I saw our little Gertrude die: She left off breathing, and no more I smoothed the pillow beneath her head. She was more beautiful than before, Like violets faded were her eyes; By this we knew that she was dead! Through the open window looked the skies Into the chamber1 where she lay, And the wind was like the sound of wings, As if Angels came to bear her away. --THE GOLDEN LEGEND. CHAPTER III. SOUL-LAND
Autumn and Winter--By the Fireside--Where little Bell is going--Nanny sings about Cloe--Bell reads a Poem--The flight of an Angel--The Funeral--The good Parson--The two Grave-stones.
It was autumn. The wind, with its chilly2 fingers, picked off the sere3 leaves, and made mounds4 of them in the garden walks. The boom of the sea was heavier, and the pale moon fell oftener on stormy waves than in the summer months. Change and decay had come over the face of Earth even as they come over the features of one dead. In woods and hollow places vines lay rotting, and venturesome buds that dared to bloom on the hem5 of winter; and the winds made wail6 over the graves of last year's flowers. Then Winter came--Winter, with its beard of snow--Winter, with its frosty breath and icy fingers, turning everything to pearl. The wind whistled odd tunes7 down the chimney; the plum-tree brushed against the house, and the hail played a merry tattoo8 on the window-glass. How the logs blazed in the sitting room! Bell did not leave her room now. Her fairy foot-steps were never heard tripping, nor her voice vibrating through the entry in some sweet song. She scarcely ever looked out at the window--all was dreary9 there; besides, she fancied that the wind "looked at her." It was in her armchair by the antique fire-place that she was most comfortable. She never wearied of watching the pictured tiles; and one, representing the infant Christ in the manger, was her favorite. There she sat from sunny morn until shadowy twilight10, with her delicate hands crossed on her lap, while Mortimer read to her. Sometimes she would fix her large, thoughtful eyes on the fantastic grouping of the embers at her feet, and then she did not hear him reading. She was wandering in Soul-land. Heaven's gates are open when the world's are shut. The gates of this world were closing on Bell, and her feet were hesitating at the threshold of Heaven, waiting only for the mystic word to enter! Very beautiful Bell was. Her perfect soul could not hide itself in the pale, spiritual face. It was visible in her thought and in her eyes. There was a world of tender meaning in her smile. The Angel of Patience had folded her in its wings, and she was meek11, holy. As Mortimer sat by her before the evening lamps were lighted, and watched the curious pictures which the flickering12 drift-wood painted on the walls, he knew that she could not last till the violets came again. She spoke13 so gently of death, the bridge which spans the darkness between us and Heaven--so softened14 its dark, dreadful outlines, that it seemed as beautiful as a path of flowers to the boy and Nanny. "Death," said Bell one day, "is a folding of the hands to sleep. How quiet is death! There is no more yearning15, no more waiting in the grave. It comes to me pleasantly, the thought that I shall lie under the daisies, God's daisies! and the robins16 will sing over me in the trees. Everything is so holy in the church-yard--the moss18 on the walls, the willows19, and the long grass that moves in the wind!" Poor Nanny tried to hum one of her old ditties about Cloe and her lover; then suddenly she found something interesting at the window. But it would not do. The tears would come, and she knelt down by Bell's side, and Bell's little hand fell like a strip of white moonlight on Nanny's hair. "We shall miss you, darling!" sobbed20 Mortimer. "At first, won't you?" and Bell smiled, and who knows what sights she saw in the illumined fire-place? Were they pictures of Heaven, little Bell? "What shall I read to you, pet?" asked Mortimer one morning. She had been prattling21 for an hour in her wise, child-like way, and was more than usually bright. "You shall not read to me at all," replied Bell, chirpingly, "but sit at my feet, and I will read to you." She took a slip of paper from her work-basket, and her voice ran along the sweetest lines that the sweetest poet ever wrote. They are from Alfred Tennyson's "May Queen." "I did not hear the dog howl, mother, or the death-watch beat, There came a sweeter token when the night and morning meet; But sit beside my bed, mother, and put your hand in mine, And Effie on the other side, and I will tell the sign. All in the wild March morning I heard the angels call; It was when the moon was setting, and the dark was over all; The trees began to whisper, and the wind began to roll, And in the wild March morning I heard them call my soul. For lying broad awake I thought of you and Effie dear; I saw you sitting in the house, and I no longer here; With all my strength I prayed for both, and so I felt resigned, And up the valley came a swell22 of music on the wind. I thought that it was fancy, and I listened in my bed, And then did something speak to me--I know not what was said; For great delight and shuddering23 took hold of all my mind, And up the valley came again the music on the wind. But you were sleeping; and I said, 'It's not for them: its mine,' And if it comes three times, I thought, I take it for a sign; And once again it came, and close beside the window-bars, Then seemed to go right up to Heaven, and die among the stars. So now I think my time is near--I trust it is. I know The blessed music went that way my soul will have to go; And for myself, indeed, I care not if I go to-day, But, Effie, you must comfort her when I am past away; And say to Robin17 a kind word, and tell him not to fret-- There's many worthier24 than I would make him happy yet;-- If I had lived--I cannot tell--I might have been his wife; But all these things have ceased to be, with my desire of life. Oh look! the sun begins to rise, the heavens are in a glow; He shines upon a hundred fields, and all of them I know; And there I move no longer now, and there his light may shine-- Wild flowers in the valley for other hands than mine. O sweet and strange it seems to me, that ere this day is done, The voice that now is speaking may be beyond the sun-- To lie within the light of God, as I lie upon your breast-- And the wicked cease from troubling, and the weary are at rest!" When Bell had finished reading, she took Mortimer's hand in her own. "I shall not die until the violet comes--the beautiful violet, with its clouded bell!" March melted into April--the month of tears! Then came blossoming May, and still Bell lingered, like a strain of music so sweet that the echoes will not let it die. One morning in June, the sun with noiseless feet came creeping into the room--and Bell was dying. Mortimer was telling her of some sea-side walk, when the unseen angel came between them. Bell's voice went from her, her heart grew chilly, and she knew that it was death. The boy did not notice the change; but when her hand lay cold in his, he looked up with fear. He saw her beautiful eyes looking heavenward, and those smiles which wreathe the lips of the young after death--the sunset of smiles. "Bell! Bell! Bell!" But she did not hear him. The viewless spirits of flowers came through the open window into the quiet room; and the winds, which made the curtains tremble, gently lifted the tresses of the sleeping angel. Then the chiming of village bells came and went in pulses of soft sound. How musical they were that morning! How the robins showered their silvery notes, like rain-drops among the leaves! There was holy life in everything--the lilac-scented atmosphere, the brooks25, the grass, and the flowers that lay budding on the bosom26 of delicious June! And thus it was, in the exquisite27 spring-time, that the hand of death led little Bell into Soul-land. * * * * * One afternoon, the blinds were turned down: not a ray of light stole through them, only the spicy28 air. There was something solemn stalking in the entries, and all through the house. It seemed as if there was a corpse29 in every room. The way the chairs were placed, the darkened parlor30, the faded flowers on the mantel-piece, and the brooding silence said it--said that Bell was dead! Yes! In the little parlor she lay, in her white shroud31. Bell? No; it was not Bell. It was only the beautiful robe which her spirit in its flight had cast aside! There was a moving of feet to and fro. Gradually, the room became full of forms. The village parson stood among them. His hair had the white touch of age, and his heart knew the chastening hand of God. "Exceeding peace" was written on his meek face. He lifted up his soul on the arms of prayer. He spoke of the dead, whose life had been as pure as a new snow. He spoke cheerfully and tenderly, and sometimes smiled, for his "Faith was large in Time, And that which shapes it to some perfect end." He had drank at the fountain of God's word; his soul had been refreshed, and his were not the lips to preach the doctrine32 of an endless wail. He knew that there are many mansions33 in our Father's house; and he said that Bell was happier there than here. He glanced back upon her infant days, and ran along the various threads of her life, to the moment death disentangled them from the world. "This little one in her shroud," he said, "is an eloquent34 sermon. She passed through the dark valley without fear; and sits, like Mary, at the feet of our Saviour35." Of this life, he said: "It is but an imperfect prelude36 to the next." Of death: "It is only a brief sleep: some sunny morning we shall wake up with the child Bell, and find ourselves in Heaven!" The coffin37 was closed, and the train passed through the gravelled walk. Then came that dull, heavy sound of earth falling on the coffin-lid, which makes one's heart throb38. Did you ever hear it? * * * * * When Bell had been a year in Heaven, a plain head-stone was placed over Nanny. She lingered only a little while after her darling. She folded her arms and fell asleep one summer twilight, and never again opened her kind old eyes on this world. Age had weakened her frame, and the parting of soul and body was only the severing39 of a fragile cord. Mortimer did not remain long in the old house; its light and pleasantness had passed away. The little stock of money which his father had left previous to his last voyage, was exhausted40; he could earn nothing in the village. His early dream of the great city came over him again. He yearned41 for its ceaseless excitement, its grandeur--he never thought of its misery42, its sin and pollution. Through the length of one July night he lay awake in bed, while his eyes were like kaleidoscopes, taking a thousand arabesque43 forms and fancies. Toward morning he fell asleep, having built some fall-down castles in the air. The next day he took a last, lingering look at the old rooms; a last ramble44 on the sea-shore; he sat an hour under the braided branches of the cherry trees, gave a parting look at the white caps of the sea, and turned his eyes to the city in the dim distance--the great city-ocean, with no one to point out to him its sunken reefs, its quicksands, and maelstroms. Next to Bell's grave he placed a simple tablet to the memory of his father. "This sod does not enfold him," said Mortimer to himself; "but it will be pleasant for me to think, when I am far away, that their names are near together." So he left them in the quiet church-yard at Ivyton--left them sleeping among the thick musk-roses, in the warm sunshine; and the same berylline moss was creeping over the two mounds. One head-stone said "LITTLE BELL," and the other: SACRED TO THE MEMORY OF OUR FATHER, LOST AT SEA, 18--.
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1
chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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chilly
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| adj.凉快的，寒冷的 | |
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sere
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| adj.干枯的；n.演替系列 | |
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mounds
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| 土堆，土丘( mound的名词复数 )； 一大堆 | |
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hem
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| n.贴边，镶边；vt.缝贴边；(in)包围，限制 | |
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6
wail
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| vt./vi.大声哀号，恸哭；呼啸，尖啸 | |
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7
tunes
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| n.曲调，曲子( tune的名词复数 )v.调音( tune的第三人称单数 )；调整；（给收音机、电视等）调谐；使协调 | |
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8
tattoo
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| n.纹身，(皮肤上的)刺花纹；vt.刺花纹于 | |
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dreary
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| adj.令人沮丧的，沉闷的，单调乏味的 | |
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10
twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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11
meek
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| adj.温顺的，逆来顺受的 | |
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12
flickering
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| adj.闪烁的，摇曳的，一闪一闪的 | |
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13
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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14
softened
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| （使）变软( soften的过去式和过去分词 )； 缓解打击； 缓和； 安慰 | |
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15
yearning
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| a.渴望的；向往的；怀念的 | |
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16
robins
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| n.知更鸟，鸫( robin的名词复数 )；（签名者不分先后，以避免受责的）圆形签名抗议书（或请愿书） | |
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robin
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| n.知更鸟，红襟鸟 | |
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moss
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| n.苔，藓，地衣 | |
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willows
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| n.柳树( willow的名词复数 )；柳木 | |
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sobbed
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| 哭泣，啜泣( sob的过去式和过去分词 )； 哭诉，呜咽地说 | |
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21
prattling
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| v.（小孩般）天真无邪地说话( prattle的现在分词 )；发出连续而无意义的声音；闲扯；东拉西扯 | |
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22
swell
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| vi.膨胀，肿胀；增长，增强 | |
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shuddering
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| v.战栗( shudder的现在分词 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
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24
worthier
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| 应得某事物( worthy的比较级 )； 值得做某事； 可尊敬的； 有（某人或事物）的典型特征 | |
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25
brooks
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| n.小溪( brook的名词复数 ) | |
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26
bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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27
exquisite
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| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
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spicy
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| adj.加香料的；辛辣的，有风味的 | |
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corpse
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| n.尸体，死尸 | |
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30
parlor
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| n.店铺，营业室；会客室，客厅 | |
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shroud
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| n.裹尸布，寿衣；罩，幕；vt.覆盖，隐藏 | |
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32
doctrine
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| n.教义；主义；学说 | |
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33
mansions
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| n.宅第，公馆，大厦( mansion的名词复数 ) | |
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34
eloquent
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| adj.雄辩的，口才流利的；明白显示出的 | |
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35
saviour
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| n.拯救者，救星 | |
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36
prelude
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| n.序言，前兆，序曲 | |
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37
coffin
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| n.棺材，灵柩 | |
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38
throb
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| v.震颤，颤动；(急速强烈地)跳动，搏动 | |
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39
severing
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| v.切断，断绝( sever的现在分词 )；断，裂 | |
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40
exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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41
yearned
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| 渴望，切盼，向往( yearn的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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42
misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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43
arabesque
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| n.阿拉伯式花饰；adj.阿拉伯式图案的 | |
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44
ramble
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| v.漫步，漫谈，漫游；n.漫步，闲谈，蔓延 | |
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