The Castle

On the top of a high cliff, forming part of the base of a great
mountain, stood a lofty castle. When or how it was built, no man knew;
nor could any one pretend to understand its architecture. Every one who
looked upon it felt that it was lordly and noble; and where one part
seemed not to agree with another, the wise and modest dared not to call
them incongruous, but presumed that the whole might be constructed on
some higher principle of architecture than they yet understood. What
helped them to this conclusion was, that no one had ever seen the whole
of the edifice; that, even of the portion best known, some part or other
was always wrapped in thick folds of mist from the mountain; and that,
when the sun shone upon this mist, the parts of the building that
appeared through the vaporous veil were strangely glorified in their
indistinctness, so that they seemed to belong to some aerial abode in
the land of the sunset; and the beholders could hardly tell whether they
had ever seen them before, or whether they were now for the first time
partially revealed.
Nor, although it was inhabited, could certain information be procured as
to its internal construction. Those who dwelt in it often discovered
rooms they had never entered before—yea, once or twice,—whole suites
of apartments, of which only dim legends had been handed down from
former times. Some of them expected to find, one day, secret places,
filled with treasures of wondrous jewels; amongst which they hoped to
light upon Solomon's ring, which had for ages disappeared from the
earth, but which had controlled the spirits, and the possession of which
made a man simply what a man should be, the king of the world. Now and
then, a narrow, winding stair, hitherto untrodden, would bring them
forth on a new turret, whence new prospects of the circumjacent country
were spread out before them. How many more of these there might be, or
how much loftier, no one could tell. Nor could the foundations of the
castle in the rock on which it was built be determined with the smallest
approach to precision. Those of the family who had given themselves to
exploring in that direction, found such a labyrinth of vaults and
passages, and endless successions of down-going stairs, out of one
underground space into a yet lower, that they came to the conclusion
that at least the whole mountain was perforated and honeycombed in this
fashion. They had a dim consciousness, too, of the presence, in those
awful regions, of beings whom they could not comprehend. Once they came
upon the brink of a great black gulf, in which the eye could see nothing
but darkness: they recoiled with horror; for the conviction flashed upon
them that that gulf went down into the very central spaces of the earth,
of which they had hitherto been wandering only in the upper crust; nay,
that the seething blackness before them had relations mysterious, and
beyond human comprehension, with the far-off voids of space, into which
the stars dare not enter.
At the foot of the cliff whereon the castle stood, lay a deep lake,
inaccessible save by a few avenues, being surrounded on all sides with
precipices which made the water look very black, although it was pure as
the nightsky. From a door in the castle, which was not to be otherwise
entered, a broad flight of steps, cut in the rock, went down to the
lake, and disappeared below its surface. Some thought the steps went to
the very bottom of the water.
Now in this castle there dwelt a large family of brothers and sisters.
They had never seen their father or mother. The younger had been
educated by the elder, and these by an unseen care and ministration,
about the sources of which they had, somehow or other, troubled
themselves very little—for what people are accustomed to, they regard
as coming from nobody; as if help and progress and joy and love were the
natural crops of Chaos or old Night. But Tradition said that one day—it
was utterly uncertain when—their father would come, and leave them no
more; for he was still alive, though where he lived nobody knew. In the
meantime all the rest had to obey their eldest brother, and listen to
his counsels.
But almost all the family was very fond of liberty, as they called it;
and liked to run up and down, hither and thither, roving about, with
neither law nor order, just as they pleased. So they could not endure
their brother's tyranny, as they called it. At one time they said that
he was only one of themselves, and therefore they would not obey him; at
another, that he was not like them, and could not understand them, and
therefore they would not obey him. Yet, sometimes, when he came and
looked them full in the face, they were terrified, and dared not
disobey, for he was stately and stern and strong. Not one of them loved
him heartily, except the eldest sister, who was very beautiful and
silent, and whose eyes shone as if light lay somewhere deep behind them.
Even she, although she loved him, thought him very hard sometimes; for
when he had once said a thing plainly, he could not be persuaded to
think it over again. So even she forgot him sometimes, and went her own
ways, and enjoyed herself without him. Most of them regarded him as a
sort of watchman, whose business it was to keep them in order; and so
they were indignant and disliked him. Yet they all had a secret feeling
that they ought to be subject to him; and after any particular act of
disregard, none of them could think, with any peace, of the old story
about the return of their father to his house. But indeed they never
thought much about it, or about their father at all; for how could those
who cared so little for their brother, whom they saw every day, care for
their father whom they had never seen?—One chief cause of complaint
against him was that he interfered with their favourite studies and
pursuits; whereas he only sought to make them give up trifling with
earnest things, and seek for truth, and not for amusement, from the many
wonders around them. He did not want them to turn to other studies, or
to eschew pleasures; but, in those studies, to seek the highest things
most, and other things in proportion to their true worth and nobleness.
This could not fail to be distasteful to those who did not care for what
was higher than they. And so matters went on for a time. They thought
they could do better without their brother; and their brother knew they
could not do at all without him, and tried to fulfil the charge
committed into his hands.
At length, one day, for the thought seemed to strike them
simultaneously, they conferred together about giving a great
entertainment in their grandest rooms to any of their neighbours who
chose to come, or indeed to any inhabitants of the earth or air who
would visit them. They were too proud to reflect that some company might
defile even the dwellers in what was undoubtedly the finest palace on
the face of the earth. But what made the thing worse, was, that the old
tradition said that these rooms were to be kept entirely for the use of
the owner of the castle. And, indeed, whenever they entered them, such
was the effect of their loftiness and grandeur upon their minds, that
they always thought of the old story, and could not help believing it.
Nor would the brother permit them to forget it now; but, appearing
suddenly amongst them, when they had no expectation of being interrupted
by him, he rebuked them, both for the indiscriminate nature of their
invitation, and for the intention of introducing any one, not to speak
of some who would doubtless make their appearance on the evening in
question, into the rooms kept sacred for the use of the unknown father.
But by this time their talk with each other had so excited their
expectations of enjoyment, which had previously been strong enough, that
anger sprung up within them at the thought of being deprived of their
hopes, and they looked each other in the eyes; and the look said: "We
are many and he is one—let us get rid of him, for he is always finding
fault, and thwarting us in the most innocent pleasures;—as if we would
wish to do anything wrong!" So without a word spoken, they rushed upon
him; and although he was stronger than any of them, and struggled hard
at first, yet they overcame him at last. Indeed, some of them thought he
yielded to their violence long before they had the mastery of him; and
this very submission terrified the more tender-hearted amongst them.
However, they bound him; carried him down many stairs, and, having
remembered an iron staple in the wall of a certain vault, with a thick
rusty chain attached to it, they bore him thither, and made the chain
fast around him. There they left him, shutting the great gnarring brazen
door of the vault, as they departed for the upper regions of the castle.
Now all was in a tumult of preparation. Every one was talking of the
coming festivity; but no one spoke of the deed they had done. A sudden
paleness overspread the face, now of one, and now of another; but it
passed away, and no one took any notice of it; they only plied the task
of the moment the more energetically. Messengers were sent far and near,
not to individuals or families, but publishing in all places of
concourse a general invitation to any who chose to come on a certain
day, and partake for certain succeeding days of the hospitality of the
dwellers in the castle. Many were the preparations immediately begun for
complying with the invitation. But the noblest of their neighbours
refused to appear; not from pride, but because of the unsuitableness and
carelessness of such a mode. With some of them it was an old condition
in the tenure of their estates, that they should go to no one's dwelling
except visited in person, and expressly solicited. Others, knowing what
sort of persons would be there, and that, from a certain physical
antipathy, they could scarcely breathe in their company, made up their
minds at once not to go. Yet multitudes, many of them beautiful and
innocent as well as gay, resolved to appear.
Meanwhile, the great rooms of the castle were got in readiness—that is,
they proceeded to deface them with decorations; for there was a
solemnity and stateliness about them in their ordinary condition, which
was at once felt to be unsuitable for the light-hearted company so soon
to move about in them with the self-same carelessness with which men
walk abroad within the great heavens and hills and clouds. One day,
while the workmen were busy, the eldest sister, of whom I have already
spoken, happened to enter, she knew not why. Suddenly the great idea of
the mighty halls dawned upon her, and filled her soul. The so-called
decorations vanished from her view, and she felt as if she stood in her
father's presence. She was at one elevated and humbled. As suddenly the
idea faded and fled, and she beheld but the gaudy festoons and draperies
and paintings which disfigured the grandeur. She wept and sped away. Now
it was too late to interfere, and things must take their course. She
would have been but a Cassandra-prophetess to those who saw but the
pleasure before them. She had not been present when her brother was
imprisoned; and indeed for some days had been so wrapt in her own
business, that she had taken but little heed of anything that was going
on. But they all expected her to show herself when the company was
gathered; and they had applied to her for advice at various times during
their operations.
At length the expected hour arrived, and the company began to assemble.
It was a warm summer evening. The dark lake reflected the rose-coloured
clouds in the west, and through the flush rowed many gaily painted
boats, with various coloured flags, towards the massy rock on which the
castle stood. The trees and flowers seemed already asleep, and breathing
forth their sweet dream-breath. Laughter and low voices rose from the
breast of the lake to the ears of the youths and maidens looking forth
expectant from the lofty windows. They went down to the broad platform
at the top of the stairs in front of the door to receive their visitors.
By degrees the festivities of the evening commenced. The same smiles
flew forth both at eyes and lips, darting like beams through the
gathering crowd. Music, from unseen sources, now rolled in billows, now
crept in ripples through the sea of air that filled the lofty rooms. And
in the dancing halls, when hand took hand, and form and motion were
moulded and swayed by the indwelling music, it governed not these alone,
but, as the ruling spirit of the place, every new burst of music for a
new dance swept before it a new and accordant odour, and dyed the flames
that glowed in the lofty lamps with a new and accordant stain. The
floors bent beneath the feet of the time-keeping dancers. But twice in
the evening some of the inmates started, and the pallor occasionally
common to the household overspread their faces, for they felt underneath
them a counter-motion to the dance, as if the floor rose slightly to
answer their feet. And all the time their brother lay below in the
dungeon, like John the Baptist in the castle of Herod, when the lords
and captains sat around, and the daughter of Herodias danced before
them. Outside, all around the castle, brooded the dark night unheeded;
for the clouds had come up from all sides, and were crowding together
overhead. In the unfrequent pauses of the music, they might have heard,
now and then, the gusty rush of a lonely wind, coming and going no one
could know whence or whither, born and dying unexpected and unregarded.
But when the festivities were at their height, when the external and
passing confidence which is produced between superficial natures by a
common pleasure was at the full, a sudden crash of thunder quelled the
music, as the thunder quells the noise of the uplifted sea. The windows
were driven in, and torrents of rain, carried in the folds of a rushing
wind, poured into the halls. The lights were swept away; and the great
rooms, now dark within, were darkened yet more by the dazzling shoots of
flame from the vault of blackness overhead. Those that ventured to look
out of the windows saw, in the blue brilliancy of the quick-following
jets of lightning, the lake at the foot of the rock, ordinarily so still
and so dark, lighted up, not on the surface only, but down to half its
depth; so that, as it tossed in the wind, like a tortured sea of
writhing flames, or incandescent half-molten serpents of brass, they
could not tell whether a strong phosphorescence did not issue from the
transparent body of the waters, as if earth and sky lightened together,
one consenting source of flaming utterance.
Sad was the condition of the late plastic mass of living form that had
flowed into shape at the will and law of the music. Broken into
individuals, the common transfusing spirit withdrawn, they stood
drenched, cold, and benumbed, with clinging garments; light, order,
harmony, purpose departed, and chaos restored; the issuings of life
turned back on their sources, chilly and dead. And in every heart
reigned the falsest of despairing convictions, that this was the only
reality, and that was but a dream. The eldest sister stood with clasped
hands and down-bent head, shivering and speechless, as if waiting for
something to follow. Nor did she wait long. A terrible flash and
thunder-peal made the castle rock; and in the pausing silence that
followed, her quick sense heard the rattling of a chain far off, deep
down; and soon the sound of heavy footsteps, accompanied with the
clanking of iron, reached her ear. She felt that her brother was at
hand. Even in the darkness, and amidst the bellowing of another
deep-bosomed cloud-monster, she knew that he had entered the room. A
moment after, a continuous pulsation of angry blue light began, which,
lasting for some moments, revealed him standing amidst them, gaunt,
haggard, and motionless; his hair and beard untrimmed, his face ghastly,
his eyes large and hollow. The light seemed to gather around him as a
centre. Indeed, some believed that it throbbed and radiated from his
person, and not from the stormy heavens above them. The lightning had
rent the wall of his prison, and released the iron staple of his chain,
which he had wound about him like a girdle. In his hand he carried an
iron fetter-bar, which he had found on the floor of the vault. More
terrified at his aspect than at all the violence of the storm, the
visitors, with many a shriek and cry, rushed out into the tempestuous
night. By degrees, the storm died away. Its last flash revealed the
forms of the brothers and sisters lying prostrate, with their faces on
the floor, and that fearful shape standing motionless amidst them still.
Morning dawned, and there they lay, and there he stood. But at a word
from him, they arose and went about their various duties, though
listlessly enough. The eldest sister was the last to rise; and when she
did, it was only by a terrible effort that she was able to reach her
room, where she fell again on the floor. There she remained lying for
days. The brother caused the doors of the great suite of rooms to be
closed, leaving them just as they were, with all the childish adornment
scattered about, and the rain still falling in through the shattered
windows. "Thus let them lie," said he, "till the rain and frost have
cleansed them of paint and drapery: no storm can hurt the pillars and
arches of these halls."
The hours of this day went heavily. The storm was gone, but the rain was
left; the passion had departed, but the tears remained behind. Dull and
dark the low misty clouds brooded over the castle and the lake, and shut
out all the neighbourhood. Even if they had climbed to the loftiest
known turret, they would have found it swathed in a garment of clinging
vapour, affording no refreshment to the eye, and no hope to the heart.
There was one lofty tower that rose sheer a hundred feet above the rest,
and from which the fog could have been seen lying in a grey mass
beneath; but that tower they had not yet discovered, nor another close
beside it, the top of which was never seen, nor could be, for the
highest clouds of heaven clustered continually around it. The rain fell
continuously, though not heavily, without; and within, too, there were
clouds from which dropped the tears which are the rain of the spirit.
All the good of life seemed for the time departed, and their souls lived
but as leafless trees that had forgotten the joy of the summer, and whom
no wind prophetic of spring had yet visited. They moved about
mechanically, and had not strength enough left to wish to die.
The next day the clouds were higher, and a little wind blew through such
loopholes in the turrets as the false improvements of the inmates had
not yet filled with glass, shutting out, as the storm, so the serene
visitings of the heavens. Throughout the day, the brother took various
opportunities of addressing a gentle command, now to one and now to
another of his family. It was obeyed in silence. The wind blew fresher
through the loopholes and the shattered windows of the great rooms, and
found its way, by unknown passages, to faces and eyes hot with weeping.
It cooled and blessed them.—When the sun arose the next day, it was in
a clear sky.
By degrees, everything fell into the regularity of subordination. With
the subordination came increase of freedom. The steps of the more
youthful of the family were heard on the stairs and in the corridors
more light and quick than ever before. Their brother had lost the
terrors of aspect produced by his confinement, and his commands were
issued more gently, and oftener with a smile, than in all their previous
history. By degrees his presence was universally felt through the house.
It was no surprise to any one at his studies, to see him by his side
when he lifted up his eyes, though he had not before known that he was
in the room. And although some dread still remained, it was rapidly
vanishing before the advances of a firm friendship. Without immediately
ordering their labours, he always influenced them, and often altered
their direction and objects. The change soon evident in the household
was remarkable. A simpler, nobler expression was visible on all the
countenances. The voices of the men were deeper, and yet seemed by their
very depth more feminine than before; while the voices of the women were
softer and sweeter, and at the same time more full and decided. Now the
eyes had often an expression as if their sight was absorbed in the gaze
of the inward eyes; and when the eyes of two met, there passed between
those eyes the utterance of a conviction that both meant the same thing.
But the change was, of course, to be seen more clearly, though not more
evidently, in individuals.
One of the brothers, for instance, was very fond of astronomy. He had
his observatory on a lofty tower, which stood pretty clear of the
others, towards the north and east. But hitherto, his astronomy, as he
had called it, had been more of the character of astrology. Often, too,
he might have been seen directing a heaven-searching telescope to catch
the rapid transit of a fiery shooting-star, belonging altogether to the
earthly atmosphere, and not to the serene heavens. He had to learn that
the signs of the air are not the signs of the skies. Nay, once, his
brother surprised him in the act of examining through his longest tube a
patch of burning heath upon a distant hill. But now he was diligent from
morning till night in the study of the laws of the truth that has to do
with stars; and when the curtain of the sunlight was about to rise from
before the heavenly worlds which it had hidden all day long, he might be
seen preparing his instruments with that solemn countenance with which
it becometh one to look into the mysterious harmonies of Nature. Now he
learned what law and order and truth are, what consent and harmony mean;
how the individual may find his own end in a higher end, where law and
freedom mean the same thing, and the purest certainty exists without the
slightest constraint. Thus he stood on the earth, and looked to the
heavens.
Another, who had been much given to searching out the hollow places and
recesses in the foundations of the castle, and who was often to be found
with compass and ruler working away at a chart of the same which he had
been in process of constructing, now came to the conclusion, that only
by ascending the upper regions of his abode could he become capable of
understanding what lay beneath; and that, in all probability, one clear
prospect, from the top of the highest attainable turret, over the castle
as it lay below, would reveal more of the idea of its internal
construction, than a year spent in wandering through its subterranean
vaults. But the fact was, that the desire to ascend wakening within him
had made him forget what was beneath; and having laid aside his chart
for a time at least, he was now to be met in every quarter of the upper
parts, searching and striving upward, now in one direction, now in
another; and seeking, as he went, the best outlooks into the clear air
of outer realities.
And they began to discover that they were all meditating different
aspects of the same thing; and they brought together their various
discoveries, and recognised the likeness between them; and the one thing
often explained the other, and combining with it helped to a third. They
grew in consequence more and more friendly and loving; so that every now
and then one turned to another and said, as in surprise, "Why, you are
my brother!"—"Why, you are my sister!" And yet they had always known
it.
The change reached to all. One, who lived on the air of sweet sounds,
and who was almost always to be found seated by her harp or some other
instrument, had, till the late storm, been generally merry and playful,
though sometimes sad. But for a long time after that, she was often
found weeping, and playing little simple airs which she had heard in
childhood—backward longings, followed by fresh tears. Before long,
however, a new element manifested itself in her music. It became yet
more wild, and sometimes retained all its sadness, but it was mingled
with anticipation and hope. The past and the future merged in one; and
while memory yet brought the rain-cloud, expectation threw the rainbow
across its bosom—and all was uttered in her music, which rose and
swelled, now to defiance, now to victory; then died in a torrent of
weeping.
As to the eldest sister, it was many days before she recovered from the
shock. At length, one day, her brother came to her, took her by the
hand, led her to an open window, and told her to seat herself by it, and
look out. She did so; but at first saw nothing more than an
unsympathising blaze of sunlight. But as she looked, the horizon widened
out, and the dome of the sky ascended, till the grandeur seized upon her
soul, and she fell on her knees and wept. Now the heavens seemed to bend
lovingly over her, and to stretch out wide cloud-arms to embrace her;
the earth lay like the bosom of an infinite love beneath her, and the
wind kissed her cheek with an odour of roses. She sprang to her feet,
and turned, in an agony of hope, expecting to behold the face of the
father, but there stood only her brother, looking calmly though lovingly
on her emotion. She turned again to the window. On the hilltops rested
the sky: Heaven and Earth were one; and the prophecy awoke in her soul,
that from betwixt them would the steps of the father approach.
Hitherto she had seen but Beauty; now she beheld Truth. Often had she
looked on such clouds as these, and loved the strange ethereal curves
into which the winds moulded them; and had smiled as her little pet
sister told her what curious animals she saw in them, and tried to point
them out to her. Now they were as troops of angels, jubilant over her
new birth, for they sang, in her soul, of beauty, and truth, and love.
She looked down, and her little sister knelt beside her.
She was a curious child, with black, glittering eyes, and dark hair; at
the mercy of every wandering wind; a frolicsome, daring girl, who
laughed more than she smiled. She was generally in attendance on her
sister, and was always finding and bringing her strange things. She
never pulled a primrose, but she knew the haunts of all the orchis
tribe, and brought from them bees and butterflies innumerable, as
offerings to her sister. Curious moths and glow-worms were her greatest
delight; and she loved the stars, because they were like the glow-worms.
But the change had affected her too; for her sister saw that her eyes
had lost their glittering look, and had become more liquid and
transparent. And from that time she often observed that her gaiety was
more gentle, her smile more frequent, her laugh less bell-like; and
although she was as wild as ever, there was more elegance in her
motions, and more music in her voice. And she clung to her sister with
far greater fondness than before.
The land reposed in the embrace of the warm summer days. The clouds of
heaven nestled around the towers of the castle; and the hearts of its
inmates became conscious of a warm atmosphere—of a presence of love.
They began to feel like the children of a household, when the mother is
at home. Their faces and forms grew daily more and more beautiful, till
they wondered as they gazed on each other. As they walked in the gardens
of the castle, or in the country around, they were often visited,
especially the eldest sister, by sounds that no one heard but
themselves, issuing from woods and waters; and by forms of love that
lightened out of flowers, and grass, and great rocks. Now and then the
young children would come in with a slow, stately step, and, with great
eyes that looked as if they would devour all the creation, say that they
had met the father amongst the trees, and that he had kissed them;
"And," added one of them once, "I grew so big!" But when the others went
out to look, they could see no one. And some said it must have been the
brother, who grew more and more beautiful, and loving, and reverend, and
who had lost all traces of hardness, so that they wondered they could
ever have thought him stern and harsh. But the eldest sister held her
peace, and looked up, and her eyes filled with tears. "Who can tell,"
thought she, "but the little children know more about it than we?"
Often, at sunrise, might be heard their hymn of praise to their unseen
father, whom they felt to be near, though they saw him not. Some words
thereof once reached my ear through the folds of the music in which they
floated, as in an upward snowstorm of sweet sounds. And these are some
of the words I heard—but there was much I seemed to hear which I could
not understand, and some things which I understood but cannot utter
again.
"We thank thee that we have a father, and not a maker; that thou hast
begotten us, and not moulded us as images of clay; that we have come
forth of thy heart, and have not been fashioned by thy hands. It must
be so. Only the heart of a father is able to create. We rejoice in it,
and bless thee that we know it. We thank thee for thyself. Be what thou
art—our root and life, our beginning and end, our all in all. Come home
to us. Thou livest; therefore we live. In thy light we see. Thou
art—that is all our song."
Thus they worship, and love, and wait. Their hope and expectation grow
ever stronger and brighter, that one day, ere long, the Father will show
Himself amongst them, and thenceforth dwell in His own house for
evermore. What was once but an old legend has become the one desire of
their hearts.
And the loftiest hope is the surest of being fulfilled.
Castle, The
Category:Christianity