 | Twice-told tales |  |
THE LILY'S QUEST.
AN APOLOGUE.
Two lovers, once upon a time, had planned a little
summer house, in the form of an antique temple,
which it was their purpose to consecrate to all manner
of refined and innocent enjoyments. There they
would hold pleasant intercourse with one another,
and the circle of their familiar friends; there they
would give festivals of delicious fruit; there they
would hear lightsome music, intermingled with the
strains of pathos which make joy more sweet; there
they would read poetry and fiction, and permit their
own minds to flit away in day-dreams and romance;
there, in short — for why should we shape out the
vague sunshine of their hopes? — there all pure delights
were to cluster like roses among the pillars of
the edifice, and blossom ever new and spontaneously.
So, one breezy and cloudless afternoon, Adam
Forrester and Lilias Fay set out upon a ramble over
the wide estate which they were to possess together,
They were themselves a fair and happy spectacle, fit
priest and priestess for such a shrine; although,
making poetry of the pretty name of Lilias, Adam
Forrester was wont to call her Lily, because her
form was as fragile, and her cheek almost as pale.
As they passed, hand in hand, down the avenue of
drooping elms, that led from the portal of Lilias
Fay's paternal mansion, they seemed to glance like
winged creatures through the strips of sunshine, and
to scatter brightness where the deep shadows fell.
But, setting forth at the same time with this youthful
pair, there was a dismal figure, wrapt in a black velvet
cloak that might have been made of a coffin-pall, and
with a sombre hat, such as mourners wear, drooping its
broad brim over his heavy brows. Glancing behind
them, the lovers well knew who it was that followed,
but wished from their hearts that he had been elsewhere,
as being a companion so strangely unsuited
to their joyous errand. It was a near relative of
Lilias Fay, an old man by the name of Walter Gascoigne,
who had long labored under the burthen of a
melancholy spirit, which was sometimes maddened
into absolute insanity, and always had a tinge of it.
What a contrast between the young pilgrims of bliss,
and their unbidden associate! They looked as if
moulded of Heaven's sunshine, and he of earth's
gloomiest shade; they flitted along like Hope and
Joy, roaming hand in hand through life; while his
darksome figure stalked behind, a type of all the
woful influences which life could fling upon them.
spot that pleased the gentle Lily, and she paused.
`What sweeter place shall we find than this?'
said she. `Why should we seek further for the site
of our Temple?'
It was indeed a delightful spot of earth, though undistinguished
by any very prominent beauties, being
merely a nook in the shelter of a hill, with the prospect
of a distant lake in one direction, and of a
church spire in another. There were vistas and
pathways, leading onward and onward into the green
wood-lands, and vanishing away in the glimmering
shade. The Temple, if erected here, would look
towards the west; so that the lovers could shape all
sorts of magnificent dreams out of the purple, violet,
and gold of the sun-set sky; and few of their anticipated
pleasures were dearer than this sport of fantasy.
`Yes,' said Adam Forrester, `we might seek all
day, and find no lovelier spot. We will build our
Temple here.'
But their sad old companion, who had taken his
stand on the very site which they proposed to cover
with a marble floor, shook his head and frowned;
and the young man and the Lily deemed it almost
enough to blight the spot, and desecrate it for their
airy Temple, that his dismal figure had thrown its
shadow there. He pointed to some scattered stones,
the remnants of a former structure, and to flowers
such as young girls delight to nurse in their gardens,
but which had now relapsed into the wild simplicity
of nature.
`Not here!' cried old Walter Gascoigne. `Here,
long ago, other mortals built their Temple of Happiness.
Seek another site for yours!'
`What!' exclaimed Lilias Fay. `Have any ever
planned such a Temple, save ourselves?'
`Poor child!' said her gloomy kinsman. `In one
shape or other, every mortal has dreamed your
dream.'
Then he told the lovers, how — not, indeed, an
antique Temple — but a dwelling had once stood
there, and that a dark-clad guest had dwelt among
its inmates, sitting for ever at the fireside, and poisoning
all their household mirth. Under this type,
Adam Forrester and Lilias saw that the old man
spake of Sorrow. He told of nothing that might not
be recorded in the history of almost every household;
and yet his hearers felt as if no sunshine
ought to fall upon a spot, where human grief had left
so deep a stain; or, at least, that no joyous Temple
should be built there.
`This is very sad,' said the Lily, sighing.
`Well, there are lovelier spots than this,' said
Adam Forrester, soothingly — `spots which sorrow
has not blighted.'
So they hastened away, and the melancholy Gascoigne
followed them, looking as if he had gathered
up all the gloom of the deserted spot, and was bearing
it as a burthen of inestimable treasure. But still
they rambled on, and soon found themselves in a
rocky dell, through the midst of which ran a streamlet,
with ripple, and foam, and a continual voice of
either side with gray precipices, which would have
frowned somewhat too sternly, had not a profusion
of green shrubbery rooted itself into their crevices,
and wreathed gladsome foliage around their solemn
brows. But the chief joy of the dell was in the
little stream, which seemed like the presence of a
blissful child, with nothing earthly to do, save to babble
merrily and disport itself, and make every living
soul its playfellow, and throw the sunny gleams of
its spirit upon all.
`Here, here is the spot!' cried the two lovers
with one voice, as they reached a level space on the
brink of a small cascade. `This glen was made on
purpose for our Temple!'
`And the glad song of the brook will be always in
our ears,' said Lilias Fay.'
`And its long melody shall sing the bliss of our
life-time,' said Adam Forrester.
`Ye must build no Temple here!' murmured their
dismal companion.
And there again was the old lunatic, standing just
on the spot where they meant to rear their lightsome
dome, and looking like the embodied symbol of some
great woe, that, in forgotten days, had happened there.
And, alas! there had been woe, nor that alone. A
young man, more than a hundred years before, had
lured hither a girl that loved him, and on this spot
had murdered her, and washed his bloody hands in
the stream which sang so merrily. And ever since,
the victim's death-shrieks were often heard to echo
between the cliffs.
`And see!' cried old Gascoigne, `is the stream
yet pure from the stain of the murderer's hands?'
`Methinks it has a tinge of blood,' faintly answered
the Lily; and being as slight as the gossamer, she
trembled and clung to her lover's arm, whispering,
`let us flee from this dreadful vale!'
`Come, then,' said Adam Forrester, as cheerily as
he could; `we shall soon find a happier spot.'
They set forth again, young Pilgrims on that quest
which millions — which every child of Earth — has
tried in turn. And were the Lily and her lover to
be more fortunate than all those millions? For a
long time, it seemed not so. The dismal shape of
the old lunatic still glided behind them; and for every
spot that looked lovely in their eyes, he had some
legend of human wrong or suffering, so miserably
sad, that his auditors could never afterwards connect
the idea of joy with the place where it had happened.
Here, a heart-broken woman, kneeling to her child,
had been spurned from his feet; here, a desolate old
creature had prayed to the evil one, and had received
a fiendish malignity of soul, in answer to her prayer;
here, a new-born infant, sweet blossom of life, had
been found dead, with the impress of its mother's
fingers round its throat; and here, under a shattered
oak, two lovers had been stricken by lightning, and
fell blackened corpses in each other's arms. The
dreary Gascoigne had a gift to know whatever evil
and lamentable thing had stained the bosom of mother
Earth; and when his funereal voice had told the tale,
it appeared like a prophecy of future woe, as well as
you would have fancied that the pilgrim
lovers were seeking, not a temple of earthly joy, but
a tomb for themselves and their posterity."
`Where in this world,' exclaimed Adam Forrester,
despondingly, `shall we build our Temple of Happiness?'
`Where in this world, indeed!' repeated Lilias
Fay; and being faint and weary, the more so by the
heaviness of her heart, the Lily drooped her head
and sat down on the summit of a knoll, repeating,
`where in this world shall we build our Temple?'
`Ah! have you already asked yourselves that
question?' said their companion, his shaded features
growing even gloomier with the smile that dwelt on
them; `yet there is a place, even in this world,
where ye may build it.'
While the old man spoke, Adam Forrester and
Lilias had carelessly thrown their eyes around, and
perceived that the spot, where they had chanced to
pause, possessed a quiet charm, which was well
enough adapted to their present mood of mind. It
was a small rise of ground, with a certain regularity
of shape, that had perhaps been bestowed by art;
and a group of trees, which almost surrounded it,
threw their pensive shadows across and far beyond,
although some softened glory of the sunshine found
its way there. The ancestral mansion, wherein the
lovers would dwell together, appeared on one side,
and the ivied church, where they were to worship,
on another. Happening to cast their eyes on the
see that a pale lily was growing at their feet.
`We will build our Temple here,' said they, simultaneously,
and with an indescribable conviction that
they had at last found the very spot.
Yet, while they uttered this exclamation, the young
man and the Lily turned an apprehensive glance at
their dreary associate, deeming it hardly possible
that some tale of earthly affliction should not make
those precincts loathsome, as in every former case.
The old man stood just behind them, so as to form
the chief figure in the group, with his sable cloak
muffling the lower part of his visage, and his sombre
hat overshadowing his brows. But he gave no word
of dissent from their purpose; and an inscrutable
smile was accepted by the lovers as a token that here
had been no foot-print of guilt or sorrow, to desecrate
the site of their Temple of Happiness.
In a little time longer, while summer was still in
its prime, the fairy structure of the Temple arose on
the summit of the knoll, amid the solemn shadows of
the trees, yet often gladdened with bright sunshine.
It was built of white marble, with slender and graceful
pillars, supporting a vaulted dome; and beneath
the centre of this dome, upon a pedestal, was a slab
of dark-veined marble, on which books and music
might be strewn. But there was a fantasy among the
people of the neighborhood, that the edifice was
planned after an ancient mausoleum, and was intended
for a tomb, and that the central slab of dark-veined
marble was to be inscribed with the names of buried
Fay could appertain to a creature of this earth, being
so very delicate, and growing every day more fragile,
so that she looked as if the summer breeze should
snatch her up, and waft her heavenward. But still
she watched the daily growth of the Temple; and so
did old Walter Gascoigne, who now made that spot
his continual haunt, leaning whole hours together on
his staff, and giving as deep attention to the work as
though it had been indeed a tomb. In due time it
was finished, and a day appointed for a simple rite of
dedication.
On the preceding evening, after Adam Forrester
had taken leave of his mistress, he looked back towards
the portal of her dwelling, and felt a strange
thrill of fear; for he imagined that, as the setting sunbeams
faded from her figure, she was exhaling away,
and that something of her ethereal substance was
withdrawn, with each lessening gleam of light. With
his farewell glance, a shadow had fallen over the portal,
and Lilias was invisible. His foreboding spirit
deemed it an omen at the time; and so it proved;
for the sweet earthly form, by which the Lily had
been manifested to the world, was found lifeless, the
next morning, in the Temple, with her head resting
on her arms, which were folded upon the slab of
dark-veined marble. The chill winds of the earth
had long since breathed a blight into this beautiful
flower, so that a loving hand had now transplanted it,
to blossom brightly in the garden of Paradise.
But alas, for the Temple of Happiness! In his
more at heart, than to convert this Temple of many
delightful hopes into a tomb, and bury his dead mistress
there. And lo! a wonder! Digging a grave
beneath the Temple's marble floor, the sexton found
no virgin earth, such as was meet to receive the
maiden's dust, but an ancient sepulchre, in which
were treasured up the bones of generations that had
died long ago. Among those forgotten ancestors was
the Lily to be laid. And when the funeral procession
brought Lilias thither in her coffin, they beheld
old Walter Gascoigne standing beneath the dome of
the Temple, with his cloak of pall, and face of darkest
gloom; and wherever that figure might take its
stand, the spot would seem a sepulchre. He watched
the mourners as they lowered the coffin down.
`And so,' said he to Adam Forrester, with the
strange smile in which his insanity was wont to gleam
forth, `you have found no better foundation for your
happiness than on a grave!'
But, as the Shadow of Affliction spoke, a vision of
Hope and Joy had its birth in Adam's mind, even
from the old man's taunting words; for then he knew
what was betokened by the parable in which the Lily
and himself had acted; and the mystery of Life and
Death was opened to him.
`Joy! joy!' he cried, throwing his arms towards
Heaven, `on a grave be the site of our Temple; and
now our happiness is for Eternity!'
With those words, a ray of sunshine broke through
the dismal sky, and glimmered down into the sepulchre;
Walter Gascoigne stalked drearily away, because his
gloom, symbolic of all earthly sorrow, might no
longer abide there, now that the darkest riddle of
humanity was read.
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