The Lady of the Shroud, Bram Stoker [most life changing books .txt] 📗

richly

embroidered. He raised his hand, and forthwith eight other black-clad figures stepped forward, and bending over the stone coffin,

raised from it the rigid form of my Lady, still clad in her Shroud,

and laid it gently on the floor of the sanctuary.

 

I felt it a grace that at that instant the dim lights seemed to grow

less, and finally to disappear—all save the tiny points that marked

the outline of the great Cross high overhead. These only gave light

enough to accentuate the gloom. The hand that held mine now released

it, and with a sigh I realized that I was alone. After a few moments

more of the groaning of the winch and clanking of the chain there was

a sharp sound of stone meeting stone; then there was silence. I

listened acutely, but could not hear near me the slightest sound.

Even the cautious, restrained breathing around me, of which up to

then I had been conscious, had ceased. Not knowing, in the

helplessness of my ignorance, what I should do, I remained as I was,

still and silent, for a time that seemed endless. At last, overcome

by some emotion which I could not at the moment understand, I slowly

sank to my knees and bowed my head. Covering my face with my hands,

I tried to recall the prayers of my youth. It was not, I am certain,

that fear in any form had come upon me, or that I hesitated or

faltered in my intention. That much I know now; I knew it even then.

It was, I believe, that the prolonged impressive gloom and mystery

had at last touched me to the quick. The bending of the knees was

but symbolical of the bowing of the spirit to a higher Power. When I

had realized that much, I felt more content than I had done since I

had entered the church, and with the renewed consciousness of

courage, took my hands from my face, and lifted again my bowed head.

 

Impulsively I sprang to my feet and stood erect—waiting. All seemed

to have changed since I had dropped on my knees. The points of light

about time church, which had been eclipsed, had come again, and were

growing in power to a partial revealing of the dim expanse. Before

me was the table with the open book, on which were laid the gold and

silver rings and the two crowns of flowers. There were also two tall

candles, with tiniest flames of blue—the only living light to be

seen.

 

Out of the darkness stepped the same tall figure in the gorgeous

robes and the triple hat. He led by the hand my Lady, still clad in

her Shroud; but over it, descending from the crown of her head, was a

veil of very old and magnificent lace of astonishing fineness. Even

in that dim light I could note the exquisite beauty of the fabric.

The veil was fastened with a bunch of tiny sprays of orange-blossom

mingled with cypress and laurel—a strange combination. In her hand

she carried a great bouquet of the same. Its sweet intoxicating

odour floated up to my nostrils. It and the sentiment which its very

presence evoked made me quiver.

 

Yielding to the guiding of the hand which held hers, she stood at my

left side before the table. Her guide then took his place behind

her. At either end of the table, to right and left of us, stood a

long-bearded priest in splendid robes, and wearing the hat with

depending veil of black. One of them, who seemed to be the more

important of the two, and took the initiative, signed to us to put

our right hands on the open book. My Lady, of course, understood the

ritual, and knew the words which the priest was speaking, and of her

own accord put out her hand. My guide at the same moment directed my

hand to the same end. It thrilled me to touch my Lady’s hand, even

under such mysterious conditions.

 

After the priest had signed us each thrice on the forehead with the

sign of the Cross, he gave to each of us a tiny lighted taper brought

to him for the purpose. The lights were welcome, not so much for the

solace of the added light, great as that was, but because it allowed

us to see a little more of each other’s faces. It was rapture to me

to see the face of my Bride; and from the expression of her face I

was assured that she felt as I did. It gave me an inexpressible

pleasure when, as her eyes rested on me, there grew a faint blush

over the grey pallor of her cheeks.

 

The priest then put in solemn voice to each of us in turn, beginning

with me, the questions of consent which are common to all such

rituals. I answered as well as I could, following the murmured words

of my guide. My Lady answered out proudly in a voice which, though

given softly, seemed to ring. It was a concern—even a grief—to me

that I could not, in the priest’s questioning, catch her name, of

which, strangely enough,—I was ignorant. But, as I did not know the

language, and as the phrases were not in accord literally with our

own ritual, I could not make out which word was the name.

 

After some prayers and blessings, rhythmically spoken or sung by an

invisible choir, the priest took the rings from the open book, and,

after signing my forehead thrice with the gold one as he repeated the

blessing in each case, placed it on my right hand; then he gave my

Lady the silver one, with the same ritual thrice repeated. I suppose

it was the blessing which is the effective point in making two into

one.

 

After this, those who stood behind us exchanged our rings thrice,

taking them from one finger and placing them on the other, so that at

the end my wife wore the gold ring and I the silver one.

 

Then came a chant, during which the priest swung the censer himself,

and my wife and I held our tapers. After that he blessed us, the

responses coming from the voices of the unseen singers in the

darkness.

 

After a long ritual of prayer and blessing, sung in triplicate, the

priest took the crowns of flowers, and put one on the head of each,

crowning me first, and with the crown tied with gold. Then he signed

and blessed us each thrice. The guides, who stood behind us,

exchanged our crowns thrice, as they had exchanged the rings; so that

at the last, as I was glad to see, my wife wore the crown of gold,

and I that of silver.

 

Then there came, if it is possible to describe such a thing, a hush

over even that stillness, as though some form of added solemnity were

to be gone through. I was not surprised, therefore, when the priest

took in his hands the great golden chalice. Kneeling, my wife and I

partook together thrice.

 

When we had risen from our knees and stood for a little while, the

priest took my left hand in his right, and I, by direction of my

guide, gave my right hand to my wife. And so in a line, the priest

leading, we circled round the table in rhythmic measure. Those who

supported us moved behind us, holding the crowns over our heads, and

replacing them when we stopped.

 

After a hymn, sung through the darkness, the priest took off our

crowns. This was evidently the conclusion of the ritual, for the

priest placed us in each other’s arms to embrace each other. Then he

blessed us, who were now man and wife!

 

The lights went out at once, some as if extinguished, others slowly

fading down to blackness.

 

Left in the dark, my wife and I sought each other’s arms again, and

stood together for a few moments heart to heart, tightly clasping

each other, and kissed each other fervently.

 

Instinctively we turned to the door of the church, which was slightly

open, so that we could see the moonlight stealing in through the

aperture. With even steps, she holding me tightly by the left arm—

which is the wife’s arm, we passed through the old church and out

into the free air.

 

Despite all that the gloom had brought me, it was sweet to be in the

open air and together—this quite apart from our new relations to

each other. The moon rode high, and the full light, coming after the

dimness or darkness in the church, seemed as bright as day. I could

now, for the first time, see my wife’s face properly. The glamour of

the moonlight may have served to enhance its ethereal beauty, but

neither moonlight nor sunlight could do justice to that beauty in its

living human splendour. As I gloried in her starry eyes I could

think of nothing else; but when for a moment my eyes, roving round

for the purpose of protection, caught sight of her whole figure,

there was a pang to my heart. The brilliant moonlight showed every

detail in terrible effect, and I could see that she wore only her

Shroud. In the moment of darkness, after the last benediction,

before she returned to my arms, she must have removed her bridal

veil. This may, of course, have been in accordance with the

established ritual of her church; but, all the same, my heart was

sore. The glamour of calling her my very own was somewhat obscured

by the bridal adornment being shorn. But it made no difference in

her sweetness to me. Together we went along the path through the

wood, she keeping equal step with me in wifely way.

 

When we had come through the trees near enough to see the roof of the

Castle, now gilded with the moonlight, she stopped, and looking at me

with eyes full of love, said:

 

“Here I must leave you!”

 

“What?” I was all aghast, and I felt that my chagrin was expressed

in the tone of horrified surprise in my voice. She went on quickly:

 

“Alas! It is impossible that I should go farther—at present!”

 

“But what is to prevent you?” I queried. “You are now my wife. This

is our wedding-night; and surely your place is with me!” The wail in

her voice as she answered touched me to the quick:

 

“Oh, I know, I know! There is no dearer wish in my heart—there can

be none—than to share my husband’s home. Oh, my dear, my dear, if

you only knew what it would be to me to be with you always! But

indeed I may not—not yet! I am not free! If you but knew how much

that which has happened to-night has cost me—or how much cost to

others as well as to myself may be yet to come—you would understand.

Rupert”—it was the first time she had ever addressed me by name, and

naturally it thrilled me through and through—“Rupert, my husband,

only that I trust you with all the faith which is in perfect love—

mutual love, I dare not have done what I have done this night. But,

dear, I know that you will bear me out; that your wife’s honour is

your honour, even as your honour is mine. My honour is given to

this; and you can help me—the only help I can have at present—by

trusting me. Be patient, my beloved, be patient! Oh, be patient for

a little longer! It shall not be for long. So soon as ever my soul

is freed I shall come to you, my husband; and we shall never part