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Dreamer of Dreams

<h2>XX</h2> I saw her eyes like stars and her face pale and wonderful as dawn, and her lips like twilight water. Fiona Macleod. <hr style="width: 65%;" /> Eric had now reached the base of the mountains, had actually set his foot within that fruitful, smiling plain. One of the long roads that he had perceived from the heights lay before him. It was covered with thick white dust, and on both sides the cornfields stood in ripening abundance, rippling in the soft wind like waves that had been dyed yellow by the rays of the sun. Bright-tinted flowers grew in the ditches—red, blue, and yellow—a feast for the traveller's eye. Eric walked quickly; new hope had risen in his heart, his body felt rested, his spirit eager; he wondered if this would be the land of his dreams? The sun shone upon him from a cloudless sky; the crystal of his sword reflected its dazzling blue, whilst the staff he held in his hand had turned into burnished gold. He passed many peasants as he went, and all of them turned and gazed after this stranger in silken clothes. Eric had never lost his radiant smile; and all whom he met felt better and richer because they had looked upon the light that shone in his eyes. Never had he seen roads so straight and so shadeless; they seemed to lead in an uncurving line from one end of the earth to the other; and those that walked upon them were never in a hurry. Strings of carts laden with freshly cut corn and hay moved slowly along, the heads of the patient oxen bent low to the ground, straining under the weight they dragged. High above the swinging loads long-haired youths stretched in lazy content, piped dreamy tunes upon their wooden flutes, their eyes hidden beneath broad-brimmed hats. All were dressed in the same white shirts Radu had worn. There were also old men walking beside the vehicles, bearing heavy scythes on their shoulders. Their faces were browned, the colour of sun-baked earth; and from under the shade of their hats silvery locks hung down covering the napes of their wrinkled necks. One friendly peasant had bidden Eric take a rest on the top of his hay, and our wanderer had gladly accepted, swinging himself up on the swaying mass. There he reposed among the fragrant green, half buried beneath the flowers of yesterday. The faithful hawk flew down from the blue and perched close to his feet. Eric closed his eyes, hugging his sword to his breast; and as he did so the vision of his dream stood before him with startling vividness. Never had he seen the face so distinctly; never had the eyes looked into his from so near. He sat up, almost expecting to find some unknown being at his side; but no—he was shut in all about by the withered grass that smelt so sweet and was so deliciously soft to his limbs. But why had he so clearly felt his vision's sweet presence? It made his heart beat with breathless excitement. How warm the sun was! How long the road! The clouds of dust raised by the wheels of the carts were so thick that Eric could no more see where he was going. But had he not always allowed Fate to shape events as she would? This time again he would not worry, but simply believe in his luck as he had done all along, and trust in God who had so mercifully guided his steps. Eric must have fallen asleep on his moving bed, because when he awoke the sun was already low and the carts had stopped beside a wood near the edge of the road. The peasants had unyoked their oxen, which were quietly chewing the cud, watching their masters with large humid eyes, their tails lazily flicking the swarms of flies from off their flanks. The men sat in groups; some smoking, some preparing their meal of Indian corn over a small fire they had lit in the ditch. Eric climbed down from his lofty resting-place, looking around him rather dazed from his sleep. The falcon rose noiselessly into the air and flew off, perching upon a tall tree in the wood beyond. It had not yet forsaken its travelling companion, and Eric followed its flight with an affectionate look. The men made room for the youth as they all sat around the boiling pot that hung over the fire from three crossed bars. One man stirred the thick dough with a solid rounded stick; from time to time they took draughts of cool water, putting their lips to the thick spouts of quaintly shaped earthen pots which were standing at their side. None could resist our traveller's charm, and every one treated him as an honoured guest, wherever he brought his sunny smile, his dreamer's eyes, and his golden locks. His new hosts asked him a few vague questions, about what he was doing, whither he was going, and whence he came; but they showed no great eagerness; it even appeared to Eric as if nothing could take them by surprise. In their quiet acceptation of all that came and went, they much reminded Eric of their own beasts of burden. They did not seem to think, but only to dream, and consider one thing as good as another; they were ready to share whatever was theirs with this stranger whom they had met on the way. In the distance a tiny village could be seen, hidden amongst thick shrubs and trees; but the peasants explained it was not their home; they still had far to go, so they meant to stop here for the night, sleeping either in the ditch among the dusty flowers or upon their loads of hay. They kindly proposed that Eric should remain with them and rest beside their carts, which he agreed to do; but before settling down for the night he felt inclined to wander through the wood and to discover what lay beyond. The peasants had suddenly espied the wonderful sword that hung from his belt, and they would not let him go before they had handled it in turns. For a moment they dropped their calm in loud exclamations of approval, and stood around him as he let the blade flash in the sinking light. Then he moved away, and soon was lost among the oaks of the wood that spread their branches over his head. Through their thick trunks the setting sun could be seen turning the sky into a burning furnace, and one side of every trunk seemed glowing hot as the fiery rays smote upon it. A thick carpet of green spread beneath his feet, and innumerable birds sang amongst the trees as he passed. The wood was small, and before long Eric had reached the farther side. In front of him stretched the broad bed of a river, now almost dry; but in several places the water flowed calmly along in separate streams. The banks were bordered with grey-green willows and on the small islands in the river's bed the same trees thickly grew. The water was dyed red by the sinking sun, and each stone shone like a jewel, as if some wasteful king had cast all his treasure away. There, where the river was dry, Eric perceived a group of small brown tents, like giant withered leaves, that the parting sun was turning into every shade of rust and orange. Little columns of smoke mounted into the air on all sides, throwing their blue veil of filmy vapour over the bushes in the background. Tied up to some trees near by were lean, hungry-looking horses of all sorts, and solemn grey donkeys wandered about amongst the loose stones cropping each blade of grass they could find. Eric descended the small bank that separated the wood from the river and hesitatingly approached the shabby tents. As he did so a whole swarm of nut-brown children came running towards him, from every corner, with outstretched, begging hands, their rags hanging in tatters around their thin little bodies. Some were quite naked and as dark as mahogany, with enormous black eyes and feathery lashes. They screamed and chattered, and many of them turned mad somersaults over the stony ground to attract the wanderer's attention. In a second the whole settlement was in a violent uproar of excitement, mixed with the barking of dogs. From each dwelling dark, curiously clad men and women trooped out. Many were beautiful, and all had marvellous eyes; the younger men wore their hair in thick black curls, hanging about their faces. There were frightful old hags amongst them draped in discoloured garments that almost fell from their withered limbs, held only together by broad scarlet girdles that were wound innumerable times around their waists. One or two young girls were startlingly handsome; they stood with heads thrown back, their hands on their hips, holding short white pipes between their flashing teeth. Their tresses were bound in gaudy rags, and each wore a flower of brightest hue stuck behind her ear. Round their necks they had hung strings of beads and shells, of all sorts and sizes, that shone in varying colours as they moved about. They were slim and upright, with narrow hips and beautiful feet and hands, but one and all were as dark as Indians, their faces having taken the tint of the long roads they were for ever pursuing. As Eric had immediately guessed, this was a troop of that mysterious race of gypsies that comes from no one knows whither, and wanders over the world with no destination in view. Everywhere they are dreaded by the quiet inhabitants of the villages, for they are ready to steal all that comes their way, and never respect what belongs to another. At the slightest provocation their knives are ready to spring from their belts; their tempers blaze like scorching flames; to them it seems but part of the day's work to leave a dagger within the heart of any who have awakened their resentment. Now they all clamoured and yelled as they dragged at his cloak, touched his clothes, fingered his sword, and nearly pulled the staff from his hand. But they were all laughing and excited, evidently enchanted to meet so fair a traveller who had so unexpectedly fallen in their midst. Eric felt quite confused by this turbulent greeting, and was wondering what was going to happen next, when one of the quite old women moved out of the mob, took hold of his cloak, and pulled him towards her tent. She was clothed in an old carpet-like cloth that she had wrapped round her loins over a discoloured shift that might once have been white, but was now the shade of the earth; the whole was held together by a long band of faded colours that was twisted several times round hips and waist. Her grey hair hung in thin strands over her face, that was wrinkled and brown like the bark of a tree, but which still showed signs of former beauty. She was bent almost double, and dragged herself along with the help of a twisted staff. Like all the others she had a short white pipe in her mouth, and her head was covered with a kerchief of brilliant colour. From her belt hung a curiously shaped shell, a sign that she was a teller of fortunes, and therefore a respected personage amongst this troop of nomads. Eric followed her without resistance, but hesitated at the entry to her dark dwelling, very reluctant to penetrate within anything so unclean; but the old woman was insistent, and our young traveller had to yield and even to take his place upon some indescribable rags that served as a bed and seat all in one. The air was stifling and full of smoke, the whole place so devoid of cleanliness that Eric hardly dared to look about. The gypsy took his hand in hers, but Eric found great difficulty in understanding what she was saying, in spite of the knowledge that had come to him through the old man's tablets. With her bony finger she began following the lines on his palm. Outside the tent the other gypsies stood jabbering and laughing. All of a sudden the old woman gave a start, and declared that whatever his fate had been, now he was near a critical moment in his life, and must expect either a great joy or a great pain, she could not tell which; ... "but," added the old creature, "great joy and great pain lie very near together, and often one rises out of the other; it is hard to say which is nearer truth. "I am the wise woman of this wandering people; from near and far they come to listen to my words; much could I tell thee of what I have seen, for there is not a road on this earth upon which my weary feet have not moved. "If thou wilt not hurry away I shall tell thee many a tale; but to-day I can show thee something which we call the treasure of our clan, though in truth it belongs not to us; we believe, however, that it brings luck to our wandering tribe. Come quickly, before the light bids us farewell." The strange old thing again seized our astonished traveller and dragged him after her out of the tent. The rest of the dark mob wanted to follow, but the fortune-teller, who seemed to be the respected head of this curious people, stopped them with loud imprecations, and none dared oppose her wishes. She told them to go back to their camp, because she alone had the right to lead the fair stranger whither she would—that he was her guest and she would have none of their noisy company. With incredible agility for her age she led the way, over several streams of shallow water, over rolling stones and wet sand, to a small island in the middle of the river's bed. Eric marvelled at the rapidity with which she moved along, helping herself with her stick; above their heads the white falcon flew, as always, showing the way. Here the willows grew thick and grey, trailing their sinuous branches down to the ground where they mixed with earth and sand. The gypsy parted the thick boughs, and as she did so a sound of sweet music came wafted on the air, dream-like, something within its notes that was at once both ghostly and unreal, something that made the heart stand still in an ecstasy of wonder. Eric's leader scrambled up the steep bank, still firmly clutching his cloak, and almost ran along, winding her way in and out, amongst the thick growth of shrubs. There was deep shade here in this silent place. A soft grey-green light was over all, only from between the leaves the sky could be seen blood-red. The ground was covered with a thick carpet of harebells the colour of an Italian sky; they swayed their heads with a tinkling sound whenever a breath of wind stirred the air. It was a spot where fairies would surely dwell, mysterious, cool, and full of secret promise. And there, in the midst of this carpet of blue, leaning against a moss-grown crumbling tree, was a spirit-like being out of another world! <hr style="width: 65%;" /> <div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/illus5.jpg" alt=""/></div> <h3>And there, leaning against a moss-grown crumbling tree, was a spirit-like being out of another world.</h3> <hr style="width: 65%;" /> No words can describe what Eric felt! He only knew he was at the end of his way ... that all his wanderings were not in vain—that something marvellous and unspeakably sweet had suddenly flooded earth and sky, that the entire universe had become one song of praise, one cry of hope, one yearning desire of fulfilment.... There, before him in all their wonder and perfection, were the face and eyes that had stolen the peace from his soul and the art from his hands. He fell on his knees, overcome by the surging emotion that filled heart and brain. He could not grasp this amazing miracle that completely overwhelmed his being; the hermit's words alone rang in his ears: "It may not come in splendid raiment with a crown on its head, but keep thy heart open as well as thy eyes...." Yes, his eyes and heart both were open and a glorious light swept over his life, like a warm wave before which all resistance gives way, covering both past and future, with an immense longing for perfect achievement. And this was the vision that had been at last revealed to the eyes that had searched with such tireless persistence, with such strong and faithful belief in the ultimate crowning of their desire: A girl, slim and ethereal, clad in the garment of poverty, a shirt-like dress over which a colourless scarf had been many times wound till the delicate figure resembled that of an Egyptian fresco; feet and arms were bare, and of utmost perfection. From under a wreath of fragile harebells streamed the most exquisite tresses ever seen—rich brown in tone, but the sun had shone on them so lovingly long, that a haze of golden red had been breathed over them by all the rays that had ceaselessly caressed their softness. She stood, her head thrown back; within her hand she held an old violin on which she was playing like one in a far-off world, for whom neither turmoil nor strife can exist, playing like an angel from the regions above, where no sin and no sorrow can have place.... But her face. Oh! her face ... in truth it was not of this world! A radiance seemed to illuminate it from within, a shine that could come but from a soul in touch with the infinite, a soul full of light and love and hope, that no material distance could sever from its perfect communion with God. And then her eyes! Large and grey, with a far-away look—eyes that see visions and dreams past the knowledge of man; starry and clear, yet deep as a summer sea; eyes in which lay hidden all the boundless illusions of our human race, mixed with a peace that has no name. Above her head the leaves rustled with a whispering sound; the flowers trembled, shaking their bells in waves of blue. The last glow in the sky fell slanting through the branches upon the girlish figure, till she appeared to be a transparent apparition out of the legends of yore. Serenely indifferent to the two who watched her in rapture and silence, she played her heavenly music, a distant hymn to a being she alone could see; and upon invisible wings the gentle evening breeze carried the rippling notes far away into the fading red of the sky.... The old woman came quite near to Eric and whispered in his ear: "They say that she is mad; but I know things that lie deeper than the deepest ocean, which they never can understand; however, I shall teach thee some of my wisdom: God has pressed His lips on her eyes, so she ever sees visions we earthly mortals have not the power to conceive. "She is not one of us! She is of a race as far removed from ours as the sky is removed from the earth. But those that live in the dust, whose feet move amidst the mud of the roads, cannot believe that a creature so spotless and pure can exist in this world and yet never soil its perfection! "So they say she is daft and turn lightly away from a problem too deep for the comfort of their shallow souls: for verily it is easier to disbelieve what the common brain cannot fathom." "But who is she?" queried Eric, with bated breath. "Ah! that we shall never know. "In a distant land far over the sea we were once wandering on a rich-coloured autumn morning, and there we found, on the grey steps of a church, an infant of marvellous beauty. Her pearly limbs were enfolded in fine linen and lace. We had mercy upon the innocent babe, for our hearts have not the colour of our faces; and since that blessed day she has been the joy of our tribe and the pride of both young and old. "But when she grew to the age when she could talk, not a syllable could we understand. Her eyes for ever were searching the skies, and her words spoke of things she alone could perceive. Even I, who am wise, could not follow her sayings. "But gradually an inner voice told me that there was something holy about this stranger maiden, something which removed her far from us, something that mortal hands should not touch. "Then I understood that God had laid His hand upon her brain. Now she seldom speaks, but always plays these heartrending notes. Hark, fair stranger, listen if it is not unearthly and sweet." Eric listened with all his soul; never before had such music come to his ears. It was full of tears, and sighs, and hopes, and dreams; it was heavenly indeed, and yet a sobbing human chord pierced the whole, with a never-ending cry for the things that every poor mortal needs. It rose and fell, carried upon the changing tides of love and hope; it contained a yearning effort, a boundless longing, towards that land of chimeras and dreams beyond the boundaries of the earth. Every chord seemed strung to a pulsing heart bound and fettered, yet gasping to be free. Then it changed into an intensity of peace, like the soft winds of night descending slowly upon the heat and toil of the day; dying away into fading notes always fainter and sweeter, like the first breath of spring over sleeping woods, like the hushed voice of a great sadness that can still hope and believe ... and then, quite suddenly, there was silence, and only the summer breeze stirred amongst the boughs of the trees. <hr style="width: 65%;" /> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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