In the logic of the schools he was
well-versed, but in this logic of the heart and of nature, he was
“ignorance itself.” It is said, that the “awless lion” crouches before
“a maid in the pride of her purity.” The tempter was departing gloomily,
when he saw tears start from the bright eyes of Immalee, and caught a
wild and dark omen from her innocent grief. “And you weep, Immalee?”
“Yes,” said the beautiful being, “I always weep when I see the sun set
in clouds; and will you, the sun of my heart, set in darkness too? and
will you not rise again? will you not?” and, with the graceful
confidence of pure innocence, she pressed her red delicious lip to his
hand as she spoke. “Will you not? I shall never love my roses and
peacocks if you do not return, for they cannot speak to me as you do,
nor can I give them one thought, but you can give me many. Oh, I would
like to have many thoughts about _the world that suffers_, from which
you came; and I believe you came from it, for, till I saw you, I never
felt a pain that was not pleasure; but now, it is all pain when I think
you will not return.”--“I will return,” said the stranger, “beautiful
Immalee, and will shew you, at my return, a glimpse of that world from
which I come, and in which you will soon be an inmate.”--“But shall I
see you there,” said Immalee, “otherwise how shall I _talk
thoughts_?”--“Oh yes,--oh certainly.”--“But why do you repeat the same
words twice; _your once_ would have been enough.”--“Well then,
yes.”--“Then take this rose from me, and let us inhale its odour
together, as I say to my friend in the fountain, when I bend to kiss
_it_; but my friend withdraws _its_ rose before I have tasted it, and I
leave mine on the water. Will you not take my rose,” said the beautiful
suppliant, bending towards him. “I will,” said the stranger; and he took
a flower from the cluster Immalee held out to him. It was a withered
one. He snatched it, and hid it in his breast. “And will you go without
a canoe across that dark sea?” said Immalee.--“We shall meet again, and
meet in the _world of suffering_,” said the stranger.--“Thank you,--oh,
thank you,” repeated Immalee, as she saw him plunge fearless amid the
surf. The stranger answered only, “We shall meet again.” Twice, as he
parted, he threw a glance at the beautiful and isolated being; a
lingering of humanity trembled round his heart,--but he tore the
withered rose from his bosom, and to the waved arm and angel-smile of
Immalee, he answered, “We shall meet again.”




CHAPTER XVI. Più non ho la dolce speranza. DIDONE. “Seven mornings and evenings Immalee paced the sands of her lonely isle,
without seeing the stranger. She had still his promise to console her,
that they should meet in the world of suffering; and this she repeated
to herself as if it was full of hope and consolation. In this interval
she tried to educate herself for her introduction into this world, and
it was beautiful to see her attempting, from vegetable and animal
analogies, to form some image of the incomprehensible destiny of man. In
the shade she watched the withering flower.--“The blood that ran red
through its veins yesterday is purple to-day, and will be black and dry
to-morrow,” she said; “but it feels no pain--it dies patiently,--and the
ranunculus and tulip near it are untouched by grief for their companion,
or their colours would not be so resplendent. But can it be thus in the
world that thinks? Could I see _him_ wither and die, without withering
and dying along with him. Oh no! when that flower fades, I will be the
dew that falls over him!”

“She attempted to enlarge her comprehension, by observing the animal
world. A young loxia had fallen dead from its pendent nest; and Immalee,
looking into the aperture which that intelligent bird forms at the lower
extremity of the nest to secure it from birds of prey, perceived the old
ones with fire-flies in their small beaks, their young one lying dead
before them. At this sight Immalee burst into tears.--“Ah! you cannot
weep,” she said, “what an advantage I have over you! You eat, though
your young one, your own one, is dead; but could I ever drink of the
milk of the cocoa, if _he_ could no longer taste it? I begin to
comprehend what he said--to think, then, is to suffer--and a world of
thought must be a world of pain! But how delicious are these tears! Formerly I wept for pleasure--but there is a pain sweeter than pleasure,
that I never felt till I beheld _him_. Oh! who would not think, to have
the joy of tears?”

“But Immalee did not occupy this interval solely in reflection; a new
anxiety began to agitate her; and in the intervals of her meditation and
her tears, she searched with avidity for the most glowing and
fantastically wreathed shells to deck her arms and hair with. She
changed her drapery of flowers every day, and never thought them fresh
after the first hour; then she filled her largest shells with the most
limpid water, and her hollow cocoa nuts with the most delicious figs,
interspersed with roses, and arranged them picturesquely on the stone
bench of the ruined pagoda. The time, however, passed over without the
arrival of the stranger, and Immalee, on visiting her fairy banquet the
next day, wept over the withered fruit, but dried her eyes, and hastened
to replace them. “She was thus employed on the eighth morning, when she saw the stranger
approach; and the wild and innocent delight with which she bounded
towards him, excited in him for a moment a feeling of gloomy and
reluctant compunction, which Immalee’s quick susceptibility traced in
his pausing step and averted eye. She stood trembling in lovely and
pleading diffidence, as if intreating pardon for an unconscious offence,
and asking permission to approach by the very attitude in which she
forbore it, while tears stood in her eyes ready to fall at another
repelling motion. This sight “whetted his almost blunted purpose.” She
must learn to suffer, to qualify her to become my pupil, he thought. “Immalee, you weep,” he added, approaching her. “Oh yes!” said Immalee,
smiling like a spring morning through her tears; “you are to teach me to
suffer, and I shall soon be very fit for your world--but I had rather
weep for you, than smile on a thousand roses.”--“Immalee,” said the
stranger, repelling the tenderness that melted him in spite of himself,
“Immalee, I come to shew you something of the world of thought you are
so anxious to inhabit, and of which you must soon become an inmate. Ascend this hill where the palm-trees are clustering, and you shall see
a glimpse of part of it.”--“But I would like to see the whole, and all
at once!” said Immalee, with the natural avidity of thirsty and unfed
intellect, that believes it can swallow all things, and digest all
things. “The whole, and all at once!” said her conductor, turning to
smile at her as she bounded after him, breathless and glowing with newly
excited feeling.