A Love Story
the vessel had been caused by the irregular circulation, for no further
bad effects were felt at the time.
The loss of blood, however, evidently weakened him; and his spasms
henceforward were more frequent.
He became less able to undergo fatigue; and his mind, probably in
connection with the nervous system, became more than ordinarily excited.
There was no longer wildness in his actions; but in his thoughts and
language, was developed a poetical eccentricity--a morbid sympathy with
surrounding scenes and impressions, which kept Sir Henry Delmé in a
constant state of alarm,--and which was very remarkable.
* * * * *
"What! at Mestré already, Pietro?" said Sir Henry.
"Even so, Signore! and here is the gondola to take you on to Venice."
"Well, Pietro! you must not fail to come and see us at the inn."
The vetturino touched his hat, with the air of a man who would be very
sorry _not_ to see them.
It was not long ere the glittering prow of the gondola pointed to Venice.
Before the travellers, rose ocean's Cybele; springing from the waters,
like some fairy city, described to youthful ear by aged lip.
The fantastic dome of St. Mark--the Palladian churches--the columned
palaces--the sable gondolas shooting through the canals--made its aspect,
as is its reality, unique in the world.
"Beautiful, beautiful city!" said George, his eye lighting up as he spoke,
"thou dost indeed look a city of the heart--a resting place for a wearied
spirit. And our gondola, Henry, should be of burnished silver; and those
afar--so noiselessly cutting their way through the glassy surface--those
should be angels with golden wings; and, instead of an oar flashing
freely, a snowy wand of mercy should beat back the kissing billows.
"And Acmé, with her George, should sit on the crystal cushion of glory--and
we would wait expectant for you a long long time--and then you should join
us, Henry, with dear Emily.
"And Thompson should be with us, too, and recline on the steps of our bark
as he does now.
"And together we would sail loving and happy through an amethystine sea."
During their stay in Venice, George, in spite of his increasing languor,
continued to accompany his brother, in his visits to the various objects
of interest which the city can boast.
The motion of the gondola appeared to have a soothing influence on the
mind of the invalid.
He would recline on the cushions, and the fast flowing tears would course
down his wan cheeks.
These, however, were far from being a proof of suffering;--they were
evidently a relief to the surcharged spirit.
One evening, a little before sunset, they found themselves in the crowded
piazza of Saint Mark. The cafés were thronged with noble Venetians, come
to witness the evening parade of an Austrian regiment. The sounds of
martial music, swelled above the hum of the multitude; and few could
listen to those strains, without participating in some degree, in the
military enthusiasm of the hour.
But the brothers turned from the pageantry of war, as their eyes fell on
the emblems of Venice free--the minarets of St. Mark, with the horses of
Lysippus, a spoil from Byzantium--the flagless poles that once bore the
banners of three tributary states--the highly adorned azure clock--the
palaces of the proud Doges--where Faliero reigned--where Faliero
suffered:--these were before them.
Their steps mechanically turned to the beautiful Campanile.
George, leaning heavily on Sir Henry's arm, succeeded in gaining the
summit: and they looked down from thence, on that wonderful city.
They saw the parade dismissed--they heard the bugle's fitful blast
proclaim the hour of sunset. The richest hues of crimson and of gold,
tinted the opposite heavens; while on those waters, over which the
gondolas were swiftly gliding, quivered another city, the magic reflection
of the one beneath them.
They gazed on the scene in silence, till the grey twilight came on.
"Now, George! it is getting late," said Sir Henry. "I wonder whether we
could find some old mariner, who could give us a chaunt from Tasso?"
Descending from the Campanile, Sir Henry made enquiries on the quay, and
with some difficulty found gondoliers, who could still recite from their
favourite bard.
Engaging a couple of boats, and placing a singer in each, the brothers
were rowed down the Canale Giudecca--skirted many of the small islands,
studding the lagoons; and proceeded towards the Adriatic.
Gradually the boats parted company, and just as Sir Henry was about to
speak, thinking there might be a mistake as to the directions; the
gondolier in the other boat commenced his song,--its deep bass mellowed by
distance, and the intervening waves. The sound was electric.
It was so exquisitely appropriate to the scene, and harmonised so
admirably, with the associations which Venice is apt to awaken, that one
longed to be able to embody that fleeting sound--to renew its magic
influence in after years. The pen may depict man's stormy feelings: the
sensitive caprice of woman:--the most vivid tints may be imitated on the
glowing canvas:--the inspired marble may realise our every idea of the
beauty of form:--a scroll may give us at will, the divine inspiration, of
Handel:--but there are sounds, as there are subtle thoughts, which, away
from the scenes, where they have charmed us, can never delight us more.
It was not until the second boatman answered the song, that the brothers
felt how little the charm lay, in the voice of the gondolier, and that,
heard nearer, the sounds were harsh and inharmonious.
They recited the death of Clorinda; the one renewing the stanza, whenever
there was a momentary forgetfulness on the part of the other.
The clock of St. Mark had struck twelve, before the travellers had reached
the hotel. George had not complained of fatigue, during a day which even
Sir Henry thought a trying one; and the latter was willing to hope that
his strength was now increasing.
Their first design had been to proceed though Switzerland, resting for
some time at Geneva. Their plans were now changed, and Sir Henry Belme
determined, that their homeward route should be through the Tyrol and
Bavaria, and eventually down the Rhine.
He considered that the water carriage, and the very scenes themselves,
might prove beneficial to the invalid.
Thompson was sent over to Mestré, to inform Pietro; and they prepared to
take their departure.
"You have been better in Venice," said Sir Henry, as they entered the
gondola, that was to bear them from the city. "God grant that you may long
remain so!"
George shook his head doubtingly.
"My illness, Henry, is not of the frame alone, although that is fragile
and shattered.
"The body lingers on without suffering; but the mind--a very bright sword
in a worthless sheath--is forcing its way through. Some feelings must
remain to the last--gratitude to you--love to dear Emily! Acmé, wife of my
bosom! when may I join you?"
Chapter IX.
Inspruck.
"Oh there is sweetness in the mountain air,
And life, that bloated ease can never hope to share."
Inspruck! a thousand recollections flash across us, as we pronounce the
word!
We were there at a memorable period; when the body of the hero of the
Tyrol--the brave, the simple-minded Anderl Hofer--was removed from Mantua,
where he so nobly met a patriot's death, to the capital of the country,
which he had so gallantly defended.
The event was one, that could not fail to be impressive; and to us it was
doubly so, for that very period formed an epoch in our lives.
We had lost! we had suffered! we had mourned! Our mind's strength was
shook. Ordinary remedies were worse than futile.
We threw ourselves into the heart of the Tyrol, and became resigned if
not happy.
Romantic country! did not duty whisper otherwise, how would we fly to thy
rugged mountains, and find in the kindly virtues of thine inhabitants,
wherewithal to banish misanthropy, and it may be purchase oblivion.
Noble land! where the chief in his hall--the peasant in his hut--alike
open their arms with sheltering hospitality, to welcome the
stranger--where kindness springs from the heart, and dreams not of sordid
gain--where courtesy attends superior rank, without question, but without
debasement--where the men are valiant, the women virtuous--where it needed
but a few home-spun heroes--an innkeeper and a friar--to rouse up to arms
an entire population, and in a brief space to drive back the Gallic
foeman! Oh! how do we revert with choking sense of gratitude, to the years
we have spent in thy bosom!
Oh! would that we were again treading the mountain's summit--the rifle
our comrade--and a rude countryman, our guide and our companion.
In vain! in vain! the net of circumstance is over us!
We may struggle! but cannot escape from its close meshes.
We have said that we were at Inspruck at this period.
It was our purpose, on the following morning, to take our departure.
With renewed health, and nerves rebraced, we hoped to combat successfully,
a world that had already stung us.
There was a group near the golden-roofed palace, that attracted our
attention. It consisted of a father and his five sons.
They were dressed in the costume of the country; wearing a tapering
hat, with black ribbons and feather--a short green jerkin--a red vest
surmounted by broad green braces--and short boots tightly laced to
the ancle.
They formed a picture of free mountaineers.
We left our lodging, and passed them irresolutely twice or thrice.
The old man took off his hat to the stranger.
"Sir! I am of Sand, in Passeyer.
"Anderl Hofer was my schoolfellow; and these are my boys, whom I have
brought to see all that remains of him. Oh! Sir! they did not conquer him,
although the murderers shot him on the bastion; but, as he wrote to
Pulher--_his_ friend and mine--it was indeed 'in the name, and by the help
of the Lord, that he undertook the voyage,'"
We paced through the city sorrowfully. It was night, as we passed by the
church of the Holy Cross.
Solemn music there arrested our footsteps; and we remembered, that high
mass would that night be performed, for the soul of the deceased patriot.
We entered, and drew near the mausoleum of Maximilian the First:--leaning
against a colossal statue in bronze, and fixing our eyes on a bas relief
on the tomb: one of twenty-four tablets, wrought from Carrara's whitest
marble, by the unrivalled hand of Colin of Malines!
One blaze of glory enveloped the grand altar:--vapours of incense floated
above:--and the music! oh it went to the soul!
Down! down knelt the assembled throng!
Our mind had been previously attuned to melancholy; it now reeled under
its oppression.
We looked around with tearful eye. Old Theodoric of the Goths seemed to
frown from his pedestal.
We turned to the statue against which we had leant.
It was that of a youthful and sinewy warrior.
We read its inscription.
Artur, Konig Von England
"Ah! hast _thou_ too thy representative, my country?"
We looked around once more.
The congregation were prostrate before the mysterious Host; and we alone
stood up, gazing with profound awe and reverence on the mystic rite.
The rough caps of the women almost hid their fair brows. In the upturned
features of the men, what a manly, yet what a devout expression reigned!
Melodiously did the strains proceed from the brazen-balustraded
orchestra; while sweet young girls smiled in the chapel of silver, as
they turned to Heaven their deeply-fringed eyes, and invoked pardon for
their sins.
Alas! alas! that such as these _should_ err, even in thought! that our
feelings should so often mislead us,--that our very refinement, should