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Read Ebook: The Old Helmet Volume I by Warner Susan
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Ebook has 2362 lines and 99535 words, and 48 pages
THE OLD HELMET.
IN TWO VOLUMES
LEIPZIG
BERNHARD TAUCHNITZ
NOTE TO THE READER.
The incidents and testimonies given in this work as matters of fact, are not drawn from imagination, but reported from excellent authority--though I have used my own words. And in the cases of reported words of third parties, the words stand unchanged, without any meddling.
THE OLD HELMET.
THE RUINS.
"She look'd and saw that all was ruinous, Here stood a shattered archway plumed with fern; And here had fall'n a great part of a tower, Whole, like a crag that tumbles from the cliff, And like a crag was gay with wilding flowers, And high above a piece of turret stair, Worn by the feet that now were silent, Bare to the sun."
The first thing noticeable is a gleam of white teeth. Now that is a pleasant thing generally; yet its pleasantness depends, after all, upon the way the lips part over the ivory. There is a world of character discoverable in the curve of those soft lines. In the present case, that of a lady, as it is undoubtedly the very first thing you notice, the matter must be investigated. The mouth is rather large, with well cut lips however; and in the smile which comes not infrequently, the lips part freely and frankly, though not too far, over a wealth of white, beautiful teeth. So free is the curve of the upper lip, and so ready its revelation of the treasures beneath, that there is an instant suspicion of a certain frankness and daring, and perhaps of a little mischief, on the part of their possessor; so free, at the same time, as to forbid the least notion of consciousness or design in that beautiful revelation. But how fine and full and regular are those white treasures of hers! seeming to speak for a strong and perfect physical organisation; and if your eye goes further, for her flat hat is on the ground, you will see in the bountiful rich head of hair another token of the same thing. Her figure is finely developed; her colour clear and healthy; not blonde; the full-brown hair and eyes agree with the notion of a nature more lively than we assign to the other extreme of complexion. The features are not those of a beauty, though better than that, perhaps; there is a world of life and sense and spirit in them.
A word must be given to the place where they are. It is a little paradise. If the view is not very extended, it is rich in its parts; and the eye and the mind are filled. The grass is shaven smooth on the bank where the two are sitting; so it is all around, under trees which stand with wilful wildness of luxuriance, grouped and scattered apparently as they would. They are very old, in several varieties of kind, and in the perfect development and thrift of each kind. Among them are the ruins of an old priory. They peep forth here and there from the trees. One broken tower stands free, with ivy masking its sides and crumbling top, and stains of weather and the hues of lichen and moss enriching what was once its plain grey colour. Other portions of the ruins are seen by glimpses further on among the trees. Standing somewhat off by itself, yet encompassed by the congeners of those same trees, almost swallowed up among them, is a comfortable, picturesque little building, not in ruins; though it has been built up from the ruins. It is the parsonage, where the rector of the parish lives. Beyond this wood and these buildings, old and new, the eye can catch only bits of hills and woods that promise beauty further on; but nearer than they, and making a boundary line between the present and the distant, the flash of a little river is seen, which curves about the old priory lands. A somewhat doubtful sunlight is struggling over it all; casting a stray beam on the grass, and a light on the ivy of the old tower.
"What a queer old place it must have been," said Eleanor.
"How old is it?"
"O I don't know--ages! Do you mean really how old? I am sure I can't tell; I never can keep those things in my head. If Dr. Cairnes would come out, he could tell you all about it, and more."
"Dr. Cairnes, the rector?"
"They must date back pretty far, judging by those Norman arches."
"Norman arches?--what, those round ones? O, they do. The priory was founded by some old courtier or soldier in the time of Henry the First, who got disgusted with the world. That is the beginning of all these places, isn't it?"
"Do you mean, that it is the beginning of all religious feeling?"
"I really think it is. I wouldn't tell Dr. Cairnes so however. How sweet these violets are. Dear little blue things!"
"Do you suppose,", said the young man, stooping to pick one or two, "that they are less sweet to me than to you?"
"Why should they be?"
"Because, religion is the most precious thing in the world to me; and by your rule, I must be disgusted with the world, and all sweet things have lost their savour."
He spoke with quiet gravity, and Eleanor's eye went to his face with a bright glance of inquiry. It came back with no change of opinion.
"You don't convert me," she said. "I do not know what you have given up for religion, so I cannot judge. But all the other people I ever saw, grew religious only because they had lost all care about everything else."
"I wonder how that discontented old soldier found himself, when he got into these solitudes?" said the young man, with a smile of his own then. It was sweet, and a little arch, and withal harmonised completely with the ordinary gravity of his face, not denying it at all. Eleanor looked, once and again, with some curiosity, but the smile passed away as quietly as it had come.
"O no, it was very wild."
"These were Augustine canons, were they not?"
"Who?"
"The monks of this priory."
"I am sure I don't know. I forget. What was the difference?"
"You know there were many orders of religious houses. The Augustines were less severe in their rule, and more genial in their allowed way of life, than most of the others?"
"What was their rule?"
"Beginning with discontent of the world, you know, they went on with the principle that nothing worldly was good."
"Well, isn't that the principle of all religious people now?"
"I like violets"--said the young man, smiling again.
"But do tell me, what did those old monks do? What was their 'rule?' I don't know anything about it, nor about them."
"Another old discontented soldier, who founded an abbey in Wales, is said by the historian to have dismissed all his former companions, and devoted himself to God. For his military belt, he tied a rope about his waist; instead of fine linen he put on haircloth. And it is recorded of him, that the massive suit of armour which he had been used to wear in battle, to protect him against the arrows and spears and axes of the enemy, he put on now and wore as a defence against the wiles and assaults of the devil--and wore it till it rusted away with age."
"Poor old soul!" said Eleanor.
"Does that meet your ideas of a religious life?"
"It gives the key to it. Is that your notion of a religious life? You don't answer me."
"I beg your pardon. I do."
"Are you rested?" said he.
And Eleanor got up, feeling a little indignant and a little curious. Strolling towards the ruins, however, there was too much to start conversation and too much to give delight, to permit either silence or pique to last.
"Isn't it beautiful!" burst from both at once.
"How exquisite that ivy is, climbing up that old tower!"
"And what a pity it is crumbling away so!" said Eleanor. "See that nearer angle--it is breaking down fast. I wish it would stay as it is."
"Nothing will do that for you. What is all that collection of rubbish yonder?"
"That is where Mr. Carlisle is going to build a cottage for one of his people--somebody to take care of the ruins, I believe."
"And he takes the ruins to build it with, and the old priory grounds too!"
Eleanor looked again at her companion.
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