On the morrow, when the sun again cast its vivid light upon the vast level of the wilderness, this wretched pair arose to pursue their journey. The Tartar dreaded the increased difficulties which he should have now to overcome. His companion was so weak that she could scarcely stand; yet she was obliged to carry her infant, as he was loaded with their baggage and other necessaries, that had hitherto been confined to the back of the pony. They had scarcely commenced the prosecution of their melancholy journey, when they were cheered with the prospect of relief. Not more than half a coss[34] distance before them, a beautiful lake seemed to smile in the morning sun, and to invite the suffering travellers to bathe their limbs in its limpid waters. The margin was dotted with groups of trees, displaying a luxuriant foliage, which was reflected in the still mirror below, and promised a grateful shade to the travel-worn passenger. Oxen appeared to be grazing on its margin, and every now and then, in the luxury of the most exquisite enjoyment, to hide themselves under the pellucid surface of its calm waters. Beyond, a gorgeous city reared its battlements amid the solemn silence of the desert, over which it seemed to cast the glow of its splendour, and to speak with a mute but eloquent voice of cheering to the heart of the forlorn wanderer, of which they alone can appreciate the magic force who have braved the perils of the wilderness, and seen death stand before them face to face amid its vast and inhospitable solitudes.
The Tartar and his wife, overjoyed at the sight, made the best of their way towards the lake and the city, in which the stir of busy life seemed to prevail; for they saw, as they imagined, multitudes of their fellow beings issue from its gates and spread over the adjoining plain. The scene, to the excited imagination of the travellers, was animated beyond description. The sight of human habitations, and of human beings who could afford them succour; of water in which they might assuage the pangs of the most painful of bodily privations; of houses in which they might find shelter after their perilous journey—all gave such a stimulus to their exertions, that even the weak and suffering mother, with the assistance of her husband’s arm, was able to go onward with tolerable firmness.
When they had proceeded for some time, the lake and the city still appeared before them, but no nearer. It seemed to them as if they had been moving their limbs without advancing a single step. They still, however pressed forward under the delusive expectation of reaching the fair goal of their hopes; but after a while the lake began suddenly to disappear, the city was by degrees shrouded in mist, which dispersed in the course of a few minutes, and, to their consternation, they saw nothing save the wide arid expanse of the desert before them. The unhappy woman sank upon the earth in a paroxysm of mental agony. The miserable man was now perfectly overwhelmed with despair. He feared that his wife was dying. She could no longer carry the infant; there was, consequently, but one alternative. The struggle of nature was a severe one, but no choice remained between death and parental inhumanity. The desire of life prevailed; and it was determined, after an agonizing conflict, that the infant must be sacrificed. The mother’s tears were dried up on her burning cheeks, and the father’s pangs were lost in the anxieties of the husband. The appeals of nature were only stifled by louder appeals in both their bosoms; and, however fierce the repugnance, it was to be resisted and overcome. The death of their babe was the least of two evils; they therefore submitted to the stern severity of their condition.
It was agreed by the half-distracted parents, that the newborn pledge of their affections should be abandoned. The mother having kissed it fervently, consigned it to the arms of her husband, who, having taken it to a spot where the stunted stock of a tree protruded from the scorching sand, placed it under the scanty shade of this bare emblem of sterility; and, having covered it with leaves, left it to the mercy of that God who can protect the babe in the desert as well as the sovereign on his throne. On rejoining his wife, the Tartar found her so weak that he feared she would be unable to proceed. Though released from the burden of her infant, her prostration of strength was so extreme, from the united effects of mental and bodily suffering, that she could scarcely rise from the earth. The pangs of thirst were again becoming horrible; still, after a severe struggle, she rose, and the wretched pair pursued their journey in silence and in agony.
They had not proceeded far before the invincible yearnings of nature prevailed over mere physical torment, and the bereaved mother called in a voice of piteous anguish for her child. She could no longer endure the pains of separation. The idea of having voluntarily consented to become the instrument of its death, was a horror which increased with every step, and she sank exhausted upon the sand. The sun, now rising towards its meridian, poured upon her the fiery effulgence of its beams. The husband’s heart was subdued by her sufferings. Dashing a tear from his cheek, he undertook to return and restore their infant to the arms of its distracted mother. Fixing the handle of his umbrella again in the ground and throwing the palampore over it, he placed his wife under that frail covering, and immediately retraced his steps. With a sad heart he reached the spot where he had lately deposited the infant; but what was his consternation at beholding the leaves removed, and a black snake coiled round it, with its hideous mouth opposed to that of his child! In a frenzy of desperation he rushed forward; but instantly arrested by the instinct of paternal fear, he stood before the objects at once of his tenderest interest and of his terror, as if he had been suddenly converted into stone. The previous motion, however, had evidently alarmed the monster; for it gradually uncoiled itself from its victim without committing the slightest injury, and retired into the hollow trunk which marked this memorable spot. The father snatched up his child, and bore it in ecstacy to its mother; but she was extended under the palampore in the last struggle of expiring nature. Her feeble spirit had been overborne by her lengthened sufferings of mind and body, and she now lay at the point of death. She raised her eyes languidly, received the babe with a faint smile upon her bosom, and tenderly kissed it. The effort overcame her, and she fainted. After a short time she rallied—but it was only to die. The husband hung over her with mute but intense tenderness, cursing in his heart with a bitterness which that very tenderness aggravated, those relatives who had caused the death of all he valued upon earth, and rendered him the most desolate of men.
“Aiass,” said the dying woman, “dig me a grave in the wilderness; don’t leave this poor body to the beasts of prey. We shall be restored to each other. There is a paradise beyond this world where all the good meet and are blessed: we shall be among them. I die happy in the possession of your love, and in the consciousness of never having forfeited my claim to it.”
The Tartar could not speak. He pressed the wife of his bosom to that heart which she had so fondly engrossed, and scalding tears of agony overflowed his cheeks. He threw his arms tenderly round her, his heart throbbing audibly, and buried his bursting temples in the hot sand beside her. She spoke not—she stirred not; he raised his head to kiss her fading lips—her eye was rayless—those lips were slightly parted, but fixed; a faint smile was on her cheek, yet no breath came. She was dead!
FOOTNOTES:
[33] A counterpane.
[34] The coss is about two miles.