THE HERMITS.
The life of man is a series of scenes, generally connected with each other, often by the strong bond of cause and effect, but often linked together by some fine accidental tie, having no reference to the principal events. Each day may be considered as one act in life's drama; and sleep comes with night to change the scenes, and give the weary actors a moment of repose. Sometimes, however, there breaks in among the rest--but detached from all those that surround it--a scene in which we live, and act, and interest ourselves for a limited and defined space of time, but which, when it is over, produces no effect upon our general fate, acts as no cause in the complicated machinery of our fortunes. Sometimes the scene maybe fair and sweet, a solitary well in the desert, which cools our lip and quenches our thirst, but supplies no river, waters no distant land. Sometimes it is terrible and dangerous, a thunder-storm suddenly sweeping over the summer sky, coming when all is brightness, reigning an hour in awful majesty, and then passing away, and leaving the world as tranquil as it was before.
Theodore rode on, taking his way across the woods, and asking his heart what was to come next; what, in all the vast, vague variety of earthly chances, was the next thing that was to befall him on his onward way. When, but a few short months before, he had stood upon the mount of cypresses with those he loved, and had gazed over the calm splendour of the Adriatic Sea, with life all before him, and hope to lead him on, he had fancied that his fate would be as fair and bright as the glowing scene beneath his eyes; his future had promised to be as calm and unbroken by a storm as those tranquil waters, sleeping, unruffled, beneath the setting sun. Had any one less than a prophet then told him all that the next two months should behold, he would have laughed the prediction to scorn, in the full confiding hope of undisappointed youth. But now that for many a week every hour had brought its change, that he had seen the expectations of to-day, to-morrow trampled under foot, and the sunshine of the morning darkened ere the evening's close, he had learned still to ask himself, "What next?" with every day that rose, and every change of scene that came upon him. That blessed reliance on the dear deluding tales of hope, which is youth's peculiar power, had left him for ever; and though the "What next?" might be asked, with the determination of bearing all worthily, yet apprehension had always its share in the question too.
The woods were wide and intricate; and, as Theodore and his companions rode on, the trees and shrubs began to change their character: enormous birches tossed about upon the rocks and rising grounds, succeeded to the beech and oak; and after them again came the tender larch, and the dark pine, as the road began to wind up into the mountains. It was a sultry autumn day; and the misty haze that hung about the world, with the close electric air of the forest, were ominous of a thunderstorm; and at length the clouds, gathering round the summits of the higher hills, burst upon the heads of Theodore and his followers, just as they had reached a spot, where, from the top of the first range of eminences, they could gaze over a wide extent of forest ground. The rain poured down in torrents, the lightning flickered through the sky; but neither of those would have prevented Theodore from pursuing his way, had not the mountain paths they followed become so slippery with the rain that his horse could not advance, and even the lighter and more sure-footed beasts of the Huns could make no progress.
They were debating as to where they could find shelter, when suddenly they beheld, standing on the rock above, a tall thin human form, scantily covered by its tattered robes from the wind or storm. He was gazing down upon them without speaking; but Theodore, as soon as he turned his eyes that way, recollected the enthusiast Mizetus, who had attempted to persuade the people, during the earthquake in Dalmatia, to stay and perish amidst the ruins of the falling palace. He had heard long before that the enthusiast had wandered over many parts of the earth, and had dwelt long in deserts and barren places as a hermit, according to the prevailing superstitions of the day; and the young Roman doubted not, that since he had been driven forth by the partial destruction of Aspalathos, Mizetus had again returned to his erratic life, and found his way to the frontiers of Pannonia. "Go up to him, Cremera," said Theodore--"go up to him, and, telling him who we are, ask him where we can find shelter, for he must surely have some cave or hut wherein to dwell himself."
The Arab obeyed, leaving his horse below; but the enthusiast made him no reply, gazing sternly, and even fiercely at him, till the freedman used some angry words to drive him to an answer. He then exclaimed aloud, "Get ye gone! get ye gone from me, ye miserable, worldly, self-seeking generation! get ye gone! Ye shall not pollute my dwelling. Farther on ye will find one who will give welcome alike to the lustful Roman and the bloody, barbarous Hun. Get ye gone! I will have naught to do with ye. On, on upon the path, I say: ye will find shelter onward to cover your heads from the earthly storm, though not from the tempest of God's indignation."
Cremera reported to his master the reply he had received, for the thunder prevented it from reaching, at once, any ears but his own; and Theodore, as the only course, slowly pursued the path along which Mizetus had pointed, looking anxiously, as he proceeded over the wet and slippery rocks, surrounded by precipices and impeded by scattered fragments, for some sign of human habitation. It was long ere he discovered any, however; and was indeed passing on, when Cremera exclaimed, "There is a cave! there is a cave! and something standing therein like the figure of a man."
Theodore hesitated not; but leading his horse towards the narrow mouth of a cavern which he now beheld, ascended the steep path with risk and difficulty. The Huns followed; and though, on entering, they discovered that the object which Cremera had taken for a man was in fact a large crucifix, they found seated within the cave one of those many devout but enthusiastic beings, thousands of whom in that age devoted their lives to solitude and privation, on a mistaken principle of religion. Some subjected themselves to the most tremendous inflictions, thinking thereby to please God; and the pillar and the chain still find their place in history as illustrations of human fanaticism. But the hermit here was of a different character: his enthusiasm had taken a different form; and though not less wild, perhaps we might say not less diseased, prompted him not to the severer sufferings which were indispensable to obtain the reputation of sanctity among the anchorites of the Thebais. He dwelt, it is true, but in a cavern of the rock; but that cavern, high up on the mountain side, was dry, and not unwholesome: his dress was indeed composed of nothing but skins, yet the inhabitants of the country were principally clothed with the same materials, though arranged in a more convenient and agreeable form: his bed, which was raised high with rushes and forest hay, was piled up above that with soft and warm skins; and the contributions not only of some neighbouring villages on the other side of the hills, but of many distant towns (for the whole land regarded him as a holy being), supplied him plentifully with good and varied food. His appearance, however, was venerable; and his countenance, half covered as it was with a long white beard and a profusion of silvery hair, was calm, peaceful, and mild, and well calculated to obtain both reverence and love. There was, indeed, an occasional look of worldly shrewdness seen upon those high but withered features, which might have made many a suspicious man doubt the sincerity of his vocation; but there came also from his eyes, from time to time, gleams of quick uncertain light: whenever he approached particular subjects, too, his whole air and manner changed, his colour mounted, his eye flashed, his lip quivered; and Theodore could not gaze upon that countenance, under all its frequent changes, without believing that some slight touch of insanity had warped an intellect originally fitted for high and noble things. When he rose to welcome the strangers, his beard fell down below his girdle, and his long nails, untrimmed for many a year, were exposed in all their deformity. His manners, however, were noble, one might say courtly, for there was grace as well as dignity, and polished terms as well as mild and benevolent ideas. He asked no questions, neither whence the strangers came nor whither they were going; but gladly gave them shelter from the storm, and spread before them such viands as his cell contained, pressing them to partake with hospitable care, and blessing, in the name of God, the food to which he invited them. His eye, however, rested upon Theodore; and though the youth had by this time adopted in a great degree the dress of the Huns, yet his air and countenance were not to be mistaken, and the hermit addressed him at once in Latin.
"There is a hermit from our native land," he said, after some conversation upon other subjects, "living near, and doubtless a holy and religious man he is; but the Almighty has not endued him with the spirit of sufferance towards his fellow-creatures, and he thinks that he cannot serve God without abhorring men. He was sent hither unto me some months ago by Eugenius, bishop of Margus, to ask mine aid and counsel in dealing with the Huns; but, when he had received his answer, he would not depart, and has remained here ever since, doubtless sent as another thorn in my flesh."
Theodore very well conceived how the wild enthusiast might become a thorn in the flesh of any one less fanatical than himself, and he replied, "He refused us shelter but now, reverend father; and sent us on to thee in the midst of the storm, although I know him well. He dwelt for some two years at Aspalathos, on the Illyrian coast, and gained high repute for sanctity among the common people; but in the terrible earthquake in which we had all nearly perished some five or six months since, he strove to persuade the people to remain instead of leaving the falling buildings, prophesying that the last day was about to appear."