe and boil in the vulgar caldron of an +everlasting uncrystalizing Present. This conceit would seem peculiarly +applicable to the social condition. With no chartered aristocracy, and +no law of entail, how can any family in America imposingly perpetuate +itself? Certainly that common saying among us, which declares, that be a +family conspicuous as it may, a single half-century shall see it abased; +that maxim undoubtedly holds true with the commonalty. In our cities +families rise and burst like bubbles in a vat. For indeed the democratic +element operates as a subtile acid among us; forever producing new +things by corroding the old; as in the south of France verdigris, the +primitive material of one kind of green paint, is produced by +grape-vinegar poured upon copper plates. Now in general nothing can be +more significant of decay than the idea of corrosion; yet on the other +hand, nothing can more vividly suggest luxuriance of life, than the idea +of green as a color; for green is the peculiar signet of all-fertile +Nature herself. Herein by apt analogy we behold the marked anomalousness +of America; whose character abroad, we need not be surprised, is +misconceived, when we consider how strangely she contradicts all prior +notions of human things; and how wonderfully to her, Death itself +becomes transmuted into Life. So that political institutions, which in +other lands seem above all things intensely artificial, with America +seem to possess the divine virtue of a natural law; for the most mighty +of nature's laws is this, that out of Death she brings Life. + +Still, are there things in the visible world, over which ever-shifting +Nature hath not so unbounded a sway. The grass is annually changed; but +the limbs of the oak, for a long term of years, defy that annual decree. +And if in America the vast mass of families be as the blades of grass, +yet some few there are that stand as the oak; which, instead of +decaying, annually puts forth new branches; whereby Time, instead of +subtracting, is made to capitulate into a multiple virtue. + +In this matter we will--not superciliously, but in fair spirit--compare +pedigrees with England, and strange as it may seem at the first blush, +not without some claim to equality. I dare say, that in this thing the +Peerage Book is a good statistical standard whereby to judge her; since +the compilers of that work can not be entirely insensible on whose +patronage they most rely; and the common intelligence of our own people +shall suffice to judge us. But the magnificence of names must not +mislead us as to the humility of things. For as the breath in all our +lungs is hereditary, and my present breath at this moment, is further +descended than the body of the present High Priest of the Jews, so far +as he can assuredly trace it; so mere names, which are also but air, do +likewise revel in this endless descendedness. But if Richmond, and St. +Albans, and Grafton, and Portland, and Buccleugh, be names almost old as +England herself, the present Dukes of those names stop in their own +genuine pedigrees at Charles II., and there find no very fine fountain; +since what we would deem the least glorious parentage under the sun, is +precisely the parentage of a Buccleugh, for example; whose ancestress +could not well avoid being a mother, it is true, but had accidentally +omitted the preliminary rite. Yet a king was the sire. Then only so much +the worse; for if it be small insult to be struck by a pauper, but +mortal offense to receive a blow from a gentleman, then of all things +the bye-blows of kings must be signally unflattering. In England the +Peerage is kept alive by incessant restorations and creations. One man, +George III., manufactured five hundred and twenty-two peers. An earldom, +in abeyance for five centuries, has suddenly been assumed by some +commoner, to whom it had not so much descended, as through the art of +the lawyers been made flexibly to bend in that direction. For not Thames +is so sinuous in his natural course, not the Bridgewater Canal more +artificially conducted, than blood in the veins of that winding or +manufactured nobility. Perishable as stubble, and fungous as the fungi, +those grafted families successively live and die on the eternal soil of +a name. In England this day, twenty-five hundred peerages are extinct; +but the names survive. So that the empty air of a name is more +endurable than a man, or than dynasties of men; the air fills man's +lungs and puts life into a man, but man fills not the air, nor puts life +into that. + +All honor to the names then, and all courtesy to the men; but if St. +Albans tell me he is all-honorable and all-eternal, I must still +politely refer him to Nell Gwynne. + +Beyond Charles II. very few indeed--hardly worthy of note--are the +present titled English families which can trace any thing like a direct +unvitiated blood-descent from the thief knights of the Norman. Beyond +Charles II. their direct genealogies seem vain as though some Jew +clothesman, with a tea-canister on his head, turned over the first +chapter of St. Matthew to make out his unmingled participation in the +blood of King Saul, who had long died ere the career of the Caesar began. + +Now, not preliminarily to enlarge upon the fact that, while in England +an immense mass of state-masonry is brought to bear as a buttress in +upholding the hereditary existence of certain houses, while with us +nothing of that kind can possibly be admitted; and to omit all mention +of the hundreds of unobtrusive families in New England who, +nevertheless, might easily trace their uninterrupted English lineage to +a time before Charles the Blade: not to speak of the old and +oriental-like English planter families of Virginia and the South; the +Randolphs for example, one of whose ancestors, in King James' time, +married Pocahontas the Indian Princess, and in whose blood therefore an +underived aboriginal royalty was flowing over two hundred years ago; +consider those most ancient and magnificent Dutch Manors at the North, +whose perches are miles--whose meadows overspread adjacent +countries--and whose haughty rent-deeds are held by their thousand +farmer tenants, so long as grass grows and water runs; which hints of a +surprising eternity for a deed, and seem to make lawyer's ink +unobliterable as the sea. Some of those manors are two centuries old; +and their present patrons or lords will show you stakes and stones on +their estates put there--the stones at least--before Nell Gwynne the +Duke-mother was born, and genealogies which, like their own river, +Hudson, flow somewhat farther and straighter than the Serpentine +brooklet in Hyde Park. + +These far-descended Dutch meadows lie steeped in a Hindooish haze; an +eastern patriarchalness sways its mild crook over pastures, whose tenant +flocks shall there feed, long as their own grass grows, long as their +own water shall run. Such estates seem to defy Time's tooth, and by +conditions which take hold of the indestructible earth seem to +contemporize their fee-simples with eternity. Unimaginable audacity of a +worm that but crawls through the soil he so imperially claims! + +In midland counties of England they boast of old oaken dining-halls +where three hundred men-at-arms could exercise of a rainy afternoon, in +the reign of the Plantagenets. But our lords, the Patroons, appeal not +to the past, but they point to the present. One will show you that the +public census of a county is but part of the roll of his tenants. Ranges +of mountains, high as Ben Nevis or Snowdon, are their walls; and regular +armies, with staffs of officers, crossing rivers with artillery, and +marching through primeval woods, and threading vast rocky defiles, have +been sent out to distrain upon three thousand farmer-tenants of one +landlord, at a blow. A fact most suggestive two ways; both whereof shall +be nameless here. + +But whatever one may think of the existence of such mighty lordships in +the heart of a republic, and however we may wonder at their thus +surviving, like Indian mounds, the Revolutionary flood; yet survive and +exist they do, and are now owned by their present proprietors, by as +good nominal title as any peasant owns his father's old hat, or any duke +his great-uncle's old coronet. + +For all this, then, we shall not err very widely if we humbly conceive, +that--should she choose to glorify herself in that inconsiderable +way--our America will make out a good general case with England in this +short little matter of large estates, and long pedigrees--pedigrees I +mean, wherein is no flaw. + + +IV. + +In general terms we have been thus decided in asserting the great +genealogical and real-estate dignity of some families in America, +because in so doing we poetically establish the richly aristocratic +condition of Master Pierre Glendinning, for whom we have before claimed +some special family distinction. And to the observant reader the sequel +will not fail to show, how important is this circumstance, considered +with reference to the singularly developed character and most singular +life-career of our hero. Nor will any man dream that the last chapter +was merely intended for a foolish bravado, and not with a solid purpose +in view. + +Now Pierre stands on this noble pedestal; we shall see if he keeps that +fine footing; we shall see if Fate hath not just a little bit of a small +word or two to say in this world. But it is not laid down here that the +Glendinnings dated back beyond Pharaoh, or the deeds of Saddle-Meadows +to the Three Magi in the Gospels. Nevertheless, those deeds, as before +hinted, did indeed date back to three kings--Indian kings--only so much +the finer for that. + +But if Pierre did not date back to the Pharaohs, and if the English +farmer Hampdens were somewhat the seniors of even the oldest +Glendinning; and if some American manors boasted a few additional years +and square miles over his, yet think you that it is at all possible, +that a youth of nineteen should--merely by way of trial of the +thing--strew his ancestral kitchen hearth-stone with wheat in the stalk, +and there standing in the chimney thresh out that grain with a flail, +whose aerial evolutions had free play among all that masonry; were it +not impossible for such a flailer so to thresh wheat in his own +ancestral kitchen chimney without feeling just a little twinge or two of +what one might call family pride? I should say not. + +Or how think you it would be with this youthful Pierre, if every day +descending to breakfast, he caught sight of an old tattered British +banner or two, hanging over an arched window in his hall; and those +banners captured by his grandfather, the general, in fair fight? Or how +think you it would be if every time he heard the band of the military +company of the village, he should distinctly recognize the peculiar tap +of a British kettle-drum also captured by his grandfather in fair fight, +and afterwards suitably inscribed on the brass and bestowed upon the +Saddle-Meadows Artillery Corps? Or how think you it would be, if +sometimes of a mild meditative Fourth of July morning in the country, he +carried out with him into the garden by way of ceremonial cane, a long, +majestic, silver-tipped staff, a Major-General's baton, once wielded on +the plume-nodding and musket-flashing review by the same grandfather +several times here-in-before mentioned? I should say that considering +Pierre was quite young and very unphilosophical as yet, and withal +rather high-blooded; and sometimes read the History of the Revolutionary +War, and possessed a mother who very frequently made remote social +allusions to the epaulettes of the Major-General his grandfather;--I +should say that upon all of these occasions, the way it must have been +with him, was a very proud, elated sort of way. And if this seem but too +fond and foolish in Pierre; and if you tell me that this sort of thing +in him showed him no sterling Democrat, and that a truly noble man +should never brag of any arm but his own; then I beg you to consider +again that this Pierre was but a youngster as yet. And believe me you +will pronounce Pierre a thoroughgoing Democrat in time; perhaps a little +too Radical altogether to your fancy. + +In conclusion, do not blame me if I here make repetition, and do +verbally quote my own words in saying that _it had been the choice fate +of Pierre to have been born and bred in the country_. For to a noble +American youth this indeed--more than in any other land--this indeed is +a most rare and choice lot. For it is to be observed, that while in +other countries, the finest families boast of the country as their home; +the more prominent among us, proudly cite the city as their seat. Too +often the American that himself makes his fortune, builds him a great +metropolitan house, in the most metropolitan street of the most +metropolitan town. Whereas a European of the same sort would thereupon +migrate into the country. That herein the European hath the better of +it, no poet, no philosopher, and no aristocrat will deny. For the +country is not only the most poetical and philosophical, but it is the +most aristocratic part of this earth, for it is the most venerable, and +numerous bards have ennobled it by many fine titles. Whereas the town is +the more plebeian portion: which, besides many other things, is plainly +evinced by the dirty unwashed face perpetually worn by the town; but the +country, like any Queen, is ever attended by scrupulous lady's maids in +the guise of the seasons, and the town hath but one dress of brick +turned up with stone; but the country hath a brave dress for every week +in the year; sometimes she changes her dress twenty-four times in the +twenty-four hours; and the country weareth her sun by day as a diamond +on a Queen's brow; and the stars by night as necklaces of gold beads; +whereas the town's sun is smoky paste, and no diamond, and the town's +stars are pinchbeck and not gold. + +In the country then Nature planted our Pierre; because Nature intended a +rare and original development in Pierre. Never mind if hereby she proved +ambiguous to him in the end; nevertheless, in the beginning she did +bravely. She blew her wind-clarion from the blue hills, and Pierre +neighed out lyrical thoughts, as at the trumpet-blast, a war-horse paws +himself into a lyric of foam. She whispered through her deep groves at +eve, and gentle whispers of humanness, and sweet whispers of love, ran +through Pierre's thought-veins, musical as water over pebbles. She +lifted her spangled crest of a thickly-starred night, and forth at that +glimpse of their divine Captain and Lord, ten thousand mailed thoughts +of heroicness started up in Pierre's soul, and glared round for some +insulted good cause to defend. + +So the country was a glorious benediction to young Pierre; we shall see +if that blessing pass from him as did the divine blessing from the +Hebrews; we shall yet see again, I say, whether Fate hath not just a +little bit of a word or two to say in this world; we shall see whether +this wee little bit scrap of latinity be very far out of the way--_Nemo +contra Deum nisi Deus ipse._ + + +V. + +"Sister Mary," said Pierre, returned from his sunrise stroll, and +tapping at his mother's chamber door:--"do you know, sister Mary, that +the trees which have been up all night, are all abroad again this +morning before you?--Do you not smell something like coffee, my sister?" + +A light step moved from within toward the door; which opened, showing +Mrs. Glendinning, in a resplendently cheerful morning robe, and holding +a gay wide ribbon in her hand. + +"Good morning, madam," said Pierre, slowly, and with a bow, whose +genuine and spontaneous reverence amusingly contrasted with the sportive +manner that had preceded it. For thus sweetly and religiously was the +familiarity of his affections bottomed on the profoundest filial +respect. + +"Good afternoon to you, Pierre, for I suppose it is afternoon. But come, +you shall finish my toilette;--here, brother--" reaching the +ribbon--"now acquit yourself bravely--" and seating herself away from +the glass, she awaited the good offices of Pierre. + +"First Lady in waiting to the Dowager Duchess Glendinning," laughed +Pierre, as bowing over before his mother, he gracefully passed the +ribbon round her neck, simply crossing the ends in front. + +"Well, what is to hold it there, Pierre?" + +"I am going to try and tack it with a kiss, sister,--there!--oh, what a +pity that sort of fastening won't always hold!--where's the cameo with +the fawns, I gave you last night?--Ah! on the slab--you were going to +wear it then?--Thank you, my considerate and most politic +sister--there!--but stop--here's a ringlet gone romping--so now, dear +sister, give that Assyrian toss to your head." + +The haughtily happy mother rose to her feet, and as she stood before the +mirror to criticize her son's adornings, Pierre, noticing the straggling +tie of her slipper, knelt down and secured it. "And now for the urn," he +cried, "madam!" and with a humorous gallantry, offering his arm to his +mother, the pair descended to breakfast. + +With Mrs. Glendinning it was one of those spontaneous maxims, which +women sometimes act upon without ever thinking of, never to appear in +the presence of her son in any dishabille that was not eminently +becoming. Her own independent observation of things, had revealed to her +many very common maxims, which often become operatively lifeless from a +vicarious reception of them. She was vividly aware how immense was that +influence, which, even in the closest ties of the heart, the merest +appearances make upon the mind. And as in the admiring love and +graceful devotion of Pierre lay now her highest joy in life; so she +omitted no slightest trifle which could possibly contribute to the +preservation of so sweet and flattering a thing. + +Besides all this, Mary Glendinning was a woman, and with more than the +ordinary vanity of women--if vanity it can be called--which in a life of +nearly fifty years had never betrayed her into a single published +impropriety, or caused her one known pang at the heart. Moreover, she +had never yearned for admiration; because that was her birthright by the +eternal privilege of beauty; she had always possessed it; she had not to +turn her head for it, since spontaneously it always encompassed her. +Vanity, which in so many women approaches to a spiritual vice, and +therefore to a visible blemish; in her peculiar case--and though +possessed in a transcendent degree--was still the token of the highest +health; inasmuch as never knowing what it was to yearn for its +gratification, she was almost entirely unconscious of possessing it at +all. Many women carry this light of their lives flaming on their +foreheads; but Mary Glendinning unknowingly bore hers within. Through +all the infinite traceries of feminine art, she evenly glowed like a +vase which, internally illuminated, gives no outward sign of the +lighting flame, but seems to shine by the very virtue of the exquisite +marble itself. But that bluff corporeal admiration, with which some +ball-room women are content, was no admiration to the mother of Pierre. +Not the general homage of men, but the selected homage of the noblest +men, was what she felt to be her appropriate right. And as her own +maternal partialities were added to, and glorified the rare and absolute +merits of Pierre; she considered the voluntary allegiance of his +affectionate soul, the representative fealty of the choicest guild of +his race. Thus, though replenished through all her veins with the +subtlest vanity, with the homage of Pierre alone she was content. + +But as to a woman of sense and spirit, the admiration of even the +noblest and most gifted man, is esteemed as nothing, so long as she +remains conscious of possessing no directly influencing and practical +sorcery over his soul; and as notwithstanding all his intellectual +superiority to his mother, Pierre, through the unavoidable weakness of +inexperienced and unexpanded youth, was strangely docile to the maternal +tuitions in nearly all the things which thus far had any ways interested +or affected him; therefore it was, that to Mary Glendinning this +reverence of Pierre was invested with all the proudest delights and +witcheries of self-complacency, which it is possible for the most +conquering virgin to feel. Still more. That nameless and infinitely +delicate aroma of inexpressible tenderness and attentiveness which, in +every refined and honorable attachment, is cotemporary with the +courtship, and precedes the final banns and the rite; but which, like +the _bouquet_ of the costliest German wines, too often evaporates upon +pouring love out to drink, in the disenchanting glasses of the +matrimonial days and nights; this highest and airiest thing in the whole +compass of the experience of our mortal life; this heavenly +evanescence--still further etherealized in the filial breast--was for +Mary Glendinning, now not very far from her grand climacteric, +miraculously revived in the courteous lover-like adoration of Pierre. + +Altogether having its origin in a wonderful but purely fortuitous +combination of the happiest and rarest accidents of earth; and not to be +limited in duration by that climax which is so fatal to ordinary love; +this softened spell which still wheeled the mother and son in one orbit +of joy, seemed a glimpse of the glorious possibility, that the divinest +of those emotions, which are incident to the sweetest season of love, is +capable of an indefinite translation into many of the less signal +relations of our many chequered life. In a detached and individual way, +it seemed almost to realize here below the sweet dreams of those +religious enthusiasts, who paint to us a Paradise to come, when +etherealized from all drosses and stains, the holiest passion of man +shall unite all kindreds and climes in one circle of pure and +unimpairable delight. + + +VI. + +There was one little uncelestial trait, which, in the opinion of some, +may mar the romantic merits of the gentlemanly Pierre Glendinning. He +always had an excellent appetite, and especially for his breakfast. But +when we consider that though Pierre's hands were small, and his ruffles +white, yet his arm was by no means dainty, and his complexion inclined +to brown; and that he generally rose with the sun, and could not sleep +without riding his twenty, or walking his twelve miles a day, or felling +a fair-sized hemlock in the forest, or boxing, or fencing, or boating, +or performing some other gymnastical feat; when we consider these +athletic habitudes of Pierre, and the great fullness of brawn and muscle +they built round about him; all of which manly brawn and muscle, three +times a day loudly clamored for attention; we shall very soon perceive +that to have a bountiful appetite, was not only no vulgar reproach, but +a right royal grace and honor to Pierre; attesting him a man and a +gentleman; for a thoroughly developed gentleman is always robust and +healthy; and Robustness and Health are great trencher-men. + +So when Pierre and his mother descended to breakfast, and Pierre had +scrupulously seen her supplied with whatever little things were +convenient to her; and had twice or thrice ordered the respectable and +immemorial Dates, the servitor, to adjust and re-adjust the +window-sashes, so that no unkind current of air should take undue +liberties with his mother's neck; after seeing to all this, but in a +very quiet and inconspicuous way; and also after directing the unruffled +Dates, to swing out, horizontally into a particular light, a fine joyous +painting, in the good-fellow, Flemish style (which painting was so +attached to the wall as to be capable of that mode of adjusting), and +furthermore after darting from where he sat a few invigorating glances +over the river-meadows to the blue mountains beyond; Pierre made a +masonic sort of mysterious motion to the excellent Dates, who in +automaton obedience thereto, brought from a certain agreeable little +side-stand, a very prominent-looking cold pasty; which, on careful +inspection with the knife, proved to be the embossed savory nest of a +few uncommonly tender pigeons of Pierre's own shooting. + +"Sister Mary," said he, lifting on his silver trident one of the +choicest of the many fine pigeon morsels; "Sister Mary," said he, "in +shooting these pigeons, I was very careful to bring down one in such a +manner that the breast is entirely unmarred. It was intended for you! +and here it is. Now Sergeant Dates, help hither your mistress' plate. +No?--nothing but the crumbs of French rolls, and a few peeps into a +coffee-cup--is that a breakfast for the daughter of yonder bold +General?"--pointing to a full-length of his gold-laced grandfather on +the opposite wall. "Well, pitiable is my case when I have to breakfast +for two. Dates!" + +"Sir." + +"Remove that toast-rack, Dates; and this plate of tongue, and bring the +rolls nearer, and wheel the stand farther off, good Dates." + +Having thus made generous room for himself, Pierre commenced operations, +interrupting his mouthfuls by many sallies of mirthfulness. + +"You seem to be in prodigious fine spirits this morning, brother +Pierre," said his mother. + +"Yes, very tolerable; at least I can't say, that I am low-spirited +exactly, sister Mary;--Dates, my fine fellow, bring me three bowls of +milk." + +"One bowl, sir, you mean," said Dates, gravely and imperturbably. + +As the servitor left the room, Mrs. Glendinning spoke. "My dear Pierre, +how often have I begged you never to permit your hilariousness to betray +you into overstepping the exact line of propriety in your intercourse +with servants. Dates' look was a respectful reproof to you just now. You +must not call Dates, _My fine fellow_. He _is_ a fine fellow, a very +fine fellow, indeed; but there is no need of telling him so at my table. +It is very easy to be entirely kind and pleasant to servants, without +the least touch of any shade of transient good-fellowship with them." + +"Well, sister, no doubt you are altogether right; after this I shall +drop the _fine_, and call Dates nothing but _fellow_;--Fellow, come +here!--how will that answer?" + +"Not at all, Pierre--but you are a Romeo, you know, and so for the +present I pass over your nonsense." + +"Romeo! oh, no. I am far from being Romeo--" sighed Pierre. "I laugh, +but he cried; poor Romeo! alas Romeo! woe is me, Romeo! he came to a +very deplorable end, did Romeo, sister Mary." + +"It was his own fault though." + +"Poor Romeo!" + +"He was disobedient to his parents." + +"Alas Romeo!" + +"He married against their particular wishes." + +"Woe is me, Romeo!" + +"But you, Pierre, are going to be married before long, I trust, not to a +Capulet, but to one of our own Montagues; and so Romeo's evil fortune +will hardly be yours. You will be happy." + +"The more miserable Romeo!" + +"Don't be so ridiculous, brother Pierre; so you are going to take Lucy +that long ride among the hills this morning? She is a sweet girl; a most +lovely girl." + +"Yes, that is rather my opinion, sister Mary.--By heavens, mother, the +five zones hold not such another! She is--yes--though I say +it--Dates!--he's a precious long time getting that milk!" + +"Let him stay.--Don't be a milk-sop, Pierre!" + +"Ha! my sister is a little satirical this morning. I comprehend." + +"Never rave, Pierre; and never rant. Your father never did either; nor +is it written of Socrates; and both were very wise men. Your father was +profoundly in love--that I know to my certain knowledge--but I never +heard him rant about it. He was always exceedingly gentlemanly: and +gentlemen never rant. Milk-sops and Muggletonians rant, but gentlemen +never." + +"Thank you, sister.--There, put it down, Dates; are the horses ready?" + +"Just driving round, sir, I believe." + +"Why, Pierre," said his mother, glancing out at the window, "are you +going to Santa Fe De Bogota with that enormous old phaeton;--what do you +take that Juggernaut out for?" + +"Humor, sister, humor; I like it because it's old-fashioned, and because +the seat is such a wide sofa of a seat, and finally because a young lady +by the name of Lucy Tartan cherishes a high regard for it. She vows she +would like to be married in it." + +"Well, Pierre, all I have to say, is, be sure that Christopher puts the +coach-hammer and nails, and plenty of cords and screws into the box. And +you had better let him follow you in one of the farm wagons, with a +spare axle and some boards." + +"No fear, sister; no fear;--I shall take the best of care of the old +phaeton. The quaint old arms on the panel, always remind me who it was +that first rode in it." + +"I am glad you have that memory, brother Pierre." + +"And who it was that _next_ rode in it." + +"Bless you!--God bless you, my dear son!--always think of him and you +can never err; yes, always think of your dear perfect father, Pierre." + +"Well, kiss me now, dear sister, for I must go." + +"There; this is my cheek, and the other is Lucy's; though now that I +look at them both, I think that hers is getting to be the most blooming; +sweeter dews fall on that one, I suppose." + +Pierre laughed, and ran out of the room, for old Christopher was getting +impatient. His mother went to the window and stood there. + +"A noble boy, and docile"--she murmured--"he has all the frolicsomeness +of youth, with little of its giddiness. And he does not grow +vain-glorious in sophomorean wisdom. I thank heaven I sent him not to +college. A noble boy, and docile. A fine, proud, loving, docile, +vigorous boy. Pray God, he never becomes otherwise to me. His little +wife, that is to be, will not estrange him from me; for she too is +docile,--beautiful, and reverential, and most docile. Seldom yet have I +known such blue eyes as hers, that were not docile, and would not follow +a bold black one, as two meek blue-ribboned ewes, follow their martial +leader. How glad am I that Pierre loves her so, and not some dark-eyed +haughtiness, with whom I could never live in peace; but who would be +ever setting her young married state before my elderly widowed one, and +claiming all the homage of my dear boy--the fine, proud, loving, docile, +vigorous boy!--the lofty-minded, well-born, noble boy; and with such +sweet docilities! See his hair! He does in truth illustrate that fine +saying of his father's, that as the noblest colts, in three +points--abundant hair, swelling chest, and sweet docility--should +resemble a fine woman, so should a noble youth. Well, good-bye, Pierre, +and a merry morning to ye!" + +So saying she crossed the room, and--resting in a corner--her glad proud +eye met the old General's baton, which the day before in one of his +frolic moods Pierre had taken from its accustomed place in the +pictured-bannered hall. She lifted it, and musingly swayed it to and +fro; then paused, and staff-wise rested with it in her hand. Her stately +beauty had ever somewhat martial in it; and now she looked the daughter +of a General, as she was; for Pierre's was a double revolutionary +descent. On both sides he sprang from heroes. + +"This is his inheritance--this symbol of command! and I swell out to +think it. Yet but just now I fondled the conceit that Pierre was so +sweetly docile! Here sure is a most strange inconsistency! For is sweet +docility a general's badge? and is this baton but a distaff +then?--Here's something widely wrong. Now I almost wish him otherwise +than sweet and docile to me, seeing that it must be hard for man to be +an uncompromising hero and a commander among his race, and yet never +ruffle any domestic brow. Pray heaven he show his heroicness in some +smooth way of favoring fortune, not be called out to be a hero of some +dark hope forlorn;--of some dark hope forlorn, whose cruelness makes a +savage of a man. Give him, O God, regardful gales! Fan him with +unwavering prosperities! So shall he remain all docility to me, and yet +prove a haughty hero to the world!" + + + + +BOOK II. + +LOVE, DELIGHT, AND ALARM. + + +I. + +On the previous evening, Pierre had arranged with Lucy the plan of a +long winding ride, among the hills which stretched around to the +southward from the wide plains of Saddle-Meadows. + +Though the vehicle was a sexagenarian, the animals that drew it, were +but six-year colts. The old phaeton had outlasted several generations of +its drawers. + +Pierre rolled beneath the village elms in billowy style, and soon drew +up before the white cottage door. Flinging his reins upon the ground he +entered the house. + +The two colts were his particular and confidential friends; born on the +same land with him, and fed with the same corn, which, in the form of +Indian-cakes, Pierre himself was often wont to eat for breakfast. The +same fountain that by one branch supplied the stables with water, by +another supplied Pierre's pitcher. They were a sort of family cousins to +Pierre, those horses; and they were splendid young cousins; very showy +in their redundant manes and mighty paces, but not at all vain or +arrogant. They acknowledged Pierre as the undoubted head of the house of +Glendinning. They well knew that they were but an inferior and +subordinate branch of the Glendinnings, bound in perpetual feudal fealty +to its headmost representative. Therefore, these young cousins never +permitted themselves to run from Pierre; they were impatient in their +paces, but very patient in the halt. They were full of good-humor too, +and kind as kittens. + +"Bless me, how can you let them stand all alone that way, Pierre," cried +Lucy, as she and Pierre stepped forth from the cottage door, Pierre +laden with shawls, parasol, reticule, and a small hamper. + +"Wait a bit," cried Pierre, dropping his load; "I will show you what my +colts are." + +So saying, he spoke to them mildly, and went close up to them, and +patted them. The colts neighed; the nigh colt neighing a little +jealously, as if Pierre had not patted impartially. Then, with a low, +long, almost inaudible whistle, Pierre got between the colts, among the +harness. Whereat Lucy started, and uttered a faint cry, but Pierre told +her to keep perfectly quiet, for there was not the least danger in the +world. And Lucy did keep quiet; for somehow, though she always started +when Pierre seemed in the slightest jeopardy, yet at bottom she rather +cherished a notion that Pierre bore a charmed life, and by no earthly +possibility could die from her, or experience any harm, when she was +within a thousand leagues. + +Pierre, still between the horses, now stepped upon the pole of the +phaeton; then stepping down, indefinitely disappeared, or became +partially obscured among the living colonnade of the horses' eight +slender and glossy legs. He entered the colonnade one way, and after a +variety of meanderings, came out another way; during all of which +equestrian performance, the two colts kept gayly neighing, and +good-humoredly moving their heads perpendicularly up and down; and +sometimes turning them sideways toward Lucy; as much as to say--We +understand young master; we understand him, Miss; never fear, pretty +lady: why, bless your delicious little heart, we played with Pierre +before you ever did. + +"Are you afraid of their running away now, Lucy?" said Pierre, returning +to her. + +"Not much, Pierre; the superb fellows! Why, Pierre, they have made an +officer of you--look!" and she pointed to two foam-flakes epauletting +his shoulders. "Bravissimo again! I called you my recruit, when you left +my window this morning, and here you are promoted." + +"Very prettily conceited, Lucy. But see, you don't admire their coats; +they wear nothing but the finest Genoa velvet, Lucy. See! did you ever +see such well-groomed horses?" + +"Never!" + +"Then what say you to have them for my groomsmen, Lucy? Glorious +groomsmen they would make, I declare. They should have a hundred ells of +white favors all over their manes and tails; and when they drew us to +church, they would be still all the time scattering white favors from +their mouths, just as they did here on me. Upon my soul, they shall be +my groomsmen, Lucy. Stately stags! playful dogs! heroes, Lucy. We shall +have no marriage bells; they shall neigh for us, Lucy; we shall be +wedded to the martial sound of Job's trumpeters, Lucy. Hark! they are +neighing now to think of it." + +"Neighing at your lyrics, Pierre. Come, let us be off. Here, the shawl, +the parasol, the basket: what are you looking at them so for?" + +"I was thinking, Lucy, of the sad state I am in. Not six months ago, I +saw a poor affianced fellow, an old comrade of mine, trudging along with +his Lucy Tartan, a hillock of bundles under either arm; and I said to +myself--There goes a sumpter, now; poor devil, he's a lover. And now +look at me! Well, life's a burden, they say; why not be burdened +cheerily? But look ye, Lucy, I am going to enter a formal declaration +and protest before matters go further with us. When we are married, I +am not to carry any bundles, unless in cases of real need; and what is +more, when there are any of your young lady acquaintances in sight, I am +not to be unnecessarily called upon to back up, and load for their +particular edification." + +"Now I am really vexed with you, Pierre; that is the first ill-natured +innuendo I ever heard from you. Are there any of my young lady +acquaintances in sight now, I should like to know?" + +"Six of them, right over the way," said Pierre; "but they keep behind +the curtains. I never trust your solitary village streets, Lucy. +Sharp-shooters behind every clap-board, Lucy." + +"Pray, then, dear Pierre, do let us be off!" + + +II. + +While Pierre and Lucy are now rolling along under the elms, let it be +said who Lucy Tartan was. It is needless to say that she was a beauty; +because chestnut-haired, bright-cheeked youths like Pierre Glendinning, +seldom fall in love with any but a beauty. And in the times to come, +there must be--as in the present times, and in the times gone by--some +splendid men, and some transcendent women; and how can they ever be, +unless always, throughout all time, here and there, a handsome youth +weds with a handsome maid! + +But though owing to the above-named provisions of dame Nature, there +always will be beautiful women in the world; yet the world will never +see another Lucy Tartan. Her cheeks were tinted with the most delicate +white and red, the white predominating. Her eyes some god brought down +from heaven; her hair was Danae's, spangled with Jove's shower; her +teeth were dived for in the Persian Sea. + +If long wont to fix his glance on those who, trudging through the +humbler walks of life, and whom unequal toil and poverty deform; if that +man shall haply view some fair and gracious daughter of the gods, who, +from unknown climes of loveliness and affluence, comes floating into +sight, all symmetry and radiance; how shall he be transported, that in a +world so full of vice and misery as ours, there should yet shine forth +this visible semblance of the heavens. For a lovely woman is not +entirely of this earth. Her own sex regard her not as such. A crowd of +women eye a transcendent beauty entering a room, much as though a bird +from Arabia had lighted on the window sill. Say what you will, their +jealousy--if any--is but an afterbirth to their open admiration. Do men +envy the gods? And shall women envy the goddesses? A beautiful woman is +born Queen of men and women both, as Mary Stuart was born Queen of +Scots, whether men or women. All mankind are her Scots; her leal clans +are numbered by the nations. A true gentleman in Kentucky would +cheerfully die for a beautiful woman in Hindostan, though he never saw +her. Yea, count down his heart in death-drops for her; and go to Pluto, +that she might go to Paradise. He would turn Turk before he would disown +an allegiance hereditary to all gentlemen, from the hour their Grand +Master, Adam, first knelt to Eve. + +A plain-faced Queen of Spain dwells not in half the glory a beautiful +milliner does. Her soldiers can break heads, but her Highness can not +crack a heart; and the beautiful milliner might string hearts for +necklaces. Undoubtedly, Beauty made the first Queen. If ever again the +succession to the German Empire should be contested, and one poor lame +lawyer should present the claims of the first excellingly beautiful +woman he chanced to see--she would thereupon be unanimously elected +Empress of the Holy Roman German Empire;--that is to say, if all the +Germans were true, free-hearted and magnanimous gentlemen, at all +capable of appreciating so immense an honor. + +It is nonsense to talk of France as the seat of all civility. Did not +those French heathen have a Salique law? Three of the most bewitching +creatures,--immortal flowers of the line of Valois--were excluded from +the French throne by that infamous provision. France, indeed! whose +Catholic millions still worship Mary Queen of Heaven; and for ten +generations refused cap and knee to many angel Maries, rightful Queens +of France. Here is cause for universal war. See how vilely nations, as +well as men, assume and wear unchallenged the choicest titles, however +without merit. The Americans, and not the French, are the world's models +of chivalry. Our Salique Law provides that universal homage shall be +paid all beautiful women. No man's most solid rights shall weigh against +her airiest whims. If you buy the best seat in the coach, to go and +consult a doctor on a matter of life and death, you shall cheerfully +abdicate that best seat, and limp away on foot, if a pretty woman, +traveling, shake one feather from the stage-house door. + +Now, since we began by talking of a certain young lady that went out +riding with a certain youth; and yet find ourselves, after leading such +a merry dance, fast by a stage-house window;--this may seem rather +irregular sort of writing. But whither indeed should Lucy Tartan conduct +us, but among mighty Queens, and all other creatures of high degree; and +finally set us roaming, to see whether the wide world can match so fine +a wonder. By immemorial usage, am I not bound to celebrate this Lucy +Tartan? Who shall stay me? Is she not my hero's own affianced? What can +be gainsaid? Where underneath the tester of the night sleeps such +another? + +Yet, how would Lucy Tartan shrink from all this noise and clatter! She +is bragged of, but not brags. Thus far she hath floated as stilly +through this life, as thistle-down floats over meadows. Noiseless, she, +except with Pierre; and even with him she lives through many a panting +hush. Oh, those love-pauses that they know--how ominous of their +future; for pauses precede the earthquake, and every other terrible +commotion! But blue be their sky awhile, and lightsome all their chat, +and frolicsome their humors. + +Never shall I get down the vile inventory! How, if with paper and with +pencil I went out into the starry night to inventorize the heavens? Who +shall tell stars as teaspoons? Who shall put down the charms of Lucy +Tartan upon paper? + +And for the rest; her parentage, what fortune she would possess, how +many dresses in her wardrobe, and how many rings upon her fingers; +cheerfully would I let the genealogists, tax-gatherers, and upholsterers +attend to that. My proper province is with the angelical part of Lucy. +But as in some quarters, there prevails a sort of prejudice against +angels, who are merely angels and nothing more; therefore I shall +martyrize myself, by letting such gentlemen and ladies into some details +of Lucy Tartan's history. + +She was the daughter of an early and most cherished friend of Pierre's +father. But that father was now dead, and she resided an only daughter +with her mother, in a very fine house in the city. But though her home +was in the city, her heart was twice a year in the country. She did not +at all love the city and its empty, heartless, ceremonial ways. It was +very strange, but most eloquently significant of her own natural +angelhood that, though born among brick and mortar in a sea-port, she +still pined for unbaked earth and inland grass. So the sweet linnet, +though born inside of wires in a lady's chamber on the ocean coast, and +ignorant all its life of any other spot; yet, when spring-time comes, it +is seized with flutterings and vague impatiences; it can not eat or +drink for these wild longings. Though unlearned by any experience, still +the inspired linnet divinely knows that the inland migrating time has +come. And just so with Lucy in her first longings for the verdure. Every +spring those wild flutterings shook her; every spring, this sweet +linnet girl did migrate inland. Oh God grant that those other and long +after nameless flutterings of her inmost soul, when all life was become +weary to her--God grant, that those deeper flutterings in her were +equally significant of her final heavenly migration from this heavy +earth. + +It was fortunate for Lucy that her Aunt Lanyllyn--a pensive, childless, +white-turbaned widow--possessed and occupied a pretty cottage in the +village of Saddle Meadows; and still more fortunate, that this excellent +old aunt was very partial to her, and always felt a quiet delight in +having Lucy near her. So Aunt Lanyllyn's cottage, in effect, was Lucy's. +And now, for some years past, she had annually spent several months at +Saddle Meadows; and it was among the pure and soft incitements of the +country that Pierre first had felt toward Lucy the dear passion which +now made him wholly hers. + +Lucy had two brothers; one her senior, by three years, and the other her +junior by two. But these young men were officers in the navy; and so +they did not permanently live with Lucy and her mother. + +Mrs. Tartan was mistress of an ample fortune. She was, moreover, +perfectly aware that such was the fact, and was somewhat inclined to +force it upon the notice of other people, nowise interested in the +matter. In other words, Mrs. Tartan, instead of being daughter-proud, +for which she had infinite reason, was a little inclined to being +purse-proud, for which she had not the slightest reason; seeing that the +Great Mogul probably possessed a larger fortune than she, not to speak +of the Shah of Persia and Baron Rothschild, and a thousand other +millionaires; whereas, the Grand Turk, and all their other majesties of +Europe, Asia, and Africa to boot, could not, in all their joint +dominions, boast so sweet a girl as Lucy. Nevertheless, Mrs. Tartan was +an excellent sort of lady, as this lady-like world goes. She subscribed +to charities, and owned five pews in as many churches, and went about +trying to promote the general felicity of the world, by making all the +handsome young people of her acquaintance marry one another. In other +words, she was a match-maker--not a Lucifer match-maker--though, to tell +the truth, she may have kindled the matrimonial blues in certain +dissatisfied gentlemen's breasts, who had been wedded under her +particular auspices, and by her particular advice. Rumor said--but rumor +is always fibbing--that there was a secret society of dissatisfied young +husbands, who were at the pains of privately circulating handbills among +all unmarried young strangers, warning them against the insidious +approaches of Mrs. Tartan; and, for reference, named themselves in +cipher. But this could not have been true; for, flushed with a thousand +matches--burning blue or bright, it made little matter--Mrs. Tartan +sailed the seas of fashion, causing all topsails to lower to her; and +towing flotillas of young ladies, for all of whom she was bound to find +the finest husband harbors in the world. + +But does not match-making, like charity, begin at home? Why is her own +daughter Lucy without a mate? But not so fast; Mrs. Tartan years ago +laid out that sweet programme concerning Pierre and Lucy; but in this +case, her programme happened to coincide, in some degree, with a +previous one in heaven, and only for that cause did it come to pass, +that Pierre Glendinning was the proud elect of Lucy Tartan. Besides, +this being a thing so nearly affecting herself, Mrs. Tartan had, for the +most part, been rather circumspect and cautious in all her +manoeuvrings with Pierre and Lucy. Moreover, the thing demanded no +manoeuvring at all. The two Platonic particles, after roaming in quest +of each other, from the time of Saturn and Ops till now; they came +together before Mrs. Tartan's own eyes; and what more could Mrs. Tartan +do toward making them forever one and indivisible? Once, and only once, +had a dim suspicion passed through Pierre's mind, that Mrs. Tartan was a +lady thimble-rigger, and slyly rolled the pea. + +In their less mature acquaintance, he was breakfasting with Lucy and +her mother in the city, and the first cup of coffee had been poured out +by Mrs. Tartan, when she declared she smelt matches burning somewhere in +the house, and she must see them extinguished. So banning all pursuit, +she rose to seek for the burning matches, leaving the pair alone to +interchange the civilities of the coffee; and finally sent word to them, +from above stairs, that the matches, or something else, had given her a +headache, and begged Lucy to send her up some toast and tea, for she +would breakfast in her own chamber that morning. + +Upon this, Pierre looked from Lucy to his boots, and as he lifted his +eyes again, saw Anacreon on the sofa on one side of him, and Moore's +Melodies on the other, and some honey on the table, and a bit of white +satin on the floor, and a sort of bride's veil on the chandelier. + +Never mind though--thought Pierre, fixing his gaze on Lucy--I'm entirely +willing to be caught, when the bait is set in Paradise, and the bait is +such an angel. Again he glanced at Lucy, and saw a look of infinite +subdued vexation, and some unwonted pallor on her cheek. Then willingly +he would have kissed the delicious bait, that so gently hated to be +tasted in the trap. But glancing round again, and seeing that the music, +which Mrs. Tartan, under the pretense of putting in order, had been +adjusting upon the piano; seeing that this music was now in a vertical +pile against the wall, with--"_Love was once a little boy_," for the +outermost and only visible sheet; and thinking this to be a remarkable +coincidence under the circumstances; Pierre could not refrain from a +humorous smile, though it was a very gentle one, and immediately +repented of, especially as Lucy seeing and interpreting it, immediately +arose, with an unaccountable, indignant, angelical, adorable, and +all-persuasive "Mr. Glendinning?" utterly confounded in him the +slightest germ of suspicion as to Lucy's collusion in her mother's +imagined artifices. + +Indeed, Mrs. Tartan's having any thing whatever to do, or hint, or +finesse in this matter of the loves of Pierre and Lucy, was nothing less +than immensely gratuitous and sacrilegious. Would Mrs. Tartan doctor +lilies when they blow? Would Mrs. Tartan set about match-making between +the steel and magnet? Preposterous Mrs. Tartan! But this whole world is +a preposterous one, with many preposterous people in it; chief among +whom was Mrs. Tartan, match-maker to the nation. + +This conduct of Mrs. Tartan, was the more absurd, seeing that she could +not but know that Mrs. Glendinning desired the thing. And was not Lucy +wealthy?--going to be, that is, very wealthy when her mother died;--(sad +thought that for Mrs. Tartan)--and was not her husband's family of the +best; and had not Lucy's father been a bosom friend of Pierre's father? +And though Lucy might be matched to some one man, where among women was +the match for Lucy? Exceedingly preposterous Mrs. Tartan! But when a +lady like Mrs. Tartan has nothing positive and useful to do, then she +will do just such preposterous things as Mrs. Tartan did. + +Well, time went on; and Pierre loved Lucy, and Lucy, Pierre; till at +last the two young naval gentlemen, her brothers, happened to arrive in +Mrs. Tartan's drawing-room, from their first cruise--a three years' one +up the Mediterranean. They rather stared at Pierre, finding him on the +sofa, and Lucy not very remote. + +"Pray, be seated, gentlemen," said Pierre. "Plenty of room." + +"My darling brothers!" cried Lucy, embracing them. + +"My darling brothers and sister!" cried Pierre, folding them together. + +"Pray, hold off, sir," said the elder brother, who had served as a +passed midshipman for the last two weeks. The younger brother retreated +a little, and clapped his hand upon his dirk, saying, "Sir, we are from +the Mediterranean. Sir, permit me to say, this is decidedly improper! +Who may you be, sir?" + +"I can't explain for joy," cried Pierre, hilariously embracing them all +again. + +"Most extraordinary!" cried the elder brother, extricating his +shirt-collar from the embrace, and pulling it up vehemently. + +"Draw!" cried the younger, intrepidly. + +"Peace, foolish fellows," cried Lucy--"this is your old play-fellow, +Pierre Glendinning." + +"Pierre? why, Pierre?" cried the lads--"a hug all round again! You've +grown a fathom!--who would have known you? But, then--Lucy? I say, +Lucy?--what business have you here in this--eh? eh?--hugging-match, I +should call it?" + +"Oh! Lucy don't mean any thing," cried Pierre--"come, one more all +round." + +So they all embraced again; and that evening it was publicly known that +Pierre was to wed with Lucy. + +Whereupon, the young officers took it upon themselves to think--though +they by no means presumed to breathe it--that they had authoritatively, +though indirectly, accelerated a before ambiguous and highly +incommendable state of affairs between the now affianced lovers. + + +III. + +In the fine old robust times of Pierre's grandfather, an American +gentleman of substantial person and fortune spent his time in a somewhat +different style from the green-house gentlemen of the present day. The +grandfather of Pierre measured six feet four inches in height; during a +fire in the old manorial mansion, with one dash of his foot, he had +smitten down an oaken door, to admit the buckets of his negro slaves; +Pierre had often tried on his military vest, which still remained an +heirloom at Saddle Meadows, and found the pockets below his knees, and +plenty additional room for a fair-sized quarter-cask within its buttoned +girth; in a night-scuffle in the wilderness before the Revolutionary +War, he had annihilated two Indian savages by making reciprocal +bludgeons of their heads. And all this was done by the mildest hearted, +and most blue-eyed gentleman in the world, who, according to the +patriarchal fashion of those days, was a gentle, white-haired worshiper +of all the household gods; the gentlest husband, and the gentlest +father; the kindest of masters to his slaves; of the most wonderful +unruffledness of temper; a serene smoker of his after-dinner pipe; a +forgiver of many injuries; a sweet-hearted, charitable Christian; in +fine, a pure, cheerful, child-like, blue-eyed, divine old man; in whose +meek, majestic soul, the lion and the lamb embraced--fit image of his +God. + +Never could Pierre look upon his fine military portrait without an +infinite and mournful longing to meet his living aspect in actual life. +The majestic sweetness of this portrait was truly wonderful in its +effects upon any sensitive and generous-minded young observer. For such, +that portrait possessed the heavenly persuasiveness of angelic speech; a +glorious gospel framed and hung upon the wall, and declaring to all +people, as from the Mount, that man is a noble, god-like being, full of +choicest juices; made up of strength and beauty. + +Now, this grand old Pierre Glendinning was a great lover of horses; but +not in the modern sense, for he was no jockey;--one of his most intimate +friends of the masculine gender was a huge, proud, gray horse, of a +surprising reserve of manner, his saddle-beast; he had his horses' +mangers carved like old trenchers, out of solid maple logs; the key of +the corn-bin hung in his library; and no one grained his steeds, but +himself; unless his absence from home promoted Moyar, an incorruptible +and most punctual old black, to that honorable office. He said that no +man loved his horses, unless his own hands grained them. Every Christmas +he gave them brimming measures. "I keep Christmas with my horses," said +grand old Pierre. This grand old Pierre always rose at sunrise; washed +his face and chest in the open air; and then, returning to his closet, +and being completely arrayed at last, stepped forth to make a +ceremonious call at his stables, to bid his very honorable friends there +a very good and joyful morning. Woe to Cranz, Kit, Douw, or any other of +his stable slaves, if grand old Pierre found one horse unblanketed, or +one weed among the hay that filled their rack. Not that he ever had +Cranz, Kit, Douw, or any of them flogged--a thing unknown in that +patriarchal time and country--but he would refuse to say his wonted +pleasant word to them; and that was very bitter to them, for Cranz, Kit, +Douw, and all of them, loved grand old Pierre, as his shepherds loved +old Abraham. + +What decorous, lordly, gray-haired steed is this? What old Chaldean +rides abroad?--'Tis grand old Pierre; who, every morning before he eats, +goes out promenading with his saddle-beast; nor mounts him, without +first asking leave. But time glides on, and grand old Pierre grows old: +his life's glorious grape now swells with fatness; he has not the +conscience to saddle his majestic beast with such a mighty load of +manliness. Besides, the noble beast himself is growing old, and has a +touching look of meditativeness in his large, attentive eyes. Leg of +man, swears grand old Pierre, shall never more bestride my steed; no +more shall harness touch him! Then every spring he sowed a field with +clover for his steed; and at mid-summer sorted all his meadow grasses, +for the choicest hay to winter him; and had his destined grain thrashed +out with a flail, whose handle had once borne a flag in a brisk battle, +into which this same old steed had pranced with grand old Pierre; one +waving mane, one waving sword! + +Now needs must grand old Pierre take a morning drive; he rides no more +with the old gray steed. He has a phaeton built, fit for a vast General, +in whose sash three common men might hide. Doubled, trebled are the +huge S shaped leather springs; the wheels seem stolen from some mill; +the canopied seat is like a testered bed. From beneath the old archway, +not one horse, but two, every morning now draw forth old Pierre, as the +Chinese draw their fat god Josh, once every year from out his fane. + +But time glides on, and a morning comes, when the phaeton emerges not; +but all the yards and courts are full; helmets line the ways; +sword-points strike the stone steps of the porch; muskets ring upon the +stairs; and mournful martial melodies are heard in all the halls. Grand +old Pierre is dead; and like a hero of old battles, he dies on the eve +of another war; ere wheeling to fire on the foe, his platoons fire over +their old commander's grave; in A. D. 1812, died grand old Pierre. The +drum that beat in brass his funeral march, was a British kettle-drum, +that had once helped beat the vain-glorious march, for the thirty +thousand predestined prisoners, led into sure captivity by that bragging +boy, Burgoyne. + +Next day the old gray steed turned from his grain; turned round, and +vainly whinnied in his stall. By gracious Moyar's hand, he refuses to be +patted now; plain as horse can speak, the old gray steed says--"I smell +not the wonted hand; where is grand old Pierre? Grain me not, and groom +me not;--Where is grand old Pierre?" + +He sleeps not far from his master now; beneath the field he cropt, he +has softly lain him down; and long ere this, grand old Pierre and steed +have passed through that grass to glory. + +But his phaeton--like his plumed hearse, outlives the noble load it +bore. And the dark bay steeds that drew grand old Pierre alive, and by +his testament drew him dead, and followed the lordly lead of the led +gray horse; those dark bay steeds are still extant; not in themselves or +in their issue; but in the two descendants of stallions of their own +breed. For on the lands of Saddle Meadows, man and horse are both +hereditary; and this bright morning Pierre Glendinning, grandson of +grand old Pierre, now drives forth with Lucy Tartan, seated where his +own ancestor had sat, and reining steeds, whose +great-great-great-grandfathers grand old Pierre had reined before. + +How proud felt Pierre: In fancy's eye, he saw the horse-ghosts a-tandem +in the van; "These are but wheelers"--cried young Pierre--"the leaders +are the generations." + + +IV. + +But Love has more to do with his own possible and probable posterities, +than with the once living but now impossible ancestries in the past. So +Pierre's glow of family pride quickly gave place to a deeper hue, when +Lucy bade love's banner blush out from his cheek. + +That morning was the choicest drop that Time had in his vase. Ineffable +distillations of a soft delight were wafted from the fields and hills. +Fatal morning that, to all lovers unbetrothed; "Come to your +confessional," it cried. "Behold our airy loves," the birds chirped from +the trees; far out at sea, no more the sailors tied their bowline-knots; +their hands had lost their cunning; will they, nill they, Love tied +love-knots on every spangled spar. + +Oh, praised be the beauty of this earth, the beauty, and the bloom, and +the mirthfulness thereof! The first worlds made were winter worlds; the +second made, were vernal worlds; the third, and last, and perfectest, +was this summer world of ours. In the cold and nether spheres, preachers +preach of earth, as we of Paradise above. Oh, there, my friends, they +say, they have a season, in their language known as summer. Then their +fields spin themselves green carpets; snow and ice are not in all the +land; then a million strange, bright, fragrant things powder that sward +with perfumes; and high, majestic beings, dumb and grand, stand up with +outstretched arms, and hold their green canopies over merry angels--men +and women--who love and wed, and sleep and dream, beneath the approving +glances of their visible god and goddess, glad-hearted sun, and pensive +moon! + +Oh, praised be the beauty of this earth; the beauty, and the bloom, and +the mirthfulness thereof. We lived before, and shall live again; and as +we hope for a fairer world than this to come; so we came from one less +fine. From each successive world, the demon Principle is more and more +dislodged; he is the accursed clog from chaos, and thither, by every new +translation, we drive him further and further back again. Hosannahs to +this world! so beautiful itself, and the vestibule to more. Out of some +past Egypt, we have come to this new Canaan; and from this new Canaan, +we press on to some Circassia. Though still the villains, Want and Woe, +followed us out of Egypt, and now beg in Canaan's streets: yet +Circassia's gates shall not admit them; they, with their sire, the demon +Principle, must back to chaos, whence they came. + +Love was first begot by Mirth and Peace, in Eden, when the world was +young. The man oppressed with cares, he can not love; the man of gloom +finds not the god. So, as youth, for the most part, has no cares, and +knows no gloom, therefore, ever since time did begin, youth belongs to +love. Love may end in grief and age, and pain and need, and all other +modes of human mournfulness; but love begins in joy. Love's first sigh +is never breathed, till after love hath laughed. Love laughs first, and +then sighs after. Love has not hands, but cymbals; Love's mouth is +chambered like a bugle, and the instinctive breathings of his life +breathe jubilee notes of joy! + +That morning, two bay horses drew two Laughs along the road that led to +the hills from Saddle Meadows. Apt time they kept; Pierre Glendinning's +young, manly tenor, to Lucy Tartan's girlish treble. + +Wondrous fair of face, blue-eyed, and golden-haired, the bright blonde, +Lucy, was arrayed in colors harmonious with the heavens. Light blue be +thy perpetual color, Lucy; light blue becomes thee best--such the +repeated azure counsel of Lucy Tartan's mother. On both sides, from the +hedges, came to Pierre the clover bloom of Saddle Meadows, and from +Lucy's mouth and cheek came the fresh fragrance of her violet young +being. + +"Smell I the flowers, or thee?" cried Pierre. + +"See I lakes, or eyes?" cried Lucy, her own gazing down into his soul, +as two stars gaze down into a tarn. + +No Cornwall miner ever sunk so deep a shaft beneath the sea, as Love +will sink beneath the floatings of the eyes. Love sees ten million +fathoms down, till dazzled by the floor of pearls. The eye is Love's own +magic glass, where all things that are not of earth, glide in +supernatural light. There are not so many fishes in the sea, as there +are sweet images in lovers' eyes. In those miraculous translucencies +swim the strange eye-fish with wings, that sometimes leap out, instinct +with joy; moist fish-wings wet the lover's cheek. Love's eyes are holy +things; therein the mysteries of life are lodged; looking in each +other's eyes, lovers see the ultimate secret of the worlds; and with +thrills eternally untranslatable, feel that Love is god of all. Man or +woman who has never loved, nor once looked deep down into their own +lover's eyes, they know not the sweetest and the loftiest religion of +this earth. Love is both Creator's and Saviour's gospel to mankind; a +volume bound in rose-leaves, clasped with violets, and by the beaks of +humming-birds printed with peach-juice on the leaves of lilies. + +Endless is the account of Love. Time and space can not contain Love's +story. All things that are sweet to see, or taste, or feel, or hear, +all these things were made by Love; and none other things were made by +Love. Love made not the Arctic zones, but Love is ever reclaiming them. +Say, are not the fierce things of this earth daily, hourly going out? +Where now are your wolves of Britain? Where in Virginia now, find you +the panther and the pard? Oh, love is busy everywhere. Everywhere Love +hath Moravian missionaries. No Propagandist like to love. The south wind +wooes the barbarous north; on many a distant shore the gentler west wind +persuades the arid east. + +All this Earth is Love's affianced; vainly the demon Principle howls to +stay the banns. Why round her middle wears this world so rich a zone of +torrid verdure, if she be not dressing for the final rites? And why +provides she orange blossoms and lilies of the valley, if she would not +that all men and maids should love and marry? For every wedding where +true lovers wed, helps on the march of universal Love. Who are brides +here shall be Love's bridemaids in the marriage world to come. So on all +sides Love allures; can contain himself what youth who views the wonders +of the beauteous woman-world? Where a beautiful woman is, there is all +Asia and her Bazars. Italy hath not a sight before the beauty of a +Yankee girl; nor heaven a blessing beyond her earthly love. Did not the +angelical Lotharios come down to earth, that they might taste of mortal +woman's Love and Beauty? even while her own silly brothers were pining +after the self-same Paradise they left? Yes, those envying angels did +come down; did emigrate; and who emigrates except to be better off? + +Love is this world's great redeemer and reformer; and as all beautiful +women are her selectest emissaries, so hath Love gifted them with a +magnetical persuasiveness, that no youth can possibly repel. The own +heart's choice of every youth, seems ever as an inscrutable witch to +him; and by ten thousand concentric spells and circling incantations, +glides round and round him, as he turns: murmuring meanings of +unearthly import; and summoning up to him all the subterranean sprites +and gnomes; and unpeopling all the sea for naiads to swim round him; so +that mysteries are evoked as in exhalations by this Love;--what wonder +then that Love was aye a mystic? + + +V. + +And this self-same morning Pierre was very mystical; not continually, +though; but most mystical one moment, and overflowing with mad, +unbridled merriment, the next. He seemed a youthful Magian, and almost a +mountebank together. Chaldaic improvisations burst from him, in quick +Golden Verses, on the heel of humorous retort and repartee. More +especially, the bright glance of Lucy was transporting to him. Now, +reckless of his horses, with both arms holding Lucy in his embrace, like +a Sicilian diver he dives deep down in the Adriatic of her eyes, and +brings up some king's-cup of joy. All the waves in Lucy's eyes seemed +waves of infinite glee to him. And as if, like veritable seas, they did +indeed catch the reflected irradiations of that pellucid azure morning; +in Lucy's eyes, there seemed to shine all the blue glory of the general +day, and all the sweet inscrutableness of the sky. And certainly, the +blue eye of woman, like the sea, is not uninfluenced by the atmosphere. +Only in the open air of some divinest, summer day, will you see its +ultramarine,--its fluid lapis lazuli. Then would Pierre burst forth in +some screaming shout of joy; and the striped tigers of his chestnut eyes +leaped in their lashed cages with a fierce delight. Lucy shrank from him +in extreme love; for the extremest top of love, is Fear and Wonder. + +Soon the swift horses drew this fair god and goddess nigh the wooded +hills, whose distant blue, now changed into a variously-shaded green, +stood before them like old Babylonian walls, overgrown with verdure; +while here and there, at regular intervals, the scattered peaks seemed +mural towers; and the clumped pines surmounting them, as lofty archers, +and vast, out-looking watchers of the glorious Babylonian City of the +Day. Catching that hilly air, the prancing horses neighed; laughed on +the ground with gleeful feet. Felt they the gay delightsome spurrings of +the day; for the day was mad with excessive joy; and high in heaven you +heard the neighing of the horses of the sun; and down dropt their +nostrils' froth in many a fleecy vapor from the hills. + +From the plains, the mists rose slowly; reluctant yet to quit so fair a +mead. At those green slopings, Pierre reined in his steeds, and soon the +twain were seated on the bank, gazing far, and far away; over many a +grove and lake; corn-crested uplands, and Herd's-grass lowlands; and +long-stretching swales of vividest green, betokening where the greenest +bounty of this earth seeks its winding channels; as ever, the most +heavenly bounteousness most seeks the lowly places; making green and +glad many a humble mortal's breast, and leaving to his own lonely +aridness, many a hill-top prince's state. + +But Grief, not Joy, is a moralizer; and small moralizing wisdom caught +Pierre from that scene. With Lucy's hand in his, and feeling, softly +feeling of its soft tinglingness; he seemed as one placed in linked +correspondence with the summer lightnings; and by sweet shock on shock, +receiving intimating fore-tastes of the etherealest delights of earth. + +Now, prone on the grass he falls, with his attentive upward glance fixed +on Lucy's eyes. "Thou art my heaven, Lucy; and here I lie thy +shepherd-king, watching for new eye-stars to rise in thee. Ha! I see +Venus' transit now;--lo! a new planet there;--and behind all, an +infinite starry nebulousness, as if thy being were backgrounded by some +spangled vail of mystery." + +Is Lucy deaf to all these ravings of his lyric love? Why looks she down, +and vibrates so; and why now from her over-charged lids, drops such warm +drops as these? No joy now in Lucy's eyes, and seeming tremor on her +lips. + +"Ah! thou too ardent and impetuous Pierre!" + +"Nay, thou too moist and changeful April! know'st thou not, that the +moist and changeful April is followed by the glad, assured, and +showerless joy of June? And this, Lucy, this day should be thy June, +even as it is the earth's?" + +"Ah Pierre! not June to me. But say, are not the sweets of June made +sweet by the April tears?" + +"Ay, love! but here fall more drops,--more and more;--these showers are +longer than beseem the April, and pertain not to the June." + +"June! June!--thou bride's month of the summer,--following the spring's +sweet courtship of the earth,--my June, my June is yet to come!" + +"Oh! yet to come, but fixedly decreed;--good as come, and better." + +"Then no flower that, in the bud, the April showers have nurtured; no +such flower may untimely perish, ere the June unfolds it? Ye will not +swear that, Pierre?" + +"The audacious immortalities of divinest love are in me; and I now swear +to thee all the immutable eternities of joyfulness, that ever woman +dreamed of, in this dream-house of the earth. A god decrees to thee +unchangeable felicity; and to me, the unchallenged possession of thee +and them, for my inalienable fief.--Do I rave? Look on me, Lucy; think +on me, girl." + +"Thou art young, and beautiful, and strong; and a joyful manliness +invests thee, Pierre; and thy intrepid heart never yet felt the touch of +fear;--But--" + +"But what?" + +"Ah, my best Pierre!" + +"With kisses I will suck thy secret from thy cheek!--but what?" + +"Let us hie homeward, Pierre. Some nameless sadness, faintness, +strangely comes to me. Foretaste I feel of endless dreariness. Tell me +once more the story of that face, Pierre,--that mysterious, haunting +face, which thou once told'st me, thou didst thrice vainly try to shun. +Blue is the sky, oh, bland the air, Pierre;--but--tell me the story of +the face,--the dark-eyed, lustrous, imploring, mournful face, that so +mystically paled, and shrunk at thine. Ah, Pierre, sometimes I have +thought,--never will I wed with my best Pierre, until the riddle of that +face be known. Tell me, tell me, Pierre;--as a fixed basilisk, with eyes +of steady, flaming mournfulness, that face this instant fastens me." + +"Bewitched! bewitched!--Cursed be the hour I acted on the thought, that +Love hath no reserves. Never should I have told thee the story of that +face, Lucy. I have bared myself too much to thee. Oh, never should Love +know all!" + +"Knows not all, then loves not all, Pierre. Never shalt thou so say +again;--and Pierre, listen to me. Now,--now, in this inexplicable +trepidation that I feel, I do conjure thee, that thou wilt ever continue +to do as thou hast done; so that I may ever continue to know all that +agitatest thee, the airiest and most transient thought, that ever shall +sweep into thee from the wide atmosphere of all things that hem +mortality. Did I doubt thee here;--could I ever think, that thy heart +hath yet one private nook or corner from me;--fatal disenchanting day +for me, my Pierre, would that be. I tell thee, Pierre--and 'tis Love's +own self that now speaks through me--only in unbounded confidence and +interchangings of all subtlest secrets, can Love possibly endure. Love's +self is a secret, and so feeds on secrets, Pierre. Did I only know of +thee, what the whole common world may know--what then were Pierre to +me?--Thou must be wholly a disclosed secret to me; Love is vain and +proud; and when I walk the streets, and meet thy friends, I must still +be laughing and hugging to myself the thought,--They know him not;--I +only know my Pierre;--none else beneath the circuit of yon sun. Then, +swear to me, dear Pierre, that thou wilt never keep a secret from +me--no, never, never;--swear!" + +"Something seizes me. Thy inexplicable tears, falling, falling on my +heart, have now turned it to a stone. I feel icy cold and hard; I will +not swear!" + +"Pierre! Pierre!" + +"God help thee, and God help me, Lucy. I can not think, that in this +most mild and dulcet air, the invisible agencies are plotting treasons +against our loves. Oh! if ye be now nigh us, ye things I have no name +for; then by a name that should be efficacious--by Christ's holy name, I +warn ye back from her and me. Touch her not, ye airy devils; hence to +your appointed hell! why come ye prowling in these heavenly perlieus? +Can not the chains of Love omnipotent bind ye, fiends?" + +"Is this Pierre? His eyes glare fearfully; now I see layer on layer +deeper in him; he turns round and menaces the air and talks to it, as if +defied by the air. Woe is me, that fairy love should raise this evil +spell!--Pierre?" + +"But now I was infinite distances from thee, oh my Lucy, wandering +baffled in the choking night; but thy voice might find me, though I had +wandered to the Boreal realm, Lucy. Here I sit down by thee; I catch a +soothing from thee." + +"My own, own Pierre! Pierre, into ten trillion pieces I could now be +torn for thee; in my bosom would yet hide thee, and there keep thee +warm, though I sat down on Arctic ice-floes, frozen to a corpse. My own, +best, blessed Pierre! Now, could I plant some poniard in me, that my +silly ailings should have power to move thee thus, and pain thee thus. +Forgive me, Pierre; thy changed face hath chased the other from me; the +fright of thee exceeds all other frights. It does not so haunt me now. +Press hard my hand; look hard on me, my love, that its last trace may +pass away. Now I feel almost whole again; now, 'tis gone. Up, my Pierre; +let us up, and fly these hills, whence, I fear, too wide a prospect +meets us. Fly we to the plain. See, thy steeds neigh for thee--they call +thee--see, the clouds fly down toward the plain--lo, these hills now +seem all desolate to me, and the vale all verdure. Thank thee, +Pierre.--See, now, I quit the hills, dry-cheeked; and leave all tears +behind to be sucked in by these evergreens, meet emblems of the +unchanging love, my own sadness nourishes in me. Hard fate, that Love's +best verdure should feed so on tears!" + +Now they rolled swiftly down the slopes; nor tempted the upper hills; +but sped fast for the plain. Now the cloud hath passed from Lucy's eye; +no more the lurid slanting light forks upward from her lover's brow. In +the plain they find peace, and love, and joy again. + +"It was the merest, idling, wanton vapor, Lucy!" + +"An empty echo, Pierre, of a sad sound, long past. Bless thee, my +Pierre!" + +"The great God wrap thee ever, Lucy. So, now, we are home." + + +VI. + +After seeing Lucy into her aunt's most cheerful parlor, and seating her +by the honeysuckle that half clambered into the window there; and near +to which was her easel for crayon-sketching, upon part of whose frame +Lucy had cunningly trained two slender vines, into whose earth-filled +pots two of the three legs of the easel were inserted; and sitting down +himself by her, and by his pleasant, lightsome chat, striving to chase +the last trace of sadness from her; and not till his object seemed fully +gained; Pierre rose to call her good aunt to her, and so take his leave +till evening, when Lucy called him back, begging him first to bring her +the blue portfolio from her chamber, for she wished to kill her last +lingering melancholy--if any indeed did linger now--by diverting her +thoughts, in a little pencil sketch, to scenes widely different from +those of Saddle Meadows and its hills. + +So Pierre went up stairs, but paused on the threshold of the open door. +He never had entered that chamber but with feelings of a wonderful +reverentialness. The carpet seemed as holy ground. Every chair seemed +sanctified by some departed saint, there once seated long ago. Here his +book of Love was all a rubric, and said--Bow now, Pierre, bow. But this +extreme loyalty to the piety of love, called from him by such glimpses +of its most secret inner shrine, was not unrelieved betimes by such +quickenings of all his pulses, that in fantasy he pressed the wide +beauty of the world in his embracing arms; for all his world resolved +itself into his heart's best love for Lucy. + +Now, crossing the magic silence of the empty chamber, he caught the +snow-white bed reflected in the toilet-glass. This rooted him. For one +swift instant, he seemed to see in that one glance the two separate +beds--the real one and the reflected one--and an unbidden, most +miserable presentiment thereupon stole into him. But in one breath it +came and went. So he advanced, and with a fond and gentle joyfulness, +his eye now fell upon the spotless bed itself, and fastened on a +snow-white roll that lay beside the pillow. Now he started; Lucy seemed +coming in upon him; but no--'tis only the foot of one of her little +slippers, just peeping into view from under the narrow nether curtains +of the bed. Then again his glance fixed itself upon the slender, +snow-white, ruffled roll; and he stood as one enchanted. Never precious +parchment of the Greek was half so precious in his eyes. Never +trembling scholar longed more to unroll the mystic vellum, than Pierre +longed to unroll the sacred secrets of that snow-white, ruffled thing. +But his hands touched not any object in that chamber, except the one he +had gone thither for. + +"Here is the blue portfolio, Lucy. See, the key hangs to its silver +lock;--were you not fearful I would open it?--'twas tempting, I must +confess." + +"Open it!" said Lucy--"why, yes, Pierre, yes; what secret thing keep I +from thee? Read me through and through. I am entirely thine. See!" and +tossing open the portfolio, all manner of rosy things came floating from +it, and a most delicate perfume of some invisible essence. + +"Ah! thou holy angel, Lucy!" + +"Why, Pierre, thou art transfigured; thou now lookest as one who--why, +Pierre?" + +"As one who had just peeped in at paradise, Lucy; and----" + +"Again wandering in thy mind, Pierre; no more--Come, you must leave me, +now. I am quite rested again. Quick, call my aunt, and leave me. Stay, +this evening we are to look over the book of plates from the city, you +know. Be early;--go now, Pierre." + +"Well, good-bye, till evening, thou height of all delight." + + +VII. + +As Pierre drove through the silent village, beneath the vertical shadows +of the noon-day trees, the sweet chamber scene abandoned him, and the +mystical face recurred to him, and kept with him. At last, arrived at +home, he found his mother absent; so passing straight through the wide +middle hall of the mansion, he descended the piazza on the other ride, +and wandered away in reveries down to the river bank. + +Here one primeval pine-tree had been luckily left standing by the +otherwise unsparing woodmen, who long ago had cleared that meadow. It +was once crossing to this noble pine, from a clump of hemlocks far +across the river, that Pierre had first noticed the significant fact, +that while the hemlock and the pine are trees of equal growth and +stature, and are so similar in their general aspect, that people unused +to woods sometimes confound them; and while both trees are proverbially +trees of sadness, yet the dark hemlock hath no music in its thoughtful +boughs; but the gentle pine-tree drops melodious mournfulness. + +At its half-bared roots of sadness, Pierre sat down, and marked the +mighty bulk and far out-reaching length of one particular root, which, +straying down the bank, the storms and rains had years ago exposed. + +"How wide, how strong these roots must spread! Sure, this pine-tree +takes powerful hold of this fair earth! Yon bright flower hath not so +deep a root. This tree hath outlived a century of that gay flower's +generations, and will outlive a century of them yet to come. This is +most sad. Hark, now I hear the pyramidical and numberless, flame-like +complainings of this Eolean pine;--the wind breathes now upon it:--the +wind,--that is God's breath! Is He so sad? Oh, tree! so mighty thou, so +lofty, yet so mournful! This is most strange! Hark! as I look up into +thy high secrecies, oh, tree, the face, the face, peeps down on +me!--'Art thou Pierre? Come to me'--oh, thou mysterious girl,--what an +ill-matched pendant thou, to that other countenance of sweet Lucy, which +also hangs, and first did hang within my heart! Is grief a pendant then +to pleasantness? Is grief a self-willed guest that _will_ come in? Yet I +have never known thee, Grief;--thou art a legend to me. I have known +some fiery broils of glorious frenzy; I have oft tasted of revery; +whence comes pensiveness; whence comes sadness; whence all delicious +poetic presentiments;--but thou, Grief! art still a ghost-story to me. I +know thee not,--do half disbelieve in thee. Not that I would be without +my too little cherished fits of sadness now and then; but God keep me +from thee, thou other shape of far profounder gloom! I shudder at thee! +The face!--the face!--forth again from thy high secrecies, oh, tree! the +face steals down upon me. Mysterious girl! who art thou? by what right +snatchest thou thus my deepest thoughts? Take thy thin fingers from +me;--I am affianced, and not to thee. Leave me!--what share hast thou in +me? Surely, thou lovest not me?--that were most miserable for thee, and +me, and Lucy. It can not be. What, _who_ art thou? Oh! wretched +vagueness--too familiar to me, yet inexplicable,--unknown, utterly +unknown! I seem to founder in this perplexity. Thou seemest to know +somewhat of me, that I know not of myself,--what is it then? If thou +hast a secret in thy eyes of mournful mystery, out with it; Pierre +demands it; what is that thou hast veiled in thee so imperfectly, that I +seem to see its motion, but not its form? It visibly rustles behind the +concealing screen. Now, never into the soul of Pierre, stole there +before, a muffledness like this! If aught really lurks in it, ye +sovereign powers that claim all my leal worshipings, I conjure ye to +lift the veil; I must see it face to face. Tread I on a mine, warn me; +advance I on a precipice, hold me back; but abandon me to an unknown +misery, that it shall suddenly seize me, and possess me, wholly,--that +ye will never do; else, Pierre's fond faith in ye--now clean, +untouched--may clean depart; and give me up to be a railing atheist! Ah, +now the face departs. Pray heaven it hath not only stolen back, and +hidden again in thy high secrecies, oh tree! But 'tis +gone--gone--entirely gone; and I thank God, and I feel joy again; joy, +which I also feel to be my right as man; deprived of joy, I feel I +should find cause for deadly feuds with things invisible. Ha! a coat of +iron-mail seems to grow round, and husk me now; and I have heard, that +the bitterest winters are foretold by a thicker husk upon the Indian +corn; so our old farmers say. But 'tis a dark similitude. Quit thy +analogies; sweet in the orator's mouth, bitter in the thinker's belly. +Now, then, I'll up with my own joyful will; and with my joy's face scare +away all phantoms:--so, they go; and Pierre is Joy's, and Life's again. +Thou pine-tree!--henceforth I will resist thy too treacherous +persuasiveness. Thou'lt not so often woo me to thy airy tent, to ponder +on the gloomy rooted stakes that bind it. Hence now I go; and peace be +with thee, pine! That blessed sereneness which lurks ever at the heart +of sadness--mere sadness--and remains when all the rest has gone;--that +sweet feeling is now mine, and cheaply mine. I am not sorry I was sad, I +feel so blessed now. Dearest Lucy!--well, well;--'twill be a pretty time +we'll have this evening; there's the book of Flemish prints--that first +we must look over; then, second, is Flaxman's Homer--clear-cut outlines, +yet full of unadorned barbaric nobleness. Then Flaxman's Dante;--Dante! +Night's and Hell's poet he. No, we will not open Dante. Methinks now the +face--the face--minds me a little of pensive, sweet Francesca's +face--or, rather, as it had been Francesca's daughter's face--wafted on +the sad dark wind, toward observant Virgil and the blistered Florentine. +No, we will not open Flaxman's Dante. Francesca's mournful face is now +ideal to me. Flaxman might evoke it wholly,--make it present in lines of +misery--bewitching power. No! I will not open Flaxman's Dante! Damned be +the hour I read in Dante! more damned than that wherein Paolo and +Francesca read in fatal Launcelot!" + + + + +BOOK III. + +THE PRESENTIMENT AND THE VERIFICATION. + + +I. + +The face, of which Pierre and Lucy so strangely and fearfully hinted, +was not of enchanted air; but its mortal lineaments of mournfulness had +been visibly beheld by Pierre. Nor had it accosted him in any privacy; +or in any lonely byeway; or beneath the white light of the crescent +moon; but in a joyous chamber, bright with candles, and ringing with two +score women's gayest voices. Out of the heart of mirthfulness, this +shadow had come forth to him. Encircled by bandelets of light, it had +still beamed upon him; vaguely historic and prophetic; backward, hinting +of some irrevocable sin; forward, pointing to some inevitable ill. One +of those faces, which now and then appear to man, and without one word +of speech, still reveal glimpses of some fearful gospel. In natural +guise, but lit by supernatural light; palpable to the senses, but +inscrutable to the soul; in their perfectest impression on us, ever +hovering between Tartarean misery and Paradisaic beauty; such faces, +compounded so of hell and heaven, overthrow in us all foregone +persuasions, and make us wondering children in this world again. + +The face had accosted Pierre some weeks previous to his ride with Lucy +to the hills beyond Saddle Meadows; and before her arrival for the +summer at the village; moreover it had accosted him in a very common +and homely scene; but this enhanced the wonder. + +On some distant business, with a farmer-tenant, he had been absent from +the mansion during the best part of the day, and had but just come home, +early of a pleasant moonlight evening, when Dates delivered a message to +him from his mother, begging him to come for her about half-past seven +that night to Miss Llanyllyn's cottage, in order to accompany her thence +to that of the two Miss Pennies. At the mention of that last name, +Pierre well knew what he must anticipate. Those elderly and truly pious +spinsters, gifted with the most benevolent hearts in the world, and at +mid-age deprived by envious nature of their hearing, seemed to have made +it a maxim of their charitable lives, that since God had not given them +any more the power to hear Christ's gospel preached, they would +therefore thenceforth do what they could toward practicing it. +Wherefore, as a matter of no possible interest to them now, they +abstained from church; and while with prayer-books in their hands the +Rev. Mr. Falsgrave's congregation were engaged in worshiping their God, +according to the divine behest; the two Miss Pennies, with thread and +needle, were hard at work in serving him; making up shirts and gowns for +the poor people of the parish. Pierre had heard that they had recently +been at the trouble of organizing a regular society, among the +neighboring farmers' wives and daughters, to meet twice a month at their +own house (the Miss Pennies) for the purpose of sewing in concert for +the benefit of various settlements of necessitous emigrants, who had +lately pitched their populous shanties further up the river. But though +this enterprise had not been started without previously acquainting Mrs. +Glendinning of it,--for indeed she was much loved and honored by the +pious spinsters,--and their promise of solid assistance from that +gracious manorial lady; yet Pierre had not heard that his mother had +been officially invited to preside, or be at all present at the +semi-monthly meetings; though he supposed, that far from having any +scruples against so doing, she would be very glad to associate that way, +with the good people of the village. + +"Now, brother Pierre"--said Mrs. Glendinning, rising from Miss +Llanyllyn's huge cushioned chair--"throw my shawl around me; and +good-evening to Lucy's aunt.--There, we shall be late." + +As they walked along, she added--"Now, Pierre, I know you are apt to be +a little impatient sometimes, of these sewing scenes; but courage; I +merely want to peep in on them; so as to get some inkling of what they +would indeed be at; and then my promised benefactions can be better +selected by me. Besides, Pierre, I could have had Dates escort me, but I +preferred you; because I want you to know who they are you live among; +how many really pretty, and naturally-refined dames and girls you shall +one day be lord of the manor of. I anticipate a rare display of rural +red and white." + +Cheered by such pleasant promises, Pierre soon found himself leading his +mother into a room full of faces. The instant they appeared, a +gratuitous old body, seated with her knitting near the door, squeaked +out shrilly--"Ah! dames, dames,--Madam Glendinning!--Master Pierre +Glendinning!" + +Almost immediately following this sound, there came a sudden, +long-drawn, unearthly, girlish shriek, from the further corner of the +long, double room. Never had human voice so affected Pierre before. +Though he saw not the person from whom it came, and though the voice was +wholly strange to him, yet the sudden shriek seemed to split its way +clean through his heart, and leave a yawning gap there. For an instant, +he stood bewildered; but started at his mother's voice; her arm being +still in his. "Why do you clutch my arm so, Pierre? You pain me. Pshaw! +some one has fainted,--nothing more." + +Instantly Pierre recovered himself, and affecting to mock at his own +trepidation, hurried across the room to offer his services, if such +were needed. But dames and maidens had been all beforehand with him; the +lights were wildly flickering in the air-current made by the flinging +open of the casement, near to where the shriek had come. But the climax +of the tumult was soon past; and presently, upon closing the casement, +it subsided almost wholly. The elder of the spinster Pennies, advancing +to Mrs. Glendinning, now gave her to understand, that one of the further +crowd of industrious girls present, had been attacked by a sudden, but +fleeting fit, vaguely imputable to some constitutional disorder or +other. She was now quite well again. And so the company, one and all, +seemingly acting upon their natural good-breeding, which in any one at +bottom, is but delicacy and charity, refrained from all further +curiosity; reminded not the girl of what had passed; noted her scarce at +all; and all needles stitched away as before. + +Leaving his mother to speak with whom she pleased, and attend alone to +her own affairs with the society; Pierre, oblivious now in such a lively +crowd, of any past unpleasantness, after some courtly words to the Miss +Pennies,--insinuated into their understandings through a long coiled +trumpet, which, when not in use, the spinsters wore, hanging like a +powder-horn from their girdles:--and likewise, after manifesting the +profoundest and most intelligent interest in the mystic mechanism of a +huge woolen sock, in course of completion by a spectacled old lady of +his more particular acquaintance; after all this had been gone through, +and something more too tedious to detail, but which occupied him for +nearly half an hour, Pierre, with a slightly blushing, and imperfectly +balanced assurance, advanced toward the further crowd of maidens; where, +by the light of many a well-snuffed candle, they clubbed all their +bright contrasting cheeks, like a dense bed of garden tulips. There were +the shy and pretty Maries, Marthas, Susans, Betties, Jennies, Nellies; +and forty more fair nymphs, who skimmed the cream, and made the butter +of the fat farms of Saddle Meadows. + +Assurance is in presence of the assured. Where embarrassments prevail, +they affect the most disembarrassed. What wonder, then, that gazing on +such a thick array of wreathing, roguish, half-averted, blushing +faces--still audacious in their very embarrassment--Pierre, too, should +flush a bit, and stammer in his attitudes a little? Youthful love and +graciousness were in his heart; kindest words upon his tongue; but there +he stood, target for the transfixing glances of those ambushed archers +of the eye. + +But his abashments last too long; his cheek hath changed from blush to +pallor; what strange thing does Pierre Glendinning see? Behind the first +close, busy breast-work of young girls, are several very little stands, +or circular tables, where sit small groups of twos and threes, sewing in +small comparative solitudes, as it were. They would seem to be the less +notable of the rural company; or else, for some cause, they have +voluntarily retired into their humble banishment. Upon one of these +persons engaged at the furthermost and least conspicuous of these little +stands, and close by a casement, Pierre's glance is palely fixed. + +The girl sits steadily sewing; neither she nor her two companions speak. +Her eyes are mostly upon her work; but now and then a very close +observer would notice that she furtively lifts them, and moves them +sideways and timidly toward Pierre; and then, still more furtively and +timidly toward his lady mother, further off. All the while, her +preternatural calmness sometimes seems only made to cover the intensest +struggle in her bosom. Her unadorned and modest dress is black; fitting +close up to her neck, and clasping it with a plain, velvet border. To a +nice perception, that velvet shows elastically; contracting and +expanding, as though some choked, violent thing were risen up there +within from the teeming region of her heart. But her dark, olive cheek +is without a blush, or sign of any disquietude. So far as this girl lies +upon the common surface, ineffable composure steeps her. But still, she +sideways steals the furtive, timid glance. Anon, as yielding to the +irresistible climax of her concealed emotion, whatever that may be, she +lifts her whole marvelous countenance into the radiant candlelight, and +for one swift instant, that face of supernaturalness unreservedly meets +Pierre's. Now, wonderful loveliness, and a still more wonderful +loneliness, have with inexplicable implorings, looked up to him from +that henceforth immemorial face. There, too, he seemed to see the fair +ground where Anguish had contended with Beauty, and neither being +conqueror, both had laid down on the field. + +Recovering at length from his all too obvious emotion, Pierre turned +away still farther, to regain the conscious possession of himself. A +wild, bewildering, and incomprehensible curiosity had seized him, to +know something definite of that face. To this curiosity, at the moment, +he entirely surrendered himself; unable as he was to combat it, or +reason with it in the slightest way. So soon as he felt his outward +composure returned to him, he purposed to chat his way behind the +breastwork of bright eyes and cheeks, and on some parlor pretense or +other, hear, if possible, an audible syllable from one whose mere silent +aspect had so potentially moved him. But at length, as with this object +in mind, he was crossing the room again, he heard his mother's voice, +gayly calling him away; and turning, saw her shawled and bonneted. He +could now make no plausible stay, and smothering the agitation in him, +he bowed a general and hurried adieu to the company, and went forth with +his mother. + +They had gone some way homeward, in perfect silence, when his mother +spoke. + +"Well, Pierre, what can it possibly be!" + +"My God, mother, did you see her then!" + +"My son!" cried Mrs. Glendinning, instantly stopping in terror, and +withdrawing her arm from Pierre, "what--what under heaven ails you? This +is most strange! I but playfully asked, what you were so steadfastly +thinking of; and here you answer me by the strangest question, in a +voice that seems to come from under your great-grandfather's tomb! What, +in heaven's name, does this mean, Pierre? Why were you so silent, and +why now are you so ill-timed in speaking! Answer me;--explain all +this;--_she_--_she_--what _she_ should you be thinking of but Lucy +Tartan?--Pierre, beware, beware! I had thought you firmer in your lady's +faith, than such strange behavior as this would seem to hint. Answer me, +Pierre, what may this mean? Come, I hate a mystery; speak, my son." + +Fortunately, this prolonged verbalized wonder in his mother afforded +Pierre time to rally from his double and aggravated astonishment, +brought about by first suspecting that his mother also had been struck +by the strange aspect of the face, and then, having that suspicion so +violently beaten back upon him, by her apparently unaffected alarm at +finding him in some region of thought wholly unshared by herself at the +time. + +"It is nothing--nothing, sister Mary; just nothing at all in the world. +I believe I was dreaming--sleep-walking, or something of that sort. They +were vastly pretty girls there this evening, sister Mary, were they not? +Come, let us walk on--do, sister mine." + +"Pierre, Pierre!--but I will take your arm again;--and have you really +nothing more to say? were you really wandering, Pierre?" + +"I swear to you, my dearest mother, that never before in my whole +existence, have I so completely gone wandering in my soul, as at that +very moment. But it is all over now." Then in a less earnest and +somewhat playful tone, he added: "And sister mine, if you know aught of +the physical and sanitary authors, you must be aware, that the only +treatment for such a case of harmless temporary aberration, is for all +persons to ignore it in the subject. So no more of this foolishness. +Talking about it only makes me feel very unpleasantly silly, and there +is no knowing that it may not bring it back upon me." + +"Then by all means, my dear boy, not another word about it. But it's +passing strange--very, very strange indeed. Well, about that morning +business; how fared you? Tell me about it." + + +II. + +So Pierre, gladly plunging into this welcome current of talk, was +enabled to attend his mother home without furnishing further cause for +her concern or wonderment. But not by any means so readily could he +allay his own concern and wonderment. Too really true in itself, however +evasive in its effect at the time, was that earnest answer to his +mother, declaring that never in his whole existence had he been so +profoundly stirred. The face haunted him as some imploring, and +beauteous, impassioned, ideal Madonna's haunts the morbidly longing and +enthusiastic, but ever-baffled artist. And ever, as the mystic face thus +rose before his fancy's sight, another sense was touched in him; the +long-drawn, unearthly, girlish shriek pealed through and through his +soul; for now he knew the shriek came from the face--such Delphic shriek +could only come from such a source. And wherefore that shriek? thought +Pierre. Bodes it ill to the face, or me, or both? How am I changed, that +my appearance on any scene should have power to work such woe? But it +was mostly the face--the face, that wrought upon him. The shriek seemed +as incidentally embodied there. + +The emotions he experienced seemed to have taken hold of the deepest +roots and subtlest fibres of his being. And so much the more that it was +so subterranean in him, so much the more did he feel its weird +inscrutableness. What was one unknown, sad-eyed, shrieking girl to him? +There must be sad-eyed girls somewhere in the world, and this was only +one of them. And what was the most beautiful sad-eyed girl to him? +Sadness might be beautiful, as well as mirth--he lost himself trying to +follow out this tangle. "I will no more of this infatuation," he would +cry; but forth from regions of irradiated air, the divine beauty and +imploring sufferings of the face, stole into his view. + +Hitherto I have ever held but lightly, thought Pierre, all stories of +ghostly mysticalness in man; my creed of this world leads me to believe +in visible, beautiful flesh, and audible breath, however sweet and +scented; but only in visible flesh, and audible breath, have I hitherto +believed. But now!--now!--and again he would lose himself in the most +surprising and preternatural ponderings, which baffled all the +introspective cunning of his mind. Himself was too much for himself. He +felt that what he had always before considered the solid land of +veritable reality, was now being audaciously encroached upon by bannered +armies of hooded phantoms, disembarking in his soul, as from flotillas +of specter-boats. + +The terrors of the face were not those of Gorgon; not by repelling +hideousness did it smite him so; but bewilderingly allured him, by its +nameless beauty, and its long-suffering, hopeless anguish. + +But he was sensible that this general effect upon him, was also special; +the face somehow mystically appealing to his own private and individual +affections; and by a silent and tyrannic call, challenging him in his +deepest moral being, and summoning Truth, Love, Pity, Conscience, to the +stand. Apex of all wonders! thought Pierre; this indeed almost unmans me +with its wonderfulness. Escape the face he could not. Muffling his own +in his bed-clothes--that did not hide it. Flying from it by sunlight +down the meadows, was as vain. + +Most miraculous of all to Pierre was the vague impression, that +somewhere he had seen traits of the likeness of that face before. But +where, he could not say; nor could he, in the remotest degree, imagine. +He was not unaware--for in one or two instances, he had experienced the +fact--that sometimes a man may see a passing countenance in the street, +which shall irresistibly and magnetically affect him, for a moment, as +wholly unknown to him, and yet strangely reminiscent of some vague face +he has previously encountered, in some fancied time, too, of extreme +interest to his life. But not so was it now with Pierre. The face had +not perplexed him for a few speculative minutes, and then glided from +him, to return no more. It stayed close by him; only--and not +invariably--could he repel it, by the exertion of all his resolution and +self-will. Besides, what of general enchantment lurked in his strange +sensations, seemed concentringly condensed, and pointed to a spear-head, +that pierced his heart with an inexplicable pang, whenever the +specializing emotion--to call it so--seized the possession of his +thoughts, and waved into his visions, a thousand forms of by-gone times, +and many an old legendary family scene, which he had heard related by +his elderly relations, some of them now dead. + +Disguising his wild reveries as best he might from the notice of his +mother, and all other persons of her household, for two days Pierre +wrestled with his own haunted spirit; and at last, so effectually purged +it of all weirdnesses, and so effectually regained the general mastery +of himself, that for a time, life went with him, as though he had never +been stirred so strangely. Once more, the sweet unconditional thought of +Lucy slid wholly into his soul, dislodging thence all such phantom +occupants. Once more he rode, he walked, he swam, he vaulted; and with +new zest threw himself into the glowing practice of all those manly +exercises, he so dearly loved. It almost seemed in him, that ere +promising forever to protect, as well as eternally to love, his Lucy, he +must first completely invigorate and embrawn himself into the possession +of such a noble muscular manliness, that he might champion Lucy against +the whole physical world. + +Still--even before the occasional reappearance of the face to +him--Pierre, for all his willful ardor in his gymnasticals and other +diversions, whether in-doors or out, or whether by book or foil; still, +Pierre could not but be secretly annoyed, and not a little perplexed, as +to the motive, which, for the first time in his recollection, had +impelled him, not merely to conceal from his mother a singular +circumstance in his life (for that, he felt would have been but venial; +and besides, as will eventually be seen, he could find one particular +precedent for it, in his past experience) but likewise, and +superaddedly, to parry, nay, to evade, and, in effect, to return +something alarmingly like a fib, to an explicit question put to him by +his mother;--such being the guise, in which part of the conversation +they had had that eventful night, now appeared to his fastidious sense. +He considered also, that his evasive answer had not pantheistically +burst from him in a momentary interregnum of self-command. No; his +mother had made quite a lengthy speech to him; during which he well +remembered, he had been carefully, though with trepidation, turning over +in his mind, how best he might recall her from her unwished-for and +untimely scent. Why had this been so? Was this his wont? What +inscrutable thing was it, that so suddenly had seized him, and made him +a falsifyer--ay, a falsifyer and nothing less--to his own +dearly-beloved, and confiding mother? Here, indeed, was something +strange for him; here was stuff for his utmost ethical meditations. But, +nevertheless, on strict introspection, he felt, that he would not +willingly have it otherwise; not willingly would he now undissemble +himself in this matter to his mother. Why was this, too? Was this his +wont? Here, again, was food for mysticism. Here, in imperfect inklings, +tinglings, presentiments, Pierre began to feel--what all mature men, who +are Magians, sooner or later know, and more or less assuredly--that not +always in our actions, are we our own factors. But this conceit was very +dim in Pierre; and dimness is ever suspicious and repugnant to us; and +so, Pierre shrank abhorringly from the infernal catacombs of thought, +down into which, this foetal fancy beckoned him. Only this, though in +secret, did he cherish; only this, he felt persuaded of; namely, that +not for both worlds would he have his mother made a partner to his +sometime mystic mood. + +But with this nameless fascination of the face upon him, during those +two days that it had first and fully possessed him for its own, did +perplexed Pierre refrain from that apparently most natural of all +resources,--boldly seeking out, and returning to the palpable cause, and +questioning her, by look or voice, or both together--the mysterious girl +herself? No; not entirely did Pierre here refrain. But his profound +curiosity and interest in the matter--strange as it may seem--did not so +much appear to be embodied in the mournful person of the olive girl, as +by some radiations from her, embodied in the vague conceits which +agitated his own soul. _There_, lurked the subtler secret: _that_, +Pierre had striven to tear away. From without, no wonderful effect is +wrought within ourselves, unless some interior, responding wonder meets +it. That the starry vault shall surcharge the heart with all rapturous +marvelings, is only because we ourselves are greater miracles, and +superber trophies than all the stars in universal space. Wonder +interlocks with wonder; and then the confounding feeling comes. No cause +have we to fancy, that a horse, a dog, a fowl, ever stand transfixed +beneath yon skyey load of majesty. But our soul's arches underfit into +its; and so, prevent the upper arch from falling on us with +unsustainable inscrutableness. "Explain ye my deeper mystery," said the +shepherd Chaldean king, smiting his breast, lying on his back upon the +plain; "and then, I will bestow all my wonderings upon ye, ye stately +stars!" So, in some sort, with Pierre. Explain thou this strange +integral feeling in me myself, he thought--turning upon the fancied +face--and I will then renounce all other wonders, to gaze wonderingly at +thee. But thou hast evoked in me profounder spells than the evoking one, +thou face! For me, thou hast uncovered one infinite, dumb, beseeching +countenance of mystery, underlying all the surfaces of visible time and +space. + +But during those two days of his first wild vassalage to his original +sensations, Pierre had not been unvisited by less mysterious impulses. +Two or three very plain and practical plannings of desirable procedures +in reference to some possible homely explication of all this +nonsense--so he would momentarily denominate it--now and then flittingly +intermitted his pervading mood of semi-madness. Once he had seized his +hat, careless of his accustomed gloves and cane, and found himself in +the street, walking very rapidly in the direction of the Miss Pennies'. +But whither now? he disenchantingly interrogated himself. Where would +you go? A million to one, those deaf old spinsters can tell you nothing +you burn to know. Deaf old spinsters are not used to be the depositaries +of such mystical secrecies. But then, they may reveal her name--where +she dwells, and something, however fragmentary and unsatisfactory, of +who she is, and whence. Ay; but then, in ten minutes after your leaving +them, all the houses in Saddle Meadows would be humming with the gossip +of Pierre Glendinning engaged to marry Lucy Tartan, and yet running +about the country, in ambiguous pursuit of strange young women. That +will never do. You remember, do you not, often seeing the Miss Pennies, +hatless and without a shawl, hurrying through the village, like two +postmen intent on dropping some tit-bit of precious gossip? What a +morsel for them, Pierre, have you, if you now call upon them. Verily, +their trumpets are both for use and for significance. Though very deaf, +the Miss Pennies are by no means dumb. They blazon very wide. + +"Now be sure, and say that it was the Miss Pennies, who left the +news--be sure--we--the Miss Pennies--remember--say to Mrs. Glendinning +it was we." Such was the message that now half-humorously occurred to +Pierre, as having been once confided to him by the sister spinsters, one +evening when they called with a choice present of some very _recherche_ +chit-chat for his mother; but found the manorial lady out; and so +charged her son with it; hurrying away to all the inferior houses, so as +not to be anywhere forestalled in their disclosure. + +Now, I wish it had been any other house than the Miss Pennies; any other +house but theirs, and on my soul I believe I should have gone. But not +to them--no, that I can not do. It would be sure to reach my mother, and +then she would put this and that together--stir a little--let it +simmer--and farewell forever to all her majestic notions of my +immaculate integrity. Patience, Pierre, the population of this region is +not so immense. No dense mobs of Nineveh confound all personal +identities in Saddle Meadows. Patience; thou shalt see it soon again; +catch it passing thee in some green lane, sacred to thy evening +reveries. She that bears it can not dwell remote. Patience, Pierre. Ever +are such mysteries best and soonest unraveled by the eventual unraveling +of themselves. Or, if you will, go back and get your gloves, and more +especially your cane, and begin your own secret voyage of discovery +after it. Your cane, I say; because it will probably be a very long and +weary walk. True, just now I hinted, that she that bears it can not +dwell very remote; but then her nearness may not be at all conspicuous. +So, homeward, and put off thy hat, and let thy cane stay still, good +Pierre. Seek not to mystify the mystery so. + +Thus, intermittingly, ever and anon during those sad two days of +deepest sufferance, Pierre would stand reasoning and expostulating with +himself; and by such meditative treatment, reassure his own spontaneous +impulses. Doubtless, it was wise and right that so he did; doubtless: +but in a world so full of all dubieties as this, one can never be +entirely certain whether another person, however carefully and +cautiously conscientious, has acted in all respects conceivable for the +very best. + +But when the two days were gone by, and Pierre began to recognize his +former self as restored to him from its mystic exile, then the thoughts +of personally and pointedly seeking out the unknown, either +preliminarily by a call upon the sister spinsters, or generally by +performing the observant lynx-eyed circuit of the country on foot, and +as a crafty inquisitor, dissembling his cause of inquisition; these and +all similar intentions completely abandoned Pierre. + +He was now diligently striving, with all his mental might, forever to +drive the phantom from him. He seemed to feel that it begat in him a +certain condition of his being, which was most painful, and every way +uncongenial to his natural, wonted self. It had a touch of he knew not +what sort of unhealthiness in it, so to speak; for, in his then +ignorance, he could find no better term; it seemed to have in it a germ +of somewhat which, if not quickly extirpated, might insidiously poison +and embitter his whole life--that choice, delicious life which he had +vowed to Lucy for his one pure and comprehensive offering--at once a +sacrifice and a delight. + +Nor in these endeavorings did he entirely fail. For the most part, he +felt now that he had a power over the comings and the goings of the +face; but not on all occasions. Sometimes the old, original mystic +tyranny would steal upon him; the long, dark, locks of mournful hair +would fall upon his soul, and trail their wonderful melancholy along +with them; the two full, steady, over-brimming eyes of loveliness and +anguish would converge their magic rays, till he felt them kindling he +could not tell what mysterious fires in the heart at which they aimed. + +When once this feeling had him fully, then was the perilous time for +Pierre. For supernatural as the feeling was, and appealing to all things +ultramontane to his soul; yet was it a delicious sadness to him. Some +hazy fairy swam above him in the heavenly ether, and showered down upon +him the sweetest pearls of pensiveness. Then he would be seized with a +singular impulse to reveal the secret to some one other individual in +the world. Only one, not more; he could not hold all this strange +fullness in himself. It must be shared. In such an hour it was, that +chancing to encounter Lucy (her, whom above all others, he did +confidingly adore), she heard the story of the face; nor slept at all +that night; nor for a long time freed her pillow completely from wild, +Beethoven sounds of distant, waltzing melodies, as of ambiguous fairies +dancing on the heath. + + +III. + +This history goes forward and goes backward, as occasion calls. Nimble +center, circumference elastic you must have. Now we return to Pierre, +wending homeward from his reveries beneath the pine-tree. + +His burst of impatience against the sublime Italian, Dante, arising from +that poet being the one who, in a former time, had first opened to his +shuddering eyes the infinite cliffs and gulfs of human mystery and +misery;--though still more in the way of experimental vision, than of +sensational presentiment or experience (for as yet he had not seen so +far and deep as Dante, and therefore was entirely incompetent to meet +the grim bard fairly on his peculiar ground), this ignorant burst of +his young impatience,--also arising from that half contemptuous dislike, +and sometimes selfish loathing, with which, either naturally feeble or +undeveloped minds, regard those dark ravings of the loftier poets, which +are in eternal opposition to their own fine-spun, shallow dreams of +rapturous or prudential Youth;--this rash, untutored burst of Pierre's +young impatience, seemed to have carried off with it, all the other +forms of his melancholy--if melancholy it had been--and left him now +serene again, and ready for any tranquil pleasantness the gods might +have in store. For his, indeed, was true Youth's temperament,--summary +with sadness, swift to joyfulness, and long protracting, and detaining +with that joyfulness, when once it came fully nigh to him. + +As he entered the dining-hall, he saw Dates retiring from another door +with his tray. Alone and meditative, by the bared half of the polished +table, sat his mother at her dessert; fruit-baskets, and a decanter were +before her. On the other leaf of the same table, still lay the cloth, +folded back upon itself, and set out with one plate and its usual +accompaniments. + +"Sit down, Pierre; when I came home, I was surprised to hear that the +phaeton had returned so early, and here I waited dinner for you, until I +could wait no more. But go to the green pantry now, and get what Dates +has but just put away for you there. Heigh-ho! too plainly I foresee +it--no more regular dinner-hours, or tea-hours, or supper-hours, in +Saddle Meadows, till its young lord is wedded. And that puts me in mind +of something, Pierre; but I'll defer it till you have eaten a little. Do +you know, Pierre, that if you continue these irregular meals of yours, +and deprive me so entirely almost of your company, that I shall run +fearful risk of getting to be a terrible wine-bibber;--yes, could you +unalarmed see me sitting all alone here with this decanter, like any old +nurse, Pierre; some solitary, forlorn old nurse, Pierre, deserted by her +last friend, and therefore forced to embrace her flask?" + +"No, I did not feel any great alarm, sister," said Pierre, smiling, +"since I could not but perceive that the decanter was still full to the +stopple." + +"Possibly it may be only a fresh decanter, Pierre;" then changing her +voice suddenly--"but mark me, Mr. Pierre Glendinning!" + +"Well, Mrs. Mary Glendinning!" + +"Do you know, sir, that you are very shortly to be married,--that indeed +the day is all but fixed?" + +"How-!" cried Pierre, in real joyful astonishment, both at the nature of +the tidings, and the earnest tones in which they were conveyed--"dear, +dear mother, you have strangely changed your mind then, my dear mother." + +"It is even so, dear brother;--before this day month I hope to have a +little sister Tartan." + +"You talk very strangely, mother," rejoined Pierre, quickly. "I suppose, +then, I have next to nothing to say in the matter!" + +"Next to nothing, Pierre! What indeed could you say to the purpose? what +at all have you to do with it, I should like to know? Do you so much as +dream, you silly boy, that men ever have the marrying of themselves? +Juxtaposition marries men. There is but one match-maker in the world, +Pierre, and that is Mrs. Juxtaposition, a most notorious lady!" + +"Very peculiar, disenchanting sort of talk, this, under the +circumstances, sister Mary," laying down his fork. "Mrs. Juxtaposition, +ah! And in your opinion, mother, does this fine glorious passion only +amount to that?" + +"Only to that, Pierre; but mark you: according to my creed--though this +part of it is a little hazy--Mrs. Juxtaposition moves her pawns only as +she herself is moved to so doing by the spirit." + +"Ah! that sets it all right again," said Pierre, resuming his fork--"my +appetite returns. But what was that about my being married so soon?" he +added, vainly striving to assume an air of incredulity and unconcern; +"you were joking, I suppose; it seems to me, sister, either you or I was +but just now wandering in the mind a little, on that subject. Are you +really thinking of any such thing? and have you really vanquished your +sagacious scruples by yourself, after I had so long and ineffectually +sought to do it for you? Well, I am a million times delighted; tell me +quick!" + +"I will, Pierre. You very well know, that from the first hour you +apprised me--or rather, from a period prior to that--from the moment +that I, by my own insight, became aware of your love for Lucy, I have +always approved it. Lucy is a delicious girl; of honorable descent, a +fortune, well-bred, and the very pattern of all that I think amiable and +attractive in a girl of seventeen." + +"Well, well, well," cried Pierre rapidly and impetuously; "we both knew +that before." + +"Well, well, well, Pierre," retorted his mother, mockingly. + +"It is not well, well, well; but ill, ill, ill, to torture me so, +mother; go on, do!" + +"But notwithstanding my admiring approval of your choice, Pierre; yet, +as you know, I have resisted your entreaties for my consent to your +speedy marriage, because I thought that a girl of scarcely seventeen, +and a boy scarcely twenty, should not be in such a hurry;--there was +plenty of time, I thought, which could be profitably employed by both." + +"Permit me here to interrupt you, mother. Whatever you may have seen in +me; she,--I mean Lucy,--has never been in the slightest hurry to be +married;--that's all. But I shall regard it as a _lapsus-lingua_ in +you." + +"Undoubtedly, a _lapsus_. But listen to me. I have been carefully +observing both you and Lucy of late; and that has made me think further +of the matter. Now, Pierre, if you were in any profession, or in any +business at all; nay, if I were a farmer's wife, and you my child, +working in my fields; why, then, you and Lucy should still wait awhile. +But as you have nothing to do but to think of Lucy by day, and dream of +her by night, and as she is in the same predicament, I suppose; with +respect to you; and as the consequence of all this begins to be +discernible in a certain, just perceptible, and quite harmless thinness, +so to speak, of the cheek; but a very conspicuous and dangerous +febrileness of the eye; therefore, I choose the lesser of two evils; and +now you have my permission to be married, as soon as the thing can be +done with propriety. I dare say you have no objection to have the +wedding take place before Christmas, the present month being the first +of summer." + +Pierre said nothing; but leaping to his feet, threw his two arms around +his mother, and kissed her repeatedly. + +"A most sweet and eloquent answer, Pierre; but sit down again. I desire +now to say a little concerning less attractive, but quite necessary +things connected with this affair. You know, that by your father's will, +these lands and--" + +"Miss Lucy, my mistress;" said Dates, throwing open the door. + +Pierre sprang to his feet; but as if suddenly mindful of his mother's +presence, composed himself again, though he still approached the door. + +Lucy entered, carrying a little basket of strawberries. + +"Why, how do you do, my dear," said Mrs. Glendinning affectionately. +"This is an unexpected pleasure." + +"Yes; and I suppose that Pierre here is a little surprised too; seeing +that he was to call upon me this evening, and not I upon him before +sundown. But I took a sudden fancy for a solitary stroll,--the afternoon +was such a delicious one; and chancing--it was only chancing--to pass +through the Locust Lane leading hither, I met the strangest little +fellow, with this basket in his hand.--'Yes, buy them, miss'--said he. +'And how do you know I want to buy them,' returned I, 'I don't want to +buy them.'--'Yes you do, miss; they ought to be twenty-six cents, but +I'll take thirteen cents, that being my shilling. I always want the odd +half cent, I do. Come, I can't wait, I have been expecting you long +enough.'" + +"A very sagacious little imp," laughed Mrs. Glendinning. + +"Impertinent little rascal," cried Pierre. + +"And am I not now the silliest of all silly girls, to be telling you my +adventures so very frankly," smiled Lucy. + +"No; but the most celestial of all innocents," cried Pierre, in a +rhapsody of delight. "Frankly open is the flower, that hath nothing but +purity to show." + +"Now, my dear little Lucy," said Mrs. Glendinning, "let Pierre take off +your shawl, and come now and stay to tea with us. Pierre has put back +the dinner so, the tea-hour will come now very soon." + +"Thank you; but I can not stay this time. Look, I have forgotten my own +errand; I brought these strawberries for you, Mrs. Glendinning, and for +Pierre;--Pierre is so wonderfully fond of them." + +"I was audacious enough to think as much," cried Pierre, "for you _and_ +me, you see, mother; for you _and_ me, you understand that, I hope." + +"Perfectly, my dear brother." + +Lucy blushed. + +"How warm it is, Mrs. Glendinning." + +"Very warm, Lucy. So you won't stay to tea?" + +"No, I must go now; just a little stroll, that's all; good-bye! Now +don't be following me, Pierre. Mrs. Glendinning, will you keep Pierre +back? I know you want him; you were talking over some private affair +when I entered; you both looked so very confidential." + +"And you were not very far from right, Lucy," said Mrs. Glendinning, +making no sign to stay her departure. + +"Yes, business of the highest importance," said Pierre, fixing his eyes +upon Lucy significantly. + +At this moment, Lucy just upon the point of her departure, was hovering +near the door; the setting sun, streaming through the window, bathed her +whole form in golden loveliness and light; that wonderful, and most +vivid transparency of her clear Welsh complexion, now fairly glowed like +rosy snow. Her flowing, white, blue-ribboned dress, fleecily invested +her. Pierre almost thought that she could only depart the house by +floating out of the open window, instead of actually stepping from the +door. All her aspect to him, was that moment touched with an +indescribable gayety, buoyancy, fragility, and an unearthly evanescence. + +Youth is no philosopher. Not into young Pierre's heart did there then +come the thought, that as the glory of the rose endures but for a day, +so the full bloom of girlish airiness and bewitchingness, passes from +the earth almost as soon; as jealously absorbed by those frugal +elements, which again incorporate that translated girlish bloom, into +the first expanding flower-bud. Not into young Pierre, did there then +steal that thought of utmost sadness; pondering on the inevitable +evanescence of all earthly loveliness; which makes the sweetest things +of life only food for ever-devouring and omnivorous melancholy. Pierre's +thought was different from this, and yet somehow akin to it. + +This to be my wife? I that but the other day weighed an hundred and +fifty pounds of solid avoirdupois;--_I_ to wed this heavenly fleece? +Methinks one husbandly embrace would break her airy zone, and she exhale +upward to that heaven whence she hath hither come, condensed to mortal +sight. It can not be; I am of heavy earth, and she of airy light. By +heaven, but marriage is an impious thing! + +Meanwhile, as these things ran through his soul, Mrs. Glendinning also +had thinkings of her own. + +"A very beautiful tableau," she cried, at last, artistically turning her +gay head a little sideways--"very beautiful, indeed; this, I suppose is +all premeditated for my entertainment. Orpheus finding his Eurydice; or +Pluto stealing Proserpine. Admirable! It might almost stand for either." + +"No," said Pierre, gravely; "it is the last. Now, first I see a meaning +there." Yes, he added to himself inwardly, I am Pluto stealing +Proserpine; and every accepted lover is. + +"And you would be very stupid, brother Pierre, if you did not see +something there," said his mother, still that way pursuing her own +different train of thought. "The meaning thereof is this: Lucy has +commanded me to stay you; but in reality she wants you to go along with +her. Well, you may go as far as the porch; but then, you must return, +for we have not concluded our little affair, you know. Adieu, little +lady!" + +There was ever a slight degree of affectionate patronizing in the manner +of the resplendent, full-blown Mrs. Glendinning, toward the delicate and +shrinking girlhood of young Lucy. She treated her very much as she might +have treated some surpassingly beautiful and precocious child; and this +was precisely what Lucy was. Looking beyond the present period, Mrs. +Glendinning could not but perceive, that even in Lucy's womanly +maturity, Lucy would still be a child to her; because, she, elated, +felt, that in a certain intellectual vigor, so to speak, she was the +essential opposite of Lucy, whose sympathetic mind and person had both +been cast in one mould of wondrous delicacy. But here Mrs. Glendinning +was both right and wrong. So far as she here saw a difference between +herself and Lucy Tartan, she did not err; but so far--and that was very +far--as she thought she saw her innate superiority to her in the +absolute scale of being, here she very widely and immeasurably erred. +For what may be artistically styled angelicalness, this is the highest +essence compatible with created being; and angelicalness hath no vulgar +vigor in it. And that thing which very often prompts to the display of +any vigor--which thing, in man or woman, is at bottom nothing but +ambition--this quality is purely earthly, and not angelical. It is +false, that any angels fell by reason of ambition. Angels never fall; +and never feel ambition. Therefore, benevolently, and affectionately, +and all-sincerely, as thy heart, oh, Mrs. Glendinning! now standest +affected toward the fleecy Lucy; still, lady, thou dost very sadly +mistake it, when the proud, double-arches of the bright breastplate of +thy bosom, expand with secret triumph over one, whom thou so sweetly, +but still so patronizingly stylest, The Little Lucy. + +But ignorant of these further insights, that very superb-looking lady, +now waiting Pierre's return from the portico door, sat in a very +matronly revery; her eyes fixed upon the decanter of amber-hued wine +before her. Whether it was that she somehow saw some lurking analogical +similitude between that remarkably slender, and gracefully cut little +pint-decanter, brimfull of light, golden wine, or not, there is no +absolute telling now. But really, the peculiarly, and reminiscently, and +forecastingly complacent expression of her beaming and benevolent +countenance, seemed a tell-tale of some conceit very much like the +following:--Yes, she's a very pretty little pint-decanter of a girl: a +very pretty little Pale Sherry pint-decanter of a girl; and I--I'm a +quart decanter of--of--Port--potent Port! Now, Sherry for boys, and Port +for men--so I've heard men say; and Pierre is but a boy; but when his +father wedded me,--why, his father was turned of five-and-thirty years. + +After a little further waiting for him, Mrs. Glendinning heard Pierre's +voice--"Yes, before eight o'clock at least, Lucy--no fear;" and then the +hall door banged, and Pierre returned to her. + +But now she found that this unforeseen visit of Lucy had completely +routed all business capacity in her mercurial son; fairly capsizing him +again into, there was no telling what sea of pleasant pensiveness. + +"Dear me! some other time, sister Mary." + +"Not this time; that is very certain, Pierre. Upon my word I shall have +to get Lucy kidnapped, and temporarily taken out of the country, and you +handcuffed to the table, else there will be no having a preliminary +understanding with you, previous to calling in the lawyers. Well, I +shall yet manage you, one way or other. Good-bye, Pierre; I see you +don't want me now. I suppose I shan't see you till to-morrow morning. +Luckily, I have a very interesting book to read. Adieu!" + +But Pierre remained in his chair; his gaze fixed upon the stilly sunset +beyond the meadows, and far away to the now golden hills. A glorious, +softly glorious, and most gracious evening, which seemed plainly a +tongue to all humanity, saying: I go down in beauty to rise in joy; Love +reigns throughout all worlds that sunsets visit; it is a foolish ghost +story; there is no such thing as misery. Would Love, which is +omnipotent, have misery in his domain? Would the god of sunlight decree +gloom? It is a flawless, speckless, fleckless, beautiful world +throughout; joy now, and joy forever! + +Then the face, which before had seemed mournfully and reproachfully +looking out upon him from the effulgent sunset's heart; the face slid +from him; and left alone there with his soul's joy, thinking that that +very night he would utter the magic word of marriage to his Lucy; not a +happier youth than Pierre Glendinning sat watching that day's sun go +down. + + +IV. + +After this morning of gayety, this noon of tragedy, and this evening so +full of chequered pensiveness; Pierre now possessed his soul in joyful +mildness and steadfastness; feeling none of that wild anguish of +anticipative rapture, which, in weaker minds, too often dislodges Love's +sweet bird from her nest. + +The early night was warm, but dark--for the moon was not risen yet--and +as Pierre passed on beneath the pendulous canopies of the long arms of +the weeping elms of the village, an almost impenetrable blackness +surrounded him, but entered not the gently illuminated halls of his +heart. He had not gone very far, when in the distance beyond, he noticed +a light moving along the opposite side of the road, and slowly +approaching. As it was the custom for some of the more elderly, and +perhaps timid inhabitants of the village, to carry a lantern when going +abroad of so dark a night, this object conveyed no impression of novelty +to Pierre; still, as it silently drew nearer and nearer, the one only +distinguishable thing before him, he somehow felt a nameless +presentiment that the light must be seeking him. He had nearly gained +the cottage door, when the lantern crossed over toward him; and as his +nimble hand was laid at last upon the little wicket-gate, which he +thought was now to admit him to so much delight; a heavy hand was laid +upon himself, and at the same moment, the lantern was lifted toward his +face, by a hooded and obscure-looking figure, whose half-averted +countenance he could but indistinctly discern. But Pierre's own open +aspect, seemed to have been quickly scrutinized by the other. + +"I have a letter for Pierre Glendinning," said the stranger, "and I +believe this is he." At the same moment, a letter was drawn forth, and +sought his hand. + +"For me!" exclaimed Pierre, faintly, starting at the strangeness of the +encounter;--"methinks this is an odd time and place to deliver your +mail;--who are you?--Stay!" + +But without waiting an answer, the messenger had already turned about, +and was re-crossing the road. In the first impulse of the moment, Pierre +stept forward, and would have pursued him; but smiling at his own +causeless curiosity and trepidation, paused again; and softly turned +over the letter in his hand. What mysterious correspondent is this, +thought he, circularly moving his thumb upon the seal; no one writes me +but from abroad; and their letters come through the office; and as for +Lucy--pooh!--when she herself is within, she would hardly have her notes +delivered at her own gate. Strange! but I'll in, and read it;--no, not +that;--I come to read again in her own sweet heart--that dear missive to +me from heaven,--and this impertinent letter would pre-occupy me. I'll +wait till I go home. + +He entered the gate, and laid his hand upon the cottage knocker. Its +sudden coolness caused a slight, and, at any other time, an +unaccountable sympathetic sensation in his hand. To his unwonted mood, +the knocker seemed to say--"Enter not!--Begone, and first read thy +note." + +Yielding now, half alarmed, and half bantering with himself, to these +shadowy interior monitions, he half-unconsciously quitted the door; +repassed the gate; and soon found himself retracing his homeward path. + +He equivocated with himself no more; the gloom of the air had now burst +into his heart, and extinguished its light; then, first in all his life, +Pierre felt the irresistible admonitions and intuitions of Fate. + +He entered the hall unnoticed, passed up to his chamber, and hurriedly +locking the door in the dark, lit his lamp. As the summoned flame +illuminated the room, Pierre, standing before the round center-table, +where the lamp was placed, with his hand yet on the brass circle which +regulated the wick, started at a figure in the opposite mirror. It bore +the outline of Pierre, but now strangely filled with features +transformed, and unfamiliar to him; feverish eagerness, fear, and +nameless forebodings of ill! He threw himself into a chair, and for a +time vainly struggled with the incomprehensible power that possessed +him. Then, as he avertedly drew the letter from his bosom, he whispered +to himself--Out on thee, Pierre! how sheepish now will ye feel when this +tremendous note will turn out to be an invitation to a supper to-morrow +night; quick, fool, and write the stereotyped reply: Mr. Pierre +Glendinning will be very happy to accept Miss so and so's polite +invitation. + +Still for the moment he held the letter averted. The messenger had so +hurriedly accosted him, and delivered his duty, that Pierre had not yet +so much as gained one glance at the superscription of the note. And now +the wild thought passed through his mind of what would be the result, +should he deliberately destroy the note, without so much as looking at +the hand that had addressed it. Hardly had this half-crazy conceit fully +made itself legible in his soul, when he was conscious of his two hands +meeting in the middle of the sundered note! He leapt from his chair--By +heaven! he murmured, unspeakably shocked at the intensity of that mood +which had caused him unwittingly as it were, to do for the first time in +his whole life, an act of which he was privately ashamed. Though the +mood that was on him was none of his own willful seeking; yet now he +swiftly felt conscious that he had perhaps a little encouraged it, +through that certain strange infatuation of fondness, which the human +mind, however vigorous, sometimes feels for any emotion at once novel +and mystical. Not willingly, at such times--never mind how fearful we +may be--do we try to dissolve the spell which seems, for the time, to +admit us, all astonished, into the vague vestibule of the spiritual +worlds. + +Pierre now seemed distinctly to feel two antagonistic agencies within +him; one of which was just struggling into his consciousness, and each +of which was striving for the mastery; and between whose respective +final ascendencies, he thought he could perceive, though but shadowly, +that he himself was to be the only umpire. One bade him finish the +selfish destruction of the note; for in some dark way the reading of it +would irretrievably entangle his fate. The other bade him dismiss all +misgivings; not because there was no possible ground for them, but +because to dismiss them was the manlier part, never mind what might +betide. This good angel seemed mildly to say--Read, Pierre, though by +reading thou may'st entangle thyself, yet may'st thou thereby +disentangle others. Read, and feel that best blessedness which, with the +sense of all duties discharged, holds happiness indifferent. The bad +angel insinuatingly breathed--Read it not, dearest Pierre; but destroy +it, and be happy. Then, at the blast of his noble heart, the bad angel +shrunk up into nothingness; and the good one defined itself clearer and +more clear, and came nigher and more nigh to him, smiling sadly but +benignantly; while forth from the infinite distances wonderful harmonies +stole into his heart; so that every vein in him pulsed to some heavenly +swell. + + +V. + +"The name at the end of this letter will be wholly strange to thee. +Hitherto my existence has been utterly unknown to thee. This letter will +touch thee and pain thee. Willingly would I spare thee, but I can not. +My heart bears me witness, that did I think that the suffering these +lines would give thee, would, in the faintest degree, compare with what +mine has been, I would forever withhold them. + +"Pierre Glendinning, thou art not the only child of thy father; in the +eye of the sun, the hand that traces this is thy sister's; yes, Pierre, +Isabel calls thee her brother--her brother! oh, sweetest of words, which +so often I have thought to myself, and almost deemed it profanity for an +outcast like me to speak or think. Dearest Pierre, my brother, my own +father's child! art thou an angel, that thou canst overleap all the +heartless usages and fashions of a banded world, that will call thee +fool, fool, fool! and curse thee, if thou yieldest to that heavenly +impulse which alone can lead thee to respond to the long tyrannizing, +and now at last unquenchable yearnings of my bursting heart? Oh, my +brother! + +"But, Pierre Glendinning, I will be proud with thee. Let not my hapless +condition extinguish in me, the nobleness which I equally inherit with +thee. Thou shall not be cozened, by my tears and my anguish, into any +thing which thy most sober hour will repent. Read no further. If it suit +thee, burn this letter; so shalt thou escape the certainty of that +knowledge, which, if thou art now cold and selfish, may hereafter, in +some maturer, remorseful, and helpless hour, cause thee a poignant +upbraiding. No, I shall not, I will not implore thee.--Oh, my brother, +my dear, dear Pierre,--help me, fly to me; see, I perish without +thee;--pity, pity,--here I freeze in the wide, wide world;--no father, +no mother, no sister, no brother, no living thing in the fair form of +humanity, that holds me dear. No more, oh no more, dear Pierre, can I +endure to be an outcast in the world, for which the dear Savior died. +Fly to me, Pierre;--nay, I could tear what I now write,--as I have torn +so many other sheets, all written for thy eye, but which never reached +thee, because in my distraction, I knew not how to write to thee, nor +what to say to thee; and so, behold again how I rave. + +"Nothing more; I will write no more;--silence becomes this grave;--the +heart-sickness steals over me, Pierre, my brother. + +"Scarce know I what I have written. Yet will I write thee the fatal +line, and leave all the rest to thee, Pierre, my brother.--She that is +called Isabel Banford dwells in the little red farm-house, three miles +from the village, on the slope toward the lake. To-morrow +night-fall--not before--not by day, not by day, Pierre. + +THY SISTER, ISABEL." + + +VI. + +This letter, inscribed in a feminine, but irregular hand, and in some +places almost illegible, plainly attesting the state of the mind which +had dictated it;--stained, too, here and there, with spots of tears, +which chemically acted upon by the ink, assumed a strange and reddish +hue--as if blood and not tears had dropped upon the sheet;--and so +completely torn in two by Pierre's own hand, that it indeed seemed the +fit scroll of a torn, as well as bleeding heart;--this amazing letter, +deprived Pierre for the time of all lucid and definite thought or +feeling. He hung half-lifeless in his chair; his hand, clutching the +letter, was pressed against his heart, as if some assassin had stabbed +him and fled; and Pierre was now holding the dagger in the wound, to +stanch the outgushing of the blood. + +Ay, Pierre, now indeed art thou hurt with a wound, never to be +completely healed but in heaven; for thee, the before undistrusted moral +beauty of the world is forever fled; for thee, thy sacred father is no +more a saint; all brightness hath gone from thy hills, and all peace +from thy plains; and now, now, for the first time, Pierre, Truth rolls a +black billow through thy soul! Ah, miserable thou, to whom Truth, in her +first tides, bears nothing but wrecks! + +The perceptible forms of things; the shapes of thoughts; the pulses of +life, but slowly came back to Pierre. And as the mariner, shipwrecked +and cast on the beach, has much ado to escape the recoil of the wave +that hurled him there; so Pierre long struggled, and struggled, to +escape the recoil of that anguish, which had dashed him out of itself, +upon the beach of his swoon. + +But man was not made to succumb to the villain Woe. Youth is not young +and a wrestler in vain. Pierre staggeringly rose to his feet; his wide +eyes fixed, and his whole form in a tremble. + +"Myself am left, at least," he slowly and half-chokingly murmured. "With +myself I front thee! Unhand me all fears, and unlock me all spells! +Henceforth I will know nothing but Truth; glad Truth, or sad Truth; I +will know what is, and do what my deepest angel dictates.--The +letter!--Isabel,--sister,--brother,--me, _me_--my sacred father!--This +is some accursed dream!--nay, but this paper thing is forged,--a base +and malicious forgery, I swear;--Well didst thou hide thy face from me, +thou vile lanterned messenger, that didst accost me on the threshold of +Joy, with this lying warrant of Woe! Doth Truth come in the dark, and +steal on us, and rob us so, and then depart, deaf to all pursuing +invocations? If this night, which now wraps my soul, be genuine as that +which now wraps this half of the world; then Fate, I have a choice +quarrel with thee. Thou art a palterer and a cheat; thou hast lured me +on through gay gardens to a gulf. Oh! falsely guided in the days of my +Joy, am I now truly led in this night of my grief?--I will be a raver, +and none shall stay me! I will lift my hand in fury, for am I not +struck? I will be bitter in my breath, for is not this cup of gall? Thou +Black Knight, that with visor down, thus confrontest me, and mockest at +me; Lo! I strike through thy helm, and will see thy face, be it +Gorgon!--Let me go, ye fond affections; all piety leave me;--I will be +impious, for piety hath juggled me, and taught me to revere, where I +should spurn. From all idols, I tear all veils; henceforth I will see +the hidden things; and live right out in my own hidden life!--Now I feel +that nothing but Truth can move me so. This letter is not a forgery. Oh! +Isabel, thou art my sister; and I will love thee, and protect thee, ay, +and own thee through all. Ah! forgive me, ye heavens, for my ignorant +ravings, and accept this my vow.--Here I swear myself Isabel's. Oh! thou +poor castaway girl, that in loneliness and anguish must have long +breathed that same air, which I have only inhaled for delight; thou who +must even now be weeping, and weeping, cast into an ocean of uncertainty +as to thy fate, which heaven hath placed in my hands; sweet Isabel! +would I not be baser than brass, and harder, and colder than ice, if I +could be insensible to such claims as thine? Thou movest before me, in +rainbows spun of thy tears! I see thee long weeping, and God demands me +for thy comforter; and comfort thee, stand by thee, and fight for thee, +will thy leapingly-acknowledging brother, whom thy own father named +Pierre!" + +He could not stay in his chamber: the house contracted to a nut-shell +around him; the walls smote his forehead; bare-headed he rushed from the +place, and only in the infinite air, found scope for that boundless +expansion of his life. + + + + +BOOK IV. + +RETROSPECTIVE. + + +I. + + +In their precise tracings-out and subtile causations, the strongest and +fieriest emotions of life defy all analytical insight. We see the cloud, +and feel its bolt; but meteorology only idly essays a critical scrutiny +as to how that cloud became charged, and how this bolt so stuns. The +metaphysical writers confess, that the most impressive, sudden, and +overwhelming event, as well as the minutest, is but the product of an +infinite series of infinitely involved and untraceable foregoing +occurrences. Just so with every motion of the heart. Why this cheek +kindles with a noble enthusiasm; why that lip curls in scorn; these are +things not wholly imputable to the immediate apparent cause, which is +only one link in the chain; but to a long line of dependencies whose +further part is lost in the mid-regions of the impalpable air. + +Idle then would it be to attempt by any winding way so to penetrate into +the heart, and memory, and inmost life, and nature of Pierre, as to show +why it was that a piece of intelligence which, in the natural course of +things, many amiable gentlemen, both young and old, have been known to +receive with a momentary feeling of surprise, and then a little +curiosity to know more, and at last an entire unconcern; idle would it +be, to attempt to show how to Pierre it rolled down on his soul like +melted lava, and left so deep a deposit of desolation, that all his +subsequent endeavors never restored the original temples to the soil, +nor all his culture completely revived its buried bloom. + +But some random hints may suffice to deprive a little of its +strangeness, that tumultuous mood, into which so small a note had thrown +him. + +There had long stood a shrine in the fresh-foliaged heart of Pierre, up +to which he ascended by many tableted steps of remembrance; and around +which annually he had hung fresh wreaths of a sweet and holy affection. +Made one green bower of at last, by such successive votive offerings of +his being; this shrine seemed, and was indeed, a place for the +celebration of a chastened joy, rather than for any melancholy rites. +But though thus mantled, and tangled with garlands, this shrine was of +marble--a niched pillar, deemed solid and eternal, and from whose top +radiated all those innumerable sculptured scrolls and branches, which +supported the entire one-pillared temple of his moral life; as in some +beautiful gothic oratories, one central pillar, trunk-like, upholds the +roof. In this shrine, in this niche of this pillar, stood the perfect +marble form of his departed father; without blemish, unclouded, +snow-white, and serene; Pierre's fond personification of perfect human +goodness and virtue. Before this shrine, Pierre poured out the fullness +of all young life's most reverential thoughts and beliefs. Not to God +had Pierre ever gone in his heart, unless by ascending the steps of that +shrine, and so making it the vestibule of his abstractest religion. + +Blessed and glorified in his tomb beyond Prince Mausolus is that mortal +sire, who, after an honorable, pure course of life, dies, and is buried, +as in a choice fountain, in the filial breast of a tender-hearted and +intellectually appreciative child. For at that period, the Solomonic +insights have not poured their turbid tributaries into the pure-flowing +well of the childish life. Rare preservative virtue, too, have those +heavenly waters. Thrown into that fountain, all sweet recollections +become marbleized; so that things which in themselves were evanescent, +thus became unchangeable and eternal. So, some rare waters in Derbyshire +will petrify birds'-nests. But if fate preserves the father to a later +time, too often the filial obsequies are less profound; the canonization +less ethereal. The eye-expanded boy perceives, or vaguely thinks he +perceives, slight specks and flaws in the character he once so wholly +reverenced. + +When Pierre was twelve years old, his father had died, leaving behind +him, in the general voice of the world, a marked reputation as a +gentleman and a Christian; in the heart of his wife, a green memory of +many healthy days of unclouded and joyful wedded life, and in the inmost +soul of Pierre, the impression of a bodily form of rare manly beauty and +benignity, only rivaled by the supposed perfect mould in which his +virtuous heart had been cast. Of pensive evenings, by the wide winter +fire, or in summer, in the southern piazza, when that mystical +night-silence so peculiar to the country would summon up in the minds of +Pierre and his mother, long trains of the images of the past; leading +all that spiritual procession, majestically and holily walked the +venerated form of the departed husband and father. Then their talk would +be reminiscent and serious, but sweet; and again, and again, still deep +and deeper, was stamped in Pierre's soul the cherished conceit, that his +virtuous father, so beautiful on earth, was now uncorruptibly sainted in +heaven. So choicely, and in some degree, secludedly nurtured, Pierre, +though now arrived at the age of nineteen, had never yet become so +thoroughly initiated into that darker, though truer aspect of things, +which an entire residence in the city from the earliest period of life, +almost inevitably engraves upon the mind of any keenly observant and +reflective youth of Pierre's present years. So that up to this period, +in his breast, all remained as it had been; and to Pierre, his father's +shrine seemed spotless, and still new as the marble of the tomb of him +of Arimathea. + +Judge, then, how all-desolating and withering the blast, that for +Pierre, in one night, stripped his holiest shrine of all over-laid +bloom, and buried the mild statue of the saint beneath the prostrated +ruins of the soul's temple itself. + + +II. + +As the vine flourishes, and the grape empurples close up to the very +walls and muzzles of cannoned Ehrenbreitstein; so do the sweetest joys +of life grow in the very jaws of its perils. + +But is life, indeed, a thing for all infidel levities, and we, its +misdeemed beneficiaries, so utterly fools and infatuate, that what we +take to be our strongest tower of delight, only stands at the caprice of +the minutest event--the falling of a leaf, the hearing of a voice, or +the receipt of one little bit of paper scratched over with a few small +characters by a sharpened feather? Are we so entirely insecure, that +that casket, wherein we have placed our holiest and most final joy, and +which we have secured by a lock of infinite deftness; can that casket be +picked and desecrated at the merest stranger's touch, when we think that +we alone hold the only and chosen key? + +Pierre! thou art foolish; rebuild--no, not that, for thy shrine still +stands; it stands, Pierre, firmly stands; smellest thou not its yet +undeparted, embowering bloom? Such a note as thine can be easily enough +written, Pierre; impostors are not unknown in this curious world; or the +brisk novelist, Pierre, will write thee fifty such notes, and so steal +gushing tears from his reader's eyes; even as _thy_ note so strangely +made thine own manly eyes so arid; so glazed, and so arid, +Pierre--foolish Pierre! + +Oh! mock not the poniarded heart. The stabbed man knows the steel; prate +not to him that it is only a tickling feather. Feels he not the interior +gash? What does this blood on my vesture? and what does this pang in my +soul? + +And here again, not unreasonably, might invocations go up to those Three +Weird Ones, that tend Life's loom. Again we might ask them, What threads +were those, oh, ye Weird Ones, that ye wove in the years foregone; that +now to Pierre, they so unerringly conduct electric presentiments, that +his woe is woe, his father no more a saint, and Isabel a sister indeed? + +Ah, fathers and mothers! all the world round, be heedful,--give heed! +Thy little one may not now comprehend the meaning of those words and +those signs, by which, in its innocent presence, thou thinkest to +disguise the sinister thing ye would hint. Not now he knows; not very +much even of the externals he consciously remarks; but if, in +after-life, Fate puts the chemic key of the cipher into his hands; then +how swiftly and how wonderfully, he reads all the obscurest and most +obliterate inscriptions he finds in his memory; yea, and rummages +himself all over, for still hidden writings to read. Oh, darkest lessons +of Life have thus been read; all faith in Virtue been murdered, and +youth gives itself up to an infidel scorn. + +But not thus, altogether, was it now with Pierre; yet so like, in some +points, that the above true warning may not misplacedly stand. + +His father had died of a fever; and, as is not uncommon in such +maladies, toward his end, he at intervals lowly wandered in his mind. At +such times, by unobserved, but subtle arts, the devoted family +attendants, had restrained his wife from being present at his side. But +little Pierre, whose fond, filial love drew him ever to that bed; they +heeded not innocent little Pierre, when his father was delirious; and +so, one evening, when the shadows intermingled with the curtains; and +all the chamber was hushed; and Pierre but dimly saw his father's face; +and the fire on the hearth lay in a broken temple of wonderful coals; +then a strange, plaintive, infinitely pitiable, low voice, stole forth +from the testered bed; and Pierre heard,--"My daughter! my daughter!" + +"He wanders again," said the nurse. + +"Dear, dear father!" sobbed the child--"thou hast not a daughter, but +here is thy own little Pierre." + +But again the unregardful voice in the bed was heard; and now in a +sudden, pealing wail,--"My daughter!--God! God!--my daughter!" + +The child snatched the dying man's hand; it faintly grew to his grasp; +but on the other side of the bed, the other hand now also emptily lifted +itself and emptily caught, as if at some other childish fingers. Then +both hands dropped on the sheet; and in the twinkling shadows of the +evening little Pierre seemed to see, that while the hand which he held +wore a faint, feverish flush, the other empty one was ashy white as a +leper's. + +"It is past," whispered the nurse, "he will wander so no more now till +midnight,--that is his wont." And then, in her heart, she wondered how +it was, that so excellent a gentleman, and so thoroughly good a man, +should wander so ambiguously in his mind; and trembled to think of that +mysterious thing in the soul, which seems to acknowledge no human +jurisdiction, but in spite of the individual's own innocent self, will +still dream horrid dreams, and mutter unmentionable thoughts; and into +Pierre's awe-stricken, childish soul, there entered a kindred, though +still more nebulous conceit. But it belonged to the spheres of the +impalpable ether; and the child soon threw other and sweeter +remembrances over it, and covered it up; and at last, it was blended +with all other dim things, and imaginings of dimness; and so, seemed to +survive to no real life in Pierre. But though through many long years +the henbane showed no leaves in his soul; yet the sunken seed was +there: and the first glimpse of Isabel's letter caused it to spring +forth, as by magic. Then, again, the long-hushed, plaintive and +infinitely pitiable voice was heard,--"My daughter! my daughter!" +followed by the compunctious "God! God!" And to Pierre, once again the +empty hand lifted itself, and once again the ashy hand fell. + + +III. + +In the cold courts of justice the dull head demands oaths, and holy writ +proofs; but in the warm halls of the heart one single, untestified +memory's spark shall suffice to enkindle such a blaze of evidence, that +all the corners of conviction are as suddenly lighted up as a midnight +city by a burning building, which on every side whirls its reddened +brands. + +In a locked, round-windowed closet connecting with the chamber of +Pierre, and whither he had always been wont to go, in those sweetly +awful hours, when the spirit crieth to the spirit, Come into solitude +with me, twin-brother; come away: a secret have I; let me whisper it to +thee aside; in this closet, sacred to the Tadmore privacies and repose +of the sometimes solitary Pierre, there hung, by long cords from the +cornice, a small portrait in oil, before which Pierre had many a time +trancedly stood. Had this painting hung in any annual public exhibition, +and in its turn been described in print by the casual glancing critics, +they would probably have described it thus, and truthfully: "An +impromptu portrait of a fine-looking, gay-hearted, youthful gentleman. +He is lightly, and, as it were, airily and but grazingly seated in, or +rather flittingly tenanting an old-fashioned chair of Malacca. One arm +confining his hat and cane is loungingly thrown over the back of the +chair, while the fingers of the other hand play with his gold +watch-seal and key. The free-templed head is sideways turned, with a +peculiarly bright, and care-free, morning expression. He seems as if +just dropped in for a visit upon some familiar acquaintance. Altogether, +the painting is exceedingly clever and cheerful; with a fine, off-handed +expression about it. Undoubtedly a portrait, and no fancy-piece; and, to +hazard a vague conjecture, by an amateur." + +So bright, and so cheerful then; so trim, and so young; so singularly +healthful, and handsome; what subtile element could so steep this whole +portrait, that, to the wife of the original, it was namelessly +unpleasant and repelling? The mother of Pierre could never abide this +picture which she had always asserted did signally belie her husband. +Her fond memories of the departed refused to hang one single wreath +around it. It is not he, she would emphatically and almost indignantly +exclaim, when more urgently besought to reveal the cause for so +unreasonable a dissent from the opinion of nearly all the other +connections and relatives of the deceased. But the portrait which she +held to do justice to her husband, correctly to convey his features in +detail, and more especially their truest, and finest, and noblest +combined expression; this portrait was a much larger one, and in the +great drawing-room below occupied the most conspicuous and honorable +place on the wall. + +Even to Pierre these two paintings had always seemed strangely +dissimilar. And as the larger one had been painted many years after the +other, and therefore brought the original pretty nearly within his own +childish recollections; therefore, he himself could not but deem it by +far the more truthful and life-like presentation of his father. So that +the mere preference of his mother, however strong, was not at all +surprising to him, but rather coincided with his own conceit. Yet not +for this, must the other portrait be so decidedly rejected. Because, in +the first place, there was a difference in time, and some difference of +costume to be considered, and the wide difference of the styles of the +respective artiste, and the wide difference of those respective, +semi-reflected, ideal faces, which, even in the presence of the +original, a spiritual artist will rather choose to draw from than from +the fleshy face, however brilliant and fine. Moreover, while the larger +portrait was that of a middle-aged, married man, and seemed to possess +all the nameless and slightly portly tranquillities, incident to that +condition when a felicitous one; the smaller portrait painted a brisk, +unentangled, young bachelor, gayly ranging up and down in the world; +light-hearted, and a very little bladish perhaps; and charged to the +lips with the first uncloying morning fullness and freshness of life. +Here, certainly, large allowance was to be made in any careful, candid +estimation of these portraits. To Pierre this conclusion had become +well-nigh irresistible, when he placed side by side two portraits of +himself; one taken in his early childhood, a frocked and belted boy of +four years old; and the other, a grown youth of sixteen. Except an +indestructible, all-surviving something in the eyes and on the temples, +Pierre could hardly recognize the loud-laughing boy in the tall, and +pensively smiling youth. If a few years, then, can have in me made all +this difference, why not in my father? thought Pierre. + +Besides all this, Pierre considered the history, and, so to speak, the +family legend of the smaller painting. In his fifteenth year, it was +made a present to him by an old maiden aunt, who resided in the city, +and who cherished the memory of Pierre's father, with all that wonderful +amaranthine devotion which an advanced maiden sister ever feels for the +idea of a beloved younger brother, now dead and irrevocably gone. As the +only child of that brother, Pierre was an object of the warmest and most +extravagant attachment on the part of this lonely aunt, who seemed to +see, transformed into youth once again, the likeness, and very soul of +her brother, in the fair, inheriting brow of Pierre. Though the portrait +we speak of was inordinately prized by her, yet at length the strict +canon of her romantic and imaginative love asserted the portrait to be +Pierre's--for Pierre was not only his father's only child, but his +namesake--so soon as Pierre should be old enough to value aright so holy +and inestimable a treasure. She had accordingly sent it to him, trebly +boxed, and finally covered with a water-proof cloth; and it was +delivered at Saddle Meadows, by an express, confidential messenger, an +old gentleman of leisure, once her forlorn, because rejected gallant, +but now her contented, and chatty neighbor. Henceforth, before a +gold-framed and gold-lidded ivory miniature,--a fraternal gift--aunt +Dorothea now offered up her morning and her evening rites, to the memory +of the noblest and handsomest of brothers. Yet an annual visit to the +far closet of Pierre--no slight undertaking now for one so stricken in +years, and every way infirm--attested the earnestness of that strong +sense of duty, that painful renunciation of self, which had induced her +voluntarily to part with the precious memorial. + + +IV. + +"Tell me, aunt," the child Pierre had early said to her, long before the +portrait became his--"tell me, aunt, how this chair-portrait, as you +call it, was painted;--who painted it?--whose chair was this?--have you +the chair now?--I don't see it in your room here;--what is papa looking +at so strangely?--I should like to know now, what papa was thinking of, +then. Do, now, dear aunt, tell me all about this picture, so that when +it is mine, as you promise me, I shall know its whole history." + +"Sit down, then, and be very still and attentive, my dear child," said +aunt Dorothea; while she a little averted her head, and tremulously and +inaccurately sought her pocket, till little Pierre cried--"Why, aunt, +the story of the picture is not in any little book, is it, that you are +going to take out and read to me?" + +"My handkerchief, my child." + +"Why, aunt, here it is, at your elbow; here, on the table; here, aunt; +take it, do; Oh, don't tell me any thing about the picture, now; I won't +hear it." + +"Be still, my darling Pierre," said his aunt, taking the handkerchief, +"draw the curtain a little, dearest; the light hurts my eyes. Now, go +into the closet, and bring me my dark shawl;--take your time.--There; +thank you, Pierre; now sit down again, and I will begin.--The picture +was painted long ago, my child; you were not born then." + +"Not born?" cried little Pierre. + +"Not born," said his aunt. + +"Well, go on, aunt; but don't tell me again that once upon a time I was +not little Pierre at all, and yet my father was alive. Go on, aunt,--do, +do!" + +"Why, how nervous you are getting, my child;--Be patient; I am very old, +Pierre; and old people never like to be hurried." + +"Now, my own dear Aunt Dorothea, do forgive me this once, and go on with +your story." + +"When your poor father was quite a young man, my child, and was on one +of his long autumnal visits to his friends in this city, he was rather +intimate at times with a cousin of his, Ralph Winwood, who was about his +own age,--a fine youth he was, too, Pierre." + +"I never saw him, aunt; pray, where is he now?" interrupted +Pierre;--"does he live in the country, now, as mother and I do?" + +"Yes, my child; but a far-away, beautiful country, I hope;--he's in +heaven, I trust." + +"Dead," sighed little Pierre--"go on, aunt." + +"Now, cousin Ralph had a great love for painting, my child; and he +spent many hours in a room, hung all round with pictures and portraits; +and there he had his easel and brushes; and much liked to paint his +friends, and hang their faces on his walls; so that when all alone by +himself, he yet had plenty of company, who always wore their best +expressions to him, and never once ruffled him, by ever getting cross or +ill-natured, little Pierre. Often, he had besought your father to sit to +him; saying, that his silent circle of friends would never be complete, +till your father consented to join them. But in those days, my child, +your father was always in motion. It was hard for me to get him to stand +still, while I tied his cravat; for he never came to any one but me for +that. So he was always putting off, and putting off cousin Ralph. 'Some +other time, cousin; not to-day;--to-morrow, perhaps;--or next +week;'--and so, at last cousin Ralph began to despair. But I'll catch +him yet, cried sly cousin Ralph. So now he said nothing more to your +father about the matter of painting him; but every pleasant morning kept +his easel and brushes and every thing in readiness; so as to be ready +the first moment your father should chance to drop in upon him from his +long strolls; for it was now and then your father's wont to pay flying +little visits to cousin Ralph in his painting-room.--But, my child, you +may draw back the curtain now--it's getting very dim here, seems to me." + +"Well, I thought so all along, aunt," said little Pierre, obeying; "but +didn't you say the light hurt your eyes." + +"But it does not now, little Pierre." + +"Well, well; go on, go on, aunt; you can't think how interested I am," +said little Pierre, drawing his stool close up to the quilted satin hem +of his good Aunt Dorothea's dress. + +"I will, my child. But first let me tell you, that about this time there +arrived in the port, a cabin-full of French emigrants of quality;--poor +people, Pierre, who were forced to fly from their native land, because +of the cruel, blood-shedding times there. But you have read all that in +the little history I gave you, a good while ago." + +"I know all about it;--the French Revolution," said little Pierre. + +"What a famous little scholar you are, my dear child,"--said Aunt +Dorothea, faintly smiling--"among those poor, but noble emigrants, there +was a beautiful young girl, whose sad fate afterward made a great noise +in the city, and made many eyes to weep, but in vain, for she never was +heard of any more." + +"How? how? aunt;--I don't understand;--did she disappear then, aunt?" + +"I was a little before my story, child. Yes, she did disappear, and +never was heard of again; but that was afterward, some time afterward, +my child. I am very sure it was; I could take my oath of that, Pierre." + +"Why, dear aunt," said little Pierre, "how earnestly you talk--after +what? your voice is getting very strange; do now;--don't talk that way; +you frighten me so, aunt." + +"Perhaps it is this bad cold I have to-day; it makes my voice a little +hoarse, I fear, Pierre. But I will try and not talk so hoarsely again. +Well, my child, some time before this beautiful young lady disappeared, +indeed it was only shortly after the poor emigrants landed, your father +made her acquaintance; and with many other humane gentlemen of the city, +provided for the wants of the strangers, for they were very poor indeed, +having been stripped of every thing, save a little trifling jewelry, +which could not go very far. At last, the friends of your father +endeavored to dissuade him from visiting these people so much; they were +fearful that as the young lady was so very beautiful, and a little +inclined to be intriguing--so some said--your father might be tempted to +marry her; which would not have been a wise thing in him; for though the +young lady might have been very beautiful, and good-hearted, yet no one +on this side the water certainly knew her history; and she was a +foreigner; and would not have made so suitable and excellent a match for +your father as your dear mother afterward did, my child. But, for +myself, I--who always knew your father very well in all his intentions, +and he was very confidential with me, too--I, for my part, never +credited that he would do so unwise a thing as marry the strange young +lady. At any rate, he at last discontinued his visits to the emigrants; +and it was after this that the young lady disappeared. Some said that +she must have voluntarily but secretly returned into her own country; +and others declared that she must have been kidnapped by French +emissaries; for, after her disappearance, rumor began to hint that she +was of the noblest birth, and some ways allied to the royal family; and +then, again, there were some who shook their heads darkly, and muttered +of drownings, and other dark things; which one always hears hinted when +people disappear, and no one can find them. But though your father and +many other gentlemen moved heaven and earth to find trace of her, yet, +as I said before, my child, she never re-appeared." + +"The poor French lady!" sighed little Pierre. "Aunt, I'm afraid she was +murdered." + +"Poor lady, there is no telling," said his aunt. "But listen, for I am +coming to the picture again. Now, at the time your father was so often +visiting the emigrants, my child, cousin Ralph was one of those who a +little fancied that your father was courting her; but cousin Ralph being +a quiet young man, and a scholar, not well acquainted with what is wise, +or what is foolish in the great world; cousin Ralph would not have been +at all mortified had your father really wedded with the refugee young +lady. So vainly thinking, as I told you, that your father was courting +her, he fancied it would be a very fine thing if he could paint your +father as her wooer; that is, paint him just after his coming from his +daily visits to the emigrants. So he watched his chance; every thing +being ready in his painting-room, as I told you before; and one +morning, sure enough, in dropt your father from his walk. But before he +came into the room, cousin Ralph had spied him from the window; and when +your father entered, cousin Ralph had the sitting-chair ready drawn out, +back of his easel, but still fronting toward him, and pretended to be +very busy painting. He said to your father--'Glad to see you, cousin +Pierre; I am just about something here; sit right down there now, and +tell me the news; and I'll sally out with you presently. And tell us +something of the emigrants, cousin Pierre,' he slyly added--wishing, you +see, to get your father's thoughts running that supposed wooing way, so +that he might catch some sort of corresponding expression you see, +little Pierre." + +"I don't know that I precisely understand, aunt; but go on, I am so +interested; do go on, dear aunt." + +"Well, by many little cunning shifts and contrivances, cousin Ralph kept +your father there sitting, and sitting in the chair, rattling and +rattling away, and so self-forgetful too, that he never heeded that all +the while sly cousin Ralph was painting and painting just as fast as +ever he could; and only making believe laugh at your father's wit; in +short, cousin Ralph was stealing his portrait, my child." + +"Not _stealing_ it, I hope," said Pierre, "that would be very wicked." + +"Well, then, we won't call it stealing, since I am sure that cousin +Ralph kept your father all the time off from him, and so, could not have +possibly picked his pocket, though indeed, he slyly picked his portrait, +so to speak. And if indeed it was stealing, or any thing of that sort; +yet seeing how much comfort that portrait has been to me, Pierre, and +how much it will yet be to you, I hope; I think we must very heartily +forgive cousin Ralph, for what he then did." + +"Yes, I think we must indeed," chimed in little Pierre, now eagerly +eying the very portrait in question, which hung over the mantle. + +"Well, by catching your father two or three times more in that way, +cousin Ralph at last finished the painting; and when it was all framed, +and every way completed, he would have surprised your father by hanging +it boldly up in his room among his other portraits, had not your father +one morning suddenly come to him--while, indeed, the very picture itself +was placed face down on a table and cousin Ralph fixing the cord to +it--came to him, and frightened cousin Ralph by quietly saying, that now +that he thought of it, it seemed to him that cousin Ralph had been +playing tricks with him; but he hoped it was not so. 'What do you mean?' +said cousin Ralph, a little flurried. 'You have not been hanging my +portrait up here, have you, cousin Ralph?' said your father, glancing +along the walls. 'I'm glad I don't see it. It is my whim, cousin +Ralph,--and perhaps it is a very silly one,--but if you have been lately +painting my portrait, I want you to destroy it; at any rate, don't show +it to any one, keep it out of sight. What's that you have there, cousin +Ralph?' + +"Cousin Ralph was now more and more fluttered; not knowing what to +make--as indeed, to this day, I don't completely myself--of your +father's strange manner. But he rallied, and said--'This, cousin Pierre, +is a secret portrait I have here; you must be aware that we +portrait-painters are sometimes called upon to paint such. I, therefore, +can not show it to you, or tell you any thing about it.' + +"'Have you been painting my portrait or not, cousin Ralph?' said your +father, very suddenly and pointedly. + +"'I have painted nothing that looks as you there look,' said cousin +Ralph, evasively, observing in your father's face a fierce-like +expression, which he had never seen there before. And more than that, +your father could not get from him." + +"And what then?" said little Pierre. + +"Why not much, my child; only your father never so much as caught one +glimpse of that picture; indeed, never knew for certain, whether there +was such a painting in the world. Cousin Ralph secretly gave it to me, +knowing how tenderly I loved your father; making me solemnly promise +never to expose it anywhere where your father could ever see it, or any +way hear of it. This promise I faithfully kept; and it was only after +your dear father's death, that I hung it in my chamber. There, Pierre, +you now have the story of the chair-portrait." + +"And a very strange one it is," said Pierre--"and so interesting, I +shall never forget it, aunt." + +"I hope you never will, my child. Now ring the bell, and we will have a +little fruit-cake, and I will take a glass of wine, Pierre;--do you +hear, my child?--the bell--ring it. Why, what do you do standing there, +Pierre?" + +"_Why_ didn't papa want to have cousin Ralph paint his picture, aunt?" + +"How these children's minds do run!" exclaimed old aunt Dorothea staring +at little Pierre in amazement--"That indeed is more than I can tell you, +little Pierre. But cousin Ralph had a foolish fancy about it. He used to +tell me, that being in your father's room some few days after the last +scene I described, he noticed there a very wonderful work on +Physiognomy, as they call it, in which the strangest and shadowiest +rules were laid down for detecting people's innermost secrets by +studying their faces. And so, foolish cousin Ralph always flattered +himself, that the reason your father did not want his portrait taken +was, because he was secretly in love with the French young lady, and did +not want his secret published in a portrait; since the wonderful work on +Physiognomy had, as it were, indirectly warned him against running that +risk. But cousin Ralph being such a retired and solitary sort of a +youth, he always had such curious whimsies about things. For my part, I +don't believe your father ever had any such ridiculous ideas on the +subject. To be sure, I myself can not tell you _why_ he did not want his +picture taken; but when you get to be as old as I am, little Pierre, you +will find that every one, even the best of us, at times, is apt to act +very queerly and unaccountably; indeed some things we do, we can not +entirely explain the reason of, even to ourselves, little Pierre. But +you will know all about these strange matters by and by." + +"I hope I shall, aunt," said little Pierre--"But, dear aunt, I thought +Marten was to bring in some fruit-cake?" + +"Ring the bell for him, then, my child." + +"Oh! I forgot," said little Pierre, doing her bidding. + +By-and-by, while the aunt was sipping her wine; and the boy eating his +cake, and both their eyes were fixed on the portrait in question; little +Pierre, pushing his stool nearer the picture exclaimed--"Now, aunt, did +papa really look exactly like that? Did you ever see him in that same +buff vest, and huge-figured neckcloth? I remember the seal and key, +pretty well; and it was only a week ago that I saw mamma take them out +of a little locked drawer in her wardrobe--but I don't remember the +queer whiskers; nor the buff vest; nor the huge white-figured neckcloth; +did you ever see papa in that very neckcloth, aunt?" + +"My child, it was I that chose the stuff for that neckcloth; yes, and +hemmed it for him, and worked P. G. in one corner; but that aint in the +picture. It is an excellent likeness, my child, neckcloth and all; as he +looked at that time. Why, little Pierre, sometimes I sit here all alone +by myself, gazing, and gazing, and gazing at that face, till I begin to +think your father is looking at me, and smiling at me, and nodding at +me, and saying--Dorothea! Dorothea!" + +"How strange," said little Pierre, "I think it begins to look at me now, +aunt. Hark! aunt, it's so silent all round in this old-fashioned room, +that I think I hear a little jingling in the picture, as if the +watch-seal was striking against the key--Hark! aunt." + +"Bless me, don't talk so strangely, my child." + +"I heard mamma say once--but she did not say so to me--that, for her +part, she did not like aunt Dorothea's picture; it was not a good +likeness, so she said. Why don't mamma like the picture, aunt?" + +"My child, you ask very queer questions. If your mamma don't like the +picture, it is for a very plain reason. She has a much larger and finer +one at home, which she had painted for herself; yes, and paid I don't +know how many hundred dollars for it; and that, too, is an excellent +likeness, _that_ must be the reason, little Pierre." + +And thus the old aunt and the little child ran on; each thinking the +other very strange; and both thinking the picture still stranger; and +the face in the picture still looked at them frankly, and cheerfully, as +if there was nothing kept concealed; and yet again, a little ambiguously +and mockingly, as if slyly winking to some other picture, to mark what a +very foolish old sister, and what a very silly little son, were growing +so monstrously grave and speculative about a huge white-figured +neckcloth, a buff vest, and a very gentleman-like and amiable +countenance. + +And so, after this scene, as usual, one by one, the fleet years ran on; +till the little child Pierre had grown up to be the tall Master Pierre, +and could call the picture his own; and now, in the privacy of his own +little closet, could stand, or lean, or sit before it all day long, if +he pleased, and keep thinking, and thinking, and thinking, and thinking, +till by-and-by all thoughts were blurred, and at last there were no +thoughts at all. + +Before the picture was sent to him, in his fifteenth year, it had been +only through the inadvertence of his mother, or rather through a casual +passing into a parlor by Pierre, that he had any way learned that his +mother did not approve of the picture. Because, as then Pierre was +still young, and the picture was the picture of his father, and the +cherished property of a most excellent, and dearly-beloved, affectionate +aunt; therefore the mother, with an intuitive delicacy, had refrained +from knowingly expressing her peculiar opinion in the presence of little +Pierre. And this judicious, though half-unconscious delicacy in the +mother, had been perhaps somewhat singularly answered by a like nicety +of sentiment in the child; for children of a naturally refined +organization, and a gentle nurture, sometimes possess a wonderful, and +often undreamed of, daintiness of propriety, and thoughtfulness, and +forbearance, in matters esteemed a little subtile even by their elders, +and self-elected betters. The little Pierre never disclosed to his +mother that he had, through another person, become aware of her thoughts +concerning Aunt Dorothea's portrait; he seemed to possess an intuitive +knowledge of the circumstance, that from the difference of their +relationship to his father, and for other minute reasons, he could in +some things, with the greater propriety, be more inquisitive concerning +him, with his aunt, than with his mother, especially touching the matter +of the chair-portrait. And Aunt Dorothea's reasons accounting for his +mother's distaste, long continued satisfactory, or at least not +unsufficiently explanatory. + +And when the portrait arrived at the Meadows, it so chanced that his +mother was abroad; and so Pierre silently hung it up in his closet; and +when after a day or two his mother returned, he said nothing to her +about its arrival, being still strangely alive to that certain mild +mystery which invested it, and whose sacredness now he was fearful of +violating, by provoking any discussion with his mother about Aunt +Dorothea's gift, or by permitting himself to be improperly curious +concerning the reasons of his mother's private and self-reserved +opinions of it. But the first time--and it was not long after the +arrival of the portrait--that he knew of his mother's having entered +his closet; then, when he next saw her, he was prepared to hear what +she should voluntarily say about the late addition to its +embellishments; but as she omitted all mention of any thing of that +sort, he unobtrusively scanned her countenance, to mark whether any +little clouding emotion might be discoverable there. But he could +discern none. And as all genuine delicacies are by their nature +accumulative; therefore this reverential, mutual, but only tacit +forbearance of the mother and son, ever after continued uninvaded. And +it was another sweet, and sanctified, and sanctifying bond between them. +For, whatever some lovers may sometimes say, love does not always abhor +a secret, as nature is said to abhor a vacuum. Love is built upon +secrets, as lovely Venice upon invisible and incorruptible piles in the +sea. Love's secrets, being mysteries, ever pertain to the transcendent +and the infinite; and so they are as airy bridges, by which our further +shadows pass over into the regions of the golden mists and exhalations; +whence all poetical, lovely thoughts are engendered, and drop into us, +as though pearls should drop from rainbows. + +As time went on, the chasteness and pure virginity of this mutual +reservation, only served to dress the portrait in sweeter, because still +more mysterious attractions; and to fling, as it were, fresh fennel and +rosemary around the revered memory of the father. Though, indeed, as +previously recounted, Pierre now and then loved to present to himself +for some fanciful solution the penultimate secret of the portrait, in so +far, as that involved his mother's distaste; yet the cunning analysis in +which such a mental procedure would involve him, never voluntarily +transgressed that sacred limit, where his mother's peculiar repugnance +began to shade off into ambiguous considerations, touching any unknown +possibilities in the character and early life of the original. Not, that +he had altogether forbidden his fancy to range in such fields of +speculation; but all such imaginings must be contributory to that pure, +exalted idea of his father, which, in his soul, was based upon the known +acknowledged facts of his father's life. + + +V. + +If, when the mind roams up and down in the ever-elastic regions of +evanescent invention, any definite form or feature can be assigned to +the multitudinous shapes it creates out of the incessant dissolvings of +its own prior creations; then might we here attempt to hold and define +the least shadowy of those reasons, which about the period of +adolescence we now treat of, more frequently occurred to Pierre, +whenever he essayed to account for his mother's remarkable distaste for +the portrait. Yet will we venture one sketch. + +Yes--sometimes dimly thought Pierre--who knows but cousin Ralph, after +all, may have been not so very far from the truth, when he surmised that +at one time my father did indeed cherish some passing emotion for the +beautiful young Frenchwoman. And this portrait being painted at that +precise time, and indeed with the precise purpose of perpetuating some +shadowy testification of the fact in the countenance of the original: +therefore, its expression is not congenial, is not familiar, is not +altogether agreeable to my mother: because, not only did my father's +features never look so to her (since it was afterward that she first +became acquainted with him), but also, that certain womanliness of +women; that thing I should perhaps call a tender jealousy, a fastidious +vanity, in any other lady, enables her to perceive that the glance of +the face in the portrait, is not, in some nameless way, dedicated to +herself, but to some other and unknown object; and therefore, is she +impatient of it, and it is repelling to her; for she must naturally be +intolerant of any imputed reminiscence in my father, which is not in +some way connected with her own recollections of him. + +Whereas, the larger and more expansive portrait in the great +drawing-room, taken in the prime of life; during the best and rosiest +days of their wedded union; at the particular desire of my mother; and +by a celebrated artist of her own election, and costumed after her own +taste; and on all hands considered to be, by those who know, a +singularly happy likeness at the period; a belief spiritually reinforced +by my own dim infantile remembrances; for all these reasons, this +drawing-room portrait possesses an inestimable charm to her; there, she +indeed beholds her husband as he had really appeared to her; she does +not vacantly gaze upon an unfamiliar phantom called up from the distant, +and, to her, well-nigh fabulous days of my father's bachelor life. But +in that other portrait, she sees rehearsed to her fond eyes, the latter +tales and legends of his devoted wedded love. Yes, I think now that I +plainly see it must be so. And yet, ever new conceits come vaporing up +in me, as I look on the strange chair-portrait: which, though so very +much more unfamiliar to me, than it can possibly be to my mother, still +sometimes seems to say--Pierre, believe not the drawing-room painting; +that is not thy father; or, at least, is not _all_ of thy father. +Consider in thy mind, Pierre, whether we two paintings may not make only +one. Faithful wives are ever over-fond to a certain imaginary image of +their husbands; and faithful widows are ever over-reverential to a +certain imagined ghost of that same imagined image, Pierre. Look again, +I am thy father as he more truly was. In mature life, the world overlays +and varnishes us, Pierre; the thousand proprieties and polished +finenesses and grimaces intervene, Pierre; then, we, as it were, +abdicate ourselves, and take unto us another self, Pierre; in youth we +_are_, Pierre, but in age we _seem_. Look again. I am thy real father, +so much the more truly, as thou thinkest thou recognizest me not, +Pierre. To their young children, fathers are not wont to unfold +themselves entirely, Pierre. There are a thousand and one odd little +youthful peccadilloes, that we think we may as well not divulge to them, +Pierre. Consider this strange, ambiguous smile, Pierre; more narrowly +regard this mouth. Behold, what is this too ardent and, as it were, +unchastened light in these eyes, Pierre? I am thy father, boy. There was +once a certain, oh, but too lovely young Frenchwoman, Pierre. Youth is +hot, and temptation strong, Pierre; and in the minutest moment momentous +things are irrevocably done, Pierre; and Time sweeps on, and the thing +is not always carried down by its stream, but may be left stranded on +its bank; away beyond, in the young, green countries, Pierre. Look +again. Doth thy mother dislike me for naught? Consider. Do not all her +spontaneous, loving impressions, ever strive to magnify, and +spiritualize, and deify, her husband's memory, Pierre? Then why doth she +cast despite upon me; and never speak to thee of me; and why dost thou +thyself keep silence before her, Pierre? Consider. Is there no little +mystery here? Probe a little, Pierre. Never fear, never fear. No matter +for thy father now. Look, do I not smile?--yes, and with an unchangeable +smile; and thus have I unchangeably smiled for many long years gone by, +Pierre. Oh, it is a permanent smile! Thus I smiled to cousin Ralph; and +thus in thy dear old Aunt Dorothea's parlor, Pierre; and just so, I +smile here to thee, and even thus in thy father's later life, when his +body may have been in grief, still--hidden away in Aunt Dorothea's +secretary--I thus smiled as before; and just so I'd smile were I now +hung up in the deepest dungeon of the Spanish Inquisition, Pierre; +though suspended in outer darkness, still would I smile with this smile, +though then not a soul should be near. Consider; for a smile is the +chosen vehicle for all ambiguities, Pierre. When we would deceive, we +smile; when we are hatching any nice little artifice, Pierre; only just +a little gratifying our own sweet little appetites, Pierre; then watch +us, and out comes the odd little smile. Once upon a time, there was a +lovely young Frenchwoman, Pierre. Have you carefully, and analytically, +and psychologically, and metaphysically, considered her belongings and +surroundings, and all her incidentals, Pierre? Oh, a strange sort of +story, that, thy dear old Aunt Dorothea once told thee, Pierre. I once +knew a credulous old soul, Pierre. Probe, probe a little--see--there +seems one little crack there, Pierre--a wedge, a wedge. Something ever +comes of all persistent inquiry; we are not so continually curious for +nothing, Pierre; not for nothing, do we so intrigue and become wily +diplomatists, and glozers with our own minds, Pierre; and afraid of +following the Indian trail from the open plain into the dark thickets, +Pierre; but enough; a word to the wise. + +Thus sometimes in the mystical, outer quietude of the long country +nights; either when the hushed mansion was banked round by the +thick-fallen December snows, or banked round by the immovable white +August moonlight; in the haunted repose of a wide story, tenanted only +by himself; and sentineling his own little closet; and standing guard, +as it were, before the mystical tent of the picture; and ever watching +the strangely concealed lights of the meanings that so mysteriously +moved to and fro within; thus sometimes stood Pierre before the portrait +of his father, unconsciously throwing himself open to all those +ineffable hints and ambiguities, and undefined half-suggestions, which +now and then people the soul's atmosphere, as thickly as in a soft, +steady snow-storm, the snow-flakes people the air. Yet as often starting +from these reveries and trances, Pierre would regain the assured element +of consciously bidden and self-propelled thought; and then in a moment +the air all cleared, not a snow-flake descended, and Pierre, upbraiding +himself for his self-indulgent infatuation, would promise never again +to fall into a midnight revery before the chair-portrait of his father. +Nor did the streams of these reveries seem to leave any conscious +sediment in his mind; they were so light and so rapid, that they rolled +their own alluvial along; and seemed to leave all Pierre's +thought-channels as clean and dry as though never any alluvial stream +had rolled there at all. + +And so still in his sober, cherishing memories, his father's +beatification remained untouched; and all the strangeness of the +portrait only served to invest his idea with a fine, legendary romance; +the essence whereof was that very mystery, which at other times was so +subtly and evilly significant. + +But now, _now!_--Isabel's letter read: swift as the first light that +slides from the sun, Pierre saw all preceding ambiguities, all mysteries +ripped open as if with a keen sword, and forth trooped thickening +phantoms of an infinite gloom. Now his remotest infantile +reminiscences--the wandering mind of his father--the empty hand, and the +ashen--the strange story of Aunt Dorothea--the mystical midnight +suggestions of the portrait itself; and, above all, his mother's +intuitive aversion, all, all overwhelmed him with reciprocal +testimonies. + +And now, by irresistible intuitions, all that had been inexplicably +mysterious to him in the portrait, and all that had been inexplicably +familiar in the face, most magically these now coincided; the merriness +of the one not inharmonious with the mournfulness of the other, but by +some ineffable correlativeness, they reciprocally identified each other, +and, as it were, melted into each other, and thus interpenetratingly +uniting, presented lineaments of an added supernaturalness. + +On all sides, the physical world of solid objects now slidingly +displaced itself from around him, and he floated into an ether of +visions; and, starting to his feet with clenched hands and outstaring +eyes at the transfixed face in the air, he ejaculated that wonderful +verse from Dante, descriptive of the two mutually absorbing shapes in +the Inferno: + + "Ah! how dost thou change, + Agnello! See! thou art not double now, + Nor only one!" + + + + +BOOK V. + +MISGIVINGS AND PREPARATIONS. + + +I. + +It was long after midnight when Pierre returned to the house. He had +rushed forth in that complete abandonment of soul, which, in so ardent a +temperament, attends the first stages of any sudden and tremendous +affliction; but now he returned in pallid composure, for the calm spirit +of the night, and the then risen moon, and the late revealed stars, had +all at last become as a strange subduing melody to him, which, though at +first trampled and scorned, yet by degrees had stolen into the windings +of his heart, and so shed abroad its own quietude in him. Now, from his +height of composure, he firmly gazed abroad upon the charred landscape +within him; as the timber man of Canada, forced to fly from the +conflagration of his forests, comes back again when the fires have +waned, and unblinkingly eyes the immeasurable fields of fire-brands that +here and there glow beneath the wide canopy of smoke. + +It has been said, that always when Pierre would seek solitude in its +material shelter and walled isolation, then the closet communicating +with his chamber was his elected haunt. So, going to his room, he took +up the now dim-burning lamp he had left there, and instinctively entered +that retreat, seating himself, with folded arms and bowed head, in the +accustomed dragon-footed old chair. With leaden feet, and heart now +changing from iciness to a strange sort of indifference, and a numbing +sensation stealing over him, he sat there awhile, till, like the resting +traveler in snows, he began to struggle against this inertness as the +most treacherous and deadliest of symptoms. He looked up, and found +himself fronted by the no longer wholly enigmatical, but still +ambiguously smiling picture of his father. Instantly all his +consciousness and his anguish returned, but still without power to shake +the grim tranquillity which possessed him. Yet endure the smiling +portrait he could not; and obeying an irresistible nameless impulse, he +rose, and without unhanging it, reversed the picture on the wall. + +This brought to sight the defaced and dusty back, with some wrinkled, +tattered paper over the joints, which had become loosened from the +paste. "Oh, symbol of thy reversed idea in my soul," groaned Pierre; +"thou shalt not hang thus. Rather cast thee utterly out, than +conspicuously insult thee so. I will no more have a father." He removed +the picture wholly from the wall, and the closet; and concealed it in a +large chest, covered with blue chintz, and locked it up there. But +still, in a square space of slightly discolored wall, the picture still +left its shadowy, but vacant and desolate trace. He now strove to banish +the least trace of his altered father, as fearful that at present all +thoughts concerning him were not only entirely vain, but would prove +fatally distracting and incapacitating to a mind, which was now loudly +called upon, not only to endure a signal grief, but immediately to act +upon it. Wild and cruel case, youth ever thinks; but mistakenly; for +Experience well knows, that action, though it seems an aggravation of +woe, is really an alleviative; though permanently to alleviate pain, we +must first dart some added pangs. + +Nor now, though profoundly sensible that his whole previous moral being +was overturned, and that for him the fair structure of the world must, +in some then unknown way, be entirely rebuilded again, from the +lowermost corner stone up; nor now did Pierre torment himself with the +thought of that last desolation; and how the desolate place was to be +made flourishing again. He seemed to feel that in his deepest soul, +lurked an indefinite but potential faith, which could rule in the +interregnum of all hereditary beliefs, and circumstantial persuasions; +not wholly, he felt, was his soul in anarchy. The indefinite regent had +assumed the scepter as its right; and Pierre was not entirely given up +to his grief's utter pillage and sack. + +To a less enthusiastic heart than Pierre's the foremost question in +respect to Isabel which would have presented itself, would have been, +_What_ must I do? But such a question never presented itself to Pierre; +the spontaneous responsiveness of his being left no shadow of +dubiousness as to the direct point he must aim at. But if the object was +plain, not so the path to it. _How_ must I do it? was a problem for +which at first there seemed no chance of solution. But without being +entirely aware of it himself, Pierre was one of those spirits, which not +in a determinate and sordid scrutiny of small pros and cons--but in an +impulsive subservience to the god-like dictation of events themselves, +find at length the surest solution of perplexities, and the brightest +prerogative of command. And as for him, _What_ must I do? was a question +already answered by the inspiration of the difficulty itself; so now he, +as it were, unconsciously discharged his mind, for the present, of all +distracting considerations concerning _How_ he should do it; assured +that the coming interview with Isabel could not but unerringly inspire +him there. Still, the inspiration which had thus far directed him had +not been entirely mute and undivulging as to many very bitter things +which Pierre foresaw in the wide sea of trouble into which he was +plunged. + +If it be the sacred province and--by the wisest, deemed--the inestimable +compensation of the heavier woes, that they both purge the soul of +gay-hearted errors and replenish it with a saddened truth; that holy +office is not so much accomplished by any covertly inductive reasoning +process, whose original motive is received from the particular +affliction; as it is the magical effect of the admission into man's +inmost spirit of a before unexperienced and wholly inexplicable element, +which like electricity suddenly received into any sultry atmosphere of +the dark, in all directions splits itself into nimble lances of +purifying light; which at one and the same instant discharge all the air +of sluggishness and inform it with an illuminating property; so that +objects which before, in the uncertainty of the dark, assumed shadowy +and romantic outlines, now are lighted up in their substantial +realities; so that in these flashing revelations of grief's wonderful +fire, we see all things as they are; and though, when the electric +element is gone, the shadows once more descend, and the false outlines +of objects again return; yet not with their former power to deceive; for +now, even in the presence of the falsest aspects, we still retain the +impressions of their immovable true ones, though, indeed, once more +concealed. + +Thus with Pierre. In the joyous young times, ere his great grief came +upon him, all the objects which surrounded him were concealingly +deceptive. Not only was the long-cherished image of his rather now +transfigured before him from a green foliaged tree into a blasted trunk, +but every other image in his mind attested the universality of that +electral light which had darted into his soul. Not even his lovely, +immaculate mother, remained entirely untouched, unaltered by the shock. +At her changed aspect, when first revealed to him, Pierre had gazed in a +panic; and now, when the electrical storm had gone by, he retained in +his mind, that so suddenly revealed image, with an infinite +mournfulness. She, who in her less splendid but finer and more spiritual +part, had ever seemed to Pierre not only as a beautiful saint before +whom to offer up his daily orisons, but also as a gentle lady-counsellor +and confessor, and her revered chamber as a soft satin-hung cabinet and +confessional;--his mother was no longer this all-alluring thing; no +more, he too keenly felt, could he go to his mother, as to one who +entirely sympathized with him; as to one before whom he could almost +unreservedly unbosom himself; as to one capable of pointing out to him +the true path where he seemed most beset. Wonderful, indeed, was that +electric insight which Fate had now given him into the vital character +of his mother. She well might have stood all ordinary tests; but when +Pierre thought of the touchstone of his immense strait applied to her +spirit, he felt profoundly assured that she would crumble into nothing +before it. + +She was a noble creature, but formed chiefly for the gilded prosperities +of life, and hitherto mostly used to its unruffled serenities; bred and +expanded, in all developments, under the sole influence of hereditary +forms and world-usages. Not his refined, courtly, loving, equable +mother, Pierre felt, could unreservedly, and like a heaven's heroine, +meet the shock of his extraordinary emergency, and applaud, to his +heart's echo, a sublime resolve, whose execution should call down the +astonishment and the jeers of the world. + +My mother!--dearest mother!--God hath given me a sister, and unto thee a +daughter, and covered her with the world's extremest infamy and scorn, +that so I and thou--_thou_, my mother, mightest gloriously own her, and +acknowledge her, and,---- Nay, nay, groaned Pierre, never, never, could +such syllables be one instant tolerated by her. Then, high-up, and +towering, and all-forbidding before Pierre grew the before unthought of +wonderful edifice of his mother's immense pride;--her pride of birth, +her pride of affluence, her pride of purity, and all the pride of +high-born, refined, and wealthy Life, and all the Semiramian pride of +woman. Then he staggered back upon himself, and only found support in +himself. Then Pierre felt that deep in him lurked a divine +unidentifiableness, that owned no earthly kith or kin. Yet was this +feeling entirely lonesome, and orphan-like. Fain, then, for one moment, +would he have recalled the thousand sweet illusions of Life; tho' +purchased at the price of Life's Truth; so that once more he might not +feel himself driven out an infant Ishmael into the desert, with no +maternal Hagar to accompany and comfort him. + +Still, were these emotions without prejudice to his own love for his +mother, and without the slightest bitterness respecting her; and, least +of all, there was no shallow disdain toward her of superior virtue. He +too plainly saw, that not his mother had made his mother; but the +Infinite Haughtiness had first fashioned her; and then the haughty world +had further molded her; nor had a haughty Ritual omitted to finish her. + +Wonderful, indeed, we repeat it, was the electrical insight which Pierre +now had into the character of his mother, for not even the vivid +recalling of her lavish love for him could suffice to gainsay his sudden +persuasion. Love me she doth, thought Pierre, but how? Loveth she me +with the love past all understanding? that love, which in the loved +one's behalf, would still calmly confront all hate? whose most +triumphing hymn, triumphs only by swelling above all opposing taunts and +despite?--Loving mother, here have I a loved, but world-infamous sister +to own;--and if thou lovest me, mother, thy love will love her, too, and +in the proudest drawing-room take her so much the more proudly by the +hand.--And as Pierre thus in fancy led Isabel before his mother; and in +fancy led her away, and felt his tongue cleave to the roof of his mouth, +with her transfixing look of incredulous, scornful horror; then Pierre's +enthusiastic heart sunk in and in, and caved clean away in him, as he so +poignantly felt his first feeling of the dreary heart-vacancies of the +conventional life. Oh heartless, proud, ice-gilded world, how I hate +thee, he thought, that thy tyrannous, insatiate grasp, thus now in my +bitterest need--thus doth rob me even of my mother; thus doth make me +now doubly an orphan, without a green grave to bedew. My tears,--could +I weep them,--must now be wept in the desolate places; now to me is it, +as though both father and mother had gone on distant voyages, and, +returning, died in unknown seas. + +She loveth me, ay;--but why? Had I been cast in a cripple's mold, how +then? Now, do I remember that in her most caressing love, there ever +gleamed some scaly, glittering folds of pride. Me she loveth with +pride's love; in me she thinks she seeth her own curled and haughty +beauty; before my glass she stands,--pride's priestess--and to her +mirrored image, not to me, she offers up her offerings of kisses. Oh, +small thanks I owe thee, Favorable Goddess, that didst clothe this form +with all the beauty of a man, that so thou mightest hide from me all the +truth of a man. Now I see that in his beauty a man is snared, and made +stone-blind, as the worm within its silk. Welcome then be Ugliness and +Poverty and Infamy, and all ye other crafty ministers of Truth, that +beneath the hoods and rags of beggars hide yet the belts and crowns of +kings. And dimmed be all beauty that must own the clay; and dimmed be +all wealth, and all delight, and all the annual prosperities of earth, +that but gild the links, and stud with diamonds the base rivets and the +chains of Lies. Oh, now methinks I a little see why of old the men _of_ +Truth went barefoot, girded with a rope, and ever moving under +mournfulness as underneath a canopy. I remember now those first wise +words, wherewith our Savior Christ first spoke in his first speech to +men:--'Blessed are the poor in spirit, and blessed they that mourn.' Oh, +hitherto I have but piled up words; bought books, and bought some small +experiences, and builded me in libraries; now I sit down and read. Oh, +now I know the night, and comprehend the sorceries of the moon, and all +the dark persuadings that have their birth in storms and winds. Oh, not +long will Joy abide, when Truth doth come; nor Grief her laggard be. +Well may this head hang on my breast--it holds too much; well may my +heart knock at my ribs,--prisoner impatient of his iron bars. Oh, men +are jailers all; jailers of themselves; and in Opinion's world +ignorantly hold their noblest part a captive to their vilest; as +disguised royal Charles when caught by peasants. The heart! the heart! +'tis God's anointed; let me pursue the heart! + + +II. + +But if the presentiment in Pierre of his mother's pride, as bigotedly +hostile to the noble design he cherished; if this feeling was so +wretched to him; far more so was the thought of another and a deeper +hostility, arising from her more spiritual part. For her pride would not +be so scornful, as her wedded memories reject with horror, the +unmentionable imputation involved in the mere fact of Isabel's +existence. In what galleries of conjecture, among what horrible haunting +toads and scorpions, would such a revelation lead her? When Pierre +thought of this, the idea of at all divulging his secret to his mother, +not only was made repelling by its hopelessness, as an infirm attack +upon her citadel of pride, but was made in the last degree inhuman, as +torturing her in her tenderest recollections, and desecrating the +whitest altar in her sanctuary. + +Though the conviction that he must never disclose his secret to his +mother was originally an unmeditated, and as it were, an inspired one; +yet now he was almost pains-taking in scrutinizing the entire +circumstances of the matter, in order that nothing might be overlooked. +For already he vaguely felt, that upon the concealment, or the +disclosure of this thing, with reference to his mother, hinged his whole +future course of conduct, his whole earthly weal, and Isabel's. But the +more and the more that he pondered upon it, the more and the more fixed +became his original conviction. He considered that in the case of a +disclosure, all human probability pointed to his mother's scornful +rejection of his suit as a pleader for Isabel's honorable admission into +the honorable mansion of the Glendinnings. Then in that case, +unconsciously thought Pierre, I shall have given the deep poison of a +miserable truth to my mother, without benefit to any, and positive harm +to all. And through Pierre's mind there then darted a baleful thought; +how that the truth should not always be paraded; how that sometimes a +lie is heavenly, and truth infernal. Filially infernal, truly, thought +Pierre, if I should by one vile breath of truth, blast my father's +blessed memory in the bosom of my mother, and plant the sharpest dagger +of grief in her soul. I will not do it! + +But as this resolution in him opened up so dark and wretched a +background to his view, he strove to think no more of it now, but +postpone it until the interview with Isabel should have in some way more +definitely shaped his purposes. For, when suddenly encountering the +shock of new and unanswerable revelations, which he feels must +revolutionize all the circumstances of his life, man, at first, ever +seeks to shun all conscious definitiveness in his thoughts and purposes; +as assured, that the lines that shall precisely define his present +misery, and thereby lay out his future path; these can only be defined +by sharp stakes that cut into his heart. + + +III. + +Most melancholy of all the hours of earth, is that one long, gray hour, +which to the watcher by the lamp intervenes between the night and day; +when both lamp and watcher, over-tasked, grow sickly in the pallid +light; and the watcher, seeking for no gladness in the dawn, sees naught +but garish vapors there; and almost invokes a curse upon the public +day, that shall invade his lonely night of sufferance. + +The one small window of his closet looked forth upon the meadow, and +across the river, and far away to the distant heights, storied with the +great deeds of the Glendinnings. Many a time had Pierre sought this +window before sunrise, to behold the blood-red, out-flinging dawn, that +would wrap those purple hills as with a banner. But now the morning +dawned in mist and rain, and came drizzlingly upon his heart. Yet as the +day advanced, and once more showed to him the accustomed features of his +room by that natural light, which, till this very moment, had never +lighted him but to his joy; now that the day, and not the night, was +witness to his woe; now first the dread reality came appallingly upon +him. A sense of horrible forlornness, feebleness, impotence, and +infinite, eternal desolation possessed him. It was not merely mental, +but corporeal also. He could not stand; and when he tried to sit, his +arms fell floorwards as tied to leaden weights. Dragging his ball and +chain, he fell upon his bed; for when the mind is cast down, only in +sympathetic proneness can the body rest; whence the bed is often Grief's +first refuge. Half stupefied, as with opium, he fell into the +profoundest sleep. + +In an hour he awoke, instantly recalling all the previous night; and now +finding himself a little strengthened, and lying so quietly and silently +there, almost without bodily consciousness, but his soul unobtrusively +alert; careful not to break the spell by the least movement of a limb, +or the least turning of his head. Pierre steadfastly faced his grief, +and looked deep down into its eyes; and thoroughly, and calmly, and +summarily comprehended it now--so at least he thought--and what it +demanded from him; and what he must quickly do in its more immediate +sequences; and what that course of conduct was, which he must pursue in +the coming unevadable breakfast interview with his mother; and what, for +the present must be his plan with Lucy. His time of thought was brief. +Rising from his bed, he steadied himself upright a moment; and then +going to his writing-desk, in a few at first faltering, but at length +unlagging lines, traced the following note: + + "I must ask pardon of you, Lucy, for so strangely absenting myself + last night. But you know me well enough to be very sure that I + would not have done so without important cause. I was in the street + approaching your cottage, when a message reached me, imperatively + calling me away. It is a matter which will take up all my time and + attention for, possibly, two or three days. I tell you this, now, + that you may be prepared for it. And I know that however unwelcome + this may be to you, you will yet bear with it for my sake; for, + indeed, and indeed, Lucy dear, I would not dream of staying from + you so long, unless irresistibly coerced to it. Do not come to the + mansion until I come to you; and do not manifest any curiosity or + anxiety about me, should you chance in the interval to see my + mother in any other place. Keep just as cheerful as if I were by + you all the time. Do this, now, I conjure you; and so farewell!" + +He folded the note, and was about sealing it, when he hesitated a +moment, and instantly unfolding it, read it to himself. But he could not +adequately comprehend his own writing, for a sudden cloud came over him. +This passed; and taking his pen hurriedly again, he added the following +postscript: + + "Lucy, this note may seem mysterious; but if it shall, I did not + mean to make it so; nor do I know that I could have helped it. But + the only reason is this, Lucy: the matter which I have alluded to, + is of such a nature, that, for the present I stand virtually + pledged not to disclose it to any person but those more directly + involved in it. But where one can not reveal the thing itself, it + only makes it the more mysterious to write round it this way. So + merely know me entirely unmenaced in person, and eternally faithful + to you; and so be at rest till I see you." + +Then sealing the note, and ringing the bell, he gave it in strict charge +to a servant, with directions to deliver it at the earliest practicable +moment, and not wait for any answer. But as the messenger was departing +the chamber, he called him back, and taking the sealed note again, and +hollowing it in his hand, scrawled inside of it in pencil the following +words: "Don't write me; don't inquire for me;" and then returned it to +the man, who quitted him, leaving Pierre rooted in thought in the middle +of the room. + +But he soon roused himself, and left the mansion; and seeking the cool, +refreshing meadow stream, where it formed a deep and shady pool, he +bathed; and returning invigorated to his chamber, changed his entire +dress; in the little trifling concernments of his toilette, striving +utterly to banish all thought of that weight upon his soul. Never did he +array himself with more solicitude for effect. It was one of his fond +mother's whims to perfume the lighter contents of his wardrobe; and it +was one of his own little femininenesses--of the sort sometimes +curiously observable in very robust-bodied and big-souled men, as +Mohammed, for example--to be very partial to all pleasant essences. So +that when once more he left the mansion in order to freshen his cheek +anew to meet the keen glance of his mother--to whom the secret of his +possible pallor could not be divulged; Pierre went forth all redolent; +but alas! his body only the embalming cerements of his buried dead +within. + + +IV. + +His stroll was longer than he meant; and when he returned up the Linden +walk leading to the breakfast-room, and ascended the piazza steps, and +glanced into the wide window there, he saw his mother seated not far +from the table; her face turned toward his own; and heard her gay voice, +and peculiarly light and buoyant laugh, accusing him, and not her, of +being the morning's laggard now. Dates was busy among some spoons and +napkins at a side-stand. + +Summoning all possible cheerfulness to his face, Pierre entered the +room. Remembering his carefulness in bathing and dressing; and knowing +that there is no air so calculated to give bloom to the cheek as that of +a damply fresh, cool, and misty morning, Pierre persuaded himself that +small trace would now be found on him of his long night of watching. + +'Good morning, sister;--Such a famous stroll! I have been all the way +to---- ' + +'Where? good heavens! where? for such a look as that!--why, Pierre, +Pierre? what ails thee? Dates, I will touch the bell presently.' + +As the good servitor fumbled for a moment among the napkins, as if +unwilling to stir so summarily from his accustomed duty, and not without +some of a well and long-tried old domestic's vague, intermitted +murmuring, at being wholly excluded from a matter of family interest; +Mrs. Glendinning kept her fixed eye on Pierre, who, unmindful that the +breakfast was not yet entirely ready, seating himself at the table, +began helping himself--though but nervously enough--to the cream and +sugar. The moment the door closed on Dates, the mother sprang to her +feet, and threw her arms around her son; but in that embrace, Pierre +miserably felt that their two hearts beat not together in such unison as +before. + +'What haggard thing possesses thee, my son? Speak, this is +incomprehensible! Lucy;--fie!--not she?--no love-quarrel there;--speak, +speak, my darling boy! + +'My dear sister,' began Pierre. + +'Sister me not, now, Pierre;--I am thy mother.' + +'Well, then, dear mother, thou art quite as incomprehensible to me as I +to---- ' + +'Talk faster, Pierre--this calmness freezes me. Tell me; for, by my +soul, something most wonderful must have happened to thee. Thou art my +son, and I command thee. It is not Lucy; it is something else. Tell me.' + +'My dear mother,' said Pierre, impulsively moving his chair backward +from the table, 'if thou wouldst only believe me when I say it, I have +really nothing to tell thee. Thou knowest that sometimes, when I happen +to feel very foolishly studious and philosophical, I sit up late in my +chamber; and then, regardless of the hour, foolishly run out into the +air, for a long stroll across the meadows. I took such a stroll last +night; and had but little time left for napping afterward; and what nap +I had I was none the better for. But I won't be so silly again, soon; so +do, dearest mother, stop looking at me, and let us to breakfast.--Dates! +Touch the bell there, sister.' + +'Stay, Pierre!--There is a heaviness in this hour. I feel, I know, that +thou art deceiving me;--perhaps I erred in seeking to wrest thy secret +from thee; but believe me, my son, I never thought thou hadst any secret +thing from me, except thy first love for Lucy--and that, my own +womanhood tells me, was most pardonable and right. But now, what can it +be? Pierre, Pierre! consider well before thou determinest upon +withholding confidence from me. I am thy mother. It may prove a fatal +thing. Can that be good and virtuous, Pierre, which shrinks from a +mother's knowledge? Let us not loose hands so, Pierre; thy confidence +from me, mine goes from thee. Now, shall I touch the bell?' + +Pierre, who had thus far been vainly seeking to occupy his hands with +his cap and spoon; he now paused, and unconsciously fastened a +speechless glance of mournfulness upon his mother. Again he felt +presentiments of his mother's newly-revealed character. He foresaw the +supposed indignation of her wounded pride; her gradually estranged +affections thereupon; he knew her firmness, and her exaggerated ideas of +the inalienable allegiance of a son. He trembled to think, that now +indeed was come the first initial moment of his heavy trial. But though +he knew all the significance of his mother's attitude, as she stood +before him, intently eying him, with one hand upon the bell-cord; and +though he felt that the same opening of the door that should now admit +Dates, could not but give eternal exit to all confidence between him and +his mother; and though he felt, too, that this was his mother's latent +thought; nevertheless, he was girded up in his well-considered +resolution. + +"Pierre, Pierre! shall I touch the bell?" + +"Mother, stay!--yes do, sister." + +The bell was rung; and at the summons Dates entered; and looking with +some significance at Mrs. Glendinning, said,--"His Reverence has come, +my mistress, and is now in the west parlor." + +"Show Mr. Falsgrave in here immediately; and bring up the coffee; did I +not tell you I expected him to breakfast this morning?" + +"Yes, my mistress; but I thought that--that--just then"--glancing +alarmedly from mother to son. + +"Oh, my good Dates, nothing has happened," cried Mrs. Glendinning, +lightly, and with a bitter smile, looking toward her son,--"show Mr. +Falsgrave in. Pierre, I did not see thee, to tell thee, last night; but +Mr. Falsgrave breakfasts with us by invitation. I was at the parsonage +yesterday, to see him about that wretched affair of Delly, and we are +finally to settle upon what is to be done this morning. But my mind is +made up concerning Ned; no such profligate shall pollute this place; +nor shall the disgraceful Delly." + +Fortunately, the abrupt entrance of the clergyman, here turned away +attention from the sudden pallor of Pierre's countenance, and afforded +him time to rally. + +"Good morning, madam; good morning, sir;" said Mr. Falsgrave, in a +singularly mild, flute-like voice, turning to Mrs. Glendinning and her +son; the lady receiving him with answering cordiality, but Pierre too +embarrassed just then to be equally polite. As for one brief moment Mr. +Falsgrave stood before the pair, ere taking the offered chair from +Dates, his aspect was eminently attractive. + +There are certain ever-to-be-cherished moments in the life of almost any +man, when a variety of little foregoing circumstances all unite to make +him temporarily oblivious of whatever may be hard and bitter in his +life, and also to make him most amiably and ruddily disposed; when the +scene and company immediately before him are highly agreeable; and if at +such a time he chance involuntarily to put himself into a scenically +favorable bodily posture; then, in that posture, however transient, thou +shalt catch the noble stature of his Better Angel; catch a heavenly +glimpse of the latent heavenliness of man. It was so with Mr. Falsgrave +now. Not a house within a circuit of fifty miles that he preferred +entering before the mansion-house of Saddle Meadows; and though the +business upon which he had that morning come, was any thing but +relishable to him, yet that subject was not in his memory then. Before +him stood united in one person, the most exalted lady and the most +storied beauty of all the country round; and the finest, most +intellectual, and most congenial youth he knew. Before him also, stood +the generous foundress and the untiring patroness of the beautiful +little marble church, consecrated by the good Bishop, not four years +gone by. Before him also, stood--though in polite disguise--the same +untiring benefactress, from whose purse, he could not help suspecting, +came a great part of his salary, nominally supplied by the rental of the +pews. He had been invited to breakfast; a meal, which, in a +well-appointed country family, is the most cheerful circumstance of +daily life; he smelt all Java's spices in the aroma from the silver +coffee-urn; and well he knew, what liquid deliciousness would soon come +from it. Besides all this, and many more minutenesses of the kind, he +was conscious that Mrs. Glendinning entertained a particular partiality +for him (though not enough to marry him, as he ten times knew by very +bitter experience), and that Pierre was not behindhand in his esteem. + +And the clergyman was well worthy of it. Nature had been royally +bountiful to him in his person. In his happier moments, as the present, +his face was radiant with a courtly, but mild benevolence; his person +was nobly robust and dignified; while the remarkable smallness of his +feet, and the almost infantile delicacy, and vivid whiteness and purity +of his hands, strikingly contrasted with his fine girth and stature. For +in countries like America, where there is no distinct hereditary caste +of gentlemen, whose order is factitiously perpetuated as race-horses and +lords are in kingly lands; and especially, in those agricultural +districts, where, of a hundred hands, that drop a ballot for the +Presidency, ninety-nine shall be of the brownest and the brawniest; in +such districts, this daintiness of the fingers, when united with a +generally manly aspect, assumes a remarkableness unknown in European +nations. + +This most prepossessing form of the clergyman lost nothing by the +character of his manners, which were polished and unobtrusive, but +peculiarly insinuating, without the least appearance of craftiness or +affectation. Heaven had given him his fine, silver-keyed person for a +flute to play on in this world; and he was nearly the perfect master of +it. His graceful motions had the undulatoriness of melodious sounds. +You almost thought you heard, not saw him. So much the wonderful, yet +natural gentleman he seemed, that more than once Mrs. Glendinning had +held him up to Pierre as a splendid example of the polishing and +gentlemanizing influences of Christianity upon the mind and manners; +declaring, that extravagant as it might seem, she had always been of his +father's fancy,--that no man could be a complete gentleman, and preside +with dignity at his own table, unless he partook of the church's +sacraments. Nor in Mr. Falsgrave's case was this maxim entirely absurd. +The child of a poor northern farmer who had wedded a pretty sempstress, +the clergyman had no heraldic line of ancestry to show, as warrant and +explanation of his handsome person and gentle manners; the first, being +the willful partiality of nature; and the second, the consequence of a +scholastic life, attempered by a taste for the choicest female society, +however small, which he had always regarded as the best relish of +existence. If now his manners thus responded to his person, his mind +answered to them both, and was their finest illustration. Besides his +eloquent persuasiveness in the pulpit, various fugitive papers upon +subjects of nature, art, and literature, attested not only his refined +affinity to all beautiful things, visible or invisible; but likewise +that he possessed a genius for celebrating such things, which in a less +indolent and more ambitious nature, would have been sure to have gained +a fair poet's name ere now. For this Mr. Falsgrave was just hovering +upon his prime of years; a period which, in such a man, is the sweetest, +and, to a mature woman, by far the most attractive of manly life. Youth +has not yet completely gone with its beauty, grace, and strength; nor +has age at all come with its decrepitudes; though the finest undrossed +parts of it--its mildness and its wisdom--have gone on before, as +decorous chamberlains precede the sedan of some crutched king. + +Such was this Mr. Falsgrave, who now sat at Mrs. Glendinning's breakfast +table, a corner of one of that lady's generous napkins so inserted into +his snowy bosom, that its folds almost invested him as far down as the +table's edge; and he seemed a sacred priest, indeed, breakfasting in his +surplice. + +"Pray, Mr. Falsgrave," said Mrs. Glendinning, "break me off a bit of +that roll." + +Whether or not his sacerdotal experiences had strangely refined and +spiritualized so simple a process as breaking bread; or whether it was +from the spotless aspect of his hands: certain it is that Mr. Falsgrave +acquitted himself on this little occasion, in a manner that beheld of +old by Leonardo, might have given that artist no despicable hint +touching his celestial painting. As Pierre regarded him, sitting there +so mild and meek; such an image of white-browed and white-handed, and +napkined immaculateness; and as he felt the gentle humane radiations +which came from the clergyman's manly and rounded beautifulness; and as +he remembered all the good that he knew of this man, and all the good +that he had heard of him, and could recall no blemish in his character; +and as in his own concealed misery and forlornness, he contemplated the +open benevolence, and beaming excellent-heartedness of Mr. Falsgrave, +the thought darted through his mind, that if any living being was +capable of giving him worthy counsel in his strait; and if to any one he +could go with Christian propriety and some small hopefulness, that +person was the one before him. + +"Pray, Mr. Glendinning," said the clergyman, pleasantly, as Pierre was +silently offering to help him to some tongue--"don't let me rob you of +it--pardon me, but you seem to have very little yourself this morning, I +think. An execrable pun, I know: but"--turning toward Mrs. +Glendinning--"when one is made to feel very happy, one is somehow apt to +say very silly things. Happiness and silliness--ah, it's a suspicious +coincidence." + +"Mr. Falsgrave," said the hostess--"Your cup is empty. Dates!--We were +talking yesterday, Mr. Falsgrave, concerning that vile fellow, Ned." + +"Well, Madam," responded the gentleman, a very little uneasily. + +"He shall not stay on any ground of mine; my mind is made up, sir. +Infamous man!--did he not have a wife as virtuous and beautiful now, as +when I first gave her away at your altar?--It was the sheerest and most +gratuitous profligacy." + +The clergyman mournfully and assentingly moved his head. + +"Such men," continued the lady, flushing with the sincerest +indignation--"are to my way of thinking more detestable than murderers." + +"That is being a little hard upon them, my dear Madam," said Mr. +Falsgrave, mildly. + +"Do you not think so, Pierre"--now, said the lady, turning earnestly +upon her son--"is not the man, who has sinned like that Ned, worse than +a murderer? Has he not sacrificed one woman completely, and given infamy +to another--to both of them--for their portion. If his own legitimate +boy should now hate him, I could hardly blame him." + +"My dear Madam," said the clergyman, whose eyes having followed Mrs. +Glendinning's to her son's countenance, and marking a strange +trepidation there, had thus far been earnestly scrutinizing Pierre's not +wholly repressible emotion;--"My dear Madam," he said, slightly bending +over his stately episcopal-looking person--"Virtue has, perhaps, an +over-ardent champion in you; you grow too warm; but Mr. Glendinning, +here, he seems to grow too cold. Pray, favor us with your views, Mr. +Glendinning?" + +"I will not think now of the man," said Pierre, slowly, and looking away +from both his auditors--"let us speak of Delly and her infant--she has, +or had one, I have loosely heard;--their case is miserable indeed." + +"The mother deserves it," said the lady, inflexibly--"and the +child--Reverend sir, what are the words of the Bible?" + +"'The sins of the father shall be visited upon the children to the third +generation,'" said Mr. Falsgrave, with some slight reluctance in his +tones. "But Madam, that does not mean, that the community is in any way +to take the infamy of the children into their own voluntary hands, as +the conscious delegated stewards of God's inscrutable dispensations. +Because it is declared that the infamous consequences of sin shall be +hereditary, it does not follow that our personal and active loathing of +sin, should descend from the sinful sinner to his sinless child." + +"I understand you, sir," said Mrs. Glendinning, coloring slightly, "you +think me too censorious. But if we entirely forget the parentage of the +child, and every way receive the child as we would any other, feel for +it in all respects the same, and attach no sign of ignominy to it--how +then is the Bible dispensation to be fulfilled? Do we not then put +ourselves in the way of its fulfilment, and is that wholly free from +impiety?" + +Here it was the clergyman's turn to color a little, and there was a just +perceptible tremor of the under lip. + +"Pardon me," continued the lady, courteously, "but if there is any one +blemish in the character of the Reverend Mr. Falsgrave, it is that the +benevolence of his heart, too much warps in him the holy rigor of our +Church's doctrines. For my part, as I loathe the man, I loathe the +woman, and never desire to behold the child." + +A pause ensued, during which it was fortunate for Pierre, that by the +social sorcery of such occasions as the present, the eyes of all three +were intent upon the cloth; all three for the moment, giving loose to +their own distressful meditations upon the subject in debate, and Mr. +Falsgrave vexedly thinking that the scene was becoming a little +embarrassing. + +Pierre was the first who spoke; as before, he steadfastly kept his eyes +away from both his auditors; but though he did not designate his mother, +something in the tone of his voice showed that what he said was +addressed more particularly to her. + +"Since we seem to have been strangely drawn into the ethical aspect of +this melancholy matter," said he, "suppose we go further in it; and let +me ask, how it should be between the legitimate and the illegitimate +child--children of one father--when they shall have passed their +childhood?" + +Here the clergyman quickly raising his eyes, looked as surprised and +searchingly at Pierre, as his politeness would permit. + +"Upon my word"--said Mrs. Glendinning, hardly less surprised, and making +no attempt at disguising it--"this is an odd question you put; you have +been more attentive to the subject than I had fancied. But what do you +mean, Pierre? I did not entirely understand you." + +"Should the legitimate child shun the illegitimate, when one father is +father to both?" rejoined Pierre, bending his head still further over +his plate. + +The clergyman looked a little down again, and was silent; but still +turned his head slightly sideways toward his hostess, as if awaiting +some reply to Pierre from her. + +"Ask the world, Pierre"--said Mrs. Glendinning warmly--"and ask your own +heart." + +"My own heart? I will, Madam"--said Pierre, now looking up steadfastly; +"but what do _you_ think, Mr. Falsgrave?" letting his glance drop +again--"should the one shun the other; should the one refuse his highest +sympathy and perfect love for the other, especially if that other be +deserted by all the rest of the world? What think you would have been +our blessed Savior's thoughts on such a matter? And what was that he so +mildly said to the adulteress?" + +A swift color passed over the clergyman's countenance, suffusing even +his expanded brow; he slightly moved in his chair, and looked +uncertainly from Pierre to his mother. He seemed as a shrewd, +benevolent-minded man, placed between opposite opinions--merely +opinions--who, with a full, and doubly-differing persuasion in himself, +still refrains from uttering it, because of an irresistible dislike to +manifesting an absolute dissent from the honest convictions of any +person, whom he both socially and morally esteems. + +"Well, what do you reply to my son?"--said Mrs. Glendinning at last. + +"Madam and sir"--said the clergyman, now regaining his entire +self-possession. "It is one of the social disadvantages which we of the +pulpit labor under, that we are supposed to know more of the moral +obligations of humanity than other people. And it is a still more +serious disadvantage to the world, that our unconsidered, conversational +opinions on the most complex problems of ethics, are too apt to be +considered authoritative, as indirectly proceeding from the church +itself. Now, nothing can be more erroneous than such notions; and +nothing so embarrasses me, and deprives me of that entire serenity, +which is indispensable to the delivery of a careful opinion on moral +subjects, than when sudden questions of this sort are put to me in +company. Pardon this long preamble, for I have little more to say. It is +not every question, however direct, Mr. Glendinning, which can be +conscientiously answered with a yes or no. Millions of circumstances +modify all moral questions; so that though conscience may possibly +dictate freely in any known special case; yet, by one universal maxim, +to embrace all moral contingencies,--this is not only impossible, but +the attempt, to me, seems foolish." + +At this instant, the surplice-like napkin dropped from the clergyman's +bosom, showing a minute but exquisitely cut cameo brooch, representing +the allegorical union of the serpent and dove. It had been the gift of +an appreciative friend, and was sometimes worn on secular occasions like +the present. + +"I agree with you, sir"--said Pierre, bowing. "I fully agree with you. +And now, madam, let us talk of something else." + +"You madam me very punctiliously this morning, Mr. Glendinning"--said +his mother, half-bitterly smiling, and half-openly offended, but still +more surprised at Pierre's frigid demeanor. + +"'Honor thy father and mother;'" said Pierre--"_both_ father and +mother," he unconsciously added. "And now that it strikes me, Mr. +Falsgrave, and now that we have become so strangely polemical this +morning, let me say, that as that command is justly said to be the only +one with a promise, so it seems to be without any contingency in the +application. It would seem--would it not, sir?--that the most deceitful +and hypocritical of fathers should be equally honored by the son, as the +purest." + +"So it would certainly seem, according to the strict letter of the +Decalogue--certainly." + +"And do you think, sir, that it should be so held, and so applied in +actual life? For instance, should I honor my father, if I knew him to be +a seducer?" + +"Pierre! Pierre!" said his mother, profoundly coloring, and half rising; +"there is no need of these argumentative assumptions. You very immensely +forget yourself this morning." + +"It is merely the interest of the general question, Madam," returned +Pierre, coldly. "I am sorry. If your former objection does not apply +here, Mr. Falsgrave, will you favor me with an answer to my question?" + +"There you are again, Mr. Glendinning," said the clergyman, thankful for +Pierre's hint; "that is another question in morals absolutely incapable +of a definite answer, which shall be universally applicable." Again the +surplice-like napkin chanced to drop. + +"I am tacitly rebuked again then, sir," said Pierre, slowly; "but I +admit that perhaps you are again in the right. And now, Madam, since Mr. +Falsgrave and yourself have a little business together, to which my +presence is not necessary, and may possibly prove quite dispensable, +permit me to leave you. I am going off on a long ramble, so you need not +wait dinner for me. Good morning, Mr. Falsgrave; good morning, Madam," +looking toward his mother. + +As the door closed upon him, Mr. Falsgrave spoke--"Mr. Glendinning looks +a little pale to-day: has he been ill?" + +"Not that I know of," answered the lady, indifferently, "but did you +ever see young gentleman so stately as he was! Extraordinary!" she +murmured; "what can this mean--Madam--Madam? But your cup is empty +again, sir"--reaching forth her hand. + +"No more, no more, Madam," said the clergyman. + +"Madam? pray don't Madam me any more, Mr. Falsgrave; I have taken a +sudden hatred to that title." + +"Shall it be Your Majesty, then?" said the clergyman, gallantly; "the +May Queens are so styled, and so should be the Queens of October." + +Here the lady laughed. "Come," said she, "let us go into another room, +and settle the affair of that infamous Ned and that miserable Delly." + + +V. + +The swiftness and unrepellableness of the billow which, with its first +shock, had so profoundly whelmed Pierre, had not only poured into his +soul a tumult of entirely new images and emotions, but, for the time, it +almost entirely drove out of him all previous ones. The things that any +way bore directly upon the pregnant fact of Isabel, these things were +all animate and vividly present to him; but the things which bore more +upon himself, and his own personal condition, as now forever involved +with his sister's, these things were not so animate and present to him. +The conjectured past of Isabel took mysterious hold of his father; +therefore, the idea of his father tyrannized over his imagination; and +the possible future of Isabel, as so essentially though indirectly +compromisable by whatever course of conduct his mother might hereafter +ignorantly pursue with regard to himself, as henceforth, through Isabel, +forever altered to her; these considerations brought his mother with +blazing prominence before him. + +Heaven, after all, hath been a little merciful to the miserable man; not +entirely untempered to human nature are the most direful blasts of Fate. +When on all sides assailed by prospects of disaster, whose final ends +are in terror hidden from it, the soul of man--either, as instinctively +convinced that it can not battle with the whole host at once; or else, +benevolently blinded to the larger arc of the circle which menacingly +hems it in;--whichever be the truth, the soul of man, thus surrounded, +can not, and does never intelligently confront the totality of its +wretchedness. The bitter drug is divided into separate draughts for him: +to-day he takes one part of his woe; to-morrow he takes more; and so on, +till the last drop is drunk. + +Not that in the despotism of other things, the thought of Lucy, and the +unconjecturable suffering into which she might so soon be plunged, owing +to the threatening uncertainty of the state of his own future, as now in +great part and at all hazards dedicated to Isabel; not that this thought +had thus far been alien to him. Icy-cold, and serpent-like, it had +overlayingly crawled in upon his other shuddering imaginings; but those +other thoughts would as often upheave again, and absorb it into +themselves, so that it would in that way soon disappear from his +cotemporary apprehension. The prevailing thoughts connected with Isabel +he now could front with prepared and open eyes; but the occasional +thought of Lucy, when _that_ started up before him, he could only cover +his bewildered eyes with his bewildered hands. Nor was this the +cowardice of selfishness, but the infinite sensitiveness of his soul. He +could bear the agonizing thought of Isabel, because he was immediately +resolved to help her, and to assuage a fellow-being's grief; but, as +yet, he could not bear the thought of Lucy, because the very resolution +that promised balm to Isabel obscurely involved the everlasting peace of +Lucy, and therefore aggravatingly threatened a far more than +fellow-being's happiness. + +Well for Pierre it was, that the penciling presentiments of his mind +concerning Lucy as quickly erased as painted their tormenting images. +Standing half-befogged upon the mountain of his Fate, all that part of +the wide panorama was wrapped in clouds to him; but anon those +concealings slid aside, or rather, a quick rent was made in them; +disclosing far below, half-vailed in the lower mist, the winding +tranquil vale and stream of Lucy's previous happy life; through the +swift cloud-rent he caught one glimpse of her expectant and angelic face +peeping from the honey-suckled window of her cottage; and the next +instant the stormy pinions of the clouds locked themselves over it +again; and all was hidden as before; and all went confused in whirling +rack and vapor as before. Only by unconscious inspiration, caught from +the agencies invisible to man, had he been enabled to write that first +obscurely announcing note to Lucy; wherein the collectedness, and the +mildness, and the calmness, were but the natural though insidious +precursors of the stunning bolts on bolts to follow. + +But, while thus, for the most part wrapped from his consciousness and +vision, still, the condition of his Lucy, as so deeply affected now, was +still more and more disentangling and defining itself from out its +nearer mist, and even beneath the general upper fog. For when +unfathomably stirred, the subtler elements of man do not always reveal +themselves in the concocting act; but, as with all other potencies, show +themselves chiefly in their ultimate resolvings and results. Strange +wild work, and awfully symmetrical and reciprocal, was that now going on +within the self-apparently chaotic breast of Pierre. As in his own +conscious determinations, the mournful Isabel was being snatched from +her captivity of world-wide abandonment; so, deeper down in the more +secret chambers of his unsuspecting soul, the smiling Lucy, now as dead +and ashy pale, was being bound a ransom for Isabel's salvation. Eye for +eye, and tooth for tooth. Eternally inexorable and unconcerned is Fate, +a mere heartless trader in men's joys and woes. + +Nor was this general and spontaneous self-concealment of all the most +momentous interests of his love, as irretrievably involved with Isabel +and his resolution respecting her; nor was this unbidden thing in him +unseconded by the prompting of his own conscious judgment, when in the +tyranny of the master-event itself, that judgment was permitted some +infrequent play. He could not but be aware, that all meditation on Lucy +now was worse than useless. How could he now map out his and her young +life-chart, when all was yet misty-white with creamy breakers! Still +more: divinely dedicated as he felt himself to be; with divine commands +upon him to befriend and champion Isabel, through all conceivable +contingencies of Time and Chance; how could he insure himself against +the insidious inroads of self-interest, and hold intact all his +unselfish magnanimities, if once he should permit the distracting +thought of Lucy to dispute with Isabel's the pervading possession of his +soul? + +And if--though but unconsciously as yet--he was almost superhumanly +prepared to make a sacrifice of all objects dearest to him, and cut +himself away from his last hopes of common happiness, should they cross +his grand enthusiast resolution;--if this was so with him; then, how +light as gossamer, and thinner and more impalpable than airiest threads +of gauze, did he hold all common conventional regardings;--his +hereditary duty to his mother, his pledged worldly faith and honor to +the hand and seal of his affiancement? + +Not that at present all these things did thus present themselves to +Pierre; but these things were foetally forming in him. Impregnations +from high enthusiasms he had received; and the now incipient offspring +which so stirred, with such painful, vague vibrations in his soul; this, +in its mature development, when it should at last come forth in living +deeds, would scorn all personal relationship with Pierre, and hold his +heart's dearest interests for naught. + +Thus, in the Enthusiast to Duty, the heaven-begotten Christ is born; and +will not own a mortal parent, and spurns and rends all mortal bonds. + + +VI. + +One night, one day, and a small part of the one ensuing evening had been +given to Pierre to prepare for the momentous interview with Isabel. + +Now, thank God, thought Pierre, the night is past,--the night of Chaos +and of Doom; the day only, and the skirt of evening now remain. May +heaven new-string my soul, and confirm me in the Christ-like feeling I +first felt. May I, in all my least shapeful thoughts still square myself +by the inflexible rule of holy right. Let no unmanly, mean temptation +cross my path this day; let no base stone lie in it. This day I will +forsake the censuses of men, and seek the suffrages of the god-like +population of the trees, which now seem to me a nobler race than man. +Their high foliage shall drop heavenliness upon me; my feet in contact +with their mighty roots, immortal vigor shall so steal into me. Guide +me, gird me, guard me, this day, ye sovereign powers! Bind me in bonds I +can not break; remove all sinister allurings from me; eternally this day +deface in me the detested and distorted images of all the convenient +lies and duty-subterfuges of the diving and ducking moralities of this +earth. Fill me with consuming fire for them; to my life's muzzle, cram +me with your own intent. Let no world-syren come to sing to me this day, +and wheedle from me my undauntedness. I cast my eternal die this day, ye +powers. On my strong faith in ye Invisibles, I stake three whole +felicities, and three whole lives this day. If ye forsake me +now,--farewell to Faith, farewell to Truth, farewell to God; exiled for +aye from God and man, I shall declare myself an equal power with both; +free to make war on Night and Day, and all thoughts and things of mind +and matter, which the upper and the nether firmaments do clasp! + + +VII. + +But Pierre, though, charged with the fire of all divineness, his +containing thing was made of clay. Ah, muskets the gods have made to +carry infinite combustions, and yet made them of clay! + +Save me from being bound to Truth, liege lord, as I am now. How shall I +steal yet further into Pierre, and show how this heavenly fire was +helped to be contained in him, by mere contingent things, and things +that he knew not. But I shall follow the endless, winding way,--the +flowing river in the cave of man; careless whither I be led, reckless +where I land. + +Was not the face--though mutely mournful--beautiful, bewitchingly? How +unfathomable those most wondrous eyes of supernatural light! In those +charmed depths, Grief and Beauty plunged and dived together. So +beautiful, so mystical, so bewilderingly alluring; speaking of a +mournfulness infinitely sweeter and more attractive than all +mirthfulness; that face of glorious suffering; that face of touching +loveliness; that face was Pierre's own sister's; that face was Isabel's; +that face Pierre had visibly seen; into those same supernatural eyes +our Pierre had looked. Thus, already, and ere the proposed encounter, he +was assured that, in a transcendent degree, womanly beauty, and not +womanly ugliness, invited him to champion the right. Be naught concealed +in this book of sacred truth. How, if accosted in some squalid lane, a +humped, and crippled, hideous girl should have snatched his garment's +hem, with--"Save me, Pierre--love me, own me, brother; I am thy +sister!"--Ah, if man were wholly made in heaven, why catch we +hell-glimpses? Why in the noblest marble pillar that stands beneath the +all-comprising vault, ever should we descry the sinister vein? We lie in +nature very close to God; and though, further on, the stream may be +corrupted by the banks it flows through; yet at the fountain's rim, +where mankind stand, there the stream infallibly bespeaks the fountain. + +So let no censorious word be here hinted of mortal Pierre. Easy for me +to slyly hide these things, and always put him before the eye as perfect +as immaculate; unsusceptible to the inevitable nature and the lot of +common men. I am more frank with Pierre than the best men are with +themselves. I am all unguarded and magnanimous with Pierre; therefore +you see his weakness, and therefore only. In reserves men build imposing +characters; not in revelations. He who shall be wholly honest, though +nobler than Ethan Allen; that man shall stand in danger of the meanest +mortal's scorn. + + + + +BOOK VI. + +ISABEL, AND THE FIRST PART OF THE STORY OF ISABEL. + + +I. + +Half wishful that the hour would come; half shuddering that every moment +it still came nearer and more near to him; dry-eyed, but wet with that +dark day's rain; at fall of eve, Pierre emerged from long wanderings in +the primeval woods of Saddle Meadows, and for one instant stood +motionless upon their sloping skirt. + +Where he stood was in the rude wood road, only used by sledges in the +time of snow; just where the out-posted trees formed a narrow arch, and +fancied gateway leading upon the far, wide pastures sweeping down toward +the lake. In that wet and misty eve the scattered, shivering pasture +elms seemed standing in a world inhospitable, yet rooted by inscrutable +sense of duty to their place. Beyond, the lake lay in one sheet of +blankness and of dumbness, unstirred by breeze or breath; fast bound +there it lay, with not life enough to reflect the smallest shrub or +twig. Yet in that lake was seen the duplicate, stirless sky above. Only +in sunshine did that lake catch gay, green images; and these but +displaced the imaged muteness of the unfeatured heavens. + +On both sides, in the remoter distance, and also far beyond the mild +lake's further shore, rose the long, mysterious mountain masses; shaggy +with pines and hemlocks, mystical with nameless, vapory exhalations, and +in that dim air black with dread and gloom. At their base, profoundest +forests lay entranced, and from their far owl-haunted depths of caves +and rotted leaves, and unused and unregarded inland overgrowth of +decaying wood--for smallest sticks of which, in other climes many a +pauper was that moment perishing; from out the infinite inhumanities of +those profoundest forests, came a moaning, muttering, roaring, +intermitted, changeful sound: rain-shakings of the palsied trees, +slidings of rocks undermined, final crashings of long-riven boughs, and +devilish gibberish of the forest-ghosts. + +But more near, on the mild lake's hither shore, where it formed a long +semi-circular and scooped acclivity of corn-fields, there the small and +low red farm-house lay; its ancient roof a bed of brightest mosses; its +north front (from the north the moss-wind blows), also moss-incrusted, +like the north side of any vast-trunked maple in the groves. At one +gabled end, a tangled arbor claimed support, and paid for it by generous +gratuities of broad-flung verdure, one viny shaft of which pointed +itself upright against the chimney-bricks, as if a waving lightning-rod. +Against the other gable, you saw the lowly dairy-shed; its sides close +netted with traced Madeira vines; and had you been close enough, peeping +through that imprisoning tracery, and through the light slats barring +the little embrasure of a window, you might have seen the gentle and +contented captives--the pans of milk, and the snow-white Dutch cheeses +in a row, and the molds of golden butter, and the jars of lily cream. In +front, three straight gigantic lindens stood guardians of this verdant +spot. A long way up, almost to the ridge-pole of the house, they showed +little foliage; but then, suddenly, as three huge green balloons, they +poised their three vast, inverted, rounded cones of verdure in the air. + +Soon as Pierre's eye rested on the place, a tremor shook him. Not alone +because of Isabel, as there a harborer now, but because of two dependent +and most strange coincidences which that day's experience had brought to +him. He had gone to breakfast with his mother, his heart charged to +overflowing with presentiments of what would probably be her haughty +disposition concerning such a being as Isabel, claiming her maternal +love: and lo! the Reverend Mr. Falsgrave enters, and Ned and Delly are +discussed, and that whole sympathetic matter, which Pierre had despaired +of bringing before his mother in all its ethic bearings, so as +absolutely to learn her thoughts upon it, and thereby test his own +conjectures; all that matter had been fully talked about; so that, +through that strange coincidence, he now perfectly knew his mother's +mind, and had received forewarnings, as if from heaven, not to make any +present disclosure to her. That was in the morning; and now, at eve +catching a glimpse of the house where Isabel was harboring, at once he +recognized it as the rented farm-house of old Walter Ulver, father to +the self-same Delly, forever ruined through the cruel arts of Ned. + +Strangest feelings, almost supernatural, now stole into Pierre. With +little power to touch with awe the souls of less susceptible, +reflective, and poetic beings, such coincidences, however frequently +they may recur, ever fill the finer organization with sensations which +transcend all verbal renderings. They take hold of life's subtlest +problem. With the lightning's flash, the query is spontaneously +propounded--chance, or God? If too, the mind thus influenced be likewise +a prey to any settled grief, then on all sides the query magnifies, and +at last takes in the all-comprehending round of things. For ever is it +seen, that sincere souls in suffering, then most ponder upon final +causes. The heart, stirred to its depths, finds correlative sympathy in +the head, which likewise is profoundly moved. Before miserable men, when +intellectual, all the ages of the world pass as in a manacled +procession, and all their myriad links rattle in the mournful mystery. + +Pacing beneath the long-skirting shadows of the elevated wood, waiting +for the appointed hour to come, Pierre strangely strove to imagine to +himself the scene which was destined to ensue. But imagination utterly +failed him here; the reality was too real for him; only the face, the +face alone now visited him; and so accustomed had he been of late to +confound it with the shapes of air, that he almost trembled when he +thought that face to face, that face must shortly meet his own. + +And now the thicker shadows begin to fall; the place is lost to him; +only the three dim, tall lindens pilot him as he descends the hill, +hovering upon the house. He knows it not, but his meditative route is +sinuous; as if that moment his thought's stream was likewise +serpentining: laterally obstructed by insinuated misgivings as to the +ultimate utilitarian advisability of the enthusiast resolution that was +his. His steps decrease in quickness as he comes more nigh, and sees one +feeble light struggling in the rustic double-casement. Infallibly he +knows that his own voluntary steps are taking him forever from the +brilliant chandeliers of the mansion of Saddle Meadows, to join company +with the wretched rush-lights of poverty and woe. But his sublime +intuitiveness also paints to him the sun-like glories of god-like truth +and virtue; which though ever obscured by the dense fogs of earth, still +shall shine eventually in unclouded radiance, casting illustrative light +upon the sapphire throne of God. + + +II. + +He stands before the door; the house is steeped in silence; he knocks; +the casement light flickers for a moment, and then moves away; within, +he hears a door creak on its hinges; then his whole heart beats wildly +as the outer latch is lifted; and holding the light above her +supernatural head, Isabel stands before him. It is herself. No word is +spoken; no other soul is seen. They enter the room of the double +casement; and Pierre sits down, overpowered with bodily faintness and +spiritual awe. He lifts his eyes to Isabel's gaze of loveliness and +loneliness; and then a low, sweet, half-sobbing voice of more than +natural musicalness is heard:-- + +"And so, thou art my brother;--shall I call thee Pierre?" + +Steadfastly, with his one first and last fraternal inquisition of the +person of the mystic girl, Pierre now for an instant eyes her; and in +that one instant sees in the imploring face, not only the nameless +touchingness of that of the sewing-girl, but also the subtler expression +of the portrait of his then youthful father, strangely translated, and +intermarryingly blended with some before unknown, foreign feminineness. +In one breath, Memory and Prophecy, and Intuition tell him--"Pierre, +have no reserves; no minutest possible doubt;--this being is thy sister; +thou gazest on thy father's flesh." + +"And so thou art my brother!--shall I call thee Pierre?" + +He sprang to his feet, and caught her in his undoubting arms. + +"Thou art! thou art!" + +He felt a faint struggling within his clasp; her head drooped against +him; his whole form was bathed in the flowing glossiness of her long and +unimprisoned hair. Brushing the locks aside, he now gazed upon the +death-like beauty of the face, and caught immortal sadness from it. She +seemed as dead; as suffocated,--the death that leaves most unimpaired +the latent tranquillities and sweetnesses of the human countenance. + +He would have called aloud for succor; but the slow eyes opened upon +him; and slowly he felt the girl's supineness leaving her; and now she +recovers herself a little,--and again he feels her faintly struggling in +his arms, as if somehow abashed, and incredulous of mortal right to hold +her so. Now Pierre repents his over-ardent and incautious warmth, and +feels himself all reverence for her. Tenderly he leads her to a bench +within the double casement; and sits beside her; and waits in silence, +till the first shock of this encounter shall have left her more composed +and more prepared to hold communion with him. + +"How feel'st thou now, my sister?" + +"Bless thee! bless thee!" + +Again the sweet, wild power of the musicalness of the voice, and some +soft, strange touch of foreignness in the accent,--so it fancifully +seemed to Pierre, thrills through and through his soul. He bent and +kissed her brow; and then feels her hand seeking his, and then clasping +it without one uttered word. + +All his being is now condensed in that one sensation of the clasping +hand. He feels it as very small and smooth, but strangely hard. Then he +knew that by the lonely labor of her hands, his own father's daughter +had earned her living in the same world, where he himself, her own +brother, had so idly dwelled. Once more he reverently kissed her brow, +and his warm breath against it murmured with a prayer to heaven. + +"I have no tongue to speak to thee, Pierre, my brother. My whole being, +all my life's thoughts and longings are in endless arrears to thee; then +how can I speak to thee? Were it God's will, Pierre, my utmost blessing +now, were to lie down and die. Then should I be at peace. Bear with me, +Pierre." + +"Eternally will I do that, my beloved Isabel! Speak not to me yet +awhile, if that seemeth best to thee, if that only is possible to thee. +This thy clasping hand, my sister, _this_ is now thy tongue to me." + +"I know not where to begin to speak to thee, Pierre; and yet my soul +o'erbrims in me." + +"From my heart's depths, I love and reverence thee; and feel for thee, +backward and forward, through all eternity!" + +"Oh, Pierre, can'st thou not cure in me this dreaminess, this +bewilderingness I feel? My poor head swims and swims, and will not +pause. My life can not last long thus; I am too full without discharge. +Conjure tears for me, Pierre; that my heart may not break with the +present feeling,--more death-like to me than all my grief gone by!" + +"Ye thirst-slaking evening skies, ye hilly dews and mists, distil your +moisture here! The bolt hath passed; why comes not the following +shower?--Make her to weep!" + +Then her head sought his support; and big drops fell on him; and anon, +Isabel gently slid her head from him, and sat a little composedly beside +him. + +"If thou feelest in endless arrears of thought to me, my sister; so do I +feel toward thee. I too, scarce know what I should speak to thee. But +when thou lookest on me, my sister, thou beholdest one, who in his soul +hath taken vows immutable, to be to thee, in all respects, and to the +uttermost bounds and possibilities of Fate, thy protecting and +all-acknowledging brother!" + +"Not mere sounds of common words, but inmost tones of my heart's deepest +melodies should now be audible to thee. Thou speakest to a human thing, +but something heavenly should answer thee;--some flute heard in the air +should answer thee; for sure thy most undreamed-of accents, Pierre, sure +they have not been unheard on high. Blessings that are imageless to all +mortal fancyings, these shall be thine for this." + +"Blessing like to thine, doth but recoil and bless homeward to the heart +that uttered it. I can not bless thee, my sister, as thou dost bless +thyself in blessing my unworthiness. But, Isabel, by still keeping +present the first wonder of our meeting, we shall make our hearts all +feebleness. Let me then rehearse to thee what Pierre is; what life +hitherto he hath been leading; and what hereafter he shall lead;--so +thou wilt be prepared." + +"Nay, Pierre, that is my office; thou art first entitled to my tale, +then, if it suit thee, thou shalt make me the unentitled gift of thine. +Listen to me, now. The invisible things will give me strength;--it is +not much, Pierre;--nor aught very marvelous. Listen then;--I feel +soothed down to utterance now." + +During some brief, interluding, silent pauses in their interview thus +far, Pierre had heard a soft, slow, sad, to-and-fro, meditative stepping +on the floor above; and in the frequent pauses that intermitted the +strange story in the following chapter, that same soft, slow, sad, +to-and-fro, meditative, and most melancholy stepping, was again and +again audible in the silent room. + + +III. + +"I never knew a mortal mother. The farthest stretch of my life's memory +can not recall one single feature of such a face. If, indeed, mother of +mine hath lived, she is long gone, and cast no shadow on the ground she +trod. Pierre, the lips that do now speak to thee, never touched a +woman's breast; I seem not of woman born. My first dim life-thoughts +cluster round an old, half-ruinous house in some region, for which I now +have no chart to seek it out. If such a spot did ever really exist, that +too seems to have been withdrawn from all the remainder of the earth. It +was a wild, dark house, planted in the midst of a round, cleared, +deeply-sloping space, scooped out of the middle of deep stunted pine +woods. Ever I shrunk at evening from peeping out of my window, lest the +ghostly pines should steal near to me, and reach out their grim arms to +snatch me into their horrid shadows. In summer the forest unceasingly +hummed with unconjecturable voices of unknown birds and beasts. In +winter its deep snows were traced like any paper map, with dotting +night-tracks of four-footed creatures, that, even to the sun, were never +visible, and never were seen by man at all. In the round open space the +dark house stood, without one single green twig or leaf to shelter it; +shadeless and shelterless in the heart of shade and shelter. Some of the +windows were rudely boarded up, with boards nailed straight up and down; +and those rooms were utterly empty, and never were entered, though they +were doorless. But often, from the echoing corridor, I gazed into them +with fear; for the great fire-places were all in ruins; the lower tier +of back-stones were burnt into one white, common crumbling; and the +black bricks above had fallen upon the hearths, heaped here and there +with the still falling soot of long-extinguished fires. Every +hearth-stone in that house had one long crack through it; every floor +drooped at the corners; and outside, the whole base of the house, where +it rested on the low foundation of greenish stones, was strewn with +dull, yellow molderings of the rotting sills. No name; no scrawled or +written thing; no book, was in the house; no one memorial speaking of +its former occupants. It was dumb as death. No grave-stone, or mound, or +any little hillock around the house, betrayed any past burials of man or +child. And thus, with no trace then to me of its past history, thus it +hath now entirely departed and perished from my slightest knowledge as +to where that house so stood, or in what region it so stood. None other +house like it have I ever seen. But once I saw plates of the outside of +French chateaux which powerfully recalled its dim image to me, +especially the two rows of small dormer windows projecting from the +inverted hopper-roof. But that house was of wood, and these of stone. +Still, sometimes I think that house was not in this country, but +somewhere in Europe; perhaps in France; but it is all bewildering to me; +and so you must not start at me, for I can not but talk wildly upon so +wild a theme. + +"In this house I never saw any living human soul, but an old man and +woman. The old man's face was almost black with age, and was one purse +of wrinkles, his hoary beard always tangled, streaked with dust and +earthy crumbs. I think in summer he toiled a little in the garden, or +some spot like that, which lay on one side of the house. All my ideas +are in uncertainty and confusion here. But the old man and the old woman +seem to have fastened themselves indelibly upon my memory. I suppose +their being the only human things around me then, _that_ caused the hold +they took upon me. They seldom spoke to me; but would sometimes, of +dark, gusty nights, sit by the fire and stare at me, and then mumble to +each other, and then stare at me again. They were not entirely unkind to +me; but, I repeat, they seldom or never spoke to me. What words or +language they used to each other, this it is impossible for me to +recall. I have often wished to; for then I might at least have some +additional idea whether the house was in this country or somewhere +beyond the sea. And here I ought to say, that sometimes I have, I know +not what sort of vague remembrances of at one time--shortly after the +period I now speak of--chattering in two different childish languages; +one of which waned in me as the other and latter grew. But more of this +anon. It was the woman that gave me my meals; for I did not eat with +them. Once they sat by the fire with a loaf between them, and a bottle +of some thin sort of reddish wine; and I went up to them, and asked to +eat with them, and touched the loaf. But instantly the old man made a +motion as if to strike me, but did not, and the woman, glaring at me, +snatched the loaf and threw it into the fire before them. I ran +frightened from the room; and sought a cat, which I had often tried to +coax into some intimacy, but, for some strange cause, without success. +But in my frightened loneliness, then, I sought the cat again, and found +her up-stairs, softly scratching for some hidden thing among the litter +of the abandoned fire-places. I called to her, for I dared not go into +the haunted chamber; but she only gazed sideways and unintelligently +toward me; and continued her noiseless searchings. I called again, and +then she turned round and hissed at me; and I ran down stairs, still +stung with the thought of having been driven away there, too. I now knew +not where to go to rid myself of my loneliness. At last I went outside +of the house, and sat down on a stone, but its coldness went up to my +heart, and I rose and stood on my feet. But my head was dizzy; I could +not stand; I fell, and knew no more. But next morning I found myself in +bed in my uncheerable room, and some dark bread and a cup of water by +me. + +"It has only been by chance that I have told thee this one particular +reminiscence of my early life in that house. I could tell many more like +it, but this is enough to show what manner of life I led at that time. +Every day that I then lived, I felt all visible sights and all audible +sounds growing stranger and stranger, and fearful and more fearful to +me. To me the man and the woman were just like the cat; none of them +would speak to me; none of them were comprehensible to me. And the man, +and the woman, and the cat, were just like the green foundation stones +of the house to me; I knew not whence they came, or what cause they had +for being there. I say again, no living human soul came to the house but +the man and the woman; but sometimes the old man early trudged away to a +road that led through the woods, and would not come back till late in +the evening; he brought the dark bread, and the thin, reddish wine with +him. Though the entrance to the wood was not so very far from the door, +yet he came so slowly and infirmly trudging with his little load, that +it seemed weary hours on hours between my first descrying him among the +trees, and his crossing the splintered threshold. + +"Now the wide and vacant blurrings of my early life thicken in my mind. +All goes wholly memoryless to me now. It may have been that about that +time I grew sick with some fever, in which for a long interval I lost +myself. Or it may be true, which I have heard, that after the period of +our very earliest recollections, then a space intervenes of entire +unknowingness, followed again by the first dim glimpses of the +succeeding memory, more or less distinctly embracing all our past up to +that one early gap in it. + +"However this may be, nothing more can I recall of the house in the wide +open space; nothing of how at last I came to leave it; but I must have +been still extremely young then. But some uncertain, tossing memory have +I of being at last in another round, open space, but immensely larger +than the first one, and with no encircling belt of woods. Yet often it +seems to me that there were three tall, straight things like pine-trees +somewhere there nigh to me at times; and that they fearfully shook and +snapt as the old trees used to in the mountain storms. And the floors +seemed sometimes to droop at the corners still more steeply than the old +floors did; and changefully drooped too, so that I would even seem to +feel them drooping under me. + +"Now, too, it was that, as it sometimes seems to me, I first and last +chattered in the two childish languages I spoke of a little time ago. +There seemed people about me, some of whom talked one, and some the +other; but I talked both; yet one not so readily as the other; and but +beginningly as it were; still this other was the one which was gradually +displacing the former. The men who--as it sometimes dreamily seems to me +at times--often climbed the three strange tree-like things, they +talked--I needs must think--if indeed I have any real thought about so +bodiless a phantom as this is--they talked the language which I speak of +as at this time gradually waning in me. It was a bonny tongue; oh, seems +to me so sparkling-gay and lightsome; just the tongue for a child like +me, if the child had not been so sad always. It was pure children's +language, Pierre; so twittering--such a chirp. + +"In thy own mind, thou must now perceive, that most of these dim +remembrances in me, hint vaguely of a ship at sea. But all is dim and +vague to me. Scarce know I at any time whether I tell you real things, +or the unrealest dreams. Always in me, the solidest things melt into +dreams, and dreams into solidities. Never have I wholly recovered from +the effects of my strange early life. This it is, that even now--this +moment--surrounds thy visible form, my brother, with a mysterious +mistiness; so that a second face, and a third face, and a fourth face +peep at me from within thy own. Now dim, and more dim, grows in me all +the memory of how thou and I did come to meet. I go groping again amid +all sorts of shapes, which part to me; so that I seem to advance through +the shapes; and yet the shapes have eyes that look at me. I turn round, +and they look at me; I step forward, and they look at me.--Let me be +silent now; do not speak to me." + + +IV. + +Filled with nameless wonderings at this strange being, Pierre sat mute, +intensely regarding her half-averted aspect. Her immense soft tresses of +the jettiest hair had slantingly fallen over her as though a curtain +were half drawn from before some saint enshrined. To Pierre, she seemed +half unearthly; but this unearthliness was only her mysteriousness, not +any thing that was repelling or menacing to him. And still, the low +melodies of her far interior voice hovered in sweet echoes in the room; +and were trodden upon, and pressed like gushing grapes, by the steady +invisible pacing on the floor above. + +She moved a little now, and after some strange wanderings more +coherently continued. + +"My next memory which I think I can in some degree rely upon, was yet +another house, also situated away from human haunts, in the heart of a +not entirely silent country. Through this country, and by the house, +wound a green and lagging river. That house must have been in some +lowland; for the first house I spoke of seems to me to have been +somewhere among mountains, or near to mountains;--the sounds of the far +waterfalls,--I seem to hear them now; the steady up-pointed cloud-shapes +behind the house in the sunset sky--I seem to see them now. But this +other house, this second one, or third one, I know not which, I say +again it was in some lowland. There were no pines around it; few trees +of any sort; the ground did not slope so steeply as around the first +house. There were cultivated fields about it, and in the distance +farm-houses, and out-houses, and cattle, and fowls, and many objects of +that familiar sort. This house I am persuaded was in this country; on +this side of the sea. It was a very large house, and full of people; but +for the most part they lived separately. There were some old people in +it, and there were young men, and young women in it,--some very +handsome; and there were children in it. It seemed a happy place to some +of these people; many of them were always laughing; but it was not a +happy place for me. + +"But here I may err, because of my own consciousness I can not identify +in myself--I mean in the memory of my whole foregoing life,--I say, I +can not identify that thing which is called happiness; that thing whose +token is a laugh, or a smile, or a silent serenity on the lip. I may +have been happy, but it is not in my conscious memory now. Nor do I feel +a longing for it, as though I had never had it; my spirit seeks +different food from happiness; for I think I have a suspicion of what it +is. I have suffered wretchedness, but not because of the absence of +happiness, and without praying for happiness. I pray for peace--for +motionlessness--for the feeling of myself, as of some plant, absorbing +life without seeking it, and existing without individual sensation. I +feel that there can be no perfect peace in individualness. Therefore I +hope one day to feel myself drank up into the pervading spirit animating +all things. I feel I am an exile here. I still go straying.--Yes; in thy +speech, thou smilest.--But let me be silent again. Do not answer me. +When I resume, I will not wander so, but make short end." + +Reverently resolved not to offer the slightest let or hinting hindrance +to the singular tale rehearsing to him, but to sit passively and receive +its marvelous droppings into his soul, however long the pauses; and as +touching less mystical considerations, persuaded that by so doing he +should ultimately derive the least nebulous and imperfect account of +Isabel's history; Pierre still sat waiting her resuming, his eyes fixed +upon the girl's wonderfully beautiful ear, which chancing to peep forth +from among her abundant tresses, nestled in that blackness like a +transparent sea-shell of pearl. + +She moved a little now; and after some strange wanderings more +coherently continued; while the sound of the stepping on the floor +above--it seemed to cease. + +"I have spoken of the second or rather the third spot in my memory of +the past, as it first appeared to me; I mean, I have spoken of the +people in the house, according to my very earliest recallable impression +of them. But I stayed in that house for several years--five, six, +perhaps, seven years--and during that interval of my stay, all things +changed to me, because I learned more, though always dimly. Some of its +occupants departed; some changed from smiles to tears; some went moping +all the day; some grew as savages and outrageous, and were dragged +below by dumb-like men into deep places, that I knew nothing of, but +dismal sounds came through the lower floor, groans and clanking +fallings, as of iron in straw. Now and then, I saw coffins silently at +noon-day carried into the house, and in five minutes' time emerge again, +seemingly heavier than they entered; but I saw not who was in them. +Once, I saw an immense-sized coffin, endwise pushed through a lower +window by three men who did not speak; and watching, I saw it pushed out +again, and they drove off with it. But the numbers of those invisible +persons who thus departed from the house, were made good by other +invisible persons arriving in close carriages. Some in rags and tatters +came on foot, or rather were driven on foot. Once I heard horrible +outcries, and peeping from my window, saw a robust but squalid and +distorted man, seemingly a peasant, tied by cords with four long ends to +them, held behind by as many ignorant-looking men who with a lash drove +the wild squalid being that way toward the house. Then I heard answering +hand-clappings, shrieks, howls, laughter, blessings, prayers, oaths, +hymns, and all audible confusions issuing from all the chambers of the +house. + +"Sometimes there entered the house--though only transiently, departing +within the hour they came--people of a then remarkable aspect to me. +They were very composed of countenance; did not laugh; did not groan; +did not weep; did not make strange faces; did not look endlessly +fatigued; were not strangely and fantastically dressed; in short, did +not at all resemble any people I had ever seen before, except a little +like some few of the persons of the house, who seemed to have authority +over the rest. These people of a remarkable aspect to me, I thought they +were strangely demented people;--composed of countenance, but wandering +of mind; soul-composed and bodily-wandering, and strangely demented +people. + +"By-and-by, the house seemed to change again, or else my mind took in +more, and modified its first impressions. I was lodged up-stairs in a +little room; there was hardly any furniture in the room; sometimes I +wished to go out of it; but the door was locked. Sometimes the people +came and took me out of the room, into a much larger and very long room, +and here I would collectively see many of the other people of the house, +who seemed likewise brought from distant and separate chambers. In this +long room they would vacantly roam about, and talk vacant talk to each +other. Some would stand in the middle of the room gazing steadily on the +floor for hours together, and never stirred, but only breathed and gazed +upon the floor. Some would sit crouching in the corner, and sit +crouching there, and only breathe and crouch in the corners. Some kept +their hands tight on their hearts, and went slowly promenading up and +down, moaning and moaning to themselves. One would say to another--"Feel +of it--here, put thy hand in the break." Another would mutter--"Broken, +broken, broken"--and would mutter nothing but that one word broken. But +most of them were dumb, and could not, or would not speak, or had +forgotten how to speak. They were nearly all pale people. Some had hair +white as snow, and yet were quite young people. Some were always talking +about Hell, Eternity, and God; and some of all things as fixedly +decreed; others would say nay to this, and then they would argue, but +without much conviction either way. But once nearly all the people +present--even the dumb moping people, and the sluggish persons crouching +in the corners--nearly all of them laughed once, when after a whole +day's loud babbling, two of these predestinarian opponents, said each to +the other--'Thou hast convinced me, friend; but we are quits; for so +also, have I convinced thee, the other way; now then, let's argue it all +over again; for still, though mutually converted, we are still at odds.' +Some harangued the wall; some apostrophized the air; some hissed at the +air; some lolled their tongues out at the air; some struck the air; some +made motions, as if wrestling with the air, and fell out of the arms of +the air, panting from the invisible hug. + +"Now, as in the former thing, thou must, ere this, have suspected what +manner of place this second or third house was, that I then lived in. +But do not speak the word to me. That word has never passed my lips; +even now, when I hear the word, I run from it; when I see it printed in +a book, I run from the book. The word is wholly unendurable to me. Who +brought me to the house; how I came there, I do not know. I lived a long +time in the house; that alone I know; I say I know, but still I am +uncertain; still Pierre, still the--oh the dreaminess, the +bewilderingness--it never entirely leaves me. Let me be still again." + +She leaned away from him; she put her small hard hand to her forehead; +then moved it down, very slowly, but still hardly over her eyes, and +kept it there, making no other sign, and still as death. Then she moved +and continued her vague tale of terribleness. + +"I must be shorter; I did not mean to turn off into the mere +offshootings of my story, here and there; but the dreaminess I speak of +leads me sometimes; and I, as impotent then, obey the dreamy prompting. +Bear with me; now I will be briefer." + +"It came to pass, at last, that there was a contention about me in the +house; some contention which I heard in the after rumor only, not at the +actual time. Some strangers had arrived; or had come in haste, being +sent for to the house. Next day they dressed me in new and pretty, but +still plain clothes, and they took me down stairs, and out into the air, +and into a carriage with a pleasant-looking woman, a stranger to me; and +I was driven off a good way, two days nearly we drove away, stopping +somewhere over-night; and on the evening of the second day we came to +another house, and went into it, and stayed there. + +"This house was a much smaller one than the other, and seemed sweetly +quiet to me after that. There was a beautiful infant in it; and this +beautiful infant always archly and innocently smiling on me, and +strangely beckoning me to come and play with it, and be glad with it; +and be thoughtless, and be glad and gleeful with it; this beautiful +infant first brought me to my own mind, as it were; first made me +sensible that I was something different from stones, trees, cats; first +undid in me the fancy that all people were as stones, trees, cats; first +filled me with the sweet idea of humanness; first made me aware of the +infinite mercifulness, and tenderness, and beautifulness of humanness; +and this beautiful infant first filled me with the dim thought of +Beauty; and equally, and at the same time, with the feeling of the +Sadness; of the immortalness and universalness of the Sadness. I now +feel that I should soon have gone,---- stop me now; do not let me go +that way. I owe all things to that beautiful infant. Oh, how I envied +it, lying in its happy mother's breast, and drawing life and gladness, +and all its perpetual smilingness from that white and smiling breast. +That infant saved me; but still gave me vague desirings. Now I first +began to reflect in my mind; to endeavor after the recalling past +things; but try as I would, little could I recall, but the +bewilderingness;--and the stupor, and the torpor, and the blackness, and +the dimness, and the vacant whirlingness of the bewilderingness. Let me +be still again." + +And the stepping on the floor above,--it then resumed. + + +V. + +"I must have been nine, or ten, or eleven years old, when the +pleasant-looking woman carried me away from the large house. She was a +farmer's wife; and now that was my residence, the farm-house. They +taught me to sew, and work with wool, and spin the wool; I was nearly +always busy now. This being busy, too, this it must have been, which +partly brought to me the power of being sensible of myself as something +human. Now I began to feel strange differences. When I saw a snake +trailing through the grass, and darting out the fire-fork from its +mouth, I said to myself, That thing is not human, but I am human. When +the lightning flashed, and split some beautiful tree, and left it to rot +from all its greenness, I said, That lightning is not human, but I am +human. And so with all other things. I can not speak coherently here; +but somehow I felt that all good, harmless men and women were human +things, placed at cross-purposes, in a world of snakes and lightnings, +in a world of horrible and inscrutable inhumanities. I have had no +training of any sort. All my thoughts well up in me; I know not whether +they pertain to the old bewilderings or not; but as they are, they are, +and I can not alter them, for I had nothing to do with putting them in +my mind, and I never affect any thoughts, and I never adulterate any +thoughts; but when I speak, think forth from the tongue, speech being +sometimes before the thought; so, often, my own tongue teaches me new +things. + +"Now as yet I never had questioned the woman, or her husband, or the +young girls, their children, why I had been brought to the house, or how +long I was to stay in the house. There I was; just as I found myself in +the world; there I was; for what cause I had been brought into the +world, would have been no stranger question to me, than for what cause I +had been brought to the house. I knew nothing of myself, or any thing +pertaining to myself; I felt my pulse, my thought; but other things I +was ignorant of, except the general feeling of my humanness among the +inhumanities. But as I grew older, I expanded in my mind. I began to +learn things out of me; to see still stranger, and minuter differences. +I called the woman mother, and so did the other girls; yet the woman +often kissed them, but seldom me. She always helped them first at table. +The farmer scarcely ever spoke to me. Now months, years rolled on, and +the young girls began to stare at me. Then the bewilderingness of the +old starings of the solitary old man and old woman, by the cracked +hearth-stone of the desolate old house, in the desolate, round, open +space; the bewilderingness of those old starings now returned to me; and +the green starings, and the serpent hissings of the uncompanionable cat, +recurred to me, and the feeling of the infinite forlornness of my life +rolled over me. But the woman was very kind to me; she taught the girls +not to be cruel to me; she would call me to her, and speak cheerfully to +me, and I thanked--not God, for I had been taught no God--I thanked the +bright human summer, and the joyful human sun in the sky; I thanked the +human summer and the sun, that they had given me the woman; and I would +sometimes steal away into the beautiful grass, and worship the kind +summer and the sun; and often say over to myself the soft words, summer +and the sun. + +"Still, weeks and years ran on, and my hair began to vail me with its +fullness and its length; and now often I heard the word beautiful, +spoken of my hair, and beautiful, spoken of myself. They would not say +the word openly to me, but I would by chance overhear them whispering +it. The word joyed me with the human feeling of it. They were wrong not +to say it openly to me; my joy would have been so much the more assured +for the openness of their saying beautiful, to me; and I know it would +have filled me with all conceivable kindness toward every one. Now I +had heard the word beautiful, whispered, now and then, for some months, +when a new being came to the house; they called him gentleman. His face +was wonderful to me. Something strangely like it, and yet again unlike +it, I had seen before, but where, I could not tell. But one day, looking +into the smooth water behind the house, there I saw the +likeness--something strangely like, and yet unlike, the likeness of his +face. This filled me with puzzlings. The new being, the gentleman, he +was very gracious to me; he seemed astonished, confounded at me; he +looked at me, then at a very little, round picture--so it seemed--which +he took from his pocket, and yet concealed from me. Then he kissed me, +and looked with tenderness and grief upon me; and I felt a tear fall on +me from him. Then he whispered a word into my ear. 'Father,' was the +word he whispered; the same word by which the young girls called the +farmer. Then I knew it was the word of kindness and of kisses. I kissed +the gentleman. + +"When he left the house I wept for him to come again. And he did come +again. All called him my father now. He came to see me once every month +or two; till at last he came not at all; and when I wept and asked for +him, they said the word _Dead_ to me. Then the bewilderings of the +comings and the goings of the coffins at the large and populous house; +these bewilderings came over me. What was it to be dead? What is it to +be living? Wherein is the difference between the words Death and Life? +Had I been ever dead? Was I living? Let me be still again. Do not speak +to me." + +And the stepping on the floor above; again it did resume. + +"Months ran on; and now I somehow learned that my father had every now +and then sent money to the woman to keep me with her in the house; and +that no more money had come to her after he was dead; the last penny of +the former money was now gone. Now the farmer's wife looked troubledly +and painfully at me; and the farmer looked unpleasantly and impatiently +at me. I felt that something was miserably wrong; I said to myself, I am +one too many; I must go away from the pleasant house. Then the +bewilderings of all the loneliness and forlornness of all my forlorn and +lonely life; all these bewilderings and the whelmings of the +bewilderings rolled over me; and I sat down without the house, but could +not weep. + +"But I was strong, and I was a grown girl now. I said to the woman--Keep +me hard at work; let me work all the time, but let me stay with thee. +But the other girls were sufficient to do the work; me they wanted not. +The farmer looked out of his eyes at me, and the out-lookings of his +eyes said plainly to me--Thee we do not want; go from us; thou art one +too many; and thou art more than one too many. Then I said to the +woman--Hire me out to some one; let me work for some one.--But I spread +too wide my little story. I must make an end. + +"The woman listened to me, and through her means I went to live at +another house, and earned wages there. My work was milking the cows, and +making butter, and spinning wool, and weaving carpets of thin strips of +cloth. One day there came to this house a pedler. In his wagon he had a +guitar, an old guitar, yet a very pretty one, but with broken strings. +He had got it slyly in part exchange from the servants of a grand house +some distance off. Spite of the broken strings, the thing looked very +graceful and beautiful to me; and I knew there was melodiousness lurking +in the thing, though I had never seen a guitar before, nor heard of one; +but there was a strange humming in my heart that seemed to prophesy of +the hummings of the guitar. Intuitively, I knew that the strings were +not as they should be. I said to the man--I will buy of thee the thing +thou callest a guitar. But thou must put new strings to it. So he went +to search for them; and brought the strings, and restringing the guitar, +tuned it for me. So with part of my earnings I bought the guitar. +Straightway I took it to my little chamber in the gable, and softly laid +it on my bed. Then I murmured; sung and murmured to it; very lowly, very +softly; I could hardly hear myself. And I changed the modulations of my +singings and my murmurings; and still sung, and murmured, lowly, +softly,--more and more; and presently I heard a sudden sound: sweet and +low beyond all telling was the sweet and sudden sound. I clapt my hands; +the guitar was speaking to me; the dear guitar was singing to me; +murmuring and singing to me, the guitar. Then I sung and murmured to it +with a still different modulation; and once more it answered me from a +different string; and once more it murmured to me, and it answered to me +with a different string. The guitar was human; the guitar taught me the +secret of the guitar; the guitar learned me to play on the guitar. No +music-master have I ever had but the guitar. I made a loving friend of +it; a heart friend of it. It sings to me as I to it. Love is not all on +one side with my guitar. All the wonders that are unimaginable and +unspeakable; all these wonders are translated in the mysterious +melodiousness of the guitar. It knows all my past history. Sometimes it +plays to me the mystic visions of the confused large house I never name. +Sometimes it brings to me the bird-twitterings in the air; and sometimes +it strikes up in me rapturous pulsations of legendary delights eternally +unexperienced and unknown to me. Bring me the guitar." + + +VI. + +Entranced, lost, as one wandering bedazzled and amazed among innumerable +dancing lights, Pierre had motionlessly listened to this +abundant-haired, and large-eyed girl of mystery. + +"Bring me the guitar!" + +Starting from his enchantment, Pierre gazed round the room, and saw the +instrument leaning against a corner. Silently he brought it to the girl, +and silently sat down again. + +"Now listen to the guitar; and the guitar shall sing to thee the sequel +of my story; for not in words can it be spoken. So listen to the +guitar." + +Instantly the room was populous with sounds of melodiousness, and +mournfulness, and wonderfulness; the room swarmed with the +unintelligible but delicious sounds. The sounds seemed waltzing in the +room; the sounds hung pendulous like glittering icicles from the corners +of the room; and fell upon him with a ringing silveryness; and were +drawn up again to the ceiling, and hung pendulous again, and dropt down +upon him again with the ringing silveryness. Fire-flies seemed buzzing +in the sounds; summer-lightnings seemed vividly yet softly audible in +the sounds. + +And still the wild girl played on the guitar; and her long dark shower +of curls fell over it, and vailed it; and still, out from the vail came +the swarming sweetness, and the utter unintelligibleness, but the +infinite significancies of the sounds of the guitar. + +"Girl of all-bewildering mystery!" cried Pierre--"Speak to me;--sister, +if thou indeed canst be a thing that's mortal--speak to me, if thou be +Isabel!" + + "Mystery! Mystery! + Mystery of Isabel! + Mystery! Mystery! + Isabel and Mystery!" + +Among the waltzings, and the droppings, and the swarmings of the sounds, +Pierre now heard the tones above deftly stealing and winding among the +myriad serpentinings of the other melody:--deftly stealing and winding +as respected the instrumental sounds, but in themselves wonderfully and +abandonedly free and bold--bounding and rebounding as from multitudinous +reciprocal walls; while with every syllable the hair-shrouded form of +Isabel swayed to and fro with a like abandonment, and suddenness, and +wantonness:--then it seemed not like any song; seemed not issuing from +any mouth; but it came forth from beneath the same vail concealing the +guitar. + +Now a strange wild heat burned upon his brow; he put his hand to it. +Instantly the music changed; and drooped and changed; and changed and +changed; and lingeringly retreated as it changed; and at last was wholly +gone. + +Pierre was the first to break the silence. + +"Isabel, thou hast filled me with such wonderings; I am so distraught +with thee, that the particular things I had to tell to thee, when I +hither came; these things I can not now recall, to speak them to +thee:--I feel that something is still unsaid by thee, which at some +other time thou wilt reveal. But now I can stay no longer with thee. +Know me eternally as thy loving, revering, and most marveling brother, +who will never desert thee, Isabel. Now let me kiss thee and depart, +till to-morrow night; when I shall open to thee all my mind, and all my +plans concerning me and thee. Let me kiss thee, and adieu!" + +As full of unquestioning and unfaltering faith in him, the girl sat +motionless and heard him out. Then silently rose, and turned her +boundlessly confiding brow to him. He kissed it thrice, and without +another syllable left the place. + + + + +BOOK VII. + +INTERMEDIATE BETWEEN PIERRE'S TWO INTERVIEWS WITH ISABEL AT THE +FARM-HOUSE. + + +I. + +Not immediately, not for a long time, could Pierre fully, or by any +approximation, realize the scene which he had just departed. But the +vague revelation was now in him, that the visible world, some of which +before had seemed but too common and prosaic to him; and but too +intelligible; he now vaguely felt, that all the world, and every +misconceivedly common and prosaic thing in it, was steeped a million +fathoms in a mysteriousness wholly hopeless of solution. First, the +enigmatical story of the girl, and the profound sincerity of it, and yet +the ever accompanying haziness, obscurity, and almost miraculousness of +it;--first, this wonderful story of the girl had displaced all +commonness and prosaicness from his soul; and then, the inexplicable +spell of the guitar, and the subtleness of the melodious appealings of +the few brief words from Isabel sung in the conclusion of the +melody--all this had bewitched him, and enchanted him, till he had sat +motionless and bending over, as a tree-transformed and mystery-laden +visitant, caught and fast bound in some necromancer's garden. + +But as now burst from these sorceries, he hurried along the open road, +he strove for the time to dispel the mystic feeling, or at least +postpone it for a while, until he should have time to rally both body +and soul from the more immediate consequences of that day's long +fastings and wanderings, and that night's never-to-be-forgotten scene. +He now endeavored to beat away all thoughts from him, but of present +bodily needs. + +Passing through the silent village, he heard the clock tell the mid hour +of night. Hurrying on, he entered the mansion by a private door, the key +of which hung in a secret outer place. Without undressing, he flung +himself upon the bed. But remembering himself again, he rose and +adjusted his alarm-clock, so that it would emphatically repeat the hour +of five. Then to bed again, and driving off all intrudings of +thoughtfulness, and resolutely bending himself to slumber, he by-and-by +fell into its at first reluctant, but at last welcoming and hospitable +arms. At five he rose; and in the east saw the first spears of the +advanced-guard of the day. + +It had been his purpose to go forth at that early hour, and so avoid all +casual contact with any inmate of the mansion, and spend the entire day +in a second wandering in the woods, as the only fit prelude to the +society of so wild a being as his new-found sister Isabel. But the +familiar home-sights of his chamber strangely worked upon him. For an +instant, he almost could have prayed Isabel back into the wonder-world +from which she had so slidingly emerged. For an instant, the fond, +all-understood blue eyes of Lucy displaced the as tender, but mournful +and inscrutable dark glance of Isabel. He seemed placed between them, to +choose one or the other; then both seemed his; but into Lucy's eyes +there stole half of the mournfulness of Isabel's, without diminishing +hers. + +Again the faintness, and the long life-weariness benumbed him. He left +the mansion, and put his bare forehead against the restoring wind. He +re-entered the mansion, and adjusted the clock to repeat emphatically +the call of seven; and then lay upon his bed. But now he could not +sleep. At seven he changed his dress; and at half-past eight went below +to meet his mother at the breakfast table, having a little before +overheard her step upon the stair. + + +II. + +He saluted her; but she looked gravely and yet alarmedly, and then in a +sudden, illy-repressed panic, upon him. Then he knew he must be +wonderfully changed. But his mother spoke not to him, only to return his +good-morning. He saw that she was deeply offended with him, on many +accounts; moreover, that she was vaguely frightened about him, and +finally that notwithstanding all this, her stung pride conquered all +apprehensiveness in her; and he knew his mother well enough to be very +certain that, though he should unroll a magician's parchment before her +now, she would verbally express no interest, and seek no explanation +from him. Nevertheless, he could not entirely abstain from testing the +power of her reservedness. + +"I have been quite an absentee, sister Mary," said he, with ill-affected +pleasantness. + +"Yes, Pierre. How does the coffee suit you this morning? It is some new +coffee." + +"It is very nice; very rich and odorous, sister Mary." + +"I am glad you find it so, Pierre." + +"Why don't you call me brother Pierre?" + +"Have I not called you so? Well, then, brother Pierre,--is that better?" + +"Why do you look so indifferently and icily upon me, sister Mary?" + +"Do I look indifferently and icily? Then I will endeavor to look +otherwise. Give me the toast there, Pierre." + +"You are very deeply offended at me, my dear mother." + +"Not in the slightest degree, Pierre. Have you seen Lucy lately?" + +"I have not, my mother." + +"Ah! A bit of salmon, Pierre." + +"You are too proud to show toward me what you are this moment feeling, +my mother." + +Mrs. Glendinning slowly rose to her feet, and her full stature of +womanly beauty and majesty stood imposingly over him. + +"Tempt me no more, Pierre. I will ask no secret from thee; all shall be +voluntary between us, as it ever has been, until very lately, or all +shall be nothing between us. Beware of me, Pierre. There lives not that +being in the world of whom thou hast more reason to beware, so you +continue but a little longer to act thus with me." + +She reseated herself, and spoke no more. Pierre kept silence; and after +snatching a few mouthfuls of he knew not what, silently quitted the +table, and the room, and the mansion. + + +III. + +As the door of the breakfast-room closed upon Pierre, Mrs. Glendinning +rose, her fork unconsciously retained in her hand. Presently, as she +paced the room in deep, rapid thought, she became conscious of something +strange in her grasp, and without looking at it, to mark what it was, +impulsively flung it from her. A dashing noise was heard, and then a +quivering. She turned; and hanging by the side of Pierre's portrait, she +saw her own smiling picture pierced through, and the fork, whose silver +tines had caught in the painted bosom, vibratingly rankled in the wound. + +She advanced swiftly to the picture, and stood intrepidly before it. + +"Yes, thou art stabbed! but the wrong hand stabbed thee; this should +have been _thy_ silver blow," turning to Pierre's portrait face. +"Pierre, Pierre, thou hast stabbed me with a poisoned point. I feel my +blood chemically changing in me. I, the mother of the only surnamed +Glendinning, I feel now as though I had borne the last of a swiftly to +be extinguished race. For swiftly to be extinguished is that race, whose +only heir but so much as impends upon a deed of shame. And some deed of +shame, or something most dubious and most dark, is in thy soul, or else +some belying specter, with a cloudy, shame-faced front, sat at yon seat +but now! What can it be? Pierre, unbosom. Smile not so lightly upon my +heavy grief. Answer; what is it, boy? Can it? can it? +no--yes--surely--can it? it can not be! But he was not at Lucy's +yesterday; nor was she here; and she would not see me when I called. +What can this bode? But not a mere broken match--broken as lovers +sometimes break, to mend the break with joyful tears, so soon again--not +a mere broken match can break my proud heart so. If that indeed be part, +it is not all. But no, no, no; it can not, can not be. He would not, +could not, do so mad, so impious a thing. It was a most surprising face, +though I confessed it not to him, nor even hinted that I saw it. But no, +no, no, it can not be. Such young peerlessness in such humbleness, can +not have an honest origin. Lilies are not stalked on weeds, though +polluted, they sometimes may stand among them. She must be both poor and +vile--some chance-blow of a splendid, worthless rake, doomed to inherit +both parts of her infecting portion--vileness and beauty. No, I will not +think it of him. But what then? Sometimes I have feared that my pride +would work me some woe incurable, by closing both my lips, and +varnishing all my front, where I perhaps ought to be wholly in the +melted and invoking mood. But who can get at one's own heart, to mend +it? Right one's self against another, that, one may sometimes do; but +when that other is one's own self, these ribs forbid. Then I will live +my nature out. I will stand on pride. I will not budge. Let come what +will, I shall not half-way run to meet it, to beat it off. Shall a +mother abase herself before her stripling boy? Let him tell me of +himself, or let him slide adown!" + + +IV. + +Pierre plunged deep into the woods, and paused not for several miles; +paused not till he came to a remarkable stone, or rather, smoothed mass +of rock, huge as a barn, which, wholly isolated horizontally, was yet +sweepingly overarched by beech-trees and chestnuts. + +It was shaped something like a lengthened egg, but flattened more; and, +at the ends, pointed more; and yet not pointed, but irregularly +wedge-shaped. Somewhere near the middle of its under side, there was a +lateral ridge; and an obscure point of this ridge rested on a second +lengthwise-sharpened rock, slightly protruding from the ground. Beside +that one obscure and minute point of contact, the whole enormous and +most ponderous mass touched not another object in the wide terraqueous +world. It was a breathless thing to see. One broad haunched end hovered +within an inch of the soil, all along to the point of teetering contact; +but yet touched not the soil. Many feet from that--beneath one part of +the opposite end, which was all seamed and half-riven--the vacancy was +considerably larger, so as to make it not only possible, but convenient +to admit a crawling man; yet no mortal being had ever been known to have +the intrepid heart to crawl there. + +It might well have been the wonder of all the country round. But strange +to tell, though hundreds of cottage hearthstones--where, of long +winter-evenings, both old men smoked their pipes and young men shelled +their corn--surrounded it, at no very remote distance, yet had the +youthful Pierre been the first known publishing discoverer of this +stone, which he had thereupon fancifully christened the Memnon Stone. +Possibly, the reason why this singular object had so long remained +unblazoned to the world, was not so much because it had never before +been lighted on--though indeed, both belted and topped by the dense deep +luxuriance of the aboriginal forest, it lay like Captain Kidd's sunken +hull in the gorge of the river Hudson's Highlands,--its crown being full +eight fathoms under high-foliage mark during the great spring-tide of +foliage;--and besides this, the cottagers had no special motive for +visiting its more immediate vicinity at all; their timber and fuel being +obtained from more accessible woodlands--as because, even, if any of the +simple people should have chanced to have beheld it, they, in their +hoodwinked unappreciativeness, would not have accounted it any very +marvelous sight, and therefore, would never have thought it worth their +while to publish it abroad. So that in real truth, they might have seen +it, and yet afterward have forgotten so inconsiderable a circumstance. +In short, this wondrous Memnon Stone could be no Memnon Stone to them; +nothing but a huge stumbling-block, deeply to be regretted as a vast +prospective obstacle in the way of running a handy little cross-road +through that wild part of the Manor. + +Now one day while reclining near its flank, and intently eying it, and +thinking how surprising it was, that in so long-settled a country he +should have been the first discerning and appreciative person to light +upon such a great natural curiosity, Pierre happened to brush aside +several successive layers of old, gray-haired, close cropped, nappy +moss, and beneath, to his no small amazement, he saw rudely hammered in +the rock some half-obliterate initials--"S. ye W." Then he knew, that +ignorant of the stone, as all the simple country round might +immemorially have been, yet was not himself the only human being who had +discovered that marvelous impending spectacle: but long and long ago, in +quite another age, the stone had been beheld, and its wonderfulness +fully appreciated--as the painstaking initials seemed to testify--by +some departed man, who, were he now alive, might possibly wag a beard +old as the most venerable oak of centuries' growth. But who,--who in +Methuselah's name,--who might have been this "S. ye W?" Pierre +pondered long, but could not possibly imagine; for the initials, in +their antiqueness, seemed to point to some period before the era of +Columbus' discovery of the hemisphere. Happening in the end to mention +the strange matter of these initials to a white-haired old gentleman, +his city kinsman, who, after a long and richly varied, but unfortunate +life, had at last found great solace in the Old Testament, which he was +continually studying with ever-increasing admiration; this white-haired +old kinsman, after having learnt all the particulars about the +stone--its bulk, its height, the precise angle of its critical +impendings, and all that,--and then, after much prolonged cogitation +upon it, and several long-drawn sighs, and aged looks of hoar +significance, and reading certain verses in Ecclesiastes; after all +these tedious preliminaries, this not-at-all-to-be-hurried white-haired +old kinsman, had laid his tremulous hand upon Pierre's firm young +shoulder, and slowly whispered--"Boy; 'tis Solomon the Wise." Pierre +could not repress a merry laugh at this; wonderfully diverted by what +seemed to him so queer and crotchety a conceit; which he imputed to the +alledged dotage of his venerable kinsman, who he well knew had once +maintained, that the old Scriptural Ophir was somewhere on our northern +sea-coast; so no wonder the old gentleman should fancy that King Solomon +might have taken a trip--as a sort of amateur supercargo--of some Tyre +or Sidon gold-ship across the water, and happened to light on the Memnon +Stone, while rambling about with bow and quiver shooting partridges. + +But merriment was by no means Pierre's usual mood when thinking of this +stone; much less when seated in the woods, he, in the profound +significance of that deep forest silence, viewed its marvelous +impendings. A flitting conceit had often crossed him, that he would like +nothing better for a head-stone than this same imposing pile; in which, +at times, during the soft swayings of the surrounding foliage, there +seemed to lurk some mournful and lamenting plaint, as for some sweet boy +long since departed in the antediluvian time. + +Not only might this stone well have been the wonder of the simple +country round, but it might well have been its terror. Sometimes, +wrought to a mystic mood by contemplating its ponderous inscrutableness, +Pierre had called it the Terror Stone. Few could be bribed to climb its +giddy height, and crawl out upon its more hovering end. It seemed as if +the dropping of one seed from the beak of the smallest flying bird would +topple the immense mass over, crashing against the trees. + +It was a very familiar thing to Pierre; he had often climbed it, by +placing long poles against it, and so creeping up to where it sloped in +little crumbling stepping-places; or by climbing high up the neighboring +beeches, and then lowering himself down upon the forehead-like summit by +the elastic branches. But never had he been fearless enough--or rather +fool-hardy enough, it may be, to crawl on the ground beneath the vacancy +of the higher end; that spot first menaced by the Terror Stone should it +ever really topple. + + +V. + +Yet now advancing steadily, and as if by some interior +pre-determination, and eying the mass unfalteringly; he then threw +himself prone upon the wood's last year's leaves, and slid himself +straight into the horrible interspace, and lay there as dead. He spoke +not, for speechless thoughts were in him. These gave place at last to +things less and less unspeakable; till at last, from beneath the very +brow of the beetlings and the menacings of the Terror Stone came the +audible words of Pierre:-- + +"If the miseries of the undisclosable things in me, shall ever unhorse +me from my manhood's seat; if to vow myself all Virtue's and all +Truth's, be but to make a trembling, distrusted slave of me; if Life is +to prove a burden I can not bear without ignominious cringings; if +indeed our actions are all fore-ordained, and we are Russian serfs to +Fate; if invisible devils do titter at us when we most nobly strive; if +Life be a cheating dream, and virtue as unmeaning and unsequeled with +any blessing as the midnight mirth of wine; if by sacrificing myself for +Duty's sake, my own mother re-sacrifices me; if Duty's self be but a +bugbear, and all things are allowable and unpunishable to man;--then do +thou, Mute Massiveness, fall on me! Ages thou hast waited; and if these +things be thus, then wait no more; for whom better canst thou crush than +him who now lies here invoking thee?" + +A down-darting bird, all song, swiftly lighted on the unmoved and +eternally immovable balancings of the Terror Stone, and cheerfully +chirped to Pierre. The tree-boughs bent and waved to the rushes of a +sudden, balmy wind; and slowly Pierre crawled forth, and stood haughtily +upon his feet, as he owed thanks to none, and went his moody way. + + +VI. + +When in his imaginative ruminating moods of early youth, Pierre had +christened the wonderful stone by the old resounding name of Memnon, he +had done so merely from certain associative remembrances of that +Egyptian marvel, of which all Eastern travelers speak. And when the +fugitive thought had long ago entered him of desiring that same stone +for his head-stone, when he should be no more; then he had only yielded +to one of those innumerable fanciful notions, tinged with dreamy +painless melancholy, which are frequently suggested to the mind of a +poetic boy. But in after-times, when placed in far different +circumstances from those surrounding him at the Meadows, Pierre pondered +on the stone, and his young thoughts concerning it, and, later, his +desperate act in crawling under it; then an immense significance came to +him, and the long-passed unconscious movements of his then youthful +heart seemed now prophetic to him, and allegorically verified by the +subsequent events. + +For, not to speak of the other and subtler meanings which lie crouching +behind the colossal haunches of this stone, regarded as the menacingly +impending Terror Stone--hidden to all the simple cottagers, but revealed +to Pierre--consider its aspects as the Memnon Stone. For Memnon was that +dewey, royal boy, son of Aurora, and born King of Egypt, who, with +enthusiastic rashness flinging himself on another's account into a +rightful quarrel, fought hand to hand with his overmatch, and met his +boyish and most dolorous death beneath the walls of Troy. His wailing +subjects built a monument in Egypt to commemorate his untimely fate. +Touched by the breath of the bereaved Aurora, every sunrise that statue +gave forth a mournful broken sound, as of a harp-string suddenly +sundered, being too harshly wound. + +Herein lies an unsummed world of grief. For in this plaintive fable we +find embodied the Hamletism of the antique world; the Hamletism of three +thousand years ago: "The flower of virtue cropped by a too rare +mischance." And the English Tragedy is but Egyptian Memnon, Montaignized +and modernized; for being but a mortal man Shakspeare had his fathers +too. + +Now as the Memnon Statue survives down to this present day, so does that +nobly-striving but ever-shipwrecked character in some royal youths (for +both Memnon and Hamlet were the sons of kings), of which that statue is +the melancholy type. But Memnon's sculptured woes did once melodiously +resound; now all is mute. Fit emblem that of old, poetry was a +consecration and an obsequy to all hapless modes of human life; but in a +bantering, barren, and prosaic, heartless age, Aurora's music-moan is +lost among our drifting sands which whelm alike the monument and the +dirge. + + +VII. + +As Pierre went on through the woods, all thoughts now left him but those +investing Isabel. He strove to condense her mysterious haze into some +definite and comprehensible shape. He could not but infer that the +feeling of bewilderment, which she had so often hinted of during their +interview, had caused her continually to go aside from the straight line +of her narration; and finally to end it in an abrupt and enigmatical +obscurity. But he also felt assured, that as this was entirely +unintended, and now, doubtless, regretted by herself, so their coming +second interview would help to clear up much of this mysteriousness; +considering that the elapsing interval would do much to tranquilize her, +and rally her into less of wonderfulness to him; he did not therefore +so much accuse his unthinkingness in naming the postponing hour he had. +For, indeed, looking from the morning down the vista of the day, it +seemed as indefinite and interminable to him. He could not bring himself +to confront any face or house; a plowed field, any sign of tillage, the +rotted stump of a long-felled pine, the slightest passing trace of man +was uncongenial and repelling to him. Likewise in his own mind all +remembrances and imaginings that had to do with the common and general +humanity had become, for the time, in the most singular manner +distasteful to him. Still, while thus loathing all that was common in +the two different worlds--that without, and that within--nevertheless, +even in the most withdrawn and subtlest region of his own essential +spirit, Pierre could not now find one single agreeable twig of thought +whereon to perch his weary soul. + +Men in general seldom suffer from this utter pauperism of the spirit. If +God hath not blessed them with incurable frivolity, men in general have +still some secret thing of self-conceit or virtuous gratulation; men in +general have always done some small self-sacrificing deed for some other +man; and so, in those now and then recurring hours of despondent +lassitude, which must at various and differing intervals overtake almost +every civilized human being; such persons straightway bethink them of +their one, or two, or three small self-sacrificing things, and suck +respite, consolation, and more or less compensating deliciousness from +it. But with men of self-disdainful spirits; in whose chosen souls +heaven itself hath by a primitive persuasion unindoctrinally fixed that +most true Christian doctrine of the utter nothingness of good works; the +casual remembrance of their benevolent well-doings, does never distill +one drop of comfort for them, even as (in harmony with the correlative +Scripture doctrine) the recalling of their outlived errors and +mis-deeds, conveys to them no slightest pang or shadow of reproach. + +Though the clew-defying mysteriousness of Isabel's narration, did now +for the time, in this particular mood of his, put on a repelling aspect +to our Pierre; yet something must occupy the soul of man; and Isabel was +nearest to him then; and Isabel he thought of; at first, with great +discomfort and with pain, but anon (for heaven eventually rewards the +resolute and duteous thinker) with lessening repugnance, and at last +with still-increasing willingness and congenialness. Now he recalled his +first impressions, here and there, while she was rehearsing to him her +wild tale; he recalled those swift but mystical corroborations in his +own mind and memory, which by shedding another twinkling light upon her +history, had but increased its mystery, while at the same time +remarkably substantiating it. + +Her first recallable recollection was of an old deserted chateau-like +house in a strange, French-like country, which she dimly imagined to be +somewhere beyond the sea. Did not this surprisingly correspond with +certain natural inferences to be drawn from his Aunt Dorothea's account +of the disappearance of the French young lady? Yes; the French young +lady's disappearance on this side the water was only contingent upon her +reappearance on the other; then he shuddered as he darkly pictured the +possible sequel of her life, and the wresting from her of her infant, +and its immurement in the savage mountain wilderness. + +But Isabel had also vague impressions of herself crossing the +sea;--_re_crossing, emphatically thought Pierre, as he pondered on the +unbidden conceit, that she had probably first unconsciously and +smuggledly crossed it hidden beneath her sorrowing mother's heart. But +in attempting to draw any inferences, from what he himself had ever +heard, for a coinciding proof or elucidation of this assumption of +Isabel's actual crossing the sea at so tender an age; here Pierre felt +all the inadequateness of both his own and Isabel's united knowledge, to +clear up the profound mysteriousness of her early life. To the +certainty of this irremovable obscurity he bowed himself, and strove to +dismiss it from his mind, as worse than hopeless. So, also, in a good +degree, did he endeavor to drive out of him, Isabel's reminiscence of +the, to her, unnameable large house, from which she had been finally +removed by the pleasant woman in the coach. This episode in her life, +above all other things, was most cruelly suggestive to him, as possibly +involving his father in the privity to a thing, at which Pierre's inmost +soul fainted with amazement and abhorrence. Here the helplessness of all +further light, and the eternal impossibility of logically exonerating +his dead father, in his own mind, from the liability to this, and many +other of the blackest self-insinuated suppositions; all this came over +Pierre with a power so infernal and intense, that it could only have +proceeded from the unretarded malice of the Evil One himself. But +subtilly and wantonly as these conceits stole into him, Pierre as +subtilly opposed them; and with the hue-and-cry of his whole indignant +soul, pursued them forth again into the wide Tartarean realm from which +they had emerged. + +The more and the more that Pierre now revolved the story of Isabel in +his mind, so much the more he amended his original idea, that much of +its obscurity would depart upon a second interview. He saw, or seemed to +see, that it was not so much Isabel who had by her wild idiosyncrasies +mystified the narration of her history, as it was the essential and +unavoidable mystery of her history itself, which had invested Isabel +with such wonderful enigmas to him. + + +VIII. + +The issue of these reconsiderings was the conviction, that all he could +now reasonably anticipate from Isabel, in further disclosure on the +subject of her life, were some few additional particulars bringing it +down to the present moment; and, also, possibly filling out the latter +portion of what she had already revealed to him. Nor here, could he +persuade himself, that she would have much to say. Isabel had not been +so digressive and withholding as he had thought. What more, indeed, +could she now have to impart, except by what strange means she had at +last come to find her brother out; and the dreary recital of how she had +pecuniarily wrestled with her destitute condition; how she had come to +leave one place of toiling refuge for another, till now he found her in +humble servitude at farmer Ulver's? Is it possible then, thought Pierre, +that there lives a human creature in this common world of everydays, +whose whole history may be told in little less than two-score words, and +yet embody in that smallness a fathomless fountain of ever-welling +mystery? Is it possible, after all, that spite of bricks and shaven +faces, this world we live in is brimmed with wonders, and I and all +mankind, beneath our garbs of common-placeness, conceal enigmas that the +stars themselves, and perhaps the highest seraphim can not resolve? + +The intuitively certain, however literally unproven fact of Isabel's +sisterhood to him, was a link that he now felt binding him to a before +unimagined and endless chain of wondering. His very blood seemed to flow +through all his arteries with unwonted subtileness, when he thought that +the same tide flowed through the mystic veins of Isabel. All his +occasional pangs of dubiousness as to the grand governing thing of +all--the reality of the physical relationship--only recoiled back upon +him with added tribute of both certainty and insolubleness. + +She is my sister--my own father's daughter. Well; why do I believe it? +The other day I had not so much as heard the remotest rumor of her +existence; and what has since occurred to change me? What so new and +incontestable vouchers have I handled? None at all. But I have seen her. +Well; grant it; I might have seen a thousand other girls, whom I had +never seen before; but for that, I would not own any one among them for +my sister. But the portrait, the chair-portrait, Pierre? Think of that. +But that was painted before Isabel was born; what can that portrait have +to do with Isabel? It is not the portrait of Isabel, it is my father's +portrait; and yet my mother swears it is not he. + +Now alive as he was to all these searching argumentative itemizings of +the minutest known facts any way bearing upon the subject; and yet, at +the same time, persuaded, strong as death, that in spite of them, Isabel +was indeed his sister; how could Pierre, naturally poetic, and therefore +piercing as he was; how could he fail to acknowledge the existence of +that all-controlling and all-permeating wonderfulness, which, when +imperfectly and isolatedly recognized by the generality, is so +significantly denominated The Finger of God? But it is not merely the +Finger, it is the whole outspread Hand of God; for doth not Scripture +intimate, that He holdeth all of us in the hollow of His hand?--a +Hollow, truly! + +Still wandering through the forest, his eye pursuing its ever-shifting +shadowy vistas; remote from all visible haunts and traces of that +strangely wilful race, who, in the sordid traffickings of clay and mud, +are ever seeking to denationalize the natural heavenliness of their +souls; there came into the mind of Pierre, thoughts and fancies never +imbibed within the gates of towns; but only given forth by the +atmosphere of primeval forests, which, with the eternal ocean, are the +only unchanged general objects remaining to this day, from those that +originally met the gaze of Adam. For so it is, that the apparently most +inflammable or evaporable of all earthly things, wood and water, are, in +this view, immensely the most endurable. + +Now all his ponderings, however excursive, wheeled round Isabel as their +center; and back to her they came again from every excursion; and again +derived some new, small germs for wonderment. + +The question of Time occurred to Pierre. How old was Isabel? According +to all reasonable inferences from the presumed circumstances of her +life, she was his elder, certainly, though by uncertain years; yet her +whole aspect was that of more than childlikeness; nevertheless, not only +did he feel his muscular superiority to her, so to speak, which made him +spontaneously alive to a feeling of elderly protectingness over her; not +only did he experience the thoughts of superior world-acquaintance, and +general cultured knowledge; but spite of reason's self, and irrespective +of all mere computings, he was conscious of a feeling which +independently pronounced him her senior in point of Time, and Isabel a +child of everlasting youngness. This strange, though strong conceit of +his mysterious persuasion, doubtless, had its untraced, and but +little-suspected origin in his mind, from ideas born of his devout +meditations upon the artless infantileness of her face; which, though +profoundly mournful in the general expression, yet did not, by any +means, for that cause, lose one whit in its singular infantileness; as +the faces of real infants, in their earliest visibleness, do oft-times +wear a look of deep and endless sadness. But it was not the sadness, nor +indeed, strictly speaking, the infantileness of the face of Isabel which +so singularly impressed him with the idea of her original and changeless +youthfulness. It was something else; yet something which entirely eluded +him. + +Imaginatively exalted by the willing suffrages of all mankind into +higher and purer realms than men themselves inhabit; beautiful +women--those of them at least who are beautiful in soul as well as +body--do, notwithstanding the relentless law of earthly fleetingness, +still seem, for a long interval, mysteriously exempt from the +incantations of decay; for as the outward loveliness touch by touch +departs, the interior beauty touch by touch replaces that departing +bloom, with charms, which, underivable from earth, possess the +ineffaceableness of stars. Else, why at the age of sixty, have some +women held in the strongest bonds of love and fealty, men young enough +to be their grandsons? And why did all-seducing Ninon unintendingly +break scores of hearts at seventy? It is because of the perennialness of +womanly sweetness. + +Out from the infantile, yet eternal mournfulness of the face of Isabel, +there looked on Pierre that angelic childlikeness, which our Savior +hints is the one only investiture of translated souls; for of such--even +of little children--is the other world. + +Now, unending as the wonderful rivers, which once bathed the feet of the +primeval generations, and still remain to flow fast by the graves of all +succeeding men, and by the beds of all now living; unending, +ever-flowing, ran through the soul of Pierre, fresh and fresher, further +and still further, thoughts of Isabel. But the more his thoughtful river +ran, the more mysteriousness it floated to him; and yet the more +certainty that the mysteriousness was unchangeable. In her life there +was an unraveled plot; and he felt that unraveled it would eternally +remain to him. No slightest hope or dream had he, that what was dark and +mournful in her would ever be cleared up into some coming atmosphere of +light and mirth. Like all youths, Pierre had conned his novel-lessons; +had read more novels than most persons of his years; but their false, +inverted attempts at systematizing eternally unsystemizable elements; +their audacious, intermeddling impotency, in trying to unravel, and +spread out, and classify, the more thin than gossamer threads which make +up the complex web of life; these things over Pierre had no power now. +Straight through their helpless miserableness he pierced; the one +sensational truth in him transfixed like beetles all the speculative +lies in them. He saw that human life doth truly come from that, which +all men are agreed to call by the name of _God_; and that it partakes of +the unravelable inscrutableness of God. By infallible presentiment he +saw, that not always doth life's beginning gloom conclude in gladness; +that wedding-bells peal not ever in the last scene of life's fifth act; +that while the countless tribes of common novels laboriously spin veils +of mystery, only to complacently clear them up at last; and while the +countless tribe of common dramas do but repeat the same; yet the +profounder emanations of the human mind, intended to illustrate all that +can be humanly known of human life; these never unravel their own +intricacies, and have no proper endings; but in imperfect, +unanticipated, and disappointing sequels (as mutilated stumps), hurry to +abrupt intermergings with the eternal tides of time and fate. + +So Pierre renounced all thought of ever having Isabel's dark lantern +illuminated to him. Her light was lidded, and the lid was locked. Nor +did he feel a pang at this. By posting hither and thither among the +reminiscences of his family, and craftily interrogating his remaining +relatives on his father's side, he might possibly rake forth some few +small grains of dubious and most unsatisfying things, which, were he +that way strongly bent, would only serve the more hopelessly to cripple +him in his practical resolves. He determined to pry not at all into this +sacred problem. For him now the mystery of Isabel possessed all the +bewitchingness of the mysterious vault of night, whose very darkness +evokes the witchery. + +The thoughtful river still ran on in him, and now it floated still +another thing to him. + +Though the letter of Isabel gushed with all a sister's sacred longings +to embrace her brother, and in the most abandoned terms painted the +anguish of her life-long estrangement from him; and though, in effect, +it took vows to this,--that without his continual love and sympathy, +further life for her was only fit to be thrown into the nearest +unfathomed pool, or rushing stream; yet when the brother and the sister +had encountered, according to the set appointment, none of these +impassionedments had been repeated. She had more than thrice thanked +God, and most earnestly blessed himself, that now he had come near to +her in her loneliness; but no gesture of common and customary sisterly +affection. Nay, from his embrace had she not struggled? nor kissed him +once; nor had he kissed her, except when the salute was solely sought by +him. + +Now Pierre began to see mysteries interpierced with mysteries, and +mysteries eluding mysteries; and began to seem to see the mere +imaginariness of the so supposed solidest principle of human +association. Fate had done this thing for them. Fate had separated the +brother and the sister, till to each other they somehow seemed so not at +all. Sisters shrink not from their brother's kisses. And Pierre felt +that never, never would he be able to embrace Isabel with the mere +brotherly embrace; while the thought of any other caress, which took +hold of any domesticness, was entirely vacant from his uncontaminated +soul, for it had never consciously intruded there. + +Therefore, forever unsistered for him by the stroke of Fate, and +apparently forever, and twice removed from the remotest possibility of +that love which had drawn him to his Lucy; yet still the object of the +ardentest and deepest emotions of his soul; therefore, to him, Isabel +wholly soared out of the realms of mortalness, and for him became +transfigured in the highest heaven of uncorrupted Love. + + + + +BOOK VIII. + +THE SECOND INTERVIEW AT THE FARM-HOUSE, AND THE SECOND PART OF THE STORY +OF ISABEL. THEIR IMMEDIATE IMPULSIVE EFFECT UPON PIERRE. + + +I. + +His second interview with Isabel was more satisfying, but none the less +affecting and mystical than the first, though in the beginning, to his +no small surprise, it was far more strange and embarrassing. + +As before, Isabel herself admitted him into the farm-house, and spoke no +word to him till they were both seated in the room of the double +casement, and himself had first addressed her. If Pierre had any way +predetermined how to deport himself at the moment, it was to manifest by +some outward token the utmost affection for his sister; but her rapt +silence and that atmosphere of unearthliness which invested her, now +froze him to his seat; his arms refused to open, his lips refused to +meet in the fraternal kiss; while all the while his heart was +overflowing with the deepest love, and he knew full well, that his +presence was inexpressibly grateful to the girl. Never did love and +reverence so intimately react and blend; never did pity so join with +wonder in casting a spell upon the movements of his body, and impeding +him in its command. + +After a few embarrassed words from Pierre, and a brief reply, a pause +ensued, during which not only was the slow, soft stepping overhead +quite audible, as at intervals on the night before, but also some slight +domestic sounds were heard from the adjoining room; and noticing the +unconsciously interrogating expression of Pierre's face, Isabel thus +spoke to him: + +"I feel, my brother, that thou dost appreciate the peculiarity and the +mystery of my life, and of myself, and therefore I am at rest concerning +the possibility of thy misconstruing any of my actions. It is only when +people refuse to admit the uncommonness of some persons and the +circumstances surrounding them, that erroneous conceits are nourished, +and their feelings pained. My brother, if ever I shall seem reserved and +unembracing to thee, still thou must ever trust the heart of Isabel, and +permit no doubt to cross thee there. My brother, the sounds thou hast +just overheard in yonder room, have suggested to thee interesting +questions connected with myself. Do not speak; I fervently understand +thee. I will tell thee upon what terms I have been living here; and how +it is that I, a hired person, am enabled to receive thee in this seemly +privacy; for as thou mayest very readily imagine, this room is not my +own. And this reminds me also that I have yet some few further trifling +things to tell thee respecting the circumstances which have ended in +bestowing upon me so angelical a brother." + +"I can not retain that word"--said Pierre, with earnest lowness, and +drawing a little nearer to her--"of right, it only pertains to thee." + +"My brother, I will now go on, and tell thee all that I think thou +couldst wish to know, in addition to what was so dimly rehearsed last +night. Some three months ago, the people of the distant farm-house, +where I was then staying, broke up their household and departed for some +Western country. No place immediately presented itself where my services +were wanted, but I was hospitably received at an old neighbor's hearth, +and most kindly invited to tarry there, till some employ should offer. +But I did not wait for chance to help me; my inquiries resulted in +ascertaining the sad story of Delly Ulver, and that through the fate +which had overtaken her, her aged parents were not only plunged into the +most poignant grief, but were deprived of the domestic help of an only +daughter, a circumstance whose deep discomfort can not be easily +realized by persons who have always been ministered to by servants. +Though indeed my natural mood--if I may call it so, for want of a better +term--was strangely touched by thinking that the misery of Delly should +be the source of benefit to me; yet this had no practically operative +effect upon me,--my most inmost and truest thoughts seldom have;--and so +I came hither, and my hands will testify that I did not come entirely +for naught. Now, my brother, since thou didst leave me yesterday, I have +felt no small surprise, that thou didst not then seek from me, how and +when I came to learn the name of Glendinning as so closely associated +with myself; and how I came to know Saddle Meadows to be the family +seat, and how I at last resolved upon addressing thee, Pierre, and none +other; and to what may be attributed that very memorable scene in the +sewing-circle at the Miss Pennies." + +"I have myself been wondering at myself that these things should +hitherto have so entirely absented themselves from my mind," responded +Pierre;--"but truly, Isabel, thy all-abounding hair falls upon me with +some spell which dismisses all ordinary considerations from me, and +leaves me only sensible to the Nubian power in thine eyes. But go on, +and tell me every thing and any thing. I desire to know all, Isabel, and +yet, nothing which thou wilt not voluntarily disclose. I feel that +already I know the pith of all; that already I feel toward thee to the +very limit of all; and that, whatever remains for thee to tell me, can +but corroborate and confirm. So go on, my dearest,--ay, my only sister." + +Isabel fixed her wonderful eyes upon him with a gaze of long +impassionment; then rose suddenly to her feet, and advanced swiftly +toward him; but more suddenly paused, and reseated herself in silence, +and continued so for a time, with her head averted from him, and mutely +resting on her hand, gazing out of the open casement upon the soft +heat-lightning, occasionally revealed there. + +She resumed anon. + + +II. + +"My brother, thou wilt remember that certain part of my story which in +reference to my more childish years spent remote from here, introduced +the gentleman--my--yes, _our_ father, Pierre. I can not describe to +thee, for indeed, I do not myself comprehend how it was, that though at +the time I sometimes called him my father, and the people of the house +also called him so, sometimes when speaking of him to me; yet--partly, I +suppose, because of the extraordinary secludedness of my previous +life--I did not then join in my mind with the word father, all those +peculiar associations which the term ordinarily inspires in children. +The word father only seemed a word of general love and endearment to +me--little or nothing more; it did not seem to involve any claims of any +sort, one way or the other. I did not ask the name of my father; for I +could have had no motive to hear him named, except to individualize the +person who was so peculiarly kind to me; and individualized in that way +he already was, since he was generally called by us _the gentleman_, and +sometimes _my father_. As I have no reason to suppose that had I then or +afterward, questioned the people of the house as to what more particular +name my father went by in the world, they would have at all disclosed it +to me; and, indeed, since, for certain singular reasons, I now feel +convinced that on that point they were pledged to secrecy; I do not +know that I ever would have come to learn my father's name,--and by +consequence, ever have learned the least shade or shadow of knowledge as +to you, Pierre, or any of your kin--had it not been for the merest +little accident, which early revealed it to me, though at the moment I +did not know the value of that knowledge. The last time my father +visited the house, he chanced to leave his handkerchief behind him. It +was the farmer's wife who first discovered it. She picked it up, and +fumbling at it a moment, as if rapidly examining the corners, tossed it +to me, saying, 'Here, Isabel, here is the good gentleman's handkerchief; +keep it for him now, till he comes to see little Bell again.' Gladly I +caught the handkerchief, and put it into my bosom. It was a white one; +and upon closely scanning it, I found a small line of fine faded +yellowish writing in the middle of it. At that time I could not read +either print or writing, so I was none the wiser then; but still, some +secret instinct told me, that the woman would not so freely have given +me the handkerchief, had she known there was any writing on it. I +forbore questioning her on the subject; I waited till my father should +return, to secretly question him. The handkerchief had become dusty by +lying on the uncarpeted floor. I took it to the brook and washed it, and +laid it out on the grass where none would chance to pass; and I ironed +it under my little apron, so that none would be attracted to it, to look +at it again. But my father never returned; so, in my grief, the +handkerchief became the more and the more endeared to me; it absorbed +many of the secret tears I wept in memory of my dear departed friend, +whom, in my child-like ignorance, I then equally called _my father_ and +_the gentleman_. But when the impression of his death became a fixed +thing to me, then again I washed and dried and ironed the precious +memorial of him, and put it away where none should find it but myself, +and resolved never more to soil it with my tears; and I folded it in +such a manner, that the name was invisibly buried in the heart of it, +and it was like opening a book and turning over many blank leaves before +I came to the mysterious writing, which I knew should be one day read by +me, without direct help from any one. Now I resolved to learn my +letters, and learn to read, in order that of myself I might learn the +meaning of those faded characters. No other purpose but that only one, +did I have in learning then to read. I easily induced the woman to give +me my little teachings, and being uncommonly quick, and moreover, most +eager to learn, I soon mastered the alphabet, and went on to spelling, +and by-and-by to reading, and at last to the complete deciphering of the +talismanic word--Glendinning. I was yet very ignorant. _Glendinning_, +thought I, what is that? It sounds something like +_gentleman_;--Glen-din-ning;--just as many syllables as _gentleman_; +and--G--it begins with the same letter; yes, it must mean _my father_. I +will think of him by that word now;--I will not think of the +_gentleman_, but of _Glendinning_. When at last I removed from that +house and went to another, and still another, and as I still grew up and +thought more to myself, that word was ever humming in my head, I saw it +would only prove the key to more. But I repressed all undue curiosity, +if any such has ever filled my breast. I would not ask of any one, who +it was that had been Glendinning; where he had lived; whether, ever any +other girl or boy had called him father as I had done. I resolved to +hold myself in perfect patience, as somehow mystically certain, that +Fate would at last disclose to me, of itself, and at the suitable time, +whatever Fate thought it best for me to know. But now, my brother, I +must go aside a little for a moment.--Hand me the guitar." + +Surprised and rejoiced thus far at the unanticipated newness, and the +sweet lucidness and simplicity of Isabel's narrating, as compared with +the obscure and marvelous revelations of the night before, and all eager +for her to continue her story in the same limpid manner, but +remembering into what a wholly tumultuous and unearthly frame of mind +the melodies of her guitar had formerly thrown him; Pierre now, in +handing the instrument to Isabel, could not entirely restrain something +like a look of half-regret, accompanied rather strangely with a +half-smile of gentle humor. It did not pass unnoticed by his sister, who +receiving the guitar, looked up into his face with an expression which +would almost have been arch and playful, were it not for the +ever-abiding shadows cast from her infinite hair into her unfathomed +eyes, and redoubledly shot back again from them. + +"Do not be alarmed, my brother; and do not smile at me; I am not going +to play the Mystery of Isabel to thee to-night. Draw nearer to me now. +Hold the light near to me." + +So saying she loosened some ivory screws of the guitar, so as to open a +peep lengthwise through its interior. + +"Now hold it thus, my brother; thus; and see what thou wilt see; but +wait one instant till I hold the lamp." So saying, as Pierre held the +instrument before him as directed, Isabel held the lamp so as to cast +its light through the round sounding-hole into the heart of the guitar. + +"Now, Pierre, now." + +Eagerly Pierre did as he was bid; but somehow felt disappointed, and yet +surprised at what he saw. He saw the word _Isabel_, quite legibly but +still fadedly gilded upon a part of one side of the interior, where it +made a projecting curve. + +"A very curious place thou hast chosen, Isabel, wherein to have the +ownership of the guitar engraved. How did ever any person get in there +to do it, I should like to know?" + +The girl looked surprisedly at him a moment; then took the instrument +from him, and looked into it herself. She put it down, and continued. + +"I see, my brother, thou dost not comprehend. When one knows every thing +about any object, one is too apt to suppose that the slightest hint +will suffice to throw it quite as open to any other person. _I_ did not +have the name gilded there, my brother." + +"How?" cried Pierre. + +"The name was gilded there when I first got the guitar, though then I +did not know it. The guitar must have been expressly made for some one +by the name of Isabel; because the lettering could only have been put +there before the guitar was put together." + +"Go on--hurry," said Pierre. + +"Yes, one day, after I had owned it a long time, a strange whim came +into me. Thou know'st that it is not at all uncommon for children to +break their dearest playthings in order to gratify a half-crazy +curiosity to find out what is in the hidden heart of them. So it is with +children, sometimes. And, Pierre, I have always been, and feel that I +must always continue to be a child, though I should grow to three score +years and ten. Seized with this sudden whim, I unscrewed the part I +showed thee, and peeped in, and saw 'Isabel.' Now I have not yet told +thee, that from as early a time as I can remember, I have nearly always +gone by the name of Bell. And at the particular time I now speak of, my +knowledge of general and trivial matters was sufficiently advanced to +make it quite a familiar thing to me, that Bell was often a diminutive +for Isabella, or Isabel. It was therefore no very strange affair, that +considering my age, and other connected circumstances at the time, I +should have instinctively associated the word Isabel, found in the +guitar, with my own abbreviated name, and so be led into all sorts of +fancyings. They return upon me now. Do not speak to me." + +She leaned away from him, toward the occasionally illuminated casement, +in the same manner as on the previous night, and for a few moments +seemed struggling with some wild bewilderment But now she suddenly +turned, and fully confronted Pierre with all the wonderfulness of her +most surprising face. + +"I am called woman, and thou, man, Pierre; but there is neither man nor +woman about it. Why should I not speak out to thee? There is no sex in +our immaculateness. Pierre, the secret name in the guitar even now +thrills me through and through. Pierre, think! think! Oh, canst thou not +comprehend? see it?--what I mean, Pierre? The secret name in the guitar +thrills me, thrills me, whirls me, whirls me; so secret, wholly hidden, +yet constantly carried about in it; unseen, unsuspected, always +vibrating to the hidden heart-strings--broken heart-strings; oh, my +mother, my mother, my mother!" + +As the wild plaints of Isabel pierced into his bosom's core, they +carried with them the first inkling of the extraordinary conceit, so +vaguely and shrinkingly hinted at in her till now entirely +unintelligible words. + +She lifted her dry burning eyes of long-fringed fire to him. + +"Pierre--I have no slightest proof--but the guitar was _hers_, I know, I +feel it was. Say, did I not last night tell thee, how it first sung to +me upon the bed, and answered me, without my once touching it? and how +it always sung to me and answered me, and soothed and loved me,--Hark +now; thou shalt hear my mother's spirit." + +She carefully scanned the strings, and tuned them carefully; then placed +the guitar in the casement-bench, and knelt before it; and in low, +sweet, and changefully modulated notes, so barely audible, that Pierre +bent over to catch them; breathed the word _mother, mother, mother_! +There was profound silence for a time; when suddenly, to the lowest and +least audible note of all, the magical untouched guitar responded with a +quick spark of melody, which in the following hush, long vibrated and +subsidingly tingled through the room; while to his augmented wonder, he +now espied, quivering along the metallic strings of the guitar, some +minute scintillations, seemingly caught from the instrument's close +proximity to the occasionally irradiated window. + +The girl still kept kneeling; but an altogether unwonted expression +suddenly overcast her whole countenance. She darted one swift glance at +Pierre; and then with a single toss of her hand tumbled her unrestrained +locks all over her, so that they tent-wise invested her whole kneeling +form close to the floor, and yet swept the floor with their wild +redundancy. Never Saya of Limeean girl, at dim mass in St. Dominic's +cathedral, so completely muffled the human figure. To Pierre, the deep +oaken recess of the double-casement, before which Isabel was kneeling, +seemed now the immediate vestibule of some awful shrine, mystically +revealed through the obscurely open window, which ever and anon was +still softly illumined by the mild heat-lightnings and +ground-lightnings, that wove their wonderfulness without, in the +unsearchable air of that ebonly warm and most noiseless summer night. + +Some unsubduable word was on Pierre's lip, but a sudden voice from out +the veil bade him be silent. + +"Mother--mother--mother!" + +Again, after a preluding silence, the guitar as magically responded as +before; the sparks quivered along its strings; and again Pierre felt as +in the immediate presence of the spirit. + +"Shall I, mother?--Art thou ready? Wilt thou tell me?--Now? Now?" + +These words were lowly and sweetly murmured in the same way with the +word _mother_, being changefully varied in their modulations, till at +the last _now_, the magical guitar again responded; and the girl swiftly +drew it to her beneath her dark tent of hair. In this act, as the long +curls swept over the strings of the guitar, the strange sparks--still +quivering there--caught at those attractive curls; the entire casement +was suddenly and wovenly illumined; then waned again; while now, in the +succeeding dimness, every downward undulating wave and billow of +Isabel's tossed tresses gleamed here and there like a tract of +phosphorescent midnight sea; and, simultaneously, all the four winds of +the world of melody broke loose, and again as on the previous night, +only in a still more subtile, and wholly inexplicable way, Pierre felt +himself surrounded by ten thousand sprites and gnomes, and his whole +soul was swayed and tossed by supernatural tides; and again he heard the +wondrous, rebounding, chanted words: + + "Mystery! Mystery! + Mystery of Isabel! + Mystery! Mystery! + Isabel and Mystery! + Mystery!" + + +III. + +Almost deprived of consciousness by the spell flung over him by the +marvelous girl, Pierre unknowingly gazed away from her, as on vacancy; +and when at last stillness had once more fallen upon the room--all +except the stepping--and he recovered his self-possession, and turned to +look where he might now be, he was surprised to see Isabel composedly, +though avertedly, seated on the bench; the longer and fuller tresses of +her now ungleaming hair flung back, and the guitar quietly leaning in +the corner. + +He was about to put some unconsidered question to her, but she +half-anticipated it by bidding him, in a low, but nevertheless almost +authoritative tone, not to make any allusion to the scene he had just +beheld. + +He paused, profoundly thinking to himself, and now felt certain that the +entire scene, from the first musical invocation of the guitar, must have +unpremeditatedly proceeded from a sudden impulse in the girl, inspired +by the peculiar mood into which the preceding conversation, and +especially the handling of the guitar under such circumstances, had +irresistibly thrown her. + +But that certain something of the preternatural in the scene, of which +he could not rid his mind:--the, so to speak, voluntary and all but +intelligent responsiveness of the guitar--its strangely scintillating +strings--the so suddenly glorified head of Isabel; altogether, these +things seemed not at the time entirely produced by customary or natural +causes. To Pierre's dilated senses Isabel seemed to swim in an electric +fluid; the vivid buckler of her brow seemed as a magnetic plate. Now +first this night was Pierre made aware of what, in the superstitiousness +of his rapt enthusiasm, he could not help believing was an extraordinary +physical magnetism in Isabel. And--as it were derived from this +marvelous quality thus imputed to her--he now first became vaguely +sensible of a certain still more marvelous power in the girl over +himself and his most interior thoughts and motions;--a power so hovering +upon the confines of the invisible world, that it seemed more inclined +that way than this;--a power which not only seemed irresistibly to draw +him toward Isabel, but to draw him away from another quarter--wantonly +as it were, and yet quite ignorantly and unintendingly; and, besides, +without respect apparently to any thing ulterior, and yet again, only +under cover of drawing him to her. For over all these things, and +interfusing itself with the sparkling electricity in which she seemed to +swim, was an ever-creeping and condensing haze of ambiguities. Often, in +after-times with her, did he recall this first magnetic night, and would +seem to see that she then had bound him to her by an extraordinary +atmospheric spell--both physical and spiritual--which henceforth it had +become impossible for him to break, but whose full potency he never +recognized till long after he had become habituated to its sway. This +spell seemed one with that Pantheistic master-spell, which eternally +locks in mystery and in muteness the universal subject world, and the +physical electricalness of Isabel seemed reciprocal with the +heat-lightnings and the ground-lightnings nigh to which it had first +become revealed to Pierre. She seemed molded from fire and air, and +vivified at some Voltaic pile of August thunder-clouds heaped against +the sunset. + +The occasional sweet simplicity, and innocence, and humbleness of her +story; her often serene and open aspect; her deep-seated, but mostly +quiet, unobtrusive sadness, and that touchingness of her less unwonted +tone and air;--these only the more signalized and contrastingly +emphasized the profounder, subtler, and more mystic part of her. +Especially did Pierre feel this, when after another silent interval, she +now proceeded with her story in a manner so gently confiding, so +entirely artless, so almost peasant-like in its simplicity, and dealing +in some details so little sublimated in themselves, that it seemed well +nigh impossible that this unassuming maid should be the same dark, regal +being who had but just now bade Pierre be silent in so imperious a tone, +and around whose wondrous temples the strange electric glory had been +playing. Yet not very long did she now thus innocently proceed, ere, at +times, some fainter flashes of her electricalness came from her, but +only to be followed by such melting, human, and most feminine traits as +brought all his soft, enthusiast tears into the sympathetic but still +unshedding eyes of Pierre. + + +IV. + +"Thou rememberest, my brother, my telling thee last night, how +the--the--thou knowest what I mean--_that, there_"--avertedly pointing +to the guitar; "thou rememberest how it came into my possession. But +perhaps I did not tell thee, that the pedler said he had got it in +barter from the servants of a great house some distance from the place +where I was then residing." + +Pierre signed his acquiescence, and Isabel proceeded: + +"Now, at long though stated intervals, that man passed the farm-house in +his trading route between the small towns and villages. When I +discovered the gilding in the guitar, I kept watch for him; for though I +truly felt persuaded that Fate had the dispensing of her own secrets in +her own good time; yet I also felt persuaded that in some cases Fate +drops us one little hint, leaving our own minds to follow it up, so that +we of ourselves may come to the grand secret in reserve. So I kept +diligent watch for him; and the next time he stopped, without permitting +him at all to guess my motives, I contrived to steal out of him what +great house it was from which the guitar had come. And, my brother, it +was the mansion of Saddle Meadows." + +Pierre started, and the girl went on: + +"Yes, my brother, Saddle Meadows; 'old General Glendinning's place,' he +said; 'but the old hero's long dead and gone now; and--the more's the +pity--so is the young General, his son, dead and gone; but then there is +a still younger grandson General left; that family always keep the title +and the name a-going; yes, even to the surname,--Pierre. Pierre +Glendinning was the white-haired old General's name, who fought in the +old French and Indian wars; and Pierre Glendinning is his young +great-grandson's name.' Thou may'st well look at me so, my +brother;--yes, he meant thee, _thee_, my brother." + +"But the guitar--the guitar!"--cried Pierre--"how came the guitar openly +at Saddle Meadows, and how came it to be bartered away by servants? Tell +me that, Isabel!" + +"Do not put such impetuous questions to me, Pierre; else thou mayst +recall the old--may be, it is the evil spell upon me. I can not +precisely and knowingly answer thee. I could surmise; but what are +surmises worth? Oh, Pierre, better, a million times, and far sweeter are +mysteries than surmises: though the mystery be unfathomable, it is still +the unfathomableness of fullness; but the surmise, that is but shallow +and unmeaning emptiness." + +"But this is the most inexplicable point of all. Tell me, Isabel; surely +thou must have thought something about this thing." + +"Much, Pierre, very much; but only about the mystery of it--nothing +more. Could I, I would not now be fully told, how the guitar came to be +at Saddle Meadows, and came to be bartered away by the servants of +Saddle Meadows. Enough, that it found me out, and came to me, and spoke +and sung to me, and soothed me, and has been every thing to me." + +She paused a moment; while vaguely to his secret self Pierre revolved +these strange revealings; but now he was all attention again as Isabel +resumed. + +"I now held in my mind's hand the clew, my brother. But I did not +immediately follow it further up. Sufficient to me in my loneliness was +the knowledge, that I now knew where my father's family was to be found. +As yet not the slightest intention of ever disclosing myself to them, +had entered my mind. And assured as I was, that for obvious reasons, +none of his surviving relatives could possibly know me, even if they saw +me, for what I really was, I felt entire security in the event of +encountering any of them by chance. But my unavoidable displacements and +migrations from one house to another, at last brought me within twelve +miles of Saddle Meadows. I began to feel an increasing longing in me; +but side by side with it, a new-born and competing pride,--yes, pride, +Pierre. Do my eyes flash? They belie me, if they do not. But it is no +common pride, Pierre; for what has Isabel to be proud of in this world? +It is the pride of--of--a too, too longing, loving heart, Pierre--the +pride of lasting suffering and grief, my brother! Yes, I conquered the +great longing with the still more powerful pride, Pierre; and so I would +not now be here, in this room,--nor wouldst thou ever have received any +line from me; nor, in all worldly probability, ever so much as heard of +her who is called Isabel Banford, had it not been for my hearing that at +Walter Ulver's, only three miles from the mansion of Saddle Meadows, +poor Bell would find people kind enough to give her wages for her work. +Feel my hand, my brother." + +"Dear divine girl, my own exalted Isabel!" cried Pierre, catching the +offered hand with ungovernable emotion, "how most unbeseeming, that this +strange hardness, and this still stranger littleness should be united in +any human hand. But hard and small, it by an opposite analogy hints of +the soft capacious heart that made the hand so hard with heavenly +submission to thy most undeserved and martyred lot. Would, Isabel, that +these my kisses on the hand, were on the heart itself, and dropt the +seeds of eternal joy and comfort there." + +He leaped to his feet, and stood before her with such warm, god-like +majesty of love and tenderness, that the girl gazed up at him as though +he were the one benignant star in all her general night. + +"Isabel," cried Pierre, "I stand the sweet penance in my father's stead, +thou, in thy mother's. By our earthly acts we shall redeemingly bless +both their eternal lots; we will love with the pure and perfect love of +angel to an angel. If ever I fall from thee, dear Isabel, may Pierre +fall from himself; fall back forever into vacant nothingness and night!" + +"My brother, my brother, speak not so to me; it is too much; unused to +any love ere now, thine, so heavenly and immense, falls crushing on me! +Such love is almost hard to bear as hate. Be still; do not speak to me." + +They were both silent for a time; when she went on. + +"Yes, my brother, Fate had now brought me within three miles of thee; +and--but shall I go straight on, and tell thee all, Pierre? all? every +thing? art thou of such divineness, that I may speak straight on, in all +my thoughts, heedless whither they may flow, or what things they may +float to me?" + +"Straight on, and fearlessly," said Pierre. + +"By chance I saw thy mother, Pierre, and under such circumstances that I +_knew_ her to be thy mother; and--but shall I go on?" + +"Straight on, my Isabel; thou didst see my mother--well?" + +"And when I saw her, though I spake not to her, nor she to me, yet +straightway my heart knew that she would love me not." + +"Thy heart spake true," muttered Pierre to himself; "go on." + +"I re-swore an oath never to reveal myself to thy mother." + +"Oath well sworn," again he muttered; "go on." + +"But I saw _thee_, Pierre; and, more than ever filled my mother toward +thy father, Pierre, then upheaved in me. Straightway I knew that if ever +I should come to be made known to thee, then thy own generous love would +open itself to me." + +"Again thy heart spake true," he murmured; "go on--and didst thou +re-swear again?" + +"No, Pierre; but yes, I did. I swore that thou wert my brother; with +love and pride I swore, that young and noble Pierre Glendinning was my +brother!" + +"And only that?" + +"Nothing more, Pierre; not to thee even, did I ever think to reveal +myself." + +"How then? thou _art_ revealed to me." + +"Yes; but the great God did it, Pierre--not poor Bell. Listen. + +"I felt very dreary here; poor, dear Delly--thou must have heard +something of her story--a most sorrowful house, Pierre. Hark! that is +her seldom-pausing pacing thou hearest from the floor above. So she +keeps ever pacing, pacing, pacing; in her track, all thread-bare, +Pierre, is her chamber-rug. Her father will not look upon her; her +mother, she hath cursed her to her face. Out of yon chamber, Pierre, +Delly hath not slept, for now four weeks and more; nor ever hath she +once laid upon her bed; it was last made up five weeks ago; but paces, +paces, paces, all through the night, till after twelve; and then sits +vacant in her chair. Often I would go to her to comfort her; but she +says, 'Nay, nay, nay,' to me through the door; says 'Nay, nay, nay,' and +only nay to me, through the bolted door; bolted three weeks ago--when I +by cunning arts stole her dead baby from her, and with these fingers, +alone, by night, scooped out a hollow, and, seconding heaven's own +charitable stroke, buried that sweet, wee symbol of her not unpardonable +shame far from the ruthless foot of man--yes, bolted three weeks ago, +not once unbolted since; her food I must thrust through the little +window in her closet. Pierre, hardly these two handfuls has she eaten in +a week." + +"Curses, wasp-like, cohere on that villain, Ned, and sting him to his +death!" cried Pierre, smit by this most piteous tale. "What can be done +for her, sweet Isabel; can Pierre do aught?" + +"If thou or I do not, then the ever-hospitable grave will prove her +quick refuge, Pierre. Father and mother both, are worse than dead and +gone to her. They would have turned her forth, I think, but for my own +poor petitionings, unceasing in her behalf!" + +Pierre's deep concern now gave place to a momentary look of benevolent +intelligence. + +"Isabel, a thought of benefit to Delly has just entered me; but I am +still uncertain how best it may be acted on. Resolved I am though to +succor her. Do thou still hold her here yet awhile, by thy sweet +petitionings, till my further plans are more matured. Now run on with +thy story, and so divert me from the pacing;--her every step steps in my +soul." + +"Thy noble heart hath many chambers, Pierre; the records of thy wealth, +I see, are not bound up in the one poor book of Isabel, my brother. Thou +art a visible token, Pierre, of the invisible angel-hoods, which in our +darker hours we do sometimes distrust. The gospel of thy acts goes very +far, my brother. Were all men like to thee, then were there no men at +all,--mankind extinct in seraphim!" + +"Praises are for the base, my sister, cunningly to entice them to fair +Virtue by our ignorings of the ill in them, and our imputings of the +good not theirs. So make not my head to hang, sweet Isabel. Praise me +not. Go on now with thy tale." + +"I have said to thee, my brother, how most dreary I found it here, and +from the first. Wonted all my life to sadness--if it be such--still, +this house hath such acuteness in its general grief, such hopelessness +and despair of any slightest remedy--that even poor Bell could scarce +abide it always, without some little going forth into contrasting +scenes. So I went forth into the places of delight, only that I might +return more braced to minister in the haunts of woe. For continual +unchanging residence therein, doth but bring on woe's stupor, and make +us as dead. So I went forth betimes; visiting the neighboring cottages; +where there were chattering children, and no one place vacant at the +cheerful board. Thus at last I chanced to hear of the Sewing Circle to +be held at the Miss Pennies'; and how that they were anxious to press +into their kind charity all the maidens of the country round. In various +cottages, I was besought to join; and they at length persuaded me; not +that I was naturally loth to it, and needed such entreaties; but at +first I felt great fear, lest at such a scene I might closely encounter +some of the Glendinnings; and that thought was then namelessly repulsive +to me. But by stealthy inquiries I learned, that the lady of the +manorial-house would not be present;--it proved deceptive +information;--but I went; and all the rest thou knowest." + +"I do, sweet Isabel, but thou must tell it over to me; and all thy +emotions there." + + +V. + +"Though but one day hath passed, my brother, since we first met in life, +yet thou hast that heavenly magnet in thee, which draws all my soul's +interior to thee. I will go on.--Having to wait for a neighbor's wagon, +I arrived but late at the Sewing Circle. When I entered, the two joined +rooms were very full. With the farmer's girls, our neighbors, I passed +along to the further corner, where thou didst see me; and as I went, +some heads were turned, and some whisperings I heard, of--'She's the new +help at poor Walter Ulver's--the strange girl they've got--she thinks +herself 'mazing pretty, I'll be bound;--but nobody knows her--Oh, how +demure!--but not over-good, I guess;--I wouldn't be her, not I--mayhap +she's some other ruined Delly, run away;--minx!' It was the first time +poor Bell had ever mixed in such a general crowded company; and knowing +little or nothing of such things, I had thought, that the meeting being +for charity's sweet sake, uncharity could find no harbor there; but no +doubt it was mere thoughtlessness, not malice in them. Still, it made my +heart ache in me sadly; for then I very keenly felt the dread +suspiciousness, in which a strange and lonely grief invests itself to +common eyes; as if grief itself were not enough, nor innocence any armor +to us, but despite must also come, and icy infamy! Miserable returnings +then I had--even in the midst of bright-budding girls and full-blown +women--miserable returnings then I had of the feeling, the bewildering +feeling of the inhumanities I spoke of in my earlier story. But Pierre, +blessed Pierre, do not look so sadly and half-reproachfully upon me. +Lone and lost though I have been, I love my kind; and charitably and +intelligently pity them, who uncharitably and unintelligently do me +despite. And thou, _thou_, blessed brother, hath glorified many somber +places in my soul, and taught me once for all to know, that my kind are +capable of things which would be glorious in angels. So look away from +me, dear Pierre, till thou hast taught thine eyes more wonted glances." + +"They are vile falsifying telegraphs of me, then, sweet Isabel. What my +look was I can not tell, but my heart was only dark with ill-restrained +upbraidings against heaven that could unrelentingly see such innocence +as thine so suffer. Go on with thy too-touching tale." + +"Quietly I sat there sewing, not brave enough to look up at all, and +thanking my good star, that had led me to so concealed a nook behind the +rest: quietly I sat there, sewing on a flannel shirt, and with each +stitch praying God, that whatever heart it might be folded over, the +flannel might hold it truly warm; and keep out the wide-world-coldness +which I felt myself; and which no flannel, or thickest fur, or any fire +then could keep off from me; quietly I sat there sewing, when I heard +the announcing words--oh, how deep and ineffaceably engraved they +are!--'Ah, dames, dames, Madame Glendinning,--Master Pierre +Glendinning.' Instantly, my sharp needle went through my side and +stitched my heart; the flannel dropt from my hand; thou heard'st my +shriek. But the good people bore me still nearer to the casement close +at hand, and threw it open wide; and God's own breath breathed on me; +and I rallied; and said it was some merest passing fit--'twas quite over +now--I was used to it--they had my heart's best thanks--but would they +now only leave me to myself, it were best for me;--I would go on and +sew. And thus it came and passed away; and again I sat sewing on the +flannel, hoping either that the unanticipated persons would soon depart, +or else that some spirit would catch me away from there; I sat sewing +on--till, Pierre! Pierre!--without looking up--for that I dared not do +at any time that evening--only once--without looking up, or knowing +aught but the flannel on my knee, and the needle in my heart, I +felt,--Pierre, _felt_--a glance of magnetic meaning on me. Long, I, +shrinking, sideways turned to meet it, but could not; till some helping +spirit seized me, and all my soul looked up at thee in my full-fronting +face. It was enough. Fate was in that moment. All the loneliness of my +life, all the choked longings of my soul, now poured over me. I could +not away from them. Then first I felt the complete deplorableness of my +state; that while thou, my brother, had a mother, and troops of aunts +and cousins, and plentiful friends in city and in country--I, I, Isabel, +thy own father's daughter, was thrust out of all hearts' gates, and +shivered in the winter way. But this was but the least. Not poor Bell +can tell thee all the feelings of poor Bell, or what feelings she felt +first. It was all one whirl of old and new bewilderings, mixed and +slanted with a driving madness. But it was most the sweet, inquisitive, +kindly interested aspect of thy face,--so strangely like thy father's, +too--the one only being that I first did love--it was that which most +stirred the distracting storm in me; most charged me with the immense +longings for some one of my blood to know me, and to own me, though but +once, and then away. Oh, my dear brother--Pierre! Pierre!--could'st thou +take out my heart, and look at it in thy hand, then thou would'st find +it all over written, this way and that, and crossed again, and yet +again, with continual lines of longings, that found no end but in +suddenly calling thee. Call him! Call him! He will come!--so cried my +heart to me; so cried the leaves and stars to me, as I that night went +home. But pride rose up--the very pride in my own longings,--and as one +arm pulled, the other held. So I stood still, and called thee not. But +Fate will be Fate, and it was fated. Once having met thy fixed regardful +glance; once having seen the full angelicalness in thee, my whole soul +was undone by thee; my whole pride was cut off at the root, and soon +showed a blighting in the bud; which spread deep into my whole being, +till I knew, that utterly decay and die away I must, unless pride let me +go, and I, with the one little trumpet of a pen, blew my heart's +shrillest blast, and called dear Pierre to me. My soul was full; and as +my beseeching ink went tracing o'er the page, my tears contributed their +mite, and made a strange alloy. How blest I felt that my so bitterly +tear-mingled ink--that last depth of my anguish--would never be visibly +known to thee, but the tears would dry upon the page, and all be fair +again, ere the so submerged-freighted letter should meet thine eye. + +"Ah, there thou wast deceived, poor Isabel," cried Pierre impulsively; +"thy tears dried not fair, but dried red, almost like blood; and nothing +so much moved my inmost soul as that tragic sight." + +"How? how? Pierre, my brother? Dried they red? Oh, horrible! +enchantment! most undreamed of!" + +"Nay, the ink--the ink! something chemic in it changed thy real tears to +seeming blood;--only that, my sister." + +"Oh Pierre! thus wonderfully is it--seems to me--that our own hearts do +not ever know the extremity of their own sufferings; sometimes we bleed +blood, when we think it only water. Of our sufferings, as of our +talents, others sometimes are the better judges. But stop me! force me +backward to my story! Yet methinks that now thou knowest all;--no, not +entirely all. Thou dost not know what planned and winnowed motive I did +have in writing thee; nor does poor Bell know that; for poor Bell was +too delirious to have planned and winnowed motives then. The impulse in +me called thee, not poor Bell. God called thee, Pierre, not poor Bell. +Even now, when I have passed one night after seeing thee, and hearkening +to all thy full love and graciousness; even now, I stand as one amazed, +and feel not what may be coming to me, or what will now befall me, from +having so rashly claimed thee for mine. Pierre, now, _now_, this instant +a vague anguish fills me. Tell me, by loving me, by owning me, publicly +or secretly,--tell me, doth it involve any vital hurt to thee? Speak +without reserve; speak honestly; as I do to thee! Speak now, Pierre, and +tell me all!" + +"Is Love a harm? Can Truth betray to pain? Sweet Isabel, how can hurt +come in the path to God? Now, when I know thee all, now did I forget +thee, fail to acknowledge thee, and love thee before the wide world's +whole brazen width--could I do that; then might'st thou ask thy question +reasonably and say--Tell me, Pierre, does not the suffocating in thee of +poor Bell's holy claims, does not that involve for thee unending misery? +And my truthful soul would echo--Unending misery! Nay, nay, nay. Thou +art my sister and I am thy brother; and that part of the world which +knows me, shall acknowledge thee; or by heaven I will crush the +disdainful world down on its knees to thee, my sweet Isabel!" + +"The menacings in thy eyes are dear delights to me; I grow up with thy +own glorious stature; and in thee, my brother, I see God's indignant +embassador to me, saying--Up, up, Isabel, and take no terms from the +common world, but do thou make terms to it, and grind thy fierce rights +out of it! Thy catching nobleness unsexes me, my brother; and now I know +that in her most exalted moment, then woman no more feels the twin-born +softness of her breasts, but feels chain-armor palpitating there!" + +Her changed attitude of beautiful audacity; her long scornful hair, that +trailed out a disheveled banner; her wonderful transfigured eyes, in +which some meteors seemed playing up; all this now seemed to Pierre the +work of an invisible enchanter. Transformed she stood before him; and +Pierre, bowing low over to her, owned that irrespective, darting majesty +of humanity, which can be majestical and menacing in woman as in man. + +But her gentler sex returned to Isabel at last; and she sat silent in +the casement's niche, looking out upon the soft ground-lightnings of the +electric summer night. + + +VI. + +Sadly smiling, Pierre broke the pause. + +"My sister, thou art so rich, that thou must do me alms; I am very +hungry; I have forgotten to eat since breakfast;--and now thou shalt +bring me bread and a cup of water, Isabel, ere I go forth from thee. +Last night I went rummaging in a pantry, like a bake-house burglar; but +to-night thou and I must sup together, Isabel; for as we may henceforth +live together, let us begin forthwith to eat in company." + +Isabel looked up at him, with sudden and deep emotion, then all +acquiescing sweetness, and silently left the room. + +As she returned, Pierre, casting his eyes toward the ceiling, said--"She +is quiet now, the pacing hath entirely ceased." + +"Not the beating, tho'; her foot hath paused, not her unceasing heart. +My brother, she is not quiet now; quiet for her hath gone; so that the +pivoted stillness of this night is yet a noisy madness to her." + +"Give me pen or pencil, and some paper, Isabel." + +She laid down her loaf, and plate, and knife, and brought him pen, and +ink, and paper. + +Pierre took the pen. + +"Was this the one, dear Isabel?" + +"It is the one, my brother; none other is in this poor cot." + +He gazed at it intensely. Then turning to the table, steadily wrote the +following note: + + "For Delly Ulver: with the deep and true regard and sympathy of + Pierre Glendinning. + + "Thy sad story--partly known before--hath now more fully come to + me, from one who sincerely feels for thee, and who hath imparted + her own sincerity to me. Thou desirest to quit this neighborhood, + and be somewhere at peace, and find some secluded employ fitted to + thy sex and age. With this, I now willingly charge myself, and + insure it to thee, so far as my utmost ability can go. + Therefore--if consolation be not wholly spurned by thy great grief, + which too often happens, though it be but grief's great folly so to + feel--therefore, two true friends of thine do here beseech thee to + take some little heart to thee, and bethink thee, that all thy life + is not yet lived; that Time hath surest healing in his continuous + balm. Be patient yet a little while, till thy future lot be + disposed for thee, through our best help; and so, know me and + Isabel thy earnest friends and true-hearted lovers." + +He handed the note to Isabel. She read it silently, and put it down, and +spread her two hands over him, and with one motion lifted her eyes +toward Delly and toward God. + +"Thou think'st it will not pain her to receive the note, Isabel? Thou +know'st best. I thought, that ere our help do really reach her, some +promise of it now might prove slight comfort. But keep it, and do as +thou think'st best." + +"Then straightway will I give it her, my brother," said Isabel, quitting +him. + +An infixing stillness, now thrust a long rivet through the night, and +fast nailed it to that side of the world. And alone again in such an +hour, Pierre could not but listen. He heard Isabel's step on the stair; +then it approached him from above; then he heard a gentle knock, and +thought he heard a rustling, as of paper slid over a threshold +underneath a door. Then another advancing and opposite step tremblingly +met Isabel's; and then both steps stepped from each other, and soon +Isabel came back to him. + +"Thou did'st knock, and slide it underneath the door?" + +"Yes, and she hath it now. Hark! a sobbing! Thank God, long arid grief +hath found a tear at last. Pity, sympathy hath done this.--Pierre, for +thy dear deed thou art already sainted, ere thou be dead." + +"Do saints hunger, Isabel?" said Pierre, striving to call her away from +this. "Come, give me the loaf; but no, thou shalt help me, my +sister.--Thank thee;--this is twice over the bread of sweetness.--Is +this of thine own making, Isabel?" + +"My own making, my brother." + +"Give me the cup; hand it me with thine own hand. So:--Isabel, my heart +and soul are now full of deepest reverence; yet I do dare to call this +the real sacrament of the supper.--Eat with me." + +They eat together without a single word; and without a single word, +Pierre rose, and kissed her pure and spotless brow, and without a single +word departed from the place. + + +VII. + +We know not Pierre Glendinning's thoughts as he gained the village and +passed on beneath its often shrouding trees, and saw no light from man, +and heard no sound from man, but only, by intervals, saw at his feet the +soft ground-lightnings, snake-like, playing in and out among the blades +of grass; and between the trees, caught the far dim light from heaven, +and heard the far wide general hum of the sleeping but still breathing +earth. + +He paused before a detached and pleasant house, with much shrubbery +about it. He mounted the portico and knocked distinctly there, just as +the village clock struck one. He knocked, but no answer came. He knocked +again, and soon he heard a sash thrown up in the second story, and an +astonished voice inquired who was there? + +"It is Pierre Glendinning, and he desires an instant interview with the +Reverend Mr. Falsgrave." + +"Do I hear right?--in heaven's name, what is the matter, young +gentleman?" + +"Every thing is the matter; the whole world is the matter. Will you +admit me, sir?" + +"Certainly--but I beseech thee--nay, stay, I will admit thee." + +In quicker time than could have been anticipated, the door was opened to +Pierre by Mr. Falsgrave in person, holding a candle, and invested in his +very becoming student's wrapper of Scotch plaid. + +"For heaven's sake, what is the matter, Mr. Glendinning?" + +"Heaven and earth is the matter, sir! shall we go up to the study?" + +"Certainly, but--but--" + +"Well, let us proceed, then." + +They went up-stairs, and soon found themselves in the clergyman's +retreat, and both sat down; the amazed host still holding the candle in +his hand, and intently eying Pierre, with an apprehensive aspect. + +"Thou art a man of God, sir, I believe." + +"I? I? I? upon my word, Mr. Glendinning!" + +"Yes, sir, the world calls thee a man of God. Now, what hast thou, the +man of God, decided, with my mother, concerning Delly Ulver?" + +"Delly Ulver! why, why--what can this madness mean?" + +"It means, sir, what have thou and my mother decided concerning Delly +Ulver." + +"She?--Delly Ulver? She is to depart the neighborhood; why, her own +parents want her not." + +"_How_ is she to depart? _Who_ is to take her? Art _thou_ to take her? +_Where_ is she to go? _Who_ has food for her? _What_ is to keep her from +the pollution to which such as she are every day driven to contribute, +by the detestable uncharitableness and heartlessness of the world?" + +"Mr. Glendinning," said the clergyman, now somewhat calmly putting down +the candle, and folding himself with dignity in his gown; "Mr. +Glendinning, I will not now make any mention of my natural astonishment +at this most unusual call, and the most extraordinary time of it. Thou +hast sought information upon a certain point, and I have given it to +thee, to the best of my knowledge. All thy after and incidental +questions, I choose to have no answer for. I will be most happy to see +thee at any other time, but for the present thou must excuse my +presence. Good-night, sir." + +But Pierre sat entirely still, and the clergyman could not but remain +standing still. + +"I perfectly comprehend the whole, sir. Delly Ulver, then, is to be +driven out to starve or rot; and this, too, by the acquiescence of a man +of God. Mr. Falsgrave, the subject of Delly, deeply interesting as it is +to me, is only the preface to another, still more interesting to me, and +concerning which I once cherished some slight hope that thou wouldst +have been able, in thy Christian character, to sincerely and honestly +counsel me. But a hint from heaven assures me now, that thou hast no +earnest and world-disdaining counsel for me. I must seek it direct from +God himself, whom, I now know, never delegates his holiest admonishings. +But I do not blame thee; I think I begin to see how thy profession is +unavoidably entangled by all fleshly alliances, and can not move with +godly freedom in a world of benefices. I am more sorry than indignant. +Pardon me for my most uncivil call, and know me as not thy enemy. +Good-night, sir." + + + + +BOOK IX. + +MORE LIGHT, AND THE GLOOM OF THAT LIGHT. MORE GLOOM, AND THE LIGHT OF +THAT GLOOM. + + +I. + +In those Hyperborean regions, to which enthusiastic Truth, and +Earnestness, and Independence, will invariably lead a mind fitted by +nature for profound and fearless thought, all objects are seen in a +dubious, uncertain, and refracting light. Viewed through that rarefied +atmosphere the most immemorially admitted maxims of men begin to slide +and fluctuate, and finally become wholly inverted; the very heavens +themselves being not innocent of producing this confounding effect, +since it is mostly in the heavens themselves that these wonderful +mirages are exhibited. + +But the example of many minds forever lost, like undiscoverable Arctic +explorers, amid those treacherous regions, warns us entirely away from +them; and we learn that it is not for man to follow the trail of truth +too far, since by so doing he entirely loses the directing compass of +his mind; for arrived at the Pole, to whose barrenness only it points, +there, the needle indifferently respects all points of the horizon +alike. + +But even the less distant regions of thought are not without their +singular introversions. Hardly any sincere man of ordinary reflective +powers, and accustomed to exercise them at all, but must have been +independently struck by the thought, that, after all, what is so +enthusiastically applauded as the march of mind,--meaning the inroads of +Truth into Error--which has ever been regarded by hopeful persons as the +one fundamental thing most earnestly to be prayed for as the greatest +possible Catholic blessing to the world;--almost every thinking man must +have been some time or other struck with the idea, that, in certain +respects, a tremendous mistake may be lurking here, since all the world +does never gregariously advance to Truth, but only here and there some +of its individuals do; and by advancing, leave the rest behind; cutting +themselves forever adrift from their sympathy, and making themselves +always liable to be regarded with distrust, dislike, and often, +downright--though, ofttimes, concealed--fear and hate. What wonder, +then, that those advanced minds, which in spite of advance, happen still +to remain, for the time, ill-regulated, should now and then be goaded +into turning round in acts of wanton aggression upon sentiments and +opinions now forever left in their rear. Certain it is, that in their +earlier stages of advance, especially in youthful minds, as yet +untranquilized by long habituation to the world as it inevitably and +eternally is; this aggressiveness is almost invariably manifested, and +as invariably afterward deplored by themselves. + +That amazing shock of practical truth, which in the compass of a very +few days and hours had not so much advanced, as magically transplanted +the youthful mind of Pierre far beyond all common discernments; it had +not been entirely unattended by the lamentable rearward aggressiveness +we have endeavored to portray above. Yielding to that unwarrantable +mood, he had invaded the profound midnight slumbers of the Reverend Mr. +Falsgrave, and most discourteously made war upon that really amiable and +estimable person. But as through the strange force of circumstances his +advance in insight had been so surprisingly rapid, so also was now his +advance in some sort of wisdom, in charitableness; and his concluding +words to Mr. Falsgrave, sufficiently evinced that already, ere quitting +that gentleman's study, he had begun to repent his ever entering it on +such a mission. + +And as he now walked on in the profound meditations induced by the hour; +and as all that was in him stirred to and fro, intensely agitated by the +ever-creative fire of enthusiastic earnestness, he became fully alive to +many palliating considerations, which had they previously occurred to +him would have peremptorily forbidden his impulsive intrusion upon the +respectable clergyman. + +But it is through the malice of this earthly air, that only by being +guilty of Folly does mortal man in many cases arrive at the perception +of Sense. A thought which should forever free us from hasty imprecations +upon our ever-recurring intervals of Folly; since though Folly be our +teacher, Sense is the lesson she teaches; since if Folly wholly depart +from us, Further Sense will be her companion in the flight, and we will +be left standing midway in wisdom. For it is only the miraculous vanity +of man which ever persuades him, that even for the most richly gifted +mind, there ever arrives an earthly period, where it can truly say to +itself, I have come to the Ultimate of Human Speculative Knowledge; +hereafter, at this present point I will abide. Sudden onsets of new +truth will assail him, and over-turn him as the Tartars did China; for +there is no China Wall that man can build in his soul, which shall +permanently stay the irruptions of those barbarous hordes which Truth +ever nourishes in the loins of her frozen, yet teeming North; so that +the Empire of Human Knowledge can never be lasting in any one dynasty, +since Truth still gives new Emperors to the earth. + +But the thoughts we here indite as Pierre's are to be very carefully +discriminated from those we indite concerning him. Ignorant at this time +of the ideas concerning the reciprocity and partnership of Folly and +Sense, in contributing to the mental and moral growth of the mind; +Pierre keenly upbraided his thoughtlessness, and began to stagger in his +soul; as distrustful of that radical change in his general sentiments, +which had thus hurried him into a glaring impropriety and folly; as +distrustful of himself, the most wretched distrust of all. But this last +distrust was not of the heart; for heaven itself, so he felt, had +sanctified that with its blessing; but it was the distrust of his +intellect, which in undisciplinedly espousing the manly enthusiast cause +of his heart, seemed to cast a reproach upon that cause itself. + +But though evermore hath the earnest heart an eventual balm for the most +deplorable error of the head; yet in the interval small alleviation is +to be had, and the whole man droops into nameless melancholy. Then it +seems as though the most magnanimous and virtuous resolutions were only +intended for fine spiritual emotions, not as mere preludes to their +bodily translation into acts; since in essaying their embodiment, we +have but proved ourselves miserable bunglers, and thereupon taken +ignominious shame to ourselves. Then, too, the never-entirely repulsed +hosts of Commonness, and Conventionalness, and Worldly +Prudent-mindedness return to the charge; press hard on the faltering +soul; and with inhuman hootings deride all its nobleness as mere +eccentricity, which further wisdom and experience shall assuredly cure. +The man is as seized by arms and legs, and convulsively pulled either +way by his own indecisions and doubts. Blackness advances her banner +over this cruel altercation, and he droops and swoons beneath its folds. + +It was precisely in this mood of mind that, at about two in the morning, +Pierre, with a hanging head, now crossed the private threshold of the +Mansion of Saddle Meadows. + + +II. + +In the profoundly silent heart of a house full of sleeping serving-men +and maids, Pierre now sat in his chamber before his accustomed round +table, still tossed with the books and the papers which, three days +before, he had abruptly left, for a sudden and more absorbing object. +Uppermost and most conspicuous among the books were the Inferno of +Dante, and the Hamlet of Shakspeare. + +His mind was wandering and vague; his arm wandered and was vague. Soon +he found the open Inferno in his hand, and his eye met the following +lines, allegorically overscribed within the arch of the outgoings of the +womb of human life: + + "Through me you pass into the city of Woe; + Through me you pass into eternal pain; + Through me, among the people lost for aye. + + * * * * * + + All hope abandon, ye who enter here." + +He dropped the fatal volume from his hand; he dropped his fated head +upon his chest. + +His mind was wandering and vague; his arm wandered and was vague. Some +moments passed, and he found the open Hamlet in his hand, and his eyes +met the following lines: + + "The time is out of joint;--Oh cursed spite, + That ever I was born to set it right!" + +He dropped the too true volume from his hand; his petrifying heart +dropped hollowly within him, as a pebble down Carrisbrook well. + + +III. + +The man Dante Alighieri received unforgivable affronts and insults from +the world; and the poet Dante Alighieri bequeathed his immortal curse to +it, in the sublime malediction of the Inferno. The fiery tongue whose +political forkings lost him the solacements of this world, found its +malicious counterpart in that muse of fire, which would forever bar the +vast bulk of mankind from all solacement in the worlds to come. +Fortunately for the felicity of the Dilletante in Literature, the +horrible allegorical meanings of the Inferno, lie not on the surface; +but unfortunately for the earnest and youthful piercers into truth and +reality, those horrible meanings, when first discovered, infuse their +poison into a spot previously unprovided with that sovereign antidote of +a sense of uncapitulatable security, which is only the possession of the +furthest advanced and profoundest souls. + +Judge ye, then, ye Judicious, the mood of Pierre, so far as the passage +in Dante touched him. + +If among the deeper significances of its pervading indefiniteness, which +significances are wisely hidden from all but the rarest adepts, the +pregnant tragedy of Hamlet convey any one particular moral at all fitted +to the ordinary uses of man, it is this:--that all meditation is +worthless, unless it prompt to action; that it is not for man to stand +shilly-shallying amid the conflicting invasions of surrounding impulses; +that in the earliest instant of conviction, the roused man must strike, +and, if possible, with the precision and the force of the +lightning-bolt. + +Pierre had always been an admiring reader of Hamlet; but neither his age +nor his mental experience thus far, had qualified him either to catch +initiating glimpses into the hopeless gloom of its interior meaning, or +to draw from the general story those superficial and purely incidental +lessons, wherein the painstaking moralist so complacently expatiates. + +The intensest light of reason and revelation combined, can not shed such +blazonings upon the deeper truths in man, as will sometimes proceed from +his own profoundest gloom. Utter darkness is then his light, and +cat-like he distinctly sees all objects through a medium which is mere +blindness to common vision. Wherefore have Gloom and Grief been +celebrated of old as the selectest chamberlains to knowledge? Wherefore +is it, that not to know Gloom and Grief is not to know aught that an +heroic man should learn? + +By the light of that gloom, Pierre now turned over the soul of Hamlet in +his hand. He knew not--at least, felt not--then, that Hamlet, though a +thing of life, was, after all, but a thing of breath, evoked by the +wanton magic of a creative hand, and as wantonly dismissed at last into +endless halls of hell and night. + +It is the not impartially bestowed privilege of the more final insights, +that at the same moment they reveal the depths, they do, sometimes, also +reveal--though by no means so distinctly--some answering heights. But +when only midway down the gulf, its crags wholly conceal the upper +vaults, and the wanderer thinks it all one gulf of downward dark. + +Judge ye, then, ye Judicious, the mood of Pierre, so far as the passage +in Hamlet touched him. + + +IV. + +Torn into a hundred shreds the printed pages of Hell and Hamlet lay at +his feet, which trampled them, while their vacant covers mocked him with +their idle titles. Dante had made him fierce, and Hamlet had insinuated +that there was none to strike. Dante had taught him that he had bitter +cause of quarrel; Hamlet taunted him with faltering in the fight. Now he +began to curse anew his fate, for now he began to see that after all he +had been finely juggling with himself, and postponing with himself, and +in meditative sentimentalities wasting the moments consecrated to +instant action. + +Eight-and-forty hours and more had passed. Was Isabel acknowledged? Had +she yet hung on his public arm? Who knew yet of Isabel but Pierre? Like +a skulking coward he had gone prowling in the woods by day, and like a +skulking coward he had stolen to her haunt by night! Like a thief he had +sat and stammered and turned pale before his mother, and in the cause of +Holy Right, permitted a woman to grow tall and hector over him! Ah! Easy +for man to think like a hero; but hard for man to act like one. All +imaginable audacities readily enter into the soul; few come boldly forth +from it. + +Did he, or did he not vitally mean to do this thing? Was the immense +stuff to do it his, or was it not his? Why defer? Why put off? What was +there to be gained by deferring and putting off? His resolution had been +taken, why was it not executed? What more was there to learn? What more +which was essential to the public acknowledgment of Isabel, had remained +to be learned, after his first glance at her first letter? Had doubts of +her identity come over him to stay him?--None at all. Against the wall +of the thick darkness of the mystery of Isabel, recorded as by some +phosphoric finger was the burning fact, that Isabel was his sister. Why +then? How then? Whence then this utter nothing of his acts? Did he +stagger at the thought, that at the first announcement to his mother +concerning Isabel, and his resolution to own her boldly and lovingly, +his proud mother, spurning the reflection on his father, would likewise +spurn Pierre and Isabel, and denounce both him and her, and hate them +both alike, as unnatural accomplices against the good name of the purest +of husbands and parents? Not at all. Such a thought was not in him. For +had he not already resolved, that his mother should know nothing of the +fact of Isabel?--But how now? What then? How was Isabel to be +acknowledged to the world, if his mother was to know nothing of that +acknowledgment?--Short-sighted, miserable palterer and huckster, thou +hast been playing a most fond and foolish game with thyself! Fool and +coward! Coward and fool! Tear thyself open, and read there the +confounding story of thy blind dotishness! Thy two grand +resolutions--the public acknowledgment of Isabel, and the charitable +withholding of her existence from thy own mother,--these are impossible +adjuncts.--Likewise, thy so magnanimous purpose to screen thy father's +honorable memory from reproach, and thy other intention, the open +vindication of thy fraternalness to Isabel,--these also are impossible +adjuncts. And the having individually entertained four such resolves, +without perceiving that once brought together, they all mutually expire; +this, this ineffable folly, Pierre, brands thee in the forehead for an +unaccountable infatuate! + +Well may'st thou distrust thyself, and curse thyself, and tear thy +Hamlet and thy Hell! Oh! fool, blind fool, and a million times an ass! +Go, go, thou poor and feeble one! High deeds are not for such blind +grubs as thou! Quit Isabel, and go to Lucy! Beg humble pardon of thy +mother, and hereafter be a more obedient and good boy to her, +Pierre--Pierre, Pierre,--infatuate! + +Impossible would it be now to tell all the confusion and confoundings in +the soul of Pierre, so soon as the above absurdities in his mind +presented themselves first to his combining consciousness. He would fain +have disowned the very memory and the mind which produced to him such an +immense scandal upon his common sanity. Now indeed did all the fiery +floods in the Inferno, and all the rolling gloom in Hamlet suffocate him +at once in flame and smoke. The cheeks of his soul collapsed in him: he +dashed himself in blind fury and swift madness against the wall, and +fell dabbling in the vomit of his loathed identity. + + + + +BOOK X. + +THE UNPRECEDENTED FINAL RESOLUTION OF PIERRE. + + +I. + +Glorified be his gracious memory who first said, The deepest gloom +precedes the day. We care not whether the saying will prove true to the +utmost bounds of things; sufficient that it sometimes does hold true +within the bounds of earthly finitude. + +Next morning Pierre rose from the floor of his chamber, haggard and +tattered in body from his past night's utter misery, but stoically +serene and symmetrical in soul, with the foretaste of what then seemed +to him a planned and perfect Future. Now he thinks he knows that the +wholly unanticipated storm which had so terribly burst upon him, had yet +burst upon him for his good; for the place, which in its undetected +incipiency, the storm had obscurely occupied in his soul, seemed now +clear sky to him; and all his horizon seemed distinctly commanded by +him. + +His resolution was a strange and extraordinary one; but therefore it +only the better met a strange and extraordinary emergency. But it was +not only strange and extraordinary in its novelty of mere aspect, but it +was wonderful in its unequaled renunciation of himself. + +From the first, determined at all hazards to hold his father's fair +fame inviolate from any thing he should do in reference to protecting +Isabel, and extending to her a brother's utmost devotedness and love; +and equally determined not to shake his mother's lasting peace by any +useless exposure of unwelcome facts; and yet vowed in his deepest soul +some way to embrace Isabel before the world, and yield to her his +constant consolation and companionship; and finding no possible mode of +unitedly compassing all these ends, without a most singular act of pious +imposture, which he thought all heaven would justify in him, since he +himself was to be the grand self-renouncing victim; therefore, this was +his settled and immovable purpose now; namely: to assume before the +world, that by secret rites, Pierre Glendinning was already become the +husband of Isabel Banford--an assumption which would entirely warrant +his dwelling in her continual company, and upon equal terms, taking her +wherever the world admitted him; and at the same time foreclose all +sinister inquisitions bearing upon his deceased parent's memory, or any +way affecting his mother's lasting peace, as indissolubly linked with +that. True, he in embryo, foreknew, that the extraordinary thing he had +resolved, would, in another way, indirectly though inevitably, dart a +most keen pang into his mother's heart; but this then seemed to him part +of the unavoidable vast price of his enthusiastic virtue; and, thus +minded, rather would he privately pain his living mother with a wound +that might be curable, than cast world-wide and irremediable +dishonor--so it seemed to him--upon his departed father. + +Probably no other being than Isabel could have produced upon Pierre +impressions powerful enough to eventuate in a final resolution so +unparalleled as the above. But the wonderful melodiousness of her grief +had touched the secret monochord within his breast, by an apparent +magic, precisely similar to that which had moved the stringed tongue of +her guitar to respond to the heart-strings of her own melancholy +plaints. The deep voice of the being of Isabel called to him from out +the immense distances of sky and air, and there seemed no veto of the +earth that could forbid her heavenly claim. + +During the three days that he had personally known her, and so been +brought into magnetic contact with her, other persuasions and potencies +than those direct ones, involved in her bewildering eyes and marvelous +story, had unconsciously left their ineffaceable impressions on him, and +perhaps without his privity, had mainly contributed to his resolve. She +had impressed him as the glorious child of Pride and Grief, in whose +countenance were traceable the divinest lineaments of both her parents. +Pride gave to her her nameless nobleness; Grief touched that nobleness +with an angelical softness; and again that softness was steeped in a +most charitable humility, which was the foundation of her loftiest +excellence of all. + +Neither by word or letter had Isabel betrayed any spark of those more +common emotions and desires which might not unreasonably be ascribed to +an ordinary person placed in circumstances like hers. Though almost +penniless, she had not invoked the pecuniary bounty of Pierre; and +though she was altogether silent on that subject, yet Pierre could not +but be strangely sensible of something in her which disdained to +voluntarily hang upon the mere bounty even of a brother. Nor, though she +by various nameless ways, manifested her consciousness of being +surrounded by uncongenial and inferior beings, while yet descended from +a generous stock, and personally meriting the most refined +companionships which the wide world could yield; nevertheless, she had +not demanded of Pierre that he should array her in brocade, and lead her +forth among the rare and opulent ladies of the land. But while thus +evincing her intuitive, true lady-likeness and nobleness by this entire +freedom from all sordid motives, neither had she merged all her feelings +in any sickly sentimentalities of sisterly affection toward her so +suddenly discovered brother; which, in the case of a naturally +unattractive woman in her circumstances, would not have been altogether +alluring to Pierre. No. That intense and indescribable longing, which +her letter by its very incoherencies had best embodied, proceeded from +no base, vain, or ordinary motive whatever; but was the unsuppressible +and unmistakable cry of the godhead through her soul, commanding Pierre +to fly to her, and do his highest and most glorious duty in the world. + +Nor now, as it changedly seemed to Pierre, did that duty consist in +stubbornly flying in the marble face of the Past, and striving to +reverse the decree which had pronounced that Isabel could never +perfectly inherit all the privileges of a legitimate child of her +father. And thoroughly now he felt, that even as this would in the +present case be both preposterous in itself and cruel in effect to both +the living and the dead, so was it entirely undesired by Isabel, who +though once yielding to a momentary burst of aggressive enthusiasm, yet +in her more wonted mood of mournfulness and sweetness, evinced no such +lawless wandering. Thoroughly, now he felt, that Isabel was content to +live obscure in her paternal identity, so long as she could any way +appease her deep longings for the constant love and sympathy and close +domestic contact of some one of her blood. So that Pierre had no +slightest misgiving that upon learning the character of his scheme, she +would deem it to come short of her natural expectations; while so far as +its apparent strangeness was concerned,--a strangeness, perhaps +invincible to squeamish and humdrum women--here Pierre anticipated no +obstacle in Isabel; for her whole past was strange, and strangeness +seemed best befitting to her future. + +But had Pierre now reread the opening paragraph of her letter to him, he +might have very quickly derived a powerful anticipative objection from +his sister, which his own complete disinterestedness concealed from him. +Though Pierre had every reason to believe that--owing to her secluded +and humble life--Isabel was in entire ignorance of the fact of his +precise relation to Lucy Tartan:--an ignorance, whose first indirect and +unconscious manifestation in Isabel, had been unspeakably welcome to +him;--and though, of course, he had both wisely and benevolently +abstained from enlightening her on that point; still, notwithstanding +this, was it possible that any true-hearted noble girl like Isabel, +would, to benefit herself, willingly become a participator in an act, +which would prospectively and forever bar the blessed boon of +marriageable love from one so young and generous as Pierre, and +eternally entangle him in a fictitious alliance, which, though in +reality but a web of air, yet in effect would prove a wall of iron; for +the same powerful motive which induced the thought of forming such an +alliance, would always thereafter forbid that tacit exposure of its +fictitiousness, which would be consequent upon its public +discontinuance, and the real nuptials of Pierre with any other being +during the lifetime of Isabel. + +But according to what view you take of it, it is either the gracious or +the malicious gift of the great gods to man, that on the threshold of +any wholly new and momentous devoted enterprise, the thousand ulterior +intricacies and emperilings to which it must conduct; these, at the +outset, are mostly withheld from sight; and so, through her +ever-primeval wilderness Fortune's Knight rides on, alike ignorant of +the palaces or the pitfalls in its heart. Surprising, and past all +ordinary belief, are those strange oversights and inconsistencies, into +which the enthusiastic meditation upon unique or extreme resolves will +sometimes beget in young and over-ardent souls. That all-comprehending +oneness, that calm representativeness, by which a steady philosophic +mind reaches forth and draws to itself, in their collective entirety, +the objects of its contemplations; that pertains not to the young +enthusiast. By his eagerness, all objects are deceptively foreshortened; +by his intensity each object is viewed as detached; so that essentially +and relatively every thing is misseen by him. Already have we exposed +that passing preposterousness in Pierre, which by reason of the +above-named cause which we have endeavored to portray, induced him to +cherish for a time four unitedly impossible designs. And now we behold +this hapless youth all eager to involve himself in such an inextricable +twist of Fate, that the three dextrous maids themselves could hardly +disentangle him, if once he tie the complicating knots about him and +Isabel. + +Ah, thou rash boy! are there no couriers in the air to warn thee away +from these emperilings, and point thee to those Cretan labyrinths, to +which thy life's cord is leading thee? Where now are the high +beneficences? Whither fled the sweet angels that are alledged guardians +to man? + +Not that the impulsive Pierre wholly overlooked all that was menacing to +him in his future, if now he acted out his most rare resolve; but +eagerly foreshortened by him, they assumed not their full magnitude of +menacing; nor, indeed,--so riveted now his purpose--were they pushed up +to his face, would he for that renounce his self-renunciation; while +concerning all things more immediately contingent upon his central +resolution; these were, doubtless, in a measure, foreseen and understood +by him. Perfectly, at least, he seemed to foresee and understand, that +the present hope of Lucy Tartan must be banished from his being; that +this would carry a terrible pang to her, which in the natural recoil +would but redouble his own; that to the world all his heroicness, +standing equally unexplained and unsuspected, therefore the world would +denounce him as infamously false to his betrothed; reckless of the most +binding human vows; a secret wooer and wedder of an unknown and +enigmatic girl; a spurner of all a loving mother's wisest counselings; a +bringer down of lasting reproach upon an honorable name; a besotted +self-exile from a most prosperous house and bounteous fortune; and +lastly, that now his whole life would, in the eyes of the wide humanity, +be covered with an all-pervading haze of incurable sinisterness, +possibly not to be removed even in the concluding hour of death. + +Such, oh thou son of man! are the perils and the miseries thou callest +down on thee, when, even in a virtuous cause, thou steppest aside from +those arbitrary lines of conduct, by which the common world, however +base and dastardly, surrounds thee for thy worldly good. + +Ofttimes it is very wonderful to trace the rarest and profoundest +things, and find their probable origin in something extremely trite or +trivial. Yet so strange and complicate is the human soul; so much is +confusedly evolved from out itself, and such vast and varied accessions +come to it from abroad, and so impossible is it always to distinguish +between these two, that the wisest man were rash, positively to assign +the precise and incipient origination of his final thoughts and acts. +Far as we blind moles can see, man's life seems but an acting upon +mysterious hints; it is somehow hinted to us, to do thus or thus. For +surely no mere mortal who has at all gone down into himself will ever +pretend that his slightest thought or act solely originates in his own +defined identity. This preamble seems not entirely unnecessary as usher +of the strange conceit, that possibly the latent germ of Pierre's +proposed extraordinary mode of executing his proposed extraordinary +resolve--namely, the nominal conversion of a sister into a wife--might +have been found in the previous conversational conversion of a mother +into a sister; for hereby he had habituated his voice and manner to a +certain fictitiousness in one of the closest domestic relations of life; +and since man's moral texture is very porous, and things assumed upon +the surface, at last strike in--hence, this outward habituation to the +above-named fictitiousness had insensibly disposed his mind to it as it +were; but only innocently and pleasantly as yet. If, by any possibility, +this general conceit be so, then to Pierre the times of sportfulness +were as pregnant with the hours of earnestness; and in sport he learnt +the terms of woe. + + +II. + +If next to that resolve concerning his lasting fraternal succor to +Isabel, there was at this present time any determination in Pierre +absolutely inflexible, and partaking at once of the sacredness and the +indissolubleness of the most solemn oath, it was the enthusiastic, and +apparently wholly supererogatory resolution to hold his father's memory +untouched; nor to one single being in the world reveal the paternity of +Isabel. Unrecallably dead and gone from out the living world, again +returned to utter helplessness, so far as this world went; his perished +father seemed to appeal to the dutifulness and mercifulness of Pierre, +in terms far more moving than though the accents proceeded from his +mortal mouth. And what though not through the sin of Pierre, but through +his father's sin, that father's fair fame now lay at the mercy of the +son, and could only be kept inviolate by the son's free sacrifice of all +earthly felicity;--what if this were so? It but struck a still loftier +chord in the bosom of the son, and filled him with infinite +magnanimities. Never had the generous Pierre cherished the heathenish +conceit, that even in the general world, Sin is a fair object to be +stretched on the cruelest racks by self-complacent Virtue, that +self-complacent Virtue may feed her lily-liveredness on the pallor of +Sin's anguish. For perfect Virtue does not more loudly claim our +approbation, than repented Sin in its concludedness does demand our +utmost tenderness and concern. And as the more immense the Virtue, so +should be the more immense our approbation; likewise the more immense +the Sin, the more infinite our pity. In some sort, Sin hath its +sacredness, not less than holiness. And great Sin calls forth more +magnanimity than small Virtue. What man, who is a man, does not feel +livelier and more generous emotions toward the great god of +Sin--Satan,--than toward yonder haberdasher, who only is a sinner in +the small and entirely honorable way of trade? + +Though Pierre profoundly shuddered at that impenetrable yet blackly +significant nebulousness, which the wild story of Isabel threw around +the early life of his father; yet as he recalled the dumb anguish of the +invocation of the empty and the ashy hand uplifted from his father's +death-bed, he most keenly felt that of whatsoever unknown shade his +father's guilt might be, yet in the final hour of death it had been most +dismally repented of; by a repentance only the more full of utter +wretchedness, that it was a consuming secret in him. Mince the matter +how his family would, had not his father died a raver? Whence that +raving, following so prosperous a life? Whence, but from the cruelest +compunctions? + +Touched thus, and strung in all his sinews and his nerves to the holding +of his father's memory intact,--Pierre turned his confronting and +unfrightened face toward Lucy Tartan, and stilly vowed that not even she +should know the whole; no, not know the least. + +There is an inevitable keen cruelty in the loftier heroism. It is not +heroism only to stand unflinched ourselves in the hour of suffering; but +it is heroism to stand unflinched both at our own and at some loved +one's united suffering; a united suffering, which we could put an +instant period to, if we would but renounce the glorious cause for which +ourselves do bleed, and see our most loved one bleed. If he would not +reveal his father's shame to the common world, whose favorable opinion +for himself, Pierre now despised; how then reveal it to the woman he +adored? To her, above all others, would he now uncover his father's +tomb, and bid her behold from what vile attaintings he himself had +sprung? So Pierre turned round and tied Lucy to the same stake which +must hold himself, for he too plainly saw, that it could not be, but +that both their hearts must burn. + +Yes, his resolve concerning his father's memory involved the necessity +of assuming even to Lucy his marriage with Isabel. Here he could not +explain himself, even to her. This would aggravate the sharp pang of +parting, by self-suggested, though wholly groundless surmising in Lucy's +mind, in the most miserable degree contaminating to her idea of him. But +on this point, he still fondly trusted that without at all marring his +filial bond, he would be enabled by some significant intimations to +arrest in Lucy's mind those darker imaginings which might find entrance +there; and if he could not set her wholly right, yet prevent her from +going wildly wrong. + +For his mother Pierre was more prepared. He considered that by an +inscrutable decree, which it was but foolishness to try to evade, or +shun, or deny existence to, since he felt it so profoundly pressing on +his inmost soul; the family of the Glendinnings was imperiously called +upon to offer up a victim to the gods of woe; one grand victim at the +least; and that grand victim must be his mother, or himself. If he +disclosed his secret to the world, then his mother was made the victim; +if at all hazards he kept it to himself, then himself would be the +victim. A victim as respecting his mother, because under the peculiar +circumstances of the case, the non-disclosure of the secret involved her +entire and infamy-engendering misconception of himself. But to this he +bowed submissive. + +One other thing--and the last to be here named, because the very least +in the conscious thoughts of Pierre; one other thing remained to menace +him with assured disastrousness. This thing it was, which though but +dimly hinted of as yet, still in the apprehension must have exerted a +powerful influence upon Pierre, in preparing him for the worst. + +His father's last and fatal sickness had seized him suddenly. Both the +probable concealed distraction of his mind with reference to his early +life as recalled to him in an evil hour, and his consequent mental +wanderings; these, with other reasons, had prevented him from framing a +new will to supersede one made shortly after his marriage, and ere +Pierre was born. By that will which as yet had never been dragged into +the courts of law; and which, in the fancied security of her own and her +son's congenial and loving future, Mrs. Glendinning had never but once, +and then inconclusively, offered to discuss, with a view to a better and +more appropriate ordering of things to meet circumstances non-existent +at the period the testament was framed; by that will, all the +Glendinning property was declared his mother's. + +Acutely sensible to those prophetic intimations in him, which painted in +advance the haughty temper of his offended mother, as all bitterness and +scorn toward a son, once the object of her proudest joy, but now become +a deep reproach, as not only rebellious to her, but glaringly +dishonorable before the world; Pierre distinctly foresaw, that as she +never would have permitted Isabel Banford in her true character to cross +her threshold; neither would she now permit Isabel Banford to cross her +threshold in any other, and disguised character; least of all, as that +unknown and insidious girl, who by some pernicious arts had lured her +only son from honor into infamy. But not to admit Isabel, was now to +exclude Pierre, if indeed on independent grounds of exasperation against +himself, his mother would not cast him out. + +Nor did the same interior intimations in him which fore-painted the +above bearing of his mother, abstain to trace her whole haughty heart as +so unrelentingly set against him, that while she would close her doors +against both him and his fictitious wife, so also she would not +willingly contribute one copper to support them in a supposed union so +entirely abhorrent to her. And though Pierre was not so familiar with +the science of the law, as to be quite certain what the law, if appealed +to concerning the provisions of his father's will, would decree +concerning any possible claims of the son to share with the mother in +the property of the sire; yet he prospectively felt an invincible +repugnance to dragging his dead father's hand and seal into open Court, +and fighting over them with a base mercenary motive, and with his own +mother for the antagonist. For so thoroughly did his infallible +presentiments paint his mother's character to him, as operated upon and +disclosed in all those fiercer traits,--hitherto held in abeyance by the +mere chance and felicity of circumstances,--that he felt assured that +her exasperation against him would even meet the test of a public legal +contention concerning the Glendinning property. For indeed there was a +reserved strength and masculineness in the character of his mother, from +which on all these points Pierre had every thing to dread. Besides, will +the matter how he would, Pierre for nearly two whole years to come, +would still remain a minor, an infant in the eye of the law, incapable +of personally asserting any legal claim; and though he might sue by his +next friend, yet who would be his voluntary next friend, when the +execution of his great resolve would, for him, depopulate all the world +of friends? + +Now to all these things, and many more, seemed the soul of this +infatuated young enthusiast braced. + + +III. + +There is a dark, mad mystery in some human hearts, which, sometimes, +during the tyranny of a usurper mood, leads them to be all eagerness to +cast off the most intense beloved bond, as a hindrance to the attainment +of whatever transcendental object that usurper mood so tyrannically +suggests. Then the beloved bond seems to hold us to no essential good; +lifted to exalted mounts, we can dispense with all the vale; endearments +we spurn; kisses are blisters to us; and forsaking the palpitating forms +of mortal love, we emptily embrace the boundless and the unbodied air. +We think we are not human; we become as immortal bachelors and gods; but +again, like the Greek gods themselves, prone we descend to earth; glad +to be uxorious once more; glad to hide these god-like heads within the +bosoms made of too-seducing clay. + +Weary with the invariable earth, the restless sailor breaks from every +enfolding arm, and puts to sea in height of tempest that blows off +shore. But in long night-watches at the antipodes, how heavily that +ocean gloom lies in vast bales upon the deck; thinking that that very +moment in his deserted hamlet-home the household sun is high, and many a +sun-eyed maiden meridian as the sun. He curses Fate; himself he curses; +his senseless madness, which is himself. For whoso once has known this +sweet knowledge, and then fled it; in absence, to him the avenging dream +will come. + +Pierre was now this vulnerable god; this self-upbraiding sailor; this +dreamer of the avenging dream. Though in some things he had unjuggled +himself, and forced himself to eye the prospect as it was; yet, so far +as Lucy was concerned, he was at bottom still a juggler. True, in his +extraordinary scheme, Lucy was so intimately interwoven, that it seemed +impossible for him at all to cast his future without some way having +that heart's love in view. But ignorant of its quantity as yet, or +fearful of ascertaining it; like an algebraist, for the real Lucy he, in +his scheming thoughts, had substituted but a sign--some empty _x_--and +in the ultimate solution of the problem, that empty _x_ still figured; +not the real Lucy. + +But now, when risen from the abasement of his chamber-floor, and risen +from the still profounder prostration of his soul, Pierre had thought +that all the horizon of his dark fate was commanded by him; all his +resolutions clearly defined, and immovably decreed; now finally, to top +all, there suddenly slid into his inmost heart the living and breathing +form of Lucy. His lungs collapsed; his eyeballs glared; for the sweet +imagined form, so long buried alive in him, seemed now as gliding on +him from the grave; and her light hair swept far adown her shroud. + +Then, for the time, all minor things were whelmed in him; his mother, +Isabel, the whole wide world; and one only thing remained to him;--this +all-including query--Lucy or God? + +But here we draw a vail. Some nameless struggles of the soul can not be +painted, and some woes will not be told. Let the ambiguous procession of +events reveal their own ambiguousness. + + + + +BOOK XI. + +HE CROSSES THE RUBICON + + +I. + +Sucked within the Maelstrom, man must go round. Strike at one end the +longest conceivable row of billiard balls in close contact, and the +furthermost ball will start forth, while all the rest stand still; and +yet that last ball was not struck at all. So, through long previous +generations, whether of births or thoughts, Fate strikes the present +man. Idly he disowns the blow's effect, because he felt no blow, and +indeed, received no blow. But Pierre was not arguing Fixed Fate and Free +Will, now; Fixed Fate and Free Will were arguing him, and Fixed Fate got +the better in the debate. + +The peculiarities of those influences which on the night and early +morning following the last interview with Isabel, persuaded Pierre to +the adoption of his final resolve, did now irresistibly impel him to a +remarkable instantaneousness in his actions, even as before he had +proved a lagger. + +Without being consciously that way pointed, through the desire of +anticipating any objections on the part of Isabel to the assumption of a +marriage between himself and her; Pierre was now impetuously hurried +into an act, which should have the effective virtue of such an executed +intention, without its corresponding motive. Because, as the primitive +resolve so deplorably involved Lucy, her image was then prominent in his +mind; and hence, because he felt all eagerness to hold her no longer in +suspense, but by a certain sort of charity of cruelty, at once to +pronounce to her her fate; therefore, it was among his first final +thoughts that morning to go to Lucy. And to this, undoubtedly, so +trifling a circumstance as her being nearer to him, geographically, than +Isabel, must have contributed some added, though unconscious influence, +in his present fateful frame of mind. + +On the previous undetermined days, Pierre had solicitously sought to +disguise his emotions from his mother, by a certain carefulness and +choiceness in his dress. But now, since his very soul was forced to wear +a mask, he would wear no paltry palliatives and disguisements on his +body. He went to the cottage of Lucy as disordered in his person, as +haggard in his face. + + +II. + +She was not risen yet. So, the strange imperious instantaneousness in +him, impelled him to go straight to her chamber-door, and in a voice of +mild invincibleness, demand immediate audience, for the matter pressed. + +Already namelessly concerned and alarmed for her lover, now +eight-and-forty hours absent on some mysterious and undisclosable +affair; Lucy, at this surprising summons was overwhelmed with sudden +terror; and in oblivion of all ordinary proprieties, responded to +Pierre's call, by an immediate assent. + +Opening the door, he advanced slowly and deliberately toward her; and as +Lucy caught his pale determined figure, she gave a cry of groping +misery, which knew not the pang that caused it, and lifted herself +trembling in her bed; but without uttering one word. + +Pierre sat down on the bedside; and his set eyes met her terrified and +virgin aspect. + +"Decked in snow-white, and pale of cheek, thou indeed art fitted for the +altar; but not that one of which thy fond heart did'st dream:--so fair a +victim!" + +"Pierre!" + +"'Tis the last cruelty of tyrants to make their enemies slay each +other." + +"My heart! my heart!" + +"Nay;---- Lucy, I am married." + +The girl was no more pale, but white as any leper; the bed-clothes +trembled to the concealed shudderings of all her limbs; one moment she +sat looking vacantly into the blank eyes of Pierre, and then fell over +toward him in a swoon. + +Swift madness mounted into the brain of Pierre; all the past seemed as a +dream, and all the present an unintelligible horror. He lifted her, and +extended her motionless form upon the bed, and stamped for succor. The +maid Martha came running into the room, and beholding those two +inexplicable figures, shrieked, and turned in terror. But Pierre's +repeated cry rallied Martha from this, and darting out of the chamber, +she returned with a sharp restorative, which at length brought Lucy back +to life. + +"Martha! Martha!" now murmured Lucy, in a scarce audible whispering, and +shuddering in the maid's own shuddering arms, "quick, quick; come to +me--drive it away! wake me! wake me!" + +"Nay, pray God to sleep again," cried Martha, bending over her and +embracing her, and half-turning upon Pierre with a glance of loathing +indignation. "In God's holy name, sir, what may this be? How came you +here; accursed!" + +"Accursed?--it is well. Is she herself again, Martha?" + +"Thou hast somehow murdered her; how then be herself again? My sweet +mistress! oh, my young mistress! Tell me! tell me!" and she bent low +over her. + +Pierre now advanced toward the bed, making a gesture for the maid to +leave them; but soon as Lucy re-caught his haggard form, she +whisperingly wailed again, "Martha! Martha! drive it +away!--there--there! him--him!" and shut her eyes convulsively, with +arms abhorrently outstretched. + +"Monster! incomprehensible fiend!" cried the anew terror-smitten +maid--"depart! See! she dies away at the sight of thee--begone! Wouldst +thou murder her afresh? Begone!" + +Starched and frozen by his own emotion, Pierre silently turned and +quitted the chamber; and heavily descending the stairs, tramped +heavily--as a man slowly bearing a great burden--through a long narrow +passage leading to a wing in the rear of the cottage, and knocking at +Miss Lanyllyn's door, summoned her to Lucy, who, he briefly said, had +fainted. Then, without waiting for any response, left the house, and +went directly to the mansion. + + +III. + +"Is my mother up yet?" said he to Dates, whom he met in the hall. + +"Not yet, sir;--heavens, sir! are you sick?" + +"To death! Let me pass." + +Ascending toward his mother's chamber, he heard a coming step, and met +her on the great middle landing of the stairs, where in an ample niche, +a marble group of the temple-polluting Laocoon and his two innocent +children, caught in inextricable snarls of snakes, writhed in eternal +torments. + +"Mother, go back with me to thy chamber." + +She eyed his sudden presence with a dark but repressed foreboding; drew +herself up haughtily and repellingly, and with a quivering lip, said, +"Pierre, thou thyself hast denied me thy confidence, and thou shall not +force me back to it so easily. Speak! what is that now between thee and +me?" + +"I am married, mother." + +"Great God! To whom?" + +"Not to Lucy Tartan, mother." + +"That thou merely sayest 'tis not Lucy, without saying who indeed it is, +this is good proof she is something vile. Does Lucy know thy marriage?" + +"I am but just from Lucy's." + +Thus far Mrs. Glendinning's rigidity had been slowly relaxing. Now she +clutched the balluster, bent over, and trembled, for a moment. Then +erected all her haughtiness again, and stood before Pierre in incurious, +unappeasable grief and scorn for him. + +"My dark soul prophesied something dark. If already thou hast not found +other lodgment, and other table than this house supplies, then seek it +straight. Beneath my roof, and at my table, he who was once Pierre +Glendinning no more puts himself." + +She turned from him, and with a tottering step climbed the winding +stairs, and disappeared from him; while in the balluster he held, Pierre +seemed to feel the sudden thrill running down to him from his mother's +convulsive grasp. + +He stared about him with an idiot eye; staggered to the floor below, to +dumbly quit the house; but as he crossed its threshold, his foot tripped +upon its raised ledge; he pitched forward upon the stone portico, and +fell. He seemed as jeeringly hurled from beneath his own ancestral +roof. + + +IV. + +Passing through the broad court-yard's postern, Pierre closed it after +him, and then turned and leaned upon it, his eyes fixed upon the great +central chimney of the mansion, from which a light blue smoke was +wreathing gently into the morning air. + +"The hearth-stone from which thou risest, never more, I inly feel, will +these feet press. Oh God, what callest thou that which has thus made +Pierre a vagabond?" + +He walked slowly away, and passing the windows of Lucy, looked up, and +saw the white curtains closely drawn, the white-cottage profoundly +still, and a white saddle-horse tied before the gate. + +"I would enter, but again would her abhorrent wails repel; what more can +I now say or do to her? I can not explain. She knows all I purposed to +disclose. Ay, but thou didst cruelly burst upon her with it; thy +impetuousness, thy instantaneousness hath killed her, Pierre!--Nay, nay, +nay!--Cruel tidings who can gently break? If to stab be inevitable; then +instant be the dagger! Those curtains are close drawn upon her; so let +me upon her sweet image draw the curtains of my soul. Sleep, sleep, +sleep, sleep, thou angel!--wake no more to Pierre, nor to thyself, my +Lucy!" + +Passing on now hurriedly and blindly, he jostled against some +oppositely-going wayfarer. The man paused amazed; and looking up, Pierre +recognized a domestic of the Mansion. That instantaneousness which now +impelled him in all his actions, again seized the ascendency in him. +Ignoring the dismayed expression of the man at thus encountering his +young master, Pierre commanded him to follow him. Going straight to the +"Black Swan," the little village Inn, he entered the first vacant room, +and bidding the man be seated, sought the keeper of the house, and +ordered pen and paper. + +If fit opportunity offer in the hour of unusual affliction, minds of a +certain temperament find a strange, hysterical relief, in a wild, +perverse humorousness, the more alluring from its entire unsuitableness +to the occasion; although they seldom manifest this trait toward those +individuals more immediately involved in the cause or the effect of +their suffering. The cool censoriousness of the mere philosopher would +denominate such conduct as nothing short of temporary madness; and +perhaps it is, since, in the inexorable and inhuman eye of mere +undiluted reason, all grief, whether on our own account, or that of +others, is the sheerest unreason and insanity. + +The note now written was the following: + + + "_For that Fine Old Fellow, Dates._ + + "Dates, my old boy, bestir thyself now. Go to my room, Dates, and + bring me down my mahogany strong-box and lock-up, the thing covered + with blue chintz; strap it very carefully, my sweet Dates, it is + rather heavy, and set it just without the postern. Then back and + bring me down my writing-desk, and set that, too, just without the + postern. Then back yet again, and bring me down the old camp-bed + (see that all the parts be there), and bind the case well with a + cord. Then go to the left corner little drawer in my wardrobe, and + thou wilt find my visiting-cards. Tack one on the chest, and the + desk, and the camp-bed case. Then get all my clothes together, and + pack them in trunks (not forgetting the two old military cloaks, my + boy), and tack cards on them also, my good Dates. Then fly round + three times indefinitely, my good Dates, and wipe a little of the + perspiration off. And then--let me see--then, my good Dates--why + what then? Why, this much. Pick up all papers of all sorts that may + be lying round my chamber, and see them burned. And then--have old + White Hoof put to the lightest farm-wagon, and send the chest, and + the desk, and the camp-bed, and the trunks to the 'Black Swan,' + where I shall call for them, when I am ready, and not before, sweet + Dates. So God bless thee, my fine, old, imperturbable Dates, and + adieu! + + "Thy old young master, + PIERRE. + + "_Nota bene_--Mark well, though, Dates. Should my mother possibly + interrupt thee, say that it is my orders, and mention what it is I + send for; but on no account show this to thy mistress--D'ye hear? + + PIERRE again." + +Folding this scrawl into a grotesque shape, Pierre ordered the man to +take it forthwith to Dates. But the man, all perplexed, hesitated, +turning the billet over in his hand; till Pierre loudly and violently +bade him begone; but as the man was then rapidly departing in a panic, +Pierre called him back and retracted his rude words; but as the servant +now lingered again, perhaps thinking to avail himself of this repentant +mood in Pierre, to say something in sympathy or remonstrance to him, +Pierre ordered him off with augmented violence, and stamped for him to +begone. + +Apprising the equally perplexed old landlord that certain things would +in the course of that forenoon be left for him, (Pierre,) at the Inn; +and also desiring him to prepare a chamber for himself and wife that +night; some chamber with a commodious connecting room, which might +answer for a dressing-room; and likewise still another chamber for a +servant; Pierre departed the place, leaving the old landlord staring +vacantly at him, and dumbly marveling what horrible thing had happened +to turn the brain of his fine young favorite and old shooting comrade, +Master Pierre. + +Soon the short old man went out bare-headed upon the low porch of the +Inn, descended its one step, and crossed over to the middle of the road, +gazing after Pierre. And only as Pierre turned up a distant lane, did +his amazement and his solicitude find utterance. + +"I taught him--yes, old Casks;--the best shot in all the country round +is Master Pierre;--pray God he hits not now the bull's eye in +himself.--Married? married? and coming here?--This is pesky strange!" + + + + +BOOK XII. + +ISABEL: MRS. GLENDINNING: THE PORTRAIT: AND LUCY. + + +I. + +When on the previous night Pierre had left the farm-house where Isabel +harbored, it will be remembered that no hour, either of night or day, no +special time at all had been assigned for a succeeding interview. It was +Isabel, who for some doubtlessly sufficient reason of her own, had, for +the first meeting, assigned the early hour of darkness. + +As now, when the full sun was well up the heavens, Pierre drew near the +farm-house of the Ulvers, he descried Isabel, standing without the +little dairy-wing, occupied in vertically arranging numerous glittering +shield-like milk-pans on a long shelf, where they might purifyingly meet +the sun. Her back was toward him. As Pierre passed through the open +wicket and crossed the short soft green sward, he unconsciously muffled +his footsteps, and now standing close behind his sister, touched her +shoulder and stood still. + +She started, trembled, turned upon him swiftly, made a low, strange cry, +and then gazed rivetedly and imploringly upon him. + +"I look rather queerish, sweet Isabel, do I not?" said Pierre at last +with a writhed and painful smile. + +"My brother, my blessed brother!--speak--tell me--what has +happened--what hast thou done? Oh! Oh! I should have warned thee before, +Pierre, Pierre; it is my fault--mine, mine!" + +"_What_ is thy fault, sweet Isabel?" + +"Thou hast revealed Isabel to thy mother, Pierre." + +"I have not, Isabel. Mrs. Glendinning knows not thy secret at all." + +"Mrs. Glendinning?--that's,--that's thine own mother, Pierre! In +heaven's name, my brother, explain thyself. Knows not my secret, and yet +thou here so suddenly, and with such a fatal aspect? Come, come with me +into the house. Quick, Pierre, why dost thou not stir? Oh, my God! if +mad myself sometimes, I am to make mad him who loves me best, and who, I +fear, has in some way ruined himself for me;--then, let me no more stand +upright on this sod, but fall prone beneath it, that I may be hidden! +Tell me!" catching Pierre's arms in both her frantic hands--"tell me, do +I blast where I look? is my face Gorgon's?" + +"Nay, sweet Isabel; but it hath a more sovereign power; that turned to +stone; thine might turn white marble into mother's milk." + +"Come with me--come quickly." + +They passed into the dairy, and sat down on a bench by the honey-suckled +casement. + +"Pierre, forever fatal and accursed be the day my longing heart called +thee to me, if now, in the very spring-time of our related love, thou +art minded to play deceivingly with me, even though thou should'st fancy +it for my good. Speak to me; oh speak to me, my brother!" + +"Thou hintest of deceiving one for one's good. Now supposing, sweet +Isabel, that in no case would I affirmatively deceive thee;--in no case +whatever;--would'st thou then be willing for thee and me to piously +deceive others, for both their and our united good?--Thou sayest +nothing. Now, then, is it _my_ turn, sweet Isabel, to bid thee speak to +me, oh speak to me!" + +"That unknown, approaching thing, seemeth ever ill, my brother, which +must have unfrank heralds to go before. Oh, Pierre, dear, dear Pierre; +be very careful with me! This strange, mysterious, unexampled love +between us, makes me all plastic in thy hand. Be very careful with me. I +know little out of me. The world seems all one unknown India to me. Look +up, look on me, Pierre; say now, thou wilt be very careful; say so, say +so, Pierre!" + +"If the most exquisite, and fragile filagree of Genoa be carefully +handled by its artisan; if sacred nature carefully folds, and warms, and +by inconceivable attentivenesses eggs round and round her minute and +marvelous embryoes; then, Isabel, do I most carefully and most tenderly +egg thee, gentlest one, and the fate of thee! Short of the great God, +Isabel, there lives none who will be more careful with thee, more +infinitely considerate and delicate with thee." + +"From my deepest heart, do I believe thee, Pierre. Yet thou mayest be +very delicate in some point, where delicateness is not all essential, +and in some quick impulsive hour, omit thy fullest heedfulness somewhere +where heedlessness were most fatal. Nay, nay, my brother; bleach these +locks snow-white, thou sun! if I have any thought to reproach thee, +Pierre, or betray distrust of thee. But earnestness must sometimes seem +suspicious, else it is none. Pierre, Pierre, all thy aspect speaks +eloquently of some already executed resolution, born in suddenness. +Since I last saw thee, Pierre, some deed irrevocable has been done by +thee. My soul is stiff and starched to it; now tell me what it is?" + +"Thou, and I, and Delly Ulver, to-morrow morning depart this whole +neighborhood, and go to the distant city.--That is it." + +"No more?" + +"Is it not enough?" + +"There is something more, Pierre." + +"Thou hast not yet answered a question I put to thee but just now. +Bethink thee, Isabel. The deceiving of others by thee and me, in a thing +wholly pertaining to ourselves, for their and our united good. Wouldst +thou?" + +"I would do any thing that does not tend to the marring of thy best +lasting fortunes, Pierre. What is it thou wouldst have thee and me to do +together? I wait; I wait!" + +"Let us go into the room of the double casement, my sister," said +Pierre, rising. + +"Nay, then; if it can not be said here, then can I not do it anywhere, +my brother; for it would harm thee." + +"Girl!" cried Pierre, sternly, "if for thee I have lost"--but he checked +himself. + +"Lost? for me? Now does the very worst blacken on me. Pierre! Pierre!" + +"I was foolish, and sought but to frighten thee, my sister. It was very +foolish. Do thou now go on with thine innocent work here, and I will +come again a few hours hence. Let me go now." + +He was turning from her, when Isabel sprang forward to him, caught him +with both her arms round him, and held him so convulsively, that her +hair sideways swept over him, and half concealed him. + +"Pierre, if indeed my soul hath cast on thee the same black shadow that +my hair now flings on thee; if thou hast lost aught for me; then +eternally is Isabel lost to Isabel, and Isabel will not outlive this +night. If I am indeed an accursing thing, I will not act the given part, +but cheat the air, and die from it. See; I let thee go, lest some poison +I know not of distill upon thee from me." + +She slowly drooped, and trembled from him. But Pierre caught her, and +supported her. + +"Foolish, foolish one! Behold, in the very bodily act of loosing hold of +me, thou dost reel and fall;--unanswerable emblem of the indispensable +heart-stay, I am to thee, my sweet, sweet Isabel! Prate not then of +parting." + +"What hast thou lost for me? Tell me!" + +"A gainful loss, my sister!" + +"'Tis mere rhetoric! What hast thou lost?" + +"Nothing that my inmost heart would now recall. I have bought inner love +and glory by a price, which, large or small, I would not now have paid +me back, so I must return the thing I bought." + +"Is love then cold, and glory white? Thy cheek is snowy, Pierre." + +"It should be, for I believe to God that I am pure, let the world think +how it may." + +"What hast thou lost?" + +"Not thee, nor the pride and glory of ever loving thee, and being a +continual brother to thee, my best sister. Nay, why dost thou now turn +thy face from me?" + +"With fine words he wheedles me, and coaxes me, not to know some secret +thing. Go, go, Pierre, come to me when thou wilt. I am steeled now to +the worst, and to the last. Again I tell thee, I will do any thing--yes, +any thing that Pierre commands--for, though outer ill do lower upon us, +still, deep within, thou wilt be careful, very careful with me, Pierre?" + +"Thou art made of that fine, unshared stuff of which God makes his +seraphim. But thy divine devotedness to me, is met by mine to thee. Well +mayest thou trust me, Isabel; and whatever strangest thing I may yet +propose to thee, thy confidence,--will it not bear me out? Surely thou +will not hesitate to plunge, when I plunge first;--already have I +plunged! now thou canst not stay upon the bank. Hearken, hearken to +me.--I seek not now to gain thy prior assent to a thing as yet undone; +but I call to thee now, Isabel, from the depth of a foregone act, to +ratify it, backward, by thy consent. Look not so hard upon me. Listen. I +will tell all. Isabel, though thou art all fearfulness to injure any +living thing, least of all, thy brother; still thy true heart +foreknoweth not the myriad alliances and criss-crossings among mankind, +the infinite entanglements of all social things, which forbids that one +thread should fly the general fabric, on some new line of duty, without +tearing itself and tearing others. Listen. All that has happened up to +this moment, and all that may be yet to happen, some sudden inspiration +now assures me, inevitably proceeded from the first hour I saw thee. Not +possibly could it, or can it, be otherwise. Therefore feel I, that I +have some patience. Listen. Whatever outer things might possibly be +mine; whatever seeming brightest blessings; yet now to live uncomforting +and unloving to thee, Isabel; now to dwell domestically away from thee; +so that only by stealth, and base connivances of the night, I could come +to thee as thy related brother; this would be, and is, unutterably +impossible. In my bosom a secret adder of self-reproach and self-infamy +would never leave off its sting. Listen. But without gratuitous dishonor +to a memory which--for right cause or wrong--is ever sacred and +inviolate to me, I can not be an open brother to thee, Isabel. But thou +wantest not the openness; for thou dost not pine for empty nominalness, +but for vital realness; what thou wantest, is not the occasional +openness of my brotherly love; but its continual domestic confidence. Do +I not speak thine own hidden heart to thee? say, Isabel? Well, then, +still listen to me. One only way presents to this; a most strange way, +Isabel; to the world, that never throbbed for thee in love, a most +deceitful way; but to all a harmless way; so harmless in its essence, +Isabel, that, seems to me, Pierre hath consulted heaven itself upon it, +and heaven itself did not say Nay. Still, listen to me; mark me. As thou +knowest that thou wouldst now droop and die without me; so would I +without thee. We are equal there; mark _that_, too, Isabel. I do not +stoop to thee, nor thou to me; but we both reach up alike to a glorious +ideal! Now the continualness, the secretness, yet the always present +domesticness of our love; how may we best compass that, without +jeopardizing the ever-sacred memory I hinted of? One way--one way--only +one! A strange way, but most pure. Listen. Brace thyself: here, let me +hold thee now; and then whisper it to thee, Isabel. Come, I holding +thee, thou canst not fall." + +He held her tremblingly; she bent over toward him; his mouth wet her +ear; he whispered it. + +The girl moved not; was done with all her tremblings; leaned closer to +him, with an inexpressible strangeness of an intense love, new and +inexplicable. Over the face of Pierre there shot a terrible +self-revelation; he imprinted repeated burning kisses upon her; pressed +hard her hand; would not let go her sweet and awful passiveness. + +Then they changed; they coiled together, and entangledly stood mute. + + +II. + +Mrs. Glendinning walked her chamber; her dress loosened. + +"That such accursed vileness should proceed from me! Now will the +tongued world say--See the vile boy of Mary Glendinning!--Deceitful! +thick with guilt, where I thought it was all guilelessness and gentlest +docility to me. It has not happened! It is not day! Were this thing so, +I should go mad, and be shut up, and not walk here where every door is +open to me.--My own only son married to an unknown--thing! My own only +son, false to his holiest plighted public vow--and the wide world +knowing to it! He bears my name--Glendinning. I will disown it; were it +like this dress, I would tear my name off from me, and burn it till it +shriveled to a crisp!--Pierre! Pierre! come back, come back, and swear +it is not so! It can not be! Wait: I will ring the bell, and see if it +be so." + +She rung the bell with violence, and soon heard a responsive knock. + +"Come in!--Nay, falter not;" (throwing a shawl over her) "come in. Stand +there and tell me if thou darest, that my son was in this house this +morning and met me on the stairs. Darest thou say that?" + +Dates looked confounded at her most unwonted aspect. + +"Say it! find thy tongue! Or I will root mine out and fling it at thee! +Say it!" + +"My dear mistress!" + +"I am not thy mistress! but thou my master; for, if thou sayest it, thou +commandest me to madness.--Oh, vile boy!--Begone from me!" + +She locked the door upon him, and swiftly and distractedly walked her +chamber. She paused, and tossing down the curtains, shut out the sun +from the two windows. + +Another, but an unsummoned knock, was at the door. She opened it. + +"My mistress, his Reverence is below. I would not call you, but he +insisted." + +"Let him come up." + +"Here? Immediately?" + +"Didst thou hear me? Let Mr. Falsgrave come up." + +As if suddenly and admonishingly made aware, by Dates, of the +ungovernable mood of Mrs. Glendinning, the clergyman entered the open +door of her chamber with a most deprecating but honest reluctance, and +apprehensiveness of he knew not what. + +"Be seated, sir; stay, shut the door and lock it." + +"Madam!" + +"_I_ will do it. Be seated. Hast thou seen him?" + +"Whom, Madam?--Master Pierre?" + +"Him!--quick!" + +"It was to speak of him I came, Madam. He made a most extraordinary call +upon me last night--midnight." + +"And thou marriedst him?--Damn thee!" + +"Nay, nay, nay, Madam; there is something here I know not of--I came to +tell thee news, but thou hast some o'erwhelming tidings to reveal to +me." + +"I beg no pardons; but I may be sorry. Mr. Falsgrave, my son, standing +publicly plighted to Lucy Tartan, has privately wedded some other +girl--some slut!" + +"Impossible!" + +"True as thou art there. Thou knowest nothing of it then?" + +"Nothing, nothing--not one grain till now. Who is it he has wedded?" + +"Some _slut_, I tell thee!--I am no lady now, but something deeper,--a +woman!--an outraged and pride-poisoned woman!" + +She turned from him swiftly, and again paced the room, as frantic and +entirely regardless of any presence. Waiting for her to pause, but in +vain, Mr. Falsgrave advanced toward her cautiously, and with the +profoundest deference, which was almost a cringing, spoke:-- + +"It is the hour of woe to thee; and I confess my cloth hath no +consolation for thee yet awhile. Permit me to withdraw from thee, +leaving my best prayers for thee, that thou mayst know some peace, ere +this now shut-out sun goes down. Send for me whenever thou desirest +me.--May I go now?" + +"Begone! and let me not hear thy soft, mincing voice, which is an infamy +to a man! Begone, thou helpless, and unhelping one!" + +She swiftly paced the room again, swiftly muttering to herself. "Now, +now, now, now I see it clearer, clearer--clear now as day! My first dim +suspicions pointed right!--too right! Ay--the sewing! it was the +sewing!--The shriek!--I saw him gazing rooted at her. He would not speak +going home with me. I charged him with his silence; he put me off with +lies, lies, lies! Ay, ay, he is married to her, to her;--to +her!--perhaps was then. And yet,--and yet,--how can it be?--Lucy, +Lucy--I saw him, after that, look on her as if he would be glad to die +for her, and go to hell for her, whither he deserves to go!--Oh! oh! oh! +Thus ruthlessly to cut off, at one gross sensual dash, the fair +succession of an honorable race! Mixing the choicest wine with filthy +water from the plebeian pool, and so turning all to undistinguishable +rankness!--Oh viper! had I thee now in me, I would be a suicide and a +murderer with one blow!" + +A third knock was at the door. She opened it. + +"My mistress, I thought it would disturb you,--it is so just +overhead,--so I have not removed them yet." + +"Unravel thy gibberish!--what is it?" + +"Pardon, my mistress, I somehow thought you knew it, but you can not." + +"What is that writing crumpling in thy hand? Give it me." + +"I have promised my young master not to, my mistress." + +"I will snatch it, then, and so leave thee blameless.--What? what? +what?--He's mad sure!--'Fine old fellow Dates'--what? what?--mad and +merry!--chest?--clothes?--trunks?--he wants them?--Tumble them out of +his window!--and if he stand right beneath, tumble them out! Dismantle +that whole room. Tear up the carpet. I swear, he shall leave no smallest +vestige in this house.--Here! this very spot--here, here, where I stand, +he may have stood upon;--yes, he tied my shoe-string here; it's +slippery! Dates!" + +"My mistress." + +"Do his bidding. By reflection he has made me infamous to the world; and +I will make him infamous to it. Listen, and do not delude thyself that +I am crazy. Go up to yonder room" (pointing upward), "and remove every +article in it, and where he bid thee set down the chest and trunks, +there set down all the contents of that room." + +"'Twas before the house--this house!" + +"And if it had not been there, I would not order thee to put them there. +Dunce! I would have the world know that I disown and scorn him! Do my +bidding!--Stay. Let the room stand; but take him what he asks for." + +"I will, my mistress." + +As Dates left the chamber, Mrs. Glendinning again paced it swiftly, and +again swiftly muttered: "Now, if I were less a strong and haughty woman, +the fit would have gone by ere now. But deep volcanoes long burn, ere +they burn out.--Oh, that the world were made of such malleable stuff, +that we could recklessly do our fieriest heart's-wish before it, and not +falter. Accursed be those four syllables of sound which make up that +vile word Propriety. It is a chain and bell to drag;--drag? what sound +is that? there's dragging--his trunks--the traveler's--dragging out. Oh +would I could so drag my heart, as fishers for the drowned do, as that I +might drag up my sunken happiness! Boy! boy! worse than brought in +dripping drowned to me,--drowned in icy infamy! Oh! oh! oh!" + +She threw herself upon the bed, covered her face, and lay motionless. +But suddenly rose again, and hurriedly rang the bell. + +"Open that desk, and draw the stand to me. Now wait and take this to +Miss Lucy." + +With a pencil she rapidly traced these lines:-- + +"My heart bleeds for thee, sweet Lucy. I can not speak--I know it all. +Look for me the first hour I regain myself." + +Again she threw herself upon the bed, and lay motionless. + + +III. + +Toward sundown that evening, Pierre stood in one of the three bespoken +chambers in the Black Swan Inn; the blue chintz-covered chest and the +writing-desk before him. His hands were eagerly searching through his +pockets. + +"The key! the key! Nay, then, I must force it open. It bodes ill, too. +Yet lucky is it, some bankers can break into their own vaults, when +other means do fail. Not so, ever. Let me see:--yes, the tongs there. +Now then for the sweet sight of gold and silver. I never loved it till +this day. How long it has been hoarded;--little token pieces, of years +ago, from aunts, uncles, cousins innumerable, and from--but I won't +mention _them_; dead henceforth to me! Sure there'll be a premium on +such ancient gold. There's some broad bits, token pieces to my--I name +him not--more than half a century ago. Well, well, I never thought to +cast them back into the sordid circulations whence they came. But if +they must be spent, now is the time, in this last necessity, and in this +sacred cause. 'Tis a most stupid, dunderheaded crowbar. Hoy! so! ah, now +for it:--snake's nest!" + +Forced suddenly back, the chest-lid had as suddenly revealed to him the +chair-portrait lying on top of all the rest, where he had secreted it +some days before. Face up, it met him with its noiseless, ever-nameless, +and ambiguous, unchanging smile. Now his first repugnance was augmented +by an emotion altogether new. That certain lurking lineament in the +portrait, whose strange transfer blended with far other, and sweeter, +and nobler characteristics, was visible in the countenance of Isabel; +that lineament in the portrait was somehow now detestable; nay, +altogether loathsome, ineffably so, to Pierre. He argued not with +himself why this was so; he only felt it, and most keenly. + +Omitting more subtile inquisition into this deftly-winding theme, it +will be enough to hint, perhaps, that possibly one source of this new +hatefulness had its primary and unconscious rise in one of those +profound ideas, which at times atmospherically, as it were, do insinuate +themselves even into very ordinary minds. In the strange relativeness, +reciprocalness, and transmittedness, between the long-dead father's +portrait, and the living daughter's face, Pierre might have seemed to +see reflected to him, by visible and uncontradictable symbols, the +tyranny of Time and Fate. Painted before the daughter was conceived or +born, like a dumb seer, the portrait still seemed leveling its prophetic +finger at that empty air, from which Isabel did finally emerge. There +seemed to lurk some mystical intelligence and vitality in the picture; +because, since in his own memory of his father, Pierre could not recall +any distinct lineament transmitted to Isabel, but vaguely saw such in +the portrait; therefore, not Pierre's parent, as any way rememberable by +him, but the portrait's painted _self_ seemed the real father of Isabel; +for, so far as all sense went, Isabel had inherited one peculiar trait +no-whither traceable but to it. + +And as his father was now sought to be banished from his mind, as a most +bitter presence there, but Isabel was become a thing of intense and +fearful love for him; therefore, it was loathsome to him, that in the +smiling and ambiguous portrait, her sweet mournful image should be so +sinisterly becrooked, bemixed, and mutilated to him. + +When, the first shock, and then the pause were over, he lifted the +portrait in his two hands, and held it averted from him. + +"It shall not live. Hitherto I have hoarded up mementoes and monuments +of the past; been a worshiper of all heirlooms; a fond filer away of +letters, locks of hair, bits of ribbon, flowers, and the +thousand-and-one minutenesses which love and memory think they +sanctify:--but it is forever over now! If to me any memory shall +henceforth be dear, I will not mummy it in a visible memorial for every +passing beggar's dust to gather on. Love's museum is vain and foolish as +the Catacombs, where grinning apes and abject lizards are embalmed, as, +forsooth, significant of some imagined charm. It speaks merely of decay +and death, and nothing more; decay and death of endless innumerable +generations; it makes of earth one mold. How can lifelessness be fit +memorial of life?--So far, for mementoes of the sweetest. As for the +rest--now I know this, that in commonest memorials, the twilight fact of +death first discloses in some secret way, all the ambiguities of that +departed thing or person; obliquely it casts hints, and insinuates +surmises base, and eternally incapable of being cleared. Decreed by God +Omnipotent it is, that Death should be the last scene of the last act of +man's play;--a play, which begin how it may, in farce or comedy, ever +hath its tragic end; the curtain inevitably falls upon a corpse. +Therefore, never more will I play the vile pigmy, and by small memorials +after death, attempt to reverse the decree of death, by essaying the +poor perpetuating of the image of the original. Let all the, and mix +again! As for this--this!--why longer should I preserve it? Why preserve +that on which one can not patient look? If I am resolved to hold his +public memory inviolate,--destroy this thing; for here is the one great, +condemning, and unsuborned proof, whose mysticalness drives me half +mad.--Of old Greek times, before man's brain went into doting bondage, +and bleached and beaten in Baconian fulling-mills, his four limbs lost +their barbaric tan and beauty; when the round world was fresh, and rosy, +and spicy, as a new-plucked apple;--all's wilted now!--in those bold +times, the great dead were not, turkey-like, dished in trenchers, and +set down all garnished in the ground, to glut the damned Cyclop like a +cannibal; but nobly envious Life cheated the glutton worm, and +gloriously burned the corpse; so that the spirit up-pointed, and visibly +forked to heaven! + +"So now will I serve thee. Though that solidity of which thou art the +unsolid duplicate, hath long gone to its hideous church-yard +account;--and though, God knows! but for one part of thee it may have +been fit auditing;--yet will I now a second time see thy obsequies +performed, and by now burning thee, urn thee in the great vase of air! +Come now!" + +A small wood-fire had been kindled on the hearth to purify the +long-closed room; it was now diminished to a small pointed heap of +glowing embers. Detaching and dismembering the gilded but tarnished +frame, Pierre laid the four pieces on the coals; as their dryness soon +caught the sparks, he rolled the reversed canvas into a scroll, and tied +it, and committed it to the now crackling, clamorous flames. Steadfastly +Pierre watched the first crispings and blackenings of the painted +scroll, but started as suddenly unwinding from the burnt string that had +tied it, for one swift instant, seen through the flame and smoke, the +upwrithing portrait tormentedly stared at him in beseeching horror, and +then, wrapped in one broad sheet of oily fire, disappeared forever. + +Yielding to a sudden ungovernable impulse, Pierre darted his hand among +the flames, to rescue the imploring face; but as swiftly drew back his +scorched and bootless grasp. His hand was burnt and blackened, but he +did not heed it. + +He ran back to the chest, and seizing repeated packages of family +letters, and all sorts of miscellaneous memorials in paper, he threw +them one after the other upon the fire. + +"Thus, and thus, and thus! on thy manes I fling fresh spoils; pour out +all my memory in one libation!--so, so, so--lower, lower, lower; now all +is done, and all is ashes! Henceforth, cast-out Pierre hath no +paternity, and no past; and since the Future is one blank to all; +therefore, twice-disinherited Pierre stands untrammeledly his +ever-present self!--free to do his own self-will and present fancy to +whatever end!" + + +IV. + +That same sunset Lucy lay in her chamber. A knock was heard at its door, +and the responding Martha was met by the now self-controlled and +resolute face of Mrs. Glendinning. + +"How is your young mistress, Martha? May I come in?" + +But waiting for no answer, with the same breath she passed the maid, and +determinately entered the room. + +She sat down by the bed, and met the open eye, but closed and pallid +mouth of Lucy. She gazed rivetedly and inquisitively a moment; then +turned a quick aghast look toward Martha, as if seeking warrant for some +shuddering thought. + +"Miss Lucy"--said Martha--"it is your--it is Mrs. Glendinning. Speak to +her, Miss Lucy." + +As if left in the last helpless attitude of some spent contortion of her +grief, Lucy was not lying in the ordinary posture of one in bed, but lay +half crosswise upon it, with the pale pillows propping her hueless form, +and but a single sheet thrown over her, as though she were so heart +overladen, that her white body could not bear one added feather. And as +in any snowy marble statue, the drapery clings to the limbs; so as one +found drowned, the thin, defining sheet invested Lucy. + +"It is Mrs. Glendinning. Will you speak to her, Miss Lucy?" + +The thin lips moved and trembled for a moment, and then were still +again, and augmented pallor shrouded her. + +Martha brought restoratives; and when all was as before, she made a +gesture for the lady to depart, and in a whisper, said, "She will not +speak to any; she does not speak to me. The doctor has just left--he has +been here five times since morning--and says she must be kept entirely +quiet." Then pointing to the stand, added, "You see what he has +left--mere restoratives. Quiet is her best medicine now, he says. Quiet, +quiet, quiet! Oh, sweet quiet, wilt thou now ever come?" + +"Has Mrs. Tartan been written to?" whispered the lady. Martha nodded. + +So the lady moved to quit the room, saying that once every two hours she +would send to know how Lucy fared. + +"But where, where is her aunt, Martha?" she exclaimed, lowly, pausing at +the door, and glancing in sudden astonishment about the room; "surely, +surely, Mrs. Lanyllyn--" + +"Poor, poor old lady," weepingly whispered Martha, "she hath caught +infection from sweet Lucy's woe; she hurried hither, caught one glimpse +of that bed, and fell like dead upon the floor. The Doctor hath two +patients now, lady"--glancing at the bed, and tenderly feeling Lucy's +bosom, to mark if yet it heaved; "Alack! Alack! oh, reptile! reptile! +that could sting so sweet a breast! fire would be too cold for +him--accursed!" + +"Thy own tongue blister the roof of thy mouth!" cried Mrs. Glendinning, +in a half-stifled, whispering scream. "'Tis not for thee, hired one, to +rail at my son, though he were Lucifer, simmering in Hell! Mend thy +manners, minx!" + +And she left the chamber, dilated with her unconquerable pride, leaving +Martha aghast at such venom in such beauty. + + + + +BOOK XIII. + +THEY DEPART THE MEADOWS. + + +I. + +It was just dusk when Pierre approached the Ulver farm-house, in a wagon +belonging to the Black Swan Inn. He met his sister shawled and bonneted +in the porch. + +"Now then, Isabel, is all ready? Where is Delly? I see two most small +and inconsiderable portmanteaux. Wee is the chest that holds the goods +of the disowned! The wagon waits, Isabel. Now is all ready? and nothing +left?" + +"Nothing, Pierre; unless in going hence--but I'll not think of that; +all's fated." + +"Delly! where is she? Let us go in for her," said Pierre, catching the +hand of Isabel, and turning rapidly. As he thus half dragged her into +the little lighted entry, and then dropping her hand, placed his touch +on the catch of the inner door, Isabel stayed his arm, as if to keep him +back, till she should forewarn him against something concerning Delly; +but suddenly she started herself; and for one instant, eagerly pointing +at his right hand, seemed almost to half shrink from Pierre. + +"'Tis nothing. I am not hurt; a slight burn--the merest accidental +scorch this morning. But what's this?" he added, lifting his hand +higher; "smoke! soot! this comes of going in the dark; sunlight, and I +had seen it. But I have not touched thee, Isabel?" + +Isabel lifted her hand and showed the marks.--"But it came from thee, my +brother; and I would catch the plague from thee, so that it should make +me share thee. Do thou clean thy hand; let mine alone." + +"Delly! Delly!"--cried Pierre--"why may I not go to her, to bring her +forth?" + +Placing her finger upon her lip, Isabel softly opened the door, and +showed the object of his inquiry avertedly seated, muffled, on a chair. + +"Do not speak to her, my brother," whispered Isabel, "and do not seek to +behold her face, as yet. It will pass over now, ere long, I trust. Come, +shall we go now? Take Delly forth, but do not speak to her. I have +bidden all good-by; the old people are in yonder room in the rear; I am +glad that they chose not to come out, to attend our going forth. Come +now, be very quick, Pierre; this is an hour I like not; be it swiftly +past." + +Soon all three alighted at the inn. Ordering lights, Pierre led the way +above-stairs, and ushered his two companions into one of the two +outermost rooms of the three adjoining chambers prepared for all. + +"See," said he, to the mute and still self-averting figure of +Delly;--"see, this is thy room, Miss Ulver; Isabel has told thee all; +thou know'st our till now secret marriage; she will stay with thee now, +till I return from a little business down the street. To-morrow, thou +know'st, very early, we take the stage. I may not see thee again till +then, so, be steadfast, and cheer up a very little, Miss Ulver, and +good-night. All will be well." + + +II. + +Next morning, by break of day, at four o'clock, the four swift hours +were personified in four impatient horses, which shook their trappings +beneath the windows of the inn. Three figures emerged into the cool dim +air and took their places in the coach. + +The old landlord had silently and despondently shaken Pierre by the +hand; the vainglorious driver was on his box, threadingly adjusting the +four reins among the fingers of his buck-skin gloves; the usual thin +company of admiring ostlers and other early on-lookers were gathered +about the porch; when--on his companions' account--all eager to cut +short any vain delay, at such a painful crisis, Pierre impetuously +shouted for the coach to move. In a moment, the four meadow-fed young +horses leaped forward their own generous lengths, and the four +responsive wheels rolled their complete circles; while making vast +rearward flourishes with his whip, the elated driver seemed as a +bravado-hero signing his ostentatious farewell signature in the empty +air. And so, in the dim of the dawn--and to the defiant crackings of +that long and sharp-resounding whip, the three forever fled the sweet +fields of Saddle Meadows. + +The short old landlord gazed after the coach awhile, and then +re-entering the inn, stroked his gray beard and muttered to himself:--"I +have kept this house, now, three-and-thirty years, and have had plenty +of bridal-parties come and go; in their long train of wagons, +break-downs, buggies, gigs--a gay and giggling train--Ha!--there's a +pun! popt out like a cork--ay, and once in ox-carts, all garlanded; ay, +and once, the merry bride was bedded on a load of sweet-scented new-cut +clover. But such a bridal-party as this morning's--why, it's as sad as +funerals. And brave Master Pierre Glendinning is the groom! Well, well, +wonders is all the go. I thought I had done with wondering when I passed +fifty; but I keep wondering still. Ah, somehow, now, I feel as though I +had just come from lowering some old friend beneath the sod, and yet +felt the grating cord-marks in my palms.--'Tis early, but I'll drink. +Let's see; cider,--a mug of cider;--'tis sharp, and pricks like a +game-cock's spur,--cider's the drink for grief. Oh, Lord! that fat men +should be so thin-skinned, and suffer in pure sympathy on others' +account. A thin-skinned, thin man, he don't suffer so, because there +ain't so much stuff in him for his thin skin to cover. Well, well, well, +well, well; of all colics, save me from the melloncholics; green melons +is the greenest thing!" + + + + +BOOK XIV. + +THE JOURNEY AND THE PAMPHLET. + + +I. + +All profound things, and emotions of things are preceded and attended by +Silence. What a silence is that with which the pale bride precedes the +responsive _I will_, to the priest's solemn question, _Wilt thou have +this man for thy husband?_ In silence, too, the wedded hands are +clasped. Yea, in silence the child Christ was born into the world. +Silence is the general consecration of the universe. Silence is the +invisible laying on of the Divine Pontiff's hands upon the world. +Silence is at once the most harmless and the most awful thing in all +nature. It speaks of the Reserved Forces of Fate. Silence is the only +Voice of our God. + +Nor is this so august Silence confined to things simply touching or +grand. Like the air, Silence permeates all things, and produces its +magical power, as well during that peculiar mood which prevails at a +solitary traveler's first setting forth on a journey, as at the +unimaginable time when before the world was, Silence brooded on the face +of the waters. + +No word was spoken by its inmates, as the coach bearing our young +Enthusiast, Pierre, and his mournful party, sped forth through the dim +dawn into the deep midnight, which still occupied, unrepulsed, the +hearts of the old woods through which the road wound, very shortly after +quitting the village. + +When first entering the coach, Pierre had pressed his hand upon the +cushioned seat to steady his way, some crumpled leaves of paper had met +his fingers. He had instinctively clutched them; and the same strange +clutching mood of his soul which had prompted that instinctive act, did +also prevail in causing him now to retain the crumpled paper in his hand +for an hour or more of that wonderful intense silence, which the rapid +coach bore through the heart of the general stirless morning silence of +the fields and the woods. + +His thoughts were very dark and wild; for a space there was rebellion +and horrid anarchy and infidelity in his soul. This temporary mood may +best be likened to that, which--according to a singular story once told +in the pulpit by a reverend man of God--invaded the heart of an +excellent priest. In the midst of a solemn cathedral, upon a cloudy +Sunday afternoon, this priest was in the act of publicly administering +the bread at the Holy Sacrament of the Supper, when the Evil One +suddenly propounded to him the possibility of the mere moonshine of the +Christian Religion. Just such now was the mood of Pierre; to him the +Evil One propounded the possibility of the mere moonshine of all his +self-renouncing Enthusiasm. The Evil One hooted at him, and called him a +fool. But by instant and earnest prayer--closing his two eyes, with his +two hands still holding the sacramental bread--the devout priest had +vanquished the impious Devil. Not so with Pierre. The imperishable +monument of his holy Catholic Church; the imperishable record of his +Holy Bible; the imperishable intuition of the innate truth of +Christianity;--these were the indestructible anchors which still held +the priest to his firm Faith's rock, when the sudden storm raised by the +Evil One assailed him. But Pierre--where could _he_ find the Church, the +monument, the Bible, which unequivocally said to him--"Go on; thou art +in the Right; I endorse thee all over; go on."--So the difference +between the Priest and Pierre was herein:--with the priest it was a +matter, whether certain bodiless thoughts of his were true or not true; +but with Pierre it was a question whether certain vital acts of his were +right or wrong. In this little nut lie germ-like the possible solution +of some puzzling problems; and also the discovery of additional, and +still more profound problems ensuing upon the solution of the former. +For so true is this last, that some men refuse to solve any present +problem, for fear of making still more work for themselves in that way. + +Now, Pierre thought of the magical, mournful letter of Isabel, he +recalled the divine inspiration of that hour when the heroic words burst +from his heart--"Comfort thee, and stand by thee, and fight for thee, +will thy leapingly-acknowledging brother!" These remembrances unfurled +themselves in proud exultations in his soul; and from before such +glorious banners of Virtue, the club-footed Evil One limped away in +dismay. But now the dread, fateful parting look of his mother came over +him; anew he heard the heart-proscribing words--"Beneath my roof and at +my table, he who was once Pierre Glendinning no more puts +himself;"--swooning in her snow-white bed, the lifeless Lucy lay before +him, wrapt as in the reverberating echoings of her own agonizing shriek: +"My heart! my heart!" Then how swift the recurrence to Isabel, and the +nameless awfulness of his still imperfectly conscious, incipient, +new-mingled emotion toward this mysterious being. "Lo! I leave corpses +wherever I go!" groaned Pierre to himself--"Can then my conduct be +right? Lo! by my conduct I seem threatened by the possibility of a sin +anomalous and accursed, so anomalous, it may well be the one for which +Scripture says, there is never forgiveness. Corpses behind me, and the +last sin before, how then can my conduct be right?" + +In this mood, the silence accompanied him, and the first visible rays of +the morning sun in this same mood found him and saluted him. The +excitement and the sleepless night just passed, and the strange +narcotic of a quiet, steady anguish, and the sweet quiescence of the +air, and the monotonous cradle-like motion of the coach over a road made +firm and smooth by a refreshing shower over night; these had wrought +their wonted effect upon Isabel and Delly; with hidden faces they leaned +fast asleep in Pierre's sight. Fast asleep--thus unconscious, oh sweet +Isabel, oh forlorn Delly, your swift destinies I bear in my own! + +Suddenly, as his sad eye fell lower and lower from scanning their +magically quiescent persons, his glance lit upon his own clutched hand, +which rested on his knee. Some paper protruded from that clutch. He knew +not how it had got there, or whence it had come, though himself had +closed his own gripe upon it. He lifted his hand and slowly unfingered +and unbolted the paper, and unrolled it, and carefully smoothed it, to +see what it might be. + +It was a thin, tattered, dried-fish-like thing; printed with blurred ink +upon mean, sleazy paper. It seemed the opening pages of some ruinous old +pamphlet--a pamphlet containing a chapter or so of some very voluminous +disquisition. The conclusion was gone. It must have been accidentally +left there by some previous traveler, who perhaps in drawing out his +handkerchief, had ignorantly extracted his waste paper. + +There is a singular infatuation in most men, which leads them in odd +moments, intermitting between their regular occupations, and when they +find themselves all alone in some quiet corner or nook, to fasten with +unaccountable fondness upon the merest rag of old printed paper--some +shred of a long-exploded advertisement perhaps--and read it, and study +it, and reread it, and pore over it, and fairly agonize themselves over +this miserable, sleazy paper-rag, which at any other time, or in any +other place, they would hardly touch with St. Dunstan's long tongs. So +now, in a degree, with Pierre. But notwithstanding that he, with most +other human beings, shared in the strange hallucination above +mentioned, yet the first glimpse of the title of the dried-fish-like, +pamphlet-shaped rag, did almost tempt him to pitch it out of the window. +For, be a man's mood what it may, what sensible and ordinary mortal +could have patience for any considerable period, to knowingly hold in +his conscious hand a printed document (and that too a very blurred one +as to ink, and a very sleazy one as to paper), so metaphysically and +insufferably entitled as this:--"Chronometricals & Horologicals?" + +Doubtless, it was something vastly profound; but it is to be observed, +that when a man is in a really profound mood, then all merely verbal or +written profundities are unspeakably repulsive, and seem downright +childish to him. Nevertheless, the silence still continued; the road ran +through an almost unplowed and uninhabited region; the slumberers still +slumbered before him; the evil mood was becoming well nigh insupportable +to him; so, more to force his mind away from the dark realities of +things than from any other motive, Pierre finally tried his best to +plunge himself into the pamphlet. + + +II. + +Sooner or later in this life, the earnest, or enthusiastic youth comes +to know, and more or less appreciate this startling solecism:--That +while, as the grand condition of acceptance to God, Christianity calls +upon all men to renounce this world; yet by all odds the most Mammonish +part of this world--Europe and America--are owned by none but professed +Christian nations, who glory in the owning, and seem to have some reason +therefor. + +This solecism once vividly and practically apparent; then comes the +earnest reperusal of the Gospels: the intense self-absorption into that +greatest real miracle of all religions, the Sermon on the Mount. From +that divine mount, to all earnest loving youths, flows an inexhaustible +soul-melting stream of tenderness and loving-kindness; and they leap +exulting to their feet, to think that the founder of their holy religion +gave utterance to sentences so infinitely sweet and soothing as these +sentences which embody all the love of the Past, and all the love which +can be imagined in any conceivable Future. Such emotions as that Sermon +raises in the enthusiastic heart; such emotions all youthful hearts +refuse to ascribe to humanity as their origin. This is of God! cries the +heart, and in that cry ceases all inquisition. Now, with this fresh-read +sermon in his soul, the youth again gazes abroad upon the world. +Instantly, in aggravation of the former solecism, an overpowering sense +of the world's downright positive falsity comes over him; the world +seems to lie saturated and soaking with lies. The sense of this thing is +so overpowering, that at first the youth is apt to refuse the evidence +of his own senses; even as he does that same evidence in the matter of +the movement of the visible sun in the heavens, which with his own eyes +he plainly sees to go round the world, but nevertheless on the authority +of other persons,--the Copernican astronomers, whom he never saw--he +believes it _not_ to go round the world, but the world round it. Just +so, too, he hears good and wise people sincerely say: This world only +_seems_ to be saturated and soaking with lies; but in reality it does +not so lie soaking and saturate; along with some lies, there is much +truth in this world. But again he refers to his Bible, and there he +reads most explicitly, that this world is unconditionally depraved and +accursed; and that at all hazards men must come out of it. But why come +out of it, if it be a True World and not a Lying World? Assuredly, then, +this world is a lie. + +Hereupon then in the soul of the enthusiast youth two armies come to the +shock; and unless he prove recreant, or unless he prove gullible, or +unless he can find the talismanic secret, to reconcile this world with +his own soul, then there is no peace for him, no slightest truce for him +in this life. Now without doubt this Talismanic Secret has never yet +been found; and in the nature of human things it seems as though it +never can be. Certain philosophers have time and again pretended to have +found it; but if they do not in the end discover their own delusion, +other people soon discover it for themselves, and so those philosophers +and their vain philosophy are let glide away into practical oblivion. +Plato, and Spinoza, and Goethe, and many more belong to this guild of +self-impostors, with a preposterous rabble of Muggletonian Scots and +Yankees, whose vile brogue still the more bestreaks the stripedness of +their Greek or German Neoplatonical originals. That profound Silence, +that only Voice of our God, which I before spoke of; from that divine +thing without a name, those impostor philosophers pretend somehow to +have got an answer; which is as absurd, as though they should say they +had got water out of stone; for how can a man get a Voice out of +Silence? + +Certainly, all must admit, that if for any one this problem of the +possible reconcilement of this world with our own souls possessed a +peculiar and potential interest, that one was Pierre Glendinning at the +period we now write of. For in obedience to the loftiest behest of his +soul, he had done certain vital acts, which had already lost him his +worldly felicity, and which he felt must in the end indirectly work him +some still additional and not-to-be-thought-of woe. + +Soon then, as after his first distaste at the mystical title, and after +his then reading on, merely to drown himself, Pierre at last began to +obtain a glimmering into the profound intent of the writer of the sleazy +rag pamphlet, he felt a great interest awakened in him. The more he read +and re-read, the more this interest deepened, but still the more +likewise did his failure to comprehend the writer increase. He seemed +somehow to derive some general vague inkling concerning it, but the +central conceit refused to become clear to him. The reason whereof is +not so easy to be laid down; seeing that the reason-originating heart +and mind of man, these organic things themselves are not so easily to be +expounded. Something, however, more or less to the point, may be +adventured here. + +If a man be in any vague latent doubt about the intrinsic correctness +and excellence of his general life-theory and practical course of life; +then, if that man chance to light on any other man, or any little +treatise, or sermon, which unintendingly, as it were, yet very palpably +illustrates to him the intrinsic incorrectness and non-excellence of +both the theory and the practice of his life; then that man will--more +or less unconsciously--try hard to hold himself back from the +self-admitted comprehension of a matter which thus condemns him. For in +this case, to comprehend, is himself to condemn himself, which is always +highly inconvenient and uncomfortable to a man. Again. If a man be told +a thing wholly new, then--during the time of its first announcement to +him--it is entirely impossible for him to comprehend it. For--absurd as +it may seem--men are only made to comprehend things which they +comprehended before (though but in the embryo, as it were). Things new +it is impossible to make them comprehend, by merely talking to them +about it. True, sometimes they pretend to comprehend; in their own +hearts they really believe they do comprehend; outwardly look as though +they _did_ comprehend; wag their bushy tails comprehendingly; but for +all that, they do not comprehend. Possibly, they may afterward come, of +themselves, to inhale this new idea from the circumambient air, and so +come to comprehend it; but not otherwise at all. It will be observed, +that, neither points of the above speculations do we, in set terms, +attribute to Pierre in connection with the rag pamphlet. Possibly both +might be applicable; possibly neither. Certain it is, however, that at +the time, in his own heart, he seemed to think that he did not fully +comprehend the strange writer's conceit in all its bearings. Yet was +this conceit apparently one of the plainest in the world; so natural, a +child might almost have originated it. Nevertheless, again so profound, +that scarce Juggularius himself could be the author; and still again so +exceedingly trivial, that Juggularius' smallest child might well have +been ashamed of it. + +Seeing then that this curious paper rag so puzzled Pierre; foreseeing, +too, that Pierre may not in the end be entirely uninfluenced in his +conduct by the torn pamphlet, when afterwards perhaps by other means he +shall come to understand it; or, peradventure, come to know that he, in +the first place, did--seeing too that the author thereof came to be made +known to him by reputation, and though Pierre never spoke to him, yet +exerted a surprising sorcery upon his spirit by the mere distant glimpse +of his countenance;--all these reasons I account sufficient apology for +inserting in the following chapters the initial part of what seems to me +a very fanciful and mystical, rather than philosophical Lecture, from +which, I confess, that I myself can derive no conclusion which +permanently satisfies those peculiar motions in my soul, to which that +Lecture seems more particularly addressed. For to me it seems more the +excellently illustrated re-statement of a problem, than the solution of +the problem itself. But as such mere illustrations are almost +universally taken for solutions (and perhaps they are the only possible +human solutions), therefore it may help to the temporary quiet of some +inquiring mind; and so not be wholly without use. At the worst, each +person can now skip, or read and rail for himself. + + +III. + +"_EI_," + +BY PLOTINUS PLINLIMMON, + +(_In Three Hundred and Thirty-three Lectures._) + + +LECTURE FIRST. + +CHRONOMETRICALS AND HOROLOGICALS, + +(_Being not to much the Portal, as part of the temporary Scaffold to the +Portal of this new Philosophy._) + + +"Few of us doubt, gentlemen, that human life on this earth is but a +state of probation; which among other things implies, that here below, +we mortals have only to do with things provisional. Accordingly, I hold +that all our so-called wisdom is likewise but provisional. + +"This preamble laid down, I begin. + +"It seems to me, in my visions, that there is a certain most rare order +of human souls, which if carefully carried in the body will almost +always and everywhere give Heaven's own Truth, with some small grains of +variance. For peculiarly coming from God, the sole source of that +heavenly truth, and the great Greenwich hill and tower from which the +universal meridians are far out into infinity reckoned; such souls seem +as London sea-chronometers (_Greek_, time-namers) which as the London +ship floats past Greenwich down the Thames, are accurately adjusted by +Greenwich time, and if heedfully kept, will still give that same time, +even though carried to the Azores. True, in nearly all cases of long, +remote voyages--to China, say--chronometers of the best make, and the +most carefully treated, will gradually more or less vary from Greenwich +time, without the possibility of the error being corrected by direct +comparison with their great standard; but skillful and devout +observations of the stars by the sextant will serve materially to lessen +such errors. And besides, there is such a thing as _rating_ a +chronometer; that is, having ascertained its degree of organic +inaccuracy, however small, then in all subsequent chronometrical +calculations, that ascertained loss or gain can be readily added or +deducted, as the case may be. Then again, on these long voyages, the +chronometer may be corrected by comparing it with the chronometer of +some other ship at sea, more recently from home. + +"Now in an artificial world like ours, the soul of man is further +removed from its God and the Heavenly Truth, than the chronometer +carried to China, is from Greenwich. And, as that chronometer, if at all +accurate, will pronounce it to be 12 o'clock high-noon, when the China +local watches say, perhaps, it is 12 o'clock midnight; so the +chronometric soul, if in this world true to its great Greenwich in the +other, will always, in its so-called intuitions of right and wrong, be +contradicting the mere local standards and watch-maker's brains of this +earth. + +"Bacon's brains were mere watch-maker's brains; but Christ was a +chronometer; and the most exquisitely adjusted and exact one, and the +least affected by all terrestrial jarrings, of any that have ever come +to us. And the reason why his teachings seemed folly to the Jews, was +because he carried that Heaven's time in Jerusalem, while the Jews +carried Jerusalem time there. Did he not expressly say--My wisdom (time) +is not of this world? But whatever is really peculiar in the wisdom of +Christ seems precisely the same folly to-day as it did 1850 years ago. +Because, in all that interval his bequeathed chronometer has still +preserved its original Heaven's time, and the general Jerusalem of this +world has likewise carefully preserved its own. + +"But though the chronometer carried from Greenwich to China, should +truly exhibit in China what the time may be at Greenwich at any moment; +yet, though thereby it must necessarily contradict China time, it does +by no means thence follow, that with respect to China, the China watches +are at all out of the way. Precisely the reverse. For the fact of that +variance is a presumption that, with respect to China, the Chinese +watches must be all right; and consequently as the China watches are +right as to China, so the Greenwich chronometers must be wrong as to +China. Besides, of what use to the Chinaman would a Greenwich +chronometer, keeping Greenwich time, be? Were he thereby to regulate his +daily actions, he would be guilty of all manner of absurdities:--going +to bed at noon, say, when his neighbors would be sitting down to dinner. +And thus, though the earthly wisdom of man be heavenly folly to God; so +also, conversely, is the heavenly wisdom of God an earthly folly to man. +Literally speaking, this is so. Nor does the God at the heavenly +Greenwich expect common men to keep Greenwich wisdom in this remote +Chinese world of ours; because such a thing were unprofitable for them +here, and, indeed, a falsification of Himself, inasmuch as in that case, +China time would be identical with Greenwich time, which would make +Greenwich time wrong. + +"But why then does God now and then send a heavenly chronometer (as a +meteoric stone) into the world, uselessly as it would seem, to give the +lie to all the world's time-keepers? Because he is unwilling to leave +man without some occasional testimony to this:--that though man's +Chinese notions of things may answer well enough here, they are by no +means universally applicable, and that the central Greenwich in which He +dwells goes by a somewhat different method from this world. And yet it +follows not from this, that God's truth is one thing and man's truth +another; but--as above hinted, and as will be further elucidated in +subsequent lectures--by their very contradictions they are made to +correspond. + +"By inference it follows, also, that he who finding in himself a +chronometrical soul, seeks practically to force that heavenly time upon +the earth; in such an attempt he can never succeed, with an absolute and +essential success. And as for himself, if he seek to regulate his own +daily conduct by it, he will but array all men's earthly time-keepers +against him, and thereby work himself woe and death. Both these things +are plainly evinced in the character and fate of Christ, and the past +and present condition of the religion he taught. But here one thing is +to be especially observed. Though Christ encountered woe in both the +precept and the practice of his chronometricals, yet did he remain +throughout entirely without folly or sin. Whereas, almost invariably, +with inferior beings, the absolute effort to live in this world +according to the strict letter of the chronometricals is, somehow, apt +to involve those inferior beings eventually in strange, _unique_ follies +and sins, unimagined before. It is the story of the Ephesian matron, +allegorized. + +"To any earnest man of insight, a faithful contemplation of these ideas +concerning Chronometricals and Horologicals, will serve to render +provisionally far less dark some few of the otherwise obscurest things +which have hitherto tormented the honest-thinking men of all ages. What +man who carries a heavenly soul in him, has not groaned to perceive, +that unless he committed a sort of suicide as to the practical things of +this world, he never can hope to regulate his earthly conduct by that +same heavenly soul? And yet by an infallible instinct he knows, that +that monitor can not be wrong in itself. + +"And where is the earnest and righteous philosopher, gentlemen, who +looking right and left, and up and down, through all die ages of the +world, the present included; where is there such an one who has not a +thousand times been struck with a sort of infidel idea, that whatever +other worlds God may be Lord of, he is not the Lord of this; for else +this world would seem to give the lie to Him; so utterly repugnant seem +its ways to the instinctively known ways of Heaven. But it is not, and +can not be so; nor will he who regards this chronometrical conceit +aright, ever more be conscious of that horrible idea. For he will then +see, or seem to see, that this world's seeming incompatibility with God, +absolutely results from its meridianal correspondence with him. + + * * * * * + +"This chronometrical conceit does by no means involve the justification +of all the acts which wicked men may perform. For in their wickedness +downright wicked men sin as much against their own horologes, as against +the heavenly chronometer. That this is so, their spontaneous liability +to remorse does plainly evince. No, this conceit merely goes to show, +that for the mass of men, the highest abstract heavenly righteousness is +not only impossible, but would be entirely out of place, and positively +wrong in a world like this. To turn the left cheek if the right be +smitten, is chronometrical; hence, no average son of man ever did such a +thing. To give _all_ that thou hast to the poor, this too is +chronometrical; hence no average son of man ever did such a thing. +Nevertheless, if a man gives with a certain self-considerate generosity +to the poor; abstains from doing downright ill to any man; does his +convenient best in a general way to do good to his whole race; takes +watchful loving care of his wife and children, relatives, and friends; +is perfectly tolerant to all other men's opinions, whatever they may be; +is an honest dealer, an honest citizen, and all that; and more +especially if he believe that there is a God for infidels, as well as +for believers, and acts upon that belief; then, though such a man falls +infinitely short of the chronometrical standard, though all his actions +are entirely horologic;--yet such a man need never lastingly despond, +because he is sometimes guilty of some minor offense:--hasty words, +impulsively returning a blow, fits of domestic petulance, selfish +enjoyment of a glass of wine while he knows there are those around him +who lack a loaf of bread. I say he need never lastingly despond on +account of his perpetual liability to these things; because _not_ to do +them, and their like, would be to be an angel, a chronometer; whereas, +he is a man and a horologe. + +"Yet does the horologe itself teach, that all liabilities to these +things should be checked as much as possible, though it is certain they +can never be utterly eradicated. They are only to be checked, then, +because, if entirely unrestrained, they would finally run into utter +selfishness and human demonism, which, as before hinted, are not by any +means justified by the horologe. + +"In short, this Chronometrical and Horological conceit, in sum, seems to +teach this:--That in things terrestrial (horological) a man must not be +governed by ideas celestial (chronometrical); that certain minor +self-renunciations in this life his own mere instinct for his own +every-day general well-being will teach him to make, but he must by no +means make a complete unconditional sacrifice of himself in behalf of +any other being, or any cause, or any conceit. (For, does aught else +completely and unconditionally sacrifice itself for him? God's own sun +does not abate one tittle of its heat in July, however you swoon with +that heat in the sun. And if it _did_ abate its heat on your behalf, +then the wheat and the rye would not ripen; and so, for the incidental +benefit of one, a whole population would suffer.) + +"A virtuous expediency, then, seems the highest desirable or attainable +earthly excellence for the mass of men, and is the only earthly +excellence that their Creator intended for them. When they go to heaven, +it will be quite another thing. There, they can freely turn the left +cheek, because there the right cheek will never be smitten. There they +can freely give all to the poor, for _there_ there will be no poor to +give to. A due appreciation of this matter will do good to man. For, +hitherto, being authoritatively taught by his dogmatical teachers that +he must, while on earth, aim at heaven, and attain it, too, in all his +earthly acts, on pain of eternal wrath; and finding by experience that +this is utterly impossible; in his despair, he is too apt to run clean +away into all manner of moral abandonment, self-deceit, and hypocrisy +(cloaked, however, mostly under an aspect of the most respectable +devotion); or else he openly runs, like a mad dog, into atheism. +Whereas, let men be taught those Chronometricals and Horologicals, and +while still retaining every common-sense incentive to whatever of virtue +be practicable and desirable, and having these incentives strengthened, +too, by the consciousness of powers to attain their mark; then there +would be an end to that fatal despair of becoming at all good, which has +too often proved the vice-producing result in many minds of the +undiluted chronometrical doctrines hitherto taught to mankind. But if +any man say, that such a doctrine as this I lay down is false, is +impious; I would charitably refer that man to the history of Christendom +for the last 1800 years; and ask him, whether, in spite of all the +maxims of Christ, that history is not just as full of blood, violence, +wrong, and iniquity of every kind, as any previous portion of the +world's story? Therefore, it follows, that so far as practical results +are concerned--regarded in a purely earthly light--the only great +original moral doctrine of Christianity (_i. e._ the chronometrical +gratuitous return of good for evil, as distinguished from the +horological forgiveness of injuries taught by some of the Pagan +philosophers), has been found (horologically) a false one; because after +1800 years' inculcation from tens of thousands of pulpits, it has proved +entirely impracticable. + +"I but lay down, then, what the best mortal men do daily practice; and +what all really wicked men are very far removed from. I present +consolation to the earnest man, who, among all his human frailties, is +still agonizingly conscious of the beauty of chronometrical excellence. +I hold up a practicable virtue to the vicious; and interfere not with +the eternal truth, that, sooner or later, in all cases, downright vice +is downright woe. + +"Moreover: if----" + +But here the pamphlet was torn, and came to a most untidy termination. + + + + +BOOK XV. + +THE COUSINS. + + +I. + +Though resolved to face all out to the last, at whatever desperate +hazard, Pierre had not started for the city without some reasonable +plans, both with reference to his more immediate circumstances, and his +ulterior condition. + +There resided in the city a cousin of his, Glendinning Stanly, better +known in the general family as Glen Stanly, and by Pierre, as Cousin +Glen. Like Pierre, he was an only son; his parents had died in his early +childhood; and within the present year he had returned from a protracted +sojourn in Europe, to enter, at the age of twenty-one, into the +untrammeled possession of a noble property, which in the hands of +faithful guardians, had largely accumulated. + +In their boyhood and earlier adolescence, Pierre and Glen had cherished +a much more than cousinly attachment. At the age of ten, they had +furnished an example of the truth, that the friendship of fine-hearted, +generous boys, nurtured amid the romance-engendering comforts and +elegancies of life, sometimes transcends the bounds of mere boyishness, +and revels for a while in the empyrean of a love which only comes short, +by one degree, of the sweetest sentiment entertained between the sexes. +Nor is this boy-love without the occasional fillips and spicinesses, +which at times, by an apparent abatement, enhance the permanent delights +of those more advanced lovers who love beneath the cestus of Venus. +Jealousies are felt. The sight of another lad too much consorting with +the boy's beloved object, shall fill him with emotions akin to those of +Othello's; a fancied slight, or lessening of the every-day indications +of warm feelings, shall prompt him to bitter upbraidings and reproaches; +or shall plunge him into evil moods, for which grim solitude only is +congenial. + +Nor are the letters of Aphroditean devotees more charged with headlong +vows and protestations, more cross-written and crammed with discursive +sentimentalities, more undeviating in their semi-weekliness, or +dayliness, as the case may be, than are the love-friendship missives of +boys. Among those bundles of papers which Pierre, in an ill hour, so +frantically destroyed in the chamber of the inn, were two large packages +of letters, densely written, and in many cases inscribed crosswise +throughout with red ink upon black; so that the love in those letters +was two layers deep, and one pen and one pigment were insufficient to +paint it. The first package contained the letters of Glen to Pierre, the +other those of Pierre to Glen, which, just prior to Glen's departure for +Europe, Pierre had obtained from him, in order to re-read them in his +absence, and so fortify himself the more in his affection, by reviving +reference to the young, ardent hours of its earliest manifestations. + +But as the advancing fruit itself extrudes the beautiful blossom, so in +many cases, does the eventual love for the other sex forever dismiss the +preliminary love-friendship of boys. The mere outer friendship may in +some degree--greater or less--survive; but the singular love in it has +perishingly dropped away. + +If in the eye of unyielding reality and truth, the earthly heart of man +do indeed ever fix upon some one woman, to whom alone, thenceforth +eternally to be a devotee, without a single shadow of the misgiving of +its faith; and who, to him, does perfectly embody his finest, loftiest +dream of feminine loveliness, if this indeed be so--and may Heaven grant +that it be--nevertheless, in metropolitan cases, the love of the most +single-eyed lover, almost invariably, is nothing more than the ultimate +settling of innumerable wandering glances upon some one specific object; +as admonished, that the wonderful scope and variety of female +loveliness, if too long suffered to sway us without decision, shall +finally confound all power of selection. The confirmed bachelor is, in +America, at least, quite as often the victim of a too profound +appreciation of the infinite charmingness of woman, as made solitary for +life by the legitimate empire of a cold and tasteless temperament. + +Though the peculiar heart-longings pertaining to his age, had at last +found their glowing response in the bosom of Lucy; yet for some period +prior to that, Pierre had not been insensible to the miscellaneous +promptings of the passion. So that even before he became a declarative +lover, Love had yet made him her general votary; and so already there +had gradually come a cooling over that ardent sentiment which in earlier +years he had cherished for Glen. + +All round and round does the world lie as in a sharp-shooter's ambush, +to pick off the beautiful illusions of youth, by the pitiless cracking +rifles of the realities of the age. If the general love for women, had +in Pierre sensibly modified his particular sentiment toward Glen; +neither had the thousand nameless fascinations of the then brilliant +paradises of France and Italy, failed to exert their seductive influence +on many of the previous feelings of Glen. For as the very best +advantages of life are not without some envious drawback, so it is among +the evils of enlarged foreign travel, that in young and unsolid minds, +it dislodges some of the finest feelings of the home-born nature; +replacing them with a fastidious superciliousness, which like the +alledged bigoted Federalism of old times would not--according to a +political legend--grind its daily coffee in any mill save of European +manufacture, and was satirically said to have thought of importing +European air for domestic consumption. The mutually curtailed, +lessening, long-postponed, and at last altogether ceasing letters of +Pierre and Glen were the melancholy attestations of a fact, which +perhaps neither of them took very severely to heart, as certainly, +concerning it, neither took the other to task. + +In the earlier periods of that strange transition from the generous +impulsiveness of youth to the provident circumspectness of age, there +generally intervenes a brief pause of unpleasant reconsidering; when +finding itself all wide of its former spontaneous self, the soul +hesitates to commit itself wholly to selfishness; more than repents its +wanderings;--yet all this is but transient; and again hurried on by the +swift current of life, the prompt-hearted boy scarce longer is to be +recognized in matured man,--very slow to feel, deliberate even in love, +and statistical even in piety. During the sway of this peculiar period, +the boy shall still make some strenuous efforts to retrieve his +departing spontaneities; but so alloyed are all such endeavors with the +incipiencies of selfishness, that they were best not made at all; since +too often they seem but empty and self-deceptive sallies, or still +worse, the merest hypocritical assumptions. + +Upon the return of Glen from abroad, the commonest courtesy, not to say +the blood-relation between them, prompted Pierre to welcome him home, +with a letter, which though not over-long, and little enthusiastic, +still breathed a spirit of cousinly consideration and kindness, +pervadingly touched by the then naturally frank and all-attractive +spirit of Pierre. To this, the less earnest and now Europeanized Glen +had replied in a letter all sudden suavity; and in a strain of artistic +artlessness, mourned the apparent decline of their friendship; yet +fondly trusted that now, notwithstanding their long separation, it +would revive with added sincerity. Yet upon accidentally fixing his +glance upon the opening salutation of this delicate missive, Pierre +thought he perceived certain, not wholly disguisable chirographic +tokens, that the "My very dear Pierre," with which the letter seemed to +have been begun, had originally been written "Dear Pierre;" but that +when all was concluded, and Glen's signature put to it, then the ardent +words "My very" had been prefixed to the reconsidered "Dear Pierre;" a +casual supposition, which possibly, however unfounded, materially +retarded any answering warmth in Pierre, lest his generous flame should +only embrace a flaunted feather. Nor was this idea altogether +unreinforced, when on the reception of a second, and now half-business +letter (of which mixed sort nearly all the subsequent ones were), from +Glen, he found that the "My very dear Pierre" had already retreated into +"My dear Pierre;" and on a third occasion, into "Dear Pierre;" and on a +fourth, had made a forced and very spirited advanced march up to "My +dearest Pierre." All of which fluctuations augured ill for the +determinateness of that love, which, however immensely devoted to one +cause, could yet hoist and sail under the flags of all nations. Nor +could he but now applaud a still subsequent letter from Glen, which +abruptly, and almost with apparent indecorousness, under the +circumstances, commenced the strain of friendship without any overture +of salutation whatever; as if at last, owing to its infinite +delicateness, entirely hopeless of precisely defining the nature of +their mystical love, Glen chose rather to leave that precise definition +to the sympathetical heart and imagination of Pierre; while he himself +would go on to celebrate the general relation, by many a sugared +sentence of miscellaneous devotion. It was a little curious and rather +sardonically diverting, to compare these masterly, yet not wholly +successful, and indeterminate tactics of the accomplished Glen, with the +unfaltering stream of _Beloved Pierres_, which not only flowed along +the top margin of all his earlier letters, but here and there, from +their subterranean channel, flashed out in bright intervals, through all +the succeeding lines. Nor had the chance recollection of these things at +all restrained the reckless hand of Pierre, when he threw the whole +package of letters, both new and old, into that most honest and summary +of all elements, which is neither a respecter of persons, nor a finical +critic of what manner of writings it burns; but like ultimate Truth +itself, of which it is the eloquent symbol, consumes all, and only +consumes. + +When the betrothment of Pierre to Lucy had become an acknowledged thing, +the courtly Glen, besides the customary felicitations upon that event, +had not omitted so fit an opportunity to re-tender to his cousin all his +previous jars of honey and treacle, accompanied by additional boxes of +candied citron and plums. Pierre thanked him kindly; but in certain +little roguish ambiguities begged leave, on the ground of cloying, to +return him inclosed by far the greater portion of his present; whose +non-substantialness was allegorically typified in the containing letter +itself, prepaid with only the usual postage. + +True love, as every one knows, will still withstand many repulses, even +though rude. But whether it was the love or the politeness of Glen, +which on this occasion proved invincible, is a matter we will not +discuss. Certain it was, that quite undaunted, Glen nobly returned to +the charge, and in a very prompt and unexpected answer, extended to +Pierre all the courtesies of the general city, and all the hospitalities +of five sumptuous chambers, which he and his luxurious environments +contrived nominally to occupy in the most fashionable private hotel of a +very opulent town. Nor did Glen rest here; but like Napoleon, now seemed +bent upon gaining the battle by throwing all his regiments upon one +point of attack, and gaining that point at all hazards. Hearing of some +rumor at the tables of his relatives that the day was being fixed for +the positive nuptials of Pierre; Glen called all his Parisian +portfolios for his rosiest sheet, and with scented ink, and a pen of +gold, indited a most burnished and redolent letter, which, after +invoking all the blessings of Apollo and Venus, and the Nine Muses, and +the Cardinal Virtues upon the coming event; concluded at last with a +really magnificent testimonial to his love. + +According to this letter, among his other real estate in the city, Glen +had inherited a very charming, little, old house, completely furnished +in the style of the last century, in a quarter of the city which, though +now not so garishly fashionable as of yore, still in its quiet +secludedness, possessed great attractions for the retired billings and +cooings of a honeymoon. Indeed he begged leave now to christen it the +Cooery, and if after his wedding jaunt, Pierre would deign to visit the +city with his bride for a month or two's sojourn, then the Cooery would +be but too happy in affording him a harbor. His sweet cousin need be +under no apprehension. Owing to the absence of any fit applicant for it, +the house had now long been without a tenant, save an old, confidential, +bachelor clerk of his father's, who on a nominal rent, and more by way +of safe-keeping to the house than any thing else, was now hanging up his +well-furbished hat in its hall. This accommodating old clerk would +quickly unpeg his beaver at the first hint of new occupants. Glen would +charge himself with supplying the house in advance with a proper retinue +of servants; fires would be made in the long-unoccupied chambers; the +venerable, grotesque, old mahoganies, and marbles, and mirror-frames, +and moldings could be very soon dusted and burnished; the kitchen was +amply provided with the necessary utensils for cooking; the strong box +of old silver immemorially pertaining to the mansion, could be readily +carted round from the vaults of the neighboring Bank; while the hampers +of old china, still retained in the house, needed but little trouble to +unpack; so that silver and china would soon stand assorted in their +appropriate closets; at the turning of a faucet in the cellar, the best +of the city's water would not fail to contribute its ingredient to the +concocting of a welcoming glass of negus before retiring on the first +night of their arrival. + +The over-fastidiousness of some unhealthily critical minds, as well as +the moral pusillanimity of others, equally bars the acceptance of +effectually substantial favors from persons whose motive in proffering +them, is not altogether clear and unimpeachable; and toward whom, +perhaps, some prior coolness or indifference has been shown. But when +the acceptance of such a favor would be really convenient and desirable +to the one party, and completely unattended with any serious distress to +the other; there would seem to be no sensible objection to an immediate +embrace of the offer. And when the acceptor is in rank and fortune the +general equal of the profferer, and perhaps his superior, so that any +courtesy he receives, can be amply returned in the natural course of +future events, then all motives to decline are very materially lessened. +And as for the thousand inconceivable finicalnesses of small pros and +cons about imaginary fitnesses, and proprieties, and self-consistencies; +thank heaven, in the hour of heart-health, none such shilly-shallying +sail-trimmers ever balk the onward course of a bluff-minded man. He +takes the world as it is; and carelessly accommodates himself to its +whimsical humors; nor ever feels any compunction at receiving the +greatest possible favors from those who are as able to grant, as free to +bestow. He himself bestows upon occasion; so that, at bottom, common +charity steps in to dictate a favorable consideration for all possible +profferings; seeing that the acceptance shall only the more enrich him, +indirectly, for new and larger beneficences of his own. + +And as for those who noways pretend with themselves to regulate their +deportment by considerations of genuine benevolence, and to whom such +courteous profferings hypocritically come from persons whom they suspect +for secret enemies; then to such minds not only will their own worldly +tactics at once forbid the uncivil blank repulse of such offers; but if +they are secretly malicious as well as frigid, or if they are at all +capable of being fully gratified by the sense of concealed superiority +and mastership (which precious few men are) then how delightful for such +persons under the guise of mere acquiescence in his own voluntary +civilities, to make genteel use of their foe. For one would like to +know, what were foes made for except to be used? In the rude ages men +hunted and javelined the tiger, because they hated him for a +mischief-minded wild-beast; but in these enlightened times, though we +love the tiger as little as ever, still we mostly hunt him for the sake +of his skin. A wise man then will wear his tiger; every morning put on +his tiger for a robe to keep him warm and adorn him. In this view, foes +are far more desirable than friends; for who would hunt and kill his own +faithful affectionate dog for the sake of his skin? and is a dog's skin +as valuable as a tiger's? Cases there are where it becomes soberly +advisable, by direct arts to convert some well-wishers into foes. It is +false that in point of policy a man should never make enemies. As +well-wishers some men may not only be nugatory but positive obstacles in +your peculiar plans; but as foes you may subordinately cement them into +your general design. + +But into these ulterior refinements of cool Tuscan policy, Pierre as yet +had never become initiated; his experiences hitherto not having been +varied and ripe enough for that; besides, he had altogether too much +generous blood in his heart. Nevertheless, thereafter, in a less +immature hour, though still he shall not have the heart to practice upon +such maxims as the above, yet shall he have the brain thoroughly to +comprehend their practicability; which is not always the case. And +generally, in worldly wisdom, men will deny to one the possession of all +insight, which one does not by his every-day outward life practically +reveal. It is a very common error of some unscrupulously +infidel-minded, selfish, unprincipled, or downright knavish men, to +suppose that believing men, or benevolent-hearted men, or good men, do +not know enough to be unscrupulously selfish, do not know enough to be +unscrupulous knaves. And thus--thanks to the world!--are there many +spies in the world's camp, who are mistaken for strolling simpletons. +And these strolling simpletons seem to act upon the principle, that in +certain things, we do not so much learn, by showing that already we know +a vast deal, as by negatively seeming rather ignorant. But here we press +upon the frontiers of that sort of wisdom, which it is very well to +possess, but not sagacious to show that you possess. Still, men there +are, who having quite done with the world, all its mere worldly contents +are become so far indifferent, that they care little of what mere +worldly imprudence they may be guilty. + +Now, if it were not conscious considerations like the really benevolent +or neutral ones first mentioned above, it was certainly something akin +to them, which had induced Pierre to return a straightforward, manly, +and entire acceptance to his cousin of the offer of the house; thanking +him, over and over, for his most supererogatory kindness concerning the +pre-engagement of servants and so forth, and the setting in order of the +silver and china; but reminding him, nevertheless, that he had +overlooked all special mention of wines, and begged him to store the +bins with a few of the very best brands. He would likewise be obliged, +if he would personally purchase at a certain celebrated grocer's, a +small bag of undoubted Mocha coffee; but Glen need not order it to be +roasted or ground, because Pierre preferred that both those highly +important and flavor-deciding operations should be performed +instantaneously previous to the final boiling and serving. Nor did he +say that he would pay for the wines and the Mocha; he contented himself +with merely stating the remissness on the part of his cousin, and +pointing out the best way of remedying it. + +He concluded his letter by intimating that though the rumor of a set +day, and a near one, for his nuptials, was unhappily but ill-founded, +yet he would not hold Glen's generous offer as merely based upon that +presumption, and consequently falling with it; but on the contrary, +would consider it entirely good for whatever time it might prove +available to Pierre. He was betrothed beyond a peradventure; and hoped +to be married ere death. Meanwhile, Glen would further oblige him by +giving the confidential clerk a standing notice to quit. + +Though at first quite amazed at this letter,--for indeed, his offer +might possibly have proceeded as much from ostentation as any thing +else, nor had he dreamed of so unhesitating an acceptance,--Pierre's +cousin was too much of a precocious young man of the world, disclosedly +to take it in any other than a very friendly, and cousinly, and +humorous, and yet practical way; which he plainly evinced by a reply far +more sincere and every way creditable, apparently, both to his heart and +head, than any letter he had written to Pierre since the days of their +boyhood. And thus, by the bluffness and, in some sort, +uncompunctuousness of Pierre, this very artificial youth was well +betrayed into an act of effective kindness; being forced now to drop the +empty mask of ostentation, and put on the solid hearty features of a +genuine face. And just so, are some people in the world to be joked into +occasional effective goodness, when all coyness, and coolness, all +resentments, and all solemn preaching, would fail. + + +II. + +But little would we comprehend the peculiar relation between Pierre and +Glen--a relation involving in the end the most serious results--were +there not here thrown over the whole equivocal, preceding account of it, +another and more comprehensive equivocalness, which shall absorb all +minor ones in itself; and so make one pervading ambiguity the only +possible explanation for all the ambiguous details. + +It had long been imagined by Pierre, that prior to his own special +devotion to Lucy, the splendid Glen had not been entirely insensible to +her surprising charms. Yet this conceit in its incipiency, he knew not +how to account for. Assuredly his cousin had never in the slightest +conceivable hint betrayed it; and as for Lucy, the same intuitive +delicacy which forever forbade Pierre to question her on the subject, +did equally close her own voluntary lips. Between Pierre and Lucy, +delicateness put her sacred signet on this chest of secrecy; which like +the wax of an executor upon a desk, though capable of being melted into +nothing by the smallest candle, for all this, still possesses to the +reverent the prohibitive virtue of inexorable bars and bolts. + +If Pierre superficially considered the deportment of Glen toward him, +therein he could find no possible warrant for indulging the suspicious +idea. Doth jealousy smile so benignantly and offer its house to the +bride? Still, on the other hand, to quit the mere surface of the +deportment of Glen, and penetrate beneath its brocaded vesture; there +Pierre sometimes seemed to see the long-lurking and yet unhealed wound +of all a rejected lover's most rankling detestation of a supplanting +rival, only intensified by their former friendship, and the unimpairable +blood-relation between them. Now, viewed by the light of this +master-solution, all the singular enigmas in Glen; his capriciousness in +the matter of the epistolary--"Dear Pierres" and "Dearest Pierres;" the +mercurial fall from the fever-heat of cordiality, to below the Zero of +indifference; then the contrary rise to fever-heat; and, above all, his +emphatic redundancy of devotion so soon as the positive espousals of +Pierre seemed on the point of consummation; thus read, all these riddles +apparently found their cunning solution. For the deeper that some men +feel a secret and poignant feeling, the higher they pile the belying +surfaces. The friendly deportment of Glen then was to be considered as +in direct proportion to his hoarded hate; and the climax of that hate +was evinced in throwing open his house to the bride. Yet if hate was the +abstract cause, hate could not be the immediate motive of the conduct of +Glen. Is hate so hospitable? The immediate motive of Glen then must be +the intense desire to disguise from the wide world, a fact unspeakably +humiliating to his gold-laced and haughty soul: the fact that in the +profoundest desire of his heart, Pierre had so victoriously supplanted +him. Yet was it that very artful deportment in Glen, which Glen +profoundly assumed to this grand end; that consummately artful +deportment it was, which first obtruded upon Pierre the surmise, which +by that identical method his cousin was so absorbedly intent upon +rendering impossible to him. Hence we here see that as in the negative +way the secrecy of any strong emotion is exceedingly difficult to be +kept lastingly private to one's own bosom by any human being; so it is +one of the most fruitless undertakings in the world, to attempt by +affirmative assumptions to tender to men, the precisely opposite emotion +as yours. Therefore the final wisdom decrees, that if you have aught +which you desire to keep a secret to yourself, be a Quietist there, and +do and say nothing at all about it. For among all the poor chances, this +is the least poor. Pretensions and substitutions are only the recourse +of under-graduates in the science of the world; in which science, on his +own ground, my Lord Chesterfield, is the poorest possible preceptor. The +earliest instinct of the child, and the ripest experience of age, unite +in affirming simplicity to be the truest and profoundest part for man. +Likewise this simplicity is so universal and all-containing as a rule +for human life, that the subtlest bad man, and the purest good man, as +well as the profoundest wise man, do all alike present it on that side +which they socially turn to the inquisitive and unscrupulous world. + + +III. + +Now the matter of the house had remained in precisely the above-stated +awaiting predicament, down to the time of Pierre's great +life-revolution, the receipt of Isabel's letter. And though, indeed, +Pierre could not but naturally hesitate at still accepting the use of +the dwelling, under the widely different circumstances in which he now +found himself; and though at first the strongest possible spontaneous +objections on the ground of personal independence, pride, and general +scorn, all clamorously declared in his breast against such a course; +yet, finally, the same uncompunctuous, ever-adaptive sort of motive +which had induced his original acceptation, prompted him, in the end, +still to maintain it unrevoked. It would at once set him at rest from +all immediate tribulations of mere bed and board; and by affording him a +shelter, for an indefinite term, enable him the better to look about +him, and consider what could best be done to further the permanent +comfort of those whom Fate had intrusted to his charge. + +Irrespective, it would seem, of that wide general awaking of his +profounder being, consequent upon the extraordinary trials he had so +aggregatively encountered of late; the thought was indignantly suggested +to him, that the world must indeed be organically despicable, if it held +that an offer, superfluously accepted in the hour of his abundance, +should now, be rejected in that of his utmost need. And without at all +imputing any singularity of benevolent-mindedness to his cousin, he did +not for a moment question, that under the changed aspect of affairs, +Glen would at least pretend the more eagerly to welcome him to the +house, now that the mere thing of apparent courtesy had become +transformed into something like a thing of positive and urgent +necessity. When Pierre also considered that not himself only was +concerned, but likewise two peculiarly helpless fellow-beings, one of +them bound to him from the first by the most sacred ties, and lately +inspiring an emotion which passed all human precedent in its mixed and +mystical import; these added considerations completely overthrew in +Pierre all remaining dictates of his vague pride and false independence, +if such indeed had ever been his. + +Though the interval elapsing between his decision to depart with his +companions for the city, and his actual start in the coach, had not +enabled him to receive any replying word from his cousin; and though +Pierre knew better than to expect it; yet a preparative letter to him he +had sent; and did not doubt that this proceeding would prove +well-advised in the end. + +In naturally strong-minded men, however young and inexperienced in some +things, those great and sudden emergencies, which but confound the timid +and the weak, only serve to call forth all their generous latentness, +and teach them, as by inspiration, extraordinary maxims of conduct, +whose counterpart, in other men, is only the result of a long, +variously-tried and pains-taking life. One of those maxims is, that +when, through whatever cause, we are suddenly translated from opulence +to need, or from a fair fame to a foul; and straightway it becomes +necessary not to contradict the thing--so far at least as the mere +imputation goes,--to some one previously entertaining high conventional +regard for us, and from whom we would now solicit some genuine helping +offices; then, all explanation or palation should be scorned; +promptness, boldness, utter gladiatorianism, and a defiant non-humility +should mark every syllable we breathe, and every line we trace. + +The preparative letter of Pierre to Glen, plunged at once into the very +heart of the matter, and was perhaps the briefest letter he had ever +written him. Though by no means are such characteristics invariable +exponents of the predominant mood or general disposition of a man (since +so accidental a thing as a numb finger, or a bad quill, or poor ink, or +squalid paper, or a rickety desk may produce all sorts of +modifications), yet in the present instance, the handwriting of Pierre +happened plainly to attest and corroborate the spirit of his +communication. The sheet was large; but the words were placarded upon it +in heavy though rapid lines, only six or eight to the page. And as the +footman of a haughty visitor--some Count or Duke--announces the chariot +of his lord by a thunderous knock on the portal; so to Glen did Pierre, +in the broad, sweeping, and prodigious superscription of his letter, +forewarn him what manner of man was on the road. + +In the moment of strong feeling a wonderful condensativeness points the +tongue and pen; so that ideas, then enunciated sharp and quick as +minute-guns, in some other hour of unruffledness or unstimulatedness, +require considerable time and trouble to verbally recall. + +Not here and now can we set down the precise contents of Pierre's +letter, without a tautology illy doing justice to the ideas themselves. +And though indeed the dread of tautology be the continual torment of +some earnest minds, and, as such, is surely a weakness in them; and +though no wise man will wonder at conscientious Virgil all eager at +death to burn his AEniad for a monstrous heap of inefficient superfluity; +yet not to dread tautology at times only belongs to those enviable +dunces, whom the partial God hath blessed, over all the earth, with the +inexhaustible self-riches of vanity, and folly, and a blind +self-complacency. + +Some rumor of the discontinuance of his betrothment to Lucy Tartan; of +his already consummated marriage with a poor and friendless orphan; of +his mother's disowning him consequent upon these events; such rumors, +Pierre now wrote to his cousin, would very probably, in the parlors of +his city-relatives and acquaintances, precede his arrival in town. But +he hinted no word of any possible commentary on these things. He simply +went on to say, that now, through the fortune of life--which was but +the proverbially unreliable fortune of war--he was, for the present, +thrown entirely upon his own resources, both for his own support and +that of his wife, as well as for the temporary maintenance of a girl, +whom he had lately had excellent reason for taking under his especial +protection. He proposed a permanent residence in the city; not without +some nearly quite settled plans as to the procuring of a competent +income, without any ulterior reference to any member of their wealthy +and widely ramified family. The house, whose temporary occupancy Glen +had before so handsomely proffered him, would now be doubly and trebly +desirable to him. But the pre-engaged servants, and the old china, and +the old silver, and the old wines, and the Mocha, were now become +altogether unnecessary. Pierre would merely take the place--for a short +interval--of the worthy old clerk; and, so far as Glen was concerned, +simply stand guardian of the dwelling, till his plans were matured. His +cousin had originally made his most bounteous overture, to welcome the +coming of the presumed bride of Pierre; and though another lady had now +taken her place at the altar, yet Pierre would still regard the offer of +Glen as impersonal in that respect, and bearing equal reference to any +young lady, who should prove her claim to the possessed hand of Pierre. + +Since there was no universal law of opinion in such matters, Glen, on +general worldly grounds, might not consider the real Mrs. Glendinning +altogether so suitable a match for Pierre, as he possibly might have +held numerous other young ladies in his eye: nevertheless, Glen would +find her ready to return with sincerity all his cousinly regard and +attention. In conclusion, Pierre said, that he and his party meditated +an immediate departure, and would very probably arrive in town in +eight-and-forty hours after the mailing of the present letter. He +therefore begged Glen to see the more indispensable domestic appliances +of the house set in some little order against their arrival; to have +the rooms aired and lighted; and also forewarn the confidential clerk of +what he might soon expect. Then, without any tapering sequel +of--"_Yours, very truly and faithfully, my dear Cousin Glen_," he +finished the letter with the abrupt and isolated signature +of--"PIERRE." + + + + +BOOK XVI. + +FIRST NIGHT OF THEIR ARRIVAL IN THE CITY. + + +I. + +The stage was belated. + +The country road they traveled entered the city by a remarkably wide and +winding street, a great thoroughfare for its less opulent inhabitants. +There was no moon and few stars. It was that preluding hour of the night +when the shops are just closing, and the aspect of almost every +wayfarer, as he passes through the unequal light reflected from the +windows, speaks of one hurrying not abroad, but homeward. Though the +thoroughfare was winding, yet no sweep that it made greatly obstructed +its long and imposing vista; so that when the coach gained the top of +the long and very gradual slope running toward the obscure heart of the +town, and the twinkling perspective of two long and parallel rows of +lamps was revealed--lamps which seemed not so much intended to dispel +the general gloom, as to show some dim path leading through it, into +some gloom still deeper beyond--when the coach gained this critical +point, the whole vast triangular town, for a moment, seemed dimly and +despondently to capitulate to the eye. + +And now, ere descending the gradually-sloping declivity, and just on its +summit as it were, the inmates of the coach, by numerous hard, painful +joltings, and ponderous, dragging trundlings, are suddenly made sensible +of some great change in the character of the road. The coach seems +rolling over cannon-balls of all calibers. Grasping Pierre's arm, Isabel +eagerly and forebodingly demands what is the cause of this most strange +and unpleasant transition. + +"The pavements, Isabel; this is the town." + +Isabel was silent. + +But, the first time for many weeks, Delly voluntarily spoke: + +"It feels not so soft as the green sward, Master Pierre." + +"No, Miss Ulver," said Pierre, very bitterly, "the buried hearts of some +dead citizens have perhaps come to the surface." + +"Sir?" said Delly. + +"And are they so hard-hearted here?" asked Isabel. + +"Ask yonder pavements, Isabel. Milk dropt from the milkman's can in +December, freezes not more quickly on those stones, than does snow-white +innocence, if in poverty, it chance to fall in these streets." + +"Then God help my hard fate, Master Pierre," sobbed Delly. "Why didst +thou drag hither a poor outcast like me?" + +"Forgive me, Miss Ulver," exclaimed Pierre, with sudden warmth, and yet +most marked respect; "forgive me; never yet have I entered the city by +night, but, somehow, it made me feel both bitter and sad. Come, be +cheerful, we shall soon be comfortably housed, and have our comfort all +to ourselves; the old clerk I spoke to you about, is now doubtless +ruefully eying his hat on the peg. Come, cheer up, Isabel;--'tis a long +ride, but here we are, at last. Come! 'Tis not very far now to our +welcome." + +"I hear a strange shuffling and clattering," said Delly, with a shudder. + +"It does not seem so light as just now," said Isabel. + +"Yes," returned Pierre, "it is the shop-shutters being put on; it is the +locking, and bolting, and barring of windows and doors; the +town's-people are going to their rest." + +"Please God they may find it!" sighed Delly. + +"They lock and bar out, then, when they rest, do they, Pierre?" said +Isabel. + +"Yes, and you were thinking that does not bode well for the welcome I +spoke of." + +"Thou read'st all my soul; yes, I was thinking of that. But whither lead +these long, narrow, dismal side-glooms we pass every now and then? What +are they? They seem terribly still. I see scarce any body in +them;--there's another, now. See how haggardly look its criss-cross, +far-separate lamps.--What are these side-glooms, dear Pierre; whither +lead they?" + +"They are the thin tributaries, sweet Isabel, to the great Oronoco +thoroughfare we are in; and like true tributaries, they come from the +far-hidden places; from under dark beetling secrecies of mortar and +stone; through the long marsh-grasses of villainy, and by many a +transplanted bough-beam, where the wretched have hung." + +"I know nothing of these things, Pierre. But I like not the town. +Think'st thou, Pierre, the time will ever come when all the earth shall +be paved?" + +"Thank God, that never can be!" + +"These silent side-glooms are horrible;--look! Methinks, not for the +world would I turn into one." + +That moment the nigh fore-wheel sharply grated under the body of the +coach. + +"Courage!" cried Pierre, "we are in it!--Not so very solitary either; +here comes a traveler." + +"Hark, what is that?" said Delly, "that keen iron-ringing sound? It +passed us just now." + +"The keen traveler," said Pierre, "he has steel plates to his +boot-heels;--some tender-souled elder son, I suppose." + +"Pierre," said Isabel, "this silence is unnatural, is fearful. The +forests are never so still." + +"Because brick and mortar have deeper secrets than wood or fell, sweet +Isabel. But here we turn again; now if I guess right, two more turns +will bring us to the door. Courage, all will be well; doubtless he has +prepared a famous supper. Courage, Isabel. Come, shall it be tea or +coffee? Some bread, or crisp toast? We'll have eggs, too; and some cold +chicken, perhaps."--Then muttering to himself--"I hope not that, either; +no cold collations! there's too much of that in these paving-stones +here, set out for the famishing beggars to eat. No. I won't have the +cold chicken." Then aloud--"But here we turn again; yes, just as I +thought. Ho, driver!" (thrusting his head out of the window) "to the +right! to the right! it should be on the right! the first house with a +light on the right!" + +"No lights yet but the street's," answered the surly voice of the +driver. + +"Stupid! he has passed it--yes, yes--he has! Ho! ho! stop; turn back. +Have you not passed lighted windows?" + +"No lights but the street's," was the rough reply. "What's the number? +the number? Don't keep me beating about here all night! The number, I +say!" + +"I do not know it," returned Pierre; "but I well know the house; you +must have passed it, I repeat. You must turn back. Surely you have +passed lighted windows?" + +"Then them lights must burn black; there's no lighted windows in the +street; I knows the city; old maids lives here, and they are all to bed; +rest is warehouses." + +"Will you stop the coach, or not?" cried Pierre, now incensed at his +surliness in continuing to drive on. + +"I obeys orders: the first house with a light; and 'cording to my +reck'ning--though to be sure, I don't know nothing of the city where I +was born and bred all my life--no, I knows nothing at all about +it--'cording to my reck'ning, the first light in this here street will +be the watch-house of the ward--yes, there it is--all right! cheap +lodgings ye've engaged--nothing to pay, and wictuals in." + +To certain temperaments, especially when previously agitated by any deep +feeling, there is perhaps nothing more exasperating, and which sooner +explodes all self-command, than the coarse, jeering insolence of a +porter, cabman, or hack-driver. Fetchers and carriers of the worst city +infamy as many of them are; professionally familiar with the most +abandoned haunts; in the heart of misery, they drive one of the most +mercenary of all the trades of guilt. Day-dozers and sluggards on their +lazy boxes in the sunlight, and felinely wakeful and cat-eyed in the +dark; most habituated to midnight streets, only trod by sneaking +burglars, wantons, and debauchees; often in actual pandering league with +the most abhorrent sinks; so that they are equally solicitous and +suspectful that every customer they encounter in the dark, will prove a +profligate or a knave; this hideous tribe of ogres, and Charon ferry-men +to corruption and death, naturally slide into the most practically +Calvinistical view of humanity, and hold every man at bottom a fit +subject for the coarsest ribaldry and jest; only fine coats and full +pockets can whip such mangy hounds into decency. The least impatience, +any quickness of temper, a sharp remonstrating word from a customer in a +seedy coat, or betraying any other evidence of poverty, however minute +and indirect (for in that pecuniary respect they are the most piercing +and infallible of all the judgers of men), will be almost sure to +provoke, in such cases, their least endurable disdain. + +Perhaps it was the unconscious transfer to the stage-driver of some such +ideas as these, which now prompted the highly irritated Pierre to an +act, which, in a more benignant hour, his better reason would have +restrained him from. + +He did not see the light to which the driver had referred; and was +heedless, in his sudden wrath, that the coach was now going slower in +approaching it. Ere Isabel could prevent him, he burst open the door, +and leaping to the pavement, sprang ahead of the horses, and violently +reined back the leaders by their heads. The driver seized his +four-in-hand whip, and with a volley of oaths was about striking out its +long, coiling lash at Pierre, when his arm was arrested by a policeman, +who suddenly leaping on the stayed coach, commanded him to keep the +peace. + +"Speak! what is the difficulty here? Be quiet, ladies, nothing serious +has happened. Speak you!" + +"Pierre! Pierre!" cried the alarmed Isabel. In an instant Pierre was at +her side by the window; and now turning to the officer, explained to him +that the driver had persisted in passing the house at which he was +ordered to stop. + +"Then he shall turn to the right about with you, sir;--in double quick +time too; do ye hear? I know you rascals well enough. Turn about, you +sir, and take the gentleman where he directed." + +The cowed driver was beginning a long string of criminating +explanations, when turning to Pierre, the policeman calmly desired him +to re-enter the coach; he would see him safely at his destination; and +then seating himself beside the driver on the box, commanded him to tell +the number given him by the gentleman. + +"He don't know no numbers--didn't I say he didn't--that's what I got mad +about." + +"Be still"--said the officer. "Sir"--turning round and addressing Pierre +within; "where do you wish to go?" + +"I do not know the number, but it is a house in this street; we have +passed it; it is, I think, the fourth or fifth house this side of the +last corner we turned. It must be lighted up too. It is the small +old-fashioned dwelling with stone lion-heads above the windows. But make +him turn round, and drive slowly, and I will soon point it out." + +"Can't see lions in the dark"--growled the driver--"lions; ha! ha! +jackasses more likely!" + +"Look you," said the officer, "I shall see you tightly housed this +night, my fine fellow, if you don't cease your jabber. Sir," he added, +resuming with Pierre, "I am sure there is some mistake here. I perfectly +well know now the house you mean. I passed it within the last half-hour; +all as quiet there as ever. No one lives there, I think; I never saw a +light in it. Are you not mistaken in something, then?" + +Pierre paused in perplexity and foreboding. Was it possible that Glen +had willfully and utterly neglected his letter? Not possible. But it +might not have come to his hand; the mails sometimes delayed. Then +again, it was not wholly out of the question, that the house was +prepared for them after all, even though it showed no outward sign. But +that was not probable. At any rate, as the driver protested, that his +four horses and lumbering vehicle could not turn short round in that +street; and that if he must go back, it could only be done by driving +on, and going round the block, and so retracing his road; and as after +such a procedure, on his part, then in case of a confirmed +disappointment respecting the house, the driver would seem warranted, at +least in some of his unmannerliness; and as Pierre loathed the villain +altogether, therefore, in order to run no such risks, he came to a +sudden determination on the spot. + +"I owe you very much, my good friend," said he to the officer, "for your +timely assistance. To be frank, what you have just told me has indeed +perplexed me not a little concerning the place where I proposed to stop. +Is there no hotel in this neighborhood, where I could leave these ladies +while I seek my friend?" + +Wonted to all manner of deceitfulness, and engaged in a calling which +unavoidably makes one distrustful of mere appearances, however specious, +however honest; the really good-hearted officer, now eyed Pierre in the +dubious light with a most unpleasant scrutiny; and he abandoned the +"Sir," and the tone of his voice sensibly changed, as he +replied:--"There is no hotel in this neighborhood; it is too off the +thoroughfares." + +"Come! come!"--cried the driver, now growing bold again--"though you're +an officer, I'm a citizen for all that. You haven't any further right to +keep me out of my bed now. He don't know where he wants to go to, cause +he haint got no place at all to go to; so I'll just dump him here, and +you dar'n't stay me." + +"Don't be impertinent now," said the officer, but not so sternly as +before. + +"I'll have my rights though, I tell you that! Leave go of my arm; damn +ye, get off the box; I've the law now. I say mister, come tramp, here +goes your luggage," and so saying he dragged toward him a light trunk on +the top of the stage. + +"Keep a clean tongue in ye now"--said the officer--"and don't be in +quite so great a hurry," then addressing Pierre, who had now re-alighted +from the coach--"Well, this can't continue; what do you intend to do?" + +"Not to ride further with that man, at any rate," said Pierre; "I will +stop right here for the present." + +"He! he!" laughed the driver; "he! he! 'mazing 'commodating now--we +hitches now, we do--stops right afore the watch-house--he! he!--that's +funny!" + +"Off with the luggage then, driver," said the policeman--"here hand the +small trunk, and now away and unlash there behind." + +During all this scene, Delly had remained perfectly silent in her +trembling and rustic alarm; while Isabel, by occasional cries to Pierre, +had vainly besought some explanation. But though their complete +ignorance of city life had caused Pierre's two companions to regard the +scene thus far with too much trepidation; yet now, when in the +obscurity of night, and in the heart of a strange town, Pierre handed +them out of the coach into the naked street, and they saw their luggage +piled so near the white light of a watch-house, the same ignorance, in +some sort, reversed its effects on them; for they little fancied in what +really untoward and wretched circumstances they first touched the +flagging of the city. + +As the coach lumbered off, and went rolling into the wide murkiness +beyond, Pierre spoke to the officer. + +"It is a rather strange accident, I confess, my friend, but strange +accidents will sometimes happen." + +"In the best of families," rejoined the other, a little ironically. + +Now, I must not quarrel with this man, thought Pierre to himself, stung +at the officer's tone. Then said:--"Is there any one in your--office?" + +"No one as yet--not late enough." + +"Will you have the kindness then to house these ladies there for the +present, while I make haste to provide them with better lodgment? Lead +on, if you please." + +The man seemed to hesitate a moment, but finally acquiesced; and soon +they passed under the white light, and entered a large, plain, and most +forbidding-looking room, with hacked wooden benches and bunks ranged +along the sides, and a railing before a desk in one corner. The +permanent keeper of the place was quietly reading a paper by the long +central double bat's-wing gas-light; and three officers off duty were +nodding on a bench. + +"Not very liberal accommodations"--said the officer, quietly; "nor +always the best of company, but we try to be civil. Be seated, ladies," +politely drawing a small bench toward them. + +"Hallo, my friends," said Pierre, approaching the nodding three beyond, +and tapping them on the shoulder--"Hallo, I say! Will you do me a little +favor? Will you help bring some trunks in from the street? I will +satisfy you for your trouble, and be much obliged into the bargain." + +Instantly the three noddies, used to sudden awakenings, opened their +eyes, and stared hard; and being further enlightened by the bat's-wings +and first officer, promptly brought in the luggage as desired. + +Pierre hurriedly sat down by Isabel, and in a few words gave her to +understand, that she was now in a perfectly secure place, however +unwelcoming; that the officers would take every care of her, while he +made all possible speed in running to the house, and indubitably +ascertaining how matters stood there. He hoped to be back in less than +ten minutes with good tidings. Explaining his intention to the first +officer, and begging him not to leave the girls till he should return, +he forthwith sallied into the street. He quickly came to the house, and +immediately identified it. But all was profoundly silent and dark. He +rang the bell, but no answer; and waiting long enough to be certain, +that either the house was indeed deserted, or else the old clerk was +unawakeable or absent; and at all events, certain that no slightest +preparation had been made for their arrival; Pierre, bitterly +disappointed, returned to Isabel with this most unpleasant information. + +Nevertheless something must be done, and quickly. Turning to one of the +officers, he begged him to go and seek a hack, that the whole party +might be taken to some respectable lodging. But the man, as well as his +comrades, declined the errand on the score, that there was no stand on +their beat, and they could not, on any account, leave their beat. So +Pierre himself must go. He by no means liked to leave Isabel and Delly +again, on an expedition which might occupy some time. But there seemed +no resource, and time now imperiously pressed. Communicating his +intention therefore to Isabel, and again entreating the officer's +particular services as before, and promising not to leave him +unrequited; Pierre again sallied out. He looked up and down the street, +and listened; but no sound of any approaching vehicle was audible. He +ran on, and turning the first corner, bent his rapid steps toward the +greatest and most central avenue of the city, assured that there, if +anywhere, he would find what he wanted. It was some distance off; and he +was not without hope that an empty hack would meet him ere he arrived +there. But the few stray ones he encountered had all muffled fares. He +continued on, and at last gained the great avenue. Not habitually used +to such scenes, Pierre for a moment was surprised, that the instant he +turned out of the narrow, and dark, and death-like bye-street, he should +find himself suddenly precipitated into the not-yet-repressed noise and +contention, and all the garish night-life of a vast thoroughfare, +crowded and wedged by day, and even now, at this late hour, brilliant +with occasional illuminations, and echoing to very many swift wheels and +footfalls. + + +II. + +"I say, my pretty one! Dear! Dear! young man! Oh, love, you are in a +vast hurry, aint you? Can't you stop a bit, now, my dear: do--there's a +sweet fellow." + +Pierre turned; and in the flashing, sinister, evil cross-lights of a +druggist's window, his eye caught the person of a wonderfully +beautifully-featured girl; scarlet-cheeked, glaringly-arrayed, and of a +figure all natural grace but unnatural vivacity. Her whole form, +however, was horribly lit by the green and yellow rays from the +druggist's. + +"My God!" shuddered Pierre, hurrying forward, "the town's first welcome +to youth!" + +He was just crossing over to where a line of hacks were drawn up +against the opposite curb, when his eye was arrested by a short, gilded +name, rather reservedly and aristocratically denominating a large and +very handsome house, the second story of which was profusely lighted. He +looked up, and was very certain that in this house were the apartments +of Glen. Yielding to a sudden impulse, he mounted the single step toward +the door, and rang the bell, which was quickly responded to by a very +civil black. + +As the door opened, he heard the distant interior sound of dancing-music +and merriment. + +"Is Mr. Stanly in?" + +"Mr. Stanly? Yes, but he's engaged." + +"How?" + +"He is somewhere in the drawing rooms. My mistress is giving a party to +the lodgers." + +"Ay? Tell Mr. Stanly I wish to see him for one moment if you please; +only one moment." + +"I dare not call him, sir. He said that possibly some one might call for +him to-night--they are calling every night for Mr. Stanly--but I must +admit no one, on the plea of the party." + +A dark and bitter suspicion now darted through the mind of Pierre; and +ungovernably yielding to it, and resolved to prove or falsify it without +delay, he said to the black: + +"My business is pressing. I must see Mr. Stanly." + +"I am sorry, sir, but orders are orders: I am his particular servant +here--the one that sees his silver every holyday. I can't disobey him. +May I shut the door, sir? for as it is, I can not admit you." + +"The drawing-rooms are on the second floor, are they not?" said Pierre +quietly. + +"Yes," said the black pausing in surprise, and holding the door. + +"Yonder are the stairs, I think?" + +"That way, sir; but this is yours;" and the now suspicious black was +just on the point of closing the portal violently upon him, when Pierre +thrust him suddenly aside, and springing up the long stairs, found +himself facing an open door, from whence proceeded a burst of combined +brilliancy and melody, doubly confusing to one just emerged from the +street. But bewildered and all demented as he momentarily felt, he +instantly stalked in, and confounded the amazed company with his +unremoved slouched hat, pale cheek, and whole dusty, travel-stained, and +ferocious aspect. + +"Mr. Stanly! where is Mr. Stanly?" he cried, advancing straight through +a startled quadrille, while all the music suddenly hushed, and every eye +was fixed in vague affright upon him. + +"Mr. Stanly! Mr. Stanly!" cried several bladish voices, toward the +further end of the further drawing-room, into which the first one widely +opened, "Here is a most peculiar fellow after you; who the devil is he?" + +"I think I see him," replied a singularly cool, deliberate, and rather +drawling voice, yet a very silvery one, and at bottom perhaps a very +resolute one; "I think I see him; stand aside, my good fellow, will you; +ladies, remove, remove from between me and yonder hat." + +The polite compliance of the company thus addressed, now revealed to the +advancing Pierre, the tall, robust figure of a remarkably +splendid-looking, and brown-bearded young man, dressed with surprising +plainness, almost demureness, for such an occasion; but this plainness +of his dress was not so obvious at first, the material was so fine, and +admirably fitted. He was carelessly lounging in a half side-long +attitude upon a large sofa, and appeared as if but just interrupted in +some very agreeable chat with a diminutive but vivacious brunette, +occupying the other end. The dandy and the man; strength and effeminacy; +courage and indolence, were so strangely blended in this superb-eyed +youth, that at first sight, it seemed impossible to decide whether there +was any genuine mettle in him, or not. + +Some years had gone by since the cousins had met; years peculiarly +productive of the greatest conceivable changes in the general personal +aspect of human beings. Nevertheless, the eye seldom alters. The instant +their eyes met, they mutually recognized each other. But both did not +betray the recognition. + +"Glen!" cried Pierre, and paused a few steps from him. + +But the superb-eyed only settled himself lower down in his lounging +attitude, and slowly withdrawing a small, unpretending, and unribboned +glass from his vest pocket, steadily, yet not entirely insultingly, +notwithstanding the circumstances, scrutinized Pierre. Then, dropping +his glass, turned slowly round upon the gentlemen near him, saying in +the same peculiar, mixed, and musical voice as before: + +"I do not know him; it is an entire mistake; why don't the servants take +him out, and the music go on?---- As I was saying, Miss Clara, the +statues you saw in the Louvre are not to be mentioned with those in +Florence and Rome. Why, there now is that vaunted _chef d'oeuvre_, the +Fighting Gladiator of the Louvre----" + +"Fighting Gladiator it is!" yelled Pierre, leaping toward him like +Spartacus. But the savage impulse in him was restrained by the alarmed +female shrieks and wild gestures around him. As he paused, several +gentlemen made motions to pinion him; but shaking them off fiercely, he +stood erect, and isolated for an instant, and fastening his glance upon +his still reclining, and apparently unmoved cousin, thus spoke:-- + +"Glendinning Stanly, thou disown'st Pierre not so abhorrently as Pierre +does thee. By Heaven, had I a knife, Glen, I could prick thee on the +spot; let out all thy Glendinning blood, and then sew up the vile +remainder. Hound, and base blot upon the general humanity!" + +"This is very extraordinary:--remarkable case of combined imposture and +insanity; but where are the servants? why don't that black advance? Lead +him out, my good Doc, lead him out. Carefully, carefully! stay"--putting +his hand in his pocket--"there, take that, and have the poor fellow +driven off somewhere." + +Bolting his rage in him, as impossible to be sated by any conduct, in +such a place, Pierre now turned, sprang down the stairs, and fled the +house. + + +III. + +"Hack, sir? Hack, sir? Hack, sir?" + +"Cab, sir? Cab, sir? Cab, sir?" + +"This way, sir! This way, sir! This way, sir!" + +"He's a rogue! Not him! he's a rogue!" + +Pierre was surrounded by a crowd of contending hackmen, all holding long +whips in their hands; while others eagerly beckoned to him from their +boxes, where they sat elevated between their two coach-lamps like +shabby, discarded saints. The whip-stalks thickened around him, and +several reports of the cracking lashes sharply sounded in his ears. Just +bursting from a scene so goading as his interview with the scornful Glen +in the dazzling drawing-room, to Pierre, this sudden tumultuous +surrounding of him by whip-stalks and lashes, seemed like the onset of +the chastising fiends upon Orestes. But, breaking away from them, he +seized the first plated door-handle near him, and, leaping into the +hack, shouted for whoever was the keeper of it, to mount his box +forthwith and drive off in a given direction. + +The vehicle had proceeded some way down the great avenue when it +paused, and the driver demanded whither now; what place? + +"The Watch-house of the---- Ward," cried Pierre. + +"Hi! hi! Goin' to deliver himself up, hey!" grinned the fellow to +himself--"Well, that's a sort of honest, any way:--g'lang, you +dogs!--whist! whee! wha!--g'lang!" + +The sights and sounds which met the eye of Pierre on re-entering the +watch-house, filled him with inexpressible horror and fury. The before +decent, drowsy place, now fairly reeked with all things unseemly. Hardly +possible was it to tell what conceivable cause or occasion had, in the +comparatively short absence of Pierre, collected such a base +congregation. In indescribable disorder, frantic, diseased-looking men +and women of all colors, and in all imaginable flaunting, immodest, +grotesque, and shattered dresses, were leaping, yelling, and cursing +around him. The torn Madras handkerchiefs of negresses, and the red +gowns of yellow girls, hanging in tatters from their naked bosoms, mixed +with the rent dresses of deep-rouged white women, and the split coats, +checkered vests, and protruding shirts of pale, or whiskered, or +haggard, or mustached fellows of all nations, some of whom seemed scared +from their beds, and others seemingly arrested in the midst of some +crazy and wanton dance. On all sides, were heard drunken male and female +voices, in English, French, Spanish, and Portuguese, interlarded now and +then, with the foulest of all human lingoes, that dialect of sin and +death, known as the Cant language, or the Flash. + +Running among this combined babel of persons and voices, several of the +police were vainly striving to still the tumult; while others were busy +handcuffing the more desperate; and here and there the distracted +wretches, both men and women, gave downright battle to the officers; and +still others already handcuffed struck out at them with their joined +ironed arms. Meanwhile, words and phrases unrepeatable in God's +sunlight, and whose very existence was utterly unknown, and undreamed +of by tens of thousands of the decent people of the city; syllables +obscene and accursed were shouted forth in tones plainly evincing that +they were the common household breath of their utterers. The +thieves'-quarters, and all the brothels, Lock-and-Sin hospitals for +incurables, and infirmaries and infernoes of hell seemed to have made +one combined sortie, and poured out upon earth through the vile vomitory +of some unmentionable cellar. + +Though the hitherto imperfect and casual city experiences of Pierre illy +fitted him entirely to comprehend the specific purport of this terrific +spectacle; still he knew enough by hearsay of the more infamous life of +the town, to imagine from whence, and who, were the objects before him. +But all his consciousness at the time was absorbed by the one horrified +thought of Isabel and Delly, forced to witness a sight hardly endurable +for Pierre himself; or, possibly, sucked into the tumult, and in close +personal contact with its loathsomeness. Rushing into the crowd, +regardless of the random blows and curses he encountered, he wildly +sought for Isabel, and soon descried her struggling from the delirious +reaching arms of a half-clad reeling whiskerando. With an immense blow +of his mailed fist, he sent the wretch humming, and seizing Isabel, +cried out to two officers near, to clear a path for him to the door. +They did so. And in a few minutes the panting Isabel was safe in the +open air. He would have stayed by her, but she conjured him to return +for Delly, exposed to worse insults than herself. An additional posse of +officers now approaching, Pierre committing her to the care of one of +them, and summoning two others to join himself, now re-entered the room. +In another quarter of it, he saw Delly seized on each hand by two +bleared and half-bloody women, who with fiendish grimaces were +ironically twitting her upon her close-necked dress, and had already +stript her handkerchief from her. She uttered a cry of mixed anguish +and joy at the sight of him; and Pierre soon succeeded in returning with +her to Isabel. + +During the absence of Pierre in quest of the hack, and while Isabel and +Delly were quietly awaiting his return, the door had suddenly burst +open, and a detachment of the police drove in, and caged, the entire +miscellaneous night-occupants of a notorious stew, which they had +stormed and carried during the height of some outrageous orgie. The +first sight of the interior of the watch-house, and their being so +quickly huddled together within its four blank walls, had suddenly +lashed the mob into frenzy; so that for the time, oblivious of all other +considerations, the entire force of the police was directed to the +quelling of the in-door riot; and consequently, abandoned to their own +protection, Isabel and Delly had been temporarily left to its mercy. + +It was no time for Pierre to manifest his indignation at the +officer--even if he could now find him--who had thus falsified his +individual pledge concerning the precious charge committed to him. Nor +was it any time to distress himself about his luggage, still somewhere +within. Quitting all, he thrust the bewildered and half-lifeless girls +into the waiting hack, which, by his orders, drove back in the direction +of the stand, where Pierre had first taken it up. + +When the coach had rolled them well away from the tumult, Pierre stopped +it, and said to the man, that he desired to be taken to the nearest +respectable hotel or boarding-house of any kind, that he knew of. The +fellow--maliciously diverted by what had happened thus far--made some +ambiguous and rudely merry rejoinder. But warned by his previous rash +quarrel with the stage-driver, Pierre passed this unnoticed, and in a +controlled, calm, decided manner repeated his directions. + +The issue was, that after a rather roundabout drive they drew up in a +very respectable side-street, before a large respectable-looking house, +illuminated by two tall white lights flanking its portico. Pierre was +glad to notice some little remaining stir within, spite of the +comparative lateness of the hour. A bare-headed, tidily-dressed, and +very intelligent-looking man, with a broom clothes-brush in his hand, +appearing, scrutinized him rather sharply at first; but as Pierre +advanced further into the light, and his countenance became visible, the +man, assuming a respectful but still slightly perplexed air, invited the +whole party into a closely adjoining parlor, whose disordered chairs and +general dustiness, evinced that after a day's activity it now awaited +the morning offices of the housemaids. + +"Baggage, sir?" + +"I have left my baggage at another place," said Pierre, "I shall send +for it to-morrow." + +"Ah!" exclaimed the very intelligent-looking man, rather dubiously, +"shall I discharge the hack, then?" + +"Stay," said Pierre, bethinking him, that it would be well not to let +the man know from whence they had last come, "I will discharge it +myself, thank you." + +So returning to the sidewalk, without debate, he paid the hackman an +exorbitant fare, who, anxious to secure such illegal gains beyond all +hope of recovery, quickly mounted his box and drove off at a gallop. + +"Will you step into the office, sir, now?" said the man, slightly +flourishing with his brush--"this way, sir, if you please." + +Pierre followed him, into an almost deserted, dimly lit room with a +stand in it. Going behind the stand, the man turned round to him a large +ledger-like book, thickly inscribed with names, like any directory, and +offered him a pen ready dipped in ink. + +Understanding the general hint, though secretly irritated at something +in the manner of the man, Pierre drew the book to him, and wrote in a +firm hand, at the bottom of the last-named column,-- + +"Mr. and Mrs. Pierre Glendinning, and Miss Ulver." + +The man glanced at the writing inquiringly, and then said--"The other +column, sir--where from." + +"True," said Pierre, and wrote "Saddle Meadows." + +The very intelligent-looking man re-examined the page, and then slowly +stroking his shaven chin, with a fork, made of his thumb for one tine, +and his united four fingers for the other, said softly and +whisperingly--"Anywheres in this country, sir?" + +"Yes, in the country," said Pierre, evasively, and bridling his ire. +"But now show me to two chambers, will you; the one for myself and wife, +I desire to have opening into another, a third one, never mind how +small; but I must have a dressing-room." + +"Dressing-room," repeated the man, in an ironically deliberative +voice--"Dressing-room;--Hem!--You will have your luggage taken into the +dressing-room, then, I suppose.--Oh, I forgot--your luggage aint come +yet--ah, yes, yes, yes--luggage is coming to-morrow--Oh, yes, +yes,--certainly--to-morrow--of course. By the way, sir; I dislike to +seem at all uncivil, and I am sure you will not deem me so; but--" + +"Well," said Pierre, mustering all his self-command for the coming +impertinence. + +"When stranger gentlemen come to this house without luggage, we think +ourselves bound to ask them to pay their bills in advance, sir; that is +all, sir." + +"I shall stay here to-night and the whole of to-morrow, at any rate," +rejoined Pierre, thankful that this was all; "how much will it be?" and +he drew out his purse. + +The man's eyes fastened with eagerness on the purse; he looked from it +to the face of him who held it; then seemed half hesitating an instant; +then brightening up, said, with sudden suavity--"Never mind, sir, never +mind, sir; though rogues sometimes be gentlemanly; gentlemen that are +gentlemen never go abroad without their diplomas. Their diplomas are +their friends; and their only friends are their dollars; you have a +purse-full of friends.--We have chambers, sir, that will exactly suit +you, I think. Bring your ladies and I will show you up to them +immediately." So saying, dropping his brush, the very +intelligent-looking man lighted one lamp, and taking two unlighted ones +in his other hand, led the way down the dusky lead-sheeted hall, Pierre +following him with Isabel and Delly. + + + + +BOOK XVII. + +YOUNG AMERICA IN LITERATURE. + + +I. + +Among the various conflicting modes of writing history, there would seem +to be two grand practical distinctions, under which all the rest must +subordinately range. By the one mode, all contemporaneous circumstances, +facts, and events must be set down contemporaneously; by the other, they +are only to be set down as the general stream of the narrative shall +dictate; for matters which are kindred in time, may be very irrelative +in themselves. I elect neither of these; I am careless of either; both +are well enough in their way; I write precisely as I please. + +In the earlier chapters of this volume, it has somewhere been passingly +intimated, that Pierre was not only a reader of the poets and other fine +writers, but likewise--and what is a very different thing from the +other--a thorough allegorical understander of them, a profound emotional +sympathizer with them; in other words, Pierre himself possessed the +poetic nature; in himself absolutely, though but latently and +floatingly, possessed every whit of the imaginative wealth which he so +admired, when by vast pains-takings, and all manner of unrecompensed +agonies, systematized on the printed page. Not that as yet his young and +immature soul had been accosted by the Wonderful Mutes, and through the +vast halls of Silent Truth, had been ushered into the full, secret, +eternally inviolable Sanhedrim, where the Poetic Magi discuss, in +glorious gibberish, the Alpha and Omega of the Universe. But among the +beautiful imaginings of the second and third degree of poets, he freely +and comprehendingly ranged. + +But it still remains to be said, that Pierre himself had written many a +fugitive thing, which had brought him, not only vast credit and +compliments from his more immediate acquaintances, but the less partial +applauses of the always intelligent, and extremely discriminating +public. In short, Pierre had frequently done that, which many other boys +have done--published. Not in the imposing form of a book, but in the +more modest and becoming way of occasional contributions to magazines +and other polite periodicals. His magnificent and victorious _debut_ had +been made in that delightful love-sonnet, entitled "The Tropical +Summer." Not only the public had applauded his gemmed little sketches of +thought and fancy, whether in poetry or prose; but the high and mighty +Campbell clan of editors of all sorts had bestowed upon him those +generous commendations, which, with one instantaneous glance, they had +immediately perceived was his due. They spoke in high terms of his +surprising command of language; they begged to express their wonder at +his euphonious construction of sentences; they regarded with reverence +the pervading symmetry of his general style. But transcending even this +profound insight into the deep merits of Pierre, they looked infinitely +beyond, and confessed their complete inability to restrain their +unqualified admiration for the highly judicious smoothness and +genteelness of the sentiments and fancies expressed. "This writer," said +one,--in an ungovernable burst of admiring fury--"is characterized +throughout by Perfect Taste." Another, after endorsingly quoting that +sapient, suppressed maxim of Dr. Goldsmith's, which asserts that +whatever is new is false, went on to apply it to the excellent +productions before him; concluding with this: "He has translated the +unruffled gentleman from the drawing-room into the general levee of +letters; he never permits himself to astonish; is never betrayed into +any thing coarse or new; as assured that whatever astonishes is vulgar, +and whatever is new must be crude. Yes, it is the glory of this +admirable young author, that vulgarity and vigor--two inseparable +adjuncts--are equally removed from him." + +A third, perorated a long and beautifully written review, by the bold +and startling announcement--"This writer is unquestionably a highly +respectable youth." + +Nor had the editors of various moral and religious periodicals failed to +render the tribute of their severer appreciation, and more enviable, +because more chary applause. A renowned clerical and philological +conductor of a weekly publication of this kind, whose surprising +proficiency in the Greek, Hebrew, and Chaldaic, to which he had devoted +by far the greater part of his life, peculiarly fitted him to pronounce +unerring judgment upon works of taste in the English, had unhesitatingly +delivered himself thus:--"He is blameless in morals, and harmless +throughout." Another, had unhesitatingly recommended his effusions to +the family-circle. A third, had no reserve in saying, that the +predominant end and aim of this author was evangelical piety. + +A mind less naturally strong than Pierre's might well have been hurried +into vast self-complacency, by such eulogy as this, especially as there +could be no possible doubt, that the primitive verdict pronounced by the +editors was irreversible, except in the highly improbable event of the +near approach of the Millennium, which might establish a different +dynasty of taste, and possibly eject the editors. It is true, that in +view of the general practical vagueness of these panegyrics, and the +circumstance that, in essence, they were all somehow of the prudently +indecisive sort; and, considering that they were panegyrics, and nothing +but panegyrics, without any thing analytical about them; an elderly +friend of a literary turn, had made bold to say to our hero--"Pierre, +this is very high praise, I grant, and you are a surprisingly young +author to receive it; but I do not see any criticisms as yet." + +"Criticisms?" cried Pierre, in amazement; "why, sir, they are all +criticisms! I am the idol of the critics!" + +"Ah!" sighed the elderly friend, as if suddenly reminded that that was +true after all--"Ah!" and went on with his inoffensive, non-committal +cigar. + +Nevertheless, thanks to the editors, such at last became the popular +literary enthusiasm in behalf of Pierre, that two young men, recently +abandoning the ignoble pursuit of tailoring for the more honorable trade +of the publisher (probably with an economical view of working up in +books, the linen and cotton shreds of the cutter's counter, after having +been subjected to the action of the paper-mill), had on the daintiest +scolloped-edged paper, and in the neatest possible, and fine-needle-work +hand, addressed him a letter, couched in the following terms; the +general style of which letter will sufficiently evince that, +though--thanks to the manufacturer--their linen and cotton shreds may +have been very completely transmuted into paper, yet the cutters +themselves were not yet entirely out of the metamorphosing mill. + + + "Hon. Pierre Glendinning, + "Revered Sir, + + "The fine cut, the judicious fit of your productions fill us with + amazement. The fabric is excellent--the finest broadcloth of + genius. We have just started in business. Your + pantaloons--productions, we mean--have never yet been collected. + They should be published in the Library form. The tailors--we mean + the librarians, demand it. Your fame is now in its finest nap. + Now--before the gloss is off--now is the time for the library form. + We have recently received an invoice of Chamois---- Russia + leather. The library form should be a durable form. We respectfully + offer to dress your amazing productions in the library form. If you + please, we will transmit you a sample of the cloth---- we mean a + sample-page, with a pattern of the leather. We are ready to give + you one tenth of the profits (less discount) for the privilege of + arraying your wonderful productions in the library form:--you + cashing the seamstresses'---- printer's and binder's bills on the + day of publication. An answer at your earliest convenience will + greatly oblige,-- + + "Sir, your most obsequious servants, + + "WONDER & WEN." + +"P. S.--We respectfully submit the enclosed block---- sheet, as some +earnest of our intentions to do every thing in your behalf possible to +any firm in the trade. + +"N. B.--If the list does not comprise all your illustrious wardrobe---- +works, we mean----, we shall exceedingly regret it. We have hunted +through all the drawers---- magazines. + +"Sample of a coat---- title for the works of Glendinning: + + THE + COMPLETE WORKS + OF + GLENDINNING, + + AUTHOR OF + _That world-famed production_, "_The Tropical Summer: a Sonnet._" + "_The Weather: a Thought._" "_Life: an Impromptu._" "_The + late Reverend Mark Graceman: an Obituary._" "_Honor: + a Stanza._" "_Beauty: an Acrostic._" "_Edgar: + an Anagram._" "_The Pippin: a Paragraph._" + _&c. &c. &c. &c. + &c. &c. &c. + &c. &c. + &c._" + + P + +From a designer, Pierre had received the following: + + "Sir: I approach you with unfeigned trepidation. For though you are + young in age, you are old in fame and ability. I can not express to + you my ardent admiration of your works; nor can I but deeply regret + that the productions of such graphic descriptive power, should be + unaccompanied by the humbler illustrative labors of the designer. + My services in this line are entirely at your command. I need not + say how proud I should be, if this hint, on my part, however + presuming, should induce you to reply in terms upon which I could + found the hope of honoring myself and my profession by a few + designs for the works of the illustrious Glendinning. But the + cursory mention of your name here fills me with such swelling + emotions, that I can say nothing more. I would only add, however, + that not being at all connected with the Trade, my business + situation unpleasantly forces me to make cash down on delivery of + each design, the basis of all my professional arrangements. Your + noble soul, however, would disdain to suppose, that this sordid + necessity, in my merely business concerns, could ever impair---- + + "That profound private veneration and admiration + With which I unmercenarily am, + Great and good Glendinning, + Yours most humbly, + PETER PENCE." + + +II. + +These were stirring letters. The Library Form! an Illustrated Edition! +His whole heart swelled. + +But unfortunately it occurred to Pierre, that as all his writings were +not only fugitive, but if put together could not possibly fill more than +a very small duodecimo; therefore the Library Edition seemed a little +premature, perhaps; possibly, in a slight degree, preposterous. Then, as +they were chiefly made up of little sonnets, brief meditative poems, and +moral essays, the matter for the designer ran some small risk of being +but meager. In his inexperience, he did not know that such was the great +height of invention to which the designer's art had been carried, that +certain gentlemen of that profession had gone to an eminent +publishing-house with overtures for an illustrated edition of "Coke upon +Lyttleton." Even the City Directory was beautifully illustrated with +exquisite engravings of bricks, tongs, and flat-irons. + +Concerning the draught for the title-page, it must be confessed, that on +seeing the imposing enumeration of his titles--long and magnificent as +those preceding the proclamations of some German Prince ("_Hereditary +Lord of the back-yard of Crantz Jacobi; Undoubted Proprietor by Seizure +of the bedstead of the late Widow Van Lorn; Heir Apparent to the +Bankrupt Bakery of Fletz and Flitz; Residuary Legatee of the Confiscated +Pin-Money of the Late Dowager Dunker; &c. &c. &c._") Pierre could not +entirely repress a momentary feeling of elation. Yet did he also bow low +under the weight of his own ponderosity, as the author of such a vast +load of literature. It occasioned him some slight misgivings, however, +when he considered, that already in his eighteenth year, his title-page +should so immensely surpass in voluminous statisticals the simple page, +which in his father's edition prefixed the vast speculations of Plato. +Still, he comforted himself with the thought, that as he could not +presume to interfere with the bill-stickers of the Gazelle Magazine, who +every month covered the walls of the city with gigantic announcements of +his name among the other contributors; so neither could he now--in the +highly improbable event of closing with the offer of Messrs. Wonder and +Wen--presume to interfere with the bill-sticking department of their +business concern; for it was plain that they esteemed one's title-page +but another unwindowed wall, infinitely more available than most walls, +since here was at least one spot in the city where no rival +bill-stickers dared to encroach. Nevertheless, resolved as he was to let +all such bill-sticking matters take care of themselves, he was sensible +of some coy inclination toward that modest method of certain kid-gloved +and dainty authors, who scorning the vulgarity of a sounding parade, +contented themselves with simply subscribing their name to the +title-page; as confident, that that was sufficient guarantee to the +notice of all true gentlemen of taste. It was for petty German princes +to sound their prolonged titular flourishes. The Czar of Russia +contented himself with putting the simple word "NICHOLAS" to his +loftiest decrees. + +This train of thought terminated at last in various considerations upon +the subject of anonymousness in authorship. He regretted that he had not +started his literary career under that mask. At present, it might be too +late; already the whole universe knew him, and it was in vain at this +late day to attempt to hood himself. But when he considered the +essential dignity and propriety at all points, of the inviolably +anonymous method, he could not but feel the sincerest sympathy for those +unfortunate fellows, who, not only naturally averse to any sort of +publicity, but progressively ashamed of their own successive +productions--written chiefly for the merest cash--were yet cruelly +coerced into sounding title-pages by sundry baker's and butcher's bills, +and other financial considerations; inasmuch as the placard of the +title-page indubitably must assist the publisher in his sales. + +But perhaps the ruling, though not altogether conscious motive of Pierre +in finally declining--as he did--the services of Messrs. Wonder and Wen, +those eager applicants for the privilege of extending and solidifying +his fame, arose from the idea that being at this time not very far +advanced in years, the probability was, that his future productions +might at least equal, if not surpass, in some small degree, those +already given to the world. He resolved to wait for his literary +canonization until he should at least have outgrown the sophomorean +insinuation of the Law; which, with a singular affectation of benignity, +pronounced him an "infant." His modesty obscured from him the +circumstance, that the greatest lettered celebrities of the time, had, +by the divine power of genius, become full graduates in the University +of Fame, while yet as legal minors forced to go to their mammas for +pennies wherewith to keep them in peanuts. + +Not seldom Pierre's social placidity was ruffled by polite entreaties +from the young ladies that he would be pleased to grace their Albums +with some nice little song. We say that here his social placidity was +ruffled; for the true charm of agreeable parlor society is, that there +you lose your own sharp individuality and become delightfully merged in +that soft social Pantheism, as it were, that rosy melting of all into +one, ever prevailing in those drawing-rooms, which pacifically and +deliciously belie their own name; inasmuch as there no one draws the +sword of his own individuality, but all such ugly weapons are left--as +of old--with your hat and cane in the hall. It was very awkward to +decline the albums; but somehow it was still worse, and peculiarly +distasteful for Pierre to comply. With equal justice apparently, you +might either have called this his weakness or his idiosyncrasy. He +summoned all his suavity, and refused. And the refusal of +Pierre--according to Miss Angelica Amabilia of Ambleside--was sweeter +than the compliance of others. But then--prior to the proffer of her +album--in a copse at Ambleside, Pierre in a gallant whim had in the +lady's own presence voluntarily carved Miss Angelica's initials upon the +bark of a beautiful maple. But all young ladies are not Miss Angelicas. +Blandly denied in the parlor, they courted repulse in the study. In +lovely envelopes they dispatched their albums to Pierre, not omitting +to drop a little attar-of-rose in the palm of the domestic who carried +them. While now Pierre--pushed to the wall in his +gallantry--shilly-shallied as to what he must do, the awaiting albums +multiplied upon him; and by-and-by monopolized an entire shelf in his +chamber; so that while their combined ornate bindings fairly dazzled his +eyes, their excessive redolence all but made him to faint, though +indeed, in moderation, he was very partial to perfumes. So that of +really chilly afternoons, he was still obliged to drop the upper sashes +a few inches. + +The simplest of all things it is to write in a lady's album. But Cui +Bono? Is there such a dearth of printed reading, that the monkish times +must be revived, and ladies books be in manuscript? What could Pierre +write of his own on Love or any thing else, that would surpass what +divine Hafiz wrote so many long centuries ago? Was there not Anacreon +too, and Catullus, and Ovid--all translated, and readily accessible? And +then--bless all their souls!--had the dear creatures forgotten Tom +Moore? But the handwriting, Pierre,--they want the sight of your hand. +Well, thought Pierre, actual feeling is better than transmitted sight, +any day. I will give them the actual feeling of my hand, as much as they +want. And lips are still better than hands. Let them send their sweet +faces to me, and I will kiss _lipographs_ upon them forever and a day. +This was a felicitous idea. He called Dates, and had the albums carried +down by the basket-full into the dining-room. He opened and spread them +all out upon the extension-table there; then, modeling himself by the +Pope, when His Holiness collectively blesses long crates of rosaries--he +waved one devout kiss to the albums; and summoning three servants sent +the albums all home, with his best compliments, accompanied with a +confectioner's _kiss_ for each album, rolled up in the most ethereal +tissue. + +From various quarters of the land, both town and country, and +especially during the preliminary season of autumn, Pierre received +various pressing invitations to lecture before Lyceums, Young Men's +Associations, and other Literary and Scientific Societies. The letters +conveying these invitations possessed quite an imposing and most +flattering aspect to the unsophisticated Pierre. One was as follows:-- + + "_Urquhartian Club for the Immediate Extension of the Limits of all + Knowledge, both Human and Divine._ + + "ZADOCKPRATTSVILLE, + "_June 11th, 18--_. + + "_Author of the 'Tropical Summer,' &c._ + "HONORED AND DEAR SIR:-- + + "Official duty and private inclination in this present case most + delightfully blend. What was the ardent desire of my heart, has now + by the action of the _Committee on Lectures_ become professionally + obligatory upon me. As Chairman of our _Committee on Lectures_, I + hereby beg the privilege of entreating that you will honor this + Society by lecturing before it on any subject you may choose, and + at any day most convenient to yourself. The subject of Human + Destiny we would respectfully suggest, without however at all + wishing to impede you in your own unbiased selection. + + "If you honor us by complying with this invitation, be assured, + sir, that the Committee on Lectures will take the best care of you + throughout your stay, and endeavor to make Zadockprattsville + agreeable to you. A carriage will be in attendance at the + Stage-house to convey yourself and luggage to the Inn, under full + escort of the _Committee on Lectures_, with the Chairman at their + head. + + "Permit me to join my private homage + To my high official consideration for you, + And to subscribe myself + Very humbly your servant, + DONALD DUNDONALD." + + +III. + +But it was more especially the Lecture invitations coming from +venerable, gray-headed metropolitan Societies, and indited by venerable +gray-headed Secretaries, which far from elating filled the youthful +Pierre with the sincerest sense of humility. Lecture? lecture? such a +stripling as I lecture to fifty benches, with ten gray heads on each? +five hundred gray heads in all! Shall my one, poor, inexperienced brain +presume to lay down the law in a lecture to five hundred life-ripened +understandings? It seemed too absurd for thought. Yet the five hundred, +through their spokesman, had voluntarily extended this identical +invitation to him. Then how could it be otherwise, than that an +incipient Timonism should slide into Pierre, when he considered all the +disgraceful inferences to be derived from such a fact. He called to +mind, how that once upon a time, during a visit of his to the city, the +police were called out to quell a portentous riot, occasioned by the +vast press and contention for seats at the first lecture of an +illustrious lad of nineteen, the author of "A Week at Coney Island." + +It is needless to say that Pierre most conscientiously and respectfully +declined all polite overtures of this sort. + +Similar disenchantments of his cooler judgment did likewise deprive of +their full lusciousness several other equally marked demonstrations of +his literary celebrity. Applications for autographs showered in upon +him; but in sometimes humorously gratifying the more urgent requests of +these singular people Pierre could not but feel a pang of regret, that +owing to the very youthful and quite unformed character of his +handwriting, his signature did not possess that inflexible uniformity, +which--for mere prudential reasons, if nothing more--should always mark +the hand of illustrious men. His heart thrilled with sympathetic anguish +for posterity, which would be certain to stand hopelessly perplexed +before so many contradictory signatures of one supereminent name. Alas! +posterity would be sure to conclude that they were forgeries all; that +no chirographic relic of the sublime poet Glendinning survived to their +miserable times. + +From the proprietors of the Magazines whose pages were honored by his +effusions, he received very pressing epistolary solicitations for the +loan of his portrait in oil, in order to take an engraving therefrom, +for a frontispiece to their periodicals. But here again the most +melancholy considerations obtruded. It had always been one of the lesser +ambitions of Pierre, to sport a flowing beard, which he deemed the most +noble corporeal badge of the man, not to speak of the illustrious +author. But as yet he was beardless; and no cunning compound of Rowland +and Son could force a beard which should arrive at maturity in any +reasonable time for the frontispiece. Besides, his boyish features and +whole expression were daily changing. Would he lend his authority to +this unprincipled imposture upon Posterity? Honor forbade. + +These epistolary petitions were generally couched in an elaborately +respectful style; thereby intimating with what deep reverence his +portrait would be handled, while unavoidably subjected to the discipline +indispensable to obtain from it the engraved copy they prayed for. But +one or two of the persons who made occasional oral requisitions upon him +in this matter of his engraved portrait, seemed less regardful of the +inherent respect due to every man's portrait, much more, to that of a +genius so celebrated as Pierre. They did not even seem to remember that +the portrait of any man generally receives, and indeed is entitled to +more reverence than the original man himself; since one may freely clap +a celebrated friend on the shoulder, yet would by no means tweak his +nose in his portrait. The reason whereof may be this: that the portrait +is better entitled to reverence than the man; inasmuch as nothing +belittling can be imagined concerning the portrait, whereas many +unavoidably belittling things can be fancied as touching the man. + +Upon one occasion, happening suddenly to encounter a literary +acquaintance--a joint editor of the "Captain Kidd Monthly"--who suddenly +popped upon him round a corner, Pierre was startled by a +rapid--"Good-morning, good-morning;--just the man I wanted:--come, step +round now with me, and have your Daguerreotype taken;--get it engraved +then in no time;--want it for the next issue." + +So saying, this chief mate of Captain Kidd seized Pierre's arm, and in +the most vigorous manner was walking him off, like an officer a +pickpocket, when Pierre civilly said--"Pray, sir, hold, if you please, I +shall do no such thing."--"Pooh, pooh--must have it--public +property--come along--only a door or two now."--"Public property!" +rejoined Pierre, "that may do very well for the 'Captain Kidd +Monthly;'--it's very Captain Kiddish to say so. But I beg to repeat that +I do not intend to accede."--"Don't? Really?" cried the other, amazedly +staring Pierre full in the countenance;--"why bless your soul, _my_ +portrait is published--long ago published!"--"Can't help that, +sir"--said Pierre. "Oh! come along, come along," and the chief mate +seized him again with the most uncompunctious familiarity by the arm. +Though the sweetest-tempered youth in the world when but decently +treated, Pierre had an ugly devil in him sometimes, very apt to be +evoked by the personal profaneness of gentlemen of the Captain Kidd +school of literature. "Look you, my good fellow," said he, submitting to +his impartial inspection a determinately double fist,--"drop my arm +now--or I'll drop you. To the devil with you and your Daguerreotype!" + +This incident, suggestive as it was at the time, in the sequel had a +surprising effect upon Pierre. For he considered with what infinite +readiness now, the most faithful portrait of any one could be taken by +the Daguerreotype, whereas in former times a faithful portrait was only +within the power of the moneyed, or mental aristocrats of the earth. How +natural then the inference, that instead, as in old times, immortalizing +a genius, a portrait now only _dayalized_ a dunce. Besides, when every +body has his portrait published, true distinction lies in not having +yours published at all. For if you are published along with Tom, Dick, +and Harry, and wear a coat of their cut, how then are you distinct from +Tom, Dick, and Harry? Therefore, even so miserable a motive as downright +personal vanity helped to operate in this matter with Pierre. + +Some zealous lovers of the general literature of the age, as well as +declared devotees to his own great genius, frequently petitioned him for +the materials wherewith to frame his biography. They assured him, that +life of all things was most insecure. He might feel many years in him +yet; time might go lightly by him; but in any sudden and fatal sickness, +how would his last hours be embittered by the thought, that he was about +to depart forever, leaving the world utterly unprovided with the +knowledge of what were the precise texture and hue of the first trowsers +he wore. These representations did certainly touch him in a very tender +spot, not previously unknown to the schoolmaster. But when Pierre +considered, that owing to his extreme youth, his own recollections of +the past soon merged into all manner of half-memories and a general +vagueness, he could not find it in his conscience to present such +materials to the impatient biographers, especially as his chief +verifying authority in these matters of his past career, was now +eternally departed beyond all human appeal. His excellent nurse Clarissa +had been dead four years and more. In vain a young literary friend, the +well-known author of two Indexes and one Epic, to whom the subject +happened to be mentioned, warmly espoused the cause of the distressed +biographers; saying that however unpleasant, one must needs pay the +penalty of celebrity; it was no use to stand back; and concluded by +taking from the crown of his hat the proof-sheets of his own biography, +which, with the most thoughtful consideration for the masses, was +shortly to be published in the pamphlet form, price only a shilling. + +It only the more bewildered and pained him, when still other and less +delicate applicants sent him their regularly printed +_Biographico-Solicito Circulars_, with his name written in ink; begging +him to honor them and the world with a neat draft of his life, including +criticisms on his own writings; the printed circular indiscriminately +protesting, that undoubtedly he knew more of his own life than any other +living man; and that only he who had put together the great works of +Glendinning could be fully qualified thoroughly to analyze them, and +cast the ultimate judgment upon their remarkable construction. + +Now, it was under the influence of the humiliating emotions engendered +by things like the above; it was when thus haunted by publishers, +engravers, editors, critics, autograph-collectors, portrait-fanciers, +biographers, and petitioning and remonstrating literary friends of all +sorts; it was then, that there stole into the youthful soul of Pierre, +melancholy forebodings of the utter unsatisfactoriness of all human +fame; since the most ardent profferings of the most martyrizing +demonstrations in his behalf,--these he was sorrowfully obliged to turn +away. + +And it may well be believed, that after the wonderful vital +world-revelation so suddenly made to Pierre at the Meadows--a revelation +which, at moments, in some certain things, fairly Timonized him--he had +not failed to clutch with peculiar nervous detestation and contempt that +ample parcel, containing the letters of his Biographico and other silly +correspondents, which, in a less ferocious hour, he had filed away as +curiosities. It was with an almost infernal grin, that he saw that +particular heap of rubbish eternally quenched in the fire, and felt +that as it was consumed before his eyes, so in his soul was forever +killed the last and minutest undeveloped microscopic germ of that most +despicable vanity to which those absurd correspondents thought to +appeal. + + + + +BOOK XVIII. + +PIERRE, AS A JUVENILE AUTHOR, RECONSIDERED. + + +I. + +Inasmuch as by various indirect intimations much more than ordinary +natural genius has been imputed to Pierre, it may have seemed an +inconsistency, that only the merest magazine papers should have been +thus far the sole productions of his mind. Nor need it be added, that, +in the soberest earnest, those papers contained nothing uncommon; +indeed--entirely now to drop all irony, if hitherto any thing like that +has been indulged in--those fugitive things of Master Pierre's were the +veriest common-place. + +It is true, as I long before said, that Nature at Saddle Meadows had +very early been as a benediction to Pierre;--had blown her wind-clarion +to him from the blue hills, and murmured melodious secrecies to him by +her streams and her woods. But while nature thus very early and very +abundantly feeds us, she is very late in tutoring us as to the proper +methodization of our diet. Or,--to change the metaphor,--there are +immense quarries of fine marble; but how to get it out; how to chisel +it; how to construct any temple? Youth must wholly quit, then, the +quarry, for awhile; and not only go forth, and get tools to use in the +quarry, but must go and thoroughly study architecture. Now the +quarry-discoverer is long before the stone-cutter; and the stone-cutter +is long before the architect; and the architect is long before the +temple; for the temple is the crown of the world. + +Yes; Pierre was not only very unarchitectural at that time, but Pierre +was very young, indeed, at that time. And it is often to be observed, +that as in digging for precious metals in the mines, much earthy rubbish +has first to be troublesomely handled and thrown out; so, in digging in +one's soul for the fine gold of genius, much dullness and common-place +is first brought to light. Happy would it be, if the man possessed in +himself some receptacle for his own rubbish of this sort: but he is like +the occupant of a dwelling, whose refuse can not be clapped into his own +cellar, but must be deposited in the street before his own door, for the +public functionaries to take care of. No common-place is ever +effectually got rid of, except by essentially emptying one's self of it +into a book; for once trapped in a book, then the book can be put into +the fire, and all will be well. But they are not always put into the +fire; and this accounts for the vast majority of miserable books over +those of positive merit. Nor will any thoroughly sincere man, who is an +author, ever be rash in precisely defining the period, when he has +completely ridded himself of his rubbish, and come to the latent gold in +his mine. It holds true, in every case, that the wiser a man is, the +more misgivings he has on certain points. + +It is well enough known, that the best productions of the best human +intellects, are generally regarded by those intellects as mere immature +freshman exercises, wholly worthless in themselves, except as +initiatives for entering the great University of God after death. +Certain it is, that if any inferences can be drawn from observations of +the familiar lives of men of the greatest mark, their finest things, +those which become the foolish glory of the world, are not only very +poor and inconsiderable to themselves, but often positively distasteful; +they would rather not have the book in the room. In minds comparatively +inferior as compared with the above, these surmising considerations so +sadden and unfit, that they become careless of what they write; go to +their desks with discontent, and only remain there--victims to headache, +and pain in the back--by the hard constraint of some social necessity. +Equally paltry and despicable to them, are the works thus composed; born +of unwillingness and the bill of the baker; the rickety offspring of a +parent, careless of life herself, and reckless of the germ-life she +contains. Let not the short-sighted world for a moment imagine, that any +vanity lurks in such minds; only hired to appear on the stage, not +voluntarily claiming the public attention; their utmost life-redness and +glow is but rouge, washed off in private with bitterest tears; their +laugh only rings because it is hollow; and the answering laugh is no +laughter to them. + +There is nothing so slipperily alluring as sadness; we become sad in the +first place by having nothing stirring to do; we continue in it, because +we have found a snug sofa at last. Even so, it may possibly be, that +arrived at this quiet retrospective little episode in the career of my +hero--this shallowly expansive embayed Tappan Zee of my otherwise +deep-heady Hudson--I too begin to loungingly expand, and wax harmlessly +sad and sentimental. + +Now, what has been hitherto presented in reference to Pierre, concerning +rubbish, as in some cases the unavoidable first-fruits of genius, is in +no wise contradicted by the fact, that the first published works of many +meritorious authors have given mature token of genius; for we do not +know how many they previously published to the flames; or privately +published in their own brains, and suppressed there as quickly. And in +the inferior instances of an immediate literary success, in very young +writers, it will be almost invariably observable, that for that instant +success they were chiefly indebted to some rich and peculiar experience +in life, embodied in a book, which because, for that cause, containing +original matter, the author himself, forsooth, is to be considered +original; in this way, many very original books, being the product of +very unoriginal minds. Indeed, man has only to be but a little +circumspect, and away flies the last rag of his vanity. The world is +forever babbling of originality; but there never yet was an original +man, in the sense intended by the world; the first man himself--who +according to the Rabbins was also the first author--not being an +original; the only original author being God. Had Milton's been the lot +of Caspar Hauser, Milton would have been vacant as he. For though the +naked soul of man doth assuredly contain one latent element of +intellectual productiveness; yet never was there a child born solely +from one parent; the visible world of experience being that procreative +thing which impregnates the muses; self-reciprocally efficient +hermaphrodites being but a fable. + +There is infinite nonsense in the world on all of these matters; hence +blame me not if I contribute my mite. It is impossible to talk or to +write without apparently throwing oneself helplessly open; the +Invulnerable Knight wears his visor down. Still, it is pleasant to chat; +for it passes the time ere we go to our beds; and speech is farther +incited, when like strolling improvisatores of Italy, we are paid for +our breath. And we are only too thankful when the gapes of the audience +dismiss us with the few ducats we earn. + + +II. + +It may have been already inferred, that the pecuniary plans of Pierre +touching his independent means of support in the city were based upon +his presumed literary capabilities. For what else could he do? He knew +no profession, no trade. Glad now perhaps might he have been, if Fate +had made him a blacksmith, and not a gentleman, a Glendinning, and a +genius. But here he would have been unpardonably rash, had he not +already, in some degree, actually tested the fact, in his own personal +experience, that it is not altogether impossible for a magazine +contributor to Juvenile American literature to receive a few pence in +exchange for his ditties. Such cases stand upon imperishable record, and +it were both folly and ingratitude to disown them. + +But since the fine social position and noble patrimony of Pierre, had +thus far rendered it altogether unnecessary for him to earn the least +farthing of his own in the world, whether by hand or by brain; it may +seem desirable to explain a little here as we go. We shall do so, but +always including, the preamble. + +Sometimes every possible maxim or thought seems an old one; yet it is +among the elder of the things in that unaugmentable stock, that never +mind what one's situation may be, however prosperous and happy, he will +still be impatient of it; he will still reach out of himself, and beyond +every present condition. So, while many a poor be-inked galley-slave, +toiling with the heavy oar of a quill, to gain something wherewithal to +stave off the cravings of nature; and in his hours of morbid +self-reproach, regarding his paltry wages, at all events, as an +unavoidable disgrace to him; while this galley-slave of letters would +have leaped with delight--reckless of the feeble seams of his +pantaloons--at the most distant prospect of inheriting the broad farms +of Saddle Meadows, lord of an all-sufficing income, and forever exempt +from wearing on his hands those treacherous plague-spots of +indigence--videlicet, blots from the inkstand;--Pierre himself, the +undoubted and actual possessor of the things only longingly and +hopelessly imagined by the other; the then top of Pierre's worldly +ambition, was the being able to boast that he had written such matters +as publishers would pay something for in the way of a mere business +transaction, which they thought would prove profitable. Yet altogether +weak and silly as this may seem in Pierre, let us preambillically +examine a little further, and see if it be so indeed. + +Pierre was proud; and a proud man--proud with the sort of pride now +meant--ever holds but lightly those things, however beneficent, which he +did not for himself procure. Were such pride carried out to its +legitimate end, the man would eat no bread, the seeds whereof he had not +himself put into the soil, not entirely without humiliation, that even +that seed must be borrowed from some previous planter. A proud man likes +to feel himself in himself, and not by reflection in others. He likes to +be not only his own Alpha and Omega, but to be distinctly all the +intermediate gradations, and then to slope off on his own spine either +way, into the endless impalpable ether. What a glory it was then to +Pierre, when first in his two gentlemanly hands he jingled the wages of +labor! Talk of drums and the fife; the echo of coin of one's own earning +is more inspiring than all the trumpets of Sparta. How disdainfully now +he eyed the sumptuousness of his hereditary halls--the hangings, and the +pictures, and the bragging historic armorials and the banners of the +Glendinning renown; confident, that if need should come, he would not be +forced to turn resurrectionist, and dig up his grandfather's +Indian-chief grave for the ancestral sword and shield, ignominiously to +pawn them for a living! He could live on himself. Oh, twice-blessed now, +in the feeling of practical capacity, was Pierre. + +The mechanic, the day-laborer, has but one way to live; his body must +provide for his body. But not only could Pierre in some sort, do that; +he could do the other; and letting his body stay lazily at home, send +off his soul to labor, and his soul would come faithfully back and pay +his body her wages. So, some unprofessional gentlemen of the +aristocratic South, who happen to own slaves, give those slaves liberty +to go and seek work, and every night return with their wages, which +constitute those idle gentlemen's income. Both ambidexter and +quadruple-armed is that man, who in a day-laborer's body, possesses a +day-laboring soul. Yet let not such an one be over-confident. Our God is +a jealous God; He wills not that any man should permanently possess the +least shadow of His own self-sufficient attributes. Yoke the body to the +soul, and put both to the plough, and the one or the other must in the +end assuredly drop in the furrow. Keep, then, thy body effeminate for +labor, and thy soul laboriously robust; or else thy soul effeminate for +labor, and thy body laboriously robust. Elect! the two will not +lastingly abide in one yoke. Thus over the most vigorous and soaring +conceits, doth the cloud of Truth come stealing; thus doth the shot, +even of a sixty-two-pounder pointed upward, light at last on the earth; +for strive we how we may, we can not overshoot the earth's orbit, to +receive the attractions of other planets; Earth's law of gravitation +extends far beyond her own atmosphere. + +In the operative opinion of this world, he who is already fully provided +with what is necessary for him, that man shall have more; while he who +is deplorably destitute of the same, he shall have taken away from him +even that which he hath. Yet the world vows it is a very plain, +downright matter-of-fact, plodding, humane sort of world. It is governed +only by the simplest principles, and scorns all ambiguities, all +transcendentals, and all manner of juggling. Now some imaginatively +heterodoxical men are often surprisingly twitted upon their willful +inverting of all common-sense notions, their absurd and all-displacing +transcendentals, which say three is four, and two and two make ten. But +if the eminent Jugglarius himself ever advocated in mere words a +doctrine one thousandth part so ridiculous and subversive of all +practical sense, as that doctrine which the world actually and eternally +practices, of giving unto him who already hath more than enough, still +more of the superfluous article, and taking away from him who hath +nothing at all, even that which he hath,--then is the truest book in the +world a lie. + +Wherefore we see that the so-called Transcendentalists are not the only +people who deal in Transcendentals. On the contrary, we seem to see that +the Utilitarians,--the every-day world's people themselves, far +transcend those inferior Transcendentalists by their own +incomprehensible worldly maxims. And--what is vastly more--with the one +party, their Transcendentals are but theoretic and inactive, and +therefore harmless; whereas with the other, they are actually clothed in +living deeds. + +The highly graveling doctrine and practice of the world, above cited, +had in some small degree been manifested in the case of Pierre. He +prospectively possessed the fee of several hundred farms scattered over +part of two adjoining counties; and now the proprietor of that popular +periodical, the Gazelle Magazine, sent him several additional dollars +for his sonnets. That proprietor (though in sooth, he never read the +sonnets, but referred them to his professional adviser; and was so +ignorant, that, for a long time previous to the periodical's actually +being started, he insisted upon spelling the Gazelle with a _g_ for the +_z_, as thus: _Gagelle_; maintaining, that in the Gazelle connection, +the _z_ was a mere impostor, and that the _g_ was soft; for he was a +judge of softness, and could speak from experience); that proprietor was +undoubtedly a Transcendentalist; for did he not act upon the +Transcendental doctrine previously set forth? + +Now, the dollars derived from his ditties, these Pierre had always +invested in cigars; so that the puffs which indirectly brought him his +dollars were again returned, but as perfumed puffs; perfumed with the +sweet leaf of Havanna. So that this highly-celebrated and world-renowned +Pierre--the great author--whose likeness the world had never seen (for +had he not repeatedly refused the world his likeness?), this famous +poet, and philosopher, author of "_The Tropical Summer: a Sonnet_;" +against whose very life several desperadoes were darkly plotting (for +had not the biographers sworn they would have it!); this towering +celebrity--there he would sit smoking, and smoking, mild and +self-festooned as a vapory mountain. It was very involuntarily and +satisfactorily reciprocal. His cigars were lighted in two ways: lighted +by the sale of his sonnets, and lighted by the printed sonnets +themselves. + +For even at that early time in his authorial life, Pierre, however vain +of his fame, was not at all proud of his paper. Not only did he make +allumettes of his sonnets when published, but was very careless about +his discarded manuscripts; they were to be found lying all round the +house; gave a great deal of trouble to the housemaids in sweeping; went +for kindlings to the fires; and were forever flitting out of the +windows, and under the door-sills, into the faces of people passing the +manorial mansion. In this reckless, indifferent way of his, Pierre +himself was a sort of publisher. It is true his more familiar admirers +often earnestly remonstrated with him, against this irreverence to the +primitive vestments of his immortal productions; saying, that whatever +had once felt the nib of his mighty pen, was thenceforth sacred as the +lips which had but once saluted the great toe of the Pope. But hardened +as he was to these friendly censurings, Pierre never forbade that ardent +appreciation of "The Tear," who, finding a small fragment of the +original manuscript containing a dot (_tear_), over an _i_ (_eye_), +esteemed the significant event providential; and begged the +distinguished favor of being permitted to have it for a brooch; and +ousted a cameo-head of Homer, to replace it with the more invaluable +gem. He became inconsolable, when being caught in a rain, the dot +(_tear_) disappeared from over the _i_ (_eye_); so that the strangeness +and wonderfulness of the sonnet was still conspicuous; in that though +the least fragment of it could weep in a drought, yet did it become all +tearless in a shower. + +But this indifferent and supercilious amateur--deaf to the admiration of +the world; the enigmatically merry and renowned author of "The Tear;" +the pride of the Gazelle Magazine, on whose flaunting cover his name +figured at the head of all contributors--(no small men either; for their +lives had all been fraternally written by each other, and they had +clubbed, and had their likenesses all taken by the aggregate job, and +published on paper, all bought at one shop) this high-prestiged +Pierre--whose future popularity and voluminousness had become so +startlingly announced by what he had already written, that certain +speculators came to the Meadows to survey its water-power, if any, with +a view to start a paper-mill expressly for the great author, and so +monopolize his stationery dealings;--this vast being,--spoken of with +awe by all merely youthful aspirants for fame; this age-neutralizing +Pierre;--before whom an old gentleman of sixty-five, formerly librarian +to Congress, on being introduced to him at the Magazine publishers', +devoutly took off his hat, and kept it so, and remained standing, though +Pierre was socially seated with his hat on;--this wonderful, disdainful +genius--but only life-amateur as yet--is now soon to appear in a far +different guise. He shall now learn, and very bitterly learn, that +though the world worship Mediocrity and Common Place, yet hath it fire +and sword for all cotemporary Grandeur; that though it swears that it +fiercely assails all Hypocrisy, yet hath it not always an ear for +Earnestness. + +And though this state of things, united with the ever multiplying +freshets of new books, seems inevitably to point to a coming time, when +the mass of humanity reduced to one level of dotage, authors shall be +scarce as alchymists are to-day, and the printing-press be reckoned a +small invention:--yet even now, in the foretaste of this let us hug +ourselves, oh, my Aurelian! that though the age of authors be passing, +the hours of earnestness shall remain! + + + + +BOOK XIX. + +THE CHURCH OF THE APOSTLES. + + +I. + +In the lower old-fashioned part of the city, in a narrow street--almost +a lane--once filled with demure-looking dwellings, but now chiefly with +immense lofty warehouses of foreign importers; and not far from the +corner where the lane intersected with a very considerable but +contracted thoroughfare for merchants and their clerks, and their carmen +and porters; stood at this period a rather singular and ancient edifice, +a relic of the more primitive time. The material was a grayish stone, +rudely cut and masoned into walls of surprising thickness and strength; +along two of which walls--the side ones--were distributed as many rows +of arched and stately windows. A capacious, square, and wholly +unornamented tower rose in front to twice the height of the body of the +church; three sides of this tower were pierced with small and narrow +apertures. Thus far, in its external aspect, the building--now more than +a century old,--sufficiently attested for what purpose it had originally +been founded. In its rear, was a large and lofty plain brick structure, +with its front to the rearward street, but its back presented to the +back of the church, leaving a small, flagged, and quadrangular vacancy +between. At the sides of this quadrangle, three stories of homely brick +colonnades afforded covered communication between the ancient church, +and its less elderly adjunct. A dismantled, rusted, and forlorn old +railing of iron fencing in a small courtyard in front of the rearward +building, seemed to hint, that the latter had usurped an unoccupied +space formerly sacred as the old church's burial inclosure. Such a fancy +would have been entirely true. Built when that part of the city was +devoted to private residences, and not to warehouses and offices as now, +the old Church of the Apostles had had its days of sanctification and +grace; but the tide of change and progress had rolled clean through its +broad-aisle and side-aisles, and swept by far the greater part of its +congregation two or three miles up town. Some stubborn and elderly old +merchants and accountants, lingered awhile among its dusty pews, +listening to the exhortations of a faithful old pastor, who, sticking to +his post in this flight of his congregation, still propped his +half-palsied form in the worm-eaten pulpit, and occasionally +pounded--though now with less vigorous hand--the moth-eaten covering of +its desk. But it came to pass, that this good old clergyman died; and +when the gray-headed and bald-headed remaining merchants and accountants +followed his coffin out of the broad-aisle to see it reverently +interred; then that was the last time that ever the old edifice +witnessed the departure of a regular worshiping assembly from its walls. +The venerable merchants and accountants held a meeting, at which it was +finally decided, that, hard and unwelcome as the necessity might be, yet +it was now no use to disguise the fact, that the building could no +longer be efficiently devoted to its primitive purpose. It must be +divided into stores; cut into offices; and given for a roost to the +gregarious lawyers. This intention was executed, even to the making +offices high up in the tower; and so well did the thing succeed, that +ultimately the church-yard was invaded for a supplemental edifice, +likewise to be promiscuously rented to the legal crowd. But this new +building very much exceeded the body of the church in height. It was +some seven stories; a fearful pile of Titanic bricks, lifting its tiled +roof almost to a level with the top of the sacred tower. + +In this ambitious erection the proprietors went a few steps, or rather a +few stories, too far. For as people would seldom willingly fall into +legal altercations unless the lawyers were always very handy to help +them; so it is ever an object with lawyers to have their offices as +convenient as feasible to the street; on the ground-floor, if possible, +without a single acclivity of a step; but at any rate not in the seventh +story of any house, where their clients might be deterred from employing +them at all, if they were compelled to mount seven long flights of +stairs, one over the other, with very brief landings, in order even to +pay their preliminary retaining fees. So, from some time after its +throwing open, the upper stories of the less ancient attached edifice +remained almost wholly without occupants; and by the forlorn echoes of +their vacuities, right over the head of the business-thriving legal +gentlemen below, must--to some few of them at least--have suggested +unwelcome similitudes, having reference to the crowded state of their +basement-pockets, as compared with the melancholy condition of their +attics;--alas! full purses and empty heads! This dreary posture of +affairs, however, was at last much altered for the better, by the +gradual filling up of the vacant chambers on high, by scores of those +miscellaneous, bread-and-cheese adventurers, and ambiguously +professional nondescripts in very genteel but shabby black, and +unaccountable foreign-looking fellows in blue spectacles; who, +previously issuing from unknown parts of the world, like storks in +Holland, light on the eaves, and in the attics of lofty old buildings in +most large sea-port towns. Here they sit and talk like magpies; or +descending in quest of improbable dinners, are to be seen drawn up along +the curb in front of the eating-houses, like lean rows of broken-hearted +pelicans on a beach; their pockets loose, hanging down and flabby, like +the pelican's pouches when fish are hard to be caught. But these poor, +penniless devils still strive to make ample amends for their physical +forlornness, by resolutely reveling in the region of blissful ideals. + +They are mostly artists of various sorts; painters, or sculptors, or +indigent students, or teachers of languages, or poets, or fugitive +French politicians, or German philosophers. Their mental tendencies, +however heterodox at times, are still very fine and spiritual upon the +whole; since the vacuity of their exchequers leads them to reject the +coarse materialism of Hobbs, and incline to the airy exaltations of the +Berkelyan philosophy. Often groping in vain in their pockets, they can +not but give in to the Descartian vortices; while the abundance of +leisure in their attics (physical and figurative), unite with the +leisure in their stomachs, to fit them in an eminent degree for that +undivided attention indispensable to the proper digesting of the +sublimated Categories of Kant; especially as Kant (can't) is the one +great palpable fact in their pervadingly impalpable lives. These are the +glorious paupers, from whom I learn the profoundest mysteries of things; +since their very existence in the midst of such a terrible +precariousness of the commonest means of support, affords a problem on +which many speculative nutcrackers have been vainly employed. Yet let me +here offer up three locks of my hair, to the memory of all such glorious +paupers who have lived and died in this world. Surely, and truly I honor +them--noble men often at bottom--and for that very reason I make bold to +be gamesome about them; for where fundamental nobleness is, and +fundamental honor is due, merriment is never accounted irreverent. The +fools and pretenders of humanity, and the impostors and baboons among +the gods, these only are offended with raillery; since both those gods +and men whose titles to eminence are secure, seldom worry themselves +about the seditious gossip of old apple-women, and the skylarkings of +funny little boys in the street. + +When the substance is gone, men cling to the shadow. Places once set +apart to lofty purposes, still retain the name of that loftiness, even +when converted to the meanest uses. It would seem, as if forced by +imperative Fate to renounce the reality of the romantic and lofty, the +people of the present would fain make a compromise by retaining some +purely imaginative remainder. The curious effects of this tendency is +oftenest evinced in those venerable countries of the old transatlantic +world; where still over the Thames one bridge yet retains the monastic +tide of Blackfriars; though not a single Black Friar, but many a +pickpocket, has stood on that bank since a good ways beyond the days of +Queen Bess; where still innumerable other historic anomalies sweetly and +sadly remind the present man of the wonderful procession that preceded +him in his new generation. Nor--though the comparative recentness of our +own foundation upon these Columbian shores, excludes any considerable +participation in these attractive anomalies,--yet are we not altogether, +in our more elderly towns, wholly without some touch of them, here and +there. It was thus with the ancient Church of the Apostles--better +known, even in its primitive day, under the abbreviative of The +Apostles--which, though now converted from its original purpose to one +so widely contrasting, yet still retained its majestical name. The +lawyer or artist tenanting its chambers, whether in the new building or +the old, when asked where he was to be found, invariably replied,--_At +the Apostles'_. But because now, at last, in the course of the +inevitable transplantations of the more notable localities of the +various professions in a thriving and amplifying town, the venerable +spot offered not such inducements as before to the legal gentlemen; and +as the strange nondescript adventurers and artists, and indigent +philosophers of all sorts, crowded in as fast as the others left; +therefore, in reference to the metaphysical strangeness of these curious +inhabitants, and owing in some sort to the circumstance, that several of +them were well-known Teleological Theorists, and Social Reformers, and +political propagandists of all manner of heterodoxical tenets; +therefore, I say, and partly, peradventure, from some slight waggishness +in the public; the immemorial popular name of the ancient church itself +was participatingly transferred to the dwellers therein. So it came to +pass, that in the general fashion of the day, he who had chambers in the +old church was familiarly styled an _Apostle_. + +But as every effect is but the cause of another and a subsequent one, so +it now happened that finding themselves thus clannishly, and not +altogether infelicitously entitled, the occupants of the venerable +church began to come together out of their various dens, in more social +communion; attracted toward each other by a title common to all. +By-and-by, from this, they went further; and insensibly, at last became +organized in a peculiar society, which, though exceedingly +inconspicuous, and hardly perceptible in its public demonstrations, was +still secretly suspected to have some mysterious ulterior object, +vaguely connected with the absolute overturning of Church and State, and +the hasty and premature advance of some unknown great political and +religious Millennium. Still, though some zealous conservatives and +devotees of morals, several times left warning at the police-office, to +keep a wary eye on the old church; and though, indeed, sometimes an +officer would look up inquiringly at the suspicious narrow window-slits +in the lofty tower; yet, to say the truth, was the place, to all +appearance, a very quiet and decorous one, and its occupants a company +of harmless people, whose greatest reproach was efflorescent coats and +crack-crowned hats all podding in the sun. + +Though in the middle of the day many bales and boxes would be trundled +along the stores in front of the Apostles'; and along its critically +narrow sidewalk, the merchants would now and then hurry to meet their +checks ere the banks should close: yet the street, being mostly devoted +to mere warehousing purposes, and not used as a general thoroughfare, it +was at all times a rather secluded and silent place. But from an hour or +two before sundown to ten or eleven o'clock the next morning, it was +remarkably silent and depopulated, except by the Apostles themselves; +while every Sunday it presented an aspect of surprising and startling +quiescence; showing nothing but one long vista of six or seven stories +of inexorable iron shutters on both sides of the way. It was pretty much +the same with the other street, which, as before said, intersected with +the warehousing lane, not very far from the Apostles'. For though that +street was indeed a different one from the latter, being full of cheap +refectories for clerks, foreign restaurants, and other places of +commercial resort; yet the only hum in it was restricted to business +hours; by night it was deserted of every occupant but the lamp-posts; +and on Sunday, to walk through it, was like walking through an avenue of +sphinxes. + +Such, then, was the present condition of the ancient Church of the +Apostles; buzzing with a few lingering, equivocal lawyers in the +basement, and populous with all sorts of poets, painters, paupers and +philosophers above. A mysterious professor of the flute was perched in +one of the upper stories of the tower; and often, of silent, moonlight +nights, his lofty, melodious notes would be warbled forth over the roofs +of the ten thousand warehouses around him--as of yore, the bell had +pealed over the domestic gables of a long-departed generation. + + +II. + +On the third night following the arrival of the party in the city, +Pierre sat at twilight by a lofty window in the rear building of the +Apostles'. The chamber was meager even to meanness. No carpet on the +floor, no picture on the wall; nothing but a low, long, and very +curious-looking single bedstead, that might possibly serve for an +indigent bachelor's pallet, a large, blue, chintz-covered chest, a +rickety, rheumatic, and most ancient mahogany chair, and a wide board of +the toughest live-oak, about six feet long, laid upon two upright empty +flour-barrels, and loaded with a large bottle of ink, an unfastened +bundle of quills, a pen-knife, a folder, and a still unbound ream of +foolscap paper, significantly stamped, "Ruled; Blue." + +There, on the third night, at twilight, sat Pierre by that lofty window +of a beggarly room in the rear-building of the Apostles'. He was +entirely idle, apparently; there was nothing in his hands; but there +might have been something on his heart. Now and then he fixedly gazes at +the curious-looking, rusty old bedstead. It seemed powerfully symbolical +to him; and most symbolical it was. For it was the ancient dismemberable +and portable camp-bedstead of his grandfather, the defiant defender of +the Fort, the valiant captain in many an unsuccumbing campaign. On that +very camp-bedstead, there, beneath his tent on the field, the glorious +old mild-eyed and warrior-hearted general had slept, and but waked to +buckle his knight-making sword by his side; for it was noble knighthood +to be slain by grand Pierre; in the other world his foes' ghosts bragged +of the hand that had given them their passports. + +But has that hard bed of War, descended for an inheritance to the soft +body of Peace? In the peaceful time of full barns, and when the noise of +the peaceful flail is abroad, and the hum of peaceful commerce resounds, +is the grandson of two Generals a warrior too? Oh, not for naught, in +the time of this seeming peace, are warrior grandsires given to Pierre! +For Pierre is a warrior too; Life his campaign, and three fierce allies, +Woe and Scorn and Want, his foes. The wide world is banded against him; +for lo you! he holds up the standard of Right, and swears by the Eternal +and True! But ah, Pierre, Pierre, when thou goest to that bed, how +humbling the thought, that thy most extended length measures not the +proud six feet four of thy grand John of Gaunt sire! The stature of the +warrior is cut down to the dwindled glory of the fight. For more +glorious in real tented field to strike down your valiant foe, than in +the conflicts of a noble soul with a dastardly world to chase a vile +enemy who ne'er will show front. + +There, then, on the third night, at twilight, by the lofty window of +that beggarly room, sat Pierre in the rear building of the Apostles'. He +is gazing out from the window now. But except the donjon form of the old +gray tower, seemingly there is nothing to see but a wilderness of tiles, +slate, shingles, and tin;--the desolate hanging wildernesses of tiles, +slate, shingles and tin, wherewith we modern Babylonians replace the +fair hanging-gardens of the fine old Asiatic times when the excellent +Nebuchadnezzar was king. + +There he sits, a strange exotic, transplanted from the delectable +alcoves of the old manorial mansion, to take root in this niggard soil. +No more do the sweet purple airs of the hills round about the green +fields of Saddle Meadows come revivingly wafted to his cheek. Like a +flower he feels the change; his bloom is gone from his cheek; his cheek +is wilted and pale. + +From the lofty window of that beggarly room, what is it that Pierre is +so intently eying? There is no street at his feet; like a profound black +gulf the open area of the quadrangle gapes beneath him. But across it, +and at the further end of the steep roof of the ancient church, there +looms the gray and grand old tower; emblem to Pierre of an unshakable +fortitude, which, deep-rooted in the heart of the earth, defied all the +howls of the air. + +There is a door in Pierre's room opposite the window of Pierre: and now +a soft knock is heard in that direction, accompanied by gentle words, +asking whether the speaker might enter. + +"Yes, always, sweet Isabel"--answered Pierre, rising and approaching +the door;--"here: let us drag out the old camp-bed for a sofa; come, sit +down now, my sister, and let us fancy ourselves anywhere thou wilt." + +"Then, my brother, let us fancy ourselves in realms of everlasting +twilight and peace, where no bright sun shall rise, because the black +night is always its follower. Twilight and peace, my brother, twilight +and peace!" + +"It is twilight now, my sister; and surely, this part of the city at +least seems still." + +"Twilight now, but night soon; then a brief sun, and then another long +night. Peace now, but sleep and nothingness soon, and then hard work for +thee, my brother, till the sweet twilight come again." + +"Let us light a candle, my sister; the evening is deepening." + +"For what light a candle, dear Pierre?--Sit close to me, my brother." + +He moved nearer to her, and stole one arm around her; her sweet head +leaned against his breast; each felt the other's throbbing. + +"Oh, my dear Pierre, why should we always be longing for peace, and then +be impatient of peace when it comes? Tell me, my brother! Not two hours +ago, thou wert wishing for twilight, and now thou wantest a candle to +hurry the twilight's last lingering away." + +But Pierre did not seem to hear her; his arm embraced her tighter; his +whole frame was invisibly trembling. Then suddenly in a low tone of +wonderful intensity he breathed: + +"Isabel! Isabel!" + +She caught one arm around him, as his was around herself; the tremor ran +from him to her; both sat dumb. + +He rose, and paced the room. + +"Well, Pierre; thou camest in here to arrange thy matters, thou saidst. +Now what hast thou done? Come, we will light a candle now." + +The candle was lighted, and their talk went on. + +"How about the papers, my brother? Dost thou find every thing right? +Hast thou decided upon what to publish first, while thou art writing the +new thing thou didst hint of?" + +"Look at that chest, my sister. Seest thou not that the cords are yet +untied?" + +"Then thou hast not been into it at all as yet?" + +"Not at all, Isabel. In ten days I have lived ten thousand years. +Forewarned now of the rubbish in that chest, I can not summon the heart +to open it. Trash! Dross! Dirt!" + +"Pierre! Pierre! what change is this? Didst thou not tell me, ere we +came hither, that thy chest not only contained some silver and gold, but +likewise far more precious things, readily convertible into silver and +gold? Ah, Pierre, thou didst swear we had naught to fear!" + +"If I have ever willfully deceived thee, Isabel, may the high gods prove +Benedict Arnolds to me, and go over to the devils to reinforce them +against me! But to have ignorantly deceived myself and thee together, +Isabel; that is a very different thing. Oh, what a vile juggler and +cheat is man! Isabel, in that chest are things which in the hour of +composition, I thought the very heavens looked in from the windows in +astonishment at their beauty and power. Then, afterward, when days +cooled me down, and again I took them up and scanned them, some +underlying suspicions intruded; but when in the open air, I recalled the +fresh, unwritten images of the bunglingly written things; then I felt +buoyant and triumphant again; as if by that act of ideal recalling, I +had, forsooth, transferred the perfect ideal to the miserable written +attempt at embodying it. This mood remained. So that afterward how I +talked to thee about the wonderful things I had done; the gold and the +silver mine I had long before sprung for thee and for me, who never were +to come to want in body or mind. Yet all this time, there was the latent +suspicion of folly; but I would not admit it; I shut my soul's door in +its face. Yet now, the ten thousand universal revealings brand me on the +forehead with fool! and like protested notes at the Bankers, all those +written things of mine, are jaggingly cut through and through with the +protesting hammer of Truth!--Oh, I am sick, sick, sick!" + +"Let the arms that never were filled but by thee, lure thee back again, +Pierre, to the peace of the twilight, even though it be of the dimmest!" + +She blew out the light, and made Pierre sit down by her; and their hands +were placed in each other's. + +"Say, are not thy torments now gone, my brother?" + +"But replaced by--by--by--Oh God, Isabel, unhand me!" cried Pierre, +starting up. "Ye heavens, that have hidden yourselves in the black hood +of the night, I call to ye! If to follow Virtue to her uttermost vista, +where common souls never go; if by that I take hold on hell, and the +uttermost virtue, after all, prove but a betraying pander to the +monstrousest vice,--then close in and crush me, ye stony walls, and into +one gulf let all things tumble together!" + +"My brother! this is some incomprehensible raving," pealed Isabel, +throwing both arms around him;--"my brother, my brother!" + +"Hark thee to thy furthest inland soul"--thrilled Pierre in a steeled +and quivering voice. "Call me brother no more! How knowest thou I am thy +brother? Did thy mother tell thee? Did my father say so to me?--I am +Pierre, and thou Isabel, wide brother and sister in the common +humanity,--no more. For the rest, let the gods look after their own +combustibles. If they have put powder-casks in me--let them look to it! +let them look to it! Ah! now I catch glimpses, and seem to half-see, +somehow, that the uttermost ideal of moral perfection in man is wide of +the mark. The demigods trample on trash, and Virtue and Vice are trash! +Isabel, I will write such things--I will gospelize the world anew, and +show them deeper secrets than the Apocalypse!--I will write it, I will +write it!" + +"Pierre, I am a poor girl, born in the midst of a mystery, bred in +mystery, and still surviving to mystery. So mysterious myself, the air +and the earth are unutterable to me; no word have I to express them. But +these are the circumambient mysteries; thy words, thy thoughts, open +other wonder-worlds to me, whither by myself I might fear to go. But +trust to me, Pierre. With thee, with thee, I would boldly swim a +starless sea, and be buoy to thee, there, when thou the strong swimmer +shouldst faint. Thou, Pierre, speakest of Virtue and Vice; life-secluded +Isabel knows neither the one nor the other, but by hearsay. What are +they, in their real selves, Pierre? Tell me first what is +Virtue:--begin!" + +"If on that point the gods are dumb, shall a pigmy speak? Ask the air!" + +"Then Virtue is nothing." + +"Not that!" + +"Then Vice?" + +"Look: a nothing is the substance, it casts one shadow one way, and +another the other way; and these two shadows cast from one nothing; +these, seems to me, are Virtue and Vice." + +"Then why torment thyself so, dearest Pierre?" + +"It is the law." + +"What?" + +"That a nothing should torment a nothing; for I am a nothing. It is all +a dream--we dream that we dreamed we dream." + +"Pierre, when thou just hovered on the verge, thou wert a riddle to me; +but now, that thou art deep down in the gulf of the soul,--now, when +thou wouldst be lunatic to wise men, perhaps--now doth poor ignorant +Isabel begin to comprehend thee. Thy feeling hath long been mine, +Pierre. Long loneliness and anguish have opened miracles to me. Yes, it +is all a dream!" + +Swiftly he caught her in his arms:--"From nothing proceeds nothing, +Isabel! How can one sin in a dream?" + +"First what is sin, Pierre?" + +"Another name for the other name, Isabel." + +"For Virtue, Pierre?" + +"No, for Vice." + +"Let us sit down again, my brother." + +"I am Pierre." + +"Let us sit down again, Pierre; sit close; thy arm!" + +And so, on the third night, when the twilight was gone, and no lamp was +lit, within the lofty window of that beggarly room, sat Pierre and +Isabel hushed. + + + + +BOOK XX. + +CHARLIE MILLTHORPE. + + +I. + +Pierre had been induced to take chambers at the Apostles', by one of the +Apostles themselves, an old acquaintance of his, and a native of Saddle +Meadows. + +Millthorpe was the son of a very respectable farmer--now dead--of more +than common intelligence, and whose bowed shoulders and homely garb had +still been surmounted by a head fit for a Greek philosopher, and +features so fine and regular that they would have well graced an opulent +gentleman. The political and social levelings and confoundings of all +manner of human elements in America, produce many striking individual +anomalies unknown in other lands. Pierre well remembered old farmer +Millthorpe:--the handsome, melancholy, calm-tempered, mute, old man; in +whose countenance--refinedly ennobled by nature, and yet coarsely tanned +and attenuated by many a prolonged day's work in the harvest--rusticity +and classicalness were strangely united. The delicate profile of his +face, bespoke the loftiest aristocracy; his knobbed and bony hands +resembled a beggar's. + +Though for several generations the Millthorpes had lived on the +Glendinning lands, they loosely and unostentatiously traced their origin +to an emigrating English Knight, who had crossed the sea in the time of +the elder Charles. But that indigence which had prompted the knight to +forsake his courtly country for the howling wilderness, was the only +remaining hereditament left to his bedwindled descendants in the fourth +and fifth remove. At the time that Pierre first recollected this +interesting man, he had, a year or two previous, abandoned an ample farm +on account of absolute inability to meet the manorial rent, and was +become the occupant of a very poor and contracted little place, on which +was a small and half-ruinous house. There, he then harbored with his +wife,--a very gentle and retiring person,--his three little daughters, +and his only son, a lad of Pierre's own age. The hereditary beauty and +youthful bloom of this boy; his sweetness of temper, and something of +natural refinement as contrasted with the unrelieved rudeness, and +oftentimes sordidness, of his neighbors; these things had early +attracted the sympathetic, spontaneous friendliness of Pierre. They were +often wont to take their boyish rambles together; and even the severely +critical Mrs. Glendinning, always fastidiously cautious as to the +companions of Pierre, had never objected to his intimacy with so +prepossessing and handsome a rustic as Charles. + +Boys are often very swiftly acute in forming a judgment on character. +The lads had not long companioned, ere Pierre concluded, that however +fine his face, and sweet his temper, young Millthorpe was but little +vigorous in mind; besides possessing a certain constitutional, +sophomorean presumption and egotism; which, however, having nothing to +feed on but his father's meal and potatoes, and his own essentially +timid and humane disposition, merely presented an amusing and harmless, +though incurable, anomalous feature in his character, not at all +impairing the good-will and companionableness of Pierre; for even in his +boyhood, Pierre possessed a sterling charity, which could cheerfully +overlook all minor blemishes in his inferiors, whether in fortune or +mind; content and glad to embrace the good whenever presented, or with +whatever conjoined. So, in youth, do we unconsciously act upon those +peculiar principles, which in conscious and verbalized maxims shall +systematically regulate our maturer lives;--a fact, which forcibly +illustrates the necessitarian dependence of our lives, and their +subordination, not to ourselves, but to Fate. + +If the grown man of taste, possess not only some eye to detect the +picturesque in the natural landscape, so also, has he as keen a +perception of what may not unfitly be here styled, the _povertiresque_ +in the social landscape. To such an one, not more picturesquely +conspicuous is the dismantled thatch in a painted cottage of +Gainsborough, than the time-tangled and want-thinned locks of a beggar, +_povertiresquely_ diversifying those snug little cabinet-pictures of the +world, which, exquisitely varnished and framed, are hung up in the +drawing-room minds of humane men of taste, and amiable philosophers of +either the "Compensation," or "Optimist" school. They deny that any +misery is in the world, except for the purpose of throwing the fine +_povertiresque_ element into its general picture. Go to! God hath +deposited cash in the Bank subject to our gentlemanly order; he hath +bounteously blessed the world with a summer carpet of green. Begone, +Heraclitus! The lamentations of the rain are but to make us our +rainbows! + +Not that in equivocal reference to the _povertiresque_ old farmer +Millthorpe, Pierre is here intended to be hinted at. Still, man can not +wholly escape his surroundings. Unconsciously Mrs. Glendinning had +always been one of these curious Optimists; and in his boyish life +Pierre had not wholly escaped the maternal contagion. Yet often, in +calling at the old farmer's for Charles of some early winter mornings, +and meeting the painfully embarrassed, thin, feeble features of Mrs. +Millthorpe, and the sadly inquisitive and hopelessly half-envious +glances of the three little girls; and standing on the threshold, Pierre +would catch low, aged, life-weary groans from a recess out of sight +from the door; then would Pierre have some boyish inklings of something +else than the pure _povertiresque_ in poverty: some inklings of what it +might be, to be old, and poor, and worn, and rheumatic, with shivering +death drawing nigh, and present life itself but a dull and a chill! some +inklings of what it might be, for him who in youth had vivaciously +leaped from his bed, impatient to meet the earliest sun, and lose no +sweet drop of his life, now hating the beams he once so dearly loved; +turning round in his bed to the wall to avoid them; and still postponing +the foot which should bring him back to the dismal day; when the sun is +not gold, but copper; and the sky is not blue, but gray; and the blood, +like Rhenish wine, too long unquaffed by Death, grows thin and sour in +the veins. + +Pierre had not forgotten that the augmented penury of the Millthorpe's +was, at the time we now retrospectively treat of, gravely imputed by the +gossiping frequenters of the Black Swan Inn, to certain insinuated moral +derelictions of the farmer. "The old man tipped his elbow too often," +once said in Pierre's hearing an old bottle-necked fellow, performing +the identical same act with a half-emptied glass in his hand. But though +the form of old Millthorpe was broken, his countenance, however sad and +thin, betrayed no slightest sign of the sot, either past or present. He +never was publicly known to frequent the inn, and seldom quitted the few +acres he cultivated with his son. And though, alas, indigent enough, yet +was he most punctually honest in paying his little debts of shillings +and pence for his groceries. And though, heaven knows, he had plenty of +occasion for all the money he could possibly earn, yet Pierre +remembered, that when, one autumn, a hog was bought of him for the +servants' hall at the Mansion, the old man never called for his money +till the midwinter following; and then, as with trembling fingers he +eagerly clutched the silver, he unsteadily said, "I have no use for it +now; it might just as well have stood over." It was then, that chancing +to overhear this, Mrs. Glendinning had looked at the old man, with a +kindly and benignantly interested eye to the _povertiresque_; and +murmured, "Ah! the old English Knight is not yet out of his blood. +Bravo, old man!" + +One day, in Pierre's sight, nine silent figures emerged from the door of +old Millthorpe; a coffin was put into a neighbor's farm-wagon; and a +procession, some thirty feet long, including the elongated pole and box +of the wagon, wound along Saddle Meadows to a hill, where, at last, old +Millthorpe was laid down in a bed, where the rising sun should affront +him no more. Oh, softest and daintiest of Holland linen is the motherly +earth! There, beneath the sublime tester of the infinite sky, like +emperors and kings, sleep, in grand state, the beggars and paupers of +earth! I joy that Death is this Democrat; and hopeless of all other real +and permanent democracies, still hug the thought, that though in life +some heads are crowned with gold, and some bound round with thorns, yet +chisel them how they will, head-stones are all alike. + +This somewhat particular account of the father of young Millthorpe, will +better set forth the less immature condition and character of the son, +on whom had now descended the maintenance of his mother and sisters. +But, though the son of a farmer, Charles was peculiarly averse to hard +labor. It was not impossible that by resolute hard labor he might +eventually have succeeded in placing his family in a far more +comfortable situation than he had ever remembered them. But it was not +so fated; the benevolent State had in its great wisdom decreed +otherwise. + +In the village of Saddle Meadows there was an institution, half +common-school and half academy, but mainly supported by a general +ordinance and financial provision of the government Here, not only were +the rudiments of an English education taught, but likewise some touch of +belles lettres, and composition, and that great American bulwark and +bore--elocution. On the high-raised, stage platform of the Saddle +Meadows Academy, the sons of the most indigent day-laborers were wont to +drawl out the fiery revolutionary rhetoric of Patrick Henry, or +gesticulate impetuously through the soft cadences of Drake's "Culprit +Fay." What wonder, then, that of Saturdays, when there was no elocution +and poesy, these boys should grow melancholy and disdainful over the +heavy, plodding handles of dung-forks and hoes? + +At the age of fifteen, the ambition of Charles Millthorpe was to be +either an orator, or a poet; at any rate, a great genius of one sort or +other. He recalled the ancestral Knight, and indignantly spurned the +plow. Detecting in him the first germ of this inclination, old +Millthorpe had very seriously reasoned with his son; warning him against +the evils of his vagrant ambition. Ambition of that sort was either for +undoubted genius, rich boys, or poor boys, standing entirely alone in +the world, with no one relying upon them. Charles had better consider +the case; his father was old and infirm; he could not last very long; he +had nothing to leave behind him but his plow and his hoe; his mother was +sickly; his sisters pale and delicate; and finally, life was a fact, and +the winters in that part of the country exceedingly bitter and long. +Seven months out of the twelve the pastures bore nothing, and all cattle +must be fed in the barns. But Charles was a boy; advice often seems the +most wantonly wasted of all human breath; man will not take wisdom on +trust; may be, it is well; for such wisdom is worthless; we must find +the true gem for ourselves; and so we go groping and groping for many +and many a day. + +Yet was Charles Millthorpe as affectionate and dutiful a boy as ever +boasted of his brain, and knew not that he possessed a far more +excellent and angelical thing in the possession of a generous heart. His +father died; to his family he resolved to be a second father, and a +careful provider now. But not by hard toil of his hand; but by gentler +practices of his mind. Already he had read many books--history, poetry, +romance, essays, and all. The manorial book-shelves had often been +honored by his visits, and Pierre had kindly been his librarian. Not to +lengthen the tale, at the age of seventeen, Charles sold the horse, the +cow, the pig, the plow, the hoe, and almost every movable thing on the +premises; and, converting all into cash, departed with his mother and +sisters for the city; chiefly basing his expectations of success on some +vague representations of an apothecary relative there resident. How he +and his mother and sisters battled it out; how they pined and +half-starved for a while; how they took in sewing; and Charles took in +copying; and all but scantily sufficed for a livelihood; all this may be +easily imagined. But some mysterious latent good-will of Fate toward +him, had not only thus far kept Charles from the Poor-House, but had +really advanced his fortunes in a degree. At any rate, that certain +harmless presumption and innocent egotism which have been previously +adverted to as sharing in his general character, these had by no means +retarded him; for it is often to be observed of the shallower men, that +they are the very last to despond. It is the glory of the bladder that +nothing can sink it; it is the reproach of a box of treasure, that once +overboard it must down. + + +II. + +When arrived in the city, and discovering the heartless neglect of Glen, +Pierre,--looking about him for whom to apply to in this +strait,--bethought him of his old boy-companion Charlie, and went out to +seek him, and found him at last; he saw before him, a tall, well-grown, +but rather thin and pale yet strikingly handsome young man of +two-and-twenty; occupying a small dusty law-office on the third floor +of the older building of the Apostles; assuming to be doing a very +large, and hourly increasing business among empty pigeon-holes, and +directly under the eye of an unopened bottle of ink; his mother and +sisters dwelling in a chamber overhead; and himself, not only following +the law for a corporeal living, but likewise inter-linked with the +peculiar secret, theologico-politico-social schemes of the masonic order +of the seedy-coated Apostles; and pursuing some crude, transcendental +Philosophy, for both a contributory means of support, as well as for his +complete intellectual aliment. + +Pierre was at first somewhat startled by his exceedingly frank and +familiar manner; all old manorial deference for Pierre was clean gone +and departed; though at the first shock of their encounter, Charlie +could not possibly have known that Pierre was cast off. + +"Ha, Pierre! glad to see you, my boy! Hark ye, next month I am to +deliver an address before the Omega order of the Apostles. The Grand +Master, Plinlimmon, will be there. I have heard on the best authority +that he once said of me--'That youth has the Primitive Categories in +him; he is destined to astonish the world.' Why, lad, I have received +propositions from the Editors of the Spinozaist to contribute a weekly +column to their paper, and you know how very few can understand the +Spinozaist; nothing is admitted there but the Ultimate Transcendentals. +Hark now, in your ear; I think of throwing off the Apostolic disguise +and coming boldly out; Pierre! I think of stumping the State, and +preaching our philosophy to the masses.--When did you arrive in town?" + +Spite of all his tribulations, Pierre could not restrain a smile at this +highly diverting reception; but well knowing the youth, he did not +conclude from this audacious burst of enthusiastic egotism that his +heart had at all corroded; for egotism is one thing, and selfishness +another. No sooner did Pierre intimate his condition to him, than +immediately, Charlie was all earnest and practical kindness; recommended +the Apostles as the best possible lodgment for him,--cheap, snug, and +convenient to most public places; he offered to procure a cart and see +himself to the transport of Pierre's luggage; but finally thought it +best to mount the stairs and show him the vacant rooms. But when these +at last were decided upon; and Charlie, all cheerfulness and alacrity, +started with Pierre for the hotel, to assist him in the removal; +grasping his arm the moment they emerged from the great arched door +under the tower of the Apostles; he instantly launched into his amusing +heroics, and continued the strain till the trunks were fairly in sight. + +"Lord! my law-business overwhelms me! I must drive away some of my +clients; I must have my exercise, and this ever-growing business denies +it to me. Besides, I owe something to the sublime cause of the general +humanity; I must displace some of my briefs for my metaphysical +treatises. I can not waste all my oil over bonds and mortgages.--You +said you were married, I think?" + +But without stopping for any reply, he rattled on. "Well, I suppose it +is wise after all. It settles, centralizes, and confirms a man, I have +heard.--No, I didn't; it is a random thought of my own, that!--Yes, it +makes the world definite to him; it removes his morbid _sub_jectiveness, +and makes all things _ob_jective; nine small children, for instance, may +be considered _ob_jective. Marriage, hey!--A fine thing, no doubt, no +doubt:--domestic--pretty--nice, all round. But I owe something to the +world, my boy! By marriage, I might contribute to the population of men, +but not to the census of mind. The great men are all bachelors, you +know. Their family is the universe: I should say the planet Saturn was +their elder son; and Plato their uncle.--So you are married?" + +But again, reckless of answers, Charlie went on. "Pierre, a thought, my +boy;--a thought for you! You do not say it, but you hint of a low +purse. Now I shall help you to fill it--Stump the State on the Kantian +Philosophy! A dollar a head, my boy! Pass round your beaver, and you'll +get it. I have every confidence in the penetration and magnanimousness +of the people! Pierre, hark in your ear;--it's my opinion the world is +all wrong. Hist, I say--an entire mistake. Society demands an Avatar,--a +Curtius, my boy! to leap into the fiery gulf, and by perishing himself, +save the whole empire of men! Pierre, I have long renounced the +allurements of life and fashion. Look at my coat, and see how I spurn +them! Pierre! but, stop, have you ever a shilling! let's take a cold cut +here--it's a cheap place; I go here sometimes. Come, let's in." + + + + +BOOK XXI. + +PIERRE IMMATURELY ATTEMPTS A MATURE WORK. TIDINGS FROM THE MEADOWS. +PLINLIMMON. + + +I. + +We are now to behold Pierre permanently lodged in three lofty adjoining +chambers of the Apostles. And passing on a little further in time, and +overlooking the hundred and one domestic details, of how their internal +arrangements were finally put into steady working order; how poor Delly, +now giving over the sharper pangs of her grief, found in the lighter +occupations of a handmaid and familiar companion to Isabel, the only +practical relief from the memories of her miserable past; how Isabel +herself in the otherwise occupied hours of Pierre, passed some of her +time in mastering the chirographical incoherencies of his manuscripts, +with a view to eventually copying them out in a legible hand for the +printer; or went below stairs to the rooms of the Millthorpes, and in +the modest and amiable society of the three young ladies and their +excellent mother, found some little solace for the absence of Pierre; +or, when his day's work was done, sat by him in the twilight, and played +her mystic guitar till Pierre felt chapter after chapter born of its +wondrous suggestiveness; but alas! eternally incapable of being +translated into words; for where the deepest words end, there music +begins with its supersensuous and all-confounding intimations. + +Disowning now all previous exertions of his mind, and burning in scorn +even those fine fruits of a care-free fancy, which, written at Saddle +Meadows in the sweet legendary time of Lucy and her love, he had +jealously kept from the publishers, as too true and good to be +published; renouncing all his foregone self, Pierre was now engaged in a +comprehensive compacted work, to whose speedy completion two tremendous +motives unitedly impelled;--the burning desire to deliver what he +thought to be new, or at least miserably neglected Truth to the world; +and the prospective menace of being absolutely penniless, unless by the +sale of his book, he could realize money. Swayed to universality of +thought by the widely-explosive mental tendencies of the profound events +which had lately befallen him, and the unprecedented situation in which +he now found himself; and perceiving, by presentiment, that most grand +productions of the best human intellects ever are built round a circle, +as atolls (_i. e._ the primitive coral islets which, raising themselves +in the depths of profoundest seas, rise funnel-like to the surface, and +present there a hoop of white rock, which though on the outside +everywhere lashed by the ocean, yet excludes all tempests from the quiet +lagoon within), digestively including the whole range of all that can be +known or dreamed; Pierre was resolved to give the world a book, which +the world should hail with surprise and delight. A varied scope of +reading, little suspected by his friends, and randomly acquired by a +random but lynx-eyed mind, in the course of the multifarious, +incidental, bibliographic encounterings of almost any civilized young +inquirer after Truth; this poured one considerable contributary stream +into that bottomless spring of original thought which the occasion and +time had caused to burst out in himself. Now he congratulated himself +upon all his cursory acquisitions of this sort; ignorant that in reality +to a mind bent on producing some thoughtful thing of absolute Truth, all +mere reading is apt to prove but an obstacle hard to overcome; and not +an accelerator helpingly pushing him along. + +While Pierre was thinking that he was entirely transplanted into a new +and wonderful element of Beauty and Power, he was, in fact, but in one +of the stages of the transition. That ultimate element once fairly +gained, then books no more are needed for buoys to our souls; our own +strong limbs support us, and we float over all bottomlessnesses with a +jeering impunity. He did not see,--or if he did, he could not yet name +the true cause for it,--that already, in the incipiency of his work, the +heavy unmalleable element of mere book-knowledge would not congenially +weld with the wide fluidness and ethereal airiness of spontaneous +creative thought. He would climb Parnassus with a pile of folios on his +back. He did not see, that it was nothing at all to him, what other men +had written; that though Plato was indeed a transcendently great man in +himself, yet Plato must not be transcendently great to him (Pierre), so +long as he (Pierre himself) would also do something transcendently +great. He did not see that there is no such thing as a standard for the +creative spirit; that no one great book must ever be separately +regarded, and permitted to domineer with its own uniqueness upon the +creative mind; but that all existing great works must be federated in +the fancy; and so regarded as a miscellaneous and Pantheistic whole; and +then,--without at all dictating to his own mind, or unduly biasing it +any way,--thus combined, they would prove simply an exhilarative and +provocative to him. He did not see, that even when thus combined, all +was but one small mite, compared to the latent infiniteness and +inexhaustibility in himself; that all the great books in the world are +but the mutilated shadowings-forth of invisible and eternally unembodied +images in the soul; so that they are but the mirrors, distortedly +reflecting to us our own things; and never mind what the mirror may be, +if we would see the object, we must look at the object itself, and not +at its reflection. + +But, as to the resolute traveler in Switzerland, the Alps do never in +one wide and comprehensive sweep, instantaneously reveal their full +awfulness of amplitude--their overawing extent of peak crowded on peak, +and spur sloping on spur, and chain jammed behind chain, and all their +wonderful battalionings of might; so hath heaven wisely ordained, that +on first entering into the Switzerland of his soul, man shall not at +once perceive its tremendous immensity; lest illy prepared for such an +encounter, his spirit should sink and perish in the lowermost snows. +Only by judicious degrees, appointed of God, does man come at last to +gain his Mont Blanc and take an overtopping view of these Alps; and even +then, the tithe is not shown; and far over the invisible Atlantic, the +Rocky Mountains and the Andes are yet unbeheld. Appalling is the soul of +a man! Better might one be pushed off into the material spaces beyond +the uttermost orbit of our sun, than once feel himself fairly afloat in +himself! + +But not now to consider these ulterior things, Pierre, though strangely +and very newly alive to many before unregarded wonders in the general +world; still, had he not as yet procured for himself that enchanter's +wand of the soul, which but touching the humblest experiences in one's +life, straightway it starts up all eyes, in every one of which are +endless significancies. Not yet had he dropped his angle into the well +of his childhood, to find what fish might be there; for who dreams to +find fish in a well? the running stream of the outer world, there +doubtless swim the golden perch and the pickerel! Ten million things +were as yet uncovered to Pierre. The old mummy lies buried in cloth on +cloth; it takes time to unwrap this Egyptian king. Yet now, forsooth, +because Pierre began to see through the first superficiality of the +world, he fondly weens he has come to the unlayered substance. But, far +as any geologist has yet gone down into the world, it is found to +consist of nothing but surface stratified on surface. To its axis, the +world being nothing but superinduced superficies. By vast pains we mine +into the pyramid; by horrible gropings we come to the central room; with +joy we espy the sarcophagus; but we lift the lid--and no body is +there!--appallingly vacant as vast is the soul of a man! + + +II. + +He had been engaged some weeks upon his book--in pursuance of his +settled plan avoiding all contact with any of his city-connections or +friends, even as in his social downfall they sedulously avoided seeking +him out--nor ever once going or sending to the post-office, though it +was but a little round the corner from where he was, since having +dispatched no letters himself, he expected none; thus isolated from the +world, and intent upon his literary enterprise, Pierre had passed some +weeks, when verbal tidings came to him, of three most momentous events. + +First: his mother was dead. + +Second: all Saddle Meadows was become Glen Stanly's. + +Third: Glen Stanly was believed to be the suitor of Lucy; who, +convalescent from an almost mortal illness, was now dwelling at her +mother's house in town. + +It was chiefly the first-mentioned of these events which darted a sharp +natural anguish into Pierre. No letter had come to him; no smallest ring +or memorial been sent him; no slightest mention made of him in the will; +and yet it was reported that an inconsolable grief had induced his +mother's mortal malady, and driven her at length into insanity, which +suddenly terminated in death; and when he first heard of that event, +she had been cold in the ground for twenty-five days. + +How plainly did all this speak of the equally immense pride and grief of +his once magnificent mother; and how agonizedly now did it hint of her +mortally-wounded love for her only and best-beloved Pierre! In vain he +reasoned with himself; in vain remonstrated with himself; in vain sought +to parade all his stoic arguments to drive off the onslaught of natural +passion. Nature prevailed; and with tears that like acid burned and +scorched as they flowed, he wept, he raved, at the bitter loss of his +parent; whose eyes had been closed by unrelated hands that were hired; +but whose heart had been broken, and whose very reason been ruined, by +the related hands of her son. + +For some interval it almost seemed as if his own heart would snap; his +own reason go down. Unendurable grief of a man, when Death itself gives +the stab, and then snatches all availments to solacement away. For in +the grave is no help, no prayer thither may go, no forgiveness thence +come; so that the penitent whose sad victim lies in the ground, for that +useless penitent his doom is eternal, and though it be Christmas-day +with all Christendom, with him it is Hell-day and an eaten liver +forever. + +With what marvelous precision and exactitude he now went over in his +mind all the minutest details of his old joyous life with his mother at +Saddle Meadows. He began with his own toilet in the morning; then his +mild stroll into the fields; then his cheerful return to call his mother +in her chamber; then the gay breakfast--and so on, and on, all through +the sweet day, till mother and son kissed, and with light, loving hearts +separated to their beds, to prepare themselves for still another day of +affectionate delight. This recalling of innocence and joy in the hour of +remorsefulness and woe; this is as heating red-hot the pincers that tear +us. But in this delirium of his soul, Pierre could not define where +that line was, which separated the natural grief for the loss of a +parent from that other one which was born of compunction. He strove hard +to define it, but could not. He tried to cozen himself into believing +that all his grief was but natural, or if there existed any other, that +must spring--not from the consciousness of having done any possible +wrong--but from the pang at what terrible cost the more exalted virtues +are gained. Nor did he wholly fail in this endeavor. At last he +dismissed his mother's memory into that same profound vault where +hitherto had reposed the swooned form of his Lucy. But, as sometimes men +are coffined in a trance, being thereby mistaken for dead; so it is +possible to bury a tranced grief in the soul, erroneously supposing that +it hath no more vitality of suffering. Now, immortal things only can +beget immortality. It would almost seem one presumptive argument for the +endless duration of the human soul, that it is impossible in time and +space to kill any compunction arising from having cruelly injured a +departed fellow-being. + +Ere he finally committed his mother to the profoundest vault of his +soul, fain would he have drawn one poor alleviation from a circumstance, +which nevertheless, impartially viewed, seemed equally capable either of +soothing or intensifying his grief. His mother's will, which without the +least mention of his own name, bequeathed several legacies to her +friends, and concluded by leaving all Saddle Meadows and its rent-rolls +to Glendinning Stanly; this will bore the date of the day immediately +succeeding his fatal announcement on the landing of the stairs, of his +assumed nuptials with Isabel. It plausibly pressed upon him, that as all +the evidences of his mother's dying unrelentingness toward him were +negative; and the only positive evidence--so to speak--of even that +negativeness, was the will which omitted all mention of Pierre; +therefore, as that will bore so significant a date, it must needs be +most reasonable to conclude, that it was dictated in the not yet +subsided transports of his mother's first indignation. But small +consolation was this, when he considered the final insanity of his +mother; for whence that insanity but from a hate-grief unrelenting, even +as his father must have become insane from a sin-grief irreparable? Nor +did this remarkable double-doom of his parents wholly fail to impress +his mind with presentiments concerning his own fate--his own hereditary +liability to madness. Presentiment, I say; but what is a presentiment? +how shall you coherently define a presentiment, or how make any thing +out of it which is at all lucid, unless you say that a presentiment is +but a judgment in disguise? And if a judgment in disguise, and yet +possessing this preternaturalness of prophecy, how then shall you escape +the fateful conclusion, that you are helplessly held in the six hands of +the Sisters? For while still dreading your doom, you foreknow it. Yet +how foreknow and dread in one breath, unless with this divine seeming +power of prescience, you blend the actual slimy powerlessness of +defense? + +That his cousin, Glen Stanly, had been chosen by his mother to inherit +the domain of the Meadows, was not entirely surprising to Pierre. Not +only had Glen always been a favorite with his mother by reason of his +superb person and his congeniality of worldly views with herself, but +excepting only Pierre, he was her nearest surviving blood relation; and +moreover, in his christian name, bore the hereditary syllables, +Glendinning. So that if to any one but Pierre the Meadows must descend, +Glen, on these general grounds, seemed the appropriate heir. + +But it is not natural for a man, never mind who he may be, to see a +noble patrimony, rightfully his, go over to a soul-alien, and that alien +once his rival in love, and now his heartless, sneering foe; for so +Pierre could not but now argue of Glen; it is not natural for a man to +see this without singular emotions of discomfort and hate. Nor in Pierre +were these feelings at all soothed by the report of Glen's renewed +attentions to Lucy. For there is something in the breast of almost +every man, which at bottom takes offense at the attentions of any other +man offered to a woman, the hope of whose nuptial love he himself may +have discarded. Fain would a man selfishly appropriate all the hearts +which have ever in any way confessed themselves his. Besides, in +Pierre's case, this resentment was heightened by Glen's previous +hypocritical demeanor. For now all his suspicions seemed abundantly +verified; and comparing all dates, he inferred that Glen's visit to +Europe had only been undertaken to wear off the pang of his rejection by +Lucy, a rejection tacitly consequent upon her not denying her affianced +relation to Pierre. + +But now, under the mask of profound sympathy--in time, ripening into +love--for a most beautiful girl, ruffianly deserted by her betrothed, +Glen could afford to be entirely open in his new suit, without at all +exposing his old scar to the world. So at least it now seemed to Pierre. +Moreover, Glen could now approach Lucy under the most favorable possible +auspices. He could approach her as a deeply sympathizing friend, all +wishful to assuage her sorrow, but hinting nothing, at present, of any +selfish matrimonial intent; by enacting this prudent and unclamorous +part, the mere sight of such tranquil, disinterested, but indestructible +devotedness, could not but suggest in Lucy's mind, very natural +comparisons between Glen and Pierre, most deplorably abasing to the +latter. Then, no woman--as it would sometimes seem--no woman is utterly +free from the influence of a princely social position in her suitor, +especially if he be handsome and young. And Glen would come to her now +the master of two immense fortunes, and the heir, by voluntary election, +no less than by blood propinquity, to the ancestral bannered hall, and +the broad manorial meadows of the Glendinnings. And thus, too, the +spirit of Pierre's own mother would seem to press Glen's suit. Indeed, +situated now as he was Glen would seem all the finest part of Pierre, +without any of Pierre's shame; would almost seem Pierre himself--what +Pierre had once been to Lucy. And as in the case of a man who has lost a +sweet wife, and who long refuses the least consolation; as this man at +last finds a singular solace in the companionship of his wife's sister, +who happens to bear a peculiar family resemblance to the dead; and as +he, in the end, proposes marriage to this sister, merely from the force +of such magical associative influences; so it did not seem wholly out of +reason to suppose, that the great manly beauty of Glen, possessing a +strong related similitude to Pierre's, might raise in Lucy's heart +associations, which would lead her at least to seek--if she could not +find--solace for one now regarded as dead and gone to her forever, in +the devotedness of another, who would notwithstanding almost seem as +that dead one brought back to life. + +Deep, deep, and still deep and deeper must we go, if we would find out +the heart of a man; descending into which is as descending a spiral +stair in a shaft, without any end, and where that endlessness is only +concealed by the spiralness of the stair, and the blackness of the +shaft. + +As Pierre conjured up this phantom of Glen transformed into the seeming +semblance of himself; as he figured it advancing toward Lucy and raising +her hand in devotion; an infinite quenchless rage and malice possessed +him. Many commingled emotions combined to provoke this storm. But chief +of all was something strangely akin to that indefinable detestation +which one feels for any impostor who has dared to assume one's own name +and aspect in any equivocal or dishonorable affair; an emotion greatly +intensified if this impostor be known for a mean villain at bottom, and +also, by the freak of nature to be almost the personal duplicate of the +man whose identity he assumes. All these and a host of other distressful +and resentful fancies now ran through the breast of Pierre. All his +Faith-born, enthusiastic, high-wrought, stoic, and philosophic defenses, +were now beaten down by this sudden storm of nature in his soul. For +there is no faith, and no stoicism, and no philosophy, that a mortal man +can possibly evoke, which will stand the final test of a real +impassioned onset of Life and Passion upon him. Then all the fair +philosophic or Faith-phantoms that he raised from the mist, slide away +and disappear as ghosts at cock-crow. For Faith and philosophy are air, +but events are brass. Amidst his gray philosophizings, Life breaks upon +a man like a morning. + +While this mood was on him, Pierre cursed himself for a heartless +villain and an idiot fool;--heartless villain, as the murderer of his +mother--idiot fool, because he had thrown away all his felicity; because +he had himself, as it were, resigned his noble birthright to a cunning +kinsman for a mess of pottage, which now proved all but ashes in his +mouth. + +Resolved to hide these new, and--as it latently seemed to him--unworthy +pangs, from Isabel, as also their cause, he quitted his chamber, +intending a long vagabond stroll in the suburbs of the town, to wear off +his sharper grief, ere he should again return into her sight. + + +III. + +As Pierre, now hurrying from his chamber, was rapidly passing through +one of the higher brick colonnades connecting the ancient building with +the modern, there advanced toward him from the direction of the latter, +a very plain, composed, manly figure, with a countenance rather pale if +any thing, but quite clear and without wrinkle. Though the brow and the +beard, and the steadiness of the head and settledness of the step +indicated mature age, yet the blue, bright, but still quiescent eye +offered a very striking contrast. In that eye, the gay immortal youth +Apollo, seemed enshrined; while on that ivory-throned brow, old Saturn +cross-legged sat. The whole countenance of this man, the whole air and +look of this man, expressed a cheerful content. Cheerful is the +adjective, for it was the contrary of gloom; content--perhaps +acquiescence--is the substantive, for it was not Happiness or Delight. +But while the personal look and air of this man were thus winning, there +was still something latently visible in him which repelled. That +something may best be characterized as non-Benevolence. Non-Benevolence +seems the best word, for it was neither Malice nor Ill-will; but +something passive. To crown all, a certain floating atmosphere seemed to +invest and go along with this man. That atmosphere seems only renderable +in words by the term Inscrutableness. Though the clothes worn by this +man were strictly in accordance with the general style of any +unobtrusive gentleman's dress, yet his clothes seemed to disguise this +man. One would almost have said, his very face, the apparently natural +glance of his very eye disguised this man. + +Now, as this person deliberately passed by Pierre, he lifted his hat, +gracefully bowed, smiled gently, and passed on. But Pierre was all +confusion; he flushed, looked askance, stammered with his hand at his +hat to return the courtesy of the other; he seemed thoroughly upset by +the mere sight of this hat-lifting, gracefully bowing, gently-smiling, +and most miraculously self-possessed, non-benevolent man. + +Now who was this man? This man was Plotinus Plinlimmon. Pierre had read +a treatise of his in a stage-coach coming to the city, and had heard him +often spoken of by Millthorpe and others as the Grand Master of a +certain mystic Society among the Apostles. Whence he came, no one could +tell. His surname was Welsh, but he was a Tennesseean by birth. He +seemed to have no family or blood ties of any sort. He never was known +to work with his hands; never to write with his hands (he would not even +write a letter); he never was known to open a book. There were no books +in his chamber. Nevertheless, some day or other he must have read books, +but that time seemed gone now; as for the sleazy works that went under +his name, they were nothing more than his verbal things, taken down at +random, and bunglingly methodized by his young disciples. + +Finding Plinlimmon thus unfurnished either with books or pen and paper, +and imputing it to something like indigence, a foreign scholar, a rich +nobleman, who chanced to meet him once, sent him a fine supply of +stationery, with a very fine set of volumes,--Cardan, Epictetus, the +Book of Mormon, Abraham Tucker, Condorcet and the Zenda-Vesta. But this +noble foreign scholar calling next day--perhaps in expectation of some +compliment for his great kindness--started aghast at his own package +deposited just without the door of Plinlimmon, and with all fastenings +untouched. + +"Missent," said Plotinus Plinlimmon placidly: "if any thing, I looked +for some choice Curacoa from a nobleman like you. I should be very +happy, my dear Count, to accept a few jugs of choice Curacoa." + +"I thought that the society of which you are the head, excluded all +things of that sort"--replied the Count. + +"Dear Count, so they do; but Mohammed hath his own dispensation." + +"Ah! I see," said the noble scholar archly. + +"I am afraid you do not see, dear Count"--said Plinlimmon; and instantly +before the eyes of the Count, the inscrutable atmosphere eddied and +eddied roundabout this Plotinus Plinlimmon. + +His chance brushing encounter in the corridor was the first time that +ever Pierre had without medium beheld the form or the face of +Plinlimmon. Very early after taking chambers at the Apostles', he had +been struck by a steady observant blue-eyed countenance at one of the +loftiest windows of the old gray tower, which on the opposite side of +the quadrangular space, rose prominently before his own chamber. Only +through two panes of glass--his own and the stranger's--had Pierre +hitherto beheld that remarkable face of repose,--repose neither divine +nor human, nor any thing made up of either or both--but a repose +separate and apart--a repose of a face by itself. One adequate look at +that face conveyed to most philosophical observers a notion of something +not before included in their scheme of the Universe. + +Now as to the mild sun, glass is no hindrance at all, but he transmits +his light and life through the glass; even so through Pierre's panes did +the tower face transmit its strange mystery. + +Becoming more and more interested in this face, he had questioned +Millthorpe concerning it "Bless your soul"--replied Millthorpe--"that is +Plotinus Plinlimmon! our Grand Master, Plotinus Plinlimmon! By gad, you +must know Plotinus thoroughly, as I have long done. Come away with me, +now, and let me introduce you instanter to Plotinus Plinlimmon." + +But Pierre declined; and could not help thinking, that though in all +human probability Plotinus well understood Millthorpe, yet Millthorpe +could hardly yet have wound himself into Plotinus;--though indeed +Plotinus--who at times was capable of assuming a very off-hand, +confidential, and simple, sophomorean air--might, for reasons best known +to himself, have tacitly pretended to Millthorpe, that he (Millthorpe) +had thoroughly wriggled himself into his (Plotinus') innermost soul. + +A man will be given a book, and when the donor's back is turned, will +carelessly drop it in the first corner; he is not over-anxious to be +bothered with the book. But now personally point out to him the author, +and ten to one he goes back to the corner, picks up the book, dusts the +cover, and very carefully reads that invaluable work. One does not +vitally believe in a man till one's own two eyes have beheld him. If +then, by the force of peculiar circumstances, Pierre while in the +stage, had formerly been drawn into an attentive perusal of the work on +"Chronometricals and Horologicals;" how then was his original interest +heightened by catching a subsequent glimpse of the author. But at the +first reading, not being able--as he thought--to master the pivot-idea +of the pamphlet; and as every incomprehended idea is not only a +perplexity but a taunting reproach to one's mind, Pierre had at last +ceased studying it altogether; nor consciously troubled himself further +about it during the remainder of the journey. But still thinking now it +might possibly have been mechanically retained by him, he searched all +the pockets of his clothes, but without success. He begged Millthorpe to +do his best toward procuring him another copy; but it proved impossible +to find one. Plotinus himself could not furnish it. + +Among other efforts, Pierre in person had accosted a limping half-deaf +old book-stall man, not very far from the Apostles'. "Have you the +'_Chronometrics_,' my friend?" forgetting the exact title. + +"Very bad, very bad!" said the old man, rubbing his back;--"has had the +_chronic-rheumatics_ ever so long; what's good for 'em?" + +Perceiving his mistake, Pierre replied that he did not know what was the +infallible remedy. + +"Whist! let me tell ye, then, young 'un," said the old cripple, limping +close up to him, and putting his mouth in Pierre's ear--"Never catch +'em!--now's the time, while you're young:--never catch 'em!" + +By-and-by the blue-eyed, mystic-mild face in the upper window of the old +gray tower began to domineer in a very remarkable manner upon Pierre. +When in his moods of peculiar depression and despair; when dark thoughts +of his miserable condition would steal over him; and black doubts as to +the integrity of his unprecedented course in life would most +malignantly suggest themselves; when a thought of the vanity of his +deep book would glidingly intrude; if glancing at his closet-window that +mystic-mild face met Pierre's; under any of these influences the effect +was surprising, and not to be adequately detailed in any possible words. + +Vain! vain! vain! said the face to him. Fool! fool! fool! said the face +to him. Quit! quit! quit! said the face to him. But when he mentally +interrogated the face as to why it thrice said Vain! Fool! Quit! to him; +here there was no response. For that face did not respond to any thing. +Did I not say before that that face was something separate, and apart; a +face by itself? Now, any thing which is thus a thing by itself never +responds to any other thing. If to affirm, be to expand one's isolated +self; and if to deny, be to contract one's isolated self; then to +respond is a suspension of all isolation. Though this face in the tower +was so clear and so mild; though the gay youth Apollo was enshrined in +that eye, and paternal old Saturn sat cross-legged on that ivory brow; +yet somehow to Pierre the face at last wore a sort of malicious leer to +him. But the Kantists might say, that this was a _subjective_ sort of +leer in Pierre. Any way, the face seemed to leer upon Pierre. And now it +said to him--_Ass! ass! ass!_ This expression was insufferable. He +procured some muslin for his closet-window; and the face became +curtained like any portrait. But this did not mend the leer. Pierre knew +that still the face leered behind the muslin. What was most terrible was +the idea that by some magical means or other the face had got hold of +his secret. "Ay," shuddered Pierre, "the face knows that Isabel is not +my wife! And that seems the reason it leers." + +Then would all manner of wild fancyings float through his soul, and +detached sentences of the "Chronometrics" would vividly recur to +him--sentences before but imperfectly comprehended, but now shedding a +strange, baleful light upon his peculiar condition, and emphatically +denouncing it. Again he tried his best to procure the pamphlet, to read +it now by the commentary of the mystic-mild face; again he searched +through the pockets of his clothes for the stage-coach copy, but in +vain. + +And when--at the critical moment of quitting his chambers that morning +of the receipt of the fatal tidings--the face itself--the man +himself--this inscrutable Plotinus Plinlimmon himself--did visibly brush +by him in the brick corridor, and all the trepidation he had ever before +felt at the mild-mystic aspect in the tower window, now redoubled upon +him, so that, as before said, he flushed, looked askance, and stammered +with his saluting hand to his hat;--then anew did there burn in him the +desire of procuring the pamphlet. "Cursed fate that I should have lost +it"--he cried;--"more cursed, that when I did have it, and did read it, +I was such a ninny as not to comprehend; and now it is all too late!" + +Yet--to anticipate here--when years after, an old Jew Clothesman +rummaged over a surtout of Pierre's--which by some means had come into +his hands--his lynx-like fingers happened to feel something foreign +between the cloth and the heavy quilted bombazine lining. He ripped open +the skirt, and found several old pamphlet pages, soft and worn almost to +tissue, but still legible enough to reveal the title--"Chronometricals +and Horologicals." Pierre must have ignorantly thrust it into his +pocket, in the stage, and it had worked through a rent there, and worked +its way clean down into the skirt, and there helped pad the padding. So +that all the time he was hunting for this pamphlet, he himself was +wearing the pamphlet. When he brushed past Plinlimmon in the brick +corridor, and felt that renewed intense longing for the pamphlet, then +his right hand was not two inches from the pamphlet. + +Possibly this curious circumstance may in some sort illustrate his +self-supposed non-understanding of the pamphlet, as first read by him +in the stage. Could he likewise have carried about with him in his mind +the thorough understanding of the book, and yet not be aware that he so +understood it? I think that--regarded in one light--the final career of +Pierre will seem to show, that he _did_ understand it. And here it may +be randomly suggested, by way of bagatelle, whether some things that men +think they do not know, are not for all that thoroughly comprehended by +them; and yet, so to speak, though contained in themselves, are kept a +secret from themselves? The idea of Death seems such a thing. + + + + +BOOK XXII. + +THE FLOWER-CURTAIN LIFTED FROM BEFORE A TROPICAL AUTHOR, WITH SOME +REMARKS ON THE TRANSCENDENTAL FLESH-BRUSH PHILOSOPHY. + + +I. + +Some days passed after the fatal tidings from the Meadows, and at +length, somewhat mastering his emotions, Pierre again sits down in his +chamber; for grieve how he will, yet work he must. And now day succeeds +day, and week follows week, and Pierre still sits in his chamber. The +long rows of cooled brick-kilns around him scarce know of the change; +but from the fair fields of his great-great-great-grandfather's manor, +Summer hath flown like a swallow-guest; the perfidious wight, Autumn, +hath peeped in at the groves of the maple, and under pretense of +clothing them in rich russet and gold, hath stript them at last of the +slightest rag, and then ran away laughing; prophetic icicles depend from +the arbors round about the old manorial mansion--now locked up and +abandoned; and the little, round, marble table in the viny summer-house +where, of July mornings, he had sat chatting and drinking negus with his +gay mother, is now spread with a shivering napkin of frost; sleety +varnish hath encrusted that once gay mother's grave, preparing it for +its final cerements of wrapping snow upon snow; wild howl the winds in +the woods: it is Winter. Sweet Summer is done; and Autumn is done; but +the book, like the bitter winter, is yet to be finished. + +That season's wheat is long garnered, Pierre; that season's ripe apples +and grapes are in; no crop, no plant, no fruit is out; the whole harvest +is done. Oh, woe to that belated winter-overtaken plant, which the +summer could not bring to maturity! The drifting winter snows shall +whelm it. Think, Pierre, doth not thy plant belong to some other and +tropical clime? Though transplanted to northern Maine, the orange-tree +of the Floridas will put forth leaves in that parsimonious summer, and +show some few tokens of fruitage; yet November will find no golden +globes thereon; and the passionate old lumber-man, December, shall peel +the whole tree, wrench it off at the ground, and toss it for a fagot to +some lime-kiln. Ah, Pierre, Pierre, make haste! make haste! force thy +fruitage, lest the winter force thee. + +Watch yon little toddler, how long it is learning to stand by itself! +First it shrieks and implores, and will not try to stand at all, unless +both father and mother uphold it; then a little more bold, it must, at +least, feel one parental hand, else again the cry and the tremble; long +time is it ere by degrees this child comes to stand without any support. +But, by-and-by, grown up to man's estate, it shall leave the very mother +that bore it, and the father that begot it, and cross the seas, perhaps, +or settle in far Oregon lands. There now, do you see the soul. In its +germ on all sides it is closely folded by the world, as the husk folds +the tenderest fruit; then it is born from the world-husk, but still now +outwardly clings to it;--still clamors for the support of its mother the +world, and its father the Deity. But it shall yet learn to stand +independent, though not without many a bitter wail, and many a miserable +fall. + +That hour of the life of a man when first the help of humanity fails +him, and he learns that in his obscurity and indigence humanity holds +him a dog and no man: that hour is a hard one, but not the hardest. +There is still another hour which follows, when he learns that in his +infinite comparative minuteness and abjectness, the gods do likewise +despise him, and own him not of their clan. Divinity and humanity then +are equally willing that he should starve in the street for all that +either will do for him. Now cruel father and mother have both let go his +hand, and the little soul-toddler, now you shall hear his shriek and his +wail, and often his fall. + +When at Saddle Meadows, Pierre had wavered and trembled in those first +wretched hours ensuing upon the receipt of Isabel's letter; then +humanity had let go the hand of Pierre, and therefore his cry; but when +at last inured to this, Pierre was seated at his book, willing that +humanity should desert him, so long as he thought he felt a far higher +support; then, ere long, he began to feel the utter loss of that other +support, too; ay, even the paternal gods themselves did now desert +Pierre; the toddler was toddling entirely alone, and not without +shrieks. + +If man must wrestle, perhaps it is well that it should be on the +nakedest possible plain. + +The three chambers of Pierre at the Apostles' were connecting ones. The +first--having a little retreat where Delly slept--was used for the more +exacting domestic purposes: here also their meals were taken; the second +was the chamber of Isabel; the third was the closet of Pierre. In the +first--the dining room, as they called it--there was a stove which +boiled the water for their coffee and tea, and where Delly concocted +their light repasts. This was their only fire; for, warned again and +again to economize to the uttermost, Pierre did not dare to purchase any +additional warmth. But by prudent management, a very little warmth may +go a great way. In the present case, it went some forty feet or more. A +horizontal pipe, after elbowing away from above the stove in the +dining-room, pierced the partition wall, and passing straight through +Isabel's chamber, entered the closet of Pierre at one corner, and then +abruptly disappeared into the wall, where all further caloric--if +any--went up through the chimney into the air, to help warm the +December sun. Now, the great distance of Pierre's calorical stream from +its fountain, sadly impaired it, and weakened it. It hardly had the +flavor of heat. It would have had but very inconsiderable influence in +raising the depressed spirits of the most mercurial thermometer; +certainly it was not very elevating to the spirits of Pierre. Besides, +this calorical stream, small as it was, did not flow through the room, +but only entered it, to elbow right out of it, as some coquettish +maidens enter the heart; moreover, it was in the furthest corner from +the only place where, with a judicious view to the light, Pierre's +desk-barrels and board could advantageously stand. Often, Isabel +insisted upon his having a separate stove to himself; but Pierre would +not listen to such a thing. Then Isabel would offer her own room to him; +saying it was of no indispensable use to her by day; she could easily +spend her time in the dining-room; but Pierre would not listen to such a +thing; he would not deprive her of the comfort of a continually +accessible privacy; besides, he was now used to his own room, and must +sit by that particular window there, and no other. Then Isabel would +insist upon keeping her connecting door open while Pierre was employed +at his desk, that so the heat of her room might bodily go into his; but +Pierre would not listen to such a thing: because he must be religiously +locked up while at work; outer love and hate must alike be excluded +then. In vain Isabel said she would make not the slightest noise, and +muffle the point of the very needle she used. All in vain. Pierre was +inflexible here. + +Yes, he was resolved to battle it out in his own solitary closet; though +a strange, transcendental conceit of one of the more erratic and +non-conforming Apostles,--who was also at this time engaged upon a +profound work above stairs, and who denied himself his full sufficiency +of food, in order to insure an abundant fire;--the strange conceit of +this Apostle, I say,--accidentally communicated to Pierre,--that, +through all the kingdoms of Nature, caloric was the great universal +producer and vivifyer, and could not be prudently excluded from the spot +where great books were in the act of creation; and therefore, he (the +Apostle) for one, was resolved to plant his head in a hot-bed of +stove-warmed air, and so force his brain to germinate and blossom, and +bud, and put forth the eventual, crowning, victorious flower;--though +indeed this conceit rather staggered Pierre--for in truth, there was no +small smack of plausible analogy in it--yet one thought of his purse +would wholly expel the unwelcome intrusion, and reinforce his own +previous resolve. + +However lofty and magnificent the movements of the stars; whatever +celestial melodies they may thereby beget; yet the astronomers assure us +that they are the most rigidly methodical of all the things that exist. +No old housewife goes her daily domestic round with one millionth part +the precision of the great planet Jupiter in his stated and unalterable +revolutions. He has found his orbit, and stays in it; he has timed +himself, and adheres to his periods. So, in some degree with Pierre, now +revolving in the troubled orbit of his book. + +Pierre rose moderately early; and the better to inure himself to the +permanent chill of his room, and to defy and beard to its face, the +cruelest cold of the outer air; he would--behind the curtain--throw down +the upper sash of his window; and on a square of old painted canvas, +formerly wrapping some bale of goods in the neighborhood, treat his +limbs, of those early December mornings, to a copious ablution, in water +thickened with incipient ice. Nor, in this stoic performance, was he at +all without company,--not present, but adjoiningly sympathetic; for +scarce an Apostle in all those scores and scores of chambers, but +undeviatingly took his daily December bath. Pierre had only to peep out +of his pane and glance round the multi-windowed, inclosing walls of the +quadrangle, to catch plentiful half-glimpses, all round him, of many a +lean, philosophical nudity, refreshing his meager bones with crash-towel +and cold water. "Quick be the play," was their motto: "Lively our +elbows, and nimble all our tenuities." Oh, the dismal echoings of the +raspings of flesh-brushes, perverted to the filing and polishing of the +merest ribs! Oh, the shuddersome splashings of pails of ice-water over +feverish heads, not unfamiliar with aches! Oh, the rheumatical +cracklings of rusted joints, in that defied air of December! for every +thick-frosted sash was down, and every lean nudity courted the zephyr! + +Among all the innate, hyena-like repellants to the reception of any set +form of a spiritually-minded and pure archetypical faith, there is +nothing so potent in its skeptical tendencies, as that inevitable +perverse ridiculousness, which so often bestreaks some of the +essentially finest and noblest aspirations of those men, who disgusted +with the common conventional quackeries, strive, in their clogged +terrestrial humanities, after some imperfectly discerned, but heavenly +ideals: ideals, not only imperfectly discerned in themselves, but the +path to them so little traceable, that no two minds will entirely agree +upon it. + +Hardly a new-light Apostle, but who, in superaddition to his +revolutionary scheme for the minds and philosophies of men, entertains +some insane, heterodoxical notions about the economy of his body. His +soul, introduced by the gentlemanly gods, into the supernal +society,--practically rejects that most sensible maxim of men of the +world, who chancing to gain the friendship of any great character, never +make that the ground of boring him with the supplemental acquaintance of +their next friend, who perhaps, is some miserable ninny. Love me, love +my dog, is only an adage for the old country-women who affectionately +kiss their cows. The gods love the soul of a man; often, they will +frankly accost it; but they abominate his body; and will forever cut it +dead, both here and hereafter. So, if thou wouldst go to the gods, +leave thy dog of a body behind thee. And most impotently thou strivest +with thy purifying cold baths, and thy diligent scrubbings with +flesh-brushes, to prepare it as a meet offering for their altar. Nor +shall all thy Pythagorean and Shellian dietings on apple-parings, dried +prunes, and crumbs of oat-meal cracker, ever fit thy body for heaven. +Feed all things with food convenient for them,--that is, if the food be +procurable. The food of thy soul is light and space; feed it then on +light and space. But the food of thy body is champagne and oysters; feed +it then on champagne and oysters; and so shall it merit a joyful +resurrection, if there is any to be. Say, wouldst thou rise with a +lantern jaw and a spavined knee? Rise with brawn on thee, and a most +royal corporation before thee; so shalt thou in that day claim +respectful attention. Know this: that while many a consumptive dietarian +has but produced the merest literary flatulencies to the world; +convivial authors have alike given utterance to the sublimest wisdom, +and created the least gross and most ethereal forms. And for men of +demonstrative muscle and action, consider that right royal epitaph which +Cyrus the Great caused to be engraved on his tomb--"I could drink a +great deal of wine, and it did me a great deal of good." Ah, foolish! to +think that by starving thy body, thou shalt fatten thy soul! Is yonder +ox fatted because yonder lean fox starves in the winter wood? And prate +not of despising thy body, while still thou flourisheth thy flesh-brush! +The finest houses are most cared for within; the outer walls are freely +left to the dust and the soot. Put venison in thee, and so wit shall +come out of thee. It is one thing in the mill, but another in the sack. + +Now it was the continual, quadrangular example of those forlorn fellows, +the Apostles, who, in this period of his half-developments and +transitions, had deluded Pierre into the Flesh-Brush Philosophy, and had +almost tempted him into the Apple-Parings Dialectics. For all the long +wards, corridors, and multitudinous chambers of the Apostles' were +scattered with the stems of apples, the stones of prunes, and the shells +of peanuts. They went about huskily muttering the Kantian Categories +through teeth and lips dry and dusty as any miller's, with the crumbs of +Graham crackers. A tumbler of cold water was the utmost welcome to their +reception rooms; at the grand supposed Sanhedrim presided over by one of +the deputies of Plotinus Plinlimmon, a huge jug of Adam's Ale, and a +bushel-basket of Graham crackers were the only convivials. Continually +bits of cheese were dropping from their pockets, and old shiny apple +parchments were ignorantly exhibited every time they drew out a +manuscript to read you. Some were curious in the vintages of waters; and +in three glass decanters set before you, Fairmount, Croton, and +Cochituate; they held that Croton was the most potent, Fairmount a +gentle tonic, and Cochituate the mildest and least inebriating of all. +Take some more of the Croton, my dear sir! Be brisk with the Fairmount! +Why stops that Cochituate? So on their philosophical tables went round +their Port, their Sherry, and their Claret. + +Some, further advanced, rejected mere water in the bath, as altogether +too coarse an element; and so, took to the Vapor-baths, and steamed +their lean ribs every morning. The smoke which issued from their heads, +and overspread their pages, was prefigured in the mists that issued from +under their door-sills and out of their windows. Some could not sit down +of a morning until after first applying the Vapor-bath outside and then +thoroughly rinsing out their interiors with five cups of cold Croton. +They were as faithfully replenished fire-buckets; and could they, +standing in one cordon, have consecutively pumped themselves into each +other, then the great fire of 1835 had been far less wide-spread and +disastrous. + +Ah! ye poor lean ones! ye wretched Soakites and Vaporites! have not your +niggardly fortunes enough rinsed ye out, and wizened ye, but ye must +still be dragging the hose-pipe, and throwing still more cold Croton on +yourselves and the world? Ah! attach the screw of your hose-pipe to some +fine old butt of Madeira! pump us some sparkling wine into the world! +see, see, already, from all eternity, two-thirds of it have lain +helplessly soaking! + + +II. + +With cheek rather pale, then, and lips rather blue, Pierre sits down to +his plank. + +But is Pierre packed in the mail for St. Petersburg this morning? Over +his boots are his moccasins; over his ordinary coat is his surtout; and +over that, a cloak of Isabel's. Now he is squared to his plank; and at +his hint, the affectionate Isabel gently pushes his chair closer to it, +for he is so muffled, he can hardly move of himself. Now Delly comes in +with bricks hot from the stove; and now Isabel and she with devoted +solicitude pack away these comforting stones in the folds of an old blue +cloak, a military garment of the grandfather of Pierre, and tenderly +arrange it both over and under his feet; but putting the warm flagging +beneath. Then Delly brings still another hot brick to put under his +inkstand, to prevent the ink from thickening. Then Isabel drags the +camp-bedstead nearer to him, on which are the two or three books he may +possibly have occasion to refer to that day, with a biscuit or two, and +some water, and a clean towel, and a basin. Then she leans against the +plank by the elbow of Pierre, a crook-ended stick. Is Pierre a shepherd, +or a bishop, or a cripple? No, but he has in effect, reduced himself to +the miserable condition of the last. With the crook-ended cane, +Pierre--unable to rise without sadly impairing his manifold +intrenchments, and admitting the cold air into their innermost +nooks,--Pierre, if in his solitude, he should chance to need any thing +beyond the reach of his arm, then the crook-ended cane drags it to his +immediate vicinity. + +Pierre glances slowly all round him; every thing seems to be right; he +looks up with a grateful, melancholy satisfaction at Isabel; a tear +gathers in her eye; but she conceals it from him by coming very close to +him, stooping over, and kissing his brow. 'Tis her lips that leave the +warm moisture there; not her tears, she says. + +"I suppose I must go now, Pierre. Now don't, don't be so long to-day. I +will call thee at half-past four. Thou shalt not strain thine eyes in +the twilight." + +"We will _see_ about that," says Pierre, with an unobserved attempt at a +very sad pun. "Come, thou must go. Leave me." + +And there he is left. + +Pierre is young; heaven gave him the divinest, freshest form of a man; +put light into his eye, and fire into his blood, and brawn into his arm, +and a joyous, jubilant, overflowing, upbubbling, universal life in him +everywhere. Now look around in that most miserable room, and at that +most miserable of all the pursuits of a man, and say if here be the +place, and this be the trade, that God intended him for. A rickety +chair, two hollow barrels, a plank, paper, pens, and infernally black +ink, four leprously dingy white walls, no carpet, a cup of water, and a +dry biscuit or two. Oh, I hear the leap of the Texan Camanche, as at +this moment he goes crashing like a wild deer through the green +underbrush; I hear his glorious whoop of savage and untamable health; +and then I look in at Pierre. If physical, practical unreason make the +savage, which is he? Civilization, Philosophy, Ideal Virtue! behold your +victim! + + +III. + +Some hours pass. Let us peep over the shoulder of Pierre, and see what +it is he is writing there, in that most melancholy closet. Here, topping +the reeking pile by his side, is the last sheet from his hand, the +frenzied ink not yet entirely dry. It is much to our purpose; for in +this sheet, he seems to have directly plagiarized from his own +experiences, to fill out the mood of his apparent author-hero, Vivia, +who thus soliloquizes: "A deep-down, unutterable mournfulness is in me. +Now I drop all humorous or indifferent disguises, and all philosophical +pretensions. I own myself a brother of the clod, a child of the Primeval +Gloom. Hopelessness and despair are over me, as pall on pall. Away, ye +chattering apes of a sophomorean Spinoza and Plato, who once didst all +but delude me that the night was day, and pain only a tickle. Explain +this darkness, exorcise this devil, ye can not. Tell me not, thou +inconceivable coxcomb of a Goethe, that the universe can not spare thee +and thy immortality, so long as--like a hired waiter--thou makest +thyself 'generally useful.' Already the universe gets on without thee, +and could still spare a million more of the same identical kidney. +Corporations have no souls, and thy Pantheism, what was that? Thou wert +but the pretensious, heartless part of a man. Lo! I hold thee in this +hand, and thou art crushed in it like an egg from which the meat hath +been sucked." + +Here is a slip from the floor. + +"Whence flow the panegyrical melodies that precede the march of these +heroes? From what but from a sounding brass and a tinkling cymbal!" + +And here is a second. + +"Cast thy eye in there on Vivia; tell me why those four limbs should be +clapt in a dismal jail--day out, day in--week out, week in--month out, +month in--and himself the voluntary jailer! Is this the end of +philosophy? This the larger, and spiritual life? This your boasted +empyrean? Is it for this that a man should grow wise, and leave off his +most excellent and calumniated folly?" + +And here is a third. + +"Cast thy eye in there on Vivia; he, who in the pursuit of the highest +health of virtue and truth, shows but a pallid cheek! Weigh his heart in +thy hand, oh, thou gold-laced, virtuoso Goethe! and tell me whether it +does not exceed thy standard weight!" + +And here is a fourth. + +"Oh God, that man should spoil and rust on the stalk, and be wilted and +threshed ere the harvest hath come! And oh God, that men that call +themselves men should still insist on a laugh! I hate the world, and +could trample all lungs of mankind as grapes, and heel them out of their +breath, to think of the woe and the cant,--to think of the Truth and the +Lie! Oh! blessed be the twenty-first day of December, and cursed be the +twenty-first day of June!" + +From these random slips, it would seem, that Pierre is quite conscious +of much that is so anomalously hard and bitter in his lot, of much that +is so black and terrific in his soul. Yet that knowing his fatal +condition does not one whit enable him to change or better his +condition. Conclusive proof that he has no power over his condition. For +in tremendous extremities human souls are like drowning men; well enough +they know they are in peril; well enough they know the causes of that +peril;--nevertheless, the sea is the sea, and these drowning men do +drown. + + +IV. + +From eight o'clock in the morning till half-past four in the evening, +Pierre sits there in his room;--eight hours and a half! + +From throbbing neck-bands, and swinging belly-bands of gay-hearted +horses, the sleigh-bells chimingly jingle;--but Pierre sits there in his +room; Thanksgiving comes, with its glad thanks, and crisp turkeys;--but +Pierre sits there in his room; soft through the snows, on tinted Indian +moccasin, Merry Christmas comes stealing;--but Pierre sits there in his +room; it is New-Year's, and like a great flagon, the vast city overbrims +at all curb-stones, wharves, and piers, with bubbling jubilations;--but +Pierre sits there in his room:--Nor jingling sleigh-bells at throbbing +neck-band, or swinging belly-band; nor glad thanks, and crisp turkeys of +Thanksgiving; nor tinted Indian moccasin of Merry Christmas softly +stealing through the snows; nor New-Year's curb-stones, wharves, and +piers, over-brimming with bubbling jubilations:--Nor jingling +sleigh-bells, nor glad Thanksgiving, nor Merry Christmas, nor jubilating +New Year's:--Nor Bell, Thank, Christ, Year;--none of these are for +Pierre. In the midst of the merriments of the mutations of Time, Pierre +hath ringed himself in with the grief of Eternity. Pierre is a peak +inflexible in the heart of Time, as the isle-peak, Piko, stands +unassaultable in the midst of waves. + +He will not be called to; he will not be stirred. Sometimes the intent +ear of Isabel in the next room, overhears the alternate silence, and +then the long lonely scratch of his pen. It is, as if she heard the busy +claw of some midnight mole in the ground. Sometimes, she hears a low +cough, and sometimes the scrape of his crook-handled cane. + +Here surely is a wonderful stillness of eight hours and a half, repeated +day after day. In the heart of such silence, surely something is at +work. Is it creation, or destruction? Builds Pierre the noble world of +a new book? or does the Pale Haggardness unbuild the lungs and the life +in him?--Unutterable, that a man should be thus! + +When in the meridian flush of the day, we recall the black apex of +night; then night seems impossible; this sun can never go down. Oh that +the memory of the uttermost gloom as an already tasted thing to the +dregs, should be no security against its return. One may be passibly +well one day, but the next, he may sup at black broth with Pluto. + +Is there then all this work to one book, which shall be read in a very +few hours; and, far more frequently, utterly skipped in one second; and +which, in the end, whatever it be, must undoubtedly go to the worms? + +Not so; that which now absorbs the time and the life of Pierre, is not +the book, but the primitive elementalizing of the strange stuff, which +in the act of attempting that book, have upheaved and upgushed in his +soul. Two books are being writ; of which the world shall only see one, +and that the bungled one. The larger book, and the infinitely better, is +for Pierre's own private shelf. That it is, whose unfathomable cravings +drink his blood; the other only demands his ink. But circumstances have +so decreed, that the one can not be composed on the paper, but only as +the other is writ down in his soul. And the one of the soul is +elephantinely sluggish, and will not budge at a breath. Thus Pierre is +fastened on by two leeches;--how then can the life of Pierre last? Lo! +he is fitting himself for the highest life, by thinning his blood and +collapsing his heart. He is learning how to live, by rehearsing the part +of death. + +Who shall tell all the thoughts and feelings of Pierre in that desolate +and shivering room, when at last the idea obtruded, that the wiser and +the profounder he should grow, the more and the more he lessened the +chances for bread; that could he now hurl his deep book out of the +window, and fall to on some shallow nothing of a novel, composable in a +month at the longest, then could he reasonably hope for both +appreciation and cash. But the devouring profundities, now opened up in +him, consume all his vigor; would he, he could not now be entertainingly +and profitably shallow in some pellucid and merry romance. Now he sees, +that with every accession of the personal divine to him, some great +land-slide of the general surrounding divineness slips from him, and +falls crashing away. Said I not that the gods, as well as mankind, had +unhanded themselves from this Pierre? So now in him you behold the baby +toddler I spoke of; forced now to stand and toddle alone. + +Now and then he turns to the camp-bed, and wetting his towel in the +basin, presses it against his brow. Now he leans back in his chair, as +if to give up; but again bends over and plods. + +Twilight draws on, the summons of Isabel is heard from the door; the +poor, frozen, blue-lipped, soul-shivering traveler for St. Petersburg is +unpacked; and for a moment stands toddling on the floor. Then his hat, +and his cane, and out he sallies for fresh air. A most comfortless +staggering of a stroll! People gaze at him passing, as at some imprudent +sick man, willfully burst from his bed. If an acquaintance is met, and +would say a pleasant newsmonger's word in his ear, that acquaintance +turns from him, affronted at his hard aspect of icy discourtesy. +"Bad-hearted," mutters the man, and goes on. + +He comes back to his chambers, and sits down at the neat table of Delly; +and Isabel soothingly eyes him, and presses him to eat and be strong. +But his is the famishing which loathes all food. He can not eat but by +force. He has assassinated the natural day; how then can he eat with an +appetite? If he lays him down, he can not sleep; he has waked the +infinite wakefulness in him; then how can he slumber? Still his book, +like a vast lumbering planet, revolves in his aching head. He can not +command the thing out of its orbit; fain would he behead himself, to +gain one night's repose. At last the heavy hours move on; and sheer +exhaustion overtakes him, and he lies still--not asleep as children and +day-laborers sleep--but he lies still from his throbbings, and for that +interval holdingly sheaths the beak of the vulture in his hand, and lets +it not enter his heart. + +Morning comes; again the dropt sash, the icy water, the flesh-brush, the +breakfast, the hot bricks, the ink, the pen, the +from-eight-o'clock-to-half-past-four, and the whole general inclusive +hell of the same departed day. + +Ah! shivering thus day after day in his wrappers and cloaks, is this the +warm lad that once sung to the world of the Tropical Summer? + + + + +BOOK XXIII. + +A LETTER FOR PIERRE. ISABEL. ARRIVAL OF LUCY'S EASEL AND TRUNKS AT THE +APOSTLES'. + + +I. + +If a frontier man be seized by wild Indians, and carried far and deep +into the wilderness, and there held a captive, with no slightest +probability of eventual deliverance; then the wisest thing for that man +is to exclude from his memory by every possible method, the least images +of those beloved objects now forever reft from him. For the more +delicious they were to him in the now departed possession, so much the +more agonizing shall they be in the present recalling. And though a +strong man may sometimes succeed in strangling such tormenting memories; +yet, if in the beginning permitted to encroach upon him unchecked, the +same man shall, in the end, become as an idiot. With a continent and an +ocean between him and his wife--thus sundered from her, by whatever +imperative cause, for a term of long years;--the husband, if +passionately devoted to her, and by nature broodingly sensitive of soul, +is wise to forget her till he embrace her again;--is wise never to +remember her if he hear of her death. And though such complete suicidal +forgettings prove practically impossible, yet is it the shallow and +ostentatious affections alone which are bustling in the offices of +obituarian memories. _The love deep as death_--what mean those five +words, but that such love can not live, and be continually remembering +that the loved one is no more? If it be thus then in cases where entire +unremorsefulness as regards the beloved absent objects is presumed, how +much more intolerable, when the knowledge of their hopeless wretchedness +occurs, attended by the visitations of before latent upbraidings in the +rememberer as having been any way--even unwillingly--the producers of +their sufferings. There seems no other sane recourse for some moody +organizations on whom such things, under such circumstances intrude, but +right and left to flee them, whatever betide. + +If little or nothing hitherto has been said of Lucy Tartan in reference +to the condition of Pierre after his departure from the Meadows, it has +only been because her image did not willingly occupy his soul. He had +striven his utmost to banish it thence; and only once--on receiving the +tidings of Glen's renewed attentions--did he remit the intensity of +those strivings, or rather feel them, as impotent in him in that hour of +his manifold and overwhelming prostration. + +Not that the pale form of Lucy, swooning on her snow-white bed; not that +the inexpressible anguish of the shriek--"My heart! my heart!" would not +now at times force themselves upon him, and cause his whole being to +thrill with a nameless horror and terror. But the very thrillingness of +the phantom made him to shun it, with all remaining might of his spirit. + +Nor were there wanting still other, and far more wonderful, though but +dimly conscious influences in the breast of Pierre, to meet as +repellants the imploring form. Not to speak of his being devoured by the +all-exacting theme of his book, there were sinister preoccupations in +him of a still subtler and more fearful sort, of which some inklings +have already been given. + +It was while seated solitary in his room one morning; his flagging +faculties seeking a momentary respite; his head sideways turned toward +the naked floor, following the seams in it, which, as wires, led +straight from where he sat to the connecting door, and disappeared +beneath it into the chamber of Isabel; that he started at a tap at that +very door, followed by the wonted, low, sweet voice,-- + +"Pierre! a letter for thee--dost thou hear? a letter,--may I come in?" + +At once he felt a dart of surprise and apprehension; for he was +precisely in that general condition with respect to the outer world, +that he could not reasonably look for any tidings but disastrous, or at +least, unwelcome ones. He assented; and Isabel entered, holding out the +billet in her hand. + +"'Tis from some lady, Pierre; who can it be?--not thy mother though, of +that I am certain;--the expression of her face, as seen by me, not at +all answering to the expression of this handwriting here." + +"My mother? from my mother?" muttered Pierre, in wild vacancy--"no! no! +it can scarce be from her.--Oh, she writes no more, even in her own +private tablets now! Death hath stolen the last leaf, and rubbed all +out, to scribble his own ineffaceable _hic jacet_ there!" + +"Pierre!" cried Isabel, in affright. + +"Give it me!" he shouted, vehemently, extending his hand. "Forgive me, +sweet, sweet Isabel, I have wandered in my mind; this book makes me mad. +There; I have it now"--in a tone of indifference--"now, leave me again. +It is from some pretty aunt, or cousin, I suppose," carelessly balancing +the letter in his hand. + +Isabel quitted the room; the moment the door closed upon her, Pierre +eagerly split open the letter, and read:-- + + +II. + +"This morning I vowed it, my own dearest, dearest Pierre I feel stronger +to-day; for to-day I have still more thought of thine own superhuman, +angelical strength; which so, has a very little been transferred to me. +Oh, Pierre, Pierre, with what words shall I write thee now;--now, when +still knowing nothing, yet something of thy secret I, as a seer, +suspect. Grief,--deep, unspeakable grief, hath made me this seer. I +could murder myself, Pierre, when I think of my previous blindness; but +that only came from my swoon. It was horrible and most murdersome; but +now I see thou wert right in being so instantaneous with me, and in +never afterward writing to me, Pierre; yes, now I see it, and adore thee +the more. + +"Ah! thou too noble and angelical Pierre, now I feel that a being like +thee, can possibly have no love as other men love; but thou lovest as +angels do; not for thyself, but wholly for others. But still are we one, +Pierre; thou art sacrificing thyself, and I hasten to re-tie myself to +thee, that so I may catch thy fire, and all the ardent multitudinous +arms of our common flames may embrace. I will ask of thee nothing, +Pierre; thou shalt tell me no secret. Very right wert thou, Pierre, +when, in that ride to the hills, thou wouldst not swear the fond, +foolish oath I demanded. Very right, very right; now I see it. + +"If then I solemnly vow, never to seek from thee any slightest thing +which thou wouldst not willingly have me know; if ever I, in all outward +actions, shall recognize, just as thou dost, the peculiar position of +that mysterious, and ever-sacred being;--then, may I not come and live +with thee? I will be no encumbrance to thee. I know just where thou art, +and how thou art living; and only just there, Pierre, and only just so, +is any further life endurable, or possible for me. She will never +know--for thus far I am sure thou thyself hast never disclosed it to +her what I once was to thee. Let it seem, as though I were some +nun-like cousin immovably vowed to dwell with thee in thy strange exile. +Show not to me,--never show more any visible conscious token of love. I +will never to thee. Our mortal lives, oh, my heavenly Pierre, shall +henceforth be one mute wooing of each other; with no declaration; no +bridal; till we meet in the pure realms of God's final blessedness for +us;--till we meet where the ever-interrupting and ever-marring world can +not and shall not come; where all thy hidden, glorious unselfishness +shall be gloriously revealed in the full splendor of that heavenly +light; where, no more forced to these cruelest disguises, she, _she_ too +shall assume her own glorious place, nor take it hard, but rather feel +the more blessed, when, there, thy sweet heart, shall be openly and +unreservedly mine. Pierre, Pierre, my Pierre!--only this thought, this +hope, this sublime faith now supports me. Well was it, that the swoon, +in which thou didst leave me, that long eternity ago--well was it, dear +Pierre, that though I came out of it to stare and grope, yet it was only +to stare and grope, and then I swooned again, and then groped again, and +then again swooned. But all this was vacancy; little I clutched; nothing +I knew; 'twas less than a dream, my Pierre, I had no conscious thought +of thee, love; but felt an utter blank, a vacancy;--for wert thou not +then utterly gone from me? and what could there then be left of poor +Lucy?--But now, this long, long swoon is past; I come out again into +life and light; but how could I come out, how could I any way _be_, my +Pierre, if not in thee? So the moment I came out of the long, long +swoon, straightway came to me the immortal faith in thee, which though +it could offer no one slightest possible argument of mere sense in thy +behalf, yet was it only the more mysteriously imperative for that, my +Pierre. Know then, dearest Pierre, that with every most glaring earthly +reason to disbelieve in thy love; I do yet wholly give myself up to the +unshakable belief in it. For I feel, that always is love love, and can +not know change, Pierre; I feel that heaven hath called me to a +wonderful office toward thee. By throwing me into that long, long +swoon,--during which, Martha tells me, I hardly ate altogether, three +ordinary meals,--by that, heaven, I feel now, was preparing me for the +superhuman office I speak of; was wholly estranging me from this earth, +even while I yet lingered in it; was fitting me for a celestial mission +in terrestrial elements. Oh, give to me of thine own dear strength! I am +but a poor weak girl, dear Pierre; one that didst once love thee but too +fondly, and with earthly frailty. But now I shall be wafted far upward +from that; shall soar up to thee, where thou sittest in thine own calm, +sublime heaven of heroism. + +"Oh seek not to dissuade me, Pierre. Wouldst thou slay me, and slay me a +million times more? and never have done with murdering me? I must come! +I must come! God himself can not stay me, for it is He that commands +me.--I know all that will follow my flight to thee;--my amazed mother, +my enraged brothers, the whole taunting and despising world.--But thou +art my mother and my brothers, and all the world, and all heaven, and +all the universe to me--thou _art_ my Pierre. One only being does this +soul in me serve--and that is thee, Pierre.--So I am coming to thee, +Pierre, and quickly;--to-morrow it shall be, and never more will I quit +thee, Pierre. Speak thou immediately to her about me; thou shalt know +best what to say. Is there not some connection between our families, +Pierre? I have heard my mother sometimes trace such a thing out,--some +indirect cousinship. If thou approvest then, thou shalt say to her, I am +thy cousin, Pierre;--thy resolved and immovable nun-like cousin; vowed +to dwell with thee forever; to serve thee and her, to guard thee and her +without end. Prepare some little corner for me somewhere; but let it be +very near. Ere I come, I shall send a few little things,--the tools I +shall work by, Pierre, and so contribute to the welfare of all. Look for +me then. I am coming! I am coming, my Pierre; for a deep, deep voice +assures me, that all noble as thou art, Pierre, some terrible jeopardy +involves thee, which my continual presence only can drive away. I am +coming! I am coming!" + +LUCY. + + +III. + +When surrounded by the base and mercenary crew, man, too long wonted to +eye his race with a suspicious disdain, suddenly is brushed by some +angelical plume of humanity, and the human accents of superhuman love, +and the human eyes of superhuman beauty and glory, suddenly burst on his +being; then how wonderful and fearful the shock! It is as if the +sky-cope were rent, and from the black valley of Jehoshaphat, he caught +upper glimpses of the seraphim in the visible act of adoring. + +He held the artless, angelical letter in his unrealizing hand; he +started, and gazed round his room, and out at the window, commanding the +bare, desolate, all-forbidding quadrangle, and then asked himself +whether this was the place that an angel should choose for its visit to +earth. Then he felt a vast, out-swelling triumphantness, that the girl +whose rare merits his intuitive soul had once so clearly and +passionately discerned, should indeed, in this most tremendous of all +trials, have acquitted herself with such infinite majesty. Then again, +he sunk utterly down from her, as in a bottomless gulf, and ran +shuddering through hideous galleries of despair, in pursuit of some +vague, white shape, and lo! two unfathomable dark eyes met his, and +Isabel stood mutely and mournfully, yet all-ravishingly before him. + +He started up from his plank; cast off his manifold wrappings, and +crossed the floor to remove himself from the spot, where such sweet, +such sublime, such terrific revelations had been made him. + +Then a timid little rap was heard at the door. + +"Pierre, Pierre; now that thou art risen, may I not come in--just for a +moment, Pierre." + +"Come in, Isabel." + +She was approaching him in her wonted most strange and sweetly mournful +manner, when he retreated a step from her, and held out his arm, not +seemingly to invite, but rather as if to warn. + +She looked fixedly in his face, and stood rooted. + +"Isabel, another is coming to me. Thou dost not speak, Isabel. She is +coming to dwell with us so long as we live, Isabel. Wilt thou not +speak?" + +The girl still stood rooted; the eyes, which she had first fixed on him, +still remained wide-openly riveted. + +"Wilt thou not speak, Isabel?" said Pierre, terrified at her frozen, +immovable aspect, yet too terrified to manifest his own terror to her; +and still coming slowly near her. She slightly raised one arm, as if to +grasp some support; then turned her head slowly sideways toward the door +by which she had entered; then her dry lips slowly parted--"My bed; lay +me; lay me!" + +The verbal effort broke her stiffening enchantment of frost; her thawed +form sloped sidelong into the air; but Pierre caught her, and bore her +into her own chamber, and laid her there on the bed. + +"Fan me; fan me!" + +He fanned the fainting flame of her life; by-and-by she turned slowly +toward him. + +"Oh! that feminine word from thy mouth, dear Pierre:--that _she_, that +_she_!" + +Pierre sat silent, fanning her. + +"Oh, I want none in the world but thee, my brother--but thee, but thee! +and, oh God! am _I_ not enough for thee? Bare earth with my brother were +all heaven for me; but all my life, all my full soul, contents not my +brother." + +Pierre spoke not; he but listened; a terrible, burning curiosity was in +him, that made him as heartless. But still all that she had said thus +far was ambiguous. + +"Had I known--had I but known it before! Oh bitterly cruel to reveal it +now. That _she_! That _she_!" + +She raised herself suddenly, and almost fiercely confronted him. + +"Either thou hast told thy secret, or she is not worthy the commonest +love of man! Speak Pierre,--which?" + +"The secret is still a secret, Isabel." + +"Then is she worthless, Pierre, whoever she be--foolishly, madly +fond!--Doth not the world know me for thy wife?--She shall not come! +'Twere a foul blot on thee and me. She shall not come! One look from me +shall murder her, Pierre!" + +"This is madness, Isabel. Look: now reason with me. Did I not before +opening the letter, say to thee, that doubtless it was from some pretty +young aunt or cousin?" + +"Speak quick!--a cousin?" + +"A cousin, Isabel." + +"Yet, yet, that is not wholly out of the degree, I have heard. Tell me +more, and quicker! more! more!" + +"A very strange cousin, Isabel; almost a nun in her notions. Hearing of +our mysterious exile, she, without knowing the cause, hath yet as +mysteriously vowed herself ours--not so much mine, Isabel, as ours, +_ours_--to serve _us_; and by some sweet heavenly fancying, to guide us +and guard us here." + +"Then, possibly, it may be all very well, Pierre, my brother--my +_brother_--I can say that now?" + +"Any,--all words are thine, Isabel; words and worlds with all their +containings, shall be slaves to thee, Isabel." + +She looked eagerly and inquiringly at him; then dropped her eyes, and +touched his hand; then gazed again. "Speak so more to me, Pierre! Thou +art my brother; art thou not my brother?--But tell me now more of--her; +it is all newness, and utter strangeness to me, Pierre." + +"I have said, my sweetest sister, that she has this wild, nun-like +notion in her. She is willful in it; in this letter she vows she must +and will come, and nothing on earth shall stay her. Do not have any +sisterly jealousy, then, my sister. Thou wilt find her a most gentle, +unobtrusive, ministering girl, Isabel. She will never name the +not-to-be-named things to thee; nor hint of them; because she knows them +not. Still, without knowing the secret, she yet hath the vague, +unspecializing sensation of the secret--the mystical presentiment, +somehow, of the secret. And her divineness hath drowned all womanly +curiosity in her; so that she desires not, in any way, to verify the +presentiment; content with the vague presentiment only; for in that, she +thinks, the heavenly summons to come to us, lies;--even there, in that, +Isabel. Dost thou now comprehend me?" + +"I comprehend nothing, Pierre; there is nothing these eyes have ever +looked upon, Pierre, that this soul comprehended. Ever, as now, do I go +all a-grope amid the wide mysteriousness of things. Yes, she shall come; +it is only one mystery the more. Doth she talk in her sleep, Pierre? +Would it be well, if I slept with her, my brother?" + +"On thy account; wishful for thy sake; to leave thee incommoded; +and--and--not knowing precisely how things really are;--she probably +anticipates and desires otherwise, my sister." + +She gazed steadfastly at his outwardly firm, but not interiorly +unfaltering aspect; and then dropped her glance in silence. + +"Yes, she shall come, my brother; she shall come. But it weaves its +thread into the general riddle, my brother.--Hath she that which they +call the memory, Pierre; the memory? Hath she that?" + +"We all have the memory, my sister." + +"Not all! not all!--poor Bell hath but very little. Pierre! I have seen +her in some dream. She is fair-haired--blue eyes--she is not quite so +tall as I, yet a very little slighter." + +Pierre started. "Thou hast seen Lucy Tartan, at Saddle Meadows?" + +"Is Lucy Tartan the name?--Perhaps, perhaps;--but also, in the dream, +Pierre; she came, with her blue eyes turned beseechingly on me; she +seemed as if persuading me from thee;--methought she was then more than +thy cousin;--methought she was that good angel, which some say, hovers +over every human soul; and methought--oh, methought that I was thy +other,--thy other angel, Pierre. Look: see these eyes,--this hair--nay, +this cheek;--all dark, dark, dark,--and she--the blue-eyed--the +fair-haired--oh, once the red-cheeked!" + +She tossed her ebon tresses over her; she fixed her ebon eyes on him. + +"Say, Pierre; doth not a funerealness invest me? Was ever hearse so +plumed?--Oh, God! that I had been born with blue eyes, and fair hair! +Those make the livery of heaven! Heard ye ever yet of a good angel with +dark eyes, Pierre?--no, no, no--all blue, blue, blue--heaven's own +blue--the clear, vivid, unspeakable blue, which we see in June skies, +when all clouds are swept by.--But the good angel shall come to thee, +Pierre. Then both will be close by thee, my brother; and thou mayest +perhaps elect,--elect!--She shall come; she shall come.--When is it to +be, dear Pierre?" + +"To-morrow, Isabel. So it is here written." + +She fixed her eye on the crumpled billet in his hand. "It were vile to +ask, but not wrong to suppose the asking.--Pierre,--no, I need not say +it,--wouldst thou?" + +"No; I would not let thee read it, my sister; I would not; because I +have no right to--no right--no right;--that is it; no: I have no right. +I will burn it this instant, Isabel." + +He stepped from her into the adjoining room; threw the billet into the +stove, and watching its last ashes, returned to Isabel. + +She looked with endless intimations upon him. + +"It is burnt, but not consumed; it is gone, but not lost. Through stove, +pipe, and flue, it hath mounted in flame, and gone as a scroll to +heaven! It shall appear again, my brother.--Woe is me--woe, woe!--woe is +me, oh, woe! Do not speak to me, Pierre; leave me now. She shall come. +The Bad angel shall tend the Good; she shall dwell with us, Pierre. +Mistrust me not; her considerateness to me, shall be outdone by mine to +her.--Let me be alone now, my brother." + + +IV. + +Though by the unexpected petition to enter his privacy--a petition he +could scarce ever deny to Isabel, since she so religiously abstained +from preferring it, unless for some very reasonable cause, Pierre, in +the midst of those conflicting, secondary emotions, immediately +following the first wonderful effect of Lucy's strange letter, had been +forced to put on, toward Isabel, some air of assurance and understanding +concerning its contents; yet at bottom, he was still a prey to all +manner of devouring mysteries. + +Soon, now, as he left the chamber of Isabel, these mysteriousnesses +re-mastered him completely; and as he mechanically sat down in the +dining-room chair, gently offered him by Delly--for the silent girl saw +that some strangeness that sought stillness was in him;--Pierre's mind +was revolving how it was possible, or any way conceivable, that Lucy +should have been inspired with such seemingly wonderful presentiments of +something assumed, or disguising, or non-substantial, somewhere and +somehow, in his present most singular apparent position in the eye of +world. The wild words of Isabel yet rang in his ears. It were an outrage +upon all womanhood to imagine that Lucy, however yet devoted to him in +her hidden heart, should be willing to come to him, so long as she +supposed, with the rest of the world, that Pierre was an ordinarily +married man. But how--what possible reason--what possible intimation +could she have had to suspect the contrary, or to suspect any thing +unsound? For neither at this present time, nor at any subsequent period, +did Pierre, or could Pierre, possibly imagine that in her marvelous +presentiments of Love she had any definite conceit of the precise nature +of the secret which so unrevealingly and enchantedly wrapt him. But a +peculiar thought passingly recurred to him here. + +Within his social recollections there was a very remarkable case of a +youth, who, while all but affianced to a beautiful girl--one returning +his own throbbings with incipient passion--became somehow casually and +momentarily betrayed into an imprudent manifested tenderness toward a +second lady; or else, that second lady's deeply-concerned friends caused +it to be made known to the poor youth, that such committal tenderness +toward her he had displayed, nor had it failed to exert its natural +effect upon her; certain it is, this second lady drooped and drooped, +and came nigh to dying, all the while raving of the cruel infidelity of +her supposed lover; so that those agonizing appeals, from so really +lovely a girl, that seemed dying of grief for him, at last so moved the +youth, that--morbidly disregardful of the fact, that inasmuch as two +ladies claimed him, the prior lady had the best title to his hand--his +conscience insanely upbraided him concerning the second lady; he thought +that eternal woe would surely overtake him both here and hereafter if he +did not renounce his first love--terrible as the effort would be both to +him and her--and wed with the second lady; which he accordingly did; +while, through his whole subsequent life, delicacy and honor toward his +thus wedded wife, forbade that by explaining to his first love how it +was with him in this matter, he should tranquilize her heart; and, +therefore, in her complete ignorance, she believed that he was willfully +and heartlessly false to her; and so came to a lunatic's death on his +account. + +This strange story of real life, Pierre knew to be also familiar to +Lucy; for they had several times conversed upon it; and the first love +of the demented youth had been a school-mate of Lucy's, and Lucy had +counted upon standing up with her as bridesmaid. Now, the passing idea +was self-suggested to Pierre, whether into Lucy's mind some such conceit +as this, concerning himself and Isabel, might not possibly have stolen. +But then again such a supposition proved wholly untenable in the end; +for it did by no means suffice for a satisfactory solution of the +absolute motive of the extraordinary proposed step of Lucy; nor indeed +by any ordinary law of propriety, did it at all seem to justify that +step. Therefore, he know not what to think; hardly what to dream. +Wonders, nay, downright miracles and no less were sung about Love; but +here was the absolute miracle itself--the out-acted miracle. For +infallibly certain he inwardly felt, that whatever her strange conceit; +whatever her enigmatical delusion; whatever her most secret and +inexplicable motive; still Lucy in her own virgin heart remained +transparently immaculate, without shadow of flaw or vein. Nevertheless, +what inconceivable conduct this was in her, which she in her letter so +passionately proposed! Altogether, it amazed him; it confounded him. + +Now, that vague, fearful feeling stole into him, that, rail as all +atheists will, there is a mysterious, inscrutable divineness in the +world--a God--a Being positively present everywhere;--nay, He is now in +this room; the air did part when I here sat down. I displaced the Spirit +then--condensed it a little off from this spot. He looked +apprehensively around him; he felt overjoyed at the sight of the +humanness of Delly. + +While he was thus plunged into this mysteriousness, a knock was heard at +the door. + +Delly hesitatingly rose--"Shall I let any one in, sir?--I think it is +Mr. Millthorpe's knock." + +"Go and see--go and see"--said Pierre, vacantly. + +The moment the door was opened, Millthorpe--for it was he--catching a +glimpse of Pierre's seated form, brushed past Delly, and loudly entered +the room. + +"Ha, ha! well, my boy, how comes on the Inferno? That is it you are +writing; one is apt to look black while writing Infernoes; you always +loved Dante. My lad! I have finished ten metaphysical treatises; argued +five cases before the court; attended all our society's meetings; +accompanied our great Professor, Monsieur Volvoon, the lecturer, through +his circuit in the philosophical saloons, sharing all the honors of his +illustrious triumph; and by the way, let me tell you, Volvoon secretly +gives me even more credit than is my due; for 'pon my soul, I did not +help write more than one half, at most, of his Lectures; +edited--anonymously, though--a learned, scientific work on 'The Precise +Cause of the Modifications in the Undulatory Motion in Waves,' a +posthumous work of a poor fellow--fine lad he was, too--a friend of +mine. Yes, here I have been doing all this, while you still are +hammering away at that one poor plaguy Inferno! Oh, there's a secret in +dispatching these things; patience! patience! you will yet learn the +secret. Time! time! I can't teach it to you, my boy, but Time can: I +wish I could, but I can't." + +There was another knock at the door. + +"Oh!" cried Millthorpe, suddenly turning round to it, "I forgot, my boy. +I came to tell you that there is a porter, with some queer things, +inquiring for you. I happened to meet him down stairs in the corridors, +and I told him to follow me up--I would show him the road; here he is; +let him in, let him in, good Delly, my girl." + +Thus far, the rattlings of Millthorpe, if producing any effect at all, +had but stunned the averted Pierre. But now he started to his feet. A +man with his hat on, stood in the door, holding an easel before him. + +"Is this Mr. Glendinning's room, gentlemen?" + +"Oh, come in, come in," cried Millthorpe, "all right." + +"Oh! is that _you_, sir? well, well, then;" and the man set down the +easel. + +"Well, my boy," exclaimed Millthorpe to Pierre; "you are in the Inferno +dream yet. Look; that's what people call an _easel_, my boy. An _easel_, +an _easel_--not a _weasel_; you look at it as though you thought it a +weasel. Come; wake up, wake up! You ordered it, I suppose, and here it +is. Going to paint and illustrate the Inferno, as you go along, I +suppose. Well, my friends tell me it is a great pity my own things aint +illustrated. But I can't afford it. There now is that Hymn to the Niger, +which I threw into a pigeon-hole, a year or two ago--that would be fine +for illustrations." + +"Is it for Mr. Glendinning you inquire?" said Pierre now, in a slow, icy +tone, to the porter. + +"Mr. Glendinning, sir; all right, aint it?" + +"Perfectly," said Pierre mechanically, and casting another strange, +rapt, bewildered glance at the easel. "But something seems strangely +wanting here. Ay, now I see, I see it:--Villain!--the vines! Thou hast +torn the green heart-strings! Thou hast but left the cold skeleton of +the sweet arbor wherein she once nestled! Thou besotted, heartless hind +and fiend, dost thou so much as dream in thy shriveled liver of the +eternal mischief thou hast done? Restore thou the green vines! untrample +them, thou accursed!--Oh my God, my God, trampled vines pounded and +crushed in all fibers, how can they live over again, even though they be +replanted! Curse thee, thou!--Nay, nay," he added moodily--"I was but +wandering to myself." Then rapidly and mockingly--"Pardon, +pardon!--porter; I most humbly crave thy most haughty pardon." Then +imperiously--"Come, stir thyself, man; thou hast more below: bring all +up." + +As the astounded porter turned, he whispered to Millthorpe--"Is he +safe?--shall I bring 'em?" + +"Oh certainly," smiled Millthorpe: "I'll look out for him; he's never +really dangerous when I'm present; there, go!" + +Two trunks now followed, with "L. T." blurredly marked upon the ends. + +"Is that all, my man?" said Pierre, as the trunks were being put down +before him; "well, how much?"--that moment his eyes first caught the +blurred letters. + +"Prepaid, sir; but no objection to more." + +Pierre stood mute and unmindful, still fixedly eying the blurred +letters; his body contorted, and one side drooping, as though that +moment half-way down-stricken with a paralysis, and yet unconscious of +the stroke. + +His two companions, momentarily stood motionless in those respective +attitudes, in which they had first caught sight of the remarkable change +that had come over him. But, as if ashamed of having been thus affected, +Millthorpe summoning a loud, merry voice, advanced toward Pierre, and, +tapping his shoulder, cried, "Wake up, wake up, my boy!--He says he is +prepaid, but no objection to more." + +"Prepaid;--what's that? Go, go, and jabber to apes!" + +"A curious young gentleman, is he not?" said Millthorpe lightly to the +porter;--"Look you, my boy, I'll repeat:--He says he's prepaid, but no +objection to more." + +"Ah?--take that then," said Pierre, vacantly putting something into the +porter's hand. + +"And what shall I do with this, sir?" said the porter, staring. + +"Drink a health; but not mine; that were mockery!" + +"With a key, sir? This is a key you gave me." + +"Ah!--well, you at least shall not have the thing that unlocks me. Give +me the key, and take this." + +"Ay, ay!--here's the chink! Thank'ee sir, thank'ee. This'll drink. I +aint called a porter for nothing; Stout's the word; 2151 is my number; +any jobs, call on me." + +"Do you ever cart a coffin, my man?" said Pierre. + +"'Pon my soul!" cried Millthorpe, gayly laughing, "if you aint writing +an Inferno, then--but never mind. Porter! this gentleman is under +medical treatment at present. You had better--ab'--you +understand--'squatulate, porter! There, my boy, he is gone; I understand +how to manage these fellows; there's a trick in it, my boy--an +off-handed sort of what d'ye call it?--you understand--the trick! the +trick!--the whole world's a trick. Know the trick of it, all's right; +don't know, all's wrong. Ha! ha!" + +"The porter is gone then?" said Pierre, calmly. "Well, Mr. Millthorpe, +you will have the goodness to follow him." + +"Rare joke! admirable!--Good morning, sir. Ha, ha!" + +And with his unruffleable hilariousness, Millthorpe quitted the room. + +But hardly had the door closed upon him, nor had he yet removed his hand +from its outer knob, when suddenly it swung half open again, and +thrusting his fair curly head within, Millthorpe cried: "By the way, my +boy, I have a word for you. You know that greasy fellow who has been +dunning you so of late. Well, be at rest there; he's paid. I was +suddenly made flush yesterday:--regular flood-tide. You can return it +any day, you know--no hurry; that's all.--But, by the way,--as you look +as though you were going to have company here--just send for me in case +you want to use me--any bedstead to put up, or heavy things to be lifted +about. Don't you and the women do it, now, mind! That's all again. +Addios, my boy. Take care of yourself!" + +"Stay!" cried Pierre, reaching forth one hand, but moving neither +foot--"Stay!"--in the midst of all his prior emotions struck by these +singular traits in Millthorpe. But the door was abruptly closed; and +singing Fa, la, la: Millthorpe in his seedy coat went tripping down the +corridor. + +"Plus heart, minus head," muttered Pierre, his eyes fixed on the door. +"Now, by heaven! the god that made Millthorpe was both a better and a +greater than the god that made Napoleon or Byron.--Plus head, minus +heart--Pah! the brains grow maggoty without a heart; but the heart's the +preserving salt itself, and can keep sweet without the head.--Delly!" + +"Sir?" + +"My cousin Miss Tartan is coming here to live with us, Delly. That +easel,--those trunks are hers." + +"Good heavens!--coming here?--your cousin?--Miss Tartan?" + +"Yes, I thought you must have heard of her and me;--but it was broken +off; Delly." + +"Sir? Sir?" + +"I have no explanation, Delly; and from you, I must have no amazement. +My cousin,--mind, my _cousin_, Miss Tartan, is coming to live with us. +The next room to this, on the other side there, is unoccupied. That room +shall be hers. You must wait upon her, too, Delly." + +"Certainly sir, certainly; I will do any thing;" said Delly trembling; +"but,--but--does Mrs. Glendin-din--does my mistress know this?" + +"My wife knows all"--said Pierre sternly. "I will go down and get the +key of the room; and you must sweep it out." + +"What is to be put into it, sir?" said Delly. "Miss Tartan--why, she is +used to all sorts of fine things,--rich +carpets--wardrobes--mirrors--curtains;--why, why, why!" + +"Look," said Pierre, touching an old rug with his foot;--"here is a bit +of carpet; drag that into her room; here is a chair, put that in; and +for a bed,--ay, ay," he muttered to himself; "I have made it for her, +and she ignorantly lies on it now!--as made--so lie. Oh God!" + +"Hark! my mistress is calling"--cried Delly, moving toward the opposite +room. + +"Stay!"--cried Pierre, grasping her shoulder; "if both called at one +time from these opposite chambers, and both were swooning, which door +would you first fly to?" + +The girl gazed at him uncomprehendingly and affrighted a moment; and +then said,--"This one, sir"--out of mere confusion perhaps, putting her +hand on Isabel's latch. + +"It is well. Now go." + +He stood in an intent unchanged attitude till Delly returned. + +"How is my wife, now?" + +Again startled by the peculiar emphasis placed on the magical word +_wife_, Delly, who had long before this, been occasionally struck with +the infrequency of his using that term; she looked at him perplexedly, +and said half-unconsciously-- + +"Your wife, sir?" + +"Ay, is she not?" + +"God grant that she be--Oh, 'tis most cruel to ask that of poor, poor +Delly, sir!" + +"Tut for thy tears! Never deny it again then!--I swear to heaven, she +is!" + +With these wild words, Pierre seized his hat, and departed the room, +muttering something about bringing the key of the additional chamber. + +As the door closed on him, Delly dropped on her knees. She lifted her +head toward the ceiling, but dropped it again, as if tyrannically awed +downward, and bent it low over, till her whole form tremulously cringed +to the floor. + +"God that made me, and that wast not so hard to me as wicked Delly +deserved,--God that made me, I pray to thee! ward it off from me, if it +be coming to me. Be not deaf to me; these stony walls--Thou canst hear +through them. Pity! pity!--mercy, my God!--If they are not married; if +I, penitentially seeking to be pure, am now but the servant to a greater +sin, than I myself committed: then, pity! pity! pity! pity! pity! Oh God +that made me,--See me, see me here--what can Delly do? If I go hence, +none will take me in but villains. If I stay, then--for stay I must--and +they be not married,--then pity, pity, pity, pity, pity!" + + + + +BOOK XXIV. + +LUCY AT THE APOSTLES. + + +I. + +Next morning, the recently appropriated room adjoining on the other side +of the dining-room, presented a different aspect from that which met the +eye of Delly upon first unlocking it with Pierre on the previous +evening. Two squares of faded carpeting of different patterns, covered +the middle of the floor, leaving, toward the surbase, a wide, blank +margin around them. A small glass hung in the pier; beneath that, a +little stand, with a foot or two of carpet before it. In one corner was +a cot, neatly equipped with bedding. At the outer side of the cot, +another strip of carpeting was placed. Lucy's delicate feet should not +shiver on the naked floor. + +Pierre, Isabel, and Delly were standing in the room; Isabel's eyes were +fixed on the cot. + +"I think it will be pretty cosy now," said Delly, palely glancing all +round, and then adjusting the pillow anew. + +"There is no warmth, though," said Isabel. "Pierre, there is no stove in +the room. She will be very cold. The pipe--can we not send it this way?" +And she looked more intently at him, than the question seemed to +warrant. + +"Let the pipe stay where it is, Isabel," said Pierre, answering her own +pointed gaze. "The dining-room door can stand open. She never liked +sleeping in a heated room. Let all be; it is well. Eh! but there is a +grate here, I see. I will buy coals. Yes, yes--that can be easily done; +a little fire of a morning--the expense will be nothing. Stay, we will +have a little fire here now for a welcome. She shall always have fire." + +"Better change the pipe, Pierre," said Isabel, "that will be permanent, +and save the coals." + +"It shall not be done, Isabel. Doth not that pipe and that warmth go +into thy room? Shall I rob my wife, good Delly, even to benefit my most +devoted and true-hearted cousin?" + +"Oh! I should say not, sir; not at all," said Delly hysterically. + +A triumphant fire flashed in Isabel's eye; her full bosom arched out; +but she was silent. + +"She may be here, now, at any moment, Isabel," said Pierre; "come, we +will meet her in the dining-room; that is our reception-place, thou +knowest." + +So the three went into the dining-room. + + +II. + +They had not been there long, when Pierre, who had been pacing up and +down, suddenly paused, as if struck by some laggard thought, which had +just occurred to him at the eleventh hour. First he looked toward Delly, +as if about to bid her quit the apartment, while he should say something +private to Isabel; but as if, on a second thought, holding the contrary +of this procedure most advisable, he, without preface, at once addressed +Isabel, in his ordinary conversational tone, so that Delly could not but +plainly hear him, whether she would or no. + +"My dear Isabel, though, as I said to thee before, my cousin, Miss +Tartan, that strange, and willful, nun-like girl, is at all hazards, +mystically resolved to come and live with us, yet it must be quite +impossible that her friends can approve in her such a singular step; a +step even more singular, Isabel, than thou, in thy unsophisticatedness, +can'st at all imagine. I shall be immensely deceived if they do not, to +their very utmost, strive against it. Now what I am going to add may be +quite unnecessary, but I can not avoid speaking it, for all that." + +Isabel with empty hands sat silent, but intently and expectantly eying +him; while behind her chair, Delly was bending her face low over her +knitting--which she had seized so soon as Pierre had begun speaking--and +with trembling fingers was nervously twitching the points of her long +needles. It was plain that she awaited Pierre's accents with hardly much +less eagerness than Isabel. Marking well this expression in Delly, and +apparently not unpleased with it, Pierre continued; but by no slightest +outward tone or look seemed addressing his remarks to any one but +Isabel. + +"Now what I mean, dear Isabel, is this: if that very probable hostility +on the part of Miss Tartan's friends to her fulfilling her strange +resolution--if any of that hostility should chance to be manifested +under thine eye, then thou certainly wilt know how to account for it; +and as certainly wilt draw no inference from it in the minutest +conceivable degree involving any thing sinister in me. No, I am sure +thou wilt not, my dearest Isabel. For, understand me, regarding this +strange mood in my cousin as a thing wholly above my comprehension, and +indeed regarding my poor cousin herself as a rapt enthusiast in some +wild mystery utterly unknown to me; and unwilling ignorantly to +interfere in what almost seems some supernatural thing, I shall not +repulse her coming, however violently her friends may seek to stay it. I +shall not repulse, as certainly as I have not invited. But a neutral +attitude sometimes seems a suspicious one. Now what I mean is this: let +all such vague suspicions of me, if any, be confined to Lucy's friends; +but let not such absurd misgivings come near my dearest Isabel, to give +the least uneasiness. Isabel! tell me; have I not now said enough to +make plain what I mean? Or, indeed, is not all I have said wholly +unnecessary; seeing that when one feels deeply conscientious, one is +often apt to seem superfluously, and indeed unpleasantly and +unbeseemingly scrupulous? Speak, my own Isabel,"--and he stept nearer to +her, reaching forth his arm. + +"Thy hand is the caster's ladle, Pierre, which holds me entirely fluid. +Into thy forms and slightest moods of thought, thou pourest me; and I +there solidify to that form, and take it on, and thenceforth wear it, +till once more thou moldest me anew. If what thou tellest me be thy +thought, then how can I help its being mine, my Pierre?" + +"The gods made thee of a holyday, when all the common world was done, +and shaped thee leisurely in elaborate hours, thou paragon!" + +So saying, in a burst of admiring love and wonder, Pierre paced the +room; while Isabel sat silent, leaning on her hand, and half-vailed with +her hair. Delly's nervous stitches became less convulsive. She seemed +soothed; some dark and vague conceit seemed driven out of her by +something either directly expressed by Pierre, or inferred from his +expressions. + + +III. + +"Pierre! Pierre!--Quick! Quick!--They are dragging me back!--oh, quick, +dear Pierre!" + +"What is that?" swiftly cried Isabel, rising to her feet, and amazedly +glancing toward the door leading into the corridor. + +But Pierre darted from the room, prohibiting any one from following him. + +Half-way down the stairs, a slight, airy, almost unearthly figure was +clinging to the balluster; and two young men, one in naval uniform, were +vainly seeking to remove the two thin white hands without hurting them. +They were Glen Stanly, and Frederic, the elder brother of Lucy. + +In a moment, Pierre's hands were among the rest. + +"Villain!--Damn thee!" cried Frederic; and letting go the hand of his +sister, he struck fiercely at Pierre. + +But the blow was intercepted by Pierre. + +"Thou hast bewitched, thou damned juggler, the sweetest angel! Defend +thyself!" + +"Nay, nay," cried Glen, catching the drawn rapier of the frantic +brother, and holding him in his powerful grasp; "he is unarmed; this is +no time or place to settle our feud with him. Thy sister,--sweet +Lucy--let us save her first, and then what thou wilt. Pierre +Glendinning--if thou art but the little finger of a man--begone with +thee from hence! Thy depravity, thy pollutedness, is that of a +fiend!--Thou canst not desire this thing:--the sweet girl is mad!" + +Pierre stepped back a little, and looked palely and haggardly at all +three. + +"I render no accounts: I am what I am. This sweet girl--this angel whom +ye two defile by your touches--she is of age by the law:--she is her own +mistress by the law. And now, I swear she shall have her will! Unhand +the girl! Let her stand alone. See; she will faint; let her go, I say!" +And again his hands were among them. + +Suddenly, as they all, for the one instant vaguely struggled, the pale +girl drooped, and fell sideways toward Pierre; and, unprepared for this, +the two opposite champions, unconsciously relinquished their hold, +tripped, and stumbled against each other, and both fell on the stairs. +Snatching Lucy in his arms, Pierre darted from them; gained the door; +drove before him Isabel and Delly,--who, affrighted, had been lingering +there;--and bursting into the prepared chamber, laid Lucy on her cot; +then swiftly turned out of the room, and locked them all three in: and +so swiftly--like lightning--was this whole thing done, that not till the +lock clicked, did he find Glen and Frederic fiercely fronting him. + +"Gentlemen, it is all over. This door is locked. She is in women's +hands.--Stand back!" + +As the two infuriated young men now caught at him to hurl him aside, +several of the Apostles rapidly entered, having been attracted by the +noise. + +"Drag them off from me!" cried Pierre. "They are trespassers! drag them +off!" + +Immediately Glen and Frederic were pinioned by twenty hands; and, in +obedience to a sign from Pierre, were dragged out of the room, and +dragged down stairs; and given into the custody of a passing officer, as +two disorderly youths invading the sanctuary of a private retreat. + +In vain they fiercely expostulated; but at last, as if now aware that +nothing farther could be done without some previous legal action, they +most reluctantly and chafingly declared themselves ready to depart. +Accordingly they were let go; but not without a terrible menace of swift +retribution directed to Pierre. + + +IV. + +Happy is the dumb man in the hour of passion. He makes no impulsive +threats, and therefore seldom falsifies himself in the transition from +choler to calm. + +Proceeding into the thoroughfare, after leaving the Apostles', it was +not very long ere Glen and Frederic concluded between themselves, that +Lucy could not so easily be rescued by threat or force. The pale, +inscrutable determinateness, and flinchless intrepidity of Pierre, now +began to domineer upon them; for any social unusualness or greatness is +sometimes most impressive in the retrospect. What Pierre had said +concerning Lucy's being her own mistress in the eye of the law; this now +recurred to them. After much tribulation of thought, the more collected +Glen proposed, that Frederic's mother should visit the rooms of Pierre; +he imagined, that though insensible to their own united intimidations, +Lucy might not prove deaf to the maternal prayers. Had Mrs. Tartan been +a different woman than she was; had she indeed any disinterested agonies +of a generous heart, and not mere match-making mortifications, however +poignant; then the hope of Frederic and Glen might have had more +likelihood in it. Nevertheless, the experiment was tried, but signally +failed. + +In the combined presence of her mother, Pierre, Isabel, and Delly; and +addressing Pierre and Isabel as Mr. and Mrs. Glendinning; Lucy took the +most solemn vows upon herself, to reside with her present host and +hostess until they should cast her off. In vain her by turns suppliant, +and exasperated mother went down on her knees to her, or seemed almost +on the point of smiting her; in vain she painted all the scorn and the +loathing; sideways hinted of the handsome and gallant Glen; threatened +her that in case she persisted, her entire family would renounce her; +and though she should be starving, would not bestow one morsel upon such +a recreant, and infinitely worse than dishonorable girl. + +To all this, Lucy--now entirely unmenaced in person--replied in the +gentlest and most heavenly manner; yet with a collectedness, and +steadfastness, from which there was nothing to hope. What she was doing +was not of herself; she had been moved to it by all-encompassing +influences above, around, and beneath. She felt no pain for her own +condition; her only suffering was sympathetic. She looked for no reward; +the essence of well-doing was the consciousness of having done well +without the least hope of reward. Concerning the loss of worldly wealth +and sumptuousness, and all the brocaded applauses of drawing-rooms; +these were no loss to her, for they had always been valueless. Nothing +was she now renouncing; but in acting upon her present inspiration she +was inheriting every thing. Indifferent to scorn, she craved no pity. As +to the question of her sanity, that matter she referred to the verdict +of angels, and not to the sordid opinions of man. If any one protested +that she was defying the sacred counsels of her mother, she had nothing +to answer but this: that her mother possessed all her daughterly +deference, but her unconditional obedience was elsewhere due. Let all +hope of moving her be immediately, and once for all, abandoned. One only +thing could move her; and that would only move her, to make her forever +immovable;--that thing was death. + +Such wonderful strength in such wonderful sweetness; such inflexibility +in one so fragile, would have been matter for marvel to any observer. +But to her mother it was very much more; for, like many other +superficial observers, forming her previous opinion of Lucy upon the +slightness of her person, and the dulcetness of her temper, Mrs. Tartan +had always imagined that her daughter was quite incapable of any such +daring act. As if sterling heavenliness were incompatible with +heroicness. These two are never found apart. Nor, though Pierre knew +more of Lucy than any one else, did this most singular behavior in her +fail to amaze him. Seldom even had the mystery of Isabel fascinated him +more, with a fascination partaking of the terrible. The mere bodily +aspect of Lucy, as changed by her more recent life, filled him with the +most powerful and novel emotions. That unsullied complexion of bloom was +now entirely gone, without being any way replaced by sallowness, as is +usual in similar instances. And as if her body indeed were the temple +of God, and marble indeed were the only fit material for so holy a +shrine, a brilliant, supernatural whiteness now gleamed in her cheek. +Her head sat on her shoulders as a chiseled statue's head; and the soft, +firm light in her eye seemed as much a prodigy, as though a chiseled +statue should give token of vision and intelligence. + +Isabel also was most strangely moved by this sweet unearthliness in the +aspect of Lucy. But it did not so much persuade her by any common +appeals to her heart, as irrespectively commend her by the very signet +of heaven. In the deference with which she ministered to Lucy's little +occasional wants, there was more of blank spontaneousness than +compassionate voluntariness. And when it so chanced, that--owing perhaps +to some momentary jarring of the distant and lonely guitar--as Lucy was +so mildly speaking in the presence of her mother, a sudden, just +audible, submissively answering musical, stringed tone, came through the +open door from the adjoining chamber; then Isabel, as if seized by some +spiritual awe, fell on her knees before Lucy, and made a rapid gesture +of homage; yet still, somehow, as it were, without evidence of voluntary +will. + +Finding all her most ardent efforts ineffectual, Mrs. Tartan now +distressedly motioned to Pierre and Isabel to quit the chamber, that she +might urge her entreaties and menaces in private. But Lucy gently waved +them to stay; and then turned to her mother. Henceforth she had no +secrets but those which would also be secrets in heaven. Whatever was +publicly known in heaven, should be publicly known on earth. There was +no slightest secret between her and her mother. + +Wholly confounded by this inscrutableness of her so alienated and +infatuated daughter, Mrs. Tartan turned inflamedly upon Pierre, and bade +him follow her forth. But again Lucy said nay, there were no secrets +between her mother and Pierre. She would anticipate every thing there. +Calling for pen and paper, and a book to hold on her knee and write, +she traced the following lines, and reached them to her mother: + +"I am Lucy Tartan. I have come to dwell during their pleasure with Mr. +and Mrs. Pierre Glendinning, of my own unsolicited free-will. If they +desire it, I shall go; but no other power shall remove me, except by +violence; and against any violence I have the ordinary appeal to the +law." + +"Read this, madam," said Mrs. Tartan, tremblingly handing it to Isabel, +and eying her with a passionate and disdainful significance. + +"I have read it," said Isabel, quietly, after a glance, and handing it +to Pierre, as if by that act to show, that she had no separate decision +in the matter. + +"And do you, sir, too, indirectly connive?" said Mrs. Tartan to Pierre, +when he had read it. + +"I render no accounts, madam. This seems to be the written and final +calm will of your daughter. As such, you had best respect it, and +depart." + +Mrs. Tartan glanced despairingly and incensedly about her; then fixing +her eyes on her daughter, spoke. + +"Girl! here where I stand, I forever cast thee off. Never more shalt +thou be vexed by my maternal entreaties. I shall instruct thy brothers +to disown thee; I shall instruct Glen Stanly to banish thy worthless +image from his heart, if banished thence it be not already by thine own +incredible folly and depravity. For thee, Mr. Monster! the judgment of +God will overtake thee for this. And for thee, madam, I have no words +for the woman who will connivingly permit her own husband's paramour to +dwell beneath her roof. For thee, frail one," (to Delly), "thou needest +no amplification.--A nest of vileness! And now, surely, whom God himself +hath abandoned forever, a mother may quit, never more to revisit." + +This parting maternal malediction seemed to work no visibly +corresponding effect upon Lucy; already she was so marble-white, that +fear could no more blanch her, if indeed fear was then at all within her +heart. For as the highest, and purest, and thinnest ether remains +unvexed by all the tumults of the inferior air; so that transparent +ether of her cheek, that clear mild azure of her eye, showed no sign of +passion, as her terrestrial mother stormed below. Helpings she had from +unstirring arms; glimpses she caught of aid invisible; sustained she was +by those high powers of immortal Love, that once siding with the weakest +reed which the utmost tempest tosses; then that utmost tempest shall be +broken down before the irresistible resistings of that weakest reed. + + + + +BOOK XXV. + +LUCY, ISABEL, AND PIERRE. PIERRE AT HIS BOOK. ENCELADUS. + + +I. + +A day or two after the arrival of Lucy, when she had quite recovered +from any possible ill-effects of recent events,--events conveying such a +shock to both Pierre and Isabel,--though to each in a quite different +way,--but not, apparently, at least, moving Lucy so intensely--as they +were all three sitting at coffee, Lucy expressed her intention to +practice her crayon art professionally. It would be so pleasant an +employment for her, besides contributing to their common fund. Pierre +well knew her expertness in catching likenesses, and judiciously and +truthfully beautifying them; not by altering the features so much, as by +steeping them in a beautifying atmosphere. For even so, said Lucy, +thrown into the Lagoon, and there beheld--as I have heard--the roughest +stones, without transformation, put on the softest aspects. If Pierre +would only take a little trouble to bring sitters to her room, she +doubted not a fine harvest of heads might easily be secured. Certainly, +among the numerous inmates of the old Church, Pierre must know many who +would have no objections to being sketched. Moreover, though as yet she +had had small opportunity to see them; yet among such a remarkable +company of poets, philosophers, and mystics of all sorts, there must be +some striking heads. In conclusion, she expressed her satisfaction at +the chamber prepared for her, inasmuch as having been formerly the +studio of an artist, one window had been considerably elevated, while by +a singular arrangement of the interior shutters, the light could in any +direction be thrown about at will. + +Already Pierre had anticipated something of this sort; the first sight +of the easel having suggested it to him. His reply was therefore not +wholly unconsidered. He said, that so far as she herself was concerned, +the systematic practice of her art at present would certainly be a great +advantage in supplying her with a very delightful occupation. But since +she could hardly hope for any patronage from her mother's fashionable +and wealthy associates; indeed, as such a thing must be very far from +her own desires; and as it was only from the Apostles she could--for +some time to come, at least--reasonably anticipate sitters; and as those +Apostles were almost universally a very forlorn and penniless +set--though in truth there were some wonderfully rich-looking heads +among them--therefore, Lucy must not look for much immediate pecuniary +emolument. Ere long she might indeed do something very handsome; but at +the outset, it was well to be moderate in her expectations. This +admonishment came, modifiedly, from that certain stoic, dogged mood of +Pierre, born of his recent life, which taught him never to expect any +good from any thing; but always to anticipate ill; however not in +unreadiness to meet the contrary; and then, if good came, so much the +better. He added that he would that very morning go among the rooms and +corridors of the Apostles, familiarly announcing that his cousin, a +lady-artist in crayons, occupied a room adjoining his, where she would +be very happy to receive any sitters. + +"And now, Lucy, what shall be the terms? That is a very important point, +thou knowest." + +"I suppose, Pierre, they must be very low," said Lucy, looking at him +meditatively. + +"Very low, Lucy; very low, indeed." + +"Well, ten dollars, then." + +"Ten Banks of England, Lucy!" exclaimed Pierre. "Why, Lucy, that were +almost a quarter's income for some of the Apostles!" + +"Four dollars, Pierre." + +"I will tell thee now, Lucy--but first, how long does it take to +complete one portrait?" + +"Two sittings; and two mornings' work by myself, Pierre." + +"And let me see; what are thy materials? They are not very costly, I +believe. 'Tis not like cutting glass,--thy tools must not be pointed +with diamonds, Lucy?" + +"See, Pierre!" said Lucy, holding out her little palm, "see; this +handful of charcoal, a bit of bread, a crayon or two, and a square of +paper:--that is all." + +"Well, then, thou shalt charge one-seventy-five for a portrait." + +"Only one-seventy-five, Pierre?" + +"I am half afraid now we have set it far too high, Lucy. Thou must not +be extravagant. Look: if thy terms were ten dollars, and thou didst +crayon on trust; then thou wouldst have plenty of sitters, but small +returns. But if thou puttest thy terms right-down, and also sayest thou +must have thy cash right-down too--don't start so at that _cash_--then +not so many sitters to be sure, but more returns. Thou understandest." + +"It shall be just as thou say'st, Pierre." + +"Well, then, I will write a card for thee, stating thy terms; and put it +up conspicuously in thy room, so that every Apostle may know what he has +to expect." + +"Thank thee, thank thee, cousin Pierre," said Lucy, rising. "I rejoice +at thy pleasant and not entirely unhopeful view of my poor little plan. +But I must be doing something; I must be earning money. See, I have +eaten ever so much bread this morning, but have not earned one penny." + +With a humorous sadness Pierre measured the large remainder of the one +only piece she had touched, and then would have spoken banteringly to +her; but she had slid away into her own room. + +He was presently roused from the strange revery into which the +conclusion of this scene had thrown him, by the touch of Isabel's hand +upon his knee, and her large expressive glance upon his face. During all +the foregoing colloquy, she had remained entirely silent; but an +unoccupied observer would perhaps have noticed, that some new and very +strong emotions were restrainedly stirring within her. + +"Pierre!" she said, intently bending over toward him. + +"Well, well, Isabel," stammeringly replied Pierre; while a mysterious +color suffused itself over his whole face, neck, and brow; and +involuntarily he started a little back from her self-proffering form. + +Arrested by this movement Isabel eyed him fixedly; then slowly rose, and +with immense mournful stateliness, drew herself up, and said: "If thy +sister can ever come too nigh to thee, Pierre, tell thy sister so, +beforehand; for the September sun draws not up the valley-vapor more +jealously from the disdainful earth, than my secret god shall draw me up +from thee, if ever I can come too nigh to thee." + +Thus speaking, one hand was on her bosom, as if resolutely feeling of +something deadly there concealed; but, riveted by her general manner +more than by her particular gesture, Pierre, at the instant, did not so +particularly note the all-significant movement of the hand upon her +bosom, though afterward he recalled it, and darkly and thoroughly +comprehended its meaning. + +"Too nigh to me, Isabel? Sun or dew, thou fertilizest me! Can sunbeams +or drops of dew come too nigh the thing they warm and water? Then sit +down by me, Isabel, and sit close; wind in within my ribs,--if so thou +canst,--that my one frame may be the continent of two." + +"Fine feathers make fine birds, so I have heard," said Isabel, most +bitterly--"but do fine sayings always make fine deeds? Pierre, thou +didst but just now draw away from me!" + +"When we would most dearly embrace, we first throw back our arms, +Isabel; I but drew away, to draw so much the closer to thee." + +"Well; all words are arrant skirmishers; deeds are the army's self! be +it as thou sayest. I yet trust to thee.--Pierre." + +"My breath waits thine; what is it, Isabel?" + +"I have been more blockish than a block; I am mad to think of it! More +mad, that her great sweetness should first remind me of mine own +stupidity. But she shall not get the start of me! Pierre, some way I +must work for thee! See, I will sell this hair; have these teeth pulled +out; but some way I will earn money for thee!" + +Pierre now eyed her startledly. Touches of a determinate meaning shone +in her; some hidden thing was deeply wounded in her. An affectionate +soothing syllable was on his tongue; his arm was out; when shifting his +expression, he whisperingly and alarmedly exclaimed--"Hark! she is +coming.--Be still." + +But rising boldly, Isabel threw open the connecting door, exclaiming +half-hysterically--"Look, Lucy; here is the strangest husband; fearful +of being caught speaking to his wife!" + +With an artist's little box before her--whose rattling, perhaps, had +startled Pierre--Lucy was sitting midway in her room, opposite the +opened door; so that at that moment, both Pierre and Isabel were plainly +visible to her. The singular tone of Isabel's voice instantly caused her +to look up intently. At once, a sudden irradiation of some subtile +intelligence--but whether welcome to her, or otherwise, could not be +determined--shot over her whole aspect. She murmured some vague random +reply; and then bent low over her box, saying she was very busy. + +Isabel closed the door, and sat down again by Pierre. Her countenance +wore a mixed and writhing, impatient look. She seemed as one in whom the +most powerful emotion of life is caught in inextricable toils of +circumstances, and while longing to disengage itself, still knows that +all struggles will prove worse than vain; and so, for the moment, grows +madly reckless and defiant of all obstacles. Pierre trembled as he gazed +upon her. But soon the mood passed from her; her old, sweet mournfulness +returned; again the clear unfathomableness was in her mystic eye. + +"Pierre, ere now,--ere I ever knew thee--I have done mad things, which I +have never been conscious of, but in the dim recalling. I hold such +things no things of mine. What I now remember, as just now done, was one +of them." + +"Thou hast done nothing but shown thy strength, while I have shown my +weakness, Isabel;--yes, to the whole world thou art my wife--to her, +too, thou art my wife. Have I not told her so, myself? I was weaker than +a kitten, Isabel; and thou, strong as those high things angelical, from +which utmost beauty takes not strength." + +"Pierre, once such syllables from thee, were all refreshing, and +bedewing to me; now, though they drop as warmly and as fluidly from +thee, yet falling through another and an intercepting zone, they freeze +on the way, and clatter on my heart like hail, Pierre.---- Thou didst +not speak thus to her!" + +"She is not Isabel." + +The girl gazed at him with a quick and piercing scrutiny; then looked +quite calm, and spoke. "My guitar, Pierre: thou know'st how complete a +mistress I am of it; now, before thou gettest sitters for the +portrait-sketcher, thou shalt get pupils for the music-teacher. Wilt +thou?" and she looked at him with a persuasiveness and touchingness, +which to Pierre, seemed more than mortal. + +"My poor poor, Isabel!" cried Pierre; "thou art the mistress of the +natural sweetness of the guitar, not of its invented regulated +artifices; and these are all that the silly pupil will pay for learning. +And what thou hast can not be taught. Ah, thy sweet ignorance is all +transporting to me! my sweet, my sweet!--dear, divine girl!" And +impulsively he caught her in his arms. + +While the first fire of his feeling plainly glowed upon him, but ere he +had yet caught her to him, Isabel had backward glided close to the +connecting door; which, at the instant of his embrace, suddenly opened, +as by its own volition. + +Before the eyes of seated Lucy, Pierre and Isabel stood locked; Pierre's +lips upon her cheek. + + +II. + +Notwithstanding the maternal visit of Mrs. Tartan, and the +peremptoriness with which it had been closed by her declared departure +never to return, and her vow to teach all Lucy's relatives and friends, +and Lucy's own brothers, and her suitor, to disown her, and forget her; +yet Pierre fancied that he knew too much in general of the human heart, +and too much in particular of the character of both Glen and Frederic, +to remain entirely untouched by disquietude, concerning what those two +fiery youths might now be plotting against him, as the imagined monster, +by whose infernal tricks Lucy Tartan was supposed to have been seduced +from every earthly seemliness. Not happily, but only so much the more +gloomily, did he augur from the fact, that Mrs. Tartan had come to Lucy +unattended; and that Glen and Frederic had let eight-and-forty hours and +more go by, without giving the slightest hostile or neutral sign. At +first he thought, that bridling their impulsive fierceness, they were +resolved to take the slower, but perhaps the surer method, to wrest Lucy +back to them, by instituting some legal process. But this idea was +repulsed by more than one consideration. + +Not only was Frederic of that sort of temper, peculiar to military men, +which would prompt him, in so closely personal and intensely private and +family a matter, to scorn the hireling publicity of the law's lingering +arm; and impel him, as by the furiousness of fire, to be his own righter +and avenger; for, in him, it was perhaps quite as much the feeling of an +outrageous family affront to himself, through Lucy, as her own presumed +separate wrong, however black, which stung him to the quick: not only +were these things so respecting Frederic; but concerning Glen, Pierre +well knew, that be Glen heartless as he might, to do a deed of love, +Glen was not heartless to do a deed of hate; that though, on that +memorable night of his arrival in the city, Glen had heartlessly closed +his door upon him, yet now Glen might heartfully burst Pierre's open, if +by that he at all believed, that permanent success would crown the fray. + +Besides, Pierre knew this;--that so invincible is the natural, +untamable, latent spirit of a courageous manliness in man, that though +now socially educated for thousands of years in an arbitrary homage to +the Law, as the one only appointed redress for every injured person; yet +immemorially and universally, among all gentlemen of spirit, once to +have uttered independent personal threats of personal vengeance against +your foe, and then, after that, to fall back slinking into a court, and +hire with sops a pack of yelping pettifoggers to fight the battle so +valiantly proclaimed; this, on the surface, is ever deemed very +decorous, and very prudent--a most wise second thought; but, at bottom, +a miserably ignoble thing. Frederic was not the watery man for +that,--Glen had more grapey blood in him. + +Moreover, it seemed quite clear to Pierre, that only by making out Lucy +absolutely mad, and striving to prove it by a thousand despicable little +particulars, could the law succeed in tearing her from the refuge she +had voluntarily sought; a course equally abhorrent to all the parties +possibly to be concerned on either side. + +What then would those two boiling bloods do? Perhaps they would patrol +the streets; and at the first glimpse of lonely Lucy, kidnap her home. +Or if Pierre were with her, then, smite him down by hook or crook, fair +play or foul; and then, away with Lucy! Or if Lucy systematically kept +her room, then fall on Pierre in the most public way, fell him, and +cover him from all decent recognition beneath heaps on heaps of hate and +insult; so that broken on the wheel of such dishonor, Pierre might feel +himself unstrung, and basely yield the prize. + +Not the gibbering of ghosts in any old haunted house; no sulphurous and +portentous sign at night beheld in heaven, will so make the hair to +stand, as when a proud and honorable man is revolving in his soul the +possibilities of some gross public and corporeal disgrace. It is not +fear; it is a pride-horror, which is more terrible than any fear. Then, +by tremendous imagery, the murderer's mark of Cain is felt burning on +the brow, and the already acquitted knife blood-rusts in the clutch of +the anticipating hand. + +Certain that those two youths must be plotting something furious against +him; with the echoes of their scorning curses on the stairs still +ringing in his ears--curses, whose swift responses from himself, he, at +the time, had had much ado to check;--thoroughly alive to the +supernaturalism of that mad frothing hate which a spirited brother forks +forth at the insulter of a sister's honor--beyond doubt the most +uncompromising of all the social passions known to man--and not blind to +the anomalous fact, that if such a brother stab his foe at his own +mother's table, all people and all juries would bear him out, accounting +every thing allowable to a noble soul made mad by a sweet sister's shame +caused by a damned seducer;--imagining to himself his own feelings, if +he were actually in the position which Frederic so vividly fancied to +be his; remembering that in love matters jealousy is as an adder, and +that the jealousy of Glen was double-addered by the extraordinary malice +of the apparent circumstances under which Lucy had spurned Glen's arms, +and fled to his always successful and now married rival, as if wantonly +and shamelessly to nestle there;--remembering all these intense +incitements of both those foes of his, Pierre could not but look forward +to wild work very soon to come. Nor was the storm of passion in his soul +unratified by the decision of his coolest possible hour. Storm and calm +both said to him,--Look to thyself, oh Pierre! + +Murders are done by maniacs; but the earnest thoughts of murder, these +are the collected desperadoes. Pierre was such; fate, or what you will, +had made him such. But such he was. And when these things now swam +before him; when he thought of all the ambiguities which hemmed him in; +the stony walls all round that he could not overleap; the million +aggravations of his most malicious lot; the last lingering hope of +happiness licked up from him as by flames of fire, and his one only +prospect a black, bottomless gulf of guilt, upon whose verge he +imminently teetered every hour;--then the utmost hate of Glen and +Frederic were jubilantly welcome to him; and murder, done in the act of +warding off their ignominious public blow, seemed the one only congenial +sequel to such a desperate career. + + +III. + +As a statue, planted on a revolving pedestal, shows now this limb, now +that; now front, now back, now side; continually changing, too, its +general profile; so does the pivoted, statued soul of man, when turned +by the hand of Truth. Lies only never vary; look for no invariableness +in Pierre. Nor does any canting showman here stand by to announce his +phases as he revolves. Catch his phases as your insight may. + +Another day passed on; Glen and Frederic still absenting themselves, and +Pierre and Isabel and Lucy all dwelling together. The domestic presence +of Lucy had begun to produce a remarkable effect upon Pierre. Sometimes, +to the covertly watchful eye of Isabel, he would seem to look upon Lucy +with an expression illy befitting their singular and so-supposed merely +cousinly relation; and yet again, with another expression still more +unaccountable to her,--one of fear and awe, not unmixed with impatience. +But his general detailed manner toward Lucy was that of the most +delicate and affectionate considerateness--nothing more. He was never +alone with her; though, as before, at times alone with Isabel. + +Lucy seemed entirely undesirous of usurping any place about him; +manifested no slightest unwelcome curiosity as to Pierre, and no painful +embarrassment as to Isabel. Nevertheless, more and more did she seem, +hour by hour, to be somehow inexplicably sliding between them, without +touching them. Pierre felt that some strange heavenly influence was near +him, to keep him from some uttermost harm; Isabel was alive to some +untraceable displacing agency. Though when all three were together, the +marvelous serenity, and sweetness, and utter unsuspectingness of Lucy +obviated any thing like a common embarrassment: yet if there was any +embarrassment at all beneath that roof, it was sometimes when Pierre was +alone with Isabel, after Lucy would innocently quit them. + +Meantime Pierre was still going on with his book; every moment becoming +still the more sensible of the intensely inauspicious circumstances of +all sorts under which that labor was proceeding. And as the now +advancing and concentring enterprise demanded more and more compacted +vigor from him, he felt that he was having less and less to bring to it. +For not only was it the signal misery of Pierre, to be +invisibly--though but accidentally--goaded, in the hour of mental +immaturity, to the attempt at a mature work,--a circumstance +sufficiently lamentable in itself; but also, in the hour of his +clamorous pennilessness, he was additionally goaded into an enterprise +long and protracted in the execution, and of all things least calculated +for pecuniary profit in the end. How these things were so, whence they +originated, might be thoroughly and very beneficially explained; but +space and time here forbid. + +At length, domestic matters--rent and bread--had come to such a pass +with him, that whether or no, the first pages must go to the printer; +and thus was added still another tribulation; because the printed pages +now dictated to the following manuscript, and said to all subsequent +thoughts and inventions of Pierre--_Thus and thus_; _so and so_; _else +an ill match_. Therefore, was his book already limited, bound over, and +committed to imperfection, even before it had come to any confirmed form +or conclusion at all. Oh, who shall reveal the horrors of poverty in +authorship that is high? While the silly Millthorpe was railing against +his delay of a few weeks and months; how bitterly did unreplying Pierre +feel in his heart, that to most of the great works of humanity, their +authors had given, not weeks and months, not years and years, but their +wholly surrendered and dedicated lives. On either hand clung to by a +girl who would have laid down her life for him; Pierre, nevertheless, in +his deepest, highest part, was utterly without sympathy from any thing +divine, human, brute, or vegetable. One in a city of hundreds of +thousands of human beings, Pierre was solitary as at the Pole. + +And the great woe of all was this: that all these things were +unsuspected without, and undivulgible from within; the very daggers that +stabbed him were joked at by Imbecility, Ignorance, Blockheadedness, +Self-Complacency, and the universal Blearedness and Besottedness around +him. Now he began to feel that in him, the thews of a Titan were +forestallingly cut by the scissors of Fate. He felt as a moose, +hamstrung. All things that think, or move, or lie still, seemed as +created to mock and torment him. He seemed gifted with loftiness, merely +that it might be dragged down to the mud. Still, the profound +willfulness in him would not give up. Against the breaking heart, and +the bursting head; against all the dismal lassitude, and deathful +faintness and sleeplessness, and whirlingness, and craziness, still he +like a demigod bore up. His soul's ship foresaw the inevitable rocks, +but resolved to sail on, and make a courageous wreck. Now he gave jeer +for jeer, and taunted the apes that jibed him. With the soul of an +Atheist, he wrote down the godliest things; with the feeling of misery +and death in him, he created forms of gladness and life. For the pangs +in his heart, he put down hoots on the paper. And every thing else he +disguised under the so conveniently adjustable drapery of +all-stretchable Philosophy. For the more and the more that he wrote, and +the deeper and the deeper that he dived, Pierre saw the everlasting +elusiveness of Truth; the universal lurking insincerity of even the +greatest and purest written thoughts. Like knavish cards, the leaves of +all great books were covertly packed. He was but packing one set the +more; and that a very poor jaded set and pack indeed. So that there was +nothing he more spurned, than his own aspirations; nothing he more +abhorred than the loftiest part of himself. The brightest success, now +seemed intolerable to him, since he so plainly saw, that the brightest +success could not be the sole offspring of Merit; but of Merit for the +one thousandth part, and nine hundred and ninety-nine combining and +dove-tailing accidents for the rest. So beforehand he despised those +laurels which in the very nature of things, can never be impartially +bestowed. But while thus all the earth was depopulated of ambition for +him; still circumstances had put him in the attitude of an eager +contender for renown. So beforehand he felt the unrevealable sting of +receiving either plaudits or censures, equally unsought for, and +equally loathed ere given. So, beforehand he felt the pyramidical scorn +of the genuine loftiness for the whole infinite company of infinitesimal +critics. His was the scorn which thinks it not worth the while to be +scornful. Those he most scorned, never knew it. In that lonely little +closet of his, Pierre foretasted all that this world hath either of +praise or dispraise; and thus foretasting both goblets, anticipatingly +hurled them both in its teeth. All panegyric, all denunciation, all +criticism of any sort, would come too late for Pierre. + +But man does never give himself up thus, a doorless and shutterless +house for the four loosened winds of heaven to howl through, without +still additional dilapidations. Much oftener than before, Pierre laid +back in his chair with the deadly feeling of faintness. Much oftener +than before, came staggering home from his evening walk, and from sheer +bodily exhaustion economized the breath that answered the anxious +inquiries as to what might be done for him. And as if all the leagued +spiritual inveteracies and malices, combined with his general bodily +exhaustion, were not enough, a special corporeal affliction now +descended like a sky-hawk upon him. His incessant application told upon +his eyes. They became so affected, that some days he wrote with the lids +nearly closed, fearful of opening them wide to the light. Through the +lashes he peered upon the paper, which so seemed fretted with wires. +Sometimes he blindly wrote with his eyes turned away from the +paper;--thus unconsciously symbolizing the hostile necessity and +distaste, the former whereof made of him this most unwilling +states-prisoner of letters. + +As every evening, after his day's writing was done, the proofs of the +beginning of his work came home for correction, Isabel would read them +to him. They were replete with errors; but preoccupied by the thronging, +and undiluted, pure imaginings of things, he became impatient of such +minute, gnat-like torments; he randomly corrected the worst, and let +the rest go; jeering with himself at the rich harvest thus furnished to +the entomological critics. + +But at last he received a tremendous interior intimation, to hold +off--to be still from his unnatural struggle. + +In the earlier progress of his book, he had found some relief in making +his regular evening walk through the greatest thoroughfare of the city; +that so, the utter isolation of his soul, might feel itself the more +intensely from the incessant jogglings of his body against the bodies of +the hurrying thousands. Then he began to be sensible of more fancying +stormy nights, than pleasant ones; for then, the great thoroughfares +were less thronged, and the innumerable shop-awnings flapped and beat +like schooners' broad sails in a gale, and the shutters banged like +lashed bulwarks; and the slates fell hurtling like displaced ship's +blocks from aloft. Stemming such tempests through the deserted streets, +Pierre felt a dark, triumphant joy; that while others had crawled in +fear to their kennels, he alone defied the storm-admiral, whose most +vindictive peltings of hail-stones,--striking his iron-framed fiery +furnace of a body,--melted into soft dew, and so, harmlessly trickled +from off him. + +By-and-by, of such howling, pelting nights, he began to bend his steps +down the dark, narrow side-streets, in quest of the more secluded and +mysterious tap-rooms. There he would feel a singular satisfaction, in +sitting down all dripping in a chair, ordering his half-pint of ale +before him, and drawing over his cap to protect his eyes from the light, +eye the varied faces of the social castaways, who here had their haunts +from the bitterest midnights. + +But at last he began to feel a distaste for even these; and now nothing +but the utter night-desolation of the obscurest warehousing lanes would +content him, or be at all sufferable to him. Among these he had now been +accustomed to wind in and out every evening; till one night as he paused +a moment previous to turning about for home, a sudden, unwonted, and +all-pervading sensation seized him. He knew not where he was; he did not +have any ordinary life-feeling at all. He could not see; though +instinctively putting his hand to his eyes, he seemed to feel that the +lids were open. Then he was sensible of a combined blindness, and +vertigo, and staggering; before his eyes a million green meteors danced; +he felt his foot tottering upon the curb, he put out his hands, and knew +no more for the time. When he came to himself he found that he was lying +crosswise in the gutter, dabbled with mud and slime. He raised himself +to try if he could stand; but the fit was entirely gone. Immediately he +quickened his steps homeward, forbearing to rest or pause at all on the +way, lest that rush of blood to his head, consequent upon his sudden +cessation from walking, should again smite him down. This circumstance +warned him away from those desolate streets, lest the repetition of the +fit should leave him there to perish by night in unknown and unsuspected +loneliness. But if that terrible vertigo had been also intended for +another and deeper warning, he regarded such added warning not at all; +but again plied heart and brain as before. + +But now at last since the very blood in his body had in vain rebelled +against his Titanic soul; now the only visible outward symbols of that +soul--his eyes--did also turn downright traitors to him, and with more +success than the rebellious blood. He had abused them so recklessly, +that now they absolutely refused to look on paper. He turned them on +paper, and they blinked and shut. The pupils of his eyes rolled away +from him in their own orbits. He put his hand up to them, and sat back +in his seat. Then, without saying one word, he continued there for his +usual term, suspended, motionless, blank. + +But next morning--it was some few days after the arrival of Lucy--still +feeling that a certain downright infatuation, and no less, is both +unavoidable and indispensable in the composition of any great, deep +book, or even any wholly unsuccessful attempt at any great, deep book; +next morning he returned to the charge. But again the pupils of his eyes +rolled away from him in their orbits: and now a general and nameless +torpor--some horrible foretaste of death itself--seemed stealing upon +him. + + +IV. + +During this state of semi-unconsciousness, or rather trance, a +remarkable dream or vision came to him. The actual artificial objects +around him slid from him, and were replaced by a baseless yet most +imposing spectacle of natural scenery. But though a baseless vision in +itself, this airy spectacle assumed very familiar features to Pierre. It +was the phantasmagoria of the Mount of the Titans, a singular height +standing quite detached in a wide solitude not far from the grand range +of dark blue hills encircling his ancestral manor. + +Say what some poets will, Nature is not so much her own ever-sweet +interpreter, as the mere supplier of that cunning alphabet, whereby +selecting and combining as he pleases, each man reads his own peculiar +lesson according to his own peculiar mind and mood. Thus a +high-aspiring, but most moody, disappointed bard, chancing once to visit +the Meadows and beholding that fine eminence, christened it by the name +it ever after bore; completely extinguishing its former title--The +Delectable Mountain--one long ago bestowed by an old Baptist farmer, an +hereditary admirer of Bunyan and his most marvelous book. From the spell +of that name the mountain never afterward escaped; for now, gazing upon +it by the light of those suggestive syllables, no poetical observer +could resist the apparent felicity of the title. For as if indeed the +immemorial mount would fain adapt itself to its so recent name, some +people said that it had insensibly changed its pervading aspect within a +score or two of winters. Nor was this strange conceit entirely without +foundation, seeing that the annual displacements of huge rocks and +gigantic trees were continually modifying its whole front and general +contour. + +On the north side, where it fronted the old Manor-house, some fifteen +miles distant, the height, viewed from the piazza of a soft +haze-canopied summer's noon, presented a long and beautiful, but not +entirely inaccessible-looking purple precipice, some two thousand feet +in air, and on each hand sideways sloping down to lofty terraces of +pastures. + +Those hill-side pastures, be it said, were thickly sown with a small +white amaranthine flower, which, being irreconcilably distasteful to the +cattle, and wholly rejected by them, and yet, continually multiplying on +every hand, did by no means contribute to the agricultural value of +those elevated lands. Insomuch, that for this cause, the disheartened +dairy tenants of that part of the Manor, had petitioned their +lady-landlord for some abatement in their annual tribute of upland +grasses, in the Juny-load; rolls of butter in the October crock; and +steers and heifers on the October hoof; with turkeys in the Christmas +sleigh. + +"The small white flower, it is our bane!" the imploring tenants cried. +"The aspiring amaranth, every year it climbs and adds new terraces to +its sway! The immortal amaranth, it will not die, but last year's +flowers survive to this! The terraced pastures grow glittering white, +and in warm June still show like banks of snow:--fit token of the +sterileness the amaranth begets! Then free us from the amaranth, good +lady, or be pleased to abate our rent!" + +Now, on a somewhat nearer approach, the precipice did not belie its +purple promise from the manorial piazza--that sweet imposing purple +promise, which seemed fully to vindicate the Bunyanish old title +originally bestowed;--but showed the profuse aerial foliage of a hanging +forest. Nevertheless, coming still more nigh, long and frequent rents +among the mass of leaves revealed horrible glimpses of dark-dripping +rocks, and mysterious mouths of wolfish caves. Struck by this most +unanticipated view, the tourist now quickened his impulsive steps to +verify the change by coming into direct contact with so chameleon a +height. As he would now speed on, the lower ground, which from the +manor-house piazza seemed all a grassy level, suddenly merged into a +very long and weary acclivity, slowly rising close up to the precipice's +base; so that the efflorescent grasses rippled against it, as the +efflorescent waves of some great swell or long rolling billow ripple +against the water-line of a steep gigantic war-ship on the sea. And, as +among the rolling sea-like sands of Egypt, disordered rows of broken +Sphinxes lead to the Cheopian pyramid itself; so this long acclivity was +thickly strewn with enormous rocky masses, grotesque in shape, and with +wonderful features on them, which seemed to express that slumbering +intelligence visible in some recumbent beasts--beasts whose intelligence +seems struck dumb in them by some sorrowful and inexplicable spell. +Nevertheless, round and round those still enchanted rocks, hard by their +utmost rims, and in among their cunning crevices, the misanthropic +hill-scaling goat nibbled his sweetest food; for the rocks, so barren in +themselves, distilled a subtile moisture, which fed with greenness all +things that grew about their igneous marge. + +Quitting those recumbent rocks, you still ascended toward the hanging +forest, and piercing within its lowermost fringe, then suddenly you +stood transfixed, as a marching soldier confounded at the sight of an +impregnable redoubt, where he had fancied it a practicable vault to his +courageous thews. Cunningly masked hitherto, by the green tapestry of +the interlacing leaves, a terrific towering palisade of dark mossy +massiness confronted you; and, trickling with unevaporable moisture, +distilled upon you from its beetling brow slow thunder-showers of +water-drops, chill as the last dews of death. Now you stood and shivered +in that twilight, though it were high noon and burning August down the +meads. All round and round, the grim scarred rocks rallied and +re-rallied themselves; shot up, protruded, stretched, swelled, and +eagerly reached forth; on every side bristlingly radiating with a +hideous repellingness. Tossed, and piled, and indiscriminate among +these, like bridging rifts of logs up-jammed in alluvial-rushing streams +of far Arkansas: or, like great masts and yards of overwhelmed fleets +hurled high and dashed amain, all splintering together, on hovering +ridges of the Atlantic sea,--you saw the melancholy trophies which the +North Wind, championing the unquenchable quarrel of the Winter, had +wrested from the forests, and dismembered them on their own chosen +battle-ground, in barbarous disdain. 'Mid this spectacle of wide and +wanton spoil, insular noises of falling rocks would boomingly explode +upon the silence and fright all the echoes, which ran shrieking in and +out among the caves, as wailing women and children in some assaulted +town. + +Stark desolation; ruin, merciless and ceaseless; chills and gloom,--all +here lived a hidden life, curtained by that cunning purpleness, which, +from the piazza of the manor house, so beautifully invested the mountain +once called Delectable, but now styled Titanic. + +Beaten off by such undreamed-of glooms and steeps, you now sadly +retraced your steps, and, mayhap, went skirting the inferior sideway +terraces of pastures; where the multiple and most sterile inodorous +immortalness of the small, white flower furnished no aliment for the +mild cow's meditative cud. But here and there you still might smell from +far the sweet aromaticness of clumps of catnip, that dear farm-house +herb. Soon you would see the modest verdure of the plant itself; and +wheresoever you saw that sight, old foundation stones and rotting +timbers of log-houses long extinct would also meet your eye; their +desolation illy hid by the green solicitudes of the unemigrating herb. +Most fitly named the catnip; since, like the unrunagate cat, though all +that's human forsake the place, that plant will long abide, long bask +and bloom on the abandoned hearth. Illy hid; for every spring the +amaranthine and celestial flower gained on the mortal household herb; +for every autumn the catnip died, but never an autumn made the amaranth +to wane. The catnip and the amaranth!--man's earthly household peace, +and the ever-encroaching appetite for God. + +No more now you sideways followed the sad pasture's skirt, but took your +way adown the long declivity, fronting the mystic height. In mid field +again you paused among the recumbent sphinx-like shapes thrown off from +the rocky steep. You paused; fixed by a form defiant, a form of +awfulness. You saw Enceladus the Titan, the most potent of all the +giants, writhing from out the imprisoning earth;--turbaned with upborn +moss he writhed; still, though armless, resisting with his whole +striving trunk, the Pelion and the Ossa hurled back at him;--turbaned +with upborn moss he writhed; still turning his unconquerable front +toward that majestic mount eternally in vain assailed by him, and which, +when it had stormed him off, had heaved his undoffable incubus upon him, +and deridingly left him there to bay out his ineffectual howl. + +To Pierre this wondrous shape had always been a thing of interest, +though hitherto all its latent significance had never fully and +intelligibly smitten him. In his earlier boyhood a strolling company of +young collegian pedestrians had chanced to light upon the rock; and, +struck with its remarkableness, had brought a score of picks and spades, +and dug round it to unearth it, and find whether indeed it were a +demoniac freak of nature, or some stern thing of antediluvian art. +Accompanying this eager party, Pierre first beheld that deathless son of +Terra. At that time, in its untouched natural state, the statue +presented nothing but the turbaned head of igneous rock rising from out +the soil, with its unabasable face turned upward toward the mountain, +and the bull-like neck clearly defined. With distorted features, scarred +and broken, and a black brow mocked by the upborn moss, Enceladus there +subterraneously stood, fast frozen into the earth at the junction of the +neck. Spades and picks soon heaved part of his Ossa from him, till at +last a circular well was opened round him to the depth of some thirteen +feet. At that point the wearied young collegians gave over their +enterprise in despair. With all their toil, they had not yet come to the +girdle of Enceladus. But they had bared good part of his mighty chest, +and exposed his mutilated shoulders, and the stumps of his once +audacious arms. Thus far uncovering his shame, in that cruel plight they +had abandoned him, leaving stark naked his in vain indignant chest to +the defilements of the birds, which for untold ages had cast their +foulness on his vanquished crest. + +Not unworthy to be compared with that leaden Titan, wherewith the art of +Marsy and the broad-flung pride of Bourbon enriched the enchanted +gardens of Versailles;--and from whose still twisted mouth for sixty +feet the waters yet upgush, in elemental rivalry with those Etna flames, +of old asserted to be the malicious breath of the borne-down giant;--not +unworthy to be compared with that leaden demi-god--piled with costly +rocks, and with one bent wrenching knee protruding from the broken +bronze;--not unworthy to be compared with that bold trophy of high art, +this American Enceladus, wrought by the vigorous hand of Nature's self, +it did go further than compare;--it did far surpass that fine figure +molded by the inferior skill of man. Marsy gave arms to the eternally +defenseless; but Nature, more truthful, performed an amputation, and +left the impotent Titan without one serviceable ball-and-socket above +the thigh. + +Such was the wild scenery--the Mount of Titans, and the repulsed group +of heaven-assaulters, with Enceladus in their midst shamefully recumbent +at its base;--such was the wild scenery, which now to Pierre, in his +strange vision, displaced the four blank walls, the desk, and camp-bed, +and domineered upon his trance. But no longer petrified in all their +ignominious attitudes, the herded Titans now sprung to their feet; flung +themselves up the slope; and anew battered at the precipice's +unresounding wall. Foremost among them all, he saw a moss-turbaned, +armless giant, who despairing of any other mode of wreaking his +immitigable hate, turned his vast trunk into a battering-ram, and hurled +his own arched-out ribs again and yet again against the invulnerable +steep. + +"Enceladus! it is Enceladus!"--Pierre cried out in his sleep. That +moment the phantom faced him; and Pierre saw Enceladus no more; but on +the Titan's armless trunk, his own duplicate face and features +magnifiedly gleamed upon him with prophetic discomfiture and woe. With +trembling frame he started from his chair, and woke from that ideal +horror to all his actual grief. + + +V. + +Nor did Pierre's random knowledge of the ancient fables fail still +further to elucidate the vision which so strangely had supplied a tongue +to muteness. But that elucidation was most repulsively fateful and +foreboding; possibly because Pierre did not leap the final barrier of +gloom; possibly because Pierre did not willfully wrest some final +comfort from the fable; did not flog this stubborn rock as Moses his, +and force even aridity itself to quench his painful thirst. + +Thus smitten, the Mount of Titans seems to yield this following +stream:-- + +Old Titan's self was the son of incestuous Coelus and Terra, the son +of incestuous Heaven and Earth. And Titan married his mother Terra, +another and accumulatively incestuous match. And thereof Enceladus was +one issue. So Enceladus was both the son and grandson of an incest; and +even thus, there had been born from the organic blended heavenliness and +earthliness of Pierre, another mixed, uncertain, heaven-aspiring, but +still not wholly earth-emancipated mood; which again, by its terrestrial +taint held down to its terrestrial mother, generated there the present +doubly incestuous Enceladus within him; so that the present mood of +Pierre--that reckless sky-assaulting mood of his, was nevertheless on +one side the grandson of the sky. For it is according to eternal +fitness, that the precipitated Titan should still seek to regain his +paternal birthright even by fierce escalade. Wherefore whoso storms the +sky gives best proof he came from thither! But whatso crawls contented +in the moat before that crystal fort, shows it was born within that +slime, and there forever will abide. + +Recovered somewhat from the after-spell of this wild vision folded in +his trance, Pierre composed his front as best he might, and straightway +left his fatal closet. Concentrating all the remaining stuff in him, he +resolved by an entire and violent change, and by a willful act against +his own most habitual inclinations, to wrestle with the strange malady +of his eyes, this new death-fiend of the trance, and this Inferno of his +Titanic vision. + +And now, just as he crossed the threshold of the closet, he writhingly +strove to assume an expression intended to be not uncheerful--though how +indeed his countenance at all looked, he could not tell; for dreading +some insupportably dark revealments in his glass, he had of late wholly +abstained from appealing to it--and in his mind he rapidly conned over, +what indifferent, disguising, or light-hearted gamesome things he +should say, when proposing to his companions the little design he +cherished. + +And even so, to grim Enceladus, the world the gods had chained for a +ball to drag at his o'erfreighted feet;--even so that globe put forth a +thousand flowers, whose fragile smiles disguised his ponderous load. + + + + +BOOK XXVI. + +A WALK: A FOREIGN PORTRAIT: A SAIL: AND THE END. + + +I. + +"Come, Isabel, come, Lucy; we have not had a single walk together yet. +It is cold, but clear; and once out of the city, we shall find it sunny. +Come: get ready now, and away for a stroll down to the wharf, and then +for some of the steamers on the bay. No doubt, Lucy, you will find in +the bay scenery some hints for that secret sketch you are so busily +occupied with--ere real living sitters do come--and which you so +devotedly work at, all alone and behind closed doors." + +Upon this, Lucy's original look of pale-rippling pleasantness and +surprise--evoked by Pierre's unforeseen proposition to give himself some +relaxation--changed into one of infinite, mute, but unrenderable +meaning, while her swimming eyes gently, yet all-bewildered, fell to the +floor. + +"It is finished, then," cried Isabel,--not unmindful of this by-scene, +and passionately stepping forward so as to intercept Pierre's momentary +rapt glance at the agitated Lucy,--"That vile book, it is +finished!--Thank Heaven!" + +"Not so," said Pierre; and, displacing all disguisements, a hectic +unsummoned expression suddenly came to his face;--"but ere that vile +book be finished, I must get on some other element than earth. I have +sat on earth's saddle till I am weary; I must now vault over to the +other saddle awhile. Oh, seems to me, there should be two ceaseless +steeds for a bold man to ride,--the Land and the Sea; and like +circus-men we should never dismount, but only be steadied and rested by +leaping from one to the other, while still, side by side, they both race +round the sun. I have been on the Land steed so long, oh I am dizzy!" + +"Thou wilt never listen to me, Pierre," said Lucy lowly; "there is no +need of this incessant straining. See, Isabel and I have both offered to +be thy amanuenses;--not in mere copying, but in the original writing; I +am sure that would greatly assist thee." + +"Impossible! I fight a duel in which all seconds are forbid." + +"Ah Pierre! Pierre!" cried Lucy, dropping the shawl in her hand, and +gazing at him with unspeakable longings of some unfathomable emotion. + +Namelessly glancing at Lucy, Isabel slid near to him, seized his hand +and spoke. + +"I would go blind for thee, Pierre; here, take out these eyes, and use +them for glasses." So saying, she looked with a strange momentary +haughtiness and defiance at Lucy. + +A general half involuntary movement was now made, as if they were about +to depart. + +"Ye are ready; go ye before"--said Lucy meekly; "I will follow." + +"Nay, one on each arm"--said Pierre--"come!" + +As they passed through the low arched vestibule into the street, a +cheek-burnt, gamesome sailor passing, exclaimed--"Steer small, my lad; +'tis a narrow strait thou art in!" + +"What says he?"--said Lucy gently. "Yes, it is a narrow strait of a +street indeed." + +But Pierre felt a sudden tremble transferred to him from Isabel, who +whispered something inarticulate in his ear. + +Gaining one of the thoroughfares, they drew near to a conspicuous +placard over a door, announcing that above stairs was a gallery of +paintings, recently imported from Europe, and now on free exhibition +preparatory to their sale by auction. Though this encounter had been +entirely unforeseen by Pierre, yet yielding to the sudden impulse, he at +once proposed their visiting the pictures. The girls assented, and they +ascended the stairs. + +In the anteroom, a catalogue was put into his hand. He paused to give +one hurried, comprehensive glance at it. Among long columns of such +names as Rubens, Raphael, Angelo, Domenichino, Da Vinci, all shamelessly +prefaced with the words "undoubted," or "testified," Pierre met the +following brief line:--"_No. 99. A stranger's head, by an unknown +hand._" + +It seemed plain that the whole must be a collection of those wretched +imported daubs, which with the incredible effrontery peculiar to some of +the foreign picture-dealers in America, were christened by the loftiest +names known to Art. But as the most mutilated torsoes of the perfections +of antiquity are not unworthy the student's attention, neither are the +most bungling modern incompletenesses: for both are torsoes; one of +perished perfections in the past; the other, by anticipation, of yet +unfulfilled perfections in the future. Still, as Pierre walked along by +the thickly hung walls, and seemed to detect the infatuated vanity which +must have prompted many of these utterly unknown artists in the +attempted execution by feeble hand of vigorous themes; he could not +repress the most melancholy foreboding concerning himself. All the walls +of the world seemed thickly hung with the empty and impotent scope of +pictures, grandly outlined, but miserably filled. The smaller and +humbler pictures, representing little familiar things, were by far the +best executed; but these, though touching him not unpleasingly, in one +restricted sense, awoke no dormant majesties in his soul, and therefore, +upon the whole, were contemptibly inadequate and unsatisfactory. + +At last Pierre and Isabel came to that painting of which Pierre was +capriciously in search--No. 99. + +"My God! see! see!" cried Isabel, under strong excitement, "only my +mirror has ever shown me that look before! See! see!" + +By some mere hocus-pocus of chance, or subtly designing knavery, a real +Italian gem of art had found its way into this most hybrid collection of +impostures. + +No one who has passed through the great galleries of Europe, +unbewildered by their wonderful multitudinousness of surpassing +excellence--a redundancy which neutralizes all discrimination or +individualizing capacity in most ordinary minds--no calm, penetrative +person can have victoriously run that painted gauntlet of the gods, +without certain very special emotions, called forth by some one or more +individual paintings, to which, however, both the catalogues and the +criticisms of the greatest connoisseurs deny any all-transcending merit, +at all answering to the effect thus casually produced. There is no time +now to show fully how this is; suffice it, that in such instances, it is +not the abstract excellence always, but often the accidental +congeniality, which occasions this wonderful emotion. Still, the +individual himself is apt to impute it to a different cause; hence, the +headlong enthusiastic admiration of some one or two men for things not +at all praised by--or at most, which are indifferent to--the rest of the +world;--a matter so often considered inexplicable. + +But in this Stranger's Head by the Unknown Hand, the abstract general +excellence united with the all-surprising, accidental congeniality in +producing an accumulated impression of power upon both Pierre and +Isabel. Nor was the strangeness of this at all impaired by the apparent +uninterestedness of Lucy concerning that very picture. Indeed, +Lucy--who, owing to the occasional jolting of the crowd, had loosened +her arm from Pierre's, and so, gradually, had gone on along the pictured +hall in advance--Lucy had thus passed the strange painting, without the +least special pause, and had now wandered round to the precisely +opposite side of the hall; where, at this present time, she was standing +motionless before a very tolerable copy (the only other good thing in +the collection) of that sweetest, most touching, but most awful of all +feminine heads--The Cenci of Guido. The wonderfulness of which head +consists chiefly, perhaps, in a striking, suggested contrast, +half-identical with, and half-analogous to, that almost supernatural +one--sometimes visible in the maidens of tropical nations--namely, soft +and light blue eyes, with an extremely fair complexion; vailed by +funereally jetty hair. But with blue eyes and fair complexion, the +Cenci's hair is golden--physically, therefore, all is in strict, natural +keeping; which, nevertheless, still the more intensifies the suggested +fanciful anomaly of so sweetly and seraphically _blonde_ a being, being +double-hooded, as it were, by the black crape of the two most horrible +crimes (of one of which she is the object, and of the other the agent) +possible to civilized humanity--incest and parricide. + +Now, this Cenci and "the Stranger" were hung at a good elevation in one +of the upper tiers; and, from the opposite walls, exactly faced each +other; so that in secret they seemed pantomimically talking over and +across the heads of the living spectators below. + +With the aspect of the Cenci every one is familiar. "The Stranger" was a +dark, comely, youthful man's head, portentously looking out of a dark, +shaded ground, and ambiguously smiling. There was no discoverable +drapery; the dark head, with its crisp, curly, jetty hair, seemed just +disentangling itself from out of curtains and clouds. But to Isabel, in +the eye and on the brow, were certain shadowy traces of her own +unmistakable likeness; while to Pierre, this face was in part as the +resurrection of the one he had burnt at the Inn. Not that the separate +features were the same; but the pervading look of it, the subtler +interior keeping of the entirety, was almost identical; still, for all +this, there was an unequivocal aspect of foreignness, of Europeanism, +about both the face itself and the general painting. + +"Is it? Is it? Can it be?" whispered Isabel, intensely. + +Now, Isabel knew nothing of the painting which Pierre had destroyed. But +she solely referred to the living being who--under the designation of +her father--had visited her at the cheerful house to which she had been +removed during childhood from the large and unnamable one by the +pleasant woman in the coach. Without doubt--though indeed she might not +have been at all conscious of it in her own mystic mind--she must have +somehow vaguely fancied, that this being had always through life worn +the same aspect to every body else which he had to her, for so very +brief an interval of his possible existence. Solely knowing him--or +dreaming of him, it may have been--under that one aspect, she could not +conceive of him under any other. Whether or not these considerations +touching Isabel's ideas occurred to Pierre at this moment is very +improbable. At any rate, he said nothing to her, either to deceive or +undeceive, either to enlighten or obscure. For, indeed, he was too much +riveted by his own far-interior emotions to analyze now the cotemporary +ones of Isabel. So that there here came to pass a not unremarkable +thing: for though both were intensely excited by one object, yet their +two minds and memories were thereby directed to entirely different +contemplations; while still each, for the time--however +unreasonably--might have vaguely supposed the other occupied by one and +the same contemplation. Pierre was thinking of the chair-portrait: +Isabel, of the living face. Yet Isabel's fervid exclamations having +reference to the living face, were now, as it were, mechanically +responded to by Pierre, in syllables having reference to the +chair-portrait. Nevertheless, so subtile and spontaneous was it all, +that neither perhaps ever afterward discovered this contradiction; for, +events whirled them so rapidly and peremptorily after this, that they +had no time for those calm retrospective reveries indispensable perhaps +to such a discovery. + +"Is it? is it? can it be?" was the intense whisper of Isabel. + +"No, it can not be, it is not," replied Pierre; "one of the wonderful +coincidences, nothing more." + +"Oh, by that word, Pierre, we but vainly seek to explain the +inexplicable. Tell me: it is! it must be! it is wonderful!" + +"Let us begone; and let us keep eternal silence," said Pierre, quickly; +and, seeking Lucy, they abruptly left the place; as before, Pierre, +seemingly unwilling to be accosted by any one he knew, or who knew his +companions, unconsciously accelerating their steps while forced for a +space to tread the thoroughfares. + + +II. + +As they hurried on, Pierre was silent; but wild thoughts were hurrying +and shouting in his heart. The most tremendous displacing and +revolutionizing thoughts were upheaving in him, with reference to +Isabel; nor--though at the time he was hardly conscious of such a +thing--were these thoughts wholly unwelcome to him. + +How did he know that Isabel was his sister? Setting aside Aunt +Dorothea's nebulous legend, to which, in some shadowy points, here and +there Isabel's still more nebulous story seemed to fit on,--though but +uncertainly enough--and both of which thus blurredly conjoining +narrations, regarded in the unscrupulous light of real naked reason, +were any thing but legitimately conclusive; and setting aside his own +dim reminiscences of his wandering father's death-bed; (for though, in +one point of view, those reminiscences might have afforded some degree +of presumption as to his father's having been the parent of an +unacknowledged daughter, yet were they entirely inconclusive as to that +presumed daughter's identity; and the grand point now with Pierre was, +not the general question whether his father had had a daughter, but +whether, assuming that he had had, _Isabel_, rather than any other +living being, _was that daughter_;)--and setting aside all his own +manifold and inter-enfolding mystic and transcendental +persuasions,--originally born, as he now seemed to feel, purely of an +intense procreative enthusiasm:--an enthusiasm no longer so +all-potential with him as of yore; setting all these aside, and coming +to the plain, palpable facts,--how did he _know_ that Isabel was his +sister? Nothing that he saw in her face could he remember as having seen +in his father's. The chair-portrait, _that_ was the entire sum and +substance of all possible, rakable, downright presumptive evidence, +which peculiarly appealed to his own separate self. Yet here was another +portrait of a complete stranger--a European; a portrait imported from +across the seas, and to be sold at public auction, which was just as +strong an evidence as the other. Then, the original of this second +portrait was as much the father of Isabel as the original of the +chair-portrait. But perhaps there was no original at all to this second +portrait; it might have been a pure fancy piece; to which conceit, +indeed, the uncharacterizing style of the filling-up seemed to furnish +no small testimony. + +With such bewildering meditations as these in him, running up like +clasping waves upon the strand of the most latent secrecies of his soul, +and with both Isabel and Lucy bodily touching his sides as he walked; +the feelings of Pierre were entirely untranslatable into any words that +can be used. + +Of late to Pierre, much more vividly than ever before, the whole story +of Isabel had seemed an enigma, a mystery, an imaginative delirium; +especially since he had got so deep into the inventional mysteries of +his book. For he who is most practically and deeply conversant with +mysticisms and mysteries; he who professionally deals in mysticisms and +mysteries himself; often that man, more than any body else, is disposed +to regard such things in others as very deceptively bejuggling; and +likewise is apt to be rather materialistic in all his own merely +personal notions (as in their practical lives, with priests of +Eleusinian religions), and more than any other man, is often inclined, +at the bottom of his soul, to be uncompromisingly skeptical on all novel +visionary hypotheses of any kind. It is only the no-mystics, or the +half-mystics, who, properly speaking, are credulous. So that in Pierre, +was presented the apparent anomaly of a mind, which by becoming really +profound in itself, grew skeptical of all tendered profundities; +whereas, the contrary is generally supposed. + +By some strange arts Isabel's wonderful story might have been, someway, +and for some cause, forged for her, in her childhood, and craftily +impressed upon her youthful mind; which so--like a slight mark in a +young tree--had now enlargingly grown with her growth, till it had +become this immense staring marvel. Tested by any thing real, practical, +and reasonable, what less probable, for instance, than that fancied +crossing of the sea in her childhood, when upon Pierre's subsequent +questioning of her, she did not even know that the sea was salt. + + +III. + +In the midst of all these mental confusions they arrived at the wharf; +and selecting the most inviting of the various boats which lay about +them in three or four adjacent ferry-slips, and one which was bound for +a half-hour's sail across the wide beauty of that glorious bay; they +soon found themselves afloat and in swift gliding motion. + +They stood leaning on the rail of the guard, as the sharp craft darted +out from among the lofty pine-forests of ships'-masts, and the tangled +underbrush and cane-brakes of the dwarfed sticks of sloops and scows. +Soon, the spires of stone on the land, blent with the masts of wood on +the water; the crotch of the twin-rivers pressed the great wedged city +almost out of sight. They swept by two little islets distant from the +shore; they wholly curved away from the domes of free-stone and marble, +and gained the great sublime dome of the bay's wide-open waters. + +Small breeze had been felt in the pent city that day, but the fair +breeze of naked nature now blew in their faces. The waves began to +gather and roll; and just as they gained a point, where--still +beyond--between high promontories of fortresses, the wide bay visibly +sluiced into the Atlantic, Isabel convulsively grasped the arm of Pierre +and convulsively spoke. + +"I feel it! I feel it! It is! It is!" + +"What feelest thou?--what is it?" + +"The motion! the motion!" + +"Dost thou not understand, Pierre?" said Lucy, eying with concern and +wonder his pale, staring aspect--"The waves: it is the motion of the +waves that Isabel speaks of. Look, they are rolling, direct from the sea +now." + +Again Pierre lapsed into a still stranger silence and revery. + +It was impossible altogether to resist the force of this striking +corroboration of by far the most surprising and improbable thing in the +whole surprising and improbable story of Isabel. Well did he remember +her vague reminiscence of the teetering sea, that did not slope exactly +as the floors of the unknown, abandoned, old house among the French-like +mountains. + +While plunged in these mutually neutralizing thoughts of the strange +picture and the last exclamations of Isabel, the boat arrived at its +destination--a little hamlet on the beach, not very far from the great +blue sluice-way into the ocean, which was now yet more distinctly +visible than before. + +"Don't let us stop here"--cried Isabel. "Look, let us go through there! +Bell must go through there! See! see! out there upon the blue! yonder, +yonder! far away--out, out!--far, far away, and away, and away, out +there! where the two blues meet, and are nothing--Bell must go!" + +"Why, Isabel," murmured Lucy, "that would be to go to far England or +France; thou wouldst find but few friends in far France, Isabel." + +"Friends in far France? And what friends have I here?--Art thou my +friend? In thy secret heart dost thou wish me well? And for thee, +Pierre, what am I but a vile clog to thee; dragging thee back from all +thy felicity? Yes, I will go yonder--yonder; out there! I will, I will! +Unhand me! Let me plunge!" + +For an instant, Lucy looked incoherently from one to the other. But both +she and Pierre now mechanically again seized Isabel's frantic arms, as +they were again thrown over the outer rail of the boat. They dragged her +back; they spoke to her; they soothed her; but though less vehement, +Isabel still looked deeply distrustfully at Lucy, and deeply +reproachfully at Pierre. + +They did not leave the boat as intended; too glad were they all, when it +unloosed from its fastenings, and turned about upon the backward trip. + +Stepping to shore, Pierre once more hurried his companions through the +unavoidable publicity of the thoroughfares; but less rapidly proceeded, +soon as they gained the more secluded streets. + + +IV. + +Gaining the Apostles', and leaving his two companions to the privacy of +their chambers, Pierre sat silent and intent by the stove in the +dining-room for a time, and then was on the point of entering his closet +from the corridor, when Delly, suddenly following him, said to him, that +she had forgotten to mention it before, but he would find two letters in +his room, which had been separately left at the door during the absence +of the party. + +He passed into the closet, and slowly shooting the bolt--which, for want +of something better, happened to be an old blunted dagger--walked, with +his cap yet unmoved, slowly up to the table, and beheld the letters. +They were lying with their sealed sides up; one in either hand, he +lifted them; and held them straight out sideways from him. + +"I see not the writing; know not yet, by mine own eye, that they are +meant for me; yet, in these hands I feel that I now hold the final +poniards that shall stab me; and by stabbing me, make _me_ too a most +swift stabber in the recoil. Which point first?--this!" + +He tore open the left-hand letter:-- + + "SIR:--You are a swindler. Upon the pretense of writing a popular + novel for us, you have been receiving cash advances from us, while + passing through our press the sheets of a blasphemous rhapsody, + filched from the vile Atheists, Lucian and Voltaire. Our great + press of publication has hitherto prevented our slightest + inspection of our reader's proofs of your book. Send not another + sheet to us. Our bill for printing thus far, and also for our cash + advances, swindled out of us by you, is now in the hands of our + lawyer, who is instructed to proceed with instant rigor. + + (_Signed_) STEEL, FLINT & ASBESTOS." + +He folded the left-hand letter, and put it beneath his left heel, and +stood upon it so; and then opened the right-hand letter. + + "Thou, Pierre Glendinning, art a villainous and perjured liar. It + is the sole object of this letter imprintedly to convey the point + blank lie to thee; that taken in at thy heart, it may be thence + pulsed with thy blood, throughout thy system. We have let some + interval pass inactive, to confirm and solidify our hate. + Separately, and together, we brand thee, in thy every lung-cell, a + liar;--liar, because that is the scornfullest and loathsomest title + for a man; which in itself is the compend of all infamous things. + + (_Signed_) GLENDINNING STANLY, + FREDERIC TARTAN." + +He folded the right-hand letter, and put it beneath his right heel; then +folding his two arms, stood upon both the letters. + +"These are most small circumstances; but happening just now to me, +become indices to all immensities. For now am I hate-shod! On these I +will skate to my acquittal! No longer do I hold terms with aught. +World's bread of life, and world's breath of honor, both are snatched +from me; but I defy all world's bread and breath. Here I step out before +the drawn-up worlds in widest space, and challenge one and all of them +to battle! Oh, Glen! oh, Fred! most fraternally do I leap to your +rib-crushing hugs! Oh, how I love ye two, that yet can make me lively +hate, in a world which elsewise only merits stagnant scorn!--Now, then, +where is this swindler's, this coiner's book? Here, on this vile +counter, over which the coiner thought to pass it to the world, here +will I nail it fast, for a detected cheat! And thus nailed fast now, do +I spit upon it, and so get the start of the wise world's worst abuse of +it! Now I go out to meet my fate, walking toward me in the street." + +As with hat on, and Glen and Frederic's letter invisibly crumpled in his +hand, he--as it were somnambulously--passed into the room of Isabel, she +gave loose to a thin, long shriek, at his wondrous white and haggard +plight; and then, without the power to stir toward him, sat petrified +in her chair, as one embalmed and glazed with icy varnish. + +He heeded her not, but passed straight on through both intervening +rooms, and without a knock unpremeditatedly entered Lucy's chamber. He +would have passed out of that, also, into the corridor, without one +word; but something stayed him. + +The marble girl sat before her easel; a small box of pointed charcoal, +and some pencils by her side; her painter's wand held out against the +frame; the charcoal-pencil suspended in two fingers, while with the same +hand, holding a crust of bread, she was lightly brushing the +portrait-paper, to efface some ill-considered stroke. The floor was +scattered with the bread-crumbs and charcoal-dust; he looked behind the +easel, and saw his own portrait, in the skeleton. + +At the first glimpse of him, Lucy started not, nor stirred; but as if +her own wand had there enchanted her, sat tranced. + +"Dead embers of departed fires lie by thee, thou pale girl; with dead +embers thou seekest to relume the flame of all extinguished love! Waste +not so that bread; eat it--in bitterness!" + +He turned, and entered the corridor, and then, with outstretched arms, +paused between the two outer doors of Isabel and Lucy. + +"For ye two, my most undiluted prayer is now, that from your here unseen +and frozen chairs ye may never stir alive;--the fool of Truth, the fool +of Virtue, the fool of Fate, now quits ye forever!" + +As he now sped down the long winding passage, some one eagerly hailed +him from a stair. + +"What, what, my boy? where now in such a squally hurry? Hallo, I say!" + +But without heeding him at all, Pierre drove on. Millthorpe looked +anxiously and alarmedly after him a moment, then made a movement in +pursuit, but paused again. + +"There was ever a black vein in this Glendinning; and now that vein is +swelled, as if it were just one peg above a tourniquet drawn over-tight. +I scarce durst dog him now; yet my heart misgives me that I +should.--Shall I go to his rooms and ask what black thing this is that +hath befallen him?--No; not yet;--might be thought officious--they say +I'm given to that. I'll wait; something may turn up soon. I'll into the +front street, and saunter some; and then--we'll see." + + +V. + +Pierre passed on to a remote quarter of the building, and abruptly +entered the room of one of the Apostles whom he knew. There was no one +in it. He hesitated an instant; then walked up to a book-case, with a +chest of drawers in the lower part. + +"Here I saw him put them:--this,--no--here--ay--we'll try this." + +Wrenching open the locked drawer, a brace of pistols, a powder flask, a +bullet-bag, and a round green box of percussion-caps lay before him. + +"Ha! what wondrous tools Prometheus used, who knows? but more wondrous +these, that in an instant, can unmake the topmost +three-score-years-and-ten of all Prometheus' makings. Come: here's two +tubes that'll outroar the thousand pipes of Harlem.--Is the music in +'em?--No?--Well then, here's powder for the shrill treble; and wadding +for the tenor; and a lead bullet for the concluding bass! +And,--and,--and,--ay; for the top-wadding, I'll send 'em back their lie, +and plant it scorching in their brains!" + +He tore off that part of Glen and Fred's letter, which more +particularly gave the lie; and halving it, rammed it home upon the +bullets. + +He thrust a pistol into either breast of his coat; and taking the +rearward passages, went down into the back street; directing his rapid +steps toward the grand central thoroughfare of the city. + +It was a cold, but clear, quiet, and slantingly sunny day; it was +between four and five of the afternoon; that hour, when the great +glaring avenue was most thronged with haughty-rolling carriages, and +proud-rustling promenaders, both men and women. But these last were +mostly confined to the one wide pavement to the West; the other pavement +was well nigh deserted, save by porters, waiters, and parcel-carriers of +the shops. On the west pave, up and down, for three long miles, two +streams of glossy, shawled, or broadcloth life unceasingly brushed by +each other, as long, resplendent, drooping trains of rival peacocks +brush. + +Mixing with neither of these, Pierre stalked midway between. From his +wild and fatal aspect, one way the people took the wall, the other way +they took the curb. Unentangledly Pierre threaded all their host, though +in its inmost heart. Bent he was, on a straightforward, mathematical +intent. His eyes were all about him as he went; especially he glanced +over to the deserted pavement opposite; for that emptiness did not +deceive him; he himself had often walked that side, the better to scan +the pouring throng upon the other. + +Just as he gained a large, open, triangular space, built round with the +stateliest public erections;--the very proscenium of the town;--he saw +Glen and Fred advancing, in the distance, on the other side. He +continued on; and soon he saw them crossing over to him obliquely, so as +to take him face-and-face. He continued on; when suddenly running ahead +of Fred, who now chafingly stood still (because Fred would not make two, +in the direct personal assault upon one) and shouting "Liar! Villain!" +Glen leaped toward Pierre from front, and with such lightning-like +ferocity, that the simultaneous blow of his cowhide smote Pierre across +the cheek, and left a half-livid and half-bloody brand. + +For that one moment, the people fell back on all sides from them; and +left them--momentarily recoiled from each other--in a ring of panics. + +But clapping both hands to his two breasts, Pierre, on both sides +shaking off the sudden white grasp of two rushing girls, tore out both +pistols, and rushed headlong upon Glen. + +"For thy one blow, take here two deaths! 'Tis speechless sweet to murder +thee!" + +Spatterings of his own kindred blood were upon the pavement; his own +hand had extinguished his house in slaughtering the only unoutlawed +human being by the name of Glendinning;--and Pierre was seized by a +hundred contending hands. + + +VI. + +That sundown, Pierre stood solitary in a low dungeon of the city prison. +The cumbersome stone ceiling almost rested on his brow; so that the long +tiers of massive cell-galleries above seemed partly piled on him. His +immortal, immovable, bleached cheek was dry; but the stone cheeks of the +walls were trickling. The pent twilight of the contracted yard, coming +through the barred arrow-slit, fell in dim bars upon the granite floor. + +"Here, then, is the untimely, timely end;--Life's last chapter well +stitched into the middle! Nor book, nor author of the book, hath any +sequel, though each hath its last lettering!--It is ambiguous still. Had +I been heartless now, disowned, and spurningly portioned off the girl +at Saddle Meadows, then had I been happy through a long life on earth, +and perchance through a long eternity in heaven! Now, 'tis merely hell +in both worlds. Well, be it hell. I will mold a trumpet of the flames, +and, with my breath of flame, breathe back my defiance! But give me +first another body! I long and long to die, to be rid of this dishonored +cheek. _Hung by the neck till thou be dead._--Not if I forestall you, +though!--Oh now to live is death, and now to die is life; now, to my +soul, were a sword my midwife!--Hark!--the hangman?--who comes?" + +"Thy wife and cousin--so they say;--hope they may be; they may stay till +twelve;" wheezingly answered a turnkey, pushing the tottering girls into +the cell, and locking the door upon them. + +"Ye two pale ghosts, were this the other world, ye were not welcome. +Away!--Good Angel and Bad Angel both!--For Pierre is neuter now!" + +"Oh, ye stony roofs, and seven-fold stony skies!--not thou art the +murderer, but thy sister hath murdered thee, my brother, oh my brother!" + +At these wailed words from Isabel, Lucy shrunk up like a scroll, and +noiselessly fell at the feet of Pierre. + +He touched her heart.--"Dead!--Girl! wife or sister, saint or +fiend!"--seizing Isabel in his grasp--"in thy breasts, life for infants +lodgeth not, but death-milk for thee and me!--The drug!" and tearing her +bosom loose, he seized the secret vial nesting there. + + +VII. + +At night the squat-framed, asthmatic turnkey tramped the dim-lit iron +gallery before one of the long honey-combed rows of cells. + +"Mighty still there, in that hole, them two mice I let in;--humph!" + +Suddenly, at the further end of the gallery, he discerned a shadowy +figure emerging from the archway there, and running on before an +officer, and impetuously approaching where the turnkey stood. + +"More relations coming. These wind-broken chaps are always in before the +second death, seeing they always miss the first.--Humph! What a froth +the fellow's in?--Wheezes worse than me!" + +"Where is she?" cried Fred Tartan, fiercely, to him; "she's not at the +murderer's rooms! I sought the sweet girl there, instant upon the blow; +but the lone dumb thing I found there only wrung her speechless hands +and pointed to the door;--both birds were flown! Where is she, turnkey? +I've searched all lengths and breadths but this. Hath any angel swept +adown and lighted in your granite hell?" + +"Broken his wind, and broken loose, too, aint he?" wheezed the turnkey +to the officer who now came up. + +"This gentleman seeks a young lady, his sister, someway innocently +connected with the prisoner last brought in. Have any females been here +to see him?" + +"Oh, ay,--two of 'em in there now;" jerking his stumped thumb behind +him. + +Fred darted toward the designated cell. + +"Oh, easy, easy, young gentleman"--jingling at his huge bunch of +keys--"easy, easy, till I get the picks--I'm housewife here.--Hallo, +here comes another." + +Hurrying through the same archway toward them, there now rapidly +advanced a second impetuous figure, running on in advance of a second +officer. + +"Where is the cell?" demanded Millthorpe. + +"He seeks an interview with the last prisoner," explained the second +officer. + +"Kill 'em both with one stone, then," wheezed the turnkey, gratingly +throwing open the door of the cell. "There's his pretty parlor, +gentlemen; step in. Reg'lar mouse-hole, arn't it?--Might hear a rabbit +burrow on the world's t'other side;--are they all 'sleep?" + +"I stumble!" cried Fred, from within; "Lucy! A light! a light!--Lucy!" +And he wildly groped about the cell, and blindly caught Millthorpe, who +was also wildly groping. + +"Blister me not! take off thy bloody touch!--Ho, ho, the light!--Lucy! +Lucy!--she's fainted!" + +Then both stumbled again, and fell from each other in the cell: and for +a moment all seemed still, as though all breaths were held. + +As the light was now thrust in, Fred was seen on the floor holding his +sister in his arms; and Millthorpe kneeling by the side of Pierre, the +unresponsive hand in his; while Isabel, feebly moving, reclined between, +against the wall. + +"Yes! Yes!--Dead! Dead! Dead!--without one visible wound--her sweet +plumage hides it.--Thou hellish carrion, this is thy hellish work! Thy +juggler's rifle brought down this heavenly bird! Oh, my God, my God! +Thou scalpest me with this sight!" + +"The dark vein's burst, and here's the deluge-wreck--all stranded here! +Ah, Pierre! my old companion, +Pierre;--school-mate--play-mate--friend!--Our sweet boy's walks within +the woods!--Oh, I would have rallied thee, and banteringly warned thee +from thy too moody ways, but thou wouldst never heed! What scornful +innocence rests on thy lips, my friend!--Hand scorched with murderer's +powder, yet how woman-soft!--By heaven, these fingers move!--one +speechless clasp!--all's o'er!" + +"All's o'er, and ye know him not!" came gasping from the wall; and from +the fingers of Isabel dropped an empty vial--as it had been a run-out +sand-glass--and shivered upon the floor; and her whole form sloped +sideways, and she fell upon Pierre's heart, and her long hair ran over +him, and arbored him in ebon vines. + + +FINIS. + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Pierre; or The Ambiguities, by Herman Melville + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PIERRE; OR THE AMBIGUITIES *** + +***** This file should be named 34970.txt or 34970.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/4/9/7/34970/ + +Produced by Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This book was +produced from scanned images of public domain material +from the Google Print project.) + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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