LITTELL'S LIVING AGE.-No. 255.-7 APRIL, 1849. From the Dublin University Magazine. THE CROSS ON THE SNOW MOUNTAINS. -A SCANDINAVIAN TALE. CHAPTER I. A SHIP, a rude, pine-built vessel, lay tossing, and heaving, and tempest-driven, on a southern sea. Brave, wild-looking Norsemen were on her deck, breasting the storm, and controlling the ship with a desperate strength and almost ferocious energy, which, in those early days, stood in the place of skill. For it was in the time of Europe's stormy, unfettered youth, when civilization was just dawning in those of its climes which were nearest the sun. But the ship came from the north, the wild and savage north; her pine timbers had once rocked to the tempests in a Scand?navian forest, and afterwards, winter by winter, had struggled with the ice-bound waters of Scandinavian seas. It was the ship of a Viking. The vessel seemed struggling between the sea and sky. The leaden, low clouds almost rested on her topmost masts, as if to press her down into the boiling deep; the storm-spirits howled above her-the waves answered the roar from beneath. And in the ship there was one faint, wailing cry, which made that wild chorus the birth-hymn of a human soul. The mother, the young mother of an hour, lay unconscious of all the turmoil around her. With the angel of birth came the angel of death; already the shadow of his wings was upon her. The Viking sat at her feet, still, stern, immovable. Perhaps he now felt how it was that the fair southern flower, stolen and forcibly planted on a cold, northern rock, had withered so soon. He sat with his gray head resting on his rough, wrinkled hands, his cold, blue eyes, beneath their shaggy brows, looking with an iron-bound, tearless, terrible grief, upon the death-white face of his young spouse. "There was a poor, frail, southern flower, and under the shadow of its leaves sprang up a seedling pine. What mattered it that the flower withered, when the noble pine grew? Was it not glory enough to have sheltered the young seed, and then died? What was the weak southern plant compared to the stately tree-the glory of the north? Let it perish. Why should my lord mourn?" At this moment a low wail burst from the newborn babe. The sound seemed to pierce like an arrow of light through the mist of death-slumber that was fast shrouding the young mother. Her marble fingers fluttered, her eyes opened, and turned with an imploring gaze towards the nurse, who had taken in her arms the moaning 'child. "She asks for the babe-give it," muttered the father. But the hard, rigid features of Ulva showed no pity. "I guard my lord's child," she said; "his young life must not be perilled by the touch of death." The mother's eyes wandered towards her husband with a mute, agonized entreaty, that went to his heart. "Give me the child," his strong voice thundered, unmindful of the terror which convulsed every limb of that frail, perishing form. He laid the babe on her breast, already cold, and guided the feeble, dying hands, until they wrapped it round in a close embrace. "Now, Clotilde, what wouldst thou ?—speak!” he said, and his voice grew strangely gentle. Then the strength of a mother's heart conquered even death for a time. Then Jarl's wife looked in her lord's face, and spoke faintly. The nurse laid the babe on a silken cushion at lows that wash against the shores of my own his feet. land, than beneath the northern snows; they have frozen my heart. Not even thou canst warm it, my babe, my little babe!" "Let my lord look upon his son, his heir. This is a joyful day for the noble Jarl Hialmar. Praise be to Odin; ah, it is a blessed day!" The Viking's eye turned to the child, and then back again to the mother, and a slight quivering agitated the stern lips. The Viking listened without reply. His face was turned away, but his strong, muscular hands were clenched, until the blue veins rose up like knots. At that moment he saw before him, in "A blessed day, Ulva, sayest thou, and fancy, a young captive maiden, who knelt at his she feet, and clasped his robe, praying that he would send her back to her own southern home. Then he beheld a pale woman, the wife of a noble Jarl, with the distinctive chain on her neck, a goldenfettered slave. And both wore the same face, though hardly so white and calm, as the one that drooped over the young babe, with the mournful lament-"They have frozen my heart; they | had been put up to the Virgin and all the saints, have frozen my heart!" that the next might be a son. And Hialmar felt that he had bestowed the Jarl's coronet and the nuptial ring with a hand little, less guilty than if it had been a murderer's. "Clotilde," whispered he, "thou and I shall never meet more, in life or after. Thou goest to the Christian heaven-I shall drink mead in the Valhalla of my fathers. Before we part, forgive me if I did thee wrong, and say if there is any token by which I may prove that I repent." The dying mother's eyes wandered from her child to its father, and there was in them less of fear and more of love than he had ever seen. Hialmar," she murmured, "I forgive-forgive me, too. Perhaps I might have striven more to love thee; but the dove could not live in the sea-eagle's nest. It is best to die. I have only one prayer-take my babe with thee to my own land; let him stay there in his frail childhood, and betroth him there to some bride who will make his nature gentle, that he may not regard, with the pride and scorn of his northern blood, the mother to whom his birth was death." "I promise," said the Viking, and he lifted his giant sword to swear by. "Not that; not that!" cried the young mother, as, with desperate energy, she half rose from her bed. "I see blood upon it my father's my brethren's. O, God! not that." A superstitious fear seemed to strike like ice through the Jarl's frame. He laid down the sword, and took in his giant palm the tiny hand of the babe. "This child shall be a token between us," he said, hoarsely. "I swear by thy son and mine to do all thou askest. Clotilde, die in peace." But the blessing was wafted after an already parted soul. Ulva started up from the corner where she had crouched, and took the child. As she did so she felt on its neck a little silver cross, which the expiring mother had secretly contrived to place there the only baptism Clotilde could give her babe. Ulva snatched it away, and trampled on it. "He is all Norse now, true son of the Vikingir. Great Odin; dry up in his young veins every drop of the accursed stranger's blood, and make him wholly the child of Hialmar!" Another birth-scene. It was among the vinecovered plains of France, where, at the foot of a feudal castle, the limpid Garonne flowed. All was mirth, and sunshine, and song, within and without. Of Charlemagne's knights, there was none braver than Sir Loys of Aveyran. And he was rich, too; his vineyards lay far and wide, outspread to the glowing sun of southern France -so that the minstrels who came to celebrate the approaching birth, had good reason to hail the heir of Sir Loys of Aveyran. An heir it must be, all felt certain, for the knight had already a goodly train of four daughters, and orisons innumerable It must be a son- -for the old nurse of Sir Loys, a strange woman, who, almost dead to this world, was said to peer dimly into the world beyond, had seen a vision, of a young, armed warrior, climbing snow-covered hills, leading by the hand a fair, spirit-like maiden, while the twain between them bore a golden cross, the device of Sir Loys; and the mother-expectant had dreamed of a beautiful boy's face, with clustering amber hair, and beside it appeared another less fair, but more feminineuntil at last both faded, and fading, seemed to blend into one. Thereupon the nurse interpreted the two visions as signifying that at the same time would be born, in some distant land, a future bride for the heir. At last, just after sunset, a light arose in the turret window-a signal to the assembled watchers that one more being was added to earth. The child was born. Oh, strange and solemn birth-hour, when God breathes into flesh a new spark of his divinity, and makes unto himself another human soul! A soul, it may be, so great, so pure, so glorious, that the whole world acknowledges it to come from God; or, even now confessing, is swayed by it as by a portion of the divine essence. Oh, mysterious instant of a new creation—a creation greater than that of a material world! The shouts rose up from the valleys, the joyfires blazed on the hills, when the light in the turret was suddenly seen to disappear. It had been dashed down by the hand of Sir Loys, in rage that Heaven had only granted him a daughter. Poor unwelcome little wailer! whose birth brought no glad pride to the father's eye, no smile even to the mother's pale lips. The attendants hardly dared to glance at the helpless innocent, who lay uncaredfor and unregarded. All trembled at the stormy passions of the knight, and stealing away, left the babe alone. Then Ulrika, the old German nurse, came and stood before her foster-son, with his little daughter in her arms. "Sir Loys," she said, "God has sent thee one more jewel to keep; give unto it the token of joyful acceptance, the father's kiss." But Sir Loys turned away in bitter wrath. "It is no treasure; it is a burthen-a curse! Woman, what were all thy dreams worth? Where is the noble boy which thou and the Lady of Aveyran saw? Fools that ye were ! And I, too, believe in such dreaming.' to There came a wondrous dignity to the German woman's small, spare, age-bent form, and a wild enthusiasm kindled in her still lustrous eyes. "Shamed be the lips of the Knight of Aveyran, when such words come from them. The dreams which Heaven sends, Heaven will fulfil. Dare not thou to cast contempt on mine age, and on this young bud, fresh from the hands of angels, which Heaven can cause to open into a goodly flower. Doubt not, Sir Loys, the dream will yet come true." The knight laughed derisively, and was about to leave the apartment; but Ulrika stood in his way. With one arm she held the little one close to her breast-the other she raised with imperious gesture, that formed a strange contrast to her shrunken, diminutive figure. The knight, strong and stalwart as he was, might have crushed her like a worm on his pathway, and yet he seemed to quail before the indomitable and almost supernatural resolve that shone in her eyes. "Ulrika, I have spoken-take away the child, and let me go," he said; and his tones sounded more like entreaty than command. But the woman still confronted him with her wild, imperious eyes, beneath which his own sank in confusion. She-that frail creature, who seemed to need but a breath from death's icy lips to plunge her into the already open tomb-she ruled him as mind rules matter, as the soul commands the body. Loys of Aveyran, the bravest of Charlemagne's knights, was like a child before her. the baby-hand that peeped out of the purple mantle prepared for the heir. He examined it long and eagerly "One may see the flowers form in the bud, and I might, perhaps, trace the lines even now," he said. "Ah! there it is-even as I read in the stars-a noble nature-a life destined for some great end. Yet these crosses-oh! fate, strange and solemn, but not sad. And some aspects of her birth are the same as in mine own. It is marvellous!" Ulrika drew away the child, and sighed. "Ah! my son-my noble Ansgarius—wilt thou still go on with thy unearthly lore? It is not meet for one to whom holy church has long opened her bosom; and said, come, my child—my only oneI would fain see thee less learned, and more pious. What art thou now muttering over this babesome of thy secrets about the stars? All-all are vanity!" Mother," said Ansgarius, sternly, "thou be"What wouldst thou, Ulrika ?" he said at lievest in thy dreams and revelations from Heaven last. -I in my science. Let neither judge the other harshly, for the world outside thus judges both." She pointed to the babe, and, obeying her imperative gesture, the father stooped down, and signed its forehead with the sign of the cross. At the touch of the mailed fingers, the little one lifted up its voice in a half-subdued cry. And he went on with his earnest examination of the child's palm, occasionally moving to the turret window to look out on the sky, now all glittering with stars, and then again consulting the tablets that he always carried in his girdle. "Ave Mary!" said the knight, in disgust; "it is a puny, wailing imp. If Heaven has, indeed, Ulrika watched him with a steady and mournful sent it, Heaven may take it back again-for there gaze, which softened into the light of mother-love are daughters enough in the house of Aveyran. her dark, gleaming, almost fierce eyes. She sat, This one shall be a nun- -'t is fit for nothing else." or rather crouched, at the foot of the Virgin's "Shame on thee, sacrilegious man!" cried Ul-niche, with the babe asleep on her knees. Her rika, indignantly. But the knight left her more swiftly than ever he had fled from a foe. The aged nurse threw herself on her knees before a rude image of the Virgin, at whose feet she laid the child lean, yellow fingers ran over the beads of her rosary, and her lips moved silently. "Mother," said Ansgarius, suddenly, "what art thou doing there?" Praying for thee, my son," she answered"praying that these devices lead thee not astray, and that thou mayest find at last the true wis For my dom." "Oh! holy Mother," she prayed, "let not the dreams and visions of the night be unfulfilled. I believe them-I only of all this house. faith's sake, give to this innocent that glorious "I want it not-I believe but what I know, destiny which, with prophetic eye, I saw. The and have proved. It was thy will which clad me world casteth her out-take her, O Mother, into in this priest's garment. I opposed it not, but I thy sacred arms, and make her pure, and meek, will seek God in my own way. I will climb to and holy, like thyself. I go the way of all the His heaven by the might of knowledge—that alone earth; but thou, O Blessed One, into thy arms I will make me like unto Him." give this maid." Ulrika turned away from her son. "And it was to this man-this proud, selfglorifier-that I would fain have confided the pure young soul this night sent upon the earth! Noson of my bosom-my life's care-may the Merciful One be long-suffering with thee until the change When Ulrika rose up, she saw that her petition had not been offered in solitude. Another person had entered the turret chamber. It was a young man-the counterpart of herself in the small, spare form, yellow face, and wild, dark eyes. He wore a dress half lay, half clerical, and his whole ap-in thy spirit come. And this worse than orphan pearance was that of one immersed in deep studies, babe, O Mother of consolation, I lay at thy feet, ' and almost oblivious of the ordinary affairs of life. with the last orison of a life spent in prayers. For "Mother, is that the child?" he said, abruptly.this new human soul, accept the offering of that "Well, son, and hast thou also come to cast which now comes to thee." shame on this poor unwelcome one, like the man who has just gone from hence?-I blush to say, thy foster-brother and thy lord," was the stern answer of Ulrika. The student knelt on one knee, and took gently right, and cried with a loud, clear, joyful voice→→ Ulrika's latter words were faint and indistinct, and her head leaned heavily against the feet of the image. Her son, absorbed in his pursuits, neither saw nor heard. Suddenly she arose, stood up "It will come, that glory-I see it now-the golden cross she bears upon the hills of snow. There are foot-steps before her-they are thine, son of my hopes-child of my long-enduring faith! Ansgarius-my Ansgarius-thou art the blessed -the chosen one!" At this sudden proposition, Sir Loys looked aghast, and the Lady of Aveyran uttered a suppressed shriek; for the Vikings were universally regarded with terror, as barbarous heathens; and many were the legends of young maidens carried off by them with a short and rough wooing. Hialmar glanced at the terror-stricken faces Her voice failed suddenly, and she sank, on bended knees, at the feet of the Virgin. Ansga-around, and his own grew dark with anger. rius, startled, almost terrified, lifted up his head, so that the lamplight illumined her face. son looked on his dead mother. CHAPTER II. The "Is there here any craven son of France who dares despise a union with the mighty line of Hialmar?" he cried, threateningly. "But the ship of the Viking rides on the near seas, and the seaeagle will make his talons strong, and his pinions LET us pass over a few years, before we stand broad, yet." once more in the gray towers of Aveyran. It was a feast, for Sir Loys was entertaining a strange guest-an old man, who came unattended and unaccompanied, save by a child and its nurse. He had claimed, rather than implored, hospitality; and though he came in such humble guise, there was a nobility in his bearing which impressed the knight with perfect faith in his truth, when the wanderer declared his rank to be equal with that of Sir Loys himself. Sir Loys half-drew his sword, and then replaced it. He was too true a knight to show discourtesy to an aged and unarmed guest. 66 Hialmar," he answered, calmly, “thy words are somewhat free, but mine shall remember thy gray hairs. Thou seest my four daughters; but I cannot give one as thy son's bride, seeing they are already betrothed in the fashion of our country; and a good knight's pledge is never broken." "And are there no more of the line of Aveyran ?" inquired Hialmar. Sir Loys was about to reply, when, from a side-table that had been spread with meagre, lenten fare, contrasting with the plenty-laden board, there rose up a man in a monk's dress. From under the close cowl two piercing eyes confronted the Lord of Aveyran. They seemed to force truth from his lips against his will. "Who I am and what I seek, I will reveal ere I depart," abruptly said the wanderer; and with the chivalrous courtesy of old the host sought to know no more, but bade him welcome to Aveyran. The old man sat at the board, stern and grave, and immovable ás a statue; but his little son ran hither and thither, and played with the knight's wife and her maidens, who praised his fair silken hair, his childish beauty, and his fearless confidence. But wherever he moved, there followed him continually the cold, piercing eyes of the nurse-a tall woman, whose dress was foreign, and who never uttered a word, save in a tongue rika-Heaven rest her soul!"—and he crossed which sounded strange and harsh in the musical | himself almost fearfully" thy mother Ulrika ears of the Provençals. The feast over, the guest arose, and addressed the knight of Aveyran "Sir Loys, for the welcome and good cheer thou hast given, receive the thanks of Hialmar Jarl, chief of all the Vikings of the north." Hial "I have one child more," he said, " a poor, worthless plant, but she will be made a nun. Why dost thou gaze at me so strangely, Father Ansgarius?" added the knight, uneasily. "Ul seems to look at me from thine eyes." "Even so," said the monk, in a low tone. "Then, Loys of Aveyran, hear her voice from my lips. I see in the words of this strange guest the working of Heaven's will. Do thou dispute it not. Send for the child Hermolin.” The knight's loud laugh rang out as scornfully as years before in the little turret-chamber. At this name, once the terror of half of Europe, the knight made a gesture of surprise, and a thrill of apprehension ran through the hall. "What!" said he, though he took courteous mar saw it, and a proud smile bent his lips. care the words should not reach Hialmar's ears, "Children of the south, ye need not fear," am I to be swayed hither and thither by old though the sea-eagle is in your very nest; he is women's dreams and priestly prophecies? I thought old and gray-his talons are weak now," said the it was by thy consent, good father, that she was Jarl, adopting the metaphorical name which had to become a nun, and now thou sayest she shall been given him in former times, and which was wed this young whelp of a northern bear." his boast still. Ansgarius replied not to this contemptuous speech, but his commanding eyes met the knight's, and once again the bold Sir Loys grew humble; as if the dead Ulrika's soul had passed into that of her son, so as to sway her foster-child still. "It is a strange thing for a servant of Holy Church to strive to break a vow, especially which devotes a child to the Virgin. I dare not do so great a sin!" faintly argued the Lord of Aveyran. But it seemed as though the cloudy, false subterfuge with which the knight had veiled his |