“Faith realizes it, and the priests tell us it is so,” he replied; “but amidst all this happiness I feel as if it were presumptuous to expect it to continue for ever, in another life after this. So much has been given to us in this present state of existence, that we ought to be, we must be, content with it.”
“Yes,” replied the young wife, “it has been certainly given to us, but to how many thousands this life is one continued scene of painful trial! How many have been sent into the world, as it appears, only to suffer poverty and shame, sickness and misfortune! If there were no life after this, things on earth would be too unequal, and we should feel inclined to accuse the Almighty of injustice.”
“Not so,” replied the husband; “yonder beggar has joys which appear great to him, and which delight him more than the splendours of his palace delight a king. And then do you not suppose that the dumb beast of burden, which endures hunger and blows, and works itself to death, does not equally feel its hard fate? Might it not therefore also expect a future life, and complain of the injustice that has not placed him higher in the scale of creation?”
“Christ has said,” replied the wife, “‘In my Father’s house are many mansions;’ heaven is as limitless as the love of our Creator. Even the dumb beast is His creature; and I firmly believe that no life will be lost, but that each will receive that amount of happiness which he is able to enjoy, and which is sufficient for him.”
“The world is sufficient for me,” said the husband, as he threw his arm round his beautiful, amiable wife. Then he sat by her side on the open balcony, and smoked his cigarette, while the cool air was filled with the fragrance of pinks and orange blossoms. Sounds of music, and the clatter of castanets came up from the road beneath; the stars glittered above them, and two eyes, full of affection, the eyes of his wife, looked on him with the undying glance of love. “Such a moment,” said he, “surely makes it worth while to be born—to die—and to be annihilated.”
The young wife raised her hand as a gentle reproof, but the shadow passed away from her world, and they were happy—quite happy. Everything seemed to work together for them. They advanced in honour and prosperity and joy. A change came, but it was only a change of place, not of enjoyment, either of life or happiness. The young man was chosen by his sovereign, the King of Spain, to proceed to the court of Russia as ambassador; for his high birth and attainments gave him a title to such an honour. He possessed also a large fortune of his own, as well as one equally large, brought him by his wife, who was the daughter of a rich and highly respected merchant. One of this merchant’s largest and finest ships was about to sail during the year to Stockholm, and it was arranged that the young people, the merchant’s daughter and son-in-law, should continue their voyage in it from thence to St. Petersburg. All the arrangements made for them were princely; rich carpets for their feet, and silk and luxurious furniture suited for the voyage were put on board the vessel for their use.
