Chapter XVII: The Weak Against the Strong

Through the most fertile plain that Europe can display, amid the olive and the fig, the loaded vine and the ripening corn, with on one side a vast and interminable view over lands laughing in the richest gifts of nature, and on the other mounting up into the sky the gigantic mountains which separate that bright land from all the rest of earth, passed on a multitude of those savage warriors, who were destined to change the rich plains of Lombardy from the garden of the world to the most desolate spot of this quarter of the globe.

But, alas! not alone did those fierce warriors take their way, unaccompanied by any of the children of the soil. On the contrary, closely following their march, appeared a body which contained within itself sad samples of all the vice, the weakness, the baseness of the land. There was the skilful engineer, whose warlike but not perilous art provided the means of destruction for other men's hands to use; there was the theoretic strategist, whose pen prepared the plans of battles that he could not fight; there the sculptor and the limner, ready ever to transmit unto posterity the features of those whose actions commanded admiration, though not applause; there the thousand fawning slaves, ready to forget all ties, so long as they could cover baser bonds by the golden ties of interest. Besides all these were the captives, not chained, indeed, but dragged along by fetters as powerful as rings of iron, selected and preserved from slaughtered myriads for a fate worse than death itself, on account of those qualities which adorn and beautify the blessed state of freedom. Beauty, skill, strength, and activity: these were the sad gifts that purchased slavery.

In the midst of these--herself a captive, though surrounded by her own slaves, now all in bondage to another--was borne along the fair Dalmatian girl, whose fate has occupied so much of our attention. Her way was cleared by parties of the Huns appointed expressly for that purpose; and honours, too queenlike, awaited her wherever she paused. In many a place she found garlands strewed in her way, and tutored rejoicings greeted her at every resting-place. But oh! the coldest silence, the most icy indifference would have conveyed more warmth to her heart than those demonstrations of a distinction which she feared. Seldom, very seldom did she raise her eyes; but, poring earnestly on a book before her, seemed buried in contemplations from which no external objects could awaken her. Twice only during the second day's journey from Verona did she look up, and then her attention was called forcibly towards too terrible a sight by the wild ejaculations of the attendants who surrounded her. On either side of the road appeared, when she did look up, a range of trees, which had been planted to afford a pleasant shelter to the weary wayfarer from the burning rays of the summer's sun. But now, fixed upon those trees, were immense crosses of wood, on each of which, extended by nails in the hands and feet, was seen the dead body of a human being, contorted with the agonies of a painful death. Nor had one nation alone nor one country furnished the victims for that awful sacrifice; for there were seen the dark-visaged Hun, the fair-haired Frank, the large-limbed Goth, the strong-featured Roman--all, in short, against whom any charge of deceit or infidelity towards Attila and the Hunnish nation could be brought, were arrayed in fearful assemblage to terrify the passer-by.

Ildica gazed on them when her attention was forced towards them; and then, clasping her hands, she looked up on high, while her lips murmured woman's prayer for patience under all the sad scenes which she was destined to act in and behold. Then again, casting down her eyes, she strove to avoid, as far as possible, such fearful sights, hoping that brighter days and more joyful objects might come, and blot them out for ever from the tablets of memory, or soften the harsh lines so that they should be no longer painful. But still, as they marched onward, fresh scenes of desolation and horror were forced upon her sight, and, whether she would or not, the indignant heart swelled up, and a voice within her bosom exclaimed, "Oh for a warrior's soul and a warrior's might! Oh for an ancient Roman's undaunted energy, to stem this dark and ruinous torrent in its course, to drive back the destroyer of my native land, to snatch the bloody scourge out of the hand of fate, and hurl it for ever into the gulf of death!"

At length a large and magnificent city appeared before her; and Ildica prepared her eyes to behold the same utter destruction which she had beheld in every other town. Her astonishment was great, however, on entering Mediolanum,[5] to behold the inhabitants pursuing their ordinary occupations; the shops opened, and their wares exposed in the very presence of those ruthless barbarians who had come to spoil and desolate the land. It is true, the great body of Attila's army was encamped without its walls, and that but a few thousand of the Huns were permitted to enter the city; but still, with its gates in their possession, and its walls covered by their troops, Milan was at the mercy of the Hunnish multitude, and nothing but the awful name of Attila saved it from destruction.

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[Footnote 5: Milan.]

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The troops of Onegisus entered not the gates of the city; but the litter of Ildica was borne forward through the principal streets, and at length stopped before a magnificent pile of building, which was, in fact, the royal palace of Milan. Those who accompanied her waited for directions from some one within; and, after a brief pause, the litter was again carried on into the interior of the palace. At the foot of the great staircase it was set down, and Ildica with her attendants was bade to follow on foot. From room to room, from hall to hall, from gallery to gallery, she was led onward by several of the barbarian chiefs, beholding, as she advanced, with wonder, not unmixed with pleasure, that, amid all the splendour which that building displayed, amid all the monuments of art which it contained, no act of violence had been perpetrated by the hand of the barbarians, but that there every object remained untouched, or at least uninjured. At one spot, indeed, she beheld a painter busily employed in labouring with the brush upon the walls, but he was a Roman; and on looking nearer she perceived that he was making a complete change in one of the pictures, which represented some barbarian kings kneeling at the feet of a Roman emperor.

"What doest thou, my friend?" she asked.

"I am working at the command of the mighty Attila," replied the painter, "in order to change this picture so as to suit the changes of the time. When I have done, two Roman emperors will be seen kneeling at the feet of a Scythian king."

Ildica walked on without reply, feeling bitterly in her heart the truth of the sad lesson which Attila thus taught.

At the farther extremity of the building she found the apartments assigned to her; and in a moment or two after she had entered them, and when the Huns who conducted her had withdrawn, Neva, whom she had not beheld for many days, approached, and took her fondly in her arms. The girl's countenance was sad, however, and while she gazed upon Ildica the tears rose in her eyes.

"Shall I say welcome?" she asked--"shall I say welcome, when I fear that much grief awaits you? shall I say welcome to a place where you must hear many things that will grieve you!"

At these words the dull, heavy weight fell again upon Ildica's heart, and the struggle recommenced, the painful struggle, of strong and high-minded resolution against woman's natural fears and apprehensions. "Speak," she replied, "speak, dear Neva. Tell me what new cause of sorrow and of terror has arisen. Tell me what step has been taken in the warfare that fate seems resolved to wage against my happiness on earth."

"Alas!" replied Neva, "alas! that my lip should tell it; but it is only right to warn thee of what you might hear too soon from other lips, and might hear unprepared. Attila speaks of thee often: Attila speaks of thee with love: Attila speaks of thee as of one destined to be his; and thou knowest, Ildica, that his will is like the will of fate."

"Not so, Neva; not so," replied Ildica. "There is a will above his!" But while she thus expressed her trust, the tears rolled from her eyes in despite of every effort, and she wept bitterly. "There is a will above his," she said, "holier, more merciful, and mightier far! In it will I trust, Neva, in it will I trust! But what do I do weeping?" she added--"what do I do weeping, when I have to think, to resolve, and act? what do I do weeping, when lo he comes, and I have need of vigour, not of tears; of determination, not of terror? Hear you not his step, hear you not his step? He is coming! he is coming! Hear you not his step?" and, as she spoke, she grasped the arm of the fair girl tight in her hand, and gazed towards the door with a look of wild and painful anticipation, which, had it not been too well justified by her circumstances, might well have passed for the vivid but wandering glance of insanity.

"It is not his foot you hear," replied Neva, fondly linking herself to Ildica, and striving to assuage the fears which she had herself occasioned. "That is not his step--I know it well, Ildica! I have known it, and trembled at it from my infancy. As the beasts of the field have an intimation of the earthquake, and fly trembling from the walls over which the impending ruin is suspended--as the light summer insect, to whom the falling drop of a spring shower is a deadly ocean, finds some warning to seek shelter beneath the foliage against the coming destruction--as the birds cease their song, and the cattle seek the fold before the approaching storm--so unto me has been given an augury of danger and of terror, in the world-shaking step of that awful king. I have heard it in the sunshine of summer, and the sunshine has been clouded: I have heard it in the dead of the night, and night has assumed the horror of the grave. But hark! Whoever it is that speaks with the attendants without--that voice is not Attila's, nor was the step."

As she spoke the curtain was withdrawn, and there appeared, not the form of the Scythian king, but that of Ardaric, chief of the Gepid[ae]. His countenance, as we have already said, was naturally frank and open; and, unlike that of Attila, it displayed, as in a highly polished mirror, every emotion of his heart, except when, by some great effort, he drew an unwonted veil over the picture of his thoughts, which there found their ordinary expression. His face was now clouded; and advancing towards Neva, he spoke a few words to her in the Hunnish dialect; and then turning towards Ildica, addressed her, though with considerable difficulty, in the Latin tongue.

Agitated, terrified, and confused, it was with difficulty Ildica gathered his meaning. She found, however, that what he said consisted of warnings of approaching danger, like those which Neva had already given, and of caution and advice as to how she should avoid or mitigate them. Though for the time Ildica's mind could scarcely grasp those counsels, yet they returned beneficially to her in the hour of need. She heard him tell her that delay to her was more valuable than beaten gold, and remind her that in her case any sort of duplicity was justifiable to foil a tyrant who knew no scruples, and joined deceit with power. But all that Ildica could reply, under her overpowering sense of the fearful struggle she saw approaching, was, "Can I not fly? Oh, can I not fly?"

"For fifty miles around on every side," replied Ardaric, "the troops of the Huns are spread over the country; and for more than fifty miles beyond those, scattered parties from a thousand different nations, but all attached to Attila by vows, by love, or by fear, roam through the country, and keep, as it were, an outer watch on his camp. The eagle may escape from the net woven to catch a sparrow; the lion may rend into a thousand pieces the toils which were set to catch the stag or the elk; but thou canst no more escape from the midst of the host of Attila than a small fly can disentangle itself from the meshes of the spider."

Ildica wept bitterly, nor was it with the kind of tears which bring relief. They were not tears for the past--the dark, irretrievable past, for the beloved and the dead, for the hours wasted or the pleasures passed away--they were not tears, in short, for any of those things which may be mourned with mourning sweet and profitable--but they were the deep, bitter, fruitless tears of apprehension, wrung forth by the agony of a fearful but unavoidable fate. She wept bitterly, she wept wildly; she noted not Ardaric, she heeded not the voice of Neva. Hopes and consolations they offered her in vain. Advice and direction seemed to fall unheeded on her ear: she appeared not to notice their presence or be conscious of their sympathy. Indeed, so totally was she absorbed in the overpowering sorrows of her own heart, and the fearful contemplation of the destiny before her, that she knew not when they left her, or awakened from the vision of her wo till another voice demanded, in a tone that made her start wildly from her seat, "Why weepest thou, maiden? why weepest thou so bitterly?" and Attila stood before her.

She gazed upon him with a wandering and anxious look while one might count ten, but then the triumph of the powerful mind began again. The moment of terror and apprehension was over--the moment of resolution and of action was come. Womanly weakness had had its hour, and was passed. The Roman heart was reawakened by the voice that called her to the trial. The sight of Attila, like the fierce sun shining on the dewy grass after a storm, dried up the tears in her eyes; and after that brief pause she replied, "I weep, oh king! because as a woman I am weak; because I am apprehensive of the future; because I am uncertain of the present; because I grieve for the past. Little cause is there to ask any one living why he weeps. Thou wouldst do more wisely wert thou to ask any one in this world why he smiles."

"Maiden," replied Attila, "dost thou think that such vague words can deceive me? Thinkest thou that so thin a veil can hide the features of thy mind? Thou weepest for thy lover! thou thinkest that he is either dead or faithless, because he has not come so soon as he promised!"

"Thou art mistaken, oh Attila!" replied Ildica; "I neither think him dead--for God protects the good, the virtuous, and the noble--nor do I think him faithless; for to judge so harshly of him would be to wrong the God who formed his heart, and made it upright, true, and constant. I may have fears and apprehensions, but they are not of him or of his truth. What they are matters not to any one; for though I may be carried captive after a mighty conqueror's army, the freedom of my thoughts he cannot touch; and I am still at liberty in heart and soul, above his reach, and far beyond his power."

Her words, however bold, seemed to give no offence to Attila; but, on the contrary, as she spoke, a brighter and a warmer fire glowed up in his countenance, and taking her unwilling but unresisting hand, he led her back to the seat from which she had risen, saying, "Thou art bold as well as beautiful, and well fit to be the bride of some great warrior, whose soul is capable of prizing such as thine."

"May such be my fate!" replied Ildica. "Theodore, to whom all my thoughts and feelings are given, is worthy of much more than this weak hand. Hast thou heard news of his return, oh king? and dost thou come to make me happy with the tidings!"

Attila's brow grew dark for a moment; but the angry cloud soon passed away, and the light of other passions returned to his countenance. "No, Ildica, no!" he said, "I come not to tell you of his return, for no news of his coming has yet reached the camp, though the time fixed by his own lips as the utmost period of his absence has wellnigh expired. No, Ildica, no! I come to tell thee of a brighter and a loftier fate which may be thine, if thy mind be capable, as I am sure it is, of higher aspirations and more noble hopes."

"I seek no loftier fate, oh king!" cried Ildica, shrinking from his eager gaze, and striving to delay the utterance of words by Attila which, with woman's keen insight into the heart of man, she knew would bind him to pursue his purpose by the bond of pride, stronger, far stronger than even passion itself--"I seek no loftier fate, I entertain no higher aspirations! To be the wife of him whom my heart has loved from infancy to womanhood--to wed him who has loved me through every change of fate, through peril and danger, through absence and temptation--to wed him who has so loved me, and whom I so love, is to my mind the brightest fate, the loftiest destiny that woman could obtain."

"But if he be dead?" said Attila, fixing his dark eyes full upon her.

"Then," replied Ildica, seeing the danger of the slightest hesitation in her answer to such a suggestion, "then will I either die also, or, vowing myself to silent prayer, leave for ever an idle and a sorrowful world, and hide myself with some of those lone sisterhoods who spend their days in solitude."

"Not so," answered Attila, drawing closer to her: "thou shouldst have a better destiny; thou shouldst be the bride of Attila--his chosen, his best beloved bride; honoured and revered above all others; queen of his heart; mistress of his actions; sovereign of all the nations that bow to his command."

Ildica sprang from his eager arm, and cast herself upon her knees before him. The terrible words were spoken! There was no escape left but in determination strong as his own! She could no longer avoid the theme most dreaded; and her task was to meet it boldly and at once!

"Hear me, oh king!" she cried, earnestly--"hear me! I am small, and thou art great! Hear me, and save me even from thyself! I love another deeply, devotedly, truly; but even were that other dead, I could never love thee as thou wouldst wish to be loved--nay, as thou deservest to be loved. Mighty warrior! great and magnanimous king! unequalled conqueror! wilt thou debase thyself to contend with a woman? wilt thou degrade thyself to violate the sanctity of thy word, to wrong the innocent and the unoffending, to betray those who trusted thee, to destroy him who loved thee? Wilt thou risk being defeated by the strong and resolute heart of a girl like me? Monarch! I am not in thy power, but in God's! To God I will appeal against thee; and sooner than become thy bride, will give my spirit back to Him who lent it. Think not that thou canst frustrate my purpose, and debar me of my will. A camp has always weapons whereby my own life can be reached; no tent but has its cord; no banquet but has its knife. Not a tower of this city but affords me the means of defying the mighty power of Attila; and the flinty bed beneath yon window would, to me, seem a couch of down compared with thy bridal bed, oh king! But thou wilt spare me! thou wilt spare me! I know thy better thoughts and nobler nature. Thou dost but try me. Thou wilt still be just, and wise, and esteemed of all men! If Theodore be dead, tell me so; and I will vow myself to God--I can bear such tidings with calm grief; but never, never can I love Attila as Attila should be loved! Oh, let me reverence and admire him still! Force me not to see in him the pagan king--the destroyer of my country--the enemy of my faith--the slayer of my promised husband--the betrayer of his trust--the falsifier of his word--the tyrant of a woman whom he had vowed to protect!"

So rapidly, so earnestly, so vehemently did she speak, and at the same time so lovely did she look in the attitude of eager supplication, that Attila had neither time nor inclination to interrupt her; and, though admiration and tenderness were crossed by jealousy at the words of love which she bestowed on Theodore, and by anger at the daring terms she feared not to apply to himself, he remained silent for a moment after she had done, gazing on that splendid countenance and that beautiful form, awakened, as both face and figure were, into a thousand fresh graces by the imploring earnestness of her address.

"Take care," he exclaimed at length, "take care. Remember, love may be turned into hate; and the hate of Attila is a thing to be feared."

"Not near so much by me as is his love," replied Ildica. "Oh king! thou canst but slay me, and I fear not death. No torture that the cruellest tyrant ever yet invented is equal to the torture of the mind; and were I to wed Attila, could my mind ever be free from agony?"

"Why? why?" demanded Attila, fiercely. "Is it that this form is hateful to thee? Is it that this hand, which a thousand conquered kings have felt proud to kiss, is abhorrent in thine eyes?"

"No, no! oh no!" cried Ildica, taking the hand that he had partly extended, and pressing her lips upon it--"no, mighty king, far from it! It is that I love another with a love that death itself can never change. It is that our faith is different, all our thoughts unlike, that thou art the avowed enemy of my country. Yet all that were nothing compared with my love for another. Were he dead to-morrow, still would he live in my heart as vividly, as strongly as if I saw him every day. This is no vain dream, no idle fancy! I have known it and proved it during long, long years of absence; and I should but gaze upon thee and think upon him--I should live in the past and hate the present for his sake! Oh, mighty Attila! be generous, be noble! and command, by thine actions, the only kind of love that Ildica can yield thee. Heaven is my witness, that far from feeling towards thee with the cold abhorrence which thou seemest to think I experience--far from striving to hate thee even as the enemy of my country, and to regard thee with detestation, as many of my nation do--ever since that day when first in the plains of Margus thou savedst the life of him I loved, and didst free me and mine from terrible captivity, I have ever loved thee with deep veneration. I have thought of thee as at once mighty and generous, a conqueror, but a noble one, the enemy of my country indeed, but a great, a wonderful, a just, a lofty-minded man. Thus have I thought of thee, and thus has my beloved Theodore ever taught me to think, by word and by letter, by the tale of thy great deeds, and by his knowledge of thy noble nature."

Attila was evidently moved; and, folding his arms upon his breast, he turned his eyes from Ildica as if from some impulse of shame, and fixed them on the ground. The fair girl, however, saw that she had produced some effect, and she proceeded eagerly in that strain which had been thus far successful.

"Think, oh Attila," she exclaimed, "think what has been the conduct towards thee of him whom I so dearly love. I know not half of what he has done, for he boasts not of good actions; but sure I am that you have ever found him faithful, zealous, and true; and thou canst in thine own mind trace, as in a picture, all that he has done for thee and thine. Have I not heard, here in the camp, that he saved the life of thy youngest child, the beautiful youth whom they call Ernac? Have I not heard that in some battle in Gaul more than once he risked his life to defend that of Attila? Has he ever failed thee in the hour of need? Has he ever spoken to thee or of thee one unjust word? Has he ever betrayed thee in small things or in great? Has he ever been untrue to thee, oh king? And wouldst thou now betray him; wouldst thou make _his_ life miserable who always sought thy welfare? Wouldst thou take that life which was risked to save thine own? Wouldst thou take his bride, the chief object of his existence, from him who, from the jaws of destruction, rescued thy beloved child?"

"No, no, no!" cried Attila, taking both the hands that she held out towards him in the act of adjuration--"no, no; I will not wrong him! Thou hast conquered! Whatever I may feel, however strong and burning be the passion that thou hast kindled in my heart, I will not take his bride from him who saved my son. Rise, maiden, rise! and set your heart at rest! If the son of Paulinus return to claim thee for his bride, his bride thou shalt be, and I will send ye together far from me, that the memory of these feelings may never be reawakened by the sight of thy beauty. A week hence is the utmost term that he allowed himself to return; I will add thereunto another week ere I see thee again, that I may not increase the fire that burns even now within my heart. If he be not then returned, Attila will cause diligent search and inquiry to be made, that his fate may be clearly ascertained. Attila will do justice to the son of Paulinus; but if he be dead, as in these times of trouble and of pestilence he well may be, Ildica will do justice unto Attila."

Her heart sunk at his last words; but she had gained so much already that she dared not risk all again by reply. All she answered then was, "God defend us both!" and covering her fair face with her hands, she gave way to the many mingled emotions that struggled in her breast--present relief--future apprehension--hope, never-dying, consoling hope--her dark, inseparable companion, fear--the agitation of a great struggle achieved; and the overpowering sense of success beyond her anticipations--she could not restrain them all--she gave way, and wept.

Attila gazed upon her for several minutes in silence, and then exclaimed, "Thou art too lovely! But be comforted," he added, "thou mayst be happy yet!"

Thus saying, he turned, and left her to indulge her tears in peace.