The Lady of the Shroud - Bram Stoker (phonics reader txt) 📗

all that mighty array of men flashed

upward as one, and like thunder pealed the National cry:

 

“The Blue Mountains and Duty!”

 

After the cry there was a strange subsidence which made the onlooker

rub his eyes. It seemed as though the whole mass of fighting men had

partially sunk into the ground. Then the splendid truth burst upon

us—the whole nation was kneeling at the feet of their chosen King,

who stood upright.

 

Another moment of silence, as King Rupert, taking off his crown, held

it up in his left hand, and, holding his great handjar high in his

right, cried in a voice so strong that it came ringing over that

serried mass like a trumpet:

 

“To Freedom of our Nation, and to Freedom within it, I dedicate these

and myself. I swear!”

 

So saying, he, too, sank on his knees, whilst we all instinctively

uncovered.

 

The silence which followed lasted several seconds; then, without a

sign, as though one and all acted instinctively, the whole body stood

up. Thereupon was executed a movement which, with all my experience

of soldiers and war, I never saw equalled—not with the Russian Royal

Guard saluting the Czar at his Coronation, not with an impi of

Cetewayo’s Zulus whirling through the opening of a kraal.

 

For a second or two the whole mass seemed to writhe or shudder, and

then, lo! the whole District Divisions were massed again in

completeness, its Councillors next the King, and the Divisions

radiating outwards down the hill like wedges.

 

This completed the ceremony, and everything broke up into units.

Later, I was told by my official friend that the King’s last

movement—the oath as he sank to his knees—was an innovation of his

own. All I can say is, if, in the future, and for all time, it is

not taken for a precedent, and made an important part of the

Patriotic Coronation ceremony, the Blue Mountaineers will prove

themselves to be a much more stupid people than they seem at present

to be.

 

The conclusion of the Coronation festivities was a time of unalloyed

joy. It was the banquet given to the King and Queen by the nation;

the guests of the nation were included in the royal party. It was a

unique ceremony. Fancy a picnic-party of a hundred thousand persons,

nearly all men. There must have been made beforehand vast and

elaborate preparations, ramifying through the whole nation. Each

section had brought provisions sufficient for their own consumption

in addition to several special dishes for the guest-tables; but the

contribution of each section was not consumed by its own members.

 

It was evidently a part of the scheme that all should derive from a

common stock, so that the feeling of brotherhood and common property

should be preserved in this monumental fashion.

 

The guest-tables were the only tables to be seen. The bulk of the

feasters sat on the ground. The tables were brought forward by the

men themselves—no such thing as domestic service was known on this

day—from a wood close at hand, where they and the chairs had been

placed in readiness. The linen and crockery used had been sent for

the purpose from the households of every town and village. The

flowers were plucked in the mountains early that morning by the

children, and the gold and silver plate used for adornment were

supplied from the churches. Each dish at the guest-tables was served

by the men of each section in turn.

 

Over the whole array seemed to be spread an atmosphere of joyousness,

of peace, of brotherhood. It would be impossible to adequately

describe that amazing scene, a whole nation of splendid men

surrounding their new King and Queen, loving to honour and serve

them. Scattered about through that vast crowd were groups of

musicians, chosen from amongst themselves. The space covered by this

titanic picnic was so vast that there were few spots from which you

could hear music proceeding from different quarters.

 

After dinner we all sat and smoked; the music became rather vocal

than instrumental—indeed, presently we did not hear the sound of any

instrument at all. Only knowing a few words of Balkan, I could not

follow the meanings of the songs, but I gathered that they were all

legendary or historical. To those who could understand, as I was

informed by my tutelary young friend, who stayed beside me the whole

of this memorable day, we were listening to the history of the Land

of the Blue Mountains in ballad form. Somewhere or other throughout

that vast concourse each notable record of ten centuries was being

told to eager ears.

 

It was now late in the day. Slowly the sun had been dropping down

over the Calabrian Mountains, and the glamorous twilight was stealing

over the immediate scene. No one seemed to notice the coming of the

dark, which stole down on us with an unspeakable mystery. For long

we sat still, the clatter of many tongues becoming stilled into the

witchery of the scene. Lower the sun sank, till only the ruddiness

of the afterglow lit the expanse with rosy light; then this failed in

turn, and the night shut down quickly.

 

At last, when we could just discern the faces close to us, a

simultaneous movement began. Lights began to flash out in places all

over the hillside. At first these seemed as tiny as glow-worms seen

in a summer wood, but by degrees they grew till the space was set

with little circles of light. These in turn grew and grew in both

number and strength. Flames began to leap out from piles of wood,

torches were lighted and held high. Then the music began again,

softly at first, but then louder as the musicians began to gather to

the centre, where sat the King and Queen. The music was wild and

semi-barbaric, but full of sweet melody. It somehow seemed to bring

before us a distant past; one and all, according to the strength of

our imagination and the volume of our knowledge, saw episodes and

phases of bygone history come before us. There was a wonderful

rhythmic, almost choric, force in the time kept, which made it almost

impossible to sit still. It was an invitation to the dance such as I

had never before heard in any nation or at any time. Then the lights

began to gather round. Once more the mountaineers took something of

the same formation as at the crowning. Where the royal party sat was

a level mead, with crisp, short grass, and round it what one might

well call the Ring of the Nation was formed.

 

The music grew louder. Each mountaineer who had not a lit torch

already lighted one, and the whole rising hillside was a glory of

light. The Queen rose, and the King an instant after. As they rose

men stepped forward and carried away their chairs, or rather thrones.

The Queen gave the King her hand—this is, it seems, the privilege of

the wife as distinguished from any other woman. Their feet took the

time of the music, and they moved into the centre of the ring.

 

That dance was another thing to remember, won from the haunting

memories of that strange day. At first the King and Queen danced all

alone. They began with stately movement, but as the music quickened

their feet kept time, and the swing of their bodies with movements

kept growing more and more ecstatic at every beat till, in true

Balkan fashion, the dance became a very agony of passionate movement.

 

At this point the music slowed down again, and the mountaineers began

to join in the dance. At first slowly, one by one, they joined in,

the Vladika and the higher priests leading; then everywhere the whole

vast crowd began to dance, till the earth around us seemed to shake.

The lights quivered, flickered, blazed out again, and rose and fell

as that hundred thousand men, each holding a torch, rose and fell

with the rhythm of the dance. Quicker, quicker grew the music,

faster grew the rushing and pounding of the feet, till the whole

nation seemed now in an ecstasy.

 

I stood near the Vladika, and in the midst of this final wildness I

saw him draw from his belt a short, thin flute; then he put it to his

lips and blew a single note—a fierce, sharp note, which pierced the

volume of sound more surely than would the thunder of a cannon-shot.

On the instant everywhere each man put his torch under his foot.

 

There was complete and immediate darkness, for the fires, which had

by now fallen low, had evidently been trodden out in the measure of

the dance. The music still kept in its rhythmic beat, but slower

than it had yet been. Little by little this beat was pointed and

emphasized by the clapping of hands—at first only a few, but

spreading till everyone present was beating hands to the slow music

in the darkness. This lasted a little while, during which, looking

round, I noticed a faint light beginning to steal up behind the

hills. The moon was rising.

 

Again there came a note from the Vladika’s flute—a single note,

sweet and subtle, which I can only compare with a note from a

nightingale, vastly increased in powers. It, too, won through the

thunder of the hand-claps, and on the second the sound ceased. The

sudden stillness, together with the darkness, was so impressive that

we could almost hear our hearts beating. And then came through the

darkness the most beautiful and impressive sound heard yet. That

mighty concourse, without fugleman of any sort, began, in low,

fervent voice, to sing the National Anthem. At first it was of so

low tone as to convey the idea of a mighty assembly of violinists

playing with the mutes on. But it gradually rose till the air above

us seemed to throb and quiver. Each syllable—each word—spoken in

unison by the vast throng was as clearly enunciated as though spoken

by a single voice:

 

“Guide our feet through darkness, O Jehovah.”

 

This anthem, sung out of full hearts, remains on our minds as the

last perfection of a perfect day. For myself, I am not ashamed to

own that it made me weep like a child. Indeed, I cannot write of it

now as I would; it unmans me so!

 

*

 

In the early morning, whilst the mountains were still rather grey

than blue, the cable-line took us to the Blue Mouth, where we

embarked in the King’s yacht, The Lady, which took us across the

Adriatic at a pace which I had hitherto considered impossible. The

King and Queen came to the landing to see us off. They stood

together at the right-hand side of the red-carpeted gangway, and

shook hands with each guest as he went on board. The instant the

last passenger had stepped on deck the gangway was withdrawn. The

Lord High Admiral, who stood on the bridge, raised his hand, and we

swept towards the mouth of the gulf. Of course, all hats were off,

and we cheered frantically. I can truly say that if King Rupert and

Queen Teuta should ever wish to found in the Blue Mountains a colony

of diplomatists and journalists, those who were their guests on this

great occasion will volunteer to a man. I think old Hempetch, who is

the doyen of English-speaking journalists, voiced our sentiments when

he said:

 

“May God bless them and theirs with every grace and happiness, and

send prosperity to the Land and the rule!” I think the King and

Queen heard us cheer, they turned to look at our flying ship again.