The Flower and the Spirit

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THE FLOWER AND THE SPIEIT THE FLOWER AM) THE SPIRIT BY FREDERIKA MACDONALD AUTHOR OF 'NATHANIEL VAUGHAN,' 'ILIAD OF THE EAST,' 'PUCK AND PEARL,' etc. IN TWO VOLUMES VOL. I. WILLIAM BLACKWOOD AND SONS EDINBURGH AND LONDON MDCCCLXXXVII All Rights reserved THE FLOWER. In a fair enchanted garden, Where all earth-born blossoms blow Touched with more than eaHhly beauty, Doth the pale Blue Flower grow. Pale and blue the mystic Flower, Wide her petals large are spread: At her heart a star is shining, Bound her perfumes choice are shed : Perfumes sweet, with mystic virtue, Mystic love-lore to impart; Tlwse who breathe them, hither dream-led, Arc subdued in sold and heart : Soul and heart subdued, enchanted, Conquered by the mystic power ; VI Dreamers, dream-led, here must pledge them Servants of the pale Blue Flovxr : Servants of the pale Blue Flower ; Day or night, from soul and heart Never shall their sweet enchantment From those dreamers now depart : Never more depart ; but always In the sunshine and the street, They shall praise the pale Blue Flower With her perfume strange and sweet : With her perfume so resistless, And her sweet and mystic potoer, Tliey shall tread the earth enchanted, Seeking for their pale Blue Flower.

THE SPIRIT. Tliese are led forth of the Spirit : Few they are and lonely ; Whilst men feast, and mourn, and toil, These are watchers only. On the mountain bleak they stand, Watch the fight with raiskl hand ; Shoidd the rais'd hand sink and fail, III shall triumph, night prevail. These are led forth of the Spirit: Whilst the world is dreaming They awake, and know the show Other than its seeming: Knovj and watch the waking mind Speak, and move, and rule behind, Wliilst the outer storm and strife Shake the passion-dream of life. vm These are led forth of the Spirit To be free and truthful, Uncontrolled by earthly bonds, Ties of flesh too ruthful : Bound to speak the thing they know; Bound to pierce behind the show; By the world nor led nor taught, Bound the witnesses of thought. These are led forth of the Spirit : If they fail or falter, Turn to seek the ivorld again, Strive their souls to alter, They must seek and strive in vain; Strive in anguish, seek in pain; Mortal ties are weak to bind them; Sweet illusions may not blind them; They are bound, where men are free; They are blind, ivhcre others see: In the desert left most lonely, They must waste and wander only. CONTENTS OF THE FIEST VOLUME.

Book I

chap. page I. THE CALL, ....... 3 II. ALMA HOUSE AND THE LADY PRINCIPAL, . 19 III. "AS IT WERE A TALE THAT IS TOLD," . . 47 IV. THE SANCTUARY OF THOUGHT, ... 61 V. TWO MASTERS, . . ." . . .78 VI. A VICTIM TO SENSIBILITY, .... 101 VII. A CIPHER IN HIS OWN HOUSE, . . .124 VIII. MISS adelaida's VISION, .... 143 IX. " LA REINE EST MORTE : VIVE LA REINE ! " . 157 X. WARNINGS, ....... 169 XI. " THE TIME OF THE SINGING OF BIRDS," . 187 XII. A NEW LEGEND OF TANNHAUSER, . . . 204 XIII. THE OPEN PATH, ..... 218 XIV. GOOD AND BAD ANGELS, .... 234 XV. THE UNSEEN COMPANION, .... 266 XVI. STEPHEN BLOXAM'S TRIUMPH, . . .

BOOK I CHAPTER

1. THE CALL. " Arise, and go into the city, and it shall be told thee what thou must do." — Acts ix. 6. Miss Adelaida Pfeffer was a lady of fifty years of age, who had spent forty-nine years of her life in story-land. Now she had left the romance country and found herself in realistic London. Before entering upon any history of her adventures in this new world, it will be well to show the reader what secret attraction had drawn her hither. Miss Adelaida's father had been a Danish priest of the Lutheran Church. His parish lay in a little island of small importance, but known to travellers for its picturesqueness and the primitive and kindly simplicity of its in habitants. The Rev. Oscar Pfeffer, as a man of good birth and some scholarship, occupied an exceptional position in this little com munity.

He was the father, rather than the friend, of his people : on all questions of im portance he was consulted ; and his advice, offered always with courtesy and mildness, was accepted as the decision of one having authority. The island priest, then, although loved and respected, had led a life of solitude. He had his daughter's companionship, it is true ; but this daughter was as his own soul made out ward and visible. So perfect was the union between father and child that, when together, each, as the pretty French proverb has it, felt not lonely — but alone. A mild, tall, blue-eyed man had been the island priest — reserved, though courteous, deeply pious ; but for a sound Lutheran, in clined to heterodoxy where predestination was concerned. A close student, also ; but, before all things, a dreamer of dreams.

By natural temperament a visionary, this habit of ' mind was confirmed by his solitary life. Noiselessly he beheld passing before him, and, as it were, beneath his hands, the mysteries of birth and death. He held the little babe in his arms ; and, presently, the strange small face had become familiar, as a child's that smiled on him within the parish school. Familiar faces, familiar forms, vanished : he spoke the last blessing over them, and read their names on the stones in the village churchyard, where he walked, amid memories, at even. So, most tenderly, albeit with solemn wonder, the priest surveyed the vision of human life ; and seemed to watch his own life also, passing from youth to maturity, from maturity to age, silently, as the summers fall, and the winters awaken to new springs.

And it seemed to him at times that his spirit, separating itself from mortal conditions, looked down on this changing vision, and understood somewhat of that infinite and all-embracing compassion he strove to bring home to his people as dwelling in the mind of God. In such a haunted home, and wTith such a haunted heart for father, friend, and guide, had Adelaida Pfeffer passed through childhood, girlhood, womanhood, and had imper ceptibly crossed the borders of middle life. There had been no counteracting influence. Her mother, it is true, had been a simple practical soul, whose chief pride was to be an excellent housewife ; but she had died when Adelaida was a child of twelve. Therefore, the mother also, appearing in that ineffable light of reverential remembrance, wTiich makes even the simplest souls sublime, had become one of the ideal influences drawing Adelaida's heart away from what it is usual to describe as sober realities.

When Adelaida was in her twenty-fifth year, it was proposed to her by a Danish writer of European renown, who was her father's college friend, that she should undertake the transla tion of his works into Engli3h. She had been taught the language by her father. As for the books she had to translate, they had been her study since the time when she could spell through a story. " The beloved Hans Fried rich," as the Rev. Oscar Pfeffer habitually called his friend, wrote fairy stories and romances, in which Adelaida beheld the real world illumined, but not transformed, by the magic wand of fancy. Adelaida Pfeffer did not regard story-land as a mere pleasure ground for the imagination, — no, it was an ideal and true world, created by the human spirit for its children, that they might dwell remote from vulgarity, and beyond the reach of death.

Here was sheltered an undying race, on which man, dying himself, had been able to bestow eternal life ; here were im mortals sprung from the hearts of mortals. Around them lay an enchanted nature ; above them spread skies where the sun-glow never failed by day, nor the mystic beauty of stars by night. Here were mountain-ranges whose peaks felt the fire of eternal dawns; forests, where the nightingale sang always ; meadows and flowery lanes, where it was always spring ; and here, in the heart of this enchanted land, was the sacred garden in wThich bloomed, to sweeten with suave perfumes the whole path of human life, the beautiful Blue Flower of Romance. It will be understood that, holding these views, Adelaida entered on her new vocation with enthusiasm. One fair blossom, and one too, in her sight, not less fair than any that graced the wonderful garden, she was charged to carry to the men and women and little children of a noble country she had never seen, but with which she now felt herself most lovingly connected.

No wonder that England became dearer even than her native land : it was the country to which her imagination went forth to seek, and as she believed to find, a home. And, above all, to English children (since it was for the children the fairy-gifts of the " beloved Hans Friedrich " were especially de signed) did she feel herself bound by a dear relationship. Often when she sat at work, in her quiet chamber, would the faint sea murmur through the open window change to the babble and laughter of children : then around her she saw bright and merry faces, and childish eyes beaming on her, dilated with joy and wonder. But after a time there floated in upon Miss Adelaida's ears and heart cruel rumours, that changed her rosy visions to piteous ones. She was told of English children for whom the bright blossoms and golden fruit of the fairy Paradise were sent vainly across the seas ; for other fruit was given these poor little ones (so went the mournful story), that bitter fruit of sorrowful and evil knowledge, that means banishment from Eden.

And thus it came to pass that Miss Ade laida, with the partiality of generous hearts for the unhappy, chose the little outcast for her ideal English child. Henceforth it was with this image before her that she wrote. If the rosy and laughing cherubs again rose up, she waved them to a distance, — the first place nearest her belonged to a solitary child, pale and wistful, and clothed in rags. This was the homeless little one who should be housed, and fed with sweetmeats and roasted apples, in the delicious world of story. Nor did it even occur to Adelaida Pfeffer that toys and sweetmeats, and other gifts of fairyland, were altogether unsuitable presents ; and that for this little outcast stern traces, with daily gruel, and the wholesome discip line of an industrial school, would be the appropriate benefits.

The fairy godmother, in dreams at any rate, of England's orphan-child, Adelaida Pfeffer, would have changed the falling tears to precious pearls : she would have robed her Cinderella, not in stout charity uniform, but in satin raiment ; milk-white steeds should have drawn the golden coach that carried her away from poverty, ugliness, and pain. Here, in fairyland, she should not have learnt her Catechism and a useful trade ; but have danced in glass slippers at the king's ball, and been chosen by the prince for his bride. Let our confession at once disarm the practical philanthropists — Miss Adelaida had not the qualities that go to the making of a social reformer. She was, however, herself uncon scious of any native incapacity for energetic' action in the sphere of facts. She would not have been contented with dreaming herself the fairy godmother of a visionary child, but for duties near at hand she could not forsake.

Strong in the faith with which the Hebrew shepherd lad went up with stone and sling to do battle with the defier of the hosts of Israel, would Miss Adelaida, armed w7ith the gospel of the " beloved Hans Friedrich," have faced this cruel London— the Goliath of cities — and demanded from it an account of the oppressed neglected child. But through the best years her father's figure stood between herself and her dream's accomplishment,— her father, who required her more and more as the years moved on ; and, whilst the tranquil mind remained untroubled, sight and hearing failed, as the day darkened. It was only when the night, not without holy stars of comfort, had fallen, and the father's name stood on a stone in the island churchyard (his spirit enshrined within his daughter's heart, made sacred by this presence henceforth, and consecrate to heavenly communionship), — it was only then that Ade laida Pfeffer, finding her dream-child waiting for her in her solitary chamber, grew restless and remorseful.

She understood that for her, too, the shadows were lengthening ; and that, for any great personal effort, the day was too far spent. But a strange priest filled her father's place, the island was her home no longer. Where her treasure was — the fruition, such as it might be, of her treasured life-work — there she also longed to be. London, that " great city," great not in magnitude alone but in intensity of life, rose up before her. And from thence voices seemed to arise, calling her — promising her even now some definite mission. And Miss Adelaida had obeyed the voices. Fortified with letters of introduction from the " beloved Hans Friedrich," which both she and the good old romancist believed to have influential weight, and with the little hoard she had made for herself by five-and-twenty years' labour, she feared no personal risk.

But it is needless to say that she did not seek either a personal end, — she had come here in accordance with the command she believed she too had received — " Arise, and go into the city, and it shall be told thee what thou must do." But now, let us attempt to picture to ourselves our old maid, gentle and fearless, wandering, half observant, half entranced, through this strange world of London. For her part, she did not admit it was a " strange " world. All unconscious was she of anything incongruous between herself and her new conditions. But although strange apparitions are too common in London, and time too precious with its citizens for curiosity to be very active, Miss Adelaida on her rambles — sauntering dreamily down Cheap side, or pausing at a crowded crossing to watch the red sun struggle out in the yellow sky, or standing amongst the crowd of idlers to watch the carriages pass into the Park, — was so plainly a visitor from another world, that she provoked many a passing glance of curiosity.

It was not any special peculiarity of figure or dress that produced this impression — her whole person bore the stamp of a life reared in solitude and fed on dreams. Like her father, tall, and with his little stoop at the shoulders, Adelaida Pfeffer had a face still youthful in its smile, but in repose having the quiet sadness of age ; her blue eyes were a little dim, but full of benevolence ; light bunches of chestnut curls, unstreaked with grey, fluttered on either side of cheeks that had still "a rose of vanished summers." She was free to go where she would ; her transpa rent innocence and benevolence proved a sufficient protection. And, in truth, she passed through strange scenes — much that other eyes would have discovered in them hidden from hers — much that most eyes would have missed, to hers revealed.

The fascination which the great city had exercised on her from a distance only grew in strength, when she found herself face to face with this imposing spectacle. It was not the town London which awakened all this emotion; but London, the immense and ever changing vision of human life. She went forth into the crowded streets in as solemn mood as before to the solitary ocean shore. Of old she had lent human tones to nature ; and now, in that large and soul-stirring mur mur, the united voice of London, she heard the ocean's unceasing roar, and the battle of broken wraves upon the shingle ; and, above this symbol of the life that fails not and of lives that perish, she heard, also as of old, the wind's song, wild for passion, low for pity. But whilst Miss Adelaida was thus studying the life of London, and waiting for some sphere of usefulness to be revealed, circumstances did not stand still.

For instance, the comfortable room she had occupied in the boarding-house where she had alighted, upon her first arrival in London, had changed to a little back bedroom ; and, finally, to the front attic. This was the only promotion Miss Adelaida had obtained as the result of twelve months' commerce with the London publishers. Strange to say, there did not seem to be that increasing demand for translations of Hans Friedrich's recent works, which Miss Adelaida had believed would keep her busily and profitably employed. She even heard it intimated in certain quarters that the famous romancist had overwritten himself. Adelaida Pfeffer had too great faith in the literary sense of the English people to doubt that the flagging interest in her master's works would revive. Meanwhile, the store of savings was exhausted ; twelve months having sufficed to waste away what it had taken twice as many years to accumulate.

But Miss Adelaida was not uneasy. Some small sums that came in from time to time, in payment of short stories published in magazines, kept her in heart, and encouraged VOL. I. B her behef that by-and-by the flood of public favour would turn. Contented in her poor attic, she was never tempted to draw sharp contrasts between her present bare and un sightly dwelling and the pretty rose-scented chamber in the Danish vicarage. It may argue badly for Adelaida Pfeffer's æsthetic sensibility that bare walls and a carpetless floor exercised no depressing influence upon her. But "the mind is its own place"; and Miss Adelaida moved surrounded by visions that bore a charmed life against vulgarity. Where she took up her abode they also en tered : thus any retreat where she found silence and solitude, swiftly became dear and sacred ; a " home," in the most precious sense of the word, for thither her beloved ones gathered — not only the familiar dream-faces she had known since childhood, but, in these later days, visitors from the world of spirits also.

Chapter II. Alma House And The Lady Principal

"To the men of this world the man of ideas appears out of hia reason." — Emerson: Essay on Montaigne. It has been shown how the everyday world, seen through Adelaida Pfeffer's eyes, took on an aspect of enchantment. It now remains to admit that Adelaida Pfeffer herself, looked at from the practical point of view of a shrewd and clever woman of the world, might appear in a light the very reverse of enchanting. We are anxious impartially to assume the several standpoints of the different personages concerned in this history. It cannot be denied that there was a good deal to be said for Miss Coquelicot. Miss Coquelicot was the lady principal of the boarding establishment in Great Coram Street, and her pet aversion was Miss Ade laida Pfeffer. "My sweet Hal," she said to her friend and partner, Miss Harriet Maguire, "the woman is a sheep in wolf's clothing."

" Shouldn't it be the other w7ay, Jo ? " " Of course it should be the other way, for the sake of common-sense as well as of Scrip ture. A wolf in sheep's clothing is a rational creature, that knows what it wants. But a mere foolish sheep masquerading as a dreadful wolf is simply an aggravation, an insult to one's sense of the fitness of things." " I can't see that poor Miss Adelaida mas querades as a wolf, Jo." " Perhaps not, my sweet. Perhaps, too, you see no objection to her practice of prowl ing at night, and coming in at the small hours, to wake us all up by stumbling over every pair of boots, before every door upon every landing ? " " She does not mean any harm, poor soul ! " "My pet, I repeat, if she did mean any harm — if she meant anything at all — I could forgive her. It is the meaningless character of the proceeding that exasperates me.

I am not a proud woman " (this was merely a form of speech, for humility was not one of Miss Coquelicot's leading qualities), " but I have an objection to passing for a guardian of harmless lunatics." Nothing could be more justifiable than this objection on the part of the lady principal of a select boarding-house — which, situated with in a few minutes' walk of the British Museum, invited travellers to the fount of learning to meet and exchange ideas, at the same time as they received hospitable entertainment. True, Miss Maguire shared nominally with Miss Coquelicot the direction and control of Alma House (to give the exact name of this academic abode) ; but one head is enough for one body, and whatever proverbs may say to the con trary, better than two heads as a rule. So at least thought Miss Coquelicot, and it was not often her opinion was disputed by Miss Maguire.

At length, however, an occasion had arisen when the two ladies differed, and the submissive partner seemed disposed for once to assert her claim to be consulted. " I can't see why you should make so much of it, Josephina, even if Miss Adelaida does stay out rather late. She is not the only one. Look at Count Marathon : he comes in at all hours." " Count Marathon, my sweet, is not a babyish old maid. It may be very shocking of him to keep late hours ; but as I am neither his mother nor his wife, it doesn't matter to me. There is nothing irrational or ludicrous in the man's conduct ; he isn't flying in the face of nature by prowHng — on the contrary, ' it is,' probably, ' his nature to.' And then he knows how to steer clear of the boots. What is more, he doesn't shed our latch-keys broadcast.

Let me see, how many latch-keys has Miss Adelaida made away with ? Six ? No ; only three. Well, three is pretty well for one woman. Has it ever occurred to you, my beloved Harry, that, as one result of this unreasonable partiality of yours, we lay our heads on our pillows each night with the pleasing assurance that three latch-keys are afloat amongst the criminal population of this metropolis, and that if no enterpris ing burglar avails himself of these unusual facilities for exploring our premises after dark, this intelligent section of the com munity must have suddenly grown stupidly degenerate ? " Now Miss Coquelicot knew very well that "burglars" were normal night terrors by which her friend's imagination was haunted. " Really, Josephina," said the good Harriet, nervously, " wouldn't it be as well to change the lock of the front door ?

" " No," returned Miss Coquelicot with heroic calmness ; " I will not change the lock of the front door. It would be of no use, whilst you insist upon keeping an absurd being in the house who hasn't force of character enough to grip a latch-key when she has got one." " I don't know what you want, Josephina. Surely you wouldn't have the heart to turn Miss Adelaida into the streets, at the very moment when you know she is without money ? " " I hope I'm not more mercenary than my neighbours, dovie ; but I fail to see that the fact of a boarder being without money is an argument for keeping them here indefinitely." " Now that is too bad, Josephina ! " said Miss Maguire, warmly. " You know very well that Miss Adelaida paid us regularly at first, and that even now she gives us almost everything she gets.

If you are bent upon giving her notice, you might at any rate allow her some time to recover herself." " She never will recover herself," said Miss Coquelicot, positively. " Didn't I tell you from the first that I read impecuniosity in her face ? No woman with those china-blue eyes, and thin, feeble, little curls, could make her own way in the world. When she came here she had some money tied up in her stock ing. She has spent that, and what do you think is to happen next ? I suppose you are not so infatuated as to imagine that she will make a fortune out of fairy tales. I declare, the very kindest thing woidd be to turn her out now, and so compel her to take the only sensible course, and return to her own country before she has built up a heap of debts and troubles for herself." " How do you know, if she did go back to her own country, she could make a livelihood there ?

Here she is the accredited translator of Hans Friedrich's books. I know you don't like them, Josephina, but plenty of people do, and she does earn something, and if the book sellers would only take her translations off her hands more quickly, would be quite able to pay her way. She is very honest, poor soul, and not like the Princess Gonzaga, who runs up debts without the least intention of ever paying them." " Excuse me, my sweet ! " said Miss Coqueli cot, with some asperity ; " we will, if you please, keep the Princess Gonzaga entirely out of this discussion." But Miss Maguire did not please. " You'll admit, at any rate, that she owes us twice as much as Miss Adelaida ? " she insisted. " My pet, I'll admit nothing. But may I point out to your dear illogical little mind that the fact of one person owing us more than it would be pleasant to lose, is not an argument in favour of our consenting to lose by another person also ?

" " If it's a question of turning any one out of doors, shouldn't we begin with the person who owes us most ? " " I told you, my precious child, that I would not argue this question. Your unreasonable antipathy to the Princess unhappily prevents you from discussing it calmly ; and I cannot bear to see my gentle Harry under the influence of this bad passion — for it is positively a passion ! It makes you quite violent. Imagine my refined and amiable Harry violent ! Now, mind I'm not going to defend the Princess against your accusations ; and you'll admit that her rank and po-sition have a certain weight. I don't attach so much value to these things as many people do ; but as a woman of the world, I recognise that they have their worth. It's far more snobbish to be a hypocrite in these matters than to take the facts as they are.

There is a certain pres tige attaching to the presence of the Princess Gonzaga di Mentoni in our house which is worth some material sacrifices. It would be mere childish folly to insist upon judging Adelaida Pfeffer and the Princess by precisely the same standard." " And yet Miss Adelaida is a gentlewoman, and the Princess is nothing of the sort." The good Harriet was by this time a little hot. "My pet, as I have already said, it is quite useless for us to discuss this question." Miss Coquelicot spoke with dignified frigidity ; but she too was a little flushed. " Miss Adelaida does not paint her face nor smoke cigarettes in her bedroom," persisted Miss Maguire. " She might do both so far as I am con cerned," rejoined Miss Coquelicot ; " it's a matter of supreme indifference to me what people do to their own faces, or how they occupy themselves in their own apartments.

If either vanity or tobacco would keep Miss Adelaida quietly in hers, I should esteem it a blessing." " Well, after all, Josephina, it comes to this — if I endure the Princess Gonzaga for your sake, I think you might put up with poor Miss Adelaida for mine." Yes ; after all it came to that. Unfortun ately Miss Coquelicot w7as only too well aware of it. The Princess Gonzaga was as far away as far could be from the ideal of a satisfactory boarder ; and yet she was the guest Miss Coquelicot delighted to honour ! So it was that the beam that was in the Princess Gon zaga's eye compelled Miss Coquelicot to deal more indulgently than she would have wished with the mote that was in Miss Adelaida's eye. This was really a little hard upon Miss Coquelicot ; for, to commence with, there was a good deal to be said for her view of the case ; and then she was not accustomed to contra diction, least of all from her devoted Harriet Maguire.

The alliance between these ladies rested on a conviction common to them both. Miss Maguire looked up to Josephina Coquelicot as a being of superior talents, whose will (on almost every occasion) she was contented to make her law. And Josephina Coquelicot, equally convinced of her own talents and superiority, felt assured that the good Harriet could find and obey no better law than her sovereign pleasure. On the rare occasions when the pliant Harriet showed herself rebellious, Miss Coque licot felt aggrieved, for is it not in human nature to regard as our due the tribute we are accustomed to receive ? Miss Maguire, in spite of her admiration for her friend and partner, was wrell aware that, together with her great qualities, Jose phina Coquelicot had the weakness often found to accompany genius.