CHAPTER XXII. THE DOUBLE LIFE.--TREVYLYAN'S FATE.--SORROW THE PARENT OFFAME.--NIEDERLAHNSTEIN.--DREAMS.
THERE are two lives to each of us, gliding on at the same time, scarcelyconnected with each other,--the life of our actions, the life of ourminds; the external and the inward history; the movements of the frame,the deep and ever-restless workings of the heart! They who have lovedknow that there is a diary of the affections, which we might keep foryears without having occasion even to touch upon the exterior surfaceof life, our busy occupations, the mechanical progress of our existence;yet by the last are we judged, the first is never known. History revealsmen's deeds, men's outward character, but _not themselves_. There is asecret self that hath its own life "rounded by a dream," unpenetrated,unguessed. What passed within Trevylyan, hour after hour, as he watchedover the declining health of the only being in the world whom his proudheart had been ever destined to love? His real record of the timewas marked by every cloud upon Gertrude's brow, every smile of hercountenance, every--the faintest--alteration in her disease; yet, to theoutward seeming, all this vast current of varying eventful emotionlay dark and unconjectured. He filled up with wonted regularity thecolourings of existence, and smiled and moved as other men. For still,in the heroism with which devotion conquers self, he sought only tocheer and gladden the young heart on which he had embarked his all; andhe kept the dark tempest of his anguish for the solitude of night.
That was a peculiar doom which Fate had reserved for him; and castinghim, in after years, on the great sea of public strife, it seemed as ifshe were resolved to tear from his heart all yearnings for the land.For him there was to be no green or sequestered spot in the valley ofhousehold peace. His bark was to know no haven, and his soul not eventhe desire of rest. For action is that Lethe in which alone we forgetour former dreams, and the mind that, too stern not to wrestle with itsemotions, seeks to conquer regret, must leave itself no leisure to lookbehind. Who knows what benefits to the world may have sprung from thesorrows of the benefactor? As the harvest that gladdens mankind in thesuns of autumn was called forth by the rains of spring, so the griefs ofyouth may make the fame of maturity.
Gertrude, charmed by the beauties of the river, desired to continue thevoyage to Mayence. The rich Trevylyan persuaded the physician who hadattended her to accompany them, and they once more pursued their wayalong the banks of the feudal Rhine. For what the Tiber is to theclassic, the Rhine is to the chivalric age. The steep rock and the graydismantled tower, the massive and rude picturesque of the feudal days,constitute the great features of the scene; and you might almost fancy,as you glide along, that you are sailing back adown the river of Time,and the monuments of the pomp and power of old, rising, one after one,upon its shores!
Vane and Du-----e, the physician, at the farther end of the vessel,conversed upon stones and strata, in that singular pedantry of sciencewhich strips nature to a skeleton, and prowls among the dead bones ofthe world, unconscious of its living beauty.
They left Gertrude and Trevylyan to themselves; and, "bending o'er thevessel's laving side," they indulged in silence the melancholy withwhich each was imbued. For Gertrude began to waken, though doubtinglyand at intervals, to a sense of the short span that was granted to herlife; and over the loveliness around her there floated that sad andineffable interest which springs from the presentiment of our own death.They passed the rich island of Oberwerth, and Hochheim, famous for itsruby grape, and saw, from his mountain bed, the Lahn bear his tribute offruits and corn into the treasury of the Rhine. Proudly rose the towerof Niederlahnstein, and deeply lay its shadow along the stream. It waslate noon; the cattle had sought the shade from the slanting sun, and,far beyond, the holy castle of Marksburg raised its battlements abovemountains covered with the vine. On the water two boats had been drawnalongside each other; and from one, now moving to the land, the splashof oars broke the general stillness of the tide. Fast by an old towerthe fishermen were busied in their craft, but the sound of their voicesdid not reach the ear. It was life, but a silent life, suited to thetranquillity of noon.
"There is something in travel," said Gertrude, "which constantly, evenamidst the most retired spots, impresses us with the exuberance of life.We come to those quiet nooks and find a race whose existence we neverdreamed of. In their humble path they know the same passions and treadthe same career as ourselves. The mountains shut them out from the greatworld, but their village is a world in itself. And they know and heed nomore of the turbulent scenes of remote cities than our own planet ofthe inhabitants of the distant stars. What then is death, but theforgetfulness of some few hearts added to the general unconsciousness ofour existence that pervades the universe? The bubble breaks in the vastdesert of the air without a sound."
"Why talk of death?" said Trevylyan, with a writhing smile. "These sunnyscenes should not call forth such melancholy images."
"Melancholy," repeated Gertrude, mechanically. "Yes, death is indeedmelancholy when we are loved!"
They stayed a short time at Niederlahnstein, for Vane was anxious toexamine the minerals that the Lahn brings into the Rhine; and the sunwas waning towards its close as they renewed their voyage. As theysailed slowly on, Gertrude said, "How like a dream is this sentimentof existence, when, without labour or motion, every change of scene isbrought before us; and if I am with you, dearest, I do not feel it lessresembling a dream, for I have dreamed of you lately more than ever; anddreams have become a part of my life itself."
"Speaking of dreams," said Trevylyan, as they pursued that mysterioussubject, "I once during my former residence in Germany fell in with asingular enthusiast, who had taught himself what he termed 'A System ofDreaming.' When he first spoke to me upon it I asked him to explain whathe meant, which he did somewhat in the following words."
The Pilgrims of the Rhine Page 51
