Scarcely was Zercon gone when the hangings of the tent which he had let fall behind him were again pushed aside, and an old woman, of some barbarian tribe, frightful in features, and fantastically dressed, entered and stood before Ildica. Neva started up; and when she beheld this personage she turned very pale.
"What wouldst thou?" demanded Ildica, in her own language; but the woman did not seem to understand her, and continued to gaze upon her from head to foot.
"What wouldst thou?" repeated Neva, in the Hunnish tongue; in reply to which the old crone burst into a loud and scornful laugh, adding, "I came to see what I have seen!" and, turning as she spoke, she left the tent without waiting for further inquiries.
"Who is that, dear Neva?" demanded Ildica. "She is rude and strange in her demeanour."
"Alas! alas!" replied Neva; "I fear her coming bodes no good. She is skilled in healing, and dwells among the wives of Attila; and I doubt not that she has been sent to see if thou art still as ill as we have reported."
At these words Ildica herself turned pale, and gazed anxiously upon the countenance of Neva. She had no time, however, to inquire further; for scarcely had the woman left the tent when there was a cry of "Attila! Attila! The king! the king!" and the domestic attendants, who had followed the fair Roman girl and her mother through all their fortunes, ran in with looks of apprehension from the outer tent, and surrounded their beloved mistress.
The moment after the cry of "Attila! Attila!" was repeated, the hangings were again drawn back, and the dark monarch of the Huns advanced at once into the tent. There was a mortal paleness upon Ildica's countenance; but, from the moment that the cry of "Attila! Attila!" had sounded on her ear till the moment that he came into her presence, the eyes of those who surrounded her saw an expression of high and noble resolution gathering upon that fair, lofty forehead, as the electric clouds upon a summer's day may be seen rolling round some mountain peak, till that which, in the morning light, was all clear and fair, becomes, ere noon, awful in the proud majesty of the coming storm.
All rose and retired a step as Attila entered, except Ildica; but she, with queenlike calmness, kept her place: and it was wonderful to all eyes to behold that sweet and gentle girl, full of tenderness and soft affections, changed in a moment, by the power of a great mind and mighty resolution, into a proud and lordly being, fit to cope with the great conqueror of one half of the earth. There she sat immoveable, gazing with the unquailing light of her lustrous eyes upon the dark monarch as he advanced towards her; and even Attila himself--though the cause was surprise and admiration only--paused for a single instant midway in his approach, and scarcely could believe his eyes, that this was the same creature whom he had last beheld dissolved in tears beside her departing brother. Her beauty, however, was as radiant, though it shone through another air; and, again advancing, he seated himself beside her calmly on the cushions, saying, "They have deceived me: they told me you were ill!"
"I have been ill, oh king!" replied Ildica, in a voice not a tone of which faltered, even in the slightest degree, "I have been ill, very nearly unto death."
"Illness seldom wears so lovely a form," replied Attila, in a softened voice. "Attila trusts that thou art better, fair maiden; else thy beauty belies thy state."
"I am better, oh king," answered Ildica; "and I trust that a few days more of repose may restore me completely unto health."
"Were it not better for thee," said Attila, "to seek the open air, and draw in the pure breath of the summer day, than, sitting here in the close atmosphere of a tent, to waste the hours of sunshine?"
"The covering of this tent, oh king," replied Ildica, boldly, "shuts out from me more things than the pure air; and if, in going forth. I should gain advantage from the sweet breath of heaven visiting my lips, the sights that I should behold would carry tenfold poison to my heart by the sure channel of the eye--at least, if all be true that I have heard."
"What hast thou heard?" demanded Attila, quickly, rolling his eye over those that surrounded them, "what hast thou heard, sweet Ildica?"
"I have heard," she replied, unwilling to call down the anger of that terrible monarch upon any one else, however sure she might be of encountering it ultimately herself--"I have heard but the usual tale of warfare: I have heard of populous cities taken and made desolate; of blood drowning out the fire on the dear domestic hearth: of thousands and tens of thousands slaughtered, and their bodies lying unburied in the fields, or nailed, if they resisted, to the trees of their own fruitful gardens. I have heard of the whole land swept of its produce, its arts obliterated, its monuments destroyed, its husbandmen slain, even its women and children put to the sword--and that land my country!"
She paused; but Attila made no reply, and sat listening as if he expected her to go on. "Pardon me, oh king," continued Ildica--"pardon me, if I am bold to say thus much; but as it was grief which brought me nearly unto death at first--deep, bitter grief!--I am told that any grief whatsoever, added anew, may complete what the other left undone, and bring me at once unto the grave."
"A mother's death," replied Attila, without any sign of anger at the bold and proud demeanour of the fair Roman girl--"a mother's death, so sudden and unexpected, might well shake the strength and fortitude of a daughter; but, as to other things, I see not why she should let her mind rest upon them."
"Let me not boast, oh king!" replied Ildica, resolved to leave no word unspoken which might guard her against all she feared--"let me not boast, but yet I may say, my fortitude is never shaken. It was the bodily strength gave way, and not the resolution of the heart. Neither was it a mother's loss alone: that was the last of many sorrows. Before it went the parting with my brother and the sister of my heart; and before that again the still bitterer parting with my promised husband, with him I loved, and always have loved, better than anything on earth."
Attila's brow grew dark, and he fixed his eyes bitterly upon the ground. Ildica marked the expression, however much he strove to control it, but she proceeded all the more eagerly; and had he been a tiger ready for the spring, still she would have gone on. "Yes, oh king! that, though the first, was the bitterest stroke of all--for who shall tell how I love him, how deeply, how sincerely, how beyond all other things I love him. Without him, life to me is a dark blank; and when you forbade our union, and sent him from me to a distant land, you struck the blow that undermined my health; you filled high the cup that my mother's death caused afterward to overflow."
She paused again, and Attila looked up and replied, "Thy voice is sweet and musical, lovely girl, but thy words are harsh and somewhat grating to mine ear. Attila seeks not to make thee unhappy; but be not rash, and change the tenderness which he feels for thee and thine into a less gentle temper. I would not force thee to behold sights which may be painful to a woman's eye; but to-morrow early, thou, as well as the rest, must set out upon our onward march."
"Must we then go on," said Ildica; "I had hoped, as thou hast encamped here long, some cause might induce thee to turn thy fiery sword another way, and not let the edge fall heavy upon Rome."
"We must upon our march!" replied Attila, "we must upon our march! The country around us is exhausted of its stores. We have dried up the land of its wine and oil, like the summer's sun shining on a scanty brook. All is consumed; and where the foot of Attila's horse has trod grows no grass afterward. I paused here," he added, with a grim smile, "because my son sent me word that a pitiful city of the Venetian province resisted the army of Attila, one of those stony piles in which you Romans love to dwell, called Aquileia."
"What? Aquileia, the beautiful, the proud," exclaimed Ildica, "the provincial Rome?"
"The same," replied Attila, "It dared to shut its gates against those I sent to possess it; and when I reached them myself, I found that it had made its resistance good. It was different from the usual Roman towns. There were more than women and boys within. The catapult and balista had been plied in vain. The walls held out; and as I rode around, the soldiers on the towers, in their fancied security, laughed loud, and mocked the arms of Attila. But there was a certain stork--wiser, by the gods' own teaching, than the fools within--who saw the horse of Attila pause before the spot where she had built her nest upon the ramparts, and, auguring destruction to the towers on which he looked, she took her young ones on her back, and flew away for ever. Over the fragments of her nest, strewed upon the ruins of that wall, passed the horse of Attila ere nightfall; and now let after ages look for Aquileia, and find some scattered stones spread over a desolate plain. The brothers of those who defended it shall never gather their bones into their family sepulchre; for the flames of that city have confounded all, and nothing but dust is left. Thus perish all who resist the will of Attila," he added, and fixed his eyes full on Ildica.
"They did but die," replied the Roman girl, and she gave him back his glance as proudly as it was sent. The light of irrepressible admiration rose in that mighty monarch's eyes, and for several minutes he remained gazing upon her in silence; but there mingled with that steadfast look an expression which, in spite of every effort, called the quick and modest blood into the cheek of Ildica.
"Those whom Attila loves," said the king, "are as sure of benefits as those who resist him of punishments; and surely the regard of one, before whom the proudest monarchs of the earth bow down their heads, is a prize worth having to those whose hearts are noble and their spirit high. The great, the generous, and the lofty minded should ever love each other; and I say to thee, fair maiden, that thy noble and thy daring mind has this day commanded the esteem of Attila more fully than even thy radiant, thine unequalled beauty has called forth the admiration of his eyes."
"Esteem, oh Attila!" replied Ildica, in a calm, solemn tone, "must ever create esteem; for it is founded on virtue, and ever springs from it. Those we esteem we would never debase, and dare not injure; and Ildica rests tranquilly upon the esteem of Attila for protection against all men--even should it be against himself."
Attila cast down his eyes, and for a few moments remained in thought; then turning to the attendants round, he said, in a tone that admitted no reply, "Leave us!"
One by one, those who stood near left the tent, Neva following more slowly and with downcast eyes. Ildica lifted her heart to heaven, and prayed internally for strength and wisdom, for she felt that the hour of trial might be coming near. The hangings of the tent fell; but scarcely had they fallen when there came sudden voices sounding eagerly without, and in a moment after Onegisus entered the presence of Attila.
"Let me die if I have offended, oh mighty king!" he said, in breathless haste; "but I have tidings that admit no delay."
"Speak them!" said Attila.
"Ætius, oh king, has passed the mountains," replied the chief; "he brings with him the legions of Gaul. Valentinian has left Ravenna, and gathers an army under the walls of Rome. The fleets of Marcian are upon the Adriatic."
Attila listened without a change of countenance. "Thy news from the East is false," he said: "Marcian stirs not. Valentinian is a fly in a spider's web. Is it sure that Ætius has passed the mountains?"
"The tribe of Ilgours, who were in the country of the Burgundians," replied Onegisus, "followed his march, and have sent on messengers to warn the king."
"Then it is true," said Attila, rising, "and we must scourge him back into Gaul. Attila marches for Milan. I leave you, my friend, to tread upon Verona and Padua, and to sweep the plains behind me of all adversaries. Leave nothing dangerous behind, and follow with all speed. Where are Ardaric and Valamir? They must accompany me this night!" and with a slow and deliberate step he left the tent, giving no sign of emotion of any kind, unless his leaving Ildica without a word, or even a look, might be construed into a proof of how much the tidings he had just heard affected him at heart.
Ildica lifted her eyes to heaven, and clasped her hands, exclaiming, "Oh God, thou dost not desert me in my utmost need! On thee will I rely!" and, with a heart relieved, she burst into a long but happy flood of tears.
"To Milan!" she thought--"to Milan! That is far off. Ætius, too, is before him. Ere I shall see his face again, Theodore will have returned, and I shall be delivered!" and again she wept. Her attendants flocked around her; and some seeing her state, without knowing why, mingled their tears with hers.
"Weep not, my friends," she said at length--"weep not! I weep for joy! Leave me alone for a while; and give me the ivory scrinium with the silver clasps. There is a book therein I would fain read to tranquillize my mind."
The attendants obeyed; and bringing her the casket which she had mentioned, set it down beside her and retired. Ildica opened the scrinium, and, from among a number of rolls of parchment and papyrus, selected a manuscript in vellum, gathered together into the form of two or three small volumes, and pored eagerly upon the pages, seeming to find there matter for deep meditation and solemn interest. Now, her eye ran rapidly over the lines, and her hand turned the pages without pause; and then again she would suddenly stop, and looking up, as if for light and direction, would think for several minutes over what she had just read, as if the sense were doubtful, or the precept difficult of application. But the book was one which, in every age since first its words were traced upon that page of light, has caused, and well might cause, the mind of man to lose itself in lofty musings. It was the book which to the eye of the inspired patriarch of old was shown, in the vision of those heavenly steps by which the angels of God came down to earth, and ascended back again on high. It was the book which leads the soul, step by step, from the thoughts of earth, and the common and familiar things which the mind of man can grasp, up to those wide and sublime regions where, standing at the footstool of the Almighty throne, we still gaze up on high, and thought loses itself in the boundless space of mercy, power, and wisdom. It was that book, down each gradation of which angels and prophets came to visit earth, and lead back into heaven the just, the humble, and the true.
There, as she read, the eye might see the history of that sacred Being during his short stay on earth, whose life was mercy and purity; whose words were wisdom and holiness; whose birth and whose death were equally miraculous and beneficent, an example, a teacher, a guide, a sacrifice, an atonement. There, too, as her eye ran back over the long record, which marks the preservation of the revealed knowledge of our God, holy, and true, and wise, throughout ages and among nations, corrupt, perverse, unfaithful, the eye might trace the simple, touching story of the early fathers of mankind, and see displayed in the candid words of Divine truth their thoughts, their errors, and their virtues, without a shade of palliation or excuse. There lay revealed the mighty trial of Abraham's triumphant faith; there, the sweet history of Joseph and his little brother; there, the tale of Ruth, and of the widow and her son, and the mighty faults and virtues of Israel's psalmist king; there, his son's instructive wisdom and monitory fall; there, all those affecting scenes which, in their grand simplicity, defy the brightest eloquence of every people and of every time, to move the heart of man as they do.
But it was not on such scenes that the eye of Ildica principally rested. She sought for matters more assimilating with her fate and fortunes at the time. She read of the battles of the chosen people of God, their wars, their victories, their reverses. She paused, and thought upon the history of Sisera and Jael; but oh, how her heart thrilled when she read the tale of the tyrant warrior, from whom a woman's hand delivered the people of the Lord! She read! she trembled! she gasped for breath! She laid down the book and wept aloud!
Oh let us leave the secret feelings of her heart to commune with themselves undisclosed! for who can say what those feelings were, how deep, how sad, how terrible? Who can tell them all perfectly, who can display the struggle, and the mingling, and the strife, wherein a thousand opposing thoughts, and hopes, and fears, bright sympathies, noble aspirations, lofty purposes, and mighty inspirations, together with woman's shrinking modesty, intense love, and tender nature, contended like hostile nations bent on mutual destruction within the narrow battle-field of that fair, beautiful bosom? Who can tell them all? and, if not all, should we trifle with a part? Oh no, no! we have said enough!
Through the most fertile plain that Europe can display, amid the olive and the fig, the loaded vine and the ripening corn, with on one side a vast and interminable view over lands laughing in the richest gifts of nature, and on the other mounting up into the sky the gigantic mountains which separate that bright land from all the rest of earth, passed on a multitude of those savage warriors, who were destined to change the rich plains of Lombardy from the garden of the world to the most desolate spot of this quarter of the globe.
But, alas! not alone did those fierce warriors take their way, unaccompanied by any of the children of the soil. On the contrary, closely following their march, appeared a body which contained within itself sad samples of all the vice, the weakness, the baseness of the land. There was the skilful engineer, whose warlike but not perilous art provided the means of destruction for other men's hands to use; there was the theoretic strategist, whose pen prepared the plans of battles that he could not fight; there the sculptor and the limner, ready ever to transmit unto posterity the features of those whose actions commanded admiration, though not applause; there the thousand fawning slaves, ready to forget all ties, so long as they could cover baser bonds by the golden ties of interest. Besides all these were the captives, not chained, indeed, but dragged along by fetters as powerful as rings of iron, selected and preserved from slaughtered myriads for a fate worse than death itself, on account of those qualities which adorn and beautify the blessed state of freedom. Beauty, skill, strength, and activity: these were the sad gifts that purchased slavery.
In the midst of these--herself a captive, though surrounded by her own slaves, now all in bondage to another--was borne along the fair Dalmatian girl, whose fate has occupied so much of our attention. Her way was cleared by parties of the Huns appointed expressly for that purpose; and honours, too queenlike, awaited her wherever she paused. In many a place she found garlands strewed in her way, and tutored rejoicings greeted her at every resting-place. But oh! the coldest silence, the most icy indifference would have conveyed more warmth to her heart than those demonstrations of a distinction which she feared. Seldom, very seldom did she raise her eyes; but, poring earnestly on a book before her, seemed buried in contemplations from which no external objects could awaken her. Twice only during the second day's journey from Verona did she look up, and then her attention was called forcibly towards too terrible a sight by the wild ejaculations of the attendants who surrounded her. On either side of the road appeared, when she did look up, a range of trees, which had been planted to afford a pleasant shelter to the weary wayfarer from the burning rays of the summer's sun. But now, fixed upon those trees, were immense crosses of wood, on each of which, extended by nails in the hands and feet, was seen the dead body of a human being, contorted with the agonies of a painful death. Nor had one nation alone nor one country furnished the victims for that awful sacrifice; for there were seen the dark-visaged Hun, the fair-haired Frank, the large-limbed Goth, the strong-featured Roman--all, in short, against whom any charge of deceit or infidelity towards Attila and the Hunnish nation could be brought, were arrayed in fearful assemblage to terrify the passer-by.
Ildica gazed on them when her attention was forced towards them; and then, clasping her hands, she looked up on high, while her lips murmured woman's prayer for patience under all the sad scenes which she was destined to act in and behold. Then again, casting down her eyes, she strove to avoid, as far as possible, such fearful sights, hoping that brighter days and more joyful objects might come, and blot them out for ever from the tablets of memory, or soften the harsh lines so that they should be no longer painful. But still, as they marched onward, fresh scenes of desolation and horror were forced upon her sight, and, whether she would or not, the indignant heart swelled up, and a voice within her bosom exclaimed, "Oh for a warrior's soul and a warrior's might! Oh for an ancient Roman's undaunted energy, to stem this dark and ruinous torrent in its course, to drive back the destroyer of my native land, to snatch the bloody scourge out of the hand of fate, and hurl it for ever into the gulf of death!"
At length a large and magnificent city appeared before her; and Ildica prepared her eyes to behold the same utter destruction which she had beheld in every other town. Her astonishment was great, however, on entering Mediolanum,[5]to behold the inhabitants pursuing their ordinary occupations; the shops opened, and their wares exposed in the very presence of those ruthless barbarians who had come to spoil and desolate the land. It is true, the great body of Attila's army was encamped without its walls, and that but a few thousand of the Huns were permitted to enter the city; but still, with its gates in their possession, and its walls covered by their troops, Milan was at the mercy of the Hunnish multitude, and nothing but the awful name of Attila saved it from destruction.
The troops of Onegisus entered not the gates of the city; but the litter of Ildica was borne forward through the principal streets, and at length stopped before a magnificent pile of building, which was, in fact, the royal palace of Milan. Those who accompanied her waited for directions from some one within; and, after a brief pause, the litter was again carried on into the interior of the palace. At the foot of the great staircase it was set down, and Ildica with her attendants was bade to follow on foot. From room to room, from hall to hall, from gallery to gallery, she was led onward by several of the barbarian chiefs, beholding, as she advanced, with wonder, not unmixed with pleasure, that, amid all the splendour which that building displayed, amid all the monuments of art which it contained, no act of violence had been perpetrated by the hand of the barbarians, but that there every object remained untouched, or at least uninjured. At one spot, indeed, she beheld a painter busily employed in labouring with the brush upon the walls, but he was a Roman; and on looking nearer she perceived that he was making a complete change in one of the pictures, which represented some barbarian kings kneeling at the feet of a Roman emperor.
"What doest thou, my friend?" she asked.
"I am working at the command of the mighty Attila," replied the painter, "in order to change this picture so as to suit the changes of the time. When I have done, two Roman emperors will be seen kneeling at the feet of a Scythian king."
Ildica walked on without reply, feeling bitterly in her heart the truth of the sad lesson which Attila thus taught.
At the farther extremity of the building she found the apartments assigned to her; and in a moment or two after she had entered them, and when the Huns who conducted her had withdrawn, Neva, whom she had not beheld for many days, approached, and took her fondly in her arms. The girl's countenance was sad, however, and while she gazed upon Ildica the tears rose in her eyes.
"Shall I say welcome?" she asked--"shall I say welcome, when I fear that much grief awaits you? shall I say welcome to a place where you must hear many things that will grieve you!"
At these words the dull, heavy weight fell again upon Ildica's heart, and the struggle recommenced, the painful struggle, of strong and high-minded resolution against woman's natural fears and apprehensions. "Speak," she replied, "speak, dear Neva. Tell me what new cause of sorrow and of terror has arisen. Tell me what step has been taken in the warfare that fate seems resolved to wage against my happiness on earth."
"Alas!" replied Neva, "alas! that my lip should tell it; but it is only right to warn thee of what you might hear too soon from other lips, and might hear unprepared. Attila speaks of thee often: Attila speaks of thee with love: Attila speaks of thee as of one destined to be his; and thou knowest, Ildica, that his will is like the will of fate."
"Not so, Neva; not so," replied Ildica. "There is a will above his!" But while she thus expressed her trust, the tears rolled from her eyes in despite of every effort, and she wept bitterly. "There is a will above his," she said, "holier, more merciful, and mightier far! In it will I trust, Neva, in it will I trust! But what do I do weeping?" she added--"what do I do weeping, when I have to think, to resolve, and act? what do I do weeping, when lo he comes, and I have need of vigour, not of tears; of determination, not of terror? Hear you not his step, hear you not his step? He is coming! he is coming! Hear you not his step?" and, as she spoke, she grasped the arm of the fair girl tight in her hand, and gazed towards the door with a look of wild and painful anticipation, which, had it not been too well justified by her circumstances, might well have passed for the vivid but wandering glance of insanity.
"It is not his foot you hear," replied Neva, fondly linking herself to Ildica, and striving to assuage the fears which she had herself occasioned. "That is not his step--I know it well, Ildica! I have known it, and trembled at it from my infancy. As the beasts of the field have an intimation of the earthquake, and fly trembling from the walls over which the impending ruin is suspended--as the light summer insect, to whom the falling drop of a spring shower is a deadly ocean, finds some warning to seek shelter beneath the foliage against the coming destruction--as the birds cease their song, and the cattle seek the fold before the approaching storm--so unto me has been given an augury of danger and of terror, in the world-shaking step of that awful king. I have heard it in the sunshine of summer, and the sunshine has been clouded: I have heard it in the dead of the night, and night has assumed the horror of the grave. But hark! Whoever it is that speaks with the attendants without--that voice is not Attila's, nor was the step."
As she spoke the curtain was withdrawn, and there appeared, not the form of the Scythian king, but that of Ardaric, chief of the Gepidæ. His countenance, as we have already said, was naturally frank and open; and, unlike that of Attila, it displayed, as in a highly polished mirror, every emotion of his heart, except when, by some great effort, he drew an unwonted veil over the picture of his thoughts, which there found their ordinary expression. His face was now clouded; and advancing towards Neva, he spoke a few words to her in the Hunnish dialect; and then turning towards Ildica, addressed her, though with considerable difficulty, in the Latin tongue.
Agitated, terrified, and confused, it was with difficulty Ildica gathered his meaning. She found, however, that what he said consisted of warnings of approaching danger, like those which Neva had already given, and of caution and advice as to how she should avoid or mitigate them. Though for the time Ildica's mind could scarcely grasp those counsels, yet they returned beneficially to her in the hour of need. She heard him tell her that delay to her was more valuable than beaten gold, and remind her that in her case any sort of duplicity was justifiable to foil a tyrant who knew no scruples, and joined deceit with power. But all that Ildica could reply, under her overpowering sense of the fearful struggle she saw approaching, was, "Can I not fly? Oh, can I not fly?"
"For fifty miles around on every side," replied Ardaric, "the troops of the Huns are spread over the country; and for more than fifty miles beyond those, scattered parties from a thousand different nations, but all attached to Attila by vows, by love, or by fear, roam through the country, and keep, as it were, an outer watch on his camp. The eagle may escape from the net woven to catch a sparrow; the lion may rend into a thousand pieces the toils which were set to catch the stag or the elk; but thou canst no more escape from the midst of the host of Attila than a small fly can disentangle itself from the meshes of the spider."
Ildica wept bitterly, nor was it with the kind of tears which bring relief. They were not tears for the past--the dark, irretrievable past, for the beloved and the dead, for the hours wasted or the pleasures passed away--they were not tears, in short, for any of those things which may be mourned with mourning sweet and profitable--but they were the deep, bitter, fruitless tears of apprehension, wrung forth by the agony of a fearful but unavoidable fate. She wept bitterly, she wept wildly; she noted not Ardaric, she heeded not the voice of Neva. Hopes and consolations they offered her in vain. Advice and direction seemed to fall unheeded on her ear: she appeared not to notice their presence or be conscious of their sympathy. Indeed, so totally was she absorbed in the overpowering sorrows of her own heart, and the fearful contemplation of the destiny before her, that she knew not when they left her, or awakened from the vision of her wo till another voice demanded, in a tone that made her start wildly from her seat, "Why weepest thou, maiden? why weepest thou so bitterly?" and Attila stood before her.
She gazed upon him with a wandering and anxious look while one might count ten, but then the triumph of the powerful mind began again. The moment of terror and apprehension was over--the moment of resolution and of action was come. Womanly weakness had had its hour, and was passed. The Roman heart was reawakened by the voice that called her to the trial. The sight of Attila, like the fierce sun shining on the dewy grass after a storm, dried up the tears in her eyes; and after that brief pause she replied, "I weep, oh king! because as a woman I am weak; because I am apprehensive of the future; because I am uncertain of the present; because I grieve for the past. Little cause is there to ask any one living why he weeps. Thou wouldst do more wisely wert thou to ask any one in this world why he smiles."
"Maiden," replied Attila, "dost thou think that such vague words can deceive me? Thinkest thou that so thin a veil can hide the features of thy mind? Thou weepest for thy lover! thou thinkest that he is either dead or faithless, because he has not come so soon as he promised!"
"Thou art mistaken, oh Attila!" replied Ildica; "I neither think him dead--for God protects the good, the virtuous, and the noble--nor do I think him faithless; for to judge so harshly of him would be to wrong the God who formed his heart, and made it upright, true, and constant. I may have fears and apprehensions, but they are not of him or of his truth. What they are matters not to any one; for though I may be carried captive after a mighty conqueror's army, the freedom of my thoughts he cannot touch; and I am still at liberty in heart and soul, above his reach, and far beyond his power."
Her words, however bold, seemed to give no offence to Attila; but, on the contrary, as she spoke, a brighter and a warmer fire glowed up in his countenance, and taking her unwilling but unresisting hand, he led her back to the seat from which she had risen, saying, "Thou art bold as well as beautiful, and well fit to be the bride of some great warrior, whose soul is capable of prizing such as thine."
"May such be my fate!" replied Ildica. "Theodore, to whom all my thoughts and feelings are given, is worthy of much more than this weak hand. Hast thou heard news of his return, oh king? and dost thou come to make me happy with the tidings!"
Attila's brow grew dark for a moment; but the angry cloud soon passed away, and the light of other passions returned to his countenance. "No, Ildica, no!" he said, "I come not to tell you of his return, for no news of his coming has yet reached the camp, though the time fixed by his own lips as the utmost period of his absence has wellnigh expired. No, Ildica, no! I come to tell thee of a brighter and a loftier fate which may be thine, if thy mind be capable, as I am sure it is, of higher aspirations and more noble hopes."
"I seek no loftier fate, oh king!" cried Ildica, shrinking from his eager gaze, and striving to delay the utterance of words by Attila which, with woman's keen insight into the heart of man, she knew would bind him to pursue his purpose by the bond of pride, stronger, far stronger than even passion itself--"I seek no loftier fate, I entertain no higher aspirations! To be the wife of him whom my heart has loved from infancy to womanhood--to wed him who has loved me through every change of fate, through peril and danger, through absence and temptation--to wed him who has so loved me, and whom I so love, is to my mind the brightest fate, the loftiest destiny that woman could obtain."
"But if he be dead?" said Attila, fixing his dark eyes full upon her.
"Then," replied Ildica, seeing the danger of the slightest hesitation in her answer to such a suggestion, "then will I either die also, or, vowing myself to silent prayer, leave for ever an idle and a sorrowful world, and hide myself with some of those lone sisterhoods who spend their days in solitude."
"Not so," answered Attila, drawing closer to her: "thou shouldst have a better destiny; thou shouldst be the bride of Attila--his chosen, his best beloved bride; honoured and revered above all others; queen of his heart; mistress of his actions; sovereign of all the nations that bow to his command."
Ildica sprang from his eager arm, and cast herself upon her knees before him. The terrible words were spoken! There was no escape left but in determination strong as his own! She could no longer avoid the theme most dreaded; and her task was to meet it boldly and at once!
"Hear me, oh king!" she cried, earnestly--"hear me! I am small, and thou art great! Hear me, and save me even from thyself! I love another deeply, devotedly, truly; but even were that other dead, I could never love thee as thou wouldst wish to be loved--nay, as thou deservest to be loved. Mighty warrior! great and magnanimous king! unequalled conqueror! wilt thou debase thyself to contend with a woman? wilt thou degrade thyself to violate the sanctity of thy word, to wrong the innocent and the unoffending, to betray those who trusted thee, to destroy him who loved thee? Wilt thou risk being defeated by the strong and resolute heart of a girl like me? Monarch! I am not in thy power, but in God's! To God I will appeal against thee; and sooner than become thy bride, will give my spirit back to Him who lent it. Think not that thou canst frustrate my purpose, and debar me of my will. A camp has always weapons whereby my own life can be reached; no tent but has its cord; no banquet but has its knife. Not a tower of this city but affords me the means of defying the mighty power of Attila; and the flinty bed beneath yon window would, to me, seem a couch of down compared with thy bridal bed, oh king! But thou wilt spare me! thou wilt spare me! I know thy better thoughts and nobler nature. Thou dost but try me. Thou wilt still be just, and wise, and esteemed of all men! If Theodore be dead, tell me so; and I will vow myself to God--I can bear such tidings with calm grief; but never, never can I love Attila as Attila should be loved! Oh, let me reverence and admire him still! Force me not to see in him the pagan king--the destroyer of my country--the enemy of my faith--the slayer of my promised husband--the betrayer of his trust--the falsifier of his word--the tyrant of a woman whom he had vowed to protect!"
So rapidly, so earnestly, so vehemently did she speak, and at the same time so lovely did she look in the attitude of eager supplication, that Attila had neither time nor inclination to interrupt her; and, though admiration and tenderness were crossed by jealousy at the words of love which she bestowed on Theodore, and by anger at the daring terms she feared not to apply to himself, he remained silent for a moment after she had done, gazing on that splendid countenance and that beautiful form, awakened, as both face and figure were, into a thousand fresh graces by the imploring earnestness of her address.
"Take care," he exclaimed at length, "take care. Remember, love may be turned into hate; and the hate of Attila is a thing to be feared."
"Not near so much by me as is his love," replied Ildica. "Oh king! thou canst but slay me, and I fear not death. No torture that the cruellest tyrant ever yet invented is equal to the torture of the mind; and were I to wed Attila, could my mind ever be free from agony?"
"Why? why?" demanded Attila, fiercely. "Is it that this form is hateful to thee? Is it that this hand, which a thousand conquered kings have felt proud to kiss, is abhorrent in thine eyes?"
"No, no! oh no!" cried Ildica, taking the hand that he had partly extended, and pressing her lips upon it--"no, mighty king, far from it! It is that I love another with a love that death itself can never change. It is that our faith is different, all our thoughts unlike, that thou art the avowed enemy of my country. Yet all that were nothing compared with my love for another. Were he dead to-morrow, still would he live in my heart as vividly, as strongly as if I saw him every day. This is no vain dream, no idle fancy! I have known it and proved it during long, long years of absence; and I should but gaze upon thee and think upon him--I should live in the past and hate the present for his sake! Oh, mighty Attila! be generous, be noble! and command, by thine actions, the only kind of love that Ildica can yield thee. Heaven is my witness, that far from feeling towards thee with the cold abhorrence which thou seemest to think I experience--far from striving to hate thee even as the enemy of my country, and to regard thee with detestation, as many of my nation do--ever since that day when first in the plains of Margus thou savedst the life of him I loved, and didst free me and mine from terrible captivity, I have ever loved thee with deep veneration. I have thought of thee as at once mighty and generous, a conqueror, but a noble one, the enemy of my country indeed, but a great, a wonderful, a just, a lofty-minded man. Thus have I thought of thee, and thus has my beloved Theodore ever taught me to think, by word and by letter, by the tale of thy great deeds, and by his knowledge of thy noble nature."
Attila was evidently moved; and, folding his arms upon his breast, he turned his eyes from Ildica as if from some impulse of shame, and fixed them on the ground. The fair girl, however, saw that she had produced some effect, and she proceeded eagerly in that strain which had been thus far successful.
"Think, oh Attila," she exclaimed, "think what has been the conduct towards thee of him whom I so dearly love. I know not half of what he has done, for he boasts not of good actions; but sure I am that you have ever found him faithful, zealous, and true; and thou canst in thine own mind trace, as in a picture, all that he has done for thee and thine. Have I not heard, here in the camp, that he saved the life of thy youngest child, the beautiful youth whom they call Ernac? Have I not heard that in some battle in Gaul more than once he risked his life to defend that of Attila? Has he ever failed thee in the hour of need? Has he ever spoken to thee or of thee one unjust word? Has he ever betrayed thee in small things or in great? Has he ever been untrue to thee, oh king? And wouldst thou now betray him; wouldst thou makehislife miserable who always sought thy welfare? Wouldst thou take that life which was risked to save thine own? Wouldst thou take his bride, the chief object of his existence, from him who, from the jaws of destruction, rescued thy beloved child?"
"No, no, no!" cried Attila, taking both the hands that she held out towards him in the act of adjuration--"no, no; I will not wrong him! Thou hast conquered! Whatever I may feel, however strong and burning be the passion that thou hast kindled in my heart, I will not take his bride from him who saved my son. Rise, maiden, rise! and set your heart at rest! If the son of Paulinus return to claim thee for his bride, his bride thou shalt be, and I will send ye together far from me, that the memory of these feelings may never be reawakened by the sight of thy beauty. A week hence is the utmost term that he allowed himself to return; I will add thereunto another week ere I see thee again, that I may not increase the fire that burns even now within my heart. If he be not then returned, Attila will cause diligent search and inquiry to be made, that his fate may be clearly ascertained. Attila will do justice to the son of Paulinus; but if he be dead, as in these times of trouble and of pestilence he well may be, Ildica will do justice unto Attila."
Her heart sunk at his last words; but she had gained so much already that she dared not risk all again by reply. All she answered then was, "God defend us both!" and covering her fair face with her hands, she gave way to the many mingled emotions that struggled in her breast--present relief--future apprehension--hope, never-dying, consoling hope--her dark, inseparable companion, fear--the agitation of a great struggle achieved; and the overpowering sense of success beyond her anticipations--she could not restrain them all--she gave way, and wept.
Attila gazed upon her for several minutes in silence, and then exclaimed, "Thou art too lovely! But be comforted," he added, "thou mayst be happy yet!"
Thus saying, he turned, and left her to indulge her tears in peace.
"On to Rome! on to Rome! On to the eternal city! On to the ancient capital of empires! On to the throne of mighty kings of old! Attila has conquered Ætius! The two mighty men have met; and the weaker has given way. Attila triumphs over Ætius! On to Rome! on to Rome! The world is open and prostrate before the sword of Attila. On to Rome! on to Rome! On to spoil, and to victory, and to triumph!"
Such were the cries that ran through the host of the Huns, as they marched on from Milan towards the devoted city of the Cæsars, And mighty and terrible indeed was that innumerable multitude, as, composed of a thousand nations, it flowed on like an overwhelming deluge upon its way. Those who stood and gazed upon its wide-extended front, as, rushing on irresistible, it swept the fair plains of Lombardy, might well want language and figures to express the awful advance of the barbarian world.
The dark thunder-cloud, sweeping at once over the clear blue sky, and shutting out sunshine and daylight beneath its ominous veil, is too slow in its course, too unsubstantial in its form, to afford an image of that living inundation. The avalanche that sweeps down the side of the Alps, overwhelming flocks, and herds, and cities in its way, is but petty when compared with the immense masses of that fierce and furious multitude. The long wave of the agitated sea, when cast by the breath of the tempest upon the echoing shore, would give but a faint idea of that rushing multitude of armed men.
No! Neither bounded to a narrow space, nor gradually and slowly carried forward, nor checked in its course and retiring to return again, did the multitudes of Attila advance. But, spread out from sea to sea--rushing onward with the swiftness of the wind--irresistible, overpowering, vast, like the dark tide of lava when it rushes down the channelled sides of Etna, came the barbarian myriads, finding brightness and beauty before them, and leaving darkness and desolation behind.
Through every road, over every field, into every city, across every river, they passed. Like the sword of the destroying angel in the dwellings of the Egyptians, nothing seemed to stop them, nothing to impede their progress, even for an hour. Terror and lamentation went through all the land; and the voice of weeping was heard from the banks of the Athesis to the Straits of Scylla; Ravenna, defensible as it was, was abandoned in a day; and Rome itself wailed in trembling for the approach of a new, a fiercer conqueror than Alaric.
At length the tent of Attila was pitched by the side of a grand lake, where from its bosom flows the stream by whose banks the sweetest of the Roman poets sung. No longer simple, as when he first entered Greece, appeared the camp of the barbarian king; no longer was seen the ring of wagons only, and the multitude sleeping in the fresh air of night; but there, tents of every form and every hue diversified the plain which stretches along, from the base of the gigantic mountains that enclose the stormy waves of the Benacus, to the soft green fields of the fair Mantuan land, where the "silver-gray cattle" of which Virgil sung still bathe in the placid waters of his native Mincius.
Far and wide as the eye could see extended that vast encampment; and the air, for many a mile, rang with the neighing of horses and the clang of arms. At the very junction of the lake and the river, on a high sloping ground, whence the eye of the monarch could behold both the far plains covered by his innumerable host and the waters of the lake, with all its grand and beautiful shores, was pitched the tent of Attila, together with those of the persons immediately attached to the monarch himself: and splendid was the sight, when, after a night of repose, the cloudless sun of Italy rose up and poured its flood of splendour over one of the loveliest scenes of earth, living and animated with the figures of those wild but splendidly-attired horsemen.
At the entrance of the tent, beside which his horse was held prepared, stood Attila, gazing over that thrilling sight; and, strange as it may seem, there was something in the picturesque beauty of the scene, in the poetical aspect of the whole, the mighty host, the mighty mountains, the beaming sunrise, and the glowing lake, that found, even within the breast of the fierce conqueror, a sympathizing appreciation of what is bright and beautiful in nature.
He stood and gazed, and felt his soul calmed and soothed.
"We will stay here to-day," he said. "The land is rich and plentiful: the people will be happy in this place of oil and wine. We will stay here to-day; and to-morrow, onward towards Rome! But what is that?" he continued, after gazing for some minutes longer. "What is that, winding slowly along in the distant country, following the road by the side of the river? It looks like a long train of horsemen approaching slowly, and it can hardly be any of our own tribes returning at this early hour. What can that be?"
No eyes, however, but his own were keen enough to distinguish, in the far distance, the object to which he pointed; and he added, "Let some one be sent forth to see, and let no man be injured who comes to us in the garb of peace. This day there shall be no blood shed, unless our enemies seek it themselves. Here we will taste repose and tranquillity."
Several hours had elapsed; the myriads of the Huns were all awake and stirring; thousands of wild horsemen were galloping over the plain, exercising their horses, or practising with the javelin or the spear: and others on foot were moving about among the tents, in all the bustling activity of the morning's duties, when the train which Attila had seen approaching through the distant country entered the Hunnish camp, and were led forward towards the tent of the monarch. Some of his own messengers, who had gone out to meet the strangers, hurried on before to inform him that envoys from the Emperor Valentinian were even then coming near his presence. But the monarch, who still, though changed in many things, retained in some degree his contempt for pomp and show, merely ordered the hangings of his tent to be drawn up, and, seating himself in the entrance, awaited the arrival of the imperial ambassadors.
At their head appeared an old man, riding on a mule; and though the Huns gathered round in crowds to see an equipage to which they were unaccustomed, yet there was something so venerable and commanding in that old man's air, that even the rude barbarian soldiers forbore to press upon him, and merely gazed; while--with his look now raised to heaven, as if in momentary supplication, now cast down upon the ground, as if in deep thought--he rode slowly on through the midst of that fierce and blood-accustomed host, as if fear and wonder were utter strangers to his bosom.
After him followed a number of other men, clothed with princely splendour, and mounted on fiery chargers; but ever and anon their eyes were cast around upon the sea of dark faces that surrounded them, and an expression, perhaps not of fear, but certainly of anxiety, might be seen upon their countenances. At first the Huns demanded among themselves why the old man upon the mule rode first before the warriors; but when they compared his aspect with those who followed, they saw that he was in his proper place.
Last came a number of domestic servants and attendants, followed by slaves beating on a long train of beasts of burden; and in the slaves might be seen--as with hard hearts and unsparing hands they struck unmercifully the dumb suffering creatures but a grade below themselves--in them might be seen, though springing from a lower motive, the same fearless indifference to the presence of the strange multitude as he who led them displayed from a sense of faith and duty.
At the foot of the little hill on which stood the tent of Attila the multitude of the Huns paused, and followed the strangers no longer; and there, too, the envoys of the emperor were directed to dismount. The command was instantly obeyed; and leaving the servants and the train of baggage in the hands of some of the officers of the camp, all the rest began to ascend the hill towards the presence of the monarch, who, seated in the door of his tent, with but a few of his chief leaders around him, waited above, examining the persons and the air of each of the strangers as he approached.
With a slow step, dignified, calm, and collected, that old man who had led the Romans climbed the hill, slightly bowed by age, but rather stiffened than enfeebled. He was tall and largely proportioned; and his snowy hair, which, like that of the barbarians, felt not the steel, escaping from a cap of a peculiar form that he wore upon his head, flowed down in wavy curls upon his shoulders. His eye, which he but once raised towards the tent of Attila as he ascended, was calm and mild, but full of sleeping fire; and his step, though slow, was planted firmly upon the ground, giving to his whole demeanour an air of resolution and of power, which was not without its effect on those who watched his advance up the mountain.
Attila himself, as he sat in the stern silence natural to him, and beheld the calm and equable approach of the messenger of Valentinian towards his presence, might wonder at that unshaken firmness which so few displayed under similar circumstances. He moved not a muscle, however, but gazed sternly upon the envoy, till at length, when within ten paces of his seat, the great Pontiff of Rome--for he it was--paused in his advance, and said to those who followed, in a full, steady voice, "Let Avienus and Trigetius come with me! The rest wait here!" and then, proceeding on his way, he drew near to Attila.
"Who art thou?" demanded the barbarian king, in that full deep tone which was powerful and impressive, without being rude or abrupt. "Who art thou that comest so boldly before Attila?"
"I am Leo, the servant of God!" replied the pope, bending his head as he pronounced the almighty name.
"Of what God?" demanded Attila.
"There is but one God," replied Saint Leo; "there is but one God, holy, just, and true; Lord of lords, and King of kings! The lowest of his servants am I!"
"Thou meanest the God of the Christians?" said Attila.
The pope bent his head in reply, and the monarch proceeded. "It is well," he said, "it is well! Now tell me what thou wouldst have with Attila. Why comest thou to me hither, when, but a few short days, and I had come to thee?"
"It is to prevent thy coming that I seek thee," replied the bishop--"it is to prevent thy coming, and to stay the stream of blood that is poured out before thy steps. It is to stay from desolation the beautiful land that thou treadest like a wine-presser beneath thy feet, crushing all that is good and excellent, and leaving nothing but the worthless refuse. It is to adjure thee, by the name of God Most High, to spare his servants, and to turn thee from a land which his holy faith hath sanctified, and the blood of his saints made sacred. I do adjure thee by his name to pause in the course which he has hitherto made victorious, lest he take thy strength from thee, and destroy thee as thou hast destroyed others. Monarch!" he continued, seeing a cloud gathering on the brow of Attila--"monarch! I menace thee not with any human arm. None has ever been able to resist thee successfully; none has ever had power to oppose thee long: but know, oh king! that thou, like all others, art but an instrument in the hands of a mightier monarch. Thou art called theScourge of God, and verily he has used thee for the purposes of his vengeance. With thee hath he wrought destruction, and inflicted punishment upon the faithless and the unrighteous. In his hand thou hast been as the pestilence or the thunderbolt. Thou hast swept away nations. Thou hast smitten down monarchs. Thou hast trodden the palace and the cottage alike, with the sword of the destroying angel in thy hand; but now, in the name of the same God, who sent thee forth to conquer and to slay, I bid thee pause and turn back upon thy way, lest he take thy strength from thee, and reduce thy glory into shame. Remember, oh king! remember that one who, like thee, was mighty; who, like thee, was fierce; who, like thee, was unconquerable by man, trod these same plains but a few brief years ago; and, as a vulture, swept the land with the wing of desolation. Remember how Alaric, the mighty and the strong, marched on at the head of his innumerable hosts, and, like thee, found none to stay him. Remember how he heard the warning to pause, and turn back ere he set his foot within the eternal city. Remember how he neglected the warning; how he despised the words; how he conquered Rome, and died. In all things but in this was he like unto thee! But in this was he unlike, for I know--and feel--and see--as if it were before me in a vision, that thou shalt listen to the word of the servant of God, and sheath the sword, and turn back upon the way. Monarch! I tell thee, and my words shall prove true, that none henceforth for ever shall march against Rome, and place their camp round about it, and subdue it unto their hand, without meeting some terrible reverse; without finding death, or downfall, or dishonour follow, as surely as night follows day. Some shall come against it and take it, and die as soon as they leave it. Some shall assail it, and fall even in the hour of victory. Some shall subdue it, and, after years of glory, shall see the brightness of their fame tarnished with shame, defeat, and overthrow, with long and weary inactivity, and lingering death. But thou shalt listen to the voice of warning; thou shalt fear the name of God, and the word of God's servant, and shall turn thee back, and escape the peril of disobedience."
Bold and striking as his words was the action which, accompanied them; dignified, nay, sublime, was the expression of his countenance. The dark eye filled with the fire of genius, the fine features beaming with the divine light of enthusiasm, the lips trembling with the eloquence of the heart, the arms outstretched in passionate expostulation, the broad chest heaving under its flowing robes with the energy of lofty thoughts, while the full, powerful, melodious voice, clear, rounded, unhesitating, poured forth the stream of words--all, all formed a splendid whole, such as none there present had ever seen before; and the barbarian monarch himself and his fierce chiefs gave ready way to the delusions of imagination, and believed that they beheld an immediate messenger from heaven. Even when he had done, and remained with his firm unquailing gaze fixed upon the face of Attila, with eyes that sunk not to encounter the look at which nations trembled, all those around, though the impression produced by his oratory perhaps faded, still looked upon him as a superior being, still waited for the answer of their own monarch with anxiety, perhaps with apprehension.
But Attila, though struck and admiring, forgot not himself in wonder--that passion of the weak. From the beginning to the end, while Saint Leo spoke, the mighty monarch fixed upon his countenance the same stern, immoveable gaze, under the influence of which every inferior mind gave way, every ordinary heart lost courage. Twice his swarthy brow slightly contracted as the prelate spoke those bold words which Attila's ear was seldom wont to hear; but his face was moved in no other feature: and he made not an effort to stop the orator in the course of his eager and energetic speech. When he had concluded, Attila continued to gaze upon him thoughtfully and intently; but, apparently, neither scornfully nor displeased.
At length he said, "Thou hast spoken like a god; but know that not the gods themselves shall turn back Attila from his course, unless he have the justice he has demanded. Thou art reverenced, oh Leo! as one of mighty powers--as one inspired, perhaps, by the God whom thou servest, with eloquence above that of mortals; and willingly will Attila hear thee discourse on the matters of thy high calling, as to whether there be more gods than one; as to the nature of the soul of man; the powers that govern him throughout life, and the fate that awaits him beyond the grave. On such matters shalt thou be listened to willingly, nay, more, with reverent ears, as becomes those who hear the words of one touched by the spirit of a god. We will attend to thine exhortations in favour of Rome, to thy warnings in regard to those who conquer it, even to thy menaces against the life of Attila himself. But Attila turns not aside for words! He whom the embattled line of enemies cannot impede is not to be overawed even by a holy man as thou art. He fears not the sword; he avoids not the spear. The twanging of the bowstring makes not his eyelids fall; the shout of the enemy is pleasant on his ear. His battle-horse shall bear him onward whithersoever his fate directs; and if the destiny of Attila lie within the gates of Rome, to Rome herself and to her capital will Attila go to seek it. Death comes but once, and chooses his own time. The sentence is written on high; and so help me Mars and my good sword, as I would not reverse it, were it to be fulfilled to-morrow. My grave is already dug by the hand of destiny, wherever that grave is to be. And what matters it to Attila whether he lie beneath the gray olives of Italy, or the green birch-trees by the Danube?"
He paused a moment, gazing thoughtfully upon the prelate; and a slight smile might have been seen upon the lip of Ardaric, to hear his mighty leader adopting, as he went on in the career of victory, so much of his own doctrine of fatalism.
In a moment Attila proceeded. "Thus much I have spoken," he said. "Looking upon thee as a messenger from the gods, and filled with the spirit of the knowledge of the future, willingly on these points will I discourse with thee at large, seeing that in all the lands I have visited I have never met any one like thee. But if thou comest as an envoy from Valentinian--lord of these lands, but unto me a slave, on whose neck I set my foot--thou must speak of other things if thou wouldst turn me from the path which lies before me. Thou must speak of offerings to atone for the past; of tribute to show his subjection for the future; of the complete satisfaction of all my just demands. Thou must show Attila that the glory and honour of himself and of his people are to be maintained and increased by following the course that thou wouldst have us pursue, ere thou canst hope to stay these myriads on their forward way, or turn the sword of Attila in another direction. Do this. Leave my justice and my honour no plea against him, and I will raise up a wall between you and the desolation of my presence. Your fields shall flourish in the sunshine. Your rivers shall flow with the accustomed wine; the land teem with oil and bread; and ye shall rear your children up in peace, safe from the destroying sword, till the name of Attila be no more than the whisper of the wind through the gorges of some distant mountain." A bright and heavenly smile beamed up over the noble features of Saint Leo, and he replied at once, without pause or hesitation, "Monarch, I will turn thee back!"
There was something so dignified, so majestic, so sublime in the air, the tone, and the manner with which the pontiff pronounced those few words, that Attila himself was visibly struck and surprised. "How so?" demanded he: "how so--how wilt thou turn me back? Wilt thou bring down fire from heaven?"
"I will do more!" replied Saint Leo--"I will give thee such justice that even the heart of a conqueror can demand no more! Thou hast said that thou wilt turn back if I will satisfy thine honour and thy justice. I have offers for thee, which, as a minister of God's word, I declare to be as full and complete satisfaction as ambition itself could demand. Wilt thou hear them now, oh king?"
"No," replied Attila, "I will not. Thou art weary with travel, and hast many years upon thy brow. Attila has kept thee too long already without offering thee bread and rest. This night shalt thou repose in tranquillity and peace. The wine shall flow for thee, and the feast shall be prepared--"
Saint Leo waved his hand, "Fasting and prayer," he cried, "fasting and prayer shall be my companions. Prostrate in the dust, lifting my heart unto the throne of God, humbly calling upon the name of my Saviour, beseeching the Spirit of truth to guide me aright! With fasting and with prayer will I entreat the almighty Disposer of all hearts to soften thine, and change its stern nature into mercy. Be it as thou hast said, oh king! I will seek repose. Those who came with me have need of it; and in the mean time my words have fallen upon an ear that will not lose them lightly. When may I hold further commune with thee?"
"Two hours ere noon to-morrow," replied Attila. "Till then, seek refreshment and repose, and Attila will take counsel as to the very smallest offering which he can receive as a propitiation to suspend his sword. In the mean time, I give thee unto the care of these my officers. Thou fearest not to rest within the camp of the Huns?"
"I am in the hand of God!" replied Saint Leo, throwing wide his arms and looking up to heaven--"I am in the hand of God! Why should I fear?"