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diff --git a/old/67313-0.txt b/old/67313-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 55f05b0..0000000 --- a/old/67313-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,7141 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Virgins of the Rocks, by Gabriele -D'Annunzio - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world 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. If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: The Virgins of the Rocks - -Author: Gabriele D'Annunzio - -Translator: Agatha Hughes - -Release Date: February 3, 2022 [eBook #67313] - -Language: English - -Produced by: Andrés V. Galia, Laura Natal and the Online Distributed - Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was - produced from images generously made available by The - Internet Archive) - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE VIRGINS OF THE -ROCKS *** - - - - TRANSCRIBER'S NOTES - -In the plain text version words in Italics are denoted by _underscores_ -and text in bold like =this=. - -A number of words in this book have both hyphenated and non-hyphenated -variants. For the words with both variants present the one more used -has been kept. - -Obvious punctuation and other printing errors have been corrected. - - * * * * * - - _BY THE SAME AUTHOR_ - - THE TRIUMPH OF DEATH - _Uniform with this Volume._ - -=Pall Mall Gazette.=--'A masterpiece. The story holds and haunts -one. Unequalled even by the great French contemporary whom, in his -realism, D’Annunzio most resembles, is the account of the pilgrimage -to the shrine of the Virgin by the sick, deformed, and afflicted. It -is a great prose poem, that of its kind cannot be surpassed. Every -detail of the scene is brought before us in a series of word-pictures -of wonderful power and vivid colouring, and the ever-recurring refrain, -'Viva Maria! Maria Evviva!’ rings in our ears as we lay down the book. -It is the work of a master, whose genius is beyond dispute.’ - -=Daily Telegraph.=--'The author gives us numerous delightful -pictures, pictures of Italian scenery, simple sketches, too, of -ordinary, commonplace, innocent lives. The range of his female portrait -gallery is almost as wide and varied as that of George Meredith. His -Ippolita, his Marie Ferrès, his Giuliana Hermil, live as strong and -vivid presentments of real and skilfully contrasted women. _The -Triumph of Death_ ends with a tragedy, as it also begins with one. -Between the two extremes are to be found many pages of poetry, of -tender appreciation of nature, of rare artistic skill, of subtle and -penetrative analysis.’ - -=Daily News.=--'The close of the tragedy is swift and haunting. -It is impossible to overpraise the art. Every page is enriched with -descriptive passages of effects of nature, of music, of art, that -arrest the imagination and linger in the memory. In his words seem -entangled the very breath and sunshine of Italy--its translucent -moonlight skies, its incomparable horizons. It is difficult by -quotation to do justice to the author’s power of giving the vivid -impression of a scene.’ - -=Daily Chronicle.=--'The little effects of landscape are -skilfully touched in and harmonised with the emotion of the moment. -The incidental pictures of peasant life are most interesting, and the -terrible pandemonium at the shrine of Casalbordino is described with -Zolaesque vigour.’ - -=Scotsman.=--'The imaginative and penetrative force, the eloquence -and the artistic skill, are beyond question.’ - -=Westminster Gazette.=--'For a vivid and searching description -of the Italian peasant on his religious side, written with knowledge -and understanding, these pages could hardly be surpassed. We see -their Paganism, and their poverty, and their squalor, yet also that -imaginative temper which lends a certain dignity to their existence. -The narrative is remorseless ... yet it is rich and full of atmosphere. -M. D’Annunzio has a tender eye for natural detail; the landscape of -Italy, its flowers and trees, kindle him to genuine poetry. We are left -at the close of his story with a feeling that something like genius is -at work. This book is one which will not yield to any simple test. It -is a work of singular power, which cannot be ignored, left unread when -once started, or easily banished from the mind when read.’ - -=The Morning Post.=--'It compels attention for its intense and -minute “realism” in the presentation of the relations of the man and -the woman, and equal intensity and minuteness in the description of -things in general.’ - - - THE CHILD OF PLEASURE - _Uniform with this Volume._ - -=Literature.=--'For the work of a man of twenty-five, this book is -nothing less than marvellous. There is no stumbling or hesitation in -it. The command of language, the confidence of thought, the knowledge -of character and sensation, displayed by D’Annunzio, at an age when the -majority of novelists and poets have been groping in the dark for style -and substance, are ever awe-inspiring. D’Annunzio began his career as a -writer of verse; his prose is written with the delight in language, the -love of words, of a poet.’ - -=Manchester Guardian.=--'Wonderfully absorbing, for it is written -with a strange psychological intelligence, it is full of vivid -descriptions, vehement narrative, and contains pages of rare beauty -in which an ideal language really evokes the moods of the soul that -it interprets. There is in the novel some lovely verse which has been -rendered with rare felicity by Mr. Symons.’ - -=Daily Graphic.=--'The wonderful beauty of the descriptions, -the wealth of colour, and most of all the realisation of a certain -emotional pleasure which the contemplation of the beautiful produces in -some natures, this is all so finely given, that if only as a study of -human character the work would be interesting. But the greatest merit -of the book is the poetic beauty and richness of the language, which -makes it a glowing poem in prose.’ - - - THE VICTIM - _Uniform with this Volume._ - -=The Pall Mall Gazette.=--'_The Victim_ will most certainly not lessen -the enthusiasm of the English cult of D’Annunzio; it will, and should, -attract new admirers. No word but genius will fit his analysis of the -mental history of the faithless husband.... The genius of D’Annunzio -is shown alike in the bold directness of the conception, and the -perfection with which he works out every mental detail that follows -therefrom, and compels every sentence to do its full share of the work -without effort. It is a gloomy, saddening book, but a great one.’ - -=The Daily Chronicle.=--'The book contains many descriptive passages -of rare beauty, passages which by themselves are lovely little prose -lyrics. It is a story of a terrible experience told by the man who had -endured it. It is therefore a self-revelation; the revelation of the -sort of self that D’Annunzio delineates with a skill and knowledge so -extraordinary. The soul of the man, raw, bruised, bleeding, is always -before us.’ - -=The Daily Mail.=--'The vivid imagination of D’Annunzio’s novels, their -power of analysis, their grip of human emotions, and their grim truth, -are beyond dispute. In _The Victim_ there is the same quality of genius -that was so readily recognisable in _The Triumph of Death_ and in _The -Child of Pleasure_, and in reading it one is impressed anew with the -young author’s precise knowledge of life, his skill in interpretation, -and his earnestness. The whole narrative is so hauntingly real, that -one cannot put it aside until the end is reached.’ - - - LONDON: WILLIAM HEINEMANN, 21 BEDFORD ST. - - - - - The Virgins - of the Rocks - - - THE WORKS OF - Signor Gabriele D’Annunzio - - - I - The Romances of the Rose - - THE CHILD OF PLEASURE. (Il Piacere.) - THE VICTIM. (L’Innocente.) - THE TRIUMPH OF DEATH. (Il Trionfo della Morte.) - - - II - The Romances of the Lily - - THE VIRGINS OF THE ROCKS. (Le Vergini delle Rocce.) - THE PRODIGY. (La Grazia.) - THE ANNUNCIATION. (L’Annunziazione.) - - - III - The Romances of the Pomegranate - - FERVOUR. (Il Fuoco.) - THE DICTATOR. (Il Donatore.) - THE TRIUMPH OF LIFE. (Il Trionfo della Vita.) - - - LONDON: WILLIAM HEINEMANN - 21 BEDFORD STREET, W.C. - - - - - The - Virgins of the Rocks - - Translated from the Italian of - - Gabriele D’Annunzio - - By Agatha Hughes - - '_Io farò una finzione, che significherà cose grandi._’ - - LEONARDO DA VINCI - - - [Illustration] - - - London - William Heinemann - 1899 - - - _All rights reserved_ - - - - - PROLOGUE - - “_Una cosa naturale vista in un grande specchio._” - - LEONARDO DA VINCI. - -With these mortal eyes I beheld within a brief space of time three -peerless souls unfold and blossom, and then wither away and perish one -by one: the most beautiful, most passionate, and most miserable souls -ever embodied in the latest descendants of a haughty race. - -From the scenes where their desolation, their pride, and their grace -wandered every day, clear and terrible thoughts came to me, such as -the most ancient ruins of illustrious cities had never suggested. In -hopes of unravelling the mystery of their strange ascendency, I used -to explore the depths of the vast ancestral mirrors, where, often -unnoticed by themselves, their three figures were reflected bathed in -a pallor like that which heralds dissolution after death; and I gazed -long and earnestly at the old, worn-out things which they touched with -their chilled or fevered hands, using the same gestures perhaps as had -been used by other hands long since crumbled into dust. - -Was it thus, indeed, that I knew them in the tedious monotony of daily -life, or are they only creations of my yearning desire and perplexity? - -It was thus, indeed, that I knew them in the tedious monotony of -daily life, and yet they are also creations of my yearning desire and -perplexity. - -That fragment of the web of my life, unconsciously woven by them, is -of such priceless value to me, that I would fain embalm it in the -strongest of spices to prevent it from becoming faded or destroyed in -me by Time. - -Therefore I now try the power of art. - -Ah! but what magic could impart the coherency of tangible and durable -matter to that spiritual texture which the three prisoners wove in the -barren monotony of their days, and embroidered little by little with -images of the noblest and most heart-rending things in which human -passion has ever been hopelessly reflected? - -Unlike the three ancient sisters, because victims rather than daughters -of necessity, they seemed nevertheless, as they wove the richest -zone of my life, to be preparing the destiny of him who was to come. -Together they toiled, scarcely ever accompanying their labour with -a song, but less rarely shedding visible tears--tears in which the -essence of their unexhausted, cloistered souls was sublimated. - -And because from the first hour that I knew them a dark cloud had -overhung them, a cruel decree had struck them to the heart, and left -them discouraged and gasping, and ready to die--all their attitudes -and gestures and lightest words seemed to me heavy with a meaning of -which they, in their profound unconsciousness, were ignorant. - -Bending and breaking as they were beneath the weight of their own -maturity, like autumn trees overladen with bounteous fruit, they were -unable either to sound the depth of their misery or to give voice to -it. Their anguished lips revealed to me only a small portion of their -secrets. But I could understand the ineffable things spoken by the -blood flowing in the veins of their beautiful bare hands. - - - “_E il ricettacolo delle virtù sarà pieno di sogni e vane speranze._” - - LEONARDO DA VINCI. - -The hour which preceded my arrival in the ancestral garden, where they -awaited me, seems to me--as I see it in imagination--illuminated with a -light of unaccustomed poetry. - -To him who knows what slow or sudden fertilisations, what unexpected -transfigurations, are possible to an intense soul communicating with -other souls in the vicissitudes of this most uncertain life--to him -for whom the whole dignity of existence lies in exerting or submitting -to a moral force, and who approaches his kind with a secret anxiety to -dominate or be dominated--to every man who is curious about the inner -mystery, who is ambitious of spiritual power, or feels the need of -slavery, no hour has such a charm as that in which he moves forward, -with a vague anticipation, to meet the living Unknown and Infinite, a -dim world which he will either conquer, or by which he will be absorbed. - -I was about to enter an enclosed garden. There the three virgin -princesses were awaiting the friend who had been absent so long, him to -whom, as their contemporary in age, they were bound by recollections -of childhood and adolescence, him who was sole heir to a name no less -ancient and distinguished than their own. And thus they were awaiting -the return of an equal, of a sojourner in great cities, one who should -bring them a breath of that larger life which they had renounced. - -And each one of them perhaps in her secret heart was awaiting the -Bridegroom. - - * * * * * - -This time of waiting appears to me vehement in its anxiety when I think -of the bare and gloomy solitude of the house in which, until that -day, they had languished, their beautiful hands overflowing with the -treasures of youth, surrounded by a phantom pomp of existence called up -by their mother’s delirium to people the emptiness of the vast mirrors. -There, as if in twilight pools, the raving soul of the mother was wont -to be immersed. On the infinite distance of those colourless expanses, -had not each one of the maidens beheld the apparition of the youthful, -ardent figure of the Bridegroom who was to tear her from this obscure -decay, and carry her away in a whirlwind of delight? - -Thus each one waited anxiously within her enclosed garden for the -coming of him who was only after all to delude her, to watch her perish -without possessing her. - -“Ah! which of us will be the elect?” - -Never perhaps--so I think--were their beautiful dim eyes so -earnestly strained as at that hour; those eyes dimmed by melancholy -and weariness, the light of inquiry quenched in them by too long -familiarity with never-changing objects: eyes dimmed by mutual pity, -reflecting the forms of familiar things without mystery or variety, in -hard outlines and lifeless colouring. - -And suddenly each of them perceived in the other a new creature, armed -for combat. - - * * * * * - -I know not if there be anything sadder than these lightning-like -revelations made to tender hearts by the desire for happiness. The -virtuous sisters breathed in the same circle of sorrow; the same -destiny weighed upon them; and during the evenings, heavy with anxiety, -one of them from time to time would lay her brow on the shoulder or the -breast of another, while the darkness effaced the diversity of their -faces, and fused their three souls in one. But when the prophesied -guest--to their waiting hearts already appearing with the gestures -of the lover who elects and who promises--was about to set foot on -their deserted threshold, they lifted up their heads with a thrill, -and loosed their clasped hands, and exchanged a look which had the -violence of a sudden flash of lightning. And while from the depth of -their troubled souls there welled up an unknown feeling which had none -of the old sweetness, that one look brought them consciousness at -last of all their waning grace, of the contrast between their three -figures coloured by the same blood, of the spirit of night lurking in -the mass of hair heaped up like a load on the nape of a white neck, of -the marvellous persuasion expressed by the curve of a silent mouth, of -the enchantment woven like a net by the ingenuous frequency of some -inimitable gesture, and of every other magic power. - -And a dim instinct of strife dismayed them. - -Thus do I picture to myself those who were waiting for me in that -glowing hour. - -The first breath of spring, faintly warm, which had touched the dry -summits of the rocks, was caressing the brows of the anxious maidens. -Within the great cloister, carpeted with jonquils and violets, the -fountains repeated the melodious accompaniment which for centuries -the waters had made to the thoughts of voluptuousness and of wisdom -expressed in the leonine verses on the pediment. On certain trees and -on certain bushes the delicate leaves were shining as though coated -with gum or diaphanous wax. The ancient and immovable things of time -which could only decay were touched with an indefinable softness, -communicated to them by the things that had power to renew themselves. - -“Ah, which of us will be the chosen one?” - -The three sisters, who had secretly become rivals in face of this -deceptive offer of apparent life, composed their attitudes according to -the inward rhythm of their natural beauty, which time had already begun -to threaten. Perhaps not till that day had they understood that beauty -in its true sense; just as a sick person, hearing the unaccustomed -sound of the blood beating in the ear which presses the pillows, for -the first time understands the portentous music which sustains his -feeble frame. - -But perhaps in them this rhythm had no words. - -Nevertheless, I can now distinctly hear the words of that rhythm within -me, strengthening the pure outlines of those ideal figures. - -“A boundless desire for slavery makes me suffer,” says Massimilla -silently, as she sits on the stone seat, her hands, with fingers -interwoven, clasped round her weary knee. “I have not the gift of -communicating happiness; but my whole being, more than any other -creature, more than any inanimate thing, is ready to become the perfect -and perpetual possession of a master. - -“A boundless desire for slavery makes me suffer. I am devoured by an -unquenchable yearning to give myself up entirely, to belong to a higher -and stronger being, to dissolve myself in his will, to burn like a -holocaust in the fire of his great soul. I envy the frail things which -lose themselves, which are swallowed up in an abyss, or carried away -by a whirlwind; and I gaze often and long at the drops of water which -fall into the great basin, and hardly awake the slightest smile on its -surface. - -“When a perfume envelopes me and vanishes, when a sound reaches me and -dies out, sometimes I feel myself grow pale and almost faint away, for -it seems to me that the aroma and the harmony of my life are tending to -the same evanescence. And yet sometimes my little soul is straitened -within me like a knot. Who shall untie it and absorb it? - -“Ah me! perhaps I should not know how to console him in his sadness; -but my dumb and anxious face should be always turned towards his, quick -to perceive hope reviving in his secret heart. Perhaps I should not -know how to let fall on his silence those rare syllables, seeds of the -soul, which in a moment can generate a boundless dream; but no faith -in the world should surpass the ardour of my faith as I listened, even -when the things I heard were such as must remain inaccessible to my -intellect. - -“I am she who listens, admires, and is silent. - -“From my birth I bear on my forehead between my eyebrows the sign of -attention. - -“I have learned from the calm and intensity of statues the immobility -of harmonious attitude. I can keep my eyes open and turned upwards for -a long time, because my eyelids are light. - -“The shape of my lips forms the living and visible image of the word -'Amen.’” - - * * * * * - -“I suffer,” says Anatolia, “from a virtue within me which is wasting -itself uselessly. My strength is the last support of a solitary ruin, -whereas it might safely guide the current of a river full of all life’s -abundance from its source to the sea. - -“My heart is inexhaustible. All the sorrows of the world could never -succeed in wearying its throbs; the fiercest violence of joy could -not break it, nor can it be weakened by this long and slow grief. A -vast multitude of thirsty creatures might drink of the well of its -tenderness without exhausting it. - -“Ah! why should fate condemn me to this narrow duty, to this slow -torture? Why should she forbid me that sublime union for which my heart -yearns? - -“I could guide the soul of a man up to that highest sphere where -the value of the act and the splendour of the dream converge to the -selfsame apex; from the depths of his unconsciousness I could extract -unseen energies which lie hidden like ore in the veins of rough stone. - -“The most hesitating of men would feel secure by my side; he who had -strayed from the light would once more see a steady beacon at the end -of his path; he who had been buffeted about and maimed would become -healthy and whole again. My hands know how to bind up wounds, and how -to tear the bandages off heavy eyelids. When I stretch them out--my -purest heart’s-blood flows magnetically to the tips of my fingers. - -“I possess the two supreme gifts which enrich life, and prolong it -beyond the illusion of death: I fear no suffering, and I feel the -imprint of eternity on my thoughts and acts. - -“And therefore I am troubled by a desire to create--to become through -love her who propagates and perpetuates the ideal qualities of a race -favoured by Heaven. I could nourish the superhuman within me. - -“Once in a dream I kept mysterious watch a whole night long over the -sleep of a child. While with deep-drawn breaths his body lay slumbering -I upheld his soul in my hands, and it was tangible like a globe of -crystal, and my breast swelled with marvellous premonitions.” - - * * * * * - -Violante says: “I am humbled. When I felt the mass of my hair weigh -upon my brow, I fancied myself to be wearing a crown, and beneath that -regal burden my thoughts wore a purple hue. - -“My childhood’s memories are all lit up by visions of fire and -slaughter. Blood ran before my innocent eyes; my delicate nostrils -breathed the odour of unburied corpses. A young and eager queen, hunted -from her throne, took me in her arms before she departed into an -exile from which there was no return. From that time, therefore, the -splendour of great and tragic destinies hangs over my soul. - -“In my dreams I have lived a thousand lives of magnificence; I have -passed through all sovereignties as safely as one who retraces a -well-known path; I have discovered in the aspect of the most dissimilar -things secret analogies with the aspect of my own form, and by hidden -arts have pointed them out for man to wonder at; and I have found out -how to compel light and shade, as truly as robes and jewels, to form -the divine and unforeseen adornment of my decline. - -“Poets saw in me the ideal apparition in whose lineaments the highest -mystery of life is expressed--that mystery of beauty which has been -revealed in mortal flesh at intervals of long ages, through all the -imperfection of innumerable generations. And they thought: 'This is -doubtless the perfected image of that idea of which the peoples of -the earth have had an intuition from the beginning, and which artists -have unceasingly invoked in poems, in symphonies, on canvas, in clay. -Everything in her is expressive, everything is a symbol. The lines of -her form speak a language whose eternal truth would make him that could -understand it like unto a god; and her slightest movements produce -within the contours of her body ineffable music like the harmony of -midnight skies.’ - -“But now I am humbled--deprived of my kingdoms. The fire in my blood -is growing paler and dying out. I shall vanish away, less fortunate -than the statues which testified to the joy of life on the brows of the -cities of the past. For ever unknown, I shall dissolve away, whereas -they will endure in the safe keeping of mould and darkness among the -roots of the flowers, and some day, when unburied, they will seem to -the ecstatic soul of kneeling poets as great as the gifts of earth. - -“I have now dreamed every dream, and my hair weighs heavier on my brow -than a hundred crowns. I have dazed myself with perfumes. I love to -linger near the fountains as they go on eternally telling the same -tale. Through the thick locks of hair which cover my ears I seem to -hear time ebbing away on the monotonous waters.” - - * * * * * - -Thus when I evoke them do the three princesses speak within my soul, -as they wait for the irrevocable hour. Thus, perhaps, believing that a -messenger of life had appeared at the gates of their closed garden, did -each one recognise her own charm, display her own seductiveness, revive -her own hope, quicken the dream within her which had almost died away. - -O Hour! lit up by grand and solemn poetry! Most brilliant Hour in which -all possibilities emerged and shone on the inward heaven of the soul! - - - - - I - - “_Non si può avere maggior signoria che quella di sè medesimo._” - - LEONARDO DA VINCI - - “_E se tu sarai solo, tu sarai tutto tuo._” - Ibid - - -After the inevitable tumult of early youth had been controlled, the -vehemence of conflicting desires defeated, and a barrier raised against -the confused and multifold overflow of sensations, I had sought -during the momentary silence that ensued on my consciousness to find -out whether life might not become something different from the usual -exercise of the faculties of adaptation to changing circumstances; that -is to say, whether my will might not be able, by means of selection and -exclusion, to build up some new and artistic work out of the elements -which life had already stored up within me. - -I felt assured, after some self-examination, that my consciousness had -reached that arduous point when it becomes possible to appreciate this -too simple axiom: The world represents the sensibility and the thought -of a few superior men who created it, and in course of time have -enlarged and adorned it, and who in the future will continue to enlarge -and adorn it more and more. The world, as it appears to us to-day, is -a magnificent gift from the few to the many, from free men to slaves, -from those who think and feel to those who work. And then I recognised -my own highest ambition in the desire to bring some ornament, to add -some new value to this human world which is being eternally embellished -with beauty and sorrow. - -Face to face with my own soul, I thought again of that dream which came -to Socrates several times over, each time taking a different form, but -always urging him to fulfil the same mission: “O Socrates, compose and -cultivate music.” Then I learned that the real duty of a man of worth -is to discover in the course of his existence a series of harmonies, -varied indeed, but controlled by one dominant motive, and bearing the -impress of one style. And so it appeared to me that the ancient sage, -who excelled in the art of raising the human soul to its utmost degree -of vigour, might teach a great and efficacious lesson to our own age. - -By the study of himself and his neighbours, this man discovered what -inestimable benefits assiduous discipline bent always to a fixed -purpose can confer upon life. His supreme wisdom seems to me most -resplendent in this, that he did not place his Ideal out of the -reach of daily practice, beyond the sphere of necessary realities, -but that he made it the living centre of his being, and deduced his -own laws from it; and, in accordance with these laws, he developed -rhythmically throughout the course of years, exercising with calm pride -such rights as they permitted him, and separating--he a citizen of -Athens under the tyranny of the Thirty, and under the tyranny of the -plebeians--deliberately separating his moral existence from that of -the city. He desired, and he was able to preserve himself for himself -until death. “I will be obedient to God only,” meant, “I will be -obedient only to the laws of that genius to which, in order to fulfil -my conception of order and beauty, I have subjected my free nature.” - -Far more subtle as an artist than Apelles or Protogenes, he was able to -trace with a firm hand the complete image of himself in one continuous -line. And the sublime joy of the last evening came to him, not from the -hope of that other life which he had spoken of in his discourses, but -rather from the vision of his own image, made one with death. - - * * * * * - -Ah, why cannot he live again on Latin soil, this Master who understood -with such profound and hidden art how to awaken and stimulate all the -energies of intellect and soul in those who approached to listen to him? - -A strange melancholy used to fall over me in my youth when, reading -the Dialogues, I tried to picture to myself that circle of eager and -anxious disciples surrounding him. I used to admire the handsome ones, -those dressed in the richest garments, and on whom his round and -prominent eyes--those _new_ eyes of his, in which there was a look -_peculiar to himself_--rested oftenest. My imagination prolonged -the adventures of the strangers who came to him from afar, like the -Thracian Antisthenes, who travelled forty stadia a day to hear him, -and like Euclides, who--the Athenians having forbidden the citizens of -Megara to enter Athens, and decreed the worst of punishments for the -transgressors--dressed himself in woman’s clothes, and thus clothed and -veiled, left his own city towards evening, and made a long journey in -order to be present at the discourses of the Sage; then at dawn went on -his way again in the same disguise, his breast filled with unquenchable -enthusiasm. And I felt touched by the fate of the beautiful Elian -youth Phaedo, who, after having been made a prisoner of war in his own -country, and sold to the keeper of a house of ill-fame, escaped to -Socrates, and by his means obtained redemption and admission to the -feasts of pure thought. - -It seemed to me, indeed, that this genial master surpassed the Nazarene -in generosity. Perhaps the Hebrew, if his enemies had not slain him -in the flower of his years, would at last have shaken off the weight -of his sadness, found new savour in the ripe fruits of his Galilee, -and pointed out a different ideal of good to his followers. The Greek -philosopher had always loved life; he loved it, and taught men to -love it. Nearly infallible as a prophet and seer, he welcomed all -souls in which his penetrating glance had discovered any force, and -in each one he developed and elevated that natural force, so that all -those inspired by his fire revealed themselves in the power of their -diversity. The highest value of his method was that very result of -which his enemies accused him: that from his school--where met honest -Crito and Plato, the follower of Urania, and the raving Apollodorus, -and the kindly Theætetus, who is like a noiseless river of oil--there -went forth also the luxurious Cyrenian, Aristippus, and Critias, the -most violent of the Thirty Tyrants, and the other tyrant Charicles, and -that marvellous breaker of laws, Alcibiades, who put no limit to his -premeditated violence. “My heart leaps when I hear his discourses far -more than at the sound of the Corybantes,” said the son of Clinia, like -a graceful wild animal crowned with ivy and violets, at the close of -a banquet where the guests had received from Silenus’ mouth the grand -initiation of Diotima. No fairer wreath of praise was ever woven to -deify any man upon earth. - - * * * * * - -Now, what were the energies stimulated in me by this master? What -harmonies did he lead me to find? - -At first he captivated me by his singular faculty of feeling the -fascination even of evanescent beauty, of making, with a certain -restraint, distinctions among ordinary pleasures, and of recognising -the value which the idea of death confers upon the grace of earthly -things. - -Pure and austere as he was in the act of speculation, he yet possessed -such exquisitely fine senses that they might almost be called the -skilled artists of his sensations. - -No guest at any of the banquets--according to Alcibiades, an excellent -judge--knew so well how to enjoy them as he. At the beginning of the -banquet of Xenophon, he, with the others, contemplates the perfect -beauty of Autolycus in long silence, almost as if he recognised in it -some superhuman presence. Afterwards he discourses, with subtle taste, -of perfumes, dancing, and drinking, not without vivid images to adorn -his discourse, as becomes a sage and a poet. - -Thus, while contending with Critobulus in jest for the palm of beauty, -he uttered these words: “Since my lips are thicker, thinkest thou not -that my kiss must be softer than thine?” He advised the Syracusan, -who gave a performance there of dancing, in which a flute-player, a -marvellous dancing-girl, and a boy harpist took part, not to force the -three young bodies to unnatural efforts and into dangerous postures, -which give no pleasure to the spectator, but to leave it to their -youthful freshness, accompanied by the sound of the flute, to fall into -such attitudes as belong to the Nymphs, the Graces, or the Hours as -they are commonly painted. And so to the disorder which only amazes he -opposes the order which pleases, and stands revealed once again as a -cultivator of music and a master of style. - -That which in days gone by touched me more than anything else were his -last words to a beautiful frail creature whom he loved. They touch -me still, for my soul loves now and then to slacken its tension in -the voluptuous sadness and passionate perplexity which the sense of -continual change, continual passing away, continual decay, is apt to -produce in a life adorned by the noblest culture. - -In the dialogue of the last evening I am not so much moved by the -scene where Crito, charged by him who was to administer the hemlock, -interrupts the condemned man’s discourse, and admonishes him not to -heat himself if he wishes the poison to take rapid effect, and the -brave man smiles and goes on with his inquiry; nor is the musical -simile of the swan magicians and their harmonious joy so dear to me; -nor am I so amazed by those last moments, when in brief actions and -brief sayings this man fulfils his ideal of perfection so clearly, and, -like an artist who has given the finishing touch to his work, gazes -contentedly at his own image--a miracle of style--destined for ever to -remain immortal upon earth; I am not touched by any of these as I am -by that unexpected pause which follows the doubts opposed by Cebes and -Simmias to the certainty displayed by the eloquent master. - -It was a profound pause, during which all those souls were suddenly -blinded and cast, as it were, into an abyss after the ray of light -thrown upon the great Mystery by him who was about to enter it had -suddenly died out. - -The master guessed the sadness produced among his faithful followers -by this sudden gloom, and the wings of his thought soon spread again. -Reality appeared to him through the medium of the senses, and held him -back for a while in the field of the finite and the perceptible. He -felt time fly, life flow on. Perhaps his ears caught some sound from -the stately city, perhaps his nostrils inhaled the perfume of the early -summer just approaching as his eyes rested on Phaedo with the beautiful -hair. - -Seated on his bed, with Phaedo beside him on a low stool, he laid his -hand on the head of his disciple, and caressed him and stroked the -hair on his neck, for it was a habit of his thus to let his fingers -stray playfully in that thick young forest. Still he did not speak, so -intense was his emotion, and so chequered with delight. Through this -beautiful and ephemeral living being he was communicating once more -with that earthly life in which he had attained his perfection, in -which he had realised his ideal of virtue; and perhaps he felt that -there was nothing beyond, that this finished existence of his was -sufficient to itself, that its prolongation in eternity was only--like -the halo of a star--an illusion produced by the extraordinary radiance -of his humanity. Never had the locks of the young Elian been so -sublimely precious to him. He was enjoying them for the last time, for -he had to die; indeed, he knew that next day those locks would be cut -off in sign of mourning. At last he said--and his disciples had never -known such a tone in his voice before--he said: “To-morrow, oh Phaedo, -thou wilt cut off these beautiful locks.” And the youth answered: “So -it seems, oh Socrates.” - - * * * * * - -This sentiment--which I at once absorbed and exalted within me as I -read the episode for the first time in the Platonic dialogue--became -afterwards by means of analogy so complex and so familiar to my mind, -that I made it the open or concealed theme of that music to which I -wished to hearken. - -In this way the Ancient Sage taught me the commemoration of death in -a manner conformable to my nature, that I might find a rarer value -and a graver significance in things near at hand. And he taught me -to seek and discover in my own nature genuine virtues and genuine -defects, that I might arrange both in accordance with a premeditated -design, striving with patient care to give a seemly appearance to the -latter, and to raise the former upwards towards the supreme perfection. -And he taught me to exclude everything which was discordant with my -ruling idea, everything which could alter the lines of my design, -which could slacken or interrupt the rhythmical development of my -thought. And he taught me to discern with sure intuition those souls -over whom to exercise benevolence or mastery, or from whom to obtain -some extraordinary revelation. And at last he communicated to me also -his faith in the _dæmon_, which was none other than the mysteriously -significant power of Style, inviolable by any, even by himself in his -own person. - -Full of this teaching and quite alone, I set to work, with the hope of -succeeding, in tracing with precise and strong outlines that effigy -of myself, to whose existence so many remote causes had contributed, -operating from time immemorial through an infinite number of -generations. That virtue of race, which in Socrates’ country was called -_eugeneia_, came out stronger and stronger as my discipline became more -severe; and my pride increased with my satisfaction as I thought how -only too many other souls would have sooner or later revealed their -vulgar essence under the ordeal of that fire. But sometimes from the -very roots of my being--where the indestructible soul of ancestors -slumbers--such positive and vehement fountains of energy would spring -up, that I felt sad as I recognised their uselessness in an epoch when -public life is only a miserable spectacle of meanness and dishonour. -“It is marvellous indeed,” the _dæmon_ used to say to me, “that these -ancient barbaric energies should have been preserved in thee with -all their freshness. They are still beautiful even though they be -inopportune. In another age they would assist in performing the duty -worthy of such as thee; that is to say, the duty of the leader who -points out a certain goal, and guides his followers towards it. As that -day seems far off, do thou now attempt, by condensing these energies, -to transform them into living poetry.” - -Very distant indeed that day appeared; for even the arrogance of the -populace was not so great as the cowardice of those who tolerated -and supported it. Living in Rome as I did, I was witness of the most -ignominious breaches of faith, of the most obscene connections which -ever dishonoured a sacred spot. Evil-doers gathered together within the -fatal circle of the divine city as within the precincts of an infamous -forest, and it seemed as though only some magnificent power armed with -ideas more brilliant than past memories could be able nowadays to raise -its head above the monstrous phantoms of empire. Like the overflow -of sewers, the flood of base desires was invading the market-place -and the cross-roads, a flood perpetually swelling and growing more -putrid, never even illuminated by any flame of crooked but titanic -ambition, never even bursting out in a flash of magnificent crime. The -lonely dome on the distant side of the Tiber, inhabited by a soul, -which although senile, yet stood firm in the consciousness of its own -aims, was still the most prominent landmark, contrasted as it was with -another unnecessarily exalted dwelling-place, where a king of warlike -race showed a wonderful example of patience in the fulfilment of the -humble and fatiguing office assigned to him by the decree of the people. - -One evening in September, as I stood on that acropolis of the Quirinal -guarded by the twin Tindarides, while a dense crowd was commemorating -with bestial howls a conquest, the frightful extent of which they -could not understand (Rome was looking terrible as a crater under a -conflagration of clouds), I thought to myself: “What visions might -not these conflagrations of the Latin sky kindle in the great heart -of a king? Such a vision that under its weight the gigantic horses of -Praxiteles would bend like twigs. Ah, who will ever be able to embrace -the great Mother and fertilise her with his all-powerful idea? To her -alone--within her womb of stone, which for ages has been the pillow of -Death--to her alone it is given to generate such abundance of life that -the world may be renewed with it again.” - -And behind the glittering windows of the royal balcony I saw in -imagination a pale contracted brow, carved like the brow of the -Corsican with the mark of a superhuman destiny. - - * * * * * - -But what signified this turbid seething of servile passions, seen -through that silence which surrounds Rome with its nine circles like -a river of Tartarus? I was consoled for all my disappointment by this -sublime spectacle of the Campagna strewn with great dead things, where -nothing ever springs up save blades of grass, germs of fever, and -terrible thoughts. “Is there a new nation struggling within the walls -of the city? Ere long a few ashes will be borne to me on the wind. My -barrenness is made of a layer of ashes, some precious and some ignoble. -And the iron for the plough which shall furrow me has not yet been -drawn from the mountain.” This is what the sepulchre of the nations -signified to me. - -And yet, though the sight of that voracious desert be a sinister -warning to an unprofitable nation, it can inspire the solitary man -with the wildest intoxication of which the soul is capable. From the -crevices of that soil a feverish vapour ascends like smoke, and works -like a magic philtre in the blood of some men, producing a form of -madness unlike any other. - -The young men of the Garibaldian troops, I thought, must have felt -themselves possessed by this madness as they entered the Campagna. They -were suddenly transfigured by a flame which consumed them like dry -wood. And in one here and there that fever magnified his own inward -vision in such a way that he ceased to form part of a compact and -unanimous band, and assumed an individuality of his own, a singularly -warlike aspect, consecrated to a new onward movement. Fair and noble -of race like a virgin hero of the time of Ajax, the type of the old -warlike ideal, strengthened by a spirit of unexampled ardour, which -came to him from the soil he trod, seemed to be renewed in such an one -as he fell. - -I envied him that happy fate which was denied to me. Several times -after these inspiring reflections, a furious desire to prove my valour -consumed me, and I would put my horse at some very high piece of ruined -wall, and, the useless danger overcome, I would feel that always and -everywhere I should have known how to die. - -I remember as one of the most intense periods in my life an autumn -passed in daily communion with the Latian desert. - -Over that theatre, where a drama of races unfolded itself before my -mental vision, there passed a perpetual variety of clouds whose great -fleeting shadows made the commentary on my inward musings. Sometimes -the silence became so heavy, and the odour of death wafted up in my -face from the grass so suffocating, that instinctively I clung closer -to my horse, as though I wished to feel a share in his impetuous -vitality. Then the fine powerful animal would spring forward with -feline agility, and the inextinguishable fire burning in his pure blood -would seem to communicate itself to me. Then for a few minutes I tasted -intoxication. As I followed the line in which I was carried by the -impetus of the gallop and the thoughts in my mind, a line parallel to -the vast skeletons of the aqueducts which crowded the horizon, I felt -the birth and growth within me of an indescribable spirit of fervour--a -mixture of physical impulse, of intellectual pride and of confused -hopes; and my energies were stimulated and multiplied by the presence -of those works of man, of those human witnesses outliving total death, -of those terrible reddened arches which for centuries have risen -unconquered in procession against the menaces of heaven. - -Alone, without near relations, without any ordinary ties, independent -of any domestic authority, absolute master of myself and of my goods, -I felt most profoundly in that solitude--more than at any other time -or place--the sense of my progressive and voluntary evolution towards -an ideal Latin type. Day after day I felt my whole nature grow, under -the rigorous discipline of meditation, selection, and exclusion; and -its special characteristics, its distinct peculiarities, become more -marked. The aspect of the country, precise and sober in form and -colour, was a continual example and a continual stimulus to me; it had -an efficacy for my intellect like that of dogmatic teaching. Each group -of lines seemed indeed to be inscribed on the heavens with the pithy -significance of an incisive axiom and the unvarying character of a -single style. - -But the marvellous virtue of this teaching was, that although it drove -me to order my inner life with the exactness of a ruled design, it did -not dry up the spontaneous springs of emotion and imagination, indeed -it only stimulated them to greater activity. Of a sudden, some single -thought would become so intense and so ardent within me that it would -possess me almost to delirium, like a phantom created by an illusion; -and by it my whole world would be strewn with shadows and new lights. -A jet of poetry would burst from my inner being, filling my whole soul -with music and ineffable freshness, and causing desires and hopes -to burn higher in a happy flame. Thus sometimes on the Campagna the -autumn sunset would pour out the impalpable lava of its eruption; long -sulphur-coloured streams furrowed the uneven plain; the hollows were -filled with darkness like abysses just opened; the aqueducts caught -fire from base to summit; the whole country seemed to have returned to -its volcanic origin in the dawn of time. Thus sometimes in the morning -the larks would start suddenly out of the soft sparkling grass, singing -as they made their dizzy ascent, like spirits of joy rapt higher and -higher from mortal sight into the purest heaven of blue, and to my -wondering soul the whole dome of heaven seemed to be echoing with their -intoxicating music. - -And so this solitude more than any other was able to inspire the degree -of enthusiasm and reasonableness necessary for an ambitious ascetic: -an ascetic in the original meaning of the austere word, desiring, like -the ancient antagonists, to prepare himself by rigid discipline for the -struggles and the conquests of the earth. - -“What pillar of fire, what burning desert, what lonely mountain top, -what bottomless cave, what malarious pool, what solitary, barren, or -tragic spot can be surpassed by this place, in the power of kindling -the sacred spark of madness in one who believes himself destined to -engrave on new tables of stone new laws for the religious guidance of -the people?” Thus I used to think while presentiments of forms yet -uncreated arose within me, fostered by that same silence in which so -many extinct forms of our humanity were gathered together. Everything -there is dead, but everything might suddenly come to life again in some -spirit with enough superfluity of strength and heat to accomplish the -prodigy. It is difficult to imagine the grandeur and terror of such -a resurrection. He within whose consciousness it could be realised -would appear to himself and others to be possessed by a mysterious -and incalculable force greater far than that which used to assail the -Pythia of old. Instead of the fury of a god present on the tripod, his -mouth would express that very genius of the races which is the funereal -guardian of innumerable destinies long ago fulfilled. His oracle would -not be merely a chink opened into a world above the senses, but the -sum of all human wisdom mingled with the breath of Earth, that highest -of prophetesses, according to the message of Æschylus. And once again -the multitudes would bend before the divine aspect of his madness; not -as at Delphi, to implore the dark utterances of the ambiguous God, but -to receive the clear answer given by previous existences, that answer -which the Nazarene never gave. He was too illiterate, and the desert -beneath the mountains of Judea on the western bank of the Dead Sea, -in which he chose to find his revelation, was too stony: a place of -rocks and precipices, destitute of foot-prints, blind to all thought. -The solitary youth felt no fear of famishing jackals, but he feared -thought. His pale hand had power to tame savage beasts, but thoughts -as fiery and masterful as those which wander over the Latian desert -would have devoured him. When the bad angel drove him to the top of -the mountain and showed him the fertile land below, and pointed out -the position of the different countries of the world and the deep and -whirling currents of human desire, he closed his eyelids: he would not -see, he would not know. But the great Revealer must extend the horizon -of his consciousness beyond all limits, and embrace within it days and -years, centuries and millenniums. The truth he sets forth must be the -outcome of the whole life lived by men up to the present hour. It must -be a fire in which the ascending powers of many generations may be -absorbed; so that thus harmonised and multiplied, they may move onward -in greater unison and with greater certainty towards an ever purer -ideal. - -Sometimes, too, I was haunted by the phantom of him, whom one day -believed to have created King of Rome. “There was lacking,” I used to -think, “even in this most admirable inspirer of heroic feeling, in -this joyful revenger of youthful blood, there was lacking the ascetic -discipline of the sepulchre of the nations. Had he been able even for -a time to turn aside his spirit from the things which pressed upon him -and bend it towards immutable things, he might have discovered some -idea greater than his own mortal person, and might have chosen it to be -ruler of his actions. Then his dream of Latin empire would have grown -closer and weightier and more tenacious, so that the force of events -and himself combined could not have finally dissipated and destroyed it -as they did. But his idea, which was too much bound up with daily life, -too human in fact, was to die with him. He never attained knowledge -of the secret by which man prolongs the efficacy of his action into -all time. The impulses given by the man were as vehement as they -could be, but their propagation was brief and uncertain, because they -originated in a centre of spontaneous powers which were not subject to -any superior conception evolved from a severe order of meditation. And -so his work was not higher than himself, and lasted no longer than the -work of destruction. His destiny was controlled by the old oracles. -The answer given by the Pythia as to the fate of Corinth might, after -thousands of years, serve for him also:--_An eagle has conceived by a -rock, and shall give birth to a fierce lion, greedy for human flesh, -which shall work great slaughter._--He did but obey the prediction, -like the petty tyrant Cypselus. And the King of Rome faded away into -space like a column of smoke.” - -Such was the colour of the thoughts awakened in me by the aspect of -a place which--according to Dante’s words--seemed formed by nature -herself for universal empire: _ad universaliter principandum_. And -while Dante’s arguments to prove the divine right of the Roman power -recurred to my memory, the summit of my intellect was occupied by that -motto which the Latin races, if they wish to be born again, would do -well to adopt in its exact and rigid form as the rule of their vital -institutions:--_Maxima nobile, maxima præesse convenit._ It is meet -that the noblest should also be the greatest. - -And in the company of that great and tyrannical spirit I used to -think: “Oh, venerable father of our language, thou hadst faith in -the necessity of hierarchies and differences between men; thou didst -believe in the superiority of the virtue transmitted through heredity -in the blood; thou didst firmly believe in a virtue of race which -can by degrees, by one selection after another, elevate man to the -highest splendour of his moral beauty. When thou didst expound the -genealogy of Æneas, thou sawest a manner of divine predestination in -the concourse of blood.” Now, what mysterious concourse of blood, what -vast experience of culture, what propitious harmony of circumstances -shall give birth to the new King of Rome? _Natura ordinatus ad -imperandum_--ordained by nature unto empire--but, unlike any other -monarch, his task will not be to reconfirm or raise the value -which--under the influence of various teachings--the nations have been -used to set upon the things of life; it will rather be to abolish or -invert them. Conscious of the whole significance of those events which -compose man’s history, and familiar with the essence of all the supreme -wills which have directed important movements, he will be capable of -the work of construction, and of throwing out towards the future that -ideal bridge by which the privileged races will at last be able to -cross the abyss now apparently separating them from the power of which -they are ambitious. - -And among all the images which the sacred soil suggested to my soul, -this image of the king was the most vivid. Sometimes he almost seemed -to me a created form; and I used to gaze on him eagerly, while sudden -ideas of indescribable beauty flashed across my intellect and faded -away, never perhaps to appear again. - - * * * * * - -Thus the Roman Campagna with its severe teaching strengthened me -to follow out the perfection of my manhood, to assert my inward -sovereignty, to trace with a firm hand that “line of circumference -from which human beauty is generated,” according to Leonardo’s saying. -And at the close of each day I asked myself: “By what new thoughts -has my treasure been enriched? What new energies have been developed -from my being? What new possibilities have I caught sight of?” And -I wished that every day should bear the impress of my style, should -be distinguished by some sign of vigorous art, by some proud emblem -of victory. My familiarity with Thucydides set before me the example -of those strategists of his, who are constantly making fine, pithy -harangues to their soldiers, then fighting with all their might, and -finally raising a trophy on the field. - -_Cui bono?_--was the cry which came from far and wide out of the -mouths of a twilight crowd with voices not unlike eunuchs’.--What -is the meaning, what is the value of life? Why live? Why strive? -All efforts are useless, all is vanity and sorrow. We ought to kill -off our passions one after another, and then extirpate to the very -roots the hope and desire which are the cause of life. Renunciation, -complete unconsciousness, the vanishing away of dreams, absolute -annihilation--that is the final liberation. - -They were a miserable race stricken with leprosy reiterating their -dreary complaint. The ancient Persians, as the ever-fresh Herodotus -narrates, used to attribute this foul infirmity to offences committed -_against the Sun_. And these slavish people had indeed offended against -the Sun. - -A certain number of them, hoping to be cleansed, had bathed in great -fonts of piety, where they softened and anointed themselves with great -contrition. But the sight of these was quite as repugnant. - -I turned away my eyes and ears elsewhere; and my heart-strings throbbed -with proud joy, because my eyes were undimmed by tears, and could -perceive all lines and all colours, because my healthy, watchful ears -could hear all sounds and all rhythms, because my spirit could rejoice -boundlessly in fugitive appearances and know how to cultivate within -itself very different forms of melancholy, how to find the sweetest -value of life in the rapidity of its metamorphoses and in the denseness -of its mysteries. “Oh manifold Beauty of the World,” I used then to -pray, “not to thee alone do my praises ascend; not to thee alone, but -also to my forefathers, to those also who, remote ages ago, understood -how to enjoy thee, and transmitted their fervid and rich blood to me. -Praised be they now and for ever, for the beautiful wounds which they -inflicted, for the beautiful fires they kindled, for the beautiful -goblets they emptied, for the beautiful garments which clothed them, -for the beautiful palfreys they caressed, for the beautiful women -they enjoyed, for all their slaughter, their intoxication, their -magnificence, their luxury, let them be praised; because thus did they -form in me those senses in which thou canst widely and deeply reflect -thyself, oh Beauty of the World, as in five wide and deep seas!” - - * * * * * - -In the meantime, the poets, discouraged and erring, having exhausted -their store of rhymes in evoking images of other days, in weeping over -their own dead illusions, and in counting the colours of the dying -leaves, were asking, some ironically, some seriously: “What can be our -function now? Are we to exalt universal suffrage in senile rhymes? Are -we to hasten with the breathlessness of hexameters the fall of the -king, the advent of republics, the accession of the people to power? -Is there no demagogue Cleophontes who manufactures _lire_ in Rome, as -in Athens of old? For a modest sum we might persuade the incredulous, -on his very instruments tuned by himself, that power, right, thought, -wisdom, light, are to be found in the masses....” - -But not one among them, more generous and more eager than the rest, -arose to answer: “Defend Beauty! That is your only function. Defend the -vision that is within you. Since mortals have now ceased to bear honour -and reverence to the singer scholars of the Muse that favours them, -as Odysseus said, defend yourselves with all your weapons, even with -jests, if such are of more use than invectives. Be careful to sharpen -the point of your scorn with the bitterest poison. Let your sarcasm -have such corrosive strength that it may reach to the very marrow and -destroy it. Brand to the very bone the stupid brows of those who would -put an exact mark on each soul, as on a household utensil, and would -make human heads alike as the heads of nails under the blow of the -hammer. Let your frenzied laughter rise to the very heaven, when you -hear the stablemen of the Great Beast vociferating in the Assembly. -For the sake of the glory of Mind proclaim and demonstrate that their -sayings are not less ignoble than the groans of the flatulent peasant. -Proclaim and demonstrate that their hands--to which your father Dante -would give the same epithet as he gave to the nails of Thais--may be -fit to gather manure, but are not worthy of being raised to sanction a -law in the Assembly. Defend the Thought which they threaten, the Beauty -which they outrage! A day will come when they will attempt to burn the -books, shatter the statues, rip up the canvases. Defend the ancient -generous work of your masters and the future work of your disciples -against the rage of these drunken slaves. Do not despair because ye -are few. Ye possess the supreme knowledge and the supreme power of the -world--the Word. Words may have more murderous power than a chemical -formula. Oppose destruction resolutely with destruction.” - -And the patricians, stripped of their authority in the name of -equality, and looked upon as ghosts from a world which has disappeared -for ever; unfaithful, the greater part of them at least, to their -lineage, and ignorant or forgetful of the art of mastery professed -by their forefathers, were also asking: “What can be our function -now? Are we to deceive the age and ourselves by attempting to revive -some slender hope among faded memories of the past, under those -vaulted roofs storied with sanguine mythology, which are too vast for -our restricted breathing? Or must we recognise the great dogma of -Eighty-nine, and open the porticoes of our courts to popular applause, -illuminate our travertine balconies for State festivals, associate with -Jewish bankers, exercise our small share of sovereignty by filling -up the voting ticket with the names of men of the middle classes, of -our tailors, our hatters, our bootmakers, our money-lenders, and our -lawyers?” - -A few among them--ill-inclined for peaceful renunciation, elegant -boredom, and barren irony--answered: “Train yourselves as you train -your race-horses, and wait for the opportunity. Learn the method of -asserting yourselves and strengthening your own persons, as you have -learned that of winning on the turf. By strength of will force all -your energies, even your stormiest passions and darkest vices, into a -straight line and towards a definite aim. Be assured that the essence -of personality far exceeds all accessory attributes in value, and that -inward sovereignty is the chief mark of the aristocrat. Believe only -in force tempered by long discipline. Force is the first law of nature; -it is indestructible, not to be abolished. Discipline is the supreme -virtue of the freeman. The world can be based only on force, as truly -in civilised ages as in the epochs of barbarism. If all the races of -the earth were destroyed by another deluge, and new generations were -to arise from the stones, as in the old fable, men would begin to -fight amongst themselves as soon as they had issued from their mother -earth, until one of them the strongest, should succeed in mastering the -others. Wait, therefore, and prepare for your opportunity. Fortunately, -the State built on foundations of popular suffrage and equality, -cemented by fear, is not only an ignoble, but also a precarious -structure. The State ought to be nothing less than an institution -perfectly adapted to promote the gradual elevation of a privileged -class towards an ideal form of existence. Therefore, upon the economic -and political equality to which democracy aspires, you must go on -forming a new oligarchy, a new realm of force; and before long, sooner -or later, you will succeed in taking the reins into your own hands -again, so as to rule the multitude for your own profit. Indeed, you -will have little difficulty in bringing back the common herd to its -obedience. The masses always remain slaves; they have a natural impulse -to stretch out their wrists to the fetters. The sense of liberty will -never to the end of time exist in them. Do not be deceived by their -vociferations and their hideous contortions; but always remember that -the soul of the Multitude is in the power of Panic. It will be your -policy, therefore, when the opportunity comes, to provide yourselves -with cutting whips, to assume an imperious mien, to plan some humorous -stratagem. When the cunning Ulysses was ranging the field to call in -every one to the council, if he came across a noisy plebeian, he used -to chastise him with his sceptre, scolding him thus: 'Silence, silence, -coward, pusillanimous one, thing of naught in the council.’ The noble -demagogue Alcibiades, who was more versed than any in the government -of the Great Beast, began one of his orations on the expedition into -Sicily thus: 'This command, oh Athenians--this command belongs to me -rather than to any one else, and I hold myself worthy of this command.’ -But truly there is no teaching more profound and more suitable for you -than that given by Herodotus in the beginning of the book of Melpomene. -Here it is: 'The Scythians, having spent twenty-eight years away from -their own country in ruling over Upper Asia, and desirous, after such a -long interval, to return home, found that to do so involved hardships -no less great than those they had suffered in the Median war. A great -and hostile army barred their entrance. And this came to pass because -the Scythian women, having been left so long without men of their own -race, had given themselves to their slaves. And from the slaves and -the women had sprung a generation of young men who, conscious of their -origin, had set themselves against those who were returning from Media; -and in order to hold the pass, had first of all made an entrenchment -stretching from the mountains of Taurus to the Mæotian marsh, which -is very wide. They then proceeded to repulse the attempted assault of -the Scythians, defending themselves with many deeds of valour; and as, -after various conflicts, the Scythians found they could make no advance -by fighting, one of them began to speak thus: Oh Scythians, why do we -labour thus? By fighting against our slaves we weaken ourselves by the -number of our deaths, and by killing them we only reduce the number of -our future subjects. Wherefore it seems to me fitting that we should -put aside our spears and darts, and that each of us should be armed -only with his horsewhip, and thus we should confront these slaves. -Because up till now, seeing us march against them in arms, they have -no doubt thought themselves our equals, and sons of equals; but when -they see us coming against them wielding whips instead of arms, they -will feel at once that they are our slaves, and they will not dare to -resist us any longer. The Scythians followed this advice; and their -adversaries, thunderstruck by the change, ceased fighting and took to -flight. Thus did the Scythians win back their country.’ Oh ye masters -without mastery, think upon it.” - - * * * * * - -Perhaps in my busy solitude--although I feared neither sickness, nor -madness, nor death, having within me that tutelary flame of pride, of -thought, and of faith--perhaps there lay hidden beneath my melancholy -a real need for communion with some kindred spirit as yet unknown, or -with some circle of minds disposed to care sincerely and passionately -for those things for which I so passionately cared. It seemed to me -that this need was betrayed by a mental habit I had of casting my -theory of ideas and images into a concrete oratorical or lyrical form, -almost as if for an imaginary audience. Warm bursts of eloquence and -poetry would suddenly flood my being, and silence was at times a burden -to my overflowing soul. - -Then, to comfort my solitude, I thought of giving corporeal form to -that _dæmon_ in whom, according to my first master’s teaching, I -believed as the infallible pledge which was to lead me to achieve -the integrity of my moral being. I thought of committing to a noble, -masterful mouth, red with the same blood as mine, the duty of repeating -to me, “Oh thou, be what thou oughtest to be.” - -Among the figures of my ancestors one above all others is most dear -to me, and sacred as a votive image. He is the noblest and the most -brilliant flower of my race, represented by the brush of a divine -artist. It is the portrait of Alessandro Cantelmo, Count of Volturara, -painted by Da Vinci between the years 1493 and 1494, at Milan, where -Alessandro, attracted by the unheard-of magnificence of that Sforza -who wished to turn the Lombard city into a _New Athens_, had taken up -his abode with a company of men-at-arms. - -There is nothing in the world that I prize so much, nor was treasure -ever guarded with more passionate jealousy. I am never weary of -thanking fortune for having caused such a noble figure to brighten -my life, and for having granted me the incomparable luxury of such -a secret. “If thou possess a beautiful object, remember that every -glance cast on it by another is a usurpation of thy possession. The -joy of possession is diminished when it is divided, therefore do thou -refuse to share it. They say that some one declined to enter a public -museum lest his glance should be mingled with that of strangers. Now, -if thou do indeed possess a beautiful object, enclose it within seven -doors, and cover it with seven veils.” And a veil hangs over the -magnetic face; but the dream in it is so profound, the fire in it is so -powerful, that at times the woven stuff trembles with the vehemence of -the breathing. - -And so I gave my _dæmon_ the form of this familiar genius, and in my -solitude I felt him alive with a life far more intense than my own. Had -I not before me by means of the lasting miracle of one of the world’s -greatest revealers--had I not before me an heroic spirit, sprung from -my own stock, and constituted of all the distinctive characteristics of -that lineage which I was so eagerly striving to manifest in myself, and -which in him appeared in such fierce relief as to be almost terrible? - -There he is still before me, always the same, yet always new! Such a -body is not the prison of the soul, but its faithful semblance. All -the lines of the beardless face are as precise and firm as those of a -deeply-chiselled bronze; the dark pallor of the skin conceals tough -muscles, wont in moments of anger and desire to stand out clearly with -a fierce tremor; the straight, rigid nose, the bony, narrow chin, -the curved but energetically-locked lips express the boldness of the -will; and his glance is like the flash of a beautiful sword coming -from beneath the shadow of thick and heavy hair, violet-black in hue -like the bunches of grapes on a branch in the burning sun. He stands -immovable, visible from the knees upwards; but the imagination pictures -at once how the strong, flexible legs will start when the enemy -appears, giving a formidable impetus to the beautiful frame. “_Cave, -adsum_”--well does the old device apply to him. He is dressed in very -light armour, evidently inlaid by a most accomplished workman, and his -hands are bare; pale, sensitive hands, yet with something tyrannical, -almost homicidal, about their clear outlines: the left hand is resting -on the Gorgon’s head on his sword-hilt, the right on the corner of a -table covered with dark velvet, of which a fold is visible. Lying on -the table beside the gauntlets and helmet are a statuette of Pallas and -a pomegranate, whose pointed leaf and brilliant flower are growing on -the same stalk as the fruit. Through the opening of a window behind his -head is seen a bare landscape ending in a group of hills, over which -rises a peak, standing solitary as a proud thought; and on a scroll -beneath is this verse-- - - “Frons viridis ramo antiquo et flos igneus uno tempore (prodigium) - fructus et uber inest.” - -Where and by what chance did Alessandro first meet with the Florentine -master, who was at that time attaining the supreme splendour of his -manhood? Perhaps at one of Ludovico’s feasts, full of the marvels -created by the occult arts of the Magician? Or perhaps rather at the -palace of Cecilia Gallerani, where military men discussed the science -of war, musicians sang, architects and painters drew, philosophers -argued about natural science, and poets recited compositions of their -own and of others “in the presence of this heroine,” as Bandello -relates. It is here that I like to imagine their first meeting, about -the time when the favourite of the Moor was already beginning to love -Alessandro secretly. - -What a fire of audacious intelligence and of masterful will must -have been apparent in the youth, for Leonardo to be so taken with -him from that very day! Perhaps Alessandro discussed with him, apart -from the others, “the methods of destroying any rock or fortress not -founded on stone,” and grew eager to know the formidable secrets of -this fascinating creator of Madonnas, who surpassed all masters and -makers of instruments of war in the novelty of his ideas. Perhaps in -the course of the argument Leonardo may have uttered one of those deep -sayings of his about the art of life; and looking into the eyes of the -youth on whom silence had fallen, recognised in him a spirit determined -to take everything that can be got out of life, an ambitious man -disposed, instead of following his fate blindly, to attain the mastery -for himself with the help of that science which multiplies the energies -of him who possesses it and concentrates them on the attainment of his -aim. And perhaps the man who was a few years later to become Cæsar -Borgia’s military architect, who was invoking and waiting for some -magnanimous prince to offer him unlimited means of carrying out his -innumerable designs, may have perceived in this curly-headed patrician -the future founder of a royal dynasty, and loved him and placed his -proudest hopes in him. - -I like to think that a brief entry in the commentaries of Da Vinci -(who was then busy with studies for the equestrian statue of Francesco -Sforza) refers to the evening of this first meeting: “The penultimate -day of April 1492. Messer Alessandro Cantelmo’s fine jennet: has a good -neck and a very beautiful head.” - -After leaving Cecilia’s palace together, they both paused for awhile -in the street, still arguing; and when Leonardo noticed the jennet, -he went up to look at it. As he stroked the beautiful neck, some -involuntary expression escaped him regarding the terrible labour his -insatiable spirit underwent in researches for the monument which -the Moor desired to erect in honour of the fame of his father, the -conqueror of the duchy and the vanquisher of Genoa. With a wide sweep -the creative hand of the artist traced the outline of the Colossus in -the air, making it visible to the youth’s inner vision. The day was -sinking; the hour of spring twilight was trembling on the pinnacles of -the glorious city; a company of musicians passed by singing; and the -horse neighed with impatience. Then the soul of Alessandro swelled with -an heroic sentiment which made him seem like a phantom of the great -captain. “Ah, to set out on my conquests!” he thought, as he vaulted -into the saddle. And then seeing that in reality he was only setting -out on some common affair of daily life, he said suddenly, with a -bitter impulse: “Seemeth it to you, Master Leonardo, that life can be -of any worth to a man of my station?” And Leonardo, who did not marvel -at these unexpected words: “It is everything that the eagle should take -his first flight.” And perhaps the beardless horseman riding away among -his men-at-arms may have seemed to him destined to be a king, “like him -who in the bee-hive is born leader of the bees.” - -The following morning a servant brought the jennet to the sculptor as a -gift, with compliments from his master. - -Thus do I imagine the beginning of their mutual liberality. The -master rewarded his disciple with the true riches, since “that cannot -be called riches which it is possible to lose.” Like Socrates, he -preferred to have for his disciples those who had beautiful hair -and were richly clothed. Like Socrates, he excelled in the art of -elevating the human soul to its supreme degree of vigour. Certainly -Alessandro was for a time the chosen one in that _Academia Leonardo -Vincii_, where a noble spiritual lineage was developed little by -little under teaching which drew its warmth from the central truth as -from a sun which cannot be darkened. “Nothing can be loved or hated, -unless first there be knowledge of that thing. The love of anything is -child to the knowledge of it. The more certain the knowledge, the more -fervent the love.” - - * * * * * - -Here and there in Leonardo’s interrupted memoirs one comes across -signs of the passionate curiosity with which the indefatigable -experimentalist used to watch over the precious soul of his young -friend. He had no secrets from him, for he desired to contribute by -all the means in his power towards increasing the accumulated forces -of his soul so as to render its future action in a wider field more -efficacious. He noted down for remembrance: “Speak to Volturara about -a certain way of shooting a dart.” And again: “Show Volturara ways -of raising and letting down bridges, ways of burning and destroying -those of the enemy, and the ways of placing mortar pieces by day and -by night.” Or: “Messer Alessandro wishes to give me Valturio’s _De re -militari_, and the _Décades_, and Lucretius’ _Delle cose naturali_.” - -He used to be struck by the terse, proud sayings of the young man, and -noted down some of them: “Messer Alessandro says one must grasp fortune -firmly from the front, since behind she is bald.” And again: “As I -was working at the book on dividing rivers into numerous branches, -and making them fordable, Volturara said boldly: Truly, Cyrus son of -Cambyses understood all that when he chastised a river in that very way -for carrying away a white horse of his.” - -One day--so I imagine--they had both been invited to the magnificent -house of Cecilia Gallerani; and Leonardo had transported the souls of -all present by his performance on a new lyre of his own manufacture, -made almost entirely of silver, in the shape of a horse’s skull. During -the pause which followed the applause, the second Sappho ordered a -beautiful little casket, richly inlaid with enamel and gems, the Duke’s -gift, to be brought to her; and she showed it to those present, and -asked them what object was, in their opinion, sufficiently precious to -deserve to be kept in it. Every one expressed a different opinion. “And -you, Messer Alessandro?” asked Madonna Cecilia, with a soft glance. -And he replied audaciously: “Alexander of old chose the most precious -casket among all the treasures of Darius, that which was richer than -aught that eyes had ever beheld, as a shrine for Homer’s _Iliad_.” - -Da Vinci immediately noted down this answer in his memoirs, and added: -“One can see that he feeds on the marrow and nerves of lions.” - -Another day they had both been invited by the same hostess to her -garden; and Alessandro, after an argument with some of those “famous -spirits,” drew apart, to follow out some new thought which the heat of -the discussion had generated in that pregnant intellect. The beautiful -Bergamese Countess called him several times, but it was long ere he -turned round, for it was long ere he heard the call. Met by a gracious -reproof, or perhaps a stinging remark, he answered, smiling: “He who is -fixed to a star does not look round.” - -In the evening Da Vinci noted down this answer also in his memoirs, and -to it added his prophecy: “Soon he will take his first flight, fill the -universe with wonder, fill all writings with his renown, and confer -eternal glory on the place of his birth.” - -Perhaps it was that very evening, as he meditated on the intensity and -versatility of that youthful temperament, that his mind, ever inclined -to the mysterious significations of emblems and allegories, hit upon -that beautiful symbol of the pomegranate, including and bearing upon -one stalk the fruit, the pointed leaf, and the flaming flower. - -But on the 9th of July in the year 1495, three days after the battle -of Fornovo, he noted down: “Volturara died on the field, as was meet -for one like him. Never did blind steel cut off a brighter hope for the -world.” - -Thus lived and died the young hero in whom the purest essence of my -warlike race had seemed to be concentrated. Thus fully was he revealed -to me in the faithful likeness handed down to his distant heir by an -artist who might be called Prometheus. - -“O thou,” he seemed to say to me, as with his magnetic glance he took -possession of my soul, “be what thou oughtest to be.” - -“For thy sake,” I used to say to him, “for thy sake I will be what -I ought to be; because I love thee, O brilliant flower of my race; -because I desire to place all my pride in obeying thy law, O master. -Thou didst bear within thyself strength sufficient to subjugate the -earth, but thy royal destiny was not to be fulfilled in the age wherein -thou didst first appear. In that age thou wast but the herald and -forerunner of thyself, for thou wast destined to reappear higher up -thy ancient stem in the maturity of future ages, on the threshold of a -world not explored by the warriors, but promised by the wise men: to -reappear as the messenger, the interpreter, and the lord of a new life. -Therefore didst thou suddenly disappear like a demi-god by the banks of -a swollen river, amid the roar of battle and storm, just as the sun was -entering the sign of the Lion. Death did not cut off thy great promise, -but fate willed to alter its marvellous fulfilment. Thy virtue, which -could not then be manifested to the earth by triumphant actions, must -necessarily revive some day in thy still surviving lineage. And may -it be to-morrow! May thy equal be begotten by me! I invoke and await -and prepare the renewal of thy genius with unfailing faith, the while -adoring thy living image, O conqueror and sage, thou who didst lay the -blade of thy beautiful naked sword as a mark in the books of wisdom.” - -Thus I used to address him. And under his glance and inspired by him, -not only were my actual energies multiplied, but my task lay clear -before me in definite outlines. “Thou, therefore, shalt labour to carry -out thy own destiny and that of thy race. Thou shalt have before thy -eyes at the same time the premeditated plan of thy existence and the -vision of an existence superior to thine own. Thou shalt live in the -idea that each life being the sumtotal of past lives is the condition -of future lives. Thou shalt not, therefore, look upon thyself only as -the beginning, aim, and end of thy own destiny, but thou shalt feel the -whole value and the whole weight of the inheritance received from thy -ancestors, which thou must transmit to thy descendant countersigned -with the stamp of thy most vigorous characteristics. Let the supreme -conception of thy dignity be founded on the certainty, so sure in -thee, that thou art the preserving link of a multifold energy which -to-morrow, or after the lapse of a century, or at some indefinite time, -may reassert itself in a sublime manifestation. But hope that it may be -to-morrow! Triple, therefore, is thy task, for thou dost possess the -gift of poetry, and must study to acquire the science of words. Triple -is thy task:--by direct methods to conduct thy being to attain the -perfect integrity of the Latin type; to concentrate the purest essence -of thy spirit, and to reproduce in a single and supreme work of art thy -deepest vision of the universe; to preserve the ideal riches of thy -race and thine own individual conquests in a son, who, under paternal -instruction, shall recognise and co-ordinate them in himself, and -shall thus feel worthy of aspiring to the realisation of ever higher -possibilities.” - - * * * * * - -Then, with the tables of my laws thus clearly set before me, there -came over me not only the sadness of doubt, but an anxiety akin to -fear--a new and horrible anxiety. “If some blind, unforeseen violence -from exterior forces were to shake, or deform, or crush my work! If I -should have to bend and submit to some brutal injury of chance. If one -of those destructive gusts which burst suddenly out of the darkness -should cause the fall of my edifice before its completion.” This fear -came over me during a strange hour of agitation and depression, and -I felt my faith failing me. But soon after I felt ashamed when my -monitor said to me: “Judging from the quality of thy thoughts, thou -seemest to me like one contaminated by the crowd, or in the power of -a woman. See, even passing through the crowd which was gazing at thee -has lessened thee in thine own eyes. Seest thou not that those men -who frequent it become unfruitful as mules? The gaze of the crowd is -worse than a splash of mud; the breath of it is poisonous. Go afar off -while the sewer discharges itself. Go afar off and ponder on that which -thou hast gathered up. Thy hour will come. What fearest thou? Of what -worth would be all this discipline, did it not make thee stronger than -circumstances? Even by this it is sometimes possible to create by -force of will. Therefore go afar off while the sewer discharges itself. -Delay not; let not thyself be contaminated by the crowd, or fall into -the power of a woman. It is true thou wilt have to form an alliance in -order to accomplish one part of the task thou hast assigned to thyself. -But better is it for thee to wait and remain alone; better even to slay -thy hope than to submit body and spirit to unworthy fetters. If the -thing loved is contemptible, the lover is contemptible. Thou must never -forget this saying of thy Leonardo, that, like Castruccio, thou mayest -always be able proudly to reply: 'I have chosen her; she did not choose -me.’” - -Justly did this admonition come to me at that time. And without delay I -made ready to depart from the tainted city. - -It was a time when the active zeal of destroyers and builders was -raging feverishly over the soil of Rome. With the clouds of dust -a species of madness for lucre seemed to spread like a poisonous -whirlwind, taking hold not only of the men of the labouring classes, -the familiar spirits of lime and bricks, but also of the proudest -heirs of papal families, who till then had looked scornfully at -all intruders from the windows of travertine palaces, which stood -obdurately firm under the crust of ages. One by one these magnificent -families--founded, carried on, strengthened by nepotism and civil -wars--sank lower, slid down into the new mire, went under and -disappeared. Famous fortunes accumulated by centuries of successful -rapine and Mæcenatic luxury were exposed to the risks of the Stock -Exchange. - -The laurels and roses of the Villa Sciarra, whose praises had been -sung by the nightingales for such a long succession of nights, were -being cut down to the ground, or survived in a humble position inside -the gates of little gardens surrounding new villas built for grocers. -The gigantic Ludovisi cypresses, those of the Aurora, the very same -which had once spread the solemnity of their ancient mystery over -the Olympian head of Goethe, lay on the ground (I see them always -in imagination as my eyes saw them one November afternoon) side by -side in a row, with the smoke from their naked roots rising up to the -pale heaven above, with their black roots all laid bare, and seeming -still to hold prisoner within their vast intricacies the phantom -of omnipotent life. And those lordly meadows all round, where only -one spring ago violets more numerous than the blades of grass were -springing up for the last time, were now ghastly with white lime-pits, -red heaps of bricks, the creaking of cart-wheels loaded with stones; -while the shouts of the master builders alternated with the hoarse -cries of the carters, and the brutal work which was to occupy places so -long sacred to Beauty and Visions went on rapidly. - -It seemed as though a blast of barbarism were blowing over Rome, and -threatening to tear away that radiant crown of patrician villas, -incomparable in the world of memories and poetry. The menace of the -barbarians hung over the very box-trees of the Villa Albani, though -they had seemed as immortal as the Caryatids and the solitude. - -The contagion was spreading rapidly everywhere. In the midst of the -incessant current of business, of the ferocious fury of appetites and -passions, of the disordered and exclusive exercise of utilitarian -activity, all sense of decorum had been lost, all respect for the -Past laid aside. The battle for gain was being fought with unbridled, -implacable violence. The arms used were the pickaxe, the trowel, and -bad faith. And from week to week, with almost chimerical rapidity, -enormous empty cages, pierced with rectangular holes, their artificial -cornices coated with shameful stucco, were rising on foundations filled -with heaps of ruins. A species of huge whitish tumour was rising out of -the side of the ancient city and sucking away its life. - -And then day after day at sunset--as the quarrelsome bands of workmen -were dispersing to fill the taverns of the Via Salaria and Via -Nomentana--down the princely avenues of the Villa Borghese they drove -in shining carriages, these new favourites of fortune, the stamp of -whose ignoble origin neither hairdresser, nor tailor, nor bootmaker had -been able to remove. One saw them passing to and fro, to the resounding -trot of their bay or their black horses, easily recognisable by the -insolent awkwardness of their attitudes, the embarrassed look of their -rapacious hands imprisoned in gloves always either too large or too -small for them. And they seemed to be saying: “We are the new masters -of Rome. Bow down to us!” - -Such, indeed, were the masters of that Rome which seers and prophets, -drunk with the burning fumes of all the Latin blood that has been -shed, have compared to the bow of Ulysses--“One must bend it or die.” -But these very seers, who for so long had shone as stars in the -heroic heaven of their country, before her liberation, had now become -“sordid charcoal, only fit to trace an ugly figure or an unseemly word -upon the wall,” according to the atrocious simile of an indignant -rhetorician. They, too, gave themselves up to selling and bartering, to -legal quibbling and setting of snares, and no one alluded any more to -the destroying bow. And there seemed in truth no prospect of the cry -suddenly arising to terrify them: “O suitors, devourers of other men’s -substance, beware! Ulysses is at hand in Ithaca!” - - * * * * * - -The best thing to do was to withdraw from the scene for a while. And I -left with my horses and my household gods without taking farewell of -anybody. - -For my dwelling-place I had chosen Rebursa, my favourite among my -hereditary estates, as it had been my father’s favourite before me; -it was a suitable retreat for a healthy soul, a country with a rocky -backbone, peculiarly sober in outline and vigorous in style; fit to -welcome and nurse the lordly dream of my ambition, as it had welcomed -and nursed my father’s lofty melancholy after the fall of his king, and -the death of him who, when living, had seemed to be the light of our -house, our surest possession. - -Besides, not far from there--at Trigento--I had friends, not forgotten -although not seen for many years, friends to whom I was bound by -grateful memories of childhood and youth. And the thought of seeing -them again cheered my spirit. - -At Trigento, in the old baronial palace, surrounded by a garden almost -as vast as a park, lived the Capea Montaga, one of the most illustrious -and magnificent families in the two Sicilies, a family ruined by ten -years’ devotion to the fortunes of their exiled king, and obliged now -to live a retired life on the only estate left to them, in the heart of -the silent province. The old Prince of Castromitrano--who had enjoyed -the highest honours at the Courts of Ferdinand and Francis, and who -had faithfully followed the exile to Rome and across the Alps without -ever renouncing the pomp of happier times--had been dreaming in the -shade for years, and for years waiting in vain for the Restoration; -he was now sinking into the grave with premature old age, while his -children were fading away in the lifeless monotony of their existence. -The madness of the Princess Aldoina alone disturbed this long agony -by throwing over it gleams of the fantastic splendour of the Past. -And nothing could equal the desolation of the contrast between the -miserable reality and the pompous phantoms which issued from the brain -of the mad woman. - -This great and dying race added a kind of funereal beauty to the rocky -country for my soul, which was already seeking to absorb all the soul -enclosed within that stony cloister. Already a mysterious presentiment -had arisen from the depths of my being that my destiny was approaching -and mingling with that lonely destiny. And the names of the three -maiden princesses resounded in my memory with a faint magical music: -Massimilla, Anatolia, Violante--names in which there seemed to me to be -something vaguely visible, like a pale portrait behind a clouded glass; -names expressive as faces full of light and shade, in which an infinity -of grace, passion, and sorrow was already apparent to me. - - - - - II - -“_Grandissima grazia d’ombre e di lumi s’aggiunge ai visi di quelli che - seggono sulle porte di quelle abitazioni che sono oscure...._” - - LEONARDO DA VINCI. - - -I was sincerely glad when I recognised on the road to Rebursa, Oddo -and Antonello Montaga, who had found out the hour of my arrival and -had come to meet me. Both of them embraced me with effusion, delivered -messages of welcome from Trigento, and asked me a thousand questions -at the same moment; they seemed delighted to see me, and still more -delighted when I spoke of my intention of remaining some time in the -country. - -“You are going to stay with us!” exclaimed Antonello, as he pressed my -hand almost beside himself with joy. “Then you are sent by God....” -“You must come this very day to Trigento,” said Oddo, interrupting his -brother. “They are all expecting you there. You must come to-day....” - -They both seemed to me overcome by a strange, almost feverish -agitation; their gestures were wild and convulsive, their speech rapid -and anxious; they were like two feeble prisoners just set free from an -imprisonment which seems like a terrible dream, whom the first contact -with outward life has disturbed and confused, making them almost dizzy. -The more I looked at them, the more clearly I noticed these strange -signs about their persons; and I began to feel anxious and distressed -about them. - -“I don’t know,” I replied, “I don’t know if I can come to-day. I am -weary after so many hours of travelling. But to-morrow....” - -I felt a vague desire to be alone, to collect myself, to taste the -quality of the strange melancholy that had suddenly fallen upon me. A -flood of memories rolled towards me from the things around, and the -presence of those two unfortunate beings prevented my receiving it. - -“Then,” said Oddo, “you will come to luncheon with us to-morrow. Do you -consent?” - -“Yes, I will come.” - -“You cannot imagine how eagerly they are expecting you over there.” - -“Then you had not forgotten me?” - -“Oh, no! It is you who had forgotten us.” - -“You had forgotten us,” repeated Antonello with a somewhat distorted -smile. “You were right. We are buried.” - -The tone of his voice struck me more than his words. His tones, -gestures, looks, and all his actions had a singular intensity, like -those of a man stricken by a mysterious disease or tormented by a -continual hallucination, living in the midst of apparitions invisible -to the eyes of others. It did not escape my notice that he was making -an effort to break through some atmosphere that surrounded him, and to -communicate more directly with me. This effort imparted a contracted -and convulsed look to his whole person. My anxiety and distress grew -greater. - -“You will see our house,” he added with the same smile. - -Involuntarily I asked-- - -“How is Donna Aldoina?” - -Both the brothers hung their heads and did not answer. - -They were like each other; in fact, they were twins. Both were tall and -thin, and a little bent. They had the same light-coloured eyes, the -same small silky beards, the same pale, restless, nervous hands, the -hands of hysterical subjects. But in Antonello these marks of weakness -and disorder were deeper and more irreparable. He was doomed. - -During the pause that followed, I vainly sought for words to express -myself. I was in bondage to a kind of melancholy stupor; it seemed as -if the whole weight of my weary body had fallen on my soul. The road -skirted a line of cliffs, and the horses’ trot as it resounded on the -hard ground awoke echoes in the lonely hollows. At a turn of the road -the river came in sight in the valley, its innumerable windings shining -in the sun. A mass of white ruins was visible, enclosed like an island -within one of these curves. - -“Is not that Linturno over there?” I asked, as I recognised the dead -city. - -“Yes, that is Linturno,” replied Oddo. “Do you remember? We once went -there together....” - -“I remember.” - -“What a long time ago it is!” - -“What a long time!” - -“Now there is not much difference between Linturno and Trigento,” said -Antonello, stroking his beard hesitatingly with slender fingers, while -his eyes seemed to have lost consciousness of outward things. “You will -see to-morrow.” - -“You are disheartening him!” interrupted Oddo with some irritation. “He -won’t come to-morrow.” - -“Yes, yes, I will come,” I assured them, but I had to force myself to -smile and shake off my own overpowering melancholy. “I will come, and -shall find some way of cheering you up. You seem to me a little ill -from loneliness, a little depressed.” - -Antonello, who was sitting opposite me, laid his hand on my knee and -leant forward to look into my eyes with an indefinable expression of -fear and anxiety written in his face, as though he had perceived some -terrible meaning in my words, and wished to question me about it. And -once more his white face close to my own seemed even in the daylight -to belong to a different world, where it existed alone; and brought -to my mind those emaciated, spiritual faces that stand out from the -mysterious backgrounds of sacred pictures darkened by time and the -smoke of candles. - -It was only for a moment. He drew back again without speaking. - -“I have brought my horses with me,” I added, controlling my agitation; -“we shall go for long rides every day. You must take exercise and shake -off the idleness and ennui. How do you pass the hours?” - -“In counting them,” said Oddo. - -“And your sisters?” - -“Oh, poor things!” murmured Oddo with tremulous tenderness in his -voice. “Massimilla prays; Violante stifles herself with the perfumes -sent her by the Queen; Anatolia--Anatolia is the one who keeps us -alive, she is our soul, she lives entirely for us.” - -“And the prince?” - -“He has aged very much; he is quite white now.” - -“And Don Ottavio?” - -“He hardly ever leaves his rooms. We have almost forgotten the sound of -his voice.” - -“And Donna Aldoina?” I was just going to ask again, but I restrained -myself and was silent. - -We were now in the undulating valley of the Saurgo, in a warm hollow. -“How early the spring is here!” I exclaimed, with a desire to console -these wretched beings and myself as well. “In February the first -flowers come out. Is not that in itself a privilege? You do not know -how to enjoy the things life offers you. You convert a garden into a -prison and torture yourselves within it.” - -“Where are the flowers?” asked Antonello with his painful smile. - -We all three began to look out for flowers. The ground was tawny -and rugged as a lion’s skin; it seemed made to nourish this dry and -harassed but in reality fruitful vegetation. “There they are!” I cried -with a keen feeling of pleasure, as I pointed out a row of almond trees -on a long billowy-looking mound. - -“They are on your property,” said Oddo. - -We had indeed reached the neighbourhood of Rebursa. The rocky chain -of hills with its broken outlines and sharp peaks, and the winding -Saurgo lapping at its foot, stretched out on the right, and rose step -by step up to the highest summit, Mount Corace, which glittered in the -sun like a helmet. To the left of the road the ground sloped away in -undulations, like a wide stretch of sandy shore, and further away it -rose into brown lumpy hills like the humps of camels in the desert. - -“Look! look! There are some more up there!” I cried as I noticed -another pale silvery cloud of blossom. “Don’t you see, Antonello?” - -He looked less at the almond blossom than at me, a timorous smile of -amazement hovering on his lips, wondering perhaps at the childish -joy which the sight of the early flowers had awaked in me. “But what -fairer welcome could the land beloved of my father have given me? What -brighter festal decorations could this hardy country with its backbone -of rock have worn?” - -“If Anatolia, Violante, and Massimilla were only here!” exclaimed Oddo, -who began to share my unexpected enthusiasm. “Ah, if they were only -here!” and regret was expressed in his voice. - -“We must bring them here among the flowers,” said Antonello softly. - -“See what a quantity!” I continued, giving myself up to the novel -pleasure with the more confidence that I felt able to transfer some -share of it to these poor pent-up souls. “I am glad they belong to me, -Oddo.” - -“We must bring them here among the flowers,” repeated Antonello softly, -as if in a dream. - -It seemed to me that his feverish eyes were refreshed by the sight of -these pure blossoms, and that in his gentle words they were fused with -the vague outlines of his three sisters: “Massimilla prays; Violante -stifles herself with perfumes; Anatolia is our life and soul.” - -“Stop!” I rose and said to the coachman, for a sudden idea had struck -me, and filled me with singular delight. “Let us get out; let us go -into the fields. I want you to carry home some branches. It will be a -treat for them down there.” - -Oddo and Antonello looked at each other with rather a puzzled air, half -smiling, half shy, as if the idea were something unforeseen and strange -which at once scared them and gave them a delicious sensation. They had -shown me their malady, they had revealed to me their sorrow, they had -spoken to me of the gloomy prison from which they had come, and were -now about to enter again; and here was I, on the high road, asking them -to acknowledge and celebrate the feast of spring: of that spring which -they had forgotten, and which they appeared to be seeing for the first -time after long years, gazing on it with mingled fear and joy as if it -were a miracle. - -“Let us get out!” - -I was tired no longer, for I felt within me the abundance of life, -and that exaltation which spontaneous acts of generosity give to the -spirit. I was liberal of myself to these two needy souls; I warmed -them at my fire, I slaked their thirst with my wine. I read in their -eyes (and they were continually looking at me) a kind of submission -and faithful surrender. Already they both belonged to me; so I could -exert my benevolence and my power over them without fear of failure. -“What are you waiting for? Won’t you get out?” I asked Antonello, who -was standing with his foot on the step, hesitating as if some danger -threatened him. - -The contracted smile was still on his face. He was making a visible -effort as he put his foot to the ground; he staggered as though he had -miscalculated the height, and his first steps were jerky and uncertain. -I helped him up the path. As he felt the soft earth sink under his -footsteps he paused; and with face turned towards the blossoming trees, -he breathed hard, drank in the beautiful sight with his pale eyes, and -appeared to be almost dazzled. - -I touched his arm and said-- - -“You didn’t remember these things.” - -Oddo, who had already entered the orchard, exclaimed in a kind of -intoxication-- - -“Ah! if Violante were only here! This perfume is worth far more than -the essences sent her by Maria Sophia.” - -Antonello repeated softly-- - -“We must bring them here among the flowers.” - -It seemed as though the sound of these words had fascinated his ear -from the first, like a musical cadence. His voice kept the same -inflections as he repeated them. And as I heard the words again I felt -strangely disturbed, almost as if he had addressed them to me. Again -the desire to cut some of the branches arose within me. It had died out -at the sight of so much living beauty. And vaguely I pictured to myself -the great gift of spring arriving at the gloomy palace in the twilight. - -“Is there no one about?” I asked impatiently. A peasant came running -up. Breathlessly he bent his head, and began to kiss my hand -passionately. - -“Cut some of the finest branches,” I ordered him. - -He was a magnificent example of his species, a worthy inhabitant of -this rugged flint-strewn land. He seemed to me like a survivor of -Deucalion’s ancient race, sprung from the pebbles. He brandished his -bill-hook, and with clean, rapid strokes began to mutilate the joyous -vegetable creation. Each stroke sent down a shower of loose petals, -which lay like snow on the ground. - -“Look,” I said to Antonello, showing him a branch; “did you ever see -anything so delicate and so fresh?” - -He raised his weak, effeminate hand and touched a flower with the tips -of his fingers. It was the gesture of the invalid or convalescent, who -touches a living thing with the dim notion that the contact will leave -some small part of its vitality with him, just as butterflies leave -behind the ephemeral dust of their wings. He turned to his brother with -almost tender melancholy in his painful smile. - -“Do you see, Oddo? We had forgotten, we did not know ...” - -“But don’t you live in a garden?” I asked, marvelling at the amazement -and emotion caused by a simple branch of almond blossom, as though -it were an unheard-of novelty. “Don’t you pass your whole time among -leaves and flowers?” - -“Yes, that is true,” answered Antonello; “but somehow I had ceased to -notice them. Besides, these are, or seem to me, _quite different_. I -can’t explain the impression they make on me. You would not understand.” - -The ringing sound of the bill-hook went on, and he turned towards the -almond tree, which was trembling under the blows. The man was sitting -up in the tree, with the trunk in the grip of his muscular legs, and -above his head, which was dark as a mulatto’s, hung the fresh silvery -cloud, quivering at the glitter of the hooked steel. - -“Tell him to stop,” begged Antonello. “We shall not be able to carry -all those branches.” - -“The carriage shall take you to Trigento with your burden.” - -And I lingered on, picturing the arrival of the springlike gift at the -gates of the park where the three sisters were waiting. Their faces -came before me indistinctly, yet with some trace of the features -associated with memories of childhood and youth. And the desire to see -them again, to hear their voices, to recall those memories in their -presence, to know their troubles, and to take part in their unknown -life, grew stronger and stronger within me, till it began to take the -acuteness of anxiety. - -Following out my own line of thought and feeling (the carriage had -already begun to roll towards Rebursa), I said-- - -“Long ago the park of Trigento used to be full of jonquils and violets.” - -“So it is still,” said Oddo. - -“There were great hedges of box.” - -“So there are still.” - -“I remember so well the year you came back from Monaco. Massimilla was -very ill. I used to come over to Trigento nearly every day with my -mother ...” - -We were immersed in spring. The carriage was crammed with almond -blossom; it was piled behind our backs and on our knees. Antonello’s -white face looked more wasted than ever in the midst of that fragrant -whiteness, and the melancholy of his feverish eyes, contrasted with -that living expression of youth eternally renewed, went to my heart. - -“What a pity you are not coming to Trigento to-day!” said Oddo, with -deep regret in his voice. “I don’t like leaving you.” - -“Yes, indeed,” added Antonello. “We have seen you to-day for the first -time after years and years of silence and oblivion, and now it seems -impossible to do without you.” - -They spoke these affectionate words with that simplicity and candour -which belong to solitary men, not accustomed to the affectations of -ordinary life. I felt already that they cared for me and I for them; -that the great gap made by the years was already bridged over; and that -their fate was about to be bound up irrevocably with mine. Why did my -soul incline so specially towards these two prostrate beings? why did -it yearn with such infinite desire over graces and sorrows of which -it had only caught a glimpse? why was it so impatient to pour out its -riches over this poverty? Was it true, then, that the long and hard -discipline I had undergone had not dried up the springs of emotion -and imagination, but had made them deeper and more fervent? On that -February afternoon, warmed by the breath of early spring, a vapour of -poetry rose around me. The babbling flow of the Saurgo at the foot of -rocks fashioned by fire; the dead city in the marshy river; the peak -of Corace, glittering like a helmet on a threatening brow; the brown -fields, strewn with flints full of dormant life; the vines and olives, -contorted with the huge effort of producing such rich fruit from such -meagre limbs; the whole aspect of the country around was symbolical of -the power of thoughts nourished in secret, of the tragic mystery of -destinies fulfilled, of painful energy, tyrannical constraint, proud -passion, of every harsh and rigid virtue peculiar to lonely scenery -or lonely man. And yet the softest of spring airs breathed over the -austere land; silver almond blossom crowned the hills, as foam crowns -the waves; under the slanting rays the slopes here and there wore the -look of soft velvet; the rocky peaks were turned to rosy gold against -a sky fading into delicate green. And so the influence of the season -and the magic of the hour were able to soften the severe genius of the -place, clothe its harshness with tenderness, temper its violence, and -throw a gentle enchantment over that rocky basin, fashioned by fire -at the terrible bidding of an ancient volcano; afterwards continually -invaded and corroded by the greed, or enriched by the liberality, of an -ancient river. - -“We shall see each other very often,” I said, after a pause, in reply -to their kind words. “From Rebursa to Trigento is a short distance; and -I know that in you I have found two brothers----” - -They both started as a mountain keeper passed us at a gallop, -discharging his carbine in the air to give the signal for the salute of -welcome and joy. Rebursa rose before me with its four towers of stone, -still strong and fair, still bearing intact the impress of its former -pride, casting the shadow of its power over a vigorous race, among whom -obedience and fidelity were transmitted from father to son as a portion -of their inheritance. - -But anguish such as I had not felt for long came over my soul as I set -foot on the threshold, strewn with myrtle and laurel, where there was -no beloved voice to bid me welcome and call me by name. The figures of -my dead appeared to me at the foot of the staircase, and fixed their -colourless eyes on me without a movement, without a sign, without a -smile. - -A little later I followed the carriage with my eyes for a long, long -way on the road to Trigento, as it bore away the two sad invalids, -nearly buried under flowers. And my soul was there before them at the -park gates, where the three sisters were waiting--Anatolia, Violante, -Massimilla!--and I caught a glimpse of them as they received the fresh -gift of spring in their outstretched arms; and I tried to recognise -their noble faces through the fragrant thicket, and to discern the -brow of her whom my soul would have elected for the desired union. The -gathering twilight heightened this strange and sudden agitation caused -by the desire for love. Blue shadows filled the valley of the Saurgo, -hid the dead city, crept slowly up the steep terraces of rock; and when -stars began to twinkle in the sky, down below festal bonfires were lit; -they flared up, multiplied, formed large wreaths. Lonely and lofty, -far apart from these signs of life below, the pinnacles of rock still -shone, withdrawn almost into the remoteness of a myth, into the sphere -of a supernatural atmosphere. And all of a sudden they blazed like -fireworks with an extraordinary light, which only lasted a few moments; -then they grew paler, turned violet, faded away, and went out. The -lofty peak of Corace was the last to remain aflame; its point clove the -sky sharply, like the cry of hopeless passion; then, with the rapidity -of a lightning flash, it faded away also, and entered the universal -night. - -“If the severity of thy discipline should have no other reward than -the divine emotion that has overwhelmed thee since yesterday, thou -mightest still rejoice over the result of thy efforts,” said the -_dæmon_ to me, as we rode slowly towards the walled garden. “Now at -last thou hast reached maturity! Until yesterday thou knewest not -what a degree of maturity and completeness thy soul had attained. The -happy revelation comes to thee from the desire thou hast suddenly -felt to pour out thy riches, to spread them, to spend them without -stint. Thou dost feel thyself inexhaustible, capable of nourishing a -thousand lives. This is indeed the prize of thy diligent efforts; thou -possessest now the ready fertility of deeply cultivated land. Therefore -enjoy thy spring; leave thyself open to all influences; welcome the -unknown and unforeseen, and anything else that fate may bring thee; -abolish all prohibitions. The first part of thy task is completed. -Thou hast given integrity and intensity to thy nature; let it now -be sacred to thee. Respect the slightest motions of thy thought and -sentiment, because thy nature alone produces them. Since this nature is -entirely thy own, thou mayest yield to it and enjoy it without limits. -From henceforth everything is permitted to thee, even that which thou -didst hate and despise in others, because everything becomes ennobled -after passing through the ordeal of fire. Fear not to be merciful, -thou who art strong and able to dominate and chastise. Be not ashamed -of thy perplexity and thy languor, thou who hast made thyself a will -tempered as hard as beaten swords. Repel not the tenderness which -overwhelms thee, the illusion which enfolds thee, the melancholy which -attracts thee, all the new indefinable feelings which now approach thy -astonished soul. They are but the dim shapes of vapour which escape -from the life fermenting in the depths of thy fertile nature. Therefore -welcome them without suspicion, for they are not foreign to thee, nor -will they diminish or corrupt thy nature. Perhaps on the morrow they -will appear to thee as heralds of that new birth which is thy desire.” - -Never since then have I passed an hour at once so delicious and so -painful. I know not if the trees laden with blossom had as keen a sense -of their vital power as I had of mine on that clear morning; but they -certainly could not feel my vast bewildering perplexity, innumerable -feelings, and innumerable thoughts. In order to prolong both pain and -delight, I kept my horse at a walk, and lingered on the way, as if that -hour were to close for ever a phase of my intimate life, and on my -arrival at the fated spot a new and unforeseen phase were to open, the -dim presentiment of which was to be found in my increasing uneasiness. -From time to time the breath of spring, with its whispering warmth -around me, seemed to waft me up into an ether of dreams, to efface in -me for a few seconds the consciousness of real personality, and to -breathe into me the virgin ardent soul of one of those hero lovers in -fairy tales who ride to find Sleeping Beauties in the Wood. Was not I -riding towards the maiden princesses imprisoned in a walled garden? -And was not each one of them perhaps in her secret heart expecting the -Bridegroom? - -Already they appeared before me as pictured by my desire, and already -my desire met its first perplexity in the triple image. I asked myself: -“Which will be the chosen one?” for within my soul I felt at the same -moment the nuptial joy of the one, and the sepulchral sadness of -the other two; I felt all the germs of future trouble, and already -perceived regret hidden under hope. And again that fear crossed my -spirit which once before had disturbed me in the midst of my voluntary -discipline: the fear of those blind forces of fate against which the -strongest will may struggle in vain; the fear of that sudden whirlwind -which in a second may seize the boldest and most tenacious of men, and -carry him far away from the promised goal. - -I drew up my horse. The road at that point was quite deserted; the -groom was following me at a distance. Over the grand, lonely scenery -reigned the deepest silence, only broken at intervals by the whispering -olives; a steady light shone equally over everything; and in the -light and the silence, all things from small leaves to gigantic rocks -appeared with a clearness of outline that was almost crude. I felt more -strongly than ever the ambiguous something which had entered into me. -And I thought: “Was not my soul till yesterday filled with the same -clear daylight which now reveals every line of scenery to my attentive -sight? And does not this new uncertainty cover some great peril? What -if a dangerously large store of poetry has accumulated within me -during my solitude, and now requires unlimited expansion? But if I -give myself up to the rushing torrent, where will it carry me? Perhaps -watchful guard against extraneous life may yet avail; perhaps it may -yet avail to refuse to enter the circle which is suddenly opening -before me, and will enclose me like a magic ring.” And the _dæmon_ -repeated with unhesitating voice: “Fear not! Welcome the unknown -and unforeseen and whatever else fate may bring thee; abolish all -prohibitions; go onwards safe and free; have no anxiety save to live. -Thy fate can only be fulfilled in the abundance of life.” - -I urged my horse into a trot, vehemently, as if at that point a great -act had been resolved upon. And Trigento appeared on the slope of the -hill with its stone houses clustering against the parent rock. At the -summit appeared the ancient palace with its walled garden stretching -down the opposite slope to the plain. It produced the effect of a great -cloister full of forgotten or dead things. - - * * * * * - -As I dismounted at the gate I heard the voice of Oddo, who was looking -out for me. - -“Welcome, Claudio!” - -He ran to meet me with outstretched arms, as much delighted as the -first time. - -“I thought you would have come earlier,” he said in a reproachful tone; -“I have been waiting for you here for the last two hours.” - -“I lingered on the way,” I answered. “I wanted to renew acquaintance -with every tree and stone.” - -With one of those strange sudden movements of his, in which curiosity -and timidity were mingled, he went up to my horse and stroked his neck. - -“How beautiful he is!” he murmured, and the animal’s sensitive neck -quivered under the touch of his slender white hand. - -“You can ride him whenever you like,” I said to him, “either this one -or another.” - -“I hardly think I could sit in the saddle now,” he answered; “I believe -I should be nervous.... But come! Come! You are expected.” - -And he led me up a path enclosed within walls of box-wood, feeble with -age, and broken here and there by deep gaps, from which a fresh scent -of invisible violets seemed to issue, strange as the breath of youth -out of a decrepit mouth. - -“Yesterday evening,” said Oddo rather uneasily, “yesterday evening we -brought back joy with your almond blossom. You don’t know what we felt, -alone in that carriage, buried under the flowers! Antonello was like a -child. I never saw him like that before.” - -At intervals the green walls opened out into archways, and I caught -sight of grassy glades where some long slanting ray of sun pierced the -shadow with a sharp outline. - -“I never saw him like that before; I never heard him talk so much -nonsense.” - -Stone vases deep and round alternated with statues almost clothed with -lichen, maimed or headless statues whose attitudes seemed eloquent to -me. And a few daffodils were flowering round their pedestals. - -“When we arrived here, we could not get out for the branches. The -sisters came to set us free. How happy they were! They went away laden. -We heard them laughing up the stairs. All such things are new to us, -Claudio.” - -A whispered splash reached my ear; the vague sound of a hidden -fountain. An indefinable anxiety weighed upon my heart. - -“We talked about you the whole evening, and remembered many things of -long ago, and perhaps made some air-castles for the future. Who would -ever have thought of your coming back? But none of us can believe yet -that you will stay.... We feel as if after a few days you would escape -us. It is not easy to bear this life of ours. Massimilla, you see, -prefers a convent.... Did you not know that Massimilla is just going to -leave us?” - -As I walked up the path, brushing against the walls of vegetation, a -strong, bitter odour reached my nostrils from the little, fresh box -leaves which shone like beryls among the thick green. - -“Ah! here is Violante!” exclaimed Oddo, touching my arm. - -At the sudden apparition my heart gave a great bound, and I felt the -colour rise in my face. - -She was sitting under a lofty arch of box, with her feet upon the -grass; a strip of meadow seen through the opening lay behind her, -streaked with gold. - -She smiled without rising, waiting till we came near; and she seemed -to be offering her whole beauty to my astonished gaze in that calm -attitude, as she sat on the green sward where perhaps her fingers had -gathered the numerous violets ornamenting her girdle. As she stretched -out her hand to me, she looked me full in the face, and said in a voice -which was the perfect musical expression of the form it came from-- - -“You are welcome. We were expecting you yesterday. Oddo and Antonello -brought us your gift instead, and it was no less acceptable.” - -I said: “After many years I am once again entering your grounds, where -I used long ago to accompany my mother, and already I begin to regret -having stayed so long away. On leaving Rome I knew that I should find -an empty house at Rebursa, but I did not know how richly Trigento would -compensate for it. I owe you much gratitude.” - -“We shall owe you gratitude,” she interrupted, “if you do not find our -society wearisome. You know that this place is destitute of joy.” - -“Even sadness has its benefit for him who understands how to taste it, -has it not?” - -“Perhaps.” - -“Besides, I assure you, since I passed the gate I have experienced none -but exquisite sensations here. This great garden seems to me delicious. -It is impossible not to feel the poetry of its antiquity! Yesterday -when I saw Oddo and Antonello in raptures over that almond blossom, as -if they had never seen a flowering tree before, I thought everything -here must be withered and dead. Instead of which I find within your -gates a more enchanting display of spring than that which I left -outside. Aren’t you tired with gathering violets in the grass? Your -girdle is full of them.” - -She smiled and looked down towards her waist, and with her bare fingers -caressed the violets which adorned it. - -“You come from the city,” she said. Her voice was musical but rather -veiled, and the richness of its tone was a little exhausted, as if very -slightly cracked; “you come from the city, and the country is offering -you her firstfruits.” - -“I don’t know how it is, but certain things always seem new.” - -“We see these things no longer, and love them no longer,” said Oddo, -with some melancholy. “Probably Violante cannot smell the scent of the -flowers she picks.” - -“Is that true?” I asked, turning to her. My eyes were struck by the -profile of marble under her abundant hair and the motionless attitude, -which reminded one of immortal statues. - -“What were you saying?” she asked, like one returning from far off; she -had not heard her brother’s words. - -“Oddo says you cannot smell the scent of the flowers you pick. Is it -true?” - -A faint touch of red coloured her cheeks. - -“Oh, no!” she answered, with a vivacity quite in contrast with the slow -rhythm to which her life seemed set. “Don’t believe Oddo. He says that -because I am fond of strong scents; but I can smell the faintest also, -even those of the stones.” - -“Of the stones?” said Oddo, laughing. - -“What do you know about it, Oddo? Be quiet.” - -We were walking up the great flight of steps covered with trellises -leading in symmetrical order to the palace; she went up slowly between -us, step by step. The stairs were very wide, and she made a step -forward on each, and then each time paused an instant before putting -her foot on the next, and this movement caused her always to lift -the same foot. Wearied by the frequent repetition of the movement, -she sometimes relaxed her body a little as she stood with bended -knee and slackened the proud will which kept her figure as erect as -a perfect stalk. An unexpected softness then came over her superb -form; a new rhythm revealed what I should call the docile graces, the -pliant qualities of love. So strong was the power emanating from this -beautiful being, that I could not take my eyes off her movements; and I -lingered behind so that my entire gaze should encircle her. She seemed -to drive my spirit back into the marvellous epoch when artists drew -from dormant matter those perfect forms which men regarded as the only -truths worthy of worship on earth. And I thought as I looked at her and -ascended behind her: “It is right she should remain untouched. Only by -a god could she be possessed without shame.” And as her queenly head -passed onwards in the light--her native element--I felt that her beauty -was on the verge of its perfect maturity, of its highest effort, and -I thanked fortune for having permitted me such a sight. “Ah, I shall -worship her, but I shall not dare to love her; I shall not dare to look -into her soul and surprise its secrets. Yet her every movement reveals -that she was made for love; but it was for barren love, not for the -love that creates. Her body will never bear the disfiguring burden; the -flood of milk will never mar the pure outline of her bosom.” - -She stopped, impatient at the effort, and a little out of breath, and -said-- - -“How tiring these stairs are! Let us take a rest here, if you don’t -mind.” - -“Here are Antonello and Anatolia coming down,” remarked Oddo, who had -seen the two, through the open bars of the trellises, descending the -first flight of steps. “Let us wait for them.” - -Moving towards us came she who had been represented to me as the giver -of strength, the beneficent powerful maiden, the rich and generous -soul. She appeared from the first as a support, for Antonello was -leaning on her arm, and setting his hesitating steps to the measure of -her firm ones. - -“Which of us,” asked Violante suddenly, but so lightly as to remove -all indiscretion from the question, “which of us do you remember least -indistinctly?” - -“I really don’t know,” I answered vaguely, for my ears were listening -to the rustle of Anatolia’s dress. - -“But certainly the figures I remember have hardly anything in common -with the present reality. Since the day I went away we have passed -through that period of life when transformations are most rapid and -most deep.” - -The two others had come up. Anatolia also put out her hand, saying-- - -“You are welcome.” - -Her actions had a kind of manly frankness, and the contact of her hand -gave me an impression of generous strength and genuine kindness; it -seemed to inspire me suddenly with brotherly confidence. - -It was a hand unadorned with rings, not too white nor too slim, -but robust in its pure shape, ready to clasp and to give support, -flexible and firm at the same time. There was an impress of pride on -its surface, varied as it was by the low relief of the joints and the -intricacy of the veins, and there were lines of softness in the hollow -warmth of the palm, where a radiant fire of feeling seemed to glow. - -“You are welcome,” said the warm, cordial voice. “You have brought us -spring and sunshine from Rome----” - -“Oh no!” I interrupted. “I found them both here. In Rome I left nothing -but mist and other gloomy things. I have just been saying how much I -regret having stayed away from here so long.” - -“You must make amends to us for your forgetfulness,” said Antonello -with his painful smile. - -“What do you think of Trigento?” asked Anatolia. “It is hardly changed -at all, is it? You used to come here with your mother. You remember, -don’t you? We have never forgotten her, nor ever shall. Among the -things which have remained unchanged here, you will find the memory of -that saintly soul and her wonderful kindness.” - -A grave silence followed these words of recollection. For a few moments -the sense of death which fell upon my filial heart threw an aspect of -unreality on all the persons and things present. For a few moments -everything seemed to become as far away and empty as the sky whose -fading colour I could see through the bare vine branches of the trellis -as if through a ragged net. But as the brief illusion vanished, I felt -myself nearer to her who had produced it, and I could not waste time -again in idle words. I wanted to penetrate into the heart of their -sadness. - -“And Donna Aldoina?” I asked in a low voice, turning to Anatolia, and -speaking now to her alone. - -Was she not probably the real guardian of the gloomy dwelling? By -calling up the memory of death had she not herself raised the image of -the lunatic? - -“She is still just the same,” she replied, also in a low voice. “It is -better you should not see her, to-day at least. It would be too painful -for you. And imagine what it is for us! It is a daily torture, a -torture that has lasted for years without pause, to the wearing of our -souls....” Her eyes cast a momentary furtive look towards Antonello, -and I read in them the secret terror that she felt for the poor -invalid who was trembling on the precipice. - -“We have never had the courage to separate her from us, to send her -away,” she added, “for she is not violent; in fact, she is quite -gentle. Sometimes she seems cured; we almost believe that a miracle has -come to pass; she calls us by our names, remembers some little thing -that happened long ago, and smiles calmly. Although we know that it is -all an illusion, every time we tremble with hope, every time we choke -with anxiety. You understand....” - -Her voice lost its tone in her sorrow, like a loose musical string. - -“It is impossible to confine her to her rooms, to keep her shut up; it -is impossible. And we have not the heart to avoid her when she appears, -when she comes to meet us, when she speaks to us. So she is continually -at our side; she is mingled with our existence....” - -“Some days,” interrupted Antonello suddenly, with a kind of -impetuosity, as if driven on by uncontrollable excitement, “some days -the whole house is full of her. We breathe her madness. One or other of -us stays by her for hours and hours while she talks on; sits opposite -her with hands imprisoned in those trembling hands of hers. Do you -understand?” - -A new and still more oppressive silence fell upon us all. And every one -of us was suffering, as he acknowledged in his soul the reality of the -sorrow which the slender blue shadows of the trellis, mingled with the -gentle gold of the sun, seemed to wrap in a veil of dreams. Through -the silence the sound of a light footfall was heard coming up the lower -flight of steps. At regular intervals came a faint bubbling sound as -if a fountain was overflowing its basin. A mysterious quiver seemed to -shake the lonely garden below. And I understood how a gloomy and feeble -mind might construct an unreal life out of these phantoms, and nourish -it till overcome by it. - -Thus the torture to which destiny had condemned these last survivors -of a fallen race was suddenly revealed to me in all its horrors; and -the vision called up by the words of one who was certainly to become -a victim appeared to me magnified by a tragic light. In imagination I -could see the mad old princess sitting in the shadow of her distant -apartment, and one of her children leaning over her, with hands -imprisoned in hers. The attitude of this mournful enchantress seemed to -me fatal and inexorable. I felt as if she were unconsciously drawing -all the children of her blood one after the other into the circle of -her madness, and as if not one of them would be able to escape that -blind and cruel force. Like an ancestral Erinnys, she was presiding -over the dissolution of her race. - -Then through the bare branches of the trellis I gazed up at the silent -palace, which till that day had harboured in its grim depths such -desperate anguish, and hidden so many useless tears--tears falling from -pure and eager eyes, worthy of reflecting the most glorious sights of -the world, and of pouring joy into the soul of poets and rulers. - -“Eyes of Beauty!” I thought, gazing again at the motionless Violante. -“What earthly misery can veil the splendour of the truth that shines -forth from you? What afflicted soul can fail to acknowledge the -consoling power that flows from you?” The pain I had been feeling -ceased suddenly, as if balm had been applied; the troublous images -faded away like a mournful vapour. - -She was seated motionless on a stone plinth which had once supported an -urn. Her elbow rested on her knee, her chin in her hand; in this simple -attitude her whole figure expressed that succession of mute harmonies -which is the secret of supreme art. She seemed to be present with us, -and yet apart. Upon her low forehead was visible the reflection of the -ideal crown that she wore upon her thoughts; and her hair, gathered -up in a great knot on her neck, seemed to have obeyed the same rhythm -which regulates the repose of the sea. - -“Massimilla,” said Oddo, introducing the third sister. - -I turned, and found she was already close to us. She was ascending the -last steps with her light tread. Her face and her whole person bore -traces of the dream in which she had been plunged, of the intimate -poetry of the hour just past, spent with a faithful book in the -solitude of the nook known to her alone. - -“Where have you been?” asked Oddo before she reached us. - -She smiled shyly, and a faint colour tinged her thin cheeks. - -“Down there,” she answered, “reading.” - -Her voice sounded liquid and silvery as it came through the delicate -lips. There was a blade of grass as a marker in the pages of her book. - -As I bowed she gave me her hand, still with the same shy smile. And -something of the tender compassion I used to feel long ago for the -little invalid my mother visited awoke again in my soul; for her hand -was so slight and soft, that it reminded me of those slender flowers -called day lilies, which bloom for one day only in the hot sand. - -She did not speak, and neither could I find words delicate enough to be -appropriate to her timid grace. - -“Shall we go up?” said Anatolia, turning to me, her clear voice at once -breaking through the kind of spell which the unutterable melancholy of -our thoughts had cast over us as we sat in the warmth under the trellis. - -“Our father wants so much to see you again,” and we all began to ascend -the steps towards the palace. - -The three sisters went first, a little apart from each other, Anatolia -first, Massimilla last. They said a few words now and then in turn, -for the silence of things around demanded the sound of their voices, -and perhaps they hoped to chase away the sadness of that silence from -over the head of their guest. Those short sonorous cadences flowing -from unseen lips grew fainter as I advanced; and I ascended with the -voices and the shadows of the maidens round me, feeling as amazed -and perplexed as if I were in enchantment. But though the three -rhythms alternated in my ear, to my sight they appeared simultaneous -and continuous, so that from time to time my spirit would listen -attentively to seize the difference, or would take a concave form, so -to speak, that therein they might melt into one deep harmony. And like -those episodes which in a fugue fill up the silence of the theme, the -aspect of the things we passed, or the peculiarities of the forms, -entered into me, and enriched my musical sense without ruffling it. -Marks of decay and neglect were strewn over the ancient steps, here and -there still encumbered with the spoils of the previous autumn. There -was the statue of a recumbent nymph, with the head bent in a painful -position, for the moss-stained brow was deprived of the support of the -arm. In a long vase of reddish clay, like a sarcophagus, common grass -was growing, and in the midst of this hostile invasion a single plant -of daffodils was flowering feebly and tremulously. Under a bit of -broken parapet thrown down by the penetrating roots of the ivy appeared -an inner channel like a broken artery; and one saw the sparkle and -heard the murmur of the water as it flowed to fill the heart of the -weeping fountain. Marks of decay and neglect were strewn on our path. -The statue, the flower, and the water spoke to me of the same truth. -And Violante, and Massimilla, and Anatolia were transfigured in my mind -by means of mysterious analogies. - -“Oh, beautiful souls,” I thought, as I measured the rhythm of their -visible existence, “is not the perfection of human love perhaps to be -found in your trinity? You are the triple form which appeared to my -desire in the hour of the great harmony. In you all the highest needs -of my flesh and spirit might be satisfied; and you might become the -miraculous instruments of my will and of my fate in the fulfilment of -the work I have to do. Are you not such as I myself would have created -to adorn with sublime beauty and sorrow, the mysterious world of which -I am the creator? To-day, I know nothing of you beyond the outward -appearance and a few passing words; but I feel that ere long each one -of you in her entire being will correspond to the image which breathes -and throbs within me.” - -Thus did the three sisters ascend in my aspirations and my prayers, -each one obedient to the secret music that was guiding her life towards -an unknown end. And their figures threw great shadows on the stone. - -When I set foot on the threshold, the fantastic image of the mad woman -took hold of my mind so vividly and fiercely that I gave a secret -shudder. The whole place seemed to me to be under her sinister sway, -saddened and cast down by her perpetual presence. I thought I read -the same uneasiness in the faces of her children. And I felt as if we -should find her awaiting us at the top of the stairs. - -Anatolia guessed my thoughts, and softly said to reassure me-- - -“Don’t be afraid.... You won’t see her.... I have arranged that you -should not see her, just now at any rate.... Try not to think of her, -so that our hospitality may not seem too gloomy.” - -Antonello was looking up through the glass of the loggia which -surrounded the court, and watching with those anxious eyes and -trembling eyelids of his. - -“Do you see the grass?” exclaimed Oddo, pointing out to me the long -blades of green growing along the walls and in the interstices of the -paving-stones. - -“It is the token and augury of peace,” I said, trying to shake off the -oppression and be cheerful. “I was sorry not to find it yesterday in -my own courtyard. They had taken it away, but I should have preferred -it to all the festive leaves of myrtle and laurel. Grass ought to be -allowed to grow, especially in very large houses. It is a living thing -the more.” - -The courtyard resounded like the nave of a church, and the echoes were -quick to catch up even the words spoken lowest. As I looked at the -silent fountain, I thought of the mysterious music with which the water -might have invited those attentive and favourable echoes. - -“Why is the fountain dumb?” I asked, wishing to take every opportunity -of supporting the cause of life in that cloister filled with forgotten -or dead things. “Further down on the steps, I heard the sound of water.” - -“You must apply to Antonello,” said Violante. “It is he who imposed -silence on it.” - -The face of the unfortunate invalid coloured slightly, and his eyes -grew troubled, as though he were going to yield to an impulse of anger. -It seemed almost as if Violante’s harmless accusation had made him -ashamed and sorrowful, or as if a dispute already closed had been -reopened. He contained himself, but annoyance altered his voice. - -“Fancy, Claudio, my rooms are up there,” he said, pointing to one side -of the loggia, “and from there one can hear the fountain roaring like a -waterfall. Just think! The noise is distracting, something incredible. -Don’t you hear what an echo the voice has here? And in the daytime too!” - -His whole tall, thin body quivered with aversion to noise, with the -nervous horror, the uncontrollable abhorrence of which he had shown -signs the day before when he started at the shots from the carbine and -the shouts of the men. - -“But I wish you could hear it at night,” he continued excitedly. “I -wish you could hear it! The water is water no longer; it is a lost -soul, howling, laughing, sobbing, stammering, jeering, calling, -commanding. It is something incredible! Sometimes as I have lain awake -listening, I have forgotten that it was water; and I have not been able -to remember.... Do you understand?” - -He stopped suddenly, evidently trying to control himself, and he looked -distractedly at Anatolia. The pain in her face disappeared under that -look; it was hidden and controlled. And she, as if to disperse the -uneasiness we all felt, said almost gaily: “Indeed, Antonello is not -exaggerating. Shall we call up the lost soul? Nothing is easier.” - -We were all there round the dry fountain. The unexpected halt, the -words and the look of the unhappy man, the solemnity of the enclosed -court, the silvery coldness of the light that rained down from above, -and the approaching metamorphosis, seemed to confer something of the -mystery of a work of magic on that ancient, lifeless thing. The mass of -marble--a pompous composition of Neptune’s horses, tritons, dolphins, -and shells in triple order--rose before our eyes, covered with a -greyish crust of dried-up lichens, glittering white here and there like -an aspen stem; and all the human and animal mouths seemed still in -their silence to preserve the same attitudes in which but lately liquid -voices had flowed from their lips. - -“Stand back,” added Anatolia, as she stooped down over a bronze disc -that covered a round aperture in the pavement near the edge of the -lower basin. “I am going to turn on the water.” - -And she put her finger through the ring in the middle of the disc, and -tried to lift its weight; but she could not, and rose up with her face -scarlet from the exertion. I came to her assistance, and when it was -open, she stooped again and found the secret spring with her hand. We -both stood back in mutual agreement, and now the bubbling water was to -be heard rising in the veins of the empty fountain. - -And there was a moment of anxious expectation, as if the mouths of the -monsters were about to give answer. Involuntarily I pictured the joy of -the stone as the fresh liquid life invaded it, and imagined to myself -the impossible shudders it must feel. - -The tritons were blowing their trumpets, the dolphins’ throats were -gurgling. From the top a jet of water sprang up hissing, clear and -quick as a sword-thrust sent into the blue; it broke, retired, -hesitated, rose again straighter and stronger than ever; it hung in -the air, turned adamant, shot up like a stalk, and seemed to burst -into flower. First a short, sharp sound like the crack of a whip -echoed through the court, then came something like a burst of Homeric -laughter, then a thunder of applause, then a shower of rain. Every -mouth sent out a jet of water, and each jet curved into an arch to fill -the shell beneath. Here and there the stone was sprinkled with dark -stains, and the smooth parts shone, and the rivulets grew more and more -numerous; at last every part of it rejoiced at the touch of the water; -it seemed to open all its pores to the countless drops, and revive like -a tree refreshed by a cloud. Rapidly the slightest hollows filled up, -overflowed, and took the shape of silver crowns, continually destroyed -and as continually renewed. Every instant as the play was multiplied -by the variety of the sculpture, the continuous sounds grew louder -and formed a deeper and deeper music in the great echo of the walls. -Above the voluble symphony of water falling into water rose the mighty -bubbling and gushing of the central jet, as it dashed the marvellous -flowers that came out from moment to moment at the top of its stalk -against the necks of the Tritons. - -“Do you hear?” exclaimed Antonello, as he looked at this triumph with -eyes of enmity. “Do you think this racket would be tolerable for long?” - -“Ah, I could stay here for hours and days listening to it,” I thought I -heard Violante saying, in a voice more veiled than ever. “There is no -music I love so well.” - -She had stayed so near the fountain that she was sprinkled all over -with drops, and her hair was strewn with sparkling dust. The power -of her beauty again excluded any other thought, any discordant image -from my mind. Again she seemed to me isolated and unapproachable, -outside of the sphere of ordinary life, more like a vision of art than -a creature of our own species. Everything round her acknowledged the -sovereignty of her presence, for everything referred to, and submitted -to, and harmonised with, her beauty. Like the great arch of green that -bent over her when first she appeared to me, like the ancient plinth -on which she had rested, this musical fountain open to the sky seemed -created for her alone; it seemed to correspond perfectly with that -ideal harmony expressed in her simple attitude. Secret and inexplicable -affinities united the most diverse things to her being, and brought -back all surrounding mysteries to the mystery of herself. Since nature -in this human form had revealed one of her supreme ideas of perfection, -it seemed to me that all other ideas in all other mortal shapes should -by nature serve to lead the spirit of the beholder to contemplate that -one supreme idea. - -And so it came about, that as I watched the maiden by the fountain I -discovered and treasured up a pure truth: “When Beauty reveals herself, -all the elements of life converge towards her as towards a centre, and -so she has for her tribute the entire Universe.” - -“One of our troubles,” said Oddo, as we walked up the wide balustraded -staircase, upon whose silent walls the sixteenth century decorations -of streamers and clouds imitated the fury of a tempest, “one of our -troubles is the vastness of the house; it gives us a feeling of being -astray, a humiliating feeling of our own littleness.” - -The building was, in fact, a great deal too spacious and too empty. It -had been restored in the seventeenth century, and transformed from a -feudal fortress into a country villa, and all the formidable hugeness -of its walls and vaults remained, although successive epochs had left -the impress of art and of luxury, sometimes on their surface, and -sometimes in contrast to them. The enormous number of mirrors with -which whole walls were covered multiplied the space into infinity. And -nothing was more mournful than those pale, delusive abysses, which -seemed to open into a supernatural world, and to promise at every -moment to show the living beholder visions of the dead. - -“Claudio, my boy!” exclaimed Prince Luzio in a voice full of emotion, -coming forward as soon as he saw me. “Dear, dear boy!” - -I felt his old worn body tremble as he embraced me and kissed me on -the forehead in a fatherly way. With his hand still on my shoulder, -he gazed long into my face as if in a dream, while a wave of memories, -sorrows, and complaints passed across the ashy blue of his feeble eyes. - -“How like you are to your father!” he added, in a still more -affectionate voice, and his emotion took possession of me also. “It is -a marvellous likeness. I feel as though I beheld Massenzio again in his -youth, when we were companions in the Life Guards.... He seems to have -come to life again. How like him you are, my boy!” - -He took me by the hand and led me to the window, as if he wished to -withdraw with me into the contemplation of long past things. - -“How like him you are!” he repeated when he saw my face in the full -light. “Oh, if that blessed soul were only living still. He ought not -to have died, my God, he ought not to have died.” - -He shook his head in token of regret over the phantom of that beautiful -life so early cut off. And the sincerity of his affection was so great, -that I was touched to the bottom of my soul, and I could no longer -feel a stranger in that house where the memory of my dead was kept -so reverently fresh. “Look,” added the Prince, stroking the point of -his white beard, and smiling a smile in which I caught glimpses of -Anatolia’s noble sweetness; “look how old I have grown!” - -His whole figure betrayed a painful feebleness, but the radiance of his -premature white hair gave his head a look of venerable majesty, and his -brow still bore the hereditary stamp of his lordly race. His hands had -escaped almost by a miracle from any injury by sickness and old age; -there was no aged deformity about them. They were still strong and fair -as if embalmed; those liberal hands of the munificent noble who had -lavished his riches on the path of the exile, only that the eyes of his -king might shine awhile longer with the reflection of fallen royalty. -And as a kind of memorial of the treasures so prodigally spent there -shone a cameo in his signet ring. - -Those hands with their slow movements seemed, as the sluggish blood -revived with the heat of memories, to be drawing some remnant of a -vanished world out of a sphere of shadow, and this faculty gave them -a singular meaning in my eyes. When the old man sat down and laid his -hands on the arms of the chair, they seemed to me like relics, and I -looked at them with a strange feeling of almost superstitious respect. -They made me feel, very strongly, as if I were living at that moment in -my own world of poetry, and not in the world of fact. - -Seeing my eyes fixed on the carved gem, the prince smiled and said: “It -is Violante’s portrait.” - -He took off the ring and handed it to me. - -The delicate work was by some ancient artist not unworthy of Pirgotelus -or Dioscuridas; but the divine features of the Medusa, relieved against -the blood-red background of sardonyx, corresponded so perfectly to the -likeness of the proud creature, that I thought: “Truly then did she -illuminate the art of bygone days, and from time immemorial bestowed -upon durable matter the privilege of perpetuating the Idea of which she -is to-day the Incarnation.” - -“Her mother used to wear this ring just before she was born,” added the -prince with the same gentle smile, “and she was always looking at it.” - - * * * * * - -In such a manner, and at every moment, the conformity of things raised -my spirit into an ideal state, which resembled a state of reverie and -second-sight without actually attaining to it, and this same conformity -furnished harmonious material to my sensibility and imagination. And I -watched the continuous generation of a higher life within myself, which -transfigured everything as if by the virtue of a magic glass. - -The three elect beings seemed mutually to throw light and shade on each -other, and the lights and shades had the significance of a language -which I was already able to interpret as clearly as if it had been -familiar to me for long. And so I stood not only bewildered by the -reflection of the rock, but struck by the lightning flashes of my -thoughts, when Violante went up to an open window, pointed out a view -which she seemed to have called up with a wave of her hand, and said-- - -“Look.” - -It was a window facing north, on the opposite side of the palace from -the garden, and it looked out over a precipice. As I leant out an -impetuous shudder ran through me, and raised me suddenly to a sentiment -of appreciation of this silent and terrible grandeur. - -“Is this your secret?” I asked the enchantress, but I did not put my -question into words, for at her side silence itself seemed eloquent. -The rock descended abruptly from the massive buttresses which supported -the northern wall, till at the bottom it ended in a hard white river -bed, whose very dryness seemed ominous of the ruinous anger of a -torrent. With that same atrocious, desperate violence which the lava -streams have as they rush down to the Sicilian Sea, and rebound and -rise up and twist themselves into black and red masses, screaming, -roaring, hissing at the first contact with the water; with that same -violence the rock at the bottom of the river-bed rose and flung itself -heavenwards, and towered opposite the great wall built by man, with -a kind of dumb fury animating its gigantic mass. All the wildest -convulsions and contortions of bodies possessed by demoniac power or -deadly spasms seemed petrified for ever in that terrible form, terrible -as the cliff whence Dante caught sight of fresh horrors on his way to -the river of blood guarded by the Centaurs. All the shapes of which -pliable metal and scoriæ are capable were there contrasted with the -hard stone; ringlets of rebellious hair, coils of angry serpents, -intricacies of roots laid bare, sheaves of muscles, circles of the -whirlpool, folds of draperies, twists of rope. This vision of frenzied -turbulence rose perfectly motionless in the blaze of the midday sun, -without a line of shadow. The throbbing of a high fever seemed hidden -beneath the lifeless crust. - -“Is this your secret?” I repeated to the enchantress, still without -words, for my inward agitation would not allow me to select or control -the accents of my voice. - -She stood beside me, silent also; and I did not look at her, nor did -she look at me. But as we leant out towards the many shaped rock, we -were united to each other by the same fascination which draws together -those who read out of the same book. We were both reading out of the -same fascinating, dangerous book. - -She said, as she raised her head with a slight start-- - -“Do you hear the hawks?” - -And we both searched the summits with dazzled eyes. - -“Listen.” - -The rock rose to heaven bristling with points and stained a reddish -colour like rust or clotted blood; and the screams of the birds of prey -heightened the impression of its savage pride. - -Then a sudden giddiness overwhelmed me--a sort of horror of too vast -ambitions and desires. Perhaps in the very depths of my being the -primitive feelings of early forefathers awoke; for my indescribable -agitation took the form of a lightning-like succession of flashing -visions, in which I saw men like myself pouring into vanquished cities, -leaping over heaps of corpses and ruins, with untiring gestures, -thrusting their swords into men’s bodies, carrying half-naked women on -their saddle-bows through the innumerable flames of a conflagration, -while their horses, lithe cruel animals like leopards, waded up to -their bellies in blood. - -“Ah, I should have known how to possess thee in the midst of slaughter -under a canopy of fire, overshadowed by the wing of death!” said the -soul of my ancestors to her who stood by my side. “My will would have -urged my body to the performance of prodigies of valour; and though -I had had to clamber up the smooth sides of this wall, defended by a -thousand bowmen, yet I should have borne thee away alive.” - -Filled with the glow from this magnificent and tremendous desolation -reaching to the heavens, my eyes fell on the maiden’s face, and saw it -so strongly lit up by the reflection, that an almost painful joy swept -over me. And I felt a mad desire to take that head in my hands, turn it -back, bring it close to my lips, gaze on it more closely, impress every -line of it in my thought--a feeling not unlike his who finds under the -barren soil some sublime fragment which will reveal to the world the -glory of an idea for long nearly extinct. - -She was like a statue placed in full view of the rising sun; her -perfection did not fear the light. In her bodily form I saw the impress -of the eternal type, and at the same moment I recognised the fragility -of the flesh, which bore no immunity from human fate. She was like a -delicious fruit at the highest point of its maturity, beyond which -point corruption sets in. The skin of her face had the wonderful -transparency of the blossom which to-morrow will fade. - -“Who shall deliver thee from the sacrilege of Time the destroyer? Who -shall slay thee with a mortal dart at the summit of thy perfection -when the miserable signs of decay begin to appear?” The dark saying of -her brother came back to my mind: “Violante is killing herself with -perfumes.” ... And silently I worshipped her, with a religious desire -to praise her in her every movement. “Oh sovereign being, feeling thou -art perfect, thou dost also feel the necessity of death; thou dost -know that only death can preserve thee from all base injury; and since -everything in thee is noble, thou dost purpose to offer to that solemn -custody a body royally embalmed in perfumes.” - - * * * * * - -After such draughts of balmy wine, how could the meal to which we sat -down have any savour? - -Yet the vague and colourless things that surrounded my musings composed -themselves into a kind of quiet harmony, which little by little soothed -the passion that had been kindled in my soul by the volcanic rock. - -The walls were covered with mirrors, symmetrically divided all -round into compartments by little gilt pillars, while the surface -of each compartment was painted with festoons and clusters of roses -alternately, and the mirrors were tarnished and green as the waters -of lonely pools, and the little pillars were delicately twisted like -the fair locks of girls, and the roses were faint and languid as -the garlands which crown the waxen martyrs in sanctuaries. But in -honour perhaps of the guest who was the donor, the long branches of -almond blossom had been ingeniously wreathed among the sconces of the -candelabra. They spread their still fresh and living blossoms over the -ancient mirrors, and multiplied reflections in the green pallor seemed -to create the semblance of a far-off watery springtime. - -There was a kind of quiet charm about all these things which seemed to -descend and mingle with Massimilla’s grace; so much so, that I felt -as if the maiden already promised to Jesus shared their nature. She -seemed already to wear the appearance of a being “who has departed from -this present age,” like Beatrice in the vision of the Vita Nuova, as -if, with her meek air, she were saying also: “I am about to behold the -beginning of peace.” - -She sat opposite me, and I looked at her, till this fancy of mine grew -so strong that I began to imagine her absent and her place empty for -a few moments. And immediately the empty space was filled with a deep -shadow resembling the mouth of a pit into which all the kindred were to -be cast, one after another. And thus I was able to attain a unique and -tragic vision of all these living beings, in the extraordinarily clear -relief afforded by that background of shadow. - -They were eating a meal round the accustomed table; they made the -ordinary movements demanded by natural necessity; from time to time -they said a few simple words. But their tones and actions seemed -accompanied by a mystery which at times endowed them with an almost -terrible significance or again at times made them almost as laughable -as the play of automatons. One contrast was cruelly clear, that between -the manner of vital functions they were fulfilling and the signs of -inevitable destruction which were being fulfilled in them. Seated on -the right of Massimilla, Antonello displayed in his whole behaviour -a sort of repressed impatience, as if he were compelled to use his -hands to feed, not himself, but a stranger. And as I gazed at him, -an intuition flashed through me of the horror that strangled him as -he realised the presence of a stranger within him, a presence dimly -felt as yet, but still certain. And my eyes, passing instinctively to -Oddo, who sat on Massimilla’s left, noticed in his attitude something -like a feeble reflection of his brother’s discomfort. Nothing seemed -to me sweeter than that virginal figure sitting calm amidst their -restlessness, like a statue of prayer. - -A strange odour of honey from the almond blossom filled the warm air. -Sometimes a petal, rosier than the others, dropped down the mirror and -fell as into silent water. And I remembered our stay in the orchard. - -Ah, indeed, how could those wretched eyes, tormented by phantoms, -perceive pure and beautiful things? What was I doing there myself -except holding a commemoration of the dead? Everything round me -grew dim like the walls, and seemed to recede into a distant past; -everything assumed an antiquated and faded look, and appeared to be -covered with dust. The two servants moved slowly and dreamily about in -their blue liveries and long white stockings; they looked as if they -had come out of an old wardrobe of the last century;--melancholy ruins -of former luxury. When they withdrew they seemed to vanish like shadows -into the delusive distance of the mirrors, and to re-enter their -inanimate world. - - * * * * * - -But the spell was broken by the voice of the prince, a voice which -called up old memories. Every one kept a respectful silence while he -was speaking; and no sound was heard but that of his deep aged voice, -which at times became hoarse with repressed anger, or trembled with -heartfelt sorrow and regret. - -It chanced to be a disastrous day for the old man; it was the -anniversary of the king’s flight to Gaeta; it completed the -twenty-first year of exile. - -“Well,” he said, as he turned to me with a glance kindling with faith, -looking, with his white beard, almost like one of the ancient prophets, -“well, Claudio, when a king falls as Francis of Bourbon fell at Gaeta, -that is to say, like a martyr and a hero, it is impossible not to -believe that God will raise him up again and restore his kingdom. Mark -my words, son of Massenzio Cantelmo, and do not forget them. And God -grant that this come to pass before my eyes are closed! That is my only -desire.” - -He was preparing an apotheosis of fire and blood on the ruins of the -strong city for the pale ghost of royalty. - -“Wonderful faith!” I thought, as I saw what sparks could still glow -in the ashy blue of those feeble eyes. “Wonderful and vain faith! -The power of the Bourbons slumbers at San Dionigi.” And as the old -man’s words called up the gleaming vision of the Bavarian heroine, -my contempt increased for that king of twenty-three, on whom Fortune -had bestowed the very horse which carried Henry of Navarre to Paris, -and who was cowardly enough, like the miserable Philip V., to have no -ambition to ride anything more substantial than the imaginary horses of -the tapestries that lined his walls. - -“What a magnificent enterprise lay before that Bourbon prince when -he departed from the palace at Caserta, where the doctors were busy -embalming the corpse of his murdered father as it lay pierced with -innumerable wounds!” I thought, in the eager spirit which the warlike -images evoked by the venerable old man had kindled in me. “Nothing was -wanting to incite him, not even the corruption and odour of corpses, -which are powerful to inspire thoughts of greatness. In very truth, -everything was his: the lordly power of an ancient name, youth, which -attracts and carries men away, kingship over three fair seas accustomed -to tyranny, a rich kingdom in sight of a curved bay sonorous as a lyre, -a passionate companion, who seemed to draw in through her delicate -nostrils the atmosphere of heroic ambitions, a temperament capable of -trembling with the voluptuousness of power, and full of the electric -current which directs the hurricane. All these were his to enjoy and to -defend; and still, as exiled husband on the farthest shore of another -sea, his ear was filled with the clamour of his faithful people, -although another kind of clamour reached him also; and the opportunity -was offered to him of a splendid struggle beyond the limits of his -dominions, on fields already watered with blood, and smoking with the -strength of their fermentation--fields open to the strongest thought, -the noblest word, the swiftest sword. In very truth, everything was -his, save the lion’s nature. Why was it Fortune’s will to heap the -burden of such favours upon a feeble, lamb-like nature? Never did -blood so cowardly flow in youthful veins, never was there a more -torpid sensuality. The very beauty of his lawful kingdom, the divine -outlines of the shore, the balmy air, the mystery of the nights, all -the enchantments of the dying summer, ought at least to have touched -the senses of the youth, to have awaked in him the deep desire for -possession, to have communicated to him the savage rage for living. -Ah, that last evening in the almost deserted palace, forsaken by the -courtiers, with the strong breath of the sea wind blowing through the -empty halls, and bringing with it September perfumes, and the supreme -sweetness of the gulf, while the closed curtains waved mysteriously and -spread a vague terror, while the lights flickered and went out on the -tables, still strewn with the shameful letters announcing the flight -of those the prince had counted as most devoted. And the desolation of -that departure in the twilight, in the small ship commanded by a man -of the people, one of the few who remained faithful; and the silent -encounter with the warships, already gone over to the enemy, and full -of treachery; and the long, sleepless night passed on deck in vain -regrets, while the weary queen slept under the stars, exposed to the -chill night air; and at last, at sunrise, the rock of Gaeta, the final -refuge, fated to be the final ruin, where the royal dignity was to be -forced to come to terms with a bragging soldier!” - -“Treason was everywhere, like the smoke and smell of gunpowder,” -continued the prince. He grew more and more troubled by these -sanguinary recollections, and from time to time a gesture from the -white hand on which the cameo gleamed gave animation to his words. -“The most terrible day of the siege was the fifth of February; and the -powder magazine of the Sant’ Antonio battery was blown up by treachery.” - -“Ah! what an atrocious thing it was!” exclaimed Violante, with a -shudder and an instinctive movement as if to cover her ears with her -hands. “How terrible!” - -“You can still remember it,” her father said, looking at her with -softer eyes. - -“I always shall.” - -“Violante was with us at Gaeta,” he added, turning to me. “She was -scarcely five years old, and was a great pet of the queen’s. The others -had started for Civita Vecchia on the _Volcano_ with the Contessa di -Trapani. We were staying in the artillery quarters beneath the shore -batteries....” - -“I can remember it all!” interrupted Violante, seized by a sudden -emotion, which seemed to sweep over her from that great purple light -which lit up her far-off infancy. “Everything--everything seems as -distinct as if it had happened yesterday! The room was divided by two -partitions, made of flags sewn together. I can see the colours quite -clearly; they were signalling flags, blue, yellow, and red. It was -three or four in the afternoon when the explosion happened. Nina Rizzo, -the queen’s lady-in-waiting, had just gone out. I was holding in my -hand a cup of milk which the sisters at the hospital had sent me....” - -She spoke on thus, in short sentences, in a somewhat muffled voice, -with a fixed look, describing all these little details, one after the -other, as if she were seeing them in a series of flashes. And the -scenes called up by her words, as she sat looking into the past, stood -out with an extraordinary force against the confused background of the -actual scene. - -The old man and the maiden, as each in turn they commemorated the -ruin and slaughter of other days, seemed to annihilate all the vague, -colourless surroundings, and create a kind of fiery atmosphere, in -which my soul for a moment gasped painfully. The siege went on with -all its horrors, in the city crowded with soldiers, horses, and mules, -short of provisions and money, badly or insufficiently armed, scourged -with typhus and villainy. Rain came down in torrents, filling the -streets with black mire, in the midst of which the starving horses -wandering about sank down and perished. The iron hailstones riddled the -city, dismantled it, laid it low, set fire to it, and grew ever thicker -and noisier, never ceasing save for the brief intervals appointed for -the burial of the decaying corpses. In the churches divine service was -celebrated, the Invincible Patroness was invoked, and all the while -the stones were being torn from the walls, the windows were crashing -in, and out of the distance came the groans of the wounded as they -were carried away on stretchers. The sick men in the hospital raised -themselves in their beds when a shell pierced through the passage -walls, and expecting death, cried as the shell burst, “Long live the -King!” All on a sudden a powder magazine exploded, shaking the city -to its very foundations, and leaving it suffocated with smoke and -with terror, while in the open cavity bastions, cannons, palisades, -batteries, houses, and hundreds and hundreds of men were engulfed. -But from time to time, on very sunny days, a kind of heroic madness -seized the besieged, a kind of intoxication of death drove them into -danger, and made them seek out the batteries where the fire was -fiercest. In sight of the enemy the artillerymen sang and danced in -a kind of frenzy to the sound of the bugles. A great shout of joy and -affection greeted the queen’s appearance under the hail of bullets -on the esplanades. She moved with a bold step, in the easy grace of -her nineteen years, dressed in a shining bodice like a breastplate, -her face smiling under the plumes of her felt hat. Without moving an -eyelash as the bullets whistled by, she turned her encouraging eyes -on the soldiers; they inspired them like the waving of banners, and -beneath that gaze pride seemed to magnify its wounds, while those who -were unscathed seemed to long for the glory of a crimson stain. From -time to time men with eyes burning fiercely in blackened faces, with -their clothes torn to tatters, as though the jaws of a wild beast had -rent them--men covered with blood and powder rushed up to her from the -cannons, called her by name, and kissed the hem of her skirt. - -“Ah, how beautiful she was, and how worthy of her throne!” exclaimed -the prince, and his voice assumed its manliest tones to celebrate her -prowess. “Her presence had a magnetic power over the soldiers. When she -was there, they all fought like lions. The twenty-second of January -was the most glorious day of the siege, because she remained on the -batteries till nightfall.” - -A pause followed, a moment of meditation, in which each of us seemed to -be contemplating the ideal figure of the heroine on a field of ruin and -corpses. - -“Tears were strange to her eyes!” said Violante slowly, absorbed in -her far-away memories. “When at the last hour I saw her weep, I was -overcome with terror and surprise, as if some unexpected and almost -incredible thing had occurred. As she kissed me, she watered my face -with her tears.” After another pause, she added-- - -“She wore a little green feather in her hat.” - -She added again-- - -“She had a great emerald at her throat.” - -She was sitting at my side, and a new emotion swept over me as with -an involuntary movement I leant slightly towards her, and breathed -the perfume which I thought was growing stronger, and overpowering -the honeyed fragrance of the flowers. A sudden aversion for all the -people and things present came over me; they gave me a feeling of -impatience and annoyance that was almost an aversion; they seemed at -that moment to be weighing on me and oppressing me in quite a peculiar -way. I looked across with instinctive hostility at the prince’s -cousin, Ottavio Montaga, who sat at one end of the table, a taciturn -individual with something of the sinister look of a mask, the symbol of -a mysterious prohibition not to be transgressed. I felt all the health, -strength, and passion in me rise in hatred against the sickness, the -sadness, against the mortal dulness by which this wonderful creature -was being consumed without a chance of escape. The uneasiness which -had troubled my spirit after the successive apparitions of the three -different figures was now subdued, and I believed myself to have set -my choice on her whom all the glory and solemnity of the past seemed -uniting to ennoble. Once more, it was she alone who stirred my being as -she had stirred it before when she lifted her head at the cry of the -hawk. - -The prince said to me-- - -“It is singular, is it not, Claudio, that Violante should be able to -remember that time so clearly? Don’t you think it very strange?” - -Then, smiling with his previous gentle smile-- - -“Maria Sophia has never ceased to show partiality for her. Knowing that -she is passionately fond of scent, she sends her quantities of essences -every year for her birthday. And she has never missed once, all the -time we have been here!” - -He turned tenderly to his daughter-- - -“And now you could not get on without them, could you?” - -And to me he said, with a shade of sadness-- - -“She lives on them. You see, Claudio, how white she is!” - -I fancied that Anatolia whispered-- - -“She is dying of them.” - - * * * * * - -When we rose from table, Anatolia proposed going down to the garden. - -“Let us go and bask in the sun a little more!” she suggested, pointing -to a shaft of sunbeams which shot down from the highest pane of a -window where the faded curtains were not drawn. “Who will come?” - -By the movement her hand was lit up, turned golden down to her wrist, -and the rays slid through her fingers like docile hair. “We will all -come,” I replied. - -Don Ottavio begged to be excused, and retired (he seemed like an -intruder among us); but the prince laid his arm in Anatolia’s, as -Antonello had done before on the steps, and said-- - -“I will come down to the quadrangle with you.” - -As we passed through the vast reception hall, now reduced to a disused -anteroom, I noticed an old sedan chair with the two poles still in it, -as if a lady had just descended from it, or was about to enter. - -“Who uses the sedan chair?” I asked, as I stopped to look at it. - -“None of us,” answered Anatolia after a moment’s hesitation, during -which a shade of agitation passed over every face. - -“It is of the time of Charles III.,” said the prince, concealing his -melancholy thoughts under a smile. “It belonged to the Duchess of -Cublana, Donna Raimondetta Montaga, who was the most beautiful lady of -the court, and was praised as the greatest beauty of the kingdom.” - -“The design is excellent,” I remarked, approaching it, for I was -attracted by this piece of antiquity, which seemed hardly yet dead, and -to which the memory of Donna Raimondetta gave a tender interest and -grace, so that I almost imagined as I looked that she was alive again -within it. “It is an exquisite work of art, and wonderfully preserved.” - -But I noticed a strange feeling of uneasiness among my hosts, and -that this uneasiness was caused by the object I was looking at. And by -virtue of this mystery, I felt more strongly than before the imaginary -life dwelling within the precious wood. - -“Perhaps the soul of Donna Raimondetta lives inside,” I said lightly, -and I could not resist the desire to open the pane of glass. “It could -not have a more delicate casket. Let us see.” - -As I opened it, a subtle odour reached my nostrils, and I put my head -inside, so as to breathe it better. - -“What a scent!” I exclaimed, delighted with the unexpected sensation. -“Is it the Duchess of Cublana’s perfume?” - -And for a few seconds my imagination hovered in the soft atmosphere -created by the enchantment of the ancient dame, picturing a little -round mouth like a strawberry, a powdered head-dress, and a brocade -dress stiffened by a hoop. - -The sedan chair was scented like a bridal chest; it was lined inside -with willow-green velvet, and decorated with a little oval mirror on -each side; without, it was all gilded and painted in the most refined -taste, the ceiling and jointings were enriched with delicate carving, -all the more harmonious and pleasing to the eye from the veil thrown -over them by the hand of time; the whole was the work of a graceful -imagination and a skilled hand. - -“Or perhaps it is you, Donna Violante,” I added, “who have poured out -one of your phials on this soft velvet, as a homage to your famous -ancestress?” - -“No, it is not I,” she said, almost indifferently, as if she had -fallen back into her usual apathy, and was again far away. - -“Let us go now,” begged Anatolia, drawing on her father, whose arm -still rested in hers. “It is always so cold in this room.” - -“Let us go,” repeated Antonello, shivering. - -From the top of the staircase we could already hear the sound of the -water; at first it sounded hoarse, then gradually clearer and louder. - -“Has the fountain been turned on?” asked the prince. - -“We turned it on just now,” said Anatolia, “in honour of our guest.” - -“Did you notice the play of the echo in the quadrangle, Claudio?” Don -Luzio inquired. “It is extraordinary.” - -“Truly extraordinary,” I replied. “It is a wonderful effect of sound. -It is like a musician’s trick. I think an attentive harmonist might -discover the secret of unknown chords and discords in it. It would be -an incomparable training for a delicate ear. Is it not true, Donna -Violante? You are on the fountain’s side, against Antonello.” - -“Yes,” she said simply, “I love and understand water.” - -“_Laudato si, mi Signore, per sor acqua._” (Praised be Thou, O Lord, -for sister water.) “Do you remember the canticle of St. Francis, Donna -Massimilla?” - -“Certainly,” replied the betrothed of Christ, with her faint smile, -colouring slightly. “I belong to the Poor Clares.” - -Her father’s look was a melancholy caress. - -“_Suor Acqua_” (Sister Water), Anatolia called her, caressing the soft -bands of hair on her forehead with her fingers. “Take that name.” - -“It would be presumptuous,” replied the Poor Clare with laughing -humility. - -She recalled to me with only a slight variation the saying of the -saint: _Symphonialis est aqua_. - -We were all there close to the rushing fountain. Each of the mouths was -pouring out its voice through a glass pipe like a curved flute. The -lower shell was quite full already, and the four sea-horses were up to -their bellies in water. - -“The design is by Algardi, the Bolognese,” said the prince, “the -architect of Innocent X.; but the sculpture was done by the Neapolitan -Domenico Guidi, the same who executed the greater part of the relief of -Attila at St. Peter’s.” - -Violante had drawn near the edge of the basin again, and I gazed at the -reflection of her figure in the liquid element, whose continual tremor -melted the features as it rippled away round the horses’ hoofs. - -“There is a tragic story in connection with this fountain,” added the -prince, “a story which has become the source of some superstitious -ideas. Don’t you know it?” - -“No, I don’t,” I replied, “but tell it me, if you will.” - -And I looked at Antonello, thinking of the lost soul which tormented -and terrified him at night. He also was now looking intently at -Violante’s reflection as it trembled in the depths of the water. - -“Here in this fountain Pantea Montaga was drowned,” began Don Luzio. -“In the time of the Viceroy Peter of Aragon----” - -But he interrupted himself-- - -“I will tell you the story another time.” - -I saw that he shrank from calling up these memories in presence of his -daughters, and I did not press him. - -But shortly after, in the outer portico, as we paced slowly up and down -with his arm in mine, he returned to the story; and all the time the -sun blazed on the series of terraces from which the tall white statues -of the Seasons looked over the tawny valley of the Saurgo. - -It was a mysterious secret drama of passion and death, worthy of the -weird stone cloister which had fostered and exalted its violence in -rapid alternation. To me it signified the power which the genius of -places can exercise over the responsive soul, a power by which every -genuine feeling of the soul must concentrate itself to the utmost -degree of intensity possible to human nature, in order to express its -whole force in a definite act with a certain result. - -As I listened to the prince’s imperfect account, I mentally -reconstructed that hour of intense life which produced the death of -Pantea; and the midnight crime appeared to me clothed in a beauty which -was the harbinger of profound thoughts. - -At the close of the story Prince Luzio took leave of me, saying: “I -hope from this day you will treat this house as your own. Whenever you -like to come, you will be welcome, dear boy. So do not stay away too -long.” - -It made me sad to see him enter the desolate palace alone, so I went -back a little way with him, talking affectionately. We stopped again -before the fountain; and he made a motion of his hand towards the -basin, and in the chill, clear water I saw the fatal beauty of Pantea -and her curved white hands floating in the water, like two magnolia -petals, and her soft hair fluttering under the horses’ hoofs. - -“A legend grew up years afterwards,” said the prince, smiling. “On -moonless nights Pantea’s soul sings on the summit of the fountain, -while that of her lover groans within the jaws of the stone beasts -until the dawn breaks.” - - * * * * * - -The troublous joy of spring rose up in our faces as we leant over the -balustrade towards the sloping garden. A kind of quivering atmosphere -enveloped us with the swiftness of a fever poison, and the sensation -was so strong as to paralyse the nerves. The pupils of our eyes became -fixed, our eyelids were lowered as if sleep were gliding over us. My -soul within me was heavy like a cloud. - -Anatolia remarked upon our mutual silence-- - -“Happiness is passing by.” - -These sudden words of hers revealed to us the secret of the anguish -within us; she had expressed the spirit of intense melancholy which -pervaded the earth awaiting the renewal of spring. “Happiness is -passing by!” - -“Whose hands may arrest her?” I asked myself sharply, in the blind -agitation of my longing for love, in the confused revolt of my deepest -instincts. - -The three sisters were leaning their elbows on the stone parapet, their -bare hands without rings stretched out in the sun as in a golden bath: -Massimilla with fingers interlaced; Anatolia with one hand crossed in -the other so that her thumbs were uppermost; Violante, pressing in hers -some of the fading violets out of her belt, and then letting them fall -into space. - -“Whose hands may arrest her?” - -Anatolia’s looked the strongest and the most sensitive. The firm -outlines of the muscles and tendons supporting the thumbs were clearly -visible beneath the skin. The tips of the thumbs wore rosy nails for -gems, with a half moon of white at the root like a double onyx. - -Had they not communicated a sense of their generous power and practical -kindness when first I touched them? Had I not already felt a reviving -warmth in the hollow of her palm? - -But Massimilla’s hands were like uncreated things, like dream-shapes -rather, so slender were they; and so white, that the golden sunbeams -failed to gild them; and so symbolically familiar, that in the broad -daylight I could see again the dim shadows of the dusky apse where -first they appeared to me, and see them hovering around the altar, last -relics of a form sunk back again into mystery, and yet fitted--they -alone--to enchant and caress souls. Now with the interlacing of the -clasped fingers they symbolised the fetters of voluntary slavery. “Here -am I, thine own, bound by a tie stronger than any chain. I will open -my arms only when it shall be thy good pleasure to release me. Mine be -it only to worship and obey, to obey and worship,” was the confession -which by these tokens the devout maiden made to her ideal lord. And I -imagined her hands loosed and long scrolls of living silence floating -from them; just as from the hands of the angels painted above and -around altars there float long streamers eloquently inscribed with -verses, and containing history within the mystic sense of the written -words. “Thus, oh Worshipper, mayest thou encircle my wandering spirit -within the living silence of thy love! And I shall become unfaithful -to earth’s solitudes, to the solemn mountains, the musical woods, the -peaceful rivers, even to the starry skies; for no sight on earth can -elevate a man’s spirit like the presence of a beautiful and submissive -soul. It is this which gives to the walls of a narrow room the feeling -of boundless space, like the votive lamp which only increases the vast -darkness of a cathedral. And for this, I should desire to have thee -with me, sweet slave. He who meditates, surrounded by silent adoration, -feels the divinity of his own thoughts and the creative power of a god.” - -But the sublime hands of Violante, as they pressed the essence out -of the tender flowers and let them fall crushed to the ground, were -fulfilling an act which corresponded most perfectly, as a symbol, -to the characteristics of my ideal style: they extracted the supreme -flavour of life out of things, took from them the utmost they could -give, and then left them exhausted. Was not this one of the most -important elements in my art of living? - -And so Violante appeared to me as a divine and incomparable instrument -of my art. “Relation with her is necessary to me that I may know and -exhaust the innumerable things which lie hidden in the depths of -the human senses, those things of which eternal desire is the only -revelation. The tangible body encloses infinite mysteries which only -the touch of another body can reveal to him that is gifted by Nature to -understand them and religiously celebrate them. And has not her body -the sanctity and magnificence of a temple? Does not her beauty promise -the highest revelations to my senses?” - -Thus as before, when we ascended the steps, I felt within me the -attraction of the three complete types, which promised to all my -energies the joy of manifesting themselves and of satisfying themselves -to the uttermost in perfect harmony. One of them--in my dream--watched, -her pure brow radiant with prophecy, over the son of my soul and my -body; another, like the salamander in the alchemist’s furnace, lived -within the fiery circle of my thoughts; and the third called me back to -the devout worship of the body and invited me to learn in mysterious -ceremonies how to live again the life of the ancient gods. They all -three seemed born to serve my ideal of perfection on earth. And the -duty of separating one from the other was as distasteful to me as -destroying some symmetry; it irritated me, it seemed an injustice -done by prejudice and habit. “Why may I not take them all to my home -on a single day and adorn my solitude with their threefold grace? My -love and my art should weave a different spell round each, build a -throne for each, and offer to each the sceptre of an ideal kingdom -peopled with shadows, where she would find her immortal characteristics -transfigured in their different aspects. And since brevity is the most -fitting attribute of ambitious dreams and beautiful life, my love and -my art will be able to bring to these blessed ones (but not to thee, -Anatolia, who art fated to watch for a long time) a harmonious death at -the seasonable hour----” - -These thoughts of mine, burning like a soft delirium in the early heat -of the spring sun, were raining down without ceasing on the hands -of the maidens, when Violante let the last of her crushed flowers -fall, and leant over to catch hold of the tips of the long creepers -which grew from the terrace below up to the balustrade, and wreathed -themselves round it. She managed to break off a twig, and examined its -fibres to see if the spring sap had reached it yet. - -“They are still asleep,” she said. - -And so we bent over the sleep transparent already of those pale -sheaths, in which one of the greatest of earth’s miracles was about to -be worked, called up before us by a word. - -“You will see in a few months,” said Anatolia to me, “they will all be -covered with a green mantle; all the trellises will throw shade.” - -These plants were not the mothers of the grape, but a kind of leafy -vine with innumerable flying tendrils, which spread like a piece of -netting over the wide surface of the wall and the trellises down the -steps. They looked more like worn-out ropes than plants, torn as they -were by the rain, shrivelled by the sun, fragile as gossamer to behold. -And yet the approaching change made them appear as mystical as the huge -trunks of mountain forest trees. Myriads of young leaves were about to -burst miraculously from the fibres of that lifeless rope. - -“In autumn,” said Violante, “everything turns red, a glorious red, and -sometimes on sunny October days the walls and steps seem to be hung -with purple. Then, indeed, the garden has its hour of beauty. If you -are here then, you will see----” - -“He won’t be here,” interrupted Antonello, shaking his head. - -“Why do you always say that?” I asked him with gentle reproof; “who -knows?” - -“No one ever knows anything,” murmured Oddo in that muffled voice of -his, which I could only distinguish from his brother’s by the movement -of the lips. “Who knows what may happen to us between this and the -autumn? Massimilla is the only one who is safe; she has found her -refuge.” - -Perhaps there was a tiny drop of bitterness in the last words. - -“Massimilla is going to pray for us,” said Anatolia gravely. - -The novice bent her head over her clasped hands, and we were silent for -a space, while a flood of vague but overpowering feeling swept over us. - -The clearness of the early spring afternoon paled before that -illuminating vision of the autumn purple as we went down the steps, -where a few hours before the three princesses had appeared, as at the -beginning of a fairy tale, with a new-born smile on their lips after a -night of interminable anguish. That morning hour already seemed as far -away as the autumn was near, to which--a dim presentiment told me--a -fate was leading me swift as lightning. And when I pictured the purple -foliage on the bare branches, I also foresaw a shadow of deep mourning -fall on the faces of the three sisters. - -And once more the sentiment of death impassioned and elevated my soul -till all things were reflected in it transfigured by poetry. And -in the splendour of the spring air these frail beings seemed to me -“marvellously sad,” like the women in the vision of the Vita Nuova, -which Massimilla had recalled to my memory among the almond blossom and -the ancient mirrors. And I felt as if the ardent spirit possessed me -that burns in the pages of that book, where the youthful Dante shows -how his soul could be shaken to its very foundations, and exalted to -the height of sorrowful madness by imagining the death of Beatrice, and -gazing on her face through the funeral shroud. “Weeping,” I said within -myself. “Certainly it must sometime come to pass that the very gentle -Beatrice will die.... And a great fear fell upon me, and I imagined -that some friend should come to me and say: 'Dost thou not know? Thy -marvellous lady has departed from this world....’ Then my heart that -was so full of love said unto me: 'It is true that our lady lieth dead’ -... and so strong was this idle imagining that it made me to behold my -lady in death....” Did not the force of this ineffable inner beauty -come to me from a similar fancy? - -A splendid nobility flowed from every action of these maidens, doomed -to die. It lit up the outward things among which they moved. And never -again perhaps did I see them in so much light and shade. - - * * * * * - -When we had reached the foot of the steps, and entered a glade -surrounded by the green ruins of a box-wood bower, Anatolia paused and -asked me-- - -“Would you like to see the whole garden? Perhaps you might find some -memories in it.” - -As if she wanted to proclaim her power, Violante said-- - -“As you enjoy the music of the water, I will take you to see my seven -fountains.” - -And Massimilla, with her shy gentleness-- - -“In return for the almond blossom, I will show you a white hawthorn -which came out last night over there.” - -I felt as though they were speaking of their most intimate -possessions, and, like the virgin of Fontebranda, intended to say: “We -are ourselves a garden.” - -As I could not express what I felt, I said only empty words. - -“Show me the way, then,” I said; “I am sure to come across some -memories, at any rate of my early reading, which used to be fairy -tales.” - -“Poor fairies without wands!” observed Oddo, taking Anatolia’s hand -with a caressing gesture. - -And in the eyes of the maidens were smiles full of despair. - -Then Violante led us through a labyrinth. - -We walked among evergreens, among ancient box-trees, laurels, myrtles, -whose wild old age had forgotten its early discipline. In a few places -here and there there was some trace of the symmetrical shapes carved -once upon a time by the gardener’s shears; and with a melancholy not -unlike his who searches on marble tombstones for the effigies of the -forgotten dead, I noted carefully among the silent plants those traces -of humanity not altogether obliterated. A bitter-sweet odour hung round -our path, and from time to time one of us, as if wishing to weave -afresh an unravelled web, would reconstruct some memory of our far-off -childhood. And now the shadow of my mother rose pure and clear before -me, and seemed to feed upon all the things which our hearts exhaled in -the broken silences, and she never left Anatolia’s side, thus showing -me her preference. And a bitter-sweet odour hung over our melancholy. - -Violante stopped and asked me, almost with the same look and in the -same tone as when she spoke to me at the window-- - -“Do you hear?” - -“Now we are in your kingdom,” I said to her, “because you are the queen -of the fountains.” - -The hoarse song of the water came to us through a high myrtle hedge as -we stood in a little meadow strewn with daffodils, and guarded by a -statue of Pan green with moss. A delicious softness seemed to spring in -my veins from the soft turf my feet pressed, and once again the sudden -joy of living took away my breath. At the same time, the presence -of the two brothers oppressed me, and pity for them grew stronger. -“Ah, how I could stir your sealed-up souls to the very depths!” I -thought, as I looked at the three prisoners. “How I could quicken into -anguish the troubled feelings within you!” And I pictured the delight -of enjoying these fresh souls full of the sap of life, rare fruits -which had slowly ripened in the garden of self-knowledge, and were -here still intact to slake my thirst. And my regret was the greater, -because I knew that never again could I renew that unique charm of -first acquaintance between beings whose destinies are fated to be -united; that unique and fleeting charm, in which are mingled marvel, -and expectation, and presentiment, and hope, and a thousand indefinable -things which partake of the nature of dreams, vain things indeed, yet -issuing from the most sacred depths of life. - -Everything looked soft and rich through the transparency of the amber -air, and everywhere thoughts of beauty worthy of being gathered sprang -into flower, and the noblest flowered at the feet of the desolate -princesses, where I imagined myself stooping to gather them. And I -imagined the delight of caressing and troubling those souls while -wandering through the cloistered garden, over whom the phantoms of -the ancient seasons seemed to be weaving a veil of poetry--a veil -into which were woven with almost invisible threads strange figures -of unknown beings laughing and weeping in the alternations of joy and -sorrow. - -In every one of these fountains was there not a Pantea singing, the -pure victim of a wicked and sublime passion? Certainly an extraordinary -feeling came over me when Violante led me beyond the myrtles into -the long alley enclosed between the shrubbery and the eastern wall. -Here reigned that mysterious spirit which fills such lonely spots -as tradition tells us were wont to be the meeting-place of lovers, -celebrated for the tragic splendour of their fate. The statues, the -pillars, the very trunks of the trees wore the aspect of things which -have been witnesses and accomplices of a great human passion, and -perpetuate the memory of it to all time. The deep injuries of devouring -time and the inclement seasons had given to the outlines of the stone -that expression, I might almost say that eloquence, which ruins alone -possess. Noble thoughts seem to rise from the broken lines. - -And I imagined the delight of disclosing my magnificent dream here -to the three _blessed ones_ who alone could transform it into living -harmony; I imagined the delight of talking of love in that very place -where the virtue of so many symbols united to raise the soul above the -common griefs of humanity and expand it in the supreme heaven of beauty. - - * * * * * - -We were walking slowly, pausing from time to time, and speaking to hide -the uneasiness which troubled us; Oddo and Antonello seemed tired, they -lingered a few steps behind and were gloomily silent. And I felt as -though the shadows of sickness and death were behind me. - -My fervour had cooled. I felt the crudeness of the contrast between -my impetuous eagerness and the miserable necessity which clung fast -to my side, and was around me everywhere in that great cloister full -of forgotten and perishing things. I felt that each one of those -beings who in that very same hour had been so often illuminated by -my intellect and transfigured by my passion, still kept her secret -intact, and that the language of her form could not reveal it to me. As -I looked at them, I saw each far away from the other, each a stranger -to the other, each with an unfathomed thought between her brows, each -with an unfathomed sentiment in her heart. I was about to go away and -return to my solitude; our day was near its end. What new things had -that first intercourse aroused in their souls, weary with the long -monotony of sorrow, which had ceased perhaps to be brightened by any -ray of hope in the unforeseen? Under what aspect had I appeared to -each? Had their longing for love and happiness yearned towards me with -an uncontrollable impulse, or did a suspicious incredulity like that of -their two brothers hinder them from trusting me? - -They were walking thoughtfully by my side, and even when they spoke -they seemed so deeply absorbed, that more than once I was on the point -of asking: “What are you thinking about?” And a violent desire arose -in me to extort from them the secret they were holding so close; and -the bold words which can suddenly unlock a closed heart, and surprise -the most secret pain and force it to confession, rose to my lips. But -at the same time a pitiful tenderness moved me almost to ask their -pardon for the pain they might be suffering at my hand, and for a -sharper pain which they were to suffer in the future. The necessity of -choice presented itself to me as a cruel trial, a cause of sorrow and -inevitable sacrifices. Did I not feel a vehement anxiety filling up the -pauses in our restless conversation? - -“Oh, when summer comes!” sighed Violante, lifting up her eyes to the -spreading umbrella pines. “In summer I spend the whole day here alone -with my fountains. And it is the time of the tuberoses!” - -Gigantic pines with straight round stems like the masts of a vessel -grew at equal distances in a row along the wall of the cloister and -protected it with their thick cupolas. Between stem and stem, like the -spaces between columns, were niches hollowed in the wall and inhabited -by nude statues or robed figures in calm attitudes, their blind -divinity calling up visions of the past. At equal distances the seven -fountains projected in the shape of little temples; each one composed -of a wide basin in which deities sitting on the brink or leaning on the -urn of water gazed at their own reflection framed between the two pairs -of columns which supported a pediment carved with a couplet. Opposite -them rose the great myrtle hedge, a mass of green only broken by the -white pensive statues. And the damp ground was almost entirely covered -with moss as soft as velvet, which rendered our steps noiseless and -heightened the sweetness of the mystery. - -“Can you read the verses?” asked Violante, as she saw me intent on -deciphering the letters cut in the stone, and effaced here and there by -mould and cracks. “I once knew what they meant.” - -They said: “Hasten, hasten! Weave garlands of fair roses to girdle the -passing hours.” - - PRÆCIPITATE MORAS, VOLUCRES CINGATIS UT HORAS - NECTITE FORMOSAS, MOLLIA SERTA, ROSAS. - -It was only the ancient precept, sweetened by rhyme, which for -centuries has incited men to enjoy the pleasures of our brief life, -has kindled the kisses on lovers’ lips, and multiplied the number of -goblets at the banquet. It was the old voluptuous melody, modulated on -the new instrument which an industrious monk had fashioned in the shape -of a dove’s wing out of the various reeds left in the forsaken garden -of Pan, and bound together with the wax of votive lights and the -threads of old altar linen. - -“The fountain gleams and babbles; and saith to thee in its splendour: -'Rejoice!’ and in its murmur speaks of Love.” - - FONS LUCET, PLAUDE, ELOQUITUR FONS LUMINE: GAUDE. - FONS SONAT, ADCLAMA, MURMURE DICIT: AMA. - -The rugged rhymes with their eternal commentary of running water threw -a vague spell over my spirit. I could hear in those echoes the veiled -accents of the melancholy which adds an indefinable grace to pleasure, -and by troubling it gives it greater depth. No less soft and sad were -the divine youthful figures that stretched their bare limbs over the -margin in curves as graceful as those of the mirror into which they had -so long been gazing. - -“Weep here, ye lovers who come to slake your thirst. Too sweet is the -water. Season it with the salt of your tears.” - - FLETE HIC OPTANTES, NIMIS EST AQUA DULCIS, AMANTES - SALSUS, UT APTA VEHAM, TEMPERET HUMOR EAM. - -Thus the gentle fountain, envying the savour of tears, pointed out -to the joyous the subtle art of imparting a touch of bitterness to -the fullest enjoyment. “It is well to mix among the roses some dewy -flower of the deadly hellebore, scarcely distinguishable from the rest -of the garland, so that thus redeemed the head may from time to time -be bent.” It seemed as if step by step, on that long Way of Love, -enjoyment became more collected, wiser, and yet more passionate. The -liquid mirrors invited lovers to lay down heads heavy with dreams, and -to gaze at their own reflections, until, having at last attained to -perceiving in them only symbols of unknown beings risen into the light -from an inaccessible world, they may better realise the presence of the -unspeakably strange and remote in their own lives. “Lean over to your -reflections that your kisses may be doubled by the mirror.” - - OSCULA JUCUNDA UT DUPLICENTUR IMAGINE IN UNDA - VULTUS HIC VERO CERNITE FONTE MERO. - -Was not that simple action a token revealing a hidden thing? The two -lovers bending over the reflection of their caress unconsciously -figured the mystic power of voluptuous enjoyment, which consists in -banishing for a few moments from our souls the unknown man whom we all -carry hidden within us, and thus rendering him as remote and strange -as a phantom. Does not the dim vagueness of such a sentiment perhaps -increase the delirium and produce the terror of lovers who in the -mirrors of deep alcoves admire the reflection of their mutual caresses -repeated by figures in their own likeness, yet immeasurably unlike and -remote in their supernatural silence? With a confused consciousness of -the extraordinary alienation taking place within them, they think they -have found an enlightening symbol of it in those outward images, which -analogy leads them no longer to consider as visible objects, but as -inexplicable forms of life, and finally as visions of death. - -This was the vision called up by the last of the musical fountains, as -Violante’s face bent over it and the shadow of the pines fell slowly -like a dark blue veil. “Here did Pleasure and Death admire their united -reflection, and their two faces were fused into one.” - - SPECTARUNT NUPTAS HIC SE MORS ATQUE VOLUPTAS - UNUS [FAMA FERAT] QUUM DUO, VULTUS ERAT. - - - - -A soft white cloud passed by and veiled the sun, and the air became -softer still; it was like transparent milk into which some perfume had -been emptied. And the cadence of the Latin couplets rang in my ears as -we walked through enclosed meadows yellow with daffodils, where one -could imagine the scenes of a pastoral _fête_ held under tents wreathed -with garlands. On the base of a statue of a nymph who had lost both her -arms was carved the emblem of the Arcadian Academy: the fountain with -seven pipes within a laurel wreath. - -“Were you not here this morning?” I said to Violante, as I recognised -her close by the box-wood arch under which she had first appeared to me. - -She smiled, and I thought a momentary flash of colour passed over her -cheeks. Only a few hours had passed, and I was amazed to find how the -exact notion of time had escaped me. That short interval seemed full of -confused events which gave it, to my consciousness, a deceptive length -without any fixed limits. I was not yet able to sound the gravity of -the life I had lived since the moment I had put foot in the cloister; -but I felt that some dim change, fraught with incalculable results, was -being worked within me quite apart from my own will; and I thought -that, after all, the presentiment of the morning on the lonely road had -not been vain. - -“Why shouldn’t we sit down?” asked Antonello almost entreatingly. “Are -you not tired yet?” - -“Yes, let us sit down,” assented Anatolia, with her usual gentle -condescension. “I am a little tired too. It is the spring air.... What -a smell of violets!” - -“But where is your white hawthorn?” I exclaimed, turning to Massimilla -to show her that I had not forgotten her offer. - -“It is a long way off still,” she replied. - -“Where?” - -“Down there.” - -“Massimilla has her hiding-places,” said Anatolia, laughing. “When she -hides no one can find her.” - -“Like a little ferret,” I added. - -“And then,” she continued playfully, “she alludes every now and then to -some small wonder known to herself alone, but she does it cautiously, -keeping her secret to herself, without giving in the least bit to our -curiosity. To-day with her white hawthorn she has made you the object -of special favour.” - -The novice kept her eyes turned downwards, but laughter quivered on her -eyelashes and lit up her whole face. - -“Some day,” the kind sister went on, pleased to have called up the -unwonted ray, “some day I will tell you the story of the hedgehog and -the four little blind hedgehogs.” - -Then Massimilla burst into such clear youthful laughter, which clothed -her in such unusual freshness, that I stood amazed as if a miracle of -grace had taken place. - -“Ah, don’t listen to Anatolia!” she said, without looking at me. “She -is laughing at me.” - -“The story of the hedgehog and the four little blind hedgehogs!” I -said, drinking in with delight this sudden vein of gaiety which crossed -our melancholy. “But you are a very pattern of Franciscan perfection! -We must add another little flower to the _Fioretti_: 'How Sister Water -tamed the wild hedgehog and gave it a nest that it might multiply, -according to the command of our Creator!’ Tell me, tell me the story.” - -The Clare laughed with her dear Anatolia, and the subtle feeling of joy -spread to Violante also and to the two brothers, and for the first time -that day we were conscious of our youth. - -What words can express the sweet strangeness of sudden laughter -unlocking the lips and shining in the eyes of the sorrow-stricken? The -first amazement of it lingered in my soul and seemed to cover all the -rest with a veil. The unusual emotion which had stirred Massimilla’s -slender breast took possession of me and disturbed the outlines of -previous impressions or melted them away altogether. The half-closed -mouth of the ecstatic saint was suddenly filled with a silvery rush of -sound, just as she was about to let scrolls of silence fall from the -motionless palms of her hands. - -Nothing save the sound of that laughter could have conveyed to me the -depth of the unapproachable mystery which each of the virgins bore -within herself. Was it not a chance sign of that instinctive life -lying dormant like a heaped-up treasure in the very roots of their -physical existence? And did not that hidden tenacious life, weighed -down and yet not crushed by the knowledge of so much sorrow, contain -within it the germs of numberless energies? As a spring pours on -the dry rock the tokens of secret moisture underground, even so the -beautiful sudden laugh seemed to rise from that fount of natural joy -which the most miserable being still preserves in the depths of his -own unconsciousness. And thus above my emotion rose a proud and loving -thought: “I could make thee a creature of joy.” - -And then my eyes armed themselves with new curiosity; and I was -assailed by an anxious desire to look, to gaze at, and observe the -three princesses more attentively, as if I had not seen them truly -before. And once more it struck me what a complicated enigma of lines -every feminine form is, and how difficult it is _to see_, not only the -soul but the body. Those hands, for instance, on whose long, slender -fingers I had placed my subtlest dreams like invisible rings, already -seemed different to me, and appeared as the receptacles of infinite -nameless forces from which marvellous generations of new things might -arise. And some strange analogy led me to imagine the anxiety and -horror which filled that young prince, who, imprisoned in a dark -place and obliged to choose his own destiny at the hands of silent -messengers, passed the whole night in feeling the fatal hands which -were stretched out to him in the darkness. Hands in the darkness--what -more fearful image of mystery can there be? - -The bare hands of the three princesses rested in the light; and looking -at them, I thought of the infinite number of uncreated gestures -contained in them, and of the myriads of leaves bursting out in the -garden. - -Anatolia smiled as she saw my intent look. - -“Why are you looking so attentively at our hands? Are you a palmist?” - -“Yes, I am a palmist,” I answered in jest. - -“Then tell us our fortunes.” - -“Show me your left hand.” - -She held out her palm, and her sisters did the same. And I bent -over them, pretending to explore the lines of life, of fate, and of -happiness in each. “What are your fortunes?” I thought meanwhile as -I looked at these three fair hands stretched out as if to receive or -offer, and in the pause my trouble was fed by the thousand unexpressed -and inexplicable things generated by the silence. “Possibly even the -iron magnet of fate may be subject to those sudden changes which affect -the pointing of the magnetic needle in the compass. Possibly all the -energies of will that I feel within me, both clear and confused, are -already exercising their transforming power; and the deviating fortunes -may be tending towards a final event which shall work out my good. But -possibly also I may be the sport of an illusion born of my pride and -confidence, and my present state may be only that of a prisoner among -prisoners.” - -Great was the silence during this pause; it was such that the -perception of the immensity of the voiceless things embraced by it -terrified me. The sun was still under a veil. Suddenly Antonello -started and turned quickly towards the palace as if some one had -called him. We all looked at him anxiously, and he looked at us with a -wandering gaze. The sisters laid down their hands. - -“Well?” Anatolia asked me, with a shadow of preoccupation on her brow. -“What have you read?” - -“I have read,” I replied, “but I cannot reveal.” - -“Why?” she said, recovering her smile. “Is what you know so terrible?” - -“It is not terrible,” I said; “indeed, it is joyful.” - -“Really?” - -“Really.” - -“For all of us or only for one?” - -I hesitated an instant. Did she not penetrate into my perplexity with -her question and remind me of the necessary choice. - -“You won’t answer!” she added. - -“For all of you,” I replied. - -“Even for me?” asked Massimilla dreamily. - -“Even for you. Are you not going to take the veil by your own choice? -And are you not sure of attaining the blessedness which compensates for -total renunciation?” - -As I looked straight into her eyes, she flushed with colour that -seemed almost violent contrasted with her pallor. - -“'Be thou, be thou that fragrant flower which thou oughtest to be, -spreading its fragrance abroad in the sweet presence of God!’ Saint -Catherine wrote that for you.” - -“You know Saint Catherine!” said the little novice, her eyes shining -with wonder through her blushes. - -“She is my favourite saint,” I added, glad to see her astonishment, -and tempted by the pleasure of disturbing and dazzling her soul, which -seemed to me to be eager and easily shaken. “I love her for her purple -hue. In the Garden of self-knowledge she is like a rose of fire.” - -The betrothed of Jesus looked at me almost incredulously; but the -desire of questioning and listening was painted in her face, and the -line of attention cast already a faint shadow on her brow. - -“The book I had with me this morning,” she said, with a little tremble -in her voice as if she were revealing some intimate confidence, “was a -volume of her letters.” - -“I noticed that like a good Franciscan you put a blade of grass in your -page for a mark. But that book contains another mark. The grass in it -burns on the edge of a furnace. The essence of her soul is all in those -words of hers: 'Fire and blood united by love!’ Do you remember them?” - -“Oh, Massimilla,” interrupted Oddo, laughing, “you may dismiss your -spiritual father. Now you have found the true guide to the way of -perfection!” - -We were sitting on the edge of an empty tank which had no doubt been -an ancient fish-pond; now it was almost entirely filled with soil, and -taken possession of by wild plants, among which violets were hidden--in -great numbers, to judge by their great fragrance. Close by was the -broken-down wall of box-wood, breathing out the same aroma from its -depths as had met me on my first entrance into the garden. I could see -the deserted alley with its mutilated statues and widowed urns through -the thin parts of the shrubs and through the arches. - -“Is the day yet fixed for you to enter the convent?” I asked Massimilla. - -“Not yet,” she replied, “but it is almost sure to be before Easter.” - -“Very soon then. Too soon!” - -Antonello got up, suddenly seized by unbearable agitation. We all -turned towards him. He looked at Anatolia with vague terror in his pale -eyes. Then he sat down again. An indefinable anxiety crept over us; it -seemed as if Antonello had imparted some of his distress to us. - -“This time yesterday we were in the orchard among the almond blossom,” -said Oddo, with a shade of regret for a past pleasure in his voice. - -Antonello’s words rose spontaneously in my mind: “We must bring them -here among the flowers.” - -“We must all go back there some day,” I broke out cheerfully, to -destroy that strange atmosphere of fear and anxiety which, for some -unknown cause, was increasing over our minds. “We must make the most -of this beautiful springtime. In a week the whole valley will be in -flower. I propose to go all over it, up to Corace, to visit Scultro, -Secli, Linturno.... How happy I should be if I might have your company! -Would you not like to come? Won’t you set a good example, Donna -Anatolia?” - -“Certainly,” she said. “You offer us just what we wish.” - -“And you too, Donna Massimilla, will be allowed the recreation. Saint -Francis, as you know, composed the canticle of the Sun in the cell of -boughs which Saint Clara had made for him in the monastery garden. -According to the ancient rule, the woods, the rivers, the mountains, -and the hills must be your brothers and sisters. Travelling among them -is like making a votive pilgrimage.... And then in the deserted city -at Linturno there is the nave of a church still standing; and a great -Madonna in mosaic, standing solitary under the canopy of the apse.... -I always remember it. It is a thing one cannot forget. Do you remember -it, Antonello?” - -Antonello started at the sound of his name. - -“What did you say?” he stammered in a confused voice. - -And his poor drawn face expressed such suffering that I could not speak. - -“Yes, yes, let us go, let us go,” he added, pretending to have heard; -and he rose, a prey to evident agitation. He had the air of a maniac, -he was so pale and tottering. “Let us go away from here! Anatolia, get -up....” - -He spoke quite low, as if he feared to be overheard by some one in the -neighbourhood. His tone filled us with dread. - -“Get up, Claudio. Let us go.” - -Anatolia ran to him and took his hands. - -“Here she is, here she comes!” he stammered, quite beside himself, -turning his pale eyes, diluted by the hallucination, towards the alley. -“Here she is! Do you hear?” - -Perplexed and troubled as I was, I thought at first that he was -terrified by some phantom called up by his madness. But the sound of -approaching steps reached my ears also; and all at once I understood as -I saw the sedan chair appear between the walls of box. - -There we stood, dumb, motionless, holding our breath as the strange -convoy passed along. In the icy silence which had fallen on us, like -that surrounding a bier, one could distinctly hear the poles carried by -the two servants creaking slightly in their places. - -Then through the open window of the chair, against the background -of green velvet, I saw the face of the mad princess; it was -unrecognisable, disfigured, and swollen and bloodless, like a mask of -snow; the hair was piled on her brow like a diadem. Her great black -eyes blazed out of the opaque whiteness of her skin from beneath the -commanding arched eyebrows, their extraordinary splendour maintained -perhaps by the continual hallucination of fantastic pomp and luxury. -Her double chin hung down over the necklace round her throat. And this -pale inert mass suggested to my imagination the dream-figure of some -Byzantine empress of the time of a Nicephorus or a Basil, lying in her -golden litter. - -“There, she sees us; she is stopping, she is getting out, and coming -towards us,” I fancied with growing uneasiness, half expecting some -proof of the reality of what seemed to me an unreal apparition on the -point of vanishing and of entering the void again like a dream when -one wakes. “There, she is calling some one, speaking to them, asking -who I am, questioning me....” In the silence I heard in imagination -the sound of her voice, the dialogue between the children doomed to -an inhuman sacrifice, and the mother whose madness had transported -her into another world; a world into which she was inevitably drawing -them all, one after the other. And in my horror I understood the deep -shudder of instinctive repugnance that had passed over Antonello as she -approached, something like the shudder which runs through the folded -flock at the approach of the wild beast who is going to devour them. - -But she passed by without noticing us, without moving an eyelid, and -vanished among the ancient box-trees. Two maids, dressed in grey like -Béguines, pale with weariness, silent and sad, walked close behind the -sedan chair; their arms hung at their sides, and swung at every step -like the rosaries hanging from their waists, cold and inanimate. - - - - -As I rode back to Rebursa alone, I could see before me the pale swollen -face of the Princess Aldoina, and the gloomy fatigue of the servants, -and the two grey shadows following the chair, and all the details of -the strange procession. Some essential part of me had been left behind -in the great cloister, but still I felt in my inmost being the joy of -being alone again. - -I recalled once more to my mind the gestures of farewell at the gate, -the marvellous depth in the eyes of the prisoners, and the dreamlike -view of the garden vanishing away behind the three beautiful forms. And -at the same time all the other phantoms of the intense life I had lived -in those few hours crowded into my soul like a store of varied and -disordered riches, gathered up that they might be rearranged for the -adornment of my secret kingdom. - -“What opulence!” said the Dæmon, appearing to me, not without joy and -pride. “What magnificence in a single day! Thou couldest not have -better served thine end, which is to give life to everything, to -extract life from the most barren things. Now, dost thou acknowledge -the wisdom of my morning admonition? Dost thou not bless the sternness -of thy long restraint, since it now yields thee this intoxicating -fruit? Thy power of poetry, like thy will, has no limit. Everything -that is born and exists around thee is born and exists by reason of the -breath of thy will and thy poetry. And thou art nevertheless living in -a very real order of things, because nothing is more true in the world -than the things of poetry.” - -The day was sinking over the undulating valley of the Saurgo, and the -slanting rays turned the brown fields into gold, while the light clouds -sat in a circle on peaks of rock resembling the highest seats in an -amphitheatre. They sat there in feminine attitudes, waiting for the -evening to robe them with purple. - -“Now, thou couldest make even salt bear fruit,” said the Dæmon to me. -“Wherever thy spirit turns, abundance springs up. But thou hast with -thee also the favour of fortune; thou hast entered the unknown and -unforeseen not as one feeling his way and exploring with hesitation, -but as one who is expected and called to gather in the harvest on a -field where the richest fruit awaits him--fruit still intact, and ready -to fall into his hands whenever in sunshine or in shadow he pleases to -stretch them out. Thou hast entered a cloistered garden, delicious and -terrifying as the garden of the Hesperides. Happiness has smiled to -thee in three shapes, standing between madness and death, like statues -of pure white marble between two black columns. Is there not some -meaning for thee in that symbol?” - -“Oh despot,” I replied, “there is surely some hidden meaning in the -symbol thou declarest to me, and I shall discover it. But since the -perfection of that trinity attracts me, and since it is necessary for -my purpose that I should choose, I am perplexed in spirit, and not -without fear of being deluded like a common mortal.” - -And the Dæmon: “Not thy fears of the morning alone, but those of the -evening also are vain! Nor is that thy only error; for before now, -in the presence of the blessed ones, after having composed beautiful -music out of the beauty of their bare hands thou didst regret that -thou couldest not carry them all away at once to thy home; thou didst -rebel against the injuries of prejudice and custom. Now, in thus doing, -thou didst humble thyself, not only to own the power of the laws of -others, but also to disown the power of thy own ideal, which alone -is sacred. Why dost thou aspire to the legitimate possession of the -body when the ideal figures already adorn the house of thy dreams with -their triple grace? Thou couldest not remove the three prisoners from -their dungeon without breaking the enchantment which transfigures them. -Countless mysterious waves of affinity flow between the depths of those -lives and the silent places where they have suffered and awaited thee. -Their grace, their desolation, and their pride draw the fascination -which enthralled thee from the hidden virtue of innumerable elements. -Even so, noble plants, with their long roots subdivided into myriads -of fibres, absorb from the very bosom of the earth those immortal -energies which are pressed towards the light by the rising force in the -stalk, and are crowned in the miracle of the flower and the perfume. -Canst thou, oh Poet, imagine Eglae, Arethusa, or Iperthusa chased from -their garden? When Heracles, clothed with stars, penetrated into the -western paradise to rob its golden apples, he forbore to carry away the -daughters of Night, for even his brutal soul felt that he would have -defaced, and perhaps destroyed, the heavenly mystery of their beauty.” - -“Oh despot,” I said then, “I am thinking of Him who is to come.” - -And the Dæmon: “It is well that this should be always the sum of thy -thoughts. But once before, the necessity of choice appeared to thee -as a cruel trial, a source of sorrow and inevitable sacrifice, and -thy heart shrank from it. Reflect that there is no goddess so worthy -of being called upon to preside at a birth as Sorrow. Nothing in the -world is lost, and wonderful things may sometimes be born of tears. -Reflect that the highest power of will does not manifest itself in the -readiness to choose from many things offered, nor in the firmness which -resists various impulses, but rather in the art of giving the clearness -and dignity of acknowledged and directed powers to the instinctive -motions of nature. Reflect that there is always some way of being equal -to the event in all the chances of this most uncertain life. There was -once a man who, beside a tyrant able by one sign of his hand to condemn -him to death, wore such a look, that bystanders doubted which of the -two was the master. Be thou like unto him, and handle the events of -life in a royal spirit.” - -The dome of heaven was tinged with pale hyacinthine blue, and the -olive-trees reflected its calm on their silver locks, which concealed -the painful contortions of their black trunks. The clouds on the rocky -peaks were not yet clothed in purple, but in robes of more delicate -hue, making them droop; yet one here and there raised a proud head -among her companions and aspired to a crown of stars. - -“In the meantime compose thy music,” pursued the Dæmon, “out of the -wonderful things which are born of affinity, and of the relations -between three perfect forms contemplated sincerely. In their unison -and surroundings there is a wonderful language which is already as -comprehensible to thee as if thou hadst created it. Out of any one of -their outlines thou canst make the axis of a world. They seem to impart -to thee the joy of continual creation and continual discovery, to -help thee to complete thy harmony with a part of thyself unexpectedly -revealed. They seem to pour into thee again the life which ages ago -they received from thee. Hadst thou not enjoyed them even before they -smiled on thee? As thou stoodest in silence beside them, was not thy -soul within thee heavy as a cloud?” - -“Oh despot,” I said, and felt my soul yearn with infinite desire -towards the garden from which the harmonious twilight was bearing me -away. “Oh despot, it is true; as I stood in silence beside them, I -felt stronger emotion than if I had loosed their hair, or pressed my -lips on their beautiful necks, and I am still full of it. Yet, as the -shadows fall, I would fain return there secretly; and invisible to the -eye, I would lean my head on those virginal bosoms and tarry there a -long while, because I think that from those bosoms there would flow -over me in the cool shadow a great sweetness and a great sorrow which I -shall never know.” - - - - - III - - “... _A sedere, con le dita delle mani insieme tessute, tenendovi - dentro il ginocchio stanco._” - - LEONARDO DA VINCI - - “_Dov è più sentimento, li è più martirio._” - - Ibid - - -And I led them among the flowers. - -They listened with visible emotion to the infinite melodies of -springtime, bending or turning sometimes towards their own shadows, -which preceded or followed them like blue figures prostrated to kiss -the earth. A confused feeling of the joy of liberty and hope shone at -times in their dazzled eyes; a voiceless word at times unclosed their -lips, and likened them to the brims of overflowing goblets. And when -they paused, I thought with inward intoxication of the fulness of life -which was suffocating them. - -The things that we said to each other from time to time must have -seemed futile to them also; but they were enough to make us feel the -depth of our true life. A passing glance, a bend of the head, a short -pause, sufficed to stir to their depths those abysses which the faint -light of ordinary consciousness rarely penetrates, while that which we -were saying seemed as far away to us as the deepest roots of trees are -far from the murmur of the uppermost branches. - -Nothing could have equalled the strange beauty of that stern country -in full blossom. On the tawny ground, shaggy as a lion’s mane, the -pink-and-white flowers suggested pictures of maidens lying trembling on -the vast hairy bosoms of legendary giants. The rays of the sun played -round the transparent petals and gave them the dancing splendour of -precious stones. Here and there the polished ploughshares with which -the land had been turned up glittered in dual radiance. - -We realised the depth of our real life. And little by little, by common -consent, we forbore to utter those empty words which had only served -to break the solemnity of the silence, and to disperse the heavy cloud -of dreams and thoughts which hung over us. We were united by a clearer -and more intimate communion; an atmosphere of divination such as the -mystics breathe sprang up around us, and without speaking we exchanged -the profoundest secrets. Sometimes we were so steeped in delight -that it surged from our eyes in a glance, and our slightest gestures -expressed, without actual contact, all that is conveyed by the most -lingering caress. The petals which fell at our feet from the almost -motionless boughs, moved us strangely, like a confession of languor -on the part of the trees, and of a delight in relieving themselves. -The vines, all ready to bud, bending over the earth in contorted, -struggling shapes, stimulated us with the example of a painful effort -about to be changed into an intoxicating gift. And in the frail petal -and slight tendril we felt the ideal virtue of the fragrant almond-oil -and the flame of oblivion given by the grape. - -A sudden agitation seized me one day when I saw a drop of blood on -Violante’s hand, which had been pricked by a thorn among the flowers -of a snowy hedge. Smiling, she withdrew the beautiful hand on which -the drop was rising; and as we chanced to be at some distance from -her sisters, and perhaps unobserved, I felt a wild desire to press my -lips upon the blood and taste its sweetness. And the effort I made to -restrain myself was so great that I trembled. - -“Do you dislike the sight of blood?” she asked me in a voice which -dissimulation was not able to steady or to make playful. - -And as her eyes looked into mine I felt myself turning pale, for I had -an indefinable feeling within me which can only be vaguely compared -to an immense wheel revolving with lightning-like speed and suddenly -brought to a standstill. Something great was being resolved upon -in that moment by each of us; and although we preserved a composed -attitude with regard to each other, our inward attitude was one of -extreme tension preceding an irrepressible outburst. Our two lives -yearned towards each other with their whole force. - -Ah, shall I ever forget that burning silence trembling with the -invisible flight of a messenger bearing the unspoken word? What power -of oblivion will ever be able to efface from my memory that hand -beaded with blood, and that hill slope covered with blossom? - -Anatolia’s voice called to us in the distance, and we moved on side by -side. A sudden bodily weariness and sadness had fallen upon us, as if -we had just passed from a long night of pleasure. - -But there were moments also when my soul inclined rather towards her -who had called us, and towards her who was about to depart. I rejoiced -in these changes of love, which did not dissipate my energies, but -stimulated them as wind fans the flame. I seemed to have discovered -a new set of perceptions; the strangest and most diverse ones seemed -to combine spontaneously within me. Sometimes they gave birth to -such novel and beautiful music that I felt on the point of being -transfigured, and I thought that my desire to become like unto the gods -was about to be realised. - -I thought: “If ever there was a god who loved to sit in the springtime -beneath the flowering trees and entice the hamadryads from their -hiding-places to caress them in his arms, he certainly never -experienced greater enjoyment than I feel in gathering up the essential -beauty of these delicious beings, and mingling it together with the -same ease with which he might weave the diverse obedient locks of his -tree nymphs into a golden harmony.” - -Thus at times I felt as though I were living in a myth which the youth -of the human soul created under the skies of Hellas. The ancient spirit -of deity was abroad upon the earth, as it was when the daughter of -Rhea gave to Triptolemus the gift of ears of corn that he might sow -them in the furrows, and that all men by him might enjoy the divine -benefit. The immortal energies which flowed through visible things -seemed always conscious of the old transfiguring spirit that used to -convert them into great symbols of beauty for the enjoyment of men. -Three in number, like the Graces, the Gorgons, and the Fates, were the -maidens who moved with me through this mysterious springtime. And I -loved to compare myself to the youth pictured on the vase of Ruvo, who -is enticing a winged genius across the threshold of a myrtle grove. -Over his head is written the name Happiness, and three maidens surround -him; one bears in her hands a dish heaped up with fruit, another is -wrapped in a starry mantle, and the third has the thread of Lachesis in -her nimble fingers. - -One day we came by chance on a piece of enclosed ground, which the -peasant cultivators had, according to the old heathen custom, dedicated -to an oak-tree struck by lightning. - -“What a beautiful death!” exclaimed Violante, as she leant over the -oblong wooden fence which protected it. - -The lonely place was full of almost terrible solemnity. The aspect of -the altar which the Latin priests consecrated with the sacrifice of a -white lamb must have been something like this. - -“You are committing sacrilege,” I said to Violante. “This sacred -enclosure cannot be touched without profanation. Heaven punishes the -transgressor with madness....” - -“With madness?...” she said, and drew away with a kind of instinctive -superstition; her action gave an unexpected seriousness to my allusion -to the pagan belief. - -In one flash I saw the pale, swollen face of her mad mother, and -Antonello’s wandering eyes, and I heard again the tragic cry: “We are -breathing her madness”; and an icy sensation of fatality ran through me. - -“No, no, don’t be afraid!” I said involuntarily, only deepening the -shadow, perhaps, by thus clearly expressing my regret for the remark -which must have seemed like a gloomy omen or a cruel presentiment. - -“I am not afraid,” she replied, without smiling, as she leant over the -fence again. - -Thus from an idle word was born a great shadow. - -The stricken tree rose before us, hard and black as basalt, its stony -trunk torn open to the roots by a rent which testified to the awfulness -of vindictive force. Its torn side was bare of branches, but there -were a few left at the top of the other side, flinging the implacable -despair of their gestures up to the sun. At each corner of the -enclosure was fixed a ram’s skull with curved horns, bleached by the -sun and rain of numberless seasons. Everything was motionless, dead, -and sacred, and primeval in appearance. - -From time to time the cries of the hawks pierced the blue sky. - - * * * * * - -The days passed by rapidly; they were days of farewell to her who was -about to depart. - -“Gaze at the springtime with the whole strength of your eyes,” I used -to say to her, “for you will never see it again, never again!” - -I said also to her-- - -“Warm your hands in the sun, bathe them in the sun, poor hands, for -soon you will have to keep them crossed on your breast, or hidden in -the shade under the brown woollen habit.” I would say as I showed her a -flower-- - -“Here is a miracle for which you ought to thank Heaven. Think of the -thousand legends contained in the silver network of this blossom, -of the hidden relation between the number of petals and stamens, of -the slender threads which support the lobes of the pistils, of this -transparent robe, this web, these valves and membranes covered with -almost invisible down, which enclose the mysterious agitation of the -seed vessels. Think of all the divine art revealed in the structure -of this living creation, gifted in its fragility with infinite powers -of love and fertility. See the moving tracery of shadow which the -trembling leaves cast on the earth, and the same tracery painted on the -wall, to cheer your melancholy, in rays now blue and now golden; and -the little, white fingers at the tips of the pine branches; and the -drops of dew hanging from the beard of the oats; and the delicate veins -in the wings of the bee; and the dazzling green of the dragon-fly; and -the iridescent colours on the dove’s neck; and the strange shapes of -lichen stains; and the holes in tree-trunks; and the composition of -crystals.... Store away all these marvels under those eyelids of yours, -which will have to be lowered for so long before Christ crucified. I -don’t think there are any gardens in the old monastery of Queen Sancia, -only stone cloisters.” - -“Why do you tempt me?” she used to ask. “Why do you enjoy disturbing my -weak will? Have you been sent by God to try me?” - -“I don’t wish to disturb your will,” I replied, “but only to give you -brotherly advice, which may help you to suffer less. I think that -after you are buried, when you cannot look out of the grated windows -without hurting your cheek against the bars--I think that you who have -grown up in a garden will have to pass through a few weeks of furious -impatience, when all the visions of the open air will pass before your -memory. Then it will be inexpressible torture to you if you cannot -recall the exact details of the tiny black and yellow speckles on the -lizard’s back, or the tender downy leaf which buds on the branch of -an apple-tree. I know the madness of such belated curiosity. Once I -was passionately fond of a great Scotch deerhound my father had given -me. He was a magnificent beast, very graceful, and extraordinarily -well bred. When he died I was in the greatest misery; and it used to -torment me strangely that I could not exactly recall the precise shape -of the specks of gold in his brown eyes, and the grey marks in his -beautiful rosy mouth when one caught a glimpse of it in a yawn or a -bark. We ought, therefore, to look with attentive eyes at everything, -especially at the creatures we love. Do you not love the things I was -speaking to you about just now? and are you not about to leave them? -Are you not about to place a kind of death between them and you?” - -She sat, the fingers of her hands clasped together, holding within -them the weary knee. Her delicate grace was a little disturbed by -the trouble she felt at the ambiguity of my words, half serious and -half playful, half deceptive and half sincere. And speaking in this -way gave me the same pleasure as I should have felt in ruffling the -smooth bands of that hair over which the silver scissors of the tonsure -were hanging. “_Tondeantur in rotundum...._” Still clear in my memory -was the fresh ring of the youthful laugh rippling from her mouth -at the closing hour of that first day, and filling me with wonder. -And it pleased my fancy to group the pictures of all these slight, -many-coloured things around the novice, who, in that already far-away -February afternoon, had showed me as a secret miracle the nightly -blossoming of her white hawthorn. - - * * * * * - -I used to seek her as one seeks some good thing which one knows to be -ephemeral. She attracted me like a pure figure of youth, turning to me -with a tearful smile on the threshold of a gloomy door, through which -she was about to pass, and be lost to sight. I should like to have said -to her sisters: “Let me love her as long as she is of this world; let -me pour spices over her little feet!” During my long visits it often -happened that I was alone with her, and could enter into spiritual -converse with her docile soul, ever anxious to obey. From time to time -Anatolia would disappear, when one or other of the two grey maids came -to summon her with a look. There were some days when Violante scarcely -appeared at all. She seemed to avoid my society, to look upon me with -indifference, to have fallen back into her usual apathy. The two -brothers could not stand the full light of the open air for very long, -and so I often found myself alone with the little novice, sitting on a -marble seat beneath the statue of Summer in the outer court, or in the -shadow of the already verdant trellises over the steps, or on the edge -of the dried-up fish pond. I would say to her-- - -“Perhaps you may have deceived yourself in the choice of your -Bridegroom, sweet sister. When you hear the bishop saying, '_Ecce -sponsus venit_,’ you will tremble in your secret heart, and will expect -a fair, strong hand to be stretched out to you, and to gather you up -entirely, like water in the hollow of a palm; for this is the sweet, -powerful attitude which you expect of your conqueror, and which is -best suited to your flexibility, sweet sister. But perhaps you may be -deluded at the very foot of the altar. And if you dare to lift your -eyes, you will see, amid the burning candles, the promised Bridegroom -motionless, with His pierced hands, and His head crowned with thorns. -You will feel obliged, sweet sister, to draw out those cruel nails, -driven in so deep. And terrible strength will seem to be required to -fulfil such an action. And then the wounds will have to be dressed with -infinite patience, and with balsams made of herbs only to be gathered -on certain giddy heights, where the air is too rarefied to breathe. And -the wounds once closed, the blood bursting from the veins will have -to be forced back into its proper channels. And after the toilsome -work has been completed, perhaps the newly-healed hands will withdraw -altogether. To very few brides is it granted to see them perfectly -restored again; and even among the elect there is scarcely one to whom -on some mystic evening is vouchsafed the supreme joy of feeling herself -altogether possessed, altogether folded within the constraining clasp, -as you desire to be....” - -The submissive maiden murmured-- - -“God grant that I may be that one!” - -“Ah, sweet sister,” I said to her, “only think what immense strength -that one must possess to revive a dead hand and to draw it so ardently -to herself!” - -“I have not any strength, but I will ask it of the Lord.” - -“The Lord can only give you back the strength you have given to Him, -Massimilla.” - -“Be silent, please!” she implored. “I am afraid your words are impious.” - -“They are not impious; you need not fear listening to them. Do you not -remember the first lines of the Commentary of St. Theresa? She speaks -there of a God imprisoned. Think what power is required to enchain -the Lord! You see, Sister Water, what unceasing acts of strength are -required of the Bride who is sung in the Antiphons and Responses. -That is why, as I have a brotherly anxiety for you, I want at least -to prepare your soul for the bitterness of disillusion. Do not lull -it too much with the promises of the Psalms! There is, I think, some -magnificent joyous promise in the verses you have learned, '_Veni, -Electa mea...._’ 'Rise up, my love, my fair one, and come away. For -lo! the winter is past ... the voice of the turtle is heard in our -land ... the vines with the tender grapes give a good smell.’ Ah, the -Latin of the Psalms is incomparable in producing a picture of the -intoxication of love sinking under suffocating wealth. Some of the -verses seem to drop with fragrant oil like the hair of slaves, or to -be heavy and glittering as nuggets of gold. When the bishop places the -crown of virginal merit on your head, your lips will have to pronounce -wonderful words--words in which I see and feel some mysterious weight -and splendour. '_Et immensis monilibus ornavit me._’ Wonderful words! -Are they not?” - -She was looking at me now with such passion that all her little soul -trembled like a tear on her eyelashes, and by merely bending forward I -could have drunk it. - -“Perhaps I may be hurting you a little,” I went on. “But I see such -dreams burning in the depths of your eyes that I am afraid for you, -sweet sister; for the life for which you are preparing yourself cannot -be in accordance with your dreams or with your nature. What is awaiting -you is a monotonous life, always the same, almost torpid, all mapped -out by the unchangeable Rule, in the old convent of Queen Sancia, -which has been the grave of more than one Montaga, and of more than -one Cantelma. There is a picture in my memory of those Poor Clares -one Ash Wednesday. When I was in Naples, the Angevin Church of Santa -Chiara had an attraction for me, not only because some of my ancestors -lie there, not only because there one may envy the Duke of Rodi his -sleep in the pagan sarcophagus of Protesilaus and Laodamia, but also -because there with closed eyes one can absorb the poetry diffused by -the beautiful names of dead women. There is Maria, Duchess of Durazzo -and Empress of Constantinople, there is the Princess Clemenza, there -is Isotta d’Altamura, and Isabella di Soleto, and Beatrice di Caserta, -and that delicious Antonia Gaudino, who is very like you, as she softly -sleeps in marble under a veil which Giovanni da Nola must have borrowed -from the youngest of the Graces. I have a picture in my memory of the -Poor Clares on Ash Wednesday. Behind the high altar there is a great -black grating, all covered with spikes, enclosing the convent choir; -and through it one can see the rows of stalls where the sisters sit, -while on this side of the barrier the bishop, served by a Capuchin, -is seated with a silver basin full of ashes in his hands. A shutter -is opened in the grating, and one by one the Clares come and kneel at -it. The bishop thrusts his feeble arm through the hole and marks their -foreheads one by one with the sign of the cross. As each has been -signed she rises and returns to her stall like a ghost, brushing the -pavement with silent feet shod in felt. It all goes on in silence, and -it is all icy like the ashes. Ah, sweet sister, when you too have been -frozen like that, who will there be to warm your little soul?” - -“Who warmed the soul of St. Clara and made it glow?” objected the -novice, rousing herself to escape defeat, while the colour rose in her -cheeks. - -“A man: St. Francis of Assisi. You cannot think of the Sister of St. -Damian except on her knees at the feet of Francis. A religious painter -has pictured her in the act of exchanging a kiss with the seraphic -father. And think of the long idyll woven between the hermitage of St. -Damian and the Portiuncula; think of that week of passion, sorrow, and -pity passed in the convent garden, under the shadow of the olives, -during a summer of great drought, when Clara used to drink the tears -from the almost blind eyes of Francis; think of the converse between -the two mystical lovers which preceded that ecstasy whence the Song -of the Creatures burst like a flash of light. You have the _Fioretti_ -beside you. Very well, read over the chapter in which it tells 'How St. -Clara ate with St. Francis.’ Never was wedding banquet lit up by more -radiant torches of love. Here it is: 'The men of Assisi and Beltona, -and of all the country round about, saw that Santa Maria degli Angeli, -and the whole place, and the forest round about it, were burning -brightly, and it seemed as if a great fire were devouring the church -and the place and the forest together; whereupon the men of Assisi -ran thither with great haste to put out the fire, believing that in -very truth everything was burning. But when they reached the place and -found no fire at all, they entered in and found St. Francis with St. -Clara.’ You see now, sweet sister, how the patroness of your order was -able to take shelter from the frost. You must admit that between the -sunny hermitage of St. Damian and the gloom of your Angevin convent the -difference is great. There will be no fire there, only a uniform grey -shadow where humility is powerless. What sort of humility is yours, -Massimilla? I think your desire for slavery is a very lofty one.” - -She sat in silence, discouraged and gasping; and she was so sweet and -so miserable in her distress, that I should like to have taken her on -my knees. - -“When you appeared to me the first day on the steps, you reminded me -directly of an ermine. Well, somehow it seems as if in our imagination -the whiteness of ermine could not be separated from the pride of -the purple, so much accustomed are we to see them together on royal -mantles. Perhaps you wear your mantle inside out, Massimilla, so that -the purple is invisible underneath. That is often the way with a -Montaga.” - -“I don’t know,” she answered vaguely. “It seems as if everything you -say must be true.” - -It was as if she was making a confession-- - -“I will be what you wish me to be.” - -“If I were your husband, Massimilla,” I added, to soothe her little -trembling soul, “I would give you a house where the light should enter -through slabs of honey-coloured alabaster, or through windows painted -with legends; you should be served by ladies-in-waiting and mutes shod -with felt and dressed in quiet colours, who would pass by you like -great night-moths; and some of the rooms should have crystal walls -looking over immense pools of water, hidden from sight by curtains -which your hand could easily draw back whenever you felt the desire -of a dream voyage with open eyes over an ocean valley full of strange -rich forms of life; and round the house I would make you a garden -of trees which should strew flowers and weep spices, and it should -be peopled with gentle, graceful animals, such as gazelles, doves, -swans, peacocks. And there in harmony with everything around you, you -should live for me alone. And every day, after satisfying my desire of -rulership over men by some worthy act, I would come and breathe the -rarefied air of your silent love, I would come and live by your side -the pure life of my thoughts. And sometimes I would inspire you with a -vehement fever; and sometimes I would make you weep inexplicable tears; -and sometimes I would make you die and come to life again, so that I -might appear more than man in your eyes.” - -Was she in the meantime preparing herself for departure, or was she -lingering, impatiently expecting that which for her henceforth was not -to be? - -As I walked up the alley of old box-trees where Violante had first -appeared to me under the great archway, she came to meet me almost at -the same place, smiling a new smile. - -“You look like an angel bringing good tidings to-day,” I said. “The -whole spirit of April is in you.” - -She gave me her hand, which I took and held for a moment in my own. - -“What have you got to tell me?” I asked, for I read in her eyes the -presence of something new which transfigured her. - -My look embarrassed her; and once more her colour rose, seeming almost -violent in contrast to her pallor. - -“Nothing,” she said. - -“And yet,” I said, “your whole figure seems to express annunciation. -You shall tell me about it without speaking, if you will allow me -to walk beside you for a little. I have never felt your harmony so -perfect, Massimilla, as just now.” - -She certainly thought I was speaking to her of love, she was so -confused. And there shone from her whole figure such a bright spirit of -gentleness, that I thought once more of those gentle ladies assembled -in the imagination of young Dante; from whose lips from time to time -fell words mingled with sighs, as falls “water mingled with beautiful -snow.” And because I loved her in a superhuman way, some of those -ancient words came back to my memory: “To what purpose dost thou love -thus? Tell us, for certain it is that the purpose of such love must be -quite new.” - -We had left the central alley, and were now penetrating into the grassy -labyrinth. The bird guests of the cloister were singing, bright insects -buzzed around; but my ear was listening to the rustle of the hem of her -skirt as it bent down the heads of the long grass. At last Massimilla -confessed, in a shy voice-- - -“My departure has been put off.” - -She added, as if to justify herself-- - -“So I shall be able to keep the last Easter with my own people.” - -But to me it seemed as if she had suddenly fallen into my arms, and as -if her cheek were clinging to my breast so closely that to unclasp her -from me would be to hurt her. - -Nevertheless I exclaimed-- - -“That is good news!” - -And I said nothing else, for my emotion at the contact with that -throbbing life was so fierce that it prevented any pitiful feigning. -It was clear that she expected words of love and joy from me; that I -should take her hand and ask: “Will you renounce your vows for ever and -be mine entirely?” That was what she expected. And feeling her anguish -so close to me, feeling her longing to surrender herself and be happy -fanning my face almost like a flame, a shudder ran through me, such as -a man would feel if he were suddenly shown a great wound where the -most hidden intricacies of the living flesh were laid bare. There was -something of that horror in my suffering. Up to that time I had played -with the gentle soul, treating it like soft locks of hair through which -it was sweet to run one’s fingers with the knowledge that next day it -would be cut off. And now this soul was clinging to mine with its whole -anguish. - -“I could make thee a creature of joy!” It was like a promise, it was -almost passion. Both promise and passion too had rung in my last words; -and indeed at that very hour my attentive ear had been able at times, -as I bent over that sweet soul, to discern some trace of the hidden -vein whence the beautiful sudden laughter had sprung one day. Ah, why -was I doomed to deceive such sorrowful hope, and to renounce crowning -my powers with that silent adoration? - -We were alone, and it was a strange solitude in which I could almost -feel the emptiness of the airy space that the two other figures would -have occupied had they been beside us. And the restlessness which their -absence produced in my spirit was as painful as the stress of waiting. - -“Where were Anatolia and Violante, what were they doing just then? -Were they also in the garden?” I saw them appearing at the turn of -every path, and imagined the expression of their first look as they met -us. And I thought of the strangeness of the behaviour of both during -the past few days, and sought to discover its true meaning. Anatolia -rose before me with her kind, heroic, martyr’s smile, resigned to -pour out her heart’s strength to the last drop that she might soothe -incurable ills; she rose before me with those pure eyes of hers, which -at times flashed invitingly like the waters of legendary lakes when -a sudden glitter reveals the existence of hidden treasures. Wrapped -in her apathy and disdain, Violante rose before me in an enigmatic -attitude which might almost be hostile, and inspired me with a kind -of discomfort such as gloomy presentiments are wont to produce; for -behind her in my imagination was her fatal rock, and the mystery of her -distant apartments clouded with deadly perfumes. - -I should like to have asked her who was at my side: “Is there any -change in your beloved sisters’ voices when they speak to you or -to each other? Is there anything that hurts you sometimes in their -voices and their looks? And at times when you are sitting side by -side breathing the same air, does a heavy silence fall upon you, like -the silence before a storm? And then do you feel all your tenderness -dry up, and a bitterness like venom rise within you? And, tell me, do -your sisters weep apart? Or does it sometimes happen that you all weep -together?” - -Thus would I fain have questioned the silent maiden, and with her have -suffered the pain of loving. - -I looked at her. She was suffering and rejoicing. “You always carry a -book,” I said, for the sake of breaking the charm, “like a sibyl.” - -She showed me the volume. - -“It is the book I had that first day,” she said, with the indefinable -tone in her voice which betrays the moisture of tears. - -“And the blade of grass?” - -“Is burnt up.” - -“Put in a red rose instead.” - -But there was such humble grace in her emotion, she let her inward -ardour appear so ingenuously, that I could not leave her, nor resist -the sweetness of seeing her melt little by little. - -“Let us sit down,” I said. “Let us read a few pages together. Do you -like this place?” - -It was a little mound in the meadow, starred with anemones, and -peaceful; some pointed yew-trees near gave it something of the look -of a cemetery. In the centre, a caryatid, bent double so that her -breast touched her knees, supported the marble slab of a sundial. And -there, like seats at a table, were two benches for a couple of lovers -who might wish as they looked on the shadow of the dial to experience -the melancholy delight of perishing slowly and harmoniously together. -Carved in the marble under the figures of the hours, this legend was -still traceable-- - - ME LUMEN, VOS UMBRA REGIT. - -“Let us sit down here,” I said. “It is a delicious place to enjoy the -April sunshine and feel life flowing on.” - -A green lizard lying on the slab looked at us out of its small -glittering eyes quite fearlessly like a familiar spirit. When we sat -down, it disappeared. Then I laid my hand on the marble, which was very -hot. - -“It is almost burning. Feel!” - -Massimilla laid both her hands on it, white upon white, and kept them -there. The point of the shadow reached the tip of her ring-finger, and -the number of the hour was covered by her palm. - -“See how the hand points to you as the hour of beatitude,” I said, for -I profoundly enjoyed the harmonious grace of her action, and I loved -her thus. - -She half closed her eyes, and once more her little soul trembled on -her eyelashes like a tear, and I could have drunk it by merely bending -forward. - -“The saint,” I added, touching the book, “has a divine verse for you -in the waves of her prose, a verse supremely sweet, sweeter than -those which rose in Dante’s mind before his exile. 'Stava quasi beata -dolorosa!’” - -She felt surrounded by light and love, as perhaps she may have felt -before in her secret dreams; and she drank from my words and my -presence, and from her own illusions and the fresh springtime, an -intoxication of which the memory would perhaps fill her whole life. She -did not speak, she sat motionless in the attitude I had praised; but -I understood the ineffable things spoken by the eloquent blood in the -veins of her beautiful bare hands. - -“Let me love her as long as she is of this world!” I repeated to -her sisters, while their sad eyes seemed to gaze at me through the -branches of the yew-trees. “Let me gather these anemones and strew them -on the hair which is so soon to be shaven!” - -She sat there almost beatified, and her unconsciousness touched me, for -I loved her, and was saying to her: “I love thee, but on condition that -to-morrow thou diest. I give thee this flame that thou mayest carry it -with thee into thy grave. Such is the necessity which compels us.” - -She sat up and pressed her hands over her face, and murmured-- - -“This sun is stupefying.” - -“Would you like to go?” I asked. - -“No,” she replied, with a faint smile. “According to your advice, I -ought to bathe myself in sunshine. Let us stay here a little longer. -You said you wanted to read a few pages.” - -She seemed as exhausted as if she had just come out of a swoon. - -“Read, there!” she begged, pushing the book towards me. - -I took it, opened it, and turned over the leaves here and there, -running my eyes over a few lines. The flying shadow of a swallow passed -over the pages, and we heard the rustle of wings close by. - -“How astonished I was,” she added, “when you repeated St. Catherine’s -exhortation to me that day! I was still full of her spirit, and you -were magician enough to speak to me of her.” - -There was such perfect confidence and abandonment in her voice, that -she could not have signified to me more plainly: “Here am I, I am -thine; I belong entirely to thee as no other living creature can, as no -inanimate thing can belong to thee. I am thy slave and thy chattel.” - -She really seemed to possess a supernatural quality, to abolish in -herself that law in love which denies to man the privilege of being the -giver and the perpetual and perfect possession of the other. She really -seemed in the full sunlight to be transfigured by my imagination into -some crystal fluid, to become a liquid essence for me to absorb, and -bathe myself in like a perfume. - -“I think,” I said, “that sometimes when you read this book you must -feel your soul evaporate like a drop of water on burning iron. Do you -not? 'Fire and abyss of charity dissolve for ever the cloud of my -body!’ cries the Saint. And you have marked these words in the margin. -You have a continual aspiration to fade away.” - -Her pale face smiled at me in the sunshine, looking almost transparent -against the whiteness of the marble. - -“Here is another place marked: 'Soul intoxicated, tormented, and -burning with love.’ And here is another: 'Be thou a tree of love, -grafted into the tree of life.’ What eloquence of passion the virgin -has! She fascinates all the silent, because she speaks and cries aloud -for them. But that which makes the book precious to whoever loves life -is the abundance of life-blood flowing through it, for ever boiling and -flaming like a sacrificial altar on the day of great sacrifices. This -Dominican nun seems to have had a crimson view of the world. She sees -everything through a veil of burning blood. 'The memory is filled with -blood,’ she says. 'I shall find the blood and the living _creatures_, -and I shall drink their love and affection in blood.’ A kind of ruddy -madness assails her at times. 'Drown yourselves in blood,’ she cries; -'bathe yourselves in blood, intoxicate yourselves in blood, clothe -yourselves in blood, mourn for yourselves in blood, rejoice in blood, -grow and strengthen yourselves in blood!’ She knows the full value -of that sweet and terrible liquid, for she sees it not only in the -chalice, but bursting from the veins of mankind, she who has been -caught in the whirlwind of life, who has worn her veil in the midst -of the fierce hatred and violent passions which have made her century -beautiful. Here is that marvellous letter of hers to Brother Raimondo -of Capua. Have you ever been able to read it without trembling to your -very marrow? 'And his head lay on my breast. Then I felt a great joy -within me, and the odour of his blood rose up.’ What I perceive here -is not only the eucharistic ecstasy, but also real voluptuousness. I -can almost see the young woman’s delicate nostrils tremble and dilate. -Hers too is that sentence I admire so much: 'Arming oneself with one’s -own sensuality.’ Her senses must have been very acute, for her whole -writings glow with lively images, strong in colour and movement, and -almost Dantesque in their vigour and audacity. Ah, sweet sister, she -is not the guide to lead you peacefully to the door of the cloister! -Her Dominican robe is full not only of the odour of blood, but of all -the odours of the proud life through which she moved unconquered. A -vast multitude clothed in sackcloth and in purple, in iron and in -gold, have swept her away like a whirlwind, with 'the fire of anger -and hatred,’ which burns just as fiercely as the fire of love. Friars, -nuns, hermits, light women, soldiers of fortune, princes, cardinals, -queens, popes, all the different temperaments of a hard and magnificent -century she deals with by her indefatigable will. She is powerful -in contemplation and in action. She calls Alberico of Balbiano her -'beloved brother,’ and the knights of the company of St. George her -'beloved sons.’ And she dares to write to Queen Joanna of Naples: -'Alas, one must weep over you as over one dead!’ And to Gregory XI.: -'Be a brave man and not a coward.’ And to the King of France she says: -'I will.’ That is why I admire her, Massimilla, and also because she -possesses a Garden, a House, and a Cell of self-knowledge; and because -this saying is hers: 'To eat and taste souls’; and lastly, because -it was she who wrote, before da Vinci: 'The intellect nourishes the -affections. Who knows most, loves most; and loving most, enjoys most.’ -Lofty words, which are the rule of all beautiful inward life.” - -As I was speaking, I could follow in Massimilla’s wide open, steady -eyes the slow rhythm of a wave which seemed to have some mysterious -musical relation with the sound of my voice; and this sensation was so -new and strange to me, that I prolonged what I was saying for fear of -interrupting it. - -Indeed, hardly had I ceased speaking, when she bowed her head, and in -silence let two rivers of tears flow from her limpid eyes. - -I did not ask her why she wept; but I took her hands, which were like -soft leaves burning with the midday heat. And under that glowing April -sky, beside that dazzling marble on which the shadow of the hand of -the dial seemed to have lain motionless for an indefinite time, amidst -those funereal yews and wreaths of anemones, I tasted a few moments of -unspeakable exultation. I _saw_ a spirit, not my own, suddenly reach -that part of life--and for a few seconds rest there--beyond which, -according to Dante’s words, none can pass with intent to return. - -And it seemed to me that afterwards the rest of love and life could not -have any value for that spirit. - - - - -After this the blessed maiden seemed to resume the aspect of a figure -of Prayer, in which she had appeared to me the first day, as she sat -between her two brothers. Lifting her veil to look into the depth of -her eyes, I had seen a swift miracle worked under my gaze. The memory -of it dazzled me still, but the veil had fallen again, and for ever. - -Once more she seemed to me like one who has “departed from this present -age.” - -So much so, that when Oddo, one day, told me the pitiful story of her -engagement broken off by death, I listened as one listens to a legend -of ancient times, and felt then how strong and genuine my intellectual -detachment was. - -She had been loved and asked in marriage by Simonetto Belprato two -years before; and, like Iphanea, had lost her betrothed almost on the -eve of the wedding. - - “Già vicino alle sue nozze, beata - Le ghirlande apprestava; e le fu spento.” - -Oddo recalled to my mind the faint memory of Simonetto, and described -to me the gentle youthful figure of the student, last heir of a noble -family of Trigento, living a retired life with his widowed mother in -the country, where he studied botany and died. - -“Poor Simonetto!” said Oddo with brotherly regret, “I can see him -still in his botanising dress, his tin case slung over one shoulder, -his iron-shod stick and his green morocco pocket-book. He used to -spend almost his whole time botanising, or preparing and drying the -plants he had collected. His house was full of herbariums, and he might -well stamp his floreated coat-of-arms as an emblem on their covers. -You know what the Belprato arms are?--a shield divided by a bar of -gold, the upper half red with a silver lily, the lower green, strewn -with red flowers and golden leaves. Is it not a strange coincidence, -Claudio? That the last of the Belprato should be a botanist! I used -to prophesy to Massimilla in fun: 'You will end between two leaves -of grey paper.’ They were betrothed to each other in the garden over -his collecting, and they seemed made for each other. We were pleased -too, for Massimilla would have entered a good family, and would not -have lived very far away from us. (The Belprato, as you know, are of -very ancient nobility, though during the last few centuries they have -decayed. They came over from Spain to Naples with Alphonso of Aragon.) -Everything was ready for the wedding. I remember so well the day that -the wedding-dress, the kind gift of our aunt Sabrano, arrived from -Naples with its wreath of orange blossom. Massimilla tried it on; it -was delicious. Antonello and I wanted Anatolia and Violante to try it -on for luck; poor dear creatures! The wreath, I remember, got twisted -among Violante’s hair in such a strange way that it was impossible to -take it off without tearing out a few hairs clinging to the flowers. -One of the servants muttered that it was a bad omen. She was right. -Simonetto was, indeed, to fall a victim to his mania. It was autumn, -and he used often to go to Linturno to gather the water plants on -the stagnant river. There it was that he contracted the germs of the -poisonous fever which carried him off in two days. We had a funeral -instead of a wedding. Our usual bad fortune!” - -We were in Antonello’s rooms; the blinds were drawn, and the place was -half dark, for outside the day was clouding over. I could not see the -sky out of the windows, yet I could feel the sensation of the gentle, -rather enervating, heat outside, and I felt sure that out of doors a -few drops of rain had begun to fall, some of those warm tears that are -so soft when they fall on face or hands. Antonello was lying motionless -on his bed without speaking. Every now and then a swallow could be -heard chattering. - -“Perhaps,” I asked Oddo, “that is why Massimilla is going into the -convent?” - -“I don’t know, but I don’t think so,” he replied. “It is a long time -ago now. But certainly life in this house must be more wearisome for -her than for the others. I always think she must feel as dried up and -extinguished as the plants in the herbariums Simonetto left her in his -will. Ah, that wedding-dress laid by in a cupboard like a relic! Think -of it! That white robe which by this time must be full of the odour of -dried plants! Think of it! Do you think that death can have any museum -in the world sadder than that of which Massimilla is the guardian? -Sometimes I am unjust; sometimes I cannot conceal the bitterness that -rises in my heart when I think that Massimilla is going away, is going -to forsake us. I feel as if her departure would bring about the final -dissolution. I feel as though a whirlwind would come to scatter and -destroy us all, like a heap of useless rags. And she in the meantime -is seeking to save herself. But I am unjust. She is perhaps the most -unhappy of all us here. What I used to say to her in jest has come -true. She believes herself to have become like the leaves and flowers -in a herbarium. To revive herself, to call up the illusion of living, -she forces herself into contact with living things. Have you not seen -her plunge her hands in the grass and hold them there, so as to feel -the caterpillars and insects among it run over her skin? Don’t you know -the hours and hours she spends in the garden looking for animals, and -making friends with them? In all this she is, as you said, a pattern of -Franciscan perfection. But what would you say if you knew that it is -really nothing but an anxious desire to realise life? I understand it; -I am perhaps the only one who understands....” - -He said the last words in a low voice, almost as if he were talking -to himself; then he paused, possibly to contemplate within himself -the creation of his disturbed fancy. Was it only the dream of a sick -man? Or did the living Massimilla really correspond to this forsaken -guardian of dead plants? I did not linger over such doubts; for I -wished to absorb all the poetry which the strange fancies diffused -through the shadow of the room, where now the faint patter of the -rain reached us, and awakened in my nostrils the desire to inspire -the savour of the moist earth. I rose and opened the nearest window a -little; the smell of the earth floated in. - -“During the first few months after Simonetto’s death,” Oddo resumed, -“she took great care of the herbariums. She used to pass long hours in -the room where they were kept, examining the plants and reading the -labels. And I used often to keep her company, for I was very sorry for -her. One day, I remember, I came upon her opening the cupboard in the -same room where her wedding-dress was kept. Another day, I remember, in -the springtime I saw her quite agitated because one of the narcissus -bulbs had flowered.... It was strange, wasn’t it, Claudio? I saw -that bulb come up again last spring. And this year? I have not asked -Massimilla.... Shall we go and see?” - -He rose to his feet, seized with a feverish impatience, and took a -few steps towards the door. But Antonello, who was still lying on his -pillows, rose also with the same look--how well I remembered it!--as -had passed over his face when he warned us of the coming of the -gloomy sedan chair; and raising a finger to his lips to bid us keep -silence, he leant against the wall which formed a side of the loggia -and listened. Nothing was to be heard in the silence save the gentle -monotonous patter of the soft spring shower in the enclosed garden. - -“Don’t go out!” whispered Antonello. - -We did not ask why, for the cause of his terror was evident in his thin -contracted face. And as the sound of steps and voices reached us, Oddo -went up to the door, opened it a little, and peeped out. I went up to -it too, and, standing at his shoulder, I could see through the chink -Anatolia leading her mother along the covered loggia, with her arm in -hers, and one of the grey woman servants following. Princess Aldoina -walked with difficulty, leaning her whole weight upon her daughter. -She was strangely dressed in a grand gown with a long train, and was -decked out with false jewellery. She looked pale and enormous, with -her head raised and a little thrown back, her eyes half closed, and -an indescribable smile playing on her lips, as if the sound of the -rain on the pavement of the quadrangle had been a murmur of homage -from courtiers, through whose ranks she was passing, a queen on the -way to her throne. And the full light of sorrowful pity shone in the -daughter’s face as she leant over the mad woman. - -As the apparition vanished, our souls for a few moments were full of -affectionate anguish. And while the echo of the sad footfalls was -still audible, the maiden’s figure in that attitude of pity and sorrow -which had revealed her to me in her true and supreme light rose before -me with extraordinary clearness. And my inmost soul felt an almost -religious awe, such as one feels in presence of a holy mystery; for -none of the previous actions wrought before my eyes by this pure spirit -of consolation seemed equal in value and significance to this action -performed by her, all unconscious of my hidden gaze. She rose suddenly -to a sublime height in my soul; she shone with the whole glory of -her moral beauty, supported by the whole force of her heroic will. -Contemplated thus, apart from any affinity to myself, in the secret of -her own life to which I was a stranger, in the absolute sincerity of -her feeling, she seemed to me a being of an ideal race; and my spirit -linked her with those noble creatures immortalised by the poets, divine -victims of a voluntary sacrifice. Antigone leading her blind father -by the hand, or prostrating herself to strew dust over her brother’s -corpse, was not more tender or stronger than she, had not a purer brow -nor a larger heart. In the midst of that sort of languid monotony, -in that enervating shadow where a sick man was sounding the depth of -his own ills, and a restless voice was calling up a vision of empty -misery from withered flowers, the _consoler_ appeared suddenly bringing -refreshment to my soul; and as a sudden light piercing a dark wall -makes the motionless sword glitter among the hanging trophies, so did -she strike a great flash out of my dormant will. There was strength in -her to produce miraculous fruit. Her substance might have nourished a -superhuman germ. She was indeed the “nourisher,” but such a one as the -virgin Antigone appeared to the blind Œdipus when he was exiled and -erring. Did not she alone, like the ancient heroine, keep alive in the -depths of her great heart the genial flame which had been extinguished -on the hearth of her failing race? Was not she alone the life of the -gloomy house? Massimilla in her barren garden, Violante in her cloud -of perfumes, paled before their sister as she walked along the path of -self-sacrifice with so firm a step, so sweet a smile. - -And I thought of Him who was to come. - - * * * * * - -We were sitting, Prince Luzio and I, near an open balcony about the -hour in the afternoon when the fierce heat of that dying May was -beginning to be tempered, and the pilgrim clouds were throwing a few -deep blue shadows over the burning valley. The anniversary of King -Ferdinand’s death was approaching, so the loyal Prince, who always -celebrated it with mourning, was relating to me all the sorrows and -horrors of the long agony of the King; and against a background of -perfumes rising from the walled garden, the gloomy phantoms awakened -by the aged voice followed each other in long succession. The silent -journey over the heights of Ariano, and through the valley of Bovino -amid snowstorms; the fatal omens which occurred at every step; the -first signs of illness appearing one frosty evening when the King, -numb with cold, was toiling over the ice which covered the slope; his -anxious desire to continue on his road without any delays, as if -an inexorable destiny were urging him on; the fearful pallor which -suddenly came over him in presence of the crowd, amongst honours which -he felt to be the last he would receive; the cries which the attack -drew from him, but which were drowned by the clamour of the wedding -feast; the distress of the doctors who assembled round his bed to -consult under the hostile and suspicious eyes of the Queen; his burst -of tears when the Duchess of Calabria, a fresh, youthful figure, -entered the infected room where he lay aged and almost stupefied by -suffering; then his tragic good-bye to his own statue as the nurses -were carrying him into another room; then the embarcation on board -ship, a ceremony as sad as a funeral, and his mournful words as the -litter was carried down under the hatchways, which had been enlarged -by the strokes of hatchets; then the arrival at Caserta, the rapid -change for the worse, the putrid decay of his body on the great bed -surrounded by sacred images, miraculous relics, crucifixes, lamps, and -tapers; at the last the pomp of the Viaticum, the King sitting up among -the pillows quite unrecognisable, to the terror of those present; the -last words, the Christian serenity of his death, the dispute between -the Queen and the doctors about the embalming of the body, the band of -soldiers round the bier told off to cleanse incessantly the innumerable -terrible sores;--all these sorrows and all these horrors passed through -his recollection. And I listened and thought of the Duke of Calabria -sobbing in a corner like a girl. “Ah, what grand and beautiful -ambitions the odours of death might have nourished in his youthful -soul through those terrible spring weeks! In what proud intoxicating -meditations my soul would have been wrapped beneath the shadow of the -great trees, and how petty the eager agitation caused by the stirring -of the sap in their powerful trunks would have seemed in comparison -with mine!” - -Prince Luzio told me how one day the Duke of Calabria, trembling and -aghast, suddenly entered his sick father’s room to tell him of the -expulsion of the Grand Duke of Tuscany, and with what violent words the -King had condemned his relation’s timidity. - -“Ah, if Ferdinand had not died!” exclaimed the old man, with an almost -threatening gesture. “A few hours before he expired he said: 'The crown -of Italy has been offered me....’ Don’t you think, Claudio, that a -Bourbon might have been wearing it now?” - -“Perhaps,” I replied, very respectfully. “And if it were so, the -highest honours in the kingdom ought to be bestowed upon the Prince -of Castromitrano. Let me tell you how much I admire your dignity and -faith! You are one of the very few among our equals who have maintained -the sentiment of the virtue of race intact and intense. Rather than -renounce your privileges and take up an attitude unsuited to your -legitimate pride, rather than appear only a survival of yourself, you -retired from the world, but not until you had startled it with the -supreme splendour of your magnificence; and you have sought in solitude -to await the fortune which Fate may be reserving for your house. -Misfortune has treated you as a great man, for sorrow also has its -privileges, and yours have been fully acknowledged.” - -The Prince’s fatherly face had become grave and attentive. The -veneration I felt in my soul for his beautiful white head was far -deeper than that expressed in my words; and added to it was a tender -feeling so pure that only a feminine presence could have inspired it. -The fact was that I felt the presence of Anatolia’s spirit. She had -appeared on the threshold of the door at the end of the room, had -passed silently along the wall, and had sat down in a shadowy corner, -looking white, mysterious, and propitious as a family genius. - -“Far away from the world though you are,” I added, “and wrapped in such -a thick cloud of sadness, you have yet been able to nourish to this -day hope of the resurrection of that which is dead; and the prophecy -of your faith still rings in my ears. No doubt that which is dead -shall rise again, but it shall be changed. If you were to turn your -eyes for a single moment upon the spectacle which the world presents -to-day, you would feel your dream fall from your soul like a dry leaf, -and you would see that the recovery of his little state, and even the -acquisition of Italy, would be useless to Francis of Bourbon. Whether a -Bourbon or a Sabaudo be on the throne, the King is equally absent; for -that man cannot be called a king who has submitted to the will of the -many in accepting a prescribed and narrow office, and who then humbles -himself to fill it with all the diligence and modesty of a public -clerk who is perpetually spurred on by the fear of being dismissed. -Do I not speak truly? Nor would Francis be able to reign in any other -way. Directly after his father’s death he wrote out with his own hand -an edict to re-establish the results of the abolished constitution. And -it was Alessandro Nunziante who prevented its being published. Just -think of the lamentable proclamation of the 8th December, dated from -the guard-house at Gaeta. Was that the language of a king, and of a -vanquished king?” - -Prince Luzio had listened in silence, with knitted brows, and now he -said, not without a shade of severity-- - -“One can see that you have the blood of Gian Paolo Cantelmo in your -veins.” - -“The blood of all my ancestors is in my veins. Ah, dear father (let me -call you by that name!), I well know how painful it must be to you to -renounce an ideal of justice before which the flame of your loyalty -has burned for so many, many years; but I must tell you that for us -and our like there is no salvation unless we substitute energetic -purpose for empty hopes. Allow me to speak to you plainly and without -circumlocution. It is useless to hope that any heroic fire will -suddenly arise from the stagnant blood of Saint Louis. I have seen -the exile quite recently; he is full of placid resignation, given up -to good works and prayer; he remembers his short reign as a far-away, -painful dream. Your prophecy would call up a mild, incredulous smile -on his lips--that is all. If his spirit sometimes flies towards the -bay, not Capodimonte but the height of Camaldoli is its goal. He has -grown used to a quiet, pious life; the glitter of the crown no longer -disturbs his nights. Let us leave him to sleep peacefully!” - -The head of the loyal prince had fallen on his breast, and I saw the -lines deepen on his bent brow like furrows full of thoughts. - -“It is not for him alone that fate is dark. The twilight of kings is -ashy, blinded of all glory. Look even beyond the Latin countries. -Under the shadow of artificial thrones you will see false monarchs -fulfilling their public duties with the accuracy of automatons, or -giving their attention to the cultivation of their childish manias and -their petty vices. The most powerful of all, the lord of the hugest -multitudes, consumes away alone in his dark misanthropy, his herculean -muscles corroded by the moth of suspicion. He has not even the taste -for quenching the petty chemical formulas of his rebel subjects in -some magnificent massacre by the naked sword, such as might water and -fatten his barren lands. He has a truly royal soul, however, which -perhaps you may have been able to study near at hand, for he is of the -race of Maria Sophia. Wittelsbach attracts me by the immensity of his -pride and his melancholy. His efforts to make his life conformable to -his ideal are desperate in their violence. All human intercourse makes -him shudder with disgust and anger; all pleasure seems nauseous to him -unless it is what he himself has planned. Exempt from the venom of -love, hostile to all intruders, for years he has held intercourse with -no one, save the resplendent heroes which a creator of beauty has given -him as companions in super-terrestrial regions. In the depths of rivers -of music he slakes his anguished thirst for the divine, and then he -ascends to his solitary haunts, where, amidst the mystery of mountains -and lakes, his spirit creates the inviolable kingdom over which alone -he desires to reign. This profound feeling for solitude, this power -of breathing on the highest and loneliest summits, this consciousness -of being unique and unapproachable in life, makes Louis of Bavaria -truly a king, but king of himself and of his dreams. He is incapable -of stamping his will upon the multitude, and of bending it under the -yoke of his idea; he is incapable of reducing his inward power to -action. At the same moment he appears sublime and childish. When his -Bavarian troops were fighting the Prussians, he was far away from -the battlefield, hidden in one of his lake islands, where he forgot -his shame under one of those ridiculous disguises which he wears to -favour his visionary illusions. It would be better for him if, instead -of placing a screen between his majesty and his ministers, he could -attain to the marvellous nocturnal empire sung by his poet! It seems -incredible that he should not have left the world before now, carried -away by his flights of fancy....” - -The Prince’s head was still bent in such a solemn attitude, that even -in the heat of speaking my heart smote me with the fear of having -wounded him; and a filial desire came over me to comfort him, to -lift up his grand white head, and to see the unwonted light of joy in -his eyes. Anatolia’s presence kindled a sort of generous fire in my -soul, and made me feel a great desire to reveal what was noblest and -strongest within me. She sat motionless and silent in the shadow like a -statue, but her attention shone on my soul like a flood of light. - -“You see, my dear father,” I resumed, unable to control the tremor -throbbing in my voice--“you see how old legitimate monarchies are -everywhere declining, and how the Multitude stands by ready to swallow -them down its miry throat. Truly they deserve no other fate! And not -monarchies alone, but all great, and noble, and beautiful things, -all the sovereign ideals which once were the glory of struggling and -conquering Man, all are about to disappear under the immense flood -of corruption which is rising and swaying onwards. I will not tell -you how far the shame has gone, for I should have to use words which -would offend your ear; and afterwards it would seem as though the air -had to be purified with grains of incense. I came away from the city -choking with disgust, but now I think almost with rejoicing of the -general dissolution. When everything shall have been profaned, when -all the Altars of Thought and Beauty shall have been cast down, when -all the vessels containing ideal essences shall have been broken, when -ordinary life shall have reached such a pitch of degradation as seems -unsurpassable, when the last smoking torch shall have gone out in -the great darkness, then the Multitude will stop, suddenly seized by -a panic far exceeding any that has ever before shaken its miserable -soul; and, suddenly deprived of the frenzy which blinded it, will feel -itself astray in the desert strewn with ruins, without any path or -light to guide it. Then will the law of the need of heroes descend upon -it; and it will pray for the iron rod by which it must be disciplined -anew. And I believe, dear father, that these heroes, these new kings of -the earth, shall arise from our race, and that from this day all our -energies ought to be directed towards preparation for their earlier or -later advent. That is my faith.” - -The Prince had lifted his head, and was looking at me with intent and -rather astonished eyes, as if I had appeared to him in an unexpected -light. But an unusual vivacity animating his whole person told me how -much he had been touched by my eagerness. - -“I have lived for several years in Rome,” I continued, with greater -confidence, “that third Rome which was to have represented 'the -unconquerable love of the Latin race for the Latin soil,’ and whose -hills were to have shone with the marvellous light of a new ideal. I -have witnessed there the most shameful violations and the most obscene -connections which ever defiled a sacred spot. And I can understand -the lofty symbolism hidden in the act of the Asiatic conqueror, who -cast five myriads of human heads into the foundations of Samarkand, -when he wished to make it his capital. Don’t you think that the wise -tyrant meant to signify the necessity of severe pruning on the part -of those who are about to institute a really new order of things? It -was necessary to sacrifice and cast into the foundations of the third -Rome the men who were called liberators, and, according to the funeral -custom of the ancients, to place at their feet, at their sides, and in -the hands which freed their country the objects which they knew and -loved best, and then to dig out and drag down the heaviest granite -boulders from the mountain tops to close the deep sepulchre for all -eternity. But never were lives so tenacious and so pestiferous laid -in the earth! Quite lately, dear father, I heard the following in -Rome: 'The fleet of the Thousand only sailed from Quarto to obtain -state protection for the right of barter!’ And yet amidst the clatter -of traders I caught the sound of that remote mysterious voice which -lingers in every stone, and murmurs in every sea-shell; and the sublime -view of the Campagna consoled me for all my disgust. Ah, father, who -can ever despair of the fate of the world while Rome is still under -the heavens? When I think of her and worship her, I only see her as -she is figured on Nerva’s medal--with the rudder in her hand. When -I think of her and worship her, I can only describe her strength in -the words of Dante: 'In every generation of things, that is best -which is most perfectly One.’ And her principle of unity, as of old, -shall once more be the concentrating, ordering, and preserving force -of everything in the world that is good and amenable to order. The -Dantesque similes of the soil and the flames are well adapted to her, -because one can conceive the former as making a single base, and the -latter as united in a single and identical apex. I firmly believe that -the greatest height of power in the future will be that which shall -have its base and its apex in Rome; for I, a Latin, glory in having -set at the head of my faith the mystical truth expressed by the poet: -'It is certain that Nature disposed one place in the world to be -suitable for universal empire, and that that place is Rome.’ Now from -what mysterious union of races, what vast experience of culture, what -auspicious harmony of circumstances, shall the new King of Rome arise?” - -The fine fever which had warmed my thoughts to intoxication in the -Latian desert again kindled in my veins; and the great phantoms created -by the sacred soil again took tumultuous possession of my spirit; -and all the hopes begotten by my violent pride in those solitudes -haunted by memories of the most bloody of human tragedies, rose again -and stirred vaguely, giving me a feeling of excitement which I could -scarcely endure. The venerable old man’s appearance assumed a graver -solemnity, for at that moment I looked upon him as the embodiment of -all those varied qualities which had expanded like flowers along the -stem of his ancient race under the warmth of the light of glory, and -had been manifested to the world in many magnificent characters; and -I was about to justify my ambitious dream to this man who was already -declining towards the grave, treating him as a judge to whom sorrow had -given insight; I was going to ask his good auspices as an omen, and to -propose to him as my equal the alliance which I desired. - -My anxiety was heightened by the presence of the silent maiden in the -shadow, for she appeared to me in truth to be the one destined to -become through love “her who propagates and perpetuates the idealism -of a race favoured by Heaven.” I did not dare to turn towards her, so -sacred did the mystery of her virginity seem to me at that moment; but -I remembered the vague idea of hidden treasures, which the wonderful -light that shone in flashes from her transparent eyes had sometimes -awakened in me; and even without turning round I could feel a kind -of animated wealth throbbing in that strip of shadow, a living form -containing an inestimable prize, something infinitely grand and -mysterious, like the divine treasures guarded under veils in the holy -of holies of temples. - -“You, as well as I, are convinced,” I added, “that every form of -excellence of the human type is the effect of an initial effort, which -by one selection after another reaches its highest intensity, and is -manifested in the race, modified by temporary circumstance. It is -not only our patrician pride which vaunts the virtue of Race, but it -is acknowledged also by the most exact science. The highest examples -of human conscience can only appear at the summit of a race which -has sprung up in time out of the continual accumulation of energies -and work; of a race in which during long periods of centuries the -fairest dreams, the most vigorous sentiments, the noblest thoughts, -the most lordly wills have been born and nourished. Now, take the -case of a race of remote royal origin, which is springing up under -the Latin sun in a happy land furrowed with the rivulets of a new -poetry. Transplanted into Italy, it flourishes with such vigour that -in a short time no other race can compare with it. 'Worthless is the -disciple who cannot outdo his master,’ da Vinci has pronounced. And -that race seems to have inscribed its greatness on an even bolder -motto: 'Worthless is the son who cannot outdo his father.’ Through -united and uninterrupted energies it goes on from one generation to -another, raising itself up to the higher manifestations of life. In -times of blind anger, when reason can trust to nothing but arms, it -seems already to understand 'that those men who above all others -possess strength of intellect are by nature lords over others.’ And -from the very beginning its discipline is of an intellectual nature, -and seems to have been dictated by Dante; for it consists in always -reducing to action the whole available power of intellect, first of -all by laying down theories, and then by working them out. In the most -important offices, as truly as on the bloodiest battle-fields and at -the most liberal banquets, this race excels: equally admirable whether -leading armies, governing states, conducting embassies, protecting -artists and sages, erecting palaces or churches. It mingles with -Italian life in all its most varied forms; it bathes itself in every -fresh fountain of culture. Living is to it the perpetual assertion and -increase of itself: living to it is ruling. The formidable instinct -of rulership is always driving it forward, while clear and steady -thought directs this lasting impulse. And always--like those careful -archers whom Machiavelli cites as examples--always it aims higher than -the mark. Its deeds are so illustrious that the greatest poets have -sung their renown, and the writers of history compare them to those of -the ancient generals, and quote them as the examples for the future. -Yet it seems that the strength of this race has not yet been fully -manifested, has not yet reached the unsurpassable height: it seems that -its accumulated energies must, either to-morrow, or in the course of a -century, or at some indefinite time, expand themselves in one supreme -manifestation....” - -“_Cave, adsum!_” interrupted the Prince, with a grand smile. “Is not -that the motto of the race you are speaking of?” - -“It might also bear the motto of the Montaga,” I replied readily, “_Sub -se omnia!_” - -The Prince bowed with a gesture that served of itself to show that -my reply had not been a simple courtesy, but was indeed due to the -dignity of his great name. I saw him again before me with the figure -I remembered in my boyhood: a fine example of superior humanity, -every action revealing his distinction, his absolute separation from -the multitude, from common duties, and common virtues. It seemed -to me as if he had shaken the weight of sorrow that was crushing -him off his shoulders, and had risen up in all his manly strength, -his whole frame assuming that marvellous quality possessed by his -hands--those beautiful pure hands preserved unchanged as if they had -been embalmed--surviving ministers of a liberality which can only -be compared to the ancient “who for small services loved to reward -greatly.” - -The last hour of daylight was fading away, and from the burning sky -the annunciation of summer came down on the patrician garden, where -amid the austere odour of centenarian box-trees, the statues--pale and -yet watchful, like memories in a faithful soul--called up by their -gestures the phantoms of past grandeur. But outside the cloister rose -the immense crown of rock fashioned by primeval fires, looking so harsh -and proud that it seemed worthy of supporting on each peak a Prometheus -Bound. - -I had seen those same peaks on the first evening of my arrival, flaming -in the sky like rockets, shining with incredible radiance, the highest -of them standing out like a tongue of flame against the background of -general shadow, and cleaving the sky like a cry of hopeless passion. -I was alone then in that remote twilight, and the three mysterious -princesses were at hand in their walled garden, and my fate was still -apart from their fate. But now in the same conjunction of circumstances -the fate prophesied by that first agitation of my feelings was about to -be fulfilled: I was about to utter solemn and irrevocable words. Was -I indeed quite freed from perplexity? Had I at last chosen from those -three blessed ones, whom I had seen in fancy on that far away evening -receiving my spring gift with open arms, had I at last chosen out one -for the necessary union? And was I about to pronounce her name in her -father’s presence? Fresh uneasiness crept over me, and it seemed to -me as if Anatolia were no longer alone in the shadow, but as if her -sisters had come in silently and taken their places beside her, and as -if their eyes were fixed anxiously upon me. - -As I turned round I saw the white motionless figure in the corner, and -everything else vanished, and all my vain restlessness was calmed. - -She was the living symbol of security, the watcher and the guardian. -With her strength and her patience, lit up by her own smile, she had -turned sorrow into an adamantine armour which made her invincible. -She was made to guard, nourish, and defend to the death that which -was committed to her charge. And once again I saw her, in my dream, -watching, her pure brow radiant with prophecy over the son of my blood -and of my soul. - -Then from the very roots of my being, where sleeps the indestructible -virtue of ancestors, there arose and went forth towards the Elect the -will to create that one to whom all the ideal riches of my race and my -own conquests and the maternal perfections were to be transmitted. And -deeper than ever grew the feeling of primary dependence which bound -my actual being to my remotest ancestors; and just as the summit of -the tree comprises in itself the whole life of the branching trunk -down to the deepest roots, so I felt the life of the whole race living -within me, that life which death could only destroy through its bodily -manifestations in the transitory forms taken by succeeding generations. -And the fulness and vehemence of that life seemed to overthrow the -limits of my natural powers. - -“Not long ago you recognised in me, not without a shade of severity, -the descendant of Gian Paolo Cantelmo,” I said to the Prince, smiling. -“I must confess that in my house the examples of disobedience and -rebellion against kings are not rare. But the red Lion justifies -them; and you cannot be unaware of the patent which the Cantelmi -received from Charles II. of England. Being themselves of ancient -royal blood, they have never easily resigned themselves to treating -the king as other than their equal. It appears, too, that they never -fight any other adversary with such zeal as they fight the king. And -while Gian Paolo disturbed the slumbers of Ferdinand of Aragon, and -humbled Alphonso, James I. and Menappo defeated Manfred at Benevento, -James VIII. warred successfully against Ladislaus side by side with -Braccio di Montone and the Sforza, while Antonio opposed René of -Anjou. There is a natural tendency in every Cantelmo to form his own -party, to separate himself, and to define his own person and power -very clearly. It seems as if each of them founded his conception of -his own dignity upon the firm conviction 'that being one is the root -of being good, and that what is good is such, because it is one.’ I -joyfully acknowledge in this, one of the essential characteristics of -the ruler to come: of the Monarch, the Despot. But there is another -peculiarity which strengthens my faith, and that is the great number of -rulerships which have fallen into the hands of the Cantelmi on Latin -soil. It may be said that at different times and separately they have -held the government of all Italy. James I. is Ambassador for Peace to -the Republic of Genoa, Vicar in Lombardy, Captain-General in the March -of Ancona, Viceroy of the Abruzzi; James II. is Vicar and Podestà -of Florence; Bonaventura VIII., Viceroy of Sicily; Rostaino VII., -Captain-General of the Serenissima, Senator of Rome.... Everywhere -they hold rule, and their experience of different peoples teaches -them to 'know well how men are to be gained or lost.’ Everywhere they -fight and lose their lives in the act of performing some prodigy of -valour: the 'good Cantelmo,’ immortalised in Tasso’s verse, stains -the walls of Jerusalem with his royal blood; James II. dies fighting -for the Florentines against Castruccio Castracane; Nicholas, first -Duke of Sora, dies with Constantine Paleologus in the defence of -Constantinople; Ascanio dies in the waters of Lepanto beside the -Archduke John of Austria; Bonaventura VIII. is deemed worthy by Charles -V. of the defence of the whole empire; and it is of him the Emperor -says that he would choose him for his champion had he to risk his -crown in a joust. The great Andrea is an extraordinary example of a -life spent entirely in ceaseless fighting from his earliest youth to -his latest breath.... He is indeed the most finished type which my -race has produced to this day. Andrea is one of the finest heroes of -will and strength. We need not reckon up the number of his exploits. -In Italy, Germany, Flanders, France, and Spain, innumerable are the -cities and fortresses acquired by him and added to the Catholic empire, -innumerable are the sieges he laid and sustained. He is the Poliorcetus -_par excellence_, a more fertile master of stratagem than any other, -at once eager and prudent; 'for in him we discover,’ says one of his -biographers, 'the union of all those gifts and qualities which in -other captains may be noticed separately.’ But what in my eyes raises -him above the heads of all others is the unheard-of severity of the -discipline he enforced on himself and his troops. Certain traits of -this rigour fill me with more enthusiasm than the sight of the banners -he took from the enemy. Though the troops he commanded are unpaid and -badly armed, he manages to have them as ready and obedient to his hand -as his own sword. No one ever understood better how to impress his own -personality on the conduct of others. Eloquent and nervous in speech he -yet always prefers the direct force of example to the power of words. -He always moves at the head of his troops, on foot when he leads the -infantry; he always sleeps in his clothes, eats and drinks nothing but -what his soldiers eat and drink, is always the first in assault, the -last in retreat; though covered with wounds, he refuses to take off -his armour; on the field of victory or in the conquered city he never -touches the booty. And in the war in Flanders he wins such terrible -renown, that mothers use his name to frighten their children into -obedience. Could any man determine his own likeness in clearer and more -vigorous outline? Was ever coined metal stamped with a prouder effigy? -In his time Andrea was surnamed the new Epaminondas. Well, even in this -indefatigable warrior, the intellectual character of his race comes -out. He is not only learned in speech, a distinguished mathematician, -a master of military architecture, a writer on the science of war, but -also a good connoisseur and splendid patron of the liberal arts. Eritio -Puteano, in dedicating a Latin work to him, calls him _Armorum gloria, -Litterarum tutela_. Cornelius Schult of Antwerp, presenting him with a -book of fantastic designs, represents him as Eros cultivating elegance -in the midst of arms, _Heros inter arma elegantias colens_. Andrea in -this carries on the family tradition, the origin of which shines in the -wreathed figure of Fanetta Cantelmo, Lady of Romanino, who composed -poetry 'with a certain divine fury,’ among the laurels of Provence, in -one of the courts of love. And does not some of the wonderful aptitude -which raised Alessandro above the other disciples of Da Vinci at Milan -seem to have been transmitted to him? He thinks out new methods of -fortification, constructs the celebrated fort on the Meuse, named in -honour of its inventor Fort Cantelmo, makes strange weapons which -seem almost magical to his contemporaries.... Is there not something -Leonardesque in these inventions, something which recalls Alessandro?” - -I had uttered the name of him who lived in continual communion with my -spirit, and whom I held to be the genius of the race, destined some day -to reappear higher up the surviving family tree in some manifestation -of sublime life. 'Oh thou, be what thou oughtest to be.’ My task had -been developed along definite lines under his gaze and his teaching; -and now at the moment when I was about to take a great resolve, he -stood by my side. I saw him alive before my eyes, as if his white -tyrannical hand were resting on the corner of the table beside me, and -as if the statuette of Pallas and the pomegranate with its pointed leaf -and flaming flower were there too. 'Oh thou, be what thou oughtest to -be.’ And another youthful figure, apparently his younger brother, clung -to him as closely as his shadow. - -“Alessandro and Hercules! These were the two purple flowers so early -cut off, which Leonardo and Ludovico gathered up and transmuted into -imperishable essences. Andrea Cantelmo when he died had already -displayed all the energies he possessed, and death overtook him on the -verge of old age, covered with glory after that siege of Balaguer, -which was the greatest of his heroic enterprises. But these two, facing -life with their hands full of all the seeds of hope, had every great -possibility open to them. Their youthful heads seemed made to wear -the royal crown, that ancient crown which their fathers had already -worn. In one of them Da Vinci divined the future founder of a new -principality, the triumphant tyrant who was to lay upon the multitude -the yoke of that science and beauty into which the great master -had initiated his favourite disciple. But fate interfered with the -fulfilment of his prophecy. Both of them threw away their lives in the -first burst of their ardour, for they were devoured by too vehement -enthusiasm. Hercules perished in the sands of the Po, fighting against -the Sclavonians; Alessandro on the banks of the Taro in the battle of -Fornovo. Do you remember the verses in which Ariosto celebrates the -beautiful son of Sigismond Cantelmo? - - 'Il più ardilo garzon che di sua etade - Fosse da un polo a l’altro e da l’estremo - Lito de gli Indi a quello ove il Sole cade....’ - -“His death was too cruel! He was made prisoner in a rash inroad, and -his head was cut off before his father’s eyes on the ship’s deck, -which was used as a block. I can imagine the blood spurting from the -wound like a flame and scorching the side of the galley. Indeed, I do -not only imagine it, I see it. What a wonderful and terrible storm of -youthful courage it must have been which provoked him to set spurs to -his horse and rush furiously against the enemy’s entrenchments! Ah, -dear father, I have known those storms myself, and my horse knows them, -and so do the ruins of the Roman Campagna.... - -“No doubt at that moment Hercules felt worthy of bestriding the winged -horse born of the blood of Medusa. _Cave, adsum!_ Ariosto, as he sings -his praises, uses an expression which of itself lights him up with -glory, showing how the bold youth died to maintain the resolution which -every Cantelmo makes--that of remaining at the post he has taken, and -has thought to be the best, even in the face of the worst forms of -death. He had a companion at his side during the assault. When both had -rushed upon the enemy, - - 'Salvossi il Ferrufin, resto il Cantelmo.’ - -“He stayed, one against a thousand. And the divine Ludovico places -his beautiful bleeding figure at the beginning of a song telling how -Bradamante performed prodigies with his golden lance. But the death of -Alessandro is like that of a demi-god. At Fornovo in the hottest of -the battle a hurricane arises, and the Taro overflows its banks with -terrible violence. Alessandro suddenly disappears, like one of those -ancient Greek heroes, carried away from the earth in a whirlwind, and -supposed to be transported to heaven. His body was never found on -the field or anywhere else. But he lives, lives on through the ages, -with life more intense than our own. Not only his portrait has been -transmitted to me by da Vinci, but his life, his true life. Ah, dear -father, if you had once seen that picture, you would never be able to -forget it. It is impossible to forget. Nothing in the world is of such -value to me, and no treasure was ever guarded with such passionate -jealousy. Who gave me strength to bear such long solitude and such -hard discipline? Who poured into my spirit in the midst of the harshest -rigour of discipline that kind of sober intoxication which makes -all effort seem light? Who but Alessandro? He represents to me the -mysteriously significant power of style, inviolable in my own person by -any one, even by myself. All my life develops beneath his steady gaze; -and in truth, dear father, he who can stand the searching trial of that -fire is not degenerate. 'Oh thou, be what thou oughtest to be!’ that is -his daily precept. But while he thus urges me to keep my personality -entire, he also places before my eyes the vision of an existence -superior to my own in dignity and power. And I am always thinking of -Him who is to come.” - -I stopped, for I felt my voice change, and I feared that the blood -filling my heart might of a sudden overflow. And the old man’s soul -was in such deep communication with mine, that at that moment he -involuntarily stretched out both hands to me. - -“Since a double will is necessary for the creation of that one who is -to outstrip his creators,” I added in a low voice, bending towards him, -“I could aspire to no higher union than that which would give me the -right to call you father, as I am doing now....” - -And overcome by emotion, I sat leaning forward with his trembling hands -in mine, while his lips touched my brow without a word being spoken. -But in the silence, between the throbbing of my heart and her father’s -quick breathing, I heard the light step of Anatolia gliding out of -the room. Was she going to weep by herself? Her form, which I had seen -motionless and white in the shadow, shone on my inner heaven like a -constellation of tears. Was she going to weep alone? Perhaps she would -meet her sisters on the way.... This doubt suddenly made me uneasy. My -eyes fell on the cameo that shone on the father’s hand. - -And as the perfume of evening rose up from the walled garden, a dim -sentiment spread through my soul, like a spell deepening round me with -the slow falling of the twilight. - - - - -How in the meantime fared the heart of her who was about to depart? In -what manner was her mystical life disposing itself round the memory of -that supreme hour marked by the hand on the luminous dial? - - “ME LUMEN, VOS UMBRA REGIT.” - -Perhaps she may have returned more than once to the little cemetery -with the yew-trees and anemones, and may perhaps again have laid her -slender hands on the dial to feel its heat, and she may have remembered -my exhortation: “Warm your hands in the sun, bathe them in the sun, -poor hands, for soon you will carry them crossed on your breast or -hidden under the coarse brown woollen habit in the shadow....” And more -than once perhaps, with her palm laid over the figures indicating the -divine moment, she may have waited, quivering in the great silence, to -see the shadow of the hand reach the extremity of her ring-finger, as -it did on that day of dreams; and perhaps she may have wept that the -miracle of love had not been renewed. - - “SINE SOLE SILEO.” - -I connected the picture of the guardian of dried plants sketched for me -by Oddo with the picture of that sad soul wandering round the sundial -which had pointed out the hour of blessedness for her in vain. And I -thought: “If only I had power to fashion for thee a beautiful fate, as -the artist fashions the obedient wax, O thou who earnest towards me out -of a barren garden where a funereal vow had imprisoned thee Massimilla, -thus should I complete thy ideal figure with death, with timely death I -should complete thy perfection; for no other hour awaits thee in which -thou canst hope to find any value, now that thou hast once penetrated -into that part of life, beyond which none can go who intend to return. -Guided by that divine memory, I would have thee return to the place -where in dreams I gathered crown-like anemones, to strew them on thy -head; and there I would have thee fall again into the harmonious -attitude that once I praised, close to the marble sundial. And the -moment the point of the shadow reached the tip of thy ring-finger -should be the moment of thy death. Then beneath the stony gaze of the -crouching caryatid I should myself dig the grave for thy frail remains; -and I should lay thee out as the gentle ladies laid out Beatrice in -Dante’s vision, and should spread their veil over thy head. But I -should not set a cross over thy grave, nor any other pious symbol; -rather I should call upon the youngest of the sons of the Graces, a -native of Palestine, like thy celestial Spouse; I should call upon -Meleager of Gadara, the hyacinth-garlanded, the sweet flute-player, -the poet who sings the early death of maidens; and he should carve an -epitaph worthy of thy gentle grace. Oh Earth, universal Mother, all -hail to thee; be gentle to this maiden, who weighs so lightly upon -thee.” - -Thus it pleased me to adorn the sentiment with which she inspired me, -and turn her sadness into poetry. - -“Has the narcissus bulb in the herbarium sprouted for the third time?” -I asked her suddenly one day, as we were boating on the Saurgo near the -dead city. - -She was quite disturbed, and looked at me with startled eyes. - -“How do you know?” - -I smiled and repeated-- - -“But has it sprouted?” - -“No, not again!” she replied, looking down. - -We were alone in a little skiff, which I was paddling myself with one -oar. Violante, Anatolia, and Oddo were in other boats rowed by the -boatmen. The river here was so wide and sluggish that it was almost -like a pond, and a dense flock of water-lilies covered it. The great -white flowers, shaped like roses, floated among their shining leaves, -diffusing a moist fragrance, which seemed to have the property of -slaking thirst. - -It was here that Simonetto’s botanising had come to an end that fatal -autumn. I imagined the figure of the young botanist leaning over the -water exploring its slimy depths at the season when the water-lilies -are nearly over. His _hortus siccus_, no doubt, contained lifeless -specimens of all that aquatic flora which surrounded the ruins. - -Massimilla’s eyes followed the movement of my oar as from time to time -it crushed a leaf or broke a stalk, and I said softly-- - -“Are you thinking of Simonetto?” - -She started. - -“How do you know?” she asked me again, much agitated, with flushing -cheeks. - -“I know from Oddo....” - -“Ah!” she said, without concealing her regret at this knowledge of -mine, which seemed to wound her. “Oddo told you....” - -She relapsed into a silence which I felt to be a very painful one for -her. I stopped rowing for a few seconds, and the light boat rested -motionless amidst the wide extent of white blossoms. - -“Did you love him very much?” I asked the silent maiden, with a -gentleness that reminded her perhaps of our earlier interviews. - -“As I love Oddo, as I love Antonello,” she replied, with a tremble in -her voice, without raising her eyelids. - -After a pause I asked her-- - -“Are you going into the convent to sacrifice yourself to his memory?” - -“No, not for that. It would be too late now....” - -“Why, then?” - -She did not answer. But I looked at her hands, which she was clenching -as if she wanted to wring them, and I understood all the involuntary -cruelty of my useless question. - -“Is it true that you have decided to go in a few days?” I added almost -timidly. - -“It is true.” - -Her lips trembled; they had turned white. - -“Will Oddo and Anatolia go with you?” - -She nodded her head in answer, and pressed her lips together to force -back a sob. - -“Forgive me, Massimilla, if I have hurt you,” I said with deep emotion, -for I felt a weight of sadness suddenly fall on me. - -“Be quiet, please!” she implored, in a voice I scarcely recognised. -“Don’t make me cry! What would my sisters think? I should not be able -to hide my tears.... And I am choking.” - -Oddo’s voice was heard calling to us from the ruins. Anatolia and -Violante had already set foot in the dead city. One of the boatmen -came towards us with his skiff, thinking perhaps that our delay was -caused by my inexperience in guiding the boat through the tangle of -water-lilies. - -“Ah, I shall always bear within me the regret of having lost thee!” -I said in silence to her who was about to depart. “I should rather -behold thee laid out in the perfection of death than know thy soul to -be straitened in a life alien to that which my love and my art had -promised thee. And perhaps thou wouldest have led me to explore some -far-away region of my inner world, which without thee will remain -neglected and uncultivated....” - -The boat was gliding lightly over the snowy flock; in its track -the leaves and blossoms rippled apart, and through the crystalline -clearness of the water the pale forest of stems was visible, pale and -languid, as if fed by the mud of Lethe. The ruins of Linturno embraced -by the water and the flowers looked, in their secular, stony apathy, -like a great collection of broken skeletons. Even the eyeballs of a -human skull are not so lifelessly empty as were the hollows of those -worn-out stones, bleached white like bones by the mists and the heat. -And I imagined that I was ferrying a dead maiden. - -Everything after that bore the impress of my sadness on that cloudless -afternoon. For a long time we wandered about the ruins searching out -the traces of vanished life. - -They were uncertain traces, which gave rise to all sorts of different -conjectures. Was the theory true of the band of youths crowned with -garlands descending to the parent river singing and dedicating their -unshorn, growing locks to him? Or was it rather a white procession of -catechumens like little children, fed on milk and honey, who descended -there to receive baptism? A dim legend of martyrs cast a sort of -mournful sanctity over the pagan remains. “_Martyris ossa jacent...._” -we read on the fragment of a sarcophagus; and here and there among -the few sculptured stones lying about we found emblems and symbols -of double meaning; Jove’s eagle and Cybele’s lion subdued to the -Evangelists; the vines of Dionysius twisted to express the parable of -the Saviour; Diana’s stag representing the thirsty soul. Now and then a -snake darted out from among the stones and roots, and vanished quickly -as an arrow. An invisible bird was making a strange imitation of the -rattles which announce the hours of silence on Good Friday. - -“And where is your great Madonna?” asked Anatolia, recalling my words -of long ago. We sought among the fallen masonry for a path to lead us -to the ruined basilica, which stood at the extreme end of the island, -on the branch of the Saurgo nearest the rocks. - -“Perhaps the water will prevent our getting there,” I said, as I -perceived the glittering reflections close to the wall. - -The river had indeed flooded part of the sacred ruin, and a forest -of water weeds was growing there undisturbed. But we found a gap by -which we were able to enter the apse. Each of the three sisters as she -entered made the sign of the cross, amid a great whirring of wings. - -Inside all was cool and damp, and the palpitating light took a greenish -hue. The apse and a few pillars of the central nave were left, and -formed a kind of cave, which the waters had invaded almost up to the -deserted altar steps; and a multitude of water-lilies, larger and -whiter even than those through which we had rowed, clustered as if in -adoration at the feet of the great Madonna in mosaic, who occupied -alone the concave heaven of gold which formed the apse. She did not -hold the Infant in her arms, but stood alone, wrapped in a mantle of -leaden hue like a shadow of mourning, and a deep mystery of sorrow lay -in her large, fixed eyes. High above the curve of the arch the swallows -had made a charming crown of nests, following the order of the words -written round it-- - - “QUASI PLATANUS EXALTATA SUM JUXTA AQUAS.” - -And then the three maidens knelt down together and prayed. - -“If we were to leave thee in this refuge with the water-lilies and the -swallows!” I thought, looking at Massimilla, who was bending lower and -lower as she prayed. “Thou wouldest live here like a hermit Naiad who -has forsaken Artemis to worship the new sorrowful divinity.” And I -pictured her metamorphosis: after completing her solitary rites amid -the choir of swallows, she would plunge into the water and descend to -the roots of the flowers.... - -But to my eyes nothing here surpassed the whiteness of a neck burdened -with a weight of hair thicker than the marble clusters of grapes that -decorated the front of the altar. For the first time I saw Violante -on her knees, and the attitude was so unsuited to the quality of her -beauty that it pained me like a discord; and I waited with strange -restlessness for her to rise from the place between the two symbolical -peacocks, who were spreading their feathers among the clusters of -grapes. - -She rose before the others, with one of those magnificent movements -in which her beauty seemed to surpass itself, as a steady light seems -to wax larger before it suddenly breaks into sparks. _Exaltata juxta -aquas!_ - -When we returned she came with me on the river, sitting in the -little prow opposite me while I stood and paddled. I was overcome by -uncontrollable emotion as I remembered the hand beaded with blood and -the hill-slope covered with blossom. It was the first time since that -far-away hour that I had found myself alone with Violante face to face. - -“I am so thirsty,” she said, leaning over the water with a movement -which, while expressive of her desire, seemed to identify her with the -liquid voluptuous element. - -“Don’t drink that water!” I begged her, seeing that she bared her hands. - -“Why?” - -“Don’t drink it!” - -Then she plunged in her bare hands, picked a water-lily, and bent over -it to breathe its fragrant moisture. It seemed as if a vague shiver -passed over the flowery covering around us. The sun had sunk behind -the rocks, and an almost imperceptible rosy reflection fell from the -evening sky on the innumerable white flowers. - -“Look at the water-lilies!” I exclaimed, resting on my oar. “Don’t you -think they look marvellously alive just now?” - -She plunged in her hands again up to the wrists, and held them in the -water like rosy floating flowers; and as her eyes wandered over the -trembling multitude, the smile on her lips was so divine that in my -soul I invested it with miraculous powers. - -Truly she was worthy to work wonders, and to subdue the very soul of -things to her beauty. I dared not utter a word, so speaking was the -silence by her side. But as we bent over the water, the same spell -seemed to bind us to each other as had united us that first day in the -presence of the volcanic rock. The hawks were not screaming over our -heads, but round us the swallows were twittering as they flew by, and -something like a ray of light flashed from their white breasts as they -passed. - -“Well; aren’t we going on? Have you no strength left?” she said, -turning round with an indefinable tone of derision in her voice, and -reading the very depths of my eyes. “Don’t you see that the other boats -are far ahead?” - -I gazed at the little flotilla for a few moments with knitted brows. - -“Anatolia is calling us,” she added. “Make haste!” - -The Saurgo seemed to grow broader in the twilight, to vanish away -into infinite distance, then to regain the strength of its current, -to give promise of carrying us on into fairer lands. And that royal -creature, bending over the great soft, rosy stream in the eagerness of -her thirst, of her fierce desire for a liquid suited to her voluptuous -being, was full of such mystery, of beauty, and poetry that my soul -went out to her in the most fervent act of worship. - -“Look!” then said the enchantress, pointing to the scene which she -seemed to have called up with a wave of her hand. “Look!” - -All around us on the water, over which a slight shiver was passing, the -living calyxes were closing with a slow lip-like motion, hesitating a -few moments, withdrawing, sinking, disappearing under the leaves one by -one or in groups, as if some power of slumber were calling them below. -Wide spaces were left deserted, but here and there in the midst of them -a single belated lily would display the utmost of her grace in this -delay. A vague melancholy hovered over the water on each spot where one -of the lingerers disappeared. And then it seemed as if the dreams of -the submerged multitude rose up like a mist from the great soft rosy -stream. - - * * * * * - -But it was on the summit of Corace that the unexpected revelation took -place which finally decided our fate. - -We had stopped at Scultro to visit the ancient abbey, where the remains -still exist of a sumptuous mausoleum, the work of Maestro Gualtiero of -Germany, built as a memorial of herself and her three sons by a lady of -the Cantelmo family--that magnificent _Domina Rita_, who as the wife of -Giovanni Antonio Caldora was mother of the great condottiere Jacopo. -And Anatolia and I had lingered behind in the mouldy chapel to gaze at -the recumbent figure of the young hero, clad to the throat in heavy -armour, with only the curly head uncovered, reposing so royally on the -marble pillow. - -Then after a long climb on foot up a steep narrow path--for we had left -the mules behind on the level--we had reached the northern brow of -the extinct crater, now transformed into the lake to which Secli gives -its name. At our feet we had, on the one hand, the tawny valley of the -Saurgo; on the other, two high spurs sent out of the main range into -the plains below, beyond which lies the distant sea. Above our heads a -few clouds hung almost motionless in the vast expanse of crystalline -blue, and seemed compact and dazzling as heaps of snow. - -Seated on some boulders, we gazed in silence. Violante and Massimilla -seemed tired, and Oddo had not yet succeeded in controlling his -nervousness. But Anatolia was moving about, gathering little flowers in -the crevices of the rocks. - -A vague, confused restlessness stole over me, intensified at times to -the point of acute pain. I felt that at last the inevitable moment -of choice was hanging over me; that I dared linger no more among the -tormenting, delicious alternations of passion and perplexity, nor any -more strive to resolve the three noble rhythms into one harmony. That -day, for the last time, the three givers of happiness appeared to me in -unison beneath the light of the same heaven. How long a time had passed -since that first hour when, as I ascended the ancient steps, in the -voices and virginal shadows moving like forms of magic, surrounded by -the traces of neglect and decay, I had discovered the first music, and -wrought the first transformation? On the morrow the short-lived spell -would be broken, and for ever. - -Now I felt compelled to say aloud to Anatolia the words I had already -silently addressed to the pure, mysterious shadow which had witnessed -my interview with her father. As we stood together shortly before -in the deserted chapel, looking on that tomb erected by the loyalty -of a brave woman, had we not both partaken of the same sentiment -and the same idea? Had I not said to her even then, without words: -“Thou too mightest become a mother of heroes, oh thou who sharest my -consciousness. I know that thou hast gathered up my wish, and hast laid -it within thy true heart, where it sparkles like a diamond. I know that -in a dream thou hast watched a whole night mysteriously over the sleep -of a child. While his body slept, breathing deeply, thou didst hold his -soul, tangible as a crystal ball, in thy hands, and thy bosom swelled -with marvellous intuitions.” - -Now I felt the need of exchanging a binding promise with her before she -started off on her mournful journey with the novice and her brother. -But my anxiety was deepening into pain, as if some real danger were -hanging over me. And I could not fail to acknowledge the cause of the -emotion which Violante was perpetually stirring in me by her every -action. - -The ruins of Linturno lay beneath us in the valley like a heap of white -stones, like a strip of dry shore, in the midst of the sweet dead -waters, where only yesterday by a double miracle she had cast a spell -over the water-lilies and over my soul. The spell was still upon me -whenever I looked at her. Seated on a boulder in the same attitude -as when seated that first day on the plinth, she looked like one of -the immortal statues. Once again I gazed at her, and noticed how, -although present, she was yet far away, as she had been that day; and -I thought again: “It is right she should remain untouched. Only by a -god could she be possessed without shame. Never shall her body bear the -disfiguring weight; never shall the flood of milk mar the pure outline -of her bosom....” - -An inward impulse made me start to my feet as if to free myself from -a restraint, and turning to her who was gathering the little flowers -in the crevices of the rocks, I said: “As you are not tired, Anatolia, -will you come up to the top with me?” - -“I am quite ready,” she assented in her clear cordial voice; and she -went up to Massimilla and laid the flowers in her lap. - -Violante sat still in the same attitude, holding her veil between her -fingers--impassive as though she had not heard. But I felt that her -eyes were not looking at outward things, and I was troubled, as though -a ray of the fascination flowing from the mysterious depths on which -her gaze was fixed had penetrated me. - -“Don’t be long in coming down!” Oddo begged in his imploring tones, his -pale face betraying the discomfort, the perpetual fear of giddiness -which he felt on those heights. “We shall wait for you.” - -The peak of Corace rose up against the sky as bare and sharp as a -helmet, leaning over a little towards the west; and the path ascending -it ran along a steep rib as narrow as the edge of a precipice, dividing -the two slopes. The passage was so difficult and dangerous that I -offered Anatolia my hand for support, and, smiling, she laid hers -in mine as she stumbled over the rough rocks. We were out of sight -already, free and alone, monarchs of the vast space. Every breath -seemed to purify the blood in our veins and to lighten the weight of -the flesh. And the aromatic essences which the heat of the sun, like a -powerful chemical, pressed out of the rare Alpine plants, quickened the -rhythm of our life. - -We stopped, both suddenly out of breath, and our hands, which had been -too tightly clasped, unloosed themselves. I looked in my companion’s -eyes, but she was no longer smiling. Her face became grave, almost sad, -as if overshadowed by a regret. - -“Let us stop here,” she murmured, lowering her eyelids. “I cannot go -any further....” - -“A little further,” I said, for a vehement desire to reach the summit -was spurring me on, “only a few steps more, and we shall be at the top!” - -“I cannot go any further,” she repeated in an exhausted voice unlike -her own, and she passed her hands over her face as if to brush away -something that distressed her. - -Then she tried to smile at me. - -“What a strange illusion!” she added. “The top is a long way off yet. -We always seem about to reach it, and the higher one goes, the further -off it seems to be.” - -Then after a pause, in which she seemed to be listening to her own deep -heart-- - -“And there are souls suffering down below!” - -She turned her face, on which the shadow of some thought had fallen, -towards the place where her sisters were waiting. - -“Let us go back, Claudio,” she added, in a tone that I cannot forget, -for never did human voice express so many wonderful things so briefly. - -“Dear, dear Anatolia!” I broke out, seizing her hands, overcome by the -extraordinary feeling aroused in me by those simple words of hers, -which I took to be the unmistakable indication of an inward emotion -that was almost divine. “Let me first say to you what my silence has -told you more than once.... Where can I offer my love more worthily -than here on this height, to you who are the highest of created beings, -Anatolia?” - -She turned very pale, not like one who hears tidings of joy long -waited and prayed for, but like one who receives an invisible blow -in a vital part; and though apparently motionless, in spirit she was -shaken towards me by some strange fearful shudder, by some instinctive -movement of horror; and this I saw, not with my eyes, but with one of -those unknown senses that sometimes manifest themselves in a momentary -vibration on the surface of the human nerves, and then disappear again -for ever, leaving the consciousness amazed. - -She cast a look of indefinable anxiety around her. - -“You speak as if we were alone,” she said vaguely, “as if I were alone -... as if I were alone....” - -“Anatolia, what is the matter with you?” I asked, troubled by her -inexplicable distress, by the deep change in her face, the incoherence -of her words. - -And a thought flashed across my uncertainty. Had she not been suddenly -assailed, she accustomed for so many years to her gloomy prison, she -the resigned martyr within the ancient walls, had she not perhaps been -suddenly assailed by that mysterious terror, that kind of panic which -reigns among the solitudes of stern and silent mountains? Yes; no doubt -she was a prey to this terrible fascination, and her spirit had gone -astray under it. - -A savage scene lay at our feet on every side in the glaring light. The -chain of rocks, bare and clear in their desolate barrenness to their -remotest passes, stretched away like a mass of gigantic and monstrous -relics, left for the amazement of mankind as traces of some primeval -battle of the Titans. Ruined towers, broken walls, fallen citadels, -crumbled domes, tottering porches, mutilated colossi, prows of vessels, -backbones of monsters, bones of Titans, every kind of monstrosity was -simulated by the jutting peaks and dark ravines of this formidable -range. The distance was so transparent that I could distinguish every -outline as clearly as if my eyes were beholding, on an infinitely -larger scale, the rock which Violante had shown me from the window-sill -with that creative sweep of her hand. The most distant peaks were -engraved on the sky with the same precise sharpness of outline which -the sloping sides of the crater close at hand assumed in the reflected -rays of the sun. The vast mouth of the spherical crater gaped with a -kind of eddying vehemence in the expression of its curves; it was like -a whirlpool, although inert. In part grey like ashes, elsewhere red -like rust, it was crossed here and there by long white streaks that -sparkled like salt, and were reflected in the metallic calm of the -water which had gathered at the bottom. And opposite us, overhanging -the edge of the precipice like a petrified flock of sheep, was Secli, -the solitary hermit-like village, where from time immemorial a small -industrious population has busied itself in making strings for musical -instruments. - -“You are tired,” I said to my dear companion, trying to draw her under -the shadow of a boulder, which I thought might screen her on one -side at least from the sight of the space below, and give her back a -sense of security. “You are tired, Anatolia; you are not used to such -fatigue, and perhaps this view is rather terrible.... Lean back here -and close your eyes for a little. I will stand beside you. Here is my -arm. I can take you back without any danger. Now close your eyes for a -little....” - -Again she tried to smile at me. - -“No, no,” she said; “don’t trouble, Claudio.” - -Then after a pause, in a changed voice, and very low-- - -“It is not that.... If I closed my eyes, perhaps I should see....” - -My heart was trembling like a leaf beneath a sudden breath of wind. -And though Anatolia’s face was composed again into an expression of -deep but calm sadness, and though a feeling of power over evil seemed -diffused through her whole person, vague analogies led me to think of -Antonello’s sudden attacks of distress, of that restlessness of his, -which was an infallible warning, and of the visions of the future which -lit up his pale eyes. - -“Do you understand, Anatolia?” I asked, taking one of her hands, for -we stood side by side leaning against the rock. “Do you understand -that you, you alone, are the companion whose name my heart pronounced -that evening when your father kissed my forehead in sign of consent? -You rose and left the room softly like a spirit; and I, I don’t know -why, imagined that your face was bathed in tears.... Tell me if you -are weeping, Anatolia, and if my dream was dear to you!” She did not -answer; but as I held her hand, it seemed to me that her purest heart’s -blood flowed magnetically to the tips of her fingers. - -“That evening,” I added, striving to intoxicate her with hope, “as I -went back to Rebursa, I saw a star shining over one of my old towers; -and your presence had filled my heart so full of faith, that what was -mere chance seemed to me like a divine omen! From that time two figures -have shone for me in that radiance.... You know whose the other is. -I can hear the first words you spoke to me there on the steps, words -which evoked the memory of 'immense kindness.’ All that day the figure -your words had called up clung to your side to show me whom she had -elected. She herself, on some future evening, will come with me into -the dwelling which once was full of her smile, and now is deserted.... -Look, down there!” - -She looked at the distant towers of Rebursa down in the deep hollow -where the hanging clouds were casting great circles of shadow; but -her gaze passed on to Trigento, and during the interval marks of an -inexpressible inward conflict passed over her face. She shook her head, -and drew her hand out of mine. - -“Happiness is forbidden me,” she said in a firm but sorrowful voice, -keeping her eyes fixed on the garden of her agony, on the house of -her martyrdom. “I, like Massimilla, am dedicated; and my vow also is -irrevocable. And it is not only the action of my own will, Claudio. I -feel now that the sacrifice is necessary, that I cannot escape from -it. You heard the tone in my answer just now when you asked me to go -up to the top with you. You saw how easy it was for me to climb with -you, with the support of your hand. But now ... I have not been able -to go any further; we did not reach the top. See: here I am, nailed to -a rock. You make me an offer, the value of which you yourself cannot -know as I know it; and here I am, weighed down by grief so heavy that I -am afraid of being unable to bear it, I, who have never been afraid of -suffering!” - -I dared not interrupt her nor touch her. A sort of religious awe filled -my soul. Overmastered by even stronger emotion than had overcome me on -that solemn evening, I could feel, without turning round, the throbbing -of something infinitely noble and mysterious at my side, something -resembling the divine mysteries guarded under veils in the Holy of -Holies in temples. Her voice was sounding close to my ear, yet it came -from an infinite distance. Her words were simple, but they came from -the summit of life, that pinnacle which the human soul can only reach -when about to be transfigured into Ideal Beauty. - -“Look, down there! Look at the house where from the first day we -received you as a brother, where our father received you as a son, -where you found the memory of your beloved dead kept fresh. Look -how far away it seems! And yet I feel it bound to me by a thousand -invisible ties stronger than any chain. I feel that even here my life -mingles with the faint life suffering down there. Ah, perhaps you -cannot understand! But think, Claudio, of the atrocity of the fate that -hangs over us; think of that poor raving mother, of that broken-down -feeble old man, of that victim always hovering on the border of -madness, of that other, too, who is under the same sentence, and of -the horror of contagion, and the solitude, and the grief.... Ah, you -cannot understand! From the first day I feared to sadden you; I always -tried to put myself between you and our misfortune. Very seldom, -perhaps never, have you breathed the real sadness of our house. We met -you in the open air, among the flowers which we learned, for your sake -only, to love again; and in our neglected garden you have been able to -bring some things to life.... But think of the hidden anguish! You -cannot see; but I can see from here everything that goes on in there, -as much as if the walls were made of glass, and I were touching them -with my forehead. Life seems suspended; the father and son are shut up -in one room and dare not go out, and dare not breathe; they listen to -every sound, one increases the suffering of the other, and both are -helplessly waiting for my return, and listening eagerly, hoping to -catch the sound of my voice and my step. And _she_ is raving, searching -for me in all the passages, all the rooms, calling me aloud, stopping -before a closed door and listening or knocking, and my two poor souls -inside hear her breathing, and start at every knock, and can do nothing -but look in each other’s eyes, my God!” - -She pressed her hands to her temples with an instinctive movement, as -if to force back some rebound of sorrow; and her whole body, leaving -the support of the boulder, leant over towards the distant scene of her -martyrdom. And for a few seconds, with the anguish she had communicated -to me clutching at my throat, I bent over in the same attitude, I hung -over the edge of the precipice, with my gaze fixed on the distant home -where those souls were suffering. - -“Think,” she continued, in a broken voice now, “think, Claudio, what -would happen to them if I were not there, if I forsook them! Even when -I leave them for a short time, I feel such regret, such remorse as I -cannot describe to you. Every time I cross the threshold to go out, a -gloomy presentiment weighs on my heart; and it seems to me as if on my -return I should find the house full of shrieks and lamentations....” - -An uncontrollable shudder was now shaking her whole figure, and her -eyes were dilated as if some cruel vision were filling her with horror. - -“Antonello,” she stammered; and for a few seconds she could not utter -another word. - -I looked at her with inexpressible anguish; and my soul suffered with -hers in each contraction of her dear lips. And the vision in her eyes -passed into mine; and I saw Antonello’s wasted, white face, and the -rapid quiver of his eyelids, and his painful smile and disordered -movements, and the waves of terror which used suddenly to sweep over -his long thin body, shaking it like a fragile reed. - -“Antonello ... tried to kill himself.... Only I know of it.... Nobody -else knows it; not even Oddo. Alas!” - -She trembled so much that she could not control herself as she leant -against the rock. “One evening God warned me, God sent me.... His name -be praised for ever!... I went into his room ... and I found him....” - -She was choking, and her fingers wandered distractedly to her throat, -as if the noose were strangling her; she was trembling, overcome, -losing all courage at the recollection, she who had been able to -repress her cries of horror at the sight of the half-dead man, she who -had been able to call up the strength of a man in her wrists, to finish -her work without asking for help, to hide the horrible secret in her -own bosom, and then to live on from one fear to another, from one -anxiety to another, with this tragic vision haunting her soul! Thus she -revealed herself to me in her sublime truth, desperately devoted to an -affection which had its roots in the deepest and most sacred instincts -of her being. The voice of blood seemed to cry aloud in all her veins: -the ties of blood bound every fibre together. She was born to wear the -sweet powerful fetters till death. She was ready to burn herself as a -sacrifice that she might nourish the faint flame that flickered on the -household hearth. And therefore with what unspeakable love would she -have loved the child of her womb! - -“You speak of forsaking,” I said, making a painful effort to speak, for -any expressions of mine seemed untimely and feeble after the grandeur -and beauty of the sentiment just revealed; “you speak of forsaking, -Anatolia; and you forget that from the very first day I found my -father, my sisters, and my brothers in your house; and you do not know -how full my heart is of filial and fraternal piety, not comparable -to yours, which is superhuman, but still worthy of serving it by -actions....” - -She shook her head. - -“Ah, Claudio,” she replied, with a sorrowful smile on her dry lips, -“your generosity deceives you. My soul is still dazzled by the flames -of your dream, and troubled by a sort of repressed violence and -dangerous ardour which from time to time flashes from you. You are -stirred by the longing for strife and power; and you are determined by -every means to force life to fulfil her promises to you. You are young -and proud of your lineage, and lord of your own powers, and confident -in your faith. Who shall set a limit to your conquests?” - -As if suddenly inspired, she had thrown the whole virtue of her clear, -warm voice into these last words; and I understood by the thrill -they sent through me what a powerful stimulator of energy she would -have been, she who with all her kindness and patience possessed the -fundamental instincts of her imperious race. - -“But imagine, Claudio, a conqueror dragging after him a cart full of -sick folk, and seeing their wasted faces and hearing their lamentations -as he prepared himself for battle! Can you imagine such a thing? If -life is cruel, he who is resolved to combat her must of necessity take -into account the strength of the enemy; and every hindrance will sooner -or later arouse his annoyance and his anger....” - -She had succeeded in mastering the excess of her emotion; and once more -I beheld her brave firmness as she spoke on without a quiver in her -voice. - -“And I, my very self, should I not at last be forgotten? Should I not -be carried away altogether on the stream of new affections, new cares, -by the intoxication of your hopes? The task you would assign to the -companion of your efforts is too great, Claudio.... Your words are -still in my memory.... Alas, it is not possible to feed two flames at -the same time! The new one would in a short time become so voracious -that I should have to sacrifice all the riches of my soul to it; and -the old one so feeble, that if I turned my head away it would go out.” - -She was silent, and her head sank again. But with a sudden movement, -as if her former anxiety had returned, she looked up and around her, -and the working of her parched lips betrayed her thirst to me. Then she -turned upon me, and fixing her eyes on mine with a kind of impetuous -force, she asked-- - -“Is it true that your heart has chosen me? Have you examined your heart -to the depths? Or does some illusion hang over you like a veil?” - -I was so much disturbed by her look, and these sudden doubts of hers, -that I felt myself turn pale as if she had accused me of falsehood. - -“Anatolia, what do you mean?” - -She left the support of the rock, and made a few faltering steps -forward; then she paused as if to listen, anxious and agitated. - -“There is some soul suffering here on these paths,” she repeated, in -the same tone as before; for a few moments she stood perplexed, and her -hand went up to her brow with a vague gesture. - -Then turning to me, rapidly, anxiously, as if she were being driven on, -and was afraid of not having time to say the words-- - -“To-morrow I am going away. I must go with Massimilla. I have not the -courage to let her start alone with Oddo. I must go with her to the -very door of her retreat. She is going to pray for us.... I know she -is not going there for consolation, but as to death; and so I must -help her. I shall stay away for several days. For several days one of -us will be alone at Trigento.... She is the eldest; she has almost the -right.... She is worthy.... I don’t know; your heart will tell you -something, perhaps the truth.... I swear to you, Claudio, that I will -pray with all the fervour I have in my soul that on coming back I may -find that everything has fallen out for the good of all.... Who knows? -Perhaps there is some great good in store for you. I believe in your -star, Claudio. But I am under a prohibition.... I can’t explain, I -can’t explain.... There is a shadow over my will.... Just now a strange -fear came over me, and then a sadness, a sadness I had never known -before....” - -She stopped, gasping, confused, miserable, as if the feeling of the -infinite desolation spreading round us under the burning heat had swept -over her again. - -“And you too, how you are suffering!” she murmured, without looking at -me. - -And stretching out both her hands to me in one supreme effort-- - -“Now, good-bye! we must go back. Thank you, Claudio. Remember me always -as a devoted sister. You will never find my tenderness wanting....” - -She turned away her face, for her eyes were filling with tears, and I -kissed both her hands. - -“Good-bye,” she repeated, trying to get up and begin the descent; but -she tottered on the rock. - -“I entreat you, Anatolia, stay a little longer!” I implored, as I held -her up. “Just stay a few minutes longer here in the shade, that you may -get back your strength.... The descent is very steep.” - -“They are waiting for us! They are waiting for us!” she stammered, -almost beside herself, and her frenzied anxiety communicated itself to -me. “Let us go, Claudio! I will lean on you. If we stayed any longer, -I should feel worse, I should not be able to go one step.... Ah, this -horrible thirst!” - -I could see well enough that her poor mouth was burning with thirst, -and such anguish of pity was I enduring that I would have opened a vein -to slake it. There was not a trace of water anywhere around. Nothing -but the waters of the lake looking like molten lead at the bottom of -the extinct crater. Rapid visions crossed my brain, as they do in the -delirium of fever; the great, rosy river covered with water-lilies, -Violante leaning over the edge of the boat, her face bending to breathe -the moisture of the flowers, the hardness of a sharp glance from under -her knitted brows.... - -But we both started, as a sudden wave of sound came rolling towards us, -we knew not whence. The silence in these lofty solitudes was so intense -as to seem inviolable, and the rough, sudden breaking of it struck -us, in the confused state of our senses, as an extraordinary event. -Anatolia clung to my arm, and questioned me with startled eyes. - -“Secli,” I said, as I recognised the nature of the sound. “The bells of -Secli.” - -And we listened, side by side, leaning towards the echoing crater, in -the shadow thrown over our heads by the boulder. - -The empty crater, resonant as a gigantic drum, echoed back the waves -of sound sent by the quivering bells, and mingled them into one long -hollow rumble that repeated itself indefinitely through the solitudes -of light. All through those solitudes, where primary matter, petrified -into a thousand expressions of rage and sorrow, shone in its grandeur, -down the tawny valley furrowed by the winding river, through the Alpine -vegetation sloping away to the distant sea, everywhere the voice of -bronze, modulated by the terrible fiery mouth, went proclaiming its -mysterious message. Further and further it penetrated, and further -still again, through limitless space, away to shores beyond the -mountains and the sea, away to where my weary sight failed me, away -to where my thoughts, still unformed and uncontrolled, but instinct -with mysterious creative power, wandered like winds laden with pollen. -A grand, vague feeling, in which innumerable things of sorrow and -joy, past and future, of death and life, were mingled, troubled my -consciousness, and seemed tossing it to and fro as the storm tosses the -ocean. - -Amazed, I looked down at the Tartarean lake, thick and stagnant like -the blind eye of a subterranean world; and I looked at the greedy -crater where the impetus of the primeval fire had been arrested, just -as the contracted expression of the last agony sometimes lingers on the -lips of corpses. And my gaze rested on the humble cottages of Secli, -on that fragile nest, hardly distinguishable from the rock on which -it hung. And I had a fantastic vision of that unconscious taciturn -race, busied from time immemorial in turning the entrails of lambs -into musical strings destined to express through the language of art -the highest inspirations of life, and to intoxicate myriads of unknown -souls in the world. - -On and on rolled the sound, rumbling ceaselessly, monotonously, through -the scorching air. And seeing my companion motionless at my side, I -dared not speak, nor break the spell. But suddenly she turned round and -broke into sobs, as if she had just witnessed the end of a death agony. -Leaning against the rock with her face in her hands, she sobbed on -despairingly. - -“Anatolia, Anatolia, what is the matter with you? Answer me, Anatolia! -Say one word to me.” - -And unable to resist the pain, I was just going to take her wrists and -uncover her face. - -I heard close by the sound of a swift step on the stones, the sound of -painful breathing; I saw a shadow. - -“You, Violante?” - -She came up the steep rock with something of the elastic stride of a -wild animal, something hostile and malevolent expressed in her whole -person. Her thick blue veil was wrapped round her head in such a way -that her whole face was hidden down to the chin, as if by a mask, and -her eyes glittered through the gauze. - -She stopped near the boulder in a hostile attitude throwing back her -head like one who is suffocating, yet she did not loosen her veil. -The vehemence of her breathing made her bosom rise and fall, and the -veil flutter; an uncontrollable tremor shook her hands within the torn -gloves she wore, torn probably on the sharp rocks in some perilous fall. - -“We waited for you,” she said at last in a broken voice that almost -hissed; “we waited for you a long time.... As you did not seem to be -coming back, I came up ... to meet you....” - -I could trace the convulsive motion of her lips through her veil; I -could guess at the change in her face behind that suffocating blue mask -that she would not lift up. And I felt my inward emotion increase so -violently every minute, that it was impossible for me to open my lips. -But I felt that not on me alone the necessity for silence had fallen. - -The rumble of the bronze bells reverberating in the crater passed -ceaselessly over our heads. - -Anatolia had stopped sobbing, but the traces of tears were still on her -face, and the eyelids that she kept lowered were red. “Let us go,” she -said softly, without looking either at me or at her sister. - -And in silence, under the desolation of the sunshine, we began the -descent, accompanied by the rumbling sound. - -Miserable descent, which seemed as if it would never end! They walked -on, or lingered behind, according to the necessities of the path; and -I supported sometimes the one, and sometimes the other, when their -steps faltered. Every now and then my heart failed me with the fear -of seeing them succumb. When the bells of Secli ceased ringing we felt -a momentary relief; but we discovered immediately that the oppressive -irregularity of our breathing in the stillness of the air increased our -suffering, and we felt as though we could hear only too distinctly the -murmur of the blood in our veins. - -With a savage pertinacity Violante persisted in braving suffocation -under her blue mask. No doubt her throat must be parched with a -horrible thirst, like mine, like her sister’s. When I took her hand -to help her down, I saw a little blood where the skin had been grazed -through the rents in her glove; and with deep emotion I remembered the -hill-slope covered with flowers. - - * * * * * - -Later on, when we reached the level ground, where my men were waiting -with the mules, and where we rested awhile parched with thirst and -exhausted by fatigue, I composed the beauty and the sorrow of the three -princesses, for the last time, into a harmony of infinite beauty and -pain. - -They were not in their cloistered garden, yet a rocky cloister worthy -of their souls and their fate was surrounding them, for strange and -grand was the aspect of the scenery around. The rocks, standing round -in a circle of varying height, made one think of some amphitheatre -built by Cyclopean hands, worn away, indeed, by centuries and storms -without number, yet still remaining like stupendous ruins. Fragments -of unknown writing were traceable there, incomprehensible riddles of -Life and Death; the twisted veins of the stone were channels for the -essence of a divine thought; and the lines of the shapeless masses were -as full of meaning as the attitudes of perfect statues. - -There we rested, there I caught their final harmony. - -A field labourer--very like the one who had cut the branches of almond -blossom for us with his bill-hook--showed us the way to a spring hidden -in the hollow of a rock. The clear, icy water spurted out with a gentle -murmur, and on the pool beneath floated a rustic cup made of bark, -cracked and bottomless, like the useless husk of some fruit. - -I offered Anatolia another cup, which the man had brought with him. -But Violante, without waiting, raised her veil, and bending over the -sparkling spring, drank in long draughts like a wild animal. - -I saw the drops glistening on her mouth and chin when she rose, but she -turned away suddenly and drew down the edge of her veil. Thus veiled, -she sat down on the stone nearest to the mountain spring, whose song -was too gentle for her taste; and her attitude awakened in my soul -all the magic spell of her own fountains. Even in fatigue she did not -let her figure relax; for now she sat almost rigidly erect, sustained -by her silent angry pride. Once again everything around her seemed to -acknowledge the sovereignty of her presence; secret analogies bound up -the surrounding mysteries with her mystery. Once again she seemed to -drive back my spirit into the furthest distances of time, towards the -ancient ideas of Beauty and Sorrow. She was present, and yet far away. -And in the silence she seemed to be informing me, like the Princess -Dejanira: “I possess an ancient gift from an old centaur, hidden in a -vessel of bronze.” - -Anatolia had sat down beside her pensive brother; she had thrown one -arm round his neck, and her brow seemed gradually to clear as if some -inner light were rising. Massimilla seemed to be listening to the -faint, unquenchable voice of the spring; sitting with the fingers of -her hands clasped together, holding within them the weary knee. - -Over our heads the sky bore no traces of clouds, save a slight shadow -like the ashes of a burnt-out funeral pyre. The sun was scorching the -peaks all around, outlining their solemn features on the blue sky. A -great sadness and a great sweetness fell from above into the lonely -circle, like a magic draught into a rough goblet. - -There the three sisters rested, there I caught their final harmony. - - - HERE ENDETH THE BOOK OF THE VIRGINS AND BEGINNETH THE BOOK OF GRACE. - - - * * * * * - - - Printed by T. and A. CONSTABLE, Printers to Her Majesty - at the Edinburgh University Press - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE VIRGINS OF THE ROCKS *** - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law 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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