Volume Iii Part 4 (1/2)
The maids and their angelic guide went on following the cross; and as they went, they sung in sweet and humble aspirations the song of the Lamb. They met the gorgeous files. Fair met with fair. The hideous idols sat an hundred cubits high; whereas the cross a maiden's hand upbore. But when they met, the proud and mighty peal, swelling from Odin's wors.h.i.+ppers, was hushed as with a sob. The hills rang with the sound; and the o'erburdened air bore the last knell up to the skies.
It quavered through the spheres, and died in distance, to be heard no more, while nought but the sweet notes the virgins sung rose on the paths of night. The motely ma.s.s of heathens stood amazed, and as they stood they listened and they quaked. The words were these at which they paused, and which the virgins sung:
Silence the blasphemers thee that defy, Strike down the mighty, Son of the Most High; Rise in thy power, that the heathen may see, What dust are their G.o.ds and their glory to thee; Raise thy right hand, and in pieces them s.h.i.+ver, That to the true G.o.d may the praise be for ever.
At every line the bearers and their G.o.ds trembled the more, and as the last notes closed, the mighty Odin toppled from his throne, and crashed amid his powerless wors.h.i.+ppers. His wooden spouse and son fell with the sire of G.o.ds and men, and in a thousand pieces their gilded frames were dashed. Confusion reigned. The host fled in dismay; but Odin's priests sunk down in low prostration, groaning and howling for the fall of Odin,--the s.h.i.+eld and glory of the Danish host.
From out this wild confusion the bright guide conducted the three virgins, to a cave close by the river's brink, and charged them hide until the wrath of the enraged foe should be abated. Here, said he, you are in perfect safety. No one living knows of this retreat. Here sleep and take your rest. May angels watch around your flinty couch.
Farewell, I must begone on the employ a.s.signed me by your father and by mine. He left the lamp and went his way. Forthwith they kneeled in prayer, thanking their Saviour for their great deliverance, then laid them down to rest. They kissed the cross, and folded closely in each other's arms, cheek leaning unto cheek, with holy hymns they sung themselves asleep.
Great was the rage among the Danish chiefs, and wide the search for these presumptuous and bold aggressors. The host was all discouraged and amazed, and nought but terror reigned. Earldoms were offered for the audacious maids, dead or alive. But nor alive nor dead could they be found, either by friend or foe. O dreadful were the execrations uttered by the Danes. They called them demons, witches, and the worst of all incendiaries. Well they might. The terror of their arms was broken. Great was the rejoicing mid the hills and glens of Albyn, but the eastern vallies groaned beneath the fury of the savage Dane, and Christian blood was shed on every cross.
The virgins waked at morn, and still the lamp sent forth its feeble glimmer through the cave. The day-beam through the crevice of the rock streamed in and mixed with it. The virgins strove to rise, to speak--to sing a morning hymn. But all their limbs were cold, and their tongues clove fast to their thirsty palates. Lena, first of all the three, upraised her pallid form, and on the lamp turning her drowsy eye, there did it settle, closed, and oped again, but still with faded and uncertain light, as if the mind were lacking. Long she sat, half raised in this uneasy torpid state,--this struggle 'twixt oblivion and life. Oft she a.s.sayed her sisters to awake, by naming them; but still as oft the names died in a whisper. By degrees her mind dawned into recollection, as the moon breaks o'er the sullen twilight. Then the wonders, that she had seen o'ernight, aroused her soul to all its wonted energy. She kneeled, and thanked her Maker for the great deliverance to them vouchsafed. And when her sisters woke, they woke to join her in a heavenly song.
”What ails our sister? Here we are in safety. Why does our dear beloved not rest in peace? The night is not far spent: the dawn of morn is yet far distant. O dear Lena sleep. Sleep on, and take your rest. The morning sun is yet beneath the deep. Our limbs are cold; our eyes are heavy; yet we cannot rise, for we are weary, and not half awake.”
”Wake, my beloved sisters. It is time. The noon is at its height. See how the sun peeps through the granite cliffs, and on the stream sheds ray of trembling silver. Let us rise and talk of all the wonders we have seen.”
Long they conversed in tears of grat.i.tude, still peeping from their cavern, lest the Dane again should find and drag them to the altar. Sore were they pressed by hunger. From the stream they drank abundantly with thankful hearts. But food for many a day and many a night they scarce had tasted, and they longed for it with more than ordinary longing. Night approached; and there they sat, not knowing what to do, a prey to gnawing hunger. At the last, young Lena said, ”I cannot ween that heaven hath wrought a miracle for our relief, and for no higher purpose than that we should be left to die of hunger in this dark and hideous den. Again I'll put my life into its hand, and go into the city after twilight in search of bread; and if I die I die: Heaven's will be done.” Her sisters looked at her, and blessed her in the holy Virgin's name. They could not bid her go where danger waited, so great, so imminent; and yet they felt they could not press her stay. With cautious eye, and with enfeebled step, trembling she sought the city gate. But when, afar, she saw by torch-light porters striding to and fro, with glittering lances of enormous length, and ponderous battle axes, her heart failed, and she drew back. But then she thought again of those she left behind, and all the throes of peris.h.i.+ng with hunger, and resolved to risk all hazards. The huge gate stood open, and strangers went and came. ”I'll join,” thought she, ”this straggling crew, and enter among them; they speak my native tongue.
Ah! they must be a band of traitorous base renegades, that have renounced the cross and joined the Dane; else wherefore free to go and come and trade? I'm all unsafe with such. The strangers eyed her with most curious and piercing looks, and whispered as they went. They seemed afraid, and shunned her by the way, as they who shun a being infected by the pestilence, or spirit from the dead. No one addressed a word to her, but hurried to the gate.
She came alone, for feeble was her step, and her breast palpitating as with throb of burning fever, hopeless of admission.
The porters stared with wide extended gaze, and eyes protruding; but no word they spoke, nor crossed their lances. Straight she entered in. ”What can this mean?” thought she; ”There is a change since yester-even that it pa.s.ses thought to comprehend. These keepers are not Danes; I heard them speak in Albyn's ancient tongue; and yet methinks they wear the Danish garb. How's this? that I am free to come and go, as in my childhood, when the land was free?”
She pa.s.sed the sacred fane, and there beheld crowds entering in; but fast she sped away, weening they went to Odin's cursed rites.
She went to those that sold, and asked for bread. The woman stared at her with silent gaze. She asked again, and straight the huckster fled in floundering haste. Poor Lena stood amazed. ”How's this?” said she, ”where'er I show my face the people shun me. Here I shall remain, for I am faint with hunger, till I taste some of these cakes, which I can well repay.”
She stood not long until she was accosted by holy bedesman, who, with cautious step, and looks of terror, entered, fast repeating his _Ave Maria_. ”In the Virgin's name,” cried he, ”and under sanction of this cross, I charge thee tell who or from whence thou art.”
The virgin kneeled, and kissed the holy symbol, but waived direct reply. ”I lack some bread to give to those that famish, and I'll pay for that which I receive,” was her reply.
”Then 'tis the bread of life that thou dost lack; man's natural food I fear thou can'st not use, for thou art not a being of this world, but savour'st of the grave. Thy robes are mouldy, and fall from off thy frame? Thy lips are parched and colourless. These eyes have not the light of human life. Thou ominous visitant, declare from whence thou art, and on what mission thou com'st to this devoted wasted land?”
Lena looked up. The holy father's face to her appeared familiar. But how great the change since last she saw it. ”Father Brand, dost thou not know me?” was her home reply.
With blenching cheek and with unstable eye the father gazed, and, faultering, stammered forth, ”No. Jesu Maria, be thy servant's s.h.i.+eld!
Yes. Now I know thee. Art thou not the spirit of the hapless Ellamere, who was put down within our convent for a wilful breach of its most sacred law? Avaunt! Begone! Nor come thou here t' accuse those that grieved for thee, while they executed just vengeance on thy life.
Injurious ghost! Thy curses have fallen heavy on our heads, and brought the wrath of heaven upon our land in tenfold measure. In the Saviour's name, whose delegate I am, I charge thee hence unto thy resting-place,--to that award that heaven's strict justice hath ordained for thee; and come not, with that pale and withering look, more curses and more judgments to p.r.o.nounce.”
”Reach me thine hand,” said she, and held her's forth, meaning to work conviction on his mind that she was flesh and blood. Her arm was wan as death itself, emaciated and withered, and furred with lines, livid and colourless, as by corrodent vapours of the grave. The monk withdrew his hand within his frock, shook his grey locks, and, with slow palsied step, moved backward till the threshold stone he gained; then turned and fled amain. The household dame fled also from her inner door, from which she peered and listened, and the wondering virgin again was left alone. She waited there in wild and dumb incert.i.tude a s.p.a.ce; then took some bread, some fruits, and baken meat, laid some money down as an equivalent, and went away to seek her dark retreat.
But as she pa.s.sed the fane, with wary step she ventured to the porch, and, marvelling, heard the whole a.s.sembly, joined in rapt devotion, praising the name of Jesus. Close she stood, and, darkling as it was, joined in the choir so much beloved. But all the wonders she so late had seen yielded to this. In one short night, one strange eventful night, such things were done as human intellect, with all its cunning, could not calculate.
She pa.s.sed the gate. The gaping sentinels stood, as they did before, immoveable, each casting sidelong glances unto his mate, to note who first should fly or call the word. She beckoned them as with intent to speak; but in one moment porters, spears, and axes scattered and vanished in the darksome shade.
Reaching the cave, she found the lamp gone out that their mysterious deliverer had left them over night. First she regaled her sisters'
hearts with the miraculous tidings that all the people wors.h.i.+pped Jesus' name without dismay or molestation, who, but the night before, not for their lives durst have acknowledged him: That all seemed free to go and come, and pray to whom they listed. The tale seemed a romance,--a dream of wild delirium. The Danes could not be banished in a night, and all the land cleared of the vile idolatry of Odin. They disbelieved the whole, as well they might, but held their peace, dreading their sister's mind mazed in derangement. Still, as she went on, saying that all whom she had met or seen supposed her one arisen from the dead, or ghost of some departed criminal, strangled for breach of a monastic vow, then did they grasp each other's hands, and weep for their dear sister's sad mishap. They deemed her mad as raving whirlwind, or the music of mountain cataract. Yet she had brought them food of various sorts, which in the dark she gave them; and they fed, or strove to feed,--but small indeed the portion they devoured.
”How's this,” cried Morna, ”that my little cake grows ne'er the less?