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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/34104-8.txt b/34104-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..67e1f48 --- /dev/null +++ b/34104-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,5259 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Four Phases of Love, by Paul Heyse + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Four Phases of Love + +Author: Paul Heyse + +Translator: E. H. Kingsley + +Release Date: October 19, 2010 [EBook #34104] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FOUR PHASES OF LOVE *** + + + + +Produced by Charles Bowen, from page scans provided by the Web Archive + + + + + +Transcriber's Notes: + 1. Page scan source: +http://www.archive.org/details/fourphaseslovet00heysgoog + +2. This volume includes the following short-stories: + a. Eye-Blindness and Soul-Blindness.; + b. Marion; + c. La Rabbiata; and + d. "By the Banks of the Tiber." + + + + + + FOUR PHASES OF LOVE + + BY + + PAUL HEYSE. + + + * * * + + + TRANSLATED + + By E. H. KINGSLEY. + + + + + LONDON: + G. ROUTLEDGE & CO. FARRINGDON STREET; + NEW YORK: 18, BEEKMAN STREET. + 1857. + + + + + + EYE-BLINDNESS AND SOUL-BLINDNESS. + + * * * + + + + + CHAPTER I. + + +At the open window, which looked out into the little flower-garden, +stood the blind daughter of the village sacristan, refreshing herself +in the cool breeze that swept across her hot cheeks; her delicate, +half-developed form trembled, her cold little hands lay folded in +each other upon the window-sill. The sun had already set, and the +night-flowers were beginning to scent the air. + +Further within the room sat a blind boy on a stool, at the old +spinet, playing wild melodies. He might have been about fifteen years +old--only, perhaps, a year older than the girl. Whoever had heard and +seen him, now throwing up his large eyes, and now turning his head +towards the window, would never have suspected his privation--so much +energy, and even impetuosity, lay in his every movement. + +Suddenly he broke off in the midst of a religious hymn, which he seemed +to have altered wildly after his own fancy. + +"You sighed!" he said, turning his face towards her. + +"I! No, Clement--why should I sigh? I only shrank together as the wind +blew in so strongly!" + +"But you _did_ sigh. Do you think that I did not hear it as I +played?--and I feel even here how you are trembling." + +"Yes; it has grown so cold." + +"You cannot deceive me. If you were cold you would not stand at the +open window. But I know why you sigh and tremble!--because the doctor +is coming to-morrow, and will prick our eyes with needles--that is what +makes you so afraid; and yet he said how soon it would all be over, and +that it would only be like the prick of a pin. And _you_, who used to +be so brave and patient, that my mother always mentioned you as an +example when I was little and cried when anything hurt me, though you +were only a girl--have you now lost all your courage? Do you never +think of the happiness we have to look forward to?" + +She shook her little head, and answered, "How can you think that I am +afraid of the passing pain! But I am oppressed with silly, childish +thoughts, which I cannot drive away. Ever since the day that the doctor +the baron sent for came down from the castle to your father, and mother +called us out of the garden--ever since that hour something weighs upon +me and will not go away. You were so full of joy that you did not +perceive it; but when your father began to pray, and blessed God for +this mercy, my heart was silent and did not follow his prayer. I +thought within myself, 'What have I to be thankful for?' and could not +understand." + +Thus she spoke in a quiet resigned voice. The boy again struck a few +light chords. Between the sharp whizzing tones, peculiar to the +instrument on which he played, rang the distant songs of home-returning +peasants--a contrast, like that of _their_ bright active life, with the +dream-life of these blind children. + +The boy seemed to feel it. He rose quickly, walked with a firm step to +the window--for he knew the room and all its furniture--and said, as he +threw back his bright fair locks, "You are incomprehensible, Mary! Our +parents and all the village congratulate us. Will it not be a gain +after all? Until it was promised me I never asked much about it. We are +blind, they say; I never understood what was wanting in us. When we sat +without there by the wood, and travellers came by, and said, 'Poor +children!' I felt angry, and thought, 'What have they to pity in us?' +But that we are different from others, I know well enough. They often +talked about things which I could not understand, yet which must be +very beautiful. And now that we are going to know them too, the longing +never leaves me day nor night." + +"I was contented as I was," said Mary, sadly, "I was so happy, and +should have liked to be as happy all my life. It will all be different +now! Have you never heard people complain that the world is full of +sorrow and care--and did we know care?" + +"Because we did not know the world--and I _will_ know it at all risks! +I suffered myself to be pleased with groping about in the dark with +you, and being obliged to do nothing, but not always! Often, when my +father taught us history, and told us about heroes and bold deeds, I +asked him if any of them had been blind? But whoever had done anything +great could see. And then I often plagued myself all day long with +thoughts about it. Then when I played on the spinet, or was allowed to +play on the organ, in your father's place, I forgot my uneasiness for a +time; but when it came back, I thought, 'Must you always play the +organ, and go the few hundred paces up and down the village that you +know; and must no one out of the village ever know you; and must none +ever name you after you are dead?' Look you, Mary,--since the doctor +has been at the castle, I hope that I yet may become a perfect man; and +then I will go out into the world and take the path that pleases me, +and I shall have nothing to ask any one!" + +"And not me, Clement?" + +She said it uncomplainingly and without reproach. + +But the boy answered vehemently, "Sister Mary, do not talk such +nonsense--I cannot bear it! Do you think that I would leave you alone +at home and steal away amongst strangers? Do you not trust me?" + +"I know well what happens when young men go from the village to the +town, or on their wanderings, no one goes with them, not even their own +sisters. And here too, even before they are grown up, the boys run away +from the little girls and go into the woods with each other, and mock +the girls when they meet them. Till now they have left you and me +together, and we played and learned with each other. You were blind +like me--what did you want with the other boys? But when you can see, +and want to sit in the house with me, they will laugh at you, as they +do at everyone who won't go with them. And then--then you will go quite +away for a long, long time, and I had grown so accustomed to be with +you." + +She had spoken the last words with difficulty; then her sorrow overcame +her and she sobbed aloud. Clement drew her closely to him, stroked her +cheek, and said entreatingly, "You _must_ not cry! I will never go away +from you! never! never! rather than do that I will remain blind and +forget everything. I _will_ not leave you if it makes you cry. Come, be +calm, be cheerful. You should not heat yourself, the doctor said, +because it is so bad for your eyes, darling, darling Mary!" + +He pressed her closer in his arms and kissed her for the first +time in his life. His mother called to him from the neighbouring +parsonage-house. He led the still weeping girl to an arm-chair by the +wall, let her sink gently into it and hastened out. + +Shortly after, two dignified looking men strode down from the +castle-hill towards the village. The rector, a tall, powerful figure, +with all the strength and majesty of an apostle, and the sacristan, a +slender man with an expression of humility about him, and whose hair +was already as white as snow. They had both been invited by the baron +to spend the afternoon with himself and the doctor, who had come from +the town, at his invitation, to examine the children's eyes, and to try +the effects of an operation. He had again assured both the rejoicing +fathers of his hopes of a perfect cure, and had begged them to hold +themselves in readiness for the following day. The mothers had decided +on preparing all that was necessary in the parsonage, for they were +unwilling to separate the children on the day which was to restore them +that light of which they had been together so long deprived. + +When the two fathers reached their homes, which lay just opposite to +each other, the rector pressed his old friend's hand, and said with a +moistening eye, "God be with us and them!" Then they separated. The +sacristan entered his house--all was still--the maid was without in the +garden. He entered his chamber and rejoiced in the stillness which +permitted him to be alone with his God. As he stepped over the +threshold, he started--his child had arisen from the chair and pressed +her handkerchief to her eyes; her bosom heaved painfully; her cheeks +and lips were blanched. He spoke to her and entreated her to calm +herself, and asked her earnestly, "What has happened to you?" She +answered but with tears which she herself understood not. + + + + + CHAPTER II. + + +They had placed the children in bed in two upper rooms of the rectory +looking towards the north. In the absence of shutters, the windows were +carefully covered with dark curtains, so that in the brightest day +scarcely a ray of light could creep in. The rector's wide orchard +overshadowed the walls, and kept at a distance the murmur of external +life. + +The doctor had recommended that particular care should be taken of the +little girl; all that depended on him had succeeded; now, in quiet, +must nature do the rest; and the girl's easily excitable temperament +required the most careful attention and precaution. + +At the decisive moment, Mary had been firm, when her mother burst into +tears, as she heard the doctor's footstep on the stairs, she had gone +to her and encouraged her. + +The doctor began with the boy, who, excited but of good courage, sat +down and bore all; only at first he would not allow anyone to hold him +during the operation, but at Mary's entreaties he at last permitted it +to be done. + +When the doctor, after some seconds had elapsed, removed his hands from +the boy's eyelids, he screamed loudly with joyous terror. + +Mary recoiled. Then she bore without a murmur the passing pain. But +tears burst from her eyes, and her whole frame trembled; so that the +doctor hastily placed a bandage over her eyes, and assisted her himself +to her room; for her knees trembled under her. There, on her couch, +sleep and fainting struggled long over her, whilst the boy declared +that he was perfectly well, and only lay down at his father's earnest +entreaties. + +But he did not sleep at once. Coloured forms--coloured now for the +first time--glided by him, full of mystery; forms which, as yet, were +nothing to him, and which were to become so much, if the people were +right who wished him joy. He asked his father and mother, as they sat +by his bedside, about innumerable things, which truly the most +profound science could hardly have solved. What does _it_ know of the +well-springs of life? His father entreated him to have patience, for +with God's help he would soon be able to resolve his doubts more +clearly for himself. Now, rest was necessary for him, and above all for +Mary, whom he might so easily awake with his talking. Then he was +silent, and listened through the wall. He begged them, in whispers, to +open the door, that he might hear whether she slept or was not sighing +from pain. His mother did as he wished. Then he lay motionless and +listened, and the breathing of his sleeping little friend, as it sighed +softly in and out, sang him, too, at last, to sleep. + +So they lay for hours. The village without was more quiet than usual. +When a peasant had to pass the rectory with his cart, he guarded +carefully against noise. Even the children, who may have been told by +their master, did not storm out of the school as noisily as was their +wont, but went in twos and threes, whispering, and glancing shily at +the house, as they passed to more distant play-grounds. Only the song +of the birds ceased not among the branches; but when has _its_ sound +disturbed or wearied a rest-seeking child of man? + +The bells of the cows returning from pasture first awakened the two +children. The boy's first question was, whether Mary had inquired for +him yet? He asked her then, in a low voice, how she was. Her heavy +sleep had hardly refreshed her, and her eyes burned under their light +covering. But she forced herself to say that she was better, and +chatted gaily with Clement, over whose lips streamed the wildest +thoughts. + +Late, when the moon had already risen from behind the wood, hesitating +little hands knocked at the rector's door. It was the little village +girls, who brought a garland of their fairest garden flowers for Mary, +and a nosegay for Clement. When they brought them to the boy, his face +brightened; their scent and cool sprinkling of dew refreshed him. +"Thank them for me very much. They are good girls; I am ill now, but +when I can see I will defend them against the boys." Mary, when they +laid the garland on her bed, pressed it gently back with pale little +hands, and said, "I cannot, mother! I feel giddy when flowers are so +near me! Take them to Clement, too." + +She soon sank again into her feverish half-sleep. The wholesome +approach of day tranquillized her at last, and the doctor, who came +early, found her freer from danger than he had dared to hope. Long he +sat by the boy's bedside, listened smiling to his strange questions, +warned him kindly to be patient and quiet, and left with the best +prognostications. + +Much use recommending calmness and patience to one who has at last +caught a distant glimpse of a new and highly praised land! His father +was obliged, as often as his duties permitted him, to go up to his room +and talk to him. The door then was not to be shut, that Mary might hear +the beautiful stories too. Legends of pious men and women on whom God +had laid and removed heavy sufferings were repeated. The tale of poor +Henry, for whom the pious maiden was willing in her humility to +sacrifice herself, and how God brought all to a happy ending was +related, and all the edifying histories which the worthy man was able +to recollect. + +When the pious rector glided gradually from tale to prayer, or the +mother with her clear voice sang a hymn of thanksgiving, Clement folded +his hands, or sang with her; but directly after he began new +questionings, which showed that he took more interest in the stories +than in the hymns. Mary asked about nothing. She was friendly with +every one, and no one suspected what deep thoughts and questions were +seething in her little breast. + +They grew visibly better from day to day, and on the fourth day after +the operation the doctor permitted them to get up. He himself supported +the little girl, as she stepped, weak and trembling, across the +darkened room towards the open door, in which the boy stood, stretching +forth his hands, joyously seeking hers. Then he grasped her hand +firmly, and entreated her to lean on him, which she did confidingly. +They paced to and fro in the chamber together, and he, with that +delicate sense of locality so peculiar to the blind, guided her +carefully past the different pieces of furniture. + +"How are you now? he asked her. + +"I am well," was her answer, "to-day as ever." + +"Come," he said, quickly, "lean on me, you are weak still, it would +refresh you to breathe a little sweet meadow air out of doors, for the +air here is thick and heavy. But it is not good for us yet, the doctor +says. Our eyes would get sore, and be blind again, if they were to look +out into the light too soon. Oh, I know already what light and darkness +mean. No flute note is so sweet as when your eyes can do that. It hurt +me, I must say, yet I could have looked for ever into the beautiful +coloured world, so blissful was the pain. You will feel it too. But it +must be many days before we are so happy. But then I will do nothing +all day long but see. I want to know so many things, Mary. They say +that each thing has a different colour. I wonder what colours your face +and mine are? Dark or bright? It would be horrible if they were not +very bright. Shall I know you with my eyes? now, touching you so, I +could pick you out with my little finger from all the other people in +the world. But in future we shall have to learn to know each other all +anew again. I know now that your hair and cheeks are soft to touch, +will they be so to my eyes? I want to know so much, and it is so long +to wait." + +After this fashion he chattered incessantly, without remarking how +silently she walked beside him. Many of his words had sunk deep into +her heart. It had never occurred to her that she too was to see, and +she hardly knew what to think about it. She had heard of mirrors, +without understanding what was meant. She thought now that when a +person who saw opened his eyes, his own face appeared to him. + +When she was again in her little bed, and her mother thought she slept, +the idea flashed across her mind. "It would be horrible if our faces +were not bright!" She had heard of ugly and beautiful, and she knew +that ugly people were pitied, and often less loved than others. "Oh, if +I should be ugly," she thought to herself, "and he care no more about +me. It used to be all the same when he played with my hair and called +it silken threads. That will all cease now if he sees that I am ugly; +and he--even if he _is_ ugly, I will never let him know it, because I +shall love him still. But no! I _know_ that he _cannot_ be ugly--he +_cannot_ be." + +Long she lay restless with sorrow and anxiety. The air was sultry; +without, in the garden, the nightingales called complainingly to each +other, and a sobbing west wind beat against the window panes. She was +entirely alone in the chamber, for her mother's bed, which had been +placed beside hers, had been removed on account of the closeness of the +room. And besides, they no longer thought a night watcher necessary, as +her fever had entirely disappeared. And just on this very evening it +returned again, and tossed her to and fro, until, long after midnight, +a short, heavy sleep fell upon her. + +Meanwhile the storm, which had circled muttering around the horizon +half the night, approached in its might, spread itself over the forest, +and then paused. The wind was still. A crash of thunder burst in upon +Mary's sleep. Half dreaming she sprang up; she knew not what she sought +or thought, a nameless anxiety forced her to rise, her pillow was so +hot. Now she stood by the side of her bed and heard the strong rain +rushing down without. But it cooled not her feverish brow. She tried to +collect herself and think, but found nothing within her soul but the +miserable thought with which she had fallen asleep. A strange +determination arose within her. She would go to Clement now he was +alone; what prevented her from putting an end to her uncertainty, and +seeing both herself and him? She thought but of this alone, and every +word of the doctor was forgotten; so she went unhesitatingly, just as +she had arisen from her couch, towards the door which stood half open, +found the end of the bed, crept on her little bare feet, to the side of +the sleeping boy, and bending over him, with bated breath, tore the +bandage hastily from her eyes. + +But she started when all remained dark as before. She had forgotten +that it was night, and that she had been told that in the night all +people were blind. She had fancied that a light streamed from an eye +that saw, and lighted both itself and what it looked upon. Now she felt +the boy's breath soft upon her cheek, but she could distinguish no +form. Already terrified, and in despair, she wished to go back. There +flamed through the now uncovered window-panes a flash one second +long--then another and another--the air waved to and fro with the +intensity of light--thunder and rain-stream without increased in roar; +but she gazed for one short moment on the curly brow that lay softly +pressed on the pillow before her--then the vision vanished into the +darkness, her eyes gushed with tears, and, overcome with unspeakable +terror, she rushed to her room, replaced the bandage, and sank upon her +bed, feeling, with a sense of unalterable conviction, that she had seen +for the first and the last time. + + + + + CHAPTER III. + + +Weeks have passed away. For the first time, the young powers of the +eyes are to be tested by light. The doctor, who had, in the meantime, +directed the simple treatment of the children from the town, arrived at +the village on a cloudy day, in order to be present himself and to +enjoy the fruit of his cure with them. + +Instead of the curtains, they had weaved garlands of boughs before the +windows, and decked both rooms gaily with green branches and flowers. +The baron himself, and all in the village who were connected with +either of the families, had arrived to wish both parents and children +happiness, and to enjoy the surprise of the healed ones. + +Mary pressed herself, with a sad anxiety, amongst the boughs in the +corner, when Clement, flushed with delight, was placed opposite to her, +and seized her hand. + +He had entreated to be allowed to see her first of all. At the same +moment they loosed the coverings from their eyes. + +A cry of utter inexpressible joy rang from the boy's lips. He remained +fixed on the same spot,--a glorified smile upon his face,--moving his +bright eyeballs hither and thither. He had forgotten that Mary was to +stand before him, and knew not as yet what the human form might be. +She, too, did nothing to put him in mind of her. She stood, motionless, +only lightly moving her eyelids, which overshadowed bright brown dead +eyes. Yet they had no suspicion of the truth. "The wondrous things," +they thought, "which seem so strange to her at first, have paralysed +her for a time." But when the boy's delight broke loudly forth, they +told him "That is Mary:" and he stretched out his hand towards her +cheeks in his old manner, and said, "You have a bright face!" Then her +tears flowed apace, she shook her head hastily, and said, hardly +intelligibly, "It is still dark here! It is all as it used to be!" + +Who can describe the misery of the next few hours! The doctor, deeply +affected, led her to a chair by the window, and examined her eyes. The +thin grey film of the cataract which he had removed had not reappeared. +Nothing distinguished the pupils from those of health but their +lifeless sorrowful fixedness. + +"The nerve is paralysed," he said, "some sudden vehement light must +have destroyed it." The sacristan's wife fainted, she fell pale as +death in her husband's arms. Clement at first hardly understood what +had happened. His soul was too full of its newly-gained existence. But +Mary lay bathed in tears, and would answer none of the doctor's +questions. Even later, they could learn nothing from her. "She did not +know how it had happened. They must forgive her for having cried so +childishly. She would bear all as it had been appointed. Had she ever +known anything different?" + +When they had made Clement clearly understand the misfortune, he was +beside himself, sprang towards her, and cried incessantly, "You _shall_ +see too! I will have nothing more than you! Ah! now I know for the +first time what you have lost! One does not see oneself; but all around +have eyes, and look at us as if they loved us. And they shall look at +you so too, only be patient and do not cry." And then he asked for the +doctor, and rushed to him, beseeching him with tears to help Mary. The +bright drops stood in the good man's eyes--he restrained himself with +difficulty, and persuaded the boy to be tranquil; "he would see what +could be done," and gave him hopes, in order to avoid an excitement +which might be dangerous for him. He did not conceal the hopeless truth +from the parents. + +But the boy's sorrow seemed to have comforted Mary. She sat still by +the window, and called him gently to her. "You must not be so sorry," +she said, "it all comes from God. Be happy, as I am happy, that you are +cured. You know already that I never wished very much for it. And now I +should be quite contented if it did not grieve my parents so. But they +will grow used to it, and you too, and so it will be as well--if you +only love me as you used to do--that I remain as I was." + +He would not be comforted, and the doctor insisted on the children +being separated. They took Clement down into the large room below, +where the people from the village pressed around him. They shook his +hand, one after another, and spoke kindly words; but the crowd +stupified him. He only said, "Do you know yet that Mary is blind +still?" and then began to weep afresh. + +It was high time to replace the bandage and to take him to a cool and +quiet room. There he lay down, exhausted with joy, sorrow, and weeping. +His father spoke gently and piously to him, which did him but little +good; even in his sleep he wept, and seemed to dream painfully. + +But on the following day, curiosity, desire for information, and +astonishment asserted their rights, and his sorrow for Mary only +appeared when he happened to see her. He visited her in the early +morning and asked her whether she had not altered or got better during +the night. But then the bright world that opened itself before him +claimed all his attention, and when he returned to Mary it was only to +tell her of some new wonder, often checking himself in the midst of his +rapid narration, as a glance at his poor little friend reminded him +what pain his joy must cost her. But, in truth, it did _not_ cause her +much pain; she wanted nothing for herself; to hear him talk so +enthusiastically was pleasure enough for her. But when he began to come +more rarely, fancying that he made her sad, or was silent because all +other interests vanished before the one on which he did not dare to +speak, she became uneasy; formerly she had seldom been separated from +him during the day, now she was much alone. Her mother, indeed, often +came to sit with her; but the cheerfulness of the once lively woman had +departed, since her darling hopes had been so rudely crushed; she could +say nothing to her child but mere words of comfort which her own heavy +sighs belied, and which could be but of little use to Mary. How much of +what she now suffered had she foreseen? and yet the sense of separation +gave her inexpressible pain. + +Now she sat often again under the boughs in her father's garden and +span. When Clement came to her, her poor eyes gleamed strangely. He was +ever kind to her, sat down on the bench beside her, and caressed her +hair and cheeks as in the old times. She begged him once not to be so +silent. When he told her about the world and the new things he had +learned each day about it, it did not make her feel envious. But when +he did not come at all she was so lonely. She never put him in mind, by +a single word, of the promise he had given her one evening never to +leave her; she had long ago renounced it. She seemed doubly dear to +him, he had no longer to be guarded before her. His heart overflowed, +and he talked for hours about the sun and moon and stars, and the +flowers, and the trees; and, above all, how their parents and she +herself looked. She trembled with happiness in her inmost heart, when +he told her innocently, that she was prettier than all the other girls +in the village. Then he told her how graceful she was, and that she had +such a pretty head, and dark, soft eyebrows. He had seen himself, too, +in a looking-glass, but he was not nearly so pretty; he did not want to +be, and it was all the same to him, as long as he grew up to be a +clever man. Men appeared generally not to be so pretty as women. She +did not understand all of this, but this much she did understand, that +she pleased him, and what could she desire more? They never returned to +this subject; but he was indefatigable in describing the beautiful +world to her. When he came not, she thought over his words, and grew +almost jealous of this world which robbed her of him; gradually this +feeling of enmity grew stronger, and, at last, became more powerful +than her pleasure at his happiness. Above all things she hated the sun, +for she knew that he was the brightest of all, and in her obscure +notions, _bright_ and beautiful were one and the same thing. Nothing +discomposed her more than his bursts of admiration over the setting +sun, when he was with her of an evening. He had never spoken of _her_ +in such words, and why did he forget her so utterly over this scene +that he never saw the tears that her strange jealous sorrow forced into +her eyes? + +But still heavier grew her heart, when the rector, as soon as the +doctor permitted it, began anew the education of his son. Previous to +his cure, Clement had passed the greater part of his day in practising +music; religious instruction, history, mathematics, and a little Latin, +were all which formerly had appeared necessary or possible; and Mary +had been permitted to share his lessons, which, after all, included +only the most necessary information. Now, when the boy exhibited the +strongest inclination towards natural science, he was set seriously to +work, and prepared for one of the higher classes of the town school. + +His steady will worked unceasingly onwards, and his really superior +talents enabled him in a surprisingly short time to bring himself up to +his age, and to recover lost time. He sat many hours, even then, with +his books, in the sacristan's garden. But the old way of talking was +out of the question, and Mary felt, but too well, that she was doubly +parted, both from instruction and from the friend of her childhood. + + + + + CHAPTER IV. + + +Autumn interrupted for a time the boy's studies. The rector determined +to take him with him for some days into the neighbouring mountains, +before the winter set in, to show him hill-side and valley, and to let +him have a wider look into that world which already seemed so beautiful +to him, even on the barren village plains. When the boy was told of it +he asked, "And we shall take Mary with us too?" + +They tried to dissuade him from it, but without her he refused to +travel. "Even if she does not see anything, they say the mountain air +is so healthy, and she has been so pale and thin for a long time, and +will be quite lonely without me." So they did as he wished; the little +maiden was lifted into the carriage beside him, and a short day's +journey brought them to the foot of the mountain range. + +Now began the journey on foot. Patiently the boy led his blind little +friend, more reserved than ever. Often he longed to climb this or that +isolated rock-peak which promised him a new view, but he supported her +as she went, and would not desert his post, however much his parents +begged him. Only when they had reached some eminence, and were seated +at rest in a shady nook, did he leave the maiden, and sought his +own way amongst the dangerous rocks, collecting curious stones, or +flowers that did not grow in the plains below. When he returned to the +resting-place he had ever something for Mary--berries, or a sweet-scented +flower, or the soft nest of a bird which the wind had dislodged from +its tree. + +She received everything cheerfully from him, and seemed more contented +than she had been at home. And she was so, too; for she breathed the +same air with him all the day long. But even then her foolish jealousy +accompanied her, and she felt angry with the mountains, whose autumnal +beauty, she fancied, only made the world dearer to him, and widened the +separation between them. Her strange manner struck the rector's wife. +She talked with her husband now and again about the child, who was as +dear to them as their own, and both placed her obstinate melancholy to +the account of her disappointed hopes; and yet she regretted nothing +that had been promised, or that she had been told to expect--only what +she had already known and enjoyed. + +At the end of the second day's journey they were to pass the night at a +lonely house celebrated for the neighbourhood of a magnificent +waterfall. They had a long day's journey, and the women were quite +tired out. When they reached the house, the rector led his wife within, +without proceeding onward to the chasm, from which the roar of the +waterfall could be plainly heard. Mary, too, was very tired, but she +insisted on following Clement, who cared not to rest so soon; so they +climbed together higher up the steps, and ever louder the sound of the +roaring water was borne towards them. Half-way up the steep path Mary's +last strength deserted her: "I will sit here," she said; "go on to the +end, and come back for me when you have seen enough." He begged her to +let him take her back to the house first, but she was already seated, +and so he left her, and advanced towards the roar, deeply affected by +the solitude and majesty of the scene. + +The girl sat on a stone and awaited his return. She thought that he +lingered very long away. A cold shiver struck through her, and the +distant muttering thunder of the fall terrified her, "Why does he not +come back?" she thought to herself; "he will forget me in his joy now +as ever. I wish I could find my way back to the house, that I might get +warm." + +So she sat, full of anxiety, and listening intently. Suddenly she +fancied that she distinguished his voice calling to her; trembling, she +started up. What should she do? Almost involuntarily she took a step +forward, but her foot slipped, she tottered and fell. Fortunately the +stones near the path were overgrown with moss, but still the fall +nearly stunned her, and she cried wildly for help. In vain! her voice +could not reach Clement, who stood close to the abyss, surrounded by +the roarings of the fall, and the house was far too distant. A bitter +pain shot through her heart as she lay there between the stones, +neglected and helpless. With tears of despair in her eyes, she raised +herself painfully. All that she loved best seemed to her at this moment +hateful, and the bitterness of her soul permitted no thought of the +nearness of the Omnipresent to rise before her. + +So Clement found her when, for her sake, he tore himself away from the +witchery of the marvellous scene. + +"I come!" he cried to her from a distance. "It is fortunate that you +did not go with me. The path above is so narrow that the smallest slip +would cost a life! How unfathomably deep it plunged, and roared and +sprang up in clouds of spray, till one's senses were lost! Feel how +sprinkled I am with the fine water-spray!--but what is the matter with +you? You are as cold as ice, and your lips tremble. Come--I was wrong +to leave you in the chilly air--God forbid that it should have made you +ill!" + +She remained obstinately silent, and permitted herself to be led back +to the house. The rector's wife was alarmed. The girl's sweet, delicate +features were strangely disturbed. They hastened to give her a warm +draught and to put her in her bed, without learning more from her than +that she was not well. + +And ill, indeed, she was--and so ill, that she longed for it all to be +over. She hated the life that showed itself so hostile to her. In +bitter, God-forgotten thinking she lay, and of her own will broke the +last threads which bound her to mankind. "I will go out to morrow," she +said, darkly, to herself; "he shall lead me himself to the cliff where +a false step costs a life--and my death will not cost him much! Why +should he for ever bear the burden which he has laid on himself out of +mere compassion?" + +Ever stronger the unholy determination twined itself about her heart. +What had become of the old bright, loving courage in this short month +of concealed sorrow? She even thought on the consequences of her sin +without horror, and said, defyingly, to herself, "They will manage to +become reconciled to it as they have become reconciled to my remaining +blind, and he will be freed from that picture of misery that destroys +all his pleasure in that beautiful world he loves so much." That was +ever the last thought when a feeling of uncertainty rose within her. + +In the room next to hers, only separated from it by a thin partition, +sat the rector and his wife. Clement was still loitering about under +the trees without, unable to tear himself from the stars, and the +mountains, and the muffled music of the waterfall. + +"I feel very uneasy," said the rector's wife, "at Mary's being so sad +and reserved; the slightest occurrence agitates her. If it lasts she +will be quite worn out. I wish you would talk to her, and try to +persuade her not to take what cannot be altered so deeply to heart." + +"I am afraid that I should speak in vain," said the rector. "If what +she has already been taught, and the love of her parents, and our daily +care of her, have not spoken to her heart, mere human words will be of +no avail. If she had learned humility before God, she would have +submitted to his will, which has left her so much to be thankful for, +with gratitude instead of murmuring." + +"But he has taken much from her." + +"Ay, indeed! but not all, or for ever! That is my hope and my prayer. +The power of loving, and of looking on all as worthless compared to the +love of God and man, seems to have gone from her; but it returns when +we return to God! As she now is she longs not for him, she hugs her +discontent and hatred too closely to her heart--but her heart is too +true to bear this miserable companionship much longer; then when it is +free from discontent, God will enter into it, and love will find its +old place again, and then she will have an inward light to guide her, +though night may still hang before her eyes." + +"God grant it! And yet the thought of her future makes me very +unhappy." + +"She will not be lost, if she is not determined to lose herself. Even +were all who now love her and tend her to be called away, all human +kindness would not have died. And if she marks well the hand of God, +and the way He would lead her, she will bless her blindness, which from +her childhood upwards has kept her from the false glitter of the world, +and brought her nearer to what is true." + +Clement interrupted the conversation. "You cannot think," he cried, +"how beautiful the night is. I would give one of my eyes, if Mary could +have it, to see this glory of the stars! I hope the noise of the +waterfall does not keep her awake. I cannot forgive myself for letting +her sit so long in the cold." + +"Speak lower, dearest son," said the mother; "she is sleeping close to +us, and the best thing you can do is to go to rest too." + +Whisperingly the boy bade them "Good-night!" When his mother went into +Mary's room, she found her tranquil, and apparently sleeping. That +strange expression of her features had given place to a sweet +tranquillity. The storm had passed over, and had destroyed nothing of +the beautiful within her. Even shame and regret hardly made themselves +felt, so powerfully reigned within her the joyous peace which had been +preached to her from the neighbouring room. For the evil gains its +influence over us slowly and creepingly; the victory of the good is +soon decided. + + + + + CHAPTER V. + + +Her friends remarked with astonishment, the next morning, the change +which had passed over her. The rector's wife could not but believe that +Mary had overheard their conversation through the partition. + +"So much the better." said the rector; "now I shall have nothing more +to say." Most moving was the lovingness of manner which Mary showed +towards Clement and his parents. She wished for nothing more than to be +permitted to belong to them. She received their love almost with +surprise, as something to which she had no claim. + +She did not, indeed, speak much more than before, but what she said was +cheerful and kindly. There was a deprecating shrinking expression about +her whole being, as if she was silently entreating forgiveness. She +took Clement's arm again when they walked. She often begged that she +might be allowed to sit down and rest, not that she was tired, but in +order to leave the boy in freedom to clamber where he would. She smiled +when he returned and told her all that he had seen: her old jealousy +had disappeared since she had begun to demand nothing more for herself +than the happiness of knowing him happy. + +Thus strengthened and fortified, she ended the journey. And happy for +her that she was so strengthened; for, when she arrived at home, she +found her mother lying ill of a dangerous complaint, which ended +fatally a few days after her return. And now, after the acute sorrow of +the first few weeks had become lessened, her sad and altered life +demanded duties from her which formerly she would hardly have been +equal to. Her household cares occupied her early and late. In spite of +her privation, she knew every cranny of the small house thoroughly, and +if she herself was but seldom able to help with her own hands, yet she +was clever and full of forethought in ordering all things so that her +sorrowing father should want for nothing. A wonderful power and +confidence came over her. Where in old times it had taken many a +squabble to induce man and maid to do what was right, now a single +gentle word from her sufficed. And if anything wrong happened, or work +was done with an ill will, a steady glance from those large blind eyes +quelled the most rebellious. + +Since she felt that she must be cheerful for the sake of her +father--since she understood that she must work and shape her life +herself--the hours became ever rarer in which she felt the separation +from Clement so painfully; and at last, when he was obliged to go to +the high school in the town, she was able to say farewell to him, even +more composedly than the others. It is true that she went about for +weeks as in a dream--as if the best half of her being had been torn +away from her. But soon she was as cheerful as before, sang her +favourite songs to herself, and rallied her father till she won a smile +from him. When the rector's wife came across with letters from the +town? and read her news and messages from Clement, her heart beat +quickly, and she lay longer at night without sleep visiting her +eyelids. The next morning she was bright and cheerful as before. + +At the vacation Clement returned to his parents, and his first walk was +to the sacristan's house. Mary distinguished his step already in the +distance, remained fixed where she was, and listened whether he would +ask for her. She smoothed her hair, which still rolled in tresses down +her slender neck, hastily with her hands, and rose from her work. As he +entered the door every trace of excitement had vanished from her +features. Cheerfully she gave him her hand, and begged him to sit near +her and to talk to her. Then he forgot how the time flew by, and had to +be called by his mother, who begrudged his long absence from her; for +he seldom remained the whole vacation at the village, but wandered into +the mountains, to which his growing affection for natural science +attracted him. + +The years rolled on their accustomed way; the old people withered +slowly, and the young ones bloomed rapidly. When Clement returned once +again at Easter, and Mary arose from her spinning wheel, he was +astonished to see how tall and stately she had grown since the autumn. +"You are quite a woman," he said; "and I, too, am no longer a child; +only feel how my beard has grown over my winter studies." A blush +flitted across her cheek as he took her hand and placed it on his chin, +to let her feel the newly-sprung down. He had, too, many more things to +tell her than the first time he returned. The tutor with whom he lived +had daughters, and these daughters had lady friends. He was obliged to +describe them one and all with the greatest accuracy. "I can make +nothing out of the girls," he said; "they are silly and frivolous, and +chatter too much. There is one, Cecilia, that I can endure a little +better than the others, because she can hold her tongue, and does not +make grimaces in order to look pretty. But what do they bother me for? +The other evening, when I went into my room, I found a bunch of flowers +on my table, and let it lie, and never took the trouble to put it in +water, though I was sorry for the flowers; but it annoyed me. And the +next day there was such a giggling and whispering amongst the girls +that I could not speak to them for anger. Why cannot they leave me +alone? They know that I have no time for their nonsense!" + +Not one word of all this did Mary lose, and spun an endless thread of +strange thoughts out of it. She was almost in danger of injuring +herself with fruitless dreamings, if a too well grounded cause of +anxiety and real sorrow had not saved her. Her father, who had for a +long time been able to do his duty with difficulty, had a paralytic +stroke, and lay nearly a year perfectly helpless, until a second attack +put an end to his sufferings. Not for an hour did his child leave his +side. Even when the vacations brought Clement home again, she only +permitted herself to talk to him during his short visits to the +sickroom. + +She grew ever more firm, ever more self-denying. She complained to no +one, and would have required the help of none had her blindness +permitted her to do all herself. And thus her misfortune, which had +tutored her soul, accustomed her also to household duties, neglected by +many a seeing one. She kept the strictest order over all things of +which she had the care, and no amount of cleanliness could satisfy her, +as she was unable to judge by the eye when the least speck of dust was +removed. The tears sprang into Clement's eyes when he saw her busied +washing her crippled father, or combing out his thin locks. She had +grown pale in the close air of the sick-room; but her brown eyes had a +deeper light from that very cause, and in all her common household +work, the true nobility of her whole being only became the more +evident. + +The old man died, his successor took possession of the cottage, and +Mary found a welcome refuge in the rectory. Clement, who in the mean +time had gone to a distant university, and who was unable to visit home +twice a-year as formerly, was informed of all these changes by letters, +which reached him but rarely, and were answered irregularly. Now and +then his letters contained a note for Mary, in which he expressed +himself condescendingly and jestingly, so unlike his old self, and +addressed her as if she were still a child, so that his mother shook +her head and said nothing of it before his father. Mary had these +strange letters carefully read to her, begged them, and preserved them. + +After her father's death she received a short excited letter from him, +in which he neither endeavoured to comfort her nor said a word showing +a participation with her sorrow, only earnest entreaties to take care +of her health, and to be quiet, and to let him know exactly how she +was. This was in winter, and this letter the last to Mary. They +expected a visit from him at Easter. He remained away, and wrote that +he could not resist the opportunity of accompanying a celebrated +professor on a botanical tour. His father was satisfied, and Mary +succeeded at last in calming the mother's disappointment. + +He arrived unannounced at Whitsuntide on foot, untired by a long march +since daybreak, with healthy cheeks, and he was a full-grown man. So he +entered the quiet house, in which his mother was sitting alone, for it +was the Saturday evening before the feast-day. With a cry of joy the +startled woman clasped him round the neck. "So you," she cried, as she +loosened herself from his arms, and took a step backwards to measure +the long absent one with the full gaze of love, "So you have returned +to us once again, unkind, forgetful one. You still remember the way to +your father and mother. God be praised! I thought that you had made up +your mind never to return till you were a professor, and then perhaps +my poor old eyes might never have rejoiced in the sight of you again +_here below_. But I will not scold you. You are faithful. You are the +old Clement. And you will give me such a Whitsun feast as I have not +had for many a day, to me and your father, and to us _all_. + +"Mother," he said, "how happy I am to be here once again! I could not +bear at last to remain longer away. I do not know how it happened, I +made no resolution beforehand. I felt that I must get home. One bright +morning, instead of going to lecture, I walked through the town-gates, +and strode away as if I fled from sin. I accomplished such journeys as +I had never made before, good as I used to be on foot. Where is my +father? where is Mary?" + +"Don't you hear him." said the mother, "your father is above in his +study." They heard the firm step of the old man as he paced to and fro +above them. "All is as it used to be," continued the mother. "That has +been his Saturday's walk for the twenty years that I have known him. +And Mary is out in the field with our people. I have sent her out +because she will not let me do anything. When she is at home she would +make me sit in the corner with my hands in my lap, if she had her own +way, and do everything herself. We have some new servants now, and I +like her to look over them until they have got used to her. How +astonished she will be to find you here! But come, I will bring you to +your father, just to let him see you, and it will soon be dinner time. +Come, he will not be angry at _your_ disturbing him." + +She led her son, stepping lightly before him, but still holding his +hand in hers, up the stairs. Gently she opened the door, beckoned to +Clement, and stepping backwards herself, pushed him in. "There he is," +she cried; "at last you have him." The old man started as out of deep +thought. "Who?" he asked, almost impatiently. Then he looked in his +son's face, brightly lighted by a gleam of sun. "Clement," he cried, +between astonishment and joy, "you here?" "I longed for home," said the +son, and pressed the proffered hand warmly. "I shall stay here for the +feast, father, if you have room for me, now that Mary is under your +roof." "How can you talk so," interrupted his mother, quickly; "if I +had seven sons I could find place for them all. But I will leave you to +your father. I must go to the kitchen and the garden, they will have +spoilt you in the town, you must be content for love's sake." She was +already gone, as the father and son stood silently opposite each other; +"I have disturbed you," said Clement, at last; "you were writing your +sermon; tell me if I shall go." "You only disturb one who has disturbed +himself. Since this morning have I paced to and fro, thinking on my +text, but grace was not with me, and the grain hath not brought forth. +I have felt strangely; a gloom is over me that I cannot shake off." He +went to the little window that looked out towards the church, the way +to which lay through the churchyard. There it glowed tranquil with its +flowers and glittering crosses in the midday sun. "Come here, Clement," +said the old man, gently; "place yourself by me. Do you see that grave +to the left, with primroses and monthly roses? You have never seen that +one before. Do you know who sleeps there? My good, true friend, the +father of our Mary!" He left the window at which his son, deeply +struck, remained standing. He paced again to and fro through the +chamber, and in the silence they could hear the sand crackle under his +steady tread. "Aye!" said the old man, with a deep sigh, "no one knew +him as I knew him; no one gained so much from him, no one lost so much +with him as I did. What knew he of the world and its wisdom; that is +but folly before God. What he knew was all revealed to him from within, +and from the Holy Book, and from sorrow. He has become blessed, because +he _was_ blessed." + +After a pause he spoke again: "Whom have I now to shame when I am proud +of heart, and save me when my faith wavers; and to decide the thoughts +that accuse and excuse me? The world grows too wise for me! What I hear +I understand not, and what I read my soul _will_ not understand, for it +is grief to it! How many rise up and think that they speak with +tongues? and, behold! it is but lip-work! And the mockers hear it and +rejoice therein. Mine old friend, would I were where thou art." + +Clement turned. He had never before heard his father talk of the +sorrows of his own soul. He went to him and sought for words of +consolation. "Cease, my son," said the old man, checking him, "What can +_you_ give me, that Heaven could not have given me better? See, it was +shortly after his death, I slept above here. The night awoke me with +its storm and rain; I felt sad, even to death; then he appeared to +me--a light shone about him--he was in his garments as when he +lived--he spoke not, but stood at the foot of my bed, and looked calmly +down upon me. At first, it oppressed me sorely! I was not enough grown +in grace to look on the face of a glorified being. The next day I felt +the peace that it had left behind it. From that time it came not again +until last night. I had been reading a book in the evening, blasphemous +against God and God's word; I had gone to my bed in anger--then it was +that, after midnight, I again started suddenly from my sleep, and he +stood before me--dressed as at the first time, but with the Bible in +his hand, open, and written with letters of gold. He pointed to a +passage with his finger, but there came a gleam from out the leaves, so +that I gazed on it in vain, and for the fullness of the light could +read never a word! I drew myself nearer to him, half rising up; he +stood--pity and love in his face, which changed to grief as I strove to +read and could not. Then the tears sprang to my eyes--from the +brightness, they grew dark---and he vanished softly away, and left me +weeping." + +The old man had gone again to the window, and Clement saw a strong +shudder pass over him. "Father!" he cried, and seized his nerveless +hand--it was damp and cold; "Father, you alarm me! You should send for +the physician." + +"To the physician!" cried the old man, almost angrily, and stretched +himself up in every limb, "I am well. Therein it lies. My soul longs +and strives for death, and my body selfishly withstands it!" + +"These dreams, father, agitate you." + +"Dreams! I tell you that I was awake, as I am at this moment." + +"I do not doubt, father, that you were awake; but so much the more does +this severe attack, which pursues you with visions even when you are +awake, alarm me. See! even now you are quite overcome by the mere +recollection, and your pulse rises. I know, little of a doctor as I am, +that you had fever last night and are under its influence now." + +"And you think that you know as much as _that_ poor worm!" cried the +old man. "Oh, the marvellous wisdom! Oh, the gracious science! But what +right have I to complain? Do I not deserve punishment for blurting out +God's secrets, and making my full heart a mark for the scorner? Is this +the fruit of your learning? Do you expect to gather figs from this +bramble? But I know you well--you miserable ones, who make new gods for +the people, and in your hearts worship yourselves alone--your days are +numbered." + +He went towards the door; his bare forehead was flushed. He did not +look towards Clement, who stood gazing on the floor; suddenly he felt +his father's hand on his shoulder. + +"Tell me openly, my son, are you as far gone already as those whose +ravings I have read of with shuddering? Do you already hold, with those +sleek materialists, that the miracle is ridiculous, and the _spirit_ +but a tale told from one to another, and to which man listens? Has +neither thy youth, nor the seeds of thankfulness God sowed in your +heart, been able to choke those weeds? Answer me, Clement!" + +"Father," said the young man, after some consideration, "how shall I +answer you this thing? I have dedicated my whole life to the +consideration of this question. I have heard it decided in different +ways, by men whose opinions I revere. Amongst my dearest friends are +some who think what you condemn. I hear and learn and do not venture as +yet to decide." + +"He who is not for me is against me, saith the Lord." + +"How can I be against _Him_? How can I be against the _Spirit_? Who +ventures to ignore the spiritual, even though he binds it to the +material? Do not its miracles remain what they were, even though they +may be the result of natural causes? Is it a disgrace to a noble statue +that it is hewn out of stone?" + +"You speak like them all; so they intoxicate you with dark similes, so +they deafen you with high sounding words, that you may not hear the +still small voice within you; and you have come to keep Whitsuntide +holy with _us_?" + +"I came because I loved you." + +There was silence between them. Several times the old man opened his +mouth as if about to speak, and then pressed his lips firmly together +again. They heard Mary's voice below in the house, and Clement stepped, +listening, back from the window, at which he had been standing +sorrowfully. "It is Mary," said the old man; "have you forgotten _her_ +too? Did the recollection of your childhood's playmate never pass +before your soul, when your blasphemous companions endeavoured to +destroy your pure, godly childishness of heart with their miserable +sneers? Did _she_ never remind you of the wonders the spirit can +perform--even when it is deprived of sense--alone, out of itself. I +should say of God, in a humble heart, which is rich in faith?" + +Clement repressed the answer which rose ready to his lips. They heard +the light step of the blind girl on the stairs. The door opened, and +with flushing cheek Mary stood on the threshold; "Clement," she cried, +fixing the bright brown eyes on the spot where he really stood. He +approached her and took the hand that waited for his. "Oh! what +pleasure you have given your parents! Welcome, welcome! How quiet you +are!" she added. + +"Dearest Mary, yes, I am here once again. I was _obliged_ to come to +see you all. How well you look, and you have grown so tall." + +"I have gained a fresh life since the spring. The winter was heavy for +me. I am so happy with your father and mother, Clement! Good day, +dearest father." she added, "we went out so early that I could not +press your hand;" she took it now. "Go below my child;" said the old +man, "Clement will go with you--you can show him your garden. There is +yet a little time before dinner. Think on my words, Clement." + +The young people went. "What is the matter with the father?" asked +Mary, when they were below. "His voice sounded strangely, and yours +too. Was he angry with you?" + +"I found him excited. He seems ill. Has he not complained of anything?" + +"Not to me; but he has been restless, and sometimes silent for hours +together. It struck my mother, too. Has he been harsh towards you?" + +"We had a discussion about serious things; he asked me, and I could not +deny my opinions." + +The girl became thoughtful; not until they reached the open air did her +face brighten. "Is it not beautiful here?" she asked, spreading out her +hands. + +"I really did not recognize it again," he answered. "What a wonderful +place you have made out of the little barren spot! Ever since I can +remember there were only a few fruit trees, and mallows and alders; and +now it is full of roses!" + +"Yes," she said. "Your mother used not to care about the garden then, +and now she delights in it The sacristan's son, who has learned +gardening in the town, gave me the first rose bush, and planted it +himself; then we added others and now it is quite beautiful. But the +finest are not in flower yet." + +"And you take care of them yourself?" + +"You are astonished at it, because I cannot see," she said gaily; "but +I understand what is good for plants. I can tell by the scent when one +is fading, or going out of flower, or wants watering; they always tell +me. But, indeed, I cannot gather you a flower; for they prick my +fingers." + +"I will do it for you," he said, and broke off a spray from one of the +monthly roses. She took it "You have gathered so many buds with it!" +she said. "I will keep one for myself, and place it in water. Take the +blooming one again for yourself." + +They wandered along the trim paths till the mother called them to +table. Clement was reserved before his father; but Mary, usually so shy +at taking part in the conversation, had to-day a hundred things to tell +and to ask about. Even the old man gradually lost the impression of his +first conversation with his son, and the old trusting feeling soon +regained its place between them again. + +But during the next day it was impossible to avoid fresh causes of +dissention. The old man wished to be enlightened on the state of +theology at the University, and the conversation soon wandered to more +general subjects. The more Clement tried to avoid disagreeable points, +the more vehemently the old man pressed him. Many an anxious +involuntary, glance from his mother sustained him, indeed, in his +determination to avoid definite explanations; but when he parried a +question, or answered with an unmeaning word, the enforced silence +wrung his very heart. Mary managed, even, to revive the old tone again +for a time; but he saw that she too suffered, and avoided her when he +met her alone, for he knew that she would have asked him, and felt that +from her he could conceal nothing. A shadow seemed to pass over him +when he came into her presence. Was it the recollection of that +childish promise to which he had been so untrue? Was it the belief that +in the difference of opinion which had estranged him from his parents, +she ranged herself silently on their side? And yet he felt a yearning +towards her which grew ever more irresistible--a longing which he could +not ignore, and which he struggled against fiercely; for he was full of +his science and of his prospects, and avoided, with the selfishness of +fancied inward strength, all that might clog his onward way. + +"I will be a traveller,--a foot traveller." he often said to himself. +"I must carry a light bundle!" It made him heavy at heart when he +contemplated the possibility of his being chained to a wife, who would +demand a part of his being for herself. And a _blind_ wife! One that he +must always fear to leave for a moment! Here in the village, where all +went on its simple way, and to which she had been accustomed since her +childhood, _here_ she was protected from all the confusing accidents +which she could not fail to encounter in the town. So he persuaded +himself that he should do _her_ an injustice if he married her: whether +he grieved _her_ or not by his determination, was a point that he +avoided considering. + +He expressed himself still more openly when he departed. On the last +day, when he had embraced his parents, and had been told that Mary was +in the garden, he left a farewell for her, and with beating heart went +down the village street, and then crossed, sideways, over the fields +towards the forest. The garden opened into the fields too, and his +nearest way would have been through a little wicket-gate. He made a +wide _détour_. But when he reached the fields, he was unable to follow +the narrow path through the springing corn without casting one glance +round; so he stood still in the mild sunshine, and looked back over the +huts and the houses. Behind the hedge which surrounded his father's +garden, he saw the slender figure of the blind girl. Her face was +turned towards him, but she dreamed not that he was so near her. Hot +and hasty sprang the tears to his eyes; but he repressed them with a +powerful effort. Then he sprang like a madman over the ditches and +paths back to the hedge. She started. "Farewell, Mary!" he said, with a +clear voice, "I am going away again, perhaps for a year!" He passed his +trembling hand over her forehead and temples. + +"Farewell! You are going?" she said. "One thing I beg of you,--write +oftener to your parents; your mother longs for it so; and send me a +greeting, too, sometimes." + +"Yes;" he answered, absently. Then he departed. + +"Clement!" she cried, once again, after he had left her. He heard her, +but did not look round. "It is well that he did not hear me," she said +gently to herself. "And what had I to say to him?" + + + + + CHAPTER VI. + + +From that day the son never remained long at his father's house. Each +time he came he found his father harsher and more impatient--his mother +ever with the same love, but more reserved towards him--Mary, tranquil, +but silent when the men spoke; she also showed herself but seldom. + +On a bright day late in autumn, we find Clement once more in the room +in which, as a boy, he had passed the time devoted to his cure. One of +his friends and fellow-students had accompanied him; they had both +passed the usual time at the University, and they were just returned +from a long journey, in the course of which Wolf had been unwell, and +wished to recruit himself in the quiet of the village. Clement was +obliged to acquiesce, although, amongst all his friends, this was the +very one he thought most unlikely to suit his father. He managed, +however, to fall into the ways of thinking of the old people with +unexpected tact and dexterity, and particularly won the mother's heart +by the lively interest he pretended to take in all household matters; +he was also able to give her many little bits of advice, and relieved a +complaint under which she laboured by some simple remedy; for he had +prepared himself to succeed an old uncle who was an apothecary, a +profession for which his inclinations and acquirements really unfitted +him; yet he was of an easy disposition and delighted to be quiet and to +enjoy himself from time to time. He had never had much real feeling in +common with Clement, and so at his first step into the rectory he felt +himself in an utterly strange atmosphere, and would certainly have +seized the smallest excuse for leaving a circle which constrained and +wearied him, had not the blind girl struck him, at the first glance, as +a remarkable problem to be solved. It is true she avoided him as much +as she could. The first time he took her hand she withdrew it from his +with an inexpressible disquietude, and quite lost her self-command, yet +he hung about her for hours at a time, watched her way of managing +affairs, and examined with a gay recklessness, which it was impossible +to be angry with, the means by which she kept up a communication with +the outer world, and studied the way in which the senses she had +preserved, made up for the one she had lost; he could not understand +why Clement thought so little of her. _He_, however, avoided meeting +her more than ever, and particularly when he found her in Wolf's +company; then he grew pale and turned away, and the villagers often met +him in lonely forest paths, seemingly lost in gloomy reveries. + +He was returning one evening from a melancholy distant wandering, and +had just passed from the wood into the corn-fields, when he met Wolf +advancing towards him. Wolf was more excited than usual. After a long +visit to Mary, who had interested him even more than ever, he had gone +to the little village inn, and had drunk so much of the country wine, +that he took a fancy to wander about the fields in the cool of the +evening to refresh himself. + +"You will not get rid of me so soon!" he cried to Clement. "I must +study your little blind witch a little more first; she is cleverer than +a dozen women in the town, who only use their eyes to ogle God's man; +and now she keeps me in order; it is really marvellous!" + +"So much the better for you if she tames you a little." said Clement, +sharply. + +"Tame! that she will never make me! when I look at her, and her +graceful figure and beautiful face, faith, it is not to grow tamer! +Don't believe that I would do her any harm; but do you know that I +sometimes think that if she did ever love any one, it would be a +wonderful love; one like her, who sees not, only _feels_, and such +_feeling_, so delicate and strong and charming, such as one never can +find elsewhere; he will be a happy man round whose neck she throws her +arms!" + +"You would do better to keep your thoughts to yourself." + +"Why? whom do they harm? and whom should I injure if I were to make +her, at least, a little in love with me, just to see how the nerves +will extricate themselves out of the difficulty? so much of the inner +fire is usually cooled by the eyes--but here-- + +"Beware how you try experiments upon her!" Clement burst out. "I tell +you solemnly, that for the future, I will neither hear nor see aught of +this--so beware!" + +Wolf cast a keen side-long glance at him, seized his arm, and said +laughing, "I really believe that you are in love with the girl and want +to keep the experiment for yourself. How long have you grown so +particular? you used to listen readily enough when I said what I +thought of women." + +"I am not your teacher! What have I to do with your foul thoughts? But +I think that I _have_ a right to prevent your sullying one with them +who is so dear to me, and who is a thousand times too pure to breathe +the same air with you." + +"Oho! oho!" said Wolf, carelessly. "Too good! too good! you are a fine +fellow, Clement! a very fine fellow! out of my sunshine, my dear boy." + +He gave him a slight blow and turned away. Clement stood still; his +cheeks grew suddenly pale. "You shall explain what you mean by these +words," he said sternly. + +"Not such a fool! ask others if you want to know. You will soon find +one who has a greater fancy to preach to deaf ears than I have." + +"What do you mean? Who are the others? Who dares to speak ill of her? +Who?" + +He held Wolf with a hand of iron. "Fool!" growled Wolf, angrily; "you +spoil my walk with your tedious cross-questionings. Let me go free!" + +"Not from this place do you move till you have given me an +explanation;" said Clement, wild with rage. + +"Indeed! Go and settle it with the sacristan's son if you happen to be +jealous; poor devil! to go on with him till he was ready to jump out of +his skin, and then to give him his marching orders. Pah! is that +honourable? He complained to me, and I consoled him. She is just like +other women, I told him, a coquette. Now she is trying it on upon me, +but we know how to manage matters, and are not going to let our mouths +be shut, and have other good fellows fall into the same snare." + +"Retract your words!" shouted Clement, almost beside himself, shaking +Wolf violently by the arm. + +"Why? It is true, and I can prove it. Go--you are a child!" + +"And you--are a scoundrel!" + +"Oho! now it is your turn to eat your words." + +"I retract not a syllable!" + +"Then you know the consequences. You shall hear from me as soon as I +get to town." + +Therewith he turned coolly away from him and went towards the village. +Clement stood for a time rooted to the spot. "Miserable wretch!" burst +from his lips. His bosom laboured violently--a bitter agony nested +within it. He threw himself upon the ground amongst the corn, and lay +long, recalling a thousand times over each word which had so terribly +moved him. + +When he returned to the house late in the evening, he found, contrary +to his expectation, that the family were still together. + +Wolf was not there. The old man paced with firm steps through the +chamber; his mother and Mary sate with their work in their laps, +contrary to the custom of the house at so late an hour. When Clement +entered, his father paused in his walk, and turned his head gravely +towards him. + +"What had passed between you and your friend? He departed whilst we +were in the fields, and has left but a scanty greeting behind him; when +we returned home we found a messenger removing his luggage. Have you +quarrelled? Why else should he have left this house so hastily?" + +"We had a dispute. I am happy not to find him under this roof." + +"And what did you quarrel about?" + +"I cannot tell you, father. I would willingly have avoided it; but +there are things which an honest man cannot hear spoken. I long knew +that he was wild, and spared neither himself nor others; but I never +saw him before as he was to-day." + +The father looked steadily at his son, and asked in a low voice-- + +"And how will it be arranged?" + +"As is the custom amongst men of honour," answered Clement, firmly. + +"Do you know how _Christians_ are accustomed to arrange quarrels?" + +"I _do_ know, but cannot do it. If he had insulted _me_, I could have +forgiven him, and spared him his punishment; but he has slandered one +who is dearer to me than myself." + +"A woman, Clement?" + +"Yes, a woman!" + +"And you love this woman?" + +"I love her!" said the young man, in a low voice. + +"I thought that it was thus." cried the old man. "The town has +destroyed you. You have become one of the children of this world, +following after strange women, and swaggering for them, and making of +them the false idols of your folly! But I tell you that, so long as I +live, I will labour to bring you back to the Lord, and will shatter +your idols! Has God wrought a miracle in you that you should deny him? +Aye, it were better that you sate still in darkness, and that the door +had for ever remained shut through which the spirit of lies has crept +into your heart!" + +The young man restrained himself with difficulty. "Who has given you +the right, father," he cried at last, "who has given you the right of +accusing me of ignoble inclinations? Because I must do what must be +done in this world to restrain the insolence of the base, am _I_ +therefore base? There are different ways of fighting against the spirit +of evil. Yours is the way of peace, because you have to deal with men +in the aggregate. I stand opposed to a single man, and know what I have +to do." + +"_Thou_ canst not change him," the old man cried angrily: "wilt thou +tread God's ordinances under thy feet? He is no son of mine who raises +his hand against his brother. I forbid the meeting in the strength of +my priestly and paternal power. Beware how you brave it." + +"So you cast me from your house," said Clement gloomily. The mother, +who had burst into tears, arose, and rushed towards her son. "Mother," +he said sternly, "I am a man, and may not be false to myself." He +approached the door, and glanced over towards Mary, who sought him +sorrowfully with her great blind eyes. His mother followed him; her +sobs choked her voice. "Do not retain him, wife," cried the old man; +"he is no longer a child of ours if he be not a child of God. Let him +go whither he will; he is dead to us." + +Mary heard the door shut, and the mother fall to the ground with a cry +from her inmost mother's heart. Then the palsied feeling which had kept +her seated went from her. She arose, went to the door, and with a +powerful effort bore the fainting woman to her bed. The old man stood +by the window and spoke not a word; his clasped hands trembled +violently. + +A quarter of an hour later, some one knocked at the door of Clement's +room. He opened it, and Mary stood before him. The room was in +confusion. She struck her foot against his travelling trunk, and said +sorrowfully, "What are you going to do, Clement?" Then his rigid grief +gave way; he seized her hands, and pressed his eyes, in which the hot +tears stood, against them. "I _must_ do it," he said; "I have long felt +that I have lost his love; perhaps he will feel, when I am far away +from him, that I have never ceased to be his son." + +She raised him up. "Do not weep so, or I shall never have the strength +to utter what I _must_ say. Your mother would say it, did your father +not forbid her. The sound of his voice told me how hard it was for him +to be so stern; but thus he will remain. I know him well. He believes +that his sternness is a duty to God, to make him offer up his own heart +as a sacrifice." + +"And do _you_ think that it is required of him?" + +"No, Clement! I know but little of the world, and know not the nature +of the laws which force men of honour to fight. But I know you well +enough to know that the mere opinion of the world would never prevent +your considering honestly what is right and what is wrong--even in this +case. You may owe it to the world, and to the woman you love;--but +still, you owe more to your parents than to either. I know not the girl +they have slandered, and may not be able quite to understand the depth +of the pain it must give you not to do all for her.--Do not interrupt +me. Do not think that I have any fear that for her sake you might +withdraw from me those last scanty remains of friendship these last +years of separation have spared me.--I give you up utterly to her, if +she but makes you happy.--But you have no right to do, even for her +sake, what you contemplate doing, even were she a thousand times dearer +to you than father or mother. You have no right to leave your father's +house in anger, and so close the door for ever on yourself. Your father +is old, and will take his opinions to the grave with him. He would have +had to sacrifice the essence and substance of his whole life if he had +given way. You sacrifice to him the passing respect that you may +possess in the eyes of strangers. For if the girl you love so can +desert you because you refuse to bring down your father's gray hairs in +sorrow to the grave, she has never, never been worthy of you"-- + +Her voice failed her. He had thrown himself on a chair, and groaned +bitterly. She stood ever near the door, and waited for his answer. +Across her brow lay a strange anxious expression, as if she listened +even to him with her very eyes. Suddenly he sprang up, laid his hands +upon her shoulders, and cried, "It was for _thee_ that I would have +done it, and for _thy_ sake alone will conquer my own heart!" Then he +rushed past her, and down the narrow stairs. + +She remained above. His last words had quivered in her very soul, and a +stream of blissful thoughts swept through her fearful, half-incredulous +heart. She seated herself trembling on the travelling-trunk. "For thee! +For thee!" still rang in her ears. She almost feared his return. If he +should have meant differently?--and how was it possible that he should +not mean differently? What was she to him? + +At last she heard him returning--her agitation gained on her; she +arose, and moved towards the door. He entered, clasped her in his arms, +and told her all! + +"It is _I_ who am blind," he cried; "_you_ are the seeing one--the +prophetess! What were I now without thy light? Lost for all eternity! +driven from all the hearts I love through mine own miserable blindness! +And now--now--all again mine--aye, and more than I knew of--more than I +dared to hope for!" + +She hung mute and agitated upon his neck; all her long-suppressed love +burst forth, and glowed in her kisses, despising the tepid rendering of +mere words. + +The day dawned upon their happiness. + +Now he learned, too, what she had so long kept silent, and what this +same room had seen, in which they now, for ever irrevocably united, +pressed each other's hands, and parted in the light of the breaking +day. + +In the course of the day a letter arrived from Wolf, dated the night +before, from the next village. "Clement need not trouble himself," he +wrote. "He retracted all he had said; he knew best that it was all an +idle lie; anger and wine had put it into his head. He had really +thought, when he saw him so cold about it, that it would only have cost +him a word to win the girl; and when he saw that Clement was in +earnest, he had slandered what he felt was for ever beyond his reach. +He should not think him worse than he was, and excuse him to the girl +and his parents, and not quite give him up for ever." + +When Clement read these lines to Mary, she said, with some emotion, "I +only pity him. I never felt comfortable when he was near me, and how +much he might have spared both us and himself! But I can think of him +calmly now. How much have I to thank him for!" + + + + + MARION. + + * * * + + +When holy Saint Louis wore the crown of France, the good old town of +Arras was just six hundred years younger than it is now. That she was a +thousand times merrier she had to thank, not her youth alone, but, +before even that, the noble guild of poets who resided within her +walls, and who, by their ballads and miracle-plays, and pleasant +rhyming romances, spread her fame over all fair France. + +Now it happened one early spring about the time, that in a garden in +Arras, behind the house of one of these valiant singers, a young woman +was busied tying up vines to their trellises. She was beautifully +formed, of that pleasant roundness that usually indicates a cheerful +soul within, and she had a sweet, gentle face. Her calm dark eyes swept +now and then over the garden as if they knew neither joy nor sorrow; +but her hands were active and dreamed not. After the fashion of +well-to-do townswomen, she wore her fair hair adorned with many an +artful ribbon ornament, and her gown was tucked up for work, and, +perhaps, possibly also, for the sake of her darling little feet. + +As the charming vision wandered in her tranquil activity still further +into the garden, there appeared at the door of the house which opened +into it, a man, who formed both in face and manner a most remarkable +contrast to her. He was of middle size, with a keen eye, and irregular +features. His black cloak indifferently concealed his high left +shoulder, and his legs seemed to have been made after very different +patterns. But still his figure, however incongruous its parts might +seem, was brought into a striking unison by the boldness and vivacity +of his carriage; and about his mouth there played an expression that +must have made him dangerous in sarcasm, or very charming in a more +kindly humour. + +He gazed for a while at the fair young gardener, and seemed to enjoy +her beauty. He shook his head irresolutely. At last he plucked the +barrel-cap with the green cock's-feather deeper over his forehead, and +strode towards her. + +The fair woman looked round, her cheek coloured slightly, and her eyes +brightened. She let her hands fall by her side, and gazed silently at +him as he neared her. + +"Good-day, Marion!" said the man, almost roughly. "Is there any one +beside yourself in the garden?" + +"No, Adam." + +"It is well--I wish to speak with you. You are a good wife, Marion, and +do your duty; but yet I must tell you that I cannot endure you any +longer!" + +The bright cheeks grew pale as death; but she was silent and looked +steadily before her. + +"No!" continued Adam; "longer I cannot bear it! You are very lovely, +Marion, and that I know now, four weeks after our wedding, better than +I did when I courted you, but--you are so wearisome, Marion! I will not +say that you are absolutely without sense; but the Holy Virgin only +knows whether it is asleep, or waiting in good hope of some mighty +thought, when it is to appear. I have waited long for it, and now my +patience is at an end. Have you once, only once, since we have been man +and wife chattered amusingly, or made one single joke? or have my +brightest strokes of wit ever found more favour from you than half a +smile? Have you not ever gone calmly on your way like a statue? What is +the use of my now and then making the discovery that you really are +flesh and blood, when from morning to night I am obliged to laugh at my +own jokes by myself, and so applaud my own rhymes with my own hands. +Fool that I was! I should have thought of it sooner--when I fell in +love with you! _Now_, I thought, she will begin to thaw! Confess +yourself--have we not wearied each other as thoroughly as any wedded +pair in Christendom?" + +The young wife remained obstinately silent, but her eyes filled with +heavy drops. Adam broke a young twig hastily from the tree, and +continued-- + +"I will not say that other women are, in the long-run, better, or more +amusing--I do not say so; and I have at least to thank you for showing +me so early that I have made a great mistake in taking a wife. But, for +the third time--I can stand it no longer! Am I to mope and fritter away +my young life in this hole, merely because I had the luck to think you +pretty? And am I never to set foot in Paris, at the king's court, in +the chambers of princes, where my talent would bring me honour and +distinction?--and never set a foot in the houses of learned doctors of +the University, where there are more clever things said in one hour +than you produce in a year? and all this because you are a pretty +woman--for you are one--and, by chance, my proper wife! May the devil +bake me into a pancake if I stand it!" + +He paced up and down a few times, gesticulating vehemently, glanced +sideways at his wife, and began again. + +"Are you not a standing proof that I am right? Why don't you cry, as +any other ordinary woman would do, and fall upon my neck and beseech me +to remain, and say that I am your darling Adam--your only love--your +handsome Adam, though, by-the-bye, I am not handsome, and promise +everything, whether you can perform it or not? There you stand, and +don't know how to help yourself! Am I to give up my art and my young +years for the pleasure of staring at you? And supposing we should have +children, and they take after you! Do you expect that I shall be able +to compose the stupidest birthday ode, with six or seven boys and +girls, all as lovely as pictures, and as stupid, sitting round me and +staring at me? But we will not part in enmity; and so I tell you, in +all love and friendship, that you can no longer be my wife! I will away +to Paris as soon as I can raise money enough for the journey; you can +return to your parents, or, if you like, you can go to my old uncle, +who is so fond of you; he will take good care of you--you shall want +for nothing; and if you should have a child, I will keep it as my +own--but, remain with you I _cannot_, Marion! By my soul's salvation! a +poet I am, and a poet I will remain--and weariness is poison to the +merrie art! Now I am going to my uncle--be a good girl, and let us part +friends." + +He stretched out his hand towards her, but she saw it not for tears. He +thought it needless on that account to wait and see whether she would +behave as he had told her other women would do under the circumstances; +he turned hastily towards the door and disappeared into the house. + +An hour after the wedded pair had thus parted "in friendship," the door +of a stately house, in which lived the rich senator, Adam's uncle, was +thrown open, and Adam stepped hastily out, in high excitement. He +hurried onwards without regarding which way he took, and now and then +scraps of his internal conversation with himself burst forth, as he +clenched his fist or twisted his fingers in his long round-cut hair. + +"The old shark!" he growled. "And yet he had got rags of virtuous +poverty to cover the nakedness of his avarice! What is it to him if I +and my wife choose to agree to a friendly separation? I wish he would +take her himself, if it were not a pity for her, pretty young thing! +Truly, whether I moulder here or not touches not his money-bags; but, +to travel and to see the world, and gain wisdom--ay! that pinches +Master Money-bags sore! Pah! because he gave me the cottage, and +arranged my household, am I to freeze in Arras, and blunder about with +those rogues of balladmakers, and hide my light under a bushel? If I am +obliged to travel like a mountebank, and train dogs and apes to get to +Paris, I'll do it! I'll show the old gold-scratcher that Adam de la +Halle is no petticoat knight, but knows how to follow his own way." + +And this same way of his own carried him this time to the Three Golden +Lilies, the best tavern in the good old town of Arras. There were but +few guests in the drinking-room at this hour. Adam seated himself in a +corner, and did not look up until the host, bringing him wine, greeted +him respectfully, + +"You come as if called for, Master Adam," said mine host of the Lilies. +"There is one of my guests, see you--the man sitting yonder by the +stove and looking towards you. Well, a week ago he brought a troop of +players into the town, to play the great passion-piece at Easter, in +the cathedral The reverend gentlemen there sent for them; and now it +wants fourteen days to the time, and they are all loitering about idle +and eating their pay before they get it; and their director lodges with +me, and drinks stoutly on the score. 'Sir,' I said to him just before +you came in, 'sir,' said I, 'if you could manage to scrape together a +little money by your art in the mean time, it would do both you and me +good.'--'Ay!' said he, 'if we had only a decent piece, a mystery, or a +miracle; for I have left my whole bundle of plays behind at Cambria, +all except the passion-piece.'--'Eh, sir!' said I. 'Here with us the +country is alive with gay minstrels, troubadours, and ballad-singers +and there is Master Adam de la Halle, who is worth them all put +together.'--'By St. Nicholas,' said my man, 'I would give him half the +receipts if he would write me a piece, and it succeeded'--and just at +that moment you came through the door, and so he sent me to ask you." + +Adam rose up, swallowed his wine hastily, and then went straight to the +leader of the strollers, who sprang from his seat respectfully, and +bowed low. They conversed for a short time, and then shook hands. "So +be it," said Adam; "within eight days your people shall play. And the +day after I shall receive my money, and now our Lady preserve you. I +will go and set about your affair at once." So he went, and after his +fashion, he growled something between his teeth, that sounded very much +like "I'll make them remember me." + +Eight days had passed away, and Marion sat in her chamber one +afternoon, with eyes red with weeping, and cheeks pale with sorrow, so +intently engaged turning over old letters which she had in her lap that +she did not hear the door open, and one of her old playmates enter. +When her friend called her by name, she sprang up startled. "Good day, +Perette," she said; "what brings you here?" "or rather, what keeps +_you_ here?" answered the girl, saucily; "you sit and you cry, and you +never think of going near the Three Lilies, where your husband's new +piece is to be acted by the strange players. What a wife you are! I +should be the first to go if I had a husband who could charm half the +town into the courtyard of an old inn. What have you got there? Have +you been studying all the old songs your Adam made on you? I should +think that you ought to have them all at your fingers' ends now like +your rosary." The poor wife began to weep bitterly. "Don't you know +then," she sobbed, "and is not the whole town of Arass talking about +it--that he is going to Paris, and intends to leave me behind, and is +never, never coming back again?" "Bah! nonsense," cried Perette, "what +has put all that into your head?" "He said it to me himself, word for +word; and since that time he has never eaten at home, and only returns +very late at night, and sleeps below in the saloon." "Well, well, he +has had his hands full of his new play, and then men are always +fanciful, Marion, and must always be doing something to plague us; but, +God be praised! all are not dead that do not laugh. Dry your eyes, be a +sensible woman, and come with me to the play. What will your husband +think of you if you don't even wish to see a play he has written +himself?" + +So half comforting, half scolding, she drew the sorrowing young wife +out of her room to the Three Lilies. + +There all was gay enough. A number of the townspeople were seated on +benches in the spacious courtyard. The windows of the low buildings at +the side had been chosen as boxes by the more distinguished of the +burghers. And the stage was erected in a large barn at the end of the +yard, the mighty doors having been removed for that purpose. Marion and +Perette arrived at the moment of the exit of Dame Avaritia, who had +spoken the prologue, and assured many rich burghers of the town of +her further protection. Not a place was left free for our two fair +sight-seers, either in the courtyard, or at the windows. But Perette +was not to be daunted, and knowing the house, she made her way through +a side building, and advanced with Marion up to the barn. Here they +placed themselves behind the great linen cloths with which the stage +had been fenced off, and peeped through a rent in the curtain at the +play, unhindered by the actors, who, in their fantastic dresses, sought +to pay their court to the two pretty women. Marion took not the +slightest notice of them, and stood rooted to one spot. Perette +exercised the sharpness of her little tongue on the player folk now and +then, and, in common parlance, gave them quite as good, or perhaps +better than they brought. + +But Master Adam, little dreaming that his young wife was watching him, +had, in the meantime, advanced from the other side in his own character +and costume. + +He began in smooth verses to bewail his sorrows. He wanted to go to +Paris, and never a _sou_ had he in his pockets, and his _millionaire_ +of an uncle had, just at this moment, been attacked by the most +hopeless complaint in the world, an obstinate avarice, so that from him +there was nothing to hope. To him entered a doctor, whom Adam consulted +as to whether it was possible to cure avarice, for he could show him a +splendid specimen of it, if he wished to try his hand. Whereupon the +doctor broke forth into a learned dissertation on the different +varieties of the disease, distinguishing those curable from those +incurable; and in the case which Adam described, he had but little +doubt that he could be of service, if he was only permitted to see the +patient himself. Then a third personage advanced, so ridiculously like +Adam's venerable uncle in figure and manner and dress, that the +laughter of the spectators seemed never coming to an end. To this +worthy gentleman the doctor advanced with great politeness, felt his +pulse, and looked gravely at his tongue, asked about this and that, and +then made some more pointed inquiries about specific symptoms of the +miser fever, from which he understood he suffered. Upon which the old +gentleman burst into a great rage, upbraided his rascally nephew +soundly for accusing him of having such a scandalous complaint, and +declared the grounds upon which he refused to assist him on his journey +to Paris. The principal reason was, that Adam was only just married, +and had already grown tired of his wife, who nevertheless was, as all +Arras knew, a perfect model of beauty and virtue. + +In ever-increasing irritation had poor Marion been an unsuspected +participator in all this conversation--and who could blame a virtuous +wife for feeling irritated--when all at once she saw her domestic +sorrows made a butt for a laughing public. She took no heed of the +polished verses and comical grimaces with which the conversation of the +three actors was adorned, and which so delighted the audience. With a +bitter anxiety, and forgetting all else, she now listened to the answer +her husband was to give to her uncle. When, however, Adam drily +explained to the audience that a pretty woman was not necessarily an +amusing one, and that his Marion's mouth was better adapted for kisses +than conversation, that nevertheless no one grew wiser by kissing, but, +on the contrary, by witty conversation; and that he would present any +one amongst them, who had ever heard his Marion give utterance to an +observation at all bordering on the witty, the sum of two golden +crowns; then the poor listener could no longer restrain herself. With +one bound she was on the stage, and stood with glowing eyes and angry +brow directly opposite to him who had so basely slandered her. + +"Are you not ashamed, Adam?" she cried in the midst of his harangue; +"are you not ashamed to speak thus of your own wedded wife before all +the town? Oh, if you had ever loved me, only a little, a little, that +speech would never have passed your lips! And now tell me, have I +deserved it from you? Have I ever caused you one hour's grief? Have I +not done everything to please you? And now will you speak ill of me +before all Arras?" + +So angry and heart-grieved, amidst tears and sobbings, scolded the poor +beauty. The audience who took it all for part of the play, laughed at +first, aye, and some amongst them were mischievous enough to enjoy +their neighbour's domestic discomfort. When, however, they began to see +that it was the veritable Marion herself, the worst of them lost their +gaiety and stared astonished at the stage. But Adam, much as he was +startled at first by this sudden apparition, quickly recovered himself, +and cried loudly and undauntedly, "My good fellow-townsmen, this does +not belong to our play; this woman fell suddenly in amongst us, and +does not belong to our company at all. Let me entreat some of you to +lead her away. You hear that she does not talk verse, like all the +actors who have the honour of performing this most remarkable farce +before your worthinesses!" Therewith, he took Marion gently by the hand, +to lead her from the stage. But she shook herself free, and encouraged +by the demand of some amount the spectators, that she should be +permitted to remain, and fight for her own cause, cried, "Aye! and I +_will_, I say too! and make you all the judges of whether I have not +been badly played upon. It is true that I am naturally silent, but is +it to be considered a fault, on my part, if I do what you men are +always throwing in the teeth of us poor women, letting alone all +useless chattering, and listening quietly to what my husband has to +say?" "Marion is right." "Long live Marion! she shall speak again!" +shouted the spectators, laughing, and waving her encouragement. "And," +she continued, growing even more eloquent, "if I have no right to be +here because I do not speak verses, I know enough and of the very +best too! My husband, who slanders me now, wrote them on me himself +before we were married; and you shall hear them that you may know how +double-tongued he is, and what fair words he once had for my praise, +although he now has only complaints." + +Therewith she stepped to the edge of the stage and sang the following +verses, with a voice that threatened to desert her-- + + "Cheeks as red and eyes as dancing, + Arms and necks like lilies glancing, + You may find in Arras town. + Hearts as soft and limbs as rounded, + Forms with every grace surrounded, + You may meet with, up and down! + But with wisdom no one's blest, + Like the maiden I love best!" + + +A shout of laughter answered this strophe; some began to sing the +_réfrain_ and others joined them. But a voice from the crowd asked, "But +how can you prove, fair Marion, that this lady of whom he talks is not +another than yourself?" "Listen again," cried Marion, "there is no +doubt about it." Then she sang-- + + "Others may more sweetly sing, + Lighter through the dancers swing, + Never a straw I care! + Prattle half an hour free, + Marion's rosy lips to me, + That's a pleasure rare! + Prettier, wittier ne'er was known, + Than my Marion, darling one!" + + +This time the whole audience sang the _réfrain_ with her, and then +resounded loud cheerings for the songstress, who stood with the tears +still in her eyes, frightened at her own boldness, but lovelier than +ever on the stage. Adam sprang from the back of the scene and cried, +"Silence, good burghers all! I too have a word to say." All were +silent, and curious to know how he would manage to bring himself into +grace again. He said, "There is not one amongst you who cannot perceive +that my dear wife here has blamed me terribly, and managed to get all +the laughter on her side; for that, I thank her from the very bottom of +my soul: I tell you all truly that my heart quivered with joy at each +word she spoke, and when, at last, she hit upon the charming idea of +making my own words witness against me, I said quietly to myself, +Master Adam, you are a rogue if you desert such a model of a wife, +though it rained honours and doubloons in Paris! and so I come +penitently hoping that my dear fellow-townsmen will intercede for me +with my wife, that she may take her insolent, reckless husband back to +her heart and love, and forget what his slanderous tongue has said of +her." + +As he said this with ah emotion, which no one had ever seen him under +before, there was a deep silence in the court--Marion smiled at him +with an assuring kindness--fell upon his neck, and said, "You dear, +mischievous man." Then broke from all the windows and benches a +universal shout of congratulation. But Adam, freeing himself from the +arms of his wife, grasped her hand firmly, and cried, "I owe you the +third song." it runs thus-- + + "Let those who will to Paris wander, + And time and gold for learning squander, + For me I mean at home to rest! + All the knowledge that's worth knowing + Lies, fresh springing, ever blowing, + In a gentle woman's breast. + Wiser woman ne'er was known + Than the one----I call mine own!" + + +We need hardly say how gaily all joined in the _réfrain_ this time. +Just, however, as they were all in full song, there arose a noise of +contention before the house; certain people had kindly let Adam's uncle +know that his nephew had introduced his honourable presentment on the +stage, and the old gentlemen came, with a company of archers, firmly +determined to make his irreverent nephew pay dearly for his +indiscretion. The people were now busied in the house explaining to him +the favourable turn things had taken, and when he heard of Adam's +recantation and the renunciation of the Paris idea, he permitted +himself to be pacified, became gracious and forgave the saucy poet, who +approached humbly with Marion on his arm; and in order to strike a +joyous blow against the accusation of avarice, he gave a grand banquet +that very evening at the Three Lilies, where Marion was obliged to +dance with all the great people of the town. + +The play was quite spoilt for the good burghers of Arras; but we have, +however, so much faith in their good heartedness, as to believe that +the miracle, as performed by Marion, pleased them more than if, as was +originally intended, the angel Gabriel and half a dozen of his body +guard, had descended from heaven and kicked Dame Avaritia out of the +country with due honour. It is possible that there might have been +never a miser the less in Arras for it, and now, at least, there was +one happy pair the more. + + + + + + LA RABBIATA. + + * * * + + + + + CHAPTER I. + + +The sun had not yet risen. Over Vesuvius lay a broad grey sweep of +mist, which spread itself out towards Naples, and overshadowed the +little towns along the coast. The sea was tranquil, but on the Marina, +which is situate in a narrow inlet under the high Torrentine cliffs; +fishermen and their wives were already busied, dragging in with stout +ropes the net boats, which had been fishing at sea during the night. +Others cleaned up their boats, shook out the sails, and brought oars +and spars out of the great railed vaults, cut deep in the rock, in +which they kept their tackle at night. No one was idle. For even the +old people, who were no longer able to go to sea, ranged themselves +amongst the long rows of those who drew the nets, and here and there +there stood an old woman with her distaff on one of the flat roofs, or +took care of the children, whilst her daughter helped her husband at +his work. + +"Look there, Rachella! there is our padre, Eurato," said an old woman, +to a little thing of ten years old, who swung its little spindle by her +side; "He has just stepped into the boat. Antonino is going to take him +over to Capri. Maria Santissima! how sleepy the holy man looks still!" +and therewith she waved her hand towards a kindly looking little +priest, who had seated himself cautiously in a boat below her, having +first carefully raised his black coat and spread it over the seat. The +people on the shore paused in their work to see their padre start, who +nodded and greeted them kindly right and left. + +"Why must he go to Capri, grandmother?" asked the child. "Have the +people over there got no priest of their own that they are obliged to +borrow ours?" + +"Do not be so silly," answered the old woman, "They have plenty of +priests, and beautiful churches, and a hermit too--which we have not. +But there is a noble signora there, who stopped once a long time here +at Lorento, and was so ill that the padre was often obliged to carry +her the Hoste, when she did not think that she should live through the +night. Well, the Holy Virgin helped her, and she got strong and well +again, and was able to bathe every day in the sea. When she went from +here to go over to Capri, she left a pretty heap of ducats behind for +the Church and the poor people, and said that she would not go until +our padre promised to visit her over there, that she might confess to +him, for it is wonderful how fond she is of him; and we may bless +ourselves that we have a padre who has gifts like an archbishop, and +who is asked after by all the great people. The Madonna be with him." +And therewith she nodded down towards the boat which was just putting +off. + +"Shall we have fine weather, my son?" asked the little priest, looking +thoughtfully towards Naples. + +"The sun is not up yet," answered the young man; "It will soon scatter +that bit of fog when it rises." + +"So, let us start at once, and avoid the heat." Antonino was in the act +of grasping the long oar, in order to push off the boat, when he +suddenly checked himself, and looked up towards the steep path which +led from the little town of Lorento, down towards the Marina. + +A slender girlish form was visible above, tripping hastily over the +rough stones, and waving a handkerchief She carried a small bundle +under her arm, and was poorly enough dressed; yet she had an almost +noble, though rather wild way of throwing her head back on her +shoulders, and the black tresses which she wore twined round her +forehead decked her like a coronet. + +"What are we waiting for?" asked the little priest. + +"There is some one coming down who wants to go to Capri. If you will +permit it, padre, we shall not go the slower, for it is only a young +girl, hardly eighteen." + +Just as he spoke the girl appeared round the end of the wall which +bordered the winding path. "Lauretta!" cried the padre, "what can she +want in Capri?" + +Antonino shrugged his shoulders. The girl approached with hasty steps, +looking straight before her. + +"Good day! La Rabbiata!" cried some of the young sailors. They might +indeed have said more if the proximity of their padre had not kept them +a little in order, for the short defiant manner with which the girl +received their greetings seemed to irritate them vastly. + +"Good day, Lauretta!" cried the padre, "how goes it with you? Do you +want to go over to Capri with us?" + +"If you will permit me, padre." + +"You must ask Antonino there. He is the patron of the boat. Every one +is master of his own, and God of us all." + +"Here is a half Carolus," said Lauretta, without looking at the young +boatman, "can I go over for it?" + +"You may want it more than I;" murmured Antonino, and moved some +baskets filled with oranges on one side to make room. He was going to +sell them at Capri, for the rocky islet does not produce enough for its +numerous visitors. + +"I will not go with you for nothing." said the girl; and the dark +eyebrows drew together. + +"Come, my child." said the padre, "he is an honest young fellow, and +does not want to get rich from your poverty; there--step in," and he +reached her his hand, "and seat yourself near me. See there! He has +spread his jacket for you that you may sit the softer. He was not half +so thoughtful of me. But young blood! young blood! It is always so! +They will take more care of one little girl, then of ten holy fathers." + +"Well, well! you need not make any excuses, 'Tonino; it is God's law +that like should cling to like." + +In the mean time, Lauretta had slipped into the boat, and seated +herself, first pushing the jacket on one side without saying a word. +The young fisherman let it be, and muttered something between his +teeth. Then he pushed stoutly against the beach, and the little bark +flew lightly out into the bay. + +"What have you got in your bundle?" asked the padre, as they swept over +the sea, just beginning to be freckled with the first sunbeams. + +"Thread, silk, and a little loaf, padre, I am going to sell the silk to +a woman in Capri, who makes ribbons, and the thread to another." + +"Did you spin it yourself?" + +"Yes, padre." + +"If I remember rightly, you have learned to weave ribbons too?" + +"Yes, padre, but my mother is so much worse, that I cannot leave her +for long at a time; and we are too poor to buy a loom." + +"Much worse! Dear, dear, when I saw her at Easter, she was sitting up." + +"The spring is always the worst time for her. Since we had the great +storm and the earthquake, she has been obliged to keep her bed from +pain." + +"Don't weary of prayers and supplications to the Holy Virgin, my +child,--she alone can help her. And be good and industrious, that your +prayers may be heard." + +After a pause. "As you came across the beach, they called after you, +'Good day, La Rabbiata.' Why do they call you so? It is not a pretty +name for a Christian girl, who ought to be humble and gentle." + +The girl's brown face glowed, and her eyes sparkled. + +"They laugh at me, because I will not dance and sing and gossip, like +the others. They might let me go my own way. I do them no harm." + +"But you might be friendly with every one. Others, who lead easier +lives may dance and sing; but kindly words may be given even by a +sorrowful heart." + +She looked steadily down, and drew the black eyebrows still closer +together, as if she wished to shroud the dark eyes entirely under them. +For a while they, voyaged on in silence. The sun now stood glorious +over the mountains. The peak of Vesuvius ranged high over the bank of +mist which still wrapped its flanks, and the houses on the plains of +Lorento gleamed whitely from amongst the green orange gardens. + +"Have you never heard any thing more of that painter, Lauretta," asked +the padre, "that Neapolitan, who wanted to marry you?" + +She shook her head. + +"He wanted to paint your picture--why did you drive him away?" + +"Why did he want it? There are plenty prettier than I. And then, who +knows what he might have done with it? He might have bewitched me with +it, and endangered my soul, or even have killed me, my mother says." + +"Don't believe such wicked things," said the padre, gravely, "Are you +not always in the hand of God, without whose permission not a hair can +fall from your head? And do you think that a man with a poor picture +like that can be stronger than the Lord God? You might have seen that +he wished you well. Would he have wanted you to marry him if he had +not?" + +She was silent. + +"Then why did you send him away? They said that he was an honest +man and well to do, and could have kept you and your mother in +comfort. Much more so than you can do now with your poor spinning and +silk-weaving." + +"We are poor people." she said, impetuously. "And my mother has been +ill a long time. We should only have been a burden to him; and I am not +fit to be a signora. When his friends came to see him, he would have +been ashamed of me." + +"What nonsense! I tell you that he was a good man, and, moreover, he +was willing to settle in Lorento. Another like him will not come again +in a hurry; he seemed sent straight from heaven to assist you." + +"I will never have a husband, never!" she said almost fiercely, and as +if to herself. + +"Have you taken a vow, or do you intend to enter a cloister?" + +She shook her head. + +"The people are right in accusing you of obstinacy, even if the name be +not a pretty one. Do you forget that you are not alone in the world, +and that this resolution of yours makes your sick mother's life and +illness still more bitter? What possible grounds can you have for +casting aside each honest hand which stretches itself out to assist you +and her? Answer me, Lauretta?" + +"I have, indeed, good grounds," she said, low and hesitatingly, "but I +cannot tell them." + +"Not tell them? not even to me? not even to your old father confessor, +whom you used to trust, and who you know means so well towards you? +Will you?" + +She nodded. + +"So, lighten your heart, my child. If you are _in_ the right, I will be +the first to _do_ you right; but you are young, and know but little of +the world, and you might repent by-and-by at having ruined your +happiness for life for the sake of a childish fancy." + +She cast a shy, rapid glance towards the young man, who sat rowing +steadily behind them in the boat, with his woollen cap plucked deeply +over his brows, gazing sideways at the sea, and seemingly lost in his +own reflections. The padre observed her glance, and bent his head +nearer to her. + +"You did not know my father," she whispered, and her eyes gleamed +darkly. + +"Your father! he died, if I remember rightly, when you were hardly ten +years old. What can your father, whose soul may be in Paradise, have to +do with your caprice?" + +"You did not know him, padre: you did not know that he was the cause of +all my mother's illness." + +"How so?" + +"Because he ill-treated her, and beat her, and trampled her under his +feet! I remember the night well when he used to come home in a rage! +She never said an angry word to him--did all that he wished; but he +beat her till I thought my heart would have broken, and used to draw +the coverlid over my head, and pretend to be asleep, but cried all the +night through. And when he saw her lying on the floor, he changed +suddenly, and raised her up, and kissed her, till she cried that he was +suffocating her. My mother forbad me ever to say a word about it. But +it had such an effect upon her, that she has never been well all these +long years since he has been dead; and if she should die soon, which +the Madonna forbid, I know well who killed her." + +The little priest shook his head, and seemed undecided as to what +extent he should justify his penitent. At last he said, + +"Forgive him, as your mother has forgiven him. Do not fasten your +thoughts on that sad picture, Lauretta. Better times will come for you, +and you will forget all this." + +"Never shall I forget it," she cried, shuddering; "and I tell you, +padre, that I will remain a maiden, and be subject to no one who may +ill-treat me one moment and caress me the next. If any one tries to +strike me or to kiss me now, I know how to defend myself; but my mother +could not defend herself, or ward off the blows or the kisses, because +she loved him; and I will love no one so much as to give him the power +of making me ill and miserable." + +"Now, are you not a child, talking as a child, and knowing nothing of +what happens in the world? Are all men like your father, giving way to +every fancy and ill-humour, and beating their wives? Have you not seen +kind-hearted men enough who live in peace and unity with their wives?" + +"No one knew either how my father treated my mother, for she would have +died a thousand times rather than have said any thing, or complained of +him, and all because she loved him. If that is what love does, closing +one's lips when one should cry for help, and disarming one against +worse than one's worst enemy could do, never shall my heart entrust +itself to a man's keeping." + +"I tell you that you are a child, and do not know what you are talking +about. Much this heart of yours will ask you whether it is to love or +not when its time is come! All those fine fancies you have got into +that little head won't help you much _then_! And that painter, did you +also inform him that you expected him to ill-treat you?" + +"His eyes looked sometimes as my father's used to do when he caressed +my mother, and wanted to take her in his arms and make friends with +her--I know those eyes! A man can give that look, too, who can think of +beating his poor wife, who has never done him ill. I shuddered when I +saw those eyes again." + +Then she remained obstinately silent The padre, too, did not speak. He +ran over in his mind many pretty speeches, which he thought might suit +the girl's case; but the neighbourhood of the young fisherman, who had +become more restless towards the end of the confession, closed his +mouth. + +When, after a voyage of two hours, they gained the little harbour of +Capri, Antonino bore the padre from the boat, over the last shallow +waves, and placed him respectfully upon the shore; but Lauretta would +not wait until he waded back to fetch her; she drew her clothes +together, and taking her shoes in one hand and her bundle in the other, +splashed hastily to the shore. + +"I am going to stop some time at Capri to-day," said the padre, "so you +need not wait for me; possibly I may not return home till to-morrow. +And you, Lauretta, remember me to your mother; I shall see you again +this week. You are going back to-night?" + +"If I have an opportunity," said the girl, arranging her dress. + +"You know that I must go back," said Antonino, in what he intended as a +tone of indifference; "I will wait for you till the Ave Maria; if you +do not come then, it will be all the same to me." + +"You must be in time, Lauretta," said the little priest; "you must not +leave your mother alone all night. Is it far where you are going?" + +"To Anacapri." + +"And I to Capri. God guard you, my child! and you, my son!" + +Lauretta kissed his hand, and said a farewell, which the padre and +Antonino might have divided between them. Antonino, however, did not +claim his share of it; he took off his cap to the padre, and did not +look at Lauretta. + +When, however, they had both turned their backs upon him, he permitted +his glance to follow the padre as he strode carefully up the stony +beach, but for a very short distance, and then directed it to the girl, +who was mounting the hill to the right, holding his hand over his eyes +to shade them from the bright sun. When she reached the place where the +road begins to run between the walls, she paused for a moment, as if to +take breath, and turned round. The Marina lay at her feet, above her +towered the steep cliffs, and before her spread the sea in all its +azure beauty. It was, indeed, a view well worth the pause. + +Chance so willed it that her glance, sweeping past Antonino's boat, +encountered the one which he had sent after her. They both made a +movement, like persons who wish to excuse themselves--"a mere matter of +accident;" and then the girl continued her way with closely-compressed +lips. + + + + + CHAPTER II. + + +It was only an hour after midday, and Antonino had been sitting long on +a bench before the little fishing osteria. Something seemed to be +passing through his mind, for every five minutes he sprang up, stepped +out into the sun, and examined carefully the paths which led right and +left to the two island towns. "The weather looked suspicious," he told +the hostess; "it was clear enough now, but he knew this colour of the +sea and sky; it had looked just like this before the last great storm, +when the English family were saved with such difficulty. She must +remember it?" + +"No." + +"Well, she would remember what he had said, if it changed before +night." + +"Have you many visitors over there?" asked the hostess, after a pause. + +"They are just beginning to come. We have had hard times till now. The +bathers have not arrived yet." + +"The spring was late. Have you done better here in Capri?" + +"I should not have managed to get macaroni twice a week if it had +depended on the boat. Now and then a letter to take to Naples, or a +gentleman who wanted a row on the sea or to fish--that was all. But you +know that my uncle has got the great orange garden, and is a rich man. +'Tonino,' he said to me, 'as long as I live you shall not want, and +afterwards you will be cared for.' So I got through the winter with +God's help." + +"Has your uncle children?" + +"No; he was never married; he was long in foreign countries where he +managed to scrape many a good piaster together; now he has an idea of +setting up a large fishery, and is going to put me at the head of the +whole affair to see that he gets his rights." + +"So you are a made man, Antonino." The young boatman shrugged his +shoulders. "Each one has his burden to bear," he said. Then he sprang +up and looked right and left at the weather, though he must have known +that there was but one weather-side. + +"Let me bring you another flask, your uncle can pay for it," said the +hostess. + +"Only one glass more, my head is warm already." + +"It won't get into your head, you can drink as much as you like of it. +Here is my husband just coming, you must sit down and chat with him a +bit." + +And truly the stately patron of the inn approached them just at that +moment down the hill, with his net on his shoulder, and his red cap set +jauntily sideways on his ringletted hair. He had been into the town +with fish, ordered by the great lady for our little friend the padre of +Lorento. When he caught sight of the young fisherman he waved him a +hearty greeting; then seating himself near him on the bench, began to +question and talk. His wife had just brought a fresh flask of pure +unadulterated Capri, when the shore sand to their left crackled, and +Lauretta advanced towards them from the road to Anacapri. She greeted +them with a hasty nod, and stopped irresolutely. + +Antonino sprang up; "I must away," he said; "it is a girl from Lorento +who came this morning with the padre, and must go back this evening to +her sick mother." + +"Well, but it is a long time before night," said the host, "she will +have time enough to drink a glass of wine. Here, wife, bring a clean +glass." + +"Thank you, I do not wish to drink," said Lauretta, remaining at some +little distance. + +"Pour out, wife, pour out, she wants pressing." + +"Let her alone," said the young man, "she has a will of her own, when +once she has made up her mind, no one can make her alter it." And +therewith he took a hasty leave, and ran down to his boat, to set the +sail, and stood waiting for the girl. She waved a greeting back to the +hostess, and then with hesitating steps approached the boat. She +glanced on all sides, as if she hoped for the arrival of other +passengers; but the Marina was deserted; the fishermen slept, or were +away at sea with their nets and hooks. A few women and children sat in +their doorways, sleeping or spinning; and the strangers who had come +across in the morning, delayed their return until the cooler evening. +She was prevented from looking around her long, for before she could +turn round, Antonino had taken her in his arms and carried her like a +child to the boat. Then he sprang in after her, and with a few strokes +from the oars, they were in the open sea. + +She seated herself in the fore-part of the boat, with her back half +turned towards him, so that he could only see her _en profil_. The +expression of her face was even more haughty than usual; the dark hair +hung low over the broad low forehead, and around her finely cut +nostrils quivered an expression of defiance; her swelling lips were +firmly compressed. + +After they had sailed on in silence for some time, she felt the sun +burning her face, so she took her bread out and threw the handkerchief +over her hair; then she began to eat, to dine in fact, for she had +eaten nothing at Capri. + +Antonino did not contemplate this long in silence. He took two oranges +out of the basket which he had brought over full in the morning, and +said, "Here is something to eat with your bread, Lauretta--don't think +that I kept them for you, they fell out of the basket into the boat, +and I found them when I brought the empty ones back." + +"You had better eat them yourself, my bread is enough for me." + +"They are so refreshing in the heat, and you have had such a long +walk." + +"They gave me a glass of water above there, that refreshed me enough." + +"As you please," he said, and let them fall back into the basket again. + +Fresh silence. The sea was like a mirror, and hardly rustled round the +boat's keel--even the white seamews, that had their nests amongst the +rocks, pursued their prey without a cry. + +"You could take the two oranges home to your mother," Antonino again +began. + +"We have some at home, and when they are gone, I can go and buy more." + +"But take them to her with a kind word from me. + +"She does not know you." + +"You can tell her who I am." + +"_I_ do not know you." + +It was not the first time that she had thus denied him. A year before, +when the painter had just arrived at Lorento, it chanced one summer +evening that Antonino and some other young fellows of the town were +playing boicia on an open piece of ground near the High-street--then it +was that the Neapolitan first saw Lauretta, who, bearing a water-jar on +her head, swept by without seeming to notice his presence. Struck with +her beauty, he stood gazing at her, forgetting that he was just in the +centre of the play-ground, and might have cleared it in two steps. A +ball, thrown by no friendly hand, struck him on the ancle, and reminded +him that that was not the place to lose himself in reveries. He looked +round as if he expected an apology; the young fisherman who had thrown +the ball, stood silent and defiant amongst his companions, and the +stranger thought it his best policy to avoid a discussion and go. But +people had talked about the affair at the time, and spoke anew about it +when the painter began openly to pay his court to Lauretta. "I do not +know him," she had said angrily, when the painter asked her whether she +refused him for the sake of this uncivil youth. And yet the story had +reached her ears too; and since that time, whenever she met Antonino, +she recognized him well enough. + +And now they sat in the boat like the bitterest enemies, and the heart +of each beat fiercely. Antonine's usually good-tempered face was deeply +flushed. He struck his oars into the water till the foam splashed over +them, and his lips moved from time to time as if he spoke evil words. +She pretended not to observe it, put on her most indifferent +expression, bent over the side of the boat and let the water run +through her fingers; then she took off her handkerchief and arranged +her hair as if she had been alone; only her eyebrows still drew +together, and in vain she held her wet hand against her burning cheeks +to cool them. + +Now they reached the centre of the bay, and far or near there was not a +sail to be seen--the island was far behind them, before them the coast +lay bathed in sun-mist; not even a seamew broke in upon the intense +solitude. Antonino glanced around him. An idea seemed to force its way +through his mind; the flush fled quickly from his cheek, and he dropped +the oars. In spite of herself, Lauretta looked around excited, but +fearless. + +"I must make an end of this," burst from the fisherman's lips; "it has +lasted too long already; I wonder that it has not sent me mad before +this! You do not know me, you say? Have you not long enough seen how I +passed you like a madman, with my heart bursting to speak to you? You +saw it, for then you put on your evil look and turned your back upon +me." + +"What had I to talk to you about?" she answered shortly. "I saw long +ago that you wanted to attach yourself to me; but I do not want to be +gossipped about for nothing, and less than nothing, for I will never +marry you, neither you nor any one!" + +"Nor any one? You will not always say that, because you sent away the +painter. Bah! you were a child then. You will get lonesome some day, +and then, mad as you are, you will take the first that comes." + +"No one knows his future. Perhaps I may change my mind; what is it to +you if I do?" + +"What is it to me?" he cried, and sprang so violently from his seat +that the boat rocked again. "What is that to me! and you can ask me +that, when you know how I feel towards you? Unhappy shall it be for him +who is received better than I have been!" + +"Have I engaged myself to you? Am I to blame if you let your brain +wander? What right have you over me?" + +"Oh!" he cried, "truly is it not written down. No lawyer has signed it +and sealed it. But I feel that I have as much right over you as I have +to enter heaven if I die an honest man. Do you think that I will look +on calmly when you go to church with another, and the girls pass by me +and shrug their shoulders? Do you think that I will be so insulted?" + +"Do what you like. I shall not trouble myself, scold as you may. I too +will do as _I_ please." + +"You shall not say so long," he cried, and his whole frame quivered. "I +am man enough not to let my life be destroyed by such fancies. Do you +know that you are here in my power, and must do as _I_ will?" + +She shrank together, and her eyes gleamed at him. + +"Murder me if you like." she said, slowly. + +"We must not do things by halves." he replied, sadly; "there is room +for both of us in the sea, I cannot save you, child," and he spoke +almost compassionately, dreamingly. "But we must dive below, both of +us--and at once--and now," he shrieked, madly seizing her by both arms. +But in an instant he drew back his right hand, the blood streamed from +it--she had bitten him to the bone. + +"_Must_ I do what you will?" she cried, freeing herself from him with a +sudden turn; "let us, see whether I am in your power." And then she +sprang over the gunwale of the boat and disappeared for a moment +beneath the waves. + +She soon rose again; her clothes dung tightly around her; the water had +loosened her hair, which hung in heavy masses around her neck. She +struck out boldly with her arms, and swam, without a sound, steadily +from the boat towards the shore. Sudden terror seemed to have paralyzed +Antonino. He stood bent forward in the boat, his eyes fixed staringly +upon her, as if a miracle was being enacted before them. Then he shook +himself, sprang to the oars, and rowed with all the strength he could +command towards her, whilst the boarding of his boat grew ever redder +from his free-streaming blood. + +In a moment he was by her side, rapidly as she swam. "For the sake of +the ever blessed Virgin," he cried, "come into the boat! I have been a +madman, God knows what took away my reason. It struck into my brain +like lightning from heaven, and burnt in me, till I knew not what I did +or said. I do not ask you to forgive me, only save your life, and come +into the boat again." + +She swam on as if she heard not. "You can never reach the land, it is +still two miglia off. Think of your mother: if anything happened to +you, she would die of grief!" + +She measured with a glance the distance from the shore. Then, without +saying a word, she swam to the boat, and seized the gunwale. He moved +across to help her; his jacket, which was lying on the seat, slid off +into the sea as the boat heeled over with the girl's weight. She swung +herself lithely up, and regained her former seat. When he saw her safe, +he seized the oars again. But she spread out her dripping garments and +wrung the water from her hair. As she did it, she glanced at the +flooring of the boat, and saw the blood; then she cast a hasty look at +his hand, which wielded the oar as unwounded. "There," she said, and +reached him her handkerchief. He shook his head and rowed onwards. At +last she rose, stepped over to him, and bound the handkerchief tightly +over the deep wound. Then, in spite of his resistance, she took one of +the oars from him, and seating herself opposite to him, though without +looking at him, her gaze fixed on oar reddened with his blood, helped +on the boat with vigorous strokes. They were both pale and silent. As +they neared the land they met the fishermen who were moving to sea to +cast their nets for the night. They greeted Antonino, and laughed at +Lauretta: neither of them answered a word. + +The sun was still high over Procida when they reached the marina. +Lauretta shook her gown, now nearly dried, and sprang on shore. The old +spinning woman who had seen them start in the morning stood again on +her roof. "What is the matter with your hand, 'Tonino?" she called down +to him. "Jesus! the boat is swimming in blood!" + +"'Tis nothing, Commare," answered the young man; "I tore it on a nail +that stuck out too far. It will be well by to-morrow. The blood is only +near the hand, and that makes it look worse than it is." + +"I will come and put some herbs upon it, Comparello. Wait, I will be +down with you directly." + +"Don't trouble yourself, Commare; it is all over now and to-morrow it +will be gone and forgotten. I have a good skin that soon grows over a +wound." + +"Addio!" said Lauretta, turning towards the path that led up from the +beach. + +"Good night," called the fisherman after her, without looking towards +her. Then he took his tackle out of the boat, and his baskets, and +strode up the narrow stone steps to his hut. + + + + + CHAPTER III. + + +There was no one but himself in the two rooms, through which he now +paced to and fro. Through the unglazed windows, only closed by wooden +shutters, the wind blew in still more refreshingly than on the calm +sea, and the solitude pleased him. He paused before the little picture +of the Virgin, and gazed thoughtfully at the silver paper star-glory +pasted around it. Yet he thought not of prayer. For what should he pray +now, when he had nothing more to hope for! + +And to-day the sun seemed to stand still. + +He longed for night, for he was weary, and the loss of blood had +affected him more than he would confess. He felt a violent pain in his +hand, seated himself on a stool, and loosened the bandage. The +repressed blood sprang forwards again, and his hand was much swollen +around the wound. He washed it carefully, and held it long in the cold +water. When he withdrew it he could plainly see the marks of Lauretta's +teeth. "She was right," he said to himself; "I was a brute and deserved +no better. I will send her back her handkerchief to-morrow morning by +Giuseppe, for me shall she never see again." He washed the handkerchief +carefully, and spread it out in the sun, after he had bound up his +maimed limb again as well as he could with his left hand and his teeth. +Then he threw himself upon his bed and closed his eyes. + +The bright moon and the pain of his hand awoke him out of a half sleep. +He sprang up to calm the throbbing beat of the blood in cold water, +when he heard a rustling at his door. "Who is there?" he said, and +opened it. Lauretta stood before him. + +Without saying much she entered. She threw aside the handkerchief she +had worn over her head, and placed a basket on the table. Then she drew +a deep sigh. + +"You are come for your handkerchief," he said; "you might have spared +yourself the trouble, for tomorrow morning I should have asked Giuseppe +to take it to you." + +"It is not for the handkerchief," she answered, hastily; "I have been +on the mountain gathering herbs that are good for wounds--there!" and +she raised the cover of her basket. + +"Too much trouble," he said, without any harshness--"too much trouble. +It is better already--much better; and even if it were worse, I have +deserved it. What do you do here so late? If any one were to see +you--you know how they talk, though they know not what they say?" + +"I do not trouble myself about them," she answered vehemently; "but +your hand I _must_ see, and put herbs upon it, for you can never do it +with your left." + +"I assure you that there is no necessity for such trouble!" + +"Then let me see it, that I may believe it." + +She seized his hand before he could prevent her, and untied the +bandage. When she saw the angry swelling, she shrank together, and +screamed "Jesus, Maria!" + +"It is a little swollen," he said; "a day and a night will put it all +right again." + +She shook her head. "You will not be at sea again for a week!" + +"The day after to-morrow, I hope--what does it matter?" + +In the mean time she had found a basin, and washed the wound afresh, +which he suffered her to do like a child; then she laid the healing +leaves of the herbs upon it, which soon assuaged the burning pain, and +bound up the hand with strips of linen which she had brought with her. + +When she had finished, he said, "I thank you--and listen--if you will +do me one kindness more--'forgive me for letting such madness get +possession of me to-day, and forget all that I have said and done. I do +not know myself how it all happened. _You_ never gave me any cause for +it--never, never! And you shall never more hear anything from me that +can annoy you." + +"It is _I_ who have to pray for your pardon," she said, interrupting +him; "_I_ should have told you all, differently and better, and not +have irritated you by my rude manner; and now, even this wound----" + +"It was necessary, and high time that I was brought to my senses! and, +as I said, it is of no consequence--do not talk of forgiveness. You +have done me good, and I thank you for it. And now go to rest, and +there--there is your handkerchief--you can take it with you now." + +He offered it to her, but she stood still and seemed to struggle with +herself; at last, she said, "You have lost your jacket on my account, +and I know that you had the money for the oranges in your pockets. It +struck me just now--I cannot replace it at once, for I have not +sufficient, and if I had it would belong to my mother; but here I have +the silver cross that the painter laid on the table the last time he +was with us; I have never seen it since, and do not care to keep it +longer in my box. If you sell it--it is well worth a couple of +piastres, my mother said--it would help to repair your loss, and what +may be wanting I will try to gain by spinning at night, when my mother +is asleep." + +"I shall not take it!" he said, shortly, pushing back the glittering +cross she had taken from her pocket. + +"You _must_ take it," she cried; "who knows how long you may be laid up +with your hand? There it lies, and I will never set my eyes on it +again!" + +"Then throw it into the sea!" + +"It is no present that I make you--it is only what you have a right to, +and what I owe you." + +"A right to! I have no right to anything from you! If you should happen +to meet me in future, do me one kindness--do not look at me, that I may +not think that you are putting me in mind of how I have offended you. +And now--good night!--and let it be the last." + +He laid her handkerchief in the basket, placed the cross on the top of +it, and closed the lid. When he looked up and saw her face, he started. +Large, heavy tears rolled over her cheeks--she let them run their +course unheeded. + +"Maria Santissima!" he cried. "Are you ill? You tremble from head to +foot!" + +"It is nothing," she said--"I will go home:" and turned towards the +door. Then a burst of weeping overcame her; she pressed her forehead +against the doorpost, and sobbed loud and vehemently. Before he could +reach her, she turned suddenly round and cast herself upon his neck. "I +cannot, cannot bear it," she cried, and clung to him like a dying man +to life. "I cannot bear to hear you saying kind words to me, and +telling me to leave you, with all the fault on my conscience! Beat +me--trample me under your feet--curse me--or, if it be true that you +love me _still_, after all the ill that I have done you, then take me +and keep me, and make of me what you will, but send me not thus away +from you----" Fresh vehement sobs interrupted her. + +He held her awhile in his arms, stricken dumb. "If I love you still!" +he cried. "Holy Madonna! do you think that all my heart's blood has run +out of that little wound? Do you not feel it beating in my breast, as +if it would spring out, and to you? If _you_ only say it to try me--or +from pity to me--there, go, and I will even forget this too! You shall +not think that you are indebted to me because you know what I suffer +for you." + +"No!" she said, firmly, raising her forehead from his shoulder, and +gazing passionately in his face with her wet eyes--"I love you; and if +I only say it _now_, I have long feared and fought against it--and now +will I change, for I can no longer bear to look at you when you pass me +in the street: and now I will kiss you too," she said, "that you may +say if you doubt again, 'She has kissed me!' and, Lauretta kisses no +one but the man she takes as her husband." + +She kissed him thrice, and then freed herself from his arms, and said, +"Good night, darling! Now sleep, and heal your hand; and do not come +with me, for I fear no one now--but thee!" + +Therewith she glided through the doorway, and disappeared in the shadow +of the wall; but he looked long through the window, and over the sea, +over which all the stars seemed trembling. + +The next time the little Padre Curato emerged from the confessional, by +which Lauretta had been a long time kneeling, he laughed quietly to +himself. "Who would have thought it," he murmured, "that God would so +soon have taken pity on this strange heart? And I was blaming myself +for not having attacked the demon of obstinacy more fiercely! But our +eyes are too short-sighted for the ways of Heaven! And now, may God +bless them both, and let me live till Lauretta's eldest boy can go to +sea in his father's place." + +Ay! ay! ay! La Rabbiata! + + + + + + "BY THE BANKS OF THE TIBER." + + + + + CHAPTER I. + + +It was late in January. The first snow hung upon the mountains, and the +sun, shrouded by mists, had only melted away a narrow band around their +feet. But the waste of the campagna bloomed like spring. Only the +sombre boughs of the olive trees, that here and there followed in rows +the gentle undulations of the plain, or surrounded some lonely cabin, +and the frosted scrubby bushes that grew about the road, still showed +the effects of winter. At this time of the year the scattered herds are +collected within hurdles, near the huts of the campagnuoli, which are +generally placed under the shelter of some hillock, and scantily enough +protected from the weather by straw piled up from the ground; whilst +those amongst the herdsmen who can sing or play the bagpipe have left, +to wander about Rome as pifferari, to serve the artists as models, or +to support their poor frozen existences by some similar industry. + +The dogs are now the herds of the campagna, and sweep through the +deserted waste in packs, maddened by hunger, and no longer restrained +by the herdsmen, on whose poverty they are only a burden. + +Towards evening, when the wind began to blow more strongly, a man +emerged from the Porta Pia, and wandered along the carriage-road which +runs between the country houses. His cloak hung carelessly from his +sturdy shoulders, and his broad grey hat was pushed back from his +forehead. He gazed towards the mountains till the road became more +enclosed, and only permitted him a narrowed glance of the distance +between the garden walls. + +The confinement seemed to oppress him. He lost himself again dejectedly +in the thoughts to escape which he had sought the free air. A stately +cardinal tripped by with his suite without his observing or greeting +him. The carriage following its master first reminded him of his +omission. From Tivoli rolled carriages and light vehicles, full of +strangers, who had taken a fancy to see the mountains and cascades +under snow. He cast not a glance at the pretty faces of the young +Englishwomen, with whose blue veils the tramontane played. Hastily he +turned from the road, sideways to the left, along a field-path which +first ran past mills and wine-shops, and then led out into the midst of +the waste of the campagna. + +And now he paused for a moment, breathing deeply, and enjoying the +freedom of the broad wintry sky. The shrouded sun gleamed redly over +all, lighted up the ruins of the aqueduct, and tinged with rose the +snow on the Sabine hills. + +Behind him lay the town. Not far from him a clock began to strike, but +lightly, through the opposing wind. It made him restless; as though he +wished to prevent the least sound of life from reaching him, and he +strode onward. He soon left the narrow path, which swept up and down +the waves of the plain, swung himself over the rails which had guarded +the pasturing herds during the summer, and buried himself still deeper +and deeper in the solitary darkness. + +A stillness reigned there as deep as that on a sleeping sea. One could +almost hear the rustle of the crows' wings as they floated over the +waste. No cricket chirped, no ritornella of the home-returning +market-woman reached his ear from the distant road. It pleased him. He +struck his staff against the hard earth, and rejoiced in the sound with +which she answered him. "She does not say much," he said, in the +dialect of the lower class of Romans; "but she means honestly, and +cares in silence for her babbling children who trample her under their +feet. Would I never needed to hear their voices again, these windy +rogues; my ears are sore with their smooth phrases! As if I were +nothing--as if I knew not better on what those things depend, about +which they love to chatter--because I only know how to create them! + +"And yet I live on them, and must keep a good countenance when they +sniff and sneer at my work. Accidenti!" He cursed on his beard--an echo +answered him: he looked, startled around; no hut, no hillock was there +within a circle of half a mile, and he could not believe in the +neighbourhood of man. At last he stepped onward, and thought "A gust of +wind mocked thee!" Then suddenly it sounded again, nearer and clearer. +He stood and listened keenly. "Am I near a cabin, or a fold where the +cattle are lowing? It cannot be--it sounded differently--it _sounds_ +differently; and now--now"--and a shudder shook his whole frame. "It +is the dogs," he said slowly. + +The cry came nearer and nearer, hoarse as that of wolves; no barking or +yelping, but a snarling howl, which the voice of the wind swept +together into one uninterrupted, terrible melody. A paralyzing power +seemed to exist in it, for the traveller stood motionless, his mouth +and eyes rigidly open, his face half turned towards the side from which +the battle-cry of the raging brutes swelled towards him. + +At last he shook himself with fierce determination. "It is too late! +they have long had the scent; and in this twilight I should fall before +the tenth step if I tried to fly. Well, like a dog have I lived! and +now, to be destroyed by my fellows!--there is sense in it! If I had a +knife I would make it easier for my guests; but this"--and he tried the +strong iron spike of his staff--"if there be but few of them, who knows +whether my hunger may not survive theirs?" + +He threw his cloak around him, so as to have his right arm free, and to +form with its many folds a sort of protection to his left, and grasped +his staff. With cold-blooded determination he examined the ground on +which he stood. He found it free from grass, stony, and hard. "They may +come!" he said, planting himself firmly upon his feet. He saw them now, +and counted them in the gloaming. Five he counted, and then a sixth. +They rave like fiends from hell--long-limbed, skeleton brutes! "Wait!" +and he raised a heavy stone; "we must declare war according to custom." + +Therewith he hurled the stone at the nearest, twenty paces from him. A +redoubled howling answered--the pack was checked for a moment. One of +them lay struggling on the ground. + +"Armistice!" said the man. His lips trembled, his heart throbbed +heavily against his left arm, which grasped his cloak spasmodically; +but the lids over the keen eyes winked not. He saw his enemies break +forth again, and their eyes glared through the darkness. They came on +in couples, the largest first. A second stone rebounded from the bony +chest of one of the leaders, and the ravening brute sprang, hoarsely +snarling, against the dark form. A thrust, and he fell backwards on the +sward, and the staff, whirled quickly round, striking heavily on his +open jaws. + +A horseman galloped through the grey of the winter's night, some few +hundred paces from the scene of the struggle, over the pathless +campagna. He pierced through the darkness towards the spot from whence +the howling reached him, at short intervals, and saw a man standing, +tottering, giving way, and again standing firm, as his enemies +relinquished the attack, and once more stormed on him from all sides. + +The horseman shuddered; he plunged the spurs into his horse's flanks, +and flew towards them. The sound of the horse's hoofs reached the ear +of the struggling man, but it seemed as if the sudden terror of hope +deprived him of his last remaining strength; his arm sank, his brain +whirled, and he felt himself torn down from behind,--tottered, and fell +to the ground. Through the mists of approaching unconsciousness he +heard the sound of pistol-shots, and then fainted. + +When he recovered, and opened his eyes, he saw the face of a young man +bending over him, on whose knee his head was resting, and whose hand +was rubbing his temples with fresh-plucked wet grass. The horse stood +steaming near them, and at his feet lay two dogs, writhing in the +agonies of death. + +"Are you wounded?" he heard asked. + +"I know not." + +"You live in Rome?" + +"Near the Tritone." + +The other helped him to rise. He could not stand. His left foot was in +great pain. He was bareheaded; his cloak in rags; the coat and arm, +torn and bloody; his face pale and haggard. Without speaking, he +permitted himself to be supported by his preserver, who rather bore +than led him the few paces to the horse; at last he gained the saddle, +the other took the bridle and led him slowly towards the town. + +At the first osteria outside the walls they halted. The young man +called to the hostess to bring wine: when the wounded man had drunk a +glassful his face became more animated, and he said:-- + +"You have done me a service, sir. Possibly the time may come when I +shall curse it, instead of thanking you for it. But I thank you for it +now. One clings to life as to other bad habits. One knows that the air +is full of fever and rottenness, and the worthless steam of mankind, +and yet thinks that each breath one draws in is a good thing." + +"You are inclined to speak ill of mankind." + +"I never knew one who did not take me for a fool if I spoke well of +them. Pardon me. You are not a Roman?" + +"I am a German." + +"Bless God for it." + +They reached the gate in silence, and turned into the Piazza Barberini. +The wounded man pointed to a small house in the corner of the place, +ruinous and dark. When the horse stopped before the humble door, its +rider let himself slide off before the other could assist him, but then +sank helplessly down. "It is worse than I thought." he said; "do me one +kindness more, and help me in,--here is the key." The young man +supported him, called to a boy to hold the horse, and to a loiterer to +open the door. It was quite dark within, the damp cold struck +unpleasantly upon them. He bore him as directed, to the left, into a +large bare room. + +"Where is your bed?" asked the German. + +"Where you will; but I would rather lie over there by the wall. This +brave old Palazzo! They are going to pull it down in the spring; I +fancy that it will not have the patience to wait for them." + +"And you still remain here?" + +"It is the cheapest way of getting buried," said the man, drily. "I can +play the host here gratis." + +In the mean time, the boy had struck fire, and lighted the little brass +lamp that stood in the window. The young man helped the wounded one to +a coverlid spread on some straw, and covered him scantily enough with +his tattered cloak. With a deep sigh the powerful frame sank down, and +the eyes closed. The German gave the boy money and directions, and then +went out without leave-taking, sprang up on his horse, and rode hastily +away. + +In about a quarter of an hour he returned, bringing with him a surgeon. +Whilst the latter examined and bound up the wounds on arm and leg, +which the wounded man permitted him to do without a murmur escaping +him, the young German looked around the room: it was bare, and the +plaster had fallen in large masses from the walls. The joists of the +ceiling stood naked and blackened, the wretched window let in the +cutting night air, there was but little furniture. Meanwhile the boy +brought in an armful of wood, and made a fire on the hearth. As it +gleamed up redly some dusty clay figures and plaster casts became +visible in the corner. A large dolphin which bore a dead boy on its +back, a Medusa in relief, colossal, the hair, not yet vivified into +serpents, curled wildly around the sorrow-laden brow. He could not +remember that he had ever seen this rendering in an antique. Casts from +the arms, bust, and feet of a young girl, amongst hasty sketches in +clay, stood and lay in confusion. On a table were the different kinds +of apparatus used by cameo-cutters, and some sticks with half-finished +works, for the most part Medusa heads, resembling the great one, but +with different degrees of passion and grandeur. Uncut shells, casts of +gems, and casts in glass and plaster, lay in a box near them. + +"I think there is no danger," said the surgeon, at last. "Let them get +some ice, and make the boy sit up and keep the bandages cool during the +night. They have treated you roughly, Senor Carlo! But what on earth +induced you to wander about the campagna at this time of night, and +this time of year?" + +"This obstinate rascal, the chimney," answered the artist, "he refused +to do his duty unless one stuffed his throat with faggots. I was out of +temper with my old Palazzo, Señor Vottore, and felt inclined to give +him a kick or two, to warm us both; and so I thought it better to run +away before it came to blows between us." + +"You are ill looked after here," said the good-natured little man, +wiping his spectacles, which had become suddenly dimmed. "My wife shall +send you another coverlid, and I will see you again tomorrow. Sleep +will soon come, and he is the doctor who beats us all." + +The young man accompanied him to the door, and spoke a few words with +him in the passage. + +"I only know him by name," said the doctor. "He goes his own strange +misanthropical way. Prefers sitting in the wine-shop with the lowest +faccini, and squanders what he earns. But there is not a man in Rome +who is his equal at a cameo. He inherits it from his father, Giovanni +Bianchi, who has long been dead." + +"Are his wounds really not dangerous?" + +"If he only spares himself and not the ice. He has limbs of iron, or he +could not have made head so long against the brutes. Five, do you say? +The fool-hardy man! But that is just one of his tricks. Well, well, he +will sleep now. Dispel your anxiety, Señor Theodore." + +He was already asleep, when Theodore returned to his room, although he +had turned his face towards the blazing fire. Theodore studied him +long. He was very handsome, though the nose was a little too thin; his +hair here and there sprinkled with grey; his beard untended; from +between the breathing, half-opened lips gleamed the white teeth. When +Theodore raised the cloak to place fresh ice on the wounds, he +perceived the great strength of his limbs. + +He sent the boy away, after he had brought a fresh supply of wood and +ice, and ordered him to return in the morning. He then drew a chair to +the side of the hearth, and seated himself, wrapped in his cloak, to +watch. It was about ten o'clock, the bright night reigned without over +the deserted square, and the slender stream from the fountain plashed +lightly into the Triton's shell. From a neighbouring house he heard a +girl's voice, singing:-- + + "Chi sa se mai + Ti soverrai di me!" + + +The refrain of an old sorrowful song. Then it ceased, but hummed +wordless within him still. + +He fancied himself again at the edge of the abyss at Tivoli, on the +footway opposite the cascades, which in wintry scantiness gushed down +from their many mouths. They walked, but not arm in arm, near each +other; he and that fair girl and her lively little companion, who +hastened unweariedly along the narrow, toilsome path. + +"We ought to have returned with your parents, Mary," she said more than +once in English; "indeed, we ought to do so now. Look, child! there +they are up above by the cascade, and will soon be sitting comfortably +by the fire in the sibyl, and here the wind is cutting our very noses +off; yours is quite red already; dear me! how cold you look, child! The +wind blows so chilly across the water too. You said that it would, sir, +and warned us fairly; but our pet must have her fancies. Bless me, we +have seen the view in the autumn already, and in the summer too, and +then rode safely and comfortably down the path that we are half +stumbling, half sliding down now." + +"It is not much farther, dear Miss Betsy," said the girl, laughing, +"and the path will improve. Our friend offered you his arm; why did you +refuse it?" + +The little woman drew closer to her, and said softly, "My dear Mary, +what a question to ask! you know that I have my reasons for declining +to be helped down hills by unmarried young gentlemen! when one slips +and holds him tight to save oneself from falling, he might take each +pinch for a proof of affection; you quite shock me, child!" + +Mary smiled almost imperceptibly; then she went calmly on her way. Her +dark bonnet hid all her face from the young man except the waving brown +curls. + +"It was intended as no mere compliment, sir." she said, glancing +unembarrassed towards him; "when my father confessed that your absence +had caused him pain: if I remember rightly, you have only called on us +four times since my poor brother's death." + +"Four times!" he cried; "and have you counted them?" + +"We must often hear the number from him. 'Since I lost Edward,' he says +frequently, 'I care to talk to no one who has not known him; how can +they ever learn to know _me_?' Then he always refers to you, and +praises you, and misses you so much." + +"I confess," said Theodore, "that the kindness and heartiness with +which your parents greeted me when we met here, surprised and affected +me very much; and I too have wanted companionship this winter more than +formerly. In the one before, which was my first, I drew back from +nothing which pressed itself forward and promised to be advantageous. I +see now that I have only lost. The society here is in contradiction to +the place. It feels it itself, and as it still desires to be something, +it is obliged to overstrain itself: that is discordant and neutralizes +the productive disposition of thoughtful men like myself; so now I live +only for myself, or for some few who have fared no better than I have, +and yet from my youth up I have been accustomed to find permanent +happiness in pure family existence alone." + +"You have been long away from your parents?" + +"I have lost them." he said gently; "they both died in the same week; +then I went over the Alps, and God knows whether I shall ever return!" + +They passed beneath the light shadow of the olive plantation--the path +was perfectly dry--over them, amongst the branches, the sun glanced +from the fleeting snow, which it had thawed upon the leaves, till they +had glimmered as from a soft spring shower. The little friend was in +the best possible humour, and talked of her wanderings about Rome. +People suspected that she was writing a book about Rome. However that +might be, it was clearly proved that she had done such violence to her +well-grounded opinions, as to permit it to be reported that she had +explored the baths of Caracalla with an entirely unknown and youthful +Italian, and had not even refused his offer of protection to her own +house. + +"Do you believe, Mary," she cried now, "that I could easily make up my +mind never to see my dear old England again? You know that at first we +did not intend to stop here a single month. For you must know, sir, +that I come of an old family, and my first ancestor fell at Hastings, +winning his bit of land for himself and his descendants. And so my +little bit of England is as much mine as the big one of a great +landowner; and who likes to leave his own behind him? And yet who knows +whether I might not be induced to pass the rest of my life here, if it +were not dishonourable to forget one's fatherland, even though it +forgets us and the good service our forefathers have done it?" + +"I do not know." answered Theodore, laughing, "you only do old England +a service if you conquer a bit of Rome for yourself, and so tread in +the footsteps of your forefathers." + +"You are pleased to be witty!" she said, and gave him a light tap with +her fan. "But even suppose that I were of an age which made your joke +more appropriate, do you seriously think--supposing that there was any +foundation for your innuendo, and any one _should_ trouble himself +about me,--do you think, I repeat, that English and Italian, or more +properly Roman character, would in the long run, be able to get on +together?" + +"You know, my dear Miss Betsy, that love works wonders, fills up +valleys and pulls down mountains. As far as mere _character_ goes, I am +not afraid. If the sentiments agree, what may the heart not do? I have +seen more marriages rendered unhappy by difference of taste, than from +difference of feeling. But what Roman would not share in your taste for +everything Roman, for example?" + +"You are right," she said; "at the bottom, love is a matter of taste." +Then she drew her green veil over her face, and seemed to wish to be +left to her own reflections. + +The two young people went a little in advance, for they heard Miss +Betsy beginning to talk half aloud to herself, as was often her custom, +and they had no wish to overhear her dreamings. "Good creature!" said +Mary, with her gentle voice; "the journey has quite unsettled her. She +always used to have strange ideas, but in England they took an innocent +political direction; but with her first step on the continent arose +this strange fancy of inventing experiences, which has already indeed +given us much anxiety on the journey, but which has perhaps as often +afforded an excuse for a hearty laugh." + +"This fantastic state of being must have suited her charmingly when she +was younger," said Theodore; "older people generally discover that they +have quite enough to do to meet adventures as they happen, and are by +no means inclined to seek them. It is to be hoped that she will soon be +as little in earnest with her new Roman friend, as he seems to have +been with her from the beginning." + +"I saw them both returning home. He was a good-looking man, with rather +insolent, but still fine eyes, and much younger than she is." + +"What restrained you from giving an opinion on the question which Miss +Betsy proposed?" asked Theodore, after a pause. + +"Which one?" + +"Whether individuals of different nations are suited to each other?" + +Mary was silent for a while. "The more people want from each other," +she said, at last, "and the more they wish to give each other, the +closer the connection between them ought to be--at least, I think so." + +"And even, I once knew an Englishman who had married a creole, they +both took life easily and gaily. He was happy at having a handsome +wife, and she appeared satisfied because he could shower wealth upon +her. And yet there was always something between them, something +climatic, live where they would. They were never really happy with each +other." + +"They were from different zones. But if they both had had northern +blood----" + +"It may be so; and yet I can understand it by my own feelings. I was +brought up amongst the mountains, and have only accustomed myself by +slow degrees to the soft Roman air. Now it is winter; without there +lies the fair pure snow. When we are seated this evening with my father +and mother by the fire, and the kettle sings, and I see all that belong +to my life around me, I could easily be _entirely_ happy. And yet I +confess that it is just at that moment that the home-longing might +seize me for the old country-house in England, where the old oak-trees +stand before the window, and the snowy field lies behind the garden, +far less beautiful than the campagna beyond them, and the English sky +shrouded with heavy mist, so unlike this clear horizon, which should +cheer and refresh me. Yet it is foreign, and something foreign like +this might exist between people." + +They had hitherto carried on the conversation in English. He now began +to talk German, which she too spoke perfectly, with the exception of a +slight accent. + +"Permit me," he said, "to speak to you in my own language. You made me +share your feelings of home-longing when you talked of your winter +quietness. You put me in mind of my old German winters, which now lie +so far behind me, and can never be to me again what they were. I heard +again the light sound of the raven brushing through the bare branches, +and breaking the dry twigs, till a fine cloud of snow fell past the +window like crystal dust. My mother lay there ill on her bed for months +together. She could not, and would not, longer endure the noise and +bustle of the town. Before that time the old country-house had only +seen summer visitors, cheerful hunters, and gay promenaders. Then it +became the winter retreat where my mother recovered from her wearying +journeys to the baths." + +"You were with her then?" + +"For the first year or two, only for a week at a time. The last winter, +however, she would not let me leave her. I sat the whole day by her, +worked, and talked now and then, or played her favourite airs, those +simple old ballads which are now quite out of fashion. The little room +opened into the garden by several tall windows. I can see my father now +pacing up and down on the terrace before it, with his bear-skin cap and +short pipe. He could not bear the close air of the room for long at a +time. But he seldom left his post, and whoever had business with him +must seek him there. Now and then he came in to us for a quarter of an +hour at a time. I can never forget the look with which my poor mother +used to greet him then. She had beautiful bright blue eyes." + +"And she died then?" + +"In the spring. My father soon afterwards. He met with an accident in +riding. After my mother left us he had no rest, mounted the wildest +horses, and often remained away half the day, much as I used to entreat +him to spare himself I understood him. I could never free myself from a +secret terror. I was in the right." + +They had arrived at the foot of the path, and stood still to wait for +their companion; Mary paused some steps from him, so that when he +turned and looked round over the country, he had her full face towards +him. The fair, bright features were clouded with sadness, and there was +a moist gleaming under the drooping eyelids. When she raised them, he +saw the blue eyes resting full and seriously on the landscape before +her. He knew this look already. He had avoided it hitherto, for he knew +the power that lay in it. Now he surrendered himself wholly to it for +the first time. "Mary!" he said. She moved not nor looked towards him. +Then their meditative little friend rejoined them. The conversation was +resumed as they mounted the ascent to Tivoli. But Mary took no part in +it. + +When they left Tivoli in the early twilight, gayer from the cheerful +supper, and Theodore had helped the ladies into the carriage, the old +man said confidentially to him, "I will not get in until I know when we +are to meet you again, my dear sir. I have an affair to settle which +interests me and mine deeply, and on which I wish much to consult you. +It concerns our poor Edward, and I know that you will come the sooner +when you learn that we reckon on your assistance." + +"Come this evening," said the mother. He promised it. When they brought +him his horse, he saw an anxious expression on Mary's face. He sprang +into the saddle, and gently humouring the spirited animal, rode beside +the carriage for some way. Then he lagged behind, rode more slowly, and +let the evening slip away without observing it. The night surprised +him. He gave his horse the spur, and rode across the waste with the +intention of making a short cut, and thus it was that he arrived so +opportunely in Bianchi's neighbourhood. + +He shook himself now, threw fresh wood upon the fire, and fixed his +dark eyes thoughtfully upon it. + +"What will they think," he said to himself, "at my strange absence? +What will _she_ think? It is too late now to send a messenger, and where, +indeed, could I get one? She will sit at home, and never dream of what +this day may mean! Or, + + "Chi sa se mai!" + + +Then he attended to the sick man, walked up and down, and studied the +Medusa head, on which the firelight shone warmly--strangely like the +tints of ebbing life when the reluctant blood struggles with the +death-terror. It affected him powerfully. At last he was obliged to +turn away his eyes; and now, for the first time, observed some loose +figures, some of them of corroded Pompeian bronze, and others by a newer +hand, as life-like and reckless as they. Near them lay a torn and dusty +copy of "Ariosto." He seized it, and read it eagerly. It was the only +book he was able to discover. + +So passed the hours. Long after midnight the sleeping man groaned +heavily, and struck out his arms in his dreams. As Theodore arranged +his disordered couch, and spread the coverlid over him afresh, he awoke +fully, and half arose. He felt around him, as if for a weapon, and +asked, in a determined voice,-- + +"Who are you?" + +"A friend!--do you not recognize me?" answered Theodore. + +"It is false!--I have none." shouted the wounded man, striving to raise +himself upon his feet. The pain of his wounds brought back +recollection. He sank down again, and collected himself thoroughly. He +lay still for awhile, and then said, more quietly, + +"You _are_ one. Now I recollect you. What are you doing here at +this hour? Why are you not gone home? Are _you_ different from the +other sons of men, who only do good in order to sleep more soundly? +Go!--you have earned your rest. Why do you watch my dreams?" + +"The doctor insists upon having your wounds kept cool during the night. +I could not trust to a stranger." + +"Are _you_ not one?" + +"No; not for a couple of pauls; but for your own sake I do this." + +The other lay silent awhile. Then he said, with a strange excitement, +"You would do me a kindness by going. It makes me feel ill to have a +man moving about me. When it comes to thanking, I am more clumsy than +an old man courting a young girl." + +"Do not trouble yourself about thanks. I stay because you want me. If +you could manage without me, you should not have to complain of my +being in your way." + +"I cannot sleep when I know that you are sitting; and freezing there." + +Theodore stirred the fire. "I hope that you feel, even over there, how +warm I must be here." + +After a pause, during which the sick man had lain with closed eyes, he +asked-- + +"You are a Lutheran, sir?"----"Yes." + +"I knew it," said Bianchi to himself; "he wishes to rob the church of a +soul--he does it all for that! They are no better than we are." + +"The fever makes you rave." said Theodore emphatically; "say what you +will." + +They were both silent for a long time. Theodore placed fresh ice upon +the wounds, as before; and Bianchi lay with his face turned towards the +wall, motionless, as though he slept. Suddenly, as Theodore was again +busied about him, he turned round, and raised himself half up. With the +wounded arm he clutched towards Theodore's hand, and grasped it with +his burning one, and said, low and slowly--"You are good! you are good! +you are a man!" His weakness overcame him; he fell back upon the straw, +and burst into a convulsive fit of weeping. As the tears ceased to +flow, he slept anew. + + + + + CHAPTER II. + + +When he awoke, the bright morning light was forcing its way through the +crevices in the shutters, and making a sunny twilight around him. He +saw the boy by his bedside, and the doctor, and heard that Theodore had +gone into the town early in the morning, as soon as the boy came in, +without saying anything about his return. + +Thus he passed half the day, restless, dreaming, listening towards the +door. Two mice, which he had tamed, and for whom he had hitherto ever +had a caress, even in his moments of deepest gloom and misery, now came +into the middle of the room, blinked their bright little eyes at him, +squeaked, and flourished about, without his casting a glance towards +them. The boy, not knowing that they were permitted guests, frightened +them away. Some one knocked. It was somebody who brought the artist an +order for a pair of ear-rings, in red shell. Bianchi let him depart +without speaking to him; nor did he say a word to a sculptor of his +acquaintance, who had heard of the terrible adventure of the previous +night, and was good-hearted enough to visit the solitary being. + +Meanwhile, Theodore, already early in the day, had mounted the stone +steps of the large house in which Mary's parents resided. The old +servant opened the door. "They waited long for you last night," he +said. "I was sent to your lodgings, but you had not returned. Miss Mary +thought that you must have met with some accident, as you were on +horseback. But, God be praised! you are safe." + +Theodore did not answer; he heard music within--a sonata of +Beethoven--suddenly it ceased; a stool was pushed back, a gown rustled. +As he entered, Mary stood before him; she seemed to have paused +suddenly in the middle of the room on her way to the door; she tried to +speak; her cheeks flushed. He seized her hand eagerly with both of his, +and now saw that she had been weeping. "Mary!" he said, "I find that I +have more to crave pardon for than I expected--you have been uneasy +about me!" + +She tried to smile. "I am delighted to find that there was no reason +for it," she said. "Something prevented you; it was very foolish to +think the worst at once. I will go and call my parents." + +He held her back entreatingly. "You have been weeping, Mary!" + +"It is nothing; I had a bad night, and the music just now agitated me." + +He let her hand fall. She remained standing on the same spot, +supporting herself against a chair. He took one turn up and down the +room, and stood before her; he grasped her hand again, stammered out a +word, and then pressed her passionately to his breast. She rested +weeping blissfully and silently in his arms. + +"We will go to my parents," said Mary, when she had had a little +recovered the emotion of that first embrace. "Come!" + +She took him gently by the hand. He longed to remain alone with her; it +seemed to him as though she would be separated from him again when they +came into the presence of others; yet he permitted her to lead him. +They found her parents together in her mother's boudoir. As he entered +he felt a longing to entreat his loved one to be silent on what had +just passed between them, he felt incapable of talking calmly over it, +or of meeting any one but herself in his blissful intoxication. It had +already passed her lips. The mother, a stately, ceremonious woman, +clasped him heartily in her arms; formal as she usually was, she could +not hear the pleasant news without saying some heartfelt words of +blessing, which, kindly as they were meant, still sounded foreign and +strange to Theodore's state of feeling. Her father said nothing. He +pressed his future son-in-law warmly by the hand, and kissed his +daughter's forehead. + +Theodore described the adventures of the previous evening. Mary leant +her head on his breast, and when he told of the combat, threw her arm +timidly around her lover, as if to assure herself that all was past, +and that she really possessed him again in safety. Her mother made a +sign to her, which, slight as it was, did not escape Theodore. She +removed her arm, and sat near him without touching him. He felt pained; +he felt, too, when after some hours he was obliged to leave, and kissed +her again with his whole heart on the threshold, that she avoided him +shily, and at first turned away her lips from his. He departed with a +strange confusion of feeling--a weight upon his heart--and an obstinate +deadened glow in every vein. He stood still for a moment before the +door; the street was deserted, he pressed his feverish forehead against +the cool stone pillars, and stretched forth his arms as if he would +draw down a part of the heavens and press it to his breast, and then +went somewhat more calmly on his way to the Tritone. + +A passionate flush passed over Bianchi's haggard features, as he +recognized Theodore's footsteps without. He raised himself and gazed +eagerly and fully at him as he entered--taller and more manly than he +had appeared to him the evening before. Theodore went to him and said, +"You have rallied, Bianchi, and the doctor is satisfied. Keep quiet, I +entreat you; you must let me walk up and down a little, my ideas are in +a whirl, and my thoughts will not allow me to rest." + +He told him not from whence he came, nor that within the last few hours +he had bound his fate to a woman; but there lay a glory on him, from +which Bianchi could not turn away his eyes. He had laid aside his hat, +and thrown his cloak over one shoulder, his head sprang freely from the +broad chest--the short curled hair was a little disordered--his +forehead massive and noble; and thus, with an absent look, and his arms +folded across his cloak, he seemed almost to have forgotten the purpose +of his visit As he paced up and down, he struck his foot against the +burning logs, and gazed at the fire. At last he turned, and said-- + +"Tell me about yourself, Bianchi!" + +"What would you know?" + +The tone of this question, doubtful, almost distrustful, and yet +submissive and compliant, struck Theodore's delicate ear. He drew a +stool near the couch, seized Bianchi's hand and said-- + +"I wish to know nothing, except how you feel now; and if you are in no +humour to talk, make a sign with your hand, which now betrays but +slight remains of your fever." + +He felt the pressure of the hand, which then withdrew itself +hesitatingly from his. + +"You will soon be so well that we shall be able to part without the +necessity of meeting again. For the present you must resign yourself to +my intrusiveness; for you must know that I have made up my mind not to +let the carelessness of a stupid boy be the destruction of such an +artist as you are." + +"As _I_ am!" and he laughed sadly. "Do _you_ know what I am? Who knows +it not? A day labourer am I, cutting shells for women, with a woman's +patience, whose stout arms are ashamed of him when they encounter a +piece of marble. Well, perhaps, yesterday the matter was arranged so +that the poor cripples will have nothing to reproach themselves for in +future!" + +"You talk strangely--as if there were not room enough within a circle +of two inches for a soul that can at times express itself in two +words." + +"For the idea, possibly, but hardly for the execution." + +"You must have experienced that," said Theodore. "But are you _obliged_ +to do what is so disagreeable to you?" + +The sick man cast a quiet look around the four bare walls, and said-- + +"I have got so used to the amount of luxury you see about you; I did, +indeed, once think of beginning a large work without there in the +square, eating my artichoke by the fountain at noon, and sleeping at +night at the foot of my work. But one is effeminate and fears the +weather, and cowardly, and afraid of the gossipping. Besides, I cannot +do without the wine or--" + +"But if you had an opportunity of working in marble without any +discomfort to yourself," interrupted Theodore. + +The sick man started up excitedly. + +"Do you know what you are doing with your thoughtless questions?" he +cried, and his eyes sparkled. "Look in that corner; there have I cast +one on the top of the other, all that used to come to me with such +questions. The dust is burying these impertinent babblers day by day, +and my eyes know already that it is an unpardonable sin for them to +wander towards them. And yet I was fool enough to allow myself to hope +again when they said that models were to be sent in for the monument to +the last Pope. For a couple of weeks I thought and dreamt of nothing +else, and worked it out with energy, and was myself satisfied with my +work. Fool that I was, to be deluded by such fancies. That was +yesterday. I wrapped the model in a cloth, and bore it myself all the +way to the Cardinal Secretary of State,--for my soul hung upon it, and +I thought another might let it fall. And then I was obliged to give the +rascally servants civil words and my last scudo before they would even +permit me to enter. Inside it was all black and red and violet, with +their reverences' stockings, and they stared at me from head to foot, +because I had run out of my studio without thinking of taking off my +old working-jacket. I thought, 'Let them stare;' took courage, and +stepped with a bow and my work before his eminence. I saw at once that +he was in a bad temper, and that his neighbour had already tasted some +of its effects. I told him shortly why I was there, and begged to be +permitted to show my sketch. The old fellow nodded, after his custom, +cast a glance over the figures, which looked doubly noble amongst all +those rogues, and said, 'Not bad. But 'twont do, 'twont do; wants +noblesse, my son, and more direct reference to the holy church. Take it +home and beat it up. The clay is wet still.' I stood like a man in a +madhouse. Beat it up! as if my loftiest ideas were broth. Whilst I +stood there, unable to utter a word, up stepped the monsignori, stuck +their learned spectacles on their noses, and abused it before and +behind till they did not leave a nail's breadth without a spot of +blame, just as when the old wolf half kills a sheep, and then hands it +over to her whelps to worry and whet their milk-teeth upon. If I could +only have spoken and described all that had passed through my brain +whilst I was at work on the model, perhaps the old man might have +looked at it differently, for they say that he has a good-enough head. +But just at this unlucky moment he was full of ill temper, and poured +it all out over me. So at last I got tired of this chattering, this +whizzing of children's painted bird-bolts, not one of which hit the +matter, and every one the man, for they pricked me like needles. +Another would have shaken himself laughingly, and perhaps have won the +day. But I--how was I to do it? My father did not make much talk over +his cameos, and when he died, Rome was neither more agitated nor +stiller, and I have ever kept out of the way of your learned men; so I +stole away from them this time too, and swore never to have aught to do +with them again. As I passed along the Repelta I got into a rage, and +threw my model into the Tiber. 'Let it melt there,' said I to myself; +and I felt relieved, and took a fancy to go and walk about the +campagna. There you found me." + +"You must not abuse the _savant_," said Theodore, laughingly, after a +pause, in order to bring the other, who had sunk into a reverie, +back to the subject. "Your instinct did not deceive you when you felt +an antipathy to my being near you. For I am here in Rome for the +purpose of poking about old parchments, and digging out long-buried +matters, about which but few are interested. Histories of the old +Italian towers, state papers, and judicial reports. And so we are +doubly-separated individuals." + +"_You_ may be, and do what you like," said Bianchi, quickly, and half +aside. "You are good and handsome, and a German." + +"You little know German learning. It is even more horrible than the +Roman. I myself have a secret terror of it. It has a power of glaring +at feeble souls, that turns them into stone, like those poor rogues who +gazed on the face of the Medusa." + +"The Medusa?" + +"You must know her better than I do. Have you not thrown her away there +in the corner and left her, half begun and half ended, cut upon the +shells on your work-table?" + +"I do not know much about it. When I was quite a boy, my father gave me +a part of it to work at. I loved the head, for I had but little +pleasure, and the dark death in the beautiful woman's face fascinated +me. Afterwards I saw the circular one in the villa Ludovisi, and never +rested until I had made a copy of it as well as I could at home. It is +more human and passionate there, than in the Grecian one, where it is +reduced to a mere mask. I have never asked what they meant by it, and +reading annoys me." + +"If you like, I will read the story to you, as told by one of the old +poets?" + +"Do--and soon and--when do you return?" he asked, as Theodore arose. + +"To-night," said the young man; "but not to read to you, for you are +not well enough yet. I will not listen. I know what you are going say. +But a sick man must not have a will of his own." + +When he returned in the evening, he found wine upon the table, and a +comfortable cushioned chair placed by the hearth. Bianchi slept, and +the boy whispered that he had made him buy the wine and borrow the +chair from a neighbour, and that he had not been quiet or slept until +he had seen all done as he wished. + + + + + CHAPTER III. + + +The next evening Theodore read, from an old Italian "Ovid," the fable +of the Medusa, as he had promised. He looked from time to time over his +book towards Bianchi, whose eyes were fixed upon the ceiling. +Theodore's calm voice seemed to bind him with a spell; the tale which +he read, to move his innermost soul--so the other read on. When he +arose, Bianchi drew a deep breath, and cried, "You are going!--you do +not know how I have enjoyed it! These tales were to me but mutilated +old statues, the limbs scattered about, the head far from the trunk, +and all weather-beaten and decayed. As you read it, all drew itself +together again, and now stands entire before me. Oh! that my arms were +but sound again--my fingers tremble at the thought of kneading a piece +of clay--but that is not to be--and you go--you smile! I can guess +where you are going! well--enjoy your youth. But now I think for the +first time of the nights I have made you pass." + +"They would have been more lonely than they have been here--and you +cannot guess where I go, Bianchi. I am going to pay court to two old +people, and only now and then the soft hand of their daughter touches +my arm in secret. All my enjoyment is seeing--hoping." + +"And you can confess that so quietly, and not gnash your teeth with +impatience and longing? I fear that I, too, once passed such a +fruitless lovetime. Like a worm I grovelled on the ground, and cursed +the eyes which had played me so bitter a trick." + +"I bless them! And when I suspect such madness in my blood, I refresh +my dull soul in the free air, up and down the Forum, or roam away to +the Capucines, where now the snow is resting against the stem of the +palm-tree; it must struggle through the winter, too, however warm its +heart may be." + +"Can you deny that it plagues and worries you more than the whole +affair is worth? It makes one idle and womanly, and that is the worst +of all. If we were not fools, longing for the impossible, all were +well, one as good as another, if she were pretty and kind." + +"I think not. I require something more than _any one_ can give me, +unless I am to leave her for the sake of some other." + +"Who spoke of that?"--"Both of us, I think." + +"Not I," said Bianchi. "I never could dream that you know your own +advantages so little--with your face and your years." + +He said no more, seemingly out of humour. "Let it be as it may." said +Theodore, earnestly, "and let each one care for himself, and be glad +that the other can be happy after his own fashion." + +They never touched upon this subject again. Bianchi seemed to have +entirely forgotten it, and Theodore did not agitate it. The old +bitterness and fierceness of the sick man returned more and more as his +wounds healed, and those rare touches of gentleness which he had shown +to his friend disappeared for ever. He avoided giving him his hand; he +never spoke of himself nor his feelings, never asked Theodore about his +plans nor his past life, and hardly ever called him by his name; yet he +never avoided Theodore's frequent visits, nor refused the little +comforts which he brought him. Only once, when he saw some fruit in a +basket, arranged beneath a layer of the earliest violets, with that +delicate taste which belongs to a woman's hand alone, he placed the +present coldly, and without saying a word, upon the mantelpiece. +Theodore was silent; when he went he took the basket with him as he had +brought it. + +Still he continued to read to him--old poets, extracts from Dante and +Tasso, and, at last, Machiavelli. The old deities, whose statues, +scattered about Rome, had hitherto been to him merely fine carvings, +semi-vivified by indistinct ideas, now became clear and living. It +seemed as if he now for the first time saw with his waking eyes the +world in which he had so long wandered in dreams. And the desire to go +abroad awoke in him, and he longed to visit, personally, all that his +imagination had clearly, and for the first time, thoroughly grasped. + +The almond-trees blossomed crimson in the gardens of Monte Pincio, when +he first stood on the parapet and looked over broad Rome towards the +hills. Below him lay the town, noisy and sunny; the river glimmered +brightly. On St. Angelo fluttered the broad folds of the standard in +the wind that breathed softly from the sea, and overhead stretched the +soft, delicate blue of the Roman March sky. Bianchi supported himself +upon his staff, and looked darkly from under his eyebrows, as was his +wont when he struggled against the promptings of his own heart. +Theodore also stood buried in thought; at last he turned his gaze from +the distance, looked seriously at Bianchi, and said, "You are +recovered; in a few days more you will be below there in your new +studio and I think that we shall still find a little time to spend +together, even though I, too, shall be obliged to keep closer to my +work, and must somewhat curtail the pleasure of being with you. It so +happens that I shall have a reason for visiting you much oftener than +you might otherwise permit--that is, if you will consecrate the new +studio by undertaking a work in which I am personally much interested. +The matter is this: a family with whom I am intimate has settled here, +perhaps permanently. The man, a German, formerly lived in England, and +married an Englishwoman, who brought him two children, a son and a +daughter. The son, who was attacked by consumption, tried the climate +of Rome as his last chance of recovery, and so the whole family +emigrated with him. I loved him well, as did every one who knew him, +and can hardly believe that I saw so much worth and nobleness sink into +the earth--there, by the Pyramid of Cestus. That was last winter. His +parents wish to erect a monument to him, with a relief which may shadow +forth his character and honour his memory. I know no one to whom I +would so willingly intrust this work as yourself." + +"You may depend upon me, Theodore," said the sculptor; "I will do what +within me lies." + +"Would you not like to know his parents, and learn from them the idea +which they wish to be carried out on the monument?" + +The other was silent for a while. "No," he said, quietly: "I wish for +no acquaintances, and love not tears. You loved him--that is enough: I +will do it for _you_. You must not misunderstand me," he continued, +after a pause. "I should be of no use there. Whoever wants me must +attack me like a bear in his den. If I cannot escape, I can manage to +get upon my hind legs almost politely, and growl my word with them. +But even that is tiresome. I will say nothing and show nothing until +the model is so far advanced that even the laity may see what it +means--then they may come." + +They spoke of other matters. Bianchi grew even brighter and almost +joyous, whilst a shadow lay on Theodore's face. So they remained all +the day together, and they both felt it like a leave-taking. For the +first time the open, common-place day was around them--the rattle of +carriages, and the whirl of laughing passengers. Bianchi did not take +Theodore's arm. Slowly he walked near him, glancing at the women and +the girls, many of whom seemed to know him, and here and there nodding +to an acquaintance without stopping to speak to him. When he had +passed, people stood still, whispering, pointing towards him, and +following him with glances in which pity, respect, and a certain kind +of fear, seemed mingled. He himself appeared not to observe it. He +looked straight before him, often over the heads of the people, towards +the villas without the walls, and the broad campagna, and his eyes +glittered. "What are you thinking of?" asked Theodore. + +"I am thinking how my mice will bear their fate when the old palace is +pulled about their ears, and the bright daylight peeps into all their +private holes and comers. I know that they have had a family lately. +Poor fools! to love to linger under the same roof without learning +anything from one! How I rejoice that I am poor, and free, and alone, +and can carry all my belongings with me in a hand-cart!" He stretched +out his arms, and waved them in the sir, as if he poised the burden +that awaited them. He looked younger and fresher than he had ever done +before. + +In the evening he asked Theodore to accompany him to a tavern, in +which, before his accident, he had spent many a night. "You shall see +what good Roman society is, and the remains of nobler races," he said. +"They are a little mistrustful of foreign elements, that step in +without knowing what they want, or perhaps who know only too well. They +say that it is not much better in nobler houses. Let them do what they +like, and drink your wine without making much fuss: they let me do as I +please, even if I bring a German with me, for they rather look up to +me." + +He led him a few streets distant from the Sistine, to the beautiful +fountain of Bernini, the Fontana di Trivi. Opposite the lofty grottoed +and niched façade, in the centre of which the water-god stands above +the artificial rocks, and rules the streams, which burst out from all +sides into the deep bason, there stood a mean-looking old house, with a +smoky lantern over the door. They entered the spacious chamber, which +occupied the whole breadth of the house, and served as a drinking-room. +At the further end the fire on the hearth played against the blackened +wall, and to the right a flight of steps led to the upper story. No +furniture was to be seen except benches and tables, on and around +which a mixed, silent company was gathered. A boy bore plates of fried +fish, salad, and macaroni, and disappeared from time to time through a +trap-door, to rise to the surface again, bearing fresh-filled flasks. + +A joyous welcome resounded from the lower end of the room as the two +friends entered. "Eccolo!" cried a portly woman, who forced her way +through the crowd towards the door, drying her hands on her apron. +"Eccolo! welcome a thousand times, Ser Carlo!" and she gave him her +hand heartily. "A mezzo of Frascati, Chico; of the new, that came in +yesterday. Only think, Ser Carlo! who do you think that I was just +talking about to my Domenico this very moment? I said to him, +'Domenicuccio,' said I, 'you are a bear and a brute, never to go and +see how it fares with our Ser Carlo; for I, as you well know, have my +hands full with the children and the guests, and you yourself to look +after, you stupid animal! And it will seem a thousand years till I see +him again, fine fellow that he is!' 'Lalla mia!' says he, 'to-morrow I +will see about it; and,' says he, 'if you have no objection, Lalla, I +think that he won't refuse a little drop of the new wine, just a +barilotto!' Said I, 'Well, Cuccio, that is just the very best idea you +have had all these ten years that we have been married!' And just then +Girolamo came in, and said that he had seen you on the Pincio, and I +said, 'Blessed be the Virgin! then it won't be long before we see him +here;' and just at that moment you opened the door and stood before us! +And really it has done you good--you have grown handsomer, Ser Carlo. I +would not believe Girolamo, but positively the Madonna has wrought a +miracle on you. I have not prayed all through my rosary for nothing!" + +"So I have to thank you, Sera Lalla, that I have not gone mad, and am +quit for a little lameness? You have got the best wife in Rome, +Domenico,--a saint! a real treasure of grace! Ay, here I am once more!" +and he shook the host, a heavy-looking, insinuating sort of fellow, +vehemently by the hand; "and this gentleman that you see here is my +friend, who saved me from the jaws of the dogs. But, holla! there sits +my noble Gigi over there, and eats and drinks, and can't even give his +throat time to say 'Good evening.' Shame on you, Gigi! to treat old +friends, and one, moreover, who has risen, like Saint Lazarus, from the +dead, in such a frosty fashion!" + +"He has asked after you more than all the others put together," +whispered the hostess. "He could not take his glass for a week at a +time when they began to talk about you. He was only afraid of visiting +you." + +The man of whom the good woman spoke sat at one of the centre tables, +propped up tightly against the wall, and continued steadily thrusting +large pieces of food into his mouth. He was good-looking, his bald head +covered with a little skull-cap, his black coat buttoned up to his +throat, and a certain air of decency about him, which distinguished him +from the others, without showing, at the same time, any particular +pretension. + +Bianchi stepped up to him, and greeted him across the table with a wave +of the hand. "Dear Ser Gigi," he said, "do not distress yourself--we +understand each other." He remarked now for the first time that the +worthy man's eyes were glimmering moistly, and that he only continued +eating in order to prevent his joyous embarrassment being marked. + +"He is a singer," whispered Bianchi to his companion; "he keeps to the +churches, and sings on festal days. They wanted to give him the +tonsure, because he has some education and is decent-looking, but it +did not quite suit him. They are all free men, as many as sit here. +Come, my friend Gigi will make room for us near himself." + +Meanwhile, the boy brushed down the table with a by no means clean +napkin, and placed a large open flask before them. Theodore seated +himself, whilst Bianchi had to shake hands and answer questions about +the room. A reeking brass lamp flared with its thin, redly-burning +wicks over the table. It took Theodore some time to become accustomed +to the atmosphere of tobacco-smoke and rancid oil, but he soon forgot +all, at the sight of a striking couple, who sat at the table directly +opposite to him. One was a young girl in the costume of Albano--the red +jacket closed neatly round the just ripening bosom, above it was folded +the lace collar, and large silver pins held the flat white +handkerchief, which did not conceal the shape of her head, firmly +on her hair. Her face was in the fresh bloom of youth, beauty, and +health--three virtues which love to be kept together in such a +situation. Only the expression of the mouth had a shy softness and +yieldingness about it, almost irresolute and sorrowful, and the large +eyelids so entirely covered the eyes that only a narrow dark gleaming +line betrayed that they slept not. + +She ate from the plate before her, slowly and indifferently, and drank +but little wine, whilst her brown cheeks glowed ever with the same +fire. + +Beside her sat an old woman in a Roman costume, blinking vivaciously +about her, but silent, and busied with her wine and food, which she +enjoyed greedily. They had nothing whatever in common, and yet seemed +to belong to each other. + +When Bianchi at last came to take his seat, and had emptied his first +glass, he started back with an almost comic expression of astonishment, +and cried, "Madonna Santa! what beauty! How did you come by such a +neighbour, Ser Gigi? A niece of yours? or only a forgotten child, that +appeared before your eyes by chance? Blessed be her mother." + +"Chè, Chè!"' said the singer, seriously. "I wish you were right. Ask +her yourself where she comes from. The sweet little mouth would not +bestow a word upon me." + +Bianchi cast a keen glance on the old woman, and growled to himself, +"So, so, I fancy we understand each other." The old woman remarked it, +and said, as she emptied the rest of the bottle into her glass, + +"A bashful thing, gentlemen! a poor shy orphan; lived with the wicked +people up in the mountains when I found her, and took pity on the young +creature. How easily one is lost, when one gets into wrong hands. I +brought her with me to Rome, for the Virgin's sake, and keep her here +as well as a poor old woman can, in all honour and virtue--poor thing. +Look up, Caterina, when the gentlemen speak to you." + +The girl obeyed, and let her large calm eyes rest for a moment on +Bianchi, and let them sink again almost immediately. The artist +half-raised himself from his seat and bent over towards her. + +"You are called Caterina?" + +"Yes," she answered, in a deep but soft voice. + +"How old are you?"----"Eighteen years." + +"You have left a lover behind in Albano, or perhaps more than one?" + +She shook her head. + +"How you talk!" interrupted the old woman, hastily. "'Tis a good girl, +I tell you, and as innocent as the Madonna. Should I have got so fond +of her else?" + +"Well, well! If I believe it, I believe her face, and not yours, +mother. Can she dance? The gentleman here is a stranger, and I should +like him to learn what a real salterello is like." + +Theodore said a few words--"that it would be a great favour." The old +woman beckoned to the hostess; Caterina arose silently. Soon the +nearest tables were pushed aside, to leave a small space clear, and +Lalla brought the tambourine. Whilst the old woman seated herself in a +corner with it, the other guests crowded round one after the other, and +the boy who had been serving them prepared himself for his part in the +dance, Bianchi whispered in his friend's ear: "Look at that form, and +the delicacy of the hands and feet, and how she stands there, a perfect +figure! such as I never saw before--blameless even to the darling +little ears--and as yet hardly knowing herself! To be obliged to let +Checo dance with her! I understood it pretty well once. But now, I +conjure you, let your eyes do their best. A miracle will be performed." + +Theodore needed not the prompting. He leaned against a table, and +turned not his eyes from Caterina. At the first vehement notes of the +tambourine the girl began the dance; Lalla stood near he old woman and +clattered the castanets. Señor Luigi, the singer, sat immovable behind +his table, and began to hum an air with the first notes. Soon he sang +the song and the words cheerily out. The words, which Theodore could +not understand, the feverish restlessness of the monotoned instruments, +and above all, the strange witchery of the dancing girl, by degrees so +confused his ideas, that he felt as if he had been gazing into a new +and unknown world. All that he had known, loved, possessed, retreated +into a vacuous gloom, which deprived it of all colouring; forms, +thoughts, wishes, and hopes whirled through his soul to the dull notes +of the tambourine, as to a great review. He cast them all aside. It was +as though a voice called within him, "They are all worthless and dead. +Here alone is life and bliss." + +When the dance ceased he awoke from his dream, and looked wildly +around. He seized his hat. "Are you going? Already? Now?" asked +Bianchi, astonished. "I see that you don't enjoy yourself amongst my +friends here." + +"You mistake me," answered Theodore, looking gloomily before him. "How +gladly would I remain. How gladly--but I have given a promise. I must +pay a visit--we shall see each other to-morrow, Bianchi." + +"Oh!" murmured Bianchi. "Pity, pity! how you will amuse yourselves, you +and the others! Pity, pity!" + +He laughed sharply and bitterly as Theodore turned away, and yet he did +not seem sorry at his going. + +On getting into the open air, the young man stood long opposite the +fountain, and drew into his confused soul the breath of the water, and +the living rushing of its fall. The moon lighted up the head and part +of the chest of the water god, below the drops only glanced out of the +darkness. He descended the steps, and drank as if to wash away the +intoxication of his soul, and then seated himself upon the edge of the +bason. He remembered the old saying, that whoever drank of this +fountain would lose his home-longing for Rome; and then he fell into +painful reveries. When the noise of the tambourine reached his ear anew +from the osteria, he started up in terror, with difficulty he forced +himself to pass the door, and to follow one of the neighbouring +streets. When in the distance, the deadened sound again reached him, he +paused for a moment and seemed to wrestle with himself; then he went +resolutely farther down into the town to Mary's house. + + + + + CHAPTER IV. + + +There was a pause in the conversation when he entered. His bride arose, +advanced to meet him, and took his hand warmly. He let a keen passing +glance rest for a moment on the noble face which looked up so frankly +to his, and then approached her mother, who greeted him heartily, and +bent forward in her easy-chair to shake his hand. Like her daughter, +she was still dressed in black; but wore her hair gathered under a grey +gauze cap, whilst Mary's brown locks were kept in order by a narrow +black ribbon across her brow. Her father, too, received him kindly, and +introduced him to two gentlemen, strangers, who were seated at the +brightly-lighted table. They were Englishmen, brothers, old friends of +the house, who had arrived from England but shortly before. For their +convenience, the conversation was carried on in English. + +"You are late, dear Theodore," said the mother; "we wanted you whilst +we were describing to our friends the last hours of poor Edward. My +poor eyes did their duty but feebly then, and Mary and her father were +both ill, as you know. We all felt the loss more than you did, for you +hardly knew him; and so you were the most self-possessed, and better +able to realize what rests upon our memories only as a horrible +agitated dream, even now almost incredible!" + +Theodore felt a reluctance to talk. The quiet, of the room, the feeling +of agitation with which he entered, strange faces, and a strange +tongue, all oppressed him in the highest degree. And now, at this same +moment, when he had but just been face to face with an existence so +full of magical bliss, he was expected to describe the death-bed of +poor Edward to strangers. + +They thought that it was his sorrow that prevented his answering. He +had seated himself near Mary, and gazed long on her delicate, pale +brow. Its unruffled, snowy stillness disturbed him. Her blue eyes, that +beamed clear, and happy, and calmly, had to-day lost their power over +him. He felt distinctly that it was his own incapacity which prevented +his enjoying this noble face as formerly, that made him no longer wait +longingly for each word from those charming lips, or feel each smile +penetrate into his inmost soul. He struggled for awhile against this +insensibility, which caused him bitter agony,--it was in vain! + +She was conscious of the existence of some struggle going on within +him; but the presence of the others prevented her grasping closer, by +her fervent participation in its sorrows, the heart which was +separating itself from her. + +One of the strangers asked about the monument which was intended to be +erected to Edward. Theodore roused himself, and mentioned that that +very day he had entrusted the work to a friend, of whose character and +circumstances he gave a slight sketch. Mary's parents knew more of him; +but the disjointed picture did not seem to satisfy the stranger. + +"It were to be wished,"' he said, "that this man could be conscious of +some trace of Edward's inner nature in his own being, so that he might +be able to identify himself with the delicate form and short blessed +life of our lost friend, as something beloved. He seems to be, from +your description, a violent, inflexible man, to whom nothing can be +more incomprehensible than our Edward's idea of living only for others, +and of shaping his last sigh into a wish for the happiness of those he +loved." + +"He is rough and energetic," answered Theodore; "but the beautiful +affects him, and he looks upon what is noble with reverence and awe. I +remarked, when I read Homer to him, how powerfully the idyllic, I might +say the feminine, passages of the poem moved him." + +"Possibly because they accorded more with his artistic fulness than the +barren uniformity of battle and danger. And yet it is one thing to +possess a mind capable of being affected by certain common-place, +natural, heathen emotions, and another to have one by which the +blessings of our religion are appreciated. Edward was a Christian; your +friend at best is but a professing Roman Catholic." + +"I cannot deny," interrupted the mother, "that I have thought much on +this point already. Before we intrust a work like this, which we have +all so much at heart, to a stranger, it were at least advisable to have +a sketch made which we could discuss and decide upon." + +"I know him, dearest mother," said Theodore, emphatically. "If it were +his custom to throw his first ideas upon a scrap of paper, it would be +easy enough to discuss the matter with him; but he always prefers, +first, to work up his subject in clay of the intended size; and he has, +besides, particularly entreated that in this case he may be permitted +to labour for a time without letting any one see it. That it depends +upon your approval, he knows already." + +Then there ensued a pause, in which the rather excitedly-spoken words +of the young man echoed disagreeably. Mary went to the piano and +endeavoured to charm away the discord with music. Only with Theodore +was it ineffectual. The simple ballad had no power over one in whose +ear the maddening tones of the tambourine again awoke spectrally, and +the echo of the marvellous song of the chorister overwhelmed the pure +voice. He saw Bianchi's firm gaze fastened upon him, and heard again +the words, "There will be a miracle performed!" And here, where he was +now, all was strange, and tame, and wonderless. + +After the song, Mary seated herself again by his side. She spoke German +to him; she asked about his amusements and his employments, about +Bianchi. He talked absently, and thus half-confusedly, as if to +himself, he told her about the osteria and the girl's dancing. As he +glanced up from time to time, he marked a clouded tension over the +delicate brows. The conversation between them died away. The father +asked about English families, on which subject the guests talked +eagerly. It was without interest to Theodore, and so he became again +absorbed by his whirling thoughts. At last he departed. The strangers +had taken up their residence with Mary's parents. It seemed to him as +though he were doubly driven unhappy from this circle which once was +his own--doubly--by himself and by others. + + + + + CHAPTER V. + + +Nowhere are impure inclinations, doubtful relationships, and undecided +wishes more embarrassing and unbearable than in Rome. The vast +_entourage_, replete with evidences of pure human vigour and firm will, +is only to be endured, without envy and pain, by those who, in the +narrow circle of their own actions, can feel certain of their own +healthiness and rectitude of soul. + +He paced for hours up and down the banks of the Tiber before Bianchi's +door, gazing over to where St. Peter's rose mightily above the broad +masses of the Vatican. + +The strangely agitated state of his friend did not escape Bianchi's +penetration. But he never attempted to discover its cause, as he +avoided conversations upon personal subjects or inner experiences. This +same restless manner seemed to attach closer to Theodore day by day. He +was tamer and more cheerful in all his words and actions since his +sickness. When he heard Theodore's knock, he threw a cloth over his +clay sketch and opened hastily. He was still sparing of the smallest +proofs of his affection, but his face could not conceal the fact that +the presence of his friend was all in all to him. He sat by the window, +and worked diligently at his cameo shells whilst they talked, or a book +inspirited them both. Through Theodore's intervention he had found +customers for his cameos, who paid him twice as much as the dealers had +hitherto given him, yet his new dwelling was in no respect more richly +furnished than his former one. Truly the sun gilded the naked walls on +which the Medusa's head hung, and before the window lay the exquisite +distance. + +One evening, in sunny May, when all was solitary without, on the banks +of the Tiber, and the flies played undisturbed over the bushes, the +knocker on Bianchi's door resounded more loudly and vehemently than +usual. He arose from his work, before which he had been sitting +pondering, and did not, as usual, throw the cloth over it. "He may see +it to day," he said to himself, "if it really be he who thunders so +immeasurably!" and therewith he opened the door. + +Theodore burst in impetuously--his face was vividly flushed, and his +eyes gleamed, "Bianchi," he cried, "Bianchi, I come from her! I have +seen her--spoken to her! The miracle has penetrated again into my +inmost soul! and you, best, unkindest one--did you not tell me that she +was gone, away to her mountains, run away from the old woman, and +however the story went? Or did you really hear it? for she is here--not +a footstep has she stirred out of Rome these two months long. Speak, +Bianchi, what say you? Bless the fate that led me to her side, which +makes me feel still out of my senses for joy." + +He walked up and down the room without looking round. He did not +perceive that Bianchi had remained standing by the door, pale as death, +following his steps with a searching glance: "Caterina!" at last broke +from his lips. + +"Caterina!" cried Theodore, "she herself, she herself--lovely and calm, +and heaven and hell in her eyes, as on that never-to-be-forgotten +evening, only without that bitter sadness about the lips, and in a +Roman dress!--listen how it happened: I was sitting at home, in the +heat, idling over my books, and at last felt forced to wander out. Some +streets distant, I fell in with a stream of people in their holiday +clothes, hastening in one direction, and asked one of them 'Whither +away?' 'To the Monte Pincio, to see the races and the chariots,' he +answered. I had no will of my own, so I allowed myself to be carried +onwards, and, at last, purposeless, reached the summit with them. You +saw the scaffolding which they were still working at yesterday? To-day +the seats were filled tier above tier, so that I had difficulty in +finding a place, unpleasant enough, as I at first thought, for the sun +was opposite to me, and glimmered in my eyes as I looked across the +stage. As I was considering whether I should go, or how I should try to +protect myself against it, and was standing in my place, I looked down +and discovered a silk parasol, and an enchanting glance of a head and +neck beneath it; I sat down again, and bending under the parasol, asked +my fair neighbour whether I might share its shelter with her. She +turned round, and I felt as if a flash of lightning had passed through +my heart when I saw who it was. She seemed to recognize me too, and did +not answer. At this moment I discovered the old woman beside her; she +was talkative and polite, and bade Caterina share her parasol with +me. Bianchi--how she did it! Managing the parasol in her little hand, +half-embarrassed, half-confidingly, and then how modestly and sensibly +she answered my eager questions with that sweet low voice--it is all +indescribable. I sat enchanted, blind to all around, beneath the little +roof, alone with her, and built it up in fancy into a cottage for us +two, in which I could have listened to hours, days, years, passing by +us as carelessly as if eternity was already my own. What eyes had I for +the play? But I watched the impression that the wild course had upon +Caterina; her joy broke forth when one chariot swept rushing round the +corner before the others, or made some daring turn. How she rejoiced +when one of the noble animals, steaming and snorting from its victory, +was led near us! 'Holy nature!' I cried within myself, 'how +unadulterated and unadorned thou laughest from those bright eyes! How +must he be drawn towards thee, body and soul, on whom those eyes but +smile!' It came to an end; the people left the benches, and my +neighbours arose too. When I begged to be permitted to conduct them +through the crowd to their house, the girl refused, calmly, but firmly; +the old woman winked and grinned behind her back, and made signs which +I could not fully understand; but I still kept myself at some little +distance behind them, and descended the hill after them down into the +town. At last they entered a house. I did not dare to knock, but I +stood before the door for half an hour, as if rooted to the spot, and +saw the curtain move, but she did not appear; once only the repulsive +face of the old woman showed itself at the window; she did not see me, +as I was concealed in the shadow of the houses--and so, at last, I tore +myself away, and here I am, if it can be called being here, when the +floor seems to glow under my feet, and my soul recoils at finding +itself in the presence of other human beings." + +He threw himself into a chair. He did not observe that Bianchi still +remained standing by the door, or that he had not uttered a sound since +he entered--he looked straight before him. "To-day, for the first +time," he began again, "after miserable weeks of pressure and +despondency, to drink in a full draught of life, to enjoy one hour +which raises me above myself--who would not float so for ever with +swelling sails out into the open sea?--but to crawl along the coast in +a tattered boat, to turn and wind at the will of the shore, and after +all to be cast away on a pebble!--miserable cowardice!" + +At these words he raised his eyes, and they caught the model opposite +him. The evening sun shone redly through the window, and the +sharply-defined figures stood out in bold relief. A youth stood by a +river's bank, by which the bow of a boat, bearing the wild form of the +grisly ferryman, was waiting. One foot of the parting one was already +on the gunwale, but the face and the outstretched arms, waving a +farewell, were turned towards the opposite side, where a fair female +figure, with a cornucopia, sat under a fruit-laden tree, with her head +bowed in a noble attitude of sorrow; the genius of love leaned by her +side, his torch reversed, expiring, with his eyes clinging to the +youth, as if it were possible to hold him back; but between them stood, +stern and implacable, the ghastly forms of the Parcæ. + +Theodore stared speechlessly at the head of the youth, whose features +calmed him irresistibly. He had given Bianchi a portrait of Edward, +which Mary had painted but a few days before his death. It showed the +noble features in all the beauty of the approaching transfiguration; +and the eyes, in particular, were movingly free and large. At the same +time, now that all the mere accidental accessories had melted away, one +saw the striking likeness between the brother and sister--one so great +as to be almost distressing to the survivors. It struck Theodore for +the first time--he saw Mary before him in her hour of sorrow or of +lofty excitement, when her eyes shone more darkly from out the gentle +face, and the serious lips were half-opened, as were the sighing ones +of her brother. He could no longer remain seated--he stepped close up +to the model, the strife ceased within him. So he remained till the +evening glow departed, and the face withdrew itself from him into the +quick coming darkness; then he went, without a word, towards the door, +by which Bianchi had remained standing, grasped the hand of his friend, +pressed it without feeling how clammy and cold it was, and departed. + +Bianchi shrank as the door closed. He looked with a troubled gaze and +absent thoughts around him. So he remained leaning against the wall, +incapable of moving. His determination had long been formed, but his +limbs would not obey his will. The night arrived. At last he was able +to raise himself, and stood battling with the tremor that fell upon +him, his clenched hand pressed against his eyes. Then he uttered one +single hollow cry, and felt that he had again attained the mastery over +himself. He left the house with a steady step. None of all the numerous +promenaders who were enjoying the coolness of the night remarked him, +so calmly he looked around. He reached at last the part where Caterina +lived, and knocked, without hesitation, at the door of a small house. +It opened, and he entered the passage. He glanced up the stone +staircase, down which a ray of light streamed. Above, with a lamp, +stood Caterina. + +The man revelled for a moment in the perfect beauty of the young girl, +who, leaning over the balustrade, holding the lamp out before her, was +agitated with the most charming expression of love at recognizing +the well-known face below in the shade. She nodded, and smiled, and +waved a greeting to him. "Come, come!" she cried, as he loitered +below. He strode slowly up the steps; but when the light of the lamp +fell upon his face, all her smiles and joy died away from her lips. +"Carlo! you are ill," she said to him. He pressed her gently back, and +shook his forefinger warningly. "Be still," he said; "come within, +Caterina--come!" + +She followed him in breathless anxiety. The little room was mean, but +clean and neatly kept. Flowers stood in the window; a bird hung in its +cage, and began to chirp as the lamp-light disturbed it. On the table +lay a simple guitar. The old woman had been sitting near it, at her +work. She arose, greeting the new arrival cringingly and confidently. +"Good evening, Signer Carlo," she cried; "how goes it? You have just +come at the right moment. The poor foolish thing there--not a song +would please her, not a string was in tune; and even the bird that you +gave her, too, sang too loud for her. 'Daughter,' said I, 'he will be +here directly--he who is dearer to you than your eyes, silly girl that +you are.' 'Mama,' said she, 'I feel so anxious--my heart beats so--I +know not why.' 'Hush, hush!' said I; 'you are a child, to have such a +gentleman, who bears you in his very hands, and watches and cares for +you like his own heart'"-- + +--"And who will punish you, you witch!" shrieked Bianchi, striding +close up to her--"you poison, you baseness! Thank your grey hairs that +you do not feel the weight of my hand!" He shook her violently by the +shoulder. The old woman trembled. "Do not play such rough jokes upon a +poor old woman," she stammered; "You have frightened me so that I shall +have the gout. What! speak gently. Signer Carlo, and do not utter such +unchristian words, enough to make one cross and bless oneself! What +have you to say against the poor old Neuna?" + +"What?" foamed Bianchi, and thrust her from him so violently that she +sank upon her knees,--"you dare to ask? To play the virtuous to my very +face, after you have betrayed me? Away! out of the house, and that +without tarrying or whimpering--for I know you, and I ought to have +known that you could be no fit guardian, and that treachery nestles in +your withered breast!" + +The old woman had raised herself, and waited with assumed humility a +few feet from him, by the window. "You are right, Signor Carlo," she +said; "I ought not to have done it; but I pitied the poor lonely +creature, because she never got a glimpse of the world Sunday nor +working day, and seeing nothing but the roofs opposite, or the dark +streets and the little bits of starry sky at midnight, when you take +her out now and then. 'Child,' said I, 'he is so kind that he cannot be +angry with you, when you tell him this evening that you have been to +see the races with me.' She did not like to go, poor thing; but I saw +how much she wished it, and so persuaded her. And what harm is done? If +you had not made all this noise about it, she would only have had a +pleasure the more." + +"Go!" said Bianchi, with inexorable calmness; "not one word more." + +The old woman glided to the girl, who was seated on a chair in the +corner, with downcast eyes. "Daughter!" she whispered, "do _you_ try +him." Caterina cast a glance at Bianchi's face, and shook her head. "It +is useless," she answered. + +"Let me stop the night here at least," begged the old woman, and +approached the man a step nearer. "Where shall I rest my old +head?--how can I collect my little things?" + +"Go!" re-echoed the man;--"_your_ things! you have nothing but what I +have given you. Go, or"-- + +He raised his hand. The old woman trembled. Muttering a confused medley +of curses, prayers, and threats, she glided from the house. + +"Caterina," said Bianchi slowly, without looking up, "it is over! After +to-day you see me not again! Do not ask me why, and do not be unhappy +at the idea that you have made me angry. I have only been so with that +she-fiend who has just gone from us. You are good, and will be happy, +even though you do not see me again. Another will come, and will knock +at your door--the same who sat by your side at the races. Open to him, +greet him and love him--and be true to him! You must not tell him that +you know me; you must never utter my name before him. But keep still at +home, as you have hitherto done; and, should you chance to go out, +avoid that part of the town that lies below by the Tiber. Promise me +all this, Caterina!" + +He waited for an answer. Instead of it, there came a sob from the +corner that cut through his very heart. "Do not weep!" he said, as +calmly as he could; "You hear that I do not go from you in anger, and +you will be happy. All will be better for you than it has been +hitherto. You will love the other better than you have loved me!" + +"Never!" groaned from the lips of the poor girl. Her sobs prevented her +saying more. But in that one sound spoke out a true vehement avowal of +boundless affection. Bianchi's darkened brow brightened. He looked up +joyously--turned round and approached her. Beside herself, she rushed +towards him, and he received her as she pressed him unconsciously to +her arms. He kissed her forehead. "Hush!" he said, "Thou and I--we must +collect ourselves. It is now as well as it was, and better. But it +cannot remain so. It cannot or I shall be lost. Come!" he said, "make a +bundle of your best and favourite things, and what you will want for +a journey. Hasten, Caterina. I think that we shall see each other +again--but not here. Have patience." + +She looked at him with her large eyes. She understood nothing--she +anticipated nothing--mechanically she did as he directed her. "Where +are we going?" she asked, timidly, when all was ready. + +"Come," he said. He extinguished the light. The bird in its cage +fluttered eagerly against the wires. The guitar gave out a saddened +note as he struck against it in the darkness. Both their hearts beat +violently--and so they went. + + + + + CHAPTER VI. + + +Theodore's mind was in a strange state when he left Bianchi's house. As +soon as he felt the cool air breathe upon his face, the feeling of +depression which so weighed upon him, as he stood before the model, +left him at once. Even the secret remorse in the background of his +thoughts almost served to intensify his mental clearness, as the shadow +does the light. + +The former of the two girls passed before his mind's eye, and his +heart never faltered for a moment. Yet it was unjust towards the +stranger--a feeling of wonder struck through it still, when it +recollected all the beauties of that marvellous face. But it beat high +and fiercely, when it recollected the time of his first knowing and +loving, of his growing passion for Mary. And what had changed in the +interim? Had she not remained the same? Truly, delicacy and a feeling +of propriety had restrained her in the presence of others. But she +had told him, with all the ever-increasing intensity of her whole +being--with her eyes, which never moved from him as long as he was near +her; with her hands, that were so loth to leave his when he went, that +she had utterly and unrestrictedly abandoned her whole existence to +him. + +"Can I blame in her," he said to himself, "that she sits in awe of her +puritanical mother--that she did not break this old bond of reverence +at the same moment that she bound herself to me?" + +As if he had to confess to her all with which he had these weeks long +made his life miserable, he felt constrained to see her. He knew that +the English visitors, who had annoyed him so, had left Rome the day +before. He felt as if all was now to begin anew. In this state of +freshly-awakened happiness he sprang up the steps of the house. + +But a few moments before, Miss Betsy had been standing in Mary's +chamber, about to take her leave. The girl was seated by the piano, in +the shade, with her hands grasping the arms of her chair, as if afraid +that she should sink down upon the floor, if she did not support +herself. + +"Take my advice, child," said the little woman, at the end of a long +conversation. "Directly he appears, and without any beating about the +bush, tell him that he will only lose time in trying to excuse himself. +Do that, Mary--I advise you; he is young enough to grow a better man, +if he begins in time. It is scandalous and, dear heart, much as I wish +it, I cannot retract a word that I spoke in my first burst of anger. +God has, however, brought other sinners to himself before now; if he +only had more religion; you must confess that I have often spoken to +him about it, and now you see I was right; shame upon him, child, to +have no more respect for you! I looked round, fortunately none of your +acquaintances were sitting near us, for respectable people do not go +into this part of the circus, but into the private boxes, unless, +indeed, they want to study the people. But he spoilt the whole play for +me; and I cannot forgive him. Dear me! if you had been with me, you +would have died upon the spot! _Do_ you think that he took his eyes off +her for a moment? And she seemed to know him--an old passion--and that +might be some excuse for him; for he has found girls pretty enough +before he knew you. But people ought to have some self-respect, at +least in public, and pretend not to recognise each other. Well, well, +child, when you talk to him seriously and once for all, he will shrink +in his shoes; but if _you_ will not do it--willingly as I would spare +you--my principles require me to tell it all to your parents, that they +may bring him to his senses. It would be too great a disgrace and +misfortune for a family like yours to receive such a frivolous person +into its circle. Have you never heard of any old Roman flirtation which +he gave up on your account?" + +"No," said the girl, in a low voice. How could she confess that the +description of her officious tale-bearer brought a picture vividly +before her mind, which had once before caused her an anxious day? The +day after Theodore had told her about the dance in the osteria, she had +walked arm-in-arm with him through the town. From out a lowly window +looked a lovely face, which she pointed out to her friend. He had been +unable to repress a sudden start, and the girl, too, seemed to +recognize him. "It is the girl from Albano of last night," he said, and +then turned the conversation suddenly to another subject. But the face +had impressed itself feature by feature upon her memory. + +"Do not be down-hearted, my child," said Miss Betsy, passing her hand +over Mary's hair, "and don't fret. Human beings, and men in particular, +are not angels. Dear me! who has not had to bear the like. Do you talk +seriously to him, and all will come right. Good night, my child; I will +come and see you to-morrow. Heaven bless you!" + +She left hastily. Without she met Theodore, who nearly ran against her. +"Pardon me," he said; "a bridegroom who is hastening to his bride may +be excused for being in a hurry. Is it not so, dear Miss Betsy?" He did +not remark the cold expression with which she greeted him. "You will +find Mary----indeed she was not expecting you." He greeted her hastily +again, and rushed into the room. + +For the first time he found her alone, standing at the window, in the +darkness, her hair loosened about her face. In his heart he fervently +blessed the good fortune that seemed so willing to pave the way for a +perfect reconciliation. Gently he approached her. She did not move. He +passed his arm around her waist, and called her by her name. She +started and turned round, and he saw her eyes, gleaming wet with tears. +"You are weeping, Mary, my own love--you are weeping," he cried, and +would have pressed her closer to his heart. She resisted him without +speaking. She closed her eyes and repressed her tears, and shook her +head. "No!" she said, at last, "I am not weeping. It is passed! It is +well!" + +He took a turn up and down the room. He knew not how it happened, but +in one moment all his joyousness had gone. "What is the grief." he +said, at last, after a pause, "which _I_ may not know! If you but knew +with what a feeling of happiness I stepped over this threshold, what a +gleam of joy passed through me at finding you at last alone! And now +you are so distant, and more reserved than under all the restraints of +society. You know not _what_ amount of sorrow you heap upon both of +us." + +She remained silent, and kept her eyes firmly closed. She compared +within herself the words he spoke, with those that had but just before +so chilled her heart, his glances with those which her old friend had +described, and which had been directed to another. She felt something +within her which would gladly have pleaded for him, but too many voices +cried against it. She had listened to Miss Betsy's tale as if it +related neither to herself nor to him, like something incomprehensible, +which she possessed no power of appreciating. But yet it was the last +straw upon the burden, which she had borne for weeks past. Theodore +deceived himself when he fancied that he alone had suffered from his +miserable overexcited dreamings. That he was altered, that the first +glow of love had paled, that his heart was no longer sure of itself had +not escaped Mary's penetration. Whilst he was present she controlled +herself for his sake, for the world she would not have let him see that +she doubted him; and when she was alone she blamed herself, and said +that she had seen falsely, and seen more than existed; that a man had +thoughts sometimes that absorbed him, and followed him even into the +presence of his love. And she knew too that the restraint her mother +imposed annoyed him more day by day. And yet just at this moment a +feeling of the deepest agony burst through all, and closed her lips and +heart at the very time when words were so much wanted. She hoped for +nothing from questionings, and of reproaches she would not suffer +herself to think. She felt no acute pain, but as if paralyzed, so that +she felt not that he was near her, and yet would have received a +deathblow had he left her. + +So they stood in miserable self-deception opposite each other. He had +already taken his hat, intending to put an end to this unbearable +situation, when her mother entered. He must remain. Lights were +brought. The women seated themselves, whilst he stood, answering in +monosyllables, and cursing a thousand times both himself and his +miserable fate. And, as everything disagreeable invariably heaps itself +together at such moments, the mother began to talk of Edward's +monument. He could not conceal that he had seen it that day for the +first time, and was obliged to describe the feeling and execution of +the work. + +He roused himself a little. "It is incomparable," he said; "I cannot +express how it affected me. Edward himself, living but at the same +time, glorified. And most marvellous, revealed through some strange +inspiration of art, his very attitude, that peculiar, kindly way he had +of bending his head forward, a peculiarity of which I never said a word +to Bianchi." + +"What you tell us may be perfectly true, dearest Theodore," said the +mother, after some reflection; "I must confess, however, that the +additional figures, as you describe them, are so utterly repugnant to +me, that I feel that I could never pray at my son's grave whilst the +stone presented to me these strange fabulous forms, which horrify +instead of elevating the mind." + +"They are symbols, mother, symbols of the most exquisite feelings, not +foreign to your own when once you appreciate their meaning. Would you +not have been affected had an Italian poet written a poem on Edward in +his own language, even though it was not your own mother tongue?" + +"True; but then it would only be the expression which would seem +strange to me; but here the idea of the representation that repels my +holiest feelings, is so strong that I run away and feel that I can have +nothing in common with it." + +"You speak harshly!" + +"I wonder that you think it harsh, dear Theodore, when it is the +natural feeling of a woman and a Christian." + +"And you are in Rome, and see each day the wonders of bygone races, and +enjoy the deeds of a thousand different spirits, each of which is +different from your own, and yet can close your heart and turn away +here--here, where a spirit for your sake has brought up out of his +inmost soul all that it possessed." + +"I do not dispute his good-will. But, just because it touches me so +nearly and is done for my sake, I feel more susceptible against what is +wrong; the best intentions may be ungrateful to us when they have no +respect for our own feelings." + +Theodore approached Mary, who had sat silent, at her work. "Mary," he +said, "has Bianchi's effort offended you too?" + +"No;" she said gently; "but my mother is right. One cannot love what is +strange to us--at least I cannot! A man possibly." + +He only partly understood her words, but he understood that she +withdrew herself from him. An unspeakable feeling of agony seized +him. It was not irritation--no little feeling of bitterness--which +made him bow silently and leave them. He felt that he must collect +himself--rouse up his crushed spirits. He would have talked wildly had +he stayed. + +"It shall not be," he said to himself, when he reached the street. "She +is right; we were and should have ever remained strangers to each +other. I looked upon my longing to throw my whole heart upon her anew, +as fruitless. No wonder that at last she became wearied of it! But it +was horrible that it should happen just on this day when I had so +sweetly deceived myself, so blissfully lied to my soul, and was more +full of hoping than ever! It was horrible, yet wholesome. Now am I +cured for ever of this presumptuous amiable self-deception!" + +Then he thought of Bianchi. "In pity." he said, "I should have spared +him this; he will have something to throw into the Tiber again. No; he +shall not. I will keep this monument for myself, to warn me in future +how I trust mankind." + +So he reached his dwelling; he lighted his lamp and sat down to write. +He began a letter to Mary, calm and gentle--after the first few lines, +the lie became apparent--for it seethed and boiled and surged within +him, till he threw the pen upon the table, and sprang up to go--he knew +not whither. At last he went again into the night, towards Bianchi's +house. Should he seek him out, tell him all? conceal all from him? or +only in his neighbourhood struggle for decision and composure? He knew +not clearly--but solitude he could not bear. + +Only a young and narrow moon stood above the roofs, but the houses were +bright, the windows and balconies alive with people. Along the Corso +rolled a gay stream of careless promenaders, refreshing themselves in +the cool evening; laughing girlish faces, foreign and Roman, lightly +dressed, as they had just escaped from the close rooms. The street was +like a long corridor near a ball-room, where the company wander in cool +twilight between the dances. Here and there music floated through the +open windows, and a girl's voice amongst the crowd sang lightly to the +air. + +Theodore was obliged to cross the stream. He seemed to himself like one +departed, who has nothing more to do with life, but who is forced to +revisit some friend in order to reveal to him some forgotten duty +before he departs for ever. He buried himself in the small deserted +streets which lead down to the Tiber, and passed along without the +power of grasping any one train of thought firmly; at last, wearied by +the fruitless endeavour, he let his spirit dive along the empty waste +of sorrow, as across a shoreless, waveless sea. + +Thus he reached a part of the river bank called the Ripa Grande, where +the boats lie which ply to Ostia and to the little post steamer and +other shipping; from there down to the Ripetta there are still some +hundred paces, and no direct connection by the water. He turned, +however, to the right, towards the broader street, as a loud +altercation reached his ears from the summit of the landing-steps. He +heard the sound of a voice through it which made him stop suddenly; he +approached the crowd, the individuals composing which he could only +distinguish gradually by the light of a flaring street lamp. The +dispute seemed to be about a girl that a sailor had seized by the +arm and was endeavouring to drag off--another tried to separate +them--"Let her go, Pietro;" he cried. "How long have you taken cargoes +of women, kidnapper that you are? See, she is crying, poor thing! she +does not want to go back into your hole of a cabin, she has good +reasons--" + +"The devil take you!" shouted the other, dragging at the girl. "She +will have reasons enough! But the man who brought her, and paid me well +too, said, 'Ship her to Ostia and place her in safe hands there, and +take care she don't get back again.' He had his reasons too, I fancy, +and reasons that he backed with good arguments. The baggage! She has +been up to some mischief! If she was the blessed innocent she pretends +to be now, why did she not make a fuss when the man brought her? But +what do you think? then she was as quiet as a mouse, only cried and +sobbed, and kissed the man till it made him quite sad, and he promised +to come and see her in Ostia; and now, why should she take a fancy to +run away--the cat! as soon as I turned my back--and struggled and +screamed half along the street when I wanted to do my duty and place +her in safety again? Tell me that if you can! No! away with the witch, +and hold your jaw; and _accidenti_ on any one who gets in my way." + +"I _cannot_, I _will_ not go back," cried the girl's voice: "this man +is false; he insulted me shamefully; he breaks his agreement; save me!" + +"Who will believe you, you liar! who only lie to get away, and to abuse +me? Away with your hands, I say, and back to the cabin." + +"Halt!" thundered a voice suddenly. The contending parties turned round +startled, and saw Theodore breaking through the crowd to place his hand +on the girl's arm. "She is mine." he cried, "and goes with me." + +There was a pause. Caterina had recognized the young man +instantaneously. Wavering between joy and bitter doubt, she stood with +downcast eyes. + +"Do you take us for children?" cried the sailor, "to think that we are +going to be made fools of by the first fellow who comes by? If you want +a sweetheart, you will find plenty on the Corso for gold and good +words. Who told you to thrust your oar in, and with a style as if you +had the best right in the world?" + +"I have," said Theodore, loudly and firmly; "I have--for she is my +wife!" + +"His wife!" ran through the crowd. The nearest drew back a step. + +"Your wife! that you must prove--or it may be,--halt!" interrupted the +sailor. "Tell us her name, sir, her name! a husband generally knows so +much of his wife, even though he don't know what she is about in the +streets late at night." + +"Caterina," said Theodore, "do you know me?" + +"Yes," answered the girl. + +"Caterina!" murmured the sailor; "it is right--so the other one called +her." + +"You will go with me, Caterina?" said Theodore--"you will tell me the +reason why you have left me, and forced me to seek you up and down the +streets of Rome in anger and fear? So! to Ostia? and he was going to +meet you there? It is enough--come!" + +He spoke so sternly, and with a face in which sorrow and anger were so +plainly written that no one doubted him for a moment. "It is her +husband," they whispered: "she was going to run off with the other. God +pity him, when he falls into his hands, as she has done!" + +Caterina did nothing to undeceive them. Obediently she ascended the +steps by Theodore's side; and her astonishment at being saved by _him_, +to escape whom she had fallen into the danger, resembled the conscious +confusion of a discovered criminal. The sailor alone did not seem +perfectly convinced. He looked at the piece of gold which Theodore had +thrown to him, and growled, "If it was all right, the gentleman would +not have put his hand in his pocket. Well, I am doubly paid, at all +events: what does it matter to me?" + + + + + CHAPTER VII. + + +He walked beside her through two or three streets, holding her hand in +his. But neither looked at the other, nor did a word pass between them, +till suddenly he released her hand, and asked, "Whither shall I take +you, Caterina?" + +"I know not," she answered. + +"To the Via Margatta?" + +"No!" and she shrank together: "the old woman would find me there--or +he." + +"Who?" + +"I may not name him--least of all to you--he has forbidden me." + +"Then it is Bianchi." said Theodore, in a hollow voice. She did not +deny it. + +As they passed along, the misgiving which had arisen in his breast +became stronger. The strange silence of the artist, while he described +to him the scene at the Circus, and his meeting with the girl, were now +explained and obvious for the first time. "Had we but confided to each +other what was nearest to our hearts!" he sighed of himself and his +friend. He knew not all as yet. + +When they reached the house where Theodore lodged, he produced a key, +and opened the door. Caterina stepped back. "I do not enter with you," +she said. "No! rather would I sleep on the steps of Santo Maria +Maggiore, than there within"-- + +"Child," he said, "I am no longer now what I might have seemed but a +few hours ago! Thou art as safe with me as with a brother." + +She looked at him in the darkness, as keenly as she could, and it +seemed as if some strange light struck her. "I know," she said, +remaining still some steps from the door; "he has arranged it all with +you. He came and tried to persuade me that he had sold me to you, or +given me to you. I was to love you as I had loved him. '_I cannot_,' I +told him, and I swore it in my soul, and he saw clearly enough that it +was true. Then he wished to entrap me, and brought me down to the boat, +and ran to tell you that I was below, and that you might go and take +me.--But I will never be yours--no, though you were a thousand times +his friend, and though he should murder me a thousand times when I did +not do his will! Go! I can find my way back to my mountains again, and +you can tell him--what you will, and--farewell!" + +She turned away. Hardly had Theodore time to arouse himself from his +astonishment, and to overtake her. He seized her by the hand. +"Caterina," he said, "when I swear that you shall be to me as a sister, +and that I will take you back to your Carlo again as you left him--you +cannot hesitate to enter my house!" + +"You could do that? you would do that?" she asked, stopping +hesitatingly. "It is impossible; you do not know him; no one can alter +_him_!" + +"Trust!" he said. The hope that spoke so sweetly to her, came to his +assistance. She forced herself gently from him, and followed him into +the house. As soon as she reached his chamber, still in darkness, she +seated herself on a stool close by the door, her bundle, which she had +carried with her, resting on her lap. He struck a light, and spoke not +again, but turned over his papers mechanically, purposeless. His +forehead glowed when he thought of Bianchi's deed. The exquisite +consciousness of his utter devotion, which the past hour had taught +him, supported him, when the feeling that Mary was lost to him for ever +would have crushed him. + +Whilst he was thus dreaming about the future and nerving himself to +bear his fate, he heard a light breathing from the door. He looked up +and saw that Caterina had wept herself into a heavy sleep. Gently he +stepped to her side--her head had sunk upon her shoulder, her arms hung +down, her breast heaved with sorrow-laden dreams. He raised her gently +and cautiously, and bore her in his arms to a sofa which stood near the +wall. As he laid her down his face approached her cheek, he felt the +warm breath from her lips, the scent from her hair swept around him, +the beauty of her limbs rested blooming before him; but all ill passion +had gone from him--he raised himself, spread out his cloak over the +sleeping girl, and went to his room. Not until the lesser stars were +dwindling into darkness did he snatch a short and restless sleep; but +no thought of Caterina disturbed it. + + + + + CHAPTER VIII. + + +In the bright morning he entered Bianchi's workshop. He started +as the haggard, pallid face of his friend looked up to him from the +work-table. His hair seemed to have grown suddenly greyer, his eyes +darker; and yet a kindly expression played about the compressed lips +when he recognised Theodore. + +"You have passed a bad night." said Theodore, "and I am the cause of +it." + +"I lay awake." said Bianchi, calmly; "but why do you trouble yourself +about the fancies that now and then drive my rest from me? Let us talk +about better things--talk, read, and, above all, stay if you can. Let +it be so--it gives me a strange pleasure to-day to hear your voice." + +"Bianchi, it is useless to hide yourself under a cloak of words when +your whole heart lies open before me--I know all!" + +"You know all!--then keep secret what you know," said Bianchi, +vehemently; "keep it secret--never speak a word to me about it. It +lies behind me, far behind me! Ay!" he continued, "think of it as you +will, only let all be as it was--promise me that." + +Theodore stood deeply pained; he remembered that he, too, in a few days +would look upon all here as if it lay far, far behind him; but he could +not confess that to him, for fear of being unable to perform what he +had now to do. + +"I must speak, nevertheless," he said, at last. "Had I kept silent +yesterday, when I shivered your happiness with my foolish words, I +should have spared you much; then you had not cast away the pearl, to +which I, poor fool! in a presumptuous, self-forgetting moment, +stretched out my hand." + +Bianchi was silent--a hot flush passed over him, he tried to speak. "If +I brought her back to you, and said, 'there you have her again; I do +not envy you, for my heart hangs on another jewel, and it requires no +sacrifice to bind us to each other,'--would you believe me, Carlo?" + +He saw the shifting of overwhelming emotions flit across the face of +his friend. The artist supported himself against the table, his head +pressed against his breast which laboured violently; his lips moved +themselves, soundless. Theodore went to the door, and called +"Caterina!" She had stood without, death and life before her; as she +stepped slowly and with hesitating foot over the threshold, she saw +Carlo standing by the table with arms outstretched towards her. His +knees shook under him--with a cry of joy she cast herself upon his +neck. + +The door had remained open--Theodore had his back turned towards it, +lost in reverie over the relief of Edward, which stood sideways on its +scaffolding. He heard a light rustling behind him, and turned round. At +the same moment Caterina freed herself from Bianchi's arms, and +started. They saw three stranger forms standing hesitating in the open +doorway--an elderly pair and a fair young girl. Theodore remembered +her. + +"We disturb you," said the old gentleman; "pray pardon us; but the door +was wide open--we will come again at a more convenient time, Signor +Bianchi." + +"Enter," said Bianchi; "you do not disturb me. Those whom you see here +are a friend and--my wife--Signora Bianchi." He laid an emphasis on the +last words, and glanced at Caterina, who looked up to him in a +transport of happiness. Meanwhile, Theodore had retreated from before +the monument. The father greeted him with his old heartiness, and then +turned towards the relief. He exchanged no greeting with the women. The +old lady had, at Bianchi's first word, advanced towards the artist's +work, and stood speechless before it. Mary's glance rested but for a +short time on the statue of her brother, and then flew to Caterina. She +remembered her well. Whilst her parents stood leaning upon each other, +deeply affected, before the relief, unable to tear themselves away +from it, she approached Theodore; she spoke gently to him, she took +his hand, her eyes overflowed. They interchanged vows, confessions, +self-accusations--each anticipating the other, each outbidding the +other in assurances of boundless love. + +No one overheard them; for even Bianchi, though he spoke not, forgot +all in the eyes of his wife. + +At last Mary's father went to him and pressed his hand--his eyes were +moistened--the mother wept silently in her handkerchief. "You know +enough," said the old man; "it is needless for us to speak only one +thing--when do you begin its execution in marble! I have altered my +plan; I only wish a stone to be placed over my son's grave, bearing a +simple inscription. This relief I must place in the room where he +lived, on the place where stood his couch; we cannot consecrate the +spot better. But the time will seem very long to me till it is our own. +You will be the best judge of the marble. Do not delay for an hour!" + +Meanwhile the mother had recovered her composure. She turned and gave +Theodore her hand, drew him towards her and kissed him on the lips, +which she had done but once before, on the day when she betrothed her +child to him--then they all left the studio. The sky was clear and +serene, and brightly shone the sun over the banks of the Tiber. + + + + THE END. + + + + + + * * * * * + + PRINTED BY COX AND WYMAN, GREAT QUEEN STREET, LONDON. + + + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Four Phases of Love, by Paul Heyse + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FOUR PHASES OF LOVE *** + +***** This file should be named 34104-8.txt or 34104-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/3/4/1/0/34104/ + +Produced by Charles Bowen, from page scans provided by the Web Archive + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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Routledge & Co."> +<meta name="Date" content="1857"> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=ISO-8859-1"> +<style type="text/css"> +body {margin-left:10%; + margin-right:10%; background-color:#FFFFFF;} + + + +p.normal {text-indent:.25in; text-align: justify;} +p.center {text-align:center; margin-top:9pt;} + + +p.right {text-align:right; margin-right:20%;} + +p.continue {text-indent: 0in; margin-top:9pt;} +.text10 {margin-top:0px; margin-bottom:0px; margin-left:10%; margin-right:0px; font-size:90%;} +.text20 {margin-top:0px; margin-bottom:0px; margin-left:20%; margin-right:0px; font-size:90%;} + +.t0 {margin-top:0px; margin-bottom:0px; margin-left:0em; margin-right:0px;} +.t1 {margin-top:0px; margin-bottom:0px; margin-left:1em; margin-right:0px;} +.t2 {margin-top:0px; margin-bottom:0px; margin-left:2em; margin-right:0px;} +.t3 {margin-top:0px; margin-bottom:0px; margin-left:3em; margin-right:0px;} +.t4 {margin-top:0px; margin-bottom:0px; margin-left:4em; margin-right:0px;} +.t5 {margin-top:0px; margin-bottom:0px; margin-left:5em; margin-right:0px;} +.t6 {margin-top:0px; margin-bottom:0px; margin-left:6em; margin-right:0px;} +.t7 {margin-top:0px; margin-bottom:0px; margin-left:7em; margin-right:0px;} +.t8 {margin-top:0px; margin-bottom:0px; margin-left:8em; margin-right:0px;} + +.quote {font-size:90%; margin-top:24pt; margin-bottom:24pt} +.dateline {text-align:right; font-size:90%; margin-right:10%; margin-top:24pt; margin-bottom:24pt} + +h1,h2,h3,h4,h5 {text-align: center;} + +span.sc {font-variant: small-caps; font-size:100%} +.space {letter-spacing: 1em; text-align:center; margin-bottom:24pt; margin-top:24pt;} + + +hr.W10 {width:10%; margin-top:12pt; margin-bottom:12pt; + color:black;} + +hr.W20 {width:20%; margin-top:12pt; margin-bottom:12pt; + color:black;} + +hr.W50 {width:50%; margin-top:12pt; color:black;} +hr.W90 {width:90%; margin-top:12pt; color:black;} + +p.hang1 {margin-left:1em; text-indent:-1em;} +p.hang2 {margin-left:1em; text-indent:0em;} + +.poem { + margin-top: 24pt; + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + text-align: left; + margin-bottom: 24pt + } + .poem .stanza { + margin : 1em 0; + margin-top:24pt; + } + +</style> + +</head> + +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Four Phases of Love, by Paul Heyse + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Four Phases of Love + +Author: Paul Heyse + +Translator: E. H. Kingsley + +Release Date: October 19, 2010 [EBook #34104] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FOUR PHASES OF LOVE *** + + + + +Produced by Charles Bowen, from page scans provided by the Web Archive + + + + + +</pre> + + +<p class="hang1">Transcriber's Notes:<br> +1. Page scan source: http://www.archive.org/details/fourphaseslovet00heysgoog<br> +2. This volume includes the following short-stories:<br> + a. <a name="div1Ref_blindness" href="#div1_blindness">Eye-Blindness and Soul-Blindness.</a>;<br> + b. <a name="div1Ref_marion" href="#div1_marion">Marion</a>;<br> + c. <a name="div1Ref_larabbiata" href="#div1_larabbiata">La Rabbiata</a>;<br> + d. <a name="div1Ref_banks" href="#div1_banks">"By the Banks of the Tiber."</a></p> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<div style="line-height:200%"> +<h1>FOUR PHASES OF LOVE</h1> + +<h4>BY</h4> + +<h2>PAUL HEYSE.</h2> +</div> +<br> +<br> +<hr class="W10"> +<br> +<br> +<h3>TRANSLATED</h3> +<br> +<h2>By E. H. KINGSLEY.</h2> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<h2 style="margin-bottom:0pt">LONDON:<br> +G. ROUTLEDGE & CO. FARRINGDON STREET;</h2> +<h3 style="margin-top:0pt">NEW YORK: 18, BEEKMAN STREET.<br> +1857.</h3> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<h1><a name="div1_blindness" href="#div1Ref_blindness">EYE-BLINDNESS AND SOUL-BLINDNESS.</a></h1> +<br> +<hr class="W10"> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<h2>CHAPTER I.</h2> +<br> + +<p class="normal">At the open window, which looked out into the little flower-garden, +stood the blind daughter of the village sacristan, refreshing herself +in the cool breeze that swept across her hot cheeks; her delicate, +half-developed form trembled, her cold little hands lay folded in +each other upon the window-sill. The sun had already set, and the +night-flowers were beginning to scent the air.</p> + +<p class="normal">Further within the room sat a blind boy on a stool, at the old +spinet, playing wild melodies. He might have been about fifteen years +old--only, perhaps, a year older than the girl. Whoever had heard and +seen him, now throwing up his large eyes, and now turning his head +towards the window, would never have suspected his privation--so much +energy, and even impetuosity, lay in his every movement.</p> + +<p class="normal">Suddenly he broke off in the midst of a religious hymn, which he seemed +to have altered wildly after his own fancy.</p> + +<p class="normal">"You sighed!" he said, turning his face towards her.</p> + +<p class="normal">"I! No, Clement--why should I sigh? I only shrank together as the wind +blew in so strongly!"</p> + +<p class="normal">"But you <i>did</i> sigh. Do you think that I did not hear it as I +played?--and I feel even here how you are trembling."</p> + +<p class="normal">"Yes; it has grown so cold."</p> + +<p class="normal">"You cannot deceive me. If you were cold you would not stand at the +open window. But I know why you sigh and tremble!--because the doctor +is coming to-morrow, and will prick our eyes with needles--that is what +makes you so afraid; and yet he said how soon it would all be over, and +that it would only be like the prick of a pin. And <i>you</i>, who used to +be so brave and patient, that my mother always mentioned you as an +example when I was little and cried when anything hurt me, though you +were only a girl--have you now lost all your courage? Do you never +think of the happiness we have to look forward to?"</p> + +<p class="normal">She shook her little head, and answered, "How can you think that I am +afraid of the passing pain! But I am oppressed with silly, childish +thoughts, which I cannot drive away. Ever since the day that the doctor +the baron sent for came down from the castle to your father, and mother +called us out of the garden--ever since that hour something weighs upon +me and will not go away. You were so full of joy that you did not +perceive it; but when your father began to pray, and blessed God for +this mercy, my heart was silent and did not follow his prayer. I +thought within myself, 'What have I to be thankful for?' and could not +understand."</p> + +<p class="normal">Thus she spoke in a quiet resigned voice. The boy again struck a few +light chords. Between the sharp whizzing tones, peculiar to the +instrument on which he played, rang the distant songs of home-returning +peasants--a contrast, like that of <i>their</i> bright active life, with the +dream-life of these blind children.</p> + +<p class="normal">The boy seemed to feel it. He rose quickly, walked with a firm step to +the window--for he knew the room and all its furniture--and said, as he +threw back his bright fair locks, "You are incomprehensible, Mary! Our +parents and all the village congratulate us. Will it not be a gain +after all? Until it was promised me I never asked much about it. We are +blind, they say; I never understood what was wanting in us. When we sat +without there by the wood, and travellers came by, and said, 'Poor +children!' I felt angry, and thought, 'What have they to pity in us?' +But that we are different from others, I know well enough. They often +talked about things which I could not understand, yet which must be +very beautiful. And now that we are going to know them too, the longing +never leaves me day nor night."</p> + +<p class="normal">"I was contented as I was," said Mary, sadly, "I was so happy, and +should have liked to be as happy all my life. It will all be different +now! Have you never heard people complain that the world is full of +sorrow and care--and did we know care?"</p> + +<p class="normal">"Because we did not know the world--and I <i>will</i> know it at all risks! +I suffered myself to be pleased with groping about in the dark with +you, and being obliged to do nothing, but not always! Often, when my +father taught us history, and told us about heroes and bold deeds, I +asked him if any of them had been blind? But whoever had done anything +great could see. And then I often plagued myself all day long with +thoughts about it. Then when I played on the spinet, or was allowed to +play on the organ, in your father's place, I forgot my uneasiness for a +time; but when it came back, I thought, 'Must you always play the +organ, and go the few hundred paces up and down the village that you +know; and must no one out of the village ever know you; and must none +ever name you after you are dead?' Look you, Mary,--since the doctor +has been at the castle, I hope that I yet may become a perfect man; and +then I will go out into the world and take the path that pleases me, +and I shall have nothing to ask any one!"</p> + +<p class="normal">"And not me, Clement?"</p> + +<p class="normal">She said it uncomplainingly and without reproach.</p> + +<p class="normal">But the boy answered vehemently, "Sister Mary, do not talk such +nonsense--I cannot bear it! Do you think that I would leave you alone +at home and steal away amongst strangers? Do you not trust me?"</p> + +<p class="normal">"I know well what happens when young men go from the village to the +town, or on their wanderings, no one goes with them, not even their own +sisters. And here too, even before they are grown up, the boys run away +from the little girls and go into the woods with each other, and mock +the girls when they meet them. Till now they have left you and me +together, and we played and learned with each other. You were blind +like me--what did you want with the other boys? But when you can see, +and want to sit in the house with me, they will laugh at you, as they +do at everyone who won't go with them. And then--then you will go quite +away for a long, long time, and I had grown so accustomed to be with +you."</p> + +<p class="normal">She had spoken the last words with difficulty; then her sorrow overcame +her and she sobbed aloud. Clement drew her closely to him, stroked her +cheek, and said entreatingly, "You <i>must</i> not cry! I will never go away +from you! never! never! rather than do that I will remain blind and +forget everything. I <i>will</i> not leave you if it makes you cry. Come, be +calm, be cheerful. You should not heat yourself, the doctor said, +because it is so bad for your eyes, darling, darling Mary!"</p> + +<p class="normal">He pressed her closer in his arms and kissed her for the first +time in his life. His mother called to him from the neighbouring +parsonage-house. He led the still weeping girl to an arm-chair by the +wall, let her sink gently into it and hastened out.</p> + +<p class="normal">Shortly after, two dignified looking men strode down from the +castle-hill towards the village. The rector, a tall, powerful figure, +with all the strength and majesty of an apostle, and the sacristan, a +slender man with an expression of humility about him, and whose hair +was already as white as snow. They had both been invited by the baron +to spend the afternoon with himself and the doctor, who had come from +the town, at his invitation, to examine the children's eyes, and to try +the effects of an operation. He had again assured both the rejoicing +fathers of his hopes of a perfect cure, and had begged them to hold +themselves in readiness for the following day. The mothers had decided +on preparing all that was necessary in the parsonage, for they were +unwilling to separate the children on the day which was to restore them +that light of which they had been together so long deprived.</p> + +<p class="normal">When the two fathers reached their homes, which lay just opposite to +each other, the rector pressed his old friend's hand, and said with a +moistening eye, "God be with us and them!" Then they separated. The +sacristan entered his house--all was still--the maid was without in the +garden. He entered his chamber and rejoiced in the stillness which +permitted him to be alone with his God. As he stepped over the +threshold, he started--his child had arisen from the chair and pressed +her handkerchief to her eyes; her bosom heaved painfully; her cheeks +and lips were blanched. He spoke to her and entreated her to calm +herself, and asked her earnestly, "What has happened to you?" She +answered but with tears which she herself understood not.</p> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<h2>CHAPTER II.</h2> +<br> + +<p class="normal">They had placed the children in bed in two upper rooms of the rectory +looking towards the north. In the absence of shutters, the windows were +carefully covered with dark curtains, so that in the brightest day +scarcely a ray of light could creep in. The rector's wide orchard +overshadowed the walls, and kept at a distance the murmur of external +life.</p> + +<p class="normal">The doctor had recommended that particular care should be taken of the +little girl; all that depended on him had succeeded; now, in quiet, +must nature do the rest; and the girl's easily excitable temperament +required the most careful attention and precaution.</p> + +<p class="normal">At the decisive moment, Mary had been firm, when her mother burst into +tears, as she heard the doctor's footstep on the stairs, she had gone +to her and encouraged her.</p> + +<p class="normal">The doctor began with the boy, who, excited but of good courage, sat +down and bore all; only at first he would not allow anyone to hold him +during the operation, but at Mary's entreaties he at last permitted it +to be done.</p> + +<p class="normal">When the doctor, after some seconds had elapsed, removed his hands from +the boy's eyelids, he screamed loudly with joyous terror.</p> + +<p class="normal">Mary recoiled. Then she bore without a murmur the passing pain. But +tears burst from her eyes, and her whole frame trembled; so that the +doctor hastily placed a bandage over her eyes, and assisted her himself +to her room; for her knees trembled under her. There, on her couch, +sleep and fainting struggled long over her, whilst the boy declared +that he was perfectly well, and only lay down at his father's earnest +entreaties.</p> + +<p class="normal">But he did not sleep at once. Coloured forms--coloured now for the +first time--glided by him, full of mystery; forms which, as yet, were +nothing to him, and which were to become so much, if the people were +right who wished him joy. He asked his father and mother, as they sat +by his bedside, about innumerable things, which truly the most +profound science could hardly have solved. What does <i>it</i> know of the +well-springs of life? His father entreated him to have patience, for +with God's help he would soon be able to resolve his doubts more +clearly for himself. Now, rest was necessary for him, and above all for +Mary, whom he might so easily awake with his talking. Then he was +silent, and listened through the wall. He begged them, in whispers, to +open the door, that he might hear whether she slept or was not sighing +from pain. His mother did as he wished. Then he lay motionless and +listened, and the breathing of his sleeping little friend, as it sighed +softly in and out, sang him, too, at last, to sleep.</p> + +<p class="normal">So they lay for hours. The village without was more quiet than usual. +When a peasant had to pass the rectory with his cart, he guarded +carefully against noise. Even the children, who may have been told by +their master, did not storm out of the school as noisily as was their +wont, but went in twos and threes, whispering, and glancing shily at +the house, as they passed to more distant play-grounds. Only the song +of the birds ceased not among the branches; but when has <i>its</i> sound +disturbed or wearied a rest-seeking child of man?</p> + +<p class="normal">The bells of the cows returning from pasture first awakened the two +children. The boy's first question was, whether Mary had inquired for +him yet? He asked her then, in a low voice, how she was. Her heavy +sleep had hardly refreshed her, and her eyes burned under their light +covering. But she forced herself to say that she was better, and +chatted gaily with Clement, over whose lips streamed the wildest +thoughts.</p> + +<p class="normal">Late, when the moon had already risen from behind the wood, hesitating +little hands knocked at the rector's door. It was the little village +girls, who brought a garland of their fairest garden flowers for Mary, +and a nosegay for Clement. When they brought them to the boy, his face +brightened; their scent and cool sprinkling of dew refreshed him. +"Thank them for me very much. They are good girls; I am ill now, but +when I can see I will defend them against the boys." Mary, when they +laid the garland on her bed, pressed it gently back with pale little +hands, and said, "I cannot, mother! I feel giddy when flowers are so +near me! Take them to Clement, too."</p> + +<p class="normal">She soon sank again into her feverish half-sleep. The wholesome +approach of day tranquillized her at last, and the doctor, who came +early, found her freer from danger than he had dared to hope. Long he +sat by the boy's bedside, listened smiling to his strange questions, +warned him kindly to be patient and quiet, and left with the best +prognostications.</p> + +<p class="normal">Much use recommending calmness and patience to one who has at last +caught a distant glimpse of a new and highly praised land! His father +was obliged, as often as his duties permitted him, to go up to his room +and talk to him. The door then was not to be shut, that Mary might hear +the beautiful stories too. Legends of pious men and women on whom God +had laid and removed heavy sufferings were repeated. The tale of poor +Henry, for whom the pious maiden was willing in her humility to +sacrifice herself, and how God brought all to a happy ending was +related, and all the edifying histories which the worthy man was able +to recollect.</p> + +<p class="normal">When the pious rector glided gradually from tale to prayer, or the +mother with her clear voice sang a hymn of thanksgiving, Clement folded +his hands, or sang with her; but directly after he began new +questionings, which showed that he took more interest in the stories +than in the hymns. Mary asked about nothing. She was friendly with +every one, and no one suspected what deep thoughts and questions were +seething in her little breast.</p> + +<p class="normal">They grew visibly better from day to day, and on the fourth day after +the operation the doctor permitted them to get up. He himself supported +the little girl, as she stepped, weak and trembling, across the +darkened room towards the open door, in which the boy stood, stretching +forth his hands, joyously seeking hers. Then he grasped her hand +firmly, and entreated her to lean on him, which she did confidingly. +They paced to and fro in the chamber together, and he, with that +delicate sense of locality so peculiar to the blind, guided her +carefully past the different pieces of furniture.</p> + +<p class="normal">"How are you now? he asked her.</p> + +<p class="normal">"I am well," was her answer, "to-day as ever."</p> + +<p class="normal">"Come," he said, quickly, "lean on me, you are weak still, it would +refresh you to breathe a little sweet meadow air out of doors, for the +air here is thick and heavy. But it is not good for us yet, the doctor +says. Our eyes would get sore, and be blind again, if they were to look +out into the light too soon. Oh, I know already what light and darkness +mean. No flute note is so sweet as when your eyes can do that. It hurt +me, I must say, yet I could have looked for ever into the beautiful +coloured world, so blissful was the pain. You will feel it too. But it +must be many days before we are so happy. But then I will do nothing +all day long but see. I want to know so many things, Mary. They say +that each thing has a different colour. I wonder what colours your face +and mine are? Dark or bright? It would be horrible if they were not +very bright. Shall I know you with my eyes? now, touching you so, I +could pick you out with my little finger from all the other people in +the world. But in future we shall have to learn to know each other all +anew again. I know now that your hair and cheeks are soft to touch, +will they be so to my eyes? I want to know so much, and it is so long +to wait."</p> + +<p class="normal">After this fashion he chattered incessantly, without remarking how +silently she walked beside him. Many of his words had sunk deep into +her heart. It had never occurred to her that she too was to see, and +she hardly knew what to think about it. She had heard of mirrors, +without understanding what was meant. She thought now that when a +person who saw opened his eyes, his own face appeared to him.</p> + +<p class="normal">When she was again in her little bed, and her mother thought she slept, +the idea flashed across her mind. "It would be horrible if our faces +were not bright!" She had heard of ugly and beautiful, and she knew +that ugly people were pitied, and often less loved than others. "Oh, if +I should be ugly," she thought to herself, "and he care no more about +me. It used to be all the same when he played with my hair and called +it silken threads. That will all cease now if he sees that I am ugly; +and he--even if he <i>is</i> ugly, I will never let him know it, because I +shall love him still. But no! I <i>know</i> that he <i>cannot</i> be ugly--he +<i>cannot</i> be."</p> + +<p class="normal">Long she lay restless with sorrow and anxiety. The air was sultry; +without, in the garden, the nightingales called complainingly to each +other, and a sobbing west wind beat against the window panes. She was +entirely alone in the chamber, for her mother's bed, which had been +placed beside hers, had been removed on account of the closeness of the +room. And besides, they no longer thought a night watcher necessary, as +her fever had entirely disappeared. And just on this very evening it +returned again, and tossed her to and fro, until, long after midnight, +a short, heavy sleep fell upon her.</p> + +<p class="normal">Meanwhile the storm, which had circled muttering around the horizon +half the night, approached in its might, spread itself over the forest, +and then paused. The wind was still. A crash of thunder burst in upon +Mary's sleep. Half dreaming she sprang up; she knew not what she sought +or thought, a nameless anxiety forced her to rise, her pillow was so +hot. Now she stood by the side of her bed and heard the strong rain +rushing down without. But it cooled not her feverish brow. She tried to +collect herself and think, but found nothing within her soul but the +miserable thought with which she had fallen asleep. A strange +determination arose within her. She would go to Clement now he was +alone; what prevented her from putting an end to her uncertainty, and +seeing both herself and him? She thought but of this alone, and every +word of the doctor was forgotten; so she went unhesitatingly, just as +she had arisen from her couch, towards the door which stood half open, +found the end of the bed, crept on her little bare feet, to the side of +the sleeping boy, and bending over him, with bated breath, tore the +bandage hastily from her eyes.</p> + +<p class="normal">But she started when all remained dark as before. She had forgotten +that it was night, and that she had been told that in the night all +people were blind. She had fancied that a light streamed from an eye +that saw, and lighted both itself and what it looked upon. Now she felt +the boy's breath soft upon her cheek, but she could distinguish no +form. Already terrified, and in despair, she wished to go back. There +flamed through the now uncovered window-panes a flash one second +long--then another and another--the air waved to and fro with the +intensity of light--thunder and rain-stream without increased in roar; +but she gazed for one short moment on the curly brow that lay softly +pressed on the pillow before her--then the vision vanished into the +darkness, her eyes gushed with tears, and, overcome with unspeakable +terror, she rushed to her room, replaced the bandage, and sank upon her +bed, feeling, with a sense of unalterable conviction, that she had seen +for the first and the last time.</p> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<h2>CHAPTER III.</h2> +<br> + +<p class="normal">Weeks have passed away. For the first time, the young powers of the +eyes are to be tested by light. The doctor, who had, in the meantime, +directed the simple treatment of the children from the town, arrived at +the village on a cloudy day, in order to be present himself and to +enjoy the fruit of his cure with them.</p> + +<p class="normal">Instead of the curtains, they had weaved garlands of boughs before the +windows, and decked both rooms gaily with green branches and flowers. +The baron himself, and all in the village who were connected with +either of the families, had arrived to wish both parents and children +happiness, and to enjoy the surprise of the healed ones.</p> + +<p class="normal">Mary pressed herself, with a sad anxiety, amongst the boughs in the +corner, when Clement, flushed with delight, was placed opposite to her, +and seized her hand.</p> + +<p class="normal">He had entreated to be allowed to see her first of all. At the same +moment they loosed the coverings from their eyes.</p> + +<p class="normal">A cry of utter inexpressible joy rang from the boy's lips. He remained +fixed on the same spot,--a glorified smile upon his face,--moving his +bright eyeballs hither and thither. He had forgotten that Mary was to +stand before him, and knew not as yet what the human form might be. +She, too, did nothing to put him in mind of her. She stood, motionless, +only lightly moving her eyelids, which overshadowed bright brown dead +eyes. Yet they had no suspicion of the truth. "The wondrous things," +they thought, "which seem so strange to her at first, have paralysed +her for a time." But when the boy's delight broke loudly forth, they +told him "That is Mary:" and he stretched out his hand towards her +cheeks in his old manner, and said, "You have a bright face!" Then her +tears flowed apace, she shook her head hastily, and said, hardly +intelligibly, "It is still dark here! It is all as it used to be!"</p> + +<p class="normal">Who can describe the misery of the next few hours! The doctor, deeply +affected, led her to a chair by the window, and examined her eyes. The +thin grey film of the cataract which he had removed had not reappeared. +Nothing distinguished the pupils from those of health but their +lifeless sorrowful fixedness.</p> + +<p class="normal">"The nerve is paralysed," he said, "some sudden vehement light must +have destroyed it." The sacristan's wife fainted, she fell pale as +death in her husband's arms. Clement at first hardly understood what +had happened. His soul was too full of its newly-gained existence. But +Mary lay bathed in tears, and would answer none of the doctor's +questions. Even later, they could learn nothing from her. "She did not +know how it had happened. They must forgive her for having cried so +childishly. She would bear all as it had been appointed. Had she ever +known anything different?"</p> + +<p class="normal">When they had made Clement clearly understand the misfortune, he was +beside himself, sprang towards her, and cried incessantly, "You <i>shall</i> +see too! I will have nothing more than you! Ah! now I know for the +first time what you have lost! One does not see oneself; but all around +have eyes, and look at us as if they loved us. And they shall look at +you so too, only be patient and do not cry." And then he asked for the +doctor, and rushed to him, beseeching him with tears to help Mary. The +bright drops stood in the good man's eyes--he restrained himself with +difficulty, and persuaded the boy to be tranquil; "he would see what +could be done," and gave him hopes, in order to avoid an excitement +which might be dangerous for him. He did not conceal the hopeless truth +from the parents.</p> + +<p class="normal">But the boy's sorrow seemed to have comforted Mary. She sat still by +the window, and called him gently to her. "You must not be so sorry," +she said, "it all comes from God. Be happy, as I am happy, that you are +cured. You know already that I never wished very much for it. And now I +should be quite contented if it did not grieve my parents so. But they +will grow used to it, and you too, and so it will be as well--if you +only love me as you used to do--that I remain as I was."</p> + +<p class="normal">He would not be comforted, and the doctor insisted on the children +being separated. They took Clement down into the large room below, +where the people from the village pressed around him. They shook his +hand, one after another, and spoke kindly words; but the crowd +stupified him. He only said, "Do you know yet that Mary is blind +still?" and then began to weep afresh.</p> + +<p class="normal">It was high time to replace the bandage and to take him to a cool and +quiet room. There he lay down, exhausted with joy, sorrow, and weeping. +His father spoke gently and piously to him, which did him but little +good; even in his sleep he wept, and seemed to dream painfully.</p> + +<p class="normal">But on the following day, curiosity, desire for information, and +astonishment asserted their rights, and his sorrow for Mary only +appeared when he happened to see her. He visited her in the early +morning and asked her whether she had not altered or got better during +the night. But then the bright world that opened itself before him +claimed all his attention, and when he returned to Mary it was only to +tell her of some new wonder, often checking himself in the midst of his +rapid narration, as a glance at his poor little friend reminded him +what pain his joy must cost her. But, in truth, it did <i>not</i> cause her +much pain; she wanted nothing for herself; to hear him talk so +enthusiastically was pleasure enough for her. But when he began to come +more rarely, fancying that he made her sad, or was silent because all +other interests vanished before the one on which he did not dare to +speak, she became uneasy; formerly she had seldom been separated from +him during the day, now she was much alone. Her mother, indeed, often +came to sit with her; but the cheerfulness of the once lively woman had +departed, since her darling hopes had been so rudely crushed; she could +say nothing to her child but mere words of comfort which her own heavy +sighs belied, and which could be but of little use to Mary. How much of +what she now suffered had she foreseen? and yet the sense of separation +gave her inexpressible pain.</p> + +<p class="normal">Now she sat often again under the boughs in her father's garden and +span. When Clement came to her, her poor eyes gleamed strangely. He was +ever kind to her, sat down on the bench beside her, and caressed her +hair and cheeks as in the old times. She begged him once not to be so +silent. When he told her about the world and the new things he had +learned each day about it, it did not make her feel envious. But when +he did not come at all she was so lonely. She never put him in mind, by +a single word, of the promise he had given her one evening never to +leave her; she had long ago renounced it. She seemed doubly dear to +him, he had no longer to be guarded before her. His heart overflowed, +and he talked for hours about the sun and moon and stars, and the +flowers, and the trees; and, above all, how their parents and she +herself looked. She trembled with happiness in her inmost heart, when +he told her innocently, that she was prettier than all the other girls +in the village. Then he told her how graceful she was, and that she had +such a pretty head, and dark, soft eyebrows. He had seen himself, too, +in a looking-glass, but he was not nearly so pretty; he did not want to +be, and it was all the same to him, as long as he grew up to be a +clever man. Men appeared generally not to be so pretty as women. She +did not understand all of this, but this much she did understand, that +she pleased him, and what could she desire more? They never returned to +this subject; but he was indefatigable in describing the beautiful +world to her. When he came not, she thought over his words, and grew +almost jealous of this world which robbed her of him; gradually this +feeling of enmity grew stronger, and, at last, became more powerful +than her pleasure at his happiness. Above all things she hated the sun, +for she knew that he was the brightest of all, and in her obscure +notions, <i>bright</i> and beautiful were one and the same thing. Nothing +discomposed her more than his bursts of admiration over the setting +sun, when he was with her of an evening. He had never spoken of <i>her</i> +in such words, and why did he forget her so utterly over this scene +that he never saw the tears that her strange jealous sorrow forced into +her eyes?</p> + +<p class="normal">But still heavier grew her heart, when the rector, as soon as the +doctor permitted it, began anew the education of his son. Previous to +his cure, Clement had passed the greater part of his day in practising +music; religious instruction, history, mathematics, and a little Latin, +were all which formerly had appeared necessary or possible; and Mary +had been permitted to share his lessons, which, after all, included +only the most necessary information. Now, when the boy exhibited the +strongest inclination towards natural science, he was set seriously to +work, and prepared for one of the higher classes of the town school.</p> + +<p class="normal">His steady will worked unceasingly onwards, and his really superior +talents enabled him in a surprisingly short time to bring himself up to +his age, and to recover lost time. He sat many hours, even then, with +his books, in the sacristan's garden. But the old way of talking was +out of the question, and Mary felt, but too well, that she was doubly +parted, both from instruction and from the friend of her childhood.</p> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<h2>CHAPTER IV.</h2> +<br> + +<p class="normal">Autumn interrupted for a time the boy's studies. The rector determined +to take him with him for some days into the neighbouring mountains, +before the winter set in, to show him hill-side and valley, and to let +him have a wider look into that world which already seemed so beautiful +to him, even on the barren village plains. When the boy was told of it +he asked, "And we shall take Mary with us too?"</p> + +<p class="normal">They tried to dissuade him from it, but without her he refused to +travel. "Even if she does not see anything, they say the mountain air +is so healthy, and she has been so pale and thin for a long time, and +will be quite lonely without me." So they did as he wished; the little +maiden was lifted into the carriage beside him, and a short day's +journey brought them to the foot of the mountain range.</p> + +<p class="normal">Now began the journey on foot. Patiently the boy led his blind little +friend, more reserved than ever. Often he longed to climb this or that +isolated rock-peak which promised him a new view, but he supported her +as she went, and would not desert his post, however much his parents +begged him. Only when they had reached some eminence, and were seated +at rest in a shady nook, did he leave the maiden, and sought his +own way amongst the dangerous rocks, collecting curious stones, or +flowers that did not grow in the plains below. When he returned to the +resting-place he had ever something for Mary--berries, or a sweet-scented +flower, or the soft nest of a bird which the wind had dislodged from +its tree.</p> + +<p class="normal">She received everything cheerfully from him, and seemed more contented +than she had been at home. And she was so, too; for she breathed the +same air with him all the day long. But even then her foolish jealousy +accompanied her, and she felt angry with the mountains, whose autumnal +beauty, she fancied, only made the world dearer to him, and widened the +separation between them. Her strange manner struck the rector's wife. +She talked with her husband now and again about the child, who was as +dear to them as their own, and both placed her obstinate melancholy to +the account of her disappointed hopes; and yet she regretted nothing +that had been promised, or that she had been told to expect--only what +she had already known and enjoyed.</p> + +<p class="normal">At the end of the second day's journey they were to pass the night at a +lonely house celebrated for the neighbourhood of a magnificent +waterfall. They had a long day's journey, and the women were quite +tired out. When they reached the house, the rector led his wife within, +without proceeding onward to the chasm, from which the roar of the +waterfall could be plainly heard. Mary, too, was very tired, but she +insisted on following Clement, who cared not to rest so soon; so they +climbed together higher up the steps, and ever louder the sound of the +roaring water was borne towards them. Half-way up the steep path Mary's +last strength deserted her: "I will sit here," she said; "go on to the +end, and come back for me when you have seen enough." He begged her to +let him take her back to the house first, but she was already seated, +and so he left her, and advanced towards the roar, deeply affected by +the solitude and majesty of the scene.</p> + +<p class="normal">The girl sat on a stone and awaited his return. She thought that he +lingered very long away. A cold shiver struck through her, and the +distant muttering thunder of the fall terrified her, "Why does he not +come back?" she thought to herself; "he will forget me in his joy now +as ever. I wish I could find my way back to the house, that I might get +warm."</p> + +<p class="normal">So she sat, full of anxiety, and listening intently. Suddenly she +fancied that she distinguished his voice calling to her; trembling, she +started up. What should she do? Almost involuntarily she took a step +forward, but her foot slipped, she tottered and fell. Fortunately the +stones near the path were overgrown with moss, but still the fall +nearly stunned her, and she cried wildly for help. In vain! her voice +could not reach Clement, who stood close to the abyss, surrounded by +the roarings of the fall, and the house was far too distant. A bitter +pain shot through her heart as she lay there between the stones, +neglected and helpless. With tears of despair in her eyes, she raised +herself painfully. All that she loved best seemed to her at this moment +hateful, and the bitterness of her soul permitted no thought of the +nearness of the Omnipresent to rise before her.</p> + +<p class="normal">So Clement found her when, for her sake, he tore himself away from the +witchery of the marvellous scene.</p> + +<p class="normal">"I come!" he cried to her from a distance. "It is fortunate that you +did not go with me. The path above is so narrow that the smallest slip +would cost a life! How unfathomably deep it plunged, and roared and +sprang up in clouds of spray, till one's senses were lost! Feel how +sprinkled I am with the fine water-spray!--but what is the matter with +you? You are as cold as ice, and your lips tremble. Come--I was wrong +to leave you in the chilly air--God forbid that it should have made you +ill!"</p> + +<p class="normal">She remained obstinately silent, and permitted herself to be led back +to the house. The rector's wife was alarmed. The girl's sweet, delicate +features were strangely disturbed. They hastened to give her a warm +draught and to put her in her bed, without learning more from her than +that she was not well.</p> + +<p class="normal">And ill, indeed, she was--and so ill, that she longed for it all to be +over. She hated the life that showed itself so hostile to her. In +bitter, God-forgotten thinking she lay, and of her own will broke the +last threads which bound her to mankind. "I will go out to morrow," she +said, darkly, to herself; "he shall lead me himself to the cliff where +a false step costs a life--and my death will not cost him much! Why +should he for ever bear the burden which he has laid on himself out of +mere compassion?"</p> + +<p class="normal">Ever stronger the unholy determination twined itself about her heart. +What had become of the old bright, loving courage in this short month +of concealed sorrow? She even thought on the consequences of her sin +without horror, and said, defyingly, to herself, "They will manage to +become reconciled to it as they have become reconciled to my remaining +blind, and he will be freed from that picture of misery that destroys +all his pleasure in that beautiful world he loves so much." That was +ever the last thought when a feeling of uncertainty rose within her.</p> + +<p class="normal">In the room next to hers, only separated from it by a thin partition, +sat the rector and his wife. Clement was still loitering about under +the trees without, unable to tear himself from the stars, and the +mountains, and the muffled music of the waterfall.</p> + +<p class="normal">"I feel very uneasy," said the rector's wife, "at Mary's being so sad +and reserved; the slightest occurrence agitates her. If it lasts she +will be quite worn out. I wish you would talk to her, and try to +persuade her not to take what cannot be altered so deeply to heart."</p> + +<p class="normal">"I am afraid that I should speak in vain," said the rector. "If what +she has already been taught, and the love of her parents, and our daily +care of her, have not spoken to her heart, mere human words will be of +no avail. If she had learned humility before God, she would have +submitted to his will, which has left her so much to be thankful for, +with gratitude instead of murmuring."</p> + +<p class="normal">"But he has taken much from her."</p> + +<p class="normal">"Ay, indeed! but not all, or for ever! That is my hope and my prayer. +The power of loving, and of looking on all as worthless compared to the +love of God and man, seems to have gone from her; but it returns when +we return to God! As she now is she longs not for him, she hugs her +discontent and hatred too closely to her heart--but her heart is too +true to bear this miserable companionship much longer; then when it is +free from discontent, God will enter into it, and love will find its +old place again, and then she will have an inward light to guide her, +though night may still hang before her eyes."</p> + +<p class="normal">"God grant it! And yet the thought of her future makes me very +unhappy."</p> + +<p class="normal">"She will not be lost, if she is not determined to lose herself. Even +were all who now love her and tend her to be called away, all human +kindness would not have died. And if she marks well the hand of God, +and the way He would lead her, she will bless her blindness, which from +her childhood upwards has kept her from the false glitter of the world, +and brought her nearer to what is true."</p> + +<p class="normal">Clement interrupted the conversation. "You cannot think," he cried, +"how beautiful the night is. I would give one of my eyes, if Mary could +have it, to see this glory of the stars! I hope the noise of the +waterfall does not keep her awake. I cannot forgive myself for letting +her sit so long in the cold."</p> + +<p class="normal">"Speak lower, dearest son," said the mother; "she is sleeping close to +us, and the best thing you can do is to go to rest too."</p> + +<p class="normal">Whisperingly the boy bade them "Good-night!" When his mother went into +Mary's room, she found her tranquil, and apparently sleeping. That +strange expression of her features had given place to a sweet +tranquillity. The storm had passed over, and had destroyed nothing of +the beautiful within her. Even shame and regret hardly made themselves +felt, so powerfully reigned within her the joyous peace which had been +preached to her from the neighbouring room. For the evil gains its +influence over us slowly and creepingly; the victory of the good is +soon decided.</p> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<h2>CHAPTER V.</h2> +<br> + +<p class="normal">Her friends remarked with astonishment, the next morning, the change +which had passed over her. The rector's wife could not but believe that +Mary had overheard their conversation through the partition.</p> + +<p class="normal">"So much the better." said the rector; "now I shall have nothing more +to say." Most moving was the lovingness of manner which Mary showed +towards Clement and his parents. She wished for nothing more than to be +permitted to belong to them. She received their love almost with +surprise, as something to which she had no claim.</p> + +<p class="normal">She did not, indeed, speak much more than before, but what she said was +cheerful and kindly. There was a deprecating shrinking expression about +her whole being, as if she was silently entreating forgiveness. She +took Clement's arm again when they walked. She often begged that she +might be allowed to sit down and rest, not that she was tired, but in +order to leave the boy in freedom to clamber where he would. She smiled +when he returned and told her all that he had seen: her old jealousy +had disappeared since she had begun to demand nothing more for herself +than the happiness of knowing him happy.</p> + +<p class="normal">Thus strengthened and fortified, she ended the journey. And happy for +her that she was so strengthened; for, when she arrived at home, she +found her mother lying ill of a dangerous complaint, which ended +fatally a few days after her return. And now, after the acute sorrow of +the first few weeks had become lessened, her sad and altered life +demanded duties from her which formerly she would hardly have been +equal to. Her household cares occupied her early and late. In spite of +her privation, she knew every cranny of the small house thoroughly, and +if she herself was but seldom able to help with her own hands, yet she +was clever and full of forethought in ordering all things so that her +sorrowing father should want for nothing. A wonderful power and +confidence came over her. Where in old times it had taken many a +squabble to induce man and maid to do what was right, now a single +gentle word from her sufficed. And if anything wrong happened, or work +was done with an ill will, a steady glance from those large blind eyes +quelled the most rebellious.</p> + +<p class="normal">Since she felt that she must be cheerful for the sake of her +father--since she understood that she must work and shape her life +herself--the hours became ever rarer in which she felt the separation +from Clement so painfully; and at last, when he was obliged to go to +the high school in the town, she was able to say farewell to him, even +more composedly than the others. It is true that she went about for +weeks as in a dream--as if the best half of her being had been torn +away from her. But soon she was as cheerful as before, sang her +favourite songs to herself, and rallied her father till she won a smile +from him. When the rector's wife came across with letters from the +town? and read her news and messages from Clement, her heart beat +quickly, and she lay longer at night without sleep visiting her +eyelids. The next morning she was bright and cheerful as before.</p> + +<p class="normal">At the vacation Clement returned to his parents, and his first walk was +to the sacristan's house. Mary distinguished his step already in the +distance, remained fixed where she was, and listened whether he would +ask for her. She smoothed her hair, which still rolled in tresses down +her slender neck, hastily with her hands, and rose from her work. As he +entered the door every trace of excitement had vanished from her +features. Cheerfully she gave him her hand, and begged him to sit near +her and to talk to her. Then he forgot how the time flew by, and had to +be called by his mother, who begrudged his long absence from her; for +he seldom remained the whole vacation at the village, but wandered into +the mountains, to which his growing affection for natural science +attracted him.</p> + +<p class="normal">The years rolled on their accustomed way; the old people withered +slowly, and the young ones bloomed rapidly. When Clement returned once +again at Easter, and Mary arose from her spinning wheel, he was +astonished to see how tall and stately she had grown since the autumn. +"You are quite a woman," he said; "and I, too, am no longer a child; +only feel how my beard has grown over my winter studies." A blush +flitted across her cheek as he took her hand and placed it on his chin, +to let her feel the newly-sprung down. He had, too, many more things to +tell her than the first time he returned. The tutor with whom he lived +had daughters, and these daughters had lady friends. He was obliged to +describe them one and all with the greatest accuracy. "I can make +nothing out of the girls," he said; "they are silly and frivolous, and +chatter too much. There is one, Cecilia, that I can endure a little +better than the others, because she can hold her tongue, and does not +make grimaces in order to look pretty. But what do they bother me for? +The other evening, when I went into my room, I found a bunch of flowers +on my table, and let it lie, and never took the trouble to put it in +water, though I was sorry for the flowers; but it annoyed me. And the +next day there was such a giggling and whispering amongst the girls +that I could not speak to them for anger. Why cannot they leave me +alone? They know that I have no time for their nonsense!"</p> + +<p class="normal">Not one word of all this did Mary lose, and spun an endless thread of +strange thoughts out of it. She was almost in danger of injuring +herself with fruitless dreamings, if a too well grounded cause of +anxiety and real sorrow had not saved her. Her father, who had for a +long time been able to do his duty with difficulty, had a paralytic +stroke, and lay nearly a year perfectly helpless, until a second attack +put an end to his sufferings. Not for an hour did his child leave his +side. Even when the vacations brought Clement home again, she only +permitted herself to talk to him during his short visits to the +sickroom.</p> + +<p class="normal">She grew ever more firm, ever more self-denying. She complained to no +one, and would have required the help of none had her blindness +permitted her to do all herself. And thus her misfortune, which had +tutored her soul, accustomed her also to household duties, neglected by +many a seeing one. She kept the strictest order over all things of +which she had the care, and no amount of cleanliness could satisfy her, +as she was unable to judge by the eye when the least speck of dust was +removed. The tears sprang into Clement's eyes when he saw her busied +washing her crippled father, or combing out his thin locks. She had +grown pale in the close air of the sick-room; but her brown eyes had a +deeper light from that very cause, and in all her common household +work, the true nobility of her whole being only became the more +evident.</p> + +<p class="normal">The old man died, his successor took possession of the cottage, and +Mary found a welcome refuge in the rectory. Clement, who in the mean +time had gone to a distant university, and who was unable to visit home +twice a-year as formerly, was informed of all these changes by letters, +which reached him but rarely, and were answered irregularly. Now and +then his letters contained a note for Mary, in which he expressed +himself condescendingly and jestingly, so unlike his old self, and +addressed her as if she were still a child, so that his mother shook +her head and said nothing of it before his father. Mary had these +strange letters carefully read to her, begged them, and preserved them.</p> + +<p class="normal">After her father's death she received a short excited letter from him, +in which he neither endeavoured to comfort her nor said a word showing +a participation with her sorrow, only earnest entreaties to take care +of her health, and to be quiet, and to let him know exactly how she +was. This was in winter, and this letter the last to Mary. They +expected a visit from him at Easter. He remained away, and wrote that +he could not resist the opportunity of accompanying a celebrated +professor on a botanical tour. His father was satisfied, and Mary +succeeded at last in calming the mother's disappointment.</p> + +<p class="normal">He arrived unannounced at Whitsuntide on foot, untired by a long march +since daybreak, with healthy cheeks, and he was a full-grown man. So he +entered the quiet house, in which his mother was sitting alone, for it +was the Saturday evening before the feast-day. With a cry of joy the +startled woman clasped him round the neck. "So you," she cried, as she +loosened herself from his arms, and took a step backwards to measure +the long absent one with the full gaze of love, "So you have returned +to us once again, unkind, forgetful one. You still remember the way to +your father and mother. God be praised! I thought that you had made up +your mind never to return till you were a professor, and then perhaps +my poor old eyes might never have rejoiced in the sight of you again +<i>here below</i>. But I will not scold you. You are faithful. You are the +old Clement. And you will give me such a Whitsun feast as I have not +had for many a day, to me and your father, and to us <i>all</i>.</p> + +<p class="normal">"Mother," he said, "how happy I am to be here once again! I could not +bear at last to remain longer away. I do not know how it happened, I +made no resolution beforehand. I felt that I must get home. One bright +morning, instead of going to lecture, I walked through the town-gates, +and strode away as if I fled from sin. I accomplished such journeys as +I had never made before, good as I used to be on foot. Where is my +father? where is Mary?"</p> + +<p class="normal">"Don't you hear him." said the mother, "your father is above in his +study." They heard the firm step of the old man as he paced to and fro +above them. "All is as it used to be," continued the mother. "That has +been his Saturday's walk for the twenty years that I have known him. +And Mary is out in the field with our people. I have sent her out +because she will not let me do anything. When she is at home she would +make me sit in the corner with my hands in my lap, if she had her own +way, and do everything herself. We have some new servants now, and I +like her to look over them until they have got used to her. How +astonished she will be to find you here! But come, I will bring you to +your father, just to let him see you, and it will soon be dinner time. +Come, he will not be angry at <i>your</i> disturbing him."</p> + +<p class="normal">She led her son, stepping lightly before him, but still holding his +hand in hers, up the stairs. Gently she opened the door, beckoned to +Clement, and stepping backwards herself, pushed him in. "There he is," +she cried; "at last you have him." The old man started as out of deep +thought. "Who?" he asked, almost impatiently. Then he looked in his +son's face, brightly lighted by a gleam of sun. "Clement," he cried, +between astonishment and joy, "you here?" "I longed for home," said the +son, and pressed the proffered hand warmly. "I shall stay here for the +feast, father, if you have room for me, now that Mary is under your +roof." "How can you talk so," interrupted his mother, quickly; "if I +had seven sons I could find place for them all. But I will leave you to +your father. I must go to the kitchen and the garden, they will have +spoilt you in the town, you must be content for love's sake." She was +already gone, as the father and son stood silently opposite each other; +"I have disturbed you," said Clement, at last; "you were writing your +sermon; tell me if I shall go." "You only disturb one who has disturbed +himself. Since this morning have I paced to and fro, thinking on my +text, but grace was not with me, and the grain hath not brought forth. +I have felt strangely; a gloom is over me that I cannot shake off." He +went to the little window that looked out towards the church, the way +to which lay through the churchyard. There it glowed tranquil with its +flowers and glittering crosses in the midday sun. "Come here, Clement," +said the old man, gently; "place yourself by me. Do you see that grave +to the left, with primroses and monthly roses? You have never seen that +one before. Do you know who sleeps there? My good, true friend, the +father of our Mary!" He left the window at which his son, deeply +struck, remained standing. He paced again to and fro through the +chamber, and in the silence they could hear the sand crackle under his +steady tread. "Aye!" said the old man, with a deep sigh, "no one knew +him as I knew him; no one gained so much from him, no one lost so much +with him as I did. What knew he of the world and its wisdom; that is +but folly before God. What he knew was all revealed to him from within, +and from the Holy Book, and from sorrow. He has become blessed, because +he <i>was</i> blessed."</p> + +<p class="normal">After a pause he spoke again: "Whom have I now to shame when I am proud +of heart, and save me when my faith wavers; and to decide the thoughts +that accuse and excuse me? The world grows too wise for me! What I hear +I understand not, and what I read my soul <i>will</i> not understand, for it +is grief to it! How many rise up and think that they speak with +tongues? and, behold! it is but lip-work! And the mockers hear it and +rejoice therein. Mine old friend, would I were where thou art."</p> + +<p class="normal">Clement turned. He had never before heard his father talk of the +sorrows of his own soul. He went to him and sought for words of +consolation. "Cease, my son," said the old man, checking him, "What can +<i>you</i> give me, that Heaven could not have given me better? See, it was +shortly after his death, I slept above here. The night awoke me with +its storm and rain; I felt sad, even to death; then he appeared to +me--a light shone about him--he was in his garments as when he +lived--he spoke not, but stood at the foot of my bed, and looked calmly +down upon me. At first, it oppressed me sorely! I was not enough grown +in grace to look on the face of a glorified being. The next day I felt +the peace that it had left behind it. From that time it came not again +until last night. I had been reading a book in the evening, blasphemous +against God and God's word; I had gone to my bed in anger--then it was +that, after midnight, I again started suddenly from my sleep, and he +stood before me--dressed as at the first time, but with the Bible in +his hand, open, and written with letters of gold. He pointed to a +passage with his finger, but there came a gleam from out the leaves, so +that I gazed on it in vain, and for the fullness of the light could +read never a word! I drew myself nearer to him, half rising up; he +stood--pity and love in his face, which changed to grief as I strove to +read and could not. Then the tears sprang to my eyes--from the +brightness, they grew dark---and he vanished softly away, and left me +weeping."</p> + +<p class="normal">The old man had gone again to the window, and Clement saw a strong +shudder pass over him. "Father!" he cried, and seized his nerveless +hand--it was damp and cold; "Father, you alarm me! You should send for +the physician."</p> + +<p class="normal">"To the physician!" cried the old man, almost angrily, and stretched +himself up in every limb, "I am well. Therein it lies. My soul longs +and strives for death, and my body selfishly withstands it!"</p> + +<p class="normal">"These dreams, father, agitate you."</p> + +<p class="normal">"Dreams! I tell you that I was awake, as I am at this moment."</p> + +<p class="normal">"I do not doubt, father, that you were awake; but so much the more does +this severe attack, which pursues you with visions even when you are +awake, alarm me. See! even now you are quite overcome by the mere +recollection, and your pulse rises. I know, little of a doctor as I am, +that you had fever last night and are under its influence now."</p> + +<p class="normal">"And you think that you know as much as <i>that</i> poor worm!" cried the +old man. "Oh, the marvellous wisdom! Oh, the gracious science! But what +right have I to complain? Do I not deserve punishment for blurting out +God's secrets, and making my full heart a mark for the scorner? Is this +the fruit of your learning? Do you expect to gather figs from this +bramble? But I know you well--you miserable ones, who make new gods for +the people, and in your hearts worship yourselves alone--your days are +numbered."</p> + +<p class="normal">He went towards the door; his bare forehead was flushed. He did not +look towards Clement, who stood gazing on the floor; suddenly he felt +his father's hand on his shoulder.</p> + +<p class="normal">"Tell me openly, my son, are you as far gone already as those whose +ravings I have read of with shuddering? Do you already hold, with those +sleek materialists, that the miracle is ridiculous, and the <i>spirit</i> +but a tale told from one to another, and to which man listens? Has +neither thy youth, nor the seeds of thankfulness God sowed in your +heart, been able to choke those weeds? Answer me, Clement!"</p> + +<p class="normal">"Father," said the young man, after some consideration, "how shall I +answer you this thing? I have dedicated my whole life to the +consideration of this question. I have heard it decided in different +ways, by men whose opinions I revere. Amongst my dearest friends are +some who think what you condemn. I hear and learn and do not venture as +yet to decide."</p> + +<p class="normal">"He who is not for me is against me, saith the Lord."</p> + +<p class="normal">"How can I be against <i>Him</i>? How can I be against the <i>Spirit</i>? Who +ventures to ignore the spiritual, even though he binds it to the +material? Do not its miracles remain what they were, even though they +may be the result of natural causes? Is it a disgrace to a noble statue +that it is hewn out of stone?"</p> + +<p class="normal">"You speak like them all; so they intoxicate you with dark similes, so +they deafen you with high sounding words, that you may not hear the +still small voice within you; and you have come to keep Whitsuntide +holy with <i>us</i>?"</p> + +<p class="normal">"I came because I loved you."</p> + +<p class="normal">There was silence between them. Several times the old man opened his +mouth as if about to speak, and then pressed his lips firmly together +again. They heard Mary's voice below in the house, and Clement stepped, +listening, back from the window, at which he had been standing +sorrowfully. "It is Mary," said the old man; "have you forgotten <i>her</i> +too? Did the recollection of your childhood's playmate never pass +before your soul, when your blasphemous companions endeavoured to +destroy your pure, godly childishness of heart with their miserable +sneers? Did <i>she</i> never remind you of the wonders the spirit can +perform--even when it is deprived of sense--alone, out of itself. I +should say of God, in a humble heart, which is rich in faith?"</p> + +<p class="normal">Clement repressed the answer which rose ready to his lips. They heard +the light step of the blind girl on the stairs. The door opened, and +with flushing cheek Mary stood on the threshold; "Clement," she cried, +fixing the bright brown eyes on the spot where he really stood. He +approached her and took the hand that waited for his. "Oh! what +pleasure you have given your parents! Welcome, welcome! How quiet you +are!" she added.</p> + +<p class="normal">"Dearest Mary, yes, I am here once again. I was <i>obliged</i> to come to +see you all. How well you look, and you have grown so tall."</p> + +<p class="normal">"I have gained a fresh life since the spring. The winter was heavy for +me. I am so happy with your father and mother, Clement! Good day, +dearest father." she added, "we went out so early that I could not +press your hand;" she took it now. "Go below my child;" said the old +man, "Clement will go with you--you can show him your garden. There is +yet a little time before dinner. Think on my words, Clement."</p> + +<p class="normal">The young people went. "What is the matter with the father?" asked +Mary, when they were below. "His voice sounded strangely, and yours +too. Was he angry with you?"</p> + +<p class="normal">"I found him excited. He seems ill. Has he not complained of anything?"</p> + +<p class="normal">"Not to me; but he has been restless, and sometimes silent for hours +together. It struck my mother, too. Has he been harsh towards you?"</p> + +<p class="normal">"We had a discussion about serious things; he asked me, and I could not +deny my opinions."</p> + +<p class="normal">The girl became thoughtful; not until they reached the open air did her +face brighten. "Is it not beautiful here?" she asked, spreading out her +hands.</p> + +<p class="normal">"I really did not recognize it again," he answered. "What a wonderful +place you have made out of the little barren spot! Ever since I can +remember there were only a few fruit trees, and mallows and alders; and +now it is full of roses!"</p> + +<p class="normal">"Yes," she said. "Your mother used not to care about the garden then, +and now she delights in it The sacristan's son, who has learned +gardening in the town, gave me the first rose bush, and planted it +himself; then we added others and now it is quite beautiful. But the +finest are not in flower yet."</p> + +<p class="normal">"And you take care of them yourself?"</p> + +<p class="normal">"You are astonished at it, because I cannot see," she said gaily; "but +I understand what is good for plants. I can tell by the scent when one +is fading, or going out of flower, or wants watering; they always tell +me. But, indeed, I cannot gather you a flower; for they prick my +fingers."</p> + +<p class="normal">"I will do it for you," he said, and broke off a spray from one of the +monthly roses. She took it "You have gathered so many buds with it!" +she said. "I will keep one for myself, and place it in water. Take the +blooming one again for yourself."</p> + +<p class="normal">They wandered along the trim paths till the mother called them to +table. Clement was reserved before his father; but Mary, usually so shy +at taking part in the conversation, had to-day a hundred things to tell +and to ask about. Even the old man gradually lost the impression of his +first conversation with his son, and the old trusting feeling soon +regained its place between them again.</p> + +<p class="normal">But during the next day it was impossible to avoid fresh causes of +dissention. The old man wished to be enlightened on the state of +theology at the University, and the conversation soon wandered to more +general subjects. The more Clement tried to avoid disagreeable points, +the more vehemently the old man pressed him. Many an anxious +involuntary, glance from his mother sustained him, indeed, in his +determination to avoid definite explanations; but when he parried a +question, or answered with an unmeaning word, the enforced silence +wrung his very heart. Mary managed, even, to revive the old tone again +for a time; but he saw that she too suffered, and avoided her when he +met her alone, for he knew that she would have asked him, and felt that +from her he could conceal nothing. A shadow seemed to pass over him +when he came into her presence. Was it the recollection of that +childish promise to which he had been so untrue? Was it the belief that +in the difference of opinion which had estranged him from his parents, +she ranged herself silently on their side? And yet he felt a yearning +towards her which grew ever more irresistible--a longing which he could +not ignore, and which he struggled against fiercely; for he was full of +his science and of his prospects, and avoided, with the selfishness of +fancied inward strength, all that might clog his onward way.</p> + +<p class="normal">"I will be a traveller,--a foot traveller." he often said to himself. +"I must carry a light bundle!" It made him heavy at heart when he +contemplated the possibility of his being chained to a wife, who would +demand a part of his being for herself. And a <i>blind</i> wife! One that he +must always fear to leave for a moment! Here in the village, where all +went on its simple way, and to which she had been accustomed since her +childhood, <i>here</i> she was protected from all the confusing accidents +which she could not fail to encounter in the town. So he persuaded +himself that he should do <i>her</i> an injustice if he married her: whether +he grieved <i>her</i> or not by his determination, was a point that he +avoided considering.</p> + +<p class="normal">He expressed himself still more openly when he departed. On the last +day, when he had embraced his parents, and had been told that Mary was +in the garden, he left a farewell for her, and with beating heart went +down the village street, and then crossed, sideways, over the fields +towards the forest. The garden opened into the fields too, and his +nearest way would have been through a little wicket-gate. He made a +wide <i>détour</i>. But when he reached the fields, he was unable to follow +the narrow path through the springing corn without casting one glance +round; so he stood still in the mild sunshine, and looked back over the +huts and the houses. Behind the hedge which surrounded his father's +garden, he saw the slender figure of the blind girl. Her face was +turned towards him, but she dreamed not that he was so near her. Hot +and hasty sprang the tears to his eyes; but he repressed them with a +powerful effort. Then he sprang like a madman over the ditches and +paths back to the hedge. She started. "Farewell, Mary!" he said, with a +clear voice, "I am going away again, perhaps for a year!" He passed his +trembling hand over her forehead and temples.</p> + +<p class="normal">"Farewell! You are going?" she said. "One thing I beg of you,--write +oftener to your parents; your mother longs for it so; and send me a +greeting, too, sometimes."</p> + +<p class="normal">"Yes;" he answered, absently. Then he departed.</p> + +<p class="normal">"Clement!" she cried, once again, after he had left her. He heard her, +but did not look round. "It is well that he did not hear me," she said +gently to herself. "And what had I to say to him?"</p> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<h2>CHAPTER VI.</h2> +<br> + +<p class="normal">From that day the son never remained long at his father's house. Each +time he came he found his father harsher and more impatient--his mother +ever with the same love, but more reserved towards him--Mary, tranquil, +but silent when the men spoke; she also showed herself but seldom.</p> + +<p class="normal">On a bright day late in autumn, we find Clement once more in the room +in which, as a boy, he had passed the time devoted to his cure. One of +his friends and fellow-students had accompanied him; they had both +passed the usual time at the University, and they were just returned +from a long journey, in the course of which Wolf had been unwell, and +wished to recruit himself in the quiet of the village. Clement was +obliged to acquiesce, although, amongst all his friends, this was the +very one he thought most unlikely to suit his father. He managed, +however, to fall into the ways of thinking of the old people with +unexpected tact and dexterity, and particularly won the mother's heart +by the lively interest he pretended to take in all household matters; +he was also able to give her many little bits of advice, and relieved a +complaint under which she laboured by some simple remedy; for he had +prepared himself to succeed an old uncle who was an apothecary, a +profession for which his inclinations and acquirements really unfitted +him; yet he was of an easy disposition and delighted to be quiet and to +enjoy himself from time to time. He had never had much real feeling in +common with Clement, and so at his first step into the rectory he felt +himself in an utterly strange atmosphere, and would certainly have +seized the smallest excuse for leaving a circle which constrained and +wearied him, had not the blind girl struck him, at the first glance, as +a remarkable problem to be solved. It is true she avoided him as much +as she could. The first time he took her hand she withdrew it from his +with an inexpressible disquietude, and quite lost her self-command, yet +he hung about her for hours at a time, watched her way of managing +affairs, and examined with a gay recklessness, which it was impossible +to be angry with, the means by which she kept up a communication with +the outer world, and studied the way in which the senses she had +preserved, made up for the one she had lost; he could not understand +why Clement thought so little of her. <i>He</i>, however, avoided meeting +her more than ever, and particularly when he found her in Wolf's +company; then he grew pale and turned away, and the villagers often met +him in lonely forest paths, seemingly lost in gloomy reveries.</p> + +<p class="normal">He was returning one evening from a melancholy distant wandering, and +had just passed from the wood into the corn-fields, when he met Wolf +advancing towards him. Wolf was more excited than usual. After a long +visit to Mary, who had interested him even more than ever, he had gone +to the little village inn, and had drunk so much of the country wine, +that he took a fancy to wander about the fields in the cool of the +evening to refresh himself.</p> + +<p class="normal">"You will not get rid of me so soon!" he cried to Clement. "I must +study your little blind witch a little more first; she is cleverer than +a dozen women in the town, who only use their eyes to ogle God's man; +and now she keeps me in order; it is really marvellous!"</p> + +<p class="normal">"So much the better for you if she tames you a little." said Clement, +sharply.</p> + +<p class="normal">"Tame! that she will never make me! when I look at her, and her +graceful figure and beautiful face, faith, it is not to grow tamer! +Don't believe that I would do her any harm; but do you know that I +sometimes think that if she did ever love any one, it would be a +wonderful love; one like her, who sees not, only <i>feels</i>, and such +<i>feeling</i>, so delicate and strong and charming, such as one never can +find elsewhere; he will be a happy man round whose neck she throws her +arms!"</p> + +<p class="normal">"You would do better to keep your thoughts to yourself."</p> + +<p class="normal">"Why? whom do they harm? and whom should I injure if I were to make +her, at least, a little in love with me, just to see how the nerves +will extricate themselves out of the difficulty? so much of the inner +fire is usually cooled by the eyes--but here--</p> + +<p class="normal">"Beware how you try experiments upon her!" Clement burst out. "I tell +you solemnly, that for the future, I will neither hear nor see aught of +this--so beware!"</p> + +<p class="normal">Wolf cast a keen side-long glance at him, seized his arm, and said +laughing, "I really believe that you are in love with the girl and want +to keep the experiment for yourself. How long have you grown so +particular? you used to listen readily enough when I said what I +thought of women."</p> + +<p class="normal">"I am not your teacher! What have I to do with your foul thoughts? But +I think that I <i>have</i> a right to prevent your sullying one with them +who is so dear to me, and who is a thousand times too pure to breathe +the same air with you."</p> + +<p class="normal">"Oho! oho!" said Wolf, carelessly. "Too good! too good! you are a fine +fellow, Clement! a very fine fellow! out of my sunshine, my dear boy."</p> + +<p class="normal">He gave him a slight blow and turned away. Clement stood still; his +cheeks grew suddenly pale. "You shall explain what you mean by these +words," he said sternly.</p> + +<p class="normal">"Not such a fool! ask others if you want to know. You will soon find +one who has a greater fancy to preach to deaf ears than I have."</p> + +<p class="normal">"What do you mean? Who are the others? Who dares to speak ill of her? +Who?"</p> + +<p class="normal">He held Wolf with a hand of iron. "Fool!" growled Wolf, angrily; "you +spoil my walk with your tedious cross-questionings. Let me go free!"</p> + +<p class="normal">"Not from this place do you move till you have given me an +explanation;" said Clement, wild with rage.</p> + +<p class="normal">"Indeed! Go and settle it with the sacristan's son if you happen to be +jealous; poor devil! to go on with him till he was ready to jump out of +his skin, and then to give him his marching orders. Pah! is that +honourable? He complained to me, and I consoled him. She is just like +other women, I told him, a coquette. Now she is trying it on upon me, +but we know how to manage matters, and are not going to let our mouths +be shut, and have other good fellows fall into the same snare."</p> + +<p class="normal">"Retract your words!" shouted Clement, almost beside himself, shaking +Wolf violently by the arm.</p> + +<p class="normal">"Why? It is true, and I can prove it. Go--you are a child!"</p> + +<p class="normal">"And you--are a scoundrel!"</p> + +<p class="normal">"Oho! now it is your turn to eat your words."</p> + +<p class="normal">"I retract not a syllable!"</p> + +<p class="normal">"Then you know the consequences. You shall hear from me as soon as I +get to town."</p> + +<p class="normal">Therewith he turned coolly away from him and went towards the village. +Clement stood for a time rooted to the spot. "Miserable wretch!" burst +from his lips. His bosom laboured violently--a bitter agony nested +within it. He threw himself upon the ground amongst the corn, and lay +long, recalling a thousand times over each word which had so terribly +moved him.</p> + +<p class="normal">When he returned to the house late in the evening, he found, contrary +to his expectation, that the family were still together.</p> + +<p class="normal">Wolf was not there. The old man paced with firm steps through the +chamber; his mother and Mary sate with their work in their laps, +contrary to the custom of the house at so late an hour. When Clement +entered, his father paused in his walk, and turned his head gravely +towards him.</p> + +<p class="normal">"What had passed between you and your friend? He departed whilst we +were in the fields, and has left but a scanty greeting behind him; when +we returned home we found a messenger removing his luggage. Have you +quarrelled? Why else should he have left this house so hastily?"</p> + +<p class="normal">"We had a dispute. I am happy not to find him under this roof."</p> + +<p class="normal">"And what did you quarrel about?"</p> + +<p class="normal">"I cannot tell you, father. I would willingly have avoided it; but +there are things which an honest man cannot hear spoken. I long knew +that he was wild, and spared neither himself nor others; but I never +saw him before as he was to-day."</p> + +<p class="normal">The father looked steadily at his son, and asked in a low voice--</p> + +<p class="normal">"And how will it be arranged?"</p> + +<p class="normal">"As is the custom amongst men of honour," answered Clement, firmly.</p> + +<p class="normal">"Do you know how <i>Christians</i> are accustomed to arrange quarrels?"</p> + +<p class="normal">"I <i>do</i> know, but cannot do it. If he had insulted <i>me</i>, I could have +forgiven him, and spared him his punishment; but he has slandered one +who is dearer to me than myself."</p> + +<p class="normal">"A woman, Clement?"</p> + +<p class="normal">"Yes, a woman!"</p> + +<p class="normal">"And you love this woman?"</p> + +<p class="normal">"I love her!" said the young man, in a low voice.</p> + +<p class="normal">"I thought that it was thus." cried the old man. "The town has +destroyed you. You have become one of the children of this world, +following after strange women, and swaggering for them, and making of +them the false idols of your folly! But I tell you that, so long as I +live, I will labour to bring you back to the Lord, and will shatter +your idols! Has God wrought a miracle in you that you should deny him? +Aye, it were better that you sate still in darkness, and that the door +had for ever remained shut through which the spirit of lies has crept +into your heart!"</p> + +<p class="normal">The young man restrained himself with difficulty. "Who has given you +the right, father," he cried at last, "who has given you the right of +accusing me of ignoble inclinations? Because I must do what must be +done in this world to restrain the insolence of the base, am <i>I</i> +therefore base? There are different ways of fighting against the spirit +of evil. Yours is the way of peace, because you have to deal with men +in the aggregate. I stand opposed to a single man, and know what I have +to do."</p> + +<p class="normal">"<i>Thou</i> canst not change him," the old man cried angrily: "wilt thou +tread God's ordinances under thy feet? He is no son of mine who raises +his hand against his brother. I forbid the meeting in the strength of +my priestly and paternal power. Beware how you brave it."</p> + +<p class="normal">"So you cast me from your house," said Clement gloomily. The mother, +who had burst into tears, arose, and rushed towards her son. "Mother," +he said sternly, "I am a man, and may not be false to myself." He +approached the door, and glanced over towards Mary, who sought him +sorrowfully with her great blind eyes. His mother followed him; her +sobs choked her voice. "Do not retain him, wife," cried the old man; +"he is no longer a child of ours if he be not a child of God. Let him +go whither he will; he is dead to us."</p> + +<p class="normal">Mary heard the door shut, and the mother fall to the ground with a cry +from her inmost mother's heart. Then the palsied feeling which had kept +her seated went from her. She arose, went to the door, and with a +powerful effort bore the fainting woman to her bed. The old man stood +by the window and spoke not a word; his clasped hands trembled +violently.</p> + +<p class="normal">A quarter of an hour later, some one knocked at the door of Clement's +room. He opened it, and Mary stood before him. The room was in +confusion. She struck her foot against his travelling trunk, and said +sorrowfully, "What are you going to do, Clement?" Then his rigid grief +gave way; he seized her hands, and pressed his eyes, in which the hot +tears stood, against them. "I <i>must</i> do it," he said; "I have long felt +that I have lost his love; perhaps he will feel, when I am far away +from him, that I have never ceased to be his son."</p> + +<p class="normal">She raised him up. "Do not weep so, or I shall never have the strength +to utter what I <i>must</i> say. Your mother would say it, did your father +not forbid her. The sound of his voice told me how hard it was for him +to be so stern; but thus he will remain. I know him well. He believes +that his sternness is a duty to God, to make him offer up his own heart +as a sacrifice."</p> + +<p class="normal">"And do <i>you</i> think that it is required of him?"</p> + +<p class="normal">"No, Clement! I know but little of the world, and know not the nature +of the laws which force men of honour to fight. But I know you well +enough to know that the mere opinion of the world would never prevent +your considering honestly what is right and what is wrong--even in this +case. You may owe it to the world, and to the woman you love;--but +still, you owe more to your parents than to either. I know not the girl +they have slandered, and may not be able quite to understand the depth +of the pain it must give you not to do all for her.--Do not interrupt +me. Do not think that I have any fear that for her sake you might +withdraw from me those last scanty remains of friendship these last +years of separation have spared me.--I give you up utterly to her, if +she but makes you happy.--But you have no right to do, even for her +sake, what you contemplate doing, even were she a thousand times dearer +to you than father or mother. You have no right to leave your father's +house in anger, and so close the door for ever on yourself. Your father +is old, and will take his opinions to the grave with him. He would have +had to sacrifice the essence and substance of his whole life if he had +given way. You sacrifice to him the passing respect that you may +possess in the eyes of strangers. For if the girl you love so can +desert you because you refuse to bring down your father's gray hairs in +sorrow to the grave, she has never, never been worthy of you"--</p> + +<p class="normal">Her voice failed her. He had thrown himself on a chair, and groaned +bitterly. She stood ever near the door, and waited for his answer. +Across her brow lay a strange anxious expression, as if she listened +even to him with her very eyes. Suddenly he sprang up, laid his hands +upon her shoulders, and cried, "It was for <i>thee</i> that I would have +done it, and for <i>thy</i> sake alone will conquer my own heart!" Then he +rushed past her, and down the narrow stairs.</p> + +<p class="normal">She remained above. His last words had quivered in her very soul, and a +stream of blissful thoughts swept through her fearful, half-incredulous +heart. She seated herself trembling on the travelling-trunk. "For thee! +For thee!" still rang in her ears. She almost feared his return. If he +should have meant differently?--and how was it possible that he should +not mean differently? What was she to him?</p> + +<p class="normal">At last she heard him returning--her agitation gained on her; she +arose, and moved towards the door. He entered, clasped her in his arms, +and told her all!</p> + +<p class="normal">"It is <i>I</i> who am blind," he cried; "<i>you</i> are the seeing one--the +prophetess! What were I now without thy light? Lost for all eternity! +driven from all the hearts I love through mine own miserable blindness! +And now--now--all again mine--aye, and more than I knew of--more than I +dared to hope for!"</p> + +<p class="normal">She hung mute and agitated upon his neck; all her long-suppressed love +burst forth, and glowed in her kisses, despising the tepid rendering of +mere words.</p> + +<p class="normal">The day dawned upon their happiness.</p> + +<p class="normal">Now he learned, too, what she had so long kept silent, and what this +same room had seen, in which they now, for ever irrevocably united, +pressed each other's hands, and parted in the light of the breaking +day.</p> + +<p class="normal">In the course of the day a letter arrived from Wolf, dated the night +before, from the next village. "Clement need not trouble himself," he +wrote. "He retracted all he had said; he knew best that it was all an +idle lie; anger and wine had put it into his head. He had really +thought, when he saw him so cold about it, that it would only have cost +him a word to win the girl; and when he saw that Clement was in +earnest, he had slandered what he felt was for ever beyond his reach. +He should not think him worse than he was, and excuse him to the girl +and his parents, and not quite give him up for ever."</p> + +<p class="normal">When Clement read these lines to Mary, she said, with some emotion, "I +only pity him. I never felt comfortable when he was near me, and how +much he might have spared both us and himself! But I can think of him +calmly now. How much have I to thank him for!"</p> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<h1><a name="div1_marion" href="#div1Ref_marion">MARION.</a></h1> +<br> +<hr class="W10"> +<br> + +<p class="normal">When holy Saint Louis wore the crown of France, the good old town of +Arras was just six hundred years younger than it is now. That she was a +thousand times merrier she had to thank, not her youth alone, but, +before even that, the noble guild of poets who resided within her +walls, and who, by their ballads and miracle-plays, and pleasant +rhyming romances, spread her fame over all fair France.</p> + +<p class="normal">Now it happened one early spring about the time, that in a garden in +Arras, behind the house of one of these valiant singers, a young woman +was busied tying up vines to their trellises. She was beautifully +formed, of that pleasant roundness that usually indicates a cheerful +soul within, and she had a sweet, gentle face. Her calm dark eyes swept +now and then over the garden as if they knew neither joy nor sorrow; +but her hands were active and dreamed not. After the fashion of +well-to-do townswomen, she wore her fair hair adorned with many an +artful ribbon ornament, and her gown was tucked up for work, and, +perhaps, possibly also, for the sake of her darling little feet.</p> + +<p class="normal">As the charming vision wandered in her tranquil activity still further +into the garden, there appeared at the door of the house which opened +into it, a man, who formed both in face and manner a most remarkable +contrast to her. He was of middle size, with a keen eye, and irregular +features. His black cloak indifferently concealed his high left +shoulder, and his legs seemed to have been made after very different +patterns. But still his figure, however incongruous its parts might +seem, was brought into a striking unison by the boldness and vivacity +of his carriage; and about his mouth there played an expression that +must have made him dangerous in sarcasm, or very charming in a more +kindly humour.</p> + +<p class="normal">He gazed for a while at the fair young gardener, and seemed to enjoy +her beauty. He shook his head irresolutely. At last he plucked the +barrel-cap with the green cock's-feather deeper over his forehead, and +strode towards her.</p> + +<p class="normal">The fair woman looked round, her cheek coloured slightly, and her eyes +brightened. She let her hands fall by her side, and gazed silently at +him as he neared her.</p> + +<p class="normal">"Good-day, Marion!" said the man, almost roughly. "Is there any one +beside yourself in the garden?"</p> + +<p class="normal">"No, Adam."</p> + +<p class="normal">"It is well--I wish to speak with you. You are a good wife, Marion, and +do your duty; but yet I must tell you that I cannot endure you any +longer!"</p> + +<p class="normal">The bright cheeks grew pale as death; but she was silent and looked +steadily before her.</p> + +<p class="normal">"No!" continued Adam; "longer I cannot bear it! You are very lovely, +Marion, and that I know now, four weeks after our wedding, better than +I did when I courted you, but--you are so wearisome, Marion! I will not +say that you are absolutely without sense; but the Holy Virgin only +knows whether it is asleep, or waiting in good hope of some mighty +thought, when it is to appear. I have waited long for it, and now my +patience is at an end. Have you once, only once, since we have been man +and wife chattered amusingly, or made one single joke? or have my +brightest strokes of wit ever found more favour from you than half a +smile? Have you not ever gone calmly on your way like a statue? What is +the use of my now and then making the discovery that you really are +flesh and blood, when from morning to night I am obliged to laugh at my +own jokes by myself, and so applaud my own rhymes with my own hands. +Fool that I was! I should have thought of it sooner--when I fell in +love with you! <i>Now</i>, I thought, she will begin to thaw! Confess +yourself--have we not wearied each other as thoroughly as any wedded +pair in Christendom?"</p> + +<p class="normal">The young wife remained obstinately silent, but her eyes filled with +heavy drops. Adam broke a young twig hastily from the tree, and +continued--</p> + +<p class="normal">"I will not say that other women are, in the long-run, better, or more +amusing--I do not say so; and I have at least to thank you for showing +me so early that I have made a great mistake in taking a wife. But, for +the third time--I can stand it no longer! Am I to mope and fritter away +my young life in this hole, merely because I had the luck to think you +pretty? And am I never to set foot in Paris, at the king's court, in +the chambers of princes, where my talent would bring me honour and +distinction?--and never set a foot in the houses of learned doctors of +the University, where there are more clever things said in one hour +than you produce in a year? and all this because you are a pretty +woman--for you are one--and, by chance, my proper wife! May the devil +bake me into a pancake if I stand it!"</p> + +<p class="normal">He paced up and down a few times, gesticulating vehemently, glanced +sideways at his wife, and began again.</p> + +<p class="normal">"Are you not a standing proof that I am right? Why don't you cry, as +any other ordinary woman would do, and fall upon my neck and beseech me +to remain, and say that I am your darling Adam--your only love--your +handsome Adam, though, by-the-bye, I am not handsome, and promise +everything, whether you can perform it or not? There you stand, and +don't know how to help yourself! Am I to give up my art and my young +years for the pleasure of staring at you? And supposing we should have +children, and they take after you! Do you expect that I shall be able +to compose the stupidest birthday ode, with six or seven boys and +girls, all as lovely as pictures, and as stupid, sitting round me and +staring at me? But we will not part in enmity; and so I tell you, in +all love and friendship, that you can no longer be my wife! I will away +to Paris as soon as I can raise money enough for the journey; you can +return to your parents, or, if you like, you can go to my old uncle, +who is so fond of you; he will take good care of you--you shall want +for nothing; and if you should have a child, I will keep it as my +own--but, remain with you I <i>cannot</i>, Marion! By my soul's salvation! a +poet I am, and a poet I will remain--and weariness is poison to the +merrie art! Now I am going to my uncle--be a good girl, and let us part +friends."</p> + +<p class="normal">He stretched out his hand towards her, but she saw it not for tears. He +thought it needless on that account to wait and see whether she would +behave as he had told her other women would do under the circumstances; +he turned hastily towards the door and disappeared into the house.</p> + +<p class="normal">An hour after the wedded pair had thus parted "in friendship," the door +of a stately house, in which lived the rich senator, Adam's uncle, was +thrown open, and Adam stepped hastily out, in high excitement. He +hurried onwards without regarding which way he took, and now and then +scraps of his internal conversation with himself burst forth, as he +clenched his fist or twisted his fingers in his long round-cut hair.</p> + +<p class="normal">"The old shark!" he growled. "And yet he had got rags of virtuous +poverty to cover the nakedness of his avarice! What is it to him if I +and my wife choose to agree to a friendly separation? I wish he would +take her himself, if it were not a pity for her, pretty young thing! +Truly, whether I moulder here or not touches not his money-bags; but, +to travel and to see the world, and gain wisdom--ay! that pinches +Master Money-bags sore! Pah! because he gave me the cottage, and +arranged my household, am I to freeze in Arras, and blunder about with +those rogues of balladmakers, and hide my light under a bushel? If I am +obliged to travel like a mountebank, and train dogs and apes to get to +Paris, I'll do it! I'll show the old gold-scratcher that Adam de la +Halle is no petticoat knight, but knows how to follow his own way."</p> + +<p class="normal">And this same way of his own carried him this time to the Three Golden +Lilies, the best tavern in the good old town of Arras. There were but +few guests in the drinking-room at this hour. Adam seated himself in a +corner, and did not look up until the host, bringing him wine, greeted +him respectfully,</p> + +<p class="normal">"You come as if called for, Master Adam," said mine host of the Lilies. +"There is one of my guests, see you--the man sitting yonder by the +stove and looking towards you. Well, a week ago he brought a troop of +players into the town, to play the great passion-piece at Easter, in +the cathedral The reverend gentlemen there sent for them; and now it +wants fourteen days to the time, and they are all loitering about idle +and eating their pay before they get it; and their director lodges with +me, and drinks stoutly on the score. 'Sir,' I said to him just before +you came in, 'sir,' said I, 'if you could manage to scrape together a +little money by your art in the mean time, it would do both you and me +good.'--'Ay!' said he, 'if we had only a decent piece, a mystery, or a +miracle; for I have left my whole bundle of plays behind at Cambria, +all except the passion-piece.'--'Eh, sir!' said I. 'Here with us the +country is alive with gay minstrels, troubadours, and ballad-singers +and there is Master Adam de la Halle, who is worth them all put +together.'--'By St. Nicholas,' said my man, 'I would give him half the +receipts if he would write me a piece, and it succeeded'--and just at +that moment you came through the door, and so he sent me to ask you."</p> + +<p class="normal">Adam rose up, swallowed his wine hastily, and then went straight to the +leader of the strollers, who sprang from his seat respectfully, and +bowed low. They conversed for a short time, and then shook hands. "So +be it," said Adam; "within eight days your people shall play. And the +day after I shall receive my money, and now our Lady preserve you. I +will go and set about your affair at once." So he went, and after his +fashion, he growled something between his teeth, that sounded very much +like "I'll make them remember me."</p> + +<p class="normal">Eight days had passed away, and Marion sat in her chamber one +afternoon, with eyes red with weeping, and cheeks pale with sorrow, so +intently engaged turning over old letters which she had in her lap that +she did not hear the door open, and one of her old playmates enter. +When her friend called her by name, she sprang up startled. "Good day, +Perette," she said; "what brings you here?" "or rather, what keeps +<i>you</i> here?" answered the girl, saucily; "you sit and you cry, and you +never think of going near the Three Lilies, where your husband's new +piece is to be acted by the strange players. What a wife you are! I +should be the first to go if I had a husband who could charm half the +town into the courtyard of an old inn. What have you got there? Have +you been studying all the old songs your Adam made on you? I should +think that you ought to have them all at your fingers' ends now like +your rosary." The poor wife began to weep bitterly. "Don't you know +then," she sobbed, "and is not the whole town of Arass talking about +it--that he is going to Paris, and intends to leave me behind, and is +never, never coming back again?" "Bah! nonsense," cried Perette, "what +has put all that into your head?" "He said it to me himself, word for +word; and since that time he has never eaten at home, and only returns +very late at night, and sleeps below in the saloon." "Well, well, he +has had his hands full of his new play, and then men are always +fanciful, Marion, and must always be doing something to plague us; but, +God be praised! all are not dead that do not laugh. Dry your eyes, be a +sensible woman, and come with me to the play. What will your husband +think of you if you don't even wish to see a play he has written +himself?"</p> + +<p class="normal">So half comforting, half scolding, she drew the sorrowing young wife +out of her room to the Three Lilies.</p> + +<p class="normal">There all was gay enough. A number of the townspeople were seated on +benches in the spacious courtyard. The windows of the low buildings at +the side had been chosen as boxes by the more distinguished of the +burghers. And the stage was erected in a large barn at the end of the +yard, the mighty doors having been removed for that purpose. Marion and +Perette arrived at the moment of the exit of Dame Avaritia, who had +spoken the prologue, and assured many rich burghers of the town of +her further protection. Not a place was left free for our two fair +sight-seers, either in the courtyard, or at the windows. But Perette +was not to be daunted, and knowing the house, she made her way through +a side building, and advanced with Marion up to the barn. Here they +placed themselves behind the great linen cloths with which the stage +had been fenced off, and peeped through a rent in the curtain at the +play, unhindered by the actors, who, in their fantastic dresses, sought +to pay their court to the two pretty women. Marion took not the +slightest notice of them, and stood rooted to one spot. Perette +exercised the sharpness of her little tongue on the player folk now and +then, and, in common parlance, gave them quite as good, or perhaps +better than they brought.</p> + +<p class="normal">But Master Adam, little dreaming that his young wife was watching him, +had, in the meantime, advanced from the other side in his own character +and costume.</p> + +<p class="normal">He began in smooth verses to bewail his sorrows. He wanted to go to +Paris, and never a <i>sou</i> had he in his pockets, and his <i>millionaire</i> +of an uncle had, just at this moment, been attacked by the most +hopeless complaint in the world, an obstinate avarice, so that from him +there was nothing to hope. To him entered a doctor, whom Adam consulted +as to whether it was possible to cure avarice, for he could show him a +splendid specimen of it, if he wished to try his hand. Whereupon the +doctor broke forth into a learned dissertation on the different +varieties of the disease, distinguishing those curable from those +incurable; and in the case which Adam described, he had but little +doubt that he could be of service, if he was only permitted to see the +patient himself. Then a third personage advanced, so ridiculously like +Adam's venerable uncle in figure and manner and dress, that the +laughter of the spectators seemed never coming to an end. To this +worthy gentleman the doctor advanced with great politeness, felt his +pulse, and looked gravely at his tongue, asked about this and that, and +then made some more pointed inquiries about specific symptoms of the +miser fever, from which he understood he suffered. Upon which the old +gentleman burst into a great rage, upbraided his rascally nephew +soundly for accusing him of having such a scandalous complaint, and +declared the grounds upon which he refused to assist him on his journey +to Paris. The principal reason was, that Adam was only just married, +and had already grown tired of his wife, who nevertheless was, as all +Arras knew, a perfect model of beauty and virtue.</p> + +<p class="normal">In ever-increasing irritation had poor Marion been an unsuspected +participator in all this conversation--and who could blame a virtuous +wife for feeling irritated--when all at once she saw her domestic +sorrows made a butt for a laughing public. She took no heed of the +polished verses and comical grimaces with which the conversation of the +three actors was adorned, and which so delighted the audience. With a +bitter anxiety, and forgetting all else, she now listened to the answer +her husband was to give to her uncle. When, however, Adam drily +explained to the audience that a pretty woman was not necessarily an +amusing one, and that his Marion's mouth was better adapted for kisses +than conversation, that nevertheless no one grew wiser by kissing, but, +on the contrary, by witty conversation; and that he would present any +one amongst them, who had ever heard his Marion give utterance to an +observation at all bordering on the witty, the sum of two golden +crowns; then the poor listener could no longer restrain herself. With +one bound she was on the stage, and stood with glowing eyes and angry +brow directly opposite to him who had so basely slandered her.</p> + +<p class="normal">"Are you not ashamed, Adam?" she cried in the midst of his harangue; +"are you not ashamed to speak thus of your own wedded wife before all +the town? Oh, if you had ever loved me, only a little, a little, that +speech would never have passed your lips! And now tell me, have I +deserved it from you? Have I ever caused you one hour's grief? Have I +not done everything to please you? And now will you speak ill of me +before all Arras?"</p> + +<p class="normal">So angry and heart-grieved, amidst tears and sobbings, scolded the poor +beauty. The audience who took it all for part of the play, laughed at +first, aye, and some amongst them were mischievous enough to enjoy +their neighbour's domestic discomfort. When, however, they began to see +that it was the veritable Marion herself, the worst of them lost their +gaiety and stared astonished at the stage. But Adam, much as he was +startled at first by this sudden apparition, quickly recovered himself, +and cried loudly and undauntedly, "My good fellow-townsmen, this does +not belong to our play; this woman fell suddenly in amongst us, and +does not belong to our company at all. Let me entreat some of you to +lead her away. You hear that she does not talk verse, like all the +actors who have the honour of performing this most remarkable farce +before your worthinesses!" Therewith, he took Marion gently by the hand, +to lead her from the stage. But she shook herself free, and encouraged +by the demand of some amount the spectators, that she should be +permitted to remain, and fight for her own cause, cried, "Aye! and I +<i>will</i>, I say too! and make you all the judges of whether I have not +been badly played upon. It is true that I am naturally silent, but is +it to be considered a fault, on my part, if I do what you men are +always throwing in the teeth of us poor women, letting alone all +useless chattering, and listening quietly to what my husband has to +say?" "Marion is right." "Long live Marion! she shall speak again!" +shouted the spectators, laughing, and waving her encouragement. "And," +she continued, growing even more eloquent, "if I have no right to be +here because I do not speak verses, I know enough and of the very +best too! My husband, who slanders me now, wrote them on me himself +before we were married; and you shall hear them that you may know how +double-tongued he is, and what fair words he once had for my praise, +although he now has only complaints."</p> + +<p class="normal">Therewith she stepped to the edge of the stage and sang the following +verses, with a voice that threatened to desert her--</p> +<div class="poem"> +<p class="t4">"Cheeks as red and eyes as dancing,</p> +<p class="t4">Arms and necks like lilies glancing,</p> +<p class="t5">You may find in Arras town.</p> +<p class="t4">Hearts as soft and limbs as rounded,</p> +<p class="t4">Forms with every grace surrounded,</p> +<p class="t5">You may meet with, up and down!</p> +<p class="t4">But with wisdom no one's blest,</p> +<p class="t4">Like the maiden I love best!"</p> + +</div> +<p class="normal">A shout of laughter answered this strophe; some began to sing the +<i>réfrain</i> and others joined them. But a voice from the crowd asked, "But +how can you prove, fair Marion, that this lady of whom he talks is not +another than yourself?" "Listen again," cried Marion, "there is no +doubt about it." Then she sang--</p> +<div class="poem"> +<p class="t4">"Others may more sweetly sing,</p> +<p class="t4">Lighter through the dancers swing,</p> +<p class="t6">Never a straw I care!</p> +<p class="t4">Prattle half an hour free,</p> +<p class="t4">Marion's rosy lips to me,</p> +<p class="t6">That's a pleasure rare!</p> +<p class="t4">Prettier, wittier ne'er was known,</p> +<p class="t4">Than my Marion, darling one!"</p> +</div> + +<p class="continue">This time the whole audience sang the <i>réfrain</i> with her, and then +resounded loud cheerings for the songstress, who stood with the tears +still in her eyes, frightened at her own boldness, but lovelier than +ever on the stage. Adam sprang from the back of the scene and cried, +"Silence, good burghers all! I too have a word to say." All were +silent, and curious to know how he would manage to bring himself into +grace again. He said, "There is not one amongst you who cannot perceive +that my dear wife here has blamed me terribly, and managed to get all +the laughter on her side; for that, I thank her from the very bottom of +my soul: I tell you all truly that my heart quivered with joy at each +word she spoke, and when, at last, she hit upon the charming idea of +making my own words witness against me, I said quietly to myself, +Master Adam, you are a rogue if you desert such a model of a wife, +though it rained honours and doubloons in Paris! and so I come +penitently hoping that my dear fellow-townsmen will intercede for me +with my wife, that she may take her insolent, reckless husband back to +her heart and love, and forget what his slanderous tongue has said of +her."</p> + +<p class="normal">As he said this with ah emotion, which no one had ever seen him under +before, there was a deep silence in the court--Marion smiled at him +with an assuring kindness--fell upon his neck, and said, "You dear, +mischievous man." Then broke from all the windows and benches a +universal shout of congratulation. But Adam, freeing himself from the +arms of his wife, grasped her hand firmly, and cried, "I owe you the +third song." it runs thus--</p> +<div class="poem"> +<p class="t4">"Let those who will to Paris wander,</p> +<p class="t4">And time and gold for learning squander,</p> +<p class="t5">For me I mean at home to rest!</p> +<p class="t4">All the knowledge that's worth knowing</p> +<p class="t4">Lies, fresh springing, ever blowing,</p> +<p class="t5">In a gentle woman's breast.</p> +<p class="t4">Wiser woman ne'er was known</p> +<p class="t4">Than the one----I call mine own!"</p> + +</div> +<p class="normal">We need hardly say how gaily all joined in the <i>réfrain</i> this time. +Just, however, as they were all in full song, there arose a noise of +contention before the house; certain people had kindly let Adam's uncle +know that his nephew had introduced his honourable presentment on the +stage, and the old gentlemen came, with a company of archers, firmly +determined to make his irreverent nephew pay dearly for his +indiscretion. The people were now busied in the house explaining to him +the favourable turn things had taken, and when he heard of Adam's +recantation and the renunciation of the Paris idea, he permitted +himself to be pacified, became gracious and forgave the saucy poet, who +approached humbly with Marion on his arm; and in order to strike a +joyous blow against the accusation of avarice, he gave a grand banquet +that very evening at the Three Lilies, where Marion was obliged to +dance with all the great people of the town.</p> + +<p class="normal">The play was quite spoilt for the good burghers of Arras; but we have, +however, so much faith in their good heartedness, as to believe that +the miracle, as performed by Marion, pleased them more than if, as was +originally intended, the angel Gabriel and half a dozen of his body +guard, had descended from heaven and kicked Dame Avaritia out of the +country with due honour. It is possible that there might have been +never a miser the less in Arras for it, and now, at least, there was +one happy pair the more.</p> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<h1><a name="div1_larabbiata" href="#div1Ref_larabbiata">LA RABBIATA.</a></h1> +<br> +<hr class="W10"> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<h2>CHAPTER I.</h2> +<br> + +<p class="normal">The sun had not yet risen. Over Vesuvius lay a broad grey sweep of +mist, which spread itself out towards Naples, and overshadowed the +little towns along the coast. The sea was tranquil, but on the Marina, +which is situate in a narrow inlet under the high Torrentine cliffs; +fishermen and their wives were already busied, dragging in with stout +ropes the net boats, which had been fishing at sea during the night. +Others cleaned up their boats, shook out the sails, and brought oars +and spars out of the great railed vaults, cut deep in the rock, in +which they kept their tackle at night. No one was idle. For even the +old people, who were no longer able to go to sea, ranged themselves +amongst the long rows of those who drew the nets, and here and there +there stood an old woman with her distaff on one of the flat roofs, or +took care of the children, whilst her daughter helped her husband at +his work.</p> + +<p class="normal">"Look there, Rachella! there is our padre, Eurato," said an old woman, +to a little thing of ten years old, who swung its little spindle by her +side; "He has just stepped into the boat. Antonino is going to take him +over to Capri. Maria Santissima! how sleepy the holy man looks still!" +and therewith she waved her hand towards a kindly looking little +priest, who had seated himself cautiously in a boat below her, having +first carefully raised his black coat and spread it over the seat. The +people on the shore paused in their work to see their padre start, who +nodded and greeted them kindly right and left.</p> + +<p class="normal">"Why must he go to Capri, grandmother?" asked the child. "Have the +people over there got no priest of their own that they are obliged to +borrow ours?"</p> + +<p class="normal">"Do not be so silly," answered the old woman, "They have plenty of +priests, and beautiful churches, and a hermit too--which we have not. +But there is a noble signora there, who stopped once a long time here +at Lorento, and was so ill that the padre was often obliged to carry +her the Hoste, when she did not think that she should live through the +night. Well, the Holy Virgin helped her, and she got strong and well +again, and was able to bathe every day in the sea. When she went from +here to go over to Capri, she left a pretty heap of ducats behind for +the Church and the poor people, and said that she would not go until +our padre promised to visit her over there, that she might confess to +him, for it is wonderful how fond she is of him; and we may bless +ourselves that we have a padre who has gifts like an archbishop, and +who is asked after by all the great people. The Madonna be with him." +And therewith she nodded down towards the boat which was just putting +off.</p> + +<p class="normal">"Shall we have fine weather, my son?" asked the little priest, looking +thoughtfully towards Naples.</p> + +<p class="normal">"The sun is not up yet," answered the young man; "It will soon scatter +that bit of fog when it rises."</p> + +<p class="normal">"So, let us start at once, and avoid the heat." Antonino was in the act +of grasping the long oar, in order to push off the boat, when he +suddenly checked himself, and looked up towards the steep path which +led from the little town of Lorento, down towards the Marina.</p> + +<p class="normal">A slender girlish form was visible above, tripping hastily over the +rough stones, and waving a handkerchief She carried a small bundle +under her arm, and was poorly enough dressed; yet she had an almost +noble, though rather wild way of throwing her head back on her +shoulders, and the black tresses which she wore twined round her +forehead decked her like a coronet.</p> + +<p class="normal">"What are we waiting for?" asked the little priest.</p> + +<p class="normal">"There is some one coming down who wants to go to Capri. If you will +permit it, padre, we shall not go the slower, for it is only a young +girl, hardly eighteen."</p> + +<p class="normal">Just as he spoke the girl appeared round the end of the wall which +bordered the winding path. "Lauretta!" cried the padre, "what can she +want in Capri?"</p> + +<p class="normal">Antonino shrugged his shoulders. The girl approached with hasty steps, +looking straight before her.</p> + +<p class="normal">"Good day! La Rabbiata!" cried some of the young sailors. They might +indeed have said more if the proximity of their padre had not kept them +a little in order, for the short defiant manner with which the girl +received their greetings seemed to irritate them vastly.</p> + +<p class="normal">"Good day, Lauretta!" cried the padre, "how goes it with you? Do you +want to go over to Capri with us?"</p> + +<p class="normal">"If you will permit me, padre."</p> + +<p class="normal">"You must ask Antonino there. He is the patron of the boat. Every one +is master of his own, and God of us all."</p> + +<p class="normal">"Here is a half Carolus," said Lauretta, without looking at the young +boatman, "can I go over for it?"</p> + +<p class="normal">"You may want it more than I;" murmured Antonino, and moved some +baskets filled with oranges on one side to make room. He was going to +sell them at Capri, for the rocky islet does not produce enough for its +numerous visitors.</p> + +<p class="normal">"I will not go with you for nothing." said the girl; and the dark +eyebrows drew together.</p> + +<p class="normal">"Come, my child." said the padre, "he is an honest young fellow, and +does not want to get rich from your poverty; there--step in," and he +reached her his hand, "and seat yourself near me. See there! He has +spread his jacket for you that you may sit the softer. He was not half +so thoughtful of me. But young blood! young blood! It is always so! +They will take more care of one little girl, then of ten holy fathers."</p> + +<p class="normal">"Well, well! you need not make any excuses, 'Tonino; it is God's law +that like should cling to like."</p> + +<p class="normal">In the mean time, Lauretta had slipped into the boat, and seated +herself, first pushing the jacket on one side without saying a word. +The young fisherman let it be, and muttered something between his +teeth. Then he pushed stoutly against the beach, and the little bark +flew lightly out into the bay.</p> + +<p class="normal">"What have you got in your bundle?" asked the padre, as they swept over +the sea, just beginning to be freckled with the first sunbeams.</p> + +<p class="normal">"Thread, silk, and a little loaf, padre, I am going to sell the silk to +a woman in Capri, who makes ribbons, and the thread to another."</p> + +<p class="normal">"Did you spin it yourself?"</p> + +<p class="normal">"Yes, padre."</p> + +<p class="normal">"If I remember rightly, you have learned to weave ribbons too?"</p> + +<p class="normal">"Yes, padre, but my mother is so much worse, that I cannot leave her +for long at a time; and we are too poor to buy a loom."</p> + +<p class="normal">"Much worse! Dear, dear, when I saw her at Easter, she was sitting up."</p> + +<p class="normal">"The spring is always the worst time for her. Since we had the great +storm and the earthquake, she has been obliged to keep her bed from +pain."</p> + +<p class="normal">"Don't weary of prayers and supplications to the Holy Virgin, my +child,--she alone can help her. And be good and industrious, that your +prayers may be heard."</p> + +<p class="normal">After a pause. "As you came across the beach, they called after you, +'Good day, La Rabbiata.' Why do they call you so? It is not a pretty +name for a Christian girl, who ought to be humble and gentle."</p> + +<p class="normal">The girl's brown face glowed, and her eyes sparkled.</p> + +<p class="normal">"They laugh at me, because I will not dance and sing and gossip, like +the others. They might let me go my own way. I do them no harm."</p> + +<p class="normal">"But you might be friendly with every one. Others, who lead easier +lives may dance and sing; but kindly words may be given even by a +sorrowful heart."</p> + +<p class="normal">She looked steadily down, and drew the black eyebrows still closer +together, as if she wished to shroud the dark eyes entirely under them. +For a while they, voyaged on in silence. The sun now stood glorious +over the mountains. The peak of Vesuvius ranged high over the bank of +mist which still wrapped its flanks, and the houses on the plains of +Lorento gleamed whitely from amongst the green orange gardens.</p> + +<p class="normal">"Have you never heard any thing more of that painter, Lauretta," asked +the padre, "that Neapolitan, who wanted to marry you?"</p> + +<p class="normal">She shook her head.</p> + +<p class="normal">"He wanted to paint your picture--why did you drive him away?"</p> + +<p class="normal">"Why did he want it? There are plenty prettier than I. And then, who +knows what he might have done with it? He might have bewitched me with +it, and endangered my soul, or even have killed me, my mother says."</p> + +<p class="normal">"Don't believe such wicked things," said the padre, gravely, "Are you +not always in the hand of God, without whose permission not a hair can +fall from your head? And do you think that a man with a poor picture +like that can be stronger than the Lord God? You might have seen that +he wished you well. Would he have wanted you to marry him if he had +not?"</p> + +<p class="normal">She was silent.</p> + +<p class="normal">"Then why did you send him away? They said that he was an honest +man and well to do, and could have kept you and your mother in +comfort. Much more so than you can do now with your poor spinning and +silk-weaving."</p> + +<p class="normal">"We are poor people." she said, impetuously. "And my mother has been +ill a long time. We should only have been a burden to him; and I am not +fit to be a signora. When his friends came to see him, he would have +been ashamed of me."</p> + +<p class="normal">"What nonsense! I tell you that he was a good man, and, moreover, he +was willing to settle in Lorento. Another like him will not come again +in a hurry; he seemed sent straight from heaven to assist you."</p> + +<p class="normal">"I will never have a husband, never!" she said almost fiercely, and as +if to herself.</p> + +<p class="normal">"Have you taken a vow, or do you intend to enter a cloister?"</p> + +<p class="normal">She shook her head.</p> + +<p class="normal">"The people are right in accusing you of obstinacy, even if the name be +not a pretty one. Do you forget that you are not alone in the world, +and that this resolution of yours makes your sick mother's life and +illness still more bitter? What possible grounds can you have for +casting aside each honest hand which stretches itself out to assist you +and her? Answer me, Lauretta?"</p> + +<p class="normal">"I have, indeed, good grounds," she said, low and hesitatingly, "but I +cannot tell them."</p> + +<p class="normal">"Not tell them? not even to me? not even to your old father confessor, +whom you used to trust, and who you know means so well towards you? +Will you?"</p> + +<p class="normal">She nodded.</p> + +<p class="normal">"So, lighten your heart, my child. If you are <i>in</i> the right, I will be +the first to <i>do</i> you right; but you are young, and know but little of +the world, and you might repent by-and-by at having ruined your +happiness for life for the sake of a childish fancy."</p> + +<p class="normal">She cast a shy, rapid glance towards the young man, who sat rowing +steadily behind them in the boat, with his woollen cap plucked deeply +over his brows, gazing sideways at the sea, and seemingly lost in his +own reflections. The padre observed her glance, and bent his head +nearer to her.</p> + +<p class="normal">"You did not know my father," she whispered, and her eyes gleamed +darkly.</p> + +<p class="normal">"Your father! he died, if I remember rightly, when you were hardly ten +years old. What can your father, whose soul may be in Paradise, have to +do with your caprice?"</p> + +<p class="normal">"You did not know him, padre: you did not know that he was the cause of +all my mother's illness."</p> + +<p class="normal">"How so?"</p> + +<p class="normal">"Because he ill-treated her, and beat her, and trampled her under his +feet! I remember the night well when he used to come home in a rage! +She never said an angry word to him--did all that he wished; but he +beat her till I thought my heart would have broken, and used to draw +the coverlid over my head, and pretend to be asleep, but cried all the +night through. And when he saw her lying on the floor, he changed +suddenly, and raised her up, and kissed her, till she cried that he was +suffocating her. My mother forbad me ever to say a word about it. But +it had such an effect upon her, that she has never been well all these +long years since he has been dead; and if she should die soon, which +the Madonna forbid, I know well who killed her."</p> + +<p class="normal">The little priest shook his head, and seemed undecided as to what +extent he should justify his penitent. At last he said,</p> + +<p class="normal">"Forgive him, as your mother has forgiven him. Do not fasten your +thoughts on that sad picture, Lauretta. Better times will come for you, +and you will forget all this."</p> + +<p class="normal">"Never shall I forget it," she cried, shuddering; "and I tell you, +padre, that I will remain a maiden, and be subject to no one who may +ill-treat me one moment and caress me the next. If any one tries to +strike me or to kiss me now, I know how to defend myself; but my mother +could not defend herself, or ward off the blows or the kisses, because +she loved him; and I will love no one so much as to give him the power +of making me ill and miserable."</p> + +<p class="normal">"Now, are you not a child, talking as a child, and knowing nothing of +what happens in the world? Are all men like your father, giving way to +every fancy and ill-humour, and beating their wives? Have you not seen +kind-hearted men enough who live in peace and unity with their wives?"</p> + +<p class="normal">"No one knew either how my father treated my mother, for she would have +died a thousand times rather than have said any thing, or complained of +him, and all because she loved him. If that is what love does, closing +one's lips when one should cry for help, and disarming one against +worse than one's worst enemy could do, never shall my heart entrust +itself to a man's keeping."</p> + +<p class="normal">"I tell you that you are a child, and do not know what you are talking +about. Much this heart of yours will ask you whether it is to love or +not when its time is come! All those fine fancies you have got into +that little head won't help you much <i>then</i>! And that painter, did you +also inform him that you expected him to ill-treat you?"</p> + +<p class="normal">"His eyes looked sometimes as my father's used to do when he caressed +my mother, and wanted to take her in his arms and make friends with +her--I know those eyes! A man can give that look, too, who can think of +beating his poor wife, who has never done him ill. I shuddered when I +saw those eyes again."</p> + +<p class="normal">Then she remained obstinately silent The padre, too, did not speak. He +ran over in his mind many pretty speeches, which he thought might suit +the girl's case; but the neighbourhood of the young fisherman, who had +become more restless towards the end of the confession, closed his +mouth.</p> + +<p class="normal">When, after a voyage of two hours, they gained the little harbour of +Capri, Antonino bore the padre from the boat, over the last shallow +waves, and placed him respectfully upon the shore; but Lauretta would +not wait until he waded back to fetch her; she drew her clothes +together, and taking her shoes in one hand and her bundle in the other, +splashed hastily to the shore.</p> + +<p class="normal">"I am going to stop some time at Capri to-day," said the padre, "so you +need not wait for me; possibly I may not return home till to-morrow. +And you, Lauretta, remember me to your mother; I shall see you again +this week. You are going back to-night?"</p> + +<p class="normal">"If I have an opportunity," said the girl, arranging her dress.</p> + +<p class="normal">"You know that I must go back," said Antonino, in what he intended as a +tone of indifference; "I will wait for you till the Ave Maria; if you +do not come then, it will be all the same to me."</p> + +<p class="normal">"You must be in time, Lauretta," said the little priest; "you must not +leave your mother alone all night. Is it far where you are going?"</p> + +<p class="normal">"To Anacapri."</p> + +<p class="normal">"And I to Capri. God guard you, my child! and you, my son!"</p> + +<p class="normal">Lauretta kissed his hand, and said a farewell, which the padre and +Antonino might have divided between them. Antonino, however, did not +claim his share of it; he took off his cap to the padre, and did not +look at Lauretta.</p> + +<p class="normal">When, however, they had both turned their backs upon him, he permitted +his glance to follow the padre as he strode carefully up the stony +beach, but for a very short distance, and then directed it to the girl, +who was mounting the hill to the right, holding his hand over his eyes +to shade them from the bright sun. When she reached the place where the +road begins to run between the walls, she paused for a moment, as if to +take breath, and turned round. The Marina lay at her feet, above her +towered the steep cliffs, and before her spread the sea in all its +azure beauty. It was, indeed, a view well worth the pause.</p> + +<p class="normal">Chance so willed it that her glance, sweeping past Antonino's boat, +encountered the one which he had sent after her. They both made a +movement, like persons who wish to excuse themselves--"a mere matter of +accident;" and then the girl continued her way with closely-compressed +lips.</p> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<h2>CHAPTER II.</h2> +<br> + +<p class="normal">It was only an hour after midday, and Antonino had been sitting long on +a bench before the little fishing osteria. Something seemed to be +passing through his mind, for every five minutes he sprang up, stepped +out into the sun, and examined carefully the paths which led right and +left to the two island towns. "The weather looked suspicious," he told +the hostess; "it was clear enough now, but he knew this colour of the +sea and sky; it had looked just like this before the last great storm, +when the English family were saved with such difficulty. She must +remember it?"</p> + +<p class="normal">"No."</p> + +<p class="normal">"Well, she would remember what he had said, if it changed before +night."</p> + +<p class="normal">"Have you many visitors over there?" asked the hostess, after a pause.</p> + +<p class="normal">"They are just beginning to come. We have had hard times till now. The +bathers have not arrived yet."</p> + +<p class="normal">"The spring was late. Have you done better here in Capri?"</p> + +<p class="normal">"I should not have managed to get macaroni twice a week if it had +depended on the boat. Now and then a letter to take to Naples, or a +gentleman who wanted a row on the sea or to fish--that was all. But you +know that my uncle has got the great orange garden, and is a rich man. +'Tonino,' he said to me, 'as long as I live you shall not want, and +afterwards you will be cared for.' So I got through the winter with +God's help."</p> + +<p class="normal">"Has your uncle children?"</p> + +<p class="normal">"No; he was never married; he was long in foreign countries where he +managed to scrape many a good piaster together; now he has an idea of +setting up a large fishery, and is going to put me at the head of the +whole affair to see that he gets his rights."</p> + +<p class="normal">"So you are a made man, Antonino." The young boatman shrugged his +shoulders. "Each one has his burden to bear," he said. Then he sprang +up and looked right and left at the weather, though he must have known +that there was but one weather-side.</p> + +<p class="normal">"Let me bring you another flask, your uncle can pay for it," said the +hostess.</p> + +<p class="normal">"Only one glass more, my head is warm already."</p> + +<p class="normal">"It won't get into your head, you can drink as much as you like of it. +Here is my husband just coming, you must sit down and chat with him a +bit."</p> + +<p class="normal">And truly the stately patron of the inn approached them just at that +moment down the hill, with his net on his shoulder, and his red cap set +jauntily sideways on his ringletted hair. He had been into the town +with fish, ordered by the great lady for our little friend the padre of +Lorento. When he caught sight of the young fisherman he waved him a +hearty greeting; then seating himself near him on the bench, began to +question and talk. His wife had just brought a fresh flask of pure +unadulterated Capri, when the shore sand to their left crackled, and +Lauretta advanced towards them from the road to Anacapri. She greeted +them with a hasty nod, and stopped irresolutely.</p> + +<p class="normal">Antonino sprang up; "I must away," he said; "it is a girl from Lorento +who came this morning with the padre, and must go back this evening to +her sick mother."</p> + +<p class="normal">"Well, but it is a long time before night," said the host, "she will +have time enough to drink a glass of wine. Here, wife, bring a clean +glass."</p> + +<p class="normal">"Thank you, I do not wish to drink," said Lauretta, remaining at some +little distance.</p> + +<p class="normal">"Pour out, wife, pour out, she wants pressing."</p> + +<p class="normal">"Let her alone," said the young man, "she has a will of her own, when +once she has made up her mind, no one can make her alter it." And +therewith he took a hasty leave, and ran down to his boat, to set the +sail, and stood waiting for the girl. She waved a greeting back to the +hostess, and then with hesitating steps approached the boat. She +glanced on all sides, as if she hoped for the arrival of other +passengers; but the Marina was deserted; the fishermen slept, or were +away at sea with their nets and hooks. A few women and children sat in +their doorways, sleeping or spinning; and the strangers who had come +across in the morning, delayed their return until the cooler evening. +She was prevented from looking around her long, for before she could +turn round, Antonino had taken her in his arms and carried her like a +child to the boat. Then he sprang in after her, and with a few strokes +from the oars, they were in the open sea.</p> + +<p class="normal">She seated herself in the fore-part of the boat, with her back half +turned towards him, so that he could only see her <i>en profil</i>. The +expression of her face was even more haughty than usual; the dark hair +hung low over the broad low forehead, and around her finely cut +nostrils quivered an expression of defiance; her swelling lips were +firmly compressed.</p> + +<p class="normal">After they had sailed on in silence for some time, she felt the sun +burning her face, so she took her bread out and threw the handkerchief +over her hair; then she began to eat, to dine in fact, for she had +eaten nothing at Capri.</p> + +<p class="normal">Antonino did not contemplate this long in silence. He took two oranges +out of the basket which he had brought over full in the morning, and +said, "Here is something to eat with your bread, Lauretta--don't think +that I kept them for you, they fell out of the basket into the boat, +and I found them when I brought the empty ones back."</p> + +<p class="normal">"You had better eat them yourself, my bread is enough for me."</p> + +<p class="normal">"They are so refreshing in the heat, and you have had such a long +walk."</p> + +<p class="normal">"They gave me a glass of water above there, that refreshed me enough."</p> + +<p class="normal">"As you please," he said, and let them fall back into the basket again.</p> + +<p class="normal">Fresh silence. The sea was like a mirror, and hardly rustled round the +boat's keel--even the white seamews, that had their nests amongst the +rocks, pursued their prey without a cry.</p> + +<p class="normal">"You could take the two oranges home to your mother," Antonino again +began.</p> + +<p class="normal">"We have some at home, and when they are gone, I can go and buy more."</p> + +<p class="normal">"But take them to her with a kind word from me.</p> + +<p class="normal">"She does not know you."</p> + +<p class="normal">"You can tell her who I am."</p> + +<p class="normal">"<i>I</i> do not know you."</p> + +<p class="normal">It was not the first time that she had thus denied him. A year before, +when the painter had just arrived at Lorento, it chanced one summer +evening that Antonino and some other young fellows of the town were +playing boicia on an open piece of ground near the High-street--then it +was that the Neapolitan first saw Lauretta, who, bearing a water-jar on +her head, swept by without seeming to notice his presence. Struck with +her beauty, he stood gazing at her, forgetting that he was just in the +centre of the play-ground, and might have cleared it in two steps. A +ball, thrown by no friendly hand, struck him on the ancle, and reminded +him that that was not the place to lose himself in reveries. He looked +round as if he expected an apology; the young fisherman who had thrown +the ball, stood silent and defiant amongst his companions, and the +stranger thought it his best policy to avoid a discussion and go. But +people had talked about the affair at the time, and spoke anew about it +when the painter began openly to pay his court to Lauretta. "I do not +know him," she had said angrily, when the painter asked her whether she +refused him for the sake of this uncivil youth. And yet the story had +reached her ears too; and since that time, whenever she met Antonino, +she recognized him well enough.</p> + +<p class="normal">And now they sat in the boat like the bitterest enemies, and the heart +of each beat fiercely. Antonine's usually good-tempered face was deeply +flushed. He struck his oars into the water till the foam splashed over +them, and his lips moved from time to time as if he spoke evil words. +She pretended not to observe it, put on her most indifferent +expression, bent over the side of the boat and let the water run +through her fingers; then she took off her handkerchief and arranged +her hair as if she had been alone; only her eyebrows still drew +together, and in vain she held her wet hand against her burning cheeks +to cool them.</p> + +<p class="normal">Now they reached the centre of the bay, and far or near there was not a +sail to be seen--the island was far behind them, before them the coast +lay bathed in sun-mist; not even a seamew broke in upon the intense +solitude. Antonino glanced around him. An idea seemed to force its way +through his mind; the flush fled quickly from his cheek, and he dropped +the oars. In spite of herself, Lauretta looked around excited, but +fearless.</p> + +<p class="normal">"I must make an end of this," burst from the fisherman's lips; "it has +lasted too long already; I wonder that it has not sent me mad before +this! You do not know me, you say? Have you not long enough seen how I +passed you like a madman, with my heart bursting to speak to you? You +saw it, for then you put on your evil look and turned your back upon +me."</p> + +<p class="normal">"What had I to talk to you about?" she answered shortly. "I saw long +ago that you wanted to attach yourself to me; but I do not want to be +gossipped about for nothing, and less than nothing, for I will never +marry you, neither you nor any one!"</p> + +<p class="normal">"Nor any one? You will not always say that, because you sent away the +painter. Bah! you were a child then. You will get lonesome some day, +and then, mad as you are, you will take the first that comes."</p> + +<p class="normal">"No one knows his future. Perhaps I may change my mind; what is it to +you if I do?"</p> + +<p class="normal">"What is it to me?" he cried, and sprang so violently from his seat +that the boat rocked again. "What is that to me! and you can ask me +that, when you know how I feel towards you? Unhappy shall it be for him +who is received better than I have been!"</p> + +<p class="normal">"Have I engaged myself to you? Am I to blame if you let your brain +wander? What right have you over me?"</p> + +<p class="normal">"Oh!" he cried, "truly is it not written down. No lawyer has signed it +and sealed it. But I feel that I have as much right over you as I have +to enter heaven if I die an honest man. Do you think that I will look +on calmly when you go to church with another, and the girls pass by me +and shrug their shoulders? Do you think that I will be so insulted?"</p> + +<p class="normal">"Do what you like. I shall not trouble myself, scold as you may. I too +will do as <i>I</i> please."</p> + +<p class="normal">"You shall not say so long," he cried, and his whole frame quivered. "I +am man enough not to let my life be destroyed by such fancies. Do you +know that you are here in my power, and must do as <i>I</i> will?"</p> + +<p class="normal">She shrank together, and her eyes gleamed at him.</p> + +<p class="normal">"Murder me if you like." she said, slowly.</p> + +<p class="normal">"We must not do things by halves." he replied, sadly; "there is room +for both of us in the sea, I cannot save you, child," and he spoke +almost compassionately, dreamingly. "But we must dive below, both of +us--and at once--and now," he shrieked, madly seizing her by both arms. +But in an instant he drew back his right hand, the blood streamed from +it--she had bitten him to the bone.</p> + +<p class="normal">"<i>Must</i> I do what you will?" she cried, freeing herself from him with a +sudden turn; "let us, see whether I am in your power." And then she +sprang over the gunwale of the boat and disappeared for a moment +beneath the waves.</p> + +<p class="normal">She soon rose again; her clothes dung tightly around her; the water had +loosened her hair, which hung in heavy masses around her neck. She +struck out boldly with her arms, and swam, without a sound, steadily +from the boat towards the shore. Sudden terror seemed to have paralyzed +Antonino. He stood bent forward in the boat, his eyes fixed staringly +upon her, as if a miracle was being enacted before them. Then he shook +himself, sprang to the oars, and rowed with all the strength he could +command towards her, whilst the boarding of his boat grew ever redder +from his free-streaming blood.</p> + +<p class="normal">In a moment he was by her side, rapidly as she swam. "For the sake of +the ever blessed Virgin," he cried, "come into the boat! I have been a +madman, God knows what took away my reason. It struck into my brain +like lightning from heaven, and burnt in me, till I knew not what I did +or said. I do not ask you to forgive me, only save your life, and come +into the boat again."</p> + +<p class="normal">She swam on as if she heard not. "You can never reach the land, it is +still two miglia off. Think of your mother: if anything happened to +you, she would die of grief!"</p> + +<p class="normal">She measured with a glance the distance from the shore. Then, without +saying a word, she swam to the boat, and seized the gunwale. He moved +across to help her; his jacket, which was lying on the seat, slid off +into the sea as the boat heeled over with the girl's weight. She swung +herself lithely up, and regained her former seat. When he saw her safe, +he seized the oars again. But she spread out her dripping garments and +wrung the water from her hair. As she did it, she glanced at the +flooring of the boat, and saw the blood; then she cast a hasty look at +his hand, which wielded the oar as unwounded. "There," she said, and +reached him her handkerchief. He shook his head and rowed onwards. At +last she rose, stepped over to him, and bound the handkerchief tightly +over the deep wound. Then, in spite of his resistance, she took one of +the oars from him, and seating herself opposite to him, though without +looking at him, her gaze fixed on oar reddened with his blood, helped +on the boat with vigorous strokes. They were both pale and silent. As +they neared the land they met the fishermen who were moving to sea to +cast their nets for the night. They greeted Antonino, and laughed at +Lauretta: neither of them answered a word.</p> + +<p class="normal">The sun was still high over Procida when they reached the marina. +Lauretta shook her gown, now nearly dried, and sprang on shore. The old +spinning woman who had seen them start in the morning stood again on +her roof. "What is the matter with your hand, 'Tonino?" she called down +to him. "Jesus! the boat is swimming in blood!"</p> + +<p class="normal">"'Tis nothing, Commare," answered the young man; "I tore it on a nail +that stuck out too far. It will be well by to-morrow. The blood is only +near the hand, and that makes it look worse than it is."</p> + +<p class="normal">"I will come and put some herbs upon it, Comparello. Wait, I will be +down with you directly."</p> + +<p class="normal">"Don't trouble yourself, Commare; it is all over now and to-morrow it +will be gone and forgotten. I have a good skin that soon grows over a +wound."</p> + +<p class="normal">"Addio!" said Lauretta, turning towards the path that led up from the +beach.</p> + +<p class="normal">"Good night," called the fisherman after her, without looking towards +her. Then he took his tackle out of the boat, and his baskets, and +strode up the narrow stone steps to his hut.</p> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<h2>CHAPTER III.</h2> +<br> + +<p class="normal">There was no one but himself in the two rooms, through which he now +paced to and fro. Through the unglazed windows, only closed by wooden +shutters, the wind blew in still more refreshingly than on the calm +sea, and the solitude pleased him. He paused before the little picture +of the Virgin, and gazed thoughtfully at the silver paper star-glory +pasted around it. Yet he thought not of prayer. For what should he pray +now, when he had nothing more to hope for!</p> + +<p class="normal">And to-day the sun seemed to stand still.</p> + +<p class="normal">He longed for night, for he was weary, and the loss of blood had +affected him more than he would confess. He felt a violent pain in his +hand, seated himself on a stool, and loosened the bandage. The +repressed blood sprang forwards again, and his hand was much swollen +around the wound. He washed it carefully, and held it long in the cold +water. When he withdrew it he could plainly see the marks of Lauretta's +teeth. "She was right," he said to himself; "I was a brute and deserved +no better. I will send her back her handkerchief to-morrow morning by +Giuseppe, for me shall she never see again." He washed the handkerchief +carefully, and spread it out in the sun, after he had bound up his +maimed limb again as well as he could with his left hand and his teeth. +Then he threw himself upon his bed and closed his eyes.</p> + +<p class="normal">The bright moon and the pain of his hand awoke him out of a half sleep. +He sprang up to calm the throbbing beat of the blood in cold water, +when he heard a rustling at his door. "Who is there?" he said, and +opened it. Lauretta stood before him.</p> + +<p class="normal">Without saying much she entered. She threw aside the handkerchief she +had worn over her head, and placed a basket on the table. Then she drew +a deep sigh.</p> + +<p class="normal">"You are come for your handkerchief," he said; "you might have spared +yourself the trouble, for tomorrow morning I should have asked Giuseppe +to take it to you."</p> + +<p class="normal">"It is not for the handkerchief," she answered, hastily; "I have been +on the mountain gathering herbs that are good for wounds--there!" and +she raised the cover of her basket.</p> + +<p class="normal">"Too much trouble," he said, without any harshness--"too much trouble. +It is better already--much better; and even if it were worse, I have +deserved it. What do you do here so late? If any one were to see +you--you know how they talk, though they know not what they say?"</p> + +<p class="normal">"I do not trouble myself about them," she answered vehemently; "but +your hand I <i>must</i> see, and put herbs upon it, for you can never do it +with your left."</p> + +<p class="normal">"I assure you that there is no necessity for such trouble!"</p> + +<p class="normal">"Then let me see it, that I may believe it."</p> + +<p class="normal">She seized his hand before he could prevent her, and untied the +bandage. When she saw the angry swelling, she shrank together, and +screamed "Jesus, Maria!"</p> + +<p class="normal">"It is a little swollen," he said; "a day and a night will put it all +right again."</p> + +<p class="normal">She shook her head. "You will not be at sea again for a week!"</p> + +<p class="normal">"The day after to-morrow, I hope--what does it matter?"</p> + +<p class="normal">In the mean time she had found a basin, and washed the wound afresh, +which he suffered her to do like a child; then she laid the healing +leaves of the herbs upon it, which soon assuaged the burning pain, and +bound up the hand with strips of linen which she had brought with her.</p> + +<p class="normal">When she had finished, he said, "I thank you--and listen--if you will +do me one kindness more--'forgive me for letting such madness get +possession of me to-day, and forget all that I have said and done. I do +not know myself how it all happened. <i>You</i> never gave me any cause for +it--never, never! And you shall never more hear anything from me that +can annoy you."</p> + +<p class="normal">"It is <i>I</i> who have to pray for your pardon," she said, interrupting +him; "<i>I</i> should have told you all, differently and better, and not +have irritated you by my rude manner; and now, even this wound----"</p> + +<p class="normal">"It was necessary, and high time that I was brought to my senses! and, +as I said, it is of no consequence--do not talk of forgiveness. You +have done me good, and I thank you for it. And now go to rest, and +there--there is your handkerchief--you can take it with you now."</p> + +<p class="normal">He offered it to her, but she stood still and seemed to struggle with +herself; at last, she said, "You have lost your jacket on my account, +and I know that you had the money for the oranges in your pockets. It +struck me just now--I cannot replace it at once, for I have not +sufficient, and if I had it would belong to my mother; but here I have +the silver cross that the painter laid on the table the last time he +was with us; I have never seen it since, and do not care to keep it +longer in my box. If you sell it--it is well worth a couple of +piastres, my mother said--it would help to repair your loss, and what +may be wanting I will try to gain by spinning at night, when my mother +is asleep."</p> + +<p class="normal">"I shall not take it!" he said, shortly, pushing back the glittering +cross she had taken from her pocket.</p> + +<p class="normal">"You <i>must</i> take it," she cried; "who knows how long you may be laid up +with your hand? There it lies, and I will never set my eyes on it +again!"</p> + +<p class="normal">"Then throw it into the sea!"</p> + +<p class="normal">"It is no present that I make you--it is only what you have a right to, +and what I owe you."</p> + +<p class="normal">"A right to! I have no right to anything from you! If you should happen +to meet me in future, do me one kindness--do not look at me, that I may +not think that you are putting me in mind of how I have offended you. +And now--good night!--and let it be the last."</p> + +<p class="normal">He laid her handkerchief in the basket, placed the cross on the top of +it, and closed the lid. When he looked up and saw her face, he started. +Large, heavy tears rolled over her cheeks--she let them run their +course unheeded.</p> + +<p class="normal">"Maria Santissima!" he cried. "Are you ill? You tremble from head to +foot!"</p> + +<p class="normal">"It is nothing," she said--"I will go home:" and turned towards the +door. Then a burst of weeping overcame her; she pressed her forehead +against the doorpost, and sobbed loud and vehemently. Before he could +reach her, she turned suddenly round and cast herself upon his neck. "I +cannot, cannot bear it," she cried, and clung to him like a dying man +to life. "I cannot bear to hear you saying kind words to me, and +telling me to leave you, with all the fault on my conscience! Beat +me--trample me under your feet--curse me--or, if it be true that you +love me <i>still</i>, after all the ill that I have done you, then take me +and keep me, and make of me what you will, but send me not thus away +from you----" Fresh vehement sobs interrupted her.</p> + +<p class="normal">He held her awhile in his arms, stricken dumb. "If I love you still!" +he cried. "Holy Madonna! do you think that all my heart's blood has run +out of that little wound? Do you not feel it beating in my breast, as +if it would spring out, and to you? If <i>you</i> only say it to try me--or +from pity to me--there, go, and I will even forget this too! You shall +not think that you are indebted to me because you know what I suffer +for you."</p> + +<p class="normal">"No!" she said, firmly, raising her forehead from his shoulder, and +gazing passionately in his face with her wet eyes--"I love you; and if +I only say it <i>now</i>, I have long feared and fought against it--and now +will I change, for I can no longer bear to look at you when you pass me +in the street: and now I will kiss you too," she said, "that you may +say if you doubt again, 'She has kissed me!' and, Lauretta kisses no +one but the man she takes as her husband."</p> + +<p class="normal">She kissed him thrice, and then freed herself from his arms, and said, +"Good night, darling! Now sleep, and heal your hand; and do not come +with me, for I fear no one now--but thee!"</p> + +<p class="normal">Therewith she glided through the doorway, and disappeared in the shadow +of the wall; but he looked long through the window, and over the sea, +over which all the stars seemed trembling.</p> + +<p class="normal">The next time the little Padre Curato emerged from the confessional, by +which Lauretta had been a long time kneeling, he laughed quietly to +himself. "Who would have thought it," he murmured, "that God would so +soon have taken pity on this strange heart? And I was blaming myself +for not having attacked the demon of obstinacy more fiercely! But our +eyes are too short-sighted for the ways of Heaven! And now, may God +bless them both, and let me live till Lauretta's eldest boy can go to +sea in his father's place."</p> + +<p class="normal">Ay! ay! ay! La Rabbiata!</p> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<h1><a name="div1_banks" href="#div1Ref_banks">"BY THE BANKS OF THE TIBER."</a></h1> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<h2>CHAPTER I.</h2> +<br> + +<p class="normal">It was late in January. The first snow hung upon the mountains, and the +sun, shrouded by mists, had only melted away a narrow band around their +feet. But the waste of the campagna bloomed like spring. Only the +sombre boughs of the olive trees, that here and there followed in rows +the gentle undulations of the plain, or surrounded some lonely cabin, +and the frosted scrubby bushes that grew about the road, still showed +the effects of winter. At this time of the year the scattered herds are +collected within hurdles, near the huts of the campagnuoli, which are +generally placed under the shelter of some hillock, and scantily enough +protected from the weather by straw piled up from the ground; whilst +those amongst the herdsmen who can sing or play the bagpipe have left, +to wander about Rome as pifferari, to serve the artists as models, or +to support their poor frozen existences by some similar industry.</p> + +<p class="normal">The dogs are now the herds of the campagna, and sweep through the +deserted waste in packs, maddened by hunger, and no longer restrained +by the herdsmen, on whose poverty they are only a burden.</p> + +<p class="normal">Towards evening, when the wind began to blow more strongly, a man +emerged from the Porta Pia, and wandered along the carriage-road which +runs between the country houses. His cloak hung carelessly from his +sturdy shoulders, and his broad grey hat was pushed back from his +forehead. He gazed towards the mountains till the road became more +enclosed, and only permitted him a narrowed glance of the distance +between the garden walls.</p> + +<p class="normal">The confinement seemed to oppress him. He lost himself again dejectedly +in the thoughts to escape which he had sought the free air. A stately +cardinal tripped by with his suite without his observing or greeting +him. The carriage following its master first reminded him of his +omission. From Tivoli rolled carriages and light vehicles, full of +strangers, who had taken a fancy to see the mountains and cascades +under snow. He cast not a glance at the pretty faces of the young +Englishwomen, with whose blue veils the tramontane played. Hastily he +turned from the road, sideways to the left, along a field-path which +first ran past mills and wine-shops, and then led out into the midst of +the waste of the campagna.</p> + +<p class="normal">And now he paused for a moment, breathing deeply, and enjoying the +freedom of the broad wintry sky. The shrouded sun gleamed redly over +all, lighted up the ruins of the aqueduct, and tinged with rose the +snow on the Sabine hills.</p> + +<p class="normal">Behind him lay the town. Not far from him a clock began to strike, but +lightly, through the opposing wind. It made him restless; as though he +wished to prevent the least sound of life from reaching him, and he +strode onward. He soon left the narrow path, which swept up and down +the waves of the plain, swung himself over the rails which had guarded +the pasturing herds during the summer, and buried himself still deeper +and deeper in the solitary darkness.</p> + +<p class="normal">A stillness reigned there as deep as that on a sleeping sea. One could +almost hear the rustle of the crows' wings as they floated over the +waste. No cricket chirped, no ritornella of the home-returning +market-woman reached his ear from the distant road. It pleased him. He +struck his staff against the hard earth, and rejoiced in the sound with +which she answered him. "She does not say much," he said, in the +dialect of the lower class of Romans; "but she means honestly, and +cares in silence for her babbling children who trample her under their +feet. Would I never needed to hear their voices again, these windy +rogues; my ears are sore with their smooth phrases! As if I were +nothing--as if I knew not better on what those things depend, about +which they love to chatter--because I only know how to create them!</p> + +<p class="normal">"And yet I live on them, and must keep a good countenance when they +sniff and sneer at my work. Accidenti!" He cursed on his beard--an echo +answered him: he looked, startled around; no hut, no hillock was there +within a circle of half a mile, and he could not believe in the +neighbourhood of man. At last he stepped onward, and thought "A gust of +wind mocked thee!" Then suddenly it sounded again, nearer and clearer. +He stood and listened keenly. "Am I near a cabin, or a fold where the +cattle are lowing? It cannot be--it sounded differently--it <i>sounds</i> +differently; and now--now"--and a shudder shook his whole frame. "It +is the dogs," he said slowly.</p> + +<p class="normal">The cry came nearer and nearer, hoarse as that of wolves; no barking or +yelping, but a snarling howl, which the voice of the wind swept +together into one uninterrupted, terrible melody. A paralyzing power +seemed to exist in it, for the traveller stood motionless, his mouth +and eyes rigidly open, his face half turned towards the side from which +the battle-cry of the raging brutes swelled towards him.</p> + +<p class="normal">At last he shook himself with fierce determination. "It is too late! +they have long had the scent; and in this twilight I should fall before +the tenth step if I tried to fly. Well, like a dog have I lived! and +now, to be destroyed by my fellows!--there is sense in it! If I had a +knife I would make it easier for my guests; but this"--and he tried the +strong iron spike of his staff--"if there be but few of them, who knows +whether my hunger may not survive theirs?"</p> + +<p class="normal">He threw his cloak around him, so as to have his right arm free, and to +form with its many folds a sort of protection to his left, and grasped +his staff. With cold-blooded determination he examined the ground on +which he stood. He found it free from grass, stony, and hard. "They may +come!" he said, planting himself firmly upon his feet. He saw them now, +and counted them in the gloaming. Five he counted, and then a sixth. +They rave like fiends from hell--long-limbed, skeleton brutes! "Wait!" +and he raised a heavy stone; "we must declare war according to custom."</p> + +<p class="normal">Therewith he hurled the stone at the nearest, twenty paces from him. A +redoubled howling answered--the pack was checked for a moment. One of +them lay struggling on the ground.</p> + +<p class="normal">"Armistice!" said the man. His lips trembled, his heart throbbed +heavily against his left arm, which grasped his cloak spasmodically; +but the lids over the keen eyes winked not. He saw his enemies break +forth again, and their eyes glared through the darkness. They came on +in couples, the largest first. A second stone rebounded from the bony +chest of one of the leaders, and the ravening brute sprang, hoarsely +snarling, against the dark form. A thrust, and he fell backwards on the +sward, and the staff, whirled quickly round, striking heavily on his +open jaws.</p> + +<p class="normal">A horseman galloped through the grey of the winter's night, some few +hundred paces from the scene of the struggle, over the pathless +campagna. He pierced through the darkness towards the spot from whence +the howling reached him, at short intervals, and saw a man standing, +tottering, giving way, and again standing firm, as his enemies +relinquished the attack, and once more stormed on him from all sides.</p> + +<p class="normal">The horseman shuddered; he plunged the spurs into his horse's flanks, +and flew towards them. The sound of the horse's hoofs reached the ear +of the struggling man, but it seemed as if the sudden terror of hope +deprived him of his last remaining strength; his arm sank, his brain +whirled, and he felt himself torn down from behind,--tottered, and fell +to the ground. Through the mists of approaching unconsciousness he +heard the sound of pistol-shots, and then fainted.</p> + +<p class="normal">When he recovered, and opened his eyes, he saw the face of a young man +bending over him, on whose knee his head was resting, and whose hand +was rubbing his temples with fresh-plucked wet grass. The horse stood +steaming near them, and at his feet lay two dogs, writhing in the +agonies of death.</p> + +<p class="normal">"Are you wounded?" he heard asked.</p> + +<p class="normal">"I know not."</p> + +<p class="normal">"You live in Rome?"</p> + +<p class="normal">"Near the Tritone."</p> + +<p class="normal">The other helped him to rise. He could not stand. His left foot was in +great pain. He was bareheaded; his cloak in rags; the coat and arm, +torn and bloody; his face pale and haggard. Without speaking, he +permitted himself to be supported by his preserver, who rather bore +than led him the few paces to the horse; at last he gained the saddle, +the other took the bridle and led him slowly towards the town.</p> + +<p class="normal">At the first osteria outside the walls they halted. The young man +called to the hostess to bring wine: when the wounded man had drunk a +glassful his face became more animated, and he said:--</p> + +<p class="normal">"You have done me a service, sir. Possibly the time may come when I +shall curse it, instead of thanking you for it. But I thank you for it +now. One clings to life as to other bad habits. One knows that the air +is full of fever and rottenness, and the worthless steam of mankind, +and yet thinks that each breath one draws in is a good thing."</p> + +<p class="normal">"You are inclined to speak ill of mankind."</p> + +<p class="normal">"I never knew one who did not take me for a fool if I spoke well of +them. Pardon me. You are not a Roman?"</p> + +<p class="normal">"I am a German."</p> + +<p class="normal">"Bless God for it."</p> + +<p class="normal">They reached the gate in silence, and turned into the Piazza Barberini. +The wounded man pointed to a small house in the corner of the place, +ruinous and dark. When the horse stopped before the humble door, its +rider let himself slide off before the other could assist him, but then +sank helplessly down. "It is worse than I thought." he said; "do me one +kindness more, and help me in,--here is the key." The young man +supported him, called to a boy to hold the horse, and to a loiterer to +open the door. It was quite dark within, the damp cold struck +unpleasantly upon them. He bore him as directed, to the left, into a +large bare room.</p> + +<p class="normal">"Where is your bed?" asked the German.</p> + +<p class="normal">"Where you will; but I would rather lie over there by the wall. This +brave old Palazzo! They are going to pull it down in the spring; I +fancy that it will not have the patience to wait for them."</p> + +<p class="normal">"And you still remain here?"</p> + +<p class="normal">"It is the cheapest way of getting buried," said the man, drily. "I can +play the host here gratis."</p> + +<p class="normal">In the mean time, the boy had struck fire, and lighted the little brass +lamp that stood in the window. The young man helped the wounded one to +a coverlid spread on some straw, and covered him scantily enough with +his tattered cloak. With a deep sigh the powerful frame sank down, and +the eyes closed. The German gave the boy money and directions, and then +went out without leave-taking, sprang up on his horse, and rode hastily +away.</p> + +<p class="normal">In about a quarter of an hour he returned, bringing with him a surgeon. +Whilst the latter examined and bound up the wounds on arm and leg, +which the wounded man permitted him to do without a murmur escaping +him, the young German looked around the room: it was bare, and the +plaster had fallen in large masses from the walls. The joists of the +ceiling stood naked and blackened, the wretched window let in the +cutting night air, there was but little furniture. Meanwhile the boy +brought in an armful of wood, and made a fire on the hearth. As it +gleamed up redly some dusty clay figures and plaster casts became +visible in the corner. A large dolphin which bore a dead boy on its +back, a Medusa in relief, colossal, the hair, not yet vivified into +serpents, curled wildly around the sorrow-laden brow. He could not +remember that he had ever seen this rendering in an antique. Casts from +the arms, bust, and feet of a young girl, amongst hasty sketches in +clay, stood and lay in confusion. On a table were the different kinds +of apparatus used by cameo-cutters, and some sticks with half-finished +works, for the most part Medusa heads, resembling the great one, but +with different degrees of passion and grandeur. Uncut shells, casts of +gems, and casts in glass and plaster, lay in a box near them.</p> + +<p class="normal">"I think there is no danger," said the surgeon, at last. "Let them get +some ice, and make the boy sit up and keep the bandages cool during the +night. They have treated you roughly, Senor Carlo! But what on earth +induced you to wander about the campagna at this time of night, and +this time of year?"</p> + +<p class="normal">"This obstinate rascal, the chimney," answered the artist, "he refused +to do his duty unless one stuffed his throat with faggots. I was out of +temper with my old Palazzo, Señor Vottore, and felt inclined to give +him a kick or two, to warm us both; and so I thought it better to run +away before it came to blows between us."</p> + +<p class="normal">"You are ill looked after here," said the good-natured little man, +wiping his spectacles, which had become suddenly dimmed. "My wife shall +send you another coverlid, and I will see you again tomorrow. Sleep +will soon come, and he is the doctor who beats us all."</p> + +<p class="normal">The young man accompanied him to the door, and spoke a few words with +him in the passage.</p> + +<p class="normal">"I only know him by name," said the doctor. "He goes his own strange +misanthropical way. Prefers sitting in the wine-shop with the lowest +faccini, and squanders what he earns. But there is not a man in Rome +who is his equal at a cameo. He inherits it from his father, Giovanni +Bianchi, who has long been dead."</p> + +<p class="normal">"Are his wounds really not dangerous?"</p> + +<p class="normal">"If he only spares himself and not the ice. He has limbs of iron, or he +could not have made head so long against the brutes. Five, do you say? +The fool-hardy man! But that is just one of his tricks. Well, well, he +will sleep now. Dispel your anxiety, Señor Theodore."</p> + +<p class="normal">He was already asleep, when Theodore returned to his room, although he +had turned his face towards the blazing fire. Theodore studied him +long. He was very handsome, though the nose was a little too thin; his +hair here and there sprinkled with grey; his beard untended; from +between the breathing, half-opened lips gleamed the white teeth. When +Theodore raised the cloak to place fresh ice on the wounds, he +perceived the great strength of his limbs.</p> + +<p class="normal">He sent the boy away, after he had brought a fresh supply of wood and +ice, and ordered him to return in the morning. He then drew a chair to +the side of the hearth, and seated himself, wrapped in his cloak, to +watch. It was about ten o'clock, the bright night reigned without over +the deserted square, and the slender stream from the fountain plashed +lightly into the Triton's shell. From a neighbouring house he heard a +girl's voice, singing:--</p> +<div class="poem"> +<p class="t4">"Chi sa se mai<br> +Ti soverrai di me!"</p> +</div> + +<p class="continue">The refrain of an old sorrowful song. Then it ceased, but hummed +wordless within him still.</p> + +<p class="normal">He fancied himself again at the edge of the abyss at Tivoli, on the +footway opposite the cascades, which in wintry scantiness gushed down +from their many mouths. They walked, but not arm in arm, near each +other; he and that fair girl and her lively little companion, who +hastened unweariedly along the narrow, toilsome path.</p> + +<p class="normal">"We ought to have returned with your parents, Mary," she said more than +once in English; "indeed, we ought to do so now. Look, child! there +they are up above by the cascade, and will soon be sitting comfortably +by the fire in the sibyl, and here the wind is cutting our very noses +off; yours is quite red already; dear me! how cold you look, child! The +wind blows so chilly across the water too. You said that it would, sir, +and warned us fairly; but our pet must have her fancies. Bless me, we +have seen the view in the autumn already, and in the summer too, and +then rode safely and comfortably down the path that we are half +stumbling, half sliding down now."</p> + +<p class="normal">"It is not much farther, dear Miss Betsy," said the girl, laughing, +"and the path will improve. Our friend offered you his arm; why did you +refuse it?"</p> + +<p class="normal">The little woman drew closer to her, and said softly, "My dear Mary, +what a question to ask! you know that I have my reasons for declining +to be helped down hills by unmarried young gentlemen! when one slips +and holds him tight to save oneself from falling, he might take each +pinch for a proof of affection; you quite shock me, child!"</p> + +<p class="normal">Mary smiled almost imperceptibly; then she went calmly on her way. Her +dark bonnet hid all her face from the young man except the waving brown +curls.</p> + +<p class="normal">"It was intended as no mere compliment, sir." she said, glancing +unembarrassed towards him; "when my father confessed that your absence +had caused him pain: if I remember rightly, you have only called on us +four times since my poor brother's death."</p> + +<p class="normal">"Four times!" he cried; "and have you counted them?"</p> + +<p class="normal">"We must often hear the number from him. 'Since I lost Edward,' he says +frequently, 'I care to talk to no one who has not known him; how can +they ever learn to know <i>me</i>?' Then he always refers to you, and +praises you, and misses you so much."</p> + +<p class="normal">"I confess," said Theodore, "that the kindness and heartiness with +which your parents greeted me when we met here, surprised and affected +me very much; and I too have wanted companionship this winter more than +formerly. In the one before, which was my first, I drew back from +nothing which pressed itself forward and promised to be advantageous. I +see now that I have only lost. The society here is in contradiction to +the place. It feels it itself, and as it still desires to be something, +it is obliged to overstrain itself: that is discordant and neutralizes +the productive disposition of thoughtful men like myself; so now I live +only for myself, or for some few who have fared no better than I have, +and yet from my youth up I have been accustomed to find permanent +happiness in pure family existence alone."</p> + +<p class="normal">"You have been long away from your parents?"</p> + +<p class="normal">"I have lost them." he said gently; "they both died in the same week; +then I went over the Alps, and God knows whether I shall ever return!"</p> + +<p class="normal">They passed beneath the light shadow of the olive plantation--the path +was perfectly dry--over them, amongst the branches, the sun glanced +from the fleeting snow, which it had thawed upon the leaves, till they +had glimmered as from a soft spring shower. The little friend was in +the best possible humour, and talked of her wanderings about Rome. +People suspected that she was writing a book about Rome. However that +might be, it was clearly proved that she had done such violence to her +well-grounded opinions, as to permit it to be reported that she had +explored the baths of Caracalla with an entirely unknown and youthful +Italian, and had not even refused his offer of protection to her own +house.</p> + +<p class="normal">"Do you believe, Mary," she cried now, "that I could easily make up my +mind never to see my dear old England again? You know that at first we +did not intend to stop here a single month. For you must know, sir, +that I come of an old family, and my first ancestor fell at Hastings, +winning his bit of land for himself and his descendants. And so my +little bit of England is as much mine as the big one of a great +landowner; and who likes to leave his own behind him? And yet who knows +whether I might not be induced to pass the rest of my life here, if it +were not dishonourable to forget one's fatherland, even though it +forgets us and the good service our forefathers have done it?"</p> + +<p class="normal">"I do not know." answered Theodore, laughing, "you only do old England +a service if you conquer a bit of Rome for yourself, and so tread in +the footsteps of your forefathers."</p> + +<p class="normal">"You are pleased to be witty!" she said, and gave him a light tap with +her fan. "But even suppose that I were of an age which made your joke +more appropriate, do you seriously think--supposing that there was any +foundation for your innuendo, and any one <i>should</i> trouble himself +about me,--do you think, I repeat, that English and Italian, or more +properly Roman character, would in the long run, be able to get on +together?"</p> + +<p class="normal">"You know, my dear Miss Betsy, that love works wonders, fills up +valleys and pulls down mountains. As far as mere <i>character</i> goes, I am +not afraid. If the sentiments agree, what may the heart not do? I have +seen more marriages rendered unhappy by difference of taste, than from +difference of feeling. But what Roman would not share in your taste for +everything Roman, for example?"</p> + +<p class="normal">"You are right," she said; "at the bottom, love is a matter of taste." +Then she drew her green veil over her face, and seemed to wish to be +left to her own reflections.</p> + +<p class="normal">The two young people went a little in advance, for they heard Miss +Betsy beginning to talk half aloud to herself, as was often her custom, +and they had no wish to overhear her dreamings. "Good creature!" said +Mary, with her gentle voice; "the journey has quite unsettled her. She +always used to have strange ideas, but in England they took an innocent +political direction; but with her first step on the continent arose +this strange fancy of inventing experiences, which has already indeed +given us much anxiety on the journey, but which has perhaps as often +afforded an excuse for a hearty laugh."</p> + +<p class="normal">"This fantastic state of being must have suited her charmingly when she +was younger," said Theodore; "older people generally discover that they +have quite enough to do to meet adventures as they happen, and are by +no means inclined to seek them. It is to be hoped that she will soon be +as little in earnest with her new Roman friend, as he seems to have +been with her from the beginning."</p> + +<p class="normal">"I saw them both returning home. He was a good-looking man, with rather +insolent, but still fine eyes, and much younger than she is."</p> + +<p class="normal">"What restrained you from giving an opinion on the question which Miss +Betsy proposed?" asked Theodore, after a pause.</p> + +<p class="normal">"Which one?"</p> + +<p class="normal">"Whether individuals of different nations are suited to each other?"</p> + +<p class="normal">Mary was silent for a while. "The more people want from each other," +she said, at last, "and the more they wish to give each other, the +closer the connection between them ought to be--at least, I think so."</p> + +<p class="normal">"And even, I once knew an Englishman who had married a creole, they +both took life easily and gaily. He was happy at having a handsome +wife, and she appeared satisfied because he could shower wealth upon +her. And yet there was always something between them, something +climatic, live where they would. They were never really happy with each +other."</p> + +<p class="normal">"They were from different zones. But if they both had had northern +blood----"</p> + +<p class="normal">"It may be so; and yet I can understand it by my own feelings. I was +brought up amongst the mountains, and have only accustomed myself by +slow degrees to the soft Roman air. Now it is winter; without there +lies the fair pure snow. When we are seated this evening with my father +and mother by the fire, and the kettle sings, and I see all that belong +to my life around me, I could easily be <i>entirely</i> happy. And yet I +confess that it is just at that moment that the home-longing might +seize me for the old country-house in England, where the old oak-trees +stand before the window, and the snowy field lies behind the garden, +far less beautiful than the campagna beyond them, and the English sky +shrouded with heavy mist, so unlike this clear horizon, which should +cheer and refresh me. Yet it is foreign, and something foreign like +this might exist between people."</p> + +<p class="normal">They had hitherto carried on the conversation in English. He now began +to talk German, which she too spoke perfectly, with the exception of a +slight accent.</p> + +<p class="normal">"Permit me," he said, "to speak to you in my own language. You made me +share your feelings of home-longing when you talked of your winter +quietness. You put me in mind of my old German winters, which now lie +so far behind me, and can never be to me again what they were. I heard +again the light sound of the raven brushing through the bare branches, +and breaking the dry twigs, till a fine cloud of snow fell past the +window like crystal dust. My mother lay there ill on her bed for months +together. She could not, and would not, longer endure the noise and +bustle of the town. Before that time the old country-house had only +seen summer visitors, cheerful hunters, and gay promenaders. Then it +became the winter retreat where my mother recovered from her wearying +journeys to the baths."</p> + +<p class="normal">"You were with her then?"</p> + +<p class="normal">"For the first year or two, only for a week at a time. The last winter, +however, she would not let me leave her. I sat the whole day by her, +worked, and talked now and then, or played her favourite airs, those +simple old ballads which are now quite out of fashion. The little room +opened into the garden by several tall windows. I can see my father now +pacing up and down on the terrace before it, with his bear-skin cap and +short pipe. He could not bear the close air of the room for long at a +time. But he seldom left his post, and whoever had business with him +must seek him there. Now and then he came in to us for a quarter of an +hour at a time. I can never forget the look with which my poor mother +used to greet him then. She had beautiful bright blue eyes."</p> + +<p class="normal">"And she died then?"</p> + +<p class="normal">"In the spring. My father soon afterwards. He met with an accident in +riding. After my mother left us he had no rest, mounted the wildest +horses, and often remained away half the day, much as I used to entreat +him to spare himself I understood him. I could never free myself from a +secret terror. I was in the right."</p> + +<p class="normal">They had arrived at the foot of the path, and stood still to wait for +their companion; Mary paused some steps from him, so that when he +turned and looked round over the country, he had her full face towards +him. The fair, bright features were clouded with sadness, and there was +a moist gleaming under the drooping eyelids. When she raised them, he +saw the blue eyes resting full and seriously on the landscape before +her. He knew this look already. He had avoided it hitherto, for he knew +the power that lay in it. Now he surrendered himself wholly to it for +the first time. "Mary!" he said. She moved not nor looked towards him. +Then their meditative little friend rejoined them. The conversation was +resumed as they mounted the ascent to Tivoli. But Mary took no part in +it.</p> + +<p class="normal">When they left Tivoli in the early twilight, gayer from the cheerful +supper, and Theodore had helped the ladies into the carriage, the old +man said confidentially to him, "I will not get in until I know when we +are to meet you again, my dear sir. I have an affair to settle which +interests me and mine deeply, and on which I wish much to consult you. +It concerns our poor Edward, and I know that you will come the sooner +when you learn that we reckon on your assistance."</p> + +<p class="normal">"Come this evening," said the mother. He promised it. When they brought +him his horse, he saw an anxious expression on Mary's face. He sprang +into the saddle, and gently humouring the spirited animal, rode beside +the carriage for some way. Then he lagged behind, rode more slowly, and +let the evening slip away without observing it. The night surprised +him. He gave his horse the spur, and rode across the waste with the +intention of making a short cut, and thus it was that he arrived so +opportunely in Bianchi's neighbourhood.</p> + +<p class="normal">He shook himself now, threw fresh wood upon the fire, and fixed his +dark eyes thoughtfully upon it.</p> + +<p class="normal">"What will they think," he said to himself, "at my strange absence? +What will <i>she</i> think? It is too late now to send a messenger, and where, +indeed, could I get one? She will sit at home, and never dream of what +this day may mean! Or,</p> +<div class="poem"> +<p class="center">"Chi sa se mai!"</p> +</div> + +<p class="normal">Then he attended to the sick man, walked up and down, and studied the +Medusa head, on which the firelight shone warmly--strangely like the +tints of ebbing life when the reluctant blood struggles with the +death-terror. It affected him powerfully. At last he was obliged to +turn away his eyes; and now, for the first time, observed some loose +figures, some of them of corroded Pompeian bronze, and others by a newer +hand, as life-like and reckless as they. Near them lay a torn and dusty +copy of "Ariosto." He seized it, and read it eagerly. It was the only +book he was able to discover.</p> + +<p class="normal">So passed the hours. Long after midnight the sleeping man groaned +heavily, and struck out his arms in his dreams. As Theodore arranged +his disordered couch, and spread the coverlid over him afresh, he awoke +fully, and half arose. He felt around him, as if for a weapon, and +asked, in a determined voice,--</p> + +<p class="normal">"Who are you?"</p> + +<p class="normal">"A friend!--do you not recognize me?" answered Theodore.</p> + +<p class="normal">"It is false!--I have none." shouted the wounded man, striving to raise +himself upon his feet. The pain of his wounds brought back +recollection. He sank down again, and collected himself thoroughly. He +lay still for awhile, and then said, more quietly,</p> + +<p class="normal">"You <i>are</i> one. Now I recollect you. What are you doing here at +this hour? Why are you not gone home? Are <i>you</i> different from the +other sons of men, who only do good in order to sleep more soundly? +Go!--you have earned your rest. Why do you watch my dreams?"</p> + +<p class="normal">"The doctor insists upon having your wounds kept cool during the night. +I could not trust to a stranger."</p> + +<p class="normal">"Are <i>you</i> not one?"</p> + +<p class="normal">"No; not for a couple of pauls; but for your own sake I do this."</p> + +<p class="normal">The other lay silent awhile. Then he said, with a strange excitement, +"You would do me a kindness by going. It makes me feel ill to have a +man moving about me. When it comes to thanking, I am more clumsy than +an old man courting a young girl."</p> + +<p class="normal">"Do not trouble yourself about thanks. I stay because you want me. If +you could manage without me, you should not have to complain of my +being in your way."</p> + +<p class="normal">"I cannot sleep when I know that you are sitting; and freezing there."</p> + +<p class="normal">Theodore stirred the fire. "I hope that you feel, even over there, how +warm I must be here."</p> + +<p class="normal">After a pause, during which the sick man had lain with closed eyes, he +asked--</p> + +<p class="normal">"You are a Lutheran, sir?"----"Yes."</p> + +<p class="normal">"I knew it," said Bianchi to himself; "he wishes to rob the church of a +soul--he does it all for that! They are no better than we are."</p> + +<p class="normal">"The fever makes you rave." said Theodore emphatically; "say what you +will."</p> + +<p class="normal">They were both silent for a long time. Theodore placed fresh ice upon +the wounds, as before; and Bianchi lay with his face turned towards the +wall, motionless, as though he slept. Suddenly, as Theodore was again +busied about him, he turned round, and raised himself half up. With the +wounded arm he clutched towards Theodore's hand, and grasped it with +his burning one, and said, low and slowly--"You are good! you are good! +you are a man!" His weakness overcame him; he fell back upon the straw, +and burst into a convulsive fit of weeping. As the tears ceased to +flow, he slept anew.</p> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<h2>CHAPTER II.</h2> +<br> + +<p class="normal">When he awoke, the bright morning light was forcing its way through the +crevices in the shutters, and making a sunny twilight around him. He +saw the boy by his bedside, and the doctor, and heard that Theodore had +gone into the town early in the morning, as soon as the boy came in, +without saying anything about his return.</p> + +<p class="normal">Thus he passed half the day, restless, dreaming, listening towards the +door. Two mice, which he had tamed, and for whom he had hitherto ever +had a caress, even in his moments of deepest gloom and misery, now came +into the middle of the room, blinked their bright little eyes at him, +squeaked, and flourished about, without his casting a glance towards +them. The boy, not knowing that they were permitted guests, frightened +them away. Some one knocked. It was somebody who brought the artist an +order for a pair of ear-rings, in red shell. Bianchi let him depart +without speaking to him; nor did he say a word to a sculptor of his +acquaintance, who had heard of the terrible adventure of the previous +night, and was good-hearted enough to visit the solitary being.</p> + +<p class="normal">Meanwhile, Theodore, already early in the day, had mounted the stone +steps of the large house in which Mary's parents resided. The old +servant opened the door. "They waited long for you last night," he +said. "I was sent to your lodgings, but you had not returned. Miss Mary +thought that you must have met with some accident, as you were on +horseback. But, God be praised! you are safe."</p> + +<p class="normal">Theodore did not answer; he heard music within--a sonata of +Beethoven--suddenly it ceased; a stool was pushed back, a gown rustled. +As he entered, Mary stood before him; she seemed to have paused +suddenly in the middle of the room on her way to the door; she tried to +speak; her cheeks flushed. He seized her hand eagerly with both of his, +and now saw that she had been weeping. "Mary!" he said, "I find that I +have more to crave pardon for than I expected--you have been uneasy +about me!"</p> + +<p class="normal">She tried to smile. "I am delighted to find that there was no reason +for it," she said. "Something prevented you; it was very foolish to +think the worst at once. I will go and call my parents."</p> + +<p class="normal">He held her back entreatingly. "You have been weeping, Mary!"</p> + +<p class="normal">"It is nothing; I had a bad night, and the music just now agitated me."</p> + +<p class="normal">He let her hand fall. She remained standing on the same spot, +supporting herself against a chair. He took one turn up and down the +room, and stood before her; he grasped her hand again, stammered out a +word, and then pressed her passionately to his breast. She rested +weeping blissfully and silently in his arms.</p> + +<p class="normal">"We will go to my parents," said Mary, when she had had a little +recovered the emotion of that first embrace. "Come!"</p> + +<p class="normal">She took him gently by the hand. He longed to remain alone with her; it +seemed to him as though she would be separated from him again when they +came into the presence of others; yet he permitted her to lead him. +They found her parents together in her mother's boudoir. As he entered +he felt a longing to entreat his loved one to be silent on what had +just passed between them, he felt incapable of talking calmly over it, +or of meeting any one but herself in his blissful intoxication. It had +already passed her lips. The mother, a stately, ceremonious woman, +clasped him heartily in her arms; formal as she usually was, she could +not hear the pleasant news without saying some heartfelt words of +blessing, which, kindly as they were meant, still sounded foreign and +strange to Theodore's state of feeling. Her father said nothing. He +pressed his future son-in-law warmly by the hand, and kissed his +daughter's forehead.</p> + +<p class="normal">Theodore described the adventures of the previous evening. Mary leant +her head on his breast, and when he told of the combat, threw her arm +timidly around her lover, as if to assure herself that all was past, +and that she really possessed him again in safety. Her mother made a +sign to her, which, slight as it was, did not escape Theodore. She +removed her arm, and sat near him without touching him. He felt pained; +he felt, too, when after some hours he was obliged to leave, and kissed +her again with his whole heart on the threshold, that she avoided him +shily, and at first turned away her lips from his. He departed with a +strange confusion of feeling--a weight upon his heart--and an obstinate +deadened glow in every vein. He stood still for a moment before the +door; the street was deserted, he pressed his feverish forehead against +the cool stone pillars, and stretched forth his arms as if he would +draw down a part of the heavens and press it to his breast, and then +went somewhat more calmly on his way to the Tritone.</p> + +<p class="normal">A passionate flush passed over Bianchi's haggard features, as he +recognized Theodore's footsteps without. He raised himself and gazed +eagerly and fully at him as he entered--taller and more manly than he +had appeared to him the evening before. Theodore went to him and said, +"You have rallied, Bianchi, and the doctor is satisfied. Keep quiet, I +entreat you; you must let me walk up and down a little, my ideas are in +a whirl, and my thoughts will not allow me to rest."</p> + +<p class="normal">He told him not from whence he came, nor that within the last few hours +he had bound his fate to a woman; but there lay a glory on him, from +which Bianchi could not turn away his eyes. He had laid aside his hat, +and thrown his cloak over one shoulder, his head sprang freely from the +broad chest--the short curled hair was a little disordered--his +forehead massive and noble; and thus, with an absent look, and his arms +folded across his cloak, he seemed almost to have forgotten the purpose +of his visit As he paced up and down, he struck his foot against the +burning logs, and gazed at the fire. At last he turned, and said--</p> + +<p class="normal">"Tell me about yourself, Bianchi!"</p> + +<p class="normal">"What would you know?"</p> + +<p class="normal">The tone of this question, doubtful, almost distrustful, and yet +submissive and compliant, struck Theodore's delicate ear. He drew a +stool near the couch, seized Bianchi's hand and said--</p> + +<p class="normal">"I wish to know nothing, except how you feel now; and if you are in no +humour to talk, make a sign with your hand, which now betrays but +slight remains of your fever."</p> + +<p class="normal">He felt the pressure of the hand, which then withdrew itself +hesitatingly from his.</p> + +<p class="normal">"You will soon be so well that we shall be able to part without the +necessity of meeting again. For the present you must resign yourself to +my intrusiveness; for you must know that I have made up my mind not to +let the carelessness of a stupid boy be the destruction of such an +artist as you are."</p> + +<p class="normal">"As <i>I</i> am!" and he laughed sadly. "Do <i>you</i> know what I am? Who knows +it not? A day labourer am I, cutting shells for women, with a woman's +patience, whose stout arms are ashamed of him when they encounter a +piece of marble. Well, perhaps, yesterday the matter was arranged so +that the poor cripples will have nothing to reproach themselves for in +future!"</p> + +<p class="normal">"You talk strangely--as if there were not room enough within a circle +of two inches for a soul that can at times express itself in two +words."</p> + +<p class="normal">"For the idea, possibly, but hardly for the execution."</p> + +<p class="normal">"You must have experienced that," said Theodore. "But are you <i>obliged</i> +to do what is so disagreeable to you?"</p> + +<p class="normal">The sick man cast a quiet look around the four bare walls, and said--</p> + +<p class="normal">"I have got so used to the amount of luxury you see about you; I did, +indeed, once think of beginning a large work without there in the +square, eating my artichoke by the fountain at noon, and sleeping at +night at the foot of my work. But one is effeminate and fears the +weather, and cowardly, and afraid of the gossipping. Besides, I cannot +do without the wine or--"</p> + +<p class="normal">"But if you had an opportunity of working in marble without any +discomfort to yourself," interrupted Theodore.</p> + +<p class="normal">The sick man started up excitedly.</p> + +<p class="normal">"Do you know what you are doing with your thoughtless questions?" he +cried, and his eyes sparkled. "Look in that corner; there have I cast +one on the top of the other, all that used to come to me with such +questions. The dust is burying these impertinent babblers day by day, +and my eyes know already that it is an unpardonable sin for them to +wander towards them. And yet I was fool enough to allow myself to hope +again when they said that models were to be sent in for the monument to +the last Pope. For a couple of weeks I thought and dreamt of nothing +else, and worked it out with energy, and was myself satisfied with my +work. Fool that I was, to be deluded by such fancies. That was +yesterday. I wrapped the model in a cloth, and bore it myself all the +way to the Cardinal Secretary of State,--for my soul hung upon it, and +I thought another might let it fall. And then I was obliged to give the +rascally servants civil words and my last scudo before they would even +permit me to enter. Inside it was all black and red and violet, with +their reverences' stockings, and they stared at me from head to foot, +because I had run out of my studio without thinking of taking off my +old working-jacket. I thought, 'Let them stare;' took courage, and +stepped with a bow and my work before his eminence. I saw at once that +he was in a bad temper, and that his neighbour had already tasted some +of its effects. I told him shortly why I was there, and begged to be +permitted to show my sketch. The old fellow nodded, after his custom, +cast a glance over the figures, which looked doubly noble amongst all +those rogues, and said, 'Not bad. But 'twont do, 'twont do; wants +noblesse, my son, and more direct reference to the holy church. Take it +home and beat it up. The clay is wet still.' I stood like a man in a +madhouse. Beat it up! as if my loftiest ideas were broth. Whilst I +stood there, unable to utter a word, up stepped the monsignori, stuck +their learned spectacles on their noses, and abused it before and +behind till they did not leave a nail's breadth without a spot of +blame, just as when the old wolf half kills a sheep, and then hands it +over to her whelps to worry and whet their milk-teeth upon. If I could +only have spoken and described all that had passed through my brain +whilst I was at work on the model, perhaps the old man might have +looked at it differently, for they say that he has a good-enough head. +But just at this unlucky moment he was full of ill temper, and poured +it all out over me. So at last I got tired of this chattering, this +whizzing of children's painted bird-bolts, not one of which hit the +matter, and every one the man, for they pricked me like needles. +Another would have shaken himself laughingly, and perhaps have won the +day. But I--how was I to do it? My father did not make much talk over +his cameos, and when he died, Rome was neither more agitated nor +stiller, and I have ever kept out of the way of your learned men; so I +stole away from them this time too, and swore never to have aught to do +with them again. As I passed along the Repelta I got into a rage, and +threw my model into the Tiber. 'Let it melt there,' said I to myself; +and I felt relieved, and took a fancy to go and walk about the +campagna. There you found me."</p> + +<p class="normal">"You must not abuse the <i>savant</i>," said Theodore, laughingly, after a +pause, in order to bring the other, who had sunk into a reverie, +back to the subject. "Your instinct did not deceive you when you felt +an antipathy to my being near you. For I am here in Rome for the +purpose of poking about old parchments, and digging out long-buried +matters, about which but few are interested. Histories of the old +Italian towers, state papers, and judicial reports. And so we are +doubly-separated individuals."</p> + +<p class="normal">"<i>You</i> may be, and do what you like," said Bianchi, quickly, and half +aside. "You are good and handsome, and a German."</p> + +<p class="normal">"You little know German learning. It is even more horrible than the +Roman. I myself have a secret terror of it. It has a power of glaring +at feeble souls, that turns them into stone, like those poor rogues who +gazed on the face of the Medusa."</p> + +<p class="normal">"The Medusa?"</p> + +<p class="normal">"You must know her better than I do. Have you not thrown her away there +in the corner and left her, half begun and half ended, cut upon the +shells on your work-table?"</p> + +<p class="normal">"I do not know much about it. When I was quite a boy, my father gave me +a part of it to work at. I loved the head, for I had but little +pleasure, and the dark death in the beautiful woman's face fascinated +me. Afterwards I saw the circular one in the villa Ludovisi, and never +rested until I had made a copy of it as well as I could at home. It is +more human and passionate there, than in the Grecian one, where it is +reduced to a mere mask. I have never asked what they meant by it, and +reading annoys me."</p> + +<p class="normal">"If you like, I will read the story to you, as told by one of the old +poets?"</p> + +<p class="normal">"Do--and soon and--when do you return?" he asked, as Theodore arose.</p> + +<p class="normal">"To-night," said the young man; "but not to read to you, for you are +not well enough yet. I will not listen. I know what you are going say. +But a sick man must not have a will of his own."</p> + +<p class="normal">When he returned in the evening, he found wine upon the table, and a +comfortable cushioned chair placed by the hearth. Bianchi slept, and +the boy whispered that he had made him buy the wine and borrow the +chair from a neighbour, and that he had not been quiet or slept until +he had seen all done as he wished.</p> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<h2>CHAPTER III.</h2> +<br> + +<p class="normal">The next evening Theodore read, from an old Italian "Ovid," the fable +of the Medusa, as he had promised. He looked from time to time over his +book towards Bianchi, whose eyes were fixed upon the ceiling. +Theodore's calm voice seemed to bind him with a spell; the tale which +he read, to move his innermost soul--so the other read on. When he +arose, Bianchi drew a deep breath, and cried, "You are going!--you do +not know how I have enjoyed it! These tales were to me but mutilated +old statues, the limbs scattered about, the head far from the trunk, +and all weather-beaten and decayed. As you read it, all drew itself +together again, and now stands entire before me. Oh! that my arms were +but sound again--my fingers tremble at the thought of kneading a piece +of clay--but that is not to be--and you go--you smile! I can guess +where you are going! well--enjoy your youth. But now I think for the +first time of the nights I have made you pass."</p> + +<p class="normal">"They would have been more lonely than they have been here--and you +cannot guess where I go, Bianchi. I am going to pay court to two old +people, and only now and then the soft hand of their daughter touches +my arm in secret. All my enjoyment is seeing--hoping."</p> + +<p class="normal">"And you can confess that so quietly, and not gnash your teeth with +impatience and longing? I fear that I, too, once passed such a +fruitless lovetime. Like a worm I grovelled on the ground, and cursed +the eyes which had played me so bitter a trick."</p> + +<p class="normal">"I bless them! And when I suspect such madness in my blood, I refresh +my dull soul in the free air, up and down the Forum, or roam away to +the Capucines, where now the snow is resting against the stem of the +palm-tree; it must struggle through the winter, too, however warm its +heart may be."</p> + +<p class="normal">"Can you deny that it plagues and worries you more than the whole +affair is worth? It makes one idle and womanly, and that is the worst +of all. If we were not fools, longing for the impossible, all were +well, one as good as another, if she were pretty and kind."</p> + +<p class="normal">"I think not. I require something more than <i>any one</i> can give me, +unless I am to leave her for the sake of some other."</p> + +<p class="normal">"Who spoke of that?"--"Both of us, I think."</p> + +<p class="normal">"Not I," said Bianchi. "I never could dream that you know your own +advantages so little--with your face and your years."</p> + +<p class="normal">He said no more, seemingly out of humour. "Let it be as it may." said +Theodore, earnestly, "and let each one care for himself, and be glad +that the other can be happy after his own fashion."</p> + +<p class="normal">They never touched upon this subject again. Bianchi seemed to have +entirely forgotten it, and Theodore did not agitate it. The old +bitterness and fierceness of the sick man returned more and more as his +wounds healed, and those rare touches of gentleness which he had shown +to his friend disappeared for ever. He avoided giving him his hand; he +never spoke of himself nor his feelings, never asked Theodore about his +plans nor his past life, and hardly ever called him by his name; yet he +never avoided Theodore's frequent visits, nor refused the little +comforts which he brought him. Only once, when he saw some fruit in a +basket, arranged beneath a layer of the earliest violets, with that +delicate taste which belongs to a woman's hand alone, he placed the +present coldly, and without saying a word, upon the mantelpiece. +Theodore was silent; when he went he took the basket with him as he had +brought it.</p> + +<p class="normal">Still he continued to read to him--old poets, extracts from Dante and +Tasso, and, at last, Machiavelli. The old deities, whose statues, +scattered about Rome, had hitherto been to him merely fine carvings, +semi-vivified by indistinct ideas, now became clear and living. It +seemed as if he now for the first time saw with his waking eyes the +world in which he had so long wandered in dreams. And the desire to go +abroad awoke in him, and he longed to visit, personally, all that his +imagination had clearly, and for the first time, thoroughly grasped.</p> + +<p class="normal">The almond-trees blossomed crimson in the gardens of Monte Pincio, when +he first stood on the parapet and looked over broad Rome towards the +hills. Below him lay the town, noisy and sunny; the river glimmered +brightly. On St. Angelo fluttered the broad folds of the standard in +the wind that breathed softly from the sea, and overhead stretched the +soft, delicate blue of the Roman March sky. Bianchi supported himself +upon his staff, and looked darkly from under his eyebrows, as was his +wont when he struggled against the promptings of his own heart. +Theodore also stood buried in thought; at last he turned his gaze from +the distance, looked seriously at Bianchi, and said, "You are +recovered; in a few days more you will be below there in your new +studio and I think that we shall still find a little time to spend +together, even though I, too, shall be obliged to keep closer to my +work, and must somewhat curtail the pleasure of being with you. It so +happens that I shall have a reason for visiting you much oftener than +you might otherwise permit--that is, if you will consecrate the new +studio by undertaking a work in which I am personally much interested. +The matter is this: a family with whom I am intimate has settled here, +perhaps permanently. The man, a German, formerly lived in England, and +married an Englishwoman, who brought him two children, a son and a +daughter. The son, who was attacked by consumption, tried the climate +of Rome as his last chance of recovery, and so the whole family +emigrated with him. I loved him well, as did every one who knew him, +and can hardly believe that I saw so much worth and nobleness sink into +the earth--there, by the Pyramid of Cestus. That was last winter. His +parents wish to erect a monument to him, with a relief which may shadow +forth his character and honour his memory. I know no one to whom I +would so willingly intrust this work as yourself."</p> + +<p class="normal">"You may depend upon me, Theodore," said the sculptor; "I will do what +within me lies."</p> + +<p class="normal">"Would you not like to know his parents, and learn from them the idea +which they wish to be carried out on the monument?"</p> + +<p class="normal">The other was silent for a while. "No," he said, quietly: "I wish for +no acquaintances, and love not tears. You loved him--that is enough: I +will do it for <i>you</i>. You must not misunderstand me," he continued, +after a pause. "I should be of no use there. Whoever wants me must +attack me like a bear in his den. If I cannot escape, I can manage to +get upon my hind legs almost politely, and growl my word with them. +But even that is tiresome. I will say nothing and show nothing until +the model is so far advanced that even the laity may see what it +means--then they may come."</p> + +<p class="normal">They spoke of other matters. Bianchi grew even brighter and almost +joyous, whilst a shadow lay on Theodore's face. So they remained all +the day together, and they both felt it like a leave-taking. For the +first time the open, common-place day was around them--the rattle of +carriages, and the whirl of laughing passengers. Bianchi did not take +Theodore's arm. Slowly he walked near him, glancing at the women and +the girls, many of whom seemed to know him, and here and there nodding +to an acquaintance without stopping to speak to him. When he had +passed, people stood still, whispering, pointing towards him, and +following him with glances in which pity, respect, and a certain kind +of fear, seemed mingled. He himself appeared not to observe it. He +looked straight before him, often over the heads of the people, towards +the villas without the walls, and the broad campagna, and his eyes +glittered. "What are you thinking of?" asked Theodore.</p> + +<p class="normal">"I am thinking how my mice will bear their fate when the old palace is +pulled about their ears, and the bright daylight peeps into all their +private holes and comers. I know that they have had a family lately. +Poor fools! to love to linger under the same roof without learning +anything from one! How I rejoice that I am poor, and free, and alone, +and can carry all my belongings with me in a hand-cart!" He stretched +out his arms, and waved them in the sir, as if he poised the burden +that awaited them. He looked younger and fresher than he had ever done +before.</p> + +<p class="normal">In the evening he asked Theodore to accompany him to a tavern, in +which, before his accident, he had spent many a night. "You shall see +what good Roman society is, and the remains of nobler races," he said. +"They are a little mistrustful of foreign elements, that step in +without knowing what they want, or perhaps who know only too well. They +say that it is not much better in nobler houses. Let them do what they +like, and drink your wine without making much fuss: they let me do as I +please, even if I bring a German with me, for they rather look up to +me."</p> + +<p class="normal">He led him a few streets distant from the Sistine, to the beautiful +fountain of Bernini, the Fontana di Trivi. Opposite the lofty grottoed +and niched façade, in the centre of which the water-god stands above +the artificial rocks, and rules the streams, which burst out from all +sides into the deep bason, there stood a mean-looking old house, with a +smoky lantern over the door. They entered the spacious chamber, which +occupied the whole breadth of the house, and served as a drinking-room. +At the further end the fire on the hearth played against the blackened +wall, and to the right a flight of steps led to the upper story. No +furniture was to be seen except benches and tables, on and around +which a mixed, silent company was gathered. A boy bore plates of fried +fish, salad, and macaroni, and disappeared from time to time through a +trap-door, to rise to the surface again, bearing fresh-filled flasks.</p> + +<p class="normal">A joyous welcome resounded from the lower end of the room as the two +friends entered. "Eccolo!" cried a portly woman, who forced her way +through the crowd towards the door, drying her hands on her apron. +"Eccolo! welcome a thousand times, Ser Carlo!" and she gave him her +hand heartily. "A mezzo of Frascati, Chico; of the new, that came in +yesterday. Only think, Ser Carlo! who do you think that I was just +talking about to my Domenico this very moment? I said to him, +'Domenicuccio,' said I, 'you are a bear and a brute, never to go and +see how it fares with our Ser Carlo; for I, as you well know, have my +hands full with the children and the guests, and you yourself to look +after, you stupid animal! And it will seem a thousand years till I see +him again, fine fellow that he is!' 'Lalla mia!' says he, 'to-morrow I +will see about it; and,' says he, 'if you have no objection, Lalla, I +think that he won't refuse a little drop of the new wine, just a +barilotto!' Said I, 'Well, Cuccio, that is just the very best idea you +have had all these ten years that we have been married!' And just then +Girolamo came in, and said that he had seen you on the Pincio, and I +said, 'Blessed be the Virgin! then it won't be long before we see him +here;' and just at that moment you opened the door and stood before us! +And really it has done you good--you have grown handsomer, Ser Carlo. I +would not believe Girolamo, but positively the Madonna has wrought a +miracle on you. I have not prayed all through my rosary for nothing!"</p> + +<p class="normal">"So I have to thank you, Sera Lalla, that I have not gone mad, and am +quit for a little lameness? You have got the best wife in Rome, +Domenico,--a saint! a real treasure of grace! Ay, here I am once more!" +and he shook the host, a heavy-looking, insinuating sort of fellow, +vehemently by the hand; "and this gentleman that you see here is my +friend, who saved me from the jaws of the dogs. But, holla! there sits +my noble Gigi over there, and eats and drinks, and can't even give his +throat time to say 'Good evening.' Shame on you, Gigi! to treat old +friends, and one, moreover, who has risen, like Saint Lazarus, from the +dead, in such a frosty fashion!"</p> + +<p class="normal">"He has asked after you more than all the others put together," +whispered the hostess. "He could not take his glass for a week at a +time when they began to talk about you. He was only afraid of visiting +you."</p> + +<p class="normal">The man of whom the good woman spoke sat at one of the centre tables, +propped up tightly against the wall, and continued steadily thrusting +large pieces of food into his mouth. He was good-looking, his bald head +covered with a little skull-cap, his black coat buttoned up to his +throat, and a certain air of decency about him, which distinguished him +from the others, without showing, at the same time, any particular +pretension.</p> + +<p class="normal">Bianchi stepped up to him, and greeted him across the table with a wave +of the hand. "Dear Ser Gigi," he said, "do not distress yourself--we +understand each other." He remarked now for the first time that the +worthy man's eyes were glimmering moistly, and that he only continued +eating in order to prevent his joyous embarrassment being marked.</p> + +<p class="normal">"He is a singer," whispered Bianchi to his companion; "he keeps to the +churches, and sings on festal days. They wanted to give him the +tonsure, because he has some education and is decent-looking, but it +did not quite suit him. They are all free men, as many as sit here. +Come, my friend Gigi will make room for us near himself."</p> + +<p class="normal">Meanwhile, the boy brushed down the table with a by no means clean +napkin, and placed a large open flask before them. Theodore seated +himself, whilst Bianchi had to shake hands and answer questions about +the room. A reeking brass lamp flared with its thin, redly-burning +wicks over the table. It took Theodore some time to become accustomed +to the atmosphere of tobacco-smoke and rancid oil, but he soon forgot +all, at the sight of a striking couple, who sat at the table directly +opposite to him. One was a young girl in the costume of Albano--the red +jacket closed neatly round the just ripening bosom, above it was folded +the lace collar, and large silver pins held the flat white +handkerchief, which did not conceal the shape of her head, firmly +on her hair. Her face was in the fresh bloom of youth, beauty, and +health--three virtues which love to be kept together in such a +situation. Only the expression of the mouth had a shy softness and +yieldingness about it, almost irresolute and sorrowful, and the large +eyelids so entirely covered the eyes that only a narrow dark gleaming +line betrayed that they slept not.</p> + +<p class="normal">She ate from the plate before her, slowly and indifferently, and drank +but little wine, whilst her brown cheeks glowed ever with the same +fire.</p> + +<p class="normal">Beside her sat an old woman in a Roman costume, blinking vivaciously +about her, but silent, and busied with her wine and food, which she +enjoyed greedily. They had nothing whatever in common, and yet seemed +to belong to each other.</p> + +<p class="normal">When Bianchi at last came to take his seat, and had emptied his first +glass, he started back with an almost comic expression of astonishment, +and cried, "Madonna Santa! what beauty! How did you come by such a +neighbour, Ser Gigi? A niece of yours? or only a forgotten child, that +appeared before your eyes by chance? Blessed be her mother."</p> + +<p class="normal">"Chè, Chè!"' said the singer, seriously. "I wish you were right. Ask +her yourself where she comes from. The sweet little mouth would not +bestow a word upon me."</p> + +<p class="normal">Bianchi cast a keen glance on the old woman, and growled to himself, +"So, so, I fancy we understand each other." The old woman remarked it, +and said, as she emptied the rest of the bottle into her glass,</p> + +<p class="normal">"A bashful thing, gentlemen! a poor shy orphan; lived with the wicked +people up in the mountains when I found her, and took pity on the young +creature. How easily one is lost, when one gets into wrong hands. I +brought her with me to Rome, for the Virgin's sake, and keep her here +as well as a poor old woman can, in all honour and virtue--poor thing. +Look up, Caterina, when the gentlemen speak to you."</p> + +<p class="normal">The girl obeyed, and let her large calm eyes rest for a moment on +Bianchi, and let them sink again almost immediately. The artist +half-raised himself from his seat and bent over towards her.</p> + +<p class="normal">"You are called Caterina?"</p> + +<p class="normal">"Yes," she answered, in a deep but soft voice.</p> + +<p class="normal">"How old are you?"----"Eighteen years."</p> + +<p class="normal">"You have left a lover behind in Albano, or perhaps more than one?"</p> + +<p class="normal">She shook her head.</p> + +<p class="normal">"How you talk!" interrupted the old woman, hastily. "'Tis a good girl, +I tell you, and as innocent as the Madonna. Should I have got so fond +of her else?"</p> + +<p class="normal">"Well, well! If I believe it, I believe her face, and not yours, +mother. Can she dance? The gentleman here is a stranger, and I should +like him to learn what a real salterello is like."</p> + +<p class="normal">Theodore said a few words--"that it would be a great favour." The old +woman beckoned to the hostess; Caterina arose silently. Soon the +nearest tables were pushed aside, to leave a small space clear, and +Lalla brought the tambourine. Whilst the old woman seated herself in a +corner with it, the other guests crowded round one after the other, and +the boy who had been serving them prepared himself for his part in the +dance, Bianchi whispered in his friend's ear: "Look at that form, and +the delicacy of the hands and feet, and how she stands there, a perfect +figure! such as I never saw before--blameless even to the darling +little ears--and as yet hardly knowing herself! To be obliged to let +Checo dance with her! I understood it pretty well once. But now, I +conjure you, let your eyes do their best. A miracle will be performed."</p> + +<p class="normal">Theodore needed not the prompting. He leaned against a table, and +turned not his eyes from Caterina. At the first vehement notes of the +tambourine the girl began the dance; Lalla stood near he old woman and +clattered the castanets. Señor Luigi, the singer, sat immovable behind +his table, and began to hum an air with the first notes. Soon he sang +the song and the words cheerily out. The words, which Theodore could +not understand, the feverish restlessness of the monotoned instruments, +and above all, the strange witchery of the dancing girl, by degrees so +confused his ideas, that he felt as if he had been gazing into a new +and unknown world. All that he had known, loved, possessed, retreated +into a vacuous gloom, which deprived it of all colouring; forms, +thoughts, wishes, and hopes whirled through his soul to the dull notes +of the tambourine, as to a great review. He cast them all aside. It was +as though a voice called within him, "They are all worthless and dead. +Here alone is life and bliss."</p> + +<p class="normal">When the dance ceased he awoke from his dream, and looked wildly +around. He seized his hat. "Are you going? Already? Now?" asked +Bianchi, astonished. "I see that you don't enjoy yourself amongst my +friends here."</p> + +<p class="normal">"You mistake me," answered Theodore, looking gloomily before him. "How +gladly would I remain. How gladly--but I have given a promise. I must +pay a visit--we shall see each other to-morrow, Bianchi."</p> + +<p class="normal">"Oh!" murmured Bianchi. "Pity, pity! how you will amuse yourselves, you +and the others! Pity, pity!"</p> + +<p class="normal">He laughed sharply and bitterly as Theodore turned away, and yet he did +not seem sorry at his going.</p> + +<p class="normal">On getting into the open air, the young man stood long opposite the +fountain, and drew into his confused soul the breath of the water, and +the living rushing of its fall. The moon lighted up the head and part +of the chest of the water god, below the drops only glanced out of the +darkness. He descended the steps, and drank as if to wash away the +intoxication of his soul, and then seated himself upon the edge of the +bason. He remembered the old saying, that whoever drank of this +fountain would lose his home-longing for Rome; and then he fell into +painful reveries. When the noise of the tambourine reached his ear anew +from the osteria, he started up in terror, with difficulty he forced +himself to pass the door, and to follow one of the neighbouring +streets. When in the distance, the deadened sound again reached him, he +paused for a moment and seemed to wrestle with himself; then he went +resolutely farther down into the town to Mary's house.</p> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<h2>CHAPTER IV.</h2> +<br> + +<p class="normal">There was a pause in the conversation when he entered. His bride arose, +advanced to meet him, and took his hand warmly. He let a keen passing +glance rest for a moment on the noble face which looked up so frankly +to his, and then approached her mother, who greeted him heartily, and +bent forward in her easy-chair to shake his hand. Like her daughter, +she was still dressed in black; but wore her hair gathered under a grey +gauze cap, whilst Mary's brown locks were kept in order by a narrow +black ribbon across her brow. Her father, too, received him kindly, and +introduced him to two gentlemen, strangers, who were seated at the +brightly-lighted table. They were Englishmen, brothers, old friends of +the house, who had arrived from England but shortly before. For their +convenience, the conversation was carried on in English.</p> + +<p class="normal">"You are late, dear Theodore," said the mother; "we wanted you whilst +we were describing to our friends the last hours of poor Edward. My +poor eyes did their duty but feebly then, and Mary and her father were +both ill, as you know. We all felt the loss more than you did, for you +hardly knew him; and so you were the most self-possessed, and better +able to realize what rests upon our memories only as a horrible +agitated dream, even now almost incredible!"</p> + +<p class="normal">Theodore felt a reluctance to talk. The quiet, of the room, the feeling +of agitation with which he entered, strange faces, and a strange +tongue, all oppressed him in the highest degree. And now, at this same +moment, when he had but just been face to face with an existence so +full of magical bliss, he was expected to describe the death-bed of +poor Edward to strangers.</p> + +<p class="normal">They thought that it was his sorrow that prevented his answering. He +had seated himself near Mary, and gazed long on her delicate, pale +brow. Its unruffled, snowy stillness disturbed him. Her blue eyes, that +beamed clear, and happy, and calmly, had to-day lost their power over +him. He felt distinctly that it was his own incapacity which prevented +his enjoying this noble face as formerly, that made him no longer wait +longingly for each word from those charming lips, or feel each smile +penetrate into his inmost soul. He struggled for awhile against this +insensibility, which caused him bitter agony,--it was in vain!</p> + +<p class="normal">She was conscious of the existence of some struggle going on within +him; but the presence of the others prevented her grasping closer, by +her fervent participation in its sorrows, the heart which was +separating itself from her.</p> + +<p class="normal">One of the strangers asked about the monument which was intended to be +erected to Edward. Theodore roused himself, and mentioned that that +very day he had entrusted the work to a friend, of whose character and +circumstances he gave a slight sketch. Mary's parents knew more of him; +but the disjointed picture did not seem to satisfy the stranger.</p> + +<p class="normal">"It were to be wished,"' he said, "that this man could be conscious of +some trace of Edward's inner nature in his own being, so that he might +be able to identify himself with the delicate form and short blessed +life of our lost friend, as something beloved. He seems to be, from +your description, a violent, inflexible man, to whom nothing can be +more incomprehensible than our Edward's idea of living only for others, +and of shaping his last sigh into a wish for the happiness of those he +loved."</p> + +<p class="normal">"He is rough and energetic," answered Theodore; "but the beautiful +affects him, and he looks upon what is noble with reverence and awe. I +remarked, when I read Homer to him, how powerfully the idyllic, I might +say the feminine, passages of the poem moved him."</p> + +<p class="normal">"Possibly because they accorded more with his artistic fulness than the +barren uniformity of battle and danger. And yet it is one thing to +possess a mind capable of being affected by certain common-place, +natural, heathen emotions, and another to have one by which the +blessings of our religion are appreciated. Edward was a Christian; your +friend at best is but a professing Roman Catholic."</p> + +<p class="normal">"I cannot deny," interrupted the mother, "that I have thought much on +this point already. Before we intrust a work like this, which we have +all so much at heart, to a stranger, it were at least advisable to have +a sketch made which we could discuss and decide upon."</p> + +<p class="normal">"I know him, dearest mother," said Theodore, emphatically. "If it were +his custom to throw his first ideas upon a scrap of paper, it would be +easy enough to discuss the matter with him; but he always prefers, +first, to work up his subject in clay of the intended size; and he has, +besides, particularly entreated that in this case he may be permitted +to labour for a time without letting any one see it. That it depends +upon your approval, he knows already."</p> + +<p class="normal">Then there ensued a pause, in which the rather excitedly-spoken words +of the young man echoed disagreeably. Mary went to the piano and +endeavoured to charm away the discord with music. Only with Theodore +was it ineffectual. The simple ballad had no power over one in whose +ear the maddening tones of the tambourine again awoke spectrally, and +the echo of the marvellous song of the chorister overwhelmed the pure +voice. He saw Bianchi's firm gaze fastened upon him, and heard again +the words, "There will be a miracle performed!" And here, where he was +now, all was strange, and tame, and wonderless.</p> + +<p class="normal">After the song, Mary seated herself again by his side. She spoke German +to him; she asked about his amusements and his employments, about +Bianchi. He talked absently, and thus half-confusedly, as if to +himself, he told her about the osteria and the girl's dancing. As he +glanced up from time to time, he marked a clouded tension over the +delicate brows. The conversation between them died away. The father +asked about English families, on which subject the guests talked +eagerly. It was without interest to Theodore, and so he became again +absorbed by his whirling thoughts. At last he departed. The strangers +had taken up their residence with Mary's parents. It seemed to him as +though he were doubly driven unhappy from this circle which once was +his own--doubly--by himself and by others.</p> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<h2>CHAPTER V.</h2> +<br> + +<p class="normal">Nowhere are impure inclinations, doubtful relationships, and undecided +wishes more embarrassing and unbearable than in Rome. The vast +<i>entourage</i>, replete with evidences of pure human vigour and firm will, +is only to be endured, without envy and pain, by those who, in the +narrow circle of their own actions, can feel certain of their own +healthiness and rectitude of soul.</p> + +<p class="normal">He paced for hours up and down the banks of the Tiber before Bianchi's +door, gazing over to where St. Peter's rose mightily above the broad +masses of the Vatican.</p> + +<p class="normal">The strangely agitated state of his friend did not escape Bianchi's +penetration. But he never attempted to discover its cause, as he +avoided conversations upon personal subjects or inner experiences. This +same restless manner seemed to attach closer to Theodore day by day. He +was tamer and more cheerful in all his words and actions since his +sickness. When he heard Theodore's knock, he threw a cloth over his +clay sketch and opened hastily. He was still sparing of the smallest +proofs of his affection, but his face could not conceal the fact that +the presence of his friend was all in all to him. He sat by the window, +and worked diligently at his cameo shells whilst they talked, or a book +inspirited them both. Through Theodore's intervention he had found +customers for his cameos, who paid him twice as much as the dealers had +hitherto given him, yet his new dwelling was in no respect more richly +furnished than his former one. Truly the sun gilded the naked walls on +which the Medusa's head hung, and before the window lay the exquisite +distance.</p> + +<p class="normal">One evening, in sunny May, when all was solitary without, on the banks +of the Tiber, and the flies played undisturbed over the bushes, the +knocker on Bianchi's door resounded more loudly and vehemently than +usual. He arose from his work, before which he had been sitting +pondering, and did not, as usual, throw the cloth over it. "He may see +it to day," he said to himself, "if it really be he who thunders so +immeasurably!" and therewith he opened the door.</p> + +<p class="normal">Theodore burst in impetuously--his face was vividly flushed, and his +eyes gleamed, "Bianchi," he cried, "Bianchi, I come from her! I have +seen her--spoken to her! The miracle has penetrated again into my +inmost soul! and you, best, unkindest one--did you not tell me that she +was gone, away to her mountains, run away from the old woman, and +however the story went? Or did you really hear it? for she is here--not +a footstep has she stirred out of Rome these two months long. Speak, +Bianchi, what say you? Bless the fate that led me to her side, which +makes me feel still out of my senses for joy."</p> + +<p class="normal">He walked up and down the room without looking round. He did not +perceive that Bianchi had remained standing by the door, pale as death, +following his steps with a searching glance: "Caterina!" at last broke +from his lips.</p> + +<p class="normal">"Caterina!" cried Theodore, "she herself, she herself--lovely and calm, +and heaven and hell in her eyes, as on that never-to-be-forgotten +evening, only without that bitter sadness about the lips, and in a +Roman dress!--listen how it happened: I was sitting at home, in the +heat, idling over my books, and at last felt forced to wander out. Some +streets distant, I fell in with a stream of people in their holiday +clothes, hastening in one direction, and asked one of them 'Whither +away?' 'To the Monte Pincio, to see the races and the chariots,' he +answered. I had no will of my own, so I allowed myself to be carried +onwards, and, at last, purposeless, reached the summit with them. You +saw the scaffolding which they were still working at yesterday? To-day +the seats were filled tier above tier, so that I had difficulty in +finding a place, unpleasant enough, as I at first thought, for the sun +was opposite to me, and glimmered in my eyes as I looked across the +stage. As I was considering whether I should go, or how I should try to +protect myself against it, and was standing in my place, I looked down +and discovered a silk parasol, and an enchanting glance of a head and +neck beneath it; I sat down again, and bending under the parasol, asked +my fair neighbour whether I might share its shelter with her. She +turned round, and I felt as if a flash of lightning had passed through +my heart when I saw who it was. She seemed to recognize me too, and did +not answer. At this moment I discovered the old woman beside her; she +was talkative and polite, and bade Caterina share her parasol with +me. Bianchi--how she did it! Managing the parasol in her little hand, +half-embarrassed, half-confidingly, and then how modestly and sensibly +she answered my eager questions with that sweet low voice--it is all +indescribable. I sat enchanted, blind to all around, beneath the little +roof, alone with her, and built it up in fancy into a cottage for us +two, in which I could have listened to hours, days, years, passing by +us as carelessly as if eternity was already my own. What eyes had I for +the play? But I watched the impression that the wild course had upon +Caterina; her joy broke forth when one chariot swept rushing round the +corner before the others, or made some daring turn. How she rejoiced +when one of the noble animals, steaming and snorting from its victory, +was led near us! 'Holy nature!' I cried within myself, 'how +unadulterated and unadorned thou laughest from those bright eyes! How +must he be drawn towards thee, body and soul, on whom those eyes but +smile!' It came to an end; the people left the benches, and my +neighbours arose too. When I begged to be permitted to conduct them +through the crowd to their house, the girl refused, calmly, but firmly; +the old woman winked and grinned behind her back, and made signs which +I could not fully understand; but I still kept myself at some little +distance behind them, and descended the hill after them down into the +town. At last they entered a house. I did not dare to knock, but I +stood before the door for half an hour, as if rooted to the spot, and +saw the curtain move, but she did not appear; once only the repulsive +face of the old woman showed itself at the window; she did not see me, +as I was concealed in the shadow of the houses--and so, at last, I tore +myself away, and here I am, if it can be called being here, when the +floor seems to glow under my feet, and my soul recoils at finding +itself in the presence of other human beings."</p> + +<p class="normal">He threw himself into a chair. He did not observe that Bianchi still +remained standing by the door, or that he had not uttered a sound since +he entered--he looked straight before him. "To-day, for the first +time," he began again, "after miserable weeks of pressure and +despondency, to drink in a full draught of life, to enjoy one hour +which raises me above myself--who would not float so for ever with +swelling sails out into the open sea?--but to crawl along the coast in +a tattered boat, to turn and wind at the will of the shore, and after +all to be cast away on a pebble!--miserable cowardice!"</p> + +<p class="normal">At these words he raised his eyes, and they caught the model opposite +him. The evening sun shone redly through the window, and the +sharply-defined figures stood out in bold relief. A youth stood by a +river's bank, by which the bow of a boat, bearing the wild form of the +grisly ferryman, was waiting. One foot of the parting one was already +on the gunwale, but the face and the outstretched arms, waving a +farewell, were turned towards the opposite side, where a fair female +figure, with a cornucopia, sat under a fruit-laden tree, with her head +bowed in a noble attitude of sorrow; the genius of love leaned by her +side, his torch reversed, expiring, with his eyes clinging to the +youth, as if it were possible to hold him back; but between them stood, +stern and implacable, the ghastly forms of the Parcæ.</p> + +<p class="normal">Theodore stared speechlessly at the head of the youth, whose features +calmed him irresistibly. He had given Bianchi a portrait of Edward, +which Mary had painted but a few days before his death. It showed the +noble features in all the beauty of the approaching transfiguration; +and the eyes, in particular, were movingly free and large. At the same +time, now that all the mere accidental accessories had melted away, one +saw the striking likeness between the brother and sister--one so great +as to be almost distressing to the survivors. It struck Theodore for +the first time--he saw Mary before him in her hour of sorrow or of +lofty excitement, when her eyes shone more darkly from out the gentle +face, and the serious lips were half-opened, as were the sighing ones +of her brother. He could no longer remain seated--he stepped close up +to the model, the strife ceased within him. So he remained till the +evening glow departed, and the face withdrew itself from him into the +quick coming darkness; then he went, without a word, towards the door, +by which Bianchi had remained standing, grasped the hand of his friend, +pressed it without feeling how clammy and cold it was, and departed.</p> + +<p class="normal">Bianchi shrank as the door closed. He looked with a troubled gaze and +absent thoughts around him. So he remained leaning against the wall, +incapable of moving. His determination had long been formed, but his +limbs would not obey his will. The night arrived. At last he was able +to raise himself, and stood battling with the tremor that fell upon +him, his clenched hand pressed against his eyes. Then he uttered one +single hollow cry, and felt that he had again attained the mastery over +himself. He left the house with a steady step. None of all the numerous +promenaders who were enjoying the coolness of the night remarked him, +so calmly he looked around. He reached at last the part where Caterina +lived, and knocked, without hesitation, at the door of a small house. +It opened, and he entered the passage. He glanced up the stone +staircase, down which a ray of light streamed. Above, with a lamp, +stood Caterina.</p> + +<p class="normal">The man revelled for a moment in the perfect beauty of the young girl, +who, leaning over the balustrade, holding the lamp out before her, was +agitated with the most charming expression of love at recognizing +the well-known face below in the shade. She nodded, and smiled, and +waved a greeting to him. "Come, come!" she cried, as he loitered +below. He strode slowly up the steps; but when the light of the lamp +fell upon his face, all her smiles and joy died away from her lips. +"Carlo! you are ill," she said to him. He pressed her gently back, and +shook his forefinger warningly. "Be still," he said; "come within, +Caterina--come!"</p> + +<p class="normal">She followed him in breathless anxiety. The little room was mean, but +clean and neatly kept. Flowers stood in the window; a bird hung in its +cage, and began to chirp as the lamp-light disturbed it. On the table +lay a simple guitar. The old woman had been sitting near it, at her +work. She arose, greeting the new arrival cringingly and confidently. +"Good evening, Signer Carlo," she cried; "how goes it? You have just +come at the right moment. The poor foolish thing there--not a song +would please her, not a string was in tune; and even the bird that you +gave her, too, sang too loud for her. 'Daughter,' said I, 'he will be +here directly--he who is dearer to you than your eyes, silly girl that +you are.' 'Mama,' said she, 'I feel so anxious--my heart beats so--I +know not why.' 'Hush, hush!' said I; 'you are a child, to have such a +gentleman, who bears you in his very hands, and watches and cares for +you like his own heart'"--</p> + +<p class="normal">--"And who will punish you, you witch!" shrieked Bianchi, striding +close up to her--"you poison, you baseness! Thank your grey hairs that +you do not feel the weight of my hand!" He shook her violently by the +shoulder. The old woman trembled. "Do not play such rough jokes upon a +poor old woman," she stammered; "You have frightened me so that I shall +have the gout. What! speak gently. Signer Carlo, and do not utter such +unchristian words, enough to make one cross and bless oneself! What +have you to say against the poor old Neuna?"</p> + +<p class="normal">"What?" foamed Bianchi, and thrust her from him so violently that she +sank upon her knees,--"you dare to ask? To play the virtuous to my very +face, after you have betrayed me? Away! out of the house, and that +without tarrying or whimpering--for I know you, and I ought to have +known that you could be no fit guardian, and that treachery nestles in +your withered breast!"</p> + +<p class="normal">The old woman had raised herself, and waited with assumed humility a +few feet from him, by the window. "You are right, Signor Carlo," she +said; "I ought not to have done it; but I pitied the poor lonely +creature, because she never got a glimpse of the world Sunday nor +working day, and seeing nothing but the roofs opposite, or the dark +streets and the little bits of starry sky at midnight, when you take +her out now and then. 'Child,' said I, 'he is so kind that he cannot be +angry with you, when you tell him this evening that you have been to +see the races with me.' She did not like to go, poor thing; but I saw +how much she wished it, and so persuaded her. And what harm is done? If +you had not made all this noise about it, she would only have had a +pleasure the more."</p> + +<p class="normal">"Go!" said Bianchi, with inexorable calmness; "not one word more."</p> + +<p class="normal">The old woman glided to the girl, who was seated on a chair in the +corner, with downcast eyes. "Daughter!" she whispered, "do <i>you</i> try +him." Caterina cast a glance at Bianchi's face, and shook her head. "It +is useless," she answered.</p> + +<p class="normal">"Let me stop the night here at least," begged the old woman, and +approached the man a step nearer. "Where shall I rest my old +head?--how can I collect my little things?"</p> + +<p class="normal">"Go!" re-echoed the man;--"<i>your</i> things! you have nothing but what I +have given you. Go, or"--</p> + +<p class="normal">He raised his hand. The old woman trembled. Muttering a confused medley +of curses, prayers, and threats, she glided from the house.</p> + +<p class="normal">"Caterina," said Bianchi slowly, without looking up, "it is over! After +to-day you see me not again! Do not ask me why, and do not be unhappy +at the idea that you have made me angry. I have only been so with that +she-fiend who has just gone from us. You are good, and will be happy, +even though you do not see me again. Another will come, and will knock +at your door--the same who sat by your side at the races. Open to him, +greet him and love him--and be true to him! You must not tell him that +you know me; you must never utter my name before him. But keep still at +home, as you have hitherto done; and, should you chance to go out, +avoid that part of the town that lies below by the Tiber. Promise me +all this, Caterina!"</p> + +<p class="normal">He waited for an answer. Instead of it, there came a sob from the +corner that cut through his very heart. "Do not weep!" he said, as +calmly as he could; "You hear that I do not go from you in anger, and +you will be happy. All will be better for you than it has been +hitherto. You will love the other better than you have loved me!"</p> + +<p class="normal">"Never!" groaned from the lips of the poor girl. Her sobs prevented her +saying more. But in that one sound spoke out a true vehement avowal of +boundless affection. Bianchi's darkened brow brightened. He looked up +joyously--turned round and approached her. Beside herself, she rushed +towards him, and he received her as she pressed him unconsciously to +her arms. He kissed her forehead. "Hush!" he said, "Thou and I--we must +collect ourselves. It is now as well as it was, and better. But it +cannot remain so. It cannot or I shall be lost. Come!" he said, "make a +bundle of your best and favourite things, and what you will want for +a journey. Hasten, Caterina. I think that we shall see each other +again--but not here. Have patience."</p> + +<p class="normal">She looked at him with her large eyes. She understood nothing--she +anticipated nothing--mechanically she did as he directed her. "Where +are we going?" she asked, timidly, when all was ready.</p> + +<p class="normal">"Come," he said. He extinguished the light. The bird in its cage +fluttered eagerly against the wires. The guitar gave out a saddened +note as he struck against it in the darkness. Both their hearts beat +violently--and so they went.</p> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<h2>CHAPTER VI.</h2> +<br> + +<p class="normal">Theodore's mind was in a strange state when he left Bianchi's house. As +soon as he felt the cool air breathe upon his face, the feeling of +depression which so weighed upon him, as he stood before the model, +left him at once. Even the secret remorse in the background of his +thoughts almost served to intensify his mental clearness, as the shadow +does the light.</p> + +<p class="normal">The former of the two girls passed before his mind's eye, and his +heart never faltered for a moment. Yet it was unjust towards the +stranger--a feeling of wonder struck through it still, when it +recollected all the beauties of that marvellous face. But it beat high +and fiercely, when it recollected the time of his first knowing and +loving, of his growing passion for Mary. And what had changed in the +interim? Had she not remained the same? Truly, delicacy and a feeling +of propriety had restrained her in the presence of others. But she +had told him, with all the ever-increasing intensity of her whole +being--with her eyes, which never moved from him as long as he was near +her; with her hands, that were so loth to leave his when he went, that +she had utterly and unrestrictedly abandoned her whole existence to +him.</p> + +<p class="normal">"Can I blame in her," he said to himself, "that she sits in awe of her +puritanical mother--that she did not break this old bond of reverence +at the same moment that she bound herself to me?"</p> + +<p class="normal">As if he had to confess to her all with which he had these weeks long +made his life miserable, he felt constrained to see her. He knew that +the English visitors, who had annoyed him so, had left Rome the day +before. He felt as if all was now to begin anew. In this state of +freshly-awakened happiness he sprang up the steps of the house.</p> + +<p class="normal">But a few moments before, Miss Betsy had been standing in Mary's +chamber, about to take her leave. The girl was seated by the piano, in +the shade, with her hands grasping the arms of her chair, as if afraid +that she should sink down upon the floor, if she did not support +herself.</p> + +<p class="normal">"Take my advice, child," said the little woman, at the end of a long +conversation. "Directly he appears, and without any beating about the +bush, tell him that he will only lose time in trying to excuse himself. +Do that, Mary--I advise you; he is young enough to grow a better man, +if he begins in time. It is scandalous and, dear heart, much as I wish +it, I cannot retract a word that I spoke in my first burst of anger. +God has, however, brought other sinners to himself before now; if he +only had more religion; you must confess that I have often spoken to +him about it, and now you see I was right; shame upon him, child, to +have no more respect for you! I looked round, fortunately none of your +acquaintances were sitting near us, for respectable people do not go +into this part of the circus, but into the private boxes, unless, +indeed, they want to study the people. But he spoilt the whole play for +me; and I cannot forgive him. Dear me! if you had been with me, you +would have died upon the spot! <i>Do</i> you think that he took his eyes off +her for a moment? And she seemed to know him--an old passion--and that +might be some excuse for him; for he has found girls pretty enough +before he knew you. But people ought to have some self-respect, at +least in public, and pretend not to recognise each other. Well, well, +child, when you talk to him seriously and once for all, he will shrink +in his shoes; but if <i>you</i> will not do it--willingly as I would spare +you--my principles require me to tell it all to your parents, that they +may bring him to his senses. It would be too great a disgrace and +misfortune for a family like yours to receive such a frivolous person +into its circle. Have you never heard of any old Roman flirtation which +he gave up on your account?"</p> + +<p class="normal">"No," said the girl, in a low voice. How could she confess that the +description of her officious tale-bearer brought a picture vividly +before her mind, which had once before caused her an anxious day? The +day after Theodore had told her about the dance in the osteria, she had +walked arm-in-arm with him through the town. From out a lowly window +looked a lovely face, which she pointed out to her friend. He had been +unable to repress a sudden start, and the girl, too, seemed to +recognize him. "It is the girl from Albano of last night," he said, and +then turned the conversation suddenly to another subject. But the face +had impressed itself feature by feature upon her memory.</p> + +<p class="normal">"Do not be down-hearted, my child," said Miss Betsy, passing her hand +over Mary's hair, "and don't fret. Human beings, and men in particular, +are not angels. Dear me! who has not had to bear the like. Do you talk +seriously to him, and all will come right. Good night, my child; I will +come and see you to-morrow. Heaven bless you!"</p> + +<p class="normal">She left hastily. Without she met Theodore, who nearly ran against her. +"Pardon me," he said; "a bridegroom who is hastening to his bride may +be excused for being in a hurry. Is it not so, dear Miss Betsy?" He did +not remark the cold expression with which she greeted him. "You will +find Mary----indeed she was not expecting you." He greeted her hastily +again, and rushed into the room.</p> + +<p class="normal">For the first time he found her alone, standing at the window, in the +darkness, her hair loosened about her face. In his heart he fervently +blessed the good fortune that seemed so willing to pave the way for a +perfect reconciliation. Gently he approached her. She did not move. He +passed his arm around her waist, and called her by her name. She +started and turned round, and he saw her eyes, gleaming wet with tears. +"You are weeping, Mary, my own love--you are weeping," he cried, and +would have pressed her closer to his heart. She resisted him without +speaking. She closed her eyes and repressed her tears, and shook her +head. "No!" she said, at last, "I am not weeping. It is passed! It is +well!"</p> + +<p class="normal">He took a turn up and down the room. He knew not how it happened, but +in one moment all his joyousness had gone. "What is the grief." he +said, at last, after a pause, "which <i>I</i> may not know! If you but knew +with what a feeling of happiness I stepped over this threshold, what a +gleam of joy passed through me at finding you at last alone! And now +you are so distant, and more reserved than under all the restraints of +society. You know not <i>what</i> amount of sorrow you heap upon both of +us."</p> + +<p class="normal">She remained silent, and kept her eyes firmly closed. She compared +within herself the words he spoke, with those that had but just before +so chilled her heart, his glances with those which her old friend had +described, and which had been directed to another. She felt something +within her which would gladly have pleaded for him, but too many voices +cried against it. She had listened to Miss Betsy's tale as if it +related neither to herself nor to him, like something incomprehensible, +which she possessed no power of appreciating. But yet it was the last +straw upon the burden, which she had borne for weeks past. Theodore +deceived himself when he fancied that he alone had suffered from his +miserable overexcited dreamings. That he was altered, that the first +glow of love had paled, that his heart was no longer sure of itself had +not escaped Mary's penetration. Whilst he was present she controlled +herself for his sake, for the world she would not have let him see that +she doubted him; and when she was alone she blamed herself, and said +that she had seen falsely, and seen more than existed; that a man had +thoughts sometimes that absorbed him, and followed him even into the +presence of his love. And she knew too that the restraint her mother +imposed annoyed him more day by day. And yet just at this moment a +feeling of the deepest agony burst through all, and closed her lips and +heart at the very time when words were so much wanted. She hoped for +nothing from questionings, and of reproaches she would not suffer +herself to think. She felt no acute pain, but as if paralyzed, so that +she felt not that he was near her, and yet would have received a +deathblow had he left her.</p> + +<p class="normal">So they stood in miserable self-deception opposite each other. He had +already taken his hat, intending to put an end to this unbearable +situation, when her mother entered. He must remain. Lights were +brought. The women seated themselves, whilst he stood, answering in +monosyllables, and cursing a thousand times both himself and his +miserable fate. And, as everything disagreeable invariably heaps itself +together at such moments, the mother began to talk of Edward's +monument. He could not conceal that he had seen it that day for the +first time, and was obliged to describe the feeling and execution of +the work.</p> + +<p class="normal">He roused himself a little. "It is incomparable," he said; "I cannot +express how it affected me. Edward himself, living but at the same +time, glorified. And most marvellous, revealed through some strange +inspiration of art, his very attitude, that peculiar, kindly way he had +of bending his head forward, a peculiarity of which I never said a word +to Bianchi."</p> + +<p class="normal">"What you tell us may be perfectly true, dearest Theodore," said the +mother, after some reflection; "I must confess, however, that the +additional figures, as you describe them, are so utterly repugnant to +me, that I feel that I could never pray at my son's grave whilst the +stone presented to me these strange fabulous forms, which horrify +instead of elevating the mind."</p> + +<p class="normal">"They are symbols, mother, symbols of the most exquisite feelings, not +foreign to your own when once you appreciate their meaning. Would you +not have been affected had an Italian poet written a poem on Edward in +his own language, even though it was not your own mother tongue?"</p> + +<p class="normal">"True; but then it would only be the expression which would seem +strange to me; but here the idea of the representation that repels my +holiest feelings, is so strong that I run away and feel that I can have +nothing in common with it."</p> + +<p class="normal">"You speak harshly!"</p> + +<p class="normal">"I wonder that you think it harsh, dear Theodore, when it is the +natural feeling of a woman and a Christian."</p> + +<p class="normal">"And you are in Rome, and see each day the wonders of bygone races, and +enjoy the deeds of a thousand different spirits, each of which is +different from your own, and yet can close your heart and turn away +here--here, where a spirit for your sake has brought up out of his +inmost soul all that it possessed."</p> + +<p class="normal">"I do not dispute his good-will. But, just because it touches me so +nearly and is done for my sake, I feel more susceptible against what is +wrong; the best intentions may be ungrateful to us when they have no +respect for our own feelings."</p> + +<p class="normal">Theodore approached Mary, who had sat silent, at her work. "Mary," he +said, "has Bianchi's effort offended you too?"</p> + +<p class="normal">"No;" she said gently; "but my mother is right. One cannot love what is +strange to us--at least I cannot! A man possibly."</p> + +<p class="normal">He only partly understood her words, but he understood that she +withdrew herself from him. An unspeakable feeling of agony seized +him. It was not irritation--no little feeling of bitterness--which +made him bow silently and leave them. He felt that he must collect +himself--rouse up his crushed spirits. He would have talked wildly had +he stayed.</p> + +<p class="normal">"It shall not be," he said to himself, when he reached the street. "She +is right; we were and should have ever remained strangers to each +other. I looked upon my longing to throw my whole heart upon her anew, +as fruitless. No wonder that at last she became wearied of it! But it +was horrible that it should happen just on this day when I had so +sweetly deceived myself, so blissfully lied to my soul, and was more +full of hoping than ever! It was horrible, yet wholesome. Now am I +cured for ever of this presumptuous amiable self-deception!"</p> + +<p class="normal">Then he thought of Bianchi. "In pity." he said, "I should have spared +him this; he will have something to throw into the Tiber again. No; he +shall not. I will keep this monument for myself, to warn me in future +how I trust mankind."</p> + +<p class="normal">So he reached his dwelling; he lighted his lamp and sat down to write. +He began a letter to Mary, calm and gentle--after the first few lines, +the lie became apparent--for it seethed and boiled and surged within +him, till he threw the pen upon the table, and sprang up to go--he knew +not whither. At last he went again into the night, towards Bianchi's +house. Should he seek him out, tell him all? conceal all from him? or +only in his neighbourhood struggle for decision and composure? He knew +not clearly--but solitude he could not bear.</p> + +<p class="normal">Only a young and narrow moon stood above the roofs, but the houses were +bright, the windows and balconies alive with people. Along the Corso +rolled a gay stream of careless promenaders, refreshing themselves in +the cool evening; laughing girlish faces, foreign and Roman, lightly +dressed, as they had just escaped from the close rooms. The street was +like a long corridor near a ball-room, where the company wander in cool +twilight between the dances. Here and there music floated through the +open windows, and a girl's voice amongst the crowd sang lightly to the +air.</p> + +<p class="normal">Theodore was obliged to cross the stream. He seemed to himself like one +departed, who has nothing more to do with life, but who is forced to +revisit some friend in order to reveal to him some forgotten duty +before he departs for ever. He buried himself in the small deserted +streets which lead down to the Tiber, and passed along without the +power of grasping any one train of thought firmly; at last, wearied by +the fruitless endeavour, he let his spirit dive along the empty waste +of sorrow, as across a shoreless, waveless sea.</p> + +<p class="normal">Thus he reached a part of the river bank called the Ripa Grande, where +the boats lie which ply to Ostia and to the little post steamer and +other shipping; from there down to the Ripetta there are still some +hundred paces, and no direct connection by the water. He turned, +however, to the right, towards the broader street, as a loud +altercation reached his ears from the summit of the landing-steps. He +heard the sound of a voice through it which made him stop suddenly; he +approached the crowd, the individuals composing which he could only +distinguish gradually by the light of a flaring street lamp. The +dispute seemed to be about a girl that a sailor had seized by the +arm and was endeavouring to drag off--another tried to separate +them--"Let her go, Pietro;" he cried. "How long have you taken cargoes +of women, kidnapper that you are? See, she is crying, poor thing! she +does not want to go back into your hole of a cabin, she has good +reasons--"</p> + +<p class="normal">"The devil take you!" shouted the other, dragging at the girl. "She +will have reasons enough! But the man who brought her, and paid me well +too, said, 'Ship her to Ostia and place her in safe hands there, and +take care she don't get back again.' He had his reasons too, I fancy, +and reasons that he backed with good arguments. The baggage! She has +been up to some mischief! If she was the blessed innocent she pretends +to be now, why did she not make a fuss when the man brought her? But +what do you think? then she was as quiet as a mouse, only cried and +sobbed, and kissed the man till it made him quite sad, and he promised +to come and see her in Ostia; and now, why should she take a fancy to +run away--the cat! as soon as I turned my back--and struggled and +screamed half along the street when I wanted to do my duty and place +her in safety again? Tell me that if you can! No! away with the witch, +and hold your jaw; and <i>accidenti</i> on any one who gets in my way."</p> + +<p class="normal">"I <i>cannot</i>, I <i>will</i> not go back," cried the girl's voice: "this man +is false; he insulted me shamefully; he breaks his agreement; save me!"</p> + +<p class="normal">"Who will believe you, you liar! who only lie to get away, and to abuse +me? Away with your hands, I say, and back to the cabin."</p> + +<p class="normal">"Halt!" thundered a voice suddenly. The contending parties turned round +startled, and saw Theodore breaking through the crowd to place his hand +on the girl's arm. "She is mine." he cried, "and goes with me."</p> + +<p class="normal">There was a pause. Caterina had recognized the young man +instantaneously. Wavering between joy and bitter doubt, she stood with +downcast eyes.</p> + +<p class="normal">"Do you take us for children?" cried the sailor, "to think that we are +going to be made fools of by the first fellow who comes by? If you want +a sweetheart, you will find plenty on the Corso for gold and good +words. Who told you to thrust your oar in, and with a style as if you +had the best right in the world?"</p> + +<p class="normal">"I have," said Theodore, loudly and firmly; "I have--for she is my +wife!"</p> + +<p class="normal">"His wife!" ran through the crowd. The nearest drew back a step.</p> + +<p class="normal">"Your wife! that you must prove--or it may be,--halt!" interrupted the +sailor. "Tell us her name, sir, her name! a husband generally knows so +much of his wife, even though he don't know what she is about in the +streets late at night."</p> + +<p class="normal">"Caterina," said Theodore, "do you know me?"</p> + +<p class="normal">"Yes," answered the girl.</p> + +<p class="normal">"Caterina!" murmured the sailor; "it is right--so the other one called +her."</p> + +<p class="normal">"You will go with me, Caterina?" said Theodore--"you will tell me the +reason why you have left me, and forced me to seek you up and down the +streets of Rome in anger and fear? So! to Ostia? and he was going to +meet you there? It is enough--come!"</p> + +<p class="normal">He spoke so sternly, and with a face in which sorrow and anger were so +plainly written that no one doubted him for a moment. "It is her +husband," they whispered: "she was going to run off with the other. God +pity him, when he falls into his hands, as she has done!"</p> + +<p class="normal">Caterina did nothing to undeceive them. Obediently she ascended the +steps by Theodore's side; and her astonishment at being saved by <i>him</i>, +to escape whom she had fallen into the danger, resembled the conscious +confusion of a discovered criminal. The sailor alone did not seem +perfectly convinced. He looked at the piece of gold which Theodore had +thrown to him, and growled, "If it was all right, the gentleman would +not have put his hand in his pocket. Well, I am doubly paid, at all +events: what does it matter to me?"</p> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<h2>CHAPTER VII.</h2> +<br> + +<p class="normal">He walked beside her through two or three streets, holding her hand in +his. But neither looked at the other, nor did a word pass between them, +till suddenly he released her hand, and asked, "Whither shall I take +you, Caterina?"</p> + +<p class="normal">"I know not," she answered.</p> + +<p class="normal">"To the Via Margatta?"</p> + +<p class="normal">"No!" and she shrank together: "the old woman would find me there--or +he."</p> + +<p class="normal">"Who?"</p> + +<p class="normal">"I may not name him--least of all to you--he has forbidden me."</p> + +<p class="normal">"Then it is Bianchi." said Theodore, in a hollow voice. She did not +deny it.</p> + +<p class="normal">As they passed along, the misgiving which had arisen in his breast +became stronger. The strange silence of the artist, while he described +to him the scene at the Circus, and his meeting with the girl, were now +explained and obvious for the first time. "Had we but confided to each +other what was nearest to our hearts!" he sighed of himself and his +friend. He knew not all as yet.</p> + +<p class="normal">When they reached the house where Theodore lodged, he produced a key, +and opened the door. Caterina stepped back. "I do not enter with you," +she said. "No! rather would I sleep on the steps of Santo Maria +Maggiore, than there within"--</p> + +<p class="normal">"Child," he said, "I am no longer now what I might have seemed but a +few hours ago! Thou art as safe with me as with a brother."</p> + +<p class="normal">She looked at him in the darkness, as keenly as she could, and it +seemed as if some strange light struck her. "I know," she said, +remaining still some steps from the door; "he has arranged it all with +you. He came and tried to persuade me that he had sold me to you, or +given me to you. I was to love you as I had loved him. '<i>I cannot</i>,' I +told him, and I swore it in my soul, and he saw clearly enough that it +was true. Then he wished to entrap me, and brought me down to the boat, +and ran to tell you that I was below, and that you might go and take +me.--But I will never be yours--no, though you were a thousand times +his friend, and though he should murder me a thousand times when I did +not do his will! Go! I can find my way back to my mountains again, and +you can tell him--what you will, and--farewell!"</p> + +<p class="normal">She turned away. Hardly had Theodore time to arouse himself from his +astonishment, and to overtake her. He seized her by the hand. +"Caterina," he said, "when I swear that you shall be to me as a sister, +and that I will take you back to your Carlo again as you left him--you +cannot hesitate to enter my house!"</p> + +<p class="normal">"You could do that? you would do that?" she asked, stopping +hesitatingly. "It is impossible; you do not know him; no one can alter +<i>him</i>!"</p> + +<p class="normal">"Trust!" he said. The hope that spoke so sweetly to her, came to his +assistance. She forced herself gently from him, and followed him into +the house. As soon as she reached his chamber, still in darkness, she +seated herself on a stool close by the door, her bundle, which she had +carried with her, resting on her lap. He struck a light, and spoke not +again, but turned over his papers mechanically, purposeless. His +forehead glowed when he thought of Bianchi's deed. The exquisite +consciousness of his utter devotion, which the past hour had taught +him, supported him, when the feeling that Mary was lost to him for ever +would have crushed him.</p> + +<p class="normal">Whilst he was thus dreaming about the future and nerving himself to +bear his fate, he heard a light breathing from the door. He looked up +and saw that Caterina had wept herself into a heavy sleep. Gently he +stepped to her side--her head had sunk upon her shoulder, her arms hung +down, her breast heaved with sorrow-laden dreams. He raised her gently +and cautiously, and bore her in his arms to a sofa which stood near the +wall. As he laid her down his face approached her cheek, he felt the +warm breath from her lips, the scent from her hair swept around him, +the beauty of her limbs rested blooming before him; but all ill passion +had gone from him--he raised himself, spread out his cloak over the +sleeping girl, and went to his room. Not until the lesser stars were +dwindling into darkness did he snatch a short and restless sleep; but +no thought of Caterina disturbed it.</p> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<h2>CHAPTER VIII.</h2> +<br> + +<p class="normal">In the bright morning he entered Bianchi's workshop. He started +as the haggard, pallid face of his friend looked up to him from the +work-table. His hair seemed to have grown suddenly greyer, his eyes +darker; and yet a kindly expression played about the compressed lips +when he recognised Theodore.</p> + +<p class="normal">"You have passed a bad night." said Theodore, "and I am the cause of +it."</p> + +<p class="normal">"I lay awake." said Bianchi, calmly; "but why do you trouble yourself +about the fancies that now and then drive my rest from me? Let us talk +about better things--talk, read, and, above all, stay if you can. Let +it be so--it gives me a strange pleasure to-day to hear your voice."</p> + +<p class="normal">"Bianchi, it is useless to hide yourself under a cloak of words when +your whole heart lies open before me--I know all!"</p> + +<p class="normal">"You know all!--then keep secret what you know," said Bianchi, +vehemently; "keep it secret--never speak a word to me about it. It +lies behind me, far behind me! Ay!" he continued, "think of it as you +will, only let all be as it was--promise me that."</p> + +<p class="normal">Theodore stood deeply pained; he remembered that he, too, in a few days +would look upon all here as if it lay far, far behind him; but he could +not confess that to him, for fear of being unable to perform what he +had now to do.</p> + +<p class="normal">"I must speak, nevertheless," he said, at last. "Had I kept silent +yesterday, when I shivered your happiness with my foolish words, I +should have spared you much; then you had not cast away the pearl, to +which I, poor fool! in a presumptuous, self-forgetting moment, +stretched out my hand."</p> + +<p class="normal">Bianchi was silent--a hot flush passed over him, he tried to speak. "If +I brought her back to you, and said, 'there you have her again; I do +not envy you, for my heart hangs on another jewel, and it requires no +sacrifice to bind us to each other,'--would you believe me, Carlo?"</p> + +<p class="normal">He saw the shifting of overwhelming emotions flit across the face of +his friend. The artist supported himself against the table, his head +pressed against his breast which laboured violently; his lips moved +themselves, soundless. Theodore went to the door, and called +"Caterina!" She had stood without, death and life before her; as she +stepped slowly and with hesitating foot over the threshold, she saw +Carlo standing by the table with arms outstretched towards her. His +knees shook under him--with a cry of joy she cast herself upon his +neck.</p> + +<p class="normal">The door had remained open--Theodore had his back turned towards it, +lost in reverie over the relief of Edward, which stood sideways on its +scaffolding. He heard a light rustling behind him, and turned round. At +the same moment Caterina freed herself from Bianchi's arms, and +started. They saw three stranger forms standing hesitating in the open +doorway--an elderly pair and a fair young girl. Theodore remembered +her.</p> + +<p class="normal">"We disturb you," said the old gentleman; "pray pardon us; but the door +was wide open--we will come again at a more convenient time, Signor +Bianchi."</p> + +<p class="normal">"Enter," said Bianchi; "you do not disturb me. Those whom you see here +are a friend and--my wife--Signora Bianchi." He laid an emphasis on the +last words, and glanced at Caterina, who looked up to him in a +transport of happiness. Meanwhile, Theodore had retreated from before +the monument. The father greeted him with his old heartiness, and then +turned towards the relief. He exchanged no greeting with the women. The +old lady had, at Bianchi's first word, advanced towards the artist's +work, and stood speechless before it. Mary's glance rested but for a +short time on the statue of her brother, and then flew to Caterina. She +remembered her well. Whilst her parents stood leaning upon each other, +deeply affected, before the relief, unable to tear themselves away +from it, she approached Theodore; she spoke gently to him, she took +his hand, her eyes overflowed. They interchanged vows, confessions, +self-accusations--each anticipating the other, each outbidding the +other in assurances of boundless love.</p> + +<p class="normal">No one overheard them; for even Bianchi, though he spoke not, forgot +all in the eyes of his wife.</p> + +<p class="normal">At last Mary's father went to him and pressed his hand--his eyes were +moistened--the mother wept silently in her handkerchief. "You know +enough," said the old man; "it is needless for us to speak only one +thing--when do you begin its execution in marble! I have altered my +plan; I only wish a stone to be placed over my son's grave, bearing a +simple inscription. This relief I must place in the room where he +lived, on the place where stood his couch; we cannot consecrate the +spot better. But the time will seem very long to me till it is our own. +You will be the best judge of the marble. Do not delay for an hour!"</p> + +<p class="normal">Meanwhile the mother had recovered her composure. She turned and gave +Theodore her hand, drew him towards her and kissed him on the lips, +which she had done but once before, on the day when she betrothed her +child to him--then they all left the studio. The sky was clear and +serene, and brightly shone the sun over the banks of the Tiber.</p> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<h3>THE END.</h3> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<hr class="W50"> + +<h4>PRINTED BY COX AND WYMAN, GREAT QUEEN STREET, LONDON.</h4> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Four Phases of Love, by Paul Heyse + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FOUR PHASES OF LOVE *** + +***** This file should be named 34104-h.htm or 34104-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/3/4/1/0/34104/ + +Produced by Charles Bowen, from page scans provided by the Web Archive + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Four Phases of Love + +Author: Paul Heyse + +Translator: E. H. Kingsley + +Release Date: October 19, 2010 [EBook #34104] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FOUR PHASES OF LOVE *** + + + + +Produced by Charles Bowen, from page scans provided by the Web Archive + + + + + +Transcriber's Notes: + 1. Page scan source: +http://www.archive.org/details/fourphaseslovet00heysgoog + +2. This volume includes the following short-stories: + a. Eye-Blindness and Soul-Blindness.; + b. Marion; + c. La Rabbiata; and + d. "By the Banks of the Tiber." + + + + + + FOUR PHASES OF LOVE + + BY + + PAUL HEYSE. + + + * * * + + + TRANSLATED + + By E. H. KINGSLEY. + + + + + LONDON: + G. ROUTLEDGE & CO. FARRINGDON STREET; + NEW YORK: 18, BEEKMAN STREET. + 1857. + + + + + + EYE-BLINDNESS AND SOUL-BLINDNESS. + + * * * + + + + + CHAPTER I. + + +At the open window, which looked out into the little flower-garden, +stood the blind daughter of the village sacristan, refreshing herself +in the cool breeze that swept across her hot cheeks; her delicate, +half-developed form trembled, her cold little hands lay folded in +each other upon the window-sill. The sun had already set, and the +night-flowers were beginning to scent the air. + +Further within the room sat a blind boy on a stool, at the old +spinet, playing wild melodies. He might have been about fifteen years +old--only, perhaps, a year older than the girl. Whoever had heard and +seen him, now throwing up his large eyes, and now turning his head +towards the window, would never have suspected his privation--so much +energy, and even impetuosity, lay in his every movement. + +Suddenly he broke off in the midst of a religious hymn, which he seemed +to have altered wildly after his own fancy. + +"You sighed!" he said, turning his face towards her. + +"I! No, Clement--why should I sigh? I only shrank together as the wind +blew in so strongly!" + +"But you _did_ sigh. Do you think that I did not hear it as I +played?--and I feel even here how you are trembling." + +"Yes; it has grown so cold." + +"You cannot deceive me. If you were cold you would not stand at the +open window. But I know why you sigh and tremble!--because the doctor +is coming to-morrow, and will prick our eyes with needles--that is what +makes you so afraid; and yet he said how soon it would all be over, and +that it would only be like the prick of a pin. And _you_, who used to +be so brave and patient, that my mother always mentioned you as an +example when I was little and cried when anything hurt me, though you +were only a girl--have you now lost all your courage? Do you never +think of the happiness we have to look forward to?" + +She shook her little head, and answered, "How can you think that I am +afraid of the passing pain! But I am oppressed with silly, childish +thoughts, which I cannot drive away. Ever since the day that the doctor +the baron sent for came down from the castle to your father, and mother +called us out of the garden--ever since that hour something weighs upon +me and will not go away. You were so full of joy that you did not +perceive it; but when your father began to pray, and blessed God for +this mercy, my heart was silent and did not follow his prayer. I +thought within myself, 'What have I to be thankful for?' and could not +understand." + +Thus she spoke in a quiet resigned voice. The boy again struck a few +light chords. Between the sharp whizzing tones, peculiar to the +instrument on which he played, rang the distant songs of home-returning +peasants--a contrast, like that of _their_ bright active life, with the +dream-life of these blind children. + +The boy seemed to feel it. He rose quickly, walked with a firm step to +the window--for he knew the room and all its furniture--and said, as he +threw back his bright fair locks, "You are incomprehensible, Mary! Our +parents and all the village congratulate us. Will it not be a gain +after all? Until it was promised me I never asked much about it. We are +blind, they say; I never understood what was wanting in us. When we sat +without there by the wood, and travellers came by, and said, 'Poor +children!' I felt angry, and thought, 'What have they to pity in us?' +But that we are different from others, I know well enough. They often +talked about things which I could not understand, yet which must be +very beautiful. And now that we are going to know them too, the longing +never leaves me day nor night." + +"I was contented as I was," said Mary, sadly, "I was so happy, and +should have liked to be as happy all my life. It will all be different +now! Have you never heard people complain that the world is full of +sorrow and care--and did we know care?" + +"Because we did not know the world--and I _will_ know it at all risks! +I suffered myself to be pleased with groping about in the dark with +you, and being obliged to do nothing, but not always! Often, when my +father taught us history, and told us about heroes and bold deeds, I +asked him if any of them had been blind? But whoever had done anything +great could see. And then I often plagued myself all day long with +thoughts about it. Then when I played on the spinet, or was allowed to +play on the organ, in your father's place, I forgot my uneasiness for a +time; but when it came back, I thought, 'Must you always play the +organ, and go the few hundred paces up and down the village that you +know; and must no one out of the village ever know you; and must none +ever name you after you are dead?' Look you, Mary,--since the doctor +has been at the castle, I hope that I yet may become a perfect man; and +then I will go out into the world and take the path that pleases me, +and I shall have nothing to ask any one!" + +"And not me, Clement?" + +She said it uncomplainingly and without reproach. + +But the boy answered vehemently, "Sister Mary, do not talk such +nonsense--I cannot bear it! Do you think that I would leave you alone +at home and steal away amongst strangers? Do you not trust me?" + +"I know well what happens when young men go from the village to the +town, or on their wanderings, no one goes with them, not even their own +sisters. And here too, even before they are grown up, the boys run away +from the little girls and go into the woods with each other, and mock +the girls when they meet them. Till now they have left you and me +together, and we played and learned with each other. You were blind +like me--what did you want with the other boys? But when you can see, +and want to sit in the house with me, they will laugh at you, as they +do at everyone who won't go with them. And then--then you will go quite +away for a long, long time, and I had grown so accustomed to be with +you." + +She had spoken the last words with difficulty; then her sorrow overcame +her and she sobbed aloud. Clement drew her closely to him, stroked her +cheek, and said entreatingly, "You _must_ not cry! I will never go away +from you! never! never! rather than do that I will remain blind and +forget everything. I _will_ not leave you if it makes you cry. Come, be +calm, be cheerful. You should not heat yourself, the doctor said, +because it is so bad for your eyes, darling, darling Mary!" + +He pressed her closer in his arms and kissed her for the first +time in his life. His mother called to him from the neighbouring +parsonage-house. He led the still weeping girl to an arm-chair by the +wall, let her sink gently into it and hastened out. + +Shortly after, two dignified looking men strode down from the +castle-hill towards the village. The rector, a tall, powerful figure, +with all the strength and majesty of an apostle, and the sacristan, a +slender man with an expression of humility about him, and whose hair +was already as white as snow. They had both been invited by the baron +to spend the afternoon with himself and the doctor, who had come from +the town, at his invitation, to examine the children's eyes, and to try +the effects of an operation. He had again assured both the rejoicing +fathers of his hopes of a perfect cure, and had begged them to hold +themselves in readiness for the following day. The mothers had decided +on preparing all that was necessary in the parsonage, for they were +unwilling to separate the children on the day which was to restore them +that light of which they had been together so long deprived. + +When the two fathers reached their homes, which lay just opposite to +each other, the rector pressed his old friend's hand, and said with a +moistening eye, "God be with us and them!" Then they separated. The +sacristan entered his house--all was still--the maid was without in the +garden. He entered his chamber and rejoiced in the stillness which +permitted him to be alone with his God. As he stepped over the +threshold, he started--his child had arisen from the chair and pressed +her handkerchief to her eyes; her bosom heaved painfully; her cheeks +and lips were blanched. He spoke to her and entreated her to calm +herself, and asked her earnestly, "What has happened to you?" She +answered but with tears which she herself understood not. + + + + + CHAPTER II. + + +They had placed the children in bed in two upper rooms of the rectory +looking towards the north. In the absence of shutters, the windows were +carefully covered with dark curtains, so that in the brightest day +scarcely a ray of light could creep in. The rector's wide orchard +overshadowed the walls, and kept at a distance the murmur of external +life. + +The doctor had recommended that particular care should be taken of the +little girl; all that depended on him had succeeded; now, in quiet, +must nature do the rest; and the girl's easily excitable temperament +required the most careful attention and precaution. + +At the decisive moment, Mary had been firm, when her mother burst into +tears, as she heard the doctor's footstep on the stairs, she had gone +to her and encouraged her. + +The doctor began with the boy, who, excited but of good courage, sat +down and bore all; only at first he would not allow anyone to hold him +during the operation, but at Mary's entreaties he at last permitted it +to be done. + +When the doctor, after some seconds had elapsed, removed his hands from +the boy's eyelids, he screamed loudly with joyous terror. + +Mary recoiled. Then she bore without a murmur the passing pain. But +tears burst from her eyes, and her whole frame trembled; so that the +doctor hastily placed a bandage over her eyes, and assisted her himself +to her room; for her knees trembled under her. There, on her couch, +sleep and fainting struggled long over her, whilst the boy declared +that he was perfectly well, and only lay down at his father's earnest +entreaties. + +But he did not sleep at once. Coloured forms--coloured now for the +first time--glided by him, full of mystery; forms which, as yet, were +nothing to him, and which were to become so much, if the people were +right who wished him joy. He asked his father and mother, as they sat +by his bedside, about innumerable things, which truly the most +profound science could hardly have solved. What does _it_ know of the +well-springs of life? His father entreated him to have patience, for +with God's help he would soon be able to resolve his doubts more +clearly for himself. Now, rest was necessary for him, and above all for +Mary, whom he might so easily awake with his talking. Then he was +silent, and listened through the wall. He begged them, in whispers, to +open the door, that he might hear whether she slept or was not sighing +from pain. His mother did as he wished. Then he lay motionless and +listened, and the breathing of his sleeping little friend, as it sighed +softly in and out, sang him, too, at last, to sleep. + +So they lay for hours. The village without was more quiet than usual. +When a peasant had to pass the rectory with his cart, he guarded +carefully against noise. Even the children, who may have been told by +their master, did not storm out of the school as noisily as was their +wont, but went in twos and threes, whispering, and glancing shily at +the house, as they passed to more distant play-grounds. Only the song +of the birds ceased not among the branches; but when has _its_ sound +disturbed or wearied a rest-seeking child of man? + +The bells of the cows returning from pasture first awakened the two +children. The boy's first question was, whether Mary had inquired for +him yet? He asked her then, in a low voice, how she was. Her heavy +sleep had hardly refreshed her, and her eyes burned under their light +covering. But she forced herself to say that she was better, and +chatted gaily with Clement, over whose lips streamed the wildest +thoughts. + +Late, when the moon had already risen from behind the wood, hesitating +little hands knocked at the rector's door. It was the little village +girls, who brought a garland of their fairest garden flowers for Mary, +and a nosegay for Clement. When they brought them to the boy, his face +brightened; their scent and cool sprinkling of dew refreshed him. +"Thank them for me very much. They are good girls; I am ill now, but +when I can see I will defend them against the boys." Mary, when they +laid the garland on her bed, pressed it gently back with pale little +hands, and said, "I cannot, mother! I feel giddy when flowers are so +near me! Take them to Clement, too." + +She soon sank again into her feverish half-sleep. The wholesome +approach of day tranquillized her at last, and the doctor, who came +early, found her freer from danger than he had dared to hope. Long he +sat by the boy's bedside, listened smiling to his strange questions, +warned him kindly to be patient and quiet, and left with the best +prognostications. + +Much use recommending calmness and patience to one who has at last +caught a distant glimpse of a new and highly praised land! His father +was obliged, as often as his duties permitted him, to go up to his room +and talk to him. The door then was not to be shut, that Mary might hear +the beautiful stories too. Legends of pious men and women on whom God +had laid and removed heavy sufferings were repeated. The tale of poor +Henry, for whom the pious maiden was willing in her humility to +sacrifice herself, and how God brought all to a happy ending was +related, and all the edifying histories which the worthy man was able +to recollect. + +When the pious rector glided gradually from tale to prayer, or the +mother with her clear voice sang a hymn of thanksgiving, Clement folded +his hands, or sang with her; but directly after he began new +questionings, which showed that he took more interest in the stories +than in the hymns. Mary asked about nothing. She was friendly with +every one, and no one suspected what deep thoughts and questions were +seething in her little breast. + +They grew visibly better from day to day, and on the fourth day after +the operation the doctor permitted them to get up. He himself supported +the little girl, as she stepped, weak and trembling, across the +darkened room towards the open door, in which the boy stood, stretching +forth his hands, joyously seeking hers. Then he grasped her hand +firmly, and entreated her to lean on him, which she did confidingly. +They paced to and fro in the chamber together, and he, with that +delicate sense of locality so peculiar to the blind, guided her +carefully past the different pieces of furniture. + +"How are you now? he asked her. + +"I am well," was her answer, "to-day as ever." + +"Come," he said, quickly, "lean on me, you are weak still, it would +refresh you to breathe a little sweet meadow air out of doors, for the +air here is thick and heavy. But it is not good for us yet, the doctor +says. Our eyes would get sore, and be blind again, if they were to look +out into the light too soon. Oh, I know already what light and darkness +mean. No flute note is so sweet as when your eyes can do that. It hurt +me, I must say, yet I could have looked for ever into the beautiful +coloured world, so blissful was the pain. You will feel it too. But it +must be many days before we are so happy. But then I will do nothing +all day long but see. I want to know so many things, Mary. They say +that each thing has a different colour. I wonder what colours your face +and mine are? Dark or bright? It would be horrible if they were not +very bright. Shall I know you with my eyes? now, touching you so, I +could pick you out with my little finger from all the other people in +the world. But in future we shall have to learn to know each other all +anew again. I know now that your hair and cheeks are soft to touch, +will they be so to my eyes? I want to know so much, and it is so long +to wait." + +After this fashion he chattered incessantly, without remarking how +silently she walked beside him. Many of his words had sunk deep into +her heart. It had never occurred to her that she too was to see, and +she hardly knew what to think about it. She had heard of mirrors, +without understanding what was meant. She thought now that when a +person who saw opened his eyes, his own face appeared to him. + +When she was again in her little bed, and her mother thought she slept, +the idea flashed across her mind. "It would be horrible if our faces +were not bright!" She had heard of ugly and beautiful, and she knew +that ugly people were pitied, and often less loved than others. "Oh, if +I should be ugly," she thought to herself, "and he care no more about +me. It used to be all the same when he played with my hair and called +it silken threads. That will all cease now if he sees that I am ugly; +and he--even if he _is_ ugly, I will never let him know it, because I +shall love him still. But no! I _know_ that he _cannot_ be ugly--he +_cannot_ be." + +Long she lay restless with sorrow and anxiety. The air was sultry; +without, in the garden, the nightingales called complainingly to each +other, and a sobbing west wind beat against the window panes. She was +entirely alone in the chamber, for her mother's bed, which had been +placed beside hers, had been removed on account of the closeness of the +room. And besides, they no longer thought a night watcher necessary, as +her fever had entirely disappeared. And just on this very evening it +returned again, and tossed her to and fro, until, long after midnight, +a short, heavy sleep fell upon her. + +Meanwhile the storm, which had circled muttering around the horizon +half the night, approached in its might, spread itself over the forest, +and then paused. The wind was still. A crash of thunder burst in upon +Mary's sleep. Half dreaming she sprang up; she knew not what she sought +or thought, a nameless anxiety forced her to rise, her pillow was so +hot. Now she stood by the side of her bed and heard the strong rain +rushing down without. But it cooled not her feverish brow. She tried to +collect herself and think, but found nothing within her soul but the +miserable thought with which she had fallen asleep. A strange +determination arose within her. She would go to Clement now he was +alone; what prevented her from putting an end to her uncertainty, and +seeing both herself and him? She thought but of this alone, and every +word of the doctor was forgotten; so she went unhesitatingly, just as +she had arisen from her couch, towards the door which stood half open, +found the end of the bed, crept on her little bare feet, to the side of +the sleeping boy, and bending over him, with bated breath, tore the +bandage hastily from her eyes. + +But she started when all remained dark as before. She had forgotten +that it was night, and that she had been told that in the night all +people were blind. She had fancied that a light streamed from an eye +that saw, and lighted both itself and what it looked upon. Now she felt +the boy's breath soft upon her cheek, but she could distinguish no +form. Already terrified, and in despair, she wished to go back. There +flamed through the now uncovered window-panes a flash one second +long--then another and another--the air waved to and fro with the +intensity of light--thunder and rain-stream without increased in roar; +but she gazed for one short moment on the curly brow that lay softly +pressed on the pillow before her--then the vision vanished into the +darkness, her eyes gushed with tears, and, overcome with unspeakable +terror, she rushed to her room, replaced the bandage, and sank upon her +bed, feeling, with a sense of unalterable conviction, that she had seen +for the first and the last time. + + + + + CHAPTER III. + + +Weeks have passed away. For the first time, the young powers of the +eyes are to be tested by light. The doctor, who had, in the meantime, +directed the simple treatment of the children from the town, arrived at +the village on a cloudy day, in order to be present himself and to +enjoy the fruit of his cure with them. + +Instead of the curtains, they had weaved garlands of boughs before the +windows, and decked both rooms gaily with green branches and flowers. +The baron himself, and all in the village who were connected with +either of the families, had arrived to wish both parents and children +happiness, and to enjoy the surprise of the healed ones. + +Mary pressed herself, with a sad anxiety, amongst the boughs in the +corner, when Clement, flushed with delight, was placed opposite to her, +and seized her hand. + +He had entreated to be allowed to see her first of all. At the same +moment they loosed the coverings from their eyes. + +A cry of utter inexpressible joy rang from the boy's lips. He remained +fixed on the same spot,--a glorified smile upon his face,--moving his +bright eyeballs hither and thither. He had forgotten that Mary was to +stand before him, and knew not as yet what the human form might be. +She, too, did nothing to put him in mind of her. She stood, motionless, +only lightly moving her eyelids, which overshadowed bright brown dead +eyes. Yet they had no suspicion of the truth. "The wondrous things," +they thought, "which seem so strange to her at first, have paralysed +her for a time." But when the boy's delight broke loudly forth, they +told him "That is Mary:" and he stretched out his hand towards her +cheeks in his old manner, and said, "You have a bright face!" Then her +tears flowed apace, she shook her head hastily, and said, hardly +intelligibly, "It is still dark here! It is all as it used to be!" + +Who can describe the misery of the next few hours! The doctor, deeply +affected, led her to a chair by the window, and examined her eyes. The +thin grey film of the cataract which he had removed had not reappeared. +Nothing distinguished the pupils from those of health but their +lifeless sorrowful fixedness. + +"The nerve is paralysed," he said, "some sudden vehement light must +have destroyed it." The sacristan's wife fainted, she fell pale as +death in her husband's arms. Clement at first hardly understood what +had happened. His soul was too full of its newly-gained existence. But +Mary lay bathed in tears, and would answer none of the doctor's +questions. Even later, they could learn nothing from her. "She did not +know how it had happened. They must forgive her for having cried so +childishly. She would bear all as it had been appointed. Had she ever +known anything different?" + +When they had made Clement clearly understand the misfortune, he was +beside himself, sprang towards her, and cried incessantly, "You _shall_ +see too! I will have nothing more than you! Ah! now I know for the +first time what you have lost! One does not see oneself; but all around +have eyes, and look at us as if they loved us. And they shall look at +you so too, only be patient and do not cry." And then he asked for the +doctor, and rushed to him, beseeching him with tears to help Mary. The +bright drops stood in the good man's eyes--he restrained himself with +difficulty, and persuaded the boy to be tranquil; "he would see what +could be done," and gave him hopes, in order to avoid an excitement +which might be dangerous for him. He did not conceal the hopeless truth +from the parents. + +But the boy's sorrow seemed to have comforted Mary. She sat still by +the window, and called him gently to her. "You must not be so sorry," +she said, "it all comes from God. Be happy, as I am happy, that you are +cured. You know already that I never wished very much for it. And now I +should be quite contented if it did not grieve my parents so. But they +will grow used to it, and you too, and so it will be as well--if you +only love me as you used to do--that I remain as I was." + +He would not be comforted, and the doctor insisted on the children +being separated. They took Clement down into the large room below, +where the people from the village pressed around him. They shook his +hand, one after another, and spoke kindly words; but the crowd +stupified him. He only said, "Do you know yet that Mary is blind +still?" and then began to weep afresh. + +It was high time to replace the bandage and to take him to a cool and +quiet room. There he lay down, exhausted with joy, sorrow, and weeping. +His father spoke gently and piously to him, which did him but little +good; even in his sleep he wept, and seemed to dream painfully. + +But on the following day, curiosity, desire for information, and +astonishment asserted their rights, and his sorrow for Mary only +appeared when he happened to see her. He visited her in the early +morning and asked her whether she had not altered or got better during +the night. But then the bright world that opened itself before him +claimed all his attention, and when he returned to Mary it was only to +tell her of some new wonder, often checking himself in the midst of his +rapid narration, as a glance at his poor little friend reminded him +what pain his joy must cost her. But, in truth, it did _not_ cause her +much pain; she wanted nothing for herself; to hear him talk so +enthusiastically was pleasure enough for her. But when he began to come +more rarely, fancying that he made her sad, or was silent because all +other interests vanished before the one on which he did not dare to +speak, she became uneasy; formerly she had seldom been separated from +him during the day, now she was much alone. Her mother, indeed, often +came to sit with her; but the cheerfulness of the once lively woman had +departed, since her darling hopes had been so rudely crushed; she could +say nothing to her child but mere words of comfort which her own heavy +sighs belied, and which could be but of little use to Mary. How much of +what she now suffered had she foreseen? and yet the sense of separation +gave her inexpressible pain. + +Now she sat often again under the boughs in her father's garden and +span. When Clement came to her, her poor eyes gleamed strangely. He was +ever kind to her, sat down on the bench beside her, and caressed her +hair and cheeks as in the old times. She begged him once not to be so +silent. When he told her about the world and the new things he had +learned each day about it, it did not make her feel envious. But when +he did not come at all she was so lonely. She never put him in mind, by +a single word, of the promise he had given her one evening never to +leave her; she had long ago renounced it. She seemed doubly dear to +him, he had no longer to be guarded before her. His heart overflowed, +and he talked for hours about the sun and moon and stars, and the +flowers, and the trees; and, above all, how their parents and she +herself looked. She trembled with happiness in her inmost heart, when +he told her innocently, that she was prettier than all the other girls +in the village. Then he told her how graceful she was, and that she had +such a pretty head, and dark, soft eyebrows. He had seen himself, too, +in a looking-glass, but he was not nearly so pretty; he did not want to +be, and it was all the same to him, as long as he grew up to be a +clever man. Men appeared generally not to be so pretty as women. She +did not understand all of this, but this much she did understand, that +she pleased him, and what could she desire more? They never returned to +this subject; but he was indefatigable in describing the beautiful +world to her. When he came not, she thought over his words, and grew +almost jealous of this world which robbed her of him; gradually this +feeling of enmity grew stronger, and, at last, became more powerful +than her pleasure at his happiness. Above all things she hated the sun, +for she knew that he was the brightest of all, and in her obscure +notions, _bright_ and beautiful were one and the same thing. Nothing +discomposed her more than his bursts of admiration over the setting +sun, when he was with her of an evening. He had never spoken of _her_ +in such words, and why did he forget her so utterly over this scene +that he never saw the tears that her strange jealous sorrow forced into +her eyes? + +But still heavier grew her heart, when the rector, as soon as the +doctor permitted it, began anew the education of his son. Previous to +his cure, Clement had passed the greater part of his day in practising +music; religious instruction, history, mathematics, and a little Latin, +were all which formerly had appeared necessary or possible; and Mary +had been permitted to share his lessons, which, after all, included +only the most necessary information. Now, when the boy exhibited the +strongest inclination towards natural science, he was set seriously to +work, and prepared for one of the higher classes of the town school. + +His steady will worked unceasingly onwards, and his really superior +talents enabled him in a surprisingly short time to bring himself up to +his age, and to recover lost time. He sat many hours, even then, with +his books, in the sacristan's garden. But the old way of talking was +out of the question, and Mary felt, but too well, that she was doubly +parted, both from instruction and from the friend of her childhood. + + + + + CHAPTER IV. + + +Autumn interrupted for a time the boy's studies. The rector determined +to take him with him for some days into the neighbouring mountains, +before the winter set in, to show him hill-side and valley, and to let +him have a wider look into that world which already seemed so beautiful +to him, even on the barren village plains. When the boy was told of it +he asked, "And we shall take Mary with us too?" + +They tried to dissuade him from it, but without her he refused to +travel. "Even if she does not see anything, they say the mountain air +is so healthy, and she has been so pale and thin for a long time, and +will be quite lonely without me." So they did as he wished; the little +maiden was lifted into the carriage beside him, and a short day's +journey brought them to the foot of the mountain range. + +Now began the journey on foot. Patiently the boy led his blind little +friend, more reserved than ever. Often he longed to climb this or that +isolated rock-peak which promised him a new view, but he supported her +as she went, and would not desert his post, however much his parents +begged him. Only when they had reached some eminence, and were seated +at rest in a shady nook, did he leave the maiden, and sought his +own way amongst the dangerous rocks, collecting curious stones, or +flowers that did not grow in the plains below. When he returned to the +resting-place he had ever something for Mary--berries, or a sweet-scented +flower, or the soft nest of a bird which the wind had dislodged from +its tree. + +She received everything cheerfully from him, and seemed more contented +than she had been at home. And she was so, too; for she breathed the +same air with him all the day long. But even then her foolish jealousy +accompanied her, and she felt angry with the mountains, whose autumnal +beauty, she fancied, only made the world dearer to him, and widened the +separation between them. Her strange manner struck the rector's wife. +She talked with her husband now and again about the child, who was as +dear to them as their own, and both placed her obstinate melancholy to +the account of her disappointed hopes; and yet she regretted nothing +that had been promised, or that she had been told to expect--only what +she had already known and enjoyed. + +At the end of the second day's journey they were to pass the night at a +lonely house celebrated for the neighbourhood of a magnificent +waterfall. They had a long day's journey, and the women were quite +tired out. When they reached the house, the rector led his wife within, +without proceeding onward to the chasm, from which the roar of the +waterfall could be plainly heard. Mary, too, was very tired, but she +insisted on following Clement, who cared not to rest so soon; so they +climbed together higher up the steps, and ever louder the sound of the +roaring water was borne towards them. Half-way up the steep path Mary's +last strength deserted her: "I will sit here," she said; "go on to the +end, and come back for me when you have seen enough." He begged her to +let him take her back to the house first, but she was already seated, +and so he left her, and advanced towards the roar, deeply affected by +the solitude and majesty of the scene. + +The girl sat on a stone and awaited his return. She thought that he +lingered very long away. A cold shiver struck through her, and the +distant muttering thunder of the fall terrified her, "Why does he not +come back?" she thought to herself; "he will forget me in his joy now +as ever. I wish I could find my way back to the house, that I might get +warm." + +So she sat, full of anxiety, and listening intently. Suddenly she +fancied that she distinguished his voice calling to her; trembling, she +started up. What should she do? Almost involuntarily she took a step +forward, but her foot slipped, she tottered and fell. Fortunately the +stones near the path were overgrown with moss, but still the fall +nearly stunned her, and she cried wildly for help. In vain! her voice +could not reach Clement, who stood close to the abyss, surrounded by +the roarings of the fall, and the house was far too distant. A bitter +pain shot through her heart as she lay there between the stones, +neglected and helpless. With tears of despair in her eyes, she raised +herself painfully. All that she loved best seemed to her at this moment +hateful, and the bitterness of her soul permitted no thought of the +nearness of the Omnipresent to rise before her. + +So Clement found her when, for her sake, he tore himself away from the +witchery of the marvellous scene. + +"I come!" he cried to her from a distance. "It is fortunate that you +did not go with me. The path above is so narrow that the smallest slip +would cost a life! How unfathomably deep it plunged, and roared and +sprang up in clouds of spray, till one's senses were lost! Feel how +sprinkled I am with the fine water-spray!--but what is the matter with +you? You are as cold as ice, and your lips tremble. Come--I was wrong +to leave you in the chilly air--God forbid that it should have made you +ill!" + +She remained obstinately silent, and permitted herself to be led back +to the house. The rector's wife was alarmed. The girl's sweet, delicate +features were strangely disturbed. They hastened to give her a warm +draught and to put her in her bed, without learning more from her than +that she was not well. + +And ill, indeed, she was--and so ill, that she longed for it all to be +over. She hated the life that showed itself so hostile to her. In +bitter, God-forgotten thinking she lay, and of her own will broke the +last threads which bound her to mankind. "I will go out to morrow," she +said, darkly, to herself; "he shall lead me himself to the cliff where +a false step costs a life--and my death will not cost him much! Why +should he for ever bear the burden which he has laid on himself out of +mere compassion?" + +Ever stronger the unholy determination twined itself about her heart. +What had become of the old bright, loving courage in this short month +of concealed sorrow? She even thought on the consequences of her sin +without horror, and said, defyingly, to herself, "They will manage to +become reconciled to it as they have become reconciled to my remaining +blind, and he will be freed from that picture of misery that destroys +all his pleasure in that beautiful world he loves so much." That was +ever the last thought when a feeling of uncertainty rose within her. + +In the room next to hers, only separated from it by a thin partition, +sat the rector and his wife. Clement was still loitering about under +the trees without, unable to tear himself from the stars, and the +mountains, and the muffled music of the waterfall. + +"I feel very uneasy," said the rector's wife, "at Mary's being so sad +and reserved; the slightest occurrence agitates her. If it lasts she +will be quite worn out. I wish you would talk to her, and try to +persuade her not to take what cannot be altered so deeply to heart." + +"I am afraid that I should speak in vain," said the rector. "If what +she has already been taught, and the love of her parents, and our daily +care of her, have not spoken to her heart, mere human words will be of +no avail. If she had learned humility before God, she would have +submitted to his will, which has left her so much to be thankful for, +with gratitude instead of murmuring." + +"But he has taken much from her." + +"Ay, indeed! but not all, or for ever! That is my hope and my prayer. +The power of loving, and of looking on all as worthless compared to the +love of God and man, seems to have gone from her; but it returns when +we return to God! As she now is she longs not for him, she hugs her +discontent and hatred too closely to her heart--but her heart is too +true to bear this miserable companionship much longer; then when it is +free from discontent, God will enter into it, and love will find its +old place again, and then she will have an inward light to guide her, +though night may still hang before her eyes." + +"God grant it! And yet the thought of her future makes me very +unhappy." + +"She will not be lost, if she is not determined to lose herself. Even +were all who now love her and tend her to be called away, all human +kindness would not have died. And if she marks well the hand of God, +and the way He would lead her, she will bless her blindness, which from +her childhood upwards has kept her from the false glitter of the world, +and brought her nearer to what is true." + +Clement interrupted the conversation. "You cannot think," he cried, +"how beautiful the night is. I would give one of my eyes, if Mary could +have it, to see this glory of the stars! I hope the noise of the +waterfall does not keep her awake. I cannot forgive myself for letting +her sit so long in the cold." + +"Speak lower, dearest son," said the mother; "she is sleeping close to +us, and the best thing you can do is to go to rest too." + +Whisperingly the boy bade them "Good-night!" When his mother went into +Mary's room, she found her tranquil, and apparently sleeping. That +strange expression of her features had given place to a sweet +tranquillity. The storm had passed over, and had destroyed nothing of +the beautiful within her. Even shame and regret hardly made themselves +felt, so powerfully reigned within her the joyous peace which had been +preached to her from the neighbouring room. For the evil gains its +influence over us slowly and creepingly; the victory of the good is +soon decided. + + + + + CHAPTER V. + + +Her friends remarked with astonishment, the next morning, the change +which had passed over her. The rector's wife could not but believe that +Mary had overheard their conversation through the partition. + +"So much the better." said the rector; "now I shall have nothing more +to say." Most moving was the lovingness of manner which Mary showed +towards Clement and his parents. She wished for nothing more than to be +permitted to belong to them. She received their love almost with +surprise, as something to which she had no claim. + +She did not, indeed, speak much more than before, but what she said was +cheerful and kindly. There was a deprecating shrinking expression about +her whole being, as if she was silently entreating forgiveness. She +took Clement's arm again when they walked. She often begged that she +might be allowed to sit down and rest, not that she was tired, but in +order to leave the boy in freedom to clamber where he would. She smiled +when he returned and told her all that he had seen: her old jealousy +had disappeared since she had begun to demand nothing more for herself +than the happiness of knowing him happy. + +Thus strengthened and fortified, she ended the journey. And happy for +her that she was so strengthened; for, when she arrived at home, she +found her mother lying ill of a dangerous complaint, which ended +fatally a few days after her return. And now, after the acute sorrow of +the first few weeks had become lessened, her sad and altered life +demanded duties from her which formerly she would hardly have been +equal to. Her household cares occupied her early and late. In spite of +her privation, she knew every cranny of the small house thoroughly, and +if she herself was but seldom able to help with her own hands, yet she +was clever and full of forethought in ordering all things so that her +sorrowing father should want for nothing. A wonderful power and +confidence came over her. Where in old times it had taken many a +squabble to induce man and maid to do what was right, now a single +gentle word from her sufficed. And if anything wrong happened, or work +was done with an ill will, a steady glance from those large blind eyes +quelled the most rebellious. + +Since she felt that she must be cheerful for the sake of her +father--since she understood that she must work and shape her life +herself--the hours became ever rarer in which she felt the separation +from Clement so painfully; and at last, when he was obliged to go to +the high school in the town, she was able to say farewell to him, even +more composedly than the others. It is true that she went about for +weeks as in a dream--as if the best half of her being had been torn +away from her. But soon she was as cheerful as before, sang her +favourite songs to herself, and rallied her father till she won a smile +from him. When the rector's wife came across with letters from the +town? and read her news and messages from Clement, her heart beat +quickly, and she lay longer at night without sleep visiting her +eyelids. The next morning she was bright and cheerful as before. + +At the vacation Clement returned to his parents, and his first walk was +to the sacristan's house. Mary distinguished his step already in the +distance, remained fixed where she was, and listened whether he would +ask for her. She smoothed her hair, which still rolled in tresses down +her slender neck, hastily with her hands, and rose from her work. As he +entered the door every trace of excitement had vanished from her +features. Cheerfully she gave him her hand, and begged him to sit near +her and to talk to her. Then he forgot how the time flew by, and had to +be called by his mother, who begrudged his long absence from her; for +he seldom remained the whole vacation at the village, but wandered into +the mountains, to which his growing affection for natural science +attracted him. + +The years rolled on their accustomed way; the old people withered +slowly, and the young ones bloomed rapidly. When Clement returned once +again at Easter, and Mary arose from her spinning wheel, he was +astonished to see how tall and stately she had grown since the autumn. +"You are quite a woman," he said; "and I, too, am no longer a child; +only feel how my beard has grown over my winter studies." A blush +flitted across her cheek as he took her hand and placed it on his chin, +to let her feel the newly-sprung down. He had, too, many more things to +tell her than the first time he returned. The tutor with whom he lived +had daughters, and these daughters had lady friends. He was obliged to +describe them one and all with the greatest accuracy. "I can make +nothing out of the girls," he said; "they are silly and frivolous, and +chatter too much. There is one, Cecilia, that I can endure a little +better than the others, because she can hold her tongue, and does not +make grimaces in order to look pretty. But what do they bother me for? +The other evening, when I went into my room, I found a bunch of flowers +on my table, and let it lie, and never took the trouble to put it in +water, though I was sorry for the flowers; but it annoyed me. And the +next day there was such a giggling and whispering amongst the girls +that I could not speak to them for anger. Why cannot they leave me +alone? They know that I have no time for their nonsense!" + +Not one word of all this did Mary lose, and spun an endless thread of +strange thoughts out of it. She was almost in danger of injuring +herself with fruitless dreamings, if a too well grounded cause of +anxiety and real sorrow had not saved her. Her father, who had for a +long time been able to do his duty with difficulty, had a paralytic +stroke, and lay nearly a year perfectly helpless, until a second attack +put an end to his sufferings. Not for an hour did his child leave his +side. Even when the vacations brought Clement home again, she only +permitted herself to talk to him during his short visits to the +sickroom. + +She grew ever more firm, ever more self-denying. She complained to no +one, and would have required the help of none had her blindness +permitted her to do all herself. And thus her misfortune, which had +tutored her soul, accustomed her also to household duties, neglected by +many a seeing one. She kept the strictest order over all things of +which she had the care, and no amount of cleanliness could satisfy her, +as she was unable to judge by the eye when the least speck of dust was +removed. The tears sprang into Clement's eyes when he saw her busied +washing her crippled father, or combing out his thin locks. She had +grown pale in the close air of the sick-room; but her brown eyes had a +deeper light from that very cause, and in all her common household +work, the true nobility of her whole being only became the more +evident. + +The old man died, his successor took possession of the cottage, and +Mary found a welcome refuge in the rectory. Clement, who in the mean +time had gone to a distant university, and who was unable to visit home +twice a-year as formerly, was informed of all these changes by letters, +which reached him but rarely, and were answered irregularly. Now and +then his letters contained a note for Mary, in which he expressed +himself condescendingly and jestingly, so unlike his old self, and +addressed her as if she were still a child, so that his mother shook +her head and said nothing of it before his father. Mary had these +strange letters carefully read to her, begged them, and preserved them. + +After her father's death she received a short excited letter from him, +in which he neither endeavoured to comfort her nor said a word showing +a participation with her sorrow, only earnest entreaties to take care +of her health, and to be quiet, and to let him know exactly how she +was. This was in winter, and this letter the last to Mary. They +expected a visit from him at Easter. He remained away, and wrote that +he could not resist the opportunity of accompanying a celebrated +professor on a botanical tour. His father was satisfied, and Mary +succeeded at last in calming the mother's disappointment. + +He arrived unannounced at Whitsuntide on foot, untired by a long march +since daybreak, with healthy cheeks, and he was a full-grown man. So he +entered the quiet house, in which his mother was sitting alone, for it +was the Saturday evening before the feast-day. With a cry of joy the +startled woman clasped him round the neck. "So you," she cried, as she +loosened herself from his arms, and took a step backwards to measure +the long absent one with the full gaze of love, "So you have returned +to us once again, unkind, forgetful one. You still remember the way to +your father and mother. God be praised! I thought that you had made up +your mind never to return till you were a professor, and then perhaps +my poor old eyes might never have rejoiced in the sight of you again +_here below_. But I will not scold you. You are faithful. You are the +old Clement. And you will give me such a Whitsun feast as I have not +had for many a day, to me and your father, and to us _all_. + +"Mother," he said, "how happy I am to be here once again! I could not +bear at last to remain longer away. I do not know how it happened, I +made no resolution beforehand. I felt that I must get home. One bright +morning, instead of going to lecture, I walked through the town-gates, +and strode away as if I fled from sin. I accomplished such journeys as +I had never made before, good as I used to be on foot. Where is my +father? where is Mary?" + +"Don't you hear him." said the mother, "your father is above in his +study." They heard the firm step of the old man as he paced to and fro +above them. "All is as it used to be," continued the mother. "That has +been his Saturday's walk for the twenty years that I have known him. +And Mary is out in the field with our people. I have sent her out +because she will not let me do anything. When she is at home she would +make me sit in the corner with my hands in my lap, if she had her own +way, and do everything herself. We have some new servants now, and I +like her to look over them until they have got used to her. How +astonished she will be to find you here! But come, I will bring you to +your father, just to let him see you, and it will soon be dinner time. +Come, he will not be angry at _your_ disturbing him." + +She led her son, stepping lightly before him, but still holding his +hand in hers, up the stairs. Gently she opened the door, beckoned to +Clement, and stepping backwards herself, pushed him in. "There he is," +she cried; "at last you have him." The old man started as out of deep +thought. "Who?" he asked, almost impatiently. Then he looked in his +son's face, brightly lighted by a gleam of sun. "Clement," he cried, +between astonishment and joy, "you here?" "I longed for home," said the +son, and pressed the proffered hand warmly. "I shall stay here for the +feast, father, if you have room for me, now that Mary is under your +roof." "How can you talk so," interrupted his mother, quickly; "if I +had seven sons I could find place for them all. But I will leave you to +your father. I must go to the kitchen and the garden, they will have +spoilt you in the town, you must be content for love's sake." She was +already gone, as the father and son stood silently opposite each other; +"I have disturbed you," said Clement, at last; "you were writing your +sermon; tell me if I shall go." "You only disturb one who has disturbed +himself. Since this morning have I paced to and fro, thinking on my +text, but grace was not with me, and the grain hath not brought forth. +I have felt strangely; a gloom is over me that I cannot shake off." He +went to the little window that looked out towards the church, the way +to which lay through the churchyard. There it glowed tranquil with its +flowers and glittering crosses in the midday sun. "Come here, Clement," +said the old man, gently; "place yourself by me. Do you see that grave +to the left, with primroses and monthly roses? You have never seen that +one before. Do you know who sleeps there? My good, true friend, the +father of our Mary!" He left the window at which his son, deeply +struck, remained standing. He paced again to and fro through the +chamber, and in the silence they could hear the sand crackle under his +steady tread. "Aye!" said the old man, with a deep sigh, "no one knew +him as I knew him; no one gained so much from him, no one lost so much +with him as I did. What knew he of the world and its wisdom; that is +but folly before God. What he knew was all revealed to him from within, +and from the Holy Book, and from sorrow. He has become blessed, because +he _was_ blessed." + +After a pause he spoke again: "Whom have I now to shame when I am proud +of heart, and save me when my faith wavers; and to decide the thoughts +that accuse and excuse me? The world grows too wise for me! What I hear +I understand not, and what I read my soul _will_ not understand, for it +is grief to it! How many rise up and think that they speak with +tongues? and, behold! it is but lip-work! And the mockers hear it and +rejoice therein. Mine old friend, would I were where thou art." + +Clement turned. He had never before heard his father talk of the +sorrows of his own soul. He went to him and sought for words of +consolation. "Cease, my son," said the old man, checking him, "What can +_you_ give me, that Heaven could not have given me better? See, it was +shortly after his death, I slept above here. The night awoke me with +its storm and rain; I felt sad, even to death; then he appeared to +me--a light shone about him--he was in his garments as when he +lived--he spoke not, but stood at the foot of my bed, and looked calmly +down upon me. At first, it oppressed me sorely! I was not enough grown +in grace to look on the face of a glorified being. The next day I felt +the peace that it had left behind it. From that time it came not again +until last night. I had been reading a book in the evening, blasphemous +against God and God's word; I had gone to my bed in anger--then it was +that, after midnight, I again started suddenly from my sleep, and he +stood before me--dressed as at the first time, but with the Bible in +his hand, open, and written with letters of gold. He pointed to a +passage with his finger, but there came a gleam from out the leaves, so +that I gazed on it in vain, and for the fullness of the light could +read never a word! I drew myself nearer to him, half rising up; he +stood--pity and love in his face, which changed to grief as I strove to +read and could not. Then the tears sprang to my eyes--from the +brightness, they grew dark---and he vanished softly away, and left me +weeping." + +The old man had gone again to the window, and Clement saw a strong +shudder pass over him. "Father!" he cried, and seized his nerveless +hand--it was damp and cold; "Father, you alarm me! You should send for +the physician." + +"To the physician!" cried the old man, almost angrily, and stretched +himself up in every limb, "I am well. Therein it lies. My soul longs +and strives for death, and my body selfishly withstands it!" + +"These dreams, father, agitate you." + +"Dreams! I tell you that I was awake, as I am at this moment." + +"I do not doubt, father, that you were awake; but so much the more does +this severe attack, which pursues you with visions even when you are +awake, alarm me. See! even now you are quite overcome by the mere +recollection, and your pulse rises. I know, little of a doctor as I am, +that you had fever last night and are under its influence now." + +"And you think that you know as much as _that_ poor worm!" cried the +old man. "Oh, the marvellous wisdom! Oh, the gracious science! But what +right have I to complain? Do I not deserve punishment for blurting out +God's secrets, and making my full heart a mark for the scorner? Is this +the fruit of your learning? Do you expect to gather figs from this +bramble? But I know you well--you miserable ones, who make new gods for +the people, and in your hearts worship yourselves alone--your days are +numbered." + +He went towards the door; his bare forehead was flushed. He did not +look towards Clement, who stood gazing on the floor; suddenly he felt +his father's hand on his shoulder. + +"Tell me openly, my son, are you as far gone already as those whose +ravings I have read of with shuddering? Do you already hold, with those +sleek materialists, that the miracle is ridiculous, and the _spirit_ +but a tale told from one to another, and to which man listens? Has +neither thy youth, nor the seeds of thankfulness God sowed in your +heart, been able to choke those weeds? Answer me, Clement!" + +"Father," said the young man, after some consideration, "how shall I +answer you this thing? I have dedicated my whole life to the +consideration of this question. I have heard it decided in different +ways, by men whose opinions I revere. Amongst my dearest friends are +some who think what you condemn. I hear and learn and do not venture as +yet to decide." + +"He who is not for me is against me, saith the Lord." + +"How can I be against _Him_? How can I be against the _Spirit_? Who +ventures to ignore the spiritual, even though he binds it to the +material? Do not its miracles remain what they were, even though they +may be the result of natural causes? Is it a disgrace to a noble statue +that it is hewn out of stone?" + +"You speak like them all; so they intoxicate you with dark similes, so +they deafen you with high sounding words, that you may not hear the +still small voice within you; and you have come to keep Whitsuntide +holy with _us_?" + +"I came because I loved you." + +There was silence between them. Several times the old man opened his +mouth as if about to speak, and then pressed his lips firmly together +again. They heard Mary's voice below in the house, and Clement stepped, +listening, back from the window, at which he had been standing +sorrowfully. "It is Mary," said the old man; "have you forgotten _her_ +too? Did the recollection of your childhood's playmate never pass +before your soul, when your blasphemous companions endeavoured to +destroy your pure, godly childishness of heart with their miserable +sneers? Did _she_ never remind you of the wonders the spirit can +perform--even when it is deprived of sense--alone, out of itself. I +should say of God, in a humble heart, which is rich in faith?" + +Clement repressed the answer which rose ready to his lips. They heard +the light step of the blind girl on the stairs. The door opened, and +with flushing cheek Mary stood on the threshold; "Clement," she cried, +fixing the bright brown eyes on the spot where he really stood. He +approached her and took the hand that waited for his. "Oh! what +pleasure you have given your parents! Welcome, welcome! How quiet you +are!" she added. + +"Dearest Mary, yes, I am here once again. I was _obliged_ to come to +see you all. How well you look, and you have grown so tall." + +"I have gained a fresh life since the spring. The winter was heavy for +me. I am so happy with your father and mother, Clement! Good day, +dearest father." she added, "we went out so early that I could not +press your hand;" she took it now. "Go below my child;" said the old +man, "Clement will go with you--you can show him your garden. There is +yet a little time before dinner. Think on my words, Clement." + +The young people went. "What is the matter with the father?" asked +Mary, when they were below. "His voice sounded strangely, and yours +too. Was he angry with you?" + +"I found him excited. He seems ill. Has he not complained of anything?" + +"Not to me; but he has been restless, and sometimes silent for hours +together. It struck my mother, too. Has he been harsh towards you?" + +"We had a discussion about serious things; he asked me, and I could not +deny my opinions." + +The girl became thoughtful; not until they reached the open air did her +face brighten. "Is it not beautiful here?" she asked, spreading out her +hands. + +"I really did not recognize it again," he answered. "What a wonderful +place you have made out of the little barren spot! Ever since I can +remember there were only a few fruit trees, and mallows and alders; and +now it is full of roses!" + +"Yes," she said. "Your mother used not to care about the garden then, +and now she delights in it The sacristan's son, who has learned +gardening in the town, gave me the first rose bush, and planted it +himself; then we added others and now it is quite beautiful. But the +finest are not in flower yet." + +"And you take care of them yourself?" + +"You are astonished at it, because I cannot see," she said gaily; "but +I understand what is good for plants. I can tell by the scent when one +is fading, or going out of flower, or wants watering; they always tell +me. But, indeed, I cannot gather you a flower; for they prick my +fingers." + +"I will do it for you," he said, and broke off a spray from one of the +monthly roses. She took it "You have gathered so many buds with it!" +she said. "I will keep one for myself, and place it in water. Take the +blooming one again for yourself." + +They wandered along the trim paths till the mother called them to +table. Clement was reserved before his father; but Mary, usually so shy +at taking part in the conversation, had to-day a hundred things to tell +and to ask about. Even the old man gradually lost the impression of his +first conversation with his son, and the old trusting feeling soon +regained its place between them again. + +But during the next day it was impossible to avoid fresh causes of +dissention. The old man wished to be enlightened on the state of +theology at the University, and the conversation soon wandered to more +general subjects. The more Clement tried to avoid disagreeable points, +the more vehemently the old man pressed him. Many an anxious +involuntary, glance from his mother sustained him, indeed, in his +determination to avoid definite explanations; but when he parried a +question, or answered with an unmeaning word, the enforced silence +wrung his very heart. Mary managed, even, to revive the old tone again +for a time; but he saw that she too suffered, and avoided her when he +met her alone, for he knew that she would have asked him, and felt that +from her he could conceal nothing. A shadow seemed to pass over him +when he came into her presence. Was it the recollection of that +childish promise to which he had been so untrue? Was it the belief that +in the difference of opinion which had estranged him from his parents, +she ranged herself silently on their side? And yet he felt a yearning +towards her which grew ever more irresistible--a longing which he could +not ignore, and which he struggled against fiercely; for he was full of +his science and of his prospects, and avoided, with the selfishness of +fancied inward strength, all that might clog his onward way. + +"I will be a traveller,--a foot traveller." he often said to himself. +"I must carry a light bundle!" It made him heavy at heart when he +contemplated the possibility of his being chained to a wife, who would +demand a part of his being for herself. And a _blind_ wife! One that he +must always fear to leave for a moment! Here in the village, where all +went on its simple way, and to which she had been accustomed since her +childhood, _here_ she was protected from all the confusing accidents +which she could not fail to encounter in the town. So he persuaded +himself that he should do _her_ an injustice if he married her: whether +he grieved _her_ or not by his determination, was a point that he +avoided considering. + +He expressed himself still more openly when he departed. On the last +day, when he had embraced his parents, and had been told that Mary was +in the garden, he left a farewell for her, and with beating heart went +down the village street, and then crossed, sideways, over the fields +towards the forest. The garden opened into the fields too, and his +nearest way would have been through a little wicket-gate. He made a +wide _detour_. But when he reached the fields, he was unable to follow +the narrow path through the springing corn without casting one glance +round; so he stood still in the mild sunshine, and looked back over the +huts and the houses. Behind the hedge which surrounded his father's +garden, he saw the slender figure of the blind girl. Her face was +turned towards him, but she dreamed not that he was so near her. Hot +and hasty sprang the tears to his eyes; but he repressed them with a +powerful effort. Then he sprang like a madman over the ditches and +paths back to the hedge. She started. "Farewell, Mary!" he said, with a +clear voice, "I am going away again, perhaps for a year!" He passed his +trembling hand over her forehead and temples. + +"Farewell! You are going?" she said. "One thing I beg of you,--write +oftener to your parents; your mother longs for it so; and send me a +greeting, too, sometimes." + +"Yes;" he answered, absently. Then he departed. + +"Clement!" she cried, once again, after he had left her. He heard her, +but did not look round. "It is well that he did not hear me," she said +gently to herself. "And what had I to say to him?" + + + + + CHAPTER VI. + + +From that day the son never remained long at his father's house. Each +time he came he found his father harsher and more impatient--his mother +ever with the same love, but more reserved towards him--Mary, tranquil, +but silent when the men spoke; she also showed herself but seldom. + +On a bright day late in autumn, we find Clement once more in the room +in which, as a boy, he had passed the time devoted to his cure. One of +his friends and fellow-students had accompanied him; they had both +passed the usual time at the University, and they were just returned +from a long journey, in the course of which Wolf had been unwell, and +wished to recruit himself in the quiet of the village. Clement was +obliged to acquiesce, although, amongst all his friends, this was the +very one he thought most unlikely to suit his father. He managed, +however, to fall into the ways of thinking of the old people with +unexpected tact and dexterity, and particularly won the mother's heart +by the lively interest he pretended to take in all household matters; +he was also able to give her many little bits of advice, and relieved a +complaint under which she laboured by some simple remedy; for he had +prepared himself to succeed an old uncle who was an apothecary, a +profession for which his inclinations and acquirements really unfitted +him; yet he was of an easy disposition and delighted to be quiet and to +enjoy himself from time to time. He had never had much real feeling in +common with Clement, and so at his first step into the rectory he felt +himself in an utterly strange atmosphere, and would certainly have +seized the smallest excuse for leaving a circle which constrained and +wearied him, had not the blind girl struck him, at the first glance, as +a remarkable problem to be solved. It is true she avoided him as much +as she could. The first time he took her hand she withdrew it from his +with an inexpressible disquietude, and quite lost her self-command, yet +he hung about her for hours at a time, watched her way of managing +affairs, and examined with a gay recklessness, which it was impossible +to be angry with, the means by which she kept up a communication with +the outer world, and studied the way in which the senses she had +preserved, made up for the one she had lost; he could not understand +why Clement thought so little of her. _He_, however, avoided meeting +her more than ever, and particularly when he found her in Wolf's +company; then he grew pale and turned away, and the villagers often met +him in lonely forest paths, seemingly lost in gloomy reveries. + +He was returning one evening from a melancholy distant wandering, and +had just passed from the wood into the corn-fields, when he met Wolf +advancing towards him. Wolf was more excited than usual. After a long +visit to Mary, who had interested him even more than ever, he had gone +to the little village inn, and had drunk so much of the country wine, +that he took a fancy to wander about the fields in the cool of the +evening to refresh himself. + +"You will not get rid of me so soon!" he cried to Clement. "I must +study your little blind witch a little more first; she is cleverer than +a dozen women in the town, who only use their eyes to ogle God's man; +and now she keeps me in order; it is really marvellous!" + +"So much the better for you if she tames you a little." said Clement, +sharply. + +"Tame! that she will never make me! when I look at her, and her +graceful figure and beautiful face, faith, it is not to grow tamer! +Don't believe that I would do her any harm; but do you know that I +sometimes think that if she did ever love any one, it would be a +wonderful love; one like her, who sees not, only _feels_, and such +_feeling_, so delicate and strong and charming, such as one never can +find elsewhere; he will be a happy man round whose neck she throws her +arms!" + +"You would do better to keep your thoughts to yourself." + +"Why? whom do they harm? and whom should I injure if I were to make +her, at least, a little in love with me, just to see how the nerves +will extricate themselves out of the difficulty? so much of the inner +fire is usually cooled by the eyes--but here-- + +"Beware how you try experiments upon her!" Clement burst out. "I tell +you solemnly, that for the future, I will neither hear nor see aught of +this--so beware!" + +Wolf cast a keen side-long glance at him, seized his arm, and said +laughing, "I really believe that you are in love with the girl and want +to keep the experiment for yourself. How long have you grown so +particular? you used to listen readily enough when I said what I +thought of women." + +"I am not your teacher! What have I to do with your foul thoughts? But +I think that I _have_ a right to prevent your sullying one with them +who is so dear to me, and who is a thousand times too pure to breathe +the same air with you." + +"Oho! oho!" said Wolf, carelessly. "Too good! too good! you are a fine +fellow, Clement! a very fine fellow! out of my sunshine, my dear boy." + +He gave him a slight blow and turned away. Clement stood still; his +cheeks grew suddenly pale. "You shall explain what you mean by these +words," he said sternly. + +"Not such a fool! ask others if you want to know. You will soon find +one who has a greater fancy to preach to deaf ears than I have." + +"What do you mean? Who are the others? Who dares to speak ill of her? +Who?" + +He held Wolf with a hand of iron. "Fool!" growled Wolf, angrily; "you +spoil my walk with your tedious cross-questionings. Let me go free!" + +"Not from this place do you move till you have given me an +explanation;" said Clement, wild with rage. + +"Indeed! Go and settle it with the sacristan's son if you happen to be +jealous; poor devil! to go on with him till he was ready to jump out of +his skin, and then to give him his marching orders. Pah! is that +honourable? He complained to me, and I consoled him. She is just like +other women, I told him, a coquette. Now she is trying it on upon me, +but we know how to manage matters, and are not going to let our mouths +be shut, and have other good fellows fall into the same snare." + +"Retract your words!" shouted Clement, almost beside himself, shaking +Wolf violently by the arm. + +"Why? It is true, and I can prove it. Go--you are a child!" + +"And you--are a scoundrel!" + +"Oho! now it is your turn to eat your words." + +"I retract not a syllable!" + +"Then you know the consequences. You shall hear from me as soon as I +get to town." + +Therewith he turned coolly away from him and went towards the village. +Clement stood for a time rooted to the spot. "Miserable wretch!" burst +from his lips. His bosom laboured violently--a bitter agony nested +within it. He threw himself upon the ground amongst the corn, and lay +long, recalling a thousand times over each word which had so terribly +moved him. + +When he returned to the house late in the evening, he found, contrary +to his expectation, that the family were still together. + +Wolf was not there. The old man paced with firm steps through the +chamber; his mother and Mary sate with their work in their laps, +contrary to the custom of the house at so late an hour. When Clement +entered, his father paused in his walk, and turned his head gravely +towards him. + +"What had passed between you and your friend? He departed whilst we +were in the fields, and has left but a scanty greeting behind him; when +we returned home we found a messenger removing his luggage. Have you +quarrelled? Why else should he have left this house so hastily?" + +"We had a dispute. I am happy not to find him under this roof." + +"And what did you quarrel about?" + +"I cannot tell you, father. I would willingly have avoided it; but +there are things which an honest man cannot hear spoken. I long knew +that he was wild, and spared neither himself nor others; but I never +saw him before as he was to-day." + +The father looked steadily at his son, and asked in a low voice-- + +"And how will it be arranged?" + +"As is the custom amongst men of honour," answered Clement, firmly. + +"Do you know how _Christians_ are accustomed to arrange quarrels?" + +"I _do_ know, but cannot do it. If he had insulted _me_, I could have +forgiven him, and spared him his punishment; but he has slandered one +who is dearer to me than myself." + +"A woman, Clement?" + +"Yes, a woman!" + +"And you love this woman?" + +"I love her!" said the young man, in a low voice. + +"I thought that it was thus." cried the old man. "The town has +destroyed you. You have become one of the children of this world, +following after strange women, and swaggering for them, and making of +them the false idols of your folly! But I tell you that, so long as I +live, I will labour to bring you back to the Lord, and will shatter +your idols! Has God wrought a miracle in you that you should deny him? +Aye, it were better that you sate still in darkness, and that the door +had for ever remained shut through which the spirit of lies has crept +into your heart!" + +The young man restrained himself with difficulty. "Who has given you +the right, father," he cried at last, "who has given you the right of +accusing me of ignoble inclinations? Because I must do what must be +done in this world to restrain the insolence of the base, am _I_ +therefore base? There are different ways of fighting against the spirit +of evil. Yours is the way of peace, because you have to deal with men +in the aggregate. I stand opposed to a single man, and know what I have +to do." + +"_Thou_ canst not change him," the old man cried angrily: "wilt thou +tread God's ordinances under thy feet? He is no son of mine who raises +his hand against his brother. I forbid the meeting in the strength of +my priestly and paternal power. Beware how you brave it." + +"So you cast me from your house," said Clement gloomily. The mother, +who had burst into tears, arose, and rushed towards her son. "Mother," +he said sternly, "I am a man, and may not be false to myself." He +approached the door, and glanced over towards Mary, who sought him +sorrowfully with her great blind eyes. His mother followed him; her +sobs choked her voice. "Do not retain him, wife," cried the old man; +"he is no longer a child of ours if he be not a child of God. Let him +go whither he will; he is dead to us." + +Mary heard the door shut, and the mother fall to the ground with a cry +from her inmost mother's heart. Then the palsied feeling which had kept +her seated went from her. She arose, went to the door, and with a +powerful effort bore the fainting woman to her bed. The old man stood +by the window and spoke not a word; his clasped hands trembled +violently. + +A quarter of an hour later, some one knocked at the door of Clement's +room. He opened it, and Mary stood before him. The room was in +confusion. She struck her foot against his travelling trunk, and said +sorrowfully, "What are you going to do, Clement?" Then his rigid grief +gave way; he seized her hands, and pressed his eyes, in which the hot +tears stood, against them. "I _must_ do it," he said; "I have long felt +that I have lost his love; perhaps he will feel, when I am far away +from him, that I have never ceased to be his son." + +She raised him up. "Do not weep so, or I shall never have the strength +to utter what I _must_ say. Your mother would say it, did your father +not forbid her. The sound of his voice told me how hard it was for him +to be so stern; but thus he will remain. I know him well. He believes +that his sternness is a duty to God, to make him offer up his own heart +as a sacrifice." + +"And do _you_ think that it is required of him?" + +"No, Clement! I know but little of the world, and know not the nature +of the laws which force men of honour to fight. But I know you well +enough to know that the mere opinion of the world would never prevent +your considering honestly what is right and what is wrong--even in this +case. You may owe it to the world, and to the woman you love;--but +still, you owe more to your parents than to either. I know not the girl +they have slandered, and may not be able quite to understand the depth +of the pain it must give you not to do all for her.--Do not interrupt +me. Do not think that I have any fear that for her sake you might +withdraw from me those last scanty remains of friendship these last +years of separation have spared me.--I give you up utterly to her, if +she but makes you happy.--But you have no right to do, even for her +sake, what you contemplate doing, even were she a thousand times dearer +to you than father or mother. You have no right to leave your father's +house in anger, and so close the door for ever on yourself. Your father +is old, and will take his opinions to the grave with him. He would have +had to sacrifice the essence and substance of his whole life if he had +given way. You sacrifice to him the passing respect that you may +possess in the eyes of strangers. For if the girl you love so can +desert you because you refuse to bring down your father's gray hairs in +sorrow to the grave, she has never, never been worthy of you"-- + +Her voice failed her. He had thrown himself on a chair, and groaned +bitterly. She stood ever near the door, and waited for his answer. +Across her brow lay a strange anxious expression, as if she listened +even to him with her very eyes. Suddenly he sprang up, laid his hands +upon her shoulders, and cried, "It was for _thee_ that I would have +done it, and for _thy_ sake alone will conquer my own heart!" Then he +rushed past her, and down the narrow stairs. + +She remained above. His last words had quivered in her very soul, and a +stream of blissful thoughts swept through her fearful, half-incredulous +heart. She seated herself trembling on the travelling-trunk. "For thee! +For thee!" still rang in her ears. She almost feared his return. If he +should have meant differently?--and how was it possible that he should +not mean differently? What was she to him? + +At last she heard him returning--her agitation gained on her; she +arose, and moved towards the door. He entered, clasped her in his arms, +and told her all! + +"It is _I_ who am blind," he cried; "_you_ are the seeing one--the +prophetess! What were I now without thy light? Lost for all eternity! +driven from all the hearts I love through mine own miserable blindness! +And now--now--all again mine--aye, and more than I knew of--more than I +dared to hope for!" + +She hung mute and agitated upon his neck; all her long-suppressed love +burst forth, and glowed in her kisses, despising the tepid rendering of +mere words. + +The day dawned upon their happiness. + +Now he learned, too, what she had so long kept silent, and what this +same room had seen, in which they now, for ever irrevocably united, +pressed each other's hands, and parted in the light of the breaking +day. + +In the course of the day a letter arrived from Wolf, dated the night +before, from the next village. "Clement need not trouble himself," he +wrote. "He retracted all he had said; he knew best that it was all an +idle lie; anger and wine had put it into his head. He had really +thought, when he saw him so cold about it, that it would only have cost +him a word to win the girl; and when he saw that Clement was in +earnest, he had slandered what he felt was for ever beyond his reach. +He should not think him worse than he was, and excuse him to the girl +and his parents, and not quite give him up for ever." + +When Clement read these lines to Mary, she said, with some emotion, "I +only pity him. I never felt comfortable when he was near me, and how +much he might have spared both us and himself! But I can think of him +calmly now. How much have I to thank him for!" + + + + + MARION. + + * * * + + +When holy Saint Louis wore the crown of France, the good old town of +Arras was just six hundred years younger than it is now. That she was a +thousand times merrier she had to thank, not her youth alone, but, +before even that, the noble guild of poets who resided within her +walls, and who, by their ballads and miracle-plays, and pleasant +rhyming romances, spread her fame over all fair France. + +Now it happened one early spring about the time, that in a garden in +Arras, behind the house of one of these valiant singers, a young woman +was busied tying up vines to their trellises. She was beautifully +formed, of that pleasant roundness that usually indicates a cheerful +soul within, and she had a sweet, gentle face. Her calm dark eyes swept +now and then over the garden as if they knew neither joy nor sorrow; +but her hands were active and dreamed not. After the fashion of +well-to-do townswomen, she wore her fair hair adorned with many an +artful ribbon ornament, and her gown was tucked up for work, and, +perhaps, possibly also, for the sake of her darling little feet. + +As the charming vision wandered in her tranquil activity still further +into the garden, there appeared at the door of the house which opened +into it, a man, who formed both in face and manner a most remarkable +contrast to her. He was of middle size, with a keen eye, and irregular +features. His black cloak indifferently concealed his high left +shoulder, and his legs seemed to have been made after very different +patterns. But still his figure, however incongruous its parts might +seem, was brought into a striking unison by the boldness and vivacity +of his carriage; and about his mouth there played an expression that +must have made him dangerous in sarcasm, or very charming in a more +kindly humour. + +He gazed for a while at the fair young gardener, and seemed to enjoy +her beauty. He shook his head irresolutely. At last he plucked the +barrel-cap with the green cock's-feather deeper over his forehead, and +strode towards her. + +The fair woman looked round, her cheek coloured slightly, and her eyes +brightened. She let her hands fall by her side, and gazed silently at +him as he neared her. + +"Good-day, Marion!" said the man, almost roughly. "Is there any one +beside yourself in the garden?" + +"No, Adam." + +"It is well--I wish to speak with you. You are a good wife, Marion, and +do your duty; but yet I must tell you that I cannot endure you any +longer!" + +The bright cheeks grew pale as death; but she was silent and looked +steadily before her. + +"No!" continued Adam; "longer I cannot bear it! You are very lovely, +Marion, and that I know now, four weeks after our wedding, better than +I did when I courted you, but--you are so wearisome, Marion! I will not +say that you are absolutely without sense; but the Holy Virgin only +knows whether it is asleep, or waiting in good hope of some mighty +thought, when it is to appear. I have waited long for it, and now my +patience is at an end. Have you once, only once, since we have been man +and wife chattered amusingly, or made one single joke? or have my +brightest strokes of wit ever found more favour from you than half a +smile? Have you not ever gone calmly on your way like a statue? What is +the use of my now and then making the discovery that you really are +flesh and blood, when from morning to night I am obliged to laugh at my +own jokes by myself, and so applaud my own rhymes with my own hands. +Fool that I was! I should have thought of it sooner--when I fell in +love with you! _Now_, I thought, she will begin to thaw! Confess +yourself--have we not wearied each other as thoroughly as any wedded +pair in Christendom?" + +The young wife remained obstinately silent, but her eyes filled with +heavy drops. Adam broke a young twig hastily from the tree, and +continued-- + +"I will not say that other women are, in the long-run, better, or more +amusing--I do not say so; and I have at least to thank you for showing +me so early that I have made a great mistake in taking a wife. But, for +the third time--I can stand it no longer! Am I to mope and fritter away +my young life in this hole, merely because I had the luck to think you +pretty? And am I never to set foot in Paris, at the king's court, in +the chambers of princes, where my talent would bring me honour and +distinction?--and never set a foot in the houses of learned doctors of +the University, where there are more clever things said in one hour +than you produce in a year? and all this because you are a pretty +woman--for you are one--and, by chance, my proper wife! May the devil +bake me into a pancake if I stand it!" + +He paced up and down a few times, gesticulating vehemently, glanced +sideways at his wife, and began again. + +"Are you not a standing proof that I am right? Why don't you cry, as +any other ordinary woman would do, and fall upon my neck and beseech me +to remain, and say that I am your darling Adam--your only love--your +handsome Adam, though, by-the-bye, I am not handsome, and promise +everything, whether you can perform it or not? There you stand, and +don't know how to help yourself! Am I to give up my art and my young +years for the pleasure of staring at you? And supposing we should have +children, and they take after you! Do you expect that I shall be able +to compose the stupidest birthday ode, with six or seven boys and +girls, all as lovely as pictures, and as stupid, sitting round me and +staring at me? But we will not part in enmity; and so I tell you, in +all love and friendship, that you can no longer be my wife! I will away +to Paris as soon as I can raise money enough for the journey; you can +return to your parents, or, if you like, you can go to my old uncle, +who is so fond of you; he will take good care of you--you shall want +for nothing; and if you should have a child, I will keep it as my +own--but, remain with you I _cannot_, Marion! By my soul's salvation! a +poet I am, and a poet I will remain--and weariness is poison to the +merrie art! Now I am going to my uncle--be a good girl, and let us part +friends." + +He stretched out his hand towards her, but she saw it not for tears. He +thought it needless on that account to wait and see whether she would +behave as he had told her other women would do under the circumstances; +he turned hastily towards the door and disappeared into the house. + +An hour after the wedded pair had thus parted "in friendship," the door +of a stately house, in which lived the rich senator, Adam's uncle, was +thrown open, and Adam stepped hastily out, in high excitement. He +hurried onwards without regarding which way he took, and now and then +scraps of his internal conversation with himself burst forth, as he +clenched his fist or twisted his fingers in his long round-cut hair. + +"The old shark!" he growled. "And yet he had got rags of virtuous +poverty to cover the nakedness of his avarice! What is it to him if I +and my wife choose to agree to a friendly separation? I wish he would +take her himself, if it were not a pity for her, pretty young thing! +Truly, whether I moulder here or not touches not his money-bags; but, +to travel and to see the world, and gain wisdom--ay! that pinches +Master Money-bags sore! Pah! because he gave me the cottage, and +arranged my household, am I to freeze in Arras, and blunder about with +those rogues of balladmakers, and hide my light under a bushel? If I am +obliged to travel like a mountebank, and train dogs and apes to get to +Paris, I'll do it! I'll show the old gold-scratcher that Adam de la +Halle is no petticoat knight, but knows how to follow his own way." + +And this same way of his own carried him this time to the Three Golden +Lilies, the best tavern in the good old town of Arras. There were but +few guests in the drinking-room at this hour. Adam seated himself in a +corner, and did not look up until the host, bringing him wine, greeted +him respectfully, + +"You come as if called for, Master Adam," said mine host of the Lilies. +"There is one of my guests, see you--the man sitting yonder by the +stove and looking towards you. Well, a week ago he brought a troop of +players into the town, to play the great passion-piece at Easter, in +the cathedral The reverend gentlemen there sent for them; and now it +wants fourteen days to the time, and they are all loitering about idle +and eating their pay before they get it; and their director lodges with +me, and drinks stoutly on the score. 'Sir,' I said to him just before +you came in, 'sir,' said I, 'if you could manage to scrape together a +little money by your art in the mean time, it would do both you and me +good.'--'Ay!' said he, 'if we had only a decent piece, a mystery, or a +miracle; for I have left my whole bundle of plays behind at Cambria, +all except the passion-piece.'--'Eh, sir!' said I. 'Here with us the +country is alive with gay minstrels, troubadours, and ballad-singers +and there is Master Adam de la Halle, who is worth them all put +together.'--'By St. Nicholas,' said my man, 'I would give him half the +receipts if he would write me a piece, and it succeeded'--and just at +that moment you came through the door, and so he sent me to ask you." + +Adam rose up, swallowed his wine hastily, and then went straight to the +leader of the strollers, who sprang from his seat respectfully, and +bowed low. They conversed for a short time, and then shook hands. "So +be it," said Adam; "within eight days your people shall play. And the +day after I shall receive my money, and now our Lady preserve you. I +will go and set about your affair at once." So he went, and after his +fashion, he growled something between his teeth, that sounded very much +like "I'll make them remember me." + +Eight days had passed away, and Marion sat in her chamber one +afternoon, with eyes red with weeping, and cheeks pale with sorrow, so +intently engaged turning over old letters which she had in her lap that +she did not hear the door open, and one of her old playmates enter. +When her friend called her by name, she sprang up startled. "Good day, +Perette," she said; "what brings you here?" "or rather, what keeps +_you_ here?" answered the girl, saucily; "you sit and you cry, and you +never think of going near the Three Lilies, where your husband's new +piece is to be acted by the strange players. What a wife you are! I +should be the first to go if I had a husband who could charm half the +town into the courtyard of an old inn. What have you got there? Have +you been studying all the old songs your Adam made on you? I should +think that you ought to have them all at your fingers' ends now like +your rosary." The poor wife began to weep bitterly. "Don't you know +then," she sobbed, "and is not the whole town of Arass talking about +it--that he is going to Paris, and intends to leave me behind, and is +never, never coming back again?" "Bah! nonsense," cried Perette, "what +has put all that into your head?" "He said it to me himself, word for +word; and since that time he has never eaten at home, and only returns +very late at night, and sleeps below in the saloon." "Well, well, he +has had his hands full of his new play, and then men are always +fanciful, Marion, and must always be doing something to plague us; but, +God be praised! all are not dead that do not laugh. Dry your eyes, be a +sensible woman, and come with me to the play. What will your husband +think of you if you don't even wish to see a play he has written +himself?" + +So half comforting, half scolding, she drew the sorrowing young wife +out of her room to the Three Lilies. + +There all was gay enough. A number of the townspeople were seated on +benches in the spacious courtyard. The windows of the low buildings at +the side had been chosen as boxes by the more distinguished of the +burghers. And the stage was erected in a large barn at the end of the +yard, the mighty doors having been removed for that purpose. Marion and +Perette arrived at the moment of the exit of Dame Avaritia, who had +spoken the prologue, and assured many rich burghers of the town of +her further protection. Not a place was left free for our two fair +sight-seers, either in the courtyard, or at the windows. But Perette +was not to be daunted, and knowing the house, she made her way through +a side building, and advanced with Marion up to the barn. Here they +placed themselves behind the great linen cloths with which the stage +had been fenced off, and peeped through a rent in the curtain at the +play, unhindered by the actors, who, in their fantastic dresses, sought +to pay their court to the two pretty women. Marion took not the +slightest notice of them, and stood rooted to one spot. Perette +exercised the sharpness of her little tongue on the player folk now and +then, and, in common parlance, gave them quite as good, or perhaps +better than they brought. + +But Master Adam, little dreaming that his young wife was watching him, +had, in the meantime, advanced from the other side in his own character +and costume. + +He began in smooth verses to bewail his sorrows. He wanted to go to +Paris, and never a _sou_ had he in his pockets, and his _millionaire_ +of an uncle had, just at this moment, been attacked by the most +hopeless complaint in the world, an obstinate avarice, so that from him +there was nothing to hope. To him entered a doctor, whom Adam consulted +as to whether it was possible to cure avarice, for he could show him a +splendid specimen of it, if he wished to try his hand. Whereupon the +doctor broke forth into a learned dissertation on the different +varieties of the disease, distinguishing those curable from those +incurable; and in the case which Adam described, he had but little +doubt that he could be of service, if he was only permitted to see the +patient himself. Then a third personage advanced, so ridiculously like +Adam's venerable uncle in figure and manner and dress, that the +laughter of the spectators seemed never coming to an end. To this +worthy gentleman the doctor advanced with great politeness, felt his +pulse, and looked gravely at his tongue, asked about this and that, and +then made some more pointed inquiries about specific symptoms of the +miser fever, from which he understood he suffered. Upon which the old +gentleman burst into a great rage, upbraided his rascally nephew +soundly for accusing him of having such a scandalous complaint, and +declared the grounds upon which he refused to assist him on his journey +to Paris. The principal reason was, that Adam was only just married, +and had already grown tired of his wife, who nevertheless was, as all +Arras knew, a perfect model of beauty and virtue. + +In ever-increasing irritation had poor Marion been an unsuspected +participator in all this conversation--and who could blame a virtuous +wife for feeling irritated--when all at once she saw her domestic +sorrows made a butt for a laughing public. She took no heed of the +polished verses and comical grimaces with which the conversation of the +three actors was adorned, and which so delighted the audience. With a +bitter anxiety, and forgetting all else, she now listened to the answer +her husband was to give to her uncle. When, however, Adam drily +explained to the audience that a pretty woman was not necessarily an +amusing one, and that his Marion's mouth was better adapted for kisses +than conversation, that nevertheless no one grew wiser by kissing, but, +on the contrary, by witty conversation; and that he would present any +one amongst them, who had ever heard his Marion give utterance to an +observation at all bordering on the witty, the sum of two golden +crowns; then the poor listener could no longer restrain herself. With +one bound she was on the stage, and stood with glowing eyes and angry +brow directly opposite to him who had so basely slandered her. + +"Are you not ashamed, Adam?" she cried in the midst of his harangue; +"are you not ashamed to speak thus of your own wedded wife before all +the town? Oh, if you had ever loved me, only a little, a little, that +speech would never have passed your lips! And now tell me, have I +deserved it from you? Have I ever caused you one hour's grief? Have I +not done everything to please you? And now will you speak ill of me +before all Arras?" + +So angry and heart-grieved, amidst tears and sobbings, scolded the poor +beauty. The audience who took it all for part of the play, laughed at +first, aye, and some amongst them were mischievous enough to enjoy +their neighbour's domestic discomfort. When, however, they began to see +that it was the veritable Marion herself, the worst of them lost their +gaiety and stared astonished at the stage. But Adam, much as he was +startled at first by this sudden apparition, quickly recovered himself, +and cried loudly and undauntedly, "My good fellow-townsmen, this does +not belong to our play; this woman fell suddenly in amongst us, and +does not belong to our company at all. Let me entreat some of you to +lead her away. You hear that she does not talk verse, like all the +actors who have the honour of performing this most remarkable farce +before your worthinesses!" Therewith, he took Marion gently by the hand, +to lead her from the stage. But she shook herself free, and encouraged +by the demand of some amount the spectators, that she should be +permitted to remain, and fight for her own cause, cried, "Aye! and I +_will_, I say too! and make you all the judges of whether I have not +been badly played upon. It is true that I am naturally silent, but is +it to be considered a fault, on my part, if I do what you men are +always throwing in the teeth of us poor women, letting alone all +useless chattering, and listening quietly to what my husband has to +say?" "Marion is right." "Long live Marion! she shall speak again!" +shouted the spectators, laughing, and waving her encouragement. "And," +she continued, growing even more eloquent, "if I have no right to be +here because I do not speak verses, I know enough and of the very +best too! My husband, who slanders me now, wrote them on me himself +before we were married; and you shall hear them that you may know how +double-tongued he is, and what fair words he once had for my praise, +although he now has only complaints." + +Therewith she stepped to the edge of the stage and sang the following +verses, with a voice that threatened to desert her-- + + "Cheeks as red and eyes as dancing, + Arms and necks like lilies glancing, + You may find in Arras town. + Hearts as soft and limbs as rounded, + Forms with every grace surrounded, + You may meet with, up and down! + But with wisdom no one's blest, + Like the maiden I love best!" + + +A shout of laughter answered this strophe; some began to sing the +_refrain_ and others joined them. But a voice from the crowd asked, "But +how can you prove, fair Marion, that this lady of whom he talks is not +another than yourself?" "Listen again," cried Marion, "there is no +doubt about it." Then she sang-- + + "Others may more sweetly sing, + Lighter through the dancers swing, + Never a straw I care! + Prattle half an hour free, + Marion's rosy lips to me, + That's a pleasure rare! + Prettier, wittier ne'er was known, + Than my Marion, darling one!" + + +This time the whole audience sang the _refrain_ with her, and then +resounded loud cheerings for the songstress, who stood with the tears +still in her eyes, frightened at her own boldness, but lovelier than +ever on the stage. Adam sprang from the back of the scene and cried, +"Silence, good burghers all! I too have a word to say." All were +silent, and curious to know how he would manage to bring himself into +grace again. He said, "There is not one amongst you who cannot perceive +that my dear wife here has blamed me terribly, and managed to get all +the laughter on her side; for that, I thank her from the very bottom of +my soul: I tell you all truly that my heart quivered with joy at each +word she spoke, and when, at last, she hit upon the charming idea of +making my own words witness against me, I said quietly to myself, +Master Adam, you are a rogue if you desert such a model of a wife, +though it rained honours and doubloons in Paris! and so I come +penitently hoping that my dear fellow-townsmen will intercede for me +with my wife, that she may take her insolent, reckless husband back to +her heart and love, and forget what his slanderous tongue has said of +her." + +As he said this with ah emotion, which no one had ever seen him under +before, there was a deep silence in the court--Marion smiled at him +with an assuring kindness--fell upon his neck, and said, "You dear, +mischievous man." Then broke from all the windows and benches a +universal shout of congratulation. But Adam, freeing himself from the +arms of his wife, grasped her hand firmly, and cried, "I owe you the +third song." it runs thus-- + + "Let those who will to Paris wander, + And time and gold for learning squander, + For me I mean at home to rest! + All the knowledge that's worth knowing + Lies, fresh springing, ever blowing, + In a gentle woman's breast. + Wiser woman ne'er was known + Than the one----I call mine own!" + + +We need hardly say how gaily all joined in the _refrain_ this time. +Just, however, as they were all in full song, there arose a noise of +contention before the house; certain people had kindly let Adam's uncle +know that his nephew had introduced his honourable presentment on the +stage, and the old gentlemen came, with a company of archers, firmly +determined to make his irreverent nephew pay dearly for his +indiscretion. The people were now busied in the house explaining to him +the favourable turn things had taken, and when he heard of Adam's +recantation and the renunciation of the Paris idea, he permitted +himself to be pacified, became gracious and forgave the saucy poet, who +approached humbly with Marion on his arm; and in order to strike a +joyous blow against the accusation of avarice, he gave a grand banquet +that very evening at the Three Lilies, where Marion was obliged to +dance with all the great people of the town. + +The play was quite spoilt for the good burghers of Arras; but we have, +however, so much faith in their good heartedness, as to believe that +the miracle, as performed by Marion, pleased them more than if, as was +originally intended, the angel Gabriel and half a dozen of his body +guard, had descended from heaven and kicked Dame Avaritia out of the +country with due honour. It is possible that there might have been +never a miser the less in Arras for it, and now, at least, there was +one happy pair the more. + + + + + + LA RABBIATA. + + * * * + + + + + CHAPTER I. + + +The sun had not yet risen. Over Vesuvius lay a broad grey sweep of +mist, which spread itself out towards Naples, and overshadowed the +little towns along the coast. The sea was tranquil, but on the Marina, +which is situate in a narrow inlet under the high Torrentine cliffs; +fishermen and their wives were already busied, dragging in with stout +ropes the net boats, which had been fishing at sea during the night. +Others cleaned up their boats, shook out the sails, and brought oars +and spars out of the great railed vaults, cut deep in the rock, in +which they kept their tackle at night. No one was idle. For even the +old people, who were no longer able to go to sea, ranged themselves +amongst the long rows of those who drew the nets, and here and there +there stood an old woman with her distaff on one of the flat roofs, or +took care of the children, whilst her daughter helped her husband at +his work. + +"Look there, Rachella! there is our padre, Eurato," said an old woman, +to a little thing of ten years old, who swung its little spindle by her +side; "He has just stepped into the boat. Antonino is going to take him +over to Capri. Maria Santissima! how sleepy the holy man looks still!" +and therewith she waved her hand towards a kindly looking little +priest, who had seated himself cautiously in a boat below her, having +first carefully raised his black coat and spread it over the seat. The +people on the shore paused in their work to see their padre start, who +nodded and greeted them kindly right and left. + +"Why must he go to Capri, grandmother?" asked the child. "Have the +people over there got no priest of their own that they are obliged to +borrow ours?" + +"Do not be so silly," answered the old woman, "They have plenty of +priests, and beautiful churches, and a hermit too--which we have not. +But there is a noble signora there, who stopped once a long time here +at Lorento, and was so ill that the padre was often obliged to carry +her the Hoste, when she did not think that she should live through the +night. Well, the Holy Virgin helped her, and she got strong and well +again, and was able to bathe every day in the sea. When she went from +here to go over to Capri, she left a pretty heap of ducats behind for +the Church and the poor people, and said that she would not go until +our padre promised to visit her over there, that she might confess to +him, for it is wonderful how fond she is of him; and we may bless +ourselves that we have a padre who has gifts like an archbishop, and +who is asked after by all the great people. The Madonna be with him." +And therewith she nodded down towards the boat which was just putting +off. + +"Shall we have fine weather, my son?" asked the little priest, looking +thoughtfully towards Naples. + +"The sun is not up yet," answered the young man; "It will soon scatter +that bit of fog when it rises." + +"So, let us start at once, and avoid the heat." Antonino was in the act +of grasping the long oar, in order to push off the boat, when he +suddenly checked himself, and looked up towards the steep path which +led from the little town of Lorento, down towards the Marina. + +A slender girlish form was visible above, tripping hastily over the +rough stones, and waving a handkerchief She carried a small bundle +under her arm, and was poorly enough dressed; yet she had an almost +noble, though rather wild way of throwing her head back on her +shoulders, and the black tresses which she wore twined round her +forehead decked her like a coronet. + +"What are we waiting for?" asked the little priest. + +"There is some one coming down who wants to go to Capri. If you will +permit it, padre, we shall not go the slower, for it is only a young +girl, hardly eighteen." + +Just as he spoke the girl appeared round the end of the wall which +bordered the winding path. "Lauretta!" cried the padre, "what can she +want in Capri?" + +Antonino shrugged his shoulders. The girl approached with hasty steps, +looking straight before her. + +"Good day! La Rabbiata!" cried some of the young sailors. They might +indeed have said more if the proximity of their padre had not kept them +a little in order, for the short defiant manner with which the girl +received their greetings seemed to irritate them vastly. + +"Good day, Lauretta!" cried the padre, "how goes it with you? Do you +want to go over to Capri with us?" + +"If you will permit me, padre." + +"You must ask Antonino there. He is the patron of the boat. Every one +is master of his own, and God of us all." + +"Here is a half Carolus," said Lauretta, without looking at the young +boatman, "can I go over for it?" + +"You may want it more than I;" murmured Antonino, and moved some +baskets filled with oranges on one side to make room. He was going to +sell them at Capri, for the rocky islet does not produce enough for its +numerous visitors. + +"I will not go with you for nothing." said the girl; and the dark +eyebrows drew together. + +"Come, my child." said the padre, "he is an honest young fellow, and +does not want to get rich from your poverty; there--step in," and he +reached her his hand, "and seat yourself near me. See there! He has +spread his jacket for you that you may sit the softer. He was not half +so thoughtful of me. But young blood! young blood! It is always so! +They will take more care of one little girl, then of ten holy fathers." + +"Well, well! you need not make any excuses, 'Tonino; it is God's law +that like should cling to like." + +In the mean time, Lauretta had slipped into the boat, and seated +herself, first pushing the jacket on one side without saying a word. +The young fisherman let it be, and muttered something between his +teeth. Then he pushed stoutly against the beach, and the little bark +flew lightly out into the bay. + +"What have you got in your bundle?" asked the padre, as they swept over +the sea, just beginning to be freckled with the first sunbeams. + +"Thread, silk, and a little loaf, padre, I am going to sell the silk to +a woman in Capri, who makes ribbons, and the thread to another." + +"Did you spin it yourself?" + +"Yes, padre." + +"If I remember rightly, you have learned to weave ribbons too?" + +"Yes, padre, but my mother is so much worse, that I cannot leave her +for long at a time; and we are too poor to buy a loom." + +"Much worse! Dear, dear, when I saw her at Easter, she was sitting up." + +"The spring is always the worst time for her. Since we had the great +storm and the earthquake, she has been obliged to keep her bed from +pain." + +"Don't weary of prayers and supplications to the Holy Virgin, my +child,--she alone can help her. And be good and industrious, that your +prayers may be heard." + +After a pause. "As you came across the beach, they called after you, +'Good day, La Rabbiata.' Why do they call you so? It is not a pretty +name for a Christian girl, who ought to be humble and gentle." + +The girl's brown face glowed, and her eyes sparkled. + +"They laugh at me, because I will not dance and sing and gossip, like +the others. They might let me go my own way. I do them no harm." + +"But you might be friendly with every one. Others, who lead easier +lives may dance and sing; but kindly words may be given even by a +sorrowful heart." + +She looked steadily down, and drew the black eyebrows still closer +together, as if she wished to shroud the dark eyes entirely under them. +For a while they, voyaged on in silence. The sun now stood glorious +over the mountains. The peak of Vesuvius ranged high over the bank of +mist which still wrapped its flanks, and the houses on the plains of +Lorento gleamed whitely from amongst the green orange gardens. + +"Have you never heard any thing more of that painter, Lauretta," asked +the padre, "that Neapolitan, who wanted to marry you?" + +She shook her head. + +"He wanted to paint your picture--why did you drive him away?" + +"Why did he want it? There are plenty prettier than I. And then, who +knows what he might have done with it? He might have bewitched me with +it, and endangered my soul, or even have killed me, my mother says." + +"Don't believe such wicked things," said the padre, gravely, "Are you +not always in the hand of God, without whose permission not a hair can +fall from your head? And do you think that a man with a poor picture +like that can be stronger than the Lord God? You might have seen that +he wished you well. Would he have wanted you to marry him if he had +not?" + +She was silent. + +"Then why did you send him away? They said that he was an honest +man and well to do, and could have kept you and your mother in +comfort. Much more so than you can do now with your poor spinning and +silk-weaving." + +"We are poor people." she said, impetuously. "And my mother has been +ill a long time. We should only have been a burden to him; and I am not +fit to be a signora. When his friends came to see him, he would have +been ashamed of me." + +"What nonsense! I tell you that he was a good man, and, moreover, he +was willing to settle in Lorento. Another like him will not come again +in a hurry; he seemed sent straight from heaven to assist you." + +"I will never have a husband, never!" she said almost fiercely, and as +if to herself. + +"Have you taken a vow, or do you intend to enter a cloister?" + +She shook her head. + +"The people are right in accusing you of obstinacy, even if the name be +not a pretty one. Do you forget that you are not alone in the world, +and that this resolution of yours makes your sick mother's life and +illness still more bitter? What possible grounds can you have for +casting aside each honest hand which stretches itself out to assist you +and her? Answer me, Lauretta?" + +"I have, indeed, good grounds," she said, low and hesitatingly, "but I +cannot tell them." + +"Not tell them? not even to me? not even to your old father confessor, +whom you used to trust, and who you know means so well towards you? +Will you?" + +She nodded. + +"So, lighten your heart, my child. If you are _in_ the right, I will be +the first to _do_ you right; but you are young, and know but little of +the world, and you might repent by-and-by at having ruined your +happiness for life for the sake of a childish fancy." + +She cast a shy, rapid glance towards the young man, who sat rowing +steadily behind them in the boat, with his woollen cap plucked deeply +over his brows, gazing sideways at the sea, and seemingly lost in his +own reflections. The padre observed her glance, and bent his head +nearer to her. + +"You did not know my father," she whispered, and her eyes gleamed +darkly. + +"Your father! he died, if I remember rightly, when you were hardly ten +years old. What can your father, whose soul may be in Paradise, have to +do with your caprice?" + +"You did not know him, padre: you did not know that he was the cause of +all my mother's illness." + +"How so?" + +"Because he ill-treated her, and beat her, and trampled her under his +feet! I remember the night well when he used to come home in a rage! +She never said an angry word to him--did all that he wished; but he +beat her till I thought my heart would have broken, and used to draw +the coverlid over my head, and pretend to be asleep, but cried all the +night through. And when he saw her lying on the floor, he changed +suddenly, and raised her up, and kissed her, till she cried that he was +suffocating her. My mother forbad me ever to say a word about it. But +it had such an effect upon her, that she has never been well all these +long years since he has been dead; and if she should die soon, which +the Madonna forbid, I know well who killed her." + +The little priest shook his head, and seemed undecided as to what +extent he should justify his penitent. At last he said, + +"Forgive him, as your mother has forgiven him. Do not fasten your +thoughts on that sad picture, Lauretta. Better times will come for you, +and you will forget all this." + +"Never shall I forget it," she cried, shuddering; "and I tell you, +padre, that I will remain a maiden, and be subject to no one who may +ill-treat me one moment and caress me the next. If any one tries to +strike me or to kiss me now, I know how to defend myself; but my mother +could not defend herself, or ward off the blows or the kisses, because +she loved him; and I will love no one so much as to give him the power +of making me ill and miserable." + +"Now, are you not a child, talking as a child, and knowing nothing of +what happens in the world? Are all men like your father, giving way to +every fancy and ill-humour, and beating their wives? Have you not seen +kind-hearted men enough who live in peace and unity with their wives?" + +"No one knew either how my father treated my mother, for she would have +died a thousand times rather than have said any thing, or complained of +him, and all because she loved him. If that is what love does, closing +one's lips when one should cry for help, and disarming one against +worse than one's worst enemy could do, never shall my heart entrust +itself to a man's keeping." + +"I tell you that you are a child, and do not know what you are talking +about. Much this heart of yours will ask you whether it is to love or +not when its time is come! All those fine fancies you have got into +that little head won't help you much _then_! And that painter, did you +also inform him that you expected him to ill-treat you?" + +"His eyes looked sometimes as my father's used to do when he caressed +my mother, and wanted to take her in his arms and make friends with +her--I know those eyes! A man can give that look, too, who can think of +beating his poor wife, who has never done him ill. I shuddered when I +saw those eyes again." + +Then she remained obstinately silent The padre, too, did not speak. He +ran over in his mind many pretty speeches, which he thought might suit +the girl's case; but the neighbourhood of the young fisherman, who had +become more restless towards the end of the confession, closed his +mouth. + +When, after a voyage of two hours, they gained the little harbour of +Capri, Antonino bore the padre from the boat, over the last shallow +waves, and placed him respectfully upon the shore; but Lauretta would +not wait until he waded back to fetch her; she drew her clothes +together, and taking her shoes in one hand and her bundle in the other, +splashed hastily to the shore. + +"I am going to stop some time at Capri to-day," said the padre, "so you +need not wait for me; possibly I may not return home till to-morrow. +And you, Lauretta, remember me to your mother; I shall see you again +this week. You are going back to-night?" + +"If I have an opportunity," said the girl, arranging her dress. + +"You know that I must go back," said Antonino, in what he intended as a +tone of indifference; "I will wait for you till the Ave Maria; if you +do not come then, it will be all the same to me." + +"You must be in time, Lauretta," said the little priest; "you must not +leave your mother alone all night. Is it far where you are going?" + +"To Anacapri." + +"And I to Capri. God guard you, my child! and you, my son!" + +Lauretta kissed his hand, and said a farewell, which the padre and +Antonino might have divided between them. Antonino, however, did not +claim his share of it; he took off his cap to the padre, and did not +look at Lauretta. + +When, however, they had both turned their backs upon him, he permitted +his glance to follow the padre as he strode carefully up the stony +beach, but for a very short distance, and then directed it to the girl, +who was mounting the hill to the right, holding his hand over his eyes +to shade them from the bright sun. When she reached the place where the +road begins to run between the walls, she paused for a moment, as if to +take breath, and turned round. The Marina lay at her feet, above her +towered the steep cliffs, and before her spread the sea in all its +azure beauty. It was, indeed, a view well worth the pause. + +Chance so willed it that her glance, sweeping past Antonino's boat, +encountered the one which he had sent after her. They both made a +movement, like persons who wish to excuse themselves--"a mere matter of +accident;" and then the girl continued her way with closely-compressed +lips. + + + + + CHAPTER II. + + +It was only an hour after midday, and Antonino had been sitting long on +a bench before the little fishing osteria. Something seemed to be +passing through his mind, for every five minutes he sprang up, stepped +out into the sun, and examined carefully the paths which led right and +left to the two island towns. "The weather looked suspicious," he told +the hostess; "it was clear enough now, but he knew this colour of the +sea and sky; it had looked just like this before the last great storm, +when the English family were saved with such difficulty. She must +remember it?" + +"No." + +"Well, she would remember what he had said, if it changed before +night." + +"Have you many visitors over there?" asked the hostess, after a pause. + +"They are just beginning to come. We have had hard times till now. The +bathers have not arrived yet." + +"The spring was late. Have you done better here in Capri?" + +"I should not have managed to get macaroni twice a week if it had +depended on the boat. Now and then a letter to take to Naples, or a +gentleman who wanted a row on the sea or to fish--that was all. But you +know that my uncle has got the great orange garden, and is a rich man. +'Tonino,' he said to me, 'as long as I live you shall not want, and +afterwards you will be cared for.' So I got through the winter with +God's help." + +"Has your uncle children?" + +"No; he was never married; he was long in foreign countries where he +managed to scrape many a good piaster together; now he has an idea of +setting up a large fishery, and is going to put me at the head of the +whole affair to see that he gets his rights." + +"So you are a made man, Antonino." The young boatman shrugged his +shoulders. "Each one has his burden to bear," he said. Then he sprang +up and looked right and left at the weather, though he must have known +that there was but one weather-side. + +"Let me bring you another flask, your uncle can pay for it," said the +hostess. + +"Only one glass more, my head is warm already." + +"It won't get into your head, you can drink as much as you like of it. +Here is my husband just coming, you must sit down and chat with him a +bit." + +And truly the stately patron of the inn approached them just at that +moment down the hill, with his net on his shoulder, and his red cap set +jauntily sideways on his ringletted hair. He had been into the town +with fish, ordered by the great lady for our little friend the padre of +Lorento. When he caught sight of the young fisherman he waved him a +hearty greeting; then seating himself near him on the bench, began to +question and talk. His wife had just brought a fresh flask of pure +unadulterated Capri, when the shore sand to their left crackled, and +Lauretta advanced towards them from the road to Anacapri. She greeted +them with a hasty nod, and stopped irresolutely. + +Antonino sprang up; "I must away," he said; "it is a girl from Lorento +who came this morning with the padre, and must go back this evening to +her sick mother." + +"Well, but it is a long time before night," said the host, "she will +have time enough to drink a glass of wine. Here, wife, bring a clean +glass." + +"Thank you, I do not wish to drink," said Lauretta, remaining at some +little distance. + +"Pour out, wife, pour out, she wants pressing." + +"Let her alone," said the young man, "she has a will of her own, when +once she has made up her mind, no one can make her alter it." And +therewith he took a hasty leave, and ran down to his boat, to set the +sail, and stood waiting for the girl. She waved a greeting back to the +hostess, and then with hesitating steps approached the boat. She +glanced on all sides, as if she hoped for the arrival of other +passengers; but the Marina was deserted; the fishermen slept, or were +away at sea with their nets and hooks. A few women and children sat in +their doorways, sleeping or spinning; and the strangers who had come +across in the morning, delayed their return until the cooler evening. +She was prevented from looking around her long, for before she could +turn round, Antonino had taken her in his arms and carried her like a +child to the boat. Then he sprang in after her, and with a few strokes +from the oars, they were in the open sea. + +She seated herself in the fore-part of the boat, with her back half +turned towards him, so that he could only see her _en profil_. The +expression of her face was even more haughty than usual; the dark hair +hung low over the broad low forehead, and around her finely cut +nostrils quivered an expression of defiance; her swelling lips were +firmly compressed. + +After they had sailed on in silence for some time, she felt the sun +burning her face, so she took her bread out and threw the handkerchief +over her hair; then she began to eat, to dine in fact, for she had +eaten nothing at Capri. + +Antonino did not contemplate this long in silence. He took two oranges +out of the basket which he had brought over full in the morning, and +said, "Here is something to eat with your bread, Lauretta--don't think +that I kept them for you, they fell out of the basket into the boat, +and I found them when I brought the empty ones back." + +"You had better eat them yourself, my bread is enough for me." + +"They are so refreshing in the heat, and you have had such a long +walk." + +"They gave me a glass of water above there, that refreshed me enough." + +"As you please," he said, and let them fall back into the basket again. + +Fresh silence. The sea was like a mirror, and hardly rustled round the +boat's keel--even the white seamews, that had their nests amongst the +rocks, pursued their prey without a cry. + +"You could take the two oranges home to your mother," Antonino again +began. + +"We have some at home, and when they are gone, I can go and buy more." + +"But take them to her with a kind word from me. + +"She does not know you." + +"You can tell her who I am." + +"_I_ do not know you." + +It was not the first time that she had thus denied him. A year before, +when the painter had just arrived at Lorento, it chanced one summer +evening that Antonino and some other young fellows of the town were +playing boicia on an open piece of ground near the High-street--then it +was that the Neapolitan first saw Lauretta, who, bearing a water-jar on +her head, swept by without seeming to notice his presence. Struck with +her beauty, he stood gazing at her, forgetting that he was just in the +centre of the play-ground, and might have cleared it in two steps. A +ball, thrown by no friendly hand, struck him on the ancle, and reminded +him that that was not the place to lose himself in reveries. He looked +round as if he expected an apology; the young fisherman who had thrown +the ball, stood silent and defiant amongst his companions, and the +stranger thought it his best policy to avoid a discussion and go. But +people had talked about the affair at the time, and spoke anew about it +when the painter began openly to pay his court to Lauretta. "I do not +know him," she had said angrily, when the painter asked her whether she +refused him for the sake of this uncivil youth. And yet the story had +reached her ears too; and since that time, whenever she met Antonino, +she recognized him well enough. + +And now they sat in the boat like the bitterest enemies, and the heart +of each beat fiercely. Antonine's usually good-tempered face was deeply +flushed. He struck his oars into the water till the foam splashed over +them, and his lips moved from time to time as if he spoke evil words. +She pretended not to observe it, put on her most indifferent +expression, bent over the side of the boat and let the water run +through her fingers; then she took off her handkerchief and arranged +her hair as if she had been alone; only her eyebrows still drew +together, and in vain she held her wet hand against her burning cheeks +to cool them. + +Now they reached the centre of the bay, and far or near there was not a +sail to be seen--the island was far behind them, before them the coast +lay bathed in sun-mist; not even a seamew broke in upon the intense +solitude. Antonino glanced around him. An idea seemed to force its way +through his mind; the flush fled quickly from his cheek, and he dropped +the oars. In spite of herself, Lauretta looked around excited, but +fearless. + +"I must make an end of this," burst from the fisherman's lips; "it has +lasted too long already; I wonder that it has not sent me mad before +this! You do not know me, you say? Have you not long enough seen how I +passed you like a madman, with my heart bursting to speak to you? You +saw it, for then you put on your evil look and turned your back upon +me." + +"What had I to talk to you about?" she answered shortly. "I saw long +ago that you wanted to attach yourself to me; but I do not want to be +gossipped about for nothing, and less than nothing, for I will never +marry you, neither you nor any one!" + +"Nor any one? You will not always say that, because you sent away the +painter. Bah! you were a child then. You will get lonesome some day, +and then, mad as you are, you will take the first that comes." + +"No one knows his future. Perhaps I may change my mind; what is it to +you if I do?" + +"What is it to me?" he cried, and sprang so violently from his seat +that the boat rocked again. "What is that to me! and you can ask me +that, when you know how I feel towards you? Unhappy shall it be for him +who is received better than I have been!" + +"Have I engaged myself to you? Am I to blame if you let your brain +wander? What right have you over me?" + +"Oh!" he cried, "truly is it not written down. No lawyer has signed it +and sealed it. But I feel that I have as much right over you as I have +to enter heaven if I die an honest man. Do you think that I will look +on calmly when you go to church with another, and the girls pass by me +and shrug their shoulders? Do you think that I will be so insulted?" + +"Do what you like. I shall not trouble myself, scold as you may. I too +will do as _I_ please." + +"You shall not say so long," he cried, and his whole frame quivered. "I +am man enough not to let my life be destroyed by such fancies. Do you +know that you are here in my power, and must do as _I_ will?" + +She shrank together, and her eyes gleamed at him. + +"Murder me if you like." she said, slowly. + +"We must not do things by halves." he replied, sadly; "there is room +for both of us in the sea, I cannot save you, child," and he spoke +almost compassionately, dreamingly. "But we must dive below, both of +us--and at once--and now," he shrieked, madly seizing her by both arms. +But in an instant he drew back his right hand, the blood streamed from +it--she had bitten him to the bone. + +"_Must_ I do what you will?" she cried, freeing herself from him with a +sudden turn; "let us, see whether I am in your power." And then she +sprang over the gunwale of the boat and disappeared for a moment +beneath the waves. + +She soon rose again; her clothes dung tightly around her; the water had +loosened her hair, which hung in heavy masses around her neck. She +struck out boldly with her arms, and swam, without a sound, steadily +from the boat towards the shore. Sudden terror seemed to have paralyzed +Antonino. He stood bent forward in the boat, his eyes fixed staringly +upon her, as if a miracle was being enacted before them. Then he shook +himself, sprang to the oars, and rowed with all the strength he could +command towards her, whilst the boarding of his boat grew ever redder +from his free-streaming blood. + +In a moment he was by her side, rapidly as she swam. "For the sake of +the ever blessed Virgin," he cried, "come into the boat! I have been a +madman, God knows what took away my reason. It struck into my brain +like lightning from heaven, and burnt in me, till I knew not what I did +or said. I do not ask you to forgive me, only save your life, and come +into the boat again." + +She swam on as if she heard not. "You can never reach the land, it is +still two miglia off. Think of your mother: if anything happened to +you, she would die of grief!" + +She measured with a glance the distance from the shore. Then, without +saying a word, she swam to the boat, and seized the gunwale. He moved +across to help her; his jacket, which was lying on the seat, slid off +into the sea as the boat heeled over with the girl's weight. She swung +herself lithely up, and regained her former seat. When he saw her safe, +he seized the oars again. But she spread out her dripping garments and +wrung the water from her hair. As she did it, she glanced at the +flooring of the boat, and saw the blood; then she cast a hasty look at +his hand, which wielded the oar as unwounded. "There," she said, and +reached him her handkerchief. He shook his head and rowed onwards. At +last she rose, stepped over to him, and bound the handkerchief tightly +over the deep wound. Then, in spite of his resistance, she took one of +the oars from him, and seating herself opposite to him, though without +looking at him, her gaze fixed on oar reddened with his blood, helped +on the boat with vigorous strokes. They were both pale and silent. As +they neared the land they met the fishermen who were moving to sea to +cast their nets for the night. They greeted Antonino, and laughed at +Lauretta: neither of them answered a word. + +The sun was still high over Procida when they reached the marina. +Lauretta shook her gown, now nearly dried, and sprang on shore. The old +spinning woman who had seen them start in the morning stood again on +her roof. "What is the matter with your hand, 'Tonino?" she called down +to him. "Jesus! the boat is swimming in blood!" + +"'Tis nothing, Commare," answered the young man; "I tore it on a nail +that stuck out too far. It will be well by to-morrow. The blood is only +near the hand, and that makes it look worse than it is." + +"I will come and put some herbs upon it, Comparello. Wait, I will be +down with you directly." + +"Don't trouble yourself, Commare; it is all over now and to-morrow it +will be gone and forgotten. I have a good skin that soon grows over a +wound." + +"Addio!" said Lauretta, turning towards the path that led up from the +beach. + +"Good night," called the fisherman after her, without looking towards +her. Then he took his tackle out of the boat, and his baskets, and +strode up the narrow stone steps to his hut. + + + + + CHAPTER III. + + +There was no one but himself in the two rooms, through which he now +paced to and fro. Through the unglazed windows, only closed by wooden +shutters, the wind blew in still more refreshingly than on the calm +sea, and the solitude pleased him. He paused before the little picture +of the Virgin, and gazed thoughtfully at the silver paper star-glory +pasted around it. Yet he thought not of prayer. For what should he pray +now, when he had nothing more to hope for! + +And to-day the sun seemed to stand still. + +He longed for night, for he was weary, and the loss of blood had +affected him more than he would confess. He felt a violent pain in his +hand, seated himself on a stool, and loosened the bandage. The +repressed blood sprang forwards again, and his hand was much swollen +around the wound. He washed it carefully, and held it long in the cold +water. When he withdrew it he could plainly see the marks of Lauretta's +teeth. "She was right," he said to himself; "I was a brute and deserved +no better. I will send her back her handkerchief to-morrow morning by +Giuseppe, for me shall she never see again." He washed the handkerchief +carefully, and spread it out in the sun, after he had bound up his +maimed limb again as well as he could with his left hand and his teeth. +Then he threw himself upon his bed and closed his eyes. + +The bright moon and the pain of his hand awoke him out of a half sleep. +He sprang up to calm the throbbing beat of the blood in cold water, +when he heard a rustling at his door. "Who is there?" he said, and +opened it. Lauretta stood before him. + +Without saying much she entered. She threw aside the handkerchief she +had worn over her head, and placed a basket on the table. Then she drew +a deep sigh. + +"You are come for your handkerchief," he said; "you might have spared +yourself the trouble, for tomorrow morning I should have asked Giuseppe +to take it to you." + +"It is not for the handkerchief," she answered, hastily; "I have been +on the mountain gathering herbs that are good for wounds--there!" and +she raised the cover of her basket. + +"Too much trouble," he said, without any harshness--"too much trouble. +It is better already--much better; and even if it were worse, I have +deserved it. What do you do here so late? If any one were to see +you--you know how they talk, though they know not what they say?" + +"I do not trouble myself about them," she answered vehemently; "but +your hand I _must_ see, and put herbs upon it, for you can never do it +with your left." + +"I assure you that there is no necessity for such trouble!" + +"Then let me see it, that I may believe it." + +She seized his hand before he could prevent her, and untied the +bandage. When she saw the angry swelling, she shrank together, and +screamed "Jesus, Maria!" + +"It is a little swollen," he said; "a day and a night will put it all +right again." + +She shook her head. "You will not be at sea again for a week!" + +"The day after to-morrow, I hope--what does it matter?" + +In the mean time she had found a basin, and washed the wound afresh, +which he suffered her to do like a child; then she laid the healing +leaves of the herbs upon it, which soon assuaged the burning pain, and +bound up the hand with strips of linen which she had brought with her. + +When she had finished, he said, "I thank you--and listen--if you will +do me one kindness more--'forgive me for letting such madness get +possession of me to-day, and forget all that I have said and done. I do +not know myself how it all happened. _You_ never gave me any cause for +it--never, never! And you shall never more hear anything from me that +can annoy you." + +"It is _I_ who have to pray for your pardon," she said, interrupting +him; "_I_ should have told you all, differently and better, and not +have irritated you by my rude manner; and now, even this wound----" + +"It was necessary, and high time that I was brought to my senses! and, +as I said, it is of no consequence--do not talk of forgiveness. You +have done me good, and I thank you for it. And now go to rest, and +there--there is your handkerchief--you can take it with you now." + +He offered it to her, but she stood still and seemed to struggle with +herself; at last, she said, "You have lost your jacket on my account, +and I know that you had the money for the oranges in your pockets. It +struck me just now--I cannot replace it at once, for I have not +sufficient, and if I had it would belong to my mother; but here I have +the silver cross that the painter laid on the table the last time he +was with us; I have never seen it since, and do not care to keep it +longer in my box. If you sell it--it is well worth a couple of +piastres, my mother said--it would help to repair your loss, and what +may be wanting I will try to gain by spinning at night, when my mother +is asleep." + +"I shall not take it!" he said, shortly, pushing back the glittering +cross she had taken from her pocket. + +"You _must_ take it," she cried; "who knows how long you may be laid up +with your hand? There it lies, and I will never set my eyes on it +again!" + +"Then throw it into the sea!" + +"It is no present that I make you--it is only what you have a right to, +and what I owe you." + +"A right to! I have no right to anything from you! If you should happen +to meet me in future, do me one kindness--do not look at me, that I may +not think that you are putting me in mind of how I have offended you. +And now--good night!--and let it be the last." + +He laid her handkerchief in the basket, placed the cross on the top of +it, and closed the lid. When he looked up and saw her face, he started. +Large, heavy tears rolled over her cheeks--she let them run their +course unheeded. + +"Maria Santissima!" he cried. "Are you ill? You tremble from head to +foot!" + +"It is nothing," she said--"I will go home:" and turned towards the +door. Then a burst of weeping overcame her; she pressed her forehead +against the doorpost, and sobbed loud and vehemently. Before he could +reach her, she turned suddenly round and cast herself upon his neck. "I +cannot, cannot bear it," she cried, and clung to him like a dying man +to life. "I cannot bear to hear you saying kind words to me, and +telling me to leave you, with all the fault on my conscience! Beat +me--trample me under your feet--curse me--or, if it be true that you +love me _still_, after all the ill that I have done you, then take me +and keep me, and make of me what you will, but send me not thus away +from you----" Fresh vehement sobs interrupted her. + +He held her awhile in his arms, stricken dumb. "If I love you still!" +he cried. "Holy Madonna! do you think that all my heart's blood has run +out of that little wound? Do you not feel it beating in my breast, as +if it would spring out, and to you? If _you_ only say it to try me--or +from pity to me--there, go, and I will even forget this too! You shall +not think that you are indebted to me because you know what I suffer +for you." + +"No!" she said, firmly, raising her forehead from his shoulder, and +gazing passionately in his face with her wet eyes--"I love you; and if +I only say it _now_, I have long feared and fought against it--and now +will I change, for I can no longer bear to look at you when you pass me +in the street: and now I will kiss you too," she said, "that you may +say if you doubt again, 'She has kissed me!' and, Lauretta kisses no +one but the man she takes as her husband." + +She kissed him thrice, and then freed herself from his arms, and said, +"Good night, darling! Now sleep, and heal your hand; and do not come +with me, for I fear no one now--but thee!" + +Therewith she glided through the doorway, and disappeared in the shadow +of the wall; but he looked long through the window, and over the sea, +over which all the stars seemed trembling. + +The next time the little Padre Curato emerged from the confessional, by +which Lauretta had been a long time kneeling, he laughed quietly to +himself. "Who would have thought it," he murmured, "that God would so +soon have taken pity on this strange heart? And I was blaming myself +for not having attacked the demon of obstinacy more fiercely! But our +eyes are too short-sighted for the ways of Heaven! And now, may God +bless them both, and let me live till Lauretta's eldest boy can go to +sea in his father's place." + +Ay! ay! ay! La Rabbiata! + + + + + + "BY THE BANKS OF THE TIBER." + + + + + CHAPTER I. + + +It was late in January. The first snow hung upon the mountains, and the +sun, shrouded by mists, had only melted away a narrow band around their +feet. But the waste of the campagna bloomed like spring. Only the +sombre boughs of the olive trees, that here and there followed in rows +the gentle undulations of the plain, or surrounded some lonely cabin, +and the frosted scrubby bushes that grew about the road, still showed +the effects of winter. At this time of the year the scattered herds are +collected within hurdles, near the huts of the campagnuoli, which are +generally placed under the shelter of some hillock, and scantily enough +protected from the weather by straw piled up from the ground; whilst +those amongst the herdsmen who can sing or play the bagpipe have left, +to wander about Rome as pifferari, to serve the artists as models, or +to support their poor frozen existences by some similar industry. + +The dogs are now the herds of the campagna, and sweep through the +deserted waste in packs, maddened by hunger, and no longer restrained +by the herdsmen, on whose poverty they are only a burden. + +Towards evening, when the wind began to blow more strongly, a man +emerged from the Porta Pia, and wandered along the carriage-road which +runs between the country houses. His cloak hung carelessly from his +sturdy shoulders, and his broad grey hat was pushed back from his +forehead. He gazed towards the mountains till the road became more +enclosed, and only permitted him a narrowed glance of the distance +between the garden walls. + +The confinement seemed to oppress him. He lost himself again dejectedly +in the thoughts to escape which he had sought the free air. A stately +cardinal tripped by with his suite without his observing or greeting +him. The carriage following its master first reminded him of his +omission. From Tivoli rolled carriages and light vehicles, full of +strangers, who had taken a fancy to see the mountains and cascades +under snow. He cast not a glance at the pretty faces of the young +Englishwomen, with whose blue veils the tramontane played. Hastily he +turned from the road, sideways to the left, along a field-path which +first ran past mills and wine-shops, and then led out into the midst of +the waste of the campagna. + +And now he paused for a moment, breathing deeply, and enjoying the +freedom of the broad wintry sky. The shrouded sun gleamed redly over +all, lighted up the ruins of the aqueduct, and tinged with rose the +snow on the Sabine hills. + +Behind him lay the town. Not far from him a clock began to strike, but +lightly, through the opposing wind. It made him restless; as though he +wished to prevent the least sound of life from reaching him, and he +strode onward. He soon left the narrow path, which swept up and down +the waves of the plain, swung himself over the rails which had guarded +the pasturing herds during the summer, and buried himself still deeper +and deeper in the solitary darkness. + +A stillness reigned there as deep as that on a sleeping sea. One could +almost hear the rustle of the crows' wings as they floated over the +waste. No cricket chirped, no ritornella of the home-returning +market-woman reached his ear from the distant road. It pleased him. He +struck his staff against the hard earth, and rejoiced in the sound with +which she answered him. "She does not say much," he said, in the +dialect of the lower class of Romans; "but she means honestly, and +cares in silence for her babbling children who trample her under their +feet. Would I never needed to hear their voices again, these windy +rogues; my ears are sore with their smooth phrases! As if I were +nothing--as if I knew not better on what those things depend, about +which they love to chatter--because I only know how to create them! + +"And yet I live on them, and must keep a good countenance when they +sniff and sneer at my work. Accidenti!" He cursed on his beard--an echo +answered him: he looked, startled around; no hut, no hillock was there +within a circle of half a mile, and he could not believe in the +neighbourhood of man. At last he stepped onward, and thought "A gust of +wind mocked thee!" Then suddenly it sounded again, nearer and clearer. +He stood and listened keenly. "Am I near a cabin, or a fold where the +cattle are lowing? It cannot be--it sounded differently--it _sounds_ +differently; and now--now"--and a shudder shook his whole frame. "It +is the dogs," he said slowly. + +The cry came nearer and nearer, hoarse as that of wolves; no barking or +yelping, but a snarling howl, which the voice of the wind swept +together into one uninterrupted, terrible melody. A paralyzing power +seemed to exist in it, for the traveller stood motionless, his mouth +and eyes rigidly open, his face half turned towards the side from which +the battle-cry of the raging brutes swelled towards him. + +At last he shook himself with fierce determination. "It is too late! +they have long had the scent; and in this twilight I should fall before +the tenth step if I tried to fly. Well, like a dog have I lived! and +now, to be destroyed by my fellows!--there is sense in it! If I had a +knife I would make it easier for my guests; but this"--and he tried the +strong iron spike of his staff--"if there be but few of them, who knows +whether my hunger may not survive theirs?" + +He threw his cloak around him, so as to have his right arm free, and to +form with its many folds a sort of protection to his left, and grasped +his staff. With cold-blooded determination he examined the ground on +which he stood. He found it free from grass, stony, and hard. "They may +come!" he said, planting himself firmly upon his feet. He saw them now, +and counted them in the gloaming. Five he counted, and then a sixth. +They rave like fiends from hell--long-limbed, skeleton brutes! "Wait!" +and he raised a heavy stone; "we must declare war according to custom." + +Therewith he hurled the stone at the nearest, twenty paces from him. A +redoubled howling answered--the pack was checked for a moment. One of +them lay struggling on the ground. + +"Armistice!" said the man. His lips trembled, his heart throbbed +heavily against his left arm, which grasped his cloak spasmodically; +but the lids over the keen eyes winked not. He saw his enemies break +forth again, and their eyes glared through the darkness. They came on +in couples, the largest first. A second stone rebounded from the bony +chest of one of the leaders, and the ravening brute sprang, hoarsely +snarling, against the dark form. A thrust, and he fell backwards on the +sward, and the staff, whirled quickly round, striking heavily on his +open jaws. + +A horseman galloped through the grey of the winter's night, some few +hundred paces from the scene of the struggle, over the pathless +campagna. He pierced through the darkness towards the spot from whence +the howling reached him, at short intervals, and saw a man standing, +tottering, giving way, and again standing firm, as his enemies +relinquished the attack, and once more stormed on him from all sides. + +The horseman shuddered; he plunged the spurs into his horse's flanks, +and flew towards them. The sound of the horse's hoofs reached the ear +of the struggling man, but it seemed as if the sudden terror of hope +deprived him of his last remaining strength; his arm sank, his brain +whirled, and he felt himself torn down from behind,--tottered, and fell +to the ground. Through the mists of approaching unconsciousness he +heard the sound of pistol-shots, and then fainted. + +When he recovered, and opened his eyes, he saw the face of a young man +bending over him, on whose knee his head was resting, and whose hand +was rubbing his temples with fresh-plucked wet grass. The horse stood +steaming near them, and at his feet lay two dogs, writhing in the +agonies of death. + +"Are you wounded?" he heard asked. + +"I know not." + +"You live in Rome?" + +"Near the Tritone." + +The other helped him to rise. He could not stand. His left foot was in +great pain. He was bareheaded; his cloak in rags; the coat and arm, +torn and bloody; his face pale and haggard. Without speaking, he +permitted himself to be supported by his preserver, who rather bore +than led him the few paces to the horse; at last he gained the saddle, +the other took the bridle and led him slowly towards the town. + +At the first osteria outside the walls they halted. The young man +called to the hostess to bring wine: when the wounded man had drunk a +glassful his face became more animated, and he said:-- + +"You have done me a service, sir. Possibly the time may come when I +shall curse it, instead of thanking you for it. But I thank you for it +now. One clings to life as to other bad habits. One knows that the air +is full of fever and rottenness, and the worthless steam of mankind, +and yet thinks that each breath one draws in is a good thing." + +"You are inclined to speak ill of mankind." + +"I never knew one who did not take me for a fool if I spoke well of +them. Pardon me. You are not a Roman?" + +"I am a German." + +"Bless God for it." + +They reached the gate in silence, and turned into the Piazza Barberini. +The wounded man pointed to a small house in the corner of the place, +ruinous and dark. When the horse stopped before the humble door, its +rider let himself slide off before the other could assist him, but then +sank helplessly down. "It is worse than I thought." he said; "do me one +kindness more, and help me in,--here is the key." The young man +supported him, called to a boy to hold the horse, and to a loiterer to +open the door. It was quite dark within, the damp cold struck +unpleasantly upon them. He bore him as directed, to the left, into a +large bare room. + +"Where is your bed?" asked the German. + +"Where you will; but I would rather lie over there by the wall. This +brave old Palazzo! They are going to pull it down in the spring; I +fancy that it will not have the patience to wait for them." + +"And you still remain here?" + +"It is the cheapest way of getting buried," said the man, drily. "I can +play the host here gratis." + +In the mean time, the boy had struck fire, and lighted the little brass +lamp that stood in the window. The young man helped the wounded one to +a coverlid spread on some straw, and covered him scantily enough with +his tattered cloak. With a deep sigh the powerful frame sank down, and +the eyes closed. The German gave the boy money and directions, and then +went out without leave-taking, sprang up on his horse, and rode hastily +away. + +In about a quarter of an hour he returned, bringing with him a surgeon. +Whilst the latter examined and bound up the wounds on arm and leg, +which the wounded man permitted him to do without a murmur escaping +him, the young German looked around the room: it was bare, and the +plaster had fallen in large masses from the walls. The joists of the +ceiling stood naked and blackened, the wretched window let in the +cutting night air, there was but little furniture. Meanwhile the boy +brought in an armful of wood, and made a fire on the hearth. As it +gleamed up redly some dusty clay figures and plaster casts became +visible in the corner. A large dolphin which bore a dead boy on its +back, a Medusa in relief, colossal, the hair, not yet vivified into +serpents, curled wildly around the sorrow-laden brow. He could not +remember that he had ever seen this rendering in an antique. Casts from +the arms, bust, and feet of a young girl, amongst hasty sketches in +clay, stood and lay in confusion. On a table were the different kinds +of apparatus used by cameo-cutters, and some sticks with half-finished +works, for the most part Medusa heads, resembling the great one, but +with different degrees of passion and grandeur. Uncut shells, casts of +gems, and casts in glass and plaster, lay in a box near them. + +"I think there is no danger," said the surgeon, at last. "Let them get +some ice, and make the boy sit up and keep the bandages cool during the +night. They have treated you roughly, Senor Carlo! But what on earth +induced you to wander about the campagna at this time of night, and +this time of year?" + +"This obstinate rascal, the chimney," answered the artist, "he refused +to do his duty unless one stuffed his throat with faggots. I was out of +temper with my old Palazzo, Senor Vottore, and felt inclined to give +him a kick or two, to warm us both; and so I thought it better to run +away before it came to blows between us." + +"You are ill looked after here," said the good-natured little man, +wiping his spectacles, which had become suddenly dimmed. "My wife shall +send you another coverlid, and I will see you again tomorrow. Sleep +will soon come, and he is the doctor who beats us all." + +The young man accompanied him to the door, and spoke a few words with +him in the passage. + +"I only know him by name," said the doctor. "He goes his own strange +misanthropical way. Prefers sitting in the wine-shop with the lowest +faccini, and squanders what he earns. But there is not a man in Rome +who is his equal at a cameo. He inherits it from his father, Giovanni +Bianchi, who has long been dead." + +"Are his wounds really not dangerous?" + +"If he only spares himself and not the ice. He has limbs of iron, or he +could not have made head so long against the brutes. Five, do you say? +The fool-hardy man! But that is just one of his tricks. Well, well, he +will sleep now. Dispel your anxiety, Senor Theodore." + +He was already asleep, when Theodore returned to his room, although he +had turned his face towards the blazing fire. Theodore studied him +long. He was very handsome, though the nose was a little too thin; his +hair here and there sprinkled with grey; his beard untended; from +between the breathing, half-opened lips gleamed the white teeth. When +Theodore raised the cloak to place fresh ice on the wounds, he +perceived the great strength of his limbs. + +He sent the boy away, after he had brought a fresh supply of wood and +ice, and ordered him to return in the morning. He then drew a chair to +the side of the hearth, and seated himself, wrapped in his cloak, to +watch. It was about ten o'clock, the bright night reigned without over +the deserted square, and the slender stream from the fountain plashed +lightly into the Triton's shell. From a neighbouring house he heard a +girl's voice, singing:-- + + "Chi sa se mai + Ti soverrai di me!" + + +The refrain of an old sorrowful song. Then it ceased, but hummed +wordless within him still. + +He fancied himself again at the edge of the abyss at Tivoli, on the +footway opposite the cascades, which in wintry scantiness gushed down +from their many mouths. They walked, but not arm in arm, near each +other; he and that fair girl and her lively little companion, who +hastened unweariedly along the narrow, toilsome path. + +"We ought to have returned with your parents, Mary," she said more than +once in English; "indeed, we ought to do so now. Look, child! there +they are up above by the cascade, and will soon be sitting comfortably +by the fire in the sibyl, and here the wind is cutting our very noses +off; yours is quite red already; dear me! how cold you look, child! The +wind blows so chilly across the water too. You said that it would, sir, +and warned us fairly; but our pet must have her fancies. Bless me, we +have seen the view in the autumn already, and in the summer too, and +then rode safely and comfortably down the path that we are half +stumbling, half sliding down now." + +"It is not much farther, dear Miss Betsy," said the girl, laughing, +"and the path will improve. Our friend offered you his arm; why did you +refuse it?" + +The little woman drew closer to her, and said softly, "My dear Mary, +what a question to ask! you know that I have my reasons for declining +to be helped down hills by unmarried young gentlemen! when one slips +and holds him tight to save oneself from falling, he might take each +pinch for a proof of affection; you quite shock me, child!" + +Mary smiled almost imperceptibly; then she went calmly on her way. Her +dark bonnet hid all her face from the young man except the waving brown +curls. + +"It was intended as no mere compliment, sir." she said, glancing +unembarrassed towards him; "when my father confessed that your absence +had caused him pain: if I remember rightly, you have only called on us +four times since my poor brother's death." + +"Four times!" he cried; "and have you counted them?" + +"We must often hear the number from him. 'Since I lost Edward,' he says +frequently, 'I care to talk to no one who has not known him; how can +they ever learn to know _me_?' Then he always refers to you, and +praises you, and misses you so much." + +"I confess," said Theodore, "that the kindness and heartiness with +which your parents greeted me when we met here, surprised and affected +me very much; and I too have wanted companionship this winter more than +formerly. In the one before, which was my first, I drew back from +nothing which pressed itself forward and promised to be advantageous. I +see now that I have only lost. The society here is in contradiction to +the place. It feels it itself, and as it still desires to be something, +it is obliged to overstrain itself: that is discordant and neutralizes +the productive disposition of thoughtful men like myself; so now I live +only for myself, or for some few who have fared no better than I have, +and yet from my youth up I have been accustomed to find permanent +happiness in pure family existence alone." + +"You have been long away from your parents?" + +"I have lost them." he said gently; "they both died in the same week; +then I went over the Alps, and God knows whether I shall ever return!" + +They passed beneath the light shadow of the olive plantation--the path +was perfectly dry--over them, amongst the branches, the sun glanced +from the fleeting snow, which it had thawed upon the leaves, till they +had glimmered as from a soft spring shower. The little friend was in +the best possible humour, and talked of her wanderings about Rome. +People suspected that she was writing a book about Rome. However that +might be, it was clearly proved that she had done such violence to her +well-grounded opinions, as to permit it to be reported that she had +explored the baths of Caracalla with an entirely unknown and youthful +Italian, and had not even refused his offer of protection to her own +house. + +"Do you believe, Mary," she cried now, "that I could easily make up my +mind never to see my dear old England again? You know that at first we +did not intend to stop here a single month. For you must know, sir, +that I come of an old family, and my first ancestor fell at Hastings, +winning his bit of land for himself and his descendants. And so my +little bit of England is as much mine as the big one of a great +landowner; and who likes to leave his own behind him? And yet who knows +whether I might not be induced to pass the rest of my life here, if it +were not dishonourable to forget one's fatherland, even though it +forgets us and the good service our forefathers have done it?" + +"I do not know." answered Theodore, laughing, "you only do old England +a service if you conquer a bit of Rome for yourself, and so tread in +the footsteps of your forefathers." + +"You are pleased to be witty!" she said, and gave him a light tap with +her fan. "But even suppose that I were of an age which made your joke +more appropriate, do you seriously think--supposing that there was any +foundation for your innuendo, and any one _should_ trouble himself +about me,--do you think, I repeat, that English and Italian, or more +properly Roman character, would in the long run, be able to get on +together?" + +"You know, my dear Miss Betsy, that love works wonders, fills up +valleys and pulls down mountains. As far as mere _character_ goes, I am +not afraid. If the sentiments agree, what may the heart not do? I have +seen more marriages rendered unhappy by difference of taste, than from +difference of feeling. But what Roman would not share in your taste for +everything Roman, for example?" + +"You are right," she said; "at the bottom, love is a matter of taste." +Then she drew her green veil over her face, and seemed to wish to be +left to her own reflections. + +The two young people went a little in advance, for they heard Miss +Betsy beginning to talk half aloud to herself, as was often her custom, +and they had no wish to overhear her dreamings. "Good creature!" said +Mary, with her gentle voice; "the journey has quite unsettled her. She +always used to have strange ideas, but in England they took an innocent +political direction; but with her first step on the continent arose +this strange fancy of inventing experiences, which has already indeed +given us much anxiety on the journey, but which has perhaps as often +afforded an excuse for a hearty laugh." + +"This fantastic state of being must have suited her charmingly when she +was younger," said Theodore; "older people generally discover that they +have quite enough to do to meet adventures as they happen, and are by +no means inclined to seek them. It is to be hoped that she will soon be +as little in earnest with her new Roman friend, as he seems to have +been with her from the beginning." + +"I saw them both returning home. He was a good-looking man, with rather +insolent, but still fine eyes, and much younger than she is." + +"What restrained you from giving an opinion on the question which Miss +Betsy proposed?" asked Theodore, after a pause. + +"Which one?" + +"Whether individuals of different nations are suited to each other?" + +Mary was silent for a while. "The more people want from each other," +she said, at last, "and the more they wish to give each other, the +closer the connection between them ought to be--at least, I think so." + +"And even, I once knew an Englishman who had married a creole, they +both took life easily and gaily. He was happy at having a handsome +wife, and she appeared satisfied because he could shower wealth upon +her. And yet there was always something between them, something +climatic, live where they would. They were never really happy with each +other." + +"They were from different zones. But if they both had had northern +blood----" + +"It may be so; and yet I can understand it by my own feelings. I was +brought up amongst the mountains, and have only accustomed myself by +slow degrees to the soft Roman air. Now it is winter; without there +lies the fair pure snow. When we are seated this evening with my father +and mother by the fire, and the kettle sings, and I see all that belong +to my life around me, I could easily be _entirely_ happy. And yet I +confess that it is just at that moment that the home-longing might +seize me for the old country-house in England, where the old oak-trees +stand before the window, and the snowy field lies behind the garden, +far less beautiful than the campagna beyond them, and the English sky +shrouded with heavy mist, so unlike this clear horizon, which should +cheer and refresh me. Yet it is foreign, and something foreign like +this might exist between people." + +They had hitherto carried on the conversation in English. He now began +to talk German, which she too spoke perfectly, with the exception of a +slight accent. + +"Permit me," he said, "to speak to you in my own language. You made me +share your feelings of home-longing when you talked of your winter +quietness. You put me in mind of my old German winters, which now lie +so far behind me, and can never be to me again what they were. I heard +again the light sound of the raven brushing through the bare branches, +and breaking the dry twigs, till a fine cloud of snow fell past the +window like crystal dust. My mother lay there ill on her bed for months +together. She could not, and would not, longer endure the noise and +bustle of the town. Before that time the old country-house had only +seen summer visitors, cheerful hunters, and gay promenaders. Then it +became the winter retreat where my mother recovered from her wearying +journeys to the baths." + +"You were with her then?" + +"For the first year or two, only for a week at a time. The last winter, +however, she would not let me leave her. I sat the whole day by her, +worked, and talked now and then, or played her favourite airs, those +simple old ballads which are now quite out of fashion. The little room +opened into the garden by several tall windows. I can see my father now +pacing up and down on the terrace before it, with his bear-skin cap and +short pipe. He could not bear the close air of the room for long at a +time. But he seldom left his post, and whoever had business with him +must seek him there. Now and then he came in to us for a quarter of an +hour at a time. I can never forget the look with which my poor mother +used to greet him then. She had beautiful bright blue eyes." + +"And she died then?" + +"In the spring. My father soon afterwards. He met with an accident in +riding. After my mother left us he had no rest, mounted the wildest +horses, and often remained away half the day, much as I used to entreat +him to spare himself I understood him. I could never free myself from a +secret terror. I was in the right." + +They had arrived at the foot of the path, and stood still to wait for +their companion; Mary paused some steps from him, so that when he +turned and looked round over the country, he had her full face towards +him. The fair, bright features were clouded with sadness, and there was +a moist gleaming under the drooping eyelids. When she raised them, he +saw the blue eyes resting full and seriously on the landscape before +her. He knew this look already. He had avoided it hitherto, for he knew +the power that lay in it. Now he surrendered himself wholly to it for +the first time. "Mary!" he said. She moved not nor looked towards him. +Then their meditative little friend rejoined them. The conversation was +resumed as they mounted the ascent to Tivoli. But Mary took no part in +it. + +When they left Tivoli in the early twilight, gayer from the cheerful +supper, and Theodore had helped the ladies into the carriage, the old +man said confidentially to him, "I will not get in until I know when we +are to meet you again, my dear sir. I have an affair to settle which +interests me and mine deeply, and on which I wish much to consult you. +It concerns our poor Edward, and I know that you will come the sooner +when you learn that we reckon on your assistance." + +"Come this evening," said the mother. He promised it. When they brought +him his horse, he saw an anxious expression on Mary's face. He sprang +into the saddle, and gently humouring the spirited animal, rode beside +the carriage for some way. Then he lagged behind, rode more slowly, and +let the evening slip away without observing it. The night surprised +him. He gave his horse the spur, and rode across the waste with the +intention of making a short cut, and thus it was that he arrived so +opportunely in Bianchi's neighbourhood. + +He shook himself now, threw fresh wood upon the fire, and fixed his +dark eyes thoughtfully upon it. + +"What will they think," he said to himself, "at my strange absence? +What will _she_ think? It is too late now to send a messenger, and where, +indeed, could I get one? She will sit at home, and never dream of what +this day may mean! Or, + + "Chi sa se mai!" + + +Then he attended to the sick man, walked up and down, and studied the +Medusa head, on which the firelight shone warmly--strangely like the +tints of ebbing life when the reluctant blood struggles with the +death-terror. It affected him powerfully. At last he was obliged to +turn away his eyes; and now, for the first time, observed some loose +figures, some of them of corroded Pompeian bronze, and others by a newer +hand, as life-like and reckless as they. Near them lay a torn and dusty +copy of "Ariosto." He seized it, and read it eagerly. It was the only +book he was able to discover. + +So passed the hours. Long after midnight the sleeping man groaned +heavily, and struck out his arms in his dreams. As Theodore arranged +his disordered couch, and spread the coverlid over him afresh, he awoke +fully, and half arose. He felt around him, as if for a weapon, and +asked, in a determined voice,-- + +"Who are you?" + +"A friend!--do you not recognize me?" answered Theodore. + +"It is false!--I have none." shouted the wounded man, striving to raise +himself upon his feet. The pain of his wounds brought back +recollection. He sank down again, and collected himself thoroughly. He +lay still for awhile, and then said, more quietly, + +"You _are_ one. Now I recollect you. What are you doing here at +this hour? Why are you not gone home? Are _you_ different from the +other sons of men, who only do good in order to sleep more soundly? +Go!--you have earned your rest. Why do you watch my dreams?" + +"The doctor insists upon having your wounds kept cool during the night. +I could not trust to a stranger." + +"Are _you_ not one?" + +"No; not for a couple of pauls; but for your own sake I do this." + +The other lay silent awhile. Then he said, with a strange excitement, +"You would do me a kindness by going. It makes me feel ill to have a +man moving about me. When it comes to thanking, I am more clumsy than +an old man courting a young girl." + +"Do not trouble yourself about thanks. I stay because you want me. If +you could manage without me, you should not have to complain of my +being in your way." + +"I cannot sleep when I know that you are sitting; and freezing there." + +Theodore stirred the fire. "I hope that you feel, even over there, how +warm I must be here." + +After a pause, during which the sick man had lain with closed eyes, he +asked-- + +"You are a Lutheran, sir?"----"Yes." + +"I knew it," said Bianchi to himself; "he wishes to rob the church of a +soul--he does it all for that! They are no better than we are." + +"The fever makes you rave." said Theodore emphatically; "say what you +will." + +They were both silent for a long time. Theodore placed fresh ice upon +the wounds, as before; and Bianchi lay with his face turned towards the +wall, motionless, as though he slept. Suddenly, as Theodore was again +busied about him, he turned round, and raised himself half up. With the +wounded arm he clutched towards Theodore's hand, and grasped it with +his burning one, and said, low and slowly--"You are good! you are good! +you are a man!" His weakness overcame him; he fell back upon the straw, +and burst into a convulsive fit of weeping. As the tears ceased to +flow, he slept anew. + + + + + CHAPTER II. + + +When he awoke, the bright morning light was forcing its way through the +crevices in the shutters, and making a sunny twilight around him. He +saw the boy by his bedside, and the doctor, and heard that Theodore had +gone into the town early in the morning, as soon as the boy came in, +without saying anything about his return. + +Thus he passed half the day, restless, dreaming, listening towards the +door. Two mice, which he had tamed, and for whom he had hitherto ever +had a caress, even in his moments of deepest gloom and misery, now came +into the middle of the room, blinked their bright little eyes at him, +squeaked, and flourished about, without his casting a glance towards +them. The boy, not knowing that they were permitted guests, frightened +them away. Some one knocked. It was somebody who brought the artist an +order for a pair of ear-rings, in red shell. Bianchi let him depart +without speaking to him; nor did he say a word to a sculptor of his +acquaintance, who had heard of the terrible adventure of the previous +night, and was good-hearted enough to visit the solitary being. + +Meanwhile, Theodore, already early in the day, had mounted the stone +steps of the large house in which Mary's parents resided. The old +servant opened the door. "They waited long for you last night," he +said. "I was sent to your lodgings, but you had not returned. Miss Mary +thought that you must have met with some accident, as you were on +horseback. But, God be praised! you are safe." + +Theodore did not answer; he heard music within--a sonata of +Beethoven--suddenly it ceased; a stool was pushed back, a gown rustled. +As he entered, Mary stood before him; she seemed to have paused +suddenly in the middle of the room on her way to the door; she tried to +speak; her cheeks flushed. He seized her hand eagerly with both of his, +and now saw that she had been weeping. "Mary!" he said, "I find that I +have more to crave pardon for than I expected--you have been uneasy +about me!" + +She tried to smile. "I am delighted to find that there was no reason +for it," she said. "Something prevented you; it was very foolish to +think the worst at once. I will go and call my parents." + +He held her back entreatingly. "You have been weeping, Mary!" + +"It is nothing; I had a bad night, and the music just now agitated me." + +He let her hand fall. She remained standing on the same spot, +supporting herself against a chair. He took one turn up and down the +room, and stood before her; he grasped her hand again, stammered out a +word, and then pressed her passionately to his breast. She rested +weeping blissfully and silently in his arms. + +"We will go to my parents," said Mary, when she had had a little +recovered the emotion of that first embrace. "Come!" + +She took him gently by the hand. He longed to remain alone with her; it +seemed to him as though she would be separated from him again when they +came into the presence of others; yet he permitted her to lead him. +They found her parents together in her mother's boudoir. As he entered +he felt a longing to entreat his loved one to be silent on what had +just passed between them, he felt incapable of talking calmly over it, +or of meeting any one but herself in his blissful intoxication. It had +already passed her lips. The mother, a stately, ceremonious woman, +clasped him heartily in her arms; formal as she usually was, she could +not hear the pleasant news without saying some heartfelt words of +blessing, which, kindly as they were meant, still sounded foreign and +strange to Theodore's state of feeling. Her father said nothing. He +pressed his future son-in-law warmly by the hand, and kissed his +daughter's forehead. + +Theodore described the adventures of the previous evening. Mary leant +her head on his breast, and when he told of the combat, threw her arm +timidly around her lover, as if to assure herself that all was past, +and that she really possessed him again in safety. Her mother made a +sign to her, which, slight as it was, did not escape Theodore. She +removed her arm, and sat near him without touching him. He felt pained; +he felt, too, when after some hours he was obliged to leave, and kissed +her again with his whole heart on the threshold, that she avoided him +shily, and at first turned away her lips from his. He departed with a +strange confusion of feeling--a weight upon his heart--and an obstinate +deadened glow in every vein. He stood still for a moment before the +door; the street was deserted, he pressed his feverish forehead against +the cool stone pillars, and stretched forth his arms as if he would +draw down a part of the heavens and press it to his breast, and then +went somewhat more calmly on his way to the Tritone. + +A passionate flush passed over Bianchi's haggard features, as he +recognized Theodore's footsteps without. He raised himself and gazed +eagerly and fully at him as he entered--taller and more manly than he +had appeared to him the evening before. Theodore went to him and said, +"You have rallied, Bianchi, and the doctor is satisfied. Keep quiet, I +entreat you; you must let me walk up and down a little, my ideas are in +a whirl, and my thoughts will not allow me to rest." + +He told him not from whence he came, nor that within the last few hours +he had bound his fate to a woman; but there lay a glory on him, from +which Bianchi could not turn away his eyes. He had laid aside his hat, +and thrown his cloak over one shoulder, his head sprang freely from the +broad chest--the short curled hair was a little disordered--his +forehead massive and noble; and thus, with an absent look, and his arms +folded across his cloak, he seemed almost to have forgotten the purpose +of his visit As he paced up and down, he struck his foot against the +burning logs, and gazed at the fire. At last he turned, and said-- + +"Tell me about yourself, Bianchi!" + +"What would you know?" + +The tone of this question, doubtful, almost distrustful, and yet +submissive and compliant, struck Theodore's delicate ear. He drew a +stool near the couch, seized Bianchi's hand and said-- + +"I wish to know nothing, except how you feel now; and if you are in no +humour to talk, make a sign with your hand, which now betrays but +slight remains of your fever." + +He felt the pressure of the hand, which then withdrew itself +hesitatingly from his. + +"You will soon be so well that we shall be able to part without the +necessity of meeting again. For the present you must resign yourself to +my intrusiveness; for you must know that I have made up my mind not to +let the carelessness of a stupid boy be the destruction of such an +artist as you are." + +"As _I_ am!" and he laughed sadly. "Do _you_ know what I am? Who knows +it not? A day labourer am I, cutting shells for women, with a woman's +patience, whose stout arms are ashamed of him when they encounter a +piece of marble. Well, perhaps, yesterday the matter was arranged so +that the poor cripples will have nothing to reproach themselves for in +future!" + +"You talk strangely--as if there were not room enough within a circle +of two inches for a soul that can at times express itself in two +words." + +"For the idea, possibly, but hardly for the execution." + +"You must have experienced that," said Theodore. "But are you _obliged_ +to do what is so disagreeable to you?" + +The sick man cast a quiet look around the four bare walls, and said-- + +"I have got so used to the amount of luxury you see about you; I did, +indeed, once think of beginning a large work without there in the +square, eating my artichoke by the fountain at noon, and sleeping at +night at the foot of my work. But one is effeminate and fears the +weather, and cowardly, and afraid of the gossipping. Besides, I cannot +do without the wine or--" + +"But if you had an opportunity of working in marble without any +discomfort to yourself," interrupted Theodore. + +The sick man started up excitedly. + +"Do you know what you are doing with your thoughtless questions?" he +cried, and his eyes sparkled. "Look in that corner; there have I cast +one on the top of the other, all that used to come to me with such +questions. The dust is burying these impertinent babblers day by day, +and my eyes know already that it is an unpardonable sin for them to +wander towards them. And yet I was fool enough to allow myself to hope +again when they said that models were to be sent in for the monument to +the last Pope. For a couple of weeks I thought and dreamt of nothing +else, and worked it out with energy, and was myself satisfied with my +work. Fool that I was, to be deluded by such fancies. That was +yesterday. I wrapped the model in a cloth, and bore it myself all the +way to the Cardinal Secretary of State,--for my soul hung upon it, and +I thought another might let it fall. And then I was obliged to give the +rascally servants civil words and my last scudo before they would even +permit me to enter. Inside it was all black and red and violet, with +their reverences' stockings, and they stared at me from head to foot, +because I had run out of my studio without thinking of taking off my +old working-jacket. I thought, 'Let them stare;' took courage, and +stepped with a bow and my work before his eminence. I saw at once that +he was in a bad temper, and that his neighbour had already tasted some +of its effects. I told him shortly why I was there, and begged to be +permitted to show my sketch. The old fellow nodded, after his custom, +cast a glance over the figures, which looked doubly noble amongst all +those rogues, and said, 'Not bad. But 'twont do, 'twont do; wants +noblesse, my son, and more direct reference to the holy church. Take it +home and beat it up. The clay is wet still.' I stood like a man in a +madhouse. Beat it up! as if my loftiest ideas were broth. Whilst I +stood there, unable to utter a word, up stepped the monsignori, stuck +their learned spectacles on their noses, and abused it before and +behind till they did not leave a nail's breadth without a spot of +blame, just as when the old wolf half kills a sheep, and then hands it +over to her whelps to worry and whet their milk-teeth upon. If I could +only have spoken and described all that had passed through my brain +whilst I was at work on the model, perhaps the old man might have +looked at it differently, for they say that he has a good-enough head. +But just at this unlucky moment he was full of ill temper, and poured +it all out over me. So at last I got tired of this chattering, this +whizzing of children's painted bird-bolts, not one of which hit the +matter, and every one the man, for they pricked me like needles. +Another would have shaken himself laughingly, and perhaps have won the +day. But I--how was I to do it? My father did not make much talk over +his cameos, and when he died, Rome was neither more agitated nor +stiller, and I have ever kept out of the way of your learned men; so I +stole away from them this time too, and swore never to have aught to do +with them again. As I passed along the Repelta I got into a rage, and +threw my model into the Tiber. 'Let it melt there,' said I to myself; +and I felt relieved, and took a fancy to go and walk about the +campagna. There you found me." + +"You must not abuse the _savant_," said Theodore, laughingly, after a +pause, in order to bring the other, who had sunk into a reverie, +back to the subject. "Your instinct did not deceive you when you felt +an antipathy to my being near you. For I am here in Rome for the +purpose of poking about old parchments, and digging out long-buried +matters, about which but few are interested. Histories of the old +Italian towers, state papers, and judicial reports. And so we are +doubly-separated individuals." + +"_You_ may be, and do what you like," said Bianchi, quickly, and half +aside. "You are good and handsome, and a German." + +"You little know German learning. It is even more horrible than the +Roman. I myself have a secret terror of it. It has a power of glaring +at feeble souls, that turns them into stone, like those poor rogues who +gazed on the face of the Medusa." + +"The Medusa?" + +"You must know her better than I do. Have you not thrown her away there +in the corner and left her, half begun and half ended, cut upon the +shells on your work-table?" + +"I do not know much about it. When I was quite a boy, my father gave me +a part of it to work at. I loved the head, for I had but little +pleasure, and the dark death in the beautiful woman's face fascinated +me. Afterwards I saw the circular one in the villa Ludovisi, and never +rested until I had made a copy of it as well as I could at home. It is +more human and passionate there, than in the Grecian one, where it is +reduced to a mere mask. I have never asked what they meant by it, and +reading annoys me." + +"If you like, I will read the story to you, as told by one of the old +poets?" + +"Do--and soon and--when do you return?" he asked, as Theodore arose. + +"To-night," said the young man; "but not to read to you, for you are +not well enough yet. I will not listen. I know what you are going say. +But a sick man must not have a will of his own." + +When he returned in the evening, he found wine upon the table, and a +comfortable cushioned chair placed by the hearth. Bianchi slept, and +the boy whispered that he had made him buy the wine and borrow the +chair from a neighbour, and that he had not been quiet or slept until +he had seen all done as he wished. + + + + + CHAPTER III. + + +The next evening Theodore read, from an old Italian "Ovid," the fable +of the Medusa, as he had promised. He looked from time to time over his +book towards Bianchi, whose eyes were fixed upon the ceiling. +Theodore's calm voice seemed to bind him with a spell; the tale which +he read, to move his innermost soul--so the other read on. When he +arose, Bianchi drew a deep breath, and cried, "You are going!--you do +not know how I have enjoyed it! These tales were to me but mutilated +old statues, the limbs scattered about, the head far from the trunk, +and all weather-beaten and decayed. As you read it, all drew itself +together again, and now stands entire before me. Oh! that my arms were +but sound again--my fingers tremble at the thought of kneading a piece +of clay--but that is not to be--and you go--you smile! I can guess +where you are going! well--enjoy your youth. But now I think for the +first time of the nights I have made you pass." + +"They would have been more lonely than they have been here--and you +cannot guess where I go, Bianchi. I am going to pay court to two old +people, and only now and then the soft hand of their daughter touches +my arm in secret. All my enjoyment is seeing--hoping." + +"And you can confess that so quietly, and not gnash your teeth with +impatience and longing? I fear that I, too, once passed such a +fruitless lovetime. Like a worm I grovelled on the ground, and cursed +the eyes which had played me so bitter a trick." + +"I bless them! And when I suspect such madness in my blood, I refresh +my dull soul in the free air, up and down the Forum, or roam away to +the Capucines, where now the snow is resting against the stem of the +palm-tree; it must struggle through the winter, too, however warm its +heart may be." + +"Can you deny that it plagues and worries you more than the whole +affair is worth? It makes one idle and womanly, and that is the worst +of all. If we were not fools, longing for the impossible, all were +well, one as good as another, if she were pretty and kind." + +"I think not. I require something more than _any one_ can give me, +unless I am to leave her for the sake of some other." + +"Who spoke of that?"--"Both of us, I think." + +"Not I," said Bianchi. "I never could dream that you know your own +advantages so little--with your face and your years." + +He said no more, seemingly out of humour. "Let it be as it may." said +Theodore, earnestly, "and let each one care for himself, and be glad +that the other can be happy after his own fashion." + +They never touched upon this subject again. Bianchi seemed to have +entirely forgotten it, and Theodore did not agitate it. The old +bitterness and fierceness of the sick man returned more and more as his +wounds healed, and those rare touches of gentleness which he had shown +to his friend disappeared for ever. He avoided giving him his hand; he +never spoke of himself nor his feelings, never asked Theodore about his +plans nor his past life, and hardly ever called him by his name; yet he +never avoided Theodore's frequent visits, nor refused the little +comforts which he brought him. Only once, when he saw some fruit in a +basket, arranged beneath a layer of the earliest violets, with that +delicate taste which belongs to a woman's hand alone, he placed the +present coldly, and without saying a word, upon the mantelpiece. +Theodore was silent; when he went he took the basket with him as he had +brought it. + +Still he continued to read to him--old poets, extracts from Dante and +Tasso, and, at last, Machiavelli. The old deities, whose statues, +scattered about Rome, had hitherto been to him merely fine carvings, +semi-vivified by indistinct ideas, now became clear and living. It +seemed as if he now for the first time saw with his waking eyes the +world in which he had so long wandered in dreams. And the desire to go +abroad awoke in him, and he longed to visit, personally, all that his +imagination had clearly, and for the first time, thoroughly grasped. + +The almond-trees blossomed crimson in the gardens of Monte Pincio, when +he first stood on the parapet and looked over broad Rome towards the +hills. Below him lay the town, noisy and sunny; the river glimmered +brightly. On St. Angelo fluttered the broad folds of the standard in +the wind that breathed softly from the sea, and overhead stretched the +soft, delicate blue of the Roman March sky. Bianchi supported himself +upon his staff, and looked darkly from under his eyebrows, as was his +wont when he struggled against the promptings of his own heart. +Theodore also stood buried in thought; at last he turned his gaze from +the distance, looked seriously at Bianchi, and said, "You are +recovered; in a few days more you will be below there in your new +studio and I think that we shall still find a little time to spend +together, even though I, too, shall be obliged to keep closer to my +work, and must somewhat curtail the pleasure of being with you. It so +happens that I shall have a reason for visiting you much oftener than +you might otherwise permit--that is, if you will consecrate the new +studio by undertaking a work in which I am personally much interested. +The matter is this: a family with whom I am intimate has settled here, +perhaps permanently. The man, a German, formerly lived in England, and +married an Englishwoman, who brought him two children, a son and a +daughter. The son, who was attacked by consumption, tried the climate +of Rome as his last chance of recovery, and so the whole family +emigrated with him. I loved him well, as did every one who knew him, +and can hardly believe that I saw so much worth and nobleness sink into +the earth--there, by the Pyramid of Cestus. That was last winter. His +parents wish to erect a monument to him, with a relief which may shadow +forth his character and honour his memory. I know no one to whom I +would so willingly intrust this work as yourself." + +"You may depend upon me, Theodore," said the sculptor; "I will do what +within me lies." + +"Would you not like to know his parents, and learn from them the idea +which they wish to be carried out on the monument?" + +The other was silent for a while. "No," he said, quietly: "I wish for +no acquaintances, and love not tears. You loved him--that is enough: I +will do it for _you_. You must not misunderstand me," he continued, +after a pause. "I should be of no use there. Whoever wants me must +attack me like a bear in his den. If I cannot escape, I can manage to +get upon my hind legs almost politely, and growl my word with them. +But even that is tiresome. I will say nothing and show nothing until +the model is so far advanced that even the laity may see what it +means--then they may come." + +They spoke of other matters. Bianchi grew even brighter and almost +joyous, whilst a shadow lay on Theodore's face. So they remained all +the day together, and they both felt it like a leave-taking. For the +first time the open, common-place day was around them--the rattle of +carriages, and the whirl of laughing passengers. Bianchi did not take +Theodore's arm. Slowly he walked near him, glancing at the women and +the girls, many of whom seemed to know him, and here and there nodding +to an acquaintance without stopping to speak to him. When he had +passed, people stood still, whispering, pointing towards him, and +following him with glances in which pity, respect, and a certain kind +of fear, seemed mingled. He himself appeared not to observe it. He +looked straight before him, often over the heads of the people, towards +the villas without the walls, and the broad campagna, and his eyes +glittered. "What are you thinking of?" asked Theodore. + +"I am thinking how my mice will bear their fate when the old palace is +pulled about their ears, and the bright daylight peeps into all their +private holes and comers. I know that they have had a family lately. +Poor fools! to love to linger under the same roof without learning +anything from one! How I rejoice that I am poor, and free, and alone, +and can carry all my belongings with me in a hand-cart!" He stretched +out his arms, and waved them in the sir, as if he poised the burden +that awaited them. He looked younger and fresher than he had ever done +before. + +In the evening he asked Theodore to accompany him to a tavern, in +which, before his accident, he had spent many a night. "You shall see +what good Roman society is, and the remains of nobler races," he said. +"They are a little mistrustful of foreign elements, that step in +without knowing what they want, or perhaps who know only too well. They +say that it is not much better in nobler houses. Let them do what they +like, and drink your wine without making much fuss: they let me do as I +please, even if I bring a German with me, for they rather look up to +me." + +He led him a few streets distant from the Sistine, to the beautiful +fountain of Bernini, the Fontana di Trivi. Opposite the lofty grottoed +and niched facade, in the centre of which the water-god stands above +the artificial rocks, and rules the streams, which burst out from all +sides into the deep bason, there stood a mean-looking old house, with a +smoky lantern over the door. They entered the spacious chamber, which +occupied the whole breadth of the house, and served as a drinking-room. +At the further end the fire on the hearth played against the blackened +wall, and to the right a flight of steps led to the upper story. No +furniture was to be seen except benches and tables, on and around +which a mixed, silent company was gathered. A boy bore plates of fried +fish, salad, and macaroni, and disappeared from time to time through a +trap-door, to rise to the surface again, bearing fresh-filled flasks. + +A joyous welcome resounded from the lower end of the room as the two +friends entered. "Eccolo!" cried a portly woman, who forced her way +through the crowd towards the door, drying her hands on her apron. +"Eccolo! welcome a thousand times, Ser Carlo!" and she gave him her +hand heartily. "A mezzo of Frascati, Chico; of the new, that came in +yesterday. Only think, Ser Carlo! who do you think that I was just +talking about to my Domenico this very moment? I said to him, +'Domenicuccio,' said I, 'you are a bear and a brute, never to go and +see how it fares with our Ser Carlo; for I, as you well know, have my +hands full with the children and the guests, and you yourself to look +after, you stupid animal! And it will seem a thousand years till I see +him again, fine fellow that he is!' 'Lalla mia!' says he, 'to-morrow I +will see about it; and,' says he, 'if you have no objection, Lalla, I +think that he won't refuse a little drop of the new wine, just a +barilotto!' Said I, 'Well, Cuccio, that is just the very best idea you +have had all these ten years that we have been married!' And just then +Girolamo came in, and said that he had seen you on the Pincio, and I +said, 'Blessed be the Virgin! then it won't be long before we see him +here;' and just at that moment you opened the door and stood before us! +And really it has done you good--you have grown handsomer, Ser Carlo. I +would not believe Girolamo, but positively the Madonna has wrought a +miracle on you. I have not prayed all through my rosary for nothing!" + +"So I have to thank you, Sera Lalla, that I have not gone mad, and am +quit for a little lameness? You have got the best wife in Rome, +Domenico,--a saint! a real treasure of grace! Ay, here I am once more!" +and he shook the host, a heavy-looking, insinuating sort of fellow, +vehemently by the hand; "and this gentleman that you see here is my +friend, who saved me from the jaws of the dogs. But, holla! there sits +my noble Gigi over there, and eats and drinks, and can't even give his +throat time to say 'Good evening.' Shame on you, Gigi! to treat old +friends, and one, moreover, who has risen, like Saint Lazarus, from the +dead, in such a frosty fashion!" + +"He has asked after you more than all the others put together," +whispered the hostess. "He could not take his glass for a week at a +time when they began to talk about you. He was only afraid of visiting +you." + +The man of whom the good woman spoke sat at one of the centre tables, +propped up tightly against the wall, and continued steadily thrusting +large pieces of food into his mouth. He was good-looking, his bald head +covered with a little skull-cap, his black coat buttoned up to his +throat, and a certain air of decency about him, which distinguished him +from the others, without showing, at the same time, any particular +pretension. + +Bianchi stepped up to him, and greeted him across the table with a wave +of the hand. "Dear Ser Gigi," he said, "do not distress yourself--we +understand each other." He remarked now for the first time that the +worthy man's eyes were glimmering moistly, and that he only continued +eating in order to prevent his joyous embarrassment being marked. + +"He is a singer," whispered Bianchi to his companion; "he keeps to the +churches, and sings on festal days. They wanted to give him the +tonsure, because he has some education and is decent-looking, but it +did not quite suit him. They are all free men, as many as sit here. +Come, my friend Gigi will make room for us near himself." + +Meanwhile, the boy brushed down the table with a by no means clean +napkin, and placed a large open flask before them. Theodore seated +himself, whilst Bianchi had to shake hands and answer questions about +the room. A reeking brass lamp flared with its thin, redly-burning +wicks over the table. It took Theodore some time to become accustomed +to the atmosphere of tobacco-smoke and rancid oil, but he soon forgot +all, at the sight of a striking couple, who sat at the table directly +opposite to him. One was a young girl in the costume of Albano--the red +jacket closed neatly round the just ripening bosom, above it was folded +the lace collar, and large silver pins held the flat white +handkerchief, which did not conceal the shape of her head, firmly +on her hair. Her face was in the fresh bloom of youth, beauty, and +health--three virtues which love to be kept together in such a +situation. Only the expression of the mouth had a shy softness and +yieldingness about it, almost irresolute and sorrowful, and the large +eyelids so entirely covered the eyes that only a narrow dark gleaming +line betrayed that they slept not. + +She ate from the plate before her, slowly and indifferently, and drank +but little wine, whilst her brown cheeks glowed ever with the same +fire. + +Beside her sat an old woman in a Roman costume, blinking vivaciously +about her, but silent, and busied with her wine and food, which she +enjoyed greedily. They had nothing whatever in common, and yet seemed +to belong to each other. + +When Bianchi at last came to take his seat, and had emptied his first +glass, he started back with an almost comic expression of astonishment, +and cried, "Madonna Santa! what beauty! How did you come by such a +neighbour, Ser Gigi? A niece of yours? or only a forgotten child, that +appeared before your eyes by chance? Blessed be her mother." + +"Che, Che!"' said the singer, seriously. "I wish you were right. Ask +her yourself where she comes from. The sweet little mouth would not +bestow a word upon me." + +Bianchi cast a keen glance on the old woman, and growled to himself, +"So, so, I fancy we understand each other." The old woman remarked it, +and said, as she emptied the rest of the bottle into her glass, + +"A bashful thing, gentlemen! a poor shy orphan; lived with the wicked +people up in the mountains when I found her, and took pity on the young +creature. How easily one is lost, when one gets into wrong hands. I +brought her with me to Rome, for the Virgin's sake, and keep her here +as well as a poor old woman can, in all honour and virtue--poor thing. +Look up, Caterina, when the gentlemen speak to you." + +The girl obeyed, and let her large calm eyes rest for a moment on +Bianchi, and let them sink again almost immediately. The artist +half-raised himself from his seat and bent over towards her. + +"You are called Caterina?" + +"Yes," she answered, in a deep but soft voice. + +"How old are you?"----"Eighteen years." + +"You have left a lover behind in Albano, or perhaps more than one?" + +She shook her head. + +"How you talk!" interrupted the old woman, hastily. "'Tis a good girl, +I tell you, and as innocent as the Madonna. Should I have got so fond +of her else?" + +"Well, well! If I believe it, I believe her face, and not yours, +mother. Can she dance? The gentleman here is a stranger, and I should +like him to learn what a real salterello is like." + +Theodore said a few words--"that it would be a great favour." The old +woman beckoned to the hostess; Caterina arose silently. Soon the +nearest tables were pushed aside, to leave a small space clear, and +Lalla brought the tambourine. Whilst the old woman seated herself in a +corner with it, the other guests crowded round one after the other, and +the boy who had been serving them prepared himself for his part in the +dance, Bianchi whispered in his friend's ear: "Look at that form, and +the delicacy of the hands and feet, and how she stands there, a perfect +figure! such as I never saw before--blameless even to the darling +little ears--and as yet hardly knowing herself! To be obliged to let +Checo dance with her! I understood it pretty well once. But now, I +conjure you, let your eyes do their best. A miracle will be performed." + +Theodore needed not the prompting. He leaned against a table, and +turned not his eyes from Caterina. At the first vehement notes of the +tambourine the girl began the dance; Lalla stood near he old woman and +clattered the castanets. Senor Luigi, the singer, sat immovable behind +his table, and began to hum an air with the first notes. Soon he sang +the song and the words cheerily out. The words, which Theodore could +not understand, the feverish restlessness of the monotoned instruments, +and above all, the strange witchery of the dancing girl, by degrees so +confused his ideas, that he felt as if he had been gazing into a new +and unknown world. All that he had known, loved, possessed, retreated +into a vacuous gloom, which deprived it of all colouring; forms, +thoughts, wishes, and hopes whirled through his soul to the dull notes +of the tambourine, as to a great review. He cast them all aside. It was +as though a voice called within him, "They are all worthless and dead. +Here alone is life and bliss." + +When the dance ceased he awoke from his dream, and looked wildly +around. He seized his hat. "Are you going? Already? Now?" asked +Bianchi, astonished. "I see that you don't enjoy yourself amongst my +friends here." + +"You mistake me," answered Theodore, looking gloomily before him. "How +gladly would I remain. How gladly--but I have given a promise. I must +pay a visit--we shall see each other to-morrow, Bianchi." + +"Oh!" murmured Bianchi. "Pity, pity! how you will amuse yourselves, you +and the others! Pity, pity!" + +He laughed sharply and bitterly as Theodore turned away, and yet he did +not seem sorry at his going. + +On getting into the open air, the young man stood long opposite the +fountain, and drew into his confused soul the breath of the water, and +the living rushing of its fall. The moon lighted up the head and part +of the chest of the water god, below the drops only glanced out of the +darkness. He descended the steps, and drank as if to wash away the +intoxication of his soul, and then seated himself upon the edge of the +bason. He remembered the old saying, that whoever drank of this +fountain would lose his home-longing for Rome; and then he fell into +painful reveries. When the noise of the tambourine reached his ear anew +from the osteria, he started up in terror, with difficulty he forced +himself to pass the door, and to follow one of the neighbouring +streets. When in the distance, the deadened sound again reached him, he +paused for a moment and seemed to wrestle with himself; then he went +resolutely farther down into the town to Mary's house. + + + + + CHAPTER IV. + + +There was a pause in the conversation when he entered. His bride arose, +advanced to meet him, and took his hand warmly. He let a keen passing +glance rest for a moment on the noble face which looked up so frankly +to his, and then approached her mother, who greeted him heartily, and +bent forward in her easy-chair to shake his hand. Like her daughter, +she was still dressed in black; but wore her hair gathered under a grey +gauze cap, whilst Mary's brown locks were kept in order by a narrow +black ribbon across her brow. Her father, too, received him kindly, and +introduced him to two gentlemen, strangers, who were seated at the +brightly-lighted table. They were Englishmen, brothers, old friends of +the house, who had arrived from England but shortly before. For their +convenience, the conversation was carried on in English. + +"You are late, dear Theodore," said the mother; "we wanted you whilst +we were describing to our friends the last hours of poor Edward. My +poor eyes did their duty but feebly then, and Mary and her father were +both ill, as you know. We all felt the loss more than you did, for you +hardly knew him; and so you were the most self-possessed, and better +able to realize what rests upon our memories only as a horrible +agitated dream, even now almost incredible!" + +Theodore felt a reluctance to talk. The quiet, of the room, the feeling +of agitation with which he entered, strange faces, and a strange +tongue, all oppressed him in the highest degree. And now, at this same +moment, when he had but just been face to face with an existence so +full of magical bliss, he was expected to describe the death-bed of +poor Edward to strangers. + +They thought that it was his sorrow that prevented his answering. He +had seated himself near Mary, and gazed long on her delicate, pale +brow. Its unruffled, snowy stillness disturbed him. Her blue eyes, that +beamed clear, and happy, and calmly, had to-day lost their power over +him. He felt distinctly that it was his own incapacity which prevented +his enjoying this noble face as formerly, that made him no longer wait +longingly for each word from those charming lips, or feel each smile +penetrate into his inmost soul. He struggled for awhile against this +insensibility, which caused him bitter agony,--it was in vain! + +She was conscious of the existence of some struggle going on within +him; but the presence of the others prevented her grasping closer, by +her fervent participation in its sorrows, the heart which was +separating itself from her. + +One of the strangers asked about the monument which was intended to be +erected to Edward. Theodore roused himself, and mentioned that that +very day he had entrusted the work to a friend, of whose character and +circumstances he gave a slight sketch. Mary's parents knew more of him; +but the disjointed picture did not seem to satisfy the stranger. + +"It were to be wished,"' he said, "that this man could be conscious of +some trace of Edward's inner nature in his own being, so that he might +be able to identify himself with the delicate form and short blessed +life of our lost friend, as something beloved. He seems to be, from +your description, a violent, inflexible man, to whom nothing can be +more incomprehensible than our Edward's idea of living only for others, +and of shaping his last sigh into a wish for the happiness of those he +loved." + +"He is rough and energetic," answered Theodore; "but the beautiful +affects him, and he looks upon what is noble with reverence and awe. I +remarked, when I read Homer to him, how powerfully the idyllic, I might +say the feminine, passages of the poem moved him." + +"Possibly because they accorded more with his artistic fulness than the +barren uniformity of battle and danger. And yet it is one thing to +possess a mind capable of being affected by certain common-place, +natural, heathen emotions, and another to have one by which the +blessings of our religion are appreciated. Edward was a Christian; your +friend at best is but a professing Roman Catholic." + +"I cannot deny," interrupted the mother, "that I have thought much on +this point already. Before we intrust a work like this, which we have +all so much at heart, to a stranger, it were at least advisable to have +a sketch made which we could discuss and decide upon." + +"I know him, dearest mother," said Theodore, emphatically. "If it were +his custom to throw his first ideas upon a scrap of paper, it would be +easy enough to discuss the matter with him; but he always prefers, +first, to work up his subject in clay of the intended size; and he has, +besides, particularly entreated that in this case he may be permitted +to labour for a time without letting any one see it. That it depends +upon your approval, he knows already." + +Then there ensued a pause, in which the rather excitedly-spoken words +of the young man echoed disagreeably. Mary went to the piano and +endeavoured to charm away the discord with music. Only with Theodore +was it ineffectual. The simple ballad had no power over one in whose +ear the maddening tones of the tambourine again awoke spectrally, and +the echo of the marvellous song of the chorister overwhelmed the pure +voice. He saw Bianchi's firm gaze fastened upon him, and heard again +the words, "There will be a miracle performed!" And here, where he was +now, all was strange, and tame, and wonderless. + +After the song, Mary seated herself again by his side. She spoke German +to him; she asked about his amusements and his employments, about +Bianchi. He talked absently, and thus half-confusedly, as if to +himself, he told her about the osteria and the girl's dancing. As he +glanced up from time to time, he marked a clouded tension over the +delicate brows. The conversation between them died away. The father +asked about English families, on which subject the guests talked +eagerly. It was without interest to Theodore, and so he became again +absorbed by his whirling thoughts. At last he departed. The strangers +had taken up their residence with Mary's parents. It seemed to him as +though he were doubly driven unhappy from this circle which once was +his own--doubly--by himself and by others. + + + + + CHAPTER V. + + +Nowhere are impure inclinations, doubtful relationships, and undecided +wishes more embarrassing and unbearable than in Rome. The vast +_entourage_, replete with evidences of pure human vigour and firm will, +is only to be endured, without envy and pain, by those who, in the +narrow circle of their own actions, can feel certain of their own +healthiness and rectitude of soul. + +He paced for hours up and down the banks of the Tiber before Bianchi's +door, gazing over to where St. Peter's rose mightily above the broad +masses of the Vatican. + +The strangely agitated state of his friend did not escape Bianchi's +penetration. But he never attempted to discover its cause, as he +avoided conversations upon personal subjects or inner experiences. This +same restless manner seemed to attach closer to Theodore day by day. He +was tamer and more cheerful in all his words and actions since his +sickness. When he heard Theodore's knock, he threw a cloth over his +clay sketch and opened hastily. He was still sparing of the smallest +proofs of his affection, but his face could not conceal the fact that +the presence of his friend was all in all to him. He sat by the window, +and worked diligently at his cameo shells whilst they talked, or a book +inspirited them both. Through Theodore's intervention he had found +customers for his cameos, who paid him twice as much as the dealers had +hitherto given him, yet his new dwelling was in no respect more richly +furnished than his former one. Truly the sun gilded the naked walls on +which the Medusa's head hung, and before the window lay the exquisite +distance. + +One evening, in sunny May, when all was solitary without, on the banks +of the Tiber, and the flies played undisturbed over the bushes, the +knocker on Bianchi's door resounded more loudly and vehemently than +usual. He arose from his work, before which he had been sitting +pondering, and did not, as usual, throw the cloth over it. "He may see +it to day," he said to himself, "if it really be he who thunders so +immeasurably!" and therewith he opened the door. + +Theodore burst in impetuously--his face was vividly flushed, and his +eyes gleamed, "Bianchi," he cried, "Bianchi, I come from her! I have +seen her--spoken to her! The miracle has penetrated again into my +inmost soul! and you, best, unkindest one--did you not tell me that she +was gone, away to her mountains, run away from the old woman, and +however the story went? Or did you really hear it? for she is here--not +a footstep has she stirred out of Rome these two months long. Speak, +Bianchi, what say you? Bless the fate that led me to her side, which +makes me feel still out of my senses for joy." + +He walked up and down the room without looking round. He did not +perceive that Bianchi had remained standing by the door, pale as death, +following his steps with a searching glance: "Caterina!" at last broke +from his lips. + +"Caterina!" cried Theodore, "she herself, she herself--lovely and calm, +and heaven and hell in her eyes, as on that never-to-be-forgotten +evening, only without that bitter sadness about the lips, and in a +Roman dress!--listen how it happened: I was sitting at home, in the +heat, idling over my books, and at last felt forced to wander out. Some +streets distant, I fell in with a stream of people in their holiday +clothes, hastening in one direction, and asked one of them 'Whither +away?' 'To the Monte Pincio, to see the races and the chariots,' he +answered. I had no will of my own, so I allowed myself to be carried +onwards, and, at last, purposeless, reached the summit with them. You +saw the scaffolding which they were still working at yesterday? To-day +the seats were filled tier above tier, so that I had difficulty in +finding a place, unpleasant enough, as I at first thought, for the sun +was opposite to me, and glimmered in my eyes as I looked across the +stage. As I was considering whether I should go, or how I should try to +protect myself against it, and was standing in my place, I looked down +and discovered a silk parasol, and an enchanting glance of a head and +neck beneath it; I sat down again, and bending under the parasol, asked +my fair neighbour whether I might share its shelter with her. She +turned round, and I felt as if a flash of lightning had passed through +my heart when I saw who it was. She seemed to recognize me too, and did +not answer. At this moment I discovered the old woman beside her; she +was talkative and polite, and bade Caterina share her parasol with +me. Bianchi--how she did it! Managing the parasol in her little hand, +half-embarrassed, half-confidingly, and then how modestly and sensibly +she answered my eager questions with that sweet low voice--it is all +indescribable. I sat enchanted, blind to all around, beneath the little +roof, alone with her, and built it up in fancy into a cottage for us +two, in which I could have listened to hours, days, years, passing by +us as carelessly as if eternity was already my own. What eyes had I for +the play? But I watched the impression that the wild course had upon +Caterina; her joy broke forth when one chariot swept rushing round the +corner before the others, or made some daring turn. How she rejoiced +when one of the noble animals, steaming and snorting from its victory, +was led near us! 'Holy nature!' I cried within myself, 'how +unadulterated and unadorned thou laughest from those bright eyes! How +must he be drawn towards thee, body and soul, on whom those eyes but +smile!' It came to an end; the people left the benches, and my +neighbours arose too. When I begged to be permitted to conduct them +through the crowd to their house, the girl refused, calmly, but firmly; +the old woman winked and grinned behind her back, and made signs which +I could not fully understand; but I still kept myself at some little +distance behind them, and descended the hill after them down into the +town. At last they entered a house. I did not dare to knock, but I +stood before the door for half an hour, as if rooted to the spot, and +saw the curtain move, but she did not appear; once only the repulsive +face of the old woman showed itself at the window; she did not see me, +as I was concealed in the shadow of the houses--and so, at last, I tore +myself away, and here I am, if it can be called being here, when the +floor seems to glow under my feet, and my soul recoils at finding +itself in the presence of other human beings." + +He threw himself into a chair. He did not observe that Bianchi still +remained standing by the door, or that he had not uttered a sound since +he entered--he looked straight before him. "To-day, for the first +time," he began again, "after miserable weeks of pressure and +despondency, to drink in a full draught of life, to enjoy one hour +which raises me above myself--who would not float so for ever with +swelling sails out into the open sea?--but to crawl along the coast in +a tattered boat, to turn and wind at the will of the shore, and after +all to be cast away on a pebble!--miserable cowardice!" + +At these words he raised his eyes, and they caught the model opposite +him. The evening sun shone redly through the window, and the +sharply-defined figures stood out in bold relief. A youth stood by a +river's bank, by which the bow of a boat, bearing the wild form of the +grisly ferryman, was waiting. One foot of the parting one was already +on the gunwale, but the face and the outstretched arms, waving a +farewell, were turned towards the opposite side, where a fair female +figure, with a cornucopia, sat under a fruit-laden tree, with her head +bowed in a noble attitude of sorrow; the genius of love leaned by her +side, his torch reversed, expiring, with his eyes clinging to the +youth, as if it were possible to hold him back; but between them stood, +stern and implacable, the ghastly forms of the Parcae. + +Theodore stared speechlessly at the head of the youth, whose features +calmed him irresistibly. He had given Bianchi a portrait of Edward, +which Mary had painted but a few days before his death. It showed the +noble features in all the beauty of the approaching transfiguration; +and the eyes, in particular, were movingly free and large. At the same +time, now that all the mere accidental accessories had melted away, one +saw the striking likeness between the brother and sister--one so great +as to be almost distressing to the survivors. It struck Theodore for +the first time--he saw Mary before him in her hour of sorrow or of +lofty excitement, when her eyes shone more darkly from out the gentle +face, and the serious lips were half-opened, as were the sighing ones +of her brother. He could no longer remain seated--he stepped close up +to the model, the strife ceased within him. So he remained till the +evening glow departed, and the face withdrew itself from him into the +quick coming darkness; then he went, without a word, towards the door, +by which Bianchi had remained standing, grasped the hand of his friend, +pressed it without feeling how clammy and cold it was, and departed. + +Bianchi shrank as the door closed. He looked with a troubled gaze and +absent thoughts around him. So he remained leaning against the wall, +incapable of moving. His determination had long been formed, but his +limbs would not obey his will. The night arrived. At last he was able +to raise himself, and stood battling with the tremor that fell upon +him, his clenched hand pressed against his eyes. Then he uttered one +single hollow cry, and felt that he had again attained the mastery over +himself. He left the house with a steady step. None of all the numerous +promenaders who were enjoying the coolness of the night remarked him, +so calmly he looked around. He reached at last the part where Caterina +lived, and knocked, without hesitation, at the door of a small house. +It opened, and he entered the passage. He glanced up the stone +staircase, down which a ray of light streamed. Above, with a lamp, +stood Caterina. + +The man revelled for a moment in the perfect beauty of the young girl, +who, leaning over the balustrade, holding the lamp out before her, was +agitated with the most charming expression of love at recognizing +the well-known face below in the shade. She nodded, and smiled, and +waved a greeting to him. "Come, come!" she cried, as he loitered +below. He strode slowly up the steps; but when the light of the lamp +fell upon his face, all her smiles and joy died away from her lips. +"Carlo! you are ill," she said to him. He pressed her gently back, and +shook his forefinger warningly. "Be still," he said; "come within, +Caterina--come!" + +She followed him in breathless anxiety. The little room was mean, but +clean and neatly kept. Flowers stood in the window; a bird hung in its +cage, and began to chirp as the lamp-light disturbed it. On the table +lay a simple guitar. The old woman had been sitting near it, at her +work. She arose, greeting the new arrival cringingly and confidently. +"Good evening, Signer Carlo," she cried; "how goes it? You have just +come at the right moment. The poor foolish thing there--not a song +would please her, not a string was in tune; and even the bird that you +gave her, too, sang too loud for her. 'Daughter,' said I, 'he will be +here directly--he who is dearer to you than your eyes, silly girl that +you are.' 'Mama,' said she, 'I feel so anxious--my heart beats so--I +know not why.' 'Hush, hush!' said I; 'you are a child, to have such a +gentleman, who bears you in his very hands, and watches and cares for +you like his own heart'"-- + +--"And who will punish you, you witch!" shrieked Bianchi, striding +close up to her--"you poison, you baseness! Thank your grey hairs that +you do not feel the weight of my hand!" He shook her violently by the +shoulder. The old woman trembled. "Do not play such rough jokes upon a +poor old woman," she stammered; "You have frightened me so that I shall +have the gout. What! speak gently. Signer Carlo, and do not utter such +unchristian words, enough to make one cross and bless oneself! What +have you to say against the poor old Neuna?" + +"What?" foamed Bianchi, and thrust her from him so violently that she +sank upon her knees,--"you dare to ask? To play the virtuous to my very +face, after you have betrayed me? Away! out of the house, and that +without tarrying or whimpering--for I know you, and I ought to have +known that you could be no fit guardian, and that treachery nestles in +your withered breast!" + +The old woman had raised herself, and waited with assumed humility a +few feet from him, by the window. "You are right, Signor Carlo," she +said; "I ought not to have done it; but I pitied the poor lonely +creature, because she never got a glimpse of the world Sunday nor +working day, and seeing nothing but the roofs opposite, or the dark +streets and the little bits of starry sky at midnight, when you take +her out now and then. 'Child,' said I, 'he is so kind that he cannot be +angry with you, when you tell him this evening that you have been to +see the races with me.' She did not like to go, poor thing; but I saw +how much she wished it, and so persuaded her. And what harm is done? If +you had not made all this noise about it, she would only have had a +pleasure the more." + +"Go!" said Bianchi, with inexorable calmness; "not one word more." + +The old woman glided to the girl, who was seated on a chair in the +corner, with downcast eyes. "Daughter!" she whispered, "do _you_ try +him." Caterina cast a glance at Bianchi's face, and shook her head. "It +is useless," she answered. + +"Let me stop the night here at least," begged the old woman, and +approached the man a step nearer. "Where shall I rest my old +head?--how can I collect my little things?" + +"Go!" re-echoed the man;--"_your_ things! you have nothing but what I +have given you. Go, or"-- + +He raised his hand. The old woman trembled. Muttering a confused medley +of curses, prayers, and threats, she glided from the house. + +"Caterina," said Bianchi slowly, without looking up, "it is over! After +to-day you see me not again! Do not ask me why, and do not be unhappy +at the idea that you have made me angry. I have only been so with that +she-fiend who has just gone from us. You are good, and will be happy, +even though you do not see me again. Another will come, and will knock +at your door--the same who sat by your side at the races. Open to him, +greet him and love him--and be true to him! You must not tell him that +you know me; you must never utter my name before him. But keep still at +home, as you have hitherto done; and, should you chance to go out, +avoid that part of the town that lies below by the Tiber. Promise me +all this, Caterina!" + +He waited for an answer. Instead of it, there came a sob from the +corner that cut through his very heart. "Do not weep!" he said, as +calmly as he could; "You hear that I do not go from you in anger, and +you will be happy. All will be better for you than it has been +hitherto. You will love the other better than you have loved me!" + +"Never!" groaned from the lips of the poor girl. Her sobs prevented her +saying more. But in that one sound spoke out a true vehement avowal of +boundless affection. Bianchi's darkened brow brightened. He looked up +joyously--turned round and approached her. Beside herself, she rushed +towards him, and he received her as she pressed him unconsciously to +her arms. He kissed her forehead. "Hush!" he said, "Thou and I--we must +collect ourselves. It is now as well as it was, and better. But it +cannot remain so. It cannot or I shall be lost. Come!" he said, "make a +bundle of your best and favourite things, and what you will want for +a journey. Hasten, Caterina. I think that we shall see each other +again--but not here. Have patience." + +She looked at him with her large eyes. She understood nothing--she +anticipated nothing--mechanically she did as he directed her. "Where +are we going?" she asked, timidly, when all was ready. + +"Come," he said. He extinguished the light. The bird in its cage +fluttered eagerly against the wires. The guitar gave out a saddened +note as he struck against it in the darkness. Both their hearts beat +violently--and so they went. + + + + + CHAPTER VI. + + +Theodore's mind was in a strange state when he left Bianchi's house. As +soon as he felt the cool air breathe upon his face, the feeling of +depression which so weighed upon him, as he stood before the model, +left him at once. Even the secret remorse in the background of his +thoughts almost served to intensify his mental clearness, as the shadow +does the light. + +The former of the two girls passed before his mind's eye, and his +heart never faltered for a moment. Yet it was unjust towards the +stranger--a feeling of wonder struck through it still, when it +recollected all the beauties of that marvellous face. But it beat high +and fiercely, when it recollected the time of his first knowing and +loving, of his growing passion for Mary. And what had changed in the +interim? Had she not remained the same? Truly, delicacy and a feeling +of propriety had restrained her in the presence of others. But she +had told him, with all the ever-increasing intensity of her whole +being--with her eyes, which never moved from him as long as he was near +her; with her hands, that were so loth to leave his when he went, that +she had utterly and unrestrictedly abandoned her whole existence to +him. + +"Can I blame in her," he said to himself, "that she sits in awe of her +puritanical mother--that she did not break this old bond of reverence +at the same moment that she bound herself to me?" + +As if he had to confess to her all with which he had these weeks long +made his life miserable, he felt constrained to see her. He knew that +the English visitors, who had annoyed him so, had left Rome the day +before. He felt as if all was now to begin anew. In this state of +freshly-awakened happiness he sprang up the steps of the house. + +But a few moments before, Miss Betsy had been standing in Mary's +chamber, about to take her leave. The girl was seated by the piano, in +the shade, with her hands grasping the arms of her chair, as if afraid +that she should sink down upon the floor, if she did not support +herself. + +"Take my advice, child," said the little woman, at the end of a long +conversation. "Directly he appears, and without any beating about the +bush, tell him that he will only lose time in trying to excuse himself. +Do that, Mary--I advise you; he is young enough to grow a better man, +if he begins in time. It is scandalous and, dear heart, much as I wish +it, I cannot retract a word that I spoke in my first burst of anger. +God has, however, brought other sinners to himself before now; if he +only had more religion; you must confess that I have often spoken to +him about it, and now you see I was right; shame upon him, child, to +have no more respect for you! I looked round, fortunately none of your +acquaintances were sitting near us, for respectable people do not go +into this part of the circus, but into the private boxes, unless, +indeed, they want to study the people. But he spoilt the whole play for +me; and I cannot forgive him. Dear me! if you had been with me, you +would have died upon the spot! _Do_ you think that he took his eyes off +her for a moment? And she seemed to know him--an old passion--and that +might be some excuse for him; for he has found girls pretty enough +before he knew you. But people ought to have some self-respect, at +least in public, and pretend not to recognise each other. Well, well, +child, when you talk to him seriously and once for all, he will shrink +in his shoes; but if _you_ will not do it--willingly as I would spare +you--my principles require me to tell it all to your parents, that they +may bring him to his senses. It would be too great a disgrace and +misfortune for a family like yours to receive such a frivolous person +into its circle. Have you never heard of any old Roman flirtation which +he gave up on your account?" + +"No," said the girl, in a low voice. How could she confess that the +description of her officious tale-bearer brought a picture vividly +before her mind, which had once before caused her an anxious day? The +day after Theodore had told her about the dance in the osteria, she had +walked arm-in-arm with him through the town. From out a lowly window +looked a lovely face, which she pointed out to her friend. He had been +unable to repress a sudden start, and the girl, too, seemed to +recognize him. "It is the girl from Albano of last night," he said, and +then turned the conversation suddenly to another subject. But the face +had impressed itself feature by feature upon her memory. + +"Do not be down-hearted, my child," said Miss Betsy, passing her hand +over Mary's hair, "and don't fret. Human beings, and men in particular, +are not angels. Dear me! who has not had to bear the like. Do you talk +seriously to him, and all will come right. Good night, my child; I will +come and see you to-morrow. Heaven bless you!" + +She left hastily. Without she met Theodore, who nearly ran against her. +"Pardon me," he said; "a bridegroom who is hastening to his bride may +be excused for being in a hurry. Is it not so, dear Miss Betsy?" He did +not remark the cold expression with which she greeted him. "You will +find Mary----indeed she was not expecting you." He greeted her hastily +again, and rushed into the room. + +For the first time he found her alone, standing at the window, in the +darkness, her hair loosened about her face. In his heart he fervently +blessed the good fortune that seemed so willing to pave the way for a +perfect reconciliation. Gently he approached her. She did not move. He +passed his arm around her waist, and called her by her name. She +started and turned round, and he saw her eyes, gleaming wet with tears. +"You are weeping, Mary, my own love--you are weeping," he cried, and +would have pressed her closer to his heart. She resisted him without +speaking. She closed her eyes and repressed her tears, and shook her +head. "No!" she said, at last, "I am not weeping. It is passed! It is +well!" + +He took a turn up and down the room. He knew not how it happened, but +in one moment all his joyousness had gone. "What is the grief." he +said, at last, after a pause, "which _I_ may not know! If you but knew +with what a feeling of happiness I stepped over this threshold, what a +gleam of joy passed through me at finding you at last alone! And now +you are so distant, and more reserved than under all the restraints of +society. You know not _what_ amount of sorrow you heap upon both of +us." + +She remained silent, and kept her eyes firmly closed. She compared +within herself the words he spoke, with those that had but just before +so chilled her heart, his glances with those which her old friend had +described, and which had been directed to another. She felt something +within her which would gladly have pleaded for him, but too many voices +cried against it. She had listened to Miss Betsy's tale as if it +related neither to herself nor to him, like something incomprehensible, +which she possessed no power of appreciating. But yet it was the last +straw upon the burden, which she had borne for weeks past. Theodore +deceived himself when he fancied that he alone had suffered from his +miserable overexcited dreamings. That he was altered, that the first +glow of love had paled, that his heart was no longer sure of itself had +not escaped Mary's penetration. Whilst he was present she controlled +herself for his sake, for the world she would not have let him see that +she doubted him; and when she was alone she blamed herself, and said +that she had seen falsely, and seen more than existed; that a man had +thoughts sometimes that absorbed him, and followed him even into the +presence of his love. And she knew too that the restraint her mother +imposed annoyed him more day by day. And yet just at this moment a +feeling of the deepest agony burst through all, and closed her lips and +heart at the very time when words were so much wanted. She hoped for +nothing from questionings, and of reproaches she would not suffer +herself to think. She felt no acute pain, but as if paralyzed, so that +she felt not that he was near her, and yet would have received a +deathblow had he left her. + +So they stood in miserable self-deception opposite each other. He had +already taken his hat, intending to put an end to this unbearable +situation, when her mother entered. He must remain. Lights were +brought. The women seated themselves, whilst he stood, answering in +monosyllables, and cursing a thousand times both himself and his +miserable fate. And, as everything disagreeable invariably heaps itself +together at such moments, the mother began to talk of Edward's +monument. He could not conceal that he had seen it that day for the +first time, and was obliged to describe the feeling and execution of +the work. + +He roused himself a little. "It is incomparable," he said; "I cannot +express how it affected me. Edward himself, living but at the same +time, glorified. And most marvellous, revealed through some strange +inspiration of art, his very attitude, that peculiar, kindly way he had +of bending his head forward, a peculiarity of which I never said a word +to Bianchi." + +"What you tell us may be perfectly true, dearest Theodore," said the +mother, after some reflection; "I must confess, however, that the +additional figures, as you describe them, are so utterly repugnant to +me, that I feel that I could never pray at my son's grave whilst the +stone presented to me these strange fabulous forms, which horrify +instead of elevating the mind." + +"They are symbols, mother, symbols of the most exquisite feelings, not +foreign to your own when once you appreciate their meaning. Would you +not have been affected had an Italian poet written a poem on Edward in +his own language, even though it was not your own mother tongue?" + +"True; but then it would only be the expression which would seem +strange to me; but here the idea of the representation that repels my +holiest feelings, is so strong that I run away and feel that I can have +nothing in common with it." + +"You speak harshly!" + +"I wonder that you think it harsh, dear Theodore, when it is the +natural feeling of a woman and a Christian." + +"And you are in Rome, and see each day the wonders of bygone races, and +enjoy the deeds of a thousand different spirits, each of which is +different from your own, and yet can close your heart and turn away +here--here, where a spirit for your sake has brought up out of his +inmost soul all that it possessed." + +"I do not dispute his good-will. But, just because it touches me so +nearly and is done for my sake, I feel more susceptible against what is +wrong; the best intentions may be ungrateful to us when they have no +respect for our own feelings." + +Theodore approached Mary, who had sat silent, at her work. "Mary," he +said, "has Bianchi's effort offended you too?" + +"No;" she said gently; "but my mother is right. One cannot love what is +strange to us--at least I cannot! A man possibly." + +He only partly understood her words, but he understood that she +withdrew herself from him. An unspeakable feeling of agony seized +him. It was not irritation--no little feeling of bitterness--which +made him bow silently and leave them. He felt that he must collect +himself--rouse up his crushed spirits. He would have talked wildly had +he stayed. + +"It shall not be," he said to himself, when he reached the street. "She +is right; we were and should have ever remained strangers to each +other. I looked upon my longing to throw my whole heart upon her anew, +as fruitless. No wonder that at last she became wearied of it! But it +was horrible that it should happen just on this day when I had so +sweetly deceived myself, so blissfully lied to my soul, and was more +full of hoping than ever! It was horrible, yet wholesome. Now am I +cured for ever of this presumptuous amiable self-deception!" + +Then he thought of Bianchi. "In pity." he said, "I should have spared +him this; he will have something to throw into the Tiber again. No; he +shall not. I will keep this monument for myself, to warn me in future +how I trust mankind." + +So he reached his dwelling; he lighted his lamp and sat down to write. +He began a letter to Mary, calm and gentle--after the first few lines, +the lie became apparent--for it seethed and boiled and surged within +him, till he threw the pen upon the table, and sprang up to go--he knew +not whither. At last he went again into the night, towards Bianchi's +house. Should he seek him out, tell him all? conceal all from him? or +only in his neighbourhood struggle for decision and composure? He knew +not clearly--but solitude he could not bear. + +Only a young and narrow moon stood above the roofs, but the houses were +bright, the windows and balconies alive with people. Along the Corso +rolled a gay stream of careless promenaders, refreshing themselves in +the cool evening; laughing girlish faces, foreign and Roman, lightly +dressed, as they had just escaped from the close rooms. The street was +like a long corridor near a ball-room, where the company wander in cool +twilight between the dances. Here and there music floated through the +open windows, and a girl's voice amongst the crowd sang lightly to the +air. + +Theodore was obliged to cross the stream. He seemed to himself like one +departed, who has nothing more to do with life, but who is forced to +revisit some friend in order to reveal to him some forgotten duty +before he departs for ever. He buried himself in the small deserted +streets which lead down to the Tiber, and passed along without the +power of grasping any one train of thought firmly; at last, wearied by +the fruitless endeavour, he let his spirit dive along the empty waste +of sorrow, as across a shoreless, waveless sea. + +Thus he reached a part of the river bank called the Ripa Grande, where +the boats lie which ply to Ostia and to the little post steamer and +other shipping; from there down to the Ripetta there are still some +hundred paces, and no direct connection by the water. He turned, +however, to the right, towards the broader street, as a loud +altercation reached his ears from the summit of the landing-steps. He +heard the sound of a voice through it which made him stop suddenly; he +approached the crowd, the individuals composing which he could only +distinguish gradually by the light of a flaring street lamp. The +dispute seemed to be about a girl that a sailor had seized by the +arm and was endeavouring to drag off--another tried to separate +them--"Let her go, Pietro;" he cried. "How long have you taken cargoes +of women, kidnapper that you are? See, she is crying, poor thing! she +does not want to go back into your hole of a cabin, she has good +reasons--" + +"The devil take you!" shouted the other, dragging at the girl. "She +will have reasons enough! But the man who brought her, and paid me well +too, said, 'Ship her to Ostia and place her in safe hands there, and +take care she don't get back again.' He had his reasons too, I fancy, +and reasons that he backed with good arguments. The baggage! She has +been up to some mischief! If she was the blessed innocent she pretends +to be now, why did she not make a fuss when the man brought her? But +what do you think? then she was as quiet as a mouse, only cried and +sobbed, and kissed the man till it made him quite sad, and he promised +to come and see her in Ostia; and now, why should she take a fancy to +run away--the cat! as soon as I turned my back--and struggled and +screamed half along the street when I wanted to do my duty and place +her in safety again? Tell me that if you can! No! away with the witch, +and hold your jaw; and _accidenti_ on any one who gets in my way." + +"I _cannot_, I _will_ not go back," cried the girl's voice: "this man +is false; he insulted me shamefully; he breaks his agreement; save me!" + +"Who will believe you, you liar! who only lie to get away, and to abuse +me? Away with your hands, I say, and back to the cabin." + +"Halt!" thundered a voice suddenly. The contending parties turned round +startled, and saw Theodore breaking through the crowd to place his hand +on the girl's arm. "She is mine." he cried, "and goes with me." + +There was a pause. Caterina had recognized the young man +instantaneously. Wavering between joy and bitter doubt, she stood with +downcast eyes. + +"Do you take us for children?" cried the sailor, "to think that we are +going to be made fools of by the first fellow who comes by? If you want +a sweetheart, you will find plenty on the Corso for gold and good +words. Who told you to thrust your oar in, and with a style as if you +had the best right in the world?" + +"I have," said Theodore, loudly and firmly; "I have--for she is my +wife!" + +"His wife!" ran through the crowd. The nearest drew back a step. + +"Your wife! that you must prove--or it may be,--halt!" interrupted the +sailor. "Tell us her name, sir, her name! a husband generally knows so +much of his wife, even though he don't know what she is about in the +streets late at night." + +"Caterina," said Theodore, "do you know me?" + +"Yes," answered the girl. + +"Caterina!" murmured the sailor; "it is right--so the other one called +her." + +"You will go with me, Caterina?" said Theodore--"you will tell me the +reason why you have left me, and forced me to seek you up and down the +streets of Rome in anger and fear? So! to Ostia? and he was going to +meet you there? It is enough--come!" + +He spoke so sternly, and with a face in which sorrow and anger were so +plainly written that no one doubted him for a moment. "It is her +husband," they whispered: "she was going to run off with the other. God +pity him, when he falls into his hands, as she has done!" + +Caterina did nothing to undeceive them. Obediently she ascended the +steps by Theodore's side; and her astonishment at being saved by _him_, +to escape whom she had fallen into the danger, resembled the conscious +confusion of a discovered criminal. The sailor alone did not seem +perfectly convinced. He looked at the piece of gold which Theodore had +thrown to him, and growled, "If it was all right, the gentleman would +not have put his hand in his pocket. Well, I am doubly paid, at all +events: what does it matter to me?" + + + + + CHAPTER VII. + + +He walked beside her through two or three streets, holding her hand in +his. But neither looked at the other, nor did a word pass between them, +till suddenly he released her hand, and asked, "Whither shall I take +you, Caterina?" + +"I know not," she answered. + +"To the Via Margatta?" + +"No!" and she shrank together: "the old woman would find me there--or +he." + +"Who?" + +"I may not name him--least of all to you--he has forbidden me." + +"Then it is Bianchi." said Theodore, in a hollow voice. She did not +deny it. + +As they passed along, the misgiving which had arisen in his breast +became stronger. The strange silence of the artist, while he described +to him the scene at the Circus, and his meeting with the girl, were now +explained and obvious for the first time. "Had we but confided to each +other what was nearest to our hearts!" he sighed of himself and his +friend. He knew not all as yet. + +When they reached the house where Theodore lodged, he produced a key, +and opened the door. Caterina stepped back. "I do not enter with you," +she said. "No! rather would I sleep on the steps of Santo Maria +Maggiore, than there within"-- + +"Child," he said, "I am no longer now what I might have seemed but a +few hours ago! Thou art as safe with me as with a brother." + +She looked at him in the darkness, as keenly as she could, and it +seemed as if some strange light struck her. "I know," she said, +remaining still some steps from the door; "he has arranged it all with +you. He came and tried to persuade me that he had sold me to you, or +given me to you. I was to love you as I had loved him. '_I cannot_,' I +told him, and I swore it in my soul, and he saw clearly enough that it +was true. Then he wished to entrap me, and brought me down to the boat, +and ran to tell you that I was below, and that you might go and take +me.--But I will never be yours--no, though you were a thousand times +his friend, and though he should murder me a thousand times when I did +not do his will! Go! I can find my way back to my mountains again, and +you can tell him--what you will, and--farewell!" + +She turned away. Hardly had Theodore time to arouse himself from his +astonishment, and to overtake her. He seized her by the hand. +"Caterina," he said, "when I swear that you shall be to me as a sister, +and that I will take you back to your Carlo again as you left him--you +cannot hesitate to enter my house!" + +"You could do that? you would do that?" she asked, stopping +hesitatingly. "It is impossible; you do not know him; no one can alter +_him_!" + +"Trust!" he said. The hope that spoke so sweetly to her, came to his +assistance. She forced herself gently from him, and followed him into +the house. As soon as she reached his chamber, still in darkness, she +seated herself on a stool close by the door, her bundle, which she had +carried with her, resting on her lap. He struck a light, and spoke not +again, but turned over his papers mechanically, purposeless. His +forehead glowed when he thought of Bianchi's deed. The exquisite +consciousness of his utter devotion, which the past hour had taught +him, supported him, when the feeling that Mary was lost to him for ever +would have crushed him. + +Whilst he was thus dreaming about the future and nerving himself to +bear his fate, he heard a light breathing from the door. He looked up +and saw that Caterina had wept herself into a heavy sleep. Gently he +stepped to her side--her head had sunk upon her shoulder, her arms hung +down, her breast heaved with sorrow-laden dreams. He raised her gently +and cautiously, and bore her in his arms to a sofa which stood near the +wall. As he laid her down his face approached her cheek, he felt the +warm breath from her lips, the scent from her hair swept around him, +the beauty of her limbs rested blooming before him; but all ill passion +had gone from him--he raised himself, spread out his cloak over the +sleeping girl, and went to his room. Not until the lesser stars were +dwindling into darkness did he snatch a short and restless sleep; but +no thought of Caterina disturbed it. + + + + + CHAPTER VIII. + + +In the bright morning he entered Bianchi's workshop. He started +as the haggard, pallid face of his friend looked up to him from the +work-table. His hair seemed to have grown suddenly greyer, his eyes +darker; and yet a kindly expression played about the compressed lips +when he recognised Theodore. + +"You have passed a bad night." said Theodore, "and I am the cause of +it." + +"I lay awake." said Bianchi, calmly; "but why do you trouble yourself +about the fancies that now and then drive my rest from me? Let us talk +about better things--talk, read, and, above all, stay if you can. Let +it be so--it gives me a strange pleasure to-day to hear your voice." + +"Bianchi, it is useless to hide yourself under a cloak of words when +your whole heart lies open before me--I know all!" + +"You know all!--then keep secret what you know," said Bianchi, +vehemently; "keep it secret--never speak a word to me about it. It +lies behind me, far behind me! Ay!" he continued, "think of it as you +will, only let all be as it was--promise me that." + +Theodore stood deeply pained; he remembered that he, too, in a few days +would look upon all here as if it lay far, far behind him; but he could +not confess that to him, for fear of being unable to perform what he +had now to do. + +"I must speak, nevertheless," he said, at last. "Had I kept silent +yesterday, when I shivered your happiness with my foolish words, I +should have spared you much; then you had not cast away the pearl, to +which I, poor fool! in a presumptuous, self-forgetting moment, +stretched out my hand." + +Bianchi was silent--a hot flush passed over him, he tried to speak. "If +I brought her back to you, and said, 'there you have her again; I do +not envy you, for my heart hangs on another jewel, and it requires no +sacrifice to bind us to each other,'--would you believe me, Carlo?" + +He saw the shifting of overwhelming emotions flit across the face of +his friend. The artist supported himself against the table, his head +pressed against his breast which laboured violently; his lips moved +themselves, soundless. Theodore went to the door, and called +"Caterina!" She had stood without, death and life before her; as she +stepped slowly and with hesitating foot over the threshold, she saw +Carlo standing by the table with arms outstretched towards her. His +knees shook under him--with a cry of joy she cast herself upon his +neck. + +The door had remained open--Theodore had his back turned towards it, +lost in reverie over the relief of Edward, which stood sideways on its +scaffolding. He heard a light rustling behind him, and turned round. At +the same moment Caterina freed herself from Bianchi's arms, and +started. They saw three stranger forms standing hesitating in the open +doorway--an elderly pair and a fair young girl. Theodore remembered +her. + +"We disturb you," said the old gentleman; "pray pardon us; but the door +was wide open--we will come again at a more convenient time, Signor +Bianchi." + +"Enter," said Bianchi; "you do not disturb me. Those whom you see here +are a friend and--my wife--Signora Bianchi." He laid an emphasis on the +last words, and glanced at Caterina, who looked up to him in a +transport of happiness. Meanwhile, Theodore had retreated from before +the monument. The father greeted him with his old heartiness, and then +turned towards the relief. He exchanged no greeting with the women. The +old lady had, at Bianchi's first word, advanced towards the artist's +work, and stood speechless before it. Mary's glance rested but for a +short time on the statue of her brother, and then flew to Caterina. She +remembered her well. Whilst her parents stood leaning upon each other, +deeply affected, before the relief, unable to tear themselves away +from it, she approached Theodore; she spoke gently to him, she took +his hand, her eyes overflowed. They interchanged vows, confessions, +self-accusations--each anticipating the other, each outbidding the +other in assurances of boundless love. + +No one overheard them; for even Bianchi, though he spoke not, forgot +all in the eyes of his wife. + +At last Mary's father went to him and pressed his hand--his eyes were +moistened--the mother wept silently in her handkerchief. "You know +enough," said the old man; "it is needless for us to speak only one +thing--when do you begin its execution in marble! I have altered my +plan; I only wish a stone to be placed over my son's grave, bearing a +simple inscription. This relief I must place in the room where he +lived, on the place where stood his couch; we cannot consecrate the +spot better. But the time will seem very long to me till it is our own. +You will be the best judge of the marble. Do not delay for an hour!" + +Meanwhile the mother had recovered her composure. She turned and gave +Theodore her hand, drew him towards her and kissed him on the lips, +which she had done but once before, on the day when she betrothed her +child to him--then they all left the studio. The sky was clear and +serene, and brightly shone the sun over the banks of the Tiber. + + + + THE END. + + + + + + * * * * * + + PRINTED BY COX AND WYMAN, GREAT QUEEN STREET, LONDON. + + + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Four Phases of Love, by Paul Heyse + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FOUR PHASES OF LOVE *** + +***** This file should be named 34104.txt or 34104.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/3/4/1/0/34104/ + +Produced by Charles Bowen, from page scans provided by the Web Archive + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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