There were frequent messengers came and went to and from the tent of Attila, and there was movement and agitation in the camp. Round the monarch sat his tributary kings; and various were the different shades of expression which passed over the countenances of those fierce chiefs, as they listened to the words of their leader, and heard all that had befallen since, on the preceding day, the great pontiff of Rome had appeared to stay them in their advance.
"It was but a vision of the night!" said Attila--"it was but some idle dream, and yet it came before me full, tangible, complete. There was no wandering of thought to other things, no confusion of fancies, no breaking off and beginning again; but it was all clear and definite, accurate and minute; and yet it was but a vision, an idle dream, which Attila will heed no more than he would a fanciful cloud wrought into strange forms by the wind that bears it."
"Heed no visions, oh Attila!" said Ardaric--"the only sure vision will be the walls of Rome."
"And yet, oh mighty king!" joined in Onegisus, "one at least here present would fain hear the substance of the dream that disturbed thy slumbers. It has been held by wise men and by priests long versed in sacred things, that dreams come forth from the gods, and are one means of making their will known to men. I at least would fain hear what vision it was that broke the sleep of Attila."
"And I also! and I! and I!" said many voices round as soon as the demand was made; and leaning his broad brow upon his hand, with his eyes fixed thoughtfully upon the table at which he sat, Attila not unwillingly proceeded to speak as they required.
"It seemed to me as if I had slept some hours," he said, "and that I was awakened by a noise, when, looking up, I saw all things around me as I had seen them when I closed mine eyes. There were the hangings of the tent, there the clothing I had put off to rest, there burnt the feeble lamp, there lay the strong sword. Two javelins crossed hung upon my right, and a spear lay near me on the ground. I saw it all as distinctly as ere I closed my eyes that night, when lo! the hangings of the tent were moved, raised up; and, without sound or motion of their limbs, the figures of two men approached my couch. A cloud of light environed them around, hiding in its blaze all things behind it. The lamp grew dim as if it had not been lighted, and in this cloud, borne on to where I lay, the strangers came, clothed in strange robes, simple and unadorned, with hair and beards of snowy whiteness, and the marks of extreme age upon the face of each. One, however, was older than the other, and of coarser features, though there was a fire and eagerness in his large eye which spoke a mighty and energetic spirit, prompt in its emotions and its acts. The younger seemed more calm and of a loftier aspect, and on his countenance were seen the traces of high thoughts, perhaps, too, of some sufferings endured with fortitude, but felt with keen perception. A smile, bland and beautiful, sat on his lips, and there was in his glance that quick yet thoughtful movement which I have seen in men, deep arguers on right and wrong, subtle in their eloquence, and powerful to untie the tangled intricacy of questions remote and difficult. Around them in that cloud of light there shone a greater light, as if it issued forth from them and from their garments; and though they seemed of flesh as we are, yet there was a difference that scarcely can be told, but which rendered their bodies more glorious and pure to the eye than ours. I would fain have stretched out my hand to seize my sword, but I lay as if chained down by adamantine bonds. I would fain have spoken, to demand who dared in such a sort to disturb the sleep of Attila, but my tongue refused its office, and my lips moved without a sound. Approaching, as I have said, without any visible motion of their limbs, but borne forward by some unseen power, they came near, and stood by the side of my couch: there, gazing upon me for a moment, their eyes seemed filled with pity or with sorrow, and at length the younger said, 'Attila! Attila! thou hast fought, and thou hast conquered, and unwittingly, but not unwillingly, thou hast done the will of God! Now turn thee back upon thy way, for thou shalt smite this land no more. Turn thee back upon thy way, and hesitate not, for we are sent to bid thee sheath the sword, lest it fall upon thine own head. Turn thee back, turn thee back, and that speedily, as thou wouldst live and conquer still!' And with that the light grew faint, the figures seemed to dissolve, the cloud passed away; and I was lying in my own tent, with the lamp burning feebly by my side. It was but a vision, an idle dream, and it is passed! Attila heeds it not. It was but a vision, an unreal vision!"
"It was a strange one though, oh mighty king!" said Onegisus; "and I would fain ask yon holy man who came hither yesterday if he can give the interpretation thereof, and tell who were these that appeared unto thee."
"First let those who slept in the outer tent," said Ardaric, "be closely questioned if any one passed by them in the night."
"I have questioned them already," said Attila--"I have done more: I rose instantly--for my limbs and my mind seemed freed as if from a heavy weight--and drawing back the curtains that divide the tent, I found that no one living could have entered without treading on the sleeping bodies of those of my warriors who lay without. It was but a vision, an idle vision of the night!"
"I put no faith in visions," said Ardaric: "they never visit me. If I dream, 'tis of some empty thing, taking fanciful shapes without regularity or continuance, forgotten as soon as passed. I put no faith in visions."
Attila's brow contracted slightly, but he made no reply; and Valamir, his Gothic tributary, who had hitherto remained thoughtful and silent, now raised his eyes. "Thy vision is a strange one, oh king," he said, "and worthy of some consideration. More, perhaps, than thou thyself art willing to bestow upon it. Yet would I not ask the interpretation of this eloquent man, whose voice was heard so powerfully yesterday; for he of course will see therein a confirmation of his own warnings. There is another in the camp who may be better trusted. Dost thou remember, oh mighty Attila, a holy hermit, who dwelt in the mountains two or three days' journey from Margus, and who--"
"But he is dead," interrupted Attila; "he has been dead two years."
"True," replied Valamir; "but near him there dwelt another hermit, less shrewd and wise, perhaps, but, even more than he was, touched with the fire of the gods. Wild, rash, and fearless, he speaks whatever the spirit prompts, and in such a man's interpretation one may trust his confidence. Among the train who followed hither this high-priest of Rome was the very man, and well acquainted with the manners and the languages of us people of the North. He was wandering yesterday evening through the camp; and I myself saw him preaching boldly strange doctrines of other gods to a large crowd of Huns and Gepidæ. Let him be sent for, and to him let the vision be told. On his interpretation we can better rely."
All voices applauded the proposal, and instantly was it executed. Messengers went forth to find the enthusiast Mizetus, and in a few minutes he stood before Attila and his counsellors. He was silent as the grave while the vision was being told to him; but then--stretching forth his hands, and turning his eyes full upon the countenance of Attila, though not with a fixed and steadfast gaze, but with a wild and rolling glance--he exclaimed, "Is it not simple as the light of day? Is it not open as the summer's sky? Is it not clear as the waters from the rock? What need of interpretation? What need of any one to explain? There is but one God, oh Attila! though thou and these, as slaves of Satan, worship stone, and wood, and iron. That God has been merciful to thee, oh king! and has sent unto thee the apostles of his son, Peter the prince of the apostles, and Paul the chosen by the voice of God! To thee, from another world, he has sent those, through the midst of thy sleeping guards, who, when they lived in this world, passed through the hands of jailers, cast from them the fetters of iron, and walked free through the prison doors of the Roman governor. To thee has he sent them in mercy, to turn thee back from the way of destruction. Listen to their words, tread back thy steps, sheath the sword, open thy heart to the word of God, and thou shalt be safe. If thou doest not this, if thou goest on in rapine and injustice, shedding the blood of the faithful and smiting the people of Christ, lo! I tell thee, when thine errand is accomplished, and the judgments of God wrought out, thou shalt die by some despised death; thine armies shall melt away like snow, the bodies of thy warriors slain shall rot under the summer's sky, and a pestilence shall go forth from their bones to root out those whom the sword has spared. Wo unto you! wo unto your mighty men, for the sword of the Lord is out against you, and he shall scatter you to the uttermost parts of the earth, and shall grind your mouths in the dirt of the earth ye have trodden so proudly, and shall cast ye forth as dead dogs, to be an abomination to the passer-by!"
More than one sword leaped from its sheath at those bold words, but the deep, thunder-like voice of Attila stayed them from smiting the rash enthusiast. "Harm him not, harm him not!" cried the monarch. "By the soul of Attila, he dies who strikes him! Did we not bid him speak? Did we not call for his words? and shall we slay him because they are such as please us not? Stranger," he continued, "thou hast spoken rashly among rash men, nevertheless thou art safe, and mayst depart!"
Mizetus turned to leave the tent; but, ere he went, he raised his hand, and said, in a solemn tone, "I grieve for thee, oh Attila! for thy fate is near!"
"Let it come!" replied Attila--and the enthusiast departed.
"We have spent too much time on this thing," continued the monarch, "let us now turn our thoughts to more substantial warnings. Ardaric, my friend, as thou hast said, this vision was indeed but an empty dream, and but matter for a moment's speculation; but I have tidings for thee which thou knowest not of, for thy Gepidæ lie high up upon the hill. There are those here, however, who know that between sunset last night and sunrise this morning, the sword of the pestilence smote among the warriors who lie by the side of the river nearly ten thousand men!"
Ardaric started up, and gazed fixedly on the countenance of Attila.
"Itis true!" said the monarch; "but this is not all, my friend. A fleet from Constantinople has wafted a new host to our noble enemy Ætius; nor is that all either," he added, raising his voice; "the armies of Marcian have crossed the Danube, and cut to pieces three of our tribes upon the Dacian frontier. Now, friends and counsellors, you know the whole. Tell me what shall be the course of Attila. Shall I go on, and lay Rome in ashes? Shall I pause here, and accept the tribute this priest is prepared to offer? Willing am I to do the first, willing would I be to do it, were I as sure that death would follow within a day as I am that there is a sun behind the clouds that now stretch over the sky."
"Hear what he has to offer, oh mighty king," said Ardaric; "then, if it be enough to satisfy the honour of Attila and save the glory of his warriors, accept the conditions. Let us retire from this pestilential land, and then--"
"What then?" demanded Attila, after waiting for a moment to let the chief conclude his sentence.
"Nay, I know not," replied Ardaric. "Then--let us do whatsoever Attila will."
A brief smile passed like lightning across the countenance of the king. "And then," he said, "and then--to Constantinople! and we shall see who is to live or die; who is to be a monarch, who a slave! The sword of a thousand battles against the broken spear of a weak Roman! Methinks the chances are unequal. Kings of great nations! Friends of Attila! There is no need to ask what are the terms this Roman bishop brings. They are known to me already--revealed to me in no vision, Ardaric, but told to my messenger at my demand. He offers a gift ten times in value all that the East and West have ever given, an annual tribute double that which we received from Theodosius. A future compensation for the dowry of Honoria, and the restitution of all captives and fugitives from the Hunnish nation! Is this sufficient?"
"It is! it is!" replied the chiefs; and a messenger was instantly despatched to summon Saint Leo to the tent of the barbarian monarch.
With the same calm dignity as before, the prelate presented himself before the council of Attila, and in his whole demeanour there was that grand, but simple and unassuming majesty, which commanded the reverence, the respect--almost the love--of men of a different nation, creed, language, manners, habits, thoughts. Attila himself rose at his approach, and, with an air not less in dignity, took him by the hand and placed him by his side.
The pontiff felt that he had touched the heart of the barbarian, and he was more moved at having done so than had the utmost ire of that mighty king--a king who feared no chastisement, acknowledged no laws but his own sense of right, bowed to no superior on earth or in heaven--than had his ire threatened the worst tortures that could be inflicted. Through the reverence with which he had inspired the barbarian monarch he saw, as through a long avenue, a number of sympathies, noble feelings, and generous sentiments, akin to those which dwelt in his own heart; while hope stood half way between, and beckoned to the kindred bands to unite for mighty purposes and grand endeavours. A moment's reflection, however, a moment's glance of the mental eye over the sad but solemn and oracular book of experience, showed him the falsehood of the siren's tale, and made him grieve that the brightest feelings of the human heart, mutually perceived and understood, and which, could they meet and co-operate, would work out the blessing and happiness of thousands, should ever thus be stopped by obstacles insignificant, and totally unseen by those who attempt to pass them, till all their efforts for unanimity and concord are overthrown.
Calmly and clearly, in answer to the questions of the king, he recapitulated the splendid, the degrading offers of Valentinian; and he added, "This, oh king, am I commanded to propose: this am I authorized to promise. The gift is already in thy camp; the tribute shall soon follow; and--as a mediator between thee and them who suffer, standing pure and impartial under the eye of God, who is of no nation and of no country, and respecteth no man for a name--I declare that thou hast now offered unto thee more than thou canst claim aright; more than equity could pronounce against them; more than justice can award unto thy claim. But when unto all this is added the great triumph of clemency, the mighty privilege of showing mercy, the triumphant glory of sparing those thou couldst destroy; so help me Heaven, as I do believe that there is offered unto thee more than even thy conquering sword could win, more than thy highest ambition could desire, more than thy vastest efforts could attain! Is it more glorious to slaughter than to save? Is it more mighty to destroy than to spare? Is it a greater sign of power to cast down than to raise up? He that saves from the slayer is greater than the slayer; he that shields from the destroyer is victorious over the destroyer; and he that raises up does a deed which shall last long after he who casts down is forgotten! Spare then, oh Attila, spare the nations! and if in sparing them thou gainest a triumph over thyself, thou doest that which the noblest of thine enemies has never been able to do, and raisest to thyself the crowning trophy of thy fame, under which shall be written by the hand of history, 'None but Attila gained the victory over Attila!'"
Even had he not spoken, the terms he offered would have been accepted; but had they been less than they were, they would have been accepted under the influence of his voice. The gorgeous presents were brought up and displayed before the tent of Attila. The gold and the silver were poured out; the jewels and the cloth of gold were displayed to the eyes of the admiring chiefs who crowded round. But Attila himself looked not on them; his eyes were either thoughtfully lifted to the sky, in that direction wherein lay Rome, or else bent down in deep reflection upon the ground, while traces of emotion, slight indeed in themselves, but still from their unusualness indicative of strong feelings within, might be traced upon his countenance.
When all the gifts were displayed, he turned abruptly to Saint Leo, saying, "Messenger of a mighty God, Attila turns upon his steps. Take what thou wilt of these baubles, either as an offering to thy Deity or as a gift unto thyself!"
"God forbid!" replied the pontiff: "the God I serve--the only God!--dwells not in temples made with hands, and requires no offerings from the sons of men but a pure and contrite spirit, a repentant and an humble heart. As for me, I take no part in the spoils of my brethren, and I leave them to him to whom they were sent, and of whose forbearance they are the price and recompense."
"Thou art the first priest," cried Attila--"thou art the first priest of any god that ever yet I heard of who refused gold and jewels when they were offered to him freely."
"Thou hast known but few Christian priests, my son," replied Saint Leo, mildly. "The priests thou hast known were the servants of those whom we call devils, Mammon; or Plutus, the demon of covetousness; Belial, Lucifer, or Apollo, the god of pride; Moloch or Mars, the demon of bloodshed. The priests of all these and many others, for their several purposes, seek wealth and splendour; but the servants of God, the only true God, seek his glory, and know their own unworthiness. Oh Attila, I leave thee! I came unto thee, knowing that thou hadst a mighty name, and that none upon this earth had been found to conquer thee; that kings, and princes, and warriors of great renown bowed down trembling before thee, and shrunk from the very glance of thine eye; and yet I feared thee not. I go from thee now with my reverence not lessened, but with deep sorrow at my heart, to find nobler qualities in thy nature; qualities which, guiding and directing the inferior ones of courage and military skill, have made thee what thou art; and yet to see that those qualities, like diamonds in some undiscovered mine, lie wasting all their brightness, because they are not known and estimated. The knowledge of one true God, the faith in one redeeming Saviour, are all that is wanting to raise Attila high above living men! I leave those in thy camp who may show thee a light thou hast never yet seen. Listen unto them, oh Attila! listen unto them and be saved! Yet! yet! I trust the mild spirit of the Almighty God will touch thy heart, and turn it into humility and righteousness. Then, mounting from the humbleness of faith, Attila will rise to a pitch of glory no earthly arms can ever win, and stand upon a point where mortal monarch never placed himself without the Spirit of the Lord to raise him up on high."
"Thou speakest words I do not comprehend," said Attila, turning away.
"God make them clear to thee in his own good time!" replied the bishop, and slowly descended the hill.
We must now turn again to Ildica! In agony of heart, she sat within her tent with the spirit bowed down and nearly broken, and the bodily frame bent and shaken under the load of grief. Before her stood the messenger of Attila, who bore her the sad tidings of the loss of him she loved. Beside her stood the fair daughter of the dead king Bleda, and the wild enthusiast Mizetus.
Tearless, all tearless was the bright eye of the Dalmatian girl, although through the clear white skin of the temples might be seen the blue veins swelling up like cords with the rushing up of the agonized blood.
The enthusiast kept silence, and gazed on her with a look of deep grief; but from the dark blue eyes of Neva rolled profuse the large heavy tears, and in the sorrow of her own heart she asked many a question of the messenger regarding all the particulars of the fate of one still too dearly beloved.
"Art thou sure," she demanded, "that the winds and tempests did the work of death? Art thou sure that the commands of Attila, more cruel, more unsparing than the fierce elements, had not their share?"
"I know nothing," replied the messenger, "but that which I was commanded to say. The ship perished, and almost all on board were drowned."
"Almost all!" cried Ildica, starting up, and gazing eagerly in the man's face--"almost all! Then there is yet hope!"
"Alas, no!" replied the messenger. "All who reached the land were slain upon the shore by some wandering bands of warriors!"
"Even so! even so!" cried Ildica; "sent on purpose to destroy him at his landing! Oh, fatal beauty! Thou hast caused the death of him I loved most on earth;" and she cast herself down upon the couch and hid her face in her robe; while from time to time a sharp shudder might be seen to pass over that fair form, as if the anguish of the spirit were destroying its earthly tabernacle.
"Art thou sure that he was in the ship?" demanded Neva, still clinging to a hope.
"Quite sure!" replied the messenger; "presents from the Emperor Marcian--goods marked with the youth's name--his very clothing itself, have been brought into the presence of Attila."
"Of his murderer!" said Neva; "of his murderer!'"
The man, who was a Roman fugitive, made no reply; and, after a brief pause, withdrew from the tent.
"What means she, maiden?" demanded Mizetus, turning to Neva; "what means she when she says that her beauty has caused the death of him she loved?"
"Dost thou not comprehend?" cried the girl, gazing at him through her tears; "dost thou not know that Attila himself seeks her love? Canst thou not guess that he took the life of him who was his happier rival?"
"Is it even so?" cried Mizetus; "alas, unhappy maiden! for what art thou reserved?" and, after gazing at her for a moment or two in melancholy thought, he left the tent, and turned his steps towards the royal pavilion of Attila himself.
Where was that pavilion now? No longer on the shores of the wild Benacus, no longer looking over the fertile plains of Italy, but on the slope of the Carpathian mountains, amid the rude but magnificent scenery of the hill country. There were congregated the myriads of the North; there was pitched the camp of a thousand nations, covering every rise, and sweeping down into every valley. But as Mizetus wandered on among them, all were in movement; the Huns, and the Gepidæ, and the Goths, the Heruli and the Alani, were pouring forth slowly on foot, and mounting with a low rushing murmur towards the tent of Attila. As they went one spoke unto the other, and the voice of complaint made itself heard.
"Why call for us now?" cried one.
"We might even now have been revelling in Rome!" said another.
"Has Attila lost his daring?" asked a third.
"Is he to be led by the smooth words of a graybeard in long robes?" demanded a fourth.
And thus they went murmuring on, till, gathering together upon the hill-side, they covered a vast extent, above which again--with a space of many cubits between it and them, kept clear by the officers of the king--towered the pavilion of their mighty chief. During some time the noise of coming feet was heard; but at length all the men of that vast host seemed congregated there: the curtains of the tent were drawn, and Attila stood before them. He gave one slow glance around, and the loudest murmurer in the host cast down his eyes before that dark countenance, as if he feared that the monarch might see the rebellion in his heart, and smite him on the spot. All was hushed as if in death; and then the voice of Attila was heard, spreading round and round, till scarce a man in all that multitude could fail to catch his words.
"Ye have dared to murmur at the will of Attila!" he said "Ye have dared to think that ye knew better than he did! Ye have dared to call his wisdom weakness, because he led you away from Rome, whose treasures were exhausted to buy your absence; and while ye thus complained, ye knew not whither he was leading you! It is time that ye should hear, in order that shame may glow like a burning spot upon your brows. I lead ye to Constantinople, to the city of the Cæsars, to the plunder of the richest capital in the universe! I swear," he continued, drawing his sword, as if moved by some sudden impulse, and holding it up on high before his eyes as he addressed to it his vow--"I swear that I will not leave one blade of grass in Thrace, nor one city standing, nor the wall of one fortress not cast down, nor one living enemy to oppose my path! This sword will I not sheath till I sheath it in the capital of the East. The feet of my horse shall never pause for more than one rising and setting of the sun, till I tighten the bridle in his mouth on the shores of the Thracian Bosphorus. I go forth to smite and to destroy, and I will make the land like unto one which has never been inhabited. I will cast down everything in my way; and the vulture which follows me, to eat the dead bodies of mine enemies, shall not have to raise his wings when he snuffs their carcasses from afar. Ye have heard the will of Attila! Get ye gone! Sharpen your arrows, but restrain your tongues!"
"Boaster," cried a shrill voice from the crowd, speaking in the Greek tongue, "thou shalt die even in thy pride!" But the crowd had already begun to move, and the noise of their innumerable feet drowned the sounds of that warning voice. The multitude separated slowly; Attila re-entered his tent; and Mizetus, with his hands clasped, and his eyes full of wandering fire, bent down upon the ground, strayed away with a slow irregular pace along the course of a little rivulet that streamed down from the higher hills. He muttered to himself as he went, and little note did he take of the various groups of Huns that passed him.
"Is it not so?" he said, as he wandered on--"is it not clearly so? Is it not the will of Heaven, distinctly revealing unto me the way to save the people of the Lord? Shall this pagan barbarian smite the faithful and the just? Heaven forbid! God has provided a remedy. The Lord has found a means of deliverance! I will do his will! I will work under the guidance of his spirit! I will not delay, no, not an hour, but I will gird up my loins and be doing!"
Long he wandered on, and long he continued thus muttering to himself; but at length he stopped suddenly, and exclaiming, "God strengthen me!" he turned and took his way straight to the tent of Ildica. Her attendants in the outer apartment sought to prevent his entrance; but he said, "I must see the Roman maiden; I come to bring her consolation." And, after some delay and inquiry within, he was admitted. Neva was with her still, and the wife of Ardaric, with some other women of high station among the Huns, were also present, striving to give her consolation; but Ildica, with her eye all tearless and fixed upon the ground, sat in the midst, her hands clasped together, her lip silent, her features motionless, as if she heard not one word of all that was addressed to her.
"Daughter," said Mizetus, in the pure harmonious tongue of her own land--"daughter, listen to me!"
There was something in the sweet tone of the melodious Greek--there was something in it associated with home, and happiness, and early years, and the bright images of joys for ever gone, that seemed to startle her, and for a moment she looked up with a thoughtful gaze upon his countenance; but the next moment she dropped her eyes again, and remained as silent as before.
"Daughter, listen to me," continued the enthusiast, in that wild but elevated tone which will command attention if aught on earth can awaken it--"listen, for I bring thee consolation! I bring thee consolation from on high! It is revealed unto me that thou art reserved for great things, and destined to work the deliverance of people and of nations! It is revealed unto me that by thy hand shall the faithful of the Lord be delivered, and that thou, in thy beauty and in thy wisdom, shall do more than the mighty and the great have been able to accomplish!"
Still Ildica gave no sign of attention. Not a feature in her face was moved, and she remained gazing with the same fixed, meditative look on one spot of the ground, as if utterly absorbed in deep and unbroken thought. The enthusiast paused to see whether she heard or not, and for a moment all was silence. But the next instant, to the surprise of all, the lips of the fair unhappy girl were seen to move; and, as if the Greek accent of Mizetus had touched the thrilling cord of association between her present misery and the moment when misfortunes first began to fall upon her, recalling the dark and painful moment when she left Dalmatia, her voice was heard singing snatches of the song that her mother's slaves had poured forth when they left behind them Aspalathos for ever:--
"We leave you behind us, sweet things of the earth;Our life is a race to the death from the birth;We pause not to gather the flowers as they grow,The goal is before us, and on we must go!"Fair scenes of our childhood! dear homes of our youthMemorials of innocence, virtue, and truth!The land of our birth, the dear mother that bore,We leave you behind us, we see you no more!"We leave you behind us, sweet things of the earthHopes, joys, and endearments, sport, pleasure, and mirth;Like a tempest-driven ship, sailing by some bright shore,Time hurries us onward, we see you no more!"
"We leave you behind us, sweet things of the earth;Our life is a race to the death from the birth;We pause not to gather the flowers as they grow,The goal is before us, and on we must go!
"Fair scenes of our childhood! dear homes of our youthMemorials of innocence, virtue, and truth!The land of our birth, the dear mother that bore,We leave you behind us, we see you no more!
"We leave you behind us, sweet things of the earthHopes, joys, and endearments, sport, pleasure, and mirth;Like a tempest-driven ship, sailing by some bright shore,Time hurries us onward, we see you no more!"
And when she had done, she looked round her with a smile so terrible at such a moment, that every woman's eye there present, whether they understood the words or not, overflowed with tears.
"Poor maiden!" cried Mizetus, "her heart is fearfully oppressed, her spirit sadly bowed down. Heavy has been the burden that the Lord has given her to bear, but great is the glory he reserves for her. Neither shall the mind break, nor the spirit be crushed under its load; but with time, and with care, and with consolation, this wandering mood shall pass away. Let us now, however, leave her, for the presence of many may irritate rather than sooth. Thou, maiden," he continued, turning to Neva, "thou that seemest to take a deeper interest than the rest, abide with her, and watch over her tenderly. Watch over her! watch over her carefully! for she has yet her appointed task to do."
Thus saying he left the tent, and the women followed, leaving Neva with Ildica alone. The next morning early Mizetus took his way towards the tent of Ildica ere the army began its march; but, as he advanced, a spectacle arrested his progress for a moment, which the Huns themselves in passing gazed on fearfully, but paused not to examine. Down from the tent of Attila to the bank of the rivulet extended a double row--an avenue, in short, of enormous crosses; and nailed upon them, as had been the case in the neighbourhood of Verona, appeared the corpses of at least a thousand of the monarch's own immediate subjects.
Among them were many of those chiefs and officers who had been previously believed to stand high in favour; and, as the various masses of the Huns passed by those sad memorials, the chiefs who had been among those to complain that he had not marched on Rome, and had yet escaped the terrible execution of that night, trembled when they beheld the ghastly spectacle, and thanked the gods that had preserved them.
Mizetus, on the contrary, gazed fearlessly on the proofs of Attila's stern severity, scanned the agonized countenances of the dead, marked the contorted limbs, and murmured as he passed, "More, more blood poured into the cup of vengeance! More to be accounted for! Nor is the day far distant!"
As the enthusiast passed on, Ardaric rode by slowly towards the tent of Attila, gazing with a frowning brow, and a sad but indignant air, upon the bodies of the dead. With a sudden spring forward, Mizetus laid his hand upon his bridle-rein; but Ardaric shook it from his grasp, exclaiming, "Why stoppest thou me in such a spot as this? Get thee hence, madman!"
"Not so mad as he who did this deed!" replied the enthusiast.
"Perhaps not," answered Ardaric; "but the deed is none of mine;" and raising his rein, he rode swiftly on. Mizetus proceeded on his way, and found her he sought sitting nearly as he had left her the day before. He found that she had undergone very little change. She took her food, and suffered her garments to be changed mechanically; but she spoke not, or very seldom, and then with wild and unconnected words, referring to things apparently remote. The enthusiast remained with her long, nor ceased, during all the time of his stay, to pour forth, in language wild but figurative, and with words ready and prompt, the same unconnected and mystical exhortations to which he had given utterance the day before.
He was interrupted by the marching of the army to another station in its advance upon Greece; but, ere he left the tent of Ildica, he saw, well pleased, that he had more than once gained her attention, though but for a moment; and on the following day that attention was more fixedly obtained. The third day she listened to him, though she answered not; and the fourth day she wept for the first time. Thenceforward, though she spoke but seldom, and though, when she did speak, there appeared in her words a difference from the ordinary train of thought, a slight deviation from that clear intellectual path which her mind had ever followed, yet in some degree she resumed her ordinary occupations, suffered herself to be moved on in her litter, calmly, if not cheerfully, and from time to time spoke a few words to Neva, with an effort to show her gratitude and regard.
Thus passed the time till ten days after the sad news of Theodore's death had reached her ear, when, as they marched along, and she lay in her open litter, carried in the rear of the army, suddenly Attila himself appeared, and drew up his horse beside her. He gazed upon her with an eye in which there shone some pity, and he asked, "How goes it with thee, beautiful Ildica?"
"As well as may be, mighty monarch," she replied, looking firmly upon him without a trace of fear.
"Thou art better than I expected," said Attila, apparently surprised at her calmness.
"I am better than I had hoped or feared," she answered; "but hope and fear are over, oh monarch!"
"Not so," replied Attila; "there is still, I trust, much joy for thee on earth;" and, thus saying, he rode on.
On the evening of that day, when the tents were pitched, Ildica, as pale as marble, was seated in her own; and leaning on the pillows of the couch, while Neva sat beside and held her hand, she listened to the old man Mizetus, who, standing on the other side, read from an open book, and commented as he went.
At length he closed the pages, and, gazing full upon her, he exclaimed, "Such is thy lot! Such is the will of Heaven! Such is thy destiny! and great shall be thy reward! Though thou hast suffered, and still shall suffer, till the work be accomplished, thy sufferings shall be forgotten in the exceeding great joy of thy recompense! Such, such, I tell thee, is to be thy fate!"
"I am ready!" replied Ildica, solemnly--"I am prepared! Let it come!"
Mizetus added a few words more; but, ere he could conclude the sentence, one of her attendants entered, and announced that a messenger from Attila awaited her without. Her cheek and lips turned paler still, but she answered calmly and at once, "Give him admission!"
"Beautiful maiden," said the messenger, when he stood before her, "Attila greets thee well, and calls thee his beloved. He says that grief has had its due, and that joy must have its day; and he bids my poor tongue announce to thee that Attila has chosen thee for the envied station of his bride. To-morrow the army halts the whole day, and at the hour of sunset, ere Attila sits down with his warriors to the banquet, his bridal shall be solemnized with thee by the priests of his faith and of thine! What answer shall I bear the king?"
Ildica heard him with apparent calmness; but Neva felt the fingers of her beautiful hand clasp tight with agonized emotion on her own.
The fair girl's lips moved, but no sound issued forth. Another struggle, they moved again, and her voice was heard!
"Who shall resist the will of the king?" she said, and bowing her head, she suffered the messenger to depart. The curtain of the tent fell behind him; and starting up, she fell at the feet of Mizetus. Then clasping the old man's knees with her arms, she exclaimed, "No vow! No vow! I can take no vow! Save me from that!"
"Fear not," replied the hermit--"fear not, my daughter! Thou shalt take no vow. Be but a passive instrument in the hands of God!"
On an eminence rising above the banks of the river, near which the vast army of the Huns pitched its camp on the ensuing night, was found a splendid pavilion, with workmen still labouring hard to complete it, when the vanguard of the army reached its ground. Ere Attila himself arrived, the whole was finished; and a palace of richly-ornamented woodwork, mingled and decorated with hangings of crimson and gold, waited his approach.
The mood of the monarch, however, was not placable; and the workmen whom he had sent forward to prepare his abode received no token of his thanks or approbation, notwithstanding the skill and zeal which they had displayed. Those who had accompanied him on the way had found good cause to mark his discontented humour; and Ardaric and Valamir, and even Onegisus himself, had seized the first opportunity of withdrawing themselves from the side of one who treated all with indignity, which their free spirits could but ill bear. The cause of this harsh rumour might be, it was whispered, that Ardaric had ventured remonstrances, and Valamir had seconded them, which were displeasing to the ear of Attila; but never before, in his most passionate moods, had he given way to such intemperance of language as he had that day displayed towards two of his noblest and most disinterested supporters. An hour after their arrival, however, they received a summons to attend the bridal and the banquet of the mighty king; and to the pavilion on the hill they took their way, clothed in the most splendid robes that the camp could supply.
In a vast hall, decorated by crimson hangings, which many a tributary land had combined to furnish, stood Attila himself, already surrounded by a multitude of his officers and chiefs. To the astonishment of every one there present, however, the monarch of the Huns appeared not now in the plain garment of his Scythian ancestors. For the first time in his life, gold, and jewels, and vestures of silk covered the powerful limbs of the mighty conqueror. The heavy iron sword which never before had left his side was now no longer there. All the rude weapons of war were carefully excluded from his dress; and jewels of inestimable value bound his haughty brow.
In the same hall, at the farther end, was raised a temporary altar, festooned with green leaves and the few autumnal flowers which the country round could supply. Elevated upon that altar was seen the ponderous sword of the Scythian Mars, famous in the history of Attila's reign, from the singular manner in which it had been found. Beside it stood a number of the Scythian priests; and the steps which led to it were thickly strewed with leaves of the wild laurel and the hemlock.
The countenance of Attila himself was now cleared of the clouds which had obscured it; but still, the joy with which it beamed as plainly testified the change which his nature had lately undergone as the frowns that had hung upon it before. In former days, the countenance of Attila had been a stranger to both frowns and smiles. The stern passions which moved him then had wrought and struggled within the secret chambers of his breast alone, and no light emotions had seemed to affect his outward bearing. Now he was moved by many things; and, in spite of all his efforts to seem what he had been, the emotions of his heart thrilled through his bodily frame, and made themselves seen upon the surface.
"Where are the Christian priests?" demanded the voice of the monarch, as soon as he had spoken a few words to Valamir and Ardaric, in a tone evidently intended to soften the harsh impression produced by his ill-humour of the morning--"where are the Christian priests?"
"None have been found in the camp, oh mighty king," said Edicon, coming forward. "I have inquired in every quarter, and none have been found."
"None!" exclaimed Attila; "none! Where is that rash priest Mizetus; he who by a few empty words provoked the wrath of so many mighty chiefs. I have seen him since in the camp. I saw him no later than yesterday. Let him be sent for; and tell the bride that Attila waits her coming, as the spring-earth waits for the rising of the morning sun."
The messengers departed; and then came a pause, dead and silent, and painful to all but those common spirits who saw nothing in the scene they were called to behold but the common festivity of a day. Ardaric and Valamir gazed upon each other, but they spoke not, till some casual movement caused a murmur to run through the hall. Then, in a low voice, the latter asked the former, "What, think you, will be the result?"
"I know not," answered Ardaric; "but, from what I hear, she is not unwilling. Yet, from some chance words dropped in my wife's presence, either her mind wanders as that of one deprived of reason, or else deeper thoughts than we know of are at work within her brain. But lo, they come!"
As he spoke the door of the hall was thrown open, and a bevy of fair young girls, strewing the way with flowers, entered the hall, and wound round towards the altar. Following them, and leaning on the arm of Neva, appeared the Dalmatian bride, clothed in robes of white.
No fear, no agitation was in her step; but firmly and easily she moved along the hall, beauty and grace shining like a glory from every limb and every feature. Neva was far more moved than Ildica; but the countenances of both were paler than the Parian stone; while from those fair, colourless faces beamed forth the beautiful eyes of each--the deep, devoted, dark-blue eyes of Neva, the large, lustrous, liquid eyes of Ildica, shining like brilliant lamps from out a marble tomb.
They took but one gaze around the hall as they entered; but that gaze had a different effect upon each. With Neva it seemed to bewilder and confound: she dropped her eyes again instantly, and advanced with a wavering and uncertain step. The gaze of Ildica was firm and calm; though, as she beheld the scene of barbaric splendour that surrounded her, her brow slightly contracted; her eye flashed for an instant with a wilder, perhaps a brighter fire. Slowly she turned her gaze towards the altar; and, without noticing any one in the hall, approached deliberately the spot where the sacrifice of herself was to be completed.
A number of matrons followed; and behind them again came the hermit Mizetus, clad in the same wild robes which he wore in the desert and on the mountain. Attila turned to approach the altar; but the hermit advanced towards him, saying boldly, "Thou hast sent for me. I am here. What wouldst thou with me!"
"I have sent for thee," replied Attila, "to perform between me and that maiden the nuptial ceremonies, according to the customs of her people and the rites of her faith."
"I am no priest, oh Attila!" answered the enthusiast. "I am one touched by the finger of God, and set apart to speak terrible warnings and foretel great events. But I have neither power to loose nor to bind, to take up nor to cast down. No ceremonies can I perform; for I am no priest according to any human law. But what needst thou think of priests or ceremonies?" he continued, seeing Attila stand thoughtfully before him. "Let the ceremony be performed according to thine own will. Is not the will of Attila superior to all law?"
"Thou sayest right," answered Attila, advancing to the altar. "It is!" And placing himself by the side of the altar opposite to Ildica, he said, "Let the rites proceed! Oh beautiful Ildica, are you willing?"
Ildica raised her eyes, large, calm, liquid, shining as fountains of living light. She gazed on him for a moment, and then, "I adjure thee, oh Attila!" she cried, "to tell me truth! Is he dead?"
"He is!" replied Attila, emphatically.
"Art thou certain--quite certain?" demanded Ildica, still gazing in his face.
"As certain as if my hand had slain him," replied Attila.
"Ha!" said Ildica. "Even so!"
"What sayest thou?" demanded Attila.
"That the will of the king is law." And she cast down her eyes to the ground.
"Most beautiful and best beloved!" exclaimed Attila, taking her hand with a look of eager passion. "Let the rites proceed."
They did proceed; and the strange and fanciful ceremonies of the pagan nuptials were begun and ended between Attila and Ildica!
Still, during the whole of that ceremony, the fair unhappy girl uttered not one word; but, passive before the heathen altar, she stood like the victim so often brought there to be sacrificed. Her lips moved not; her voice was heard not; and, without either consent or denial, she became the bride of that dark and mighty king.
The priests ceased; the ceremony was over; and she still stood silent before the altar, with her hand lying in that of Attila. And those who stood by and saw, never forgot the sight of those small, white, taper fingers resting in that broad powerful hand. At length she lifted up her eyes, as if seeking for the heaven; and then her lips moved for a moment, as if in prayer.
As was the custom, the women of the highest note there present surrounded her, and led her away to a banquet prepared for her alone. Ildica ate one cake of bread, and drank one cup of wine, and then sought the chamber reserved for her. They would have led her in, and stayed with her to adorn her; but she paused at the door, and bade them leave her. They hesitated, and urged the custom of the land. But she raised her head proudly, saying, "I am a Roman even here! But what to you is more, I am the bride of Attila, and I command you, leave me! I must spend the intervening time in prayer," she added, in a milder tone; and, ceasing to urge her further, the women left her to her own thoughts; and every one betook them to their homes again.
In the mean while Attila lead his chiefs to the banquet; but, as they went, Ardaric and Valamir walked side by side, and spoke together in a low tone over the scene just past.
"I comprehend it not," said Ardaric; "I understand it not. The memory of old affection is clearly strong in her heart; neither do I think that she forgets her country, nor believe that she is one to wed either for fear or for ambition! If there should be some higher purpose in her bosom, Valamir? If she should meditate some mighty deed?--a deed which, since Attila is no longer Attila, many a brave man in the camp has pondered on as the last hope of many here--a deed which, since safety has been banished from our tents, and the swords of our friends have been drawn at midnight against ourselves, may even have crossed my mind and thine?"
"Hush!" said Valamir; "Onegisus watches us. Let us sit at separate tables; but humour him to the full; and, as he has now forgot his ancient temperance, let him drink deep. It matters not to us whether drunkenness disgrace him on this night of pageantry or not. Cross him not, I beseech thee, Ardaric! Thou hast had warning enough this day that Attila hears counsel no longer, even when given for the protection of his own honour."
Seated at the banquet, the same scenes, or very similar ones, took place, which we have dwelt upon before. The same, in all respects, except in the conduct of the chief actor therein. The rude poet sang the glowing tale of mighty deeds and great warriors in the long-gone past; the jester excited the roar of ribald laughter; the wine flowed plenteously; the chiefs drank deep; but Attila, no longer calm and grave, followed each impulse of the moment--now gave way to some hasty wrath, now joined in the peal of merriment; and still, in the deep wine-cup, provoked the emulation of his warriors.
It was when the night waxed late, and the banquet was nearly over, that Zercon, the negro jester, who had already played his part in the hall for the amusement of the guests, entered again, bearing in his hands an enormous cup of gold, richly gemmed at the rim and on the handles. The shape was beautiful; the workmanship splendid; the jewels of inestimable value; and, as he approached the seat of Attila, the eyes of the monarch, already inflamed with wine, gazed on the magnificent vessel with eyes of wonder and admiration. Kneeling before him, Zercon placed the cup in his hand, saying, "Behold, oh mighty king, a present just arrived from a dear friend and well-wisher of Attila. Thy messengers have just returned from the M[oe]sian frontier, and bear thee this jewelled cantharus from Eugenius, bishop of Margus. Happily has it come to grace thy bridal night."
Attila took the cup, and gazed upon it, repeating thoughtfully, "From Eugenius, bishop of Margus!--the boy's uncle! I will use it some other night."
"Nay, oh mighty king!" said Zercon, "no night like this; for in it you may pledge yourself to avenge the wrongs of him who sent it."
"What wrongs?" cried Attila, turning upon him fiercely. "I know of no wrongs that he has suffered."
"It comes," replied Zercon, in a deep tone, "from the dead to the living! from the impotent to the mighty! Eugenius has been put to death, by command of Marcian, for admitting the Huns to the Roman territory; and thy messengers have but escaped with life and this cup, which he had just given them for thee, as a pledge of his friendship."
Attila's countenance grew as dark as night. "Take the cup," he cried, to one of his officers; "take the cup and let it be purified with fire. Then bring it to me."
The attendant took the cup, and held it over a lighted torch in the midst of the hall. Then, after passing it through water, he brought it to the monarch, who filled it to the brim: and, rising from his seat, exclaimed, "Pledge me, kings and mighty leaders! Pledge me, in our last cup this night, death to the slave Marcian, who has dared to slay the friend of Attila!" and he drank off the wine at once.
He had not spared the cup throughout the night; and now that deep draught had a visible effect. He felt it himself; and, setting down the cup, leaned his head upon his hand for a moment; then suddenly rose, and, bending slightly to his guests, quitted the hall with an unsteady step. Several of his chief attendants followed, but they returned the moment after; and many of the leaders rose and left the hall, conversing in low voices on the varied events lately passed. Others remained, and protracted the debauch; but by the first hour after midnight the pavilion of the king was void of its guests, and all had returned to silence.
Among the first that left the hall were Ardaric and Valamir; and, as they passed through the camp of the sleeping Huns, they paused for a moment beside one of the tents in which a light was burning, and from which might be heard the voice of lamentation.
"Hark! Her slaves weeping over her unhappy fate!" said Ardaric.
"What! did she not take them with her?" demanded Valamir.
"Not one," replied Ardaric; "not one, I hear. Neva, dead Bleda's daughter, who dwells in our tents with my own children, reported that she went alone; and none has been with her so much as Neva! She went alone, Valamir: she went alone to her abhorred task, whatever that task may be! Let us early to-morrow to Attila, and let us go together. My heart is not at rest!"
Within the tent by which they stood were, as Ardaric conjectured, the slaves and attendants of Ildica, weeping for their mistress, who had gone forth alone, solitary, unaided, unbefriended, in that awful hour of trial; and had gone so by her own choice. Collected in the outer chamber of the tent she had occupied, they mourned as for her funeral; but in the inner chamber of that tent were others who mourned not less, but whose mourning was mingled with a strange agitation which was neither hope nor fear.
By the light of a lamp, holding high a wooden cross, stood the hermit Mizetus, and at his feet knelt the fair girl Neva, raising her eyes to the symbol of a new faith which the enthusiast had lately planted in her heart. Dark and obscure as was his own knowledge of the truth, clouded by a bewildered brain and distorted by wild fancies, he had still been able to show her a glimmering of the light which was afterward to shine upon her more fully. Both were pale and haggard, and moved by the anticipation of great and terrible events; and as they passed there the long hours of that dreadful night, the young, fair, lovely maiden kneeling at the feet of that old ascetic, the tears poured down her cheeks in torrents; the sobs burst struggling from her young kind bosom; and often the agony and apprehension of her heart convulsed her form as if in the grasp of death.
"Fear not, fear not, my daughter!" would the hermit exclaim. "Fear not for her! fear not for us! There is a mightier power than any on the earth to shield us! There is a greater arm than ever drew mortal sword to defend us! Even were we in the gates of death itself, I would bid thee fear not; for God has broken the bonds of the grave asunder, and provided a ransom to deliver us from hell itself!" Thus did he speak through the livelong night, and thus did he try to give her consolation and support; still bidding her not to fear, till at length he said, "Fear not, maiden! fear not! Lo, the night is past, and the morning is come; and after the darkness in which we walk upon this earth shall come the light of a brighter day! Fear not! fear not! I say unto you, fear not!"