DAVID SWAN
A FANTASY
We can be but partially acquainted even with the events whichactually influence our course through life, and our finaldestiny. There are innumerable other events--if such they may becalled--which come close upon us, yet pass away without actualresults, or even betraying their near approach, by the reflectionof any light or shadow across our minds. Could we know all thevicissitudes of our fortunes, life would be too full of hope andfear, exultation or disappointment, to afford us a single hour oftrue serenity. This idea may be illustrated by a page from thesecret history of David Swan.
We have nothing to do with David until we find him, at the age oftwenty, on the high road from his native place to the city ofBoston, where his uncle, a small dealer in the grocery line, wasto take him behind the counter. Be it enough to say that he was anative of New Hampshire, born of respectable parents, and hadreceived an ordinary school education, with a classic finish by ayear at Gilmanton Academy. After journeying on foot from sunrisetill nearly noon of a summer's day, his weariness and theincreasing heat determined him to sit down in the firstconvenient shade, and await the coming up of the stage-coach. Asif planted on purpose for him, there soon appeared a little tuftof maples, with a delightful recess in the midst, and such afresh bubbling spring that it seemed never to have sparkled forany wayfarer but David Swan. Virgin or not, he kissed it with histhirsty lips, and then flung himself along the brink, pillowinghis head upon some shirts and a pair of pantaloons, tied up in astriped cotton handkerchief. The sunbeams could not reach him;the dust did not yet rise from the road after the heavy rain ofyesterday; and his grassy lair suited the young man better than abed of down. The spring murmured drowsily beside him; thebranches waved dreamily across the blue sky overhead; and a deepsleep, perchance hiding dreams within its depths, fell upon DavidSwan. But we are to relate events which he did not dream of.
While he lay sound asleep in the shade, other people were wideawake, and passed to and fro, afoot, on horseback, and in allsorts of vehicles, along the sunny road by his bedchamber. Somelooked neither to the right hand nor the left, and knew not thathe was there; some merely glanced that way, without admitting theslumberer among their busy thoughts; some laughed to see howsoundly he slept; and several, whose hearts were brimming full ofscorn, ejected their venomous superfluity on David Swan. Amiddle-aged widow, when nobody else was near, thrust her head alittle way into the recess, and vowed that the young fellowlooked charming in his sleep. A temperance lecturer saw him, andwrought poor David into the texture of his evening's discourse,as an awful instance of dead drunkenness by the roadside. Butcensure, praise, merriment, scorn, and indifference were all one,or rather all nothing, to David Swan.
He had slept only a few moments when a brown carriage, drawn by ahandsome pair of horses, bowled easily along, and was brought toa standstill nearly in front of David's resting-place. A linchpinhad fallen out, and permitted one of the wheels to slide off. Thedamage was slight, and occasioned merely a momentary alarm to anelderly merchant and his wife, who were returning to Boston inthe carriage. While the coachman and a servant were replacing thewheel, the lady and gentleman sheltered themselves beneath themaple-trees, and there espied the bubbling fountain, and DavidSwan asleep beside it. Impressed with the awe which the humblestsleeped usually sheds around him, the merchant trod as lightly asthe gout would allow; and his spouse took good heed not to rustleher silk gown, lest David should start up all of a sudden.
"How soundly he sleeps!" whispered the old gentleman. "From whata depth he draws that easy breath! Such sleep as that, brought onwithout an opiate, would be worth more to me than half my income;for it would suppose health and an untroubled mind."
"And youth, besides," said the lady. "Healthy and quiet age doesnot sleep thus. Our slumber is no more like his than ourwakefulness."
The longer they looked the more did this elderly couple feelinterested in the unknown youth, to whom the wayside and themaple shade were as a secret chamber, with the rich gloom ofdamask curtains brooding over him. Perceiving that a straysunbeam glimmered down upon his face, the lady contrived to twista branch aside, so as to intercept it. And having done thislittle act of kindness, she began to feel like a mother to him.
"Providence seems to have laid him here," whispered she to herhusband, "and to have brought us hither to find him, after ourdisappointment in our cousin's son. Methinks I can see a likenessto our departed Henry. Shall we waken him?"
"To what purpose?" said the merchant, hesitating. "We knownothing of the youth's character."
"That open countenance!" replied his wife, in the same hushedvoice, yet earnestly. "This innocent sleep!"
While these whispers were passing, the sleeper's heart did notthrob, nor his breath become agitated, nor his features betraythe least token of interest. Yet Fortune was bending over him,just ready to let fall a burden of gold. The old merchant hadlost his only son, and had no heir to his wealth except a distantrelative, with whose conduct he was dissatisfied. In such cases,people sometimes do stranger things than to act the magician, andawaken a young man to splendor who fell asleep in poverty.
"Shall we not waken him?" repeated the lady persuasively.
"The coach is ready, sir," said the servant, behind.
The old couple started, reddened, and hurried away, mutuallywondering that they should ever have dreamed of doing anything sovery ridiculous. The merchant threw himself back in the carriage,and occupied his mind with the plan of a magnificent asylum forunfortunate men of business. Meanwhile, David Swan enjoyed hisnap.
The carriage could not have gone above a mile or two, when apretty young girl came along, with a tripping pace, which showedprecisely how her little heart was dancing in her bosom. Perhapsit was this merry kind of motion that caused--is there any harmin saying it?--her garter to slip its knot. Conscious that thesilken girth--if silk it were--was relaxing its hold, she turnedaside into the shelter of the maple-trees, and there found ayoung man asleep by the spring! Blushing as red as any rose thatshe should have intruded into a gentleman's bedchamber, and forsuch a purpose, too, she was about to make her escape on tiptoe.But there was peril near the sleeper. A monster of a bee had beenwandering overhead--buzz, buzz, buzz--now among the leaves, nowflashing through the strips of sunshine, and now lost in the darkshade, till finally he appeared to be settling on the eyelid ofDavid Swan. The sting of a bee is sometimes deadly. As freehearted as she was innocent, the girl attacked the intruder withher handkerchief, brushed him soundly, and drove him from beneaththe mapleshade. How sweet a picture! This good deed accomplished,with quickened breath, and a deeper blush, she stole a glance atthe youthful stranger for whom she had been battling with adragon in the air.
"He is handsome!" thought she, and blushed redder yet.
How could it be that no dream of bliss grew so strong within him,that, shattered by its very strength, it should part asunder, andallow him to perceive the girl among its phantoms? Why, at least,did no smile of welcome brighten upon his face? She was come, themaid whose soul, according to the old and beautiful idea, hadbeen severed from his own, and whom, in all his vague butpassionate desires, he yearned to meet. Her, only, could he lovewith a perfect love; him, only, could she receive into the depthsof her heart; and now her image was faintly blushing in thefountain, by his side; should it pass away, its happy lustrewould never gleam upon his life again.
"How sound he sleeps!" murmured the girl.
She departed, but did not trip along the road so lightly as whenshe came.
Now, this girl's father was a thriving country merchant in theneighborhood, and happened, at that identical time, to be lookingout for just such a young man as David Swan. Had David formed awayside acquaintance with the daughter, he would have become thefather's clerk, and all else in natural succession. So here,again, had good fortune--the best of fortunes--stolen so nearthat her garments brushed against him; and he knew nothing of thematter.
The girl was hardly out of sight when two
men turned asidebeneath the maple shade. Both had dark faces, set off by clothcaps, which were drawn down aslant over their brows. Theirdresses were shabby, yet had a certain smartness. These were acouple of rascals who got their living by whatever the devil sentthem, and now, in the interim of other business, had staked thejoint profits of their next piece of villany on a game of cards,which was to have been decided here under the trees. But, findingDavid asleep by the spring, one of the rogues whispered to hisfellow, "Hist!--Do you see that bundle under his head?"
The other villain nodded, winked, and leered.
"I'll bet you a horn of brandy," said the first, "that the chaphas either a pocket-book, or a snug little hoard of small change,stowed away amongst his shirts. And if not there, we shall findit in his pantaloons pocket."
"But how if he wakes?" said the other.
His companion thrust aside his waistcoat, pointed to the handleof a dirk, and nodded.
"So be it!" muttered the second villain.
They approached the unconscious David, and, while one pointed thedagger towards his heart, the other began to search the bundlebeneath his head. Their two faces, grim, wrinkled, and ghastlywith guilt and fear, bent over their victim, looking horribleenough to be mistaken for fiends, should he suddenly awake. Nay,had the villains glanced aside into the spring, even they wouldhardly have known themselves as reflected there. But David Swanhad never worn a more tranquil aspect, even when asleep on hismother's breast.
"I must take away the bundle," whispered one.
"If he stirs, I'll strike," muttered the other.
But, at this moment, a dog scenting along the ground, came inbeneath the maple-trees, and gazed alternately at each of thesewicked men, and then at the quiet sleeper. He then lapped out ofthe fountain.
"Pshaw!" said one villain. "We can do nothing now. The dog'smaster must be close behind."
"Let's take a drink and be off," said the other
The man with the dagger thrust back the weapon into his bosom,and drew forth a pocket pistol, but not of that kind which killsby a single discharge. It was a flask of liquor, with a block-tintumbler screwed upon the mouth. Each drank a comfortable dram,and left the spot, with so many jests, and such laughter at theirunaccomplished wickedness, that they might be said to have goneon their way rejoicing. In a few hours they had forgotten thewhole affair, nor once imagined that the recording angel hadwritten down the crime of murder against their souls, in lettersas durable as eternity. As for David Swan, he still sleptquietly, neither conscious of the shadow of death when it hungover him, nor of the glow of renewed life when that shadow waswithdrawn.
He slept, but no longer so quietly as at first. An hour's reposehad snatched, from his elastic frame, the weariness with whichmany hours of toil had burdened it. Now he stirred--now, movedhis lips, without a sound--now, talked, in an inward tone, to thenoonday spectres of his dream. But a noise of wheels camerattling louder and louder along the road, until it dashedthrough the dispersing mist of David's slumber-and there was thestage-coach. He started up with all his ideas about him.
"Halloo, driver!--Take a passenger?" shouted he.
"Room on top!" answered the driver.
Up mounted David, and bowled away merrily towards Boston, withoutso much as a parting glance at that fountain of dreamlikevicissitude. He knew not that a phantom of Wealth had thrown agolden hue upon its waters--nor that one of Love had sighedsoftly to their murmur--nor that one of Death had threatened tocrimson them with his blood--all, in the brief hour since he laydown to sleep. Sleeping or waking, we hear not the airy footstepsof the strange things that almost happen. Does it not argue asuperintending Providence that, while viewless and unexpectedevents thrust themselves continually athwart our path, thereshould still be regularity enough in mortal life to renderforesight even partially available?
Twice-Told Tales Page 9