 | Twice-told tales |  |
THE GREAT CARBUNCLE.
THE GREAT CARBUNCLE.[1]
A MYSTERY OF THE WHITE MOUNTAINS.
At night-fall, once, in the olden time, on the rugged
side of one of the Crystal Hills, a party of adventurers
were refreshing themselves, after a toilsome and
fruitless quest for the Great Carbuncle. They had
come thither, not as friends, nor partners in the enterprise,
but each, save one youthful pair, impelled by
his own selfish and solitary longing for this wondrous
gem. Their feeling of brotherhood, however, was
strong enough to induce them to contribute a mutual
aid in building a rude hut of branches, and kindling a
great fire of shattered pines, that had drifted down the
headlong current of the Amonoosuck, on the lower
bank of which they were to pass the night. There
so estranged from natural sympathies, by the absorbing
spell of the pursuit, as to acknowledge no satisfaction
at the sight of human faces, in the remote and solitary
region whither they had ascended. A vast extent of
wilderness lay between them and the nearest settlement,
while scant a mile above their heads, was that
bleak verge, where the hills throw off their shaggy
mantle of forest trees, and either robe themselves in
clouds, or tower naked into the sky. The roar of the
Amonoosuck would have been too awful for endurance,
if only a solitary man had listened, while the mountain
stream talked with the wind.
The adventurers, therefore, exchanged hospitable
greetings, and welcomed one another to the hut, where
each man was the host, and all were the guests of the
whole company. They spread their individual supplies
of food on the flat surface of a rock, and partook of a
general repast; at the close of which, a sentiment of
good fellowship was perceptible among the party,
though repressed by the idea, that the renewed search
for the Great Carbuncle must make them strangers
again, in the morning. Seven men and one young
woman, they warmed themselves together at the fire,
which extended its bright wall along the whole front of
their wigwam. As they observed the various and contrasted
figures that made up the assemblage, each man
looking like a caricature of himself, in the unsteady
light that flickered over him, they came mutually to
in city or wilderness—on mountain or plain.
The eldest of the group, a tall, lean, weather-beaten
man, some sixty years of age, was clad in the skins of
wild animals, whose fashion of dress he did well to
imitate, since the deer, the wolf, and the bear, had
long been his most intimate companions. He was one
of those ill-fated mortals, such as the Indians told of,
whom, in their early youth, the Great Carbuncle smote
with a peculiar madness, and became the passionate
dream of their existence. All, who visited that region,
knew him as the Seeker, and by no other name. As
none could remember when he first took up the search,
there went a fable in the valley of the Saco, that for
his inordinate lust after the Great Carbuncle, he had
been condemned to wander among the mountains till
the end of time, still with the same feverish hopes at
sunrise—the same despair at eve. Near this miserable
Seeker sat a little elderly personage, wearing a high
crowned hat, shaped somewhat like a crucible. He
was from beyond the sea, a Doctor Cacaphodel, who
had wilted and dried himself into a mummy, by continually
stooping over charcoal furnaces, and inhaling
unwholesome fumes, during his researches in chemistry
and alchymy. It was told of him, whether truly or
not, that, at the commencement of his studies, he had
drained his body of all its richest blood, and wasted
it, with other inestimable ingredients, in an unsuccessful
experiment—and had never been a well man since.
a weighty merchant and selectman of Boston, and
an elder of the famous Mr. Norton's church. His
enemies had a ridiculous story, that Master Pigsnort
was accustomed to spend a whole hour, after prayer-time,
every morning and evening, in wallowing naked
among an immense quantity of pine-tree shillings,
which were the earliest silver coinage of Massachusetts.
The fourth, whom we shall notice, had no
name, that his companions knew of, and was chiefly
distinguished by a sneer that always contorted his
thin visage, and by a prodigious pair of spectacles,
which were supposed to deform and discolor the whole
face of nature, to this gentleman's perception. The
fifth adventurer likewise lacked a name, which was
the greater pity, as he appeared to be a poet. He was
a bright-eyed man, but wofully pined away, which was
no more than natural, if, as some people affirmed, his
ordinary diet was fog, morning mist, and a slice of the
densest cloud within his reach, sauced with moonshine,
whenever he could get it. Certain it is, that the
poetry, which flowed from him, had a smack of all
these dainties. The sixth of the party was a young
man of haughty mien, and sat somewhat apart from
the rest, wearing his plumed hat loftily among his
elders, while the fire glittered on the rich embroidery
of his dress, and gleamed intensely on the jeweled
pommel of his sword. This was the Lord de Vere,
who, when at home, was said to spend much of his
their mouldy coffins in search of all the earthly
pride and vain-glory, that was hidden among bones and
dust; so that, besides his own share, he had the collected
haughtiness of his whole line of ancestry.
Lastly, there was a handsome youth in rustic garb,
and by his side, a blooming little person, in whom a
delicate shade of maiden reserve was just melting into
the rich glow of a young wife's affection. Her name
was Hannah, and her husband's Matthew; two homely
names, yet well enough adapted to the simple pair,
who seemed strangely out of place among the whimsical
fraternity whose wits had been set agog by the Great
Carbuncle.
Beneath the shelter of one hut, in the bright blaze
of the same fire, sat this varied group of adventurers,
all so intent upon a single object, that, of whatever
else they began to speak, their closing words were
sure to be illuminated with the Great Carbuncle.
Several related the circumstances that brought them
thither. One had listened to a traveller's tale of this
marvelous stone, in his own distant country, and had
immediately been seized with such a thirst for beholding
it, as could only be quenched in its intensest lustre.
Another, so long ago as when the famous Captain
Smith visited these coasts, had seen it blazing far at
sea, and had felt no rest in all the intervening years,
till now that he took up the search. A third, being
encamped on a hunting expedition, full forty miles south
the Great Carbuncle gleaming like a meteor, so
that the shadows of the trees fell backward from it.
They spoke of the innumerable attempts, which had
been made to reach the spot, and of the singular
fatality which had hitherto withheld success from all
adventurers, though it might seem so easy to follow to
its source a light that overpowered the moon, and
almost matched the sun. It was observable that each
smiled scornfully at the madness of every other, in anticipating
better fortune than the past, yet nourished a
scarcely hidden conviction, that he would himself be
the favored one. As if to allay their too sanguine
hopes, they recurred to the Indian traditions, that a
spirit kept watch about the gem, and bewildered those
who sought it, either by removing it from peak to peak
of the higher hills, or by calling up a mist from the
enchanted lake over which it hung. But these tales
were deemed unworthy of credit; all professing to
believe, that the search had been baffled by want of
sagacity or perseverance in the adventurers, or such
other causes as might naturally obstruct the passage
to any given point, among the intricacies of forest,
valley, and mountain.
In a pause of the conversation, the wearer of the
prodigious spectacles looked round upon the party,
making each individual, in turn, the object of the
sneer which invariably dwelt upon his countenance.
`So, fellow-pilgrims,' said he, `here we are, seven
wise as any gray-beard of the company: here we are,
I say, all bound on the same goodly enterprise. Methinks
now, it were not amiss, that each of us declare
what he proposes to do with the Great Carbuncle,
provided he have the good hap to clutch it. What
says our friend in the bear-skin? How mean you,
good sir, to enjoy the prize which you have been
seeking, the Lord knows how long, among the Crystal
Hills?'
`How enjoy it!' exclaimed the aged Seeker, bitterly.
`I hope for no enjoyment from it—that folly has
past long ago! I keep up the search for this accursed
stone, because the vain ambition of my youth has become
a fate upon me, in old age. The pursuit alone
is my strength—the energy of my soul—the warmth
of my blood, and the pith and marrow of my bones!
Were I to turn my back upon it, I should fall down
dead, on the hither side of the Notch, which is the gateway
of this mountain region. Yet, not to have my
wasted life-time back again, would I give up my hopes
of the Great Carbuncle! Having found it, I shall bear
it to a certain cavern that I wot of, and there, grasping
it in my arms, lie down and die, and keep it buried
with me for ever.'
`Oh, wretch, regardless of the interests of science!'
cried Doctor Cacaphodel, with philosophic indignation.
`Thou art not worthy to behold, even from
afar off, the lustre of this most precious gem that ever
the sole purpose for which a wise man may desire the
possession of the Great Carbuncle. Immediately on
obtaining it—for I have a presentiment, good people,
that the prize is reserved to crown my scientific reputation—I
shall return to Europe, and employ my remaining
years in reducing it to its first elements. A portion
of the stone will I grind to impalpable powder; othe
parts shall be dissolved in acids, or whatever solvents
will act upon so admirable a composition; and the
remainder I design to melt in the crucible, or set on
fire with the blow-pipe. By these various methods, I
shall gain an accurate analysis, and finally bestow
the result of my labors upon the world, in a folio
volume.'
`Excellent!' quoth the man with the spectacles.
`Nor need you hesitate, learned sir, on account of the
necessary destruction of the gem; since the perusal of
your folio may teach every mother's son of us to concoct
a Great Carbuncle of his own.'
`But, verily,' said Master Ichabod Pigsnort, `for
mine own part, I object to the making of these counterfeits,
as being calculated to reduce the marketable
value of the true gem. I tell ye frankly, sirs, I have
an interest in keeping up the price. Here have I
quitted my regular traffic, leaving my warehouse in the
care of my clerks, and putting my credit to great
hazard, and furthermore, have put myself in peril of
death or captivity by the accursed heathen savages—
congregation, because the quest for the Great Carbuncle
is deemed little better than a traffic with the
evil one. Now think ye that I would have done this
grievous wrong to my soul, body, reputation and estate,
without a reasonable chance of profit?'
`Not I, pious Master Pigsnort,' said the man with
the spectacles. `I never laid such a great folly to thy
charge.'
`Truly, I hope not,' said the merchant. `Now, as
touching this Great Carbuncle, I am free to own that I
have never had a glimpse of it; but be it only the
hundredth part so bright as people tell, it will surely
outvalue the Great Mogul's best diamond, which he
holds at an incalculable sum. Wherefore, I am minded
to put the Great Carbuncle on shipboard, and
voyage with it to England, France, Spain, Italy, or
into Heathendom, if Providence should send me
thither, and, in a word, dispose of the gem to the best
bidder among the potentates of the earth, that he may
place it among his crown jewels. If any of ye have a
wiser plan, let him expound it.'
`That have I, thou sordid man!' exclaimed the poet.
`Dost thou desire nothing brighter than gold, that thou
wouldst transmute all this ethereal lustre into such
dross, as thou wallowest in already? For myself,
hiding the jewel under my cloak, I shall hie me back
to my attick chamber, in one of the darksome alleys
of London. There, night and day, will I gaze upon
throughout my intellectual powers, and gleam
brightly in every line of poesy that I indite. Thus,
long ages after I am gone, the splendor of the Great
Carbuncle will blaze around my name!'
`Well said, Master Poet!' cried he of the spectacles.
`Hide it under thy cloak, say'st thou? Why, it will
gleam through the holes, and make thee look like a
jack-o'lantern!'
`To think!' ejaculated the Lord de Vere, rather to
himself, than his companions, the best of whom he
held utterly unworthy of his intercourse,—`to think
that a fellow in a tattered cloak should talk of conveying
the Great Carbuncle to a garret in Grub street!
Have not I resolved within myself, that the whole
earth contains no fitter ornament for the great hall of
my ancestral castle? There shall it flame for ages,
making a noonday of midnight, glittering on the suits
of armor, the banners, and escutcheons, that hang
around the wall, and keeping bright the memory of
heroes. Wherefore have all other adventurers sought
the prize in vain, but that I might win it, and make it
a symbol of the glories of our lofty line? And never,
on the diadem of the White Mountains, did the Great
Carbuncle hold a place half so honored, as is reserved
for it in the hall of the de Veres!'
`It is a noble thought,' said the Cynic, with an
obsequious sneer. `Yet might I presume to say so,
the gem would make a rare sepulchral lamp, and would
truly in the ancestral vault, than in the castle hall.'
`Nay forsooth,' observed Matthew, the young rustic,
who sat hand in hand with his bride, `the gentleman
has bethought himself of a profitable use for this bright
stone. Hannah here and I are seeking it for a like
purpose.'
`How, fellow!' exclaimed his lordship, in surprise.
`What castle hall hast thou to hang it in?'
`No castle,' replied Matthew, `but as neat a cottage
as any within sight of the Crystal Hills. Ye must
know, friends, that Hannah and I, being wedded the
last week, have taken up the search of the Great Carbuncle,
because we shall need its light in the long
winter evenings; and it will be such a pretty thing to
show the neighbors, when they visit us. It will shine
through the house, so that we may pick up a pin in
any corner, and will set all the windows a-glowing, as
if there were a great fire of pine knots in the chimney.
And then how pleasant, when we awake in the night,
to be able to see one another's faces!'
There was a general smile among the adventurers,
at the simplicity of the young couple's project, in regard
to this wondrous and invaluable stone, with which the
greatest monarch on earth might have been proud to
adorn his palace. Especially the man with spectacles,
who had sneered at all the company in turn, now
twisted his visage into such an expression of ill-natured
mirth, that Matthew asked him, rather peevishly, what
he himself meant to do with the Great Carbuncle.
`The Great Carbuncle!' answered the Cynic, with
ineffable scorn. `Why, you blockhead, there is no
such thing, in rerum naturâ. I have come three thousand
miles, and am resolved to set my foot on every
peak of these mountains, and poke my head into every
chasm, for the sole purpose of demonstrating to the
satisfaction of any man, one whit less an ass than
thyself, that the Great Carbuncle is all a humbug!'
Vain and foolish were the motives that had brought
most of the adventurers to the Crystal Hills, but none
so vain, so foolish, and so impious too, as that of the
scoffer with the prodigious spectacles. He was one of
those wretched and evil men, whose yearnings are
downward to the darkness, instead of Heavenward, and
who, could they but extinguish the lights which God
hath kindled for us, would count the midnight gloom
their chiefest glory. As the Cynic spoke, several of
the party were startled by a gleam of red splendor, that
showed the huge shapes of the surrounding mountains,
and the rock-bestrewn bed of the turbulent river, with
an illumination unlike that of their fire, on the trunks
and black boughs of the forest trees. They listened
for the roll of thunder, but heard nothing, and were
glad that the tempest came not near them. The stars,
those dial-points of Heaven, now warned the adventurers
to close their eyes on the blazing logs, and open
them, in dreams, to the glow of the Great Carbuncle.
The young married couple had taken their lodgings
in the furthest corner of the wigwam, and were separated
woven twigs, such as might have hung, in deep festoons
around the bridal bower of Eve. The modest little
wife had wrought this piece of tapestry, while the other
guests were talking. She and her husband fell asleep
with hands tenderly clasped, and awoke, from visions
of unearthly radiance, to meet the more blessed light
of one another's eyes. They awoke at the same instant,
and with one happy smile beaming over their two faces,
which grew brighter, with their consciousness of the
reality of life and love. But no sooner did she recollect
where they were, than the bride peeped through
the interstices of the leafy curtain, and saw that the
outer room of the hut was deserted.
`Up, dear Matthew!' cried she, in haste. `The
strange folk are all gone! Up, this very minute, or
we shall lose the Great Carbuncle!'
In truth, so little did these poor young people deserve
the mighty prize which had lured them thither, that
they had slept peacefully all night, and till the summits
of the hills were glittering with sunshine; while the
other adventurers had tossed their limbs in feverish
wakefulness, or dreamed of climbing precipices, and
set off to realize their dreams with the earliest peep of
dawn. But Matthew and Hannah, after their calm
rest, were as light as two young deer, and merely
stopped to say their prayers, and wash themselves in a
cold pool of the Amonoosuck, and then to taste a
morsel of food, ere they turned their faces to the mountain
as they toiled up the difficult ascent, gathering strength
from the mutual aid which they afforded. After several
little accidents, such as a torn robe, a lost shoe,
and the entanglement of Hannah's hair in a bough,
they reached the upper verge of the forest, and were
now to pursue a more adventurous course. The innumerable
trunks and heavy foliage of the trees had
hitherto shut in their thoughts, which now shrank
affrighted from the region of wind, and cloud, and
naked rocks, and desolate sunshine, that rose immeasurably
above them. They gazed back at the obscure
wilderness which they had traversed, and longed to be
buried again in its depths, rather than trust themselves
to so vast and visible a solitude.
`Shall we go on?' said Matthew, throwing his arm
round Hannah's waist, both to protect her, and to comfort
his heart by drawing her close to it.
But the little bride, simple as she was, had a woman's
love of jewels, and could not forego the hope of possessing
the very brightest in the world, in spite of the
perils with which it must be won.
`Let us climb a little higher,' whispered she, yet
tremulously, as she turned her face upward to the
lonely sky.
`Come then,' said Matthew, mustering his manly
courage, and drawing her along with him; for she
became timid again, the moment that he grew bold.
And upward, accordingly, went the pilgrims of the
thickly interwoven branches of dwarf pines, which, by
the growth of centuries, though mossy with age, had
barely reached three feet in altitude. Next, they came
to masses and fragments of naked rock, heaped confusedly
together, like a cairn reared by giants, in memory
of a giant chief. In this bleak realm of upper air,
nothing breathed, nothing grew; there was no life but
what was concentred in their two hearts; they had climbed
so high, that Nature herself seemed no longer to
keep them company. She lingered beneath them, within
the verge of the forest trees, and sent a farewell glance
after her children, as they strayed where her own
green foot-prints had never been. But soon they were
to be hidden from her eye. Densely and dark, the
mists began to gather below, casting black spots of
shadow on the vast landscape, and sailing heavily to
one centre, as if the loftiest mountain-peak had summoned
a council of its kindred clouds. Finally, the
vapors welded themselves, as it were, into a mass,
presenting the appearance of a pavement over which
the wanderers might have trodden, but where they
would vainly have sought an avenue to the blessed
earth which they had lost. And the lovers yearned to
behold that green earth again, more intensely, alas!
than, beneath a clouded sky, they had ever desired a
glimpse of Heaven. They even felt it a relief to their
desolation, when the mists, creeping gradually up the
mountain, concealed its lonely peak, and thus annihilated,
space. But they drew closer together, with a fond and
melancholy gaze, dreading lest the universal cloud
should snatch them from each other's sight.
Still, perhaps, they would have been resolute to
climb as far and as high, between earth and heaven, as
they could find foot-hold, if Hannah's strength had not
begun to fail, and with that, her courage also. Her
breath grew short. She refused to burthen her husband
with her weight, but often tottered against his side,
and recovered herself each time by a feebler effort.
At last, she sank down on one of the rocky steps of
the acclivity.
`We are lost, dear Matthew,' said she, mournfully.
`We shall never find our way to the earth again. And,
oh, how happy we might have been in our cottage!'
`Dear heart!—we will yet be happy there,' answered
Matthew. `Look! In this direction, the sunshine
penetrates the dismal mist. By its aid, I can direct
our course to the passage of the Notch. Let us go
back, love, and dream no more of the Great Carbuncle!'
`The sun cannot be yonder,' said Hannah, with despondence.
`By this time, it must be noon. If there
could ever be any sunshine here, it would come from
above our heads.'
`But, look!' repeated Matthew, in a somewhat
altered tone. `It is brightening every moment. If
not sunshine, what can it be?'
Nor could the young bride any longer deny, that a
its dim hue to a dusky red, which continually grew
more vivid, as if brilliant particles were interfused with
the gloom. Now, also, the cloud began to roll away
from the mountain, while, as it heavily withdrew, one
object after another started out of its impenetrable
obscurity into sight, with precisely the effect of a new
creation, before the indistinctness of the old chaos had
been completely swallowed up. As the process went
on, they saw the gleaming of water close at their feet,
and found themselves on the very border of a mountain-lake,
deep, bright, clear, and calmly beautiful, spreading
from brim to brim of a basin that had been scooped out
of the solid rock. A ray of glory flashed across its
surface. The pilgrims looked whence it should proceed,
but closed their eyes with a thrill of awful admiration,
to exclude the fervid splendor that glowed from the
brow of a cliff, impending over the enchanted lake.
For the simple pair had reached that lake of mystery,
and found the long-sought shrine of the Great Carbuncle!
They threw their arms around each other, and trembled
at their own success; for as the legends of this
wondrous gem rushed thick upon their memory, they
felt themselves marked out by fate—and the consciousness
was fearful. Often, from childhood upward, they
had seen it shining like a distant star. And now that
star was throwing its intensest lustre on their hearts.
They seemed changed to one another's eyes, in the
lent the same fire to the lake, the rocks, and sky, and
to the mists which had rolled back before its power.
But, with their next glance, they beheld an object that
drew their attention even from the mighty stone. At
the base of the cliff, directly beneath the Great Carbuncle,
appeared the figure of a man, with his arms
extended in the act of climbing, and his face turned
upward, as if to drink the full gush of splendor. But
he stirred not, no more than if changed to marble.
`It is the Seeker,' whispered Hannah, convulsively
grasping her husband's arm. `Matthew, he is dead!'
`The joy of success has killed him,' replied Matthew,
trembling violently. `Or perhaps the very light of the
Great Carbuncle was death!'
`The Great Carbuncle,' cried a peevish voice behind
them. `The Great Humbug! If you have found it,
prithee point it out to me.'
They turned their heads, and there was the Cynic,
with his prodigious spectacles set carefully on his nose,
staring now at the lake, now at the rocks, now at the
distant masses of vapor, now right at the Great Carbuncle
itself, yet seemingly as unconscious of its light,
as if all the scattered clouds were condensed about
his person. Though its radiance actually threw the
shadow of the unbeliever at his own feet, as he turned
his back upon the glorious jewel, he would not be convinced
that there was the least glimmer there.
`Where is your Great Humbug?' he repeated. `I
challenge you to make me see it!'
`There,' said Matthew, incensed at such perverse
blindness, and turning the Cynic round towards the
illuminated cliff. `Take off those abominable spectacles,
and you cannot help seeing it!'
Now these colored spectacles probably darkened the
Cynic's sight, in at least as great a degree as the
smoked glasses through which people gaze at an
eclipse. With resolute bravado, however, he snatched
them from his nose, and fixed a bold stare full upon
the ruddy blaze of the Great Carbuncle. But, scarcely
had he encountered it, when, with a deep, shuddering
groan, he dropt his head, and pressed both hands across
his miserable eyes. Thenceforth there was, in very
truth, no light of the Great Carbuncle, nor any other
light on earth, nor light of Heaven itself, for the poor
Cynic. So long accustomed to view all objects through
a medium that deprived them of every glimpse of
brightness, a single flash of so glorious a phenomenon,
striking upon his naked vision, had blinded him for
ever.
`Matthew,' said Hannah, clinging to him, `let us go
hence!'
Matthew saw that she was faint, and kneeling down,
supported her in his arms, while he threw some of the
thrillingly-cold water of the enchanted lake upon her
face and bosom. It revived her, but could not renovate
her courage.
`Yes, dearest!' cried Matthew, pressing her tremulous
form to his breast,—`we will go hence, and return
quiet moonlight, shall come through our window. We
will kindle the cheerful glow of our hearth, at eventide,
and be happy in its light. But never again will we
desire more light than all the world may share with
us.'
`No,' said his bride, `for how could we live by day,
or sleep by night, in this awful blaze of the Great Carbuncle!”
Out of the hollow of their hands, they drank each a
draught from the lake, which presented them its
waters uncontaminated by an earthly lip. Then, lending
their guidance to the blinded Cynic, who uttered
not a word, and even stifled his groans in his own
most wretched heart, they began to descend the mountain.
Yet, as they left the shore, till then untrodden,
of the Spirit's lake, they threw a farewell glance
towards the cliff, and beheld the vapors gathering
in dense volumes, through which the gem burned
duskily.
As touching the other pilgrims of the Great Carbuncle,
the legend goes on to tell, that the worshipful
Master Ichabod Pigsnort soon gave up the quest, as a
desperate speculation, and wisely resolved to betake
himself again to his warehouse, near the town-dock, in
Boston. But, as he passed through the Notch of the
mountains, a war party of Indians captured our unlucky
merchant, and carried him to Montreal, there
holding him in bondage, till, by the payment of a
hoard of pine-tree shillings. By his long absence,
moreover, his affairs had become so disordered, that,
for the rest of his life, instead of wallowing in silver,
he had seldom a sixpence-worth of copper. Doctor
Cacaphodel, the alchymist, returned to his laboratory
with a prodigious fragment of granite, which he ground
to powder, dissolved in acids, melted in the crucible,
and burnt with the blowpipe, and published the result
of his experiments in one of the heaviest folios of the
day. And, for all these purposes, the gem itself could
not have answered better than the granite. The poet,
by a somewhat similar mistake, made prize of a great
piece of ice, which he found in a sunless chasm of the
mountains, and swore that it corresponded, in all
points, with his idea of the Great Carbuncle. The
critics say, that, if his poetry lacked the splendor of
the gem, it retained all the coldness of the ice. The
Lord de Vere went back to his ancestral hall, where
he contented himself with a wax-lighted chandelier,
and filled, in due course of time, another coffin in the
ancestral vault. As the funeral torches gleamed within
that dark receptacle, there was no need of the Great
Carbuncle to shew the vanity of earthly pomp.
The Cynic, having cast aside his spectacles, wandered
about the world, a miserable object, and was punished
with an agonizing desire of light, for the wilful
blindness of his former life. The whole night long,
he would lift his splendor-blasted orbs to the moon
and stars; he turned his face eastward, at sunrise, as
Rome, to witness the magnificent illumination of Saint
Peter's church; and finally perished in the great fire
of London, into the midst of which he had thrust himself,
with the desperate idea of catching one feeble ray
from the blaze, that was kindling earth and heaven.
Matthew and his bride spent many peaceful years, and
were fond of telling the legend of the Great Carbuncle.
The tale, however, towards the close of their lengthened
lives, did not meet with the full credence that
had been accorded to it by those, who remembered
the ancient lustre of the gem. For it is affirmed, that,
from the hour when two mortals had shown themselves
so simply wise, as to reject a jewel which would have
dimmed all earthly things, its splendor waned. When
other pilgrims reached the cliff, they found only an
opaque stone, with particles of mica glittering on its
surface. There is also a tradition that, as the youthful
pair departed, the gem was loosened from the forehead
of the cliff, and fell into the enchanted lake, and
that, at noontide, the Seeker's form may still be seen
to bend over its quenchless gleam.
Some few believe that this inestimable stone is
blazing, as of old, and say that they have caught its
radiance, like a flash of summer lightning, far down
the valley of the Saco. And be it owned, that, many
a mile from the Crystal Hills, I saw a wondrous light
around their summits, and was lured, by the faith of
poesy, to be the latest pilgrim of the Great Carbuncle.
The Indian tradition, on which this somewhat extravagant tale is founded,
is both too wild and too beautiful, to be adequately wrought up, in prose.
Sullivan, in his history of Maine, written since the Revolution, remarks, that
even then, the existence of the Great Carbuncle was not entirely discredited.
| Twice-told tales | |