University of Virginia Library

6. CHAPTER SIXTH.
PAUL TELLS THE STORY OF THE LADY WHOM HE MET IN THE GARDENS
OF A ROYAL PALACE.

“One summer day, Reginald, I found myself lost amid the mazes of
one of those beautiful gardens, which wear royal homes upon their fragrant
hearts. It was in France; and I strayed along the walks of the Great
Trianon. There were deep shadows all around me, and a breathless
silence reigned on every side. Shadows that were broken by wandering
rays of light, silence that was roused into gentle music by the lull of a
distant fountain.

“As I wandered absently along, I suddenly beheld, standing in my path,
the image of a beautiful girl. Her loosened robe flowed freely around the
outlines of a voluptuous shape; and her pale golden hair streamed in
unbound tresses to her shoulders. There was no coronet upon her hair,

no gem upon her plain white robe, and yet, as she raised her mild blue
eyes upon me, while her brow grew dark as with wonder at my intrusion
upon her lonely walk, I felt that I stood in the presence of a lady of rank
and power. I stood hesitating—my eyes enchained by her beautiful face
—while I was conscious that my presence was an intrusion, yes, an insult.
Retreating with an involuntary bow, I cast my eyes to the ground, when
her voice arrested my footsteps.

“`Stay!' she cried, `I have waited for you!'

“There was a bewitching music in her voice. At the sound I turned,
and stood wondering and confused before her. I shall never forget the
look of dignity mingled with fear, which she cast upon me, as with a proud
gesture she beckoned me to approach.

“`I have waited for you,' she said once more with a haughty accent—
`I have been told that you can read the future.'

“Completely bewildered, I knew not what to say. It did not occur to
me that she had taken me for some other person; perchance one of those
astrologers, who, at that time, prevailed in the atmosphere of the French
Court. Indeed, it seemed to me, that this singular meeting was the especial
act of Providence—or Destiny.

“`I do not ask you to read my fate in the Heavens—' she said, while a
sad smile gave a new beauty to her countenance—`You need not consult
the stars, in order to tell me that which is to be. But for three nights my
slumbers have been visited by a dream—a dream, whether sent from God
or from the Evil One you can best determine.'

“`Dreams are but the prophecies of the soul,' I answered, as though the
words had been uttered in my ear by an invisible friend—`When awake,
the soul, trammelled by the flesh, can only retain the impressions of the
Past. But it is in sleep that the Future becomes to her a Memory. It is
in sleep that the soul rises into her immortal power, and forgets all consciousness
of time, and knows by name, neither Past nor Future. In
sleep the past and future are one—then the Soul, indeed starting from the
trammels of flesh, rises into the atmosphere of immortality.'

“Even now, I see that young countenance, so fair, so delicate in complexion,
with its mild blue eyes and pale golden hair! She was like
Catharine—ah! That word speaks to me of Home! Only there was
never a frown on Catharine's brow, never one gleam of pride in her calm,
deep eyes.

“`Listen, while I repeat my dream,' exclaimed the unknown lady; and
while I stood wondering and dumb, she spoke in a low silvery accent,
which now quivered with fear, and again grew faint, almost inaudible
with preternatural awe.

“I do not repeat this dream, because it is so wild and strange—no! no!
But I cannot banish it from my eyes—it is ever before me—even now it
is there, between me and the sunlight.”

“With an accent of terror that I can never forget, she turned away from
a flood of light, which came gushing through an interval in the foliage.

“`It is there—drawn distinctly upon the shadows—there! Do you
not see it—that hideous phantom?'

“She covered her face with her hands, and I could see her cheek grow
pale as death.

“`I was wandering along a lofty hall, hung with tapestry, beautiful as
the rainbow of the summer evening, and adorned with images of pure
marble, and pictures, which did not seem pictures, but living souls, imprisoned
in canvass. I was alone, and as I went straying through that
chamber—whose magnificence even now bewilders me—I heard voices
murmuring my name, with accents of idolatrous praise; and it seemed to
me that I was the Queen of a World, and that the very sunlight shone for
me. The tapestry bore my image in a thousand forms—my face was in
every statue—the very flowers seen through the casements, bloomed for
me—for me alone. Oh, it was a bewildering dream, and, grown mad with
the consciousness of beauty and power, fired by the accents of the flattering
voices, which called me “Goddess—Divine Queen,” I raised my
hand toward the lofty ceiling, and—it makes the blood freeze in my veins
—defied God—yes, I defied God—I dared Almighty power to crush my
power, or wither my beauty.'

“The beautiful girl once more hid her face with her hands. It
was not until some moments had elapsed that she gathered strength
to proceed.

“`Even then, as I stood in the act of blasphemy, with my hand
uplifted, and the words of defiance on my lips, my attention was attracted
by a window, which was veiled, not by rich folds of purple tapestry, but
by a black cloth, drooping without a fold from the ceiling to the floor.
An impulse that I could not comprehend, hurried me to the window, and
forced me with my own hands to draw aside the dismal curtain. I
beheld—'

“She shuddered.

“`I beheld, not a far-extending prospect of gardens and fountains, embosomed
in the shade of lofty trees, and adorned with palaces of marble.
No! It was a wide plain, in the heart of a great city,—a wide plain,
framed by huts and palaces, and crowded with one black mass of heads,
that met my eye. Thousands and tens of thousands were gathered there;
it was an awful sea of life, undulating to and fro with a ceaseless motion.
The air was steeped in a dead stillness, only broken by a hoarse murmur.

“`Gazing upon this countless multitude, I beheld, in the centre of that
sea of upturned faces, the object around which it undulated in unceasing
waves.

“`That object was very far away from where I stood, and yet I saw it
distinctly, and drank in every minute detail.

“`It was a platform, surmounted by two upright pieces of timber, connected
at the top by a horizontal beam. At the foot of one of these upright
pieces of timber was a block; near that block, a heap of sawdust,
and standing upon the sawdust, a half-naked figure, whose bared arm was
raised above his head, while his hand clutched a rope. That rope was
attached to an axe, which glimmered near the horizontal beam.

“`Even now I see it; that black structure rising over the sea of heads
against the cold blue sky!'

“The young woman pressed her hands upon her breast, as though to
still the mad pulsations of her heart, while her expanded eyes glared upon
the vacant air, and her lips murmured in a tone almost inaudible—`It is
there—there! The axe glitters in that passing ray!'

“After a moment, growing more composed, she continued:

“`Suddenly, a lane was made through this immense multitude; a lane
which reached from its very edge to the foot of the platform. There was
an unnatural stillness upon the scene; I could hear the rolling of wheels,
and presently saw the head of a horse rising above the crowd. That
horse was attached to a rude vehicle, in which stood a solitary figure, a
half-naked woman, whose dishevelled hair flowed over her bared bosom.
Whenever I attempted to gaze upon her face, a mist came over my eyes:
but I saw her form; it was very beautiful—the sun shone over a bosom
white as snow.

“`The rude vehicle, rolling slowly on with a grating sound, was bearing
this lovely woman toward the platform.

“`I could not turn my gaze away from her form; my heart bled for her
—she seemed so terribly alone, in the midst of that countless multitude.
And as she came on, the stillness deepened—now and then a sudden cry
was heard—a short, wild ejaculation—and all was still again.

“`Oh, how earnestly I endeavored to chase away that mist which
came between my sight and the face of this lovely woman! It was in
vain—I could not trace one line of her countenance—her hair waved over
her shoulders, and her bosom shone in the sun, but her face was
a shadow.

“`The vehicle reached the foot of the platform. They had taken her
from my view, but in a moment she appeared again. They were leading
her up the steps—I saw her stand upon the platform, near the half-naked
man, her white bosom gleaming in the sun.

“`The breathless stillness of the multitude grew deeper.

“`I was gazing at her fair round neck, when—O God! O God—the
hand of the half-naked man was laid upon it—he was forcing her upon
her knees. Hark! A cry of smothered agony—her neck rests upon the
block, and her long hair streams over the saw-dust.

“`The stillness becomes more intense.

“`There is a low brooding murmur—the axe is glimmering there over

the white neck of the lovely woman—it falls—there is a torrent of blood
pouring upon the saw-dust from a headless trunk—there is a head rolling
over the floor of the platform, the long hair cumbered with blood-stained
dust!

“`The silence of the crowd is broken at last. One horrible yell, swelled
by ten thousand voices, peals into the sky—it was as though the damned,
released from their torment for a while, had come to hold their infernal
jubilee in the light of day.

“`That half-naked man seized the severed head, and holding it by the
hair, exposed the face to the gaze of the crowd. The sun shone vividly
upon it—writhing with the last pang, I saw it,—with the glow of life and
the blue tinge of death struggling upon its cheeks—at last I saw and knew
that face.

“`Behold,' cried the half-naked man, tossing it in the light—`Behold
the head of the Traitress—the last of an accursed brood—Marie
Antoinette!'

“`It was my own face which I saw, held by the blood-stained hair in
the light of the sun.'

“She paused for a moment, and pressed her delicate right hand to her
forehead—her cheek was livid, her lips colorless.

“`Dumb with horror, I started from the window, and turned my gaze
once more upon the magnificence of the lofty hall. The statues looked
pure and beautiful, the pictures glowed with rosy warmth, the tapestry,
trembling gently, seemed like a thousand rainbows joined in one.
But I could not banish that terrible scene—I saw, wherever I turned, the
bleeding head, held by the dishevelled hair, with the last pang quivering
over the face.

“`Then a confused cry broke on the silence—a crowd of half-naked and
bloody forms came rushing into the lofty hall, staining the white statues
with their crimsoned hands, and reeling with demoniac gestures over the
marble floor.

“`Shuddering and cold, I shrunk within the folds of the tapestry, and
saw one form taller than the rest, dragging a headless body over the floor.
It was the body of a naked woman, with blood upon her breast, and the
print of brutal feet upon her beautiful limbs. While it was dragged along
the floor, the broken arm grasped by the ruffian's hand—there was a
head tossing to and fro, under the feet of the crowd—once I saw it, as it
whirled by me, the long hair streaming in the air. It was horribly disfigured,
clotted all over with drops of blood—but it was my own face
which I saw.'

“As these words fell from her colorless lips, her hands drooped by her
side, and her hair seemed to rise upon her forehead. Never have I beheld,
even in the wildest creation of the artist's pencil, a more impressive picture
of unnatural fear. For some moments she stood gazing fixedly into my

face, and the sunshine stole in a subdued glow over her pale golden hair
and colorless cheek.

“`For three times have I beheld this vision,' she said in a faltering
voice—`Three nights in succession it has visited my couch. * * * Thou
canst read the future—read for me this terrible dream * * * tell me—'

“She was silent. Amazed, confounded, I knew not how to answer her.
Was it indeed a woman of royal race that I beheld, or some frenzied
daughter of the poor?

“`You desire reward,' she exclaimed, `take this ring and tell me—'

“Scarce knowing where I stood, I took the ring and placed it on my
finger, while my eye was riveted by the surpassing whiteness of her
neck.

“Even as I gazed, that neck was encircled by a livid line—I felt the
words that I uttered before, rising again to my lips.

“Dreams are but the Prophecies of the Soul. When awake, the soul,
trammelled by flesh, can only retain the impressions of the Past. It is in
sleep that the Future becomes to her a Memory.”

Paul ceased, and wiped the moisture from his forehead.

Reginald, utterly absorbed by the singular narrative, sat with his elbows
placed upon his knees, his cheeks resting on his hands, and his eye fixed
upon the stream. Once or twice, as Paul went on in his history, Reginald
had looked up,and been startled by the unnatural excitement of that bronzed
visage. He shrank from the sight of those dazzling eyes.

Paul was silent, but some moments elapsed ere he could rouse himself
from the profound reverie into which he was plunged.

At last, raising his eyes, he beheld Paul standing near, his arms folded
and his eyes fixed upon the undimpled stream. The unnatural pallor
of his face only made his eyes seem more wildly lustrous. His forehead
was bare—it shone in the sun, and the wind agitated the locks of his dark
brown hair.

“He looks like a prophet or a madman!” thought Reginald.

“Why, you are pale, my brother,” cried Paul, turning suddenly round.
“There is no color in your face. Can it be that you give credence to an
idle legend such as I have told?”

“But the woman whom you saw in the gardens of the Great Trianon,”
exclaimed Reginald, in a voice that was faint and tremulous. “Was she
indeed the Queen? was she indeed Marie Antoinette? Do you think her
dream will ever become reality? That the people of France will lay the
head of their Queen upon the block?”

A smile darted over Paul's face.

“There was once a King called Charles the First, and a Brewer named
Cromwell—” he said.

Reginald was silent.

The incident related by Paul, whose dark eye shone as with inspiration,
sank deep in his heart. With an involuntary shudder, he gathered his
blue hunting-frock over his red uniform.