K^>:^^;^^7.^4o. 
 

 
THE STORY OF A HUNCHBACK. 
 
THE 
 
 Story of a Hunchback, 
 
 By J./L. ^, ^ , 
 
 Via cruets via lucis," 
 
 CHICAGO: 
 
 JANSEN, McCLURG, & COMPANY. 
 
 1885. 
 
 NOV YI I8B 
 
 ^% 
 
 \ 
 

 Copyright, 
 
 By Jansen, McClurg, & Co. 
 
 A.D. 1884. 
 
 I KNIGHT Sc LEO HARD . I 
 
TO 
 
 MY DEAR FATHER, 
 
 LOVING AND REVERENT 
 
 REMEMBRANCE. 
 
THE 
 
 STORY OF A HUNCHBACK. 
 
 PART I. 
 
 When Nature slowly lifts the hand 
 Held tenderly o'er childhood's gaze, 
 To shield it from the world's broad glare, 
 We smile to see the glance, half bold. 
 Half startled, of the fresh young eyes; 
 Yet some there are, alas ! to whom 
 This earliest glance reveals a waste — 
 A desert, boundless, overarched 
 With burning skies ; ah, piteous 
 It is to see a shadow fall 
 O'er eyes scarce opened to the day 1 
 Our early grief, our young despair. 
 Though lightly held in after years, 
 
THE STORY OF A HUNCHBACK. 
 
 With chill breath pale the blood of youth, 
 And wither frail spring flowers of joy 
 Within the heart. For me, I know 
 That, moving back across the years, 
 And looking with the eyes of old 
 Down vistas of dark days to come, 
 I feel once more the crushing weight 
 That lay upon my childish heart. 
 Ah, yes, the puny hunchback-child 
 Who stole away to hide his tears. 
 When others ran to merry sports, 
 Had visions of the coming years 
 That were not fair to look upon. 
 When first I woke to know my doom, 
 And felt its prison walls grow strait 
 About my life, I could but beat 
 And bruise my heart against the bars ; 
 For young desire ne'er yields to fate 
 Without a struggle, blind and fierce 
 And impotent, that ends at last 
 In blank defeat ; and so I lived 
 At strife, a rebel in God's world, 
 
THE STORY OF A HUNCHBACK. 9 
 
 And shook my childish hand tight clenched 
 Against the power that shaped my lot. 
 
 One priceless gift was mine at birth, 
 
 Whose potent spell the years drew forth — 
 
 A sense that thrilled to ecstasy, 
 
 When beauty swept with touch of might 
 
 Its vibrant chords. The mists of time 
 
 Have never closed around the hour 
 
 When first this inward sense awoke 
 
 To conscious life ; I lay alone 
 
 At sunset, on a grassy bank, 
 
 And felt the mellow sky stretch wide 
 
 And calm above the quiet earth ; 
 
 When, suddenly, a lonely cloud 
 
 That drifted overhead, caught fire. 
 
 And sailed, a floating flame of rose, 
 
 Across an amber sea ; the throb 
 
 Of frightened joy that shook my soul 
 
 Beats through me still ! they found me there 
 
 In tears, and said, half pitiful : 
 
 ''He's frightened to be left alone, 
 
lO THE STORY OF A HUNCHBACK. 
 
 Poor lamb ! He's but a baby still." 
 Those early days ! their dreary ghost 
 Stares at me still in lonely hours. 
 From vacant room to vacant room, 
 In that sad home, whose sun of joy 
 Had sunk behind a low, green grave — 
 A sad-eyed, feeble child, I crept, 
 And blindly sought, with groping heart, 
 The mother-love that could not stoop 
 Through gates of pearl to fold me 'round. 
 My father's love, deep-channelled, strong, 
 And still, moved on, and felt no need 
 To burst its bounds in those fresh floods 
 Of loving speech that keep hearts green. 
 With steadfast will and kindly art 
 He strove to prop my drooping life. 
 But knew not how to make the sap 
 Within flow fresh with quickening power. 
 His careful thought it was, I knew 
 In later years, that drew a shield 
 Between my weakness and the world, 
 By choosing that our home should lie 
 
THE STORY OF A HUNCHBACK. II 
 
 Away from cities, 'mid the green 
 
 Of quiet fields, where I might stray 
 
 In peace, not stabbed at every step 
 
 By careless eyes ; and where fair sights 
 
 And fragrant airs and happy sounds 
 
 Might reach me with their gracious touch. 
 
 He passed his days amid the din 
 
 And ceaseless jar of city life, 
 
 And brought a worn and saddened heart, 
 
 At evening, to a lonely hearth ; 
 
 And through the lagging hours of day, 
 
 A silence deep and brooding filled 
 
 The mournful house, through which I heard 
 
 My stealing footsteps, one by one. 
 
 A child of solitary ways 
 
 And silent thoughts, I lived apart. 
 
 And no one saw the waking soul 
 
 Feel vaguely through the dark for light. 
 
 And love, and God, the central heart 
 
 Of love and light, whose glory throned 
 
 Above the stars, gleamed faint and far. 
 
 My father, lost among the mists 
 
5 THE STORY OF A HUNCHBACK. 
 
 Of doubt that overbrood the age, 
 
 And of a mind too strictly true 
 
 To feign a faith where faith was dead, 
 
 Let fall no word of God or heaven ; 
 
 My fond old nurse, a faithful soul 
 
 And simple, muttered Latin prayers, 
 
 And prated oft of virgin, saint, 
 
 And pope, but so o'erlaid the face 
 
 Of Truth divine with tawdry veils 
 
 Of Romish weaving, that I lost 
 
 Its brow sublime and smile of peace 
 
 Beneath a shroud of glittering gauze. 
 
 But, though the doors of conscious thought 
 
 Were closed, God's love, like Christ of old, 
 
 Passed in, unknown, with breath of peace. 
 
 No soul is left to grope alone; 
 
 Through thickest night, a hand unfelt 
 
 Upholds and guides our faltering steps; 
 
 And oft, from nature, robe of God, 
 
 As from the seamless garment's hem, 
 
 Flows healing virtue on the souls 
 
 That know not yet His face, but press 
 
THE STORY OF A HUNCHBACK. 13 
 
 Behind Him in the throng of life. 
 
 The sunlit air, the happy sky, 
 
 And fields, and hills, and springing flowers, 
 
 Their ministries of comfort wrought 
 
 Upon my heart in those young days; 
 
 And ere I reached the glimmering arch 
 
 Where eager and reluctant feet 
 
 Pass forth to brave a world untried, 
 
 There came an angel, unaware, — 
 
 An angel splendor-winged, with breath 
 
 Of quickening flame, whom men call Art, — 
 
 And touched mine eyes, and all the earth 
 
 Grew broad, and fair, and full of light. 
 
 That strong, wild thrill, that mingled sense 
 
 Of power and longing infinite — 
 
 VJhQn first, from lonely heights of soul 
 
 Beyond our ken there leap in joy 
 
 The sparkling streams of eager thought — 
 
 There's naught in all this life of ours, 
 
 Save wakening love, so sweet, so strange, 
 
 So full of rapture touched with pain! 
 
 Like soft spring airs that wake the chords 
 
14 THE STORY OF A HUNCHBACK. 
 
 Of vague regret, steals o'er my heart 
 The memory of those blissful hours, 
 When, sheltered in a quiet nook 
 Roofed o'er with leaves and flecks of blue, 
 Where silence trembled into sound 
 More soft, and sound in silence merged, 
 I lay, and dreamed, and wove a web 
 Of pencilled shapes around the dreams 
 That trooped through fancy's radiant halls. 
 A narrow strip of vivid blue 
 Between two dull and leaden clouds, 
 Those fair, calm years of wakening power 
 And fervid life shone brightly out 
 Between a past of dreary years, 
 And darker future sweeping near. 
 
THE STORY OF A HUNCHBACK. 1 5 
 
 PART II. 
 
 Scarce had my heart, unused to joy, 
 Its wings in sunny skies unfurled. 
 When, smitten by a sudden shaft, 
 It quivered, bleeding, back to earth. 
 Death from my father's yearning eyes 
 Had swept the clinging mists of earth 
 To let the great Beyond shine in. 
 And I stood shivering in the chill 
 And vacant gloom of life, alone. 
 An upturned face, calm, pallid, strange, 
 That filled with breathless, creeping dread 
 The darkened room where, mute and 
 
 stunned, 
 I gazed, and could not move nor weep — 
 A coffin closed above that face 
 Which still on me gleamed white and 
 
 strange, 
 
l6 THE STORY OF A HUNCHBACK. 
 
 Then silence, blankness, pressing close 
 With stifling weight around my heart. 
 O, memory, throw not back thy light 
 So vividly on that dead face. 
 That new-made grave, that dumb despair : 
 Across the fields of youth, grown fair 
 With timid shoots of hope's fresh green, 
 There swept a bitter, barren flood. 
 From whose dark waves to darker skies 
 I raised a dull and vacant gaze. 
 The slender wall of human love 
 That screened my spirit from the void — 
 The infinite unknown — was rent. 
 And wailing winds, from lonely wastes. 
 Rushed in and smote the chords of dread. 
 Art, tranquil-eyed, serene, draws back, 
 And leaves us v/ith our first, fresh grief; 
 For well she knows the blinding tears 
 That blur, to-day, her visions fair 
 Will fall, and leave the inward sight, 
 For high revealings, clearer grown ; 
 And waits till we have ceased to weep. 
 
THE STORY OF A HUNCHBACK. i; 
 
 And looking up reach out once more 
 To grasp her trailing robes of light ; 
 But God waits not for tears to cease ; 
 Our grief, though oft we know it not, 
 Is but the shadow of His wings, 
 Outspread to fold our trembling souls. 
 Unconscious of His brooding love, 
 I saw the outer light grow dim, 
 But felt not yet His mighty heart 
 Against my soul beat, through the dark ; 
 I only knew that joy had fled, 
 And life was desolate and vain. 
 
 Behind me, eighteen quiet years ; 
 Sad, lonely oft, yet sheltered years ; 
 Before me, paths unknown that lay 
 Amid the eager, jostling throng 
 Who thrust aside, with pitying scorn, 
 The stunted, weak, unneeded lives 
 That creep along their busy ways — 
 So stood I — met the eyes of fate 
 With steady gaze, and chose my lot. 
 
l8 THE STORY OF A HUNCHBACK. 
 
 I left the green, familiar fields, 
 
 Long loved, and trod with lingering feet ; 
 
 And sought the city, there to plunge 
 
 With shrinking yet unswerving will 
 
 Within its hurrying tide of life. 
 
 One quiet refuge still was mine, 
 
 An upper room, whence, looking out 
 
 Above a crowded street, I felt 
 
 The silence of the sky descend 
 
 In blessing on the homes of men, 
 
 And hushed my heart against its calm. 
 
 But through the day, I sat and toiled 
 
 With happier toilers, unto whom 
 
 The art I turned to for relief 
 
 Brought eager joy; as, once, to me 
 
 With flush of dawning power it brought. 
 
 Amid their wealth of bounding life. 
 
 That flung its foam of careless speech 
 
 Abroad in sparkling showers of mirth, 
 
 I felt the loneliness of one 
 
 Who, through a grating, sees the sky, 
 
 And hears the songs of birds in spring. 
 
THE STORY OF A HUNCHBACK. I9 
 
 Their furtive glances oft I felt 
 Turned toward me, as I bent at work, 
 The pencil moving, though the heart 
 No more moved with it as of old. 
 One glance, more gentle than the rest, 
 Left in my mind its haunting light, 
 That first awoke the morbid fear 
 Of pity, born of pride and pain; 
 Then drew me by its subtle charm. 
 To seek it, as a ray of joy. 
 From one it came, whose clear blue eyes, 
 Undimmed by shade of guile or grief. 
 Shone bright and soft as summer skies. 
 The merriest of them all he seemed, 
 And through his fresh, spontaneous mirth 
 There flashed no flame of mocking scorn. 
 I loved to watch him as he worked, 
 With rapid hand and eager eyes. 
 Then, throwing back the wave of hair 
 That swept his brows, and pausing, gazed, 
 With gathering frown, as one who sees 
 His bright ideal missed once more. 
 
20 THE STORY OF A HUNCHBACK. 
 
 One day, when all the rest had gone, 
 
 The work hour being past, and I, 
 
 Absorbed, a moment stayed 
 
 To seize and bind a fleeting thought, 
 
 He lingered, hesitating, near; 
 
 Then with a sudden smile came close, 
 
 And stood, in silence, at my side. 
 
 And when, my work complete, I rose, 
 
 He said, — not with the air of one 
 
 Who gives a favor, giving praise : — 
 
 "A glance, a master-sweep of brush, 
 
 And on your canvas captive lies 
 
 The beauty that my hand pursues 
 
 In vain. Oft in my jealous dreams 
 
 I see our mighty mistress smile. 
 
 And point to Leslie Howard's name 
 
 Upon the future's secret page; 
 
 And well I know the laurel crown 
 
 I toil and pant to win, will fall 
 
 Without a struggle on your brows." 
 
 "Give me the buoyant life that fills 
 
 Your veins, the strength you lightly wear, 
 
THE STORY OF A HUNCHBACK. 2 
 
 The power to move among my peers 
 
 And share the hopes and loves and joys 
 
 That stir the common heart of man — 
 
 And take the paltry crown of Art 
 
 Which, should I wear it, would bur fix 
 
 The cold and curious eyes of men 
 
 On one to whom their gaze is pain." 
 
 The words rushed forth; but as they fell, 
 
 I hated them for laying bare 
 
 The wound that silence thought to hide; 
 
 His truer instinct, heeding not 
 
 The warning flush that burnt my cheek, 
 
 Touched fearlessly, yet tenderly, 
 
 The quivering chord that none before. 
 
 Through all the years, had dared to 
 
 touch. 
 "The joy of strength that fills my veins 
 I share with all the lower lives 
 That feed and sleep and move and rest, 
 And have no sense of aught beyond; 
 But manhood's grandest might is yours, 
 Who lift a burden as you climb 
 
21 THE STORY OF A HUNCHBACK. 
 
 In triumph up the steeps of art. 
 Fear not the cold and curious eyes, 
 Nor yet the pitying glance of men, 
 For they who conquer weakness, stand 
 Among the heroes of the world, 
 Who win and wear its reverent love." 
 A gleam of vivid sunshine fell, 
 With sudden glory, through the bars 
 That shut me from the outer world: 
 I grasped his hand, but spoke no word, 
 And with a bright and swift " Good-bye! 
 We meet to-morrow!" he was gone. 
 
 In Arthur Linden, nature's hand 
 
 Had blent the glow of southern suns 
 
 With breezes of the bracing north: 
 
 His tenderness made sweet his strength; 
 
 His pity kept his gladness warm. 
 
 The shadow on another's life 
 
 To him was like a beckoning hand 
 
 That claimed a share in his warm light; 
 
 And so, when I, whose body bore 
 
THE STORY OF A HUNCHBACK. 23 
 
 Before all eyes its seal of pain, 
 
 Heart-sick and lonely crossed his path, 
 
 His eager pity, reaching forth, 
 
 Threw round my heart its quick embrace. 
 
 A friendship, growing warm and close 
 
 As time passed on, knit fast our hearts, 
 
 He giving, I receiving all. 
 
 Save as my very need itself 
 
 Was minister of joy to him, 
 
 Through love's deep mystery whereby 
 
 Who giveth most hath largest bliss. 
 
 The sunshine of his radiant smile 
 
 Around my lonely room he shed; 
 
 And left the memory of his voice 
 
 To fill with sense of human love 
 
 The silence, when alone I sat 
 
 And faced the haunting shapes of doubt 
 
 That chilled me with their icy touch. 
 
 His breath rekindled into flame 
 
 The fires of thought that dimly glowed 
 
 Beneath the ashes of spent grief; 
 
 And I grew conscious of a life 
 
24 THE STORY OF A HUNCHBACK. 
 
 Beyond the aching sense of loss, 
 As hand in hand we wandered on, 
 Where shining foot-prints of great souls 
 Make luminous the ways of art. 
 To his bright soul the beautiful 
 Was as a finer air wherein 
 To soar and breathe delight; 
 While I, from tossing deeps of doubt 
 And pain uplooking, felt a vague 
 And yearning sense of some vast truth. 
 Beyond my grasp, wherein should meet 
 The holy and the beautiful 
 In union flawless, absolute, — 
 Forever whole, forever one. 
 He, conscious of no discord, lack, 
 Or thwarted longing, slowly sipped 
 With lingering lips the cup of joy. 
 And marvelled as I, panting, pressed 
 In ever baffled, vain pursuit 
 Behind a flying dream of truth. 
 Through glow, through gloom, o'er fra- 
 grant fields 
 
THE STORY OF A HUNCHBACK. 2$ 
 
 And burning sands I followed on, 
 And still, upon the misty verge 
 Of farthest thought, the vision gleamed. 
 Oh weary search! Oh needless pain! 
 Since at my side, the Truth Himself, 
 In love and yearning pity moved. 
 
 Among new-fledged and dazzled minds, 
 
 Which fancied that the sun of truth 
 
 Rose when their blinking eyes unclosed, 
 
 I daily met an easy doubt 
 
 Of aught beyond the sphere of sense, 
 
 With careless air worn jauntily 
 
 Like some new mode, or lightly dropped, 
 
 With shallow jests from laughing lips: 
 
 And once, when I in silence stood 
 
 Applauding not, amid a group 
 
 Who hailed with loud applause a shaft 
 
 Of pointless wit, aimed carelessly 
 
 Against the saving hope to which, 
 
 Through all its anguish, sin and shame, 
 
 The struggling world has ever clung, 
 
26 THE STORY OF A HUNCHBACK. 
 
 They pressed me with a mocking charge 
 Of faith "in that vain, empty dream 
 Of God and heaven, that narrow minds 
 Will cling to still, though science, wise 
 With Nature's larger teaching, sees 
 In changeless law the only God." 
 And I, too sad for scorn, replied: 
 "I know not yet the God whose name 
 From mouth to mouth you lightly toss, 
 But to my ear, from awful deeps 
 Of silent darkness round the world, 
 Comes back the echo of your jest — 
 A hollow murmur full of woe 
 And longing. — If we are indeed 
 But transient breathings of a life 
 Without a soul — if on the verge 
 Of nothingness we stand and gaze, 
 And clutch with feeble hands the sense 
 Of being ere it slips our grasp, 
 Is then our fate so blest that we 
 Should boast our heritage of death, 
 And make a sport of happier hopes.?" 
 
THE STORY OF A HUNCHBACK. 2/ 
 
 A smile of light surprise went round, 
 And as I slowly moved away- 
 One whispered, yet I caught the words — 
 **To such, life must indeed be dark! 
 They should be left to die at birth, 
 As in the wiser days of Greece." 
 And I, in bitterness of heart, 
 (Forgive me Lord!) thought, **Aye, they 
 
 should. 
 If what these babbling sages teach 
 Be true, and sense the bound of life." 
 It chanced that, as I left this group 
 Of self-admiring votaries 
 To trim their lamps before the shrine 
 Of doubt, I sought the home of one, 
 A fellow artist, who lay ill 
 And (as I feared) without a friend. 
 
 A tender glory from far skies, 
 That flamed around the dying sun, 
 Made fair the room wherein he lay; 
 And, pausing at the open door, 
 
28 THE STORY OF A HUNCHBACK. 
 
 I saw it light the lifted face 
 Of one who prayed beside the bed. 
 No prayer, save muttered Latin words, 
 Caught up in childish days as charms 
 To soothe or balk a dreaded power, 
 Had ever fallen on my ear, 
 Till through me as I listening stood 
 There swept a voice that seemed to float 
 In strong repose o'er mighty deeps 
 Of being; and I grew aware 
 Of words that caught away my soul 
 Above the endless round of doubt. 
 And held it, poised, in light serene. 
 "Most Pitiful! whose depths of love, 
 Like sunlit air, enfold the world, 
 This blinded child in darkness gropes; 
 Yet, like a wakening bird at dawn. 
 Doth faintly feel a thrill of light 
 Steal through his being; and is fain 
 To greet the sun; O Christ, in whom 
 The human heart of God laid bare, 
 In utmost love and suffering beat 
 
THE STORY OF A HUNCHBACK. 29 
 
 Beneath the spurning feet of men, 
 
 And still, in changeless pity, beats! 
 
 I plead not, what am I to plead 
 
 For love that doth outrun our thought? 
 
 But with my prayer I fain would guide 
 
 His groping hand Thine hand to grasp: 
 
 The thronging host of hopes and fears 
 
 And passions and delights that filled 
 
 With noisy life his fleeting days. 
 
 And drowned the Spirit's call, has fled; 
 
 A soul disrobed of earth, alone, 
 
 He stands amid the awful shapes 
 
 Of things eternal, and his cry 
 
 Goes up to Thee; O Thou to whom 
 
 The first, faint, struggling breath of souls 
 
 Is precious, lift him. Lord of love. 
 
 And let him feel Thy folding arms!" 
 
 A low sigh broke across the words. 
 
 And he who prayed arose, and stood 
 
 In silence by the pillowed face 
 
 Whose flickering light the hand of death 
 
 Had caught away from mortal eyes : 
 
30 THE STORY OF A HUNCHBACK. 
 
 Then, with the look a mother gives 
 Her tired child who sleepeth soft, 
 Bent low and kissed the pallid brow. 
 
 With footsteps hushed, I turned away, 
 
 And from the house passed blindly on, 
 
 Rapt, trembling, in the vivid sense 
 
 Of some vast presence, pitying, pure, 
 
 Sublime, revealed within my soul. 
 
 And while earth slept, and stars kept watch 
 
 Through silent hours, heart-hushed, I moved 
 
 Beside the earthly ways of Him 
 
 Whose footprints, on the snowy heights 
 
 Sun bathed, serene, of perfect life, 
 
 Still lure the slow-paced ages on. 
 
 The veil of creeds, through which the light 
 
 That lighteneth all the weary world 
 
 Too oft but dimly struggles forth, 
 
 I flung aside ; and saw the face 
 
 Of Him I followed, from the fires 
 
 Of blended love and pain, shine fair 
 
 And ever fairer as I gazed : 
 
THE STORY OF A HUNCHBACK. 3 1 
 
 Till, softly, as the rising moon 
 
 That climbs behind the hills, and sheds 
 
 A fair, faint dawn above their tops. 
 
 Then cleaves the sky with silver edge, 
 
 And rounding to a perfect orb, 
 
 Thrills all the air with tender light, 
 
 Within my soul a vision rose. 
 
 That filled the utmost deeps of thought 
 
 With quivering waves of joy and awe — 
 
 The vision of a mighty love, 
 
 Forth reaching from the heart of God, 
 
 Through human hands, to lift the world 
 
 Toward heaven — the vision of that love 
 
 Rejected, scorned, yet triumph-crowned ; 
 
 By might of suffering, strong to break 
 
 The chains of sin, and draw the soul 
 
 Through cleansing fires to life divine. 
 
 "O, Love! O, Love ineffable! 
 
 That by Thy power upliftest souls 
 
 As from the ocean deeps the sun 
 
 Uplifts the clouds — I turn to Thee! 
 
 Oh, lift me ! lift me ! for Thou canst ! " 
 
32 THE STORY OF A HUNCHBACK. 
 
 So cried I as the vision dawned : 
 Then from my spirit fell the bonds 
 Of doubt, — new-born of love, I lay, 
 A child within the arms of God, 
 Without a thought beyond His face. 
 
 The morning broke : the world without 
 Awoke ; the daily round of life 
 Began once more ; but in my heart 
 The freshness of a primal dawn 
 Made fair the common light of earth : 
 Life lay illumined, pain and grief 
 Seemed only as the rugged steeps 
 Whereby the soul must climb to reach 
 The heights of being; and the sky 
 Of love, pure azure, clasped the world. 
 
THE STORY OF A HUNCHBACK. 33 
 
 PART III. 
 
 The calm years, rich with broadening life 
 
 And ever deepening peace, passed on ; 
 
 The bar that held my soul aloof 
 
 From others, melted in the fire 
 
 Of love divine : no more apart 
 
 In solitudes of pain and doubt 
 
 I brooded o'er the woes of earth, 
 
 But, passing forth, and pressing near, 
 
 To hearts that failed 'neath weary loads, 
 
 I strove by gentle force of love, 
 
 And patience warm with quenchless hope, 
 
 To draw them toward those mighty arms 
 
 That wait to lift from every soul 
 
 The burden of its doubt and sin. 
 
 And oft I trembled with the joy 
 
 That thrills exultant, rapturous, 
 
 From all the quivering harps of heaven — 
 
34 THE STORY OF A HUNCHBACK. 
 
 The joy of seeing smiles of peace 
 On troubled faces softly dawn, 
 As over groping hands closed warm 
 The clasp of love, that neither life 
 Nor death has power to loose ; and oft 
 Alas ! I tasted of His pain 
 Who saw with agony of love 
 Unbounded, fathomless, the souls 
 He came to free, content with chains. 
 One shadow haunted all my joy ; 
 The friend who first with vital warmth 
 Of human sympathy, had stirred 
 To quicker beat my failing pulse, 
 Walked on beneath a sky of joy 
 O'er which no darkly gathered clouds 
 Had drawn the brooding shades of life, 
 With eyes too full of happy light 
 To crave the shining of God's face. 
 When, in the flush of hopes new found 
 I spoke of healing for the world, 
 Of God brought near to man, of peace 
 In pain and triumph over sin. 
 
THE STORY OF A HUNCHBACK. 35 
 
 He gently smiled, as one who hears 
 A dreamer murmuring broken words 
 Of woods and fields and waves of blue, 
 And will not break his happy sleep — 
 Then said: "Most glad I am, dear friend. 
 Your goal, long sought, is won at last ; 
 For me, I see the fields of life 
 Stretch wide and fair, and take the paths 
 I find, that lead my willing feet 
 Through fragrant groves by sparkling 
 
 streams ; 
 To you I leave the dizzy ledge. 
 Where truth with doubtful balance treads." 
 No mocking word e'er passed his lips ; 
 And yet I knew he looked on me 
 As on a child who reaches forth 
 To grasp his image in a glass. 
 I could but hope that God's dear love, 
 With daily pressure still and strong. 
 Would force the portals of his heart: 
 But oft I feared that naught but winds 
 Of mighty woe could burst their bars, 
 
36 THE STORY OF A HUNCHBACK. 
 
 To let the waiting Christ pass in. 
 Our love unsevered by the strain 
 Of thoughts that farther pressed apart, 
 As time went by, still held us close. 
 
 One sunny day in early Spring, 
 When sheltered snows that lingered still 
 Fed sparkling rills, and that first breath 
 Drawn softly by the wakening year, 
 Stirred joy, that yearning, broke in pain, 
 He greeted me with shining eyes, 
 And like a happy child, poured forth 
 The joy that sparkled through his glance : 
 "My own Queen Mab, my fairy queen 
 Who sends her flying elves by stealth 
 To fill my canvas with her dreams, 
 Will soon be at my side to breathe 
 Her secret magic in my ear ; 
 Beware, my friend ! we yet shall snatch 
 Those flaunting laurels from your brows." 
 And then I knew he spoke of Grace — 
 A sister dearly loved, whose name, 
 
THE STORY OF A HUNCHBACK. 3/ 
 
 With proud and tender praises blent, 
 Was often on the brother's lips, 
 And who, through all their orphaned life, 
 Had made her home with distant friends, 
 But now, a woman, with the right 
 To make her choice of lot, was fain 
 To fill for him the woman's place, 
 Where yet none dearer sat enshrined. 
 ''Come, you shall see the home I choose. 
 And help to make it fair ; we'll have 
 No desert blank of whited walls 
 Around the eyes that love to rest 
 Upon the living bloom of earth." 
 I trem.bled as he lightly spoke, 
 Half conscious of reluctant dread. 
 That blended with a quivering sense 
 Of coming joy : a foot-fall faint, 
 Far heard, woke echoes in the deeps 
 Of formless thought, that would not die. 
 But sounded clearly, strangely on, 
 Through happy hours, wherein we strove 
 With playful rivalry of brush 
 
38 THE STORY OF A HUNCHBACK. 
 
 And fancy to make fair the house, 
 Where eager love was fain to light 
 The hearth-fires of a new-made home. 
 
 I, living in a world apart, 
 
 Whose bound no woman's foot had passed, 
 
 Had kept the stainless reverence 
 
 And sacred tenderness of thought 
 
 That soften, like a floating haze, 
 
 The dewy morning hours of life. 
 
 To me, imprisoned in a form 
 
 That moved the pity of the strong 
 
 And fair, the thought of woman's love 
 
 Was like an Eden, never trod, 
 
 Close guarded by a sword of flame. 
 
 Oft, as a homeless wanderer looks 
 
 Through lighted casements of bright homes, 
 
 I gazed with yearning hopelessness 
 
 Upon the light of wedded joy; 
 
 Then, clasping close the hand divine, 
 
 Walked on, in peace, beneath calm stars. 
 
 But now, this far-heard footstep broke 
 
THE STORY OF A HUNCHBACK. 39 
 
 The Starlit silence round my heart 
 With presage of a coming change. 
 
 Unworded fancies, dim and sweet, 
 Breathed outward through the forms I chose 
 To wreathe around the womanhood 
 Whose unknown glories filled my dreams 
 With radiance tremulous and fair. 
 Pure lilies, and that faint, flushed flower 
 That nestles with its lowly leaves 
 Against the beating heart of Spring; 
 Far glimmerings of snow-clad peaks, 
 And gleams of blue through clustering 
 
 leaves. 
 Where veils 'neath which my thought 
 
 stole forth. 
 Close shrouded from the common eye; 
 While through my musings ran this song, 
 That seemed a breathing from the lips 
 Of the far Future whose vague form 
 Swept dimly toward me through the dark: 
 
40 THE STORY OF A HUNCHBACK. 
 
 Upon a river's brink 
 
 A lily fair 
 Her brows uplifted light 
 
 Through summer air. 
 
 The soft breeze whispered low 
 His tale of bliss; 
 
 And touched her velvet cheek 
 With tender kiss: 
 
 But ah, the fickle breeze 
 Passed swiftly on: 
 
 And stole away the joy 
 His lips had won. 
 
 The sunlight on her heart 
 In sweet rest lay, 
 
 And dreamed, in golden calm, 
 The hours away. 
 
 But when night beckoned soft, 
 The false sun fled, 
 
 And left his love to mourn, 
 Uncomforted. 
 
THE STORY OF A HUNCHBACK. 4I 
 
 But ever at her feet 
 
 The river flowed; 
 And in his constant heart 
 
 Her image glowed. 
 
 Through daylight and through dark 
 
 His tide, unknown, 
 Sent freshness through her life, 
 
 Yet flowed alone. 
 
 And when she drooped and died. 
 
 Upon his breast 
 He bore her tenderly 
 
 Away to rest. 
 
 There came a day, — how blue and fair 
 It shines within my memory still! 
 When Arthur bade me, with a smile, 
 Come home and see the nested bird 
 For whose sweet sake our eager hands 
 Had conjured with the spells of art. 
 
42 THE STORY OF A HUNCHBACK. 
 
 I see her as she lightly rose 
 
 To greet her brother's friend, her glance 
 
 Of pity veiled with woman's art, 
 
 Afraid of wounding when she longed 
 
 To soothe; I feel again the pain 
 
 Unspeakable, with which I stood 
 
 A boy in stature, but a man 
 
 In soul, with manhood's fervent might 
 
 Of being, crowned, — and met the eyes 
 
 Of her through whom my floating dream 
 
 Of woman's perfectness reached forth. 
 
 And touched me with a human hand. 
 
 A moment through my being surged 
 
 A fiery flood that burned away 
 
 The thought of God, then suddenly, 
 
 With swiftly sinking waves, it fled; 
 
 And that still sea of peace, wherein 
 
 The image of the love supreme 
 
 Lies mirrored, filled my soul once more. 
 
 The shade of self paled out of sight; 
 
 And, overflooded with pure joy, 
 
 I lifted, like a lowly flower 
 
THE STORY OF A HUNCHBACK. 43 
 
 That feels the sun and rests content, 
 My passive heart, and drank the light 
 Of her sweet presence in rapt calm. 
 Her beauty! Think you I have words 
 For that.-* Nay, ask the rose of June, 
 That pulses from its throbbing heart 
 Pure flushes, growing softly pale 
 As loth to bare before the world 
 The secret of its tender fire; 
 Go, listen to the dying fall 
 Of liquid melodies, or watch 
 The sunset touch the hills with light, 
 Not of the earth, or heaven — too pure 
 For earth, too passion-tinged for heaven; 
 And if their clearer speech doth fail, 
 Think not that any word of mine 
 The subtle mystery could reach. 
 
 As homeward, 'neath the clear spring sky, 
 Star-luminous, and bare of clouds, 
 My slow feet passed, I bared my brows 
 In silent reverence of joy 
 
44 THE STORY OF A HUNCHBACK. 
 
 That God had made the earth so fair, 
 That love was sweet, and hearts were glad, 
 And though no heart in all the throng 
 Should e'er, by sweet allurement drawn, 
 Press close to blend with mine its beats 
 In rhythmic harmony of love. 
 Yet through my soul surged mightily 
 The love and joy of all the world. 
 
 A stream, that long had flowed unknown 
 
 Beneath my life, burst suddenly 
 
 To light, and glad with stainless blue, 
 
 Its happy secret sparkled forth 
 
 In golden-gleaming, murmurous waves. 
 
 Its low song rippled through my thought, 
 
 And all the common ways of life 
 
 Were touched with dreamful tenderness. 
 
 The young, fresh green that fringed the 
 
 streets. 
 Clear, sudden bird-songs, trilling high 
 Above their din, and purest blue 
 Around the slowly melting pearl 
 
THE STORY OF A HUNCHBACK. 45 
 
 Of morning clouds, — by spells unknown, 
 Their subtle sweetness interfused 
 With something beautiful and strange 
 That softly stirred within my heart. 
 I knew not how nor whence it came, 
 But felt it touch the hidden chords 
 Of shrinking joy and blissful pain. 
 
 Night after night, with quickened pulse, 
 And passionate, expectant thrill, 
 I lifted to my eager lips 
 The brimming cup that fate held forth. 
 And knew not that its sparkling draught 
 Should slowly fill my veins with fire. 
 Night after night I steeped my heart 
 In mellow radiance, falling fair 
 From her clear mind whose changeful 
 
 thoughts 
 Their tints ethereal softly blent. 
 Her fancy, light as floating down 
 Tossed idly by the summer breeze, 
 With sportive grace, played airily 
 
46 THE STORY OF A HUNCHBACK. 
 
 Around our slower-moving thought; 
 And yet, beneath her lighter mood 
 There glowed a fire of life intense 
 That oft burst forth in sudden flame 
 Of eager speech, and dimly showed 
 Like beacons on a rock-bound shore 
 A tossing sea of troublous thought. 
 Like Raphael's Margaret, in the lone 
 And shadowed wilderness of life, 
 Her white feet on the dragon's wing. 
 She stood, and felt his fiery breath 
 Against her stainless garments blown, 
 And searched the dark with baffled gaze 
 That could not pierce the murky air 
 To rest with Margaret's on His face 
 Who shines away the shades of fear. 
 Oh, how I longed that, through my soul, 
 Some ray, though faint, of God's pure light, 
 Upon her straining eyes might fall! 
 Oft, when in quiet evening hours 
 Our happy talk took graver tone 
 From some new-fallen shade of grief 
 
THE STORY OF A HUNCHBACK. 4/ 
 
 On other lives, and I, with words 
 
 Too slow and faltering for the thought 
 
 That pressed for fuller utterance, spoke 
 
 Of that deep mystery of pain 
 
 Through which, as through the belt of fire 
 
 'Round Dante's purgatorial mount. 
 
 All souls must pass who fain would 
 
 breathe 
 The stormless air of perfect life, — 
 I felt her clear gaze search my face 
 With eager longing in its deeps; 
 And watched the slowly-mounting flush 
 That told the dawning of new thought. 
 At last, there came a sudden change 
 Which laid my life so close to hers 
 That I could dare, with gentle hand, 
 To lift the veil of shy reserve 
 Close-drawn around her inner thought. 
 A fever creeping through close streets 
 Where crowded life sowed seeds of death. 
 With blighting breath smote suddenly 
 A poor street child, whose haggard face 
 
48 THE STORY OF A HUNCHBACK. 
 
 Behind her stand of early flowers 
 Had learned to greet me with a smile, 
 As day by day I paused to buy, 
 And strove to give a human tongue 
 To the sweet messages breathed forth 
 Through dewy petals from God's heart. 
 And, learning that she lay in pain 
 Beyond the reach of woman's care, 
 I saw that my unskilful hands 
 Must act the woman's as they might; 
 And seeking, found her fever-parched, 
 Alone, with blank, delirious eyes. 
 And while I bent above the face 
 So piteous in its shrivelled youth, 
 A staggering step without drew near 
 And paused within the open door: 
 Then, reading by the lightning flash 
 Of instant thought, the whole sad tale, 
 I left the bed and turned to face 
 The drunken father, as he stood, 
 Surprised, in sullen, bestial rage. 
 An instant, with a savage stare, 
 
THE STORY OF A HUNCHBACK. 49 
 
 He met my gaze; then raised his arm 
 And with a sudden, dizzy sense 
 Of blinding pain, I reeled and fell. 
 
 When from the dark and vast unknown, 
 My spirit floated back to light, 
 I lay in Arthur Linden's arms, 
 And with a dreamy wonder saw 
 The quick tears gathering in his eyes, 
 As, bending low above my face, 
 He watched the life-tide creeping back; 
 Then, like the sound of far joy-bells 
 Heard faintly through a sunny sea 
 Of golden air, fell on my ear 
 The distant voice of her I loved. 
 As, slowly, in my dazzled sense 
 The outer world took shape once more, 
 I saw the dear, familiar walls 
 That with so many happy hours 
 Had blent their pictured fantasies, 
 And knew I lay in Arthur's home, 
 That Grace was moving overhead, 
 4 
 
50 THE STORY OF A HUNCHBACK. 
 
 While through the open casement flowed 
 A blended stream of breeze and light; 
 And as I vainly strove to speak, 
 The silence Arthur gently broke 
 With playful tenderness of speech: 
 *'What hero of Homeric days 
 Had not his favorite god, who moved 
 Beside him, wrapped in clouds, and flashed 
 To light when danger called? Behold 
 The faithful Mars who felled your foe 
 And bore his hero from the field." 
 While yet he spoke, Grace, drawing near, 
 Had paused within the door, and stood 
 With something stirring in her face 
 So strangely sweet, I dared not gaze, 
 But dropped my glance, as one who fears 
 To taste the cup he may not drain. 
 Her gentle sympathy with smiles 
 And light responses met, she stood 
 In silence at my side, her hand 
 On Arthur's arm; till, looking up. 
 He stilled her fears with sportive words: 
 
THE STORY OF A HUNCHBACK. 5 1 
 
 "What says our silent sister Grace 
 Of this new Curtius, who would fain 
 Fling down his life to close the gulf 
 That yawns across the world?" And 
 
 Grace, 
 Uplifting eyes wherein there shone 
 The light of some fair thought, replied: 
 ''The knighthood of my early dream 
 Still walks the earth; and Galahad 
 Perchance has found the Holy Grail, 
 And bears it unto dying lips." 
 The fresh, glad month of June had fled; 
 And after many days of pain, 
 I, lifted to a window, sat. 
 With dreamy languor looking down 
 Upon the moving life below, 
 And turning o'er, with lingering touch, 
 A book of poems, one that Grace 
 Had treasured long, whose pages bore 
 The traces of her loving choice. 
 When on the margin of a leaf 
 I found these verses lightly traced: 
 
52 THE STORY OF A HUNCHBACK. 
 
 "O Childhood! thy thought is the breeze 
 That sports with the bloom of the earth; 
 
 Thy glance is the glow of the dawn, 
 
 And the gush of the brooklet thy mirth. 
 
 "O Manhood! thy passions are winds 
 
 That sweep that frail bloom from their path; 
 
 Thy glance is the blaze of the noon, 
 And lightning that sears is thy wrath. 
 
 "O Age! in thy voice is the moan 
 
 Of surges that die on the shore; 
 Thy glance is the light of a star 
 
 That setteth to rise nevermore. 
 
 "O Life! to the infinite waste 
 
 Is lifted thy gaze of despair ; 
 Thy voice is the sob of a world 
 
 Grown weary of answerless prayer." 
 
 And while I mused upon the words, 
 I heard a light step drawing near; 
 And did not close the open book, 
 
THE STORY OF A HUNCHBACK. 53 
 
 But held it wide, as, with a smile, 
 
 Grace leaned above me, looking down 
 
 To note the lines that held my thought. 
 
 A sudden flush swept cheek and brow, 
 
 As on the faintly-pencilled words 
 
 Her swift glance fell ; and, starting back, 
 
 She faltered low: "I had forgot; 
 
 Will you forget them too? — and yet," 
 
 With sudden passion in her voice, 
 
 "And yet, perchance, they touch a truth." 
 
 "Turns life to you so sad a face ? 
 
 I would your eyes might feel the smile 
 
 That gleams beneath her solemn gaze." 
 
 " And ha.ve you, then, found life so sweet ?** 
 
 "So passing sweet and wonderful, 
 
 That when the sun, from deeps unknown, 
 
 Uplifts another shining day. 
 
 And lays it down before my feet, 
 
 I bow my heart in reverent joy." 
 
 The trembling barriers of reserve, 
 Before strong tides of feeling fell, 
 
54 THE STORY OF A HUNCHBACK. 
 
 And with clasped hands, and head thrown 
 
 back, 
 She let the pent-up thought of years 
 Burst forth, with rush of rapid words : 
 "I cannot feel the far-off sun ; 
 A chilly shadow folds my heart ; 
 And through the music of the world 
 I hear a mighty wail of woe 
 From trampled souls that bleed and die ; 
 Beyond brief life I see a gulf 
 Wherein fall joy and pain alike. 
 And darkness is the end of all ! 
 Some talk of life and hope beyond. 
 And smile at death ; but who can sound 
 The dark abysses of the grave ? 
 We dream of light ; but through our dream 
 The mocking voice of doubt sounds on. 
 'Deluded souls! 'tis but a dream!' 
 We search for God ; but tangled creeds 
 Have barred the path ; we lose our way, 
 And know not where to seek His throne : 
 Life drags, we know not whence nor why. 
 
THE STORY OF A HUNCHBACK. 55 
 
 Across the desert sands of fate, 
 
 Its pauseless, hopeless, endless march ; 
 
 And yet, in ringing words of cheer. 
 
 You call it ' Passing sweet ! ' What dream, 
 
 What madness of the brain, is this?" 
 
 A wave of pity swept my thought 
 
 Beyond the narrow bounds of speech. 
 
 Before my feet a quivering soul 
 
 Lay panting in defiant pain ; 
 
 A tender, homeless, wounded soul 
 
 That, fallen on dark ways of doubt. 
 
 Writhed helpless on the jagged rocks ; 
 
 And all my love in holy fire 
 
 Of yearning prayer flamed up to heaven: 
 
 ''Lord, though I may not feel her heart 
 
 Against my own, oh let me feel 
 
 That I have laid it at Thy feet ! " 
 
 A strange, deep calm came o'er my soul ; 
 
 The mighty pain of passion, merged 
 
 In love made pure of self, grew sweet ; 
 
 And tenderly, as to a child, 
 
56 THE STORY OF A HUNCHBACK. 
 
 I spoke the thought that words could reach : 
 "Dear wanderer in a Father's world, 
 Within His wide embrace of love 
 Doth all life lie ; no cold response 
 From distant skies to earth's deep moan 
 Of helpless anguish hath God given, 
 But, stooping low, hath shared the cup 
 So bitter to our shrinking lips : 
 Like fleeting clouds in summer skies, 
 O'ershone by His incarnate love. 
 Your doubts shall melt ; pause not for 
 
 creeds ; 
 Draw near and lift your gaze to His." 
 *'0 give me proof! for doubt sees naught 
 Beyond a shifting throng of doubts ! " 
 ** Truth, to the soul that seeks but truth 
 With single aim, shall prove itself: 
 No eye e'er craved a lesser light 
 To prove the shining of the sun, 
 And God His own best witness is 
 Within the soul that seeks His face. 
 Fear not ; for through your haunting dream 
 
THE STORY OF A HUNCHBACK. 5/ 
 
 Shall break the daylight world of faith." 
 A smile within her troubled glance 
 Dawned, glimmering like a sudden star 
 Through parted clouds; and murmuring 
 
 low — 
 *' If doubt be then the dream, and faith 
 The daylight world where phantoms fade, 
 Oh pray that on my longing eyes 
 Its light may break!" she turned away; 
 And I, once more alone, sent forth 
 In tenderness unspeakable 
 My longing heart to wage with hers 
 The weary war of struggling faith. 
 
 While day by day life gently poured 
 Returning strength along my veins, 
 My heart, by slow and sweet release 
 From pain's relaxing grasp set free, 
 Looked out on life with tranquil gaze, 
 That, filled with light of present joy, 
 Saw not the deepening shade of pain 
 That lay beyond: the morning came 
 
58 THE STORY OF A HUNCHBACK. 
 
 And brought, as surely as the light 
 That waked the birds, the happier light 
 That waked within my soul the joy 
 And melody of life; and Night, 
 Star holy, pure and calm, her hand 
 Upon my throbbing sense laid soft, 
 And led me unto shrines of prayer, 
 Where I might lay my longings deep 
 Within the changeless peace of God. 
 Through all those sunny days, my thoughts 
 With one dear step kept rhythmic beat — 
 A step that over fancy's range 
 Of visioned heights, and o'er the green 
 And dewy meads of tenderness, 
 Moved fleet and noiseless as the light. 
 Around the woman-heart of Grace 
 An added shyness — from the hour 
 When, suddenly set free, her thought 
 Had fluttered trembling to my breast — 
 Clung like a wreath of mountain mist 
 That, parted by a sudden gust. 
 Reveals a peak, then folds it close. 
 
THE STORY OF A HUNCHBACK. $9 
 
 Oft, when round Arthur's easel grouped 
 
 We filled the hours with rippling mirth, 
 
 A sudden stillness o'er her face 
 
 Would fall; and in her laughing eyes 
 
 A far, faint glory gleam and fade 
 
 Like sunsets over Alpine snows; 
 
 And, drawing near her unaware. 
 
 My footsteps oft would seem to break 
 
 A strain that held her listening ear. 
 
 As, with a start and fleeting blush, 
 
 Her truant thought she summoned home. 
 
 Each morning, on the little stand 
 Where lay my treasured books, I found. 
 Placed by her gentle hand, a vase, 
 That lifted to the morning light. 
 From nest of green, one snow-white flower, 
 With spotless gleam of dewy leaves; 
 And when I, wondering, lightly asked 
 The reason of her constant choice. 
 With down-drooped lids she answered low: 
 " They are the angels of the flowers. 
 
60 THE STORY OF A HUNCHBACK. 
 
 And wear no passion-hues of earth." 
 And then I wondered more, and weighed 
 With doubtful thought her faltered words, 
 
 A silence, tremulous and stirred 
 
 With quivering movements of two souls, 
 
 That thrilled to feel their garments touch. 
 
 Drew round us as the days went by; 
 
 And, fearful by the lightest breath 
 
 To break its sweet and subtle spell, 
 
 I stilled each throb of beating love 
 
 And held my spirit strangely calm. 
 
 A slow, soft change, like brightening dawn. 
 
 Or deepening green of early leaves. 
 
 Stole o'er her face, and on her brow 
 
 There fell the still, clear light of peace. 
 
 She spoke no word, and yet I knew 
 
 Her weary soul was nestling close 
 
 Within the waiting arms of God. 
 
 And when one day I sat alone, 
 
 She passed me with a timid haste, 
 
THE STORY OF A HUNCHBACK. 6l 
 
 And, scarcely pausing, in my hand 
 Let gently fall this gift of joy: 
 
 DREAMING AND WAKING. 
 
 Alone, beneath an awful sky, 
 
 A starless, vacant sky, 
 In visions of the night I stood: 
 
 A moaning wind swept by, 
 
 And through the dark, a cry — 
 The mingled wail of many lips — 
 
 Was borne on high. 
 
 Then through my dream there broke a 
 voice 
 
 From realms beyond the night : 
 Awake ! awake ! the skies are clear. 
 
 And, on thy sealed sight 
 
 Fall floods of golden light 
 From radiant springs beyond the sweep 
 
 Of azure height. 
 
62 THE STORY OF A HUNCHBACK. 
 
 The dream hath fled ; the joyous heaven 
 
 Smiles o'er mine unsealed eyes : 
 Beyond the far horizon verge 
 
 The dim night vanquished flies ; 
 
 The green earth peaceful lies, 
 With fresh bloom glad, and songs of bird? 
 
 That wing the skies. 
 
 By love's resistless tide o'erswept, 
 I bent, and touched the written words 
 With trembling lips ; while in my heart 
 Rose longings, helpless, passionate, 
 To fling their hopeless agony 
 Against the stony front of fate. 
 
 Some moments are there in our lives 
 When, stripped of all disguise, and strong, 
 The crouching passions of the soul, 
 That slumbered till we deemed them dead, 
 Leap suddenly to giant life, 
 And close around the wavering will 
 That trembles in their mighty grasp; 
 
THE STORY OF A HUNCHBACK. 63 
 
 And in that awful solitude 
 Behind the bounds of flesh, there meet 
 The powers whose soundless warfare fills 
 The world, and shapes the fates of men. 
 Such moments knew I, lying prone. 
 Her message crushed within my grasp ; 
 The outer world, and time and sense, 
 I knew not, while the spirit strove 
 And grappled with its viewless foes. 
 Youth, bearing in its eager pulse 
 A wordless prophecy of joy — 
 A subtle kinship in its veins 
 With all the gladness of the earth 
 And sky, and every living thing, 
 Treads regally, with lifted brows 
 That claim their crown of coming bliss; 
 And when life fronts it suddenly 
 With circlet sharp of thorns, it shrinks, 
 And stands at bay in wild revolt ; 
 The spirit of my youth, grown fierce 
 With long denial, thus at bay. 
 Writhed madly in the grasp of pain. 
 
64 THE STORY OF A HUNCHBACK. 
 
 And vainly flung its fettered hands 
 
 To clutch a joy beyond its reach. 
 
 For let not those who walk the earth 
 
 In calm accord with lines of grace 
 
 And symmetries of form, forget 
 
 That we on whom no human eye 
 
 E'er rests with joy, have hearts that leap 
 
 As swift and sudden at a glance, 
 
 A voice, a touch, as hearts that beat 
 
 In forms of faultless mould; we too 
 
 Can love ; and, though we may not hope, 
 
 May yet despair ! Aye, woe to us 
 
 When, through the dimness where we sit 
 
 Apart from men, the torturer steals 
 
 To lay us on the rack of love ! 
 
 On those dark hours no eye may look 
 
 Save only His, who, while we pant 
 
 In mortal anguish, lays His hand 
 
 Upon our brows, and whispers low : 
 
 ''There is a joy that none may share 
 
 Save they whose wills have found repose 
 
 Within the perfect will of God ; 
 
THE STORY OF A HUNCHBACK. 65 
 
 The meek inheritors of earth 
 
 Who, empty-handed though they stand, 
 
 Are yet partakers by a reach 
 
 Of larger love, a grasp divine, 
 
 In all the good of all the world." 
 
 So spake His voice within my soul, 
 
 Above its tumult rising clear ; 
 
 And as I listened, o'er my will 
 
 There fell a deep and mighty peace ; 
 
 And like to one who slowly wakes 
 
 Sore wounded on a battle-field, 
 
 And in the hush of early dawn, 
 
 While stars melt softly overhead, 
 
 Is 'ware of victory after strife, 
 
 I lay, not painless, yet at rest, 
 
 And felt a stirring as of wings 
 
 That hovered o'er my weary heart. 
 
 An hour had passed, one little hour, 
 And all the current of my life 
 Was changed. While, in the pause of will 
 That follows triumph dearly won, 
 
 5 
 
(i6 THE STORY OF A HUNCHBACK. 
 
 I took no thought of days to come, 
 There flashed before me, like a face 
 Seen long before in happier years, 
 The memory of a letter, read 
 And flung aside while yet I trod 
 The blooming haunts of silent love. 
 And recked not where they led my feet: 
 A letter from an artist friend. 
 Who in the elder world had found 
 The royal feast the kings of art 
 Bequeathed us when they left the earth ; 
 And now, to make his bliss complete. 
 Would have me share it at his side. 
 Then sharply, suddenly, I felt 
 The snapping of the slender tie 
 Between my life and all that made 
 It fair, and knew that I must go ; 
 I could not lie in beggar's guise 
 Beside the door of one most rich 
 In all the precious gifts of God, 
 Most pitiful of others' lack, 
 To crave with silent plea a boon 
 
THE STORY OF A HUNCHBACK. 6/ 
 
 She might not give, and wring her heart 
 With unavailing pain, a blot, 
 A shadow on her sunny way: 
 And as one fallen from a height 
 Whereon midst bloom and light he walked 
 Serene, looks up with failing gaze 
 And sees the leaves that lightly sway 
 Against the blue far overhead, 
 I looked upon the life I loved, 
 Then turned to face a life that seemed 
 As bleak and grey as twilight skies 
 When sunset's heart of fire has ceased 
 To beat, and all the air is pale. 
 
 With firm intent to bar the gates 
 Of strong resolve against surprise 
 Of traitorous will, I rose and wrote : 
 "My friend, I grasp across the sea 
 Your proffered hand, and come to sup 
 Beside you at the feast of art." 
 The letter in my hand, I sought 
 The two I loved, resolved to seal 
 
68 THE STORY OF A HUNCHBACK. 
 
 My purpose with a swift farewell. 
 
 By Arthur's easel, where the brush, 
 
 Just laid aside to wait his hand, 
 
 Lay idle, Grace I found alone ; 
 
 A stillness pure and deeply sweet 
 
 As silences of morning air 
 
 Before the day has found a voice 
 
 Was in the face she slowly raised 
 
 To meet my gaze ; and flinging back 
 
 The hungry pain that clutched my heart, 
 
 I caught her joy and held it warm 
 
 Against my breast, and with a smile 
 
 That met her wordless greeting, said : 
 
 **In vain we seek to reach with words 
 
 The joys whose flow, unfathomed, sweeps 
 
 From soul to soul : I can but say — 
 
 Behold, your joy supreme is mine ! 
 
 As in your lifted eyes I read 
 
 The open secret of a heart 
 
 At rest upon the heart of God. 
 
 Dear friend, that God has made you fair, 
 
 Has clothed with robing of pure grace 
 
THE STORY OF A HUNCHBACK. 69 
 
 A soul as stainless, clear and glad 
 As sunlit spray on breaking waves ; 
 As swift and eager in its sweep 
 Toward heavenly heights as mounting 
 
 flame, 
 I thank Him, thank Him more, that I, 
 Unworthy save by humble right 
 Of utmost reverence, yet have stood 
 Within the radiance of your life, 
 And filled my spirit with a light 
 That even through the outer dark 
 So soon to fold me round, will shine 
 Across my dim and lonely way. 
 Dear friend, the bitter word I came 
 To speak is even this : ' Farewell ! ' 
 I fain would find another, fit 
 And sweeter, but it may not be — 
 And so, 'Farewell.' I take my life 
 Across the sea to seek a path 
 Which, though it leads away from joy, 
 May reach at last the heights of peace." 
 
70 THE STORY OF A HUNCHBACK. 
 
 With drooping face and tender smile, 
 
 That trembled like a changeful gleam 
 
 Of summer sun through tossing leaves, 
 
 She listened till that word, "Farewell," 
 
 Smote with a sudden blow her heart. 
 
 And then I saw her shrink; the lips 
 
 That would have quivered, closed ; a wave 
 
 Of deepening crimson rose and fell. 
 
 And left her pale ; and when I ceased 
 
 She looked upon me with a look 
 
 That all the years have never dimmed ; 
 
 It was as if her spirit stood 
 
 Beyond a darkly yawning gulf 
 
 That none might leap, and beckoned me ; 
 
 And passion, yet uncrushed, arose 
 
 And bade me of her pity make 
 
 A link to join our severed lives. 
 
 A moment stood I motionless. 
 
 Through all my being 'ware of naught 
 
 But that appealing gaze; and then. 
 
 Like one who frees his captive limbs 
 
 With sudden wrench from tightening bonds, 
 
THE STORY OF A HUNCHBACK. 7 1 
 
 I broke the silence, breathing low — 
 "God keep you, and farewell!" then turned, 
 Not waiting for a word or sign, 
 And left her standing mute and pale. 
 
72 THE STORY OF A HUNCHBACK. 
 
 PART IV. 
 
 Like painful, half-forgotten dreams, 
 
 I feel again the sailing on 
 
 'Twixt boundless wastes of sea and sky, 
 
 That seemed to ache with loneliness; 
 
 The landing on an alien shore 
 
 Ungladdened by a friendly eye; 
 
 The weary shifting of the scenes 
 
 Whose strangeness was a constant grief; 
 
 And then the meeting with a mind 
 
 That overbrimmed with sparkling life, 
 
 And swept me in its eager rush 
 
 Beyond the dead, unchanging calm 
 
 Of stagnant hope. One purpose strong 
 
 And strengthening with the strength of soul 
 
 Inwrought by fires of pain, upheld 
 
 And led me through the days, while still 
 
 My heart was bleeding out of sight: 
 
THE STORY OF A HUNCHBACK. 73 
 
 The purpose, if I might, to wed 
 
 The art I loved to holiest truth, 
 
 And send it forth to war with sense. 
 
 They told me at the school of art. 
 
 Where with my friend I joined the ranks 
 
 Of combatants for high success. 
 
 That hues and forms were in my power 
 
 To wield at will; and all the wise — 
 
 Those magnates of a narrow world 
 
 Who see the universe revolve 
 
 Around a square of canvas — spoke. 
 
 And bade me most of all beware 
 
 Of flimsy dreams, and make my hand 
 
 The slavish pupil of the eye, 
 
 Recording only what appears; 
 
 Their realism, held on high 
 
 As creed, meant simply working close 
 
 To nature while she moulds the clay 
 
 Around a soul, and heeding not 
 
 The spark divine that glimmers through; 
 
 And I, who nursed no hope of fame, 
 
 Nor cared to cheat the multitude 
 
74 THE STORY OF A HUNCHBACK. 
 
 With soulless reflex of a world 
 Made vital with the breath of God, 
 Went on my way, and strove to work 
 Within the sphere of art, as God 
 In nature, bodying viewless truth 
 In gracious forms to haunt the soul, 
 And hush the clamorous cries of sense 
 With breathings of a strain divine. 
 
 The years brought healing as they came, 
 And strength, and peace; and life to me 
 Was holy, calm, and gravely sweet, 
 Without a sting, and full of hope: 
 A hope that reached beyond the bound 
 Where joy and pain are blending waves 
 That never rest. Across the sea 
 My earliest friend still kept a thought 
 That turned to me, and letters came 
 That told me of the life he led, 
 The love that crowned him with a crown 
 Above all price — Ah, she was fair. 
 His peerless one! I could not know 
 
THE STORY OF A HUNCHBACK. 75 
 
 How fair! For all his pictures, drawn 
 With pen of flame, were colorless 
 Beside the truth; and then a name 
 That, moon-like, hid the lesser light 
 Of common words, would seem to shine 
 Alone, and I would read of Grace, 
 Who grew, he wrote half playfully, 
 A sweet and pensive nun, whose life 
 Moved outward through the lives she 
 
 served. 
 Who gathered children at her knee, 
 And taught them tenderly, and soothed 
 The friendless in their dying hours. 
 And ministered to all whose needs 
 Reached out to touch her loving heart. 
 "You would not know our sportive Grace," 
 He said, ''so calm and grave she grows, 
 So quietly she moves, and sings 
 Her songs no more about the house, 
 Save softly, as one might to lull 
 A restless child : she speaks of you — 
 Not often, nor with many words — 
 
7^ THE STORY OF A HUNCHBACK. 
 
 For speech with her as one divines 
 
 Is not the measure of the heart ; 
 
 Yet speaks she with a touch of pride, 
 
 And tenderly, and well I know 
 
 She bears you in her steadfast thought. 
 
 Each day a flower is on your stand ; — 
 
 'He may come back!' she says, and smiles. 
 
 So reading, through my pulses ran 
 
 A yearning thrill of memory, 
 
 And like a tyrant fain to prove 
 
 His questioned power, the past arose 
 
 And shook my being with a touch. 
 
 One day — that seemed like other days, 
 
 Yet cloaked a shadow with its sun — 
 
 A letter, hailed with gladness, came 
 
 To mock the healing of the years, 
 
 And quicken to intenser life 
 
 A slumbering pain: — a letter, brief, 
 
 But throbbing as alive with beats 
 
 Of dread that strove to still themselves 
 
 As fearful of a fear betrayed. 
 
 Grace, coming from the bed of one 
 
THE STORY OF A HUNCHBACK. 7/ 
 
 Who died of fever, drooped, yet scorned 
 To yield, until the fever sprang 
 And wrapped her in its fiery coils ; 
 And now through day and night she lay, 
 A ghostly shadow of herself, 
 That slowly wasted, hour by hour. 
 
 So wrote he ; and a horror strange 
 And cold crept through me as I read ; 
 While thought and will and reason paused, 
 And nothing in me lived but pain. 
 There is a yearning on whose swell. 
 Resistless as the mighty heave 
 Of ocean's breast, the soul is borne 
 Far out beyond the calmer mood 
 Wherein it moved in still resolve ; 
 And such a yearning, solemn, strong, 
 And almost holy in its depth 
 Of passionless, despairing calm. 
 Uplifted me above all doubts, 
 And bore me on to seek the face 
 That, through my every mood of mind, 
 
78 THE STORY OF A HUNCHBACK. 
 
 Had shone with pure and constant light, 
 As shines the wide and steadfast heaven 
 Through every wandering wind that blows. 
 One hope, one only hope, I held 
 And would not look beyond ; the hope 
 To stand beside the one I loved, 
 When love of mine, no more a snare 
 To lure her life from happier love, 
 Should lie among the things of earth 
 Behind her, with no power to bind 
 In any wise the passing soul. 
 For strangely did I seem aware 
 . That death had claimed her, and no doubt 
 Disturbed me saying, "Should she live, 
 Then love revealed were still a chain 
 Around her heart"; and so I went. 
 
 Once more I felt the boundless waste 
 Of sea and sky — an azure pause 
 Between the voices of the worlds — 
 And then the days of blank suspense 
 Were ended, and I knew she lived ; 
 
THE STORY OF A HUNCHBACK. 79 
 
 And, journeying, stood without the door 
 
 Where oft of old my eager heart 
 
 Had waited for a coming foot ; 
 
 There Arthur met me, sad and worn, 
 
 And saying only, 'Death is near. 
 
 For I have seen his shadow fall ; 
 
 Yet tarries, while we fear to feel 
 
 The moments passing"; clasped my hand 
 
 And led me in ; the silent house. 
 
 So eloquent of buried joys, 
 
 Was like an added wound to one 
 
 Already dead ; a numb suspense 
 
 Of feeling held me as I stood 
 
 And mutely waited for the word 
 
 That bade me seek that chamber dim 
 
 Wherein the radiance of my youth 
 
 Was fading slowly from the earth. 
 
 A darkness with a central heart 
 
 Of throbbing light, the chamber seemed. 
 
 As entering in, I only saw 
 
 Her eyes that turned to mine, her smile 
 
8o THE STORY OF A HUNCHBACK. 
 
 That lightened strangely through the 
 
 gloom ; 
 And from the darkness came her voice, — 
 The same, yet sweeter, with a thrill 
 Of mystic sweetness caught from heaven ; 
 I heard it softly breathe my name : 
 Then, after silence, while our souls 
 Reached forth and touched through meet- 
 ing eyes, — 
 From out that twilight border-land 
 'Twixt earth and heaven, where passion 
 
 dies, 
 And love is pure — she spoke again: 
 '"Twas so I saw it, yet the years 
 Have touched it with an added light : 
 The eyes are steadfast as of old. 
 But tenderer, and the mouth — ah, there! 
 'Twas sorrow graved that deeper line, — 
 I know her hand ; and now come near, 
 That I may feel your touch once more. 
 Your living touch, and know you live, 
 Though I must die." Then at that word 
 
THE STORY OF A HUNCHBACK. 8 1 
 
 The veil of silence round my heart 
 
 Was rent away, and love leaped forth 
 
 In agony, to cope with death. 
 
 "O Love! O Love! you may not die 
 
 And leave me on the empty earth, 
 
 Whose very air will dumbly wait 
 
 The voice it stills itself to hear ! 
 
 O love, live on ! and let me feel 
 
 Through all the world your beating heart!'' 
 
 So spake I wildly, bending low 
 
 My head upon the hand I clasped. 
 
 " And you have loved me ! " — with a thrill 
 
 Of trembling joy her answer fell. 
 
 "My saint, whose aureole of flame 
 
 Has led me on o'er rugged ways 
 
 And up the steeps of high resolve. 
 
 My love, whose lightest smile could make 
 
 A silent gladness in my heart 
 
 Too sweet for words, — ah, had I known ! 
 
 Dear love, you lightly weighed my heart 
 
 To deem it might not leap the bars 
 
 Of outward form to clasp a soul 
 
82 THE STORY OF A HUNCHBACK. 
 
 That stood so near to God a light 
 Was on it from His face ; and now 
 'Tis death that clasps our parted hands, 
 And draws us heart to heart at last, 
 With touch of pity, ere we part : 
 And yet, we part not ; love to love 
 Can reach, across the silent void 
 Between the worlds, and we shall know 
 We live and love forevermore. 
 Ah, we have felt the weary ache 
 Of longing, while the heavy days. 
 Slow moving, bore us on apart ; 
 But now the throbbing pain is still ; 
 Beloved, lay upon my brow 
 The seal of love, that death may see, 
 And, smiling, touch me tenderly." 
 With reverent lips, as one might touch 
 An angel's wing, I kissed her brow. 
 And far uplifted o'er the heights 
 Of joy and pain our spirits met 
 Within the silent infinite 
 Of Heaven's untroubled, changeless love. 
 
THE STORY OF A HUNCH HACK. 83 
 
 The moments passing touched us not, 
 Nor knew we fear, till suddenly 
 The hovering wings of death swept close ; 
 His breath was on her cheek ; her eyes, 
 That ever dwelt on mine, grew dim ; 
 And then I knew the soul within 
 Had soared to light, while like a cloud 
 The earth around me darkly drew. 
 Down slowly shortening aisles of time 
 That widen out to larger light — 
 Companioned by a shape serene 
 Undimmed by earthly years — I move 
 Beside the paths of other men : 
 A spring of peace, that ever wells 
 From deeps beneath the fickle flow 
 Of earthly joy, o'erfloods my heart. 
 The flower toward which with quickening 
 
 life 
 Our nature yearns — the flower of love — 
 Has bloomed in mine, and, fading not, 
 Has felt the touch of God and grown 
 Immortal : oft through veils of sense 
 
84 THE STORY OF A HUNCHBACK. 
 
 Uplifted suddenly, I catch 
 
 A brightening gleam from far within, 
 
 And o'er the voices of the world 
 
 I hear a music beating clear 
 
 From spirits tuned to perfect rest : 
 
 Beneath the agonies of men 
 
 I feel — the Cross — the deep response 
 
 Of God to pain; beneath their sin, 
 
 The Cross — the sign and pledge of love 
 
 That all the ages shall not waste. 
 
 Nor change, nor ever swerve aside 
 
 From any soul of man that lives. 
 

 ^07 
 
 

 
UBRARY OF 
 
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