Complete Works of Bram Stoker (358 page)

After some prayers and blessings, rhythmically spoken or sung by an invisible choir, the priest took the rings from the open book, and, after signing my forehead thrice with the gold one as he repeated the blessing in each case, placed it on my right hand; then he gave my Lady the silver one, with the same ritual thrice repeated.  I suppose it was the blessing which is the effective point in making two into one.

After this, those who stood behind us exchanged our rings thrice, taking them from one finger and placing them on the other, so that at the end my wife wore the gold ring and I the silver one.

Then came a chant, during which the priest swung the censer himself, and my wife and I held our tapers.  After that he blessed us, the responses coming from the voices of the unseen singers in the darkness.

After a long ritual of prayer and blessing, sung in triplicate, the priest took the crowns of flowers, and put one on the head of each, crowning me first, and with the crown tied with gold.  Then he signed and blessed us each thrice.  The guides, who stood behind us, exchanged our crowns thrice, as they had exchanged the rings; so that at the last, as I was glad to see, my wife wore the crown of gold, and I that of silver.

Then there came, if it is possible to describe such a thing, a hush over even that stillness, as though some form of added solemnity were to be gone through.  I was not surprised, therefore, when the priest took in his hands the great golden chalice.  Kneeling, my wife and I partook together thrice.

When we had risen from our knees and stood for a little while, the priest took my left hand in his right, and I, by direction of my guide, gave my right hand to my wife.  And so in a line, the priest leading, we circled round the table in rhythmic measure.  Those who supported us moved behind us, holding the crowns over our heads, and replacing them when we stopped.

After a hymn, sung through the darkness, the priest took off our crowns.  This was evidently the conclusion of the ritual, for the priest placed us in each other’s arms to embrace each other.  Then he blessed us, who were now man and wife!

The lights went out at once, some as if extinguished, others slowly fading down to blackness.

Left in the dark, my wife and I sought each other’s arms again, and stood together for a few moments heart to heart, tightly clasping each other, and kissed each other fervently.

Instinctively we turned to the door of the church, which was slightly open, so that we could see the moonlight stealing in through the aperture.  With even steps, she holding me tightly by the left arm  —  which is the wife’s arm, we passed through the old church and out into the free air.

Despite all that the gloom had brought me, it was sweet to be in the open air and together  —  this quite apart from our new relations to each other.  The moon rode high, and the full light, coming after the dimness or darkness in the church, seemed as bright as day.  I could now, for the first time, see my wife’s face properly.  The glamour of the moonlight may have served to enhance its ethereal beauty, but neither moonlight nor sunlight could do justice to that beauty in its living human splendour.  As I gloried in her starry eyes I could think of nothing else; but when for a moment my eyes, roving round for the purpose of protection, caught sight of her whole figure, there was a pang to my heart.  The brilliant moonlight showed every detail in terrible effect, and I could see that she wore only her Shroud.  In the moment of darkness, after the last benediction, before she returned to my arms, she must have removed her bridal veil.  This may, of course, have been in accordance with the established ritual of her church; but, all the same, my heart was sore.  The glamour of calling her my very own was somewhat obscured by the bridal adornment being shorn.  But it made no difference in her sweetness to me.  Together we went along the path through the wood, she keeping equal step with me in wifely way.

When we had come through the trees near enough to see the roof of the Castle, now gilded with the moonlight, she stopped, and looking at me with eyes full of love, said:

“Here I must leave you!”

“What?”  I was all aghast, and I felt that my chagrin was expressed in the tone of horrified surprise in my voice.  She went on quickly:

“Alas!  It is impossible that I should go farther  —  at present!”

“But what is to prevent you?” I queried.  “You are now my wife.  This is our wedding-night; and surely your place is with me!”  The wail in her voice as she answered touched me to the quick:

“Oh, I know, I know!  There is no dearer wish in my heart  —  there can be none  —  than to share my husband’s home.  Oh, my dear, my dear, if you only knew what it would be to me to be with you always!  But indeed I may not  —  not yet!  I am not free!  If you but knew how much that which has happened to-night has cost me  —  or how much cost to others as well as to myself may be yet to come  —  you would understand.  Rupert”  —  it was the first time she had ever addressed me by name, and naturally it thrilled me through and through  —  “Rupert, my husband, only that I trust you with all the faith which is in perfect love  —  mutual love, I dare not have done what I have done this night.  But, dear, I know that you will bear me out; that your wife’s honour is your honour, even as your honour is mine.  My honour is given to this; and you can help me  —  the only help I can have at present  —  by trusting me.  Be patient, my beloved, be patient!  Oh, be patient for a little longer!  It shall not be for long.  So soon as ever my soul is freed I shall come to you, my husband; and we shall never part again.  Be content for a while!  Believe me that I love you with my very soul; and to keep away from your dear side is more bitter for me than even it can be for you!  Think, my dear one, I am not as other women are, as some day you shall clearly understand.  I am at the present, and shall be for a little longer, constrained by duties and obligations put upon me by others, and for others, and to which I am pledged by the most sacred promises  —  given not only by myself, but by others  —  and which I must not forgo.  These forbid me to do as I wish.  Oh, trust me, my beloved  —  my husband!”

She held out her hands appealingly.  The moonlight, falling through the thinning forest, showed her white cerements.  Then the recollection of all she must have suffered  —  the awful loneliness in that grim tomb in the Crypt, the despairing agony of one who is helpless against the unknown  —  swept over me in a wave of pity.  What could I do but save her from further pain?  And this could only be by showing her my faith and trust.  If she was to go back to that dreadful charnel-house, she would at least take with her the remembrance that one who loved her and whom she loved  —  to whom she had been lately bound in the mystery of marriage  —  trusted her to the full.  I loved her more than myself  —  more than my own soul; and I was moved by pity so great that all possible selfishness was merged in its depths.  I bowed my head before her  —  my Lady and my Wife  —  as I said:

“So be it, my beloved.  I trust you to the full, even as you trust me.  And that has been proven this night, even to my own doubting heart.  I shall wait; and as I know you wish it, I shall wait as patiently as I can.  But till you come to me for good and all, let me see you or hear from you when you can.  The time, dear wife, must go heavily with me as I think of you suffering and lonely.  So be good to me, and let not too long a time elapse between my glimpses of hope.  And, sweetheart, when you
do
come to me, it shall be for ever!”  There was something in the intonation of the last sentence  —  I felt its sincerity myself  —  some implied yearning for a promise, that made her beautiful eyes swim.  The glorious stars in them were blurred as she answered with a fervour which seemed to me as more than earthly:

“For ever!  I swear it!”

With one long kiss, and a straining in each others arms, which left me tingling for long after we had lost sight of each other, we parted.  I stood and watched her as her white figure, gliding through the deepening gloom, faded as the forest thickened.  It surely was no optical delusion or a phantom of the mind that her shrouded arm was raised as though in blessing or farewell before the darkness swallowed her up.

BOOK VI: THE PURSUIT IN THE FOREST

RUPERT’S JOURNAL  — 
Continued
.

July
3, 1907.

There is no anodyne but work to pain of the heart; and my pain is all of the heart.  I sometimes feel that it is rather hard that with so much to make me happy I cannot know happiness.  How can I be happy when my wife, whom I fondly love, and who I know loves me, is suffering in horror and loneliness of a kind which is almost beyond human belief?  However, what is my loss is my country’s gain, for the Land of the Blue Mountains is my country now, despite the fact that I am still a loyal subject of good King Edward.  Uncle Roger took care of that when he said I should have the consent of the Privy Council before I might be naturalized anywhere else.

When I got home yesterday morning I naturally could not sleep.  The events of the night and the bitter disappointment that followed my exciting joy made such a thing impossible.  When I drew the curtain over the window, the reflection of the sunrise was just beginning to tinge the high-sailing clouds in front of me.  I laid down and tried to rest, but without avail.  However, I schooled myself to lie still, and at last, if I did not sleep, was at least quiescent.

Disturbed by a gentle tap at the door, I sprang up at once and threw on a dressing gown.  Outside, when I opened the door, was Aunt Janet.  She was holding a lighted candle in her hand, for though it was getting light in the open, the passages were still dark.  When she saw me she seemed to breathe more freely, and asked if she might come in.

Whilst she sat on the edge of my bed, in her old-time way, she said in a hushed voice:

“Oh, laddie, laddie, I trust yer burden is no too heavy to bear.”

“My burden!  What on earth do you mean, Aunt Janet?” I said in reply.  I did not wish to commit myself by a definite answer, for it was evident that she had been dreaming or Second Sighting again.  She replied with the grim seriousness usual to her when she touched on occult matters:

“I saw your hairt bleeding, laddie.  I kent it was yours, though how I kent it I don’t know.  It lay on a stone floor in the dark, save for a dim blue light such as corpse-lights are.  On it was placed a great book, and close around were scattered many strange things, amongst them two crowns o’ flowers  —  the one bound wi’ silver, the other wi’ gold.  There was also a golden cup, like a chalice, o’erturned.  The red wine trickled from it an’ mingled wi’ yer hairt’s bluid; for on the great book was some vast dim weight wrapped up in black, and on it stepped in turn many men all swathed in black.  An’ as the weight of each came on it the bluid gushed out afresh.  And oh, yer puir hairt, my laddie, was quick and leaping, so that at every beat it raised the black-clad weight!  An’ yet that was not all, for hard by stood a tall imperial shape o’ a woman, all arrayed in white, wi’ a great veil o’ finest lace worn o’er a shrood.  An’ she was whiter than the snow, an’ fairer than the morn for beauty; though a dark woman she was, wi’ hair like the raven, an’ eyes black as the sea at nicht, an’ there was stars in them.  An’ at each beat o’ yer puir bleeding hairt she wrung her white hands, an’ the manin’ o’ her sweet voice rent my hairt in twain.  Oh, laddie, laddie! what does it mean?”

I managed to murmur: “I’m sure I don’t know, Aunt Janet.  I suppose it was all a dream!”

“A dream it was, my dear.  A dream or a veesion, whilka matters nane, for a’ such are warnin’s sent frae God . . . ”  Suddenly she said in a different voice:

“Laddie, hae ye been fause to any lassie?  I’m no blamin’ ye.  For ye men are different frae us women, an’ yer regard on recht and wrang differs from oors.  But oh, laddie, a woman’s tears fa’ heavy when her hairt is for sair wi’ the yieldin’ to fause words.  ‘Tis a heavy burden for ony man to carry wi’ him as he goes, an’ may well cause pain to ithers that he fain would spare.”  She stopped, and in dead silence waited for me to speak.  I thought it would be best to set her poor loving heart at rest, and as I could not divulge my special secret, spoke in general terms:

“Aunt Janet, I am a man, and have led a man’s life, such as it is.  But I can tell you, who have always loved me and taught me to be true, that in all the world there is no woman who must weep for any falsity of mine.  If close there be any who, sleeping or waking, in dreams or visions or in reality, weeps because of me, it is surely not for my doing, but because of something outside me.  It may be that her heart is sore because I must suffer, as all men must in some degree; but she does not weep for or through any act of mine.”

She sighed happily at my assurance, and looked up through her tears, for she was much moved; and after tenderly kissing my forehead and blessing me, stole away.  She was more sweet and tender than I have words to say, and the only regret that I have in all that is gone is that I have not been able to bring my wife to her, and let her share in the love she has for me.  But that, too, will come, please God!

In the morning I sent a message to Rooke at Otranto, instructing him by code to bring the yacht to Vissarion in the coming night.

All day I spent in going about amongst the mountaineers, drilling them and looking after their arms.  I
could
not stay still.  My only chance of peace was to work, my only chance of sleep to tire myself out.  Unhappily, I am very strong, so even when I came home at dark I was quite fresh.  However, I found a cable message from Rooke that the yacht would arrive at midnight.

There was no need to summon the mountaineers, as the men in the Castle would be sufficient to make preparations for the yacht’s coming.

Later
.

The yacht has come.  At half-past eleven the lookout signalled that a steamer without lights was creeping in towards the Creek.  I ran out to the Flagstaff, and saw her steal in like a ghost.  She is painted a steely blue-grey, and it is almost impossible to see her at any distance.  She certainly goes wonderfully.  Although there was not enough throb from the engines to mar the absolute stillness, she came on at a fine speed, and within a few minutes was close to the boom.  I had only time to run down to give orders to draw back the boom when she glided in and stopped dead at the harbour wall.  Rooke steered her himself, and he says he never was on a boat that so well or so quickly answered her helm.  She is certainly a beauty, and so far as I can see at night perfect in every detail.  I promise myself a few pleasant hours over her in the daylight.  The men seem a splendid lot.