Maria regarded the present opportunity of being able to see the renowned Seeress, and of having her own fortune read from the book of fate, with inexpressible delight. As soon as the supper was over, away she hurried, with impatient step, to the humble dwelling of Jemima, gave a low tap at the door, and was admitted, without question or ceremony, and motioned to a chair. Several others were present, but none indulged in conversation. To some, the moment and the scene were of much sublimity; to others, inimitably farcical. A part of those present suppressed a rude giggle as it fell to their turn to be ushered, one by one, into the presence-chamber of the Oracle—while others brushed a trembling tear-drop from their cheeks, as they tottered fearfully to the door. It was Maria’s turn at last. All the others had been served, and were gone. On entering the apartment, (which was a three-cornered one,) she encountered the venerable matron, who had risen to meet her. “Daughter of earth,” said the Oracle, “thy hand.” It was given tremblingly, and Maria followed the Seeress to a low stool, (which was by the side of Jemima’s own seat,) and sat down. Fifteen minutes in silence, the blood shot eyes of Jemima being riveted upon the fair girl. Then came a suppressed groan, at which Maria involuntarily shuddered. “Daughter,” said the Seeress, “if the ways of the Lord thy God were as our ways, he were cruel to thee.” “Why so, good Mother?” “Hush! I write.” Jemima then took from a glass case a leaf of fine gilt-edged paper, turned her back towards Maria, and, after consulting the green stone in a yellow box that had strange hieroglyphics scratched all over it, she laid hold of a pen made from a raven’s quill, and wrote the following words: “To love so young—A Lamb and a Wolf—SO YOUNG—A Killing Frost—Destitution—Marriage—Crime—There is Blood—Death.”[3]
It was doubled, and strongly sealed with wax. Then turning her form and face towards the girl, she thus spake: “Daughter, I have written—but before I give it thee, there is a condition. Thee must promise not to open this until thou hast looked upon the sun of thy eighteenth year. Dost agree to the terms?” “I? No, indeed—I cannot,” said Maria, bursting into a laugh, “delay would make me so anxious to know what it contained, that I should die of curiosity, long before the time.” “Daughter, thou art a child of destiny—God wills it. It is hard—but there is a heaven hereafter. Agree to the condition, or the flames will devour the record. Promise, child, before thy God.” A short pause. Maria faltered; her cheeks turned to an ashy paleness; she tried to speak; her heart leaped up to her throat. “I promise,” was all that she could say. “It is thine,” said the Seeress, taking a piece of silver from the hand in which she placed the paper. “Daughter, good night.” And Maria rose immediately, left the dwelling, and hastened back to the hotel. But she came not as she went. There was a change in her whole nature from that moment. The plastic hand of the Divinity remoulded, as it were, her features. She gazed upon the letter, turned it over and over, with ill-concealed anxiety—and then, in the first involuntary burst of indignation at the conditions, cursed the Seeress and the hour of her own birth.
This was disappointment in most provoking shape. The same night a dream disturbed her slumbers. We will relate it, as nearly as memory serves us, in her own language.
THE DREAM.
“A spirit came to me during a fearful tempest, and tendered me wings. I accepted them with feelings, if not with words, of gratitude. She flew, and beckoned me to follow. I then flew with her to the brow of a rocky cliff, where we both alighted. Here we were joined by a troop of my companions and kindred, who immediately struck up a chorus which rang through the arch of heaven, and brought back echoes still more musical. Methought I heard the voice of Gabriel mingling those answering sounds. I clapped my hands with an ecstasy of joy, when lo! all was silent, save the growling tempest beneath. They were gone. I dropped my head and wept. Then a horrible voice accosted me from the cavern below:—‘Thou wert my friend; thou art my enemy—begone!’ I reeled in the dread gloom that enveloped me, and uttered a scream for mercy. At that instant the lightning opened to me a fiery path. My wings lifted me up, and again, though now alone, I flew.
“On and on—there was no rest. At length I espied a sunny island, a thousand leagues at sea. I alighted, and walked, and ran, and danced upon the velvet grass—or methought I was alone at last. Alone, alone! where temptation could not assail me, nor the flatterer’s words beguile! Alone before God, and in prayer! But, as I knelt, that awful voice cried out to me again:—‘Thou wert my friend; thou art mine enemy—begone!’ Where was the source of this awful mandate? It came from the earth; it came on the winds. Then my soul drank from the waters of affliction, and despair gnawed at my brain. The voice came again, but with other words—‘To love so young!—a lamb and a wolf—so young!—a killing frost—destitution—marriage crime—there is blood!—death!’ How little I suspected these words (to me so thrilling) were the very same which the Seeress had just interwoven with my eternal destiny! Alone, and yet alone! Oh now for a friend—ONE MORTAL FRIEND—to support and guide me! Truly, none can estimate the value of human sympathy but they who are destitute of its consolations!
“At this instant a youth saluted me, and clasped me in his arms. His smile was sweet, and in his demeanor there was such an appearance of deep affection for me that, in my ecstasy, I did not, could not, resist his embrace. ‘I am thine!—thine forever!’ he whispered, ‘I have known thee from childhood!—I furnished thee with wings!’ As he spoke, Love’s sweet delirium took possession of my soul, and I was conscious only of intense, unearthly delight. After the vividness of this rapture had subsided, we sank into slumber, imparadised in each other’s arms.
“When I awoke, the youth was gone. I thought he would return, and was satisfied. But he came not. Then the air was filled with hisses. Ten thousand angry serpents could not have uttered a noise so dreadful. I thought my lover’s name was Theodore, and called to him, when, awful presence! a legion of demons rose up at the sound of his name! They were a black, bony, frightful throng, and they greeted me with a terrible shout of exultation. They danced round and round me,
until, from dizziness, I could not see. Then I cursed most bitterly, but they only laughed and hissed. Then the spirit of Murder came into my heart, for I knew my shame!”