Caesar's Column Part 20

"And what is Love? Love is the drawing together of two beings, in that nature-enforced affinity and commingling, when out of the very impact and ident.i.ty of two spirits, life, triumphant life, springs into the universe.

"What a powerful impulse is this Love? It is nature-wide. The rushing together of the chemical elements; the attraction of suns and planets--all are Love. See how even the plant casts its pollen abroad on the winds, that it may somewhere reach and rest upon the loving bosom of a sister-flower; and there, amid perfume and sweetness and the breath of zephyrs, the great mystery of life is re-enacted. The plant is without intellect, but it is sensible to Love.

"And who shall doubt, when he contemplates the complicated mechanism by which, everywhere, this G.o.d-Nature--blind as to pain and sin and death, but tender and solicitous as to birth and life--makes Love possible, imperative, soulful, overwhelming, that the purposed end and aim of life is Love. And how pitiful and barren seem to us the lives of the superst.i.tious and ascetic hermits of the ancient world, who fled to desert places, to escape from Love, and believed that they were overcoming the foul fiend by prayers and fastings and scourgings. But outraged Nature, mighty amid the ruins of their blasted hearts, rea.s.serted herself, and visited them even in dreams; and the white arms and loving lips of woman overwhelmed them with hot and pa.s.sionate caresses, in visions against which they strove in vain.

"Oh, my brethren, every nerve, fiber, muscle, and 'petty artery of the body,' partic.i.p.ates in Love. Love is the conqueror of death, because Love alone perpetuates life. Love is life! Love is religion!

Love is the universe! Love is G.o.d!" And with this climax he sat down amid great applause, as in a theater.

I need scarcely say to you, my dear Heinrich, that I was absolutely shocked by this sermon. Knowing, as you do, the kind and pure and gentle doctrines taught in the little church in our mountain home, where love means charity for man and worship of G.o.d, you may imagine how my blood boiled at this cruel, carnal and heartless harangue. The glowing and picturesque words which he poured out were simply a carpet of flowers spread over crawling serpents.

The audience of course were familiar with these doctrines. The preacher owed his success, indeed, to the fact that he had courageously avowed the sentiments which had dwelt in the b.r.e.a.s.t.s of the people and had been enacted in their lives for generations. The congregation had listened with rapt attention to this eloquent echo of their own hearts; this justification of their Nature-worship; this re-birth of Paganism. The women nestled closer to the men at the tender pa.s.sages; and I noticed many a flashing interchange of glances, between bold, bright eyes, which told too well that the great preacher's adjurations were not thrown away upon unwilling listeners.

Another song was sung; and then there was a rustle of silks and satins. The audience were about to withdraw. The preacher sat upon his sofa, on the platform, mopping his broad forehead with his handkerchief, for he had spoken with great energy. I could restrain myself no longer. I rose and said in a loud voice, which at once arrested the movement of the congregation:

"Reverend sir, would you permit a stranger to make a few comments on your sermon?"

"Certainly," he replied, very courteously; "we welcome discussion.

Will you step to the platform?"

"No," I replied; "with your permission I shall speak from where I stand.

"I can only say to you that I am inexpressibly shocked and grieved by your discourse.

"Are you blind? Can you not see that Christianity was intended by G.o.d to be something better and n.o.bler, superimposed, as an after-birth of time, on the brutality of the elder world? Does not the great doctrine of Evolution, in which you believe, preach this gospel? If man rose from a brute form, then advanced to human and savage life, yet a robber and a murderer; then reached civility and culture, and philanthropy; can you not see that the fingerboard of G.o.d points forward, unerringly, along the whole track of the race; and that it is still pointing forward to stages, in the future, when man shall approximate the angels? But this is not your doctrine. Your creed does not lead forward; it leads backward, to the troglodyte in his cavern, splitting the leg-bones of his victim to extract the marrow for his cannibalistic feast. _He_ would have enjoyed your sermon!"

[Great excitement in the congregation.]

"And your gospel of Love. What is it but beastliness? Like the old Greeks and Romans, and all undeveloped antiquity, you deify the basest traits of the fleshly organism; you exalt an animal incident of life into the end of life. You drive out of the lofty temples of the soul the n.o.ble and pure aspirations, the great charities, the divine thoughts, which should float there forever on the pinions of angels; and you cover the floor of the temple with crawling creatures, toads, lizards, vipers--groveling instincts, base appet.i.tes, leprous sensualities, that befoul the walls of the house with their snail-like markings, and climb, and climb, until they look out of the very windows of the soul, with such repellent and brutish eyes, that real love withers and shrinks at the sight, and dies like a blasted flower.

"O shallow teacher of the blind, do you not see that Christianity was a new force, Heaven-sent, to overcome that very cruelty and heartlessness of Nature which you so much commend? Nature's offspring was indeed the savage, merciless as the creed you preach. Then came G.o.d, who breathed a soul into the nostrils of the savage. Then came One after Him who said the essence of all religion was man's love for his fellow man, and for the G.o.d that is over all; that the highest worship of the Father was to heal the sick, and feed the hungry, and comfort the despised and rejected, and lift up the fallen. And love!--that was true love, made up in equal parts of adoration and of pity! Not the thing you call love, which makes these faces flush with pa.s.sion and these eyes burn with l.u.s.t!"

I had gotten thus far, and was proceeding swimmingly, very much to my own satisfaction, when an old woman who stood near me, and who was dressed like a girl of twenty, with false rubber shoulders and neck and cheeks, to hide the ravages of time, hurled a huge hymn-book, the size of a Bible, at me. Age had not impaired the venerable woman's accuracy of aim, nor withered the strength of her good right arm; and the volume of diluted piety encountered me, with great force, just below my right ear, and sent me reeling over against Max. As I rose, nothing disconcerted, to renew my discourse, I found the air full of hymn-books, cushions, umbrellas, overshoes, and every other missile they could lay their hands on; and then I perceived that the whole congregation, men, women, children, preacher, clerks and ushers, were all advancing upon me with evil intent. I would fain have staid to have argued the matter out with them, for I was full of a great many fine points, which I had not yet had time to present, but Max, who never had any interest in theological discussions, and abhorred a battle with Amazons, seized me by the arm and literally dragged me out of the church. I continued, however, to shout back my anathemas of the preacher, and that worthy answered me with floods of abuse; and the women screamed, and the men howled and swore; and altogether it was a very pretty a.s.semblage that poured forth upon the sidewalk.

"Come along," said Max; "you will be arrested, and that will spoil everything."

He hurried me into a carriage and we drove off. Although still full of the debate, I could not help but laugh when I looked back at the mult.i.tude in front of the church. Every one was wildly ejaculating, except some of the sisters, who were kissing the hands and face of the preacher--dear, good man--to console him for the hateful insults I had heaped upon him! They reminded me of a swarm of hornets whose paper domicile had been rudely kicked by the foot of some wandering country boy.

"Well, well," said Max, "you are a strange character! Your impulses will some time cost you your life. If I did not think so much of you as I do, I should tell you you were a great fool. Why couldn't you keep quiet? You surely didn't hope to convert that congregation, any more than you could have converted the Council of the Plutocracy."

"But, my dear fellow," I replied, "it was a great comfort to me to be able to tell that old rascal just what I thought of him. And you can't tell--it may do some good."

"No, no," said Max; "the only preacher that will ever convert that congregation is Caesar Lomellini. Caesar is a bigger brute than they are--which is saying a good deal. The difference is, they are brutes who are in possession of the good things of this world; and Caesar is a brute who wants to get into possession of them. And there is another difference: they are polished and cultured brutes, and Caesar is the brute natural,--'the unaccommodated man' that Lear spoke of."

CHAPTER XXII.

ESTELLA AND I

I need not say to you, my dear Heinrich, how greatly I love Estella.

It is not alone for her beauty, although that is as perfect and as graceful as the dream of some Greek artist hewn in immortal marble.

That alone would have elicited merely my admiration. But there is that in her which wins my profoundest respect and love--I had almost said my veneration. Her frame is but the crystal-clear covering of a bright and pure soul, without stain or shadow or blemish. It does not seem possible for her to be otherwise than good. And yet, within this goodness, there is an hereditary character intrenched, capable, under necessity, of all heroism--a fearless and a potent soul. And, besides all this, she is a woman, womanly; a being not harsh and angular in character, but soft and lovable--

"A countenance in which do meet Sweet records, promises as sweet; A creature not too bright or good For human nature's daily food; For transient sorrows, simple wiles, Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears and smiles."

You may judge, my dear brother, having gone through a similar experience, how profoundly I was drawn to her; how absolute a necessity she seemed to my life. Neither was I a despairing lover; for had she not, at a time when death seemed imminent, avowed her love for me? Yes, "_love_"--that was the word she used; and the look which accompanied it gave the word a double emphasis. But there was a giant difficulty in my path. If she had compromised her maiden reserve in that particular, how could I take advantage of it? And how could I still further take advantage of her lonely and friendless condition to press my suit? And yet I could not leave her alone to encounter all the dangers of the dreadful time which I know too well is approaching. If she had stood, happy and contented, in the midst of her family, under the shelter of father and mother, surrounded by brothers and sisters, with a bright and peaceful future before her, I could have found courage enough to press my suit, to throw myself at her feet, and woo her boldly, as man woos woman. But this poor, unhappy, friendless, lovely girl! What could I do? Day and night I pondered the problem, and at last an expedient occurred to me.

I called upon her. She had fled from the palace without a wardrobe. A woman may be a heroine, but she is still a woman. Joan of Arc must have given considerable thought to her cap and ribbons. Estella was busy, with a dressmaker, contriving several dresses. I asked her if I could speak with her. She started, blushed a little, and led the way into another room. I closed the door.

"My dear Estella," I said, "I have been amusing my leisure by composing a fairy story."

"Indeed," she said, smiling, "a strange occupation for a philanthropist and philosopher, to say nothing of a poet."

"It is, perhaps," I replied, in the same playful vein, "the poetical portion of my nature that has set me at this work. But I cannot satisfy myself as to the denouement of my story, and I desire your aid and counsel."

"I am all attention," she replied; "proceed with your story;--but first, wait a moment. I will get some of my work; and then I can listen to you without feeling that I am wasting precious time."

"Otherwise you would feel," I said, "that your time was wasted listening to me?"

"No," she said, laughing, "but in listening to a fairy tale." She returned in a few moments, and we took seats, I covering my real feeling by an a.s.sumed gayety, and Estella listening attentively, with her eyes on her work.

"You must know," I commenced, "that my tale is ent.i.tled:

THE STORY OF PRINCESS CHARMING AND THE KNIGHT WEAKHART.

'Once upon a time'--you know all fairy stories are dated from that eventful period of the world's history--there was a beautiful princess, who lived in a grand palace, and her name was Princess Charming; and she was every way worthy of her name; for she was as good as she was handsome. But a dreadful dwarf, who had slain many people in that country, slew her father and mother, and robbed the poor Princess of her fine house, and carried her off and delivered her to an old fairy, called Cathel, a wicked and bad old sorceress and witch, who sat all day surrounded by black cats, weaving incantations and making charms, which she sold to all who would buy of her. Now, among the customers of Cathel was a monstrous and b.l.o.o.d.y giant, whose castle was not far away. He was called The Ogre Redgore.

He was a cannibal, and bought charms from Cathel, with which to entice young men, women and children into his dreadful den, which was surrounded with heaps of bones of those he had killed and devoured.

Now it chanced that when he came one day to buy his charms from Cathel, the old witch asked him if he did not desire to purchase a beautiful young girl. He said he wanted one of that very kind for a banquet he was about to give to some of his fellow giants. And thereupon the wicked old woman showed him the fair and lovely Princess Charming, sitting weeping, among the ashes, on the kitchen hearth. He felt her flesh, to see if she was young and tender enough for the feast, and, being satisfied upon this important point, he and the old witch were not long in coming to terms as to the price to be paid for her.

"And so he started home, soon after, with poor Princess Charming under his arm; she, the while, filling the air with her piteous lamentations and appeals for help.

"And now it so chanced that a wandering knight, called Weakhart, from a far country, came riding along the road that very day, clad in steel armor, and with his lance in rest. And when he heard the pitiful cries of Princess Charming, and beheld her beauty, he drove the spurs into his steed and dashed forward, and would have driven the lance clear through the giant's body; but that worthy saw him coming, and, dropping the Princess and springing aside with great agility, he caught the lance and broke it in many pieces. Then they drew their swords and a terrible battle ensued; and Princess Charming knelt down, the while, by the roadside, and prayed long and earnestly for the success of the good Knight Weakhart. But if he was weak of heart he was strong of arm, and at last, with a tremendous blow, he cut the ugly ogre's head off; and the latter fell dead on the road, as an ogre naturally will when his head is taken off. And then the Knight Weakhart was more afraid of being alone with the Princess than he had been of the giant. But she rose up, and dried her tears, and thanked him. And then the Princess and the Knight were in a grave quandary; for, of course, she could not go back to the den of that wicked witch, Cathel, and she had nowhere else to go. And so Weakhart, with many tremblings, asked her to go with him to a cavern in the woods, where he had taken shelter."

Here I glanced at Estella, and her face was pale and quiet, and the smile was all gone from it. I continued:

"There was nothing else for it; and so the poor Princess mounted in front of the Knight on his horse, and they rode off together to the cavern. And there Weakhart fitted up a little room for the Princess, and made her a bed of the fragrant boughs of trees, and placed a door to the room and showed her how she could fasten it, and brought her flowers. And every day he hunted the deer and the bear, and made a fire and cooked for her; and he treated her with as much courtesy and respect as if she had been a queen sitting upon her throne.

"And, oh! how that poor Knight Weakhart loved the Princess! He loved the very ground she walked on; and he loved all nature because it surrounded her; and he loved the very sun, moon and stars because they shone down upon her.

Nay, not only did he love her; he worshiped her, as the devotee worships his G.o.d. She was all the constellations of the sky to him.

Universal nature had nothing that could displace her for a moment from his heart. Night and day she filled his soul with her ineffable image; and the birds and the breeze and the whispering trees seemed to be all forever speaking her beloved name in his ears.

"But what could he do? The Princess was poor, helpless, dependent upon him. Would it not be unmanly of him to take advantage of her misfortunes and frighten or coax her into becoming his wife? Might she not mistake grat.i.tude for love? Could she make a free choice unless she was herself free?

"And so the poor Knight Weakhart stilled the beating of the fluttering bird in his bosom, and hushed down his emotions, and continued to hunt and cook and wait upon his beloved Princess.

"At last, one day, the Knight Weakhart heard dreadful news. A people called Vandals, rude and cruel barbarians, bloodthirsty and warlike, conquerors of nations, had arrived in immense numbers near the borders of that country, and in a few days they would pour over and ravage the land, killing the men and making slaves of the women. He must fly. One man could do nothing against such numbers. He could not leave the Princess Charming behind him: she would fall into the hands of the savages. He knew that she had trust enough in him to go to the ends of the earth with him. He had a sort of dim belief that she loved him. What should he do? Should he overcome his scruples and ask the lady of his love to wed him; or should he invite her to accompany him as his friend and sister? Would it not be mean and contemptible to take advantage of her distresses, her solitude and the very danger that threatened the land, and thus coerce her into a marriage which might be distasteful to her?

"Now, my dear Estella," I said, with a beating heart, "thus far have I progressed with my fairy tale; but I know not how to conclude it.

Can you give me any advice?"

She looked up at me, blushing, but an arch smile played about her lips.