Read Ebook: The Quest The authorized translation from the Dutch of De kleine Johannes by Eeden Frederik Van Cole Laura Ward Translator

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PAGE Introductory xi "Sidney's Sister" 1 Wilhelmina, Margravine of Baireuth 47 Susanne Kossuth Meszlenyi 109 Caroline Lucretia Herschel 137 Dorothy Wordsworth 156 Mary Lamb 177 Elizabeth H. Whittier 211 Eug?nie de Gu?rin 229

INTRODUCTORY.

While the world abounds with records of noble lives--lives prominent in almost every station and department, thereby as examples affording stimulating incentive to high endeavour, there is one sphere of action which has, perhaps, not received due recognition--that of INFLUENCE. This moral force forms one of the most powerful factors in the development of character and the conduct of life. And whatever may be the varied opinions as to the political and civic rights of women, it cannot be doubted that they have a mission in the world, and that a mighty one. This province of influence is peculiarly their own, quite irrespective of age or degree, and is absolutely limitless in its power and extent. Where we may endeavour to drive or even to lead in vain, influence, with subtle tact and potent sway, may, like a gracious Divinity, become an unseen but pervading power, restoring, controlling, directing those who come within her realm. And while the gentler sex exercise this sovereign dominion more especially in the familiar arena of Home, where each affinity affords its own occasion for the exercise of that form of power befitting those who come into contact with each other, no relation in life can be greater in opportunity for beneficial influence, or need be richer in result, than that arising from the sweet bond existing between brother and sister. The natural tie, strengthened by the companionships of rosy childhood, cemented during years of youthful growth, prepares a fitting soil for life's seed-time, fit subjects for affection's persuasive sway. Each stage of their undivided lives adds to that store of mutual memories and loves, which gives to after life such a charm, importing therein "The cloistered memories of youth."

Approaching thus her womanhood, a girl having brothers to whom she is thus bound by the sanctities of the home life, has their future weal in no small measure within her power.

Unusual talent, if not genius, is frequently found to have distinguished various members of a family. The reason is not always to be found in heredity. Where one has early shown an aptitude for a particular pursuit, or become absorbed in a certain mental recreation, a brother or a sister, animated in the first place by love, has become interested in the other's work. From sympathy they pass to mutual labour. The worker is stimulated and helped, and love itself is strengthened. Kindred aim leads to kindred thought, oneness of purpose to oneness of heart. Each acts as an aid to the other.

Their work becomes the better for their love, And still their love the sweeter for their work.

The following sketches of exalted sisterhood are gleanings only, and are offered as examples not heroic, but for the most part capable of emulation. Probably many other instances, kindred in character, will occur to those who may read these pages. We remember from the remote past the tragic story of Antigone, a maiden of heroic devotion, not only as daughter but sister. How, following her father in his sightless-age, she ministered to him until the end. And when, after the battle in which she had the anguish of seeing her brothers fighting against each other to the death, each falling by the hand which should have been the first to protect, the sister's heart yearned over the one left unburied. The victorious army had removed for decent burial those who had fallen on their side, but a tyrant king had forbidden, on pain of death, the burial of Polynices. But Antigone had a love which overcame all fear. Memories of mutual affection in days of innocence thronged her thought, and steeled her heart to defiance of the cruel law. Undeterred by the thought of how uncertain it was whether she could find her brother on the vast field, or that she would probably be discovered, and herself fall a victim to the passions of war; drawn by her mighty love, she dared alone the unknown and midnight horrors of the place of carnage, in the hope of hiding the loved body from the beasts of prey. After much search she came upon the dear object of her daring, and made in the ground a little space to serve her end. We should have liked to read that love so devoted met with its proper recompense. But, alas! Antigone was discovered and ordered to be confined in a subterranean cavern; when, no longer desiring to live, she died by her own hand.

An affecting incident of more recent days is recorded of Mdlle. Gattey, the sister of a book-seller who had been arrested during the French Revolution. The devoted sister determined to share the fate of her brother, whatever it might be. She was present on the occasion of his trial, apparently an indifferent spectator. When she heard the sentence of death pronounced against him, eager to become his companion to the scaffold, she shouted aloud: "Vive le Roi!" She was, of course, immediately taken, and, though not allowed to die with her brother, as her loving heart longed, she willingly shared his fate on the following day.

We need not, however, look into the past, nor so much at the fields of history as that of our own memories. Even the examples selected for our study have not been, for the most part, in the world's sense heroines, but rather sweet household women, doing the work which God placed nearest to them. They are not, therefore, any the less noble examplars; rather more. The common nature of humanity is not of heroic mould, nor are everyday needs such as demand its display. The restoration and salvation, the continual well-being and upraising of humanity depend not upon the extraordinary so much as upon the continuous exercise of those qualities which are our common heritage. In the army of helpers the best results are not attained by great endeavours so much as by the humble ministries which wait for the willing hands and kind hearts.

It may be that reading these pages the shadow of a cloud may flit over the thoughtful face of some sister, who, with a glowing feeling of affection, thinks with regret on what may appear to be a narrow sphere. If so, let it be remembered that lives are no less noble for being less known. Happily in many walks of life--lowlier in the fact that their events are unrecorded--beat hearts as warm, and in more limited spheres live deeds as noble and shine influences as pure and strong as those which, through the brighter light of exalted position or conspicuous circumstance, have added to the world's best wealth.

"SIDNEY'S SISTER."

"They had been taught religion--thence Their gentler spirits suck'd sweet innocence: Each morn and even they were taught to pray With the whole household; and could every day Read in their virtuous parents' noble parts, The mysteries of manners, morals, arts."

BEN JONSON.

Among the examples of noble Sister-hood, a prominent place must be given to the illustrious lady remembered by the above designation, Mary Sidney, afterwards Countess of Pembroke. Whether we have regard to her sweetness of disposition, her piety, her lofty and cultured intellect, her devotion to duty, or her singularly close attachment to her famous brother, her life is one of great interest. A few threads of it may be fittingly woven together, prominence being given to her character of Sister.

She was born in a famous age, of a noble stock. It has been observed that "no period of the English history is more richly adorned with examples of genuine worth, than the golden age of Queen Elizabeth. It was an age of reviving literature, when men began to be esteemed according to their wisdom."

Mary Sidney was the daughter of Sir Henry Sidney, Lord Deputy of Ireland and Lord President of Wales, who had married Lady Mary, eldest daughter of John, Duke of Northumberland, who was, along with his son, Lord Guilford Dudley, beheaded for devotion to the cause of the noble, but ill-fated, Lady Jane Grey.

"Thou art not, Penshurst, built to envious show Of touch or marble, nor canst boast a row Of polished pillars or a roof of gold: Thou hast no lantern whereof tales are told; Or stair, or courts; but standst an ancient pile; And these, grudged at, are reverenced the while. Thou joy'st in better marks of soil and air, Of wood, of water; therein art thou fair. Thou hast thy walks for health as well as sport Thy mount, to which thy dryads do resort, Where Pan and Bacchus their high feasts have made, Beneath the broad beech and the chestnut shade; That taller tree, which of a nut was set, At his great birth where all the muses met; There, in the writhed bark, are cut the names Of many a Sylvan taken with his flames; l, chases us, and carries us off. He is the most detestable monster in creation!"

At this sally Johannes looked at Windekind as though he did not understand. But Windekind smiled, and motioned to him to be silent.

"Once, I flew gaily around among the shrubs, like a bright will-o'-the-wisp. In a moist, lonely meadow on the bank of a ditch there lived one whose existence was inseparably linked with my own happiness. She sparkled beautifully in her light emerald-green as she crept about in the grass, and my young heart was enraptured. I circled about her, and did my best, by making my light play, to attract her attention. Gratefully, I saw that she had perceived me, and demurely extinguished her own light. Trembling with emotion, I was on the point of folding my wings and sinking down in rapture beside my radiant loved one, when the air was filled with an awful noise. Dark figures approached. They were human beings. In terror, I took flight. They chased me, and struck at me with big black things. But my wings went faster than their clumsy legs."

"When I returned--"

Here the narrator's voice failed him. After an instant of deep emotion, during which the three listeners maintained a respectful silence, he continued:

"You may already have surmised it. My tender bride--the brightest, most glowing of all--she had disappeared; kidnapped by cruel human beings. The still, dewy grass-plot was trampled, and her favorite place by the ditch was dark and deserted. I was alone in the world."

Here the impressionable rabbit once again pulled down an ear, and wiped a tear from his eye.

"Since that time I have been a different creature. I have an aversion for all idle pleasures. I think only of her whom I have lost, and of the time when I shall see her again."

"Really! Do you still hope to?" said the rabbit, rejoiced.

"I more than hope--I am certain. In heaven I shall see my beloved again."

"But--" the rabbit objected.

"Bunnie," said the glow-worm, gravely, "I can understand that one who was obliged to grope about in the dark might doubt, but when one can see, with his own eyes! That puzzles me. There!" said the glow-worm, gazing reverently up at the star-dotted skies; "there I behold them--all my forefathers, all my friends, and her, too, more gloriously radiant than when here upon earth. Ah, when shall I be able to rise up out of this lower life, and fly to her who beckons me so winsomely? When, ah, when?"

With a sigh, the glow-worm turned away from his listeners and crept back again into the dark passage.

"Poor creature!" said the rabbit. "I hope he is right."

"I hope so too," added Johannes.

"I have my doubts," said Windekind, "but it was very touching."

"Dear Windekind," began Johannes, "I am very tired and sleepy."

"Then come close to me, and I will cover you with my mantle."

Windekind took off his little blue mantle and spread it over Johannes and himself.

So they lay down on the gentle slope, in the fragrant moss, with their arms about each other's neck.

"Your heads lie rather low," said the rabbit. "Will you rest them against me?"

They did so.

"Good-night, Mother!" said Windekind to the moon.

Then Johannes shut the little gold key tight in his hand, pressed his head against the downy coat of the good rabbit, and fell fast asleep.

In Dutch, the word sun is feminine.

Where is he, Presto?--Where is he? What a fright to wake up in the boat, among the reeds, all alone, the master gone and not a trace of him! It is something to be alarmed about.

And how long you have been running, barking nervously, trying to find him, poor Presto! How could you sleep so soundly and not notice the little master get out of the boat? Otherwise, you would have wakened as soon as he made the least move.

You could scarcely find the place where he landed, and here in the downs you are all confused. That nervous sniffing has not helped a bit. Oh, despair! The master gone--not a sign of him. Find him, Presto, find him!

See! straight before you on the hillside. Is not that a little form lying there? Look! look!

For an instant the little dog stood motionless, straining his gaze out into the distance. Then suddenly he stretched out his head, and raced--flew with all the might of his four little paws toward that dark spot on the hillside.

And when it proved to be the grievously wanted little master, he could not find a way to fully express his joy and thankfulness. He wagged his tail, his entire little body quivering with joy--he jumped, yelped, barked, and then pushed his little cold nose against the face of his long-sought friend, and licked and sniffed all over it.

"Cuddle down, Presto, in your basket," said Johannes, only half awake.

How stupid of the master! There was no basket there, as any one could see.

Very, very slowly the day began to break in the mind of the little sleeper.

Presto's sniffings he was used to--every morning. But dream-figures of elves and moonshine still lingered in his soul as the morning mists cling to the landscape. He feared that the chill breath of the dawn might chase them away. "Eyes fast shut," thought he, "or I shall see the clock and the wall-paper, just as ever."

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