A Love Story
world's venomed darts, as he painfully wends his toilsome way!
When Delmé returned to his brother, he found the latter anxiously
expecting him, and desirous of ascertaining the impression, which his
conversation with the surgeon had created.
But Delmé thought it more prudent, to defer the discussion of those
points, till he had heard from George himself, as to many circumstances
connected with Acmé's history, and had been able to form some personal
opinion regarding the health of the invalid. He therefore begged
George, if he felt equal to the task, to avail himself of the
opportunity of Acmé's absence, to tell him how he had first met her. To
this George willingly assented; and as there is ever a peculiarity in
foreign scenes and habits, which awakens interest, we give his story in
his own language.
"There are some old families here, Henry," began the invalid, "whose
names are connected with some of the proudest, which the annals of the
Knights of St. John of Jerusalem can boast. They are for the most part
sunk in poverty, and possess but little of the outward trappings of
rank. But their pride is not therefore the less; and rather than have it
wounded, by being put in collision with those with whom in worldly
wealth they are unable to compete, they prefer the privacy of
retirement; and are rarely seen, and more rarely known, by any of the
English residents, whom they distrust and dislike. It is true, there are
a few families, some of the male members of which have accepted
subordinate situations under government: and these have become
habituated to English society, and meet on terms of tolerable
cordiality, the English whose acquaintance they have thus made. But
there are others, as I have said, whose existence is hardly recognised,
and who vegetate in some lone palazzo; brooding over the decay of their
fortunes--never crossing the threshold of their mansions--except when
religious feelings command them to attend a mass, or public procession.
Of such a family was Acmé a member. By birth a Greek, she was a witness
to many of the bloody scenes which took place at the commencement of the
struggle for Grecian freedom. She was herself present at the murder of
both her parents. Her beauty alone saved her from sharing their fate.
One of the Turks, struck with, her expression of childish sorrow,
interfered in her behalf, and permitted a friend and neighbour to save
her life and his own, by taking shipping for one of the islands in our
possession. After residing in Corfu for some months, she received an
invitation from her father's brother-in-law, a member of an ancient
Maltese family; and for the last few years has spent a life, if not gay,
at least free from a repetition of those sanguinary scenes, which have
lent their impress to a sensitive mind, and at moments impart a
melancholy tinge, to a disposition by nature unusually joyous. It was on
a festa day, dedicated to the patron saint of the island, when no
Maltese not absolutely bed-ridden, but would deem it a duty, to witness
the solemn and lengthy procession which such a day calls forth; that I
first met Acmé Frascati.
"I was alone in the Strada Reale, and strolling towards the Piazza, when
my attention was directed to what struck me as the loveliest face I had
ever seen.
"Acmé, for it was her, was drest in the costume of the island; and,
although a faldette is not the best dress for exhibiting a figure,
there was a grace and lightness in her carriage, that would have
arrested my attention, even had I not been riveted by her countenance.
She was on the opposite side of the street to myself, and was attended
by an old Moorish woman, who carried an illumined missal. Of these
women, several may yet be seen in Malta, looking very Oriental and
duenna-like. As I stopped to admire her, she suddenly attempted to
cross to the side of the street where I stood. At the same moment, I
observed a horse attached to a calèche galloping furiously towards her.
It was almost upon her ere Acmé saw her danger. The driver, anxious to
pass before the procession formed, had whipped his horse till it became
unmanageable, and it was now in vain that he tried to arrest its
progress. A natural impulse induced me to rush forward, and endeavour
to save her. She was pale and trembling, as I caught her and placed her
out of the reach of danger; but before I could touch the pavement, I
felt myself struck by the wheel of the carriage, was thrown down, and
taken up insensible. When consciousness returned, I found they had
conveyed me to a neighbouring shop, and that medical attendance had
been procured. But more than all, I noticed the solicitude of Acmé.
Until the surgeon had given a favourable report, she could not address
me, but when this had been pronounced, she overwhelmed me with thanks,
begged to know where I would wish to be taken, and rested not until her
own family calèche came up, and she saw me, attended by the Moorish
woman, on the road to Floriana.
"My accident, though not a very serious one, proved of sufficient
consequence, to confine me to my room for some time; and during that
period, not a day passed, that did not give me proof of the anxiety of
the young Greek for my restoration. I need not say that one of my
first visits was to her. Her family received me as they would an
absent brother. The obligations they considered I had conferred,
outweighed all prejudices which they might have imbibed against my
nation. On _my_ part, charmed with my adventure, delighted with Acmé,
and gratified by the kindness of her relations, I endeavoured to
increase their favourable opinion by all the means in my power. Acmé
and myself were soon more than friends, and I found my visits gave and
imparted pleasure.
"I now arrive at the unhappy part of my narrative. How do I wish it were
effaced from my memory. You may remember how, in all my letters to
Delmé, I made mention of my dear friend Delancey. We were indeed dear
friends. We joined at the same time, lived together in England,
embarked together, and when, one dreadful night off the African coast,
the captain of the transport thought we must inevitably drift on the
lee shore, we solaced each other, and agreed that, if it came to the
worst, on one plank would we embark our fortunes. On our landing in
Malta, we were inseparable, and my first impulse was to inform Delancey
of all that had occurred, and to introduce him to a house where I felt
so happy. I must here do him the justice to state, that whether I was
partly unaware of the extent of my own feelings towards Acmé, or
whether I felt a morbid sense of delicacy, in alluding to what I knew
to be the first attachment I had ever formed, I am unable to inform
you! but the only circumstance I concealed from my friend was my
attachment to the young Greek. Perhaps to this may be mainly attributed
what happened. God, who knows all secrets, knows this; but I may now
aver, that my friend, with many faults, has proved himself to have as
frank and ingenuous a spirit, as noble ideas of friendship, as can
exist in the human breast. For some time, matters continued thus. We
were both constant visitors at Acmé's house. With unparalleled
blindness, I never mistrusted the feelings of my friend. I never
contemplated that _he_ also might become entangled with the young
beauty. I considered her as my own prize, and was more engaged in
analysing my own sensations, and in vainly struggling against a
passion, which I was certain could not meet my family's approval, than
at all suspicious that fresh causes of uneasiness might arise in
another quarter. As Acmé's heart opened to mine, I found her with
feelings guileless and unsuspecting as a child's; although these were
warm, and their expression but little restrained. There was a confiding
simplicity in her manner, that threw an air over all she said or did,
which quite forbade censure, and excited admiration. My passion became
a violent and an all-absorbing one. I had made up my mind, to throw
myself on the kindness of my family, and endeavour to obtain all your
consents. Thus was I situated, when one day Acmé came up to me with
frankness of manner, but a tremulous voice, to beg I would use my
interest with my friend, to prevent his coming to see her.
"'Indeed, indeed,' said she, 'I have tried to love him as a friend, as
the friend of my life's preserver, but ever since he has spoken as he
now does, his visits are quite unpleasant. My family begged me to tell
you. They would have asked him to come no more, but were afraid you
might be angry. Will you still come to us, and love us all, if they tell
him this? If you will not, he shall still come; for indeed we could not
offend one to whom we owe so much.'
"'_I_, too,' said I to Acmé, '_I_, too, dearest, ought perhaps to leave
you, _I_, too'--
"'Oh, never! never!' said she, as she turned to me her dark eyes, bright
with humid radiance. 'We cannot thus part!'
"She _did_, then, love me! I clasped her to my arms--our lips clung
together in one rapturous intoxicating embrace.
"Yet, even in that moment of delirium, Henry, I told her of you, and of
the many obstacles which still presented themselves to retard or even
prevent our union. I sought my friend Delancey, and remonstrated with
him. He appeared to doubt my right to question his motives. Success made
me feel still more injured. I showered down reproaches. He could not
have acted differently. We met! and I saw him fall! Till then, I had
considered myself as the injured man; but as I heard him on the ground
name his mother, and one dearer still--as he took from his breast the
last gift _she_ had made him--as he begged of _me_ to be its bearer; I
then first felt remorse. He was taken to his room. Even the surgeon
entertained no hopes. He again called me to his side; I heard his noble
acknowledgment, his reiterated vows of friendship, the mournful tones of
his farewell. I entered this room a heart-broken man. I felt my pulse
throb fearfully, a gasping sensation was in my throat, my head swam
round, and I clung to the wall for support. The next thing of which I
have any recollection, was the dawn of reason breaking through my
troubled dreams. It was midnight--all was still. The fitful lamp shone
dimly through my chamber. I turned on my side--and, oh! by its light, I
saw the face I most loved--that face, whose gentle lineaments, were each
deeply and separately engraven on my heart. I saw her bending over me
with a maiden's love and a mother's solicitude. As I essayed to
speak--as my conscious eye met her's--as the soft words of affection
were involuntarily breathed by my feeble lips--how her features lit up
with joy! Oh, say not, Henry, till you have experienced such a moment of
transport, say not that the lips which then vowed eternal fidelity, that
the young hearts which _then_ plighted their truth, and vowed to love
for ever--oh call not these guilty!
"Since that time my health has been extremely precarious. Whether the
events crowded too thickly on me, or that I have not fully recovered my
health, or--which I confess I think is the case--that my compunctions
for my conduct to Acmé weigh me down, I know not; but it is not always,
my dear Henry, that I can thus address you. There are hours when I am
hardly sensible of what I do, when my brain reels from its oppression.
At such times, Acmé is my guardian angel--my tender nurse--my
affectionate attendant! In my lucid intervals, she is what you see
her--the gentle companion--the confiding friend. I love her, Henry, more
than I can tell you! I shall never be able to leave her! From Acmé you
may learn more of those dreary hours, which appear to me like waste
dreams in my existence. She has watched by my bed of sickness, till she