The sudden and alarming illness of Hermotimus arrested the progress of affairs; for the kindness of Praxinoë overcame all other feelings, and she said she would not leave him to the care of hirelings. He recovered slowly, and again wandered forth into the groves, with feeble steps. Eratus watched him impatiently; and when at last he seemed sufficiently recovered to enter into conversation, he sought an interview. He found him lying on the ground, in one of his favourite groves, cold and rigid as a corpse. He called servants to convey him to the house. Praxinoë manifested no surprise. She said she had not seen him in such a state for two years, but that in former times he would often lie senseless for a long time, and then wake up to tell of wonderful countries he had visited. Day passed after day, and he did not wake. The disciples of skeptical philosophers came and looked at him, and went away laughing with each other about the stories they had heard of his former visions, prophecies, and miraculous cures. They concluded their remarks by saying, “It can do no harm to burn his body, whether he is dead or not. The soul he had so much faith in was always longing to get out of prison. It would be conferring a favour upon him to give him a chance to try his wings.”
The parents of Hermotimus were dead. Eratus summoned priests of Æsculapius, who decidedly pronounced his slumber the sleep of death; and the relatives of Praxinoë sympathized with his impatience for the funeral. But she continued to doubt, and insisted upon first sending for the Pythagorean philosopher, whom Hermotimus had always answered, when he was in those strange trances. The messenger returned with tidings that he had gone to Athens. The funeral-pile was erected, and the good-hearted widow wept to find that the certainty of his death was such a relief to her mind. This consciousness was the more unpleasant to her, because she said to herself, “If he is in one of those trances, he knows all I am thinking.” When they lifted him from the couch where he had lain so still, she shuddered violently, and exclaimed, “Surely he is not quite so pale as he was!” But they reasoned with her, and said, “He looks just as he has for the last three days.” She saw his body placed on the funeral-pile, and when the flames began to curl round it, she listened to hear if there were any audible signs of life. But all was still, save the crackling of the wood; and in a short time, a heap of ashes was all that remained.
That night, she dreamed that she held a crystal globe in her hands, and threw it from her into the flames. The globe cracked, and a radiant Spirit, with white wings, rose from it and soared high into the air. He smiled as he passed her, and said, “I foretold this.” The countenance looked as that of Hermotimus had sometimes looked in his trances, when he told his friend Prytanes that he was listening to white-robed maidens, who played on golden harps; but though similar in expression, it was far more glorious. Did memory cause that dream? Or was it imparted from some other source, beyond herself? She woke trembling and afraid, and with a strong impression that she had seen Hermotimus. This belief excited uneasy thoughts, which she dared not mention, for fear of slanderous tongues. But she secretly confessed to Eratus that she feared her husband was not dead when they burned his body. He replied, “It is foolish to trouble yourself about a dream, my lovely one. It is enough that all who saw him thought he was dead. You know it often puzzled wiser folks than you or I to tell whether he was alive or not. Whatever phantom it was that sailed through the ivory gate of dreams, he smiled and seemed happy. Then why be disturbed about it? Life was given for enjoyment, dearest.” He laughed and began to sing, “I’ll crown my love with myrtle;” and his looks and tones drove all phantoms from her thoughts.
She soon became his wife, and her ambitious hopes were more than realized. Eratus placed a high value on worldly possessions, and knew very well how to obtain them. She never had occasion to remind him that the Greeks entered Troy.
But where there is sunshine, there is always shadow. Her prosperity excited envy; which some manifested by saying, “If every body could burn a poor husband for the sake of marrying a rich one, other folks could wear silk mantles, too.” Remarks of that kind reached the ears of many who were firm believers in the inspiration of The Sleeping Prophet. They made anxious inquiries concerning the manner of his death; to which certain envious women answered: “Praxinoë was always a very good neighbour. We have nothing to say against her; though some people thought she was rather free, and not a little vain. The old nurse says Eratus was always sending her presents, long before her husband died; and some people do think it was very obliging in poor Hermotimus to die, just when he was so much wanted out of the way.” These whisperings soon grew into a report that the rich Epicurean had bribed the priests of Æsculapius to pronounce the slumberer a dead man. Of course, some persons were good-natured enough to repeat these rumours to the parties implicated. Finding their solemn assertions of innocence received with significant silence, or annoying innuendoes, they resolved to remove from the neighbourhood. Praxinoë had always greatly desired to see Corinth; and to please her, Eratus chose it for their future residence. In that gay luxurious city, her love of splendour was abundantly gratified with pompous processions and showy equipage. Her beauty attracted attention whenever she was seen in public, and her husband took pride in adorning her with rich embroidery and costly jewels. In such an atmosphere, the wings of her soul had small chance to grow; but that subject never occupied her thoughts.
It was generally believed in Clazomenæ and its vicinity that Hermotimus was not dead when his emaciated body was consumed on the funeral-pile. This idea occasioned a good deal of excitement among those who had been cured of diseases by his directions, or startled to hear their inmost thoughts revealed. His frequent conversations with spirits of the departed had strongly impressed them with the belief that some god spoke through him, while his senses were wrapped in profound slumber; and no skeptical witticisms or arguments could diminish their faith in the prophet. They erected a temple to his memory, where they placed his ashes in a golden urn; and because his wife had consented that his body should be burned, while his soul was absent on one of its customary visits to the gods, they never allowed any woman to enter within the consecrated precincts.
SPIRIT AND MATTER.
A REVERIE.
Not in another world, as poets prate,
Dwell we apart, above the tide of things,
High floating o’er earth’s clouds on fairy wings;
But our pure love doth ever elevate
Into a holy bond of brotherhood,
All earthly things, making them pure and good.
J. R. Lowell.
One of the most wonderful things connected with the mysterious soul-power, with which we limited mortals are endowed, is the capacity to rise into the infinite from the smallest earth-particle of the finite. How often some circumstance, trifling as the motions of a butterfly, plunges us into a profound reverie! How often, from the smallest and lowliest germ, are thoughts evolved, which go revolving round in ascending circles, forming a spiral ladder, ascending from earth to heaven!
A pair of white-breasted swallows that built a nest in a little bird-box near my chamber-window, sent my soul floating dreamily upward, till it lost its way in wide ethereal regions. The mother-bird was a lively little thing, making a deal of musical twittering at her work, and often coquetting gracefully with her mate. I took an affectionate interest in her proceedings, though I had private suspicions that she was something of a female gossip, in her small way; for I observed that she watched the motions of other birds with inquisitive curiosity, and often stood at her front-door, prattling with them as they passed by. But they seemed to take it all in good part, and it was no concern of mine. I loved the pretty little creature, gossip or no gossip; and, for many days, my first waking thought was to jump up and take a peep at her. Though I rose before the sun, I always found her awake and active, chattering with her mate, or carrying straws and feathers into her dwelling, to make a bed for their little ones. I should have been half ashamed to have had any very wise person overhear the things I said to her. She had such “peert,” knowing ways, that I could not remember her inability to understand human speech. It always seemed to me that she must be aware of my sympathy, and that she rejoiced in it.