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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Marble Faun, Volume II. + The Romance of Monte Beni + +Author: Nathaniel Hawthorne + +Release Date: February 25, 2006 [EBook #2182] +Last Updated: December 15, 2016 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MARBLE FAUN, VOLUME II. *** + + + + +Produced by Michael Pullen and David Widger + + + + + +</pre> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h1> + THE MARBLE FAUN, + </h1> + <h2> + or The Romance of Monte Beni + </h2> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <h3> + BY NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE + </h3> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h3> + Volume II. In Two Volumes + </h3> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h2> + Contents + </h2> + <h3> + <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> <big><b>THE MARBLE FAUN, VOLUME II.</b></big> + </a> + </h3> + <table summary="" style="margin-right: auto; margin-left: auto"> + <tr> + <td> + <a href="#link2HCH0001"> CHAPTER XXIV </a><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0002"> + CHAPTER XXV </a><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0003"> CHAPTER XXVI </a><br /> + <a href="#link2HCH0004"> CHAPTER XXVII </a><br /> <a + href="#link2HCH0005"> CHAPTER XXVIII </a><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0006"> + CHAPTER XXIX </a><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0007"> CHAPTER XXX </a><br /> + <a href="#link2HCH0008"> CHAPTER XXXI </a><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0009"> + CHAPTER XXXII </a><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0010"> CHAPTER XXXIII </a><br /> + <a href="#link2HCH0011"> CHAPTER XXXIV </a><br /> <a + href="#link2HCH0012"> CHAPTER XXXV </a><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0013"> + CHAPTER XXXVI </a><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0014"> CHAPTER XXXVII </a><br /> + <a href="#link2HCH0015"> CHAPTER XXXVIII </a> <br /> + <a href="#link2HCH0016"> CHAPTER XXXIX </a><br /> <a + href="#link2HCH0017"> CHAPTER XL </a><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0018"> + CHAPTER XLI </a><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0019"> CHAPTER XLII </a><br /> + <a href="#link2HCH0020"> CHAPTER XLIII </a><br /> <a + href="#link2HCH0021"> CHAPTER XLIV </a><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0022"> + CHAPTER XLV </a><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0023"> CHAPTER XLVI </a><br /> + <a href="#link2HCH0024"> CHAPTER XLVII </a><br /> <a + href="#link2HCH0025"> CHAPTER XLVIII </a><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0026"> + CHAPTER XLIX </a><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0027"> CHAPTER L </a> + </td> + <td> + THE TOWER AMONG THE APENNINES <br /> SUNSHINE <br /> THE PEDIGREE OF + MONTE BENI <br /> MYTHS <br /> THE OWL TOWER <br /> ON THE BATTLEMENTS + <br /> DONATELLO’S BUST <br /> THE MARBLE SALOON <br /> SCENES BY THE WAY + <br /> PICTURED WINDOWS <br /> MARKET-DAY IN PERUGIA <br /> THE BRONZE + PONTIFF’S BENEDICTION <br /> HILDA’S TOWER <br /> THE EMPTINESS OF + PICTURE GALLERIES <br /> ALTARS AND INCENSE <br /> THE WORLD’S CATHEDRAL + <br /> HILDA AND A FRIEND <br /> SNOWDROPS AND MAIDENLY DELIGHTS <br /> + REMINISCENCES OF MIRIAM <br /> THE EXTINCTION OF A LAMP <br /> THE + DESERTED SHRINE <br /> THE FLIGHT OF HILDA’S DOVES <br /> A WALK ON THE + CAMPAGNA <br /> THE PEASANT AND CONTADINA <br /> A SCENE IN THE CORSO + <br /> A FROLIC OF THE CARNIVAL <br /> MIRIAM, HILDA, KENYON, DONATELLO + </td> + </tr> + </table> + <h3> + <a href="#link2H_CONC"> CONCLUSION </a> + </h3> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h1> + THE MARBLE FAUN + </h1> + <h3> + Volume II + </h3> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXIV + </h2> + <h3> + THE TOWER AMONG THE APENNINES + </h3> + <p> + It was in June that the sculptor, Kenyon, arrived on horseback at the gate + of an ancient country house (which, from some of its features, might + almost be called a castle) situated in a part of Tuscany somewhat remote + from the ordinary track of tourists. Thither we must now accompany him, + and endeavor to make our story flow onward, like a streamlet, past a gray + tower that rises on the hillside, overlooking a spacious valley, which is + set in the grand framework of the Apennines. + </p> + <p> + The sculptor had left Rome with the retreating tide of foreign residents. + For, as summer approaches, the Niobe of Nations is made to bewail anew, + and doubtless with sincerity, the loss of that large part of her + population which she derives from other lands, and on whom depends much of + whatever remnant of prosperity she still enjoys. Rome, at this season, is + pervaded and overhung with atmospheric terrors, and insulated within a + charmed and deadly circle. The crowd of wandering tourists betake + themselves to Switzerland, to the Rhine, or, from this central home of the + world, to their native homes in England or America, which they are apt + thenceforward to look upon as provincial, after once having yielded to the + spell of the Eternal City. The artist, who contemplates an indefinite + succession of winters in this home of art (though his first thought was + merely to improve himself by a brief visit), goes forth, in the summer + time, to sketch scenery and costume among the Tuscan hills, and pour, if + he can, the purple air of Italy over his canvas. He studies the old + schools of art in the mountain towns where they were born, and where they + are still to be seen in the faded frescos of Giotto and Cimabue, on the + walls of many a church, or in the dark chapels, in which the sacristan + draws aside the veil from a treasured picture of Perugino. Thence, the + happy painter goes to walk the long, bright galleries of Florence, or to + steal glowing colors from the miraculous works, which he finds in a score + of Venetian palaces. Such summers as these, spent amid whatever is + exquisite in art, or wild and picturesque in nature, may not inadequately + repay him for the chill neglect and disappointment through which he has + probably languished, in his Roman winter. This sunny, shadowy, breezy, + wandering life, in which he seeks for beauty as his treasure, and gathers + for his winter’s honey what is but a passing fragrance to all other men, + is worth living for, come afterwards what may. Even if he die + unrecognized, the artist has had his share of enjoyment and success. + </p> + <p> + Kenyon had seen, at a distance of many miles, the old villa or castle + towards which his journey lay, looking from its height over a broad + expanse of valley. As he drew nearer, however, it had been hidden among + the inequalities of the hillside, until the winding road brought him + almost to the iron gateway. The sculptor found this substantial barrier + fastened with lock and bolt. There was no bell, nor other instrument of + sound; and, after summoning the invisible garrison with his voice, instead + of a trumpet, he had leisure to take a glance at the exterior of the + fortress. + </p> + <p> + About thirty yards within the gateway rose a square tower, lofty enough to + be a very prominent object in the landscape, and more than sufficiently + massive in proportion to its height. Its antiquity was evidently such + that, in a climate of more abundant moisture, the ivy would have mantled + it from head to foot in a garment that might, by this time, have been + centuries old, though ever new. In the dry Italian air, however, Nature + had only so far adopted this old pile of stonework as to cover almost + every hand’s-breadth of it with close-clinging lichens and yellow moss; + and the immemorial growth of these kindly productions rendered the general + hue of the tower soft and venerable, and took away the aspect of nakedness + which would have made its age drearier than now. + </p> + <p> + Up and down the height of the tower were scattered three or four windows, + the lower ones grated with iron bars, the upper ones vacant both of window + frames and glass. Besides these larger openings, there were several + loopholes and little square apertures, which might be supposed to light + the staircase, that doubtless climbed the interior towards the + battlemented and machicolated summit. With this last-mentioned warlike + garniture upon its stern old head and brow, the tower seemed evidently a + stronghold of times long past. Many a crossbowman had shot his shafts from + those windows and loop-holes, and from the vantage height of those gray + battlements; many a flight of arrows, too, had hit all round about the + embrasures above, or the apertures below, where the helmet of a defender + had momentarily glimmered. On festal nights, moreover, a hundred lamps had + often gleamed afar over the valley, suspended from the iron hooks that + were ranged for the purpose beneath the battlements and every window. + </p> + <p> + Connected with the tower, and extending behind it, there seemed to be a + very spacious residence, chiefly of more modern date. It perhaps owed much + of its fresher appearance, however, to a coat of stucco and yellow wash, + which is a sort of renovation very much in vogue with the Italians. Kenyon + noticed over a doorway, in the portion of the edifice immediately adjacent + to the tower, a cross, which, with a bell suspended above the roof, + indicated that this was a consecrated precinct, and the chapel of the + mansion. + </p> + <p> + Meanwhile, the hot sun so incommoded the unsheltered traveller, that he + shouted forth another impatient summons. Happening, at the same moment, to + look upward, he saw a figure leaning from an embrasure of the battlements, + and gazing down at him. + </p> + <p> + “Ho, Signore Count!” cried the sculptor, waving his straw hat, for he + recognized the face, after a moment’s doubt. “This is a warm reception, + truly! Pray bid your porter let me in, before the sun shrivels me quite + into a cinder.” + </p> + <p> + “I will come myself,” responded Donatello, flinging down his voice out of + the clouds, as it were; “old Tomaso and old Stella are both asleep, no + doubt, and the rest of the people are in the vineyard. But I have expected + you, and you are welcome!” + </p> + <p> + The young Count—as perhaps we had better designate him in his + ancestral tower—vanished from the battlements; and Kenyon saw his + figure appear successively at each of the windows, as he descended. On + every reappearance, he turned his face towards the sculptor and gave a nod + and smile; for a kindly impulse prompted him thus to assure his visitor of + a welcome, after keeping him so long at an inhospitable threshold. + </p> + <p> + Kenyon, however (naturally and professionally expert at reading the + expression of the human countenance), had a vague sense that this was not + the young friend whom he had known so familiarly in Rome; not the sylvan + and untutored youth, whom Miriam, Hilda, and himself had liked, laughed + at, and sported with; not the Donatello whose identity they had so + playfully mixed up with that of the Faun of Praxiteles. + </p> + <p> + Finally, when his host had emerged from a side portal of the mansion, and + approached the gateway, the traveller still felt that there was something + lost, or something gained (he hardly knew which), that set the Donatello + of to-day irreconcilably at odds with him of yesterday. His very gait + showed it, in a certain gravity, a weight and measure of step, that had + nothing in common with the irregular buoyancy which used to distinguish + him. His face was paler and thinner, and the lips less full and less + apart. + </p> + <p> + “I have looked for you a long while,” said Donatello; and, though his + voice sounded differently, and cut out its words more sharply than had + been its wont, still there was a smile shining on his face, that, for the + moment, quite brought back the Faun. “I shall be more cheerful, perhaps, + now that you have come. It is very solitary here.” + </p> + <p> + “I have come slowly along, often lingering, often turning aside,” replied + Kenyon; “for I found a great deal to interest me in the mediaeval + sculpture hidden away in the churches hereabouts. An artist, whether + painter or sculptor, may be pardoned for loitering through such a region. + But what a fine old tower! Its tall front is like a page of black letter, + taken from the history of the Italian republics.” + </p> + <p> + “I know little or nothing of its history,” said the Count, glancing upward + at the battlements, where he had just been standing. “But I thank my + forefathers for building it so high. I like the windy summit better than + the world below, and spend much of my time there, nowadays.” + </p> + <p> + “It is a pity you are not a star-gazer,” observed Kenyon, also looking up. + “It is higher than Galileo’s tower, which I saw, a week or two ago, + outside of the walls of Florence.” + </p> + <p> + “A star-gazer? I am one,” replied Donatello. “I sleep in the tower, and + often watch very late on the battlements. There is a dismal old staircase + to climb, however, before reaching the top, and a succession of dismal + chambers, from story to story. Some of them were prison chambers in times + past, as old Tomaso will tell you.” + </p> + <p> + The repugnance intimated in his tone at the idea of this gloomy staircase + and these ghostly, dimly lighted rooms, reminded Kenyon of the original + Donatello, much more than his present custom of midnight vigils on the + battlements. + </p> + <p> + “I shall be glad to share your watch,” said the guest; “especially by + moonlight. The prospect of this broad valley must be very fine. But I was + not aware, my friend, that these were your country habits. I have fancied + you in a sort of Arcadian life, tasting rich figs, and squeezing the juice + out of the sunniest grapes, and sleeping soundly all night, after a day of + simple pleasures.” + </p> + <p> + “I may have known such a life, when I was younger,” answered the Count + gravely. “I am not a boy now. Time flies over us, but leaves its shadow + behind.” + </p> + <p> + The sculptor could not but smile at the triteness of the remark, which, + nevertheless, had a kind of originality as coming from Donatello. He had + thought it out from his own experience, and perhaps considered himself as + communicating a new truth to mankind. + </p> + <p> + They were now advancing up the courtyard; and the long extent of the + villa, with its iron-barred lower windows and balconied upper ones, became + visible, stretching back towards a grove of trees. + </p> + <p> + “At some period of your family history,” observed Kenyon, “the Counts of + Monte Beni must have led a patriarchal life in this vast house. A + great-grandsire and all his descendants might find ample verge here, and + with space, too, for each separate brood of little ones to play within its + own precincts. Is your present household a large one?” + </p> + <p> + “Only myself,” answered Donatello, “and Tomaso, who has been butler since + my grandfather’s time, and old Stella, who goes sweeping and dusting about + the chambers, and Girolamo, the cook, who has but an idle life of it. He + shall send you up a chicken forthwith. But, first of all, I must summon + one of the contadini from the farmhouse yonder, to take your horse to the + stable.” + </p> + <p> + Accordingly, the young Count shouted again, and with such effect that, + after several repetitions of the outcry, an old gray woman protruded her + head and a broom-handle from a chamber window; the venerable butler + emerged from a recess in the side of the house, where was a well, or + reservoir, in which he had been cleansing a small wine cask; and a + sunburnt contadino, in his shirt-sleeves, showed himself on the outskirts + of the vineyard, with some kind of a farming tool in his hand. Donatello + found employment for all these retainers in providing accommodation for + his guest and steed, and then ushered the sculptor into the vestibule of + the house. + </p> + <p> + It was a square and lofty entrance-room, which, by the solidity of its + construction, might have been an Etruscan tomb, being paved and walled + with heavy blocks of stone, and vaulted almost as massively overhead. On + two sides there were doors, opening into long suites of anterooms and + saloons; on the third side, a stone staircase of spacious breadth, + ascending, by dignified degrees and with wide resting-places, to another + floor of similar extent. Through one of the doors, which was ajar, Kenyon + beheld an almost interminable vista of apartments, opening one beyond the + other, and reminding him of the hundred rooms in Blue Beard’s castle, or + the countless halls in some palace of the Arabian Nights. + </p> + <p> + It must have been a numerous family, indeed, that could ever have sufficed + to people with human life so large an abode as this, and impart social + warmth to such a wide world within doors. The sculptor confessed to + himself, that Donatello could allege reason enough for growing melancholy, + having only his own personality to vivify it all. + </p> + <p> + “How a woman’s face would brighten it up!” he ejaculated, not intending to + be overheard. + </p> + <p> + But, glancing at Donatello, he saw a stern and sorrowful look in his eyes, + which altered his youthful face as if it had seen thirty years of trouble; + and, at the same moment, old Stella showed herself through one of the + doorways, as the only representative of her sex at Monte Beni. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXV + </h2> + <h3> + SUNSHINE + </h3> + <p> + “Come,” said the Count, “I see you already find the old house dismal. So + do I, indeed! And yet it was a cheerful place in my boyhood. But, you see, + in my father’s days (and the same was true of all my endless line of + grandfathers, as I have heard), there used to be uncles, aunts, and all + manner of kindred, dwelling together as one family. They were a merry and + kindly race of people, for the most part, and kept one another’s hearts + warm.” + </p> + <p> + “Two hearts might be enough for warmth,” observed the sculptor, “even in + so large a house as this. One solitary heart, it is true, may be apt to + shiver a little. But, I trust, my friend, that the genial blood of your + race still flows in many veins besides your own?” + </p> + <p> + “I am the last,” said Donatello gloomily. “They have all vanished from me, + since my childhood. Old Tomaso will tell you that the air of Monte Beni is + not so favorable to length of days as it used to be. But that is not the + secret of the quick extinction of my kindred.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you are aware of a more satisfactory reason?” suggested Kenyon. + </p> + <p> + “I thought of one, the other night, while I was gazing at the stars,” + answered Donatello; “but, pardon me, I do not mean to tell it. One cause, + however, of the longer and healthier life of my forefathers was, that they + had many pleasant customs, and means of making themselves glad, and their + guests and friends along with them. Nowadays we have but one!” + </p> + <p> + “And what is that?” asked the sculptor. + </p> + <p> + “You shall see!” said his young host. + </p> + <p> + By this time, he had ushered the sculptor into one of the numberless + saloons; and, calling for refreshment, old Stella placed a cold fowl upon + the table, and quickly followed it with a savory omelet, which Girolamo + had lost no time in preparing. She also brought some cherries, plums, and + apricots, and a plate full of particularly delicate figs, of last year’s + growth. The butler showing his white head at the door, his master beckoned + to him. “Tomaso, bring some Sunshine!” said he. The readiest method of + obeying this order, one might suppose, would have been to fling wide the + green window-blinds, and let the glow of the summer noon into the + carefully shaded room. But, at Monte Beni, with provident caution against + the wintry days, when there is little sunshine, and the rainy ones, when + there is none, it was the hereditary custom to keep their Sunshine stored + away in the cellar. Old Tomaso quickly produced some of it in a small, + straw-covered flask, out of which he extracted the cork, and inserted a + little cotton wool, to absorb the olive oil that kept the precious liquid + from the air. + </p> + <p> + “This is a wine,” observed the Count, “the secret of making which has been + kept in our family for centuries upon centuries; nor would it avail any + man to steal the secret, unless he could also steal the vineyard, in which + alone the Monte Beni grape can be produced. There is little else left me, + save that patch of vines. Taste some of their juice, and tell me whether + it is worthy to be called Sunshine! for that is its name.” “A glorious + name, too!” cried the sculptor. “Taste it,” said Donatello, filling his + friend’s glass, and pouring likewise a little into his own. “But first + smell its fragrance; for the wine is very lavish of it, and will scatter + it all abroad.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, how exquisite!” said Kenyon. “No other wine has a bouquet like this. + The flavor must be rare, indeed, if it fulfill the promise of this + fragrance, which is like the airy sweetness of youthful hopes, that no + realities will ever satisfy!” + </p> + <p> + This invaluable liquor was of a pale golden hue, like other of the rarest + Italian wines, and, if carelessly and irreligiously quaffed, might have + been mistaken for a very fine sort of champagne. It was not, however, an + effervescing wine, although its delicate piquancy produced a somewhat + similar effect upon the palate. Sipping, the guest longed to sip again; + but the wine demanded so deliberate a pause, in order to detect the hidden + peculiarities and subtile exquisiteness of its flavor, that to drink it + was really more a moral than a physical enjoyment. There was a + deliciousness in it that eluded analysis, and—like whatever else is + superlatively good—was perhaps better appreciated in the memory than + by present consciousness. + </p> + <p> + One of its most ethereal charms lay in the transitory life of the wine’s + richest qualities; for, while it required a certain leisure and delay, + yet, if you lingered too long upon the draught, it became disenchanted + both of its fragrance and its flavor. + </p> + <p> + The lustre should not be forgotten, among the other admirable endowments + of the Monte Beni wine; for, as it stood in Kenyon’s glass, a little + circle of light glowed on the table round about it, as if it were really + so much golden sunshine. + </p> + <p> + “I feel myself a better man for that ethereal potation,” observed the + sculptor. “The finest Orvieto, or that famous wine, the Est Est Est of + Montefiascone, is vulgar in comparison. This is surely the wine of the + Golden Age, such as Bacchus himself first taught mankind to press from the + choicest of his grapes. My dear Count, why is it not illustrious? The + pale, liquid gold, in every such flask as that, might be solidified into + golden scudi, and would quickly make you a millionaire!” + </p> + <p> + Tomaso, the old butler, who was standing by the table, and enjoying the + praises of the wine quite as much as if bestowed upon himself, made + answer,—“We have a tradition, Signore,” said he, “that this rare + wine of our vineyard would lose all its wonderful qualities, if any of it + were sent to market. The Counts of Monte Beni have never parted with a + single flask of it for gold. At their banquets, in the olden time, they + have entertained princes, cardinals, and once an emperor and once a pope, + with this delicious wine, and always, even to this day, it has been their + custom to let it flow freely, when those whom they love and honor sit at + the board. But the grand duke himself could not drink that wine, except it + were under this very roof!” + </p> + <p> + “What you tell me, my good friend,” replied Kenyon, “makes me venerate the + Sunshine of Monte Beni even more abundantly than before. As I understand + you, it is a sort of consecrated juice, and symbolizes the holy virtues of + hospitality and social kindness?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, partly so, Signore,” said the old butler, with a shrewd twinkle in + his eye; “but, to speak out all the truth, there is another excellent + reason why neither a cask nor a flask of our precious vintage should ever + be sent to market. The wine, Signore, is so fond of its native home, that + a transportation of even a few miles turns it quite sour. And yet it is a + wine that keeps well in the cellar, underneath this floor, and gathers + fragrance, flavor, and brightness, in its dark dungeon. That very flask of + Sunshine, now, has kept itself for you, sir guest (as a maid reserves her + sweetness till her lover comes for it), ever since a merry vintage-time, + when the Signore Count here was a boy!” + </p> + <p> + “You must not wait for Tomaso to end his discourse about the wine, before + drinking off your glass,” observed Donatello. “When once the flask is + uncorked, its finest qualities lose little time in making their escape. I + doubt whether your last sip will be quite so delicious as you found the + first.” + </p> + <p> + And, in truth, the sculptor fancied that the Sunshine became almost + imperceptibly clouded, as he approached the bottom of the flask. The + effect of the wine, however, was a gentle exhilaration, which did not so + speedily pass away. + </p> + <p> + Being thus refreshed, Kenyon looked around him at the antique saloon in + which they sat. It was constructed in a most ponderous style, with a stone + floor, on which heavy pilasters were planted against the wall, supporting + arches that crossed one another in the vaulted ceiling. The upright walls, + as well as the compartments of the roof, were completely Covered with + frescos, which doubtless had been brilliant when first executed, and + perhaps for generations afterwards. The designs were of a festive and + joyous character, representing Arcadian scenes, where nymphs, fauns, and + satyrs disported themselves among mortal youths and maidens; and Pan, and + the god of wine, and he of sunshine and music, disdained not to brighten + some sylvan merry-making with the scarcely veiled glory of their presence. + A wreath of dancing figures, in admirable variety of shape and motion, was + festooned quite round the cornice of the room. + </p> + <p> + In its first splendor, the saloon must have presented an aspect both + gorgeous and enlivening; for it invested some of the cheerfullest ideas + and emotions of which the human mind is susceptible with the external + reality of beautiful form, and rich, harmonious glow and variety of color. + But the frescos were now very ancient. They had been rubbed and scrubbed + by old Stein and many a predecessor, and had been defaced in one spot, and + retouched in another, and had peeled from the wall in patches, and had + hidden some of their brightest portions under dreary dust, till the + joyousness had quite vanished out of them all. It was often difficult to + puzzle out the design; and even where it was more readily intelligible, + the figures showed like the ghosts of dead and buried joys,—the + closer their resemblance to the happy past, the gloomier now. For it is + thus, that with only an inconsiderable change, the gladdest objects and + existences become the saddest; hope fading into disappointment; joy + darkening into grief, and festal splendor into funereal duskiness; and all + evolving, as their moral, a grim identity between gay things and sorrowful + ones. Only give them a little time, and they turn out to be just alike! + </p> + <p> + “There has been much festivity in this saloon, if I may judge by the + character of its frescos,” remarked Kenyon, whose spirits were still + upheld by the mild potency of the Monte Beni wine. “Your forefathers, my + dear Count, must have been joyous fellows, keeping up the vintage + merriment throughout the year. It does me good to think of them gladdening + the hearts of men and women, with their wine of Sunshine, even in the Iron + Age, as Pan and Bacchus, whom we see yonder, did in the Golden one!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; there have been merry times in the banquet hall of Monte Beni, even + within my own remembrance,” replied Donatello, looking gravely at the + painted walls. “It was meant for mirth, as you see; and when I brought my + own cheerfulness into the saloon, these frescos looked cheerful too. But, + methinks, they have all faded since I saw them last.” + </p> + <p> + “It would be a good idea,” said the sculptor, falling into his companion’s + vein, and helping him out with an illustration which Donatello himself + could not have put into shape, “to convert this saloon into a chapel; and + when the priest tells his hearers of the instability of earthly joys, and + would show how drearily they vanish, he may point to these pictures, that + were so joyous and are so dismal. He could not illustrate his theme so + aptly in any other way.” + </p> + <p> + “True, indeed,” answered the Count, his former simplicity strangely mixing + itself up with ah experience that had changed him; “and yonder, where the + minstrels used to stand, the altar shall be placed. A sinful man might do + all the more effective penance in this old banquet hall.” + </p> + <p> + “But I should regret to have suggested so ungenial a transformation in + your hospitable saloon,” continued Kenyon, duly noting the change in + Donatello’s characteristics. “You startle me, my friend, by so ascetic a + design! It would hardly have entered your head, when we first met. Pray do + not,—if I may take the freedom of a somewhat elder man to advise + you,” added he, smiling,—“pray do not, under a notion of + improvement, take upon yourself to be sombre, thoughtful, and penitential, + like all the rest of us.” + </p> + <p> + Donatello made no answer, but sat awhile, appearing to follow with his + eyes one of the figures, which was repeated many times over in the groups + upon the walls and ceiling. It formed the principal link of an allegory, + by which (as is often the case in such pictorial designs) the whole series + of frescos were bound together, but which it would be impossible, or, at + least, very wearisome, to unravel. The sculptor’s eyes took a similar + direction, and soon began to trace through the vicissitudes,—once + gay, now sombre,—in which the old artist had involved it, the same + individual figure. He fancied a resemblance in it to Donatello himself; + and it put him in mind of one of the purposes with which he had come to + Monte Beni. + </p> + <p> + “My dear Count,” said he, “I have a proposal to make. You must let me + employ a little of my leisure in modelling your bust. You remember what a + striking resemblance we all of us—Hilda, Miriam, and I—found + between your features and those of the Faun of Praxiteles. Then, it seemed + an identity; but now that I know your face better, the likeness is far + less apparent. Your head in marble would be a treasure to me. Shall I have + it?” + </p> + <p> + “I have a weakness which I fear I cannot overcome,” replied the Count, + turning away his face. “It troubles me to be looked at steadfastly.” + </p> + <p> + “I have observed it since we have been sitting here, though never before,” + rejoined the sculptor. “It is a kind of nervousness, I apprehend, which, + you caught in the Roman air, and which grows upon you, in your solitary + life. It need be no hindrance to my taking your bust; for I will catch the + likeness and expression by side glimpses, which (if portrait painters and + bust makers did but know it) always bring home richer results than a broad + stare.” + </p> + <p> + “You may take me if you have the power,” said Donatello; but, even as he + spoke, he turned away his face; “and if you can see what makes me shrink + from you, you are welcome to put it in the bust. It is not my will, but my + necessity, to avoid men’s eyes. Only,” he added, with a smile which made + Kenyon doubt whether he might not as well copy the Faun as model a new + bust,—“only, you know, you must not insist on my uncovering these + ears of mine!” + </p> + <p> + “Nay; I never should dream of such a thing,” answered the sculptor, + laughing, as the young Count shook his clustering curls. “I could not hope + to persuade you, remembering how Miriam once failed!” + </p> + <p> + Nothing is more unaccountable than the spell that often lurks in a spoken + word. A thought may be present to the mind, so distinctly that no + utterance could make it more so; and two minds may be conscious of the + same thought, in which one or both take the profoundest interest; but as + long as it remains unspoken, their familiar talk flows quietly over the + hidden idea, as a rivulet may sparkle and dimple over something sunken in + its bed. But speak the word, and it is like bringing up a drowned body out + of the deepest pool of the rivulet, which has been aware of the horrible + secret all along, in spite of its smiling surface. + </p> + <p> + And even so, when Kenyon chanced to make a distinct reference to + Donatello’s relations with Miriam (though the subject was already in both + their minds), a ghastly emotion rose up out of the depths of the young + Count’s heart. He trembled either with anger or terror, and glared at the + sculptor with wild eyes, like a wolf that meets you in the forest, and + hesitates whether to flee or turn to bay. But, as Kenyon still looked + calmly at him, his aspect gradually became less disturbed, though far from + resuming its former quietude. + </p> + <p> + “You have spoken her name,” said he, at last, in an altered and tremulous + tone; “tell me, now, all that you know of her.” + </p> + <p> + “I scarcely think that I have any later intelligence than yourself,” + answered Kenyon; “Miriam left Rome at about the time of your own + departure. Within a day or two after our last meeting at the Church of the + Capuchins, I called at her studio and found it vacant. Whither she has + gone, I cannot tell.” + </p> + <p> + Donatello asked no further questions. + </p> + <p> + They rose from table, and strolled together about the premises, whiling + away the afternoon with brief intervals of unsatisfactory conversation, + and many shadowy silences. The sculptor had a perception of change in his + companion,—possibly of growth and development, but certainly of + change,—which saddened him, because it took away much of the simple + grace that was the best of Donatello’s peculiarities. + </p> + <p> + Kenyon betook himself to repose that night in a grim, old, vaulted + apartment, which, in the lapse of five or six centuries, had probably been + the birth, bridal, and death chamber of a great many generations of the + Monte Beni family. He was aroused, soon after daylight, by the clamor of a + tribe of beggars who had taken their stand in a little rustic lane that + crept beside that portion of the villa, and were addressing their + petitions to the open windows. By and by they appeared to have received + alms, and took their departure. + </p> + <p> + “Some charitable Christian has sent those vagabonds away,” thought the + sculptor, as he resumed his interrupted nap; “who could it be? Donatello + has his own rooms in the tower; Stella, Tomaso, and the cook are a world’s + width off; and I fancied myself the only inhabitant in this part of the + house.” + </p> + <p> + In the breadth and space which so delightfully characterize an Italian + villa, a dozen guests might have had each his suite of apartments without + infringing upon one another’s ample precincts. But, so far as Kenyon knew, + he was the only visitor beneath Donatello’s widely extended roof. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXVI + </h2> + <h3> + THE PEDIGREE OF MONTE BENI + </h3> + <p> + From the old butler, whom he found to be a very gracious and affable + personage, Kenyon soon learned many curious particulars about the family + history and hereditary peculiarities of the Counts of Monte Beni. There + was a pedigree, the later portion of which—that is to say, for a + little more than a thousand years—a genealogist would have found + delight in tracing out, link by link, and authenticating by records and + documentary evidences. It would have been as difficult, however, to follow + up the stream of Donatello’s ancestry to its dim source, as travellers + have found it to reach the mysterious fountains of the Nile. And, far + beyond the region of definite and demonstrable fact, a romancer might have + strayed into a region of old poetry, where the rich soil, so long + uncultivated and untrodden, had lapsed into nearly its primeval state of + wilderness. Among those antique paths, now overgrown with tangled and + riotous vegetation, the wanderer must needs follow his own guidance, and + arrive nowhither at last. + </p> + <p> + The race of Monte Beni, beyond a doubt, was one of the oldest in Italy, + where families appear to survive at least, if not to flourish, on their + half-decayed roots, oftener than in England or France. It came down in a + broad track from the Middle Ages; but, at epochs anterior to those, it was + distinctly visible in the gloom of the period before chivalry put forth + its flower; and further still, we are almost afraid to say, it was seen, + though with a fainter and wavering course, in the early morn of + Christendom, when the Roman Empire had hardly begun to show symptoms of + decline. At that venerable distance, the heralds gave up the lineage in + despair. + </p> + <p> + But where written record left the genealogy of Monte Beni, tradition took + it up, and carried it without dread or shame beyond the Imperial ages into + the times of the Roman republic; beyond those, again, into the epoch of + kingly rule. Nor even so remotely among the mossy centuries did it pause, + but strayed onward into that gray antiquity of which there is no token + left, save its cavernous tombs, and a few bronzes, and some quaintly + wrought ornaments of gold, and gems with mystic figures and inscriptions. + There, or thereabouts, the line was supposed to have had its origin in the + sylvan life of Etruria, while Italy was yet guiltless of Rome. + </p> + <p> + Of course, as we regret to say, the earlier and very much the larger + portion of this respectable descent—and the same is true of many + briefer pedigrees—must be looked upon as altogether mythical. Still, + it threw a romantic interest around the unquestionable antiquity of the + Monte Beni family, and over that tract of their own vines and fig-trees + beneath the shade of which they had unquestionably dwelt for immemorial + ages. And there they had laid the foundations of their tower, so long ago + that one half of its height was said to be sunken under the surface and to + hide subterranean chambers which once were cheerful with the olden + sunshine. + </p> + <p> + One story, or myth, that had mixed itself up with their mouldy genealogy, + interested the sculptor by its wild, and perhaps grotesque, yet not + unfascinating peculiarity. He caught at it the more eagerly, as it + afforded a shadowy and whimsical semblance of explanation for the likeness + which he, with Miriam and Hilda, had seen or fancied between Donatello and + the Faun of Praxiteles. + </p> + <p> + The Monte Beni family, as this legend averred, drew their origin from the + Pelasgic race, who peopled Italy in times that may be called prehistoric. + It was the same noble breed of men, of Asiatic birth, that settled in + Greece; the same happy and poetic kindred who dwelt in Arcadia, and—whether + they ever lived such life or not—enriched the world with dreams, at + least, and fables, lovely, if unsubstantial, of a Golden Age. In those + delicious times, when deities and demigods appeared familiarly on earth, + mingling with its inhabitants as friend with friend,—when nymphs, + satyrs, and the whole train of classic faith or fable hardly took pains to + hide themselves in the primeval woods,—at that auspicious period the + lineage of Monte Beni had its rise. Its progenitor was a being not + altogether human, yet partaking so largely of the gentlest human + qualities, as to be neither awful nor shocking to the imagination. A + sylvan creature, native among the woods, had loved a mortal maiden, and—perhaps + by kindness, and the subtile courtesies which love might teach to his + simplicity, or possibly by a ruder wooing—had won her to his haunts. + In due time he gained her womanly affection; and, making their bridal + bower, for aught we know, in the hollow of a great tree, the pair spent a + happy wedded life in that ancient neighborhood where now stood Donatello’s + tower. + </p> + <p> + From this union sprang a vigorous progeny that took its place unquestioned + among human families. In that age, however, and long afterwards, it showed + the ineffaceable lineaments of its wild paternity: it was a pleasant and + kindly race of men, but capable of savage fierceness, and never quite + restrainable within the trammels of social law. They were strong, active, + genial, cheerful as the sunshine, passionate as the tornado. Their lives + were rendered blissful by art unsought harmony with nature. + </p> + <p> + But, as centuries passed away, the Faun’s wild blood had necessarily been + attempered with constant intermixtures from the more ordinary streams of + human life. It lost many of its original qualities, and served for the + most part only to bestow an unconquerable vigor, which kept the family + from extinction, and enabled them to make their own part good throughout + the perils and rude emergencies of their interminable descent. In the + constant wars with which Italy was plagued, by the dissensions of her + petty states and republics, there was a demand for native hardihood. + </p> + <p> + The successive members of the Monte Beni family showed valor and policy + enough’ at all events, to keep their hereditary possessions out of the + clutch of grasping neighbors, and probably differed very little from the + other feudal barons with whom they fought and feasted. Such a degree of + conformity with the manners of the generations through which it survived, + must have been essential to the prolonged continuance of the race. + </p> + <p> + It is well known, however, that any hereditary peculiarity—as a + supernumerary finger, or an anomalous shape of feature, like the Austrian + lip—is wont to show itself in a family after a very wayward fashion. + It skips at its own pleasure along the line, and, latent for half a + century or so, crops out again in a great-grandson. And thus, it was said, + from a period beyond memory or record, there had ever and anon been a + descendant of the Monte Benis bearing nearly all the characteristics that + were attributed to the original founder of the race. Some traditions even + went so far as to enumerate the ears, covered with a delicate fur, and + shaped like a pointed leaf, among the proofs of authentic descent which + were seen in these favored individuals. We appreciate the beauty of such + tokens of a nearer kindred to the great family of nature than other + mortals bear; but it would be idle to ask credit for a statement which + might be deemed to partake so largely of the grotesque. + </p> + <p> + But it was indisputable that, once in a century or oftener, a son of Monte + Beni gathered into himself the scattered qualities of his race, and + reproduced the character that had been assigned to it from immemorial + times. Beautiful, strong, brave, kindly, sincere, of honest impulses, and + endowed with simple tastes and the love of homely pleasures, he was + believed to possess gifts by which he could associate himself with the + wild things of the forests, and with the fowls of the air, and could feel + a sympathy even with the trees; among which it was his joy to dwell. On + the other hand, there were deficiencies both of intellect and heart, and + especially, as it seemed, in the development of the higher portion of + man’s nature. These defects were less perceptible in early youth, but + showed themselves more strongly with advancing age, when, as the animal + spirits settled down upon a lower level, the representative of the Monte + Benis was apt to become sensual, addicted to gross pleasures, heavy, + unsympathizing, and insulated within the narrow limits of a surly + selfishness. + </p> + <p> + A similar change, indeed, is no more than what we constantly observe to + take place in persons who are not careful to substitute other graces for + those which they inevitably lose along with the quick sensibility and + joyous vivacity of youth. At worst, the reigning Count of Monte Beni, as + his hair grew white, was still a jolly old fellow over his flask of wine, + the wine that Bacchus himself was fabled to have taught his sylvan + ancestor how to express, and from what choicest grapes, which would ripen + only in a certain divinely favored portion of the Monte Beni vineyard. + </p> + <p> + The family, be it observed, were both proud and ashamed of these legends; + but whatever part of them they might consent to incorporate into their + ancestral history, they steadily repudiated all that referred to their one + distinctive feature, the pointed and furry ears. In a great many years + past, no sober credence had been yielded to the mythical portion of the + pedigree. It might, however, be considered as typifying some such + assemblage of qualities—in this case, chiefly remarkable for their + simplicity and naturalness—as, when they reappear in successive + generations, constitute what we call family character. The sculptor found, + moreover, on the evidence of some old portraits, that the physical + features of the race had long been similar to what he now saw them in + Donatello. With accumulating years, it is true, the Monte Beni face had a + tendency to look grim and savage; and, in two or three instances, the + family pictures glared at the spectator in the eyes like some surly + animal, that had lost its good humor when it outlived its playfulness. + </p> + <p> + The young Count accorded his guest full liberty to investigate the + personal annals of these pictured worthies, as well as all the rest of his + progenitors; and ample materials were at hand in many chests of worm-eaten + papers and yellow parchments, that had been gathering into larger and + dustier piles ever since the dark ages. But, to confess the truth, the + information afforded by these musty documents was so much more prosaic + than what Kenyon acquired from Tomaso’s legends, that even the superior + authenticity of the former could not reconcile him to its dullness. What + especially delighted the sculptor was the analogy between Donatello’s + character, as he himself knew it, and those peculiar traits which the old + butler’s narrative assumed to have been long hereditary in the race. He + was amused at finding, too, that not only Tomaso but the peasantry of the + estate and neighboring village recognized his friend as a genuine Monte + Beni, of the original type. They seemed to cherish a great affection for + the young Count, and were full of stories about his sportive childhood; + how he had played among the little rustics, and been at once the wildest + and the sweetest of them all; and how, in his very infancy, he had plunged + into the deep pools of the streamlets and never been drowned, and had + clambered to the topmost branches of tall trees without ever breaking his + neck. No such mischance could happen to the sylvan child because, handling + all the elements of nature so fearlessly and freely, nothing had either + the power or the will to do him harm. + </p> + <p> + He grew up, said these humble friends, the playmate not only of all mortal + kind, but of creatures of the woods; although, when Kenyon pressed them + for some particulars of this latter mode of companionship, they could + remember little more than a few anecdotes of a pet fox, which used to + growl and snap at everybody save Donatello himself. + </p> + <p> + But they enlarged—and never were weary of the theme—upon the + blithesome effects of Donatello’s presence in his rosy childhood and + budding youth. Their hovels had always glowed like sunshine when he + entered them; so that, as the peasants expressed it, their young master + had never darkened a doorway in his life. He was the soul of vintage + festivals. While he was a mere infant, scarcely able to run alone, it had + been the custom to make him tread the winepress with his tender little + feet, if it were only to crush one cluster of the grapes. And the + grape-juice that gushed beneath his childish tread, be it ever so small in + quantity, sufficed to impart a pleasant flavor to a whole cask of wine. + The race of Monte Beni—so these rustic chroniclers assured the + sculptor—had possessed the gift from the oldest of old times of + expressing good wine from ordinary grapes, and a ravishing liquor from the + choice growth of their vineyard. + </p> + <p> + In a word, as he listened to such tales as these, Kenyon could have + imagined that the valleys and hillsides about him were a veritable + Arcadia; and that Donatello was not merely a sylvan faun, but the genial + wine god in his very person. Making many allowances for the poetic fancies + of Italian peasants, he set it down for fact that his friend, in a simple + way and among rustic folks, had been an exceedingly delightful fellow in + his younger days. + </p> + <p> + But the contadini sometimes added, shaking their heads and sighing, that + the young Count was sadly changed since he went to Rome. The village girls + now missed the merry smile with which he used to greet them. + </p> + <p> + The sculptor inquired of his good friend Tomaso, whether he, too, had + noticed the shadow which was said to have recently fallen over Donatello’s + life. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, yes, Signore!” answered the old butler, “it is even so, since he came + back from that wicked and miserable city. The world has grown either too + evil, or else too wise and sad, for such men as the old Counts of Monte + Beni used to be. His very first taste of it, as you see, has changed and + spoilt my poor young lord. There had not been a single count in the family + these hundred years or more, who was so true a Monte Beni, of the antique + stamp, as this poor signorino; and now it brings the tears into my eyes to + hear him sighing over a cup of Sunshine! Ah, it is a sad world now!” + </p> + <p> + “Then you think there was a merrier world once?” asked Kenyon. + </p> + <p> + “Surely, Signore,” said Tomaso; “a merrier world, and merrier Counts of + Monte Beni to live in it! Such tales of them as I have heard, when I was a + child on my grandfather’s knee! The good old man remembered a lord of + Monte Beni—at least, he had heard of such a one, though I will not + make oath upon the holy crucifix that my grandsire lived in his time who + used to go into the woods and call pretty damsels out of the fountains, + and out of the trunks of the old trees. That merry lord was known to dance + with them a whole long summer afternoon! When shall we see such frolics in + our days?” + </p> + <p> + “Not soon, I am afraid,” acquiesced the sculptor. “You are right, + excellent Tomaso; the world is sadder now!” + </p> + <p> + And, in truth, while our friend smiled at these wild fables, he sighed in + the same breath to think how the once genial earth produces, in every + successive generation, fewer flowers than used to gladden the preceding + ones. Not that the modes and seeming possibilities of human enjoyment are + rarer in our refined and softened era,—on the contrary, they never + before were nearly so abundant,—but that mankind are getting so far + beyond the childhood of their race that they scorn to be happy any longer. + A simple and joyous character can find no place for itself among the sage + and sombre figures that would put his unsophisticated cheerfulness to + shame. The entire system of man’s affairs, as at present established, is + built up purposely to exclude the careless and happy soul. The very + children would upbraid the wretched individual who should endeavor to take + life and the world as w what we might naturally suppose them meant for—a + place and opportunity for enjoyment. + </p> + <p> + It is the iron rule in our day to require an object and a purpose in life. + It makes us all parts of a complicated scheme of progress, which can only + result in our arrival at a colder and drearier region than we were born + in. It insists upon everybody’s adding somewhat—a mite, perhaps, but + earned by incessant effort—to an accumulated pile of usefulness, of + which the only use will be, to burden our posterity with even heavier + thoughts and more inordinate labor than our own. No life now wanders like + an unfettered stream; there is a mill-wheel for the tiniest rivulet to + turn. We go all wrong, by too strenuous a resolution to go all right. + </p> + <p> + Therefore it was—so, at least, the sculptor thought, although partly + suspicious of Donatello’s darker misfortune—that the young Count + found it impossible nowadays to be what his forefathers had been. He could + not live their healthy life of animal spirits, in their sympathy with + nature, and brotherhood with all that breathed around them. Nature, in + beast, fowl, and tree, and earth, flood, and sky, is what it was of old; + but sin, care, and self-consciousness have set the human portion of the + world askew; and thus the simplest character is ever the soonest to go + astray. + </p> + <p> + “At any rate, Tomaso,” said Kenyon, doing his best to comfort the old man, + “let us hope that your young lord will still enjoy himself at vintage + time. By the aspect of the vineyard, I judge that this will be a famous + year for the golden wine of Monte Beni. As long as your grapes produce + that admirable liquor, sad as you think the world, neither the Count nor + his guests will quite forget to smile.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, Signore,” rejoined the butler with a sigh, “but he scarcely wets his + lips with the sunny juice.” + </p> + <p> + “There is yet another hope,” observed Kenyon; “the young Count may fall in + love, and bring home a fair and laughing wife to chase the gloom out of + yonder old frescoed saloon. Do you think he could do a better thing, my + good Tomaso?” + </p> + <p> + “Maybe not, Signore,” said the sage butler, looking earnestly at him; + “and, maybe, not a worse!” + </p> + <p> + The sculptor fancied that the good old man had it partly in his mind to + make some remark, or communicate some fact, which, on second thoughts, he + resolved to keep concealed in his own breast. He now took his departure + cellarward, shaking his white head and muttering to himself, and did not + reappear till dinner-time, when he favored Kenyon, whom he had taken far + into his good graces, with a choicer flask of Sunshine than had yet + blessed his palate. + </p> + <p> + To say the truth, this golden wine was no unnecessary ingredient towards + making the life of Monte Beni palatable. It seemed a pity that Donatello + did not drink a little more of it, and go jollily to bed at least, even if + he should awake with an accession of darker melancholy the next morning. + </p> + <p> + Nevertheless, there was no lack of outward means for leading an agreeable + life in the old villa. Wandering musicians haunted the precincts of Monte + Beni, where they seemed to claim a prescriptive right; they made the lawn + and shrubbery tuneful with the sound of fiddle, harp, and flute, and now + and then with the tangled squeaking of a bagpipe. Improvisatori likewise + came and told tales or recited verses to the contadini—among whom + Kenyon was often an auditor—after their day’s work in the vineyard. + Jugglers, too, obtained permission to do feats of magic in the hall, where + they set even the sage Tomaso, and Stella, Girolamo, and the peasant girls + from the farmhouse, all of a broad grin, between merriment and wonder. + These good people got food and lodging for their pleasant pains, and some + of the small wine of Tuscany, and a reasonable handful of the Grand Duke’s + copper coin, to keep up the hospitable renown of Monte Beni. But very + seldom had they the young Count as a listener or a spectator. + </p> + <p> + There were sometimes dances by moonlight on the lawn, but never since he + came from Rome did Donatello’s presence deepen the blushes of the pretty + contadinas, or his footstep weary out the most agile partner or + competitor, as once it was sure to do. + </p> + <p> + Paupers—for this kind of vermin infested the house of Monte Beni + worse than any other spot in beggar-haunted Italy—stood beneath all + the windows, making loud supplication, or even establishing themselves on + the marble steps of the grand entrance. They ate and drank, and filled + their bags, and pocketed the little money that was given them, and went + forth on their devious ways, showering blessings innumerable on the + mansion and its lord, and on the souls of his deceased forefathers, who + had always been just such simpletons as to be compassionate to beggary. + But, in spite of their favorable prayers, by which Italian philanthropists + set great store, a cloud seemed to hang over these once Arcadian + precincts, and to be darkest around the summit of the tower where + Donatello was wont to sit and brood. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXVII + </h2> + <h3> + MYTHS + </h3> + <p> + After the sculptor’s arrival, however, the young Count sometimes came down + from his forlorn elevation, and rambled with him among the neighboring + woods and hills. He led his friend to many enchanting nooks, with which he + himself had been familiar in his childhood. But of late, as he remarked to + Kenyon, a sort of strangeness had overgrown them, like clusters of dark + shrubbery, so that he hardly recognized the places which he had known and + loved so well. + </p> + <p> + To the sculptor’s eye, nevertheless, they were still rich with beauty. + They were picturesque in that sweetly impressive way where wildness, in a + long lapse of years, has crept over scenes that have been once adorned + with the careful art and toil of man; and when man could do no more for + them, time and nature came, and wrought hand in hand to bring them to a + soft and venerable perfection. There grew the fig-tree that had run wild + and taken to wife the vine, which likewise had gone rampant out of all + human control; so that the two wild things had tangled and knotted + themselves into a wild marriage bond, and hung their various progeny—the + luscious figs, the grapes, oozy with the Southern juice, and both endowed + with a wild flavor that added the final charm—on the same bough + together. + </p> + <p> + In Kenyon’s opinion, never was any other nook so lovely as a certain + little dell which he and Donatello visited. It was hollowed in among the + hills, and open to a glimpse of the broad, fertile valley. A fountain had + its birth here, and fell into a marble basin, which was all covered with + moss and shaggy with water-weeds. Over the gush of the small stream, with + an urn in her arms, stood a marble nymph, whose nakedness the moss had + kindly clothed as with a garment; and the long trails and tresses of the + maidenhair had done what they could in the poor thing’s behalf, by hanging + themselves about her waist, In former days—it might be a remote + antiquity—this lady of the fountain had first received the infant + tide into her urn and poured it thence into the marble basin. But now the + sculptured urn had a great crack from top to bottom; and the discontented + nymph was compelled to see the basin fill itself through a channel which + she could not control, although with water long ago consecrated to her. + </p> + <p> + For this reason, or some other, she looked terribly forlorn; and you might + have fancied that the whole fountain was but the overflow of her lonely + tears. + </p> + <p> + “This was a place that I used greatly to delight in,” remarked Donatello, + sighing. “As a child, and as a boy, I have been very happy here.” + </p> + <p> + “And, as a man, I should ask no fitter place to be happy in,” answered + Kenyon. “But you, my friend, are of such a social nature, that I should + hardly have thought these lonely haunts would take your fancy. It is a + place for a poet to dream in, and people it with the beings of his + imagination.” + </p> + <p> + “I am no poet, that I know of,” said Donatello, “but yet, as I tell you, I + have been very happy here, in the company of this fountain and this nymph. + It is said that a Faun, my oldest forefather, brought home hither to this + very spot a human maiden, whom he loved and wedded. This spring of + delicious water was their household well.” + </p> + <p> + “It is a most enchanting fable!” exclaimed Kenyon; “that is, if it be not + a fact.” + </p> + <p> + “And why not a fact?” said the simple Donatello. “There is, likewise, + another sweet old story connected with this spot. But, now that I remember + it, it seems to me more sad than sweet, though formerly the sorrow, in + which it closes, did not so much impress me. If I had the gift of + tale-telling, this one would be sure to interest you mightily.” + </p> + <p> + “Pray tell it,” said Kenyon; “no matter whether well or ill. These wild + legends have often the most powerful charm when least artfully told.” + </p> + <p> + So the young Count narrated a myth of one of his Progenitors,—he + might have lived a century ago, or a thousand years, or before the + Christian epoch, for anything that Donatello knew to the contrary,—who + had made acquaintance with a fair creature belonging to this fountain. + Whether woman or sprite was a mystery, as was all else about her, except + that her life and soul were somehow interfused throughout the gushing + water. She was a fresh, cool, dewy thing, sunny and shadowy, full of + pleasant little mischiefs, fitful and changeable with the whim of the + moment, but yet as constant as her native stream, which kept the same gush + and flow forever, while marble crumbled over and around it. The fountain + woman loved the youth,—a knight, as Donatello called him,—for, + according to the legend, his race was akin to hers. At least, whether kin + or no, there had been friendship and sympathy of old betwixt an ancestor + of his, with furry ears, and the long-lived lady of the fountain. And, + after all those ages, she was still as young as a May morning, and as + frolicsome as a bird upon a tree, or a breeze that makes merry with the + leaves. + </p> + <p> + She taught him how to call her from her pebbly source, and they spent many + a happy hour together, more especially in the fervor of the summer days. + For often as he sat waiting for her by the margin of the spring, she would + suddenly fall down around him in a shower of sunny raindrops, with a + rainbow glancing through them, and forthwith gather herself up into the + likeness of a beautiful girl, laughing—or was it the warble of the + rill over the pebbles?—to see the youth’s amazement. + </p> + <p> + Thus, kind maiden that she was, the hot atmosphere became deliciously cool + and fragrant for this favored knight; and, furthermore, when he knelt down + to drink out of the spring, nothing was more common than for a pair of + rosy lips to come up out of its little depths, and touch his mouth with + the thrill of a sweet, cool, dewy kiss! + </p> + <p> + “It is a delightful story for the hot noon of your Tuscan summer,” + observed the sculptor, at this point. “But the deportment of the watery + lady must have had a most chilling influence in midwinter. Her lover would + find it, very literally, a cold reception!” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose,” said Donatello rather sulkily, “you are making fun of the + story. But I see nothing laughable in the thing itself, nor in what you + say about it.” + </p> + <p> + He went on to relate, that for a long While the knight found infinite + pleasure and comfort in the friendship of the fountain nymph. In his + merriest hours, she gladdened him with her sportive humor. If ever he was + annoyed with earthly trouble, she laid her moist hand upon his brow, and + charmed the fret and fever quite away. + </p> + <p> + But one day—one fatal noontide—the young knight came rushing + with hasty and irregular steps to the accustomed fountain. He called the + nymph; but—no doubt because there was something unusual and + frightful in his tone she did not appear, nor answer him. He flung himself + down, and washed his hands and bathed his feverish brow in the cool, pure + water. And then there was a sound of woe; it might have been a woman’s + voice; it might have been only the sighing of the brook over the pebbles. + The water shrank away from the youth’s hands, and left his brow as dry and + feverish as before. + </p> + <p> + Donatello here came to a dead pause. + </p> + <p> + “Why did the water shrink from this unhappy knight?” inquired the + sculptor. + </p> + <p> + “Because he had tried to wash off a bloodstain!” said the young Count, in + a horror-stricken whisper. “The guilty man had polluted the pure water. + The nymph might have comforted him in sorrow, but could not cleanse his + conscience of a crime.” + </p> + <p> + “And did he never behold her more?” asked Kenyon. + </p> + <p> + “Never but once,” replied his friend. “He never beheld her blessed face + but once again, and then there was a blood-stain on the poor nymph’s brow; + it was the stain his guilt had left in the fountain where he tried to wash + it off. He mourned for her his whole life long, and employed the best + sculptor of the time to carve this statue of the nymph from his + description of her aspect. But, though my ancestor would fain have had the + image wear her happiest look, the artist, unlike yourself, was so + impressed with the mournfulness of the story, that, in spite of his best + efforts, he made her forlorn, and forever weeping, as you see!” + </p> + <p> + Kenyon found a certain charm in this simple legend. Whether so intended or + not, he understood it as an apologue, typifying the soothing and genial + effects of an habitual intercourse with nature in all ordinary cares and + griefs; while, on the other hand, her mild influences fall short in their + effect upon the ruder passions, and are altogether powerless in the dread + fever-fit or deadly chill of guilt. + </p> + <p> + “Do you say,” he asked, “that the nymph’s race has never since been shown + to any mortal? Methinks you, by your native qualities, are as well + entitled to her favor as ever your progenitor could have been. Why have + you not summoned her?” + </p> + <p> + “I called her often when I was a silly child,” answered Donatello; and he + added, in an inward voice, “Thank Heaven, she did not come!” + </p> + <p> + “Then you never saw her?” said the sculptor. + </p> + <p> + “Never in my life!” rejoined the Count. “No, my dear friend, I have not + seen the nymph; although here, by her fountain, I used to make many + strange acquaintances; for, from my earliest childhood, I was familiar + with whatever creatures haunt the woods. You would have laughed to see the + friends I had among them; yes, among the wild, nimble things, that reckon + man their deadliest enemy! How it was first taught me, I cannot tell; but + there was a charm—a voice, a murmur, a kind of chant—by which + I called the woodland inhabitants, the furry people, and the feathered + people, in a language that they seemed to understand.” + </p> + <p> + “I have heard of such a gift,” responded the sculptor gravely, “but never + before met with a person endowed with it. Pray try the charm; and lest I + should frighten your friends away, I will withdraw into this thicket, and + merely peep at them.” + </p> + <p> + “I doubt,” said Donatello, “whether they will remember my voice now. It + changes, you know, as the boy grows towards manhood.” + </p> + <p> + Nevertheless, as the young Count’s good-nature and easy persuadability + were among his best characteristics, he set about complying with Kenyon’s + request. The latter, in his concealment among the shrubberies, heard him + send forth a sort of modulated breath, wild, rude, yet harmonious. It + struck the auditor as at once the strangest and the most natural utterance + that had ever reached his ears. Any idle boy, it should seem, singing to + himself and setting his wordless song to no other or more definite tune + than the play of his own pulses, might produce a sound almost identical + with this; and yet, it was as individual as a murmur of the breeze. + Donatello tried it, over and over again, with many breaks, at first, and + pauses of uncertainty; then with more confidence, and a fuller swell, like + a wayfarer groping out of obscurity into the light, and moving with freer + footsteps as it brightens around him. + </p> + <p> + Anon, his voice appeared to fill the air, yet not with an obtrusive + clangor. The sound was of a murmurous character, soft, attractive, + persuasive, friendly. The sculptor fancied that such might have been the + original voice and utterance of the natural man, before the sophistication + of the human intellect formed what we now call language. In this broad + dialect—broad as the sympathies of nature—the human brother + might have spoken to his inarticulate brotherhood that prowl the woods, or + soar upon the wing, and have been intelligible to such extent as to win + their confidence. + </p> + <p> + The sound had its pathos too. At some of its simple cadences, the tears + came quietly into Kenyon’s eyes. They welled up slowly from his heart, + which was thrilling with an emotion more delightful than he had often felt + before, but which he forbore to analyze, lest, if he seized it, it should + at once perish in his grasp. + </p> + <p> + Donatello paused two or three times, and seemed to listen,—then, + recommencing, he poured his spirit and life more earnestly into the + strain. And finally,—or else the sculptor’s hope and imagination + deceived him,—soft treads were audible upon the fallen leaves. There + was a rustling among the shrubbery; a whir of wings, moreover, that + hovered in the air. It may have been all an illusion; but Kenyon fancied + that he could distinguish the stealthy, cat-like movement of some small + forest citizen, and that he could even see its doubtful shadow, if not + really its substance. But, all at once, whatever might be the reason, + there ensued a hurried rush and scamper of little feet; and then the + sculptor heard a wild, sorrowful cry, and through the crevices of the + thicket beheld Donatello fling himself on the ground. + </p> + <p> + Emerging from his hiding-place, he saw no living thing, save a brown + lizard (it was of the tarantula species) rustling away through the + sunshine. To all present appearance, this venomous reptile was the only + creature that had responded to the young Count’s efforts to renew his + intercourse with the lower orders of nature. + </p> + <p> + “What has happened to you?” exclaimed Kenyon, stooping down over his + friend, and wondering at the anguish which he betrayed. + </p> + <p> + “Death, death!” sobbed Donatello. “They know it!” + </p> + <p> + He grovelled beside the fountain, in a fit of such passionate sobbing and + weeping, that it seemed as if his heart had broken, and spilt its wild + sorrows upon the ground. His unrestrained grief and childish tears made + Kenyon sensible in how small a degree the customs and restraints of + society had really acted upon this young man, in spite of the quietude of + his ordinary deportment. In response to his friend’s efforts to console + him, he murmured words hardly more articulate than the strange chant which + he had so recently been breathing into the air. + </p> + <p> + “They know it!” was all that Kenyon could yet distinguish,—“they + know it!” + </p> + <p> + “Who know it?” asked the sculptor. “And what is it their know?” “They know + it!” repeated Donatello, trembling. “They shun me! All nature shrinks from + me, and shudders at me! I live in the midst of a curse, that hems me round + with a circle of fire! No innocent thing can come near me.” + </p> + <p> + “Be comforted, my dear friend,” said Kenyon, kneeling beside him. “You + labor under some illusion, but no curse. As for this strange, natural + spell, which you have been exercising, and of which I have heard before, + though I never believed in, nor expected to witness it, I am satisfied + that you still possess it. It was my own half-concealed presence, no + doubt, and some involuntary little movement of mine, that scared away your + forest friends.” + </p> + <p> + “They are friends of mine no longer,” answered Donatello. + </p> + <p> + “We all of us, as we grow older,” rejoined Kenyon, “lose somewhat of our + proximity to nature. It is the price we pay for experience.” + </p> + <p> + “A heavy price, then!” said Donatello, rising from the ground. “But we + will speak no more of it. Forget this scene, my dear friend. In your eyes, + it must look very absurd. It is a grief, I presume, to all men, to find + the pleasant privileges and properties of early life departing from them. + That grief has now befallen me. Well; I shall waste no more tears for such + a cause!” + </p> + <p> + Nothing else made Kenyon so sensible of a change in Donatello, as his + newly acquired power of dealing with his own emotions, and, after a + struggle more or less fierce, thrusting them down into the prison cells + where he usually kept them confined. The restraint, which he now put upon + himself, and the mask of dull composure which he succeeded in clasping + over his still beautiful, and once faun-like face, affected the sensitive + sculptor more sadly than even the unrestrained passion of the preceding + scene. It is a very miserable epoch, when the evil necessities of life, in + our tortuous world, first get the better of us so far as to compel us to + attempt throwing a cloud over our transparency. Simplicity increases in + value the longer we can keep it, and the further we carry it onward into + life; the loss of a child’s simplicity, in the inevitable lapse of years, + causes but a natural sigh or two, because even his mother feared that he + could not keep it always. But after a young man has brought it through his + childhood, and has still worn it in his bosom, not as an early dewdrop, + but as a diamond of pure white lustre,—it is a pity to lose it, + then. And thus, when Kenyon saw how much his friend had now to hide, and + how well he hid it, he would have wept, although his tears would have been + even idler than those which Donatello had just shed. + </p> + <p> + They parted on the lawn before the house, the Count to climb his tower, + and the sculptor to read an antique edition of Dante, which he had found + among some old volumes of Catholic devotion, in a seldom-visited room, + Tomaso met him in the entrance hall, and showed a desire to speak. + </p> + <p> + “Our poor signorino looks very sad to-day!” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Even so, good Tomaso,” replied the sculptor. “Would that we could raise + his spirits a little!” + </p> + <p> + “There might be means, Signore,” answered the old butler, “if one might + but be sure that they were the right ones. We men are but rough nurses for + a sick body or a sick spirit.” + </p> + <p> + “Women, you would say, my good friend, are better,” said the sculptor, + struck by an intelligence in the butler’s face. “That is possible! But it + depends.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah; we will wait a little longer,” said Tomaso, with the customary shake + of his head. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXVIII + </h2> + <h3> + THE OWL TOWER + </h3> + <p> + “Will you not show me your tower?” said the sculptor one day to his + friend. + </p> + <p> + “It is plainly enough to be seen, methinks,” answered the Count, with a + kind of sulkiness that often appeared in him, as one of the little + symptoms of inward trouble. + </p> + <p> + “Yes; its exterior is visible far and wide,” said Kenyon. “But such a + gray, moss-grown tower as this, however valuable as an object of scenery, + will certainly be quite as interesting inside as out. It cannot be less + than six hundred years old; the foundations and lower story are much older + than that, I should judge; and traditions probably cling to the walls + within quite as plentifully as the gray and yellow lichens cluster on its + face without.” + </p> + <p> + “No doubt,” replied Donatello,—“but I know little of such things, + and never could comprehend the interest which some of you Forestieri take + in them. A year or two ago an English signore, with a venerable white + beard—they say he was a magician, too—came hither from as far + off as Florence, just to see my tower.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, I have seen him at Florence,” observed Kenyon. “He is a necromancer, + as you say, and dwells in an old mansion of the Knights Templars, close by + the Ponte Vecchio, with a great many ghostly books, pictures, and + antiquities, to make the house gloomy, and one bright-eyed little girl, to + keep it cheerful!” + </p> + <p> + “I know him only by his white beard,” said Donatello; “but he could have + told you a great deal about the tower, and the sieges which it has stood, + and the prisoners who have been confined in it. And he gathered up all the + traditions of the Monte Beni family, and, among the rest, the sad one + which I told you at the fountain the other day. He had known mighty poets, + he said, in his earlier life; and the most illustrious of them would have + rejoiced to preserve such a legend in immortal rhyme,—especially if + he could have had some of our wine of Sunshine to help out his + inspiration!” + </p> + <p> + “Any man might be a poet, as well as Byron, with such wine and such a + theme,” rejoined the sculptor. “But shall we climb your tower The + thunder-storm gathering yonder among the hills will be a spectacle worth + witnessing.” + </p> + <p> + “Come, then,” said the Count, adding, with a sigh, “it has a weary + staircase, and dismal chambers, and it is very lonesome at the summit!” + </p> + <p> + “Like a man’s life, when he has climbed to eminence,” remarked the + sculptor; “or, let us rather say, with its difficult steps, and the dark + prison cells you speak of, your tower resembles the spiritual experience + of many a sinful soul, which, nevertheless, may struggle upward into the + pure air and light of Heaven at last!” + </p> + <p> + Donatello sighed again, and led the way up into the tower. + </p> + <p> + Mounting the broad staircase that ascended from the entrance hall, they + traversed the great wilderness of a house, through some obscure passages, + and came to a low, ancient doorway. It admitted them to a narrow turret + stair which zigzagged upward, lighted in its progress by loopholes and + iron-barred windows. Reaching the top of the first flight, the Count threw + open a door of worm-eaten oak, and disclosed a chamber that occupied the + whole area of the tower. It was most pitiably forlorn of aspect, with a + brick-paved floor, bare holes through the massive walls, grated with iron, + instead of windows, and for furniture an old stool, which increased the + dreariness of the place tenfold, by suggesting an idea of its having once + been tenanted. + </p> + <p> + “This was a prisoner’s cell in the old days,” said Donatello; “the + white-bearded necromancer, of whom I told you, found out that a certain + famous monk was confined here, about five hundred years ago. He was a very + holy man, and was afterwards burned at the stake in the Grand-ducal Square + at Firenze. There have always been stories, Tomaso says, of a hooded monk + creeping up and down these stairs, or standing in the doorway of this + chamber. It must needs be the ghost of the ancient prisoner. Do you + believe in ghosts?” + </p> + <p> + “I can hardly tell,” replied Kenyon; “on the whole, I think not.” + </p> + <p> + “Neither do I,” responded the Count; “for, if spirits ever come back, I + should surely have met one within these two months past. Ghosts never + rise! So much I know, and am glad to know it!” + </p> + <p> + Following the narrow staircase still higher, they came to another room of + similar size and equally forlorn, but inhabited by two personages of a + race which from time immemorial have held proprietorship and occupancy in + ruined towers. These were a pair of owls, who, being doubtless acquainted + with Donatello, showed little sign of alarm at the entrance of visitors. + They gave a dismal croak or two, and hopped aside into the darkest corner, + since it was not yet their hour to flap duskily abroad. + </p> + <p> + “They do not desert me, like my other feathered acquaintances,” observed + the young Count, with a sad smile, alluding to the scene which Kenyon had + witnessed at the fountain-side. “When I was a wild, playful boy, the owls + did not love me half so well.” + </p> + <p> + He made no further pause here, but led his friend up another flight of + steps—while, at every stage, the windows and narrow loopholes + afforded Kenyon more extensive eye-shots over hill and valley, and allowed + him to taste the cool purity of mid-atmosphere. At length they reached the + topmost chamber, directly beneath the roof of the tower. + </p> + <p> + “This is my own abode,” said Donatello; “my own owl’s nest.” + </p> + <p> + In fact, the room was fitted up as a bedchamber, though in a style of the + utmost simplicity. It likewise served as an oratory; there being a + crucifix in one corner, and a multitude of holy emblems, such as Catholics + judge it necessary to help their devotion withal. Several ugly little + prints, representing the sufferings of the Saviour, and the martyrdoms of + saints, hung on the wall; and behind the crucifix there was a good copy of + Titian’s Magdalen of the Pitti Palace, clad only in the flow of her golden + ringlets. She had a confident look (but it was Titian’s fault, not the + penitent woman’s), as if expecting to win heaven by the free display of + her earthly charms. Inside of a glass case appeared an image of the sacred + Bambino, in the guise of a little waxen boy, very prettily made, reclining + among flowers, like a Cupid, and holding up a heart that resembled a bit + of red sealing-wax. A small vase of precious marble was full of holy + water. + </p> + <p> + Beneath the crucifix, on a table, lay a human skull, which looked as if it + might have been dug up out of some old grave. But, examining it more + closely, Kenyon saw that it was carved in gray alabaster; most skillfully + done to the death, with accurate imitation of the teeth, the sutures, the + empty eye-caverns, and the fragile little bones of the nose. This hideous + emblem rested on a cushion of white marble, so nicely wrought that you + seemed to see the impression of the heavy skull in a silken and downy + substance. + </p> + <p> + Donatello dipped his fingers into the holy-water vase, and crossed + himself. After doing so he trembled. + </p> + <p> + “I have no right to make the sacred symbol on a sinful breast!” he said. + </p> + <p> + “On what mortal breast can it be made, then?” asked the sculptor. “Is + there one that hides no sin?” + </p> + <p> + “But these blessed emblems make you smile, I fear,” resumed the Count, + looking askance at his friend. “You heretics, I know, attempt to pray + without even a crucifix to kneel at.” + </p> + <p> + “I, at least, whom you call a heretic, reverence that holy symbol,” + answered Kenyon. “What I am most inclined to murmur at is this death’s + head. I could laugh, moreover, in its ugly face! It is absurdly monstrous, + my dear friend, thus to fling the dead weight of our mortality upon our + immortal hopes. While we live on earth, ‘t is true, we must needs carry + our skeletons about with us; but, for Heaven’s sake, do not let us burden + our spirits with them, in our feeble efforts to soar upward! Believe me, + it will change the whole aspect of death, if you can once disconnect it, + in your idea, with that corruption from which it disengages our higher + part.” + </p> + <p> + “I do not well understand you,” said Donatello; and he took up the + alabaster skull, shuddering, and evidently feeling it a kind of penance to + touch it. “I only know that this skull has been in my family for + centuries. Old Tomaso has a story that it was copied by a famous sculptor + from the skull of that same unhappy knight who loved the fountain lady, + and lost her by a blood-stain. He lived and died with a deep sense of sin + upon him, and on his death-bed he ordained that this token of him should + go down to his posterity. And my forefathers, being a cheerful race of men + in their natural disposition, found it needful to have the skull often + before their eyes, because they dearly loved life and its enjoyments, and + hated the very thought of death.” + </p> + <p> + “I am afraid,” said Kenyon, “they liked it none the better, for seeing its + face under this abominable mask.” + </p> + <p> + Without further discussion, the Count led the way up one more flight of + stairs, at the end of which they emerged upon the summit of the tower. The + sculptor felt as if his being were suddenly magnified a hundredfold; so + wide was the Umbrian valley that suddenly opened before him, set in its + grand framework of nearer and more distant hills. It seemed as if all + Italy lay under his eyes in that one picture. For there was the broad, + sunny smile of God, which we fancy to be spread over that favored land + more abundantly than on other regions, and beneath it glowed a most rich + and varied fertility. The trim vineyards were there, and the fig-trees, + and the mulberries, and the smoky-hued tracts of the olive orchards; + there, too, were fields of every kind of grain, among which, waved the + Indian corn, putting Kenyon in mind of the fondly remembered acres of his + father’s homestead. White villas, gray convents, church spires, villages, + towns, each with its battlemented walls and towered gateway, were + scattered upon this spacious map; a river gleamed across it; and lakes + opened their blue eyes in its face, reflecting heaven, lest mortals should + forget that better land when they beheld the earth so beautiful. + </p> + <p> + What made the valley look still wider was the two or three varieties of + weather that were visible on its surface, all at the same instant of time. + Here lay the quiet sunshine; there fell the great black patches of ominous + shadow from the clouds; and behind them, like a giant of league-long + strides, came hurrying the thunderstorm, which had already swept midway + across the plain. In the rear of the approaching tempest, brightened forth + again the sunny splendor, which its progress had darkened with so terrible + a frown. + </p> + <p> + All round this majestic landscape, the bald-peaked or forest-crowned + mountains descended boldly upon the plain. On many of their spurs and + midway declivities, and even on their summits, stood cities, some of them + famous of old; for these had been the seats and nurseries of early art, + where the flower of beauty sprang out of a rocky soil, and in a high, keen + atmosphere, when the richest and most sheltered gardens failed to nourish + it. + </p> + <p> + “Thank God for letting me again behold this scene!” Said the sculptor, a + devout man in his way, reverently taking off his hat. “I have viewed it + from many points, and never without as full a sensation of gratitude as my + heart seems capable of feeling. How it strengthens the poor human spirit + in its reliance on His providence, to ascend but this little way above the + common level, and so attain a somewhat wider glimpse of His dealings with + mankind! He doeth all things right! His will be done!” + </p> + <p> + “You discern something that is hidden from me,” observed Donatello + gloomily, yet striving with unwonted grasp to catch the analogies which so + cheered his friend. “I see sunshine on one spot, and cloud in another, and + no reason for it in either ease. The sun on you; the cloud on me! What + comfort can I draw from this?” + </p> + <p> + “Nay; I cannot preach,” said Kenyon, “with a page of heaven and a page of + earth spread wide open before us! Only begin to read it, and you will find + it interpreting itself without the aid of words. It is a great mistake to + try to put our best thoughts into human language. When we ascend into the + higher regions of emotion and spiritual enjoyment, they are only + expressible by such grand hieroglyphics as these around us.” + </p> + <p> + They stood awhile, contemplating the scene; but, as inevitably happens + after a spiritual flight, it was not long before the sculptor felt his + wings flagging in the rarity of the upper atmosphere. He was glad to let + himself quietly downward out of the mid-sky, as it were, and alight on the + solid platform of the battlemented tower. He looked about him, and beheld + growing out of the stone pavement, which formed the roof, a little shrub, + with green and glossy leaves. It was the only green thing there; and + Heaven knows how its seeds had ever been planted, at that airy height, or + how it had found nourishment for its small life in the chinks of the + stones; for it had no earth, and nothing more like soil than the crumbling + mortar, which had been crammed into the crevices in a long-past age. + </p> + <p> + Yet the plant seemed fond of its native site; and Donatello said it had + always grown there from his earliest remembrance, and never, he believed, + any smaller or any larger than they saw it now. + </p> + <p> + “I wonder if the shrub teaches you any good lesson,” said he, observing + the interest with which Kenyon examined it. “If the wide valley has a + great meaning, the plant ought to have at least a little one; and it has + been growing on our tower long enough to have learned how to speak it.” + </p> + <p> + “O, certainly!” answered the sculptor; “the shrub has its moral, or it + would have perished long ago. And, no doubt, it is for your use and + edification, since you have had it before your eyes all your lifetime, and + now are moved to ask what may be its lesson.” + </p> + <p> + “It teaches me nothing,” said the simple Donatello, stooping over the + plant, and perplexing himself with a minute scrutiny. “But here was a worm + that would have killed it; an ugly creature, which I will fling over the + battlements.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXIX + </h2> + <h3> + ON THE BATTLEMENTS + </h3> + <p> + The sculptor now looked through art embrasure, and threw down a bit of + lime, watching its fall, till it struck upon a stone bench at the rocky + foundation of the tower, and flew into many fragments. + </p> + <p> + “Pray pardon me for helping Time to crumble away your ancestral walls,” + said he. “But I am one of those persons who have a natural tendency to + climb heights, and to stand on the verge of them, measuring the depth + below. If I were to do just as I like, at this moment, I should fling + myself down after that bit of lime. It is a very singular temptation, and + all but irresistible; partly, I believe, because it might be so easily + done, and partly because such momentous consequences would ensue, without + my being compelled to wait a moment for them. Have you never felt this + strange impulse of an evil spirit at your back, shoving you towards a + precipice?” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, no!” cried. Donatello, shrinking from the battlemented wall with a + face of horror. “I cling to life in a way which you cannot conceive; it + has been so rich, so warm, so sunny!—and beyond its verge, nothing + but the chilly dark! And then a fall from a precipice is such an awful + death!” + </p> + <p> + “Nay; if it be a great height,” said Kenyon, “a man would leave his life + in the air, and never feel the hard shock at the bottom.” + </p> + <p> + “That is not the way with this kind of death!” exclaimed Donatello, in a + low, horror-stricken voice, which grew higher and more full of emotion as + he proceeded. “Imagine a fellow creature,—breathing now, and looking + you in the face,—and now tumbling down, down, down, with a long + shriek wavering after him, all the way! He does not leave his life in the + air! No; but it keeps in him till he thumps against the stones, a horribly + long while; then he lies there frightfully quiet, a dead heap of bruised + flesh and broken bones! A quiver runs through the crushed mass; and no + more movement after that! No; not if you would give your soul to make him + stir a finger! Ah, terrible! Yes, yes; I would fain fling myself down for + the very dread of it, that I might endure it once for all, and dream of it + no more!” + </p> + <p> + “How forcibly, how frightfully you conceive this!” said the sculptor, + aghast at the passionate horror which was betrayed in the Count’s words, + and still more in his wild gestures and ghastly look. “Nay, if the height + of your tower affects your imagination thus, you do wrong to trust + yourself here in solitude, and in the night-time, and at all unguarded + hours. You are not safe in your chamber. It is but a step or two; and what + if a vivid dream should lead you up hither at midnight, and act itself out + as a reality!” + </p> + <p> + Donatello had hidden his face in his hands, and was leaning against the + parapet. + </p> + <p> + “No fear of that!” said he. “Whatever the dream may be, I am too genuine a + coward to act out my own death in it.” + </p> + <p> + The paroxysm passed away, and the two friends continued their desultory + talk, very much as if no such interruption had occurred. Nevertheless, it + affected the sculptor with infinite pity to see this young man, who had + been born to gladness as an assured heritage, now involved in a misty + bewilderment of grievous thoughts, amid which he seemed to go staggering + blindfold. Kenyon, not without an unshaped suspicion of the definite fact, + knew that his condition must have resulted from the weight and gloom of + life, now first, through the agency of a secret trouble, making themselves + felt on a character that had heretofore breathed only an atmosphere of + joy. The effect of this hard lesson, upon Donatello’s intellect and + disposition, was very striking. It was perceptible that he had already had + glimpses of strange and subtle matters in those dark caverns, into which + all men must descend, if they would know anything beneath the surface and + illusive pleasures of existence. And when they emerge, though dazzled and + blinded by the first glare of daylight, they take truer and sadder views + of life forever afterwards. + </p> + <p> + From some mysterious source, as the sculptor felt assured, a soul had been + inspired into the young Count’s simplicity, since their intercourse in + Rome. He now showed a far deeper sense, and an intelligence that began to + deal with high subjects, though in a feeble and childish way. He evinced, + too, a more definite and nobler individuality, but developed out of grief + and pain, and fearfully conscious of the pangs that had given it birth. + Every human life, if it ascends to truth or delves down to reality, must + undergo a similar change; but sometimes, perhaps, the instruction comes + without the sorrow; and oftener the sorrow teaches no lesson that abides + with us. In Donatello’s case, it was pitiful, and almost ludicrous, to + observe the confused struggle that he made; how completely he was taken by + surprise; how ill-prepared he stood, on this old battlefield of the world, + to fight with such an inevitable foe as mortal calamity, and sin for its + stronger ally. + </p> + <p> + “And yet,” thought Kenyon, “the poor fellow bears himself like a hero, + too! If he would only tell me his trouble, or give me an opening to speak + frankly about it, I might help him; but he finds it too horrible to be + uttered, and fancies himself the only mortal that ever felt the anguish of + remorse. Yes; he believes that nobody ever endured his agony before; so + that—sharp enough in itself—it has all the additional zest of + a torture just invented to plague him individually.” + </p> + <p> + The sculptor endeavored to dismiss the painful subject from his mind; and, + leaning against the battlements, he turned his face southward and + westward, and gazed across the breadth of the valley. His thoughts flew + far beyond even those wide boundaries, taking an air-line from Donatello’s + tower to another turret that ascended into the sky of the summer + afternoon, invisibly to him, above the roofs of distant Rome. Then rose + tumultuously into his consciousness that strong love for Hilda, which it + was his habit to confine in one of the heart’s inner chambers, because he + had found no encouragement to bring it forward. But now he felt a strange + pull at his heart-strings. It could not have been more perceptible, if all + the way between these battlements and Hilda’s dove-cote had stretched an + exquisitely sensitive cord, which, at the hither end, was knotted with his + aforesaid heart-strings, and, at the remoter one, was grasped by a gentle + hand. His breath grew tremulous. He put his hand to his breast; so + distinctly did he seem to feel that cord drawn once, and again, and again, + as if—though still it was bashfully intimated there were an + importunate demand for his presence. O for the white wings of Hilda’s + doves, that he might, have flown thither, and alighted at the Virgin’s + shrine! + </p> + <p> + But lovers, and Kenyon knew it well, project so lifelike a copy of their + mistresses out of their own imaginations, that it can pull at the + heartstrings almost as perceptibly as the genuine original. No airy + intimations are to be trusted; no evidences of responsive affection less + positive than whispered and broken words, or tender pressures of the hand, + allowed and half returned; or glances, that distil many passionate avowals + into one gleam of richly colored light. Even these should be weighed + rigorously, at the instant; for, in another instant, the imagination + seizes on them as its property, and stamps them with its own arbitrary + value. But Hilda’s maidenly reserve had given her lover no such tokens, to + be interpreted either by his hopes or fears. + </p> + <p> + “Yonder, over mountain and valley, lies Rome,” said the sculptor; “shall + you return thither in the autumn?” + </p> + <p> + “Never! I hate Rome,” answered Donatello; “and have good cause.” + </p> + <p> + “And yet it was a pleasant winter that we spent there,” observed Kenyon, + “and with pleasant friends about us. You would meet them again there—all + of them.” + </p> + <p> + “All?” asked Donatello. + </p> + <p> + “All, to the best of my belief,” said the sculptor: “but you need not go + to Rome to seek them. If there were one of those friends whose lifetime + was twisted with your own, I am enough of a fatalist to feel assured that + you will meet that one again, wander whither you may. Neither can we + escape the companions whom Providence assigns for us, by climbing an old + tower like this.” + </p> + <p> + “Yet the stairs are steep and dark,” rejoined the Count; “none but + yourself would seek me here, or find me, if they sought.” + </p> + <p> + As Donatello did not take advantage of this opening which his friend had + kindly afforded him to pour out his hidden troubles, the latter again + threw aside the subject, and returned to the enjoyment of the scene before + him. The thunder-storm, which he had beheld striding across the valley, + had passed to the left of Monte Beni, and was continuing its march towards + the hills that formed the boundary on the eastward. Above the whole + valley, indeed, the sky was heavy with tumbling vapors, interspersed with + which were tracts of blue, vividly brightened by the sun; but, in the + east, where the tempest was yet trailing its ragged skirts, lay a dusky + region of cloud and sullen mist, in which some of the hills appeared of a + dark purple hue. Others became so indistinct, that the spectator could not + tell rocky height from impalpable cloud. Far into this misty cloud region, + however,—within the domain of chaos, as it were,—hilltops were + seen brightening in the sunshine; they looked like fragments of the world, + broken adrift and based on nothingness, or like portions of a sphere + destined to exist, but not yet finally compacted. + </p> + <p> + The sculptor, habitually drawing many of the images and illustrations of + his thoughts from the plastic art, fancied that the scene represented the + process of the Creator, when he held the new, imperfect earth in his hand, + and modelled it. + </p> + <p> + “What a magic is in mist and vapor among the mountains!” he exclaimed. + “With their help, one single scene becomes a thousand. The cloud scenery + gives such variety to a hilly landscape that it would be worth while to + journalize its aspect from hour to hour. A cloud, however,—as I have + myself experienced,—is apt to grow solid and as heavy as a stone the + instant that you take in hand to describe it, But, in my own heart, I have + found great use in clouds. Such silvery ones as those to the northward, + for example, have often suggested sculpturesque groups, figures, and + attitudes; they are especially rich in attitudes of living repose, which a + sculptor only hits upon by the rarest good fortune. When I go back to my + dear native land, the clouds along the horizon will be my only gallery of + art!” + </p> + <p> + “I can see cloud shapes, too,” said Donatello; “yonder is one that shifts + strangely; it has been like people whom I knew. And now, if I watch it a + little longer, it will take the figure of a monk reclining, with his cowl + about his head and drawn partly over his face, and—well! did I not + tell you so?” + </p> + <p> + “I think,” remarked Kenyon, “we can hardly be gazing at the same cloud. + What I behold is a reclining figure, to be sure, but feminine, and with a + despondent air, wonderfully well expressed in the wavering outline from + head to foot. It moves my very heart by something indefinable that it + suggests.” + </p> + <p> + “I see the figure, and almost the face,” said the Count; adding, in a + lower voice, “It is Miriam’s!” + </p> + <p> + “No, not Miriam’s,” answered the sculptor. While the two gazers thus found + their own reminiscences and presentiments floating among the clouds, the + day drew to its close, and now showed them the fair spectacle of an + Italian sunset. The sky was soft and bright, but not so gorgeous as Kenyon + had seen it, a thousand times, in America; for there the western sky is + wont to be set aflame with breadths and depths of color with which poets + seek in vain to dye their verses, and which painters never dare to copy. + As beheld from the tower of Monte Beni, the scene was tenderly + magnificent, with mild gradations of hue and a lavish outpouring of gold, + but rather such gold as we see on the leaf of a bright flower than the + burnished glow of metal from the mine. Or, if metallic, it looked airy and + unsubstantial, like the glorified dreams of an alchemist. And speedily—more + speedily than in our own clime—came the twilight, and, brightening + through its gray transparency, the stars. + </p> + <p> + A swarm of minute insects that had been hovering all day round the + battlements were now swept away by the freshness of a rising breeze. The + two owls in the chamber beneath Donatello’s uttered their soft melancholy + cry,—which, with national avoidance of harsh sounds, Italian owls + substitute for the hoot of their kindred in other countries,—and + flew darkling forth among the shrubbery. A convent bell rang out near at + hand, and was not only echoed among the hills, but answered by another + bell, and still another, which doubtless had farther and farther + responses, at various distances along the valley; for, like the English + drumbeat around the globe, there is a chain of convent bells from end to + end, and crosswise, and in all possible directions over priest-ridden + Italy. + </p> + <p> + “Come,” said the sculptor, “the evening air grows cool. It is time to + descend.” + </p> + <p> + “Time for you, my friend,” replied the Count; and he hesitated a little + before adding, “I must keep a vigil here for some hours longer. It is my + frequent custom to keep vigils,—and sometimes the thought occurs to + me whether it were not better to keep them in yonder convent, the bell of + which just now seemed to summon me. Should I do wisely, do you think, to + exchange this old tower for a cell?” + </p> + <p> + “What! Turn monk?” exclaimed his friend. “A horrible idea!” + </p> + <p> + “True,” said Donatello, sighing. “Therefore, if at all, I purpose doing + it.” + </p> + <p> + “Then think of it no more, for Heaven’s sake!” cried the sculptor. “There + are a thousand better and more poignant methods of being miserable than + that, if to be miserable is what you wish. Nay; I question whether a monk + keeps himself up to the intellectual and spiritual height which misery + implies. A monk I judge from their sensual physiognomies, which meet me at + every turn—is inevitably a beast! Their souls, if they have any to + begin with, perish out of them, before their sluggish, swinish existence + is half done. Better, a million times, to stand star-gazing on these airy + battlements, than to smother your new germ of a higher life in a monkish + cell!” + </p> + <p> + “You make me tremble,” said Donatello, “by your bold aspersion of men who + have devoted themselves to God’s service!” + </p> + <p> + “They serve neither God nor man, and themselves least of all, though their + motives be utterly selfish,” replied Kenyon. “Avoid the convent, my dear + friend, as you would shun the death of the soul! But, for my own part, if + I had an insupportable burden,—if, for any cause, I were bent upon + sacrificing every earthly hope as a peace-offering towards Heaven,—I + would make the wide world my cell, and good deeds to mankind my prayer. + Many penitent men have done this, and found peace in it.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, but you are a heretic!” said the Count. + </p> + <p> + Yet his face brightened beneath the stars; and, looking at it through the + twilight, the sculptor’s remembrance went back to that scene in the + Capitol, where, both in features and expression, Donatello had seemed + identical with the Faun. And still there was a resemblance; for now, when + first the idea was suggested of living for the welfare of his + fellow-creatures, the original beauty, which sorrow had partly effaced, + came back elevated and spiritualized. In the black depths the Faun had + found a soul, and was struggling with it towards the light of heaven. + </p> + <p> + The illumination, it is true, soon faded out of Donatello’s face. The idea + of lifelong and unselfish effort was too high to be received by him with + more than a momentary comprehension. An Italian, indeed, seldom dreams of + being philanthropic, except in bestowing alms among the paupers, who + appeal to his beneficence at every step; nor does it occur to him that + there are fitter modes of propitiating Heaven than by penances, + pilgrimages, and offerings at shrines. Perhaps, too, their system has its + share of moral advantages; they, at all events, cannot well pride + themselves, as our own more energetic benevolence is apt to do, upon + sharing in the counsels of Providence and kindly helping out its otherwise + impracticable designs. + </p> + <p> + And now the broad valley twinkled with lights, that glimmered through its + duskiness like the fireflies in the garden of a Florentine palace. A gleam + of lightning from the rear of the tempest showed the circumference of + hills and the great space between, as the last cannon-flash of a + retreating army reddens across the field where it has fought. The sculptor + was on the point of descending the turret stair, when, somewhere in the + darkness that lay beneath them, a woman’s voice was heard, singing a low, + sad strain. + </p> + <p> + “Hark!” said he, laying his hand on Donatello’s arm. + </p> + <p> + And Donatello had said “Hark!” at the same instant. + </p> + <p> + The song, if song it could be called, that had only a wild rhythm, and + flowed forth in the fitful measure of a wind-harp, did not clothe itself + in the sharp brilliancy of the Italian tongue. The words, so far as they + could be distinguished, were German, and therefore unintelligible to the + Count, and hardly less so to the sculptor; being softened and molten, as + it were, into the melancholy richness of the voice that sung them. It was + as the murmur of a soul bewildered amid the sinful gloom of earth, and + retaining only enough memory of a better state to make sad music of the + wail, which would else have been a despairing shriek. Never was there + profounder pathos than breathed through that mysterious voice; it brought + the tears into the sculptor’s eyes, with remembrances and forebodings of + whatever sorrow he had felt or apprehended; it made Donatello sob, as + chiming in with the anguish that he found unutterable, and giving it the + expression which he vaguely sought. + </p> + <p> + But, when the emotion was at its profoundest depth, the voice rose out of + it, yet so gradually that a gloom seemed to pervade it, far upward from + the abyss, and not entirely to fall away as it ascended into a higher and + purer region. At last, the auditors would have fancied that the melody, + with its rich sweetness all there, and much of its sorrow gone, was + floating around the very summit of the tower. + </p> + <p> + “Donatello,” said the sculptor, when there was silence again, “had that + voice no message for your ear?” + </p> + <p> + “I dare not receive it,” said Donatello; “the anguish of which it spoke + abides with me: the hope dies away with the breath that brought it hither. + It is not good for me to hear that voice.” + </p> + <p> + The sculptor sighed, and left the poor penitent keeping his vigil on the + tower. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0007" id="link2HCH0007"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXX + </h2> + <h3> + DONATELLO’S BUST + </h3> + <p> + Kenyon, it will be remembered, had asked Donatello’s permission to model + his bust. The work had now made considerable progress, and necessarily + kept the sculptor’s thoughts brooding much and often upon his host’s + personal characteristics. These it was his difficult office to bring out + from their depths, and interpret them to all men, showing them what they + could not discern for themselves, yet must be compelled to recognize at a + glance, on the surface of a block of marble. + </p> + <p> + He had never undertaken a portrait-bust which gave him so much trouble as + Donatello’s; not that there was any special difficulty in hitting the + likeness, though even in this respect the grace and harmony of the + features seemed inconsistent with a prominent expression of individuality; + but he was chiefly perplexed how to make this genial and kind type of + countenance the index of the mind within. His acuteness and his + sympathies, indeed, were both somewhat at fault in their efforts to + enlighten him as to the moral phase through which the Count was now + passing. If at one sitting he caught a glimpse of what appeared to be a + genuine and permanent trait, it would probably be less perceptible on a + second occasion, and perhaps have vanished entirely at a third. So + evanescent a show of character threw the sculptor into despair; not marble + or clay, but cloud and vapor, was the material in which it ought to be + represented. Even the ponderous depression which constantly weighed upon + Donatello’s heart could not compel him into the kind of repose which the + plastic art requires. + </p> + <p> + Hopeless of a good result, Kenyon gave up all preconceptions about the + character of his subject, and let his hands work uncontrolled with the + clay, somewhat as a spiritual medium, while holding a pen, yields it to an + unseen guidance other than that of her own will. Now and then he fancied + that this plan was destined to be the successful one. A skill and insight + beyond his consciousness seemed occasionally to take up the task. The + mystery, the miracle, of imbuing an inanimate substance with thought, + feeling, and all the intangible attributes of the soul, appeared on the + verge of being wrought. And now, as he flattered himself, the true image + of his friend was about to emerge from the facile material, bringing with + it more of Donatello’s character than the keenest observer could detect at + any one moment in the face of the original Vain expectation!—some + touch, whereby the artist thought to improve or hasten the result, + interfered with the design of his unseen spiritual assistant, and spoilt + the whole. There was still the moist, brown clay, indeed, and the features + of Donatello, but without any semblance of intelligent and sympathetic + life. + </p> + <p> + “The difficulty will drive me mad, I verily believe!” cried the sculptor + nervously. “Look at the wretched piece of work yourself, my dear friend, + and tell me whether you recognize any manner of likeness to your inner + man?” + </p> + <p> + “None,” replied Donatello, speaking the simple truth. “It is like looking + a stranger in the face.” + </p> + <p> + This frankly unfavorable testimony so wrought with the sensitive artist, + that he fell into a passion with the stubborn image, and cared not what + might happen to it thenceforward. Wielding that wonderful power which + sculptors possess over moist clay, however refractory it may show itself + in certain respects, he compressed, elongated, widened, and otherwise + altered the features of the bust in mere recklessness, and at every change + inquired of the Count whether the expression became anywise more + satisfactory. + </p> + <p> + “Stop!” cried Donatello at last, catching the sculptor’s hand. “Let it + remain so!” By some accidental handling of the clay, entirely independent + of his own will, Kenyon had given the countenance a distorted and violent + look, combining animal fierceness with intelligent hatred. Had Hilda, or + had Miriam, seen the bust, with the expression which it had now assumed, + they might have recognized Donatello’s face as they beheld it at that + terrible moment when he held his victim over the edge of the precipice. + </p> + <p> + “What have I done?” said the sculptor, shocked at his own casual + production. “It were a sin to let the clay which bears your features + harden into a look like that. Cain never wore an uglier one.” + </p> + <p> + “For that very reason, let it remain!” answered the Count, who had grown + pale as ashes at the aspect of his crime, thus strangely presented to him + in another of the many guises under which guilt stares the criminal in the + face. “Do not alter it! Chisel it, rather, in eternal marble! I will set + it up in my oratory and keep it continually before my eyes. Sadder and + more horrible is a face like this, alive with my own crime, than the dead + skull which my forefathers handed down to me!” + </p> + <p> + But, without in the least heeding Donatello’s remonstrances, the sculptor + again applied his artful fingers to the clay, and compelled the bust to + dismiss the expression that had so startled them both. + </p> + <p> + “Believe me,” said he, turning his eyes upon his friend, full of grave and + tender sympathy, “you know not what is requisite for your spiritual + growth, seeking, as you do, to keep your soul perpetually in the + unwholesome region of remorse. It was needful for you to pass through that + dark valley, but it is infinitely dangerous to linger there too long; + there is poison in the atmosphere, when we sit down and brood in it, + instead of girding up our loins to press onward. Not despondency, not + slothful anguish, is what you now require,—but effort! Has there + been an unalterable evil in your young life? Then crowd it out with good, + or it will lie corrupting there forever, and cause your capacity for + better things to partake its noisome corruption!” + </p> + <p> + “You stir up many thoughts,” said Donatello, pressing his hand upon his + brow, “but the multitude and the whirl of them make me dizzy.” + </p> + <p> + They now left the sculptor’s temporary studio, without observing that his + last accidental touches, with which he hurriedly effaced the look of + deadly rage, had given the bust a higher and sweeter expression than it + had hitherto worn. It is to be regretted that Kenyon had not seen it; for + only an artist, perhaps, can conceive the irksomeness, the irritation of + brain, the depression of spirits, that resulted from his failure to + satisfy himself, after so much toil and thought as he had bestowed on + Donatello’s bust. In case of success, indeed, all this thoughtful toil + would have been reckoned, not only as well bestowed, but as among the + happiest hours of his life; whereas, deeming himself to have failed, it + was just so much of life that had better never have been lived; for thus + does the good or ill result of his labor throw back sunshine or gloom upon + the artist’s mind. The sculptor, therefore, would have done well to glance + again at his work; for here were still the features of the antique Faun, + but now illuminated with a higher meaning, such as the old marble never + bore. + </p> + <p> + Donatello having quitted him, Kenyon spent the rest of the day strolling + about the pleasant precincts of Monte Beni, where the summer was now so + far advanced that it began, indeed, to partake of the ripe wealth of + autumn. Apricots had long been abundant, and had passed away, and plums + and cherries along with them. But now came great, juicy pears, melting and + delicious, and peaches of goodly size and tempting aspect, though cold and + watery to the palate, compared with the sculptor’s rich reminiscences of + that fruit in America. The purple figs had already enjoyed their day, and + the white ones were luscious now. The contadini (who, by this time, knew + Kenyon well) found many clusters of ripe grapes for him, in every little + globe of which was included a fragrant draught of the sunny Monte Beni + wine. + </p> + <p> + Unexpectedly, in a nook close by the farmhouse, he happened upon a spot + where the vintage had actually commenced. A great heap of early ripened + grapes had been gathered, and thrown into a mighty tub. In the middle of + it stood a lusty and jolly contadino, nor stood, merely, but stamped with + all his might, and danced amain; while the red juice bathed his feet, and + threw its foam midway up his brown and shaggy legs. Here, then, was the + very process that shows so picturesquely in Scripture and in poetry, of + treading out the wine-press and dyeing the feet and garments with the + crimson effusion as with the blood of a battlefield. The memory of the + process does not make the Tuscan wine taste more deliciously. The + contadini hospitably offered Kenyon a sample of the new liquor, that had + already stood fermenting for a day or two. He had tried a similar draught, + however, in years past, and was little inclined to make proof of it again; + for he knew that it would be a sour and bitter juice, a wine of woe and + tribulation, and that the more a man drinks of such liquor, the sorrier he + is likely to be. + </p> + <p> + The scene reminded the sculptor of our New England vintages, where the big + piles of golden and rosy apples lie under the orchard trees, in the mild, + autumnal sunshine; and the creaking cider-mill, set in motion by a + circumgyratory horse, is all a-gush with the luscious juice. To speak + frankly, the cider-making is the more picturesque sight of the two, and + the new, sweet cider an infinitely better drink than the ordinary, unripe + Tuscan wine. Such as it is, however, the latter fills thousands upon + thousands of small, flat barrels, and, still growing thinner and sharper, + loses the little life it had, as wine, and becomes apotheosized as a more + praiseworthy vinegar. + </p> + <p> + Yet all these vineyard scenes, and the processes connected with the + culture of the grape, had a flavor of poetry about them. The toil that + produces those kindly gifts of nature which are not the substance of life, + but its luxury, is unlike other toil. We are inclined to fancy that it + does not bend the sturdy frame and stiffen the overwrought muscles, like + the labor that is devoted in sad, hard earnest to raise grain for sour + bread. Certainly, the sunburnt young men and dark-cheeked, laughing girls, + who weeded the rich acres of Monte Beni, might well enough have passed for + inhabitants of an unsophisticated Arcadia. Later in the season, when the + true vintage time should come, and the wine of Sunshine gush into the + vats, it was hardly too wild a dream that Bacchus himself might revisit + the haunts which he loved of old. But, alas! where now would he find the + Faun with whom we see him consorting in so many an antique group? + </p> + <p> + Donatello’s remorseful anguish saddened this primitive and delightful + life. Kenyon had a pain of his own, moreover, although not all a pain, in + the never quiet, never satisfied yearning of his heart towards Hilda. He + was authorized to use little freedom towards that shy maiden, even in his + visions; so that he almost reproached himself when sometimes his + imagination pictured in detail the sweet years that they might spend + together, in a retreat like this. It had just that rarest quality of + remoteness from the actual and ordinary world B a remoteness through which + all delights might visit them freely, sifted from all troubles—which + lovers so reasonably insist upon, in their ideal arrangements for a happy + union. It is possible, indeed, that even Donatello’s grief and Kenyon’s + pale, sunless affection lent a charm to Monte Beni, which it would not + have retained amid a more abundant joyousness. The sculptor strayed amid + its vineyards and orchards, its dells and tangled shrubberies, with + somewhat the sensations of an adventurer who should find his way to the + site of ancient Eden, and behold its loveliness through the transparency + of that gloom which has been brooding over those haunts of innocence ever + since the fall. Adam saw it in a brighter sunshine, but never knew the + shade of Pensive beauty which Eden won from his expulsion. + </p> + <p> + It was in the decline of the afternoon that Kenyon returned from his long, + musing ramble, Old Tomaso—between whom and himself for some time + past there had been a mysterious understanding,—met him in the + entrance hall, and drew him a little aside. + </p> + <p> + “The signorina would speak with you,” he whispered. + </p> + <p> + “In the chapel?” asked the sculptor. + </p> + <p> + “No; in the saloon beyond it,” answered the butler: “the entrance you once + saw the signorina appear through it is near the altar, hidden behind the + tapestry.” + </p> + <p> + Kenyon lost no time in obeying the summons. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0008" id="link2HCH0008"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXXI + </h2> + <h3> + THE MARBLE SALOON + </h3> + <p> + In an old Tuscan villa, a chapel ordinarily makes one among the numerous + apartments; though it often happens that the door is permanently closed, + the key lost, and the place left to itself, in dusty sanctity, like that + chamber in man’s heart where he hides his religious awe. This was very + much the case with the chapel of Monte Beni. One rainy day, however, in + his wanderings through the great, intricate house, Kenyon had unexpectedly + found his way into it, and been impressed by its solemn aspect. The arched + windows, high upward in the wall, and darkened with dust and cobweb, threw + down a dim light that showed the altar, with a picture of a martyrdom + above, and some tall tapers ranged before it. They had apparently been + lighted, and burned an hour or two, and been extinguished perhaps half a + century before. The marble vase at the entrance held some hardened mud at + the bottom, accruing from the dust that had settled in it during the + gradual evaporation of the holy water; and a spider (being an insect that + delights in pointing the moral of desolation and neglect) had taken pains + to weave a prodigiously thick tissue across the circular brim. An old + family banner, tattered by the moths, drooped from the vaulted roof. In + niches there were some mediaeval busts of Donatello’s forgotten ancestry; + and among them, it might be, the forlorn visage of that hapless knight + between whom and the fountain-nymph had occurred such tender love + passages. + </p> + <p> + Throughout all the jovial prosperity of Monte Beni, this one spot within + the domestic walls had kept itself silent, stern, and sad. When the + individual or the family retired from song and mirth, they here sought + those realities which men do not invite their festive associates to share. + And here, on the occasion above referred to, the sculptor had discovered—accidentally, + so far as he was concerned, though with a purpose on her part—that + there was a guest under Donatello’s roof, whose presence the Count did not + suspect. An interview had since taken place, and he was now summoned to + another. + </p> + <p> + He crossed the chapel, in compliance with Tomaso’s instructions, and, + passing through the side entrance, found himself in a saloon, of no great + size, but more magnificent than he had supposed the villa to contain. As + it was vacant, Kenyon had leisure to pace it once or twice, and examine it + with a careless sort of scrutiny, before any person appeared. + </p> + <p> + This beautiful hall was floored with rich marbles, in artistically + arranged figures and compartments. The walls, likewise, were almost + entirely cased in marble of various kinds, the prevalent, variety being + giallo antico, intermixed with verd-antique, and others equally precious. + The splendor of the giallo antico, however, was what gave character to the + saloon; and the large and deep niches, apparently intended for full length + statues, along the walls, were lined with the same costly material. + Without visiting Italy, one can have no idea of the beauty and + magnificence that are produced by these fittings-up of polished marble. + Without such experience, indeed, we do not even know what marble means, in + any sense, save as the white limestone of which we carve our mantelpieces. + This rich hall of Monte Beni, moreover, was adorned, at its upper end, + with two pillars that seemed to consist of Oriental alabaster; and + wherever there was a space vacant of precious and variegated marble, it + was frescoed with ornaments in arabesque. Above, there was a coved and + vaulted ceiling, glowing with pictured scenes, which affected Kenyon with + a vague sense of splendor, without his twisting his neck to gaze at them. + </p> + <p> + It is one of the special excellences of such a saloon of polished and + richly colored marble, that decay can never tarnish it. Until the house + crumbles down upon it, it shines indestructibly, and, with a little + dusting, looks just as brilliant in its three hundredth year as the day + after the final slab of giallo antico was fitted into the wall. To the + sculptor, at this first View of it, it seemed a hall where the sun was + magically imprisoned, and must always shine. He anticipated Miriam’s + entrance, arrayed in queenly robes, and beaming with even more than the + singular beauty that had heretofore distinguished her. + </p> + <p> + While this thought was passing through his mind, the pillared door, at the + upper end of the saloon, was partly opened, and Miriam appeared. She was + very pale, and dressed in deep mourning. As she advanced towards the + sculptor, the feebleness of her step was so apparent that he made haste to + meet her, apprehending that she might sink down on the marble floor, + without the instant support of his arm. + </p> + <p> + But, with a gleam of her natural self-reliance, she declined his aid, and, + after touching her cold hand to his, went and sat down on one of the + cushioned divans that were ranged against the wall. + </p> + <p> + “You are very ill, Miriam!” said Kenyon, much shocked at her appearance. + “I had not thought of this.” + </p> + <p> + “No; not so ill as I seem to you,” she answered; adding despondently, “yet + I am ill enough, I believe, to die, unless some change speedily occurs.” + </p> + <p> + “What, then, is your disorder?” asked the sculptor; “and what the remedy?” + </p> + <p> + “The disorder!” repeated Miriam. “There is none that I know of save too + much life and strength, without a purpose for one or the other. It is my + too redundant energy that is slowly—or perhaps rapidly—wearing + me away, because I can apply it to no use. The object, which I am bound to + consider my only one on earth, fails me utterly. The sacrifice which I + yearn to make of myself, my hopes, my everything, is coldly put aside. + Nothing is left for me but to brood, brood, brood, all day, all night, in + unprofitable longings and repinings.” + </p> + <p> + “This is very sad, Miriam,” said Kenyon. + </p> + <p> + “Ay, indeed; I fancy so,” she replied, with a short, unnatural laugh. + </p> + <p> + “With all your activity of mind,” resumed he, “so fertile in plans as I + have known you, can you imagine no method of bringing your resources into + play?” + </p> + <p> + “My mind is not active any longer,” answered Miriam, in a cold, + indifferent tone. “It deals with one thought and no more. One recollection + paralyzes it. It is not remorse; do not think it! I put myself out of the + question, and feel neither regret nor penitence on my own behalf. But what + benumbs me, what robs me of all power,-it is no secret for a woman to tell + a man, yet I care not though you know it, —is the certainty that I + am, and must ever be, an object of horror in Donatello’s sight.” + </p> + <p> + The sculptor—a young man, and cherishing a love which insulated him + from the wild experiences which some men gather—was startled to + perceive how Miriam’s rich, ill-regulated nature impelled her to fling + herself, conscience and all, on one passion, the object of which + intellectually seemed far beneath her. + </p> + <p> + “How have you obtained the certainty of which you speak?” asked he, after + a pause. + </p> + <p> + “O, by a sure token,” said Miriam; “a gesture, merely; a shudder, a cold + shiver, that ran through him one sunny morning when his hand happened to + touch mine! But it was enough.” + </p> + <p> + “I firmly believe, Miriam,” said the sculptor, “that he loves you still.” + </p> + <p> + She started, and a flush of color came tremulously over the paleness of + her cheek. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” repeated Kenyon, “if my interest in Donatello—and in + yourself, Miriam—endows me with any true insight, he not only loves + you still, but with a force and depth proportioned to the stronger grasp + of his faculties, in their new development.” + </p> + <p> + “Do not deceive me,” said Miriam, growing pale again. + </p> + <p> + “Not for the world!” replied Kenyon. “Here is what I take to be the truth. + There was an interval, no doubt, when the horror of some calamity, which I + need not shape out in my conjectures, threw Donatello into a stupor of + misery. Connected with the first shock there was an intolerable pain and + shuddering repugnance attaching themselves to all the circumstances and + surroundings of the event that so terribly affected him. Was his dearest + friend involved within the horror of that moment? He would shrink from her + as he shrank most of all from himself. But as his mind roused itself,—as + it rose to a higher life than he had hitherto experienced,—whatever + had been true and permanent within him revived by the selfsame impulse. So + has it been with his love.” + </p> + <p> + “But, surely,” said Miriam, “he knows that I am here! Why, then, except + that I am odious to him, does he not bid me welcome?” + </p> + <p> + “He is, I believe, aware of your presence here,” answered the sculptor. + “Your song, a night or two ago, must have revealed it to him, and, in + truth, I had fancied that there was already a consciousness of it in his + mind. But, the more passionately he longs for your society, the more + religiously he deems himself bound to avoid it. The idea of a lifelong + penance has taken strong possession of Donatello. He gropes blindly about + him for some method of sharp self-torture, and finds, of course, no other + so efficacious as this.” + </p> + <p> + “But he loves me,” repeated Miriam, in a low voice, to herself. “Yes; he + loves me!” + </p> + <p> + It was strange to observe the womanly softness that came over her, as she + admitted that comfort into her bosom. The cold, unnatural indifference of + her manner, a kind of frozen passionateness which had shocked and chilled + the sculptor, disappeared. She blushed, and turned away her eyes, knowing + that there was more surprise and joy in their dewy glances than any man + save one ought to detect there. + </p> + <p> + “In other respects,” she inquired at length, “is he much changed?” + </p> + <p> + “A wonderful process is going forward in Donatello’s mind,” answered the + sculptor. “The germs of faculties that have heretofore slept are fast + springing into activity. The world of thought is disclosing itself to his + inward sight. He startles me, at times, with his perception of deep + truths; and, quite as often, it must be owned, he compels me to smile by + the intermixture of his former simplicity with a new intelligence. But he + is bewildered with the revelations that each day brings. Out of his bitter + agony, a soul and intellect, I could almost say, have been inspired into + him.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, I could help him here!” cried Miriam, clasping her hands. “And how + sweet a toil to bend and adapt my whole nature to do him good! To + instruct, to elevate, to enrich his mind with the wealth that would flow + in upon me, had I such a motive for acquiring it! Who else can perform the + task? Who else has the tender sympathy which he requires? Who else, save + only me,—a woman, a sharer in the same dread secret, a partaker in + one identical guilt,—could meet him on such terms of intimate + equality as the case demands? With this object before me, I might feel a + right to live! Without it, it is a shame for me to have lived so long.” + </p> + <p> + “I fully agree with you,” said Kenyon, “that your true place is by his + side.” + </p> + <p> + “Surely it is,” replied Miriam. “If Donatello is entitled to aught on + earth, it is to my complete self-sacrifice for his sake. It does not + weaken his claim, methinks, that my only prospect of happiness a fearful + word, however lies in the good that may accrue to him from our + intercourse. But he rejects me! He will not listen to the whisper of his + heart, telling him that she, most wretched, who beguiled him into evil, + might guide him to a higher innocence than that from which he fell. How is + this first great difficulty to be obviated?” + </p> + <p> + “It lies at your own option, Miriam, to do away the obstacle, at any + moment,” remarked the sculptor. “It is but to ascend Donatello’s tower, + and you will meet him there, under the eye of God.” + </p> + <p> + “I dare not,” answered Miriam. “No; I dare not!” + </p> + <p> + “Do you fear,” asked the sculptor, “the dread eye-witness whom I have + named?” + </p> + <p> + “No; for, as far as I can see into that cloudy and inscrutable thing, my + heart, it has none but pure motives,” replied Miriam. “But, my friend, you + little know what a weak or what a strong creature a woman is! I fear not + Heaven, in this case, at least, but—shall I confess it? I am greatly + in dread of Donatello. Once he shuddered at my touch. If he shudder once + again, or frown, I die!” + </p> + <p> + Kenyon could not but marvel at the subjection into which this proud and + self-dependent woman had willfully flung herself, hanging her life upon + the chance of an angry or favorable regard from a person who, a little + while before, had seemed the plaything of a moment. But, in Miriam’s eyes, + Donatello was always, thenceforth, invested with the tragic dignity of + their hour of crime; and, furthermore, the keen and deep insight, with + which her love endowed her, enabled her to know him far better than he + could be known by ordinary observation. Beyond all question, since she + loved him so, there was a force in Donatello worthy of her respect and + love. + </p> + <p> + “You see my weakness,” said Miriam, flinging out her hands, as a person + does when a defect is acknowledged, and beyond remedy. “What I need, now, + is an opportunity to show my strength.” + </p> + <p> + “It has occurred to me,” Kenyon remarked, “that the time is come when it + may be desirable to remove Donatello from the complete seclusion in which + he buries himself. He has struggled long enough with one idea. He now + needs a variety of thought, which cannot be otherwise so readily supplied + to him, as through the medium of a variety of scenes. His mind is + awakened, now; his heart, though full of pain, is no longer benumbed. They + should have food and solace. If he linger here much longer, I fear that he + may sink back into a lethargy. The extreme excitability, which + circumstances have imparted to his moral system, has its dangers and its + advantages; it being one of the dangers, that an obdurate scar may + supervene upon its very tenderness. Solitude has done what it could for + him; now, for a while, let him be enticed into the outer world.” + </p> + <p> + “What is your plan, then?” asked Miriam. + </p> + <p> + “Simply,” replied Kenyon, “to persuade Donatello to be my companion in a + ramble among these hills and valleys. The little adventures and + vicissitudes of travel will do him infinite good. After his recent + profound experience, he will re-create the world by the new eyes with + which he will regard it. He will escape, I hope, out of a morbid life, and + find his way into a healthy one.” + </p> + <p> + “And what is to be my part in this process?” inquired Miriam sadly, and + not without jealousy. “You are taking him from me, and putting yourself, + and all manner of living interests, into the place which I ought to fill!” + </p> + <p> + “It would rejoice me, Miriam, to yield the entire responsibility of this + office to yourself,” answered the sculptor. “I do not pretend to be the + guide and counsellor whom Donatello needs; for, to mention no other + obstacle, I am a man, and between man and man there is always an + insuperable gulf. They can never quite grasp each other’s hands; and + therefore man never derives any intimate help, any heart sustenance, from + his brother man, but from woman—his mother, his sister, or his wife. + Be Donatello’s friend at need, therefore, and most gladly will I resign + him!” + </p> + <p> + “It is not kind to taunt me thus,” said Miriam. “I have told you that I + cannot do what you suggest, because I dare not.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, then,” rejoined the sculptor, “see if there is any possibility of + adapting yourself to my scheme. The incidents of a journey often fling + people together in the oddest and therefore the most natural way. + Supposing you were to find yourself on the same route, a reunion with + Donatello might ensue, and Providence have a larger hand in it than either + of us.” + </p> + <p> + “It is not a hopeful plan,” said Miriam, shaking her head, after a + moment’s thought; “yet I will not reject it without a trial. Only in case + it fail, here is a resolution to which I bind myself, come what come may! + You know the bronze statue of Pope Julius in the great square of Perugia? + I remember standing in the shadow of that statue one sunny noontime, and + being impressed by its paternal aspect, and fancying that a blessing fell + upon me from its outstretched hand. Ever since, I have had a superstition, + you will call it foolish, but sad and ill-fated persons always dream such + things,—that, if I waited long enough in that same spot, some good + event would come to pass. Well, my friend, precisely a fortnight after you + begin your tour,—unless we sooner meet,—bring Donatello, at + noon, to the base of the statue. You will find me there!” + </p> + <p> + Kenyon assented to the proposed arrangement, and, after some conversation + respecting his contemplated line of travel, prepared to take his leave. As + he met Miriam’s eyes, in bidding farewell, he was surprised at the new, + tender gladness that beamed out of them, and at the appearance of health + and bloom, which, in this little while, had overspread her face.’ + </p> + <p> + “May I tell you, Miriam,” said he, smiling, “that you are still as + beautiful as ever?” + </p> + <p> + “You have a right to notice it,” she replied, “for, if it be so, my faded + bloom has been revived by the hopes you give me. Do you, then, think me + beautiful? I rejoice, most truly. Beauty—if I possess it—shall + be one of the instruments by which I will try to educate and elevate him, + to whose good I solely dedicate myself.” + </p> + <p> + The sculptor had nearly reached the door, when, hearing her call him, he + turned back, and beheld Miriam still standing where he had left her, in + the magnificent hall which seemed only a fit setting for her beauty. She + beckoned him to return. + </p> + <p> + “You are a man of refined taste,” said she; “more than that,—a man + of delicate sensibility. Now tell me frankly, and on your honor! Have I + not shocked you many times during this interview by my betrayal of woman’s + cause, my lack of feminine modesty, my reckless, passionate, most + indecorous avowal, that I live only in the life of one who, perhaps, + scorns and shudders at me?” + </p> + <p> + Thus adjured, however difficult the point to which she brought him, the + sculptor was not a man to swerve aside from the simple truth. + </p> + <p> + “Miriam,” replied he, “you exaggerate the impression made upon my mind; + but it has been painful, and somewhat of the character which you suppose.” + </p> + <p> + “I knew it,” said Miriam, mournfully, and with no resentment. “What + remains of my finer nature would have told me so, even if it had not been + perceptible in all your manner. Well, my dear friend, when you go back to + Rome, tell Hilda what her severity has done! She was all womanhood to me; + and when she cast me off, I had no longer any terms to keep with the + reserves and decorums of my sex. Hilda has set me free! Pray tell her so, + from Miriam, and thank her!” + </p> + <p> + “I shall tell Hilda nothing that will give her pain,” answered Kenyon. + “But, Miriam, though I know not what passed between her and yourself, I + feel,—and let the noble frankness of your disposition forgive me if + I say so,—I feel that she was right. You have a thousand admirable + qualities. Whatever mass of evil may have fallen into your life, —pardon + me, but your own words suggest it,—you are still as capable as ever + of many high and heroic virtues. But the white shining purity of Hilda’s + nature is a thing apart; and she is bound, by the undefiled material of + which God moulded her, to keep that severity which I, as well as you, have + recognized.” + </p> + <p> + “O, you are right!” said Miriam; “I never questioned it; though, as I told + you, when she cast me off, it severed some few remaining bonds between me + and decorous womanhood. But were there anything to forgive, I do forgive + her. May you win her virgin heart; for methinks there can be few men in + this evil world who are not more unworthy of her than yourself.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0009" id="link2HCH0009"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXXII + </h2> + <h3> + SCENES BY THE WAY + </h3> + <p> + When it came to the point of quitting the reposeful life of Monte Beni, + the sculptor was not without regrets, and would willingly have dreamed a + little longer of the sweet paradise on earth that Hilda’s presence there + might make. Nevertheless, amid all its repose, he had begun to be sensible + of a restless melancholy, to which the cultivators of the ideal arts are + more liable than sturdier men. On his own part, therefore, and leaving + Donatello out of the case, he would have judged it well to go. He made + parting visits to the legendary dell, and to other delightful spots with + which he had grown familiar; he climbed the tower again, and saw a sunset + and a moonrise over the great valley; he drank, on the eve of his + departure, one flask, and then another, of the Monte Beni Sunshine, and + stored up its flavor in his memory as the standard of what is exquisite in + wine. These things accomplished, Kenyon was ready for the journey. + </p> + <p> + Donatello had not very easily been stirred out of the peculiar + sluggishness, which enthralls and bewitches melancholy people. He had + offered merely a passive resistance, however, not an active one, to his + friend’s schemes; and when the appointed hour came, he yielded to the + impulse which Kenyon failed not to apply; and was started upon the journey + before he had made up his mind to undertake it. They wandered forth at + large, like two knights-errant, among the valleys, and the mountains, and + the old mountain towns of that picturesque and lovely region. Save to keep + the appointment with Miriam, a fortnight thereafter, in the great square + of Perugia, there was nothing more definite in the sculptor’s plan than + that they should let themselves be blown hither and thither like Winged + seeds, that mount upon each wandering breeze. Yet there was an idea of + fatality implied in the simile of the winged seeds which did not + altogether suit Kenyon’s fancy; for, if you look closely into the matter, + it will be seen that whatever appears most vagrant, and utterly + purposeless, turns out, in the end, to have been impelled the most surely + on a preordained and unswerving track. Chance and change love to deal with + men’s settled plans, not with their idle vagaries. If we desire unexpected + and unimaginable events, we should contrive an iron framework, such as we + fancy may compel the future to take one inevitable shape; then comes in + the unexpected, and shatters our design in fragments. + </p> + <p> + The travellers set forth on horseback, and purposed to perform much of + their aimless journeyings under the moon, and in the cool of the morning + or evening twilight; the midday sun, while summer had hardly begun to + trail its departing skirts over Tuscany, being still too fervid to allow + of noontide exposure. + </p> + <p> + For a while, they wandered in that same broad valley which Kenyon had + viewed with such delight from the Monte Beni tower. The sculptor soon + began to enjoy the idle activity of their new life, which the lapse of a + day or two sufficed to establish as a kind of system; it is so natural for + mankind to be nomadic, that a very little taste of that primitive mode of + existence subverts the settled habits of many preceding years. Kenyon’s + cares, and whatever gloomy ideas before possessed him, seemed to be left + at Monte Beni, and were scarcely remembered by the time that its gray + tower grew undistinguishable on the brown hillside. His perceptive + faculties, which had found little exercise of late, amid so thoughtful a + way of life, became keen, and kept his eyes busy with a hundred agreeable + scenes. + </p> + <p> + He delighted in the picturesque bits of rustic character and manners, so + little of which ever comes upon the surface of our life at home. There, + for example, were the old women, tending pigs or sheep by the wayside. As + they followed the vagrant steps of their charge, these venerable ladies + kept spinning yarn with that elsewhere forgotten contrivance, the distaff; + and so wrinkled and stern looking were they, that you might have taken + them for the Parcae, spinning the threads of human destiny. In contrast + with their great-grandmothers were the children, leading goats of shaggy + beard, tied by the horns, and letting them browse on branch and shrub. It + is the fashion of Italy to add the petty industry of age and childhood to + the hum of human toil. To the eyes of an observer from the Western world, + it was a strange spectacle to see sturdy, sunburnt creatures, in + petticoats, but otherwise manlike, toiling side by side with male + laborers, in the rudest work of the fields. These sturdy women (if as such + we must recognize them) wore the high-crowned, broad brimmed hat of Tuscan + straw, the customary female head-apparel; and, as every breeze blew back + its breadth of brim, the sunshine constantly added depth to the brown glow + of their cheeks. The elder sisterhood, however, set off their witch-like + ugliness to the worst advantage with black felt hats, bequeathed them, one + would fancy, by their long-buried husbands. + </p> + <p> + Another ordinary sight, as sylvan as the above and more agreeable, was a + girl, bearing on her back a huge bundle of green twigs and shrubs, or + grass, intermixed with scarlet poppies and blue flowers; the verdant + burden being sometimes of such size as to hide the bearer’s figure, and + seem a self-moving mass of fragrant bloom and verdure. Oftener, however, + the bundle reached only halfway down the back of the rustic nymph, leaving + in sight her well-developed lower limbs, and the crooked knife, hanging + behind her, with which she had been reaping this strange harvest sheaf. A + pre-Raphaelite artist (he, for instance, who painted so marvellously a + wind-swept heap of autumnal leaves) might find an admirable subject in one + of these Tuscan girls, stepping with a free, erect, and graceful carriage. + The miscellaneous herbage and tangled twigs and blossoms of her bundle, + crowning her head (while her ruddy, comely face looks out between the + hanging side festoons like a larger flower), would give the painter + boundless scope for the minute delineation which he loves. + </p> + <p> + Though mixed up with what was rude and earthlike, there was still a + remote, dreamlike, Arcadian charm, which is scarcely to be found in the + daily toil of other lands. Among the pleasant features of the wayside were + always the vines, clambering on fig-trees, or other sturdy trunks; they + wreathed themselves in huge and rich festoons from one tree to another, + suspending clusters of ripening grapes in the interval between. Under such + careless mode of culture, the luxuriant vine is a lovelier spectacle than + where it produces a more precious liquor, and is therefore more + artificially restrained and trimmed. Nothing can be more picturesque than + an old grapevine, with almost a trunk of its own, clinging fast around its + supporting tree. Nor does the picture lack its moral. You might twist it + to more than one grave purpose, as you saw how the knotted, serpentine + growth imprisoned within its strong embrace the friend that had supported + its tender infancy; and how (as seemingly flexible natures are prone to + do) it converted the sturdier tree entirely to its own selfish ends, + extending its innumerable arms on every bough, and permitting hardly a + leaf to sprout except its own. It occurred to Kenyon, that the enemies of + the vine, in his native land, might here have seen an emblem of the + remorseless gripe, which the habit of vinous enjoyment lays upon its + victim, possessing him wholly, and letting him live no life but such as it + bestows. + </p> + <p> + The scene was not less characteristic when their path led the two + wanderers through some small, ancient town. There, besides the + peculiarities of present life, they saw tokens of the life that had long + ago been lived and flung aside. The little town, such as we see in our + mind’s eye, would have its gate and its surrounding walls, so ancient and + massive that ages had not sufficed to crumble them away; but in the lofty + upper portion of the gateway, still standing over the empty arch, where + there was no longer a gate to shut, there would be a dove-cote, and + peaceful doves for the only warders. Pumpkins lay ripening in the open + chambers of the structure. Then, as for the town wall, on the outside an + orchard extends peacefully along its base, full, not of apple-trees, but + of those old humorists with gnarled trunks and twisted boughs, the olives. + Houses have been built upon the ramparts, or burrowed out of their + ponderous foundation. Even the gray, martial towers, crowned with ruined + turrets, have been converted into rustic habitations, from the windows of + which hang ears of Indian corn. At a door, that has been broken through + the massive stonework where it was meant to be strongest, some contadini + are winnowing grain. Small windows, too, are pierced through the whole + line of ancient wall, so that it seems a row of dwellings with one + continuous front, built in a strange style of needless strength; but + remnants of the old battlements and machicolations are interspersed with + the homely chambers and earthen-tiled housetops; and all along its extent + both grapevines and running flower-shrubs are encouraged to clamber and + sport over the roughness of its decay. + </p> + <p> + Finally the long grass, intermixed with weeds and wild flowers, waves on + the uppermost height of the shattered rampart; and it is exceedingly + pleasant in the golden sunshine of the afternoon to behold the warlike + precinct so friendly in its old days, and so overgrown with rural peace. + In its guard rooms, its prison chambers, and scooped out of its ponderous + breadth, there are dwellings nowadays where happy human lives are spent. + Human parents and broods of children nestle in them, even as the swallows + nestle in the little crevices along the broken summit of the wall. + </p> + <p> + Passing through the gateway of this same little town, challenged only by + those watchful sentinels, the pigeons, we find ourselves in a long, narrow + street, paved from side to side with flagstones, in the old Roman fashion. + Nothing can exceed the grim ugliness of the houses, most of which are + three or four stories high, stone built, gray, dilapidated, or + half-covered with plaster in patches, and contiguous all along from end to + end of the town. Nature, in the shape of tree, shrub, or grassy sidewalk, + is as much shut out from the one street of the rustic village as from the + heart of any swarming city. The dark and half ruinous habitations, with + their small windows, many of which are drearily closed with wooden + shutters, are but magnified hovels, piled story upon story, and squalid + with the grime that successive ages have left behind them. It would be a + hideous scene to contemplate in a rainy day, or when no human life + pervaded it. In the summer noon, however, it possesses vivacity enough to + keep itself cheerful; for all the within-doors of the village then bubbles + over upon the flagstones, or looks out from the small windows, and from + here and there a balcony. Some of the populace are at the butcher’s shop; + others are at the fountain, which gushes into a marble basin that + resembles an antique sarcophagus. A tailor is sewing before his door with + a young priest seated sociably beside him; a burly friar goes by with an + empty wine-barrel on his head; children are at play; women, at their own + doorsteps, mend clothes, embroider, weave hats of Tuscan straw, or twirl + the distaff. Many idlers, meanwhile, strolling from one group to another, + let the warm day slide by in the sweet, interminable task of doing + nothing. + </p> + <p> + From all these people there comes a babblement that seems quite + disproportioned to the number of tongues that make it. So many words are + not uttered in a New England village throughout the year—except it + be at a political canvass or town-meeting—as are spoken here, with + no especial purpose, in a single day. Neither so many words, nor so much + laughter; for people talk about nothing as if they were terribly in + earnest, and make merry at nothing as if it were the best of all possible + jokes. In so long a time as they have existed, and within such narrow + precincts, these little walled towns are brought into a closeness of + society that makes them but a larger household. All the inhabitants are + akin to each, and each to all; they assemble in the street as their common + saloon, and thus live and die in a familiarity of intercourse, such as + never can be known where a village is open at either end, and all + roundabout, and has ample room within itself. + </p> + <p> + Stuck up beside the door of one house, in this village street, is a + withered bough; and on a stone seat, just under the shadow of the bough, + sits a party of jolly drinkers, making proof of the new wine, or quaffing + the old, as their often-tried and comfortable friend. Kenyon draws bridle + here (for the bough, or bush, is a symbol of the wine-shop at this day in + Italy, as it was three hundred years ago in England), and calls for a + goblet of the deep, mild, purple juice, well diluted with water from the + fountain. The Sunshine of Monte Beni would be welcome now. Meanwhile, + Donatello has ridden onward, but alights where a shrine, with a burning + lamp before it, is built into the wall of an inn stable. He kneels and + crosses himself, and mutters a brief prayer, without attracting notice + from the passers-by, many of whom are parenthetically devout in a similar + fashion. By this time the sculptor has drunk off his wine-and-water, and + our two travellers resume their way, emerging from the opposite gate of + the village. + </p> + <p> + Before them, again, lies the broad valley, with a mist so thinly scattered + over it as to be perceptible only in the distance, and most so in the + nooks of the hills. Now that we have called it mist, it seems a mistake + not rather to have called it sunshine; the glory of so much light being + mingled with so little gloom, in the airy material of that vapor. Be it + mist or sunshine, it adds a touch of ideal beauty to the scene, almost + persuading the spectator that this valley and those hills are visionary, + because their visible atmosphere is so like the substance of a dream. + </p> + <p> + Immediately about them, however, there were abundant tokens that the + country was not really the paradise it looked to be, at a casual glance. + Neither the wretched cottages nor the dreary farmhouses seemed to partake + of the prosperity, with which so kindly a climate, and so fertile a + portion of Mother Earth’s bosom, should have filled them, one and all. But + possibly the peasant inhabitants do not exist in so grimy a poverty, and + in homes so comfortless, as a stranger, with his native ideas of those + matters, would be likely to imagine. The Italians appear to possess none + of that emulative pride which we see in our New England villages, where + every householder, according to his taste and means, endeavors to make his + homestead an ornament to the grassy and elm-shadowed wayside. In Italy + there are no neat doorsteps and thresholds; no pleasant, vine-sheltered + porches; none of those grass-plots or smoothly shorn lawns, which + hospitably invite the imagination into the sweet domestic interiors of + English life. Everything, however sunny and luxuriant may be the scene + around, is especially disheartening in the immediate neighborhood of an + Italian home. + </p> + <p> + An artist, it is true, might often thank his stars for those old houses, + so picturesquely time-stained, and with the plaster falling in blotches + from the ancient brick-work. The prison-like, iron-barred windows, and the + wide arched, dismal entrance, admitting on one hand to the stable, on the + other to the kitchen, might impress him as far better worth his pencil + than the newly painted pine boxes, in which—if he be an American—his + countrymen live and thrive. But there is reason to suspect that a people + are waning to decay and ruin the moment that their life becomes + fascinating either in the poet’s imagination or the painter’s eye. + </p> + <p> + As usual on Italian waysides, the wanderers passed great, black crosses, + hung with all the instruments of the sacred agony and passion: there were + the crown of thorns, the hammer and nails, the pincers, the spear, the + sponge; and perched over the whole, the cock that crowed to St. Peter’s + remorseful conscience. Thus, while the fertile scene showed the + never-failing beneficence of the Creator towards man in his transitory + state, these symbols reminded each wayfarer of the Saviour’s infinitely + greater love for him as an immortal spirit. Beholding these consecrated + stations, the idea seemed to strike Donatello of converting the otherwise + aimless journey into a penitential pilgrimage. At each of them he alighted + to kneel and kiss the cross, and humbly press his forehead against its + foot; and this so invariably, that the sculptor soon learned to draw + bridle of his own accord. It may be, too, heretic as he was, that Kenyon + likewise put up a prayer, rendered more fervent by the symbols before his + eyes, for the peace of his friend’s conscience and the pardon of the sin + that so oppressed him. + </p> + <p> + Not only at the crosses did Donatello kneel, but at each of the many + shrines, where the Blessed Virgin in fresco—faded with sunshine and + half washed out with showers—looked benignly at her worshipper; or + where she was represented in a wooden image, or a bas-relief of plaster or + marble, as accorded with the means of the devout person who built, or + restored from a mediaeval antiquity, these places of wayside worship. They + were everywhere: under arched niches, or in little penthouses with a brick + tiled roof just large enough to shelter them; or perhaps in some bit of + old Roman masonry, the founders of which had died before the Advent; or in + the wall of a country inn or farmhouse; or at the midway point of a + bridge; or in the shallow cavity of a natural rock; or high upward in the + deep cuts of the road. It appeared to the sculptor that Donatello prayed + the more earnestly and the more hopefully at these shrines, because the + mild face of the Madonna promised him to intercede as a tender mother + betwixt the poor culprit and the awfulness of judgment. + </p> + <p> + It was beautiful to observe, indeed, how tender was the soul of man and + woman towards the Virgin mother, in recognition of the tenderness which, + as their faith taught them, she immortally cherishes towards all human + souls. In the wire-work screen ‘before each shrine hung offerings of + roses, or whatever flower was sweetest and most seasonable; some already + wilted and withered, some fresh with that very morning’s dewdrops. Flowers + there were, too, that, being artificial, never bloomed on earth, nor would + ever fade. The thought occurred to Kenyon, that flower-pots with living + plants might be set within the niches, or even that rose-trees, and all + kinds of flowering shrubs, might be reared under the shrines, and taught + to twine and wreathe themselves around; so that the Virgin should dwell + within a bower of verdure, bloom, and fragrant freshness, symbolizing a + homage perpetually new. There are many things in the religious customs of + these people that seem good; many things, at least, that might be both + good and beautiful, if the soul of goodness and the sense of beauty were + as much alive in the Italians now as they must have been when those + customs were first imagined and adopted. But, instead of blossoms on the + shrub, or freshly gathered, with the dewdrops on their leaves, their + worship, nowadays, is best symbolized by the artificial flower. + </p> + <p> + The sculptor fancied, moreover (but perhaps it was his heresy that + suggested the idea), that it would be of happy influence to place a + comfortable and shady seat beneath every wayside shrine. Then the weary + and sun-scorched traveller, while resting himself under her protecting + shadow, might thank the Virgin for her hospitality. Nor, perchance, were + he to regale himself, even in such a consecrated spot, with the fragrance + of a pipe, would it rise to heaven more offensively than the smoke of + priestly incense. We do ourselves wrong, and too meanly estimate the + Holiness above us, when we deem that any act or enjoyment, good in itself, + is not good to do religiously. + </p> + <p> + Whatever may be the iniquities of the papal system, it was a wise and + lovely sentiment that set up the frequent shrine and cross along the + roadside. No wayfarer, bent on whatever worldly errand, can fail to be + reminded, at every mile or two, that this is not the business which most + concerns him. The pleasure-seeker is silently admonished to look + heavenward for a joy infinitely greater than he now possesses. The wretch + in temptation beholds the cross, and is warned that, if he yield, the + Saviour’s agony for his sake will have been endured in vain. The stubborn + criminal, whose heart has long been like a stone, feels it throb anew with + dread and hope; and our poor Donatello, as he went kneeling from shrine to + cross, and from cross to shrine, doubtless found an efficacy in these + symbols that helped him towards a higher penitence. + </p> + <p> + Whether the young Count of Monte Beni noticed the fact, or no, there was + more than one incident of their journey that led Kenyon to believe that + they were attended, or closely followed, or preceded, near at hand, by + some one who took an interest in their motions. As it were, the step, the + sweeping garment, the faintly heard breath, of an invisible companion, was + beside them, as they went on their way. It was like a dream that had + strayed out of their slumber, and was haunting them in the daytime, when + its shadowy substance could have neither density nor outline, in the too + obtrusive light. After sunset, it grew a little more distinct. + </p> + <p> + “On the left of that last shrine,” asked the sculptor, as they rode, under + the moon, “did you observe the figure of a woman kneeling, with her, face + hidden in her hands?” + </p> + <p> + “I never looked that way,” replied Donatello. “I was saying my own prayer. + It was some penitent, perchance. May the Blessed Virgin be the more + gracious to the poor soul, because she is a woman.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0010" id="link2HCH0010"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXXIII + </h2> + <h3> + PICTURED WINDOWS + </h3> + <p> + After wide wanderings through the valley, the two travellers directed + their course towards its boundary of hills. Here, the natural scenery and + men’s modifications of it immediately took a different aspect from that of + the fertile and smiling plain. Not unfrequently there was a convent on the + hillside; or, on some insulated promontory, a mined castle, once the den + of a robber chieftain, who was accustomed to dash down from his commanding + height upon the road that wound below. For ages back, the old fortress had + been flinging down its crumbling ramparts, stone by stone, towards the + grimy village at its foot. + </p> + <p> + Their road wound onward among the hills, which rose steep and lofty from + the scanty level space that lay between them. They continually thrust + their great bulks before the wayfarers, as if grimly resolute to forbid + their passage, or closed abruptly behind them, when they still dared to + proceed. A gigantic hill would set its foot right down before them, and + only at the last moment would grudgingly withdraw it, just far enough to + let them creep towards another obstacle. Adown these rough heights were + visible the dry tracks of many a mountain torrent that had lived a life + too fierce and passionate to be a long one. Or, perhaps, a stream was yet + hurrying shyly along the edge of a far wider bed of pebbles and shelving + rock than it seemed to need, though not too wide for the swollen rage of + which this shy rivulet was capable. A stone bridge bestrode it, the + ponderous arches of which were upheld and rendered indestructible by the + weight of the very stones that threatened to crush them down. Old Roman + toil was perceptible in the foundations of that massive bridge; the first + weight that it ever bore was that of an army of the Republic. + </p> + <p> + Threading these defiles, they would arrive at some immemorial city, + crowning the high summit of a hill with its cathedral, its many churches, + and public edifices, all of Gothic architecture. With no more level ground + than a single piazza in the midst, the ancient town tumbled its crooked + and narrow streets down the mountainside, through arched passages and by + steps of stone. The aspect of everything was awfully old; older, indeed, + in its effect on the imagination than Rome itself, because history does + not lay its finger on these forgotten edifices and tell us all about their + origin. Etruscan princes may have dwelt in them. A thousand years, at all + events, would seem but a middle age for these structures. They are built + of such huge, square stones, that their appearance of ponderous durability + distresses the beholder with the idea that they can never fall,—never + crumble away,—never be less fit than now for human habitation. Many + of them may once have been palaces, and still retain a squalid grandeur. + But, gazing at them, we recognize how undesirable it is to build the + tabernacle of our brief lifetime out of permanent materials, and with a + view to their being occupied by future ‘generations. + </p> + <p> + All towns should be made capable of purification by fire, or of decay, + within each half-century. Otherwise, they become the hereditary haunts of + vermin and noisomeness, besides standing apart from the possibility of + such improvements as are constantly introduced into the rest of man’s + contrivances and accommodations. It is beautiful, no doubt, and + exceedingly satisfactory to some of our natural instincts, to imagine our + far posterity dwelling under the same roof-tree as ourselves. Still, when + people insist on building indestructible houses, they incur, or their + children do, a misfortune analogous to that of the Sibyl, when she + obtained the grievous boon of immortality. So we may build almost immortal + habitations, it is true; but we cannot keep them from growing old, musty, + unwholesome, dreary,—full of death scents, ghosts, and murder + stains; in short, such habitations as one sees everywhere in Italy, be + they hovels or palaces. + </p> + <p> + “You should go with me to my native country,” observed the sculptor to + Donatello. “In that fortunate land, each generation has only its own sins + and sorrows to bear. Here, it seems as if all the weary and dreary Past + were piled upon the back of the Present. If I were to lose my spirits in + this country,—if I were to suffer any heavy misfortune here,—methinks + it would be impossible to stand up against it, under such adverse + influences.” + </p> + <p> + “The sky itself is an old roof, now,” answered the Count; “and, no doubt, + the sins of mankind have made it gloomier than it used to be.” “O, my poor + Faun,” thought Kenyon to himself, “how art thou changed!” + </p> + <p> + A city, like this of which we speak, seems a sort of stony growth out of + the hillside, or a fossilized town; so ancient and strange it looks, + without enough of life and juiciness in it to be any longer susceptible of + decay. An earthquake would afford it the only chance of being ruined, + beyond its present ruin. + </p> + <p> + Yet, though dead to all the purposes for which we live to-day, the place + has its glorious recollections, and not merely rude and warlike ones, but + those of brighter and milder triumphs, the fruits of which we still enjoy. + Italy can count several of these lifeless towns which, four or five + hundred years ago, were each the birthplace of its own school of art; nor + have they yet forgotten to be proud of the dark old pictures, and the + faded frescos, the pristine beauty of which was a light and gladness to + the world. But now, unless one happens to be a painter, these famous works + make us miserably desperate. They are poor, dim ghosts of what, when + Giotto or Cimabue first created them, threw a splendor along the stately + aisles; so far gone towards nothingness, in our day, that scarcely a hint + of design or expression can glimmer through the dusk. Those early artists + did well to paint their frescos. Glowing on the church-walls, they might + be looked upon as symbols of the living spirit that made Catholicism a + true religion, and that glorified it as long as it retained a genuine + life; they filled the transepts with a radiant throng of saints and + angels, and threw around the high altar a faint reflection—as much + as mortals could see, or bear—of a Diviner Presence. But now that + the colors are so wretchedly bedimmed,—now that blotches of + plastered wall dot the frescos all over, like a mean reality thrusting + itself through life’s brightest illusions,—the next best artist to + Cimabue or Giotto or Ghirlandaio or Pinturicchio will be he that shall + reverently cover their ruined masterpieces with whitewash! + </p> + <p> + Kenyon, however, being an earnest student and critic of Art, lingered long + before these pathetic relics; and Donatello, in his present phase of + penitence, thought no time spent amiss while he could be kneeling before + an altar. Whenever they found a cathedral, therefore, or a Gothic church, + the two travellers were of one mind to enter it. In some of these holy + edifices they saw pictures that time had not dimmed nor injured in the + least, though they perhaps belonged to as old a school of Art as any that + were perishing around them. These were the painted windows; and as often + as he gazed at them the sculptor blessed the medieval time, and its + gorgeous contrivances of splendor; for surely the skill of man has never + accomplished, nor his mind imagined, any other beauty or glory worthy to + be compared with these. + </p> + <p> + It is the special excellence of pictured glass, that the light, which + falls merely on the outside of other pictures, is here interfused + throughout the work; it illuminates the design, and invests it with a + living radiance; and in requital the unfading colors transmute the common + daylight into a miracle of richness and glory in its passage through the + heavenly substance of the blessed and angelic shapes which throng the + high-arched window. + </p> + <p> + “It is a woeful thing,” cried Kenyon, while one of these frail yet + enduring and fadeless pictures threw its hues on his face, and on the + pavement of the church around him,—“a sad necessity that any + Christian soul should pass from earth without once seeing an antique + painted window, with the bright Italian sunshine glowing through it! There + is no other such true symbol of the glories of the better world, where a + celestial radiance will be inherent in all things and persons, and render + each continually transparent to the sight of all.” + </p> + <p> + “But what a horror it would be,” said Donatello sadly, “if there were a + soul among them through which the light could not be transfused!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; and perhaps this is to be the punishment of sin,” replied the + sculptor; “not that it shall be made evident to the universe, which can + profit nothing by such knowledge, but that it shall insulate the sinner + from all sweet society by rendering him impermeable to light, and, + therefore, unrecognizable in the abode of heavenly simplicity and truth. + Then, what remains for him, but the dreariness of infinite and eternal + solitude?” + </p> + <p> + “That would be a horrible destiny, indeed!” said Donatello. + </p> + <p> + His voice as he spoke the words had a hollow and dreary cadence, as if he + anticipated some such frozen solitude for himself. A figure in a dark robe + was lurking in the obscurity of a side chapel close by, and made an + impulsive movement forward, but hesitated as Donatello spoke again. + </p> + <p> + “But there might be a more miserable torture than to be solitary forever,” + said he. “Think of having a single companion in eternity, and instead of + finding any consolation, or at all events variety of torture, to see your + own weary, weary sin repeated in that inseparable soul.” + </p> + <p> + “I think, my dear Count, you have never read Dante,” observed Kenyon. + “That idea is somewhat in his style, but I cannot help regretting that it + came into your mind just then.” + </p> + <p> + The dark-robed figure had shrunk back, and was quite lost to sight among + the shadows of the chapel. + </p> + <p> + “There was an English poet,” resumed Kenyon, turning again towards the + window, “who speaks of the ‘dim, religious light,’ transmitted through + painted glass. I always admired this richly descriptive phrase; but, + though he was once in Italy, I question whether Milton ever saw any but + the dingy pictures in the dusty windows of English cathedrals, imperfectly + shown by the gray English daylight. He would else have illuminated that + word ‘dim’ with some epithet that should not chase away the dimness, yet + should make it glow like a million of rubies, sapphires, emeralds, and + topazes. Is it not so with yonder window? The pictures are most brilliant + in themselves, yet dim with tenderness and reverence, because God himself + is shining through them.” + </p> + <p> + “The pictures fill me with emotion, but not such as you seem to + experience,” said Donatello. “I tremble at those awful saints; and, most + of all, at the figure above them. He glows with Divine wrath!” + </p> + <p> + “My dear friend,” said Kenyon, “how strangely your eyes have transmuted + the expression of the figure! It is divine love, not wrath!” + </p> + <p> + “To my eyes,” said Donatello stubbornly, “it is wrath, not love! Each must + interpret for himself.” + </p> + <p> + The friends left the church, and looking up, from the exterior, at the + window which they had just been contemplating within, nothing; was visible + but the merest outline of dusky shapes, Neither the individual likeness of + saint, angel, nor Saviour, and far less the combined scheme and purport of + the picture, could anywise be made out. That miracle of radiant art, thus + viewed, was nothing better than an incomprehensible obscurity, without a + gleam of beauty to induce the beholder to attempt unravelling it. + </p> + <p> + “All this,” thought the sculptor, “is a most forcible emblem of the + different aspect of religious truth and sacred story, as viewed from the + warm interior of belief, or from its cold and dreary outside. Christian + faith is a grand cathedral, with divinely pictured windows. Standing + without, you see no glory, nor can possibly imagine any; standing within, + every ray of light reveals a harmony of unspeakable splendors.” + </p> + <p> + After Kenyon and Donatello emerged from the church, however, they had + better opportunity for acts of charity and mercy than for religious + contemplation; being immediately surrounded by a swarm of beggars, who are + the present possessors of Italy, and share the spoil of the stranger with + the fleas and mosquitoes, their formidable allies. These pests—the + human ones—had hunted the two travellers at every stage of their + journey. From village to village, ragged boys and girls kept almost under + the horses’ feet; hoary grandsires and grandames caught glimpses of their + approach, and hobbled to intercept them at some point of vantage; blind + men stared them out of countenance with their sightless orbs; women held + up their unwashed babies; cripples displayed their wooden legs, their + grievous scars, their dangling, boneless arms, their broken backs, their + burden of a hump, or whatever infirmity or deformity Providence had + assigned them for an inheritance. On the highest mountain summit—in + the most shadowy ravine—there was a beggar waiting for them. In one + small village, Kenyon had the curiosity to count merely how many children + were crying, whining, and bellowing all at once for alms. They proved to + be more than forty of as ragged and dirty little imps as any in the world; + besides whom, all the wrinkled matrons, and most of the village maids, and + not a few stalwart men, held out their hands grimly, piteously, or + smilingly in the forlorn hope of whatever trifle of coin might remain in + pockets already so fearfully taxed. Had they been permitted, they would + gladly have knelt down and worshipped the travellers, and have cursed + them, without rising from their knees, if the expected boon failed to be + awarded. + </p> + <p> + Yet they were not so miserably poor but that the grown people kept houses + over their heads. + </p> + <p> + In the way of food, they had, at least, vegetables in their little + gardens, pigs and chickens to kill, eggs to fry into omelets with oil, + wine to drink, and many other things to make life comfortable. As for the + children, when no more small coin appeared to be forthcoming, they began + to laugh and play, and turn heels over head, showing themselves jolly and + vivacious brats, and evidently as well fed as needs be. The truth is, the + Italian peasantry look upon strangers as the almoners of Providence, and + therefore feel no more shame in asking and receiving alms, than in + availing themselves of providential bounties in whatever other form. + </p> + <p> + In accordance with his nature, Donatello was always exceedingly charitable + to these ragged battalions, and appeared to derive a certain consolation + from the prayers which many of them put up in his behalf. In Italy a + copper coin of minute value will often make all the difference between a + vindictive curse—death by apoplexy being the favorite one-mumbled in + an old witch’s toothless jaws, and a prayer from the same lips, so earnest + that it would seem to reward the charitable soul with at least a puff of + grateful breath to help him heavenward. Good wishes being so cheap, though + possibly not very efficacious, and anathemas so exceedingly bitter,—even + if the greater portion of their poison remain in the mouth that utters + them,—it may be wise to expend some reasonable amount in the + purchase of the former. Donatello invariably did so; and as he distributed + his alms under the pictured window, of which we have been speaking, no + less than seven ancient women lifted their hands and besought blessings on + his head. + </p> + <p> + “Come,” said the sculptor, rejoicing at the happier expression which he + saw in his friend’s face. “I think your steed will not stumble with you + to-day. Each of these old dames looks as much like Horace’s Atra Cura as + can well be conceived; but, though there are seven of them, they will make + your burden on horseback lighter instead of heavier.” + </p> + <p> + “Are we to ride far?” asked the Count. + </p> + <p> + “A tolerable journey betwixt now and to-morrow noon,” Kenyon replied; + “for, at that hour, I purpose to be standing by the Pope’s statue in the + great square of Perugia.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0011" id="link2HCH0011"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXXIV + </h2> + <h3> + MARKET DAY IN PERUGIA + </h3> + <p> + Perugia, on its lofty hilltop, was reached by the two travellers before + the sun had quite kissed away the early freshness of the morning. Since + midnight, there had been a heavy, rain, bringing infinite refreshment to + the scene of verdure and fertility amid which this ancient civilization + stands; insomuch that Kenyon loitered, when they came to the gray city + wall, and was loath to give up the prospect of the sunny wilderness that + lay below. It was as green as England, and bright as Italy alone. There + was all the wide valley, sweeping down and spreading away on all sides + from the weed grown ramparts, and bounded afar by mountains, which lay + asleep in the sun, with thin mists and silvery clouds floating about their + heads by way of morning dreams. + </p> + <p> + “It lacks still two hours of noon,” said the sculptor to his friend, as + they stood under the arch of the gateway, waiting for their passports to + be examined; “will you come with me to see some admirable frescos by + Perugino? There is a hall in the Exchange, of no great magnitude, but + covered with what must have been—at the time it was painted—such + magnificence and beauty as the world had not elsewhere to show.” + </p> + <p> + “It depresses me to look at old frescos,” responded the Count; “it is a + pain, yet not enough of a pain to answer as a penance.” + </p> + <p> + “Will you look at some pictures by Fra Angelico in the Church of San + Domenico?” asked Kenyon; “they are full of religious sincerity, When one + studies them faithfully, it is like holding a conversation about heavenly + things with a tender and devout-minded man.” + </p> + <p> + “You have shown me some of Fra Angelico’s pictures, I remember,” answered + Donatello; “his angels look as if they had never taken a flight out of + heaven; and his saints seem to have been born saints, and always to have + lived so. Young maidens, and all innocent persons, I doubt not, may find + great delight and profit in looking at such holy pictures. But they are + not for me.” + </p> + <p> + “Your criticism, I fancy, has great moral depth,” replied Kenyon; “and I + see in it the reason why Hilda so highly appreciates Fra Angelico’s + pictures. Well; we will let all such matters pass for to-day, and stroll + about this fine old city till noon.” + </p> + <p> + They wandered to and fro, accordingly, and lost themselves among the + strange, precipitate passages, which, in Perugia, are called streets, Some + of them are like caverns, being arched all over, and plunging down + abruptly towards an unknown darkness; which, when you have fathomed its + depths, admits you to a daylight that you scarcely hoped to behold again. + Here they met shabby men, and the careworn wives and mothers of the + people, some of whom guided children in leading strings through those dim + and antique thoroughfares, where a hundred generations had passed before + the little feet of to-day began to tread them. Thence they climbed upward + again, and came to the level plateau, on the summit of the hill, where are + situated the grand piazza and the principal public edifices. + </p> + <p> + It happened to be market day in Perugia. The great square, therefore, + presented a far more vivacious spectacle than would have been witnessed in + it at any other time of the week, though not so lively as to overcome the + gray solemnity of the architectural portion of the scene. In the shadow of + the cathedral and other old Gothic structures—seeking shelter from + the sunshine that fell across the rest of the piazza—was a crowd of + people, engaged as buyers or sellers in the petty traffic of a country + fair. Dealers had erected booths and stalls on the pavement, and + overspread them with scanty awnings, beneath which they stood, + vociferously crying their merchandise; such as shoes, hats and caps, yarn + stockings, cheap jewelry and cutlery, books, chiefly little volumes of a + religious Character, and a few French novels; toys, tinware, old iron, + cloth, rosaries of beads, crucifixes, cakes, biscuits, sugar-plums, and + innumerable little odds and ends, which we see no object in advertising. + Baskets of grapes, figs, and pears stood on the ground. Donkeys, bearing + panniers stuffed out with kitchen vegetables, and requiring an ample + roadway, roughly shouldered aside the throng. + </p> + <p> + Crowded as the square was, a juggler found room to spread out a white + cloth upon the pavement, and cover it with cups, plates, balls, cards, w + the whole material of his magic, in short,—wherewith he proceeded to + work miracles under the noonday sun. An organ grinder at one point, and a + clarion and a flute at another, accomplished what their could towards + filling the wide space with tuneful noise, Their small uproar, however, + was nearly drowned by the multitudinous voices of the people, bargaining, + quarrelling, laughing, and babbling copiously at random; for the briskness + of the mountain atmosphere, or some other cause, made everybody so + loquacious, that more words were wasted in Perugia on this one market day, + than the noisiest piazza of Rome would utter in a month. + </p> + <p> + Through all this petty tumult, which kept beguiling one’s eyes and upper + strata of thought, it was delightful to catch glimpses of the grand old + architecture that stood around the square. The life of the flitting + moment, existing in the antique shell of an age gone by, has a fascination + which we do not find in either the past or present, taken by themselves. + It might seem irreverent to make the gray cathedral and the tall, + time-worn palaces echo back the exuberant vociferation of the market; but + they did so, and caused the sound to assume a kind of poetic rhythm, and + themselves looked only the more majestic for their condescension. + </p> + <p> + On one side, there was an immense edifice devoted to public purposes, with + an antique gallery, and a range of arched and stone-mullioned windows, + running along its front; and by way of entrance it had a central Gothic + arch, elaborately wreathed around with sculptured semicircles, within + which the spectator was aware of a stately and impressive gloom. Though + merely the municipal council-house and exchange of a decayed country town, + this structure was worthy to have held in one portion of it the parliament + hall of a nation, and in the other, the state apartments of its ruler. On + another side of the square rose the mediaeval front of the cathedral, + where the imagination of a Gothic architect had long ago flowered out + indestructibly, in the first place, a grand design, and then covering it + with such abundant detail of ornament, that the magnitude of the work + seemed less a miracle than its minuteness. You would suppose that he must + have softened the stone into wax, until his most delicate fancies were + modelled in the pliant material, and then had hardened it into stone + again. The whole was a vast, black-letter page of the richest and + quaintest poetry. In fit keeping with all this old magnificence was a + great marble fountain, where again the Gothic imagination showed its + overflow and gratuity of device in the manifold sculptures which it + lavished as freely as the water did its shifting shapes. + </p> + <p> + Besides the two venerable structures which we have described, there were + lofty palaces, perhaps of as old a date, rising story above Story, and + adorned with balconies, whence, hundreds of years ago, the princely + occupants had been accustomed to gaze down at the sports, business, and + popular assemblages of the piazza. And, beyond all question, they thus + witnessed the erection of a bronze statue, which, three centuries since, + was placed on the pedestal that it still occupies. + </p> + <p> + “I never come to Perugia,” said Kenyon, “without spending as much time as + I can spare in studying yonder statue of Pope Julius the Third. Those + sculptors of the Middle Age have fitter lessons for the professors of my + art than we can find in the Grecian masterpieces. They belong to our + Christian civilization; and, being earnest works, they always express + something which we do not get from the antique. Will you look at it?” + </p> + <p> + “Willingly,” replied the Count, “for I see, even so far off, that the + statue is bestowing a benediction, and there is a feeling in my heart that + I may be permitted to share it.” + </p> + <p> + Remembering the similar idea which Miriam a short time before had + expressed, the sculptor smiled hopefully at the coincidence. They made + their way through the throng of the market place, and approached close to + the iron railing that protected the pedestal of the statue. + </p> + <p> + It was the figure of a pope, arrayed in his pontifical robes, and crowned + with the tiara. He sat in a bronze chair, elevated high above the + pavement, and seemed to take kindly yet authoritative cognizance of the + busy scene which was at that moment passing before his eye. His right hand + was raised and spread abroad, as if in the act of shedding forth a + benediction, which every man—so broad, so wise, and so serenely + affectionate was the bronze pope’s regard—might hope to feel quietly + descending upon the need, or the distress, that he had closest at his + heart. The statue had life and observation in it, as well as patriarchal + majesty. An imaginative spectator could not but be impressed with the idea + that this benignly awful representative of divine and human authority + might rise from his brazen chair, should any great public exigency demand + his interposition, and encourage or restrain the people by his gesture, or + even by prophetic utterances worthy of so grand a presence. + </p> + <p> + And in the long, calm intervals, amid the quiet lapse of ages, the pontiff + watched the daily turmoil around his seat, listening with majestic + patience to the market cries, and all the petty uproar that awoke the + echoes of the stately old piazza. He was the enduring friend of these men, + and of their forefathers and children, the familiar face of generations. + </p> + <p> + “The pope’s blessing, methinks, has fallen upon you,” observed the + sculptor, looking at his friend. + </p> + <p> + In truth, Donatello’s countenance indicated a healthier spirit than while + he was brooding in his melancholy tower. The change of scene, the breaking + up of custom, the fresh flow of incidents, the sense of being homeless, + and therefore free, had done something for our poor Faun; these + circumstances had at least promoted a reaction, which might else have been + slower in its progress. Then, no doubt, the bright day, the gay spectacle + of the market place, and the sympathetic exhilaration of so many people’s + cheerfulness, had each their suitable effect on a temper naturally prone + to be glad. Perhaps, too, he was magnetically conscious of a presence that + formerly sufficed to make him happy. Be the cause what it might, + Donatello’s eyes shone with a serene and hopeful expression while looking + upward at the bronze pope, to whose widely diffused blessing, it may be, + he attributed all this good influence. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, my dear friend,” said he, in reply to the sculptor’s remark, “I feel + the blessing upon my spirit.” + </p> + <p> + “It is wonderful,” said Kenyon, with a smile, “wonderful and delightful to + think how long a good man’s beneficence may be potent, even after his + death. How great, then, must have been the efficacy of this excellent + pontiff’s blessing while he was alive!” + </p> + <p> + “I have heard,” remarked the Count, “that there was a brazen image set up + in the wilderness, the sight of which healed the Israelites of their + poisonous and rankling wounds. If it be the Blessed Virgin’s pleasure, why + should not this holy image before us do me equal good? A wound has long + been rankling in my soul, and filling it with poison.” + </p> + <p> + “I did wrong to smile,” answered Kenyon. “It is not for me to limit + Providence in its operations on man’s spirit.” + </p> + <p> + While they stood talking, the clock in the neighboring cathedral told the + hour, with twelve reverberating strokes, which it flung down upon the + crowded market place, as if warning one and all to take advantage of the + bronze pontiff’s benediction, or of Heaven’s blessing, however proffered, + before the opportunity were lost. + </p> + <p> + “High noon,” said the sculptor. “It is Miriam’s hour!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0012" id="link2HCH0012"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXXV + </h2> + <h3> + THE BRONZE PONTIFF’S BENEDICTION + </h3> + <p> + When the last of the twelve strokes had fallen from the cathedral clock, + Kenyon threw his eyes over the busy scene of the market place, expecting + to discern Miriam somewhere in the ‘crowd. He looked next towards the + cathedral itself, where it was reasonable to imagine that she might have + taken shelter, while awaiting her appointed time. Seeing no trace of her + in either direction, his eyes came back from their quest somewhat + disappointed, and rested on a figure which was leaning, like Donatello and + himself, on the iron balustrade that surrounded the statue. Only a moment + before, they two had been alone. + </p> + <p> + It was the figure of a woman, with her head bowed on her hands, as if she + deeply felt—what we have been endeavoring to convey into our feeble + description—the benign and awe-inspiring influence which the + pontiff’s statue exercises upon a sensitive spectator. No matter though it + were modelled for a Catholic chief priest, the desolate heart, whatever be + its religion, recognizes in that image the likeness of a father. + </p> + <p> + “Miriam,” said the sculptor, with a tremor in his voice, “is it yourself?” + </p> + <p> + “It is I,” she replied; “I am faithful to my engagement, though with many + fears.” She lifted her head, and revealed to Kenyon—revealed to + Donatello likewise—the well-remembered features of Miriam. They were + pale and worn, but distinguished even now, though less gorgeously, by a + beauty that might be imagined bright enough to glimmer with its own light + in a dim cathedral aisle, and had no need to shrink from the severer test + of the mid-day sun. But she seemed tremulous, and hardly able to go + through with a scene which at a distance she had found courage to + undertake. + </p> + <p> + “You are most welcome, Miriam!” said the sculptor, seeking to afford her + the encouragement which he saw she so greatly required. “I have a hopeful + trust that the result of this interview will be propitious. Come; let me + lead you to Donatello.” + </p> + <p> + “No, Kenyon, no!” whispered Miriam, shrinking back; “unless of his own + accord he speaks my name,—unless he bids me stay,—no word + shall ever pass between him and me. It is not that I take upon me to be + proud at this late hour. Among other feminine qualities, I threw away my + pride when Hilda cast me off.” + </p> + <p> + “If not pride, what else restrains you?” Kenyon asked, a little angry at + her unseasonable scruples, and also at this half-complaining reference to + Hilda’s just severity. “After daring so much, it is no time for fear! If + we let him part from you without a word, your opportunity of doing him + inestimable good is lost forever.” + </p> + <p> + “True; it will be lost forever!” repeated Miriam sadly. “But, dear friend, + will it be my fault? I willingly fling my woman’s pride at his feet. But—do + you not see?—his heart must be left freely to its own decision + whether to recognize me, because on his voluntary choice depends the whole + question whether my devotion will do him good or harm. Except he feel an + infinite need of me, I am a burden and fatal obstruction to him!” + </p> + <p> + “Take your own course, then, Miriam,” said Kenyon; “and, doubtless, the + crisis being what it is, your spirit is better instructed for its + emergencies than mine.” + </p> + <p> + While the foregoing words passed between them they had withdrawn a little + from the immediate vicinity of the statue, so as to be out of Donatello’s + hearing. Still, however, they were beneath the pontiff’s outstretched + hand; and Miriam, with her beauty and her sorrow, looked up into his + benignant face, as if she had come thither for his pardon and paternal + affection, and despaired of so vast a boon. + </p> + <p> + Meanwhile, she had not stood thus long in the public square of Perugia, + without attracting the observation of many eyes. With their quick sense of + beauty, these Italians had recognized her loveliness, and spared not to + take their fill of gazing at it; though their native gentleness and + courtesy made their homage far less obtrusive than that of Germans, + French, or Anglo-Saxons might have been. It is not improbable that Miriam + had planned this momentous interview, on so public a spot and at high + noon, with an eye to the sort of protection that would be thrown over it + by a multitude of eye-witnesses. In circumstances of profound feeling and + passion, there is often a sense that too great a seclusion cannot be + endured; there is an indefinite dread of being quite alone with the object + of our deepest interest. The species of solitude that a crowd harbors + within itself is felt to be preferable, in certain conditions of the + heart, to the remoteness of a desert or the depths of an untrodden wood. + Hatred, love, or whatever kind of too intense emotion, or even + indifference, where emotion has once been, instinctively seeks to + interpose some barrier between itself and the corresponding passion in + another breast. This, we suspect, was what Miriam had thought of, in + coming to the thronged piazza; partly this, and partly, as she said, her + superstition that the benign statue held good influences in store. + </p> + <p> + But Donatello remained leaning against the balustrade. She dared not + glance towards him, to see whether he were pale and agitated, or calm as + ice. Only, she knew that the moments were fleetly lapsing away, and that + his heart must call her soon, or the voice would never reach her. She + turned quite away from him and spoke again to the sculptor. + </p> + <p> + “I have wished to meet you,” said she, “for more than one reason. News has + come to me respecting a dear friend of ours. Nay, not of mine! I dare not + call her a friend of mine, though once the dearest.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you speak of Hilda?” exclaimed Kenyon, with quick alarm. “Has anything + befallen her? When I last heard of her, she was still in Rome, and well.” + </p> + <p> + “Hilda remains in Rome,” replied Miriam, “nor is she ill as regards + physical health, though much depressed in spirits. She lives quite alone + in her dove-cote; not a friend near her, not one in Rome, which, you know, + is deserted by all but its native inhabitants. I fear for her health, if + she continue long in such solitude, with despondency preying on her mind. + I tell you this, knowing the interest which the rare beauty of her + character has awakened in you.” + </p> + <p> + “I will go to Rome!” said the sculptor, in great emotion. “Hilda has never + allowed me to manifest more than a friendly regard; but, at least, she + cannot prevent my watching over her at a humble distance. I will set out + this very hour.” + </p> + <p> + “Do not leave us now!” whispered Miriam imploringly, and laying her hand + on his arm. “One moment more! Ah; he has no word for me!” + </p> + <p> + “Miriam!” said Donatello. + </p> + <p> + Though but a single word, and the first that he had spoken, its tone was a + warrant of the sad and tender depth from which it came. It told Miriam + things of infinite importance, and, first of all, that he still loved her. + The sense of their mutual crime had stunned, but not destroyed, the + vitality of his affection; it was therefore indestructible. That tone, + too, bespoke an altered and deepened character; it told of a vivified + intellect, and of spiritual instruction that had come through sorrow and + remorse; so that instead of the wild boy, the thing of sportive, animal + nature, the sylvan Faun, here was now the man of feeling and intelligence. + </p> + <p> + She turned towards him, while his voice still reverberated in the depths + of her soul. + </p> + <p> + “You have called me!” said she. + </p> + <p> + “Because my deepest heart has need of you!” he replied. “Forgive, Miriam, + the coldness, the hardness with which I parted from you! I was bewildered + with strange horror and gloom.” + </p> + <p> + “Alas! and it was I that brought it on you,” said she. “What repentance, + what self-sacrifice, can atone for that infinite wrong? There was + something so sacred in the innocent and joyous life which you were + leading! A happy person is such an unaccustomed and holy creature in this + sad world! And, encountering so rare a being, and gifted with the power of + sympathy with his sunny life, it was my doom, mine, to bring him within + the limits of sinful, sorrowful mortality! Bid me depart, Donatello! Fling + me off! No good, through my agency, can follow upon such a mighty evil!” + </p> + <p> + “Miriam,” said he, “our lot lies together. Is it not so? Tell me, in + Heaven’s name, if it be otherwise.” + </p> + <p> + Donatello’s conscience was evidently perplexed with doubt, whether the + communion of a crime, such as they two were jointly stained with, ought + not to stifle all the instinctive motions of their hearts, impelling them + one towards the other. Miriam, on the other hand, remorsefully questioned + with herself whether the misery, already accruing from her influence, + should not warn her to withdraw from his path. In this momentous + interview, therefore, two souls were groping for each other in the + darkness of guilt and sorrow, and hardly were bold enough to grasp the + cold hands that they found. + </p> + <p> + The sculptor stood watching the scene with earnest sympathy. + </p> + <p> + “It seems irreverent,” said he, at length; “intrusive, if not irreverent, + for a third person to thrust himself between the two solely concerned in a + crisis like the present. Yet, possibly as a bystander, though a deeply + interested one, I may discern somewhat of truth that is hidden from you + both; nay, at least interpret or suggest some ideas which you might not so + readily convey to each other.” + </p> + <p> + “Speak!” said Miriam. “We confide in you.” “Speak!” said Donatello. “You + are true and upright.” + </p> + <p> + “I well know,” rejoined Kenyon, “that I shall not succeed in uttering the + few, deep words which, in this matter, as in all others, include the + absolute truth. But here, Miriam, is one whom a terrible misfortune has + begun to educate; it has taken him, and through your agency, out of a wild + and happy state, which, within circumscribed limits, gave him joys that he + cannot elsewhere find on earth. On his behalf, you have incurred a + responsibility which you cannot fling aside. And here, Donatello, is one + whom Providence marks out as intimately connected with your destiny. The + mysterious process, by which our earthly life instructs us for another + state of being, was begun for you by her. She has rich gifts of heart and + mind, a suggestive power, a magnetic influence, a sympathetic knowledge, + which, wisely and religiously exercised, are what your condition needs. + She possesses what you require, and, with utter self devotion, will use it + for your good. The bond betwixt you, therefore, is a true one, and never—except + by Heaven’s own act—should be rent asunder.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah; he has spoken the truth!” cried Donatello, grasping Miriam’s hand. + </p> + <p> + “The very truth, dear friend,” cried Miriam. + </p> + <p> + “But take heed,” resumed the sculptor, anxious not to violate the + integrity of his own conscience, “take heed; for you love one another, and + yet your bond is twined with such black threads that you must never look + upon it as identical with the ties that unite other loving souls. It is + for mutual support; it is for one another’s final good; it is for effort, + for sacrifice, but not for earthly happiness. If such be your motive, + believe me, friends, it were better to relinquish each other’s hands at + this sad moment. There would be no holy sanction on your wedded life.” + </p> + <p> + “None,” said Donatello, shuddering. “We know it well.” + </p> + <p> + “None,” repeated Miriam, also shuddering. “United—miserably + entangled with me, rather—by a bond of guilt, our union might be for + eternity, indeed, and most intimate;—but, through all that endless + duration, I should be conscious of his horror.” + </p> + <p> + “Not for earthly bliss, therefore,” said Kenyon, “but for mutual + elevation, and encouragement towards a severe and painful life, you take + each other’s hands. And if, out of toil, sacrifice, prayer, penitence, and + earnest effort towards right things, there comes at length a sombre and + thoughtful, happiness, taste it, and thank Heaven! So that you live not + for it,—so that it be a wayside flower, springing along a path that + leads to higher ends,—it will be Heaven’s gracious gift, and a token + that it recognizes your union here below.” + </p> + <p> + “Have you no more to say?” asked Miriam earnestly. “There is matter of + sorrow and lofty consolation strangely mingled in your words.” + </p> + <p> + “Only this, dear Miriam,” said the sculptor; “if ever in your lives the + highest duty should require from either of you the sacrifice of the other, + meet the occasion without shrinking. This is all.” + </p> + <p> + While Kenyon spoke, Donatello had evidently taken in the ideas which he + propounded, and had ennobled them by the sincerity of his reception. His + aspect unconsciously assumed a dignity, which, elevating his former + beauty, accorded with the change that had long been taking place in his + interior self. He was a man, revolving grave and deep thoughts in his + breast. He still held Miriam’s hand; and there they stood, the beautiful + man, the beautiful woman, united forever, as they felt, in the presence of + these thousand eye-witnesses, who gazed so curiously at the unintelligible + scene. Doubtless the crowd recognized them as lovers, and fancied this a + betrothal that was destined to result in lifelong happiness. And possibly + it might be so. Who can tell where happiness may come; or where, though an + expected guest, it may never show its face? Perhaps—shy, subtle + thing—it had crept into this sad marriage bond, when the partners + would have trembled at its presence as a crime. + </p> + <p> + “Farewell!” said Kenyon; “I go to Rome.” + </p> + <p> + “Farewell, true friend!” said Miriam. + </p> + <p> + “Farewell!” said Donatello too. “May you be happy. You have no guilt to + make you shrink from happiness.” + </p> + <p> + At this moment it so chanced that all the three friends by one impulse + glanced upward at the statue of Pope Julius; and there was the majestic + figure stretching out the hand of benediction over them, and bending down + upon this guilty and repentant pair its visage of grand benignity. There + is a singular effect oftentimes when, out of the midst of engrossing + thought and deep absorption, we suddenly look up, and catch a glimpse of + external objects. We seem at such moments to look farther and deeper into + them, than by any premeditated observation; it is as if they met our eyes + alive, and with all their hidden meaning on the surface, but grew again + inanimate and inscrutable the instant that they became aware of our + glances. So now, at that unexpected glimpse, Miriam, Donatello, and the + sculptor, all three imagined that they beheld the bronze pontiff endowed + with spiritual life. A blessing was felt descending upon them from his + outstretched hand; he approved by look and gesture the pledge of a deep + union that had passed under his auspices. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0013" id="link2HCH0013"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXXVI + </h2> + <h3> + HILDA’S TOWER + </h3> + <p> + When we have once known Rome, and left her where she lies, like a + long-decaying corpse, retaining a trace of the noble shape it was, but + with accumulated dust and a fungous growth overspreading all its more + admirable features, left her in utter weariness, no doubt, of her narrow, + crooked, intricate streets, so uncomfortably paved with little squares of + lava that to tread over them is a penitential pilgrimage, so indescribably + ugly, moreover, so cold, so alley-like, into which the sun never falls, + and where a chill wind forces its deadly breath into our lungs,—left + her, tired of the sight of those immense seven-storied, yellow-washed + hovels, or call them palaces, where all that is dreary in domestic life + seems magnified and multiplied, and weary of climbing those staircases, + which ascend from a ground-floor of cook shops, cobblers’ stalls, stables, + and regiments of cavalry, to a middle region of princes, cardinals, and + ambassadors, and an upper tier of artists, just beneath the unattainable + sky,—left her, worn out with shivering at the cheerless and smoky + fireside by day, and feasting with our own substance the ravenous little + populace of a Roman bed at night,—left her, sick at heart of Italian + trickery, which has uprooted whatever faith in man’s integrity had endured + till now, and sick at stomach of sour bread, sour wine, rancid butter, and + bad cookery, needlessly bestowed on evil meats,—left her, disgusted + with the pretence of holiness and the reality of nastiness, each equally + omnipresent,—left her, half lifeless from the languid atmosphere, + the vital principle of which has been used up long ago, or corrupted by + myriads of slaughters,—left her, crushed down in spirit with the + desolation of her ruin, and the hopelessness of her future,—left + her, in short, hating her with all our might, and adding our individual + curse to the infinite anathema which her old crimes have unmistakably + brought down,—when we have left Rome in such mood as this, we are + astonished by the discovery, by and by, that our heart-strings have + mysteriously attached themselves to the Eternal City, and are drawing us + thitherward again, as if it were more familiar, more intimately our home, + than even the spot where we were born. + </p> + <p> + It is with a kindred sentiment, that we now follow the course of our story + back through the Flaminian Gate, and, treading our way to the Via + Portoghese, climb the staircase to the upper chamber of the tower where we + last saw Hilda. + </p> + <p> + Hilda all along intended to pass the summer in Rome; for she had laid out + many high and delightful tasks, which she could the better complete while + her favorite haunts were deserted by the multitude that thronged them + throughout the winter and early spring. Nor did she dread the summer + atmosphere, although generally held to be so pestilential. She had already + made trial of it, two years before, and found no worse effect than a kind + of dreamy languor, which was dissipated by the first cool breezes that + came with autumn. The thickly populated centre of the city, indeed, is + never affected by the feverish influence that lies in wait in the + Campagna, like a besieging foe, and nightly haunts those beautiful lawns + and woodlands, around the suburban villas, just at the season when they + most resemble Paradise. What the flaming sword was to the first Eden, such + is the malaria to these sweet gardens and grove. We may wander through + them, of an afternoon, it is true, but they cannot be made a home and a + reality, and to sleep among them is death. They are but illusions, + therefore, like the show of gleaming waters and shadowy foliage in a + desert. + </p> + <p> + But Rome, within the walls, at this dreaded season, enjoys its festal + days, and makes itself merry with characteristic and hereditary pas-times, + for which its broad piazzas afford abundant room. It leads its own life + with a freer spirit, now that the artists and foreign visitors are + scattered abroad. No bloom, perhaps, would be visible in a cheek that + should be unvisited, throughout the summer, by more invigorating winds + than any within fifty miles of the city; no bloom, but yet, if the mind + kept its healthy energy, a subdued and colorless well-being. There was + consequently little risk in Hilda’s purpose to pass the summer days in the + galleries of Roman palaces, and her nights in that aerial chamber, whither + the heavy breath of the city and its suburbs could not aspire. It would + probably harm her no more than it did the white doves, who sought the same + high atmosphere at sunset, and, when morning came, flew down into the + narrow streets, about their daily business, as Hilda likewise did. + </p> + <p> + With the Virgin’s aid and blessing, which might be hoped for even by a + heretic, who so religiously lit the lamp before her shrine, the New + England girl would sleep securely in her old Roman tower, and go forth on + her pictorial pilgrimages without dread or peril. In view of such a + summer, Hilda had anticipated many months of lonely, but unalloyed + enjoyment. Not that she had a churlish disinclination to society, or + needed to be told that we taste one intellectual pleasure twice, and with + double the result, when we taste it with a friend. But, keeping a maiden + heart within her bosom, she rejoiced in the freedom that enabled her still + to choose her own sphere, and dwell in it, if she pleased, without another + inmate. + </p> + <p> + Her expectation, however, of a delightful summer was woefully + disappointed. Even had she formed no previous plan of remaining there, it + is improbable that Hilda would have gathered energy to stir from Rome. A + torpor, heretofore unknown to her vivacious though quiet temperament, had + possessed itself of the poor girl, like a half-dead serpent knotting its + cold, inextricable wreaths about her limbs. It was that peculiar despair, + that chill and heavy misery, which only the innocent can experience, + although it possesses many of the gloomy characteristics that mark a sense + of guilt. It was that heartsickness, which, it is to be hoped, we may all + of us have been pure enough to feel, once in our lives, but the capacity + for which is usually exhausted early, and perhaps with a single agony. It + was that dismal certainty of the existence of evil in the world, which, + though we may fancy ourselves fully assured of the sad mystery long + before, never becomes a portion of our practical belief until it takes + substance and reality from the sin of some guide, whom we have deeply + trusted and revered, or some friend whom we have dearly loved. + </p> + <p> + When that knowledge comes, it is as if a cloud had suddenly gathered over + the morning light; so dark a cloud, that there seems to be no longer any + sunshine behind it or above it. The character of our individual beloved + one having invested itself with all the attributes of right,—that + one friend being to us the symbol and representative of whatever is good + and true,—when he falls, the effect is almost as if the sky fell + with him, bringing down in chaotic ruin the columns that upheld our faith. + We struggle forth again, no doubt, bruised and bewildered. We stare wildly + about us, and discover—or, it may be, we never make the discovery—that + it was not actually the sky that has tumbled down, but merely a frail + structure of our own rearing, which never rose higher than the housetops, + and has fallen because we founded it on nothing. But the crash, and the + affright and trouble, are as overwhelming, for the time, as if the + catastrophe involved the whole moral world. Remembering these things, let + them suggest one generous motive for walking heedfully amid the defilement + of earthly ways! Let us reflect, that the highest path is pointed out by + the pure Ideal of those who look up to us, and who, if we tread less + loftily, may never look so high again. + </p> + <p> + Hilda’s situation was made infinitely more wretched by the necessity of + Confining all her trouble within her own consciousness. To this innocent + girl, holding the knowledge of Miriam’s crime within her tender and + delicate soul, the effect was almost the same as if she herself had + participated in the guilt. Indeed, partaking the human nature of those who + could perpetrate such deeds, she felt her own spotlessness impugnent. + </p> + <p> + Had there been but a single friend,—or not a friend, since friends + were no longer to be confided in, after Miriam had betrayed her trust,—but, + had there been any calm, wise mind, any sympathizing intelligence; or, if + not these, any dull, half-listening ear into which she might have flung + the dreadful secret, as into an echoless cavern, what a relief would have + ensued! But this awful loneliness! It enveloped her whithersoever she + went. It was a shadow in the sunshine of festal days; a mist between her + eyes and the pictures at which she strove to look; a chill dungeon, which + kept her in its gray twilight and fed her with its unwholesome air, fit + only for a criminal to breathe and pine in! She could not escape from it. + In the effort to do so, straying farther into the intricate passages of + our nature, she stumbled, ever and again, over this deadly idea of mortal + guilt. + </p> + <p> + Poor sufferer for another’s sin! Poor wellspring of a virgin’s heart, into + which a murdered corpse had casually fallen, and whence it could not be + drawn forth again, but lay there, day after day, night after night, + tainting its sweet atmosphere with the scent of crime and ugly death! + </p> + <p> + The strange sorrow that had befallen Hilda did not fail to impress its + mysterious seal upon her face, and to make itself perceptible to sensitive + observers in her manner and carriage. A young Italian artist, who + frequented the same galleries which Hilda haunted, grew deeply interested + in her expression. One day, while she stood before Leonardo da Vinci’s + picture of Joanna of Aragon, but evidently without seeing it,—for, + though it had attracted her eyes, a fancied resemblance to Miriam had + immediately drawn away her thoughts,—this artist drew a hasty sketch + which he afterwards elaborated into a finished portrait. It represented + Hilda as gazing with sad and earnest horror at a bloodspot which she + seemed just then to have discovered on her white robe. The picture + attracted considerable notice. Copies of an engraving from it may still be + found in the print shops along the Corso. By many connoisseurs, the idea + of the face was supposed to have been suggested by the portrait of + Beatrice Cenci; and, in fact, there was a look somewhat similar to poor + Beatrice’s forlorn gaze out of the dreary isolation and remoteness, in + which a terrible doom had involved a tender soul. But the modern artist + strenuously upheld the originality of his own picture, as well as the + stainless purity its subject, and chose to call it—and was laughed + at for his pains—“Innocence, dying of a Blood-stain!” + </p> + <p> + “Your picture, Signore Panini, does you credit,” remarked the picture + dealer, who had bought it of the young man for fifteen scudi, and + afterwards sold it for ten times the sum; “but it would be worth a better + price if you had given it a more intelligible title. Looking at the face + and expression of this fair signorina, we seem to comprehend readily + enough, that she is undergoing one or another of those troubles of the + heart to which young ladies are but too liable. But what is this + blood-stain? And what has innocence to do with it? Has she stabbed her + perfidious lover with a bodkin?” + </p> + <p> + “She! she commit a crime!” cried the young artist. “Can you look at the + innocent anguish in her face, and ask that question? No; but, as I read + the mystery, a man has been slain in her presence, and the blood, spurting + accidentally on her white robe, has made a stain which eats into her + life.” + </p> + <p> + “Then, in the name of her patron saint,” exclaimed the picture dealer, + “why don’t she get the robe made white again at the expense of a few + baiocchi to her washerwoman? No, no, my dear Panini. The picture being now + my property, I shall call it ‘The Signorina’s Vengeance.’ She has stabbed + her lover overnight, and is repenting it betimes the next morning. So + interpreted, the picture becomes an intelligible and very natural + representation of a not uncommon fact.” + </p> + <p> + Thus coarsely does the world translate all finer griefs that meet its eye. + It is more a coarse world than an unkind one. + </p> + <p> + But Hilda sought nothing either from the world’s delicacy or its pity, and + never dreamed of its misinterpretations. Her doves often flew in through + the windows of the tower, winged messengers, bringing her what sympathy + they could, and uttering soft, tender, and complaining sounds, deep in + their bosoms, which soothed the girl more than a distincter utterance + might. And sometimes Hilda moaned quietly among the doves, teaching her + voice to accord with theirs, and thus finding a temporary relief from the + burden of her incommunicable sorrow, as if a little portion of it, at + least, had been told to these innocent friends, and been understood and + pitied. + </p> + <p> + When she trimmed the lamp before the Virgin’s shrine, Hilda gazed at the + sacred image, and, rude as was the workmanship, beheld, or fancied, + expressed with the quaint, powerful simplicity which sculptors sometimes + had five hundred years ago, a woman’s tenderness responding to her gaze. + If she knelt, if she prayed, if her oppressed heart besought the sympathy + of divine womanhood afar in bliss, but not remote, because forever + humanized by the memory of mortal griefs, was Hilda to be blamed? It was + not a Catholic kneeling at an idolatrous shrine, but a child lifting its + tear-stained face to seek comfort from a mother. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0014" id="link2HCH0014"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXXVII + </h2> + <h3> + THE EMPTINESS OF PICTURE GALLERIES + </h3> + <p> + Hilda descended, day by day, from her dove-cote, and went to one or + another of the great old palaces,—the Pamfili Doria, the Corsini, + the Sciarra, the Borghese, the Colonna,—where the doorkeepers knew + her well, and offered her a kindly greeting. But they shook their heads + and sighed, on observing the languid step with which the poor girl toiled + up the grand marble staircases. There was no more of that cheery alacrity + with which she used to flit upward, as if her doves had lent her their + wings, nor of that glow of happy spirits which had been wont to set the + tarnished gilding of the picture frames and the shabby splendor of the + furniture all a-glimmer, as she hastened to her congenial and delightful + toil. + </p> + <p> + An old German artist, whom she often met in the galleries, once laid a + paternal hand on Hilda’s head, and bade her go back to her own country. + </p> + <p> + “Go back soon,” he said, with kindly freedom and directness, “or you will + go never more. And, if you go not, why, at least, do you spend the whole + summer-time in Rome? The air has been breathed too often, in so many + thousand years, and is not wholesome for a little foreign flower like you, + my child, a delicate wood-anemone from the western forest-land.” + </p> + <p> + “I have no task nor duty anywhere but here,” replied Hilda. “The old + masters will not set me free!” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, those old masters!” cried the veteran artist, shaking his head. “They + are a tyrannous race! You will find them of too mighty a spirit to be + dealt with, for long together, by the slender hand, the fragile mind, and + the delicate heart, of a young girl. Remember that Raphael’s genius wore + out that divinest painter before half his life was lived. Since you feel + his influence powerfully enough to reproduce his miracles so well, it will + assuredly consume you like a flame.” + </p> + <p> + “That might have been my peril once,” answered Hilda. “It is not so now.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, fair maiden, you stand in that peril now!” insisted the kind old + man; and he added, smiling, yet in a melancholy vein, and with a German + grotesqueness of idea, “Some fine morning, I shall come to the Pinacotheca + of the Vatican, with my palette and my brushes, and shall look for my + little American artist that sees into the very heart of the grand + pictures! And what shall I behold? A heap of white ashes on the marble + floor, just in front of the divine Raphael’s picture of the Madonna da + Foligno! Nothing more, upon my word! The fire, which the poor child feels + so fervently, will have gone into her innermost, and burnt her quite up!” + </p> + <p> + “It would be a happy martyrdom!” said Hilda, faintly smiling. “But I am + far from being worthy of it. What troubles me much, among other troubles, + is quite the reverse of what you think. The old masters hold me here, it + is true, but they no longer warm me with their influence. It is not flame + consuming, but torpor chilling me, that helps to make me wretched.” + </p> + <p> + “Perchance, then,” said the German, looking keenly at her, “Raphael has a + rival in your heart? He was your first love; but young maidens are not + always constant, and one flame is sometimes extinguished by another!” + Hilda shook her head, and turned away. She had spoken the truth, however, + in alleging that torpor, rather than fire, was what she had to dread. In + those gloomy days that had befallen her, it was a great additional + calamity that she felt conscious of the present dimness of an insight + which she once possessed in more than ordinary measure. She had lost—and + she trembled lest it should have departed forever—the faculty of + appreciating those great works of art, which heretofore had made so large + a portion of her happiness. It was no wonder. + </p> + <p> + A picture, however admirable the painter’s art, and wonderful his power, + requires of the spectator a surrender of himself, in due proportion with + the miracle which has been wrought. Let the canvas glow as it may, you + must look with the eye of faith, or its highest excellence escapes you. + There is always the necessity of helping out the painter’s art with your + own resources of sensibility and imagination. Not that these qualities + shall really add anything to what the master has effected; but they must + be put so entirely under his control, and work along with him to such an + extent, that, in a different mood, when you are cold and critical, instead + of sympathetic, you will be apt to fancy that the loftier merits of the + picture were of your own dreaming, not of his creating. + </p> + <p> + Like all revelations of the better life, the adequate perception of a + great work of art demands a gifted simplicity of vision. In this, and in + her self-surrender, and the depth and tenderness of her sympathy, had lain + Hilda’s remarkable power as a copyist of the old masters. And now that her + capacity of emotion was choked up with a horrible experience, it + inevitably followed that she should seek in vain, among those friends so + venerated and beloved, for the marvels which they had heretofore shown + her. In spite of a reverence that lingered longer than her recognition, + their poor worshipper became almost an infidel, and sometimes doubted + whether the pictorial art be not altogether a delusion. + </p> + <p> + For the first time in her life, Hilda now grew acquainted with that icy + demon of weariness, who haunts great picture galleries. He is a plausible + Mephistopheles, and possesses the magic that is the destruction of all + other magic. He annihilates color, warmth, and, more especially, sentiment + and passion, at a touch. If he spare anything, it will be some such matter + as an earthen pipkin, or a bunch of herrings by Teniers; a brass kettle, + in which you can see your rice, by Gerard Douw; a furred robe, or the + silken texture of a mantle, or a straw hat, by Van Mieris; or a + long-stalked wineglass, transparent and full of shifting reflection, or a + bit of bread and cheese, or an over-ripe peach with a fly upon it, truer + than reality itself, by the school of Dutch conjurers. These men, and a + few Flemings, whispers the wicked demon, were the only painters. The + mighty Italian masters, as you deem them, were not human, nor addressed + their work to human sympathies, but to a false intellectual taste, which + they themselves were the first to create. Well might they call their + doings “art,” for they substituted art instead of nature. Their fashion is + past, and ought, indeed, to have died and been buried along with them. + </p> + <p> + Then there is such a terrible lack of variety in their subjects. The + churchmen, their great patrons, suggested most of their themes, and a dead + mythology the rest. A quarter part, probably, of any large collection of + pictures consists of Virgins and infant Christs, repeated over and over + again in pretty much an identical spirit, and generally with no more + mixture of the Divine than just enough to spoil them as representations of + maternity and childhood, with which everybody’s heart might have something + to do. Half of the other pictures are Magdalens, Flights into Egypt, + Crucifixions, Depositions from the Cross, Pietas, Noli-me-tangeres, or the + Sacrifice of Abraham, or martyrdoms of saints, originally painted as + altar-pieces, or for the shrines of chapels, and woefully lacking the + accompaniments which the artist haft in view. + </p> + <p> + The remainder of the gallery comprises mythological subjects, such as nude + Venuses, Ledas, Graces, and, in short, a general apotheosis of nudity, + once fresh and rosy perhaps, but yellow and dingy in our day, and + retaining only a traditionary charm. These impure pictures are from the + same illustrious and impious hands that adventured to call before us the + august forms of Apostles and Saints, the Blessed Mother of the Redeemer, + and her Son, at his death, and in his glory, and even the awfulness of + Him, to whom the martyrs, dead a thousand years ago, have not yet dared to + raise their eyes. They seem to take up one task or the other w the + disrobed woman whom they call Venus, or the type of highest and tenderest + womanhood in the mother of their Saviour with equal readiness, but to + achieve the former with far more satisfactory success. If an artist + sometimes produced a picture of the Virgin, possessing warmth enough to + excite devotional feelings, it was probably the object of his earthly love + to whom he thus paid the stupendous and fearful homage of setting up her + portrait to be worshipped, not figuratively as a mortal, but by religious + souls in their earnest aspirations towards Divinity. And who can trust the + religious sentiment of Raphael, or receive any of his Virgins as + heaven-descended likenesses, after seeing, for example, the Fornarina of + the Barberini Palace, and feeling how sensual the artist must have been to + paint such a brazen trollop of his own accord, and lovingly? Would the + Blessed Mary reveal herself to his spiritual vision, and favor him with + sittings alternately with that type of glowing earthliness, the Fornarina? + </p> + <p> + But no sooner have we given expression to this irreverent criticism, than + a throng of spiritual faces look reproachfully upon us. We see cherubs by + Raphael, whose baby innocence could only have been nursed in paradise; + angels by Raphael as innocent as they, but whose serene intelligence + embraces both earthly and celestial things; madonnas by Raphael, on whose + lips he has impressed a holy and delicate reserve, implying sanctity on + earth, and into whose soft eyes he has thrown a light which he never could + have imagined except by raising his own eyes with a pure aspiration + heavenward. We remember, too, that divinest countenance in the + Transfiguration, and withdraw all that we have said. + </p> + <p> + Poor Hilda, however, in her gloomiest moments, was never guilty of the + high treason suggested in the above remarks against her beloved and + honored Raphael. She had a faculty (which, fortunately for themselves, + pure women often have) of ignoring all moral blotches in a character that + won her admiration. She purified the objects; of her regard by the mere + act of turning such spotless eyes upon them. + </p> + <p> + Hilda’s despondency, nevertheless, while it dulled her perceptions in one + respect, had deepened them in another; she saw beauty less vividly, but + felt truth, or the lack of it, more profoundly. She began to suspect that + some, at least, of her venerated painters, had left an inevitable + hollowness in their works, because, in the most renowned of them, they + essayed to express to the world what they had not in their own souls. They + deified their light and Wandering affections, and were continually playing + off the tremendous jest, alluded to above, of offering the features of + some venal beauty to be enshrined in the holiest places. A deficiency of + earnestness and absolute truth is generally discoverable in Italian + pictures, after the art had become consummate. When you demand what is + deepest, these painters have not wherewithal to respond. They substituted + a keen intellectual perception, and a marvellous knack of external + arrangement, instead of the live sympathy and sentiment which should have + been their inspiration. And hence it happens, that shallow and worldly men + are among the best critics of their works; a taste for pictorial art is + often no more than a polish upon the hard enamel of an artificial + character. Hilda had lavished her whole heart upon it, and found (just as + if she had lavished it upon a human idol) that the greater part was thrown + away. + </p> + <p> + For some of the earlier painters, however, she still retained much of her + former reverence. Fra Angelico, she felt, must have breathed a humble + aspiration between every two touches of his brush, in order to have made + the finished picture such a visible prayer as we behold it, in the guise + of a prim angel, or a saint without the human nature. Through all these + dusky centuries, his works may still help a struggling heart to pray. + Perugino was evidently a devout man; and the Virgin, therefore, revealed + herself to him in loftier and sweeter faces of celestial womanhood, and + yet with a kind of homeliness in their human mould, than even the genius + of Raphael could imagine. Sodoma, beyond a question, both prayed and wept, + while painting his fresco, at Siena, of Christ bound to a pillar. + </p> + <p> + In her present need and hunger for a spiritual revelation, Hilda felt a + vast and weary longing to see this last-mentioned picture once again. It + is inexpressibly touching. So weary is the Saviour and utterly worn out + with agony, that his lips have fallen apart from mere exhaustion; his eyes + seem to be set; he tries to lean his head against the pillar, but is kept + from sinking down upon the ground only by the cords that bind him. One of + the most striking effects produced is the sense of loneliness. You behold + Christ deserted both in heaven and earth; that despair is in him which + wrung forth the saddest utterance man ever made, “Why hast Thou forsaken + me?” Even in this extremity, however, he is still divine. The great and + reverent painter has not suffered the Son of God to be merely an object of + pity, though depicting him in a state so profoundly pitiful. He is rescued + from it, we know not how,—by nothing less than miracle,—by a + celestial majesty and beauty, and some quality of which these are the + outward garniture. He is as much, and as visibly, our Redeemer, there + bound, there fainting, and bleeding from the scourge, with the cross in + view, as if he sat on his throne of glory in the heavens! Sodoma, in this + matchless picture, has done more towards reconciling the incongruity of + Divine Omnipotence and outraged, suffering Humanity, combined in one + person, than the theologians ever did. + </p> + <p> + This hallowed work of genius shows what pictorial art, devoutly exercised, + might effect in behalf of religious truth; involving, as it does, deeper + mysteries of revelation, and bringing them closer to man’s heart, and + making him tenderer to be impressed by them, than the most eloquent words + of preacher or prophet. + </p> + <p> + It is not of pictures like the above that galleries, in Rome or elsewhere, + are made up, but of productions immeasurably below them, and requiring to + be appreciated by a very different frame of mind. Few amateurs are endowed + with a tender susceptibility to the sentiment of a picture; they are not + won from an evil life, nor anywise morally improved by it. The love of + art, therefore, differs widely in its influence from the love of nature; + whereas, if art had not strayed away from its legitimate paths and aims, + it ought to soften and sweeten the lives of its worshippers, in even a + more exquisite degree than the contemplation of natural objects. But, of + its own potency, it has no such effect; and it fails, likewise, in that + other test of its moral value which poor Hilda was now involuntarily + trying upon it. It cannot comfort the heart in affliction; it grows dim + when the shadow is upon us. + </p> + <p> + So the melancholy girl wandered through those long galleries, and over the + mosaic pavements of vast, solitary saloons, wondering what had become of + the splendor that used to beam upon her from the walls. She grew sadly + critical, and condemned almost everything that she was wont to admire. + Heretofore, her sympathy went deeply into a picture, yet seemed to leave a + depth which it was inadequate to sound; now, on the contrary, her + perceptive faculty penetrated the canvas like a steel probe, and found but + a crust of paint over an emptiness. Not that she gave up all art as + worthless; only it had lost its consecration. One picture in ten thousand, + perhaps, ought to live in the applause of mankind, from generation to + generation, until the colors fade and blacken out of sight, or the canvas + rot entirely away. For the rest, let them be piled in garrets, just as the + tolerable poets are shelved, when their little day is over. Is a painter + more sacred than a poet? + </p> + <p> + And as for these galleries of Roman palaces, they were to Hilda, —though + she still trod them with the forlorn hope of getting back her sympathies,—they + were drearier than the whitewashed walls of a prison corridor. If a + magnificent palace were founded, as was generally the case, on hardened + guilt and a stony conscience,—if the prince or cardinal who stole + the marble of his vast mansion from the Coliseum, or some Roman temple, + had perpetrated still deadlier crimes, as probably he did,—there + could be no fitter punishment for his ghost than to wander, perpetually + through these long suites of rooms, over the cold marble or mosaic of the + floors, growing chiller at every eternal footstep. Fancy the progenitor of + the Dorias thus haunting those heavy halls where his posterity reside! Nor + would it assuage his monotonous misery, but increase it manifold, to be + compelled to scrutinize those masterpieces of art, which he collected with + so much cost and care, and gazing at them unintelligently, still leave a + further portion of his vital warmth at every one. + </p> + <p> + Such, or of a similar kind, is the torment of those who seek to enjoy + pictures in an uncongenial mood. Every haunter of picture galleries, we + should imagine, must have experienced it, in greater or less degree; Hilda + never till now, but now most bitterly. + </p> + <p> + And now, for the first time in her lengthened absence, comprising so many + years of her young life, she began to be acquainted with the exile’s pain. + Her pictorial imagination brought up vivid scenes of her native village, + with its great old elm-trees; and the neat, comfortable houses, scattered + along the wide, grassy margin of its street, and the white meeting-house, + and her mother’s very door, and the stream of gold brown water, which her + taste for color had kept flowing, all this while, through her remembrance. + O dreary streets, palaces, churches, and imperial sepulchres of hot and + dusty Rome, with the muddy Tiber eddying through the midst, instead of the + gold-brown rivulet! How she pined under this crumbly magnificence, as if + it were piled all upon her human heart! How she yearned for that native + homeliness, those familiar sights, those faces which she had known always, + those days that never brought any strange event; that life of sober + week-days, and a solemn sabbath at the close! The peculiar fragrance of a + flower-bed, which Hilda used to cultivate, came freshly to her memory, + across the windy sea, and through the long years since the flowers had + withered. Her heart grew faint at the hundred reminiscences that were + awakened by that remembered smell of dead blossoms; it was like opening a + drawer, where many things were laid away, and every one of them scented + with lavender and dried rose-leaves. + </p> + <p> + We ought not to betray Hilda’s secret; but it is the truth, that being so + sad, and so utterly alone, and in such great need of sympathy, her + thoughts sometimes recurred to the sculptor. Had she met him now, her + heart, indeed, might not have been won, but her confidence would have + flown to him like a bird to its nest. One summer afternoon, especially, + Hilda leaned upon the battlements of her tower, and looked over Rome + towards the distant mountains, whither Kenyon had told her that he was + going. + </p> + <p> + “O that he were here!” she sighed; “I perish under this terrible secret; + and he might help me to endure it. O that he were here!” + </p> + <p> + That very afternoon, as the reader may remember, Kenyon felt Hilda’s hand + pulling at the silken cord that was connected with his heart-strings, as + he stood looking towards Rome from the battlements of Monte Beni. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0015" id="link2HCH0015"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXXVIII + </h2> + <h3> + ALTARS AND INCENSE + </h3> + <p> + Rome has a certain species of consolation readier at hand, for all the + necessitous, than any other spot under the sun; and Hilda’s despondent + state made her peculiarly liable to the peril, if peril it can justly be + termed, of seeking, or consenting, to be thus consoled. + </p> + <p> + Had the Jesuits known the situation of this troubled heart, her + inheritance of New England Puritanism would hardly have protected the poor + girl from the pious strategy of those good fathers. Knowing, as they do, + how to work each proper engine, it would have been ultimately impossible + for Hilda to resist the attractions of a faith, which so marvellously + adapts itself to every human need. Not, indeed, that it can satisfy the + soul’s cravings, but, at least, it can sometimes help the soul towards a + higher satisfaction than the faith contains within itself. It supplies a + multitude of external forms, in which the spiritual may be clothed and + manifested; it has many painted windows, as it were, through which the + celestial sunshine, else disregarded, may make itself gloriously + perceptible in visions of beauty and splendor. There is no one want or + weakness of human nature for which Catholicism will own itself without a + remedy; cordials, certainly, it possesses in abundance, and sedatives in + inexhaustible variety, and what may once have been genuine medicaments, + though a little the worse for long keeping. + </p> + <p> + To do it justice, Catholicism is such a miracle of fitness for its own + ends, many of which might seem to be admirable ones, that it is difficult + to imagine it a contrivance of mere man. Its mighty machinery was forged + and put together, not on middle earth, but either above or below. If there + were but angels to work it, instead of the very different class of + engineers who now manage its cranks and safety valves, the system would + soon vindicate the dignity and holiness of its origin. + </p> + <p> + Hilda had heretofore made many pilgrimages among the churches of Rome, for + the sake of wondering at their gorgeousness. Without a glimpse at these + palaces of worship, it is impossible to imagine the magnificence of the + religion that reared them. Many of them shine with burnished gold. They + glow with pictures. Their walls, columns, and arches seem a quarry of + precious stones, so beautiful and costly are the marbles with which they + are inlaid. Their pavements are often a mosaic, of rare workmanship. + Around their lofty cornices hover flights of sculptured angels; and within + the vault of the ceiling and the swelling interior of the dome, there are + frescos of such brilliancy, and wrought with so artful a perspective, that + the sky, peopled with sainted forms, appears to be opened only a little + way above the spectator. Then there are chapels, opening from the side + aisles and transepts, decorated by princes for their own burial places, + and as shrines for their especial saints. In these, the splendor of the + entire edifice is intensified and gathered to a focus. Unless words were + gems, that would flame with many-colored light upon the page, and throw + thence a tremulous glimmer into the reader’s eyes, it were wain to attempt + a description of a princely chapel. + </p> + <p> + Restless with her trouble, Hilda now entered upon another pilgrimage among + these altars and shrines. She climbed the hundred steps of the Ara Coeli; + she trod the broad, silent nave of St. John Lateran; she stood in the + Pantheon, under the round opening in the dome, through which the blue + sunny sky still gazes down, as it used to gaze when there were Roman + deities in the antique niches. She went into every church that rose before + her, but not now to wonder at its magnificence, when she hardly noticed + more than if it had been the pine-built interior of a New England + meeting-house. + </p> + <p> + She went—and it was a dangerous errand—to observe how closely + and comfortingly the popish faith applied itself to all human occasions. + It was impossible to doubt that multitudes of people found their spiritual + advantage in it, who would find none at all in our own formless mode of + worship; which, besides, so far as the sympathy of prayerful souls is + concerned, can be enjoyed only at stated and too unfrequent periods. But + here, whenever the hunger for divine nutriment came upon the soul, it + could on the instant be appeased. At one or another altar, the incense was + forever ascending; the mass always being performed, and carrying upward + with it the devotion of such as had not words for their own prayer. And + yet, if the worshipper had his individual petition to offer, his own + heart-secret to whisper below his breath, there were divine auditors ever + ready to receive it from his lips; and what encouraged him still more, + these auditors had not always been divine, but kept, within their heavenly + memories, the tender humility of a human experience. Now a saint in + heaven, but once a man on earth. + </p> + <p> + Hilda saw peasants, citizens, soldiers, nobles, women with bare heads, + ladies in their silks, entering the churches individually, kneeling for + moments or for hours, and directing their inaudible devotions to the + shrine of some saint of their own choice. In his hallowed person, they + felt themselves possessed of an own friend in heaven. They were too humble + to approach the Deity directly. Conscious of their unworthiness, they + asked the mediation of their sympathizing patron, who, on the score of his + ancient martyrdom, and after many ages of celestial life, might venture to + talk with the Divine Presence, almost as friend with friend. Though dumb + before its Judge, even despair could speak, and pour out the misery of its + soul like water, to an advocate so wise to comprehend the case, and + eloquent to plead it, and powerful to win pardon whatever were the guilt. + Hilda witnessed what she deemed to be an example of this species of + confidence between a young man and his saint. He stood before a shrine, + writhing, wringing his hands, contorting his whole frame in an agony of + remorseful recollection, but finally knelt down to weep and pray. If this + youth had been a Protestant, he would have kept all that torture pent up + in his heart, and let it burn there till it seared him into indifference. + </p> + <p> + Often and long, Hilda lingered before the shrines and chapels of the + Virgin, and departed from them with reluctant steps. Here, perhaps, + strange as it may seem, her delicate appreciation of art stood her in good + stead, and lost Catholicism a convert. If the painter had represented Mary + with a heavenly face, poor Hilda was now in the very mood to worship her, + and adopt the faith in which she held so elevated a position. But she saw + that it was merely the flattered portrait of an earthly beauty; the wife, + at best, of the artist; or, it might be, a peasant girl of the Campagna, + or some Roman princess, to whom he desired to pay his court. For love, or + some even less justifiable motive, the old painter had apotheosized these + women; he thus gained for them, as far as his skill would go, not only the + meed of immortality, but the privilege of presiding over Christian altars, + and of being worshipped with far holier fervors than while they dwelt on + earth. Hilda’s fine sense of the fit and decorous could not be betrayed + into kneeling at such a shrine. + </p> + <p> + She never found just the virgin mother whom she needed. Here it was an + earthly mother, worshipping the earthly baby in her lap, as any and every + mother does, from Eve’s time downward. In another picture, there was a dim + sense, shown in the mother’s face, of some divine quality in the child. In + a third, the artist seemed to have had a higher perception, and had + striven hard to shadow out the Virgin’s joy at bringing the Saviour into + the world, and her awe and love, inextricably mingled, of the little form + which she pressed against her bosom. So far was good. But still, Hilda + looked for something more; a face of celestial beauty, but human as well + as heavenly, and with the shadow of past grief upon it; bright with + immortal youth, yet matronly and motherly; and endowed with a queenly + dignity, but infinitely tender, as the highest and deepest attribute of + her divinity. + </p> + <p> + “Ah,” thought Hilda to herself, “why should not there be a woman to listen + to the prayers of women? A mother in heaven for all motherless girls like + me? In all God’s thought and care for us, can he have withheld this boon, + which our weakness so much needs?” + </p> + <p> + Oftener than to the other churches, she wandered into St. Peter’s. Within + its vast limits, she thought, and beneath the sweep of its great dome, + there should be space for all forms of Christian truth; room both for the + faithful and the heretic to kneel; due help for every creature’s spiritual + want. + </p> + <p> + Hilda had not always been adequately impressed by the grandeur of this + mighty cathedral. When she first lifted the heavy leathern curtain, at one + of the doors, a shadowy edifice in her imagination had been dazzled out of + sight by the reality. Her preconception of St. Peter’s was a structure of + no definite outline, misty in its architecture, dim and gray and huge, + stretching into an interminable perspective, and overarched by a dome like + the cloudy firmament. Beneath that vast breadth and height, as she had + fancied them, the personal man might feel his littleness, and the soul + triumph in its immensity. So, in her earlier visits, when the compassed + splendor Of the actual interior glowed before her eyes, she had profanely + called it a great prettiness; a gay piece of cabinet work, on a Titanic + scale; a jewel casket, marvellously magnified. + </p> + <p> + This latter image best pleased her fancy; a casket, all inlaid in the + inside with precious stones of various hue, so that there Should not be a + hair’s-breadth of the small interior unadorned with its resplendent gem. + Then, conceive this minute wonder of a mosaic box, increased to the + magnitude of a cathedral, without losing the intense lustre of its + littleness, but all its petty glory striving to be sublime. The magic + transformation from the minute to the vast has not been so cunningly + effected but that the rich adornment still counteracts the impression of + space and loftiness. The spectator is more sensible of its limits than of + its extent. + </p> + <p> + Until after many visits, Hilda continued to mourn for that dim, + illimitable interior, which with her eyes shut she had seen from + childhood, but which vanished at her first glimpse through the actual + door. Her childish vision seemed preferable to the cathedral which Michael + Angelo, and all the great architects, had built; because, of the dream + edifice, she had said, “How vast it is!” while of the real St. Peter’s she + could only say, “After all, it is not so immense!” Besides, such as the + church is, it can nowhere be made visible at one glance. It stands in its + own way. You see an aisle, or a transept; you see the nave, or the + tribune; but, on account of its ponderous piers and other obstructions, it + is only by this fragmentary process that you get an idea of the cathedral. + </p> + <p> + There is no answering such objections. The great church smiles calmly upon + its critics, and, for all response, says, “Look at me!” and if you still + murmur for the loss of your shadowy perspective, there comes no reply, + save, “Look at me!” in endless repetition, as the one thing to be said. + And, after looking many times, with long intervals between, you discover + that the cathedral has gradually extended itself over the whole compass of + your idea; it covers all the site of your visionary temple, and has room + for its cloudy pinnacles beneath the dome. + </p> + <p> + One afternoon, as Hilda entered St. Peter’s in sombre mood, its interior + beamed upon her with all the effect of a new creation. It seemed an + embodiment of whatever the imagination could conceive, or the heart + desire, as a magnificent, comprehensive, majestic symbol of religious + faith. All splendor was included within its verge, and there was space for + all. She gazed with delight even at the multiplicity of ornament. She was + glad at the cherubim that fluttered upon the pilasters, and of the marble + doves, hovering unexpectedly, with green olive-branches of precious + stones. She could spare nothing, now, of the manifold magnificence that + had been lavished, in a hundred places, richly enough to have made + world-famous shrines in any other church, but which here melted away into + the vast sunny breadth, and were of no separate account. Yet each + contributed its little all towards the grandeur of the whole. + </p> + <p> + She would not have banished one of those grim popes, who sit each over his + own tomb, scattering cold benedictions out of their marble hands; nor a + single frozen sister of the Allegoric family, to whom—as, like hired + mourners at an English funeral, it costs them no wear and tear of heart—is + assigned the office of weeping for the dead. If you choose to see these + things, they present themselves; if you deem them unsuitable and out of + place, they vanish, individually, but leave their life upon the walls. + </p> + <p> + The pavement! it stretched out illimitably, a plain of many-colored + marble, where thousands of worshippers might kneel together, and + shadowless angels tread among them without brushing their heavenly + garments against those earthly ones. The roof! the dome! Rich, gorgeous, + filled with sunshine, cheerfully sublime, and fadeless after centuries, + those lofty depths seemed to translate the heavens to mortal + comprehension, and help the spirit upward to a yet higher and wider + sphere. Must not the faith, that built this matchless edifice, and warmed, + illuminated, and overflowed from it, include whatever can satisfy human + aspirations at the loftiest, or minister to human necessity at the sorest? + If Religion had a material home, was it not here? + </p> + <p> + As the scene which we but faintly suggest shone calmly before the New + England maiden at her entrance, she moved, as if by very instinct, to one + of the vases of holy water, upborne against a column by two mighty + cherubs. Hilda dipped her fingers, and had almost signed the cross upon + her breast, but forbore, and trembled, while shaking the water from her + finger-tips. She felt as if her mother’s spirit, somewhere within the + dome, were looking down upon her child, the daughter of Puritan + forefathers, and weeping to behold her ensnared by these gaudy + superstitions. So she strayed sadly onward, up the nave, and towards the + hundred golden lights that swarm before the high altar. Seeing a woman; a + priest, and a soldier kneel to kiss the toe of the brazen St. Peter, who + protrudes it beyond his pedestal for the purpose, polished bright with + former salutations, while a child stood on tiptoe to do the same, the + glory of the church was darkened before Hilda’s eyes. But again she went + onward into remoter regions. She turned into the right transept, and + thence found her way to a shrine, in the extreme corner of the edifice, + which is adorned with a mosaic copy of Guido’s beautiful Archangel, + treading on the prostrate fiend. + </p> + <p> + This was one of the few pictures, which, in these dreary days, had not + faded nor deteriorated in Hilda’s estimation; not that it was better than + many in which she no longer took an interest; but the subtile delicacy of + the painter’s genius was peculiarly adapted to her character. She felt, + while gazing at it, that the artist had done a great thing, not merely for + the Church of Rome, but for the cause of Good. The moral of the picture, + the immortal youth and loveliness of virtue, and its irresistibles might + against ugly Evil, appealed as much to Puritans as Catholics. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly, and as if it were done in a dream, Hilda found herself kneeling + before the shrine, under the ever-burning lamp that throws its rays upon + the Archangel’s face. She laid her forehead on the marble steps before the + altar, and sobbed out a prayer; she hardly knew to whom, whether Michael, + the Virgin, or the Father; she hardly knew for what, save only a vague + longing, that thus the burden of her spirit might be lightened a little. + </p> + <p> + In an instant she snatched herself up, as it were, from her knees, all + a-throb with the emotions which were struggling to force their way out of + her heart by the avenue that had so nearly been opened for them. Yet there + was a strange sense of relief won by that momentary, passionate prayer; a + strange joy, moreover, whether from what she had done, or for what she had + escaped doing, Hilda could not tell. But she felt as one half stifled, who + has stolen a breath of air. + </p> + <p> + Next to the shrine where she had knelt there is another, adorned with a + picture by Guercino, representing a maiden’s body in the jaws of the + sepulchre, and her lover weeping over it; while her beatified spirit looks + down upon the scene, in the society of the Saviour and a throng of saints. + Hilda wondered if it were not possible, by some miracle of faith, so to + rise above her present despondency that she might look down upon what she + was, just as Petronilla in the picture looked at her own corpse. A hope, + born of hysteric trouble, fluttered in her heart. A presentiment, or what + she fancied such, whispered her, that, before she had finished the circuit + of the cathedral, relief would come. + </p> + <p> + The unhappy are continually tantalized by similar delusions of succor near + at hand; at least, the despair is very dark that has no such + will-o’-the-wisp to glimmer in it. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0016" id="link2HCH0016"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXXIX + </h2> + <h3> + THE WORLD’S CATHEDRAL + </h3> + <p> + Still gliding onward, Hilda now looked up into the dome, where the + sunshine came through the western windows, and threw across long shafts of + light. They rested upon the mosaic figures of two evangelists above the + cornice. These great beams of radiance, traversing what seemed the empty + space, were made visible in misty glory, by the holy cloud of incense, + else unseen, which had risen into the middle dome. It was to Hilda as if + she beheld the worship of the priest and people ascending heavenward, + purified from its alloy of earth, and acquiring celestial substance in the + golden atmosphere to which it aspired, She wondered if angels did not + sometimes hover within the dome, and show themselves, in brief glimpses, + floating amid the sunshine and the glorified vapor, to those who devoutly + worshipped on the pavement. + </p> + <p> + She had now come into the southern transept. Around this portion of the + church are ranged a number of confessionals. They are small tabernacles of + carved wood, with a closet for the priest in the centre; and, on either + side, a space for a penitent to kneel, and breathe his confession through + a perforated auricle into the good father’s ear. Observing this + arrangement, though already familiar to her, our poor Hilda was anew + impressed with the infinite convenience—if we may use so poor a + phrase—of the Catholic religion to its devout believers. + </p> + <p> + Who, in truth, that considers the matter, can resist a similar impression! + In the hottest fever-fit of life, they can always find, ready for their + need, a cool, quiet, beautiful place of worship. They may enter its sacred + precincts at any hour, leaving the fret and trouble of the world behind + them, and purifying themselves with a touch of holy water at the + threshold. In the calm interior, fragrant of rich and soothing incense, + they may hold converse with some saint, their awful, kindly friend. And, + most precious privilege of all, whatever perplexity, sorrow, guilt, may + weigh upon their souls, they can fling down the dark burden at the foot of + the cross, and go forth—to sin no more, nor be any longer + disquieted; but to live again in the freshness and elasticity of + innocence. + </p> + <p> + “Do not these inestimable advantages,” thought Hilda, “or some of them at + least, belong to Christianity itself? Are they not a part of the blessings + which the system was meant to bestow upon mankind? Can the faith in which + I was born and bred be perfect, if it leave a weak girl like me to wander, + desolate, with this great trouble crushing me down?” + </p> + <p> + A poignant anguish thrilled within her breast; it was like a thing that + had life, and was struggling to get out. + </p> + <p> + “O help! O help!” cried Hilda; “I cannot, cannot bear it!” + </p> + <p> + Only by the reverberations that followed—arch echoing the sound to + arch, and a pope of bronze repeating it to a pope of marble, as each sat + enthroned over his tomb—did Hilda become aware that she had really + spoken above her breath. But, in that great space, there is no need to + hush up the heart within one’s own bosom, so carefully as elsewhere; and + if the cry reached any distant auditor, it came broken into many + fragments, and from various quarters of the church. + </p> + <p> + Approaching one of the confessionals, she saw a woman kneeling within. + Just as Hilda drew near, the penitent rose, came forth, and kissed the + hand of the priest, who regarded her with a look of paternal benignity, + and appeared to be giving her some spiritual counsel, in a low voice. She + then knelt to receive his blessing, which was fervently bestowed. Hilda + was so struck with the peace and joy in the woman’s face, that, as the + latter retired, she could not help speaking to her. + </p> + <p> + “You look very happy!” said she. “Is it so sweet, then, to go to the + confessional?” + </p> + <p> + “O, very sweet, my dear signorina!” answered the woman, with moistened + eyes and an affectionate smile; for she was so thoroughly softened with + what she had been doing, that she felt as if Hilda were her younger + sister. “My heart is at rest now. Thanks be to the Saviour, and the + Blessed Virgin and the saints, and this good father, there is no more + trouble for poor Teresa!” + </p> + <p> + “I am glad for your sake,” said Hilda, sighing for her own. “I am a poor + heretic, but a human sister; and I rejoice for you!” + </p> + <p> + She went from one to another of the confessionals, and, looking at each, + perceived that they were inscribed with gilt letters: on one, Pro Italica + Lingua; on another, Pro Flandrica Lingua; on a third, Pro Polonica Lingua; + on a fourth, Pro Illyrica Lingua; on a fifth, Pro Hispanica Lingua. In + this vast and hospitable cathedral, worthy to be the religious heart of + the whole world, there was room for all nations; there was access to the + Divine Grace for every Christian soul; there was an ear for what the + overburdened heart might have to murmur, speak in what native tongue it + would. + </p> + <p> + When Hilda had almost completed the circuit of the transept, she came to a + confessional—the central part was closed, but a mystic room + protruded from it, indicating the presence of a priest within—on + which was inscribed, Pro Anglica Lingua. + </p> + <p> + It was the word in season! If she had heard her mother’s voice from within + the tabernacle, calling her, in her own mother-tongue, to come and lay her + poor head in her lap, and sob out all her troubles, Hilda could not have + responded with a more inevitable obedience. She did not think; she only + felt. Within her heart was a great need. Close at hand, within the veil of + the confessional, was the relief. She flung herself down in the penitent’s + place; and, tremulously, passionately, with sobs, tears, and the turbulent + overflow of emotion too long repressed, she poured out the dark story + which had infused its poison into her innocent life. + </p> + <p> + Hilda had not seen, nor could she now see, the visage of the priest. But, + at intervals, in the pauses of that strange confession, half choked by the + struggle of her feelings toward an outlet, she heard a mild, calm voice, + somewhat mellowed by age. It spoke soothingly; it encouraged her; it led + her on by apposite questions that seemed to be suggested by a great and + tender interest, and acted like magnetism in attracting the girl’s + confidence to this unseen friend. The priest’s share in the interview, + indeed, resembled that of one who removes the stones, clustered branches, + or whatever entanglements impede the current of a swollen stream. Hilda + could have imagined—so much to the purpose were his inquiries—that + he was already acquainted with some outline of what she strove to tell + him. + </p> + <p> + Thus assisted, she revealed the whole of her terrible secret! The whole, + except that no name escaped her lips. + </p> + <p> + And, ah, what a relief! When the hysteric gasp, the strife between words + and sobs, had subsided, what a torture had passed away from her soul! It + was all gone; her bosom was as pure now as in her childhood. She was a + girl again; she was Hilda of the dove-cote; not that doubtful creature + whom her own doves had hardly recognized as their mistress and playmate, + by reason of the death-scent that clung to her garments! + </p> + <p> + After she had ceased to speak, Hilda heard the priest bestir himself with + an old man’s reluctant movement. He stepped out of the confessional; and + as the girl was still kneeling in the penitential corner, he summoned her + forth. + </p> + <p> + “Stand up, my daughter,” said the mild voice of the confessor; “what we + have further to say must be spoken face to face.” + </p> + <p> + Hilda did his bidding, and stood before him with a downcast visage, which + flushed and grew pale again. But it had the wonderful beauty which we may + often observe in those who have recently gone through a great struggle, + and won the peace that lies just on the other side. We see it in a new + mother’s face; we see it in the faces of the dead; and in Hilda’s + countenance—which had always a rare natural charm for her friends—this + glory of peace made her as lovely as an angel. + </p> + <p> + On her part, Hilda beheld a venerable figure with hair as white as snow, + and a face strikingly characterized by benevolence. It bore marks of + thought, however, and penetrative insight; although the keen glances of + the eyes were now somewhat bedimmed with tears, which the aged shed, or + almost shed, on lighter stress of emotion than would elicit them from + younger men. + </p> + <p> + “It has not escaped my observation, daughter,” said the priest, “that this + is your first acquaintance with the confessional. How is this?” + </p> + <p> + “Father,” replied Hilda, raising her eyes, and again letting them fall, “I + am of New Eng land birth, and was bred as what you call a heretic.” + </p> + <p> + “From New England!” exclaimed the priest. “It was my own birthplace, + likewise; nor have fifty years of absence made me cease to love it. But a + heretic! And are you reconciled to the Church?” + </p> + <p> + “Never, father,” said Hilda. + </p> + <p> + “And, that being the case,” demanded the old man, “on what ground, my + daughter, have you sought to avail yourself of these blessed privileges, + confined exclusively to members of the one true Church, of confession and + absolution?” + </p> + <p> + “Absolution, father?” exclaimed Hilda, shrinking back. “O no, no! I never + dreamed of that! Only our Heavenly Father can forgive my sins; and it is + only by sincere repentance of whatever wrong I may have done, and by my + own best efforts towards a higher life, that I can hope for his + forgiveness! God forbid that I should ask absolution from mortal man!” + </p> + <p> + “Then wherefore,” rejoined the priest, with somewhat less mildness in his + tone,—“wherefore, I ask again, have you taken possession, as I may + term it, of this holy ordinance; being a heretic, and neither seeking to + share, nor having faith in, the unspeakable advantages which the Church + offers to its penitents?” + </p> + <p> + “Father,” answered Hilda, trying to tell the old man the simple truth, “I + am a motherless girl, and a stranger here in Italy. I had only God to take + care of me, and be my closest friend; and the terrible, terrible crime, + which I have revealed to you, thrust itself between him and me; so that I + groped for him in the darkness, as it were, and found him not,—found + nothing but a dreadful solitude, and this crime in the midst of it! I + could not bear it. It seemed as if I made the awful guilt my own, by + keeping it hidden in my heart. I grew a fearful thing to myself. I was + going mad!” + </p> + <p> + “It was a grievous trial, my poor child!” observed the confessor. “Your + relief, I trust, will prove to be greater than you yet know!” + </p> + <p> + “I feel already how immense it is!” said Hilda, looking gratefully in his + face. “Surely, father, it was the hand of Providence that led me hither, + and made me feel that this vast temple of Christianity, this great home of + religion, must needs contain some cure, some ease, at least, for my + unutterable anguish. And it has proved so. I have told the hideous secret; + told it under the sacred seal of the confessional; and now it will burn my + poor heart no more!” + </p> + <p> + “But, daughter,” answered the venerable priest, not unmoved by what Hilda + said, “you forget! you mistake!—you claim a privilege to which you + have not entitled yourself! The seal of the confessional, do you say? God + forbid that it should ever be broken where it has been fairly impressed; + but it applies only to matters that have been confided to its keeping in a + certain prescribed method, and by persons, moreover, who have faith in the + sanctity of the ordinance. I hold myself, and any learned casuist of the + Church would hold me, as free to disclose all the particulars of what you + term your confession, as if they had come to my knowledge in a secular + way.” + </p> + <p> + “This is not right, father!” said Hilda, fixing her eyes on the old man’s. + </p> + <p> + “Do not you see, child,” he rejoined, with some little heat, “with all + your nicety of conscience, cannot you recognize it as my duty to make the + story known to the proper authorities; a great crime against public + justice being involved, and further evil consequences likely to ensue?” + </p> + <p> + “No, father, no!” answered Hilda, courageously, her cheeks flushing and + her eyes brightening as she spoke. “Trust a girl’s simple heart sooner + than any casuist of your Church, however learned he may be. Trust your own + heart, too! I came to your confessional, father, as I devoutly believe, by + the direct impulse of Heaven, which also brought you hither to-day, in its + mercy and love, to relieve me of a torture that I could no longer bear. I + trusted in the pledge which your Church has always held sacred between the + priest and the human soul, which, through his medium, is struggling + towards its Father above. What I have confided to you lies sacredly + between God and yourself. Let it rest there, father; for this is right, + and if you do otherwise, you will perpetrate a great wrong, both as a + priest and a man! And believe me, no question, no torture, shall ever + force my lips to utter what would be necessary, in order to make my + confession available towards the punishment of the guilty ones. Leave + Providence to deal with them!” + </p> + <p> + “My quiet little countrywoman,” said the priest, with half a smile on his + kindly old face, “you can pluck up a spirit, I perceive, when you fancy an + occasion for one.” + </p> + <p> + “I have spirit only to do what I think right,” replied Hilda simply. “In + other respects I am timorous.” + </p> + <p> + “But you confuse yourself between right feelings and very foolish + inferences,” continued the priest, “as is the wont of women,—so much + I have learnt by long experience in the confessional,—be they young + or old. However, to set your heart at rest, there is no probable need for + me to reveal the matter. What you have told, if I mistake not, and perhaps + more, is already known in the quarter which it most concerns.” + </p> + <p> + “Known!” exclaimed Hilda. “Known to the authorities of Rome! And what will + be the consequence?” + </p> + <p> + “Hush!” answered the confessor, laying his finger on his lips. “I tell you + my supposition—mind, it is no assertion of the fact—in order + that you may go the more cheerfully on your way, not deeming yourself + burdened with any responsibility as concerns this dark deed. And now, + daughter, what have you to give in return for an old man’s kindness and + sympathy?” + </p> + <p> + “My grateful remembrance,” said Hilda, fervently, “as long as I live!” + </p> + <p> + “And nothing more?” the priest inquired, with a persuasive smile. “Will + you not reward him with a great joy; one of the last joys that he may know + on earth, and a fit one to take with him into the better world? In a word, + will you not allow me to bring you as a stray lamb into the true fold? You + have experienced some little taste of the relief and comfort which the + Church keeps abundantly in store for all its faithful children. Come home, + dear child,—poor wanderer, who hast caught a glimpse of the heavenly + light,—come home, and be at rest.” + </p> + <p> + “Father,” said Hilda, much moved by his kindly earnestness, in which, + however, genuine as it was, there might still be a leaven of professional + craft, “I dare not come a step farther than Providence shall guide me. Do + not let it grieve you, therefore, if I never return to the confessional; + never dip my fingers in holy water; never sign my bosom with the cross. I + am a daughter of the Puritans. But, in spite of my heresy,” she added with + a sweet, tearful smile, “you may one day see the poor girl, to whom you + have done this great Christian kindness, coming to remind you of it, and + thank you for it, in the Better Land.” + </p> + <p> + The old priest shook his head. But, as he stretched out his hands at the + same moment, in the act of benediction, Hilda knelt down and received the + blessing with as devout a simplicity as any Catholic of them all. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0017" id="link2HCH0017"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XL + </h2> + <h3> + HILDA AND A FRIEND + </h3> + <p> + When Hilda knelt to receive the priest’s benediction, the act was + witnessed by a person who stood leaning against the marble balustrade that + surrounds the hundred golden lights, before the high altar. He had stood + there, indeed, from the moment of the girl’s entrance into the + confessional. His start of surprise, at first beholding her, and the + anxious gloom that afterwards settled on his face, sufficiently betokened + that he felt a deep and sad interest in what was going forward. + </p> + <p> + After Hilda had bidden the priest farewell, she came slowly towards the + high altar. The individual to whom we have alluded seemed irresolute + whether to advance or retire. His hesitation lasted so long that the + maiden, straying through a happy reverie, had crossed the wide extent of + the pavement between the confessional and the altar, before he had decided + whether to meet her. At last, when within a pace or two, she raised her + eyes and recognized Kenyon. + </p> + <p> + “It is you!” she exclaimed, with joyful surprise. “I am so happy.” + </p> + <p> + In truth, the sculptor had never before seen, nor hardly imagined, such a + figure of peaceful beatitude as Hilda now presented. While coming towards + him in the solemn radiance which, at that period of the day, is diffused + through the transept, and showered down beneath the dome, she seemed of + the same substance as the atmosphere that enveloped her. He could scarcely + tell whether she was imbued with sunshine, or whether it was a glow of + happiness that shone out of her. + </p> + <p> + At all events, it was a marvellous change from the sad girl, who had + entered the confessional bewildered with anguish, to this bright, yet + softened image of religious consolation that emerged from it. It was as if + one of the throng of angelic people, who might be hovering in the sunny + depths of the dome, had alighted on the pavement. Indeed, this capability + of transfiguration, which we often see wrought by inward delight on + persons far less capable of it than Hilda, suggests how angels come by + their beauty, it grows out of their happiness, and lasts forever only + because that is immortal. + </p> + <p> + She held out her hand, and Kenyon was glad to take it in his own, if only + to assure himself that she was made of earthly material. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Hilda, I see that you are very happy,” he replied gloomily, and + withdrawing his hand after a single pressure. “For me, I never was less so + than at this moment.” + </p> + <p> + “Has any misfortune befallen you?” asked Hilda with earnestness. “Pray + tell me, and you shall have my sympathy, though I must still be very + happy. Now I know how it is that the saints above are touched by the + sorrows of distressed people on earth, and yet are never made wretched by + them. Not that I profess to be a saint, you know,” she added, smiling + radiantly. “But the heart grows so large, and so rich, and so variously + endowed, when it has a great sense of bliss, that it can give smiles to + some, and tears to others, with equal sincerity, and enjoy its own peace + throughout all.” + </p> + <p> + “Do not say you are no saint!” answered Kenyon with a smile, though he + felt that the tears stood in his eves. “You will still be Saint Hilda, + whatever church may canonize you.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! you would not have said so, had you seen me but an hour ago!” + murmured she. “I was so wretched, that there seemed a grievous sin in it.” + </p> + <p> + “And what has made you so suddenly happy?” inquired the sculptor. “But + first, Hilda, will you not tell me why you were so wretched?” + </p> + <p> + “Had I met you yesterday, I might have told you that,” she replied. + “To-day, there is no need.” + </p> + <p> + “Your happiness, then?” said the sculptor, as sadly as before. “Whence + comes it?” + </p> + <p> + “A great burden has been lifted from my heart—from my conscience, I + had almost said,”—answered Hilda, without shunning the glance that + he fixed upon her. “I am a new creature, since this morning, Heaven be + praised for it! It was a blessed hour—a blessed impulse—that + brought me to this beautiful and glorious cathedral. I shall hold it in + loving remembrance while I live, as the spot where I found infinite peace + after infinite trouble.” + </p> + <p> + Her heart seemed so full, that it spilt its new gush of happiness, as it + were, like rich and sunny wine out of an over-brimming goblet. Kenyon saw + that she was in one of those moods of elevated feeling, when the soul is + upheld by a strange tranquility, which is really more passionate and less + controllable than emotions far exceeding it in violence. He felt that + there would be indelicacy, if he ought not rather to call it impiety, in + his stealing upon Hilda, while she was thus beyond her own guardianship, + and surprising her out of secrets which she might afterwards bitterly + regret betraying to him. Therefore, though yearning to know what had + happened, he resolved to forbear further question. + </p> + <p> + Simple and earnest people, however, being accustomed to speak from their + genuine impulses, cannot easily, as craftier men do, avoid the subject + which they have at heart. As often as the sculptor unclosed his lips, such + words as these were ready to burst out:—“Hilda, have you flung your + angelic purity into that mass of unspeakable corruption, the Roman + Church?” + </p> + <p> + “What were you saying?” she asked, as Kenyon forced back an almost uttered + exclamation of this kind. + </p> + <p> + “I was thinking of what you have just remarked about the cathedral,” said + he, looking up into the mighty hollow of the dome. “It is indeed a + magnificent structure, and an adequate expression of the Faith which built + it. When I behold it in a proper mood,—that is to say, when I bring + my mind into a fair relation with the minds and purposes of its spiritual + and material architects,—I see but one or two criticisms to make. + One is, that it needs painted windows.” + </p> + <p> + “O, no!” said Hilda. “They would be quite inconsistent with so much + richness of color in the interior of the church. Besides, it is a Gothic + ornament, and only suited to that style of architecture, which requires a + gorgeous dimness.” + </p> + <p> + “Nevertheless,” continued the sculptor, “yonder square apertures, filled + with ordinary panes of glass, are quite out of keeping with the + superabundant splendor of everything about them. They remind me of that + portion of Aladdin’s palace which he left unfinished, in order that his + royal father-in-law might put the finishing touch. Daylight, in its + natural state, ought not to be admitted here. It should stream through a + brilliant illusion of saints and hierarchies, and old scriptural images, + and symbolized dogmas, purple, blue, golden, and a broad flame of scarlet. + Then, it would be just such an illumination as the Catholic faith allows + to its believers. But, give me—to live and die in—the pure, + white light of heaven!” + </p> + <p> + “Why do you look so sorrowfully at me?” asked Hilda, quietly meeting his + disturbed gaze. “What would you say to me? I love the white light too!” + </p> + <p> + “I fancied so,” answered Kenyon. “Forgive me, Hilda; but I must needs + speak. You seemed to me a rare mixture of impressibility, sympathy, + sensitiveness to many influences, with a certain quality of common sense;—no, + not that, but a higher and finer attribute, for which I find no better + word. However tremulously you might vibrate, this quality, I supposed, + would always bring you back to the equipoise. You were a creature of + imagination, and yet as truly a New England girl as any with whom you grew + up in your native village. If there were one person in the world whose + native rectitude of thought, and something deeper, more reliable, than + thought, I would have trusted against all the arts of a priesthood,—whose + taste alone, so exquisite and sincere that it rose to be a moral virtue, I + would have rested upon as a sufficient safeguard,—it was yourself!” + </p> + <p> + “I am conscious of no such high and delicate qualities as you allow me,” + answered Hilda. “But what have I done that a girl of New England birth and + culture, with the right sense that her mother taught her, and the + conscience that she developed in her, should not do?” + </p> + <p> + “Hilda, I saw you at the confessional!” said Kenyon. + </p> + <p> + “Ah well, my dear friend,” replied Hilda, casting down her eyes, and + looking somewhat confused, yet not ashamed, “you must try to forgive me + for that,—if you deem it wrong, because it has saved my reason, and + made me very happy. Had you been here yesterday, I would have confessed to + you.” + </p> + <p> + “Would to Heaven I had!” ejaculated Kenyon. + </p> + <p> + “I think,” Hilda resumed, “I shall never go to the confessional again; for + there can scarcely come such a sore trial twice in my life. If I had been + a wiser girl, a stronger, and a more sensible, very likely I might not + have gone to the confessional at all. It was the sin of others that drove + me thither; not my own, though it almost seemed so. Being what I am, I + must either have done what you saw me doing, or have gone mad. Would that + have been better?” + </p> + <p> + “Then you are not a Catholic?” asked the sculptor earnestly. + </p> + <p> + “Really, I do not quite know what I am,” replied Hilda, encountering his + eyes with a frank and simple gaze. “I have a great deal of faith, and + Catholicism seems to have a great deal of good. Why should not I be a + Catholic, if I find there what I need, and what I cannot find elsewhere? + The more I see of this worship, the more I wonder at the exuberance with + which it adapts itself to all the demands of human infirmity. If its + ministers were but a little more than human, above all error, pure from + all iniquity, what a religion would it be!” + </p> + <p> + “I need not fear your conversion to the Catholic faith,” remarked Kenyon, + “if you are at all aware of the bitter sarcasm implied in your last + observation. It is very just. Only the exceeding ingenuity of the system + stamps it as the contrivance of man, or some worse author; not an + emanation of the broad and simple wisdom from on high.” + </p> + <p> + “It may be so,” said Hilda; “but I meant no sarcasm.” + </p> + <p> + Thus conversing, the two friends went together down the grand extent of + the nave. Before leaving the church, they turned to admire again its + mighty breadth, the remoteness of the glory behind the altar, and the + effect of visionary splendor and magnificence imparted by the long bars of + smoky sunshine, which travelled so far before arriving at a place of rest. + </p> + <p> + “Thank Heaven for having brought me hither!” said Hilda fervently. + </p> + <p> + Kenyon’s mind was deeply disturbed by his idea of her Catholic + propensities; and now what he deemed her disproportionate and misapplied + veneration for the sublime edifice stung him into irreverence. + </p> + <p> + “The best thing I know of St. Peter’s,” observed he, “is its equable + temperature. We are now enjoying the coolness of last winter, which, a few + months hence, will be the warmth of the present summer. It has no cure, I + suspect, in all its length and breadth, for a sick soul, but it would make + an admirable atmospheric hospital for sick bodies. What a delightful + shelter would it be for the invalids who throng to Rome, where the sirocco + steals away their strength, and the tramontana stabs them through and + through, like cold steel with a poisoned point! But within these walls, + the thermometer never varies. Winter and summer are married at the high + altar, and dwell together in perfect harmony.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Hilda; “and I have always felt this soft, unchanging climate + of St. Peter’s to be another manifestation of its sanctity.” + </p> + <p> + “That is not precisely my idea,” replied Kenyon. “But what a delicious + life it would be, if a colony of people with delicate lungs or merely with + delicate fancies—could take up their abode in this ever-mild and + tranquil air. These architectural tombs of the popes might serve for + dwellings, and each brazen sepulchral doorway would become a domestic + threshold. Then the lover, if he dared, might say to his mistress, ‘Will + you share my tomb with me?’ and, winning her soft consent, he would lead + her to the altar, and thence to yonder sepulchre of Pope Gregory, which + should be their nuptial home. What a life would be theirs, Hilda, in their + marble Eden!” + </p> + <p> + “It is not kind, nor like yourself,” said Hilda gently, “to throw ridicule + on emotions which are genuine. I revere this glorious church for itself + and its purposes; and love it, moreover, because here I have found sweet + peace, after’ a great anguish.” + </p> + <p> + “Forgive me,” answered the sculptor, “and I will do so no more. My heart + is not so irreverent as my words.” + </p> + <p> + They went through the piazza of St. Peter’s and the adjacent streets, + silently at first; but, before reaching the bridge of St. Angelo, Hilda’s + flow of spirits began to bubble forth, like the gush of a streamlet that + has been shut up by frost, or by a heavy stone over its source. Kenyon had + never found her so delightful as now; so softened out of the chillness of + her virgin pride; so full of fresh thoughts, at which he was often moved + to smile, although, on turning them over a little more, he sometimes + discovered that they looked fanciful only because so absolutely true. + </p> + <p> + But, indeed, she was not quite in a normal state. Emerging from gloom into + sudden cheerfulness, the effect upon Hilda was as if she were just now + created. After long torpor, receiving back her intellectual activity, she + derived an exquisite pleasure from the use of her faculties, which were + set in motion by causes that seemed inadequate. She continually brought to + Kenyon’s mind the image of a child, making its plaything of every object, + but sporting in good faith, and with a kind of seriousness. Looking up, + for example, at the statue of St. Michael, on the top of Hadrian’s + castellated tomb, Hilda fancied an interview between the Archangel and the + old emperor’s ghost, who was naturally displeased at finding his + mausoleum, which he had ordained for the stately and solemn repose of his + ashes, converted to its present purposes. + </p> + <p> + “But St. Michael, no doubt,” she thoughtfully remarked, “would finally + convince the Emperor Hadrian that where a warlike despot is sown as the + seed, a fortress and a prison are the only possible crop.” + </p> + <p> + They stopped on the bridge to look into the swift eddying flow of the + yellow Tiber, a mud puddle in strenuous motion; and Hilda wondered whether + the seven-branched golden candlestick,—the holy candlestick of the + Jews, which was lost at the Ponte Molle, in Constantine’s time, had yet + been swept as far down the river as this. + </p> + <p> + “It probably stuck where it fell,” said the sculptor; “and, by this time, + is imbedded thirty feet deep in the mud of the Tiber. Nothing will ever + bring it to light again.” + </p> + <p> + “I fancy you are mistaken,” replied Hilda, smiling. “There was a meaning + and purpose in each of its seven branches, and such a candlestick cannot + be lost forever. When it is found again, and seven lights are kindled and + burning in it, the whole world will gain the illumination which it needs. + Would not this be an admirable idea for a mystic story or parable, or + seven-branched allegory, full of poetry, art, philosophy, and religion? It + shall be called ‘The Recovery of the Sacred Candlestick.’ As each branch + is lighted, it shall have a differently colored lustre from the other six; + and when all the seven are kindled, their radiance shall combine into the + intense white light of truth.” + </p> + <p> + “Positively, Hilda, this is a magnificent conception,” cried Kenyon. “The + more I look at it, the brighter it burns.” + </p> + <p> + “I think so too,” said Hilda, enjoying a childlike pleasure in her own + idea. “The theme is better suited for verse than prose; and when I go home + to America, I will suggest it to one of our poets. Or seven poets might + write the poem together, each lighting a separate branch of the Sacred + Candlestick.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you think of going home?” Kenyon asked. + </p> + <p> + “Only yesterday,” she replied, “I longed to flee away. Now, all is + changed, and, being happy again, I should feel deep regret at leaving the + Pictorial Land. But I cannot tell. In Rome, there is something dreary and + awful, which we can never quite escape. At least, I thought so yesterday.” + </p> + <p> + When they reached the Via Portoghese, and approached Hilda’s tower, the + doves, who were waiting aloft, flung themselves upon the air, and came + floating down about her head. The girl caressed them, and responded to + their cooings with similar sounds from her own lips, and with words of + endearment; and their joyful flutterings and airy little flights, + evidently impelled by pure exuberance of spirits, seemed to show that the + doves had a real sympathy with their mistress’s state of mind. For peace + had descended upon her like a dove. + </p> + <p> + Bidding the sculptor farewell, Hilda climbed her tower, and came forth + upon its summit to trim the Virgin’s lamp. The doves, well knowing her + custom, had flown up thither to meet her, and again hovered about her + head; and very lovely was her aspect, in the evening Sunlight, which had + little further to do with the world just then, save to fling a golden + glory on Hilda’s hair, and vanish. + </p> + <p> + Turning her eyes down into the dusky street which she had just quitted, + Hilda saw the sculptor still there, and waved her hand to him. + </p> + <p> + “How sad and dim he looks, down there in that dreary street!” she said to + herself. “Something weighs upon his spirits. Would I could comfort him!” + </p> + <p> + “How like a spirit she looks, aloft there, with the evening glory round + her head, and those winged creatures claiming her as akin to them!” + thought Kenyon, on his part. “How far above me! how unattainable! Ah, if I + could lift myself to her region! Or—if it be not a sin to wish it—would + that I might draw her down to an earthly fireside!” + </p> + <p> + What a sweet reverence is that, when a young man deems his mistress a + little more than mortal, and almost chides himself for longing to bring + her close to his heart! A trifling circumstance, but such as lovers make + much of, gave him hope. One of the doves, which had been resting on + Hilda’s shoulder, suddenly flew downward, as if recognizing him as its + mistress’s dear friend; and, perhaps commissioned with an errand of + regard, brushed his upturned face with its wings, and again soared aloft. + </p> + <p> + The sculptor watched the bird’s return, and saw Hilda greet it with a + smile. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0018" id="link2HCH0018"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XLI + </h2> + <h3> + SNOWDROPS AND MAIDENLY DELIGHTS + </h3> + <p> + It being still considerably earlier than the period at which artists and + tourists are accustomed to assemble in Rome, the sculptor and Hilda found + themselves comparatively alone there. The dense mass of native Roman life, + in the midst of which they were, served to press them near one another. It + was as if they had been thrown together on a desert island. Or they seemed + to have wandered, by some strange chance, out of the common world, and + encountered each other in a depopulated city, where there were streets of + lonely palaces, and unreckonable treasures of beautiful and admirable + things, of which they two became the sole inheritors. + </p> + <p> + In such circumstances, Hilda’s gentle reserve must have been stronger than + her kindly disposition permitted, if the friendship between Kenyon and + herself had not grown as warm as a maiden’s friendship can ever be, + without absolutely and avowedly blooming into love. On the sculptor’s + side, the amaranthine flower was already in full blow. But it is very + beautiful, though the lover’s heart may grow chill at the perception, to + see how the snow will sometimes linger in a virgin’s breast, even after + the spring is well advanced. In such alpine soils, the summer will not be + anticipated; we seek vainly for passionate flowers, and blossoms of fervid + hue and spicy fragrance, finding only snowdrops and sunless violets, when + it is almost the full season for the crimson rose. + </p> + <p> + With so much tenderness as Hilda had in her nature, it was strange that + she so reluctantly admitted the idea of love; especially as, in the + sculptor, she found both congeniality and variety of taste, and likenesses + and differences of character; these being as essential as those to any + poignancy of mutual emotion. + </p> + <p> + So Hilda, as far as Kenyon could discern, still did not love him, though + she admitted him within the quiet circle of her affections as a dear + friend and trusty counsellor. If we knew what is best for us, or could be + content with what is reasonably good, the sculptor might well have been + satisfied, for a season, with this calm intimacy, which so sweetly kept + him a stranger in her heart, and a ceremonious guest; and yet allowed him + the free enjoyment of all but its deeper recesses. The flowers that grow + outside of those minor sanctities have a wild, hasty charm, which it is + well to prove; there may be sweeter ones within the sacred precinct, but + none that will die while you are handling them, and bequeath you a + delicious legacy, as these do, in the perception of their evanescence and + unreality. + </p> + <p> + And this may be the reason, after all, why Hilda, like so many other + maidens, lingered on the hither side of passion; her finer instinct and + keener sensibility made her enjoy those pale delights in a degree of which + men are incapable. She hesitated to grasp a richer happiness, as + possessing already such measure of it as her heart could hold, and of a + quality most agreeable to her virgin tastes. + </p> + <p> + Certainly, they both were very happy. Kenyon’s genius, unconsciously + wrought upon by Hilda’s influence, took a more delicate character than + heretofore. He modelled, among other things, a beautiful little statue of + maidenhood gathering a snowdrop. It was never put into marble, however, + because the sculptor soon recognized it as one of those fragile creations + which are true only to the moment that produces them, and are wronged if + we try to imprison their airy excellence in a permanent material. + </p> + <p> + On her part, Hilda returned to her customary Occupations with a fresh love + for them, and yet with a deeper look into the heart of things; such as + those necessarily acquire who have passed from picture galleries into + dungeon gloom, and thence come back to the picture gallery again. It is + questionable whether she was ever so perfect a copyist thenceforth. She + could not yield herself up to the painter so unreservedly as in times + past; her character had developed a sturdier quality, which made her less + pliable to the influence of other minds. She saw into the picture as + profoundly as ever, and perhaps more so, but not with the devout sympathy + that had formerly given her entire possession of the old master’s idea. + She had known such a reality, that it taught her to distinguish inevitably + the large portion that is unreal, in every work of art. Instructed by + sorrow, she felt that there is something beyond almost all which pictorial + genius has produced; and she never forgot those sad wanderings from + gallery to gallery, and from church to church, where she had vainly sought + a type of the Virgin Mother, or the Saviour, or saint, or martyr, which a + soul in extreme need might recognize as the adequate one. + </p> + <p> + How, indeed, should she have found such? How could holiness be revealed to + the artist of an age when the greatest of them put genius and imagination + in the place of spiritual insight, and when, from the pope downward, all + Christendom was corrupt? + </p> + <p> + Meanwhile, months wore away, and Rome received back that large portion of + its life-blood which runs in the veins of its foreign and temporary + population. English visitors established themselves in the hotels, and in + all the sunny suites of apartments, in the streets convenient to the + Piazza di Spagna; the English tongue was heard familiarly along the Corso, + and English children sported in the Pincian Gardens. + </p> + <p> + The native Romans, on the other hand, like the butterflies and + grasshoppers, resigned themselves to the short, sharp misery which winter + brings to a people whose arrangements are made almost exclusively with a + view to summer. Keeping no fire within-doors, except possibly a spark or + two in the kitchen, they crept out of their cheerless houses into the + narrow, sunless, sepulchral streets, bringing their firesides along with + them, in the shape of little earthen pots, vases, or pipkins, full of + lighted charcoal and warm ashes, over which they held their tingling + finger-ends. Even in this half-torpid wretchedness, they still seemed to + dread a pestilence in the sunshine, and kept on the shady side of the + piazzas, as scrupulously as in summer. Through the open doorways w no need + to shut them when the weather within was bleaker than without—a + glimpse into the interior of their dwellings showed the uncarpeted brick + floors, as dismal as the pavement of a tomb. + </p> + <p> + They drew their old cloaks about them, nevertheless, and threw the corners + over their shoulders, with the dignity of attitude and action that have + come down to these modern citizens, as their sole inheritance from the + togated nation. Somehow or other, they managed to keep up their poor, + frost-bitten hearts against the pitiless atmosphere with a quiet and + uncomplaining endurance that really seems the most respectable point in + the present Roman character. For in New England, or in Russia, or scarcely + in a hut of the Esquimaux, there is no such discomfort to be borne as by + Romans in wintry weather, when the orange-trees bear icy fruit in the + gardens; and when the rims of all the fountains are shaggy with icicles, + and the Fountain of Trevi skimmed almost across with a glassy surface; and + when there is a slide in the piazza of St. Peter’s, and a fringe of brown, + frozen foam along the eastern shore of the Tiber, and sometimes a fall of + great snowflakes into the dreary lanes and alleys of the miserable city. + Cold blasts, that bring death with them, now blow upon the shivering + invalids, who came hither in the hope of breathing balmy airs. + </p> + <p> + Wherever we pass our summers, may all our inclement months, from November + to April, henceforth be spent in some country that recognizes winter as an + integral portion of its year! + </p> + <p> + Now, too, there was especial discomfort in the stately picture galleries, + where nobody, indeed,—not the princely or priestly founders, nor any + who have inherited their cheerless magnificence,—ever dreamed of + such an impossibility as fireside warmth, since those great palaces were + built. Hilda, therefore, finding her fingers so much benumbed that the + spiritual influence could not be transmitted to them, was persuaded to + leave her easel before a picture, on one of these wintry days, and pay a + visit to Kenyon’s studio. But neither was the studio anything better than + a dismal den, with its marble shapes shivering around the walls, cold as + the snow images which the sculptor used to model in his boyhood, and sadly + behold them weep themselves away at the first thaw. + </p> + <p> + Kenyon’s Roman artisans, all this while, had been at work on the + Cleopatra. The fierce Egyptian queen had now struggled almost out of the + imprisoning stone; or, rather, the workmen had found her within the mass + of marble, imprisoned there by magic, but still fervid to the touch with + fiery life, the fossil woman of an age that produced statelier, stronger, + and more passionate creatures than our own. You already felt her + compressed heat, and were aware of a tiger-like character even in her + repose. If Octavius should make his appearance, though the marble still + held her within its embrace, it was evident that she would tear herself + forth in a twinkling, either to spring enraged at his throat, or, sinking + into his arms, to make one more proof of her rich blandishments, or, + falling lowly at his feet, to try the efficacy of a woman’s tears. + </p> + <p> + “I am ashamed to tell you how much I admire this statue,” said Hilda. “No + other sculptor could have done it.” + </p> + <p> + “This is very sweet for me to hear,” replied Kenyon; “and since your + reserve keeps you from saying more, I shall imagine you expressing + everything that an artist would wish to hear said about his work.” + </p> + <p> + “You will not easily go beyond my genuine opinion,” answered Hilda, with a + smile. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, your kind word makes me very happy,” said the sculptor, “and I need + it, just now, on behalf of my Cleopatra. That inevitable period has come,—for + I have found it inevitable, in regard to all my works,—when I look + at what I fancied to be a statue, lacking only breath to make it live, and + find it a mere lump of senseless stone, into which I have not really + succeeded in moulding the spiritual part of my idea. I should like, now,—only + it would be such shameful treatment for a discrowned queen, and my own + offspring too,—I should like to hit poor Cleopatra a bitter blow on + her Egyptian nose with this mallet.” + </p> + <p> + “That is a blow which all statues seem doomed to receive, sooner or later, + though seldom from the hand that sculptured them,” said Hilda, laughing. + “But you must not let yourself be too much disheartened by the decay of + your faith in what you produce. I have heard a poet express similar + distaste for his own most exquisite poem, and I am afraid that this final + despair, and sense of short-coming, must always be the reward and + punishment of those who try to grapple with a great or beautiful idea. It + only proves that you have been able to imagine things too high for mortal + faculties to execute. The idea leaves you an imperfect image of itself, + which you at first mistake for the ethereal reality, but soon find that + the latter has escaped out of your closest embrace.” + </p> + <p> + “And the only consolation is,” remarked Kenyon, “that the blurred and + imperfect image may still make a very respectable appearance in the eyes + of those who have not seen the original.” + </p> + <p> + “More than that,” rejoined Hilda; “for there is a class of spectators + whose sympathy will help them to see the perfect through a mist of + imperfection. Nobody, I think, ought to read poetry, or look at pictures + or statues, who cannot find a great deal more in them than the poet or + artist has actually expressed. Their highest merit is suggestiveness.” + </p> + <p> + “You, Hilda, are yourself the only critic in whom I have much faith,” said + Kenyon. “Had you condemned Cleopatra, nothing should have saved her.” + </p> + <p> + “You invest me with such an awful responsibility,” she replied, “that I + shall not dare to say a single word about your other works.” + </p> + <p> + “At least,” said the sculptor, “tell me whether you recognize this bust?” + </p> + <p> + He pointed to a bust of Donatello. It was not the one which Kenyon had + begun to model at Monte Beni, but a reminiscence of the Count’s face, + wrought under the influence of all the sculptor’s knowledge of his + history, and of his personal and hereditary character. It stood on a + wooden pedestal, not nearly finished, but with fine white dust and small + chips of marble scattered about it, and itself incrusted all round with + the white, shapeless substance of the block. In the midst appeared the + features, lacking sharpness, and very much resembling a fossil + countenance,—but we have already used this simile, in reference to + Cleopatra, with the accumulations of long-past ages clinging to it. + </p> + <p> + And yet, strange to say, the face had an expression, and a more + recognizable one than Kenyon had succeeded in putting into the clay model + at Monte Beni. The reader is probably acquainted with Thorwaldsen’s + three-fold analogy,—the clay model, the Life; the plaster cast, the + Death; and the sculptured marble, the Resurrection,—and it seemed to + be made good by the spirit that was kindling up these imperfect features, + like a lambent flame. + </p> + <p> + “I was not quite sure, at first glance, that I knew the face,” observed + Hilda; “the likeness surely is not a striking one. There is a good deal of + external resemblance, still, to the features of the Faun of Praxiteles, + between whom and Donatello, you know, we once insisted that there was a + perfect twin-brotherhood. But the expression is now so very different!” + </p> + <p> + “What do you take it to be?” asked the sculptor. + </p> + <p> + “I hardly know how to define it,” she answered. “But it has an effect as + if I could see this countenance gradually brightening while I look at it. + It gives the impression of a growing intellectual power and moral sense. + Donatello’s face used to evince little more than a genial, pleasurable + sort of vivacity, and capability of enjoyment. But here, a soul is being + breathed into him; it is the Faun, but advancing towards a state of higher + development.” + </p> + <p> + “Hilda, do you see all this?” exclaimed Kenyon, in considerable surprise. + “I may have had such an idea in my mind, but was quite unaware that I had + succeeded in conveying it into the marble.” + </p> + <p> + “Forgive me,” said Hilda, “but I question whether this striking effect has + been brought about by any skill or purpose on the sculptor’s part. Is it + not, perhaps, the chance result of the bust being just so far shaped out, + in the marble, as the process of moral growth had advanced in the + original? A few more strokes of the chisel might change the whole + expression, and so spoil it for what it is now worth.” + </p> + <p> + “I believe you are right,” answered Kenyon, thoughtfully examining his + work; “and, strangely enough, it was the very expression that I tried + unsuccessfully to produce in the clay model. Well; not another chip shall + be struck from the marble.” + </p> + <p> + And, accordingly, Donatello’s bust (like that rude, rough mass of the head + of Brutus, by Michael Angelo, at Florence) has ever since remained in an + unfinished state. Most spectators mistake it for an unsuccessful attempt + towards copying the features of the Faun of Praxiteles. One observer in a + thousand is conscious of something more, and lingers long over this + mysterious face, departing from it reluctantly, and with many a glance + thrown backward. What perplexes him is the riddle that he sees propounded + there; the riddle of the soul’s growth, taking its first impulse amid + remorse and pain, and struggling through the incrustations of the senses. + It was the contemplation of this imperfect portrait of Donatello that + originally interested us in his history, and impelled us to elicit from + Kenyon what he knew of his friend’s adventures. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0019" id="link2HCH0019"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XLII + </h2> + <h3> + REMINISCENCES OF MIRIAM + </h3> + <p> + When Hilda and himself turned away from the unfinished bust, the + sculptor’s mind still dwelt upon the reminiscences which it suggested. + “You have not seen Donatello recently,” he remarked, “and therefore cannot + be aware how sadly he is changed.” + </p> + <p> + “No wonder!” exclaimed Hilda, growing pale. + </p> + <p> + The terrible scene which she had witnessed, when Donatello’s face gleamed + out in so fierce a light, came back upon her memory, almost for the first + time since she knelt at the confessional. Hilda, as is sometimes the case + with persons whose delicate organization requires a peculiar safeguard, + had an elastic faculty of throwing off such recollections as would be too + painful for endurance. The first shock of Donatello’s and Miriam’s crime + had, indeed, broken through the frail defence of this voluntary + forgetfulness; but, once enabled to relieve herself of the ponderous + anguish over which she had so long brooded, she had practised a subtile + watchfulness in preventing its return. + </p> + <p> + “No wonder, do you say?” repeated the sculptor, looking at her with + interest, but not exactly with surprise; for he had long suspected that + Hilda had a painful knowledge of events which he himself little more than + surmised. “Then you know!—you have heard! But what can you possibly + have heard, and through what channel?” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing!” replied Hilda faintly. “Not one word has reached my ears from + the lips of any human being. Let us never speak of it again! No, no! never + again!” + </p> + <p> + “And Miriam!” said Kenyon, with irrepressible interest. “Is it also + forbidden to speak of her?” + </p> + <p> + “Hush! do not even utter her name! Try not to think of it!” Hilda + whispered. “It may bring terrible consequences!” + </p> + <p> + “My dear Hilda!” exclaimed Kenyon, regarding her with wonder and deep + sympathy. “My sweet friend, have you had this secret hidden in your + delicate, maidenly heart, through all these many months! No wonder that + your life was withering out of you.” + </p> + <p> + “It was so, indeed!” said Hilda, shuddering. “Even now, I sicken at the + recollection.” + </p> + <p> + “And how could it have come to your knowledge?” continued the sculptor. + “But no matter! Do not torture yourself with referring to the subject. + Only, if at any time it should be a relief to you, remember that we can + speak freely together, for Miriam has herself suggested a confidence + between us.” + </p> + <p> + “Miriam has suggested this!” exclaimed Hilda. “Yes, I remember, now, her + advising that the secret should be shared with you. But I have survived + the death struggle that it cost me, and need make no further revelations. + And Miriam has spoken to you! What manner of woman can she be, who, after + sharing in such a deed, can make it a topic of conversation with her + friends?” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, Hilda,” replied Kenyon, “you do not know, for you could never learn + it from your own heart, which is all purity and rectitude, what a mixture + of good there may be in things evil; and how the greatest criminal, if you + look at his conduct from his own point of view, or from any side point, + may seem not so unquestionably guilty, after all. So with Miriam; so with + Donatello. They are, perhaps, partners in what we must call awful guilt; + and yet, I will own to you,—when I think of the original cause, the + motives, the feelings, the sudden concurrence of circumstances thrusting + them onward, the urgency of the moment, and the sublime unselfishness on + either part,—I know not well how to distinguish it from much that + the world calls heroism. Might we not render some such verdict as this?—‘Worthy + of Death, but not unworthy of Love! ‘” + </p> + <p> + “Never!” answered Hilda, looking at the matter through the clear crystal + medium of her own integrity. “This thing, as regards its causes, is all a + mystery to me, and must remain so. But there is, I believe, only one right + and one wrong; and I do not understand, and may God keep me from ever + understanding, how two things so totally unlike can be mistaken for one + another; nor how two mortal foes, as Right and Wrong surely are, can work + together in the same deed. This is my faith; and I should be led astray, + if you could persuade me to give it up.” + </p> + <p> + “Alas for poor human nature, then!” said Kenyon sadly, and yet half + smiling at Hilda’s unworldly and impracticable theory. “I always felt you, + my dear friend, a terribly severe judge, and have been perplexed to + conceive how such tender sympathy could coexist with the remorselessness + of a steel blade. You need no mercy, and therefore know not how to show + any.” + </p> + <p> + “That sounds like a bitter gibe,” said Hilda, with the tears springing + into her eyes. “But I cannot help it. It does not alter my perception of + the truth. If there be any such dreadful mixture of good and evil as you + affirm,—and which appears to me almost more shocking than pure evil,—then + the good is turned to poison, not the evil to wholesomeness.” + </p> + <p> + The sculptor seemed disposed to say something more, but yielded to the + gentle steadfastness with which Hilda declined to listen. She grew very + sad; for a reference to this one dismal topic had set, as it were, a + prison door ajar, and allowed a throng of torturing recollections to + escape from their dungeons into the pure air and white radiance of her + soul. She bade Kenyon a briefer farewell than ordinary, and went homeward + to her tower. + </p> + <p> + In spite of her efforts to withdraw them to other subjects, her thoughts + dwelt upon Miriam; and, as had not heretofore happened, they brought with + them a painful doubt whether a wrong had not been committed on Hilda’s + part, towards the friend once so beloved. Something that Miriam had said, + in their final conversation, recurred to her memory, and seemed now to + deserve more weight than Hilda had assigned to it, in her horror at the + crime just perpetrated. It was not that the deed looked less wicked and + terrible in the retrospect; but she asked herself whether there were not + other questions to be considered, aside from that single one of Miriam’s + guilt or innocence; as, for example, whether a close bond of friendship, + in which we once voluntarily engage, ought to be severed on account of any + unworthiness, which we subsequently detect in our friend. For, in these + unions of hearts,—call them marriage, or whatever else,—we + take each other for better for worse. Availing ourselves of our friend’s + intimate affection, we pledge our own, as to be relied upon in every + emergency. And what sadder, more desperate emergency could there be, than + had befallen Miriam? Who more need the tender succor of the innocent, than + wretches stained with guilt! And must a selfish care for the spotlessness + of our own garments keep us from pressing the guilty ones close to our + hearts, wherein, for the very reason that we are innocent, lies their + securest refuge from further ill? + </p> + <p> + It was a sad thing for Hilda to find this moral enigma propounded to her + conscience; and to feel that, whichever way she might settle it, there + would be a cry of wrong on the other side. Still, the idea stubbornly came + back, that the tie between Miriam and herself had been real, the affection + true, and that therefore the implied compact was not to be shaken off. + </p> + <p> + “Miriam loved me well,” thought Hilda remorsefully, “and I failed her at + her sorest need.” + </p> + <p> + Miriam loved her well; and not less ardent had been the affection which + Miriam’s warm, tender, and generous characteristics had excited in Hilda’s + more reserved and quiet nature. It had never been extinguished; for, in + part, the wretchedness which Hilda had since endured was but the struggle + and writhing of her sensibility, still yearning towards her friend. And + now, at the earliest encouragement, it awoke again, and cried out + piteously, complaining of the violence that had been done it. + </p> + <p> + Recurring to the delinquencies of which she fancied (we say “fancied,” + because we do not unhesitatingly adopt Hilda’s present view, but rather + suppose her misled by her feelings)—of which she fancied herself + guilty towards her friend, she suddenly remembered a sealed packet that + Miriam had confided to her. It had been put into her hands with earnest + injunctions of secrecy and care, and if unclaimed after a certain period, + was to be delivered according to its address. Hilda had forgotten it; or, + rather, she had kept the thought of this commission in the background of + her consciousness, with all other thoughts referring to Miriam. + </p> + <p> + But now the recollection of this packet, and the evident stress which + Miriam laid upon its delivery at the specified time, impelled Hilda to + hurry up the staircase of her tower, dreading lest the period should + already have elapsed. + </p> + <p> + No; the hour had not gone by, but was on the very point of passing. Hilda + read the brief note of instruction, on a corner of the envelope, and + discovered, that, in case of Miriam’s absence from Rome, the packet was to + be taken to its destination that very day. + </p> + <p> + “How nearly I had violated my promise!” said Hilda. “And, since we are + separated forever, it has the sacredness of an injunction from a dead + friend. There is no time to be lost.” + </p> + <p> + So Hilda set forth in the decline of the afternoon, and pursued her way + towards the quarter of the city in which stands the Palazzo Cenci. Her + habit of self-reliance was so simply strong, so natural, and now so well + established by long use, that the idea of peril seldom or never occurred + to Hilda, in her lonely life. + </p> + <p> + She differed, in this particular, from the generality of her sex, —although + the customs and character of her native land often produce women who meet + the world with gentle fearlessness, and discover that its terrors have + been absurdly exaggerated by the tradition of mankind. In ninety-nine + cases out of a hundred, the apprehensiveness of women is quite gratuitous. + Even as matters now stand, they are really safer in perilous situations + and emergencies than men; and might be still more so, if they trusted + themselves more confidingly to the chivalry of manhood. In all her + wanderings about Rome, Hilda had gone and returned as securely as she had + been accustomed to tread the familiar street of her New England village, + where every face wore a look of recognition. With respect to whatever was + evil, foul, and ugly, in this populous and corrupt city, she trod as if + invisible, and not only so, but blind. She was altogether unconscious of + anything wicked that went along the same pathway, but without jostling or + impeding her, any more than gross substance hinders the wanderings of a + spirit. Thus it is, that, bad as the world is said to have grown, + innocence continues to make a paradise around itself, and keep it still + unfallen. + </p> + <p> + Hilda’s present expedition led her into what was—physically, at + least—the foulest and ugliest part of Rome. In that vicinity lies + the Ghetto, where thousands of Jews are crowded within a narrow compass, + and lead a close, unclean, and multitudinous life, resembling that of + maggots when they over-populate a decaying cheese. + </p> + <p> + Hilda passed on the borders of this region, but had no occasion to step + within it. Its neighborhood, however, naturally partook of characteristics + ‘like its own. There was a confusion of black and hideous houses, piled + massively out of the ruins of former ages; rude and destitute of plan, as + a pauper would build his hovel, and yet displaying here and there an + arched gateway, a cornice, a pillar, or a broken arcade, that might have + adorned a palace. Many of the houses, indeed, as they stood, might once + have been palaces, and possessed still a squalid kind of grandeur. Dirt + was everywhere, strewing the narrow streets, and incrusting the tall + shabbiness of the edifices, from the foundations to the roofs; it lay upon + the thresholds, and looked out of the windows, and assumed the guise of + human life in the children that Seemed to be engendered out of it. Their + father was the sun, and their mother—a heap of Roman mud. + </p> + <p> + It is a question of speculative interest, whether the ancient Romans were + as unclean a people as we everywhere find those who have succeeded them. + There appears to be a kind of malignant spell in the spots that have been + inhabited by these masters of the world, or made famous in their history; + an inherited and inalienable curse, impelling their successors to fling + dirt and defilement upon whatever temple, column, mined palace, or + triumphal arch may be nearest at hand, and on every monument that the old + Romans built. It is most probably a classic trait, regularly transmitted + downward, and perhaps a little modified by the better civilization of + Christianity; so that Caesar may have trod narrower and filthier ways in + his path to the Capitol, than even those of modern Rome. + </p> + <p> + As the paternal abode of Beatrice, the gloomy old palace of the Cencis had + an interest for Hilda, although not sufficiently strong, hitherto, to + overcome the disheartening effect of the exterior, and draw her over its + threshold. The adjacent piazza, of poor aspect, contained only an old + woman selling roasted chestnuts and baked squash-seeds; she looked sharply + at Hilda, and inquired whether she had lost her way. + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Hilda; “I seek the Palazzo Cenci.” + </p> + <p> + “Yonder it is, fair signorina,” replied the Roman matron. “If you wish + that packet delivered, which I see in your hand, my grandson Pietro shall + run with it for a baiocco. The Cenci palace is a spot of ill omen for + young maidens.” + </p> + <p> + Hilda thanked the old dame, but alleged the necessity of doing her errand + in person. She approached the front of the palace, which, with all its + immensity, had but a mean appearance, and seemed an abode which the lovely + shade of Beatrice would not be apt to haunt, unless her doom made it + inevitable. Some soldiers stood about the portal, and gazed at the + brown-haired, fair-cheeked Anglo-Saxon girl, with approving glances, but + not indecorously. Hilda began to ascend the staircase, three lofty flights + of which were to be surmounted, before reaching the door whither she was + bound. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0020" id="link2HCH0020"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XLIII + </h2> + <h3> + THE EXTINCTION OF A LAMP + </h3> + <p> + Between Hilda and the sculptor there had been a kind of half-expressed + understanding, that both were to visit the galleries of the Vatican the + day subsequent to their meeting at the studio. Kenyon, accordingly, failed + not to be there, and wandered through the vast ranges of apartments, but + saw nothing of his expected friend. The marble faces, which stand + innumerable along the walls, and have kept themselves so calm through the + vicissitudes of twenty centuries, had no sympathy for his disappointment; + and he, on the other hand, strode past these treasures and marvels of + antique art, with the indifference which any preoccupation of the feelings + is apt to produce, in reference to objects of sculpture. Being of so cold + and pure a substance, and mostly deriving their vitality more from thought + than passion, they require to be seen through a perfectly transparent + medium. + </p> + <p> + And, moreover, Kenyon had counted so much upon Hilda’s delicate + perceptions in enabling him to look at two or three of the statues, about + which they had talked together, that the entire purpose of his visit was + defeated by her absence. It is a delicious sort of mutual aid, when the + united power of two sympathetic, yet dissimilar, intelligences is brought + to bear upon a poem by reading it aloud, or upon a picture or statue by + viewing it in each other’s company. Even if not a word of criticism be + uttered, the insight of either party is wonderfully deepened, and the + comprehension broadened; so that the inner mystery of a work of genius, + hidden from one, will often reveal itself to two. Missing such help, + Kenyon saw nothing at the Vatican which he had not seen a thousand times + before, and more perfectly than now. + </p> + <p> + In the chili of his disappointment, he suspected that it was a very cold + art to which he had devoted himself. He questioned, at that moment, + whether sculpture really ever softens and warms the material which it + handles; whether carved marble is anything but limestone, after all; and + whether the Apollo Belvedere itself possesses any merit above its physical + beauty, or is beyond criticism even in that generally acknowledged + excellence. In flitting glances, heretofore, he had seemed to behold this + statue, as something ethereal and godlike, but not now. + </p> + <p> + Nothing pleased him, unless it were the group of the Laocoon, which, in + its immortal agony, impressed Kenyon as a type of the long, fierce + struggle of man, involved in the knotted entanglements of Error and Evil, + those two snakes, which, if no divine help intervene, will be sure to + strangle him and his children in the end. What he most admired was the + strange calmness diffused through this bitter strife; so that it resembled + the rage of the sea made calm by its immensity,’ or the tumult of Niagara + which ceases to be tumult because it lasts forever. Thus, in the Laocoon, + the horror of a moment grew to be the fate of interminable ages. Kenyon + looked upon the group as the one triumph of sculpture, creating the + repose, which is essential to it, in the very acme of turbulent effort; + but, in truth, it was his mood of unwonted despondency that made him so + sensitive to the terrible magnificence, as well as to the sad moral, of + this work. Hilda herself could not have helped him to see it with nearly + such intelligence. + </p> + <p> + A good deal more depressed than the nature of the disappointment + warranted, Kenyon went to his studio, and took in hand a great lump of + clay. He soon found, however, that his plastic cunning had departed from + him for the time. So he wandered forth again into the uneasy streets of + Rome, and walked up and down the Corso, where, at that period of the day, + a throng of passers-by and loiterers choked up the narrow sidewalk. A + penitent was thus brought in contact with the sculptor. + </p> + <p> + It was a figure in a white robe, with a kind of featureless mask over the + face, through the apertures of which the eyes threw an unintelligible + light. Such odd, questionable shapes are often seen gliding through the + streets of Italian cities, and are understood to be usually persons of + rank, who quit their palaces, their gayeties, their pomp and pride, and + assume the penitential garb for a season, with a view of thus expiating + some crime, or atoning for the aggregate of petty sins that make up a + worldly life. It is their custom to ask alms, and perhaps to measure the + duration of their penance by the time requisite to accumulate a sum of + money out of the little droppings of individual charity. The avails are + devoted to some beneficent or religious purpose; so that the benefit + accruing to their own souls is, in a manner, linked with a good done, or + intended, to their fellow-men. These figures have a ghastly and startling + effect, not so much from any very impressive peculiarity in the garb, as + from the mystery which they bear about with them, and the sense that there + is an acknowledged sinfulness as the nucleus of it. + </p> + <p> + In the present instance, however, the penitent asked no alms of Kenyon; + although, for the space of a minute or two, they stood face to face, the + hollow eyes of the mask encountering the sculptor’s gaze. But, just as the + crowd was about to separate them, the former spoke, in a voice not + unfamiliar to Kenyon, though rendered remote and strange by the guilty + veil through which it penetrated. + </p> + <p> + “Is all well with you, Signore?” inquired the penitent, out of the cloud + in which he walked. + </p> + <p> + “All is well,” answered Kenyon. “And with you?” + </p> + <p> + But the masked penitent returned no answer, being borne away by the + pressure of the throng. + </p> + <p> + The sculptor stood watching the figure, and was almost of a mind to hurry + after him and follow up the conversation that had been begun; but it + occurred to him that there is a sanctity (or, as we might rather term it, + an inviolable etiquette) which prohibits the recognition of persons who + choose to walk under the veil of penitence. + </p> + <p> + “How strange!” thought Kenyon to himself. “It was surely Donatello! What + can bring him to Rome, where his recollections must be so painful, and his + presence not without peril? And Miriam! Can she have accompanied him?” + </p> + <p> + He walked on, thinking of the vast change in Donatello, since those days + of gayety and innocence, when the young Italian was new in Rome, and was + just beginning to be sensible of a more poignant felicity than he had yet + experienced, in the sunny warmth of Miriam’s smile. The growth of a soul, + which the sculptor half imagined that he had witnessed in his friend, + seemed hardly worth the heavy price that it had cost, in the sacrifice of + those simple enjoyments that were gone forever. A creature of antique + healthfulness had vanished from the earth; and, in his stead, there was + only one other morbid and remorseful man, among millions that were cast in + the same indistinguishable mould. + </p> + <p> + The accident of thus meeting Donatello the glad Faun of his imagination + and memory, now transformed into a gloomy penitent—contributed to + deepen the cloud that had fallen over Kenyon’s spirits. It caused him to + fancy, as we generally do, in the petty troubles which extend not a + hand’s-breadth beyond our own sphere, that the whole world was saddening + around him. It took the sinister aspect of an omen, although he could not + distinctly see what trouble it might forebode. + </p> + <p> + If it had not been for a peculiar sort of pique, with which lovers are + much conversant, a preposterous kind of resentment which endeavors to + wreak itself on the beloved object, and on one’s own heart, in requital of + mishaps for which neither are in fault, Kenyon might at once have betaken + himself to Hilda’s studio, and asked why the appointment was not kept. But + the interview of to-day was to have been so rich in present joy, and its + results so important to his future life, that the bleak failure was too + much for his equanimity. He was angry with poor Hilda, and censured her + without a hearing; angry with himself, too, and therefore inflicted on + this latter criminal the severest penalty in his power; angry with the day + that was passing over him, and would not permit its latter hours to redeem + the disappointment of the morning. + </p> + <p> + To confess the truth, it had been the sculptor’s purpose to stake all his + hopes on that interview in the galleries of the Vatican. Straying with + Hilda through those long vistas of ideal beauty, he meant, at last, to + utter himself upon that theme which lovers are fain to discuss in village + lanes, in wood paths, on seaside sands, in crowded streets; it little + matters where, indeed, since roses are sure to blush along the way, and + daisies and violets to spring beneath the feet, if the spoken word be + graciously received. He was resolved to make proof whether the kindness + that Hilda evinced for him was the precious token of an individual + preference, or merely the sweet fragrance of her disposition, which other + friends might share as largely as himself. He would try if it were + possible to take this shy, yet frank, and innocently fearless creature + captive, and imprison her in his heart, and make her sensible of a wider + freedom there, than in all the world besides. + </p> + <p> + It was hard, we must allow, to see the shadow of a wintry sunset falling + upon a day that was to have been so bright, and to find himself just where + yesterday had left him, only with a sense of being drearily balked, and + defeated without an opportunity for struggle. So much had been anticipated + from these now vanished hours, that it seemed as if no other day could + bring back the same golden hopes. + </p> + <p> + In a case like this, it is doubtful whether Kenyon could have done a much + better thing than he actually did, by going to dine at the Cafe Nuovo, and + drinking a flask of Montefiascone; longing, the while, for a beaker or two + of Donatello’s Sunshine. It would have been just the wine to cure a + lover’s melancholy, by illuminating his heart with tender light and + warmth, and suggestions of undefined hopes, too ethereal for his morbid + humor to examine and reject them. + </p> + <p> + No decided improvement resulting from the draught of Montefiascone, he + went to the Teatro Argentino, and sat gloomily to see an Italian comedy, + which ought to have cheered him somewhat, being full of glancing + merriment, and effective over everybody’s disabilities except his own. The + sculptor came out, however, before the close of the performance, as + disconsolate as he went in. + </p> + <p> + As he made his way through the complication of narrow streets, which + perplex that portion of the city, a carriage passed him. It was driven + rapidly, but not too fast for the light of a gas-lamp to flare upon a face + within—especially as it was bent forward, appearing to recognize + him, while a beckoning hand was protruded from the window. On his part, + Kenyon at once knew the face, and hastened to the carriage, which had now + stopped. + </p> + <p> + “Miriam! you in Rome?” he exclaimed “And your friends know nothing of it?” + </p> + <p> + “Is all well with you?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + This inquiry, in the identical words which Donatello had so recently + addressed to him from beneath the penitent’s mask, startled the sculptor. + Either the previous disquietude of his mind, or some tone in Miriam’s + voice, or the unaccountableness of beholding her there at all, made it + seem ominous. + </p> + <p> + “All is well, I believe,” answered he doubtfully. “I am aware of no + misfortune. Have you any to announce’?” + </p> + <p> + He looked still more earnestly at Miriam, and felt a dreamy uncertainty + whether it was really herself to whom he spoke. True; there were those + beautiful features, the contour of which he had studied too often, and + with a sculptor’s accuracy of perception, to be in any doubt that it was + Miriam’s identical face. But he was conscious of a change, the nature of + which he could not satisfactorily define; it might be merely her dress, + which, imperfect as the light was, he saw to be richer than the simple + garb that she had usually worn. The effect, he fancied, was partly owing + to a gem which she had on her bosom; not a diamond, but something that + glimmered with a clear, red lustre, like the stars in a southern sky. + Somehow or other, this colored light seemed an emanation of herself, as if + all that was passionate and glowing in her native disposition had + crystallized upon her breast, and were just now scintillating more + brilliantly than ever, in sympathy with some emotion of her heart. + </p> + <p> + Of course there could be no real doubt that it was Miriam, his artist + friend, with whom and Hilda he had spent so many pleasant and familiar + hours, and whom he had last seen at Perugia, bending with Donatello + beneath the bronze pope’s benediction. It must be that selfsame Miriam; + but the sensitive sculptor felt a difference of manner, which impressed + him more than he conceived it possible to be affected by so external a + thing. He remembered the gossip so prevalent in Rome on Miriam’s first + appearance; how that she was no real artist, but the daughter of an + illustrious or golden lineage, who was merely playing at necessity; + mingling with human struggle for her pastime; stepping out of her native + sphere only for an interlude, just as a princess might alight from her + gilded equipage to go on foot through a rustic lane. And now, after a mask + in which love and death had performed their several parts, she had resumed + her proper character. + </p> + <p> + “Have you anything to tell me?” cried he impatiently; for nothing causes a + more disagreeable vibration of the nerves than this perception of + ambiguousness in familiar persons or affairs. “Speak; for my spirits and + patience have been much tried to-day.” + </p> + <p> + Miriam put her finger on her lips, and seemed desirous that Kenyon should + know of the presence of a third person. He now saw, indeed, that, there + was some one beside her in the carriage, hitherto concealed by her + attitude; a man, it appeared, with a sallow Italian face, which the + sculptor distinguished but imperfectly, and did not recognize. + </p> + <p> + “I can tell you nothing,” she replied; and leaning towards him, she + whispered,—appearing then more like the Miriam whom he knew than in + what had before passed,—“Only, when the lamp goes out do not + despair.” + </p> + <p> + The carriage drove on, leaving Kenyon to muse over this unsatisfactory + interview, which seemed to have served no better purpose than to fill his + mind with more ominous forebodings than before. Why were Donatello and + Miriam in Rome, where both, in all likelihood, might have much to dread? + And why had one and the other addressed him with a question that seemed + prompted by a knowledge of some calamity, either already fallen on his + unconscious head, or impending closely over him? + </p> + <p> + “I am sluggish,” muttered Kenyon, to himself; “a weak, nerveless fool, + devoid of energy and promptitude; or neither Donatello nor Miriam could + have escaped me thus! They are aware of some misfortune that concerns me + deeply. How soon am I to know it too?” + </p> + <p> + There seemed but a single calamity possible to happen within so narrow a + sphere as that with which the sculptor was connected; and even to that one + mode of evil he could assign no definite shape, but only felt that it must + have some reference to Hilda. + </p> + <p> + Flinging aside the morbid hesitation, and the dallyings with his own + wishes, which he had permitted to influence his mind throughout the day, + he now hastened to the Via Portoghese. Soon the old palace stood before + him, with its massive tower rising into the clouded night; obscured from + view at its midmost elevation, but revealed again, higher upward, by the + Virgin’s lamp that twinkled on the summit. Feeble as it was, in the broad, + surrounding gloom, that little ray made no inconsiderable illumination + among Kenyon’s sombre thoughts; for; remembering Miriam’s last words, a + fantasy had seized him that he should find the sacred lamp extinguished. + </p> + <p> + And even while he stood gazing, as a mariner at the star in which he put + his trust, the light quivered, sank, gleamed up again, and finally went + out, leaving the battlements of Hilda’s tower in utter darkness. For the + first time in centuries, the consecrated and legendary flame before the + loftiest shrine in Rome had ceased to burn. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0021" id="link2HCH0021"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XLIV + </h2> + <h3> + THE DESERTED SHRINE + </h3> + <p> + Kenyon knew the sanctity which Hilda (faithful Protestant, and daughter of + the Puritans, as the girl was) imputed to this shrine. He was aware of the + profound feeling of responsibility, as well earthly as religious, with + which her conscience had been impressed, when she became the occupant of + her aerial chamber, and undertook the task of keeping the consecrated lamp + alight. There was an accuracy and a certainty about Hilda’s movements, as + regarded all matters that lay deep enough to have their roots in right or + wrong, which made it as possible and safe to rely upon the timely and + careful trimming of this lamp (if she were in life, and able to creep up + the steps), as upon the rising of to-morrow’s sun, with + lustre-undiminished from to-day. + </p> + <p> + The sculptor could scarcely believe his eyes, therefore, when he saw the + flame flicker and expire. His sight had surely deceived him. And now, + since the light did not reappear, there must be some smoke wreath or + impenetrable mist brooding about the tower’s gray old head, and obscuring + it from the lower world. But no! For right over the dim battlements, as + the wind chased away a mass of clouds, he beheld a star, and moreover, by + an earnest concentration of his sight, was soon able to discern even the + darkened shrine itself. There was no obscurity around the tower; no + infirmity of his own vision. The flame had exhausted its supply of oil, + and become extinct. But where was Hilda? + </p> + <p> + A man in a cloak happened to be passing; and Kenyon—anxious to + distrust the testimony of his senses, if he could get more acceptable + evidence on the other side—appealed to him. + </p> + <p> + “Do me the favor, Signore,” said he, “to look at the top of yonder tower, + and tell me whether you see the lamp burning at the Virgin’s shrine.” + </p> + <p> + “The lamp, Signore?” answered the man, without at first troubling himself + to look up. “The lamp that has burned these four hundred years! How is it + possible, Signore, that it should not be burning now?” “But look!” said + the sculptor impatiently. With good-natured indulgence for what he seemed + to consider as the whim of an eccentric Forestiero, the Italian carelessly + threw his eyes upwards; but, as soon as he perceived that there was really + no light, he lifted his hands with a vivid expression of wonder and alarm. + </p> + <p> + “The lamp is extinguished!” cried he. “The lamp that has been burning + these four hundred years! This surely must portend some great misfortune; + and, by my advice, Signore, you will hasten hence, lest the tower tumble + on our heads. A priest once told me that, if the Virgin withdrew her + blessing and the light went out, the old Palazzo del Torte would sink into + the earth, with all that dwell in it. There will be a terrible crash + before morning!” + </p> + <p> + The stranger made the best of his way from the doomed premises; while + Kenyon—who would willingly have seen the tower crumble down before + his eyes, on condition of Hilda’s safety—determined, late as it was, + to attempt ascertaining if she were in her dove-cote. + </p> + <p> + Passing through the arched entrance,—which, as is often the case + with Roman entrances, was as accessible at midnight as at noon,—he + groped his way to the broad staircase, and, lighting his wax taper, went + glimmering up the multitude of steps that led to Hilda’s door. The hour + being so unseasonable, he intended merely to knock, and, as soon as her + voice from within should reassure him, to retire, keeping his explanations + and apologies for a fitter time. Accordingly, reaching the lofty height + where the maiden, as he trusted, lay asleep, with angels watching over + her, though the Virgin seemed to have suspended her care, he tapped + lightly at the door panels,—then knocked more forcibly,—then + thundered an impatient summons. No answer came; Hilda, evidently, was not + there. + </p> + <p> + After assuring himself that this must be the fact, Kenyon descended the + stairs, but made a pause at every successive stage, and knocked at the + door of its apartment, regardless whose slumbers he might disturb, in his + anxiety to learn where the girl had last been seen. But, at each closed + entrance, there came those hollow echoes, which a chamber, or any + dwelling, great or small, never sends out, in response to human knuckles + or iron hammer, as long as there is life within to keep its heart from + getting dreary. + </p> + <p> + Once indeed, on the lower landing-place, the sculptor fancied that there + was a momentary stir inside the door, as if somebody were listening at the + threshold. He hoped, at least, that the small iron-barred aperture would + be unclosed, through which Roman housekeepers are wont to take careful + cognizance of applicants for admission, from a traditionary dread, + perhaps, of letting in a robber or assassin. But it remained shut; neither + was the sound repeated; and Kenyon concluded that his excited nerves had + played a trick upon his senses, as they are apt to do when we most wish + for the clear evidence of the latter. + </p> + <p> + There was nothing to be done, save to go heavily away, and await whatever + good or ill to-morrow’s daylight might disclose. + </p> + <p> + Betimes in the morning, therefore, Kenyon went back to the Via Portoghese, + before the slant rays of the sun had descended halfway down the gray front + of Hilda’s tower. As he drew near its base, he saw the doves perched in + full session, on the sunny height of the battlements, and a pair of them—who + were probably their mistress’s especial pets, and the confidants of her + bosom secrets, if Hilda had any—came shooting down, and made a feint + of alighting on his shoulder. But, though they evidently recognized him, + their shyness would not yet allow so decided a demonstration. Kenyon’s + eyes followed them as they flew upward, hoping that they might have come + as joyful messengers of the girl’s safety, and that he should discern her + slender form, half hidden by the parapet, trimming the extinguished lamp + at the Virgin’s shrine, just as other maidens set about the little duties + of a household. Or, perhaps, he might see her gentle and sweet face + smiling down upon him, midway towards heaven, as if she had flown thither + for a day or two, just to visit her kindred, but had been drawn earthward + again by the spell of unacknowledged love. + </p> + <p> + But his eyes were blessed by no such fair vision or reality; nor, in + truth, were the eager, unquiet flutterings of the doves indicative of any + joyful intelligence, which they longed to share with Hilda’s friend, but + of anxious inquiries that they knew not how to utter. They could not tell, + any more than he, whither their lost companion had withdrawn herself, but + were in the same void despondency with him, feeling their sunny and airy + lives darkened and grown imperfect, now that her sweet society was taken + out of it. + </p> + <p> + In the brisk morning air, Kenyon found it much easier to pursue his + researches than at the preceding midnight, when, if any slumberers heard + the clamor that he made, they had responded only with sullen and drowsy + maledictions, and turned to sleep again. It must be a very dear and + intimate reality for which people will be content to give up a dream. When + the sun was fairly up, however, it was quite another thing. The + heterogeneous population, inhabiting the lower floor of the old tower, and + the other extensive regions of the palace, were now willing to tell all + they knew, and imagine a great deal more. The amiability of these + Italians, assisted by their sharp and nimble wits, caused them to overflow + with plausible suggestions, and to be very bounteous in their avowals of + interest for the lost Hilda. In a less demonstrative people, such + expressions would have implied an eagerness to search land and sea, and + never rest till she were found. In the mouths that uttered them they meant + good wishes, and were, so far, better than indifference. There was little + doubt that many of them felt a genuine kindness for the shy, brown-haired, + delicate young foreign maiden, who had flown from some distant land to + alight upon their tower, where she consorted only with the doves. But + their energy expended itself in exclamation, and they were content to + leave all more active measures to Kenyon, and to the Virgin, whose affair + it was to see that the faithful votary of her lamp received no harm. + </p> + <p> + In a great Parisian domicile, multifarious as its inhabitants might be, + the concierge under the archway would be cognizant of all their incomings + and issuings forth. But except in rare cases, the general entrance and + main staircase of a Roman house are left as free as the street, of which + they form a sort of by-lane. The sculptor, therefore, could hope to find + information about Hilda’s movements only from casual observers. + </p> + <p> + On probing the knowledge of these people to the bottom, there was various + testimony as to the period when the girl had last been seen. Some said + that it was four days since there had been a trace of her; but an English + lady, in the second piano of the palace, was rather of opinion that she + had met her, the morning before, with a drawing-book in her hand. Having + no acquaintance with the young person, she had taken little notice and + might have been mistaken. A count, on the piano next above, was very + certain that he had lifted his hat to Hilda, under the archway, two + afternoons ago. An old woman, who had formerly tended the shrine, threw + some light upon the matter, by testifying that the lamp required to be + replenished once, at least, in three days, though its reservoir of oil was + exceedingly capacious. + </p> + <p> + On the whole, though there was other evidence enough to create some + perplexity, Kenyon could not satisfy himself that she had been visible + since the afternoon of the third preceding day, when a fruit seller + remembered her coming out of the arched passage, with a sealed packet in + her hand. As nearly as he could ascertain, this was within an hour after + Hilda had taken leave of the sculptor at his own studio, with the + understanding that they were to meet at the Vatican the next day. Two + nights, therefore, had intervened, during which the lost maiden was + unaccounted for. + </p> + <p> + The door of Hilda’s apartments was still locked, as on the preceding + night; but Kenyon sought out the wife of the person who sublet them, and + prevailed on her to give him admittance by means of the duplicate key + which the good woman had in her possession. On entering, the maidenly + neatness and simple grace, recognizable in all the arrangements, made him + visibly sensible that this was the daily haunt of a pure soul, in whom + religion and the love of beauty were at one. + </p> + <p> + Thence, the sturdy Roman matron led the sculptor across a narrow passage, + and threw open the door of a small chamber, on the threshold of which he + reverently paused. Within, there was a bed, covered with white drapery, + enclosed with snowy curtains like a tent, and of barely width enough for a + slender figure to repose upon it. The sight of this cool, airy, and + secluded bower caused the lover’s heart to stir as if enough of Hilda’s + gentle dreams were lingering there to make him happy for a single instant. + But then came the closer consciousness of her loss, bringing along with it + a sharp sting of anguish. + </p> + <p> + “Behold, Signore,” said the matron; “here is the little staircase by which + the signorina used to ascend and trim the Blessed Virgin’s lamp. She was + worthy to be a Catholic, such pains the good child bestowed to keep it + burning; and doubtless the Blessed Mary will intercede for her, in + consideration of her pious offices, heretic though she was. What will + become of the old palazzo, now that the lamp is extinguished, the saints + above us only know! Will you mount, Signore, to the battlements, and see + if she have left any trace of herself there?” + </p> + <p> + The sculptor stepped across the chamber and ascended the little staircase, + which gave him access to the breezy summit of the tower. It affected him + inexpressibly to see a bouquet of beautiful flowers beneath the shrine, + and to recognize in them an offering of his own to Hilda, who had put them + in a vase of water, and dedicated them to the Virgin, in a spirit partly + fanciful, perhaps, but still partaking of the religious sentiment which so + profoundly influenced her character. One rosebud, indeed, she had selected + for herself from the rich mass of flowers; for Kenyon well remembered + recognizing it in her bosom when he last saw her at his studio. + </p> + <p> + “That little part of my great love she took,” said he to himself. “The + remainder she would have devoted to Heaven; but has left it withering in + the sun and wind. Ah! Hilda, Hilda, had you given me a right to watch over + you, this evil had not come!” + </p> + <p> + “Be not downcast, signorino mio,” said the Roman matron, in response to + the deep sigh which struggled out of Kenyon’s breast. “The dear little + maiden, as we see, has decked yonder blessed shrine as devoutly as I + myself, or any Other good Catholic woman, could have done. It is a + religious act, and has more than the efficacy of a prayer. The signorina + will as surely come back as the sun will fall through the window to-morrow + no less than to-day. Her own doves have often been missing for a day or + two, but they were sure to come fluttering about her head again, when she + least expected them. So will it be with this dove-like child.” + </p> + <p> + “It might be so,” thought Kenyon, with yearning anxiety, “if a pure maiden + were as safe as a dove, in this evil world of ours.” + </p> + <p> + As they returned through the studio, with the furniture and arrangements + of which the sculptor was familiar, he missed a small ebony writing-desk + that he remembered as having always been placed on a table there. He knew + that it was Hilda’s custom to deposit her letters in this desk, as well as + other little objects of which she wished to be specially careful. + </p> + <p> + “What has become of it?” he suddenly inquired, laying his hand on the + table. + </p> + <p> + “Become of what, pray?” exclaimed the woman, a little disturbed. “Does the + Signore suspect a robbery, then?” + </p> + <p> + “The signorina’s writing-desk is gone,” replied Kenyon; “it always stood + on this table, and I myself saw it there only a few days ago.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, well!” said the woman, recovering her composure, which she seemed + partly to have lost. “The signorina has doubtless taken it away with her. + The fact is of good omen; for it proves that she did not go unexpectedly, + and is likely to return when it may best suit her convenience.” + </p> + <p> + “This is very singular,” observed Kenyon. “Have the rooms been entered by + yourself, or any other person, since the signorina’s disappearance?” + </p> + <p> + “Not by me, Signore, so help me Heaven and the saints!” said the matron. + “And I question whether there are more than two keys in Rome that will + suit this strange old lock. Here is one; and as for the other, the + signorina carlies it in her pocket.” + </p> + <p> + The sculptor had no reason to doubt the word of this respectable dame. She + appeared to be well meaning and kind hearted, as Roman matrons generally + are; except when a fit of passion incites them to shower horrible curses + on an obnoxious individual, or perhaps to stab him with the steel stiletto + that serves them for a hairpin. But Italian asseverations of any + questionable fact, however true they may chance to be, have no witness of + their truth in the faces of those who utter them. Their words are spoken + with strange earnestness, and yet do not vouch for themselves as coming + from any depth, like roots drawn out of the substance of the soul, with + some of the soil clinging to them. There is always a something + inscrutable, instead of frankness, in their eyes. In short, they lie so + much like truth, and speak truth so much as if they were telling a lie, + that their auditor suspects himself in the wrong, whether he believes or + disbelieves them; it being the one thing certain, that falsehood is seldom + an intolerable burden to the tenderest of Italian consciences. + </p> + <p> + “It is very strange what can have become of the desk!” repeated Kenyon, + looking the woman in the face. + </p> + <p> + “Very strange, indeed, Signore,” she replied meekly, without turning away + her eyes in the least, but checking his insight of them at about half an + inch below the surface. “I think the signorina must have taken it with + her.” + </p> + <p> + It seemed idle to linger here any longer. Kenyon therefore departed, after + making an arrangement with the woman, by the terms of which she was to + allow the apartments to remain in their present state, on his assuming the + responsibility for the rent. + </p> + <p> + He spent the day in making such further search and investigation as he + found practicable; and, though at first trammelled by an unwillingness to + draw public attention to Hilda’s affairs, the urgency of the circumstances + soon compelled him to be thoroughly in earnest. In the course of a week, + he tried all conceivable modes of fathoming the mystery, not merely by his + personal efforts and those of his brother artists and friends, but through + the police, who readily undertook the task, and expressed strong + confidence of success. But the Roman police has very little efficiency, + except in the interest of the despotism of which it is a tool. With their + cocked hats, shoulder belts, and swords, they wear a sufficiently imposing + aspect, and doubtless keep their eyes open wide enough to track a + political offender, but are too often blind to private outrage, be it + murder or any lesser crime. Kenyon counted little upon their assistance, + and profited by it not at all. + </p> + <p> + Remembering the mystic words which Miriam had addressed to him, he was + anxious to meet her, but knew not whither she had gone, nor how to obtain + an interview either with herself or Donatello. The days wore away, and + still there were no tidings of the lost one; no lamp rekindled before the + Virgin’s shrine; no light shining into the lover’s heart; no star of Hope—he + was ready to say, as he turned his eyes almost reproachfully upward—in + heaven itself! + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0022" id="link2HCH0022"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XLV + </h2> + <h3> + THE FLIGHT OF HILDA’S DOVES + </h3> + <p> + Along with the lamp on Hilda’s tower, the sculptor now felt that a light + had gone out, or, at least, was ominously obscured, to which he owed + whatever cheerfulness had heretofore illuminated his cold, artistic life. + The idea of this girl had been like a taper of virgin wax, burning with a + pure and steady flame, and chasing away the evil spirits out of the magic + circle of its beams. It had darted its rays afar, and modified the whole + sphere in which Kenyon had his being. Beholding it no more, he at once + found himself in darkness and astray. + </p> + <p> + This was the time, perhaps, when Kenyon first became sensible what a + dreary city is Rome, and what a terrible weight is there imposed on human + life, when any gloom within the heart corresponds to the spell of ruin + that has been thrown over the site of ancient empire. He wandered, as it + were, and stumbled over the fallen columns, and among the tombs, and + groped his way into the sepulchral darkness of the catacombs, and found no + path emerging from them. The happy may well enough continue to be such, + beneath the brilliant sky of Rome. But, if you go thither in melancholy + mood, if you go with a ruin in your heart, or with a vacant site there, + where once stood the airy fabric of happiness, now vanished,—all the + ponderous gloom of the Roman Past will pile itself upon that spot, and + crush you down as with the heaped-up marble and granite, the earth-mounds, + and multitudinous bricks of its material decay. + </p> + <p> + It might be supposed that a melancholy man would here make acquaintance + with a grim philosophy. He should learn to bear patiently his individual + griefs, that endure only for one little lifetime, when here are the tokens + of such infinite misfortune on an imperial scale, and when so many far + landmarks of time, all around him, are bringing the remoteness of a + thousand years ago into the sphere of yesterday. But it is in vain that + you seek this shrub of bitter sweetness among the plants that root + themselves on the roughness of massive walls, or trail downward from the + capitals of pillars, or spring out of the green turf in the palace of the + Caesars. It does not grow in Rome; not even among the five hundred various + weeds which deck the grassy arches of the Coliseum. You look through a + vista of century beyond century,—through much shadow, and a little + sunshine,—through barbarism and civilization, alternating with one + another like actors that have prearranged their parts: through a broad + pathway of progressive generations bordered by palaces and temples, and + bestridden by old, triumphal arches, until, in the distance, you behold + the obelisks, with their unintelligible inscriptions, hinting at a past + infinitely more remote than history can define. Your own life is as + nothing, when compared with that immeasurable distance; but still you + demand, none the less earnestly, a gleam of sunshine, instead of a speck + of shadow, on the step or two that will bring you to your quiet rest. + </p> + <p> + How exceedingly absurd! All men, from the date of the earliest obelisk,—and + of the whole world, moreover, since that far epoch, and before,—have + made a similar demand, and seldom had their wish. If they had it, what are + they the better now? But, even while you taunt yourself with this sad + lesson, your heart cries out obstreperously for its small share of earthly + happiness, and will not be appeased by the myriads of dead hopes that lie + crushed into the soil of Rome. How wonderful that this our narrow foothold + of the Present should hold its own so constantly, and, while every moment + changing, should still be like a rock betwixt the encountering tides of + the long Past and the infinite To-come! + </p> + <p> + Man of marble though he was, the sculptor grieved for the Irrevocable. + Looking back upon Hilda’s way of life, he marvelled at his own blind + stupidity, which had kept him from remonstrating as a friend, if with no + stronger right against the risks that she continually encountered. Being + so innocent, she had no means of estimating those risks, nor even a + possibility of suspecting their existence. But he—who had spent + years in Rome, with a man’s far wider scope of observation and experience—knew + things that made him shudder. It seemed to Kenyon, looking through the + darkly colored medium of his fears, that all modes of crime were crowded + into the close intricacy of Roman streets, and that there was no redeeming + element, such as exists in other dissolute and wicked cities. + </p> + <p> + For here was a priesthood, pampered, sensual, with red and bloated cheeks, + and carnal eyes. With apparently a grosser development of animal life than + most men, they were placed in an unnatural relation with woman, and + thereby lost the healthy, human conscience that pertains to other human + beings, who own the sweet household ties connecting them with wife and + daughter. And here was an indolent nobility, with no high aims or + opportunities, but cultivating a vicious way of life, as if it were an + art, and the only one which they cared to learn. Here was a population, + high and low, that had no genuine belief in virtue; and if they recognized + any act as criminal, they might throw off all care, remorse, and memory of + it, by kneeling a little while at the confessional, and rising unburdened, + active, elastic, and incited by fresh appetite for the next ensuing sin. + Here was a soldiery who felt Rome to be their conquered city, and + doubtless considered themselves the legal inheritors of the foul license + which Gaul, Goth, and Vandal have here exercised in days gone by. + </p> + <p> + And what localities for new crime existed in those guilty sites, where the + crime of departed ages used to be at home, and had its long, hereditary + haunt! What street in Rome, what ancient ruin, what one place where man + had standing-room, what fallen stone was there, unstained with one or + another kind of guilt! In some of the vicissitudes of the city’s pride or + its calamity, the dark tide of human evil had swelled over it, far higher + than the Tiber ever rose against the acclivities of the seven hills. To + Kenyon’s morbid view, there appeared to be a contagious element, rising + fog-like from the ancient depravity of Rome, and brooding over the dead + and half-rotten city, as nowhere else on earth. It prolonged the tendency + to crime, and developed an instantaneous growth of it, whenever an + opportunity was found; And where could it be found so readily as here! In + those vast palaces, there were a hundred remote nooks where Innocence + might shriek in vain. Beneath meaner houses there were unsuspected + dungeons that had once been princely chambers, and open to the daylight; + but, on account of some wickedness there perpetrated, each passing age had + thrown its handful of dust upon the spot, and buried it from sight. Only + ruffians knew of its existence, and kept it for murder, and worse crime. + </p> + <p> + Such was the city through which Hilda, for three years past, had been + wandering without a protector or a guide. She had trodden lightly over the + crumble of old crimes; she had taken her way amid the grime and corruption + which Paganism had left there, and a perverted Christianity had made more + noisome; walking saint-like through it all, with white, innocent feet; + until, in some dark pitfall that lay right across her path, she had + vanished out of sight. It was terrible to imagine what hideous outrage + might have thrust her into that abyss! + </p> + <p> + Then the lover tried to comfort himself with the idea that Hilda’s + sanctity was a sufficient safeguard. Ah, yes; she was so pure! The angels, + that were of the same sisterhood, would never let Hilda come to harm. A + miracle would be wrought on her behalf, as naturally as a father would + stretch out his hand to save a best-beloved child. Providence would keep a + little area and atmosphere about her as safe and wholesome as heaven + itself, although the flood of perilous iniquity might hem her round, and + its black waves hang curling above her head! But these reflections were of + slight avail. No doubt they were the religious truth. Yet the ways of + Providence are utterly inscrutable; and many a murder has been done, and + many an innocent virgin has lifted her white arms, beseeching its aid in + her extremity, and all in vain; so that, though Providence is infinitely + good and wise, and perhaps for that very reason, it may be half an + eternity before the great circle of its scheme shall bring us the + superabundant recompense for all these sorrows! But what the lover asked + was such prompt consolation as might consist with the brief span of mortal + life; the assurance of Hilda’s present safety, and her restoration within + that very hour. + </p> + <p> + An imaginative man, he suffered the penalty of his endowment in the + hundred-fold variety of gloomily tinted scenes that it presented to him, + in which Hilda was always a central figure. The sculptor forgot his + marble. Rome ceased to be anything, for him, but a labyrinth of dismal + streets, in one or another of which the lost girl had disappeared. He was + haunted with the idea that some circumstance, most important to be known, + and perhaps easily discoverable, had hitherto been overlooked, and that, + if he could lay hold of this one clew, it would guide him directly in the + track of Hilda’s footsteps. With this purpose in view, he went, every + morning, to the Via Portoghese, and made it the starting-point of fresh + investigations. After nightfall, too, he invariably returned thither, with + a faint hope fluttering at his heart that the lamp might again be shining + on the summit of the tower, and would dispel this ugly mystery out of the + circle consecrated by its rays. There being no point of which he could + take firm hold, his mind was filled with unsubstantial hopes and fears. + Once Kenyon had seemed to cut his life in marble; now he vaguely clutched + at it, and found it vapor. + </p> + <p> + In his unstrung and despondent mood, one trifling circumstance affected + him with an idle pang. The doves had at first been faithful to their lost + mistress. They failed not to sit in a row upon her window-sill, or to + alight on the shrine, or the church-angels, and on the roofs and portals + of the neighboring houses, in evident expectation of her reappearance. + After the second week, however, they began to take flight, and dropping + off by pairs, betook themselves to other dove-cotes. Only a single dove + remained, and brooded drearily beneath the shrine. The flock that had + departed were like the many hopes that had vanished from Kenyon’s heart; + the one that still lingered, and looked so wretched,—was it a Hope, + or already a Despair? + </p> + <p> + In the street, one day, the sculptor met a priest of mild and venerable + aspect; and as his mind dwelt continually upon Hilda, and was especially + active in bringing up all incidents that had ever been connected with her, + it immediately struck him that this was the very father with whom he had + seen her at the confessional. Such trust did Hilda inspire in him, that + Kenyon had never asked what was the subject of the communication between + herself and this old priest. He had no reason for imagining that it could + have any relation with her disappearance, so long subsequently; but, being + thus brought face to face with a personage, mysteriously associated, as he + now remembered, with her whom he had lost, an impulse ran before his + thoughts and led the sculptor to address him. + </p> + <p> + It might be that the reverend kindliness of the old man’s expression took + Kenyon’s heart by surprise; at all events, he spoke as if there were a + recognized acquaintanceship, and an object of mutual interest between + them. + </p> + <p> + “She has gone from me, father,” said he. + </p> + <p> + “Of whom do you speak, my son?” inquired the priest. + </p> + <p> + “Of that sweet girl,” answered Kenyon, “who knelt to you at the + confessional. Surely you remember her, among all the mortals to whose + confessions you have listened! For she alone could have had no sins to + reveal.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; I remember,” said the priest, with a gleam of recollection in his + eyes. “She was made to bear a miraculous testimony to the efficacy of the + divine ordinances of the Church, by seizing forcibly upon one of them, and + finding immediate relief from it, heretic though she was. It is my purpose + to publish a brief narrative of this miracle, for the edification of + mankind, in Latin, Italian, and English, from the printing press of the + Propaganda. Poor child! Setting apart her heresy, she was spotless, as you + say. And is she dead?” + </p> + <p> + “Heaven forbid, father!” exclaimed Kenyon, shrinking back. “But she has + gone from me, I know not whither. It may be—yes, the idea seizes + upon my mind—that what she revealed to you will suggest some clew to + the mystery of her disappearance.’” + </p> + <p> + “None, my son, none,” answered the priest, shaking his head; + “nevertheless, I bid you be of good cheer. That young maiden is not doomed + to die a heretic. Who knows what the Blessed Virgin may at this moment be + doing for her soul! Perhaps, when you next behold her, she will be clad in + the shining white robe of the true faith.” + </p> + <p> + This latter suggestion did not convey all the comfort which the old priest + possibly intended by it; but he imparted it to the sculptor, along with + his blessing, as the two best things that he could bestow, and said + nothing further, except to bid him farewell. + </p> + <p> + When they had parted, however, the idea of Hilda’s conversion to + Catholicism recurred to her lover’s mind, bringing with it certain + reflections, that gave a new turn to his surmises about the mystery into + which she had vanished. Not that he seriously apprehended—although + the superabundance of her religious sentiment might mislead her for a + moment—that the New England girl would permanently succumb to the + scarlet superstitions which surrounded her in Italy. But the incident of + the confessional if known, as probably it was, to the eager propagandists + who prowl about for souls, as cats to catch a mouse—would surely + inspire the most confident expectations of bringing her over to the faith. + With so pious an end in view, would Jesuitical morality be shocked at the + thought of kidnapping the mortal body, for the sake of the immortal spirit + that might otherwise be lost forever? Would not the kind old priest, + himself, deem this to be infinitely the kindest service that he could + perform for the stray lamb, who had so strangely sought his aid? + </p> + <p> + If these suppositions were well founded, Hilda was most likely a prisoner + in one of the religious establishments that are so numerous in Rome. The + idea, according to the aspect in which it was viewed, brought now a degree + of comfort, and now an additional perplexity. On the one hand, Hilda was + safe from any but spiritual assaults; on the other, where was the + possibility of breaking through all those barred portals, and searching a + thousand convent cells, to set her free? + </p> + <p> + Kenyon, however, as it happened, was prevented from endeavoring to follow + out this surmise, which only the state of hopeless uncertainty, that + almost bewildered his reason, could have led him for a moment to + entertain. A communication reached him by an unknown hand, in consequence + of which, and within an hour after receiving it, he took his way through + one of the gates of Rome. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0023" id="link2HCH0023"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XLVI + </h2> + <h3> + A WALK ON THE CAMPAGNA + </h3> + <p> + It was a bright forenoon of February; a month in which the brief severity + of a Roman winter is already past, and when violets and daisies begin to + show themselves in spots favored by the sun. The sculptor came out of the + city by the gate of San Sebastiano, and walked briskly along the Appian + Way. + </p> + <p> + For the space of a mile or two beyond the gate, this ancient and famous + road is as desolate and disagreeable as most of the other Roman avenues. + It extends over small, uncomfortable paving-stones, between brick and + plastered walls, which are very solidly constructed, and so high as almost + to exclude a view of the surrounding country. The houses are of most + uninviting aspect, neither picturesque, nor homelike and social; they have + seldom or never a door opening on the wayside, but are accessible only + from the rear, and frown inhospitably upon the traveller through + iron-grated windows. Here and there appears a dreary inn or a wine-shop, + designated by the withered bush beside the entrance, within which you + discern a stone-built and sepulchral interior, where guests refresh + themselves with sour bread and goats’-milk cheese, washed down with wine + of dolorous acerbity. + </p> + <p> + At frequent intervals along the roadside up-rises the ruin of an ancient + tomb. As they stand now, these structures are immensely high and broken + mounds of conglomerated brick, stone, pebbles, and earth, all molten by + time into a mass as solid and indestructible as if each tomb were composed + of a single boulder of granite. When first erected, they were cased + externally, no doubt, with slabs of polished marble, artfully wrought + bas-reliefs, and all such suitable adornments, and were rendered + majestically beautiful by grand architectural designs. This antique + splendor has long since been stolen from the dead, to decorate the palaces + and churches of the living. Nothing remains to the dishonored sepulchres, + except their massiveness. + </p> + <p> + Even the pyramids form hardly a stranger spectacle, or are more alien from + human sympathies, than the tombs of the Appian Way, with their gigantic + height, breadth, and solidity, defying time and the elements, and far too + mighty to be demolished by an ordinary earthquake. Here you may see a + modern dwelling, and a garden with its vines and olive-trees, perched on + the lofty dilapidation of a tomb, which forms a precipice of fifty feet in + depth on each of the four sides. There is a home on that funereal mound, + where generations of children have been born, and successive lives been + spent, undisturbed by the ghost of the stern Roman whose ashes were so + preposterously burdened. Other sepulchres wear a crown of grass, + shrubbery, and forest-trees, which throw out a broad sweep of branches, + having had time, twice over, to be a thousand years of age. On one of them + stands a tower, which, though immemorially more modern than the tomb, was + itself built by immemorial hands, and is now rifted quite from top to + bottom by a vast fissure of decay; the tomb-hillock, its foundation, being + still as firm as ever, and likely to endure until the last trump shall + rend it wide asunder, and summon forth its unknown dead. + </p> + <p> + Yes; its unknown dead! For, except in one or two doubtful instances, these + mountainous sepulchral edifices have not availed to keep so much as the + bare name of an individual or a family from oblivion. Ambitious of + everlasting remembrance, as they were, the slumberers might just as well + have gone quietly to rest, each in his pigeon-hole of a columbarium, or + under his little green hillock in a graveyard, without a headstone to mark + the spot. It is rather satisfactory than otherwise, to think that all + these idle pains have turned out so utterly abortive. + </p> + <p> + About two miles, or more, from the city gate, and right upon the roadside, + Kenyon passed an immense round pile, sepulchral in its original purposes, + like those already mentioned. It was built of great blocks of hewn stone, + on a vast, square foundation of rough, agglomerated material, such as + composes the mass of all the other ruinous tombs. But whatever might be + the cause, it was in a far better state of preservation than they. On its + broad summit rose the battlements of a mediaeval fortress, out of the + midst of which (so long since had time begun to crumble the supplemental + structure, and cover it with soil, by means of wayside dust) grew trees, + bushes, and thick festoons of ivy. This tomb of a woman had become the + citadel and donjon-keep of a castle; and all the care that Cecilia + Metella’s husband could bestow, to secure endless peace for her beloved + relics, had only sufficed to make that handful of precious ashes the + nucleus of battles, long ages after her death. + </p> + <p> + A little beyond this point, the sculptor turned aside from the Appian Way, + and directed his course across the Campagna, guided by tokens that were + obvious only to himself. On one side of him, but at a distance, the + Claudian aqueduct was striding over fields and watercourses. Before him, + many miles away, with a blue atmosphere between, rose the Alban hills, + brilliantly silvered with snow and sunshine. + </p> + <p> + He was not without a companion. A buffalo-calf, that seemed shy and + sociable by the selfsame impulse, had begun to make acquaintance with him, + from the moment when he left the road. This frolicsome creature gambolled + along, now before, now behind; standing a moment to gaze at him, with + wild, curious eyes, he leaped aside and shook his shaggy head, as Kenyon + advanced too nigh; then, after loitering in the rear, he came galloping + up, like a charge of cavalry, but halted, all of a sudden, when the + sculptor turned to look, and bolted across the Campagna at the slightest + signal of nearer approach. The young, sportive thing, Kenyon half fancied, + was serving him as a guide, like the heifer that led Cadmus to the site of + his destined city; for, in spite of a hundred vagaries, his general course + was in the right direction, and along by several objects which the + sculptor had noted as landmarks of his way. + </p> + <p> + In this natural intercourse with a rude and healthy form of animal life, + there was something that wonderfully revived Kenyon’s spirits. The warm + rays of the sun, too, were wholesome for him in body and soul; and so was + a breeze that bestirred itself occasionally, as if for the sole purpose of + breathing upon his cheek and dying softly away, when he would fain have + felt a little more decided kiss. This shy but loving breeze reminded him + strangely of what Hilda’s deportment had sometimes been towards himself. + </p> + <p> + The weather had very much to do, no doubt, with these genial and + delightful sensations, that made the sculptor so happy with mere life, in + spite of a head and heart full of doleful thoughts, anxieties, and fears, + which ought in all reason to have depressed him. It was like no weather + that exists anywhere, save in Paradise and in Italy; certainly not in + America, where it is always too strenuous on the side either of heat or + cold. Young as the season was, and wintry, as it would have been under a + more rigid sky, it resembled summer rather than what we New Englanders + recognize in our idea of spring. But there was an indescribable something, + sweet, fresh, and remotely affectionate, which the matronly summer loses, + and which thrilled, and, as it were, tickled Kenyon’s heart with a feeling + partly of the senses, yet far more a spiritual delight. In a word, it was + as if Hilda’s delicate breath were on his cheek. + </p> + <p> + After walking at a brisk pace for about half an hour, he reached a spot + where an excavation appeared to have been begun, at some not very distant + period. There was a hollow space in the earth, looking exceedingly like a + deserted cellar, being enclosed within old subterranean walls, constructed + of thin Roman bricks, and made accessible by a narrow flight of stone + steps. A suburban villa had probably stood over this site, in the imperial + days of Rome, and these might have been the ruins of a bathroom, or some + other apartment that was required to be wholly or partly under ground. A + spade can scarcely be put into that soil, so rich in lost and forgotten + things, without hitting upon some discovery which would attract all eyes, + in any other land. If you dig but a little way, you gather bits of + precious marble, coins, rings, and engraved gems; if you go deeper, you + break into columbaria, or into sculptured and richly frescoed apartments + that look like festive halls, but were only sepulchres. + </p> + <p> + The sculptor descended into the cellar-like cavity, and sat down on a + block of stone. His eagerness had brought him thither sooner than the + appointed hour. The sunshine fell slantwise into the hollow, and happened + to be resting on what Kenyon at first took to be a shapeless fragment of + stone, possibly marble, which was partly concealed by the crumbling down + of earth. + </p> + <p> + But his practised eye was soon aware of something artistic in this rude + object. To relieve the anxious tedium of his situation, he cleared away + some of the soil, which seemed to have fallen very recently, and + discovered a headless figure of marble. It was earth stained, as well it + might be, and had a slightly corroded surface, but at once impressed the + sculptor as a Greek production, and wonderfully delicate and beautiful. + The head was gone; both arms were broken off at the elbow. Protruding from + the loose earth, however, Kenyon beheld the fingers of a marble hand; it + was still appended to its arm, and a little further search enabled him to + find the other. Placing these limbs in what the nice adjustment of the + fractures proved to be their true position, the poor, fragmentary woman + forthwith showed that she retained her modest instincts to the last. She + had perished with them, and snatched them back at the moment of revival. + For these long-buried hands immediately disposed themselves in the manner + that nature prompts, as the antique artist knew, and as all the world has + seen, in the Venus de’ Medici. + </p> + <p> + “What a discovery is here!” thought Kenyon to himself. “I seek for Hilda, + and find a marble woman! Is the omen good or ill?” + </p> + <p> + In a corner of the excavation lay a small round block of stone, much + incrusted with earth that had dried and hardened upon it. So, at least, + you would have described this object, until the sculptor lifted it, turned + it hither and thither in his hands, brushed off the clinging soil, and + finally placed it on the slender neck of the newly discovered statue. The + effect was magical. It immediately lighted up and vivified the whole + figure, endowing it with personality, soul, and intelligence. The + beautiful Idea at once asserted its immortality, and converted that heap + of forlorn fragments into a whole, as perfect to the mind, if not to the + eye, as when the new marble gleamed with snowy lustre; nor was the + impression marred by the earth that still hung upon the exquisitely + graceful limbs, and even filled the lovely crevice of the lips. Kenyon + cleared it away from between them, and almost deemed himself rewarded with + a living smile. + </p> + <p> + It was either the prototype or a better repetition of the Venus of the + Tribune. But those who have been dissatisfied with the small head, the + narrow, soulless face, the button-hole eyelids, of that famous statue, and + its mouth such as nature never moulded, should see the genial breadth of + this far nobler and sweeter countenance. It is one of the few works of + antique sculpture in which we recognize womanhood, and that, moreover, + without prejudice to its divinity. + </p> + <p> + Here, then, was a treasure for the sculptor to have found! How happened it + to be lying there, beside its grave of twenty centuries? Why were not the + tidings of its discovery already noised abroad? The world was richer than + yesterday, by something far more precious than gold. Forgotten beauty had + come back, as beautiful as ever; a goddess had risen from her long + slumber, and was a goddess still. Another cabinet in the Vatican was + destined to shine as lustrously as that of the Apollo Belvedere; or, if + the aged pope should resign his claim, an emperor would woo this tender + marble, and win her as proudly as an imperial bride! + </p> + <p> + Such were the thoughts with which Kenyon exaggerated to himself the + importance of the newly discovered statue, and strove to feel at least a + portion of the interest which this event would have inspired in him a + little while before. But, in reality, he found it difficult to fix his + mind upon the subject. He could hardly, we fear, be reckoned a consummate + artist, because there was something dearer to him than his art; and, by + the greater strength of a human affection, the divine statue seemed to + fall asunder again, and become only a heap of worthless fragments. + </p> + <p> + While the sculptor sat listlessly gazing at it, there was a sound of small + hoofs, clumsily galloping on the Campagna; and soon his frisky + acquaintance, the buffalo-calf, came and peeped over the edge of the + excavation. Almost at the same moment he heard voices, which approached + nearer and nearer; a man’s voice, and a feminine one, talking the musical + tongue of Italy. Besides the hairy visage of his four footed friend, + Kenyon now saw the figures of a peasant and a contadina, making gestures + of salutation to him, on the opposite verge of the hollow space. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0024" id="link2HCH0024"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XLVII + </h2> + <h3> + THE PEASANT AND CONTADINA + </h3> + <p> + They descended into the excavation: a young peasant, in the short blue + jacket, the small-clothes buttoned at the knee, and buckled shoes, that + compose one of the ugliest dresses ever worn by man, except the wearer’s + form have a grace which any garb, or the nudity of an antique statue, + would equally set off; and, hand in hand with him, a village girl, in one + of those brilliant costumes largely kindled up with scarlet, and decorated + with gold embroidery, in which the contadinas array themselves on + feast-days. But Kenyon was not deceived; he had recognized the voices of + his friends, indeed, even before their disguised figures came between him + and the sunlight. Donatello was the peasant; the contadina, with the airy + smile, half mirthful, though it shone out of melancholy eyes,—was + Miriam. + </p> + <p> + They both greeted the sculptor with a familiar kindness which reminded him + of the days when Hilda and they and he had lived so happily together, + before the mysterious adventure of the catacomb. What a succession of + sinister events had followed one spectral figure out of that gloomy + labyrinth. + </p> + <p> + “It is carnival time, you know,” said Miriam, as if in explanation of + Donatello’s and her own costume. “Do you remember how merrily we spent the + Carnival, last year?” + </p> + <p> + “It seems many years ago,” replied Kenyon. “We are all so changed!” + </p> + <p> + When individuals approach one another with deep purposes on both sides, + they seldom come at once to the matter which they have most at heart. They + dread the electric shock of a too sudden contact with it. A natural + impulse leads them to steal gradually onward, hiding themselves, as it + were, behind a closer, and still a closer topic, until they stand face to + face with the true point of interest. Miriam was conscious of this + impulse, and partially obeyed it. + </p> + <p> + “So your instincts as a sculptor have brought you into the presence of our + newly discovered statue,” she observed. “Is it not beautiful? A far truer + image of immortal womanhood than the poor little damsel at Florence, world + famous though she be.” + </p> + <p> + “Most beautiful,” said Kenyon, casting an indifferent glance at the Venus. + “The time has been when the sight of this statue would have been enough to + make the day memorable.” + </p> + <p> + “And will it not do so now?” Miriam asked. + </p> + <p> + “I fancied so, indeed, when we discovered it two days ago. It is + Donatello’s prize. We were sitting here together, planning an interview + with you, when his keen eyes detected the fallen goddess, almost entirely + buried under that heap of earth, which the clumsy excavators showered down + upon her, I suppose. We congratulated ourselves, chiefly for your sake. + The eyes of us three are the only ones to which she has yet revealed + herself. Does it not frighten you a little, like the apparition of a + lovely woman that livid of old, and has long lain in the grave?” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, Miriam! I cannot respond to you,” said the sculptor, with + irrepressible impatience. “Imagination and the love of art have both died + out of me.” + </p> + <p> + “Miriam,” interposed Donatello with gentle gravity, “why should we keep + our friend in suspense? We know what anxiety he feels. Let us give him + what intelligence we can.” + </p> + <p> + “You are so direct and immediate, my beloved friend!” answered Miriam with + an unquiet smile. “There are several reasons why I should like to play + round this matter a little while, and cover it with fanciful thoughts, as + we strew a grave with flowers.” + </p> + <p> + “A grave!” exclaimed the sculptor. + </p> + <p> + “No grave in which your heart need be buried,” she replied; “you have no + such calamity to dread. But I linger and hesitate, because every word I + speak brings me nearer to a crisis from which I shrink. Ah, Donatello! let + us live a little longer the life of these last few days! It is so bright, + so airy, so childlike, so without either past or future! Here, on the wild + Campagna, you seem to have found, both for yourself and me, the life that + belonged to you in early youth; the sweet irresponsible life which you + inherited from your mythic ancestry, the Fauns of Monte Beni. Our stern + and black reality will come upon us speedily enough. But, first, a brief + time more of this strange happiness.” + </p> + <p> + “I dare not linger upon it,” answered Donatello, with an expression that + reminded the sculptor of the gloomiest days of his remorse at Monte Beni. + “I dare to be so happy as you have seen me, only because I have felt the + time to be so brief.” + </p> + <p> + “One day, then!” pleaded Miriam. “One more day in the wild freedom of this + sweet-scented air.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, one more day,” said Donatello, smiling; and his smile touched + Kenyon with a pathos beyond words, there being gayety and sadness both + melted into it; “but here is Hilda’s friend, and our own. Comfort him, at + least, and set his heart at rest, since you have it partly in your power.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, surely he might endure his pangs a little longer!” cried Miriam, + turning to Kenyon with a tricksy, fitful kind of mirth, that served to + hide some solemn necessity, too sad and serious to be looked at in its + naked aspect. “You love us both, I think, and will be content to suffer + for our sakes, one other day. Do I ask too much?” + </p> + <p> + “Tell me of Hilda,” replied the sculptor; “tell me only that she is safe, + and keep back what else you will.” + </p> + <p> + “Hilda is safe,” said Miriam. “There is a Providence purposely for Hilda, + as I remember to have told you long ago. But a great trouble—an evil + deed, let us acknowledge it has spread out its dark branches so widely, + that the shadow falls on innocence as well as guilt. There was one slight + link that connected your sweet Hilda with a crime which it was her unhappy + fortune to witness, but of which I need not say she was as guiltless as + the angels that looked out of heaven, and saw it too. No matter, now, what + the consequence has been. You shall have your lost Hilda back, and—who + knows?—perhaps tenderer than she was.” + </p> + <p> + “But when will she return?” persisted the sculptor; “tell me the when, and + where, and how!” + </p> + <p> + “A little patience. Do not press me so,” said Miriam; and again Kenyon was + struck by the sprite-like, fitful characteristic of her manner, and a sort + of hysteric gayety, which seemed to be a will-o’-the-wisp from a sorrow + stagnant at her heart. “You have more time to spare than I. First, listen + to something that I have to tell. We will talk of Hilda by and by.” + </p> + <p> + Then Miriam spoke of her own life, and told facts that threw a gleam of + light over many things which had perplexed the sculptor in all his + previous knowledge of her. She described herself as springing from English + parentage, on the mother’s side, but with a vein, likewise, of Jewish + blood; yet connected, through her father, with one of those few princely + families of Southern Italy, which still retain great wealth and influence. + And she revealed a name at which her auditor started and grew pale; for it + was one that, only a few years before, had been familiar to the world in + connection with a mysterious and terrible event. The reader, if he think + it worth while to recall some of the strange incidents which have been + talked of, and forgotten, within no long time past, will remember Miriam’s + name. + </p> + <p> + “You shudder at me, I perceive,” said Miriam, suddenly interrupting her + narrative. + </p> + <p> + “No; you were innocent,” replied the sculptor. “I shudder at the fatality + that seems to haunt your footsteps, and throws a shadow of crime about + your path, you being guiltless.” + </p> + <p> + “There was such a fatality,” said Miriam; “yes; the shadow fell upon me, + innocent, but I went astray in it, and wandered—as Hilda could tell + you—into crime.” + </p> + <p> + She went on to say that, while yet a child, she had lost her English + mother. From a very early period of her life, there had been a contract of + betrothal between herself and a certain marchese, the representative of + another branch of her paternal house,—a family arrangement between + two persons of disproportioned ages, and in which feeling went for + nothing. Most Italian girls of noble rank would have yielded themselves to + such a marriage as an affair of course. But there was something in + Miriam’s blood, in her mixed race, in her recollections of her mother,—some + characteristic, finally, in her own nature,—which had given her + freedom of thought, and force of will, and made this prearranged + connection odious to her. Moreover, the character of her destined husband + would have been a sufficient and insuperable objection; for it betrayed + traits so evil, so treacherous, so vile, and yet so strangely subtle, as + could only be accounted for by the insanity which often develops itself in + old, close-kept races of men, when long unmixed with newer blood. Reaching + the age when the marriage contract should have been fulfilled, Miriam had + utterly repudiated it. + </p> + <p> + Some time afterwards had occurred that terrible event to which Miriam had + alluded when she revealed her name; an event, the frightful and mysterious + circumstances of which will recur to many minds, but of which few or none + can have found for themselves a satisfactory explanation. It only concerns + the present narrative, inasmuch as the suspicion of being at least an + accomplice in the crime fell darkly and directly upon Miriam herself. + </p> + <p> + “But you know that I am innocent!” she cried, interrupting herself again, + and looking Kenyon in the face. + </p> + <p> + “I know it by my deepest consciousness,” he answered; “and I know it by + Hilda’s trust and entire affection, which you never could have won had you + been capable of guilt.” + </p> + <p> + “That is sure ground, indeed, for pronouncing me innocent,” said Miriam, + with the tears gushing into her eyes. “Yet I have since become a horror to + your saint-like Hilda, by a crime which she herself saw me help to + perpetrate!” + </p> + <p> + She proceeded with her story. The great influence of her family + connections had shielded her from some of the consequences of her imputed + guilt. But, in her despair, she had fled from home, and had surrounded her + flight with such circumstances as rendered it the most probable conclusion + that she had committed suicide. Miriam, however, was not of the feeble + nature which takes advantage of that obvious and poor resource in earthly + difficulties. She flung herself upon the world, and speedily created a new + sphere, in which Hilda’s gentle purity, the sculptor’s sensibility, clear + thought, and genius, and Donatello’s genial simplicity had given her + almost her first experience of happiness. Then came that ill-omened + adventure of the catacomb, The spectral figure which she encountered there + was the evil fate that had haunted her through life. + </p> + <p> + Looking back upon what had happened, Miriam observed, she now considered + him a madman. Insanity must have been mixed up with his original + composition, and developed by those very acts of depravity which it + suggested, and still more intensified, by the remorse that ultimately + followed them. Nothing was stranger in his dark career than the penitence + which often seemed to go hand in hand with crime. Since his death she had + ascertained that it finally led him to a convent, where his severe and + self-inflicted penance had even acquired him the reputation of unusual + sanctity, and had been the cause of his enjoying greater freedom than is + commonly allowed to monks. + </p> + <p> + “Need I tell you more?” asked Miriam, after proceeding thus far. “It is + still a dim and dreary mystery, a gloomy twilight into which I guide you; + but possibly you may catch a glimpse of much that I myself can explain + only by conjecture. At all events, you can comprehend what my situation + must have been, after that fatal interview in the catacomb. My persecutor + had gone thither for penance, but followed me forth with fresh impulses to + crime. He had me in his power. Mad as he was, and wicked as he was, with + one word he could have blasted me in the belief of all the world. In your + belief too, and Hilda’s! Even Donatello would have shrunk from me with + horror!” + </p> + <p> + “Never,” said Donatello, “my instinct would have known you innocent.” + </p> + <p> + “Hilda and Donatello and myself,—we three would have acquitted you,” + said Kenyon, “let the world say what it might. Ah, Miriam, you should have + told us this sad story sooner!” + </p> + <p> + “I thought often of revealing it to you,” answered Miriam; “on one + occasion, especially,—it was after you had shown me your Cleopatra; + it seemed to leap out of my heart, and got as far as my very lips. But + finding you cold to accept my confidence, I thrust it back again. Had I + obeyed my first impulse, all would have turned out differently.” + </p> + <p> + “And Hilda!” resumed the sculptor. “What can have been her connection with + these dark incidents?” + </p> + <p> + “She will, doubtless, tell you with her own lips,” replied Miriam. + “Through sources of information which I possess in Rome, I can assure you + of her safety. In two days more—by the help of the special + Providence that, as I love to tell you, watches over Hilda—she shall + rejoin you.” + </p> + <p> + “Still two days more!” murmured the sculptor. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, you are cruel now! More cruel than you know!” exclaimed Miriam, with + another gleam of that fantastic, fitful gayety, which had more than once + marked her manner during this interview. “Spare your poor friends!” + </p> + <p> + “I know not what you mean, Miriam,” said Kenyon. + </p> + <p> + “No matter,” she replied; “you will understand hereafter. But could you + think it? Here is Donatello haunted with strange remorse, and an + unmitigable resolve to obtain what he deems justice upon himself. He + fancies, with a kind of direct simplicity, which I have vainly tried to + combat, that, when a wrong has been done, the doer is bound to submit + himself to whatsoever tribunal takes cognizance of such things, and abide + its judgment. I have assured him that there is no such thing as earthly + justice, and especially none here, under the head of Christendom.” + </p> + <p> + “We will not argue the point again,” said Donatello, smiling. “I have no + head for argument, but only a sense, an impulse, an instinct, I believe, + which sometimes leads me right. But why do we talk now of what may make us + sorrowful? There are still two days more. Let us be happy!” + </p> + <p> + It appeared to Kenyon that since he last saw Donatello, some of the sweet + and delightful characteristics of the antique Faun had returned to him. + There were slight, careless graces, pleasant and simple peculiarities, + that had been obliterated by the heavy grief through which he was passing + at Monte Beni, and out of which he had hardly emerged when the sculptor + parted with Miriam and him beneath the bronze pontiffs outstretched hand. + These happy blossoms had now reappeared. A playfulness came out of his + heart, and glimmered like firelight in his actions, alternating, or even + closely intermingled, with profound sympathy and serious thought. + </p> + <p> + “Is he not beautiful?” said Miriam, watching the sculptor’s eye as it + dwelt admiringly on Donatello. “So changed, yet still, in a deeper sense, + so much the same! He has travelled in a circle, as all things heavenly and + earthly do, and now comes back to his original self, with an inestimable + treasure of improvement won from an experience of pain. How wonderful is + this! I tremble at my own thoughts, yet must needs probe them to their + depths. Was the crime—in which he and I were wedded—was it a + blessing, in that strange disguise? Was it a means of education, bringing + a simple and imperfect nature to a point of feeling and intelligence which + it could have reached under no other discipline?” + </p> + <p> + “You stir up deep and perilous matter, Miriam,” replied Kenyon. “I dare + not follow you into the unfathomable abysses whither you are tending.” + </p> + <p> + “Yet there is a pleasure in them! I delight to brood on the verge of this + great mystery,” returned she. “The story of the fall of man! Is it not + repeated in our romance of Monte Beni? And may we follow the analogy yet + further? Was that very sin,—into which Adam precipitated himself and + all his race, was it the destined means by which, over a long pathway of + toil and sorrow, we are to attain a higher, brighter, and profounder + happiness, than our lost birthright gave? Will not this idea account for + the permitted existence of sin, as no other theory can?” + </p> + <p> + “It is too dangerous, Miriam! I cannot follow you!” repeated the sculptor. + “Mortal man has no right to tread on the ground where you now set your + feet.” + </p> + <p> + “Ask Hilda what she thinks of it,” said Miriam, with a thoughtful smile. + “At least, she might conclude that sin—which man chose instead of + good—has been so beneficently handled by omniscience and + omnipotence, that, whereas our dark enemy sought to destroy us by it, it + has really become an instrument most effective in the education of + intellect and soul.” + </p> + <p> + Miriam paused a little longer among these meditations, which the sculptor + rightly felt to be so perilous; she then pressed his hand, in token of + farewell. + </p> + <p> + “The day after to-morrow,” said she, “an hour before sunset, go to the + Corso, and stand in front of the fifth house on your left, beyond the + Antonine column. You will learn tidings of a friend.” + </p> + <p> + Kenyon would have besought her for more definite intelligence, but she + shook her head, put her finger on her lips, and turned away with an + illusive smile. The fancy impressed him that she too, like Donatello, had + reached a wayside paradise, in their mysterious life journey, where they + both threw down the burden of the before and after, and, except for this + interview with himself, were happy in the flitting moment. To-day + Donatello was the sylvan Faun; to-day Miriam was his fit companion, a + Nymph of grove or fountain; to-morrow—a remorseful man and woman, + linked by a marriage bond of crime—they would set forth towards an + inevitable goal. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0025" id="link2HCH0025"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XLVIII + </h2> + <h3> + A SCENE IN THE CORSO + </h3> + <p> + On the appointed afternoon, Kenyon failed not to make his appearance in + the Corso, and at an hour much earlier than Miriam had named. + </p> + <p> + It was carnival time. The merriment of this famous festival was in full + progress; and the stately avenue of the Corso was peopled with hundreds of + fantastic shapes, some of which probably represented the mirth of ancient + times, surviving through all manner of calamity, ever since the days of + the Roman Empire. For a few afternoons of early spring, this mouldy gayety + strays into the sunshine; all the remainder of the year, it seems to be + shut up in the catacombs or some other sepulchral storehouse of the past. + </p> + <p> + Besides these hereditary forms, at which a hundred generations have + laughed, there were others of modern date, the humorous effluence of the + day that was now passing. It is a day, however, and an age, that appears + to be remarkably barren, when compared with the prolific originality of + former times, in productions of a scenic and ceremonial character, whether + grave or gay. To own the truth, the Carnival is alive, this present year, + only because it has existed through centuries gone by. It is traditionary, + not actual. If decrepit and melancholy Rome smiles, and laughs broadly, + indeed, at carnival time, it is not in the old simplicity of real mirth, + but with a half-conscious effort, like our self-deceptive pretence of + jollity at a threadbare joke. Whatever it may once have been, it is now + but a narrow stream of merriment, noisy of set purpose, running along the + middle of the Corso, through the solemn heart of the decayed city, without + extending its shallow influence on either side. Nor, even within its own + limits, does it affect the mass of spectators, but only a comparatively + few, in street and balcony, who carry on the warfare of nosegays and + counterfeit sugar plums. The populace look on with staid composure; the + nobility and priesthood take little or no part in the matter; and, but for + the hordes of Anglo-Saxons who annually take up the flagging mirth, the + Carnival might long ago have been swept away, with the snowdrifts of + confetti that whiten all the pavement. + </p> + <p> + No doubt, however, the worn-out festival is still new to the youthful and + light hearted, who make the worn-out world itself as fresh as Adam found + it on his first forenoon in Paradise. It may be only age and care that + chill the life out of its grotesque and airy riot, with the impertinence + of their cold criticism. + </p> + <p> + Kenyon, though young, had care enough within his breast to render the + Carnival the emptiest of mockeries. Contrasting the stern anxiety of his + present mood with the frolic spirit of the preceding year, he fancied that + so much trouble had, at all events, brought wisdom in its train. But there + is a wisdom that looks grave, and sneers at merriment; and again a deeper + wisdom, that stoops to be gay as often as occasion serves, and oftenest + avails itself of shallow and trifling grounds of mirth; because, if we + wait for more substantial ones, we seldom can be gay at all. Therefore, + had it been possible, Kenyon would have done well to mask himself in some + wild, hairy visage, and plunge into the throng of other maskers, as at the + Carnival before. Then Donatello had danced along the Corso in all the + equipment of a Faun, doing the part with wonderful felicity of execution, + and revealing furry ears, which looked absolutely real; and Miriam had + been alternately a lady of the antique regime, in powder and brocade, and + the prettiest peasant girl of the Campagna, in the gayest of costumes; + while Hilda, sitting demurely in a balcony, had hit the sculptor with a + single rosebud,—so sweet and fresh a bud that he knew at once whose + hand had flung it. + </p> + <p> + These were all gone; all those dear friends whose sympathetic mirth had + made him gay. Kenyon felt as if an interval of many years had passed since + the last Carnival. He had grown old, the nimble jollity was tame, and the + maskers dull and heavy; the Corso was but a narrow and shabby street of + decaying palaces; and even the long, blue streamer of Italian sky, above + it, not half so brightly blue as formerly. + </p> + <p> + Yet, if he could have beheld the scene with his clear, natural eyesight, + he might still have found both merriment and splendor in it. Everywhere, + and all day long, there had been tokens of the festival, in the baskets + brimming over with bouquets, for sale at the street corners, or borne + about on people’s heads; while bushels upon bushels of variously colored + confetti were displayed, looking just like veritable sugar plums; so that + a stranger would have imagined that the whole commerce and business of + stern old Rome lay in flowers and sweets. And now, in the sunny afternoon, + there could hardly be a spectacle more picturesque than the vista of that + noble street, stretching into the interminable distance between two rows + of lofty edifices, from every window of which, and many a balcony, + flaunted gay and gorgeous carpets, bright silks, scarlet cloths with rich + golden fringes, and Gobelin tapestry, still lustrous with varied hues, + though the product of antique looms. Each separate palace had put on a + gala dress, and looked festive for the occasion, whatever sad or guilty + secret it might hide within. Every window, moreover, was alive with the + faces of women, rosy girls, and children, all kindled into brisk and + mirthful expression, by the incidents in the street below. In the + balconies that projected along the palace fronts stood groups of ladies, + some beautiful, all richly dressed, scattering forth their laughter, + shrill, yet sweet, and the musical babble of their voices, to thicken into + an airy tumult over the heads of common mortals. + </p> + <p> + All these innumerable eyes looked down into the street, the whole capacity + of which was thronged with festal figures, in such fantastic variety that + it had taken centuries to contrive them; and through the midst of the mad, + merry stream of human life rolled slowly onward a never-ending procession + of all the vehicles in Rome, from the ducal carriage, with the powdered + coachman high in front, and the three golden lackeys clinging in the rear, + down to the rustic cart drawn by its single donkey. Among this various + crowd, at windows and in balconies, in cart, cab, barouche, or gorgeous + equipage, or bustling to and fro afoot, there was a sympathy of nonsense; + a true and genial brotherhood and sisterhood, based on the honest purpose—and + a wise one, too—of being foolish, all together. The sport of + mankind, like its deepest earnest, is a battle; so these festive people + fought one another with an ammunition of sugar plums and flowers. + </p> + <p> + Not that they were veritable sugar plums, however, but something that + resembled them only as the apples of Sodom look like better fruit. They + were concocted mostly of lime, with a grain of oat, or some other + worthless kernel, in the midst. Besides the hailstorm of confetti, the + combatants threw handfuls of flour or lime into the air, where it hung + like smoke over a battlefield, or, descending, whitened a black coat or + priestly robe, and made the curly locks of youth irreverently hoary. + </p> + <p> + At the same time with this acrid contest of quicklime, which caused much + effusion of tears from suffering eyes, a gentler warfare of flowers was + carried on, principally between knights and ladies. Originally, no doubt, + when this pretty custom was first instituted, it may have had a sincere + and modest import. Each youth and damsel, gathering bouquets of field + flowers, or the sweetest and fairest that grew in their own gardens, all + fresh and virgin blossoms, flung them with true aim at the one, or few, + whom they regarded with a sentiment of shy partiality at least, if not + with love. Often, the lover in the Corso may thus have received from his + bright mistress, in her father’s princely balcony, the first sweet + intimation that his passionate glances had not struck against a heart of + marble. What more appropriate mode of suggesting her tender secret could a + maiden find than by the soft hit of a rosebud against a young man’s cheek? + </p> + <p> + This was the pastime and the earnest of a more innocent and homelier age. + Nowadays the nosegays are gathered and tied up by sordid hands, chiefly of + the most ordinary flowers, and are sold along the Corso, at mean price, + yet more than such Venal things are worth. Buying a basketful, you find + them miserably wilted, as if they had flown hither and thither through two + or three carnival days already; muddy, too, having been fished up from the + pavement, where a hundred feet have trampled on them. You may see throngs + of men and boys who thrust themselves beneath the horses’ hoofs to gather + up bouquets that were aimed amiss from balcony and carriage; these they + sell again, and yet once more, and ten times over, defiled as they all are + with the wicked filth of Rome. + </p> + <p> + Such are the flowery favors—the fragrant bunches of sentiment—that + fly between cavalier and dame, and back again, from one end of the Corso + to the other. Perhaps they may symbolize, more aptly than was intended, + the poor, battered, wilted hearts of those who fling them; hearts which—crumpled + and crushed by former possessors, and stained with various mishap—have + been passed from hand to hand along the muddy street-way of life, instead + of being treasured in one faithful bosom. + </p> + <p> + These venal and polluted flowers, therefore, and those deceptive bonbons, + are types of the small reality that still subsists in the observance of + the Carnival. Yet the government seemed to imagine that there might be + excitement enough,—wild mirth, perchance, following its antics + beyond law, and frisking from frolic into earnest,—to render it + expedient to guard the Corso with an imposing show of military power. + Besides the ordinary force of gendarmes, a strong patrol of papal + dragoons, in steel helmets and white cloaks, were stationed at all the + street corners. Detachments of French infantry stood by their stacked + muskets in the Piazza del Popolo, at one extremity of the course, and + before the palace of the Austrian embassy, at the other, and by the column + of Antoninus, midway between. Had that chained tiger-cat, the Roman + populace, shown only so much as the tip of his claws, the sabres would + have been flashing and the bullets whistling, in right earnest, among the + combatants who now pelted one another with mock sugar plums and wilted + flowers. + </p> + <p> + But, to do the Roman people justice, they were restrained by a better + safeguard than the sabre or the bayonet; it was their own gentle courtesy, + which imparted a sort of sacredness to the hereditary festival. At first + sight of a spectacle so fantastic and extravagant, a cool observer might + have imagined the whole town gone mad; but, in the end, he would see that + all this apparently unbounded license is kept strictly within a limit of + its own; he would admire a people who can so freely let loose their + mirthful propensities, while muzzling those fiercer ones that tend to + mischief. Everybody seemed lawless; nobody was rude. If any reveller + overstepped the mark, it was sure to be no Roman, but an Englishman or an + American; and even the rougher play of this Gothic race was still softened + by the insensible influence of a moral atmosphere more delicate, in some + respects, than we breathe at home. Not that, after all, we like the fine + Italian spirit better than our own; popular rudeness is sometimes the + symptom of rude moral health. But, where a Carnival is in question, it + would probably pass off more decorously, as well as more airily and + delightfully, in Rome, than in any Anglo-Saxon city. + </p> + <p> + When Kenyon emerged from a side lane into the Corso, the mirth was at its + height. Out of the seclusion of his own feelings, he looked forth at the + tapestried and damask-curtained palaces, the slow-moving double line of + carriages, and the motley maskers that swarmed on foot, as if he were + gazing through the iron lattice of a prison window. So remote from the + scene were his sympathies, that it affected him like a thin dream, through + the dim, extravagant material of which he could discern more substantial + objects, while too much under its control to start forth broad awake. Just + at that moment, too, there came another spectacle, making its way right + through the masquerading throng. + </p> + <p> + It was, first and foremost, a full band of martial music, reverberating, + in that narrow and confined though stately avenue, between the walls of + the lofty palaces, and roaring upward to the sky with melody so powerful + that it almost grew to discord. Next came a body of cavalry and mounted + gendarmes, with great display of military pomp. They were escorting a long + train of equipages, each and all of which shone as gorgeously as + Cinderella’s coach, with paint and gilding. Like that, too, they were + provided with coachmen of mighty breadth, and enormously tall footmen, in + immense powdered wigs, and all the splendor of gold-laced, three cornered + hats, and embroidered silk coats and breeches. By the old-fashioned + magnificence of this procession, it might worthily have included his + Holiness in person, with a suite of attendant Cardinals, if those sacred + dignitaries would kindly have lent their aid to heighten the frolic of the + Carnival. But, for all its show of a martial escort, and its antique + splendor of costume, it was but a train of the municipal authorities of + Rome,—illusive shadows, every one, and among them a phantom, styled + the Roman Senator,—proceeding to the Capitol. + </p> + <p> + The riotous interchange of nosegays and confetti was partially suspended, + while the procession passed. One well-directed shot, however,—it was + a double handful of powdered lime, flung by an impious New Englander,—hit + the coachman of the Roman Senator full in the face, and hurt his dignity + amazingly. It appeared to be his opinion that the Republic was again + crumbling into ruin, and that the dust of it now filled his nostrils; + though, in fact, it would hardly be distinguished from the official powder + with which he was already plentifully bestrewn. + </p> + <p> + While the sculptor, with his dreamy eyes, was taking idle note of this + trifling circumstance, two figures passed before him, hand in hand. The + countenance of each was covered with an impenetrable black mask; but one + seemed a peasant of the Campagna; the other, a contadina in her holiday + costume. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0026" id="link2HCH0026"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XLIX + </h2> + <h3> + A FROLIC OF THE CARNIVAL + </h3> + <p> + The crowd and confusion, just at that moment, hindered the sculptor from + pursuing these figures,—the peasant and contadina,—who, + indeed, were but two of a numerous tribe that thronged the Corso, in + similar costume. As soon as he could squeeze a passage, Kenyon tried to + follow in their footsteps, but quickly lost sight of them, and was thrown + off the track by stopping to examine various groups of masqueraders, in + which he fancied the objects of his search to be included. He found many a + sallow peasant or herdsman of the Campagna, in such a dress as Donatello + wore; many a contadina, too, brown, broad, and sturdy, in her finery of + scarlet, and decked out with gold or coral beads, a pair of heavy + earrings, a curiously wrought cameo or mosaic brooch, and a silver comb or + long stiletto among her glossy hair. But those shapes of grace and beauty + which he sought had vanished. + </p> + <p> + As soon as the procession of the Senator had passed, the merry-makers + resumed their antics with fresh spirit, and the artillery of bouquets and + sugar plums, suspended for a moment, began anew. The sculptor himself, + being probably the most anxious and unquiet spectator there, was + especially a mark for missiles from all quarters, and for the practical + jokes which the license of the Carnival permits. In fact, his sad and + contracted brow so ill accorded with the scene, that the revellers might + be pardoned for thus using him as the butt of their idle mirth, since he + evidently could not otherwise contribute to it. + </p> + <p> + Fantastic figures, with bulbous heads, the circumference of a bushel, + grinned enormously in his face. Harlequins struck him with their wooden + swords, and appeared to expect his immediate transformation into some + jollier shape. A little, long-tailed, horned fiend sidled up to him and + suddenly blew at him through a tube, enveloping our poor friend in a whole + harvest of winged seeds. A biped, with an ass’s snout, brayed close to his + ear, ending his discordant uproar with a peal of human laughter. Five + strapping damsels—so, at least, their petticoats bespoke them, in + spite of an awful freedom in the flourish of their legs—joined + hands, and danced around him, inviting him by their gestures to perform a + hornpipe in the midst. Released from these gay persecutors, a clown in + motley rapped him on the back with a blown bladder, in which a handful of + dried peas rattled horribly. + </p> + <p> + Unquestionably, a care-stricken mortal has no business abroad, when the + rest of mankind are at high carnival; they must either pelt him and + absolutely martyr him with jests, and finally bury him beneath the + aggregate heap; or else the potency of his darker mood, because the tissue + of human life takes a sad dye more readily than a gay one, will quell + their holiday humors, like the aspect of a death’s-head at a banquet. Only + that we know Kenyon’s errand, we could hardly forgive him for venturing + into the Corso with that troubled face. + </p> + <p> + Even yet, his merry martyrdom was not half over. There came along a + gigantic female figure, seven feet high, at least, and taking up a third + of the street’s breadth with the preposterously swelling sphere of her + crinoline skirts. Singling out the sculptor, she began to make a ponderous + assault upon his heart, throwing amorous glances at him out of her great + goggle eyes, offering him a vast bouquet of sunflowers and nettles, and + soliciting his pity by all sorts of pathetic and passionate dumb-show. Her + suit meeting no favor, the rejected Titaness made a gesture of despair and + rage; then suddenly drawing a huge pistol, she took aim right at the + obdurate sculptor’s breast, and pulled the trigger. The shot took effect, + for the abominable plaything went off by a spring, like a boy’s popgun, + covering Kenyon with a cloud of lime dust, under shelter of which the + revengeful damsel strode away. + </p> + <p> + Hereupon, a whole host of absurd figures surrounded him, pretending to + sympathize in his mishap. Clowns and party-colored harlequins; + orang-outangs; bear-headed, bull-headed, and dog-headed individuals; faces + that would have been human, but for their enormous noses; one terrific + creature, with a visage right in the centre of his breast; and all other + imaginable kinds of monstrosity and exaggeration. These apparitions + appeared to be investigating the case, after the fashion of a coroner’s + jury, poking their pasteboard countenances close to the sculptor’s with an + unchangeable grin, that gave still more ludicrous effect to the comic + alarm and sorrow of their gestures. Just then, a figure came by, in a gray + wig and rusty gown, with an inkhorn at his buttonhole and a pen behind his + ear; he announced himself as a notary, and offered to make the last will + and testament of the assassinated man. This solemn duty, however, was + interrupted by a surgeon, who brandished a lancet, three feet long, and + proposed to him to let him take blood. + </p> + <p> + The affair was so like a feverish dream, that Kenyon resigned himself to + let it take its course. Fortunately the humors of the Carnival pass from + one absurdity to another, without lingering long enough on any, to wear + out even the slightest of them. The passiveness of his demeanor afforded + too little scope for such broad merriment as the masqueraders sought. In a + few moments they vanished from him, as dreams and spectres do, leaving him + at liberty to pursue his quest, with no impediment except the crowd that + blocked up the footway. + </p> + <p> + He had not gone far when the peasant and the contadina met him. They were + still hand in hand, and appeared to be straying through the grotesque and + animated scene, taking as little part in it as himself. It might be + because he recognized them, and knew their solemn secret, that the + sculptor fancied a melancholy emotion to be expressed by the very movement + and attitudes of these two figures; and even the grasp of their hands, + uniting them so closely, seemed to set them in a sad remoteness from the + world at which they gazed. + </p> + <p> + “I rejoice to meet you,” said Kenyon. But they looked at him through the + eye-holes of their black masks, without answering a word. + </p> + <p> + “Pray give me a little light on the matter which I have so much at heart,” + said he; “if you know anything of Hilda, for Heaven’s sake, speak!” + </p> + <p> + Still they were silent; and the sculptor began to imagine that he must + have mistaken the identity of these figures, there being such a multitude + in similar costume. Yet there was no other Donatello, no other Miriam. He + felt, too, that spiritual certainty which impresses us with the presence + of our friends, apart from any testimony of the senses. + </p> + <p> + “You are unkind,” resumed he,—“knowing the anxiety which oppresses + me, —not to relieve it, if in your power.” + </p> + <p> + The reproach evidently had its effect; for the contadina now spoke, and it + was Miriam’s voice. + </p> + <p> + “We gave you all the light we could,” said she. “You are yourself unkind, + though you little think how much so, to come between us at this hour. + There may be a sacred hour, even in carnival time.” + </p> + <p> + In another state of mind, Kenyon could have been amused by the + impulsiveness of this response, and a sort of vivacity that he had often + noted in Miriam’s conversation. But he was conscious of a profound sadness + in her tone, overpowering its momentary irritation, and assuring him that + a pale, tear-stained face was hidden behind her mask. + </p> + <p> + “Forgive me!” said he. + </p> + <p> + Donatello here extended his hand,—not that which was clasping + Miriam’s,—and she, too, put her free one into the sculptor’s left; + so that they were a linked circle of three, with many reminiscences and + forebodings flashing through their hearts. Kenyon knew intuitively that + these once familiar friends were parting with him now. + </p> + <p> + “Farewell!” they all three said, in the same breath. + </p> + <p> + No sooner was the word spoken, than they loosed their hands; and the + uproar of the Carnival swept like a tempestuous sea over the spot which + they had included within their small circle of isolated feeling. + </p> + <p> + By this interview, the sculptor had learned nothing in reference to Hilda; + but he understood that he was to adhere to the instructions already + received, and await a solution of the mystery in some mode that he could + not yet anticipate. Passing his hands over his eyes, and looking about + him,—for the event just described had made the scene even more + dreamlike than before,—he now found himself approaching that broad + piazza bordering on the Corso, which has for its central object the + sculptured column of Antoninus. It was not far from this vicinity that + Miriam had bid him wait. Struggling onward as fast as the tide of + merrymakers, setting strong against him, would permit, he was now beyond + the Palazzo Colonna, and began to count the houses. The fifth was a + palace, with a long front upon the Corso, and of stately height, but + somewhat grim with age. + </p> + <p> + Over its arched and pillared entrance there was a balcony, richly hung + with tapestry and damask, and tenanted, for the time, by a gentleman of + venerable aspect and a group of ladies. The white hair and whiskers of the + former, and the winter roses in his cheeks, had an English look; the + ladies, too, showed a fair-haired Saxon bloom, and seemed to taste the + mirth of the Carnival with the freshness of spectators to whom the scene + was new. All the party, the old gentleman with grave earnestness, as if he + were defending a rampart, and his young companions with exuberance of + frolic, showered confetti inexhaustibly upon the passers-by. + </p> + <p> + In the rear of the balcony, a broad-brimmed, ecclesiastical beaver was + visible. An abbate, probably an acquaintance and cicerone of the English + family, was sitting there, and enjoying the scene, though partially + withdrawn from view, as the decorum for his order dictated. + </p> + <p> + There seemed no better nor other course for Kenyon than to keep watch at + this appointed spot, waiting for whatever should happen next. Clasping his + arm round a lamp-post, to prevent being carried away by the turbulent + stream of wayfarers, he scrutinized every face, with the idea that some + one of them might meet his eyes with a glance of intelligence. He looked + at each mask,—harlequin, ape, bulbous-headed monster, or anything + that was absurdest,—not knowing but that the messenger might come, + even in such fantastic guise. Or perhaps one of those quaint figures, in + the stately ruff, the cloak, tunic, and trunk-hose of three centuries ago, + might bring him tidings of Hilda, out of that long-past age. At times his + disquietude took a hopeful aspect; and he fancied that Hilda might come + by, her own sweet self, in some shy disguise which the instinct Of his + love would be sure to penetrate. Or, she might be borne past on a + triumphal car, like the one just now approaching, its slow-moving wheels + encircled and spoked with foliage, and drawn by horses, that were + harnessed and wreathed with flowers. Being, at best, so far beyond the + bounds of reasonable conjecture, he might anticipate the wildest event, or + find either his hopes or fears disappointed in what appeared most + probable. + </p> + <p> + The old Englishman and his daughters, in the opposite balcony, must have + seen something unutterably absurd in the sculptor’s deportment, poring + into this whirlpool of nonsense so earnestly, in quest of what was to make + his life dark or bright. Earnest people, who try to get a reality out of + human existence, are necessarily absurd in the view of the revellers and + masqueraders. At all events, after a good deal of mirth at the expense of + his melancholy visage, the fair occupants of the balcony favored Kenyon + with a salvo of confetti, which came rattling about him like a hailstorm. + Looking up instinctively, he was surprised to see the abbate in the + background lean forward and give a courteous sign of recognition. + </p> + <p> + It was the same old priest with whom he had seen Hilda, at the + confessional; the same with whom he had talked of her disappearance on + meeting him in the street. + </p> + <p> + Yet, whatever might be the reason, Kenyon did not now associate this + ecclesiastical personage with the idea of Hilda. His eyes lighted on the + old man, just for an instant, and then returned to the eddying throng of + the Corso, on his minute scrutiny of which depended, for aught he knew, + the sole chance of ever finding any trace of her. There was, about this + moment, a bustle on the other side of the street, the cause of which + Kenyon did not see, nor exert himself to discover. A small party of + soldiers or gendarmes appeared to be concerned in it; they were perhaps + arresting some disorderly character, who, under the influence of an extra + flask of wine, might have reeled across the mystic limitation of carnival + proprieties. + </p> + <p> + The sculptor heard some people near him talking of the incident. + </p> + <p> + “That contadina, in a black mask, was a fine figure of a woman.” + </p> + <p> + “She was not amiss,” replied a female voice; “but her companion was far + the handsomer figure of the two. Could they be really a peasant and a + contadina, do you imagine?” + </p> + <p> + “No, no,” said the other. “It is some frolic of the Carnival, carried a + little too far.” + </p> + <p> + This conversation might have excited Kenyon’s interest; only that, just as + the last words were spoken, he was hit by two missiles, both of a kind + that were flying abundantly on that gay battlefield. One, we are ashamed + to say, was a cauliflower, which, flung by a young man from a passing + carriage, came with a prodigious thump against his shoulder; the other was + a single rosebud, so fresh that it seemed that moment gathered. It flew + from the opposite balcony, smote gently on his lips, and fell into his + hand. He looked upward, and beheld the face of his lost Hilda! + </p> + <p> + She was dressed in a white domino, and looked pale and bewildered, and yet + full of tender joy. Moreover, there was a gleam of delicate mirthfulness + in her eyes, which the sculptor had seen there only two or three times in + the course of their acquaintance, but thought it the most bewitching and + fairylike of all Hilda’s expressions. That soft, mirthful smile caused her + to melt, as it were, into the wild frolic of the Carnival, and become not + so strange and alien to the scene, as her unexpected apparition must + otherwise have made her. + </p> + <p> + Meanwhile, the venerable Englishman and his daughters were staring at poor + Hilda in a way that proved them altogether astonished, as well as + inexpressibly shocked, by her sudden intrusion into their private balcony. + They looked,—as, indeed, English people of respectability would, if + an angel were to alight in their circle, without due introduction from + somebody whom they knew, in the court above,—they looked as if an + unpardonable liberty had been taken, and a suitable apology must be made; + after which, the intruder would be expected to withdraw. + </p> + <p> + The abbate, however, drew the old gentleman aside, and whispered a few + words that served to mollify him; he bestowed on Hilda a sufficiently + benignant, though still a perplexed and questioning regard, and invited + her, in dumb-show, to put herself at her ease. + </p> + <p> + But, whoever was in fault, our shy and gentle Hilda had dreamed of no + intrusion. Whence she had come, or where she had been hidden, during this + mysterious interval, we can but imperfectly surmise, and do not mean, at + present, to make it a matter of formal explanation with the reader. It is + better, perhaps, to fancy that she had been snatched away to a land of + picture; that she had been straying with Claude in the golden light which + he used to shed over his landscapes, but which he could never have beheld + with his waking eyes till he awoke in the better clime. We will imagine + that, for the sake of the true simplicity with which she loved them, Hilda + had been permitted, for a season, to converse with the great, departed + masters of the pencil, and behold the diviner works which they have + painted in heavenly colors. Guido had shown her another portrait of + Beatrice Cenci, done from the celestial life, in which that forlorn + mystery of the earthly countenance was exchanged for a radiant joy. + Perugino had allowed her a glimpse at his easel, on which she discerned + what seemed a woman’s face, but so divine, by the very depth and softness + of its womanhood, that a gush of happy tears blinded the maiden’s eyes + before she had time to look. Raphael had taken Hilda by the hand, that + fine, forcible hand which Kenyon sculptured,—and drawn aside the + curtain of gold-fringed cloud that hung before his latest masterpiece. On + earth, Raphael painted the Transfiguration. What higher scene may he have + since depicted, not from imagination, but as revealed to his actual sight! + </p> + <p> + Neither will we retrace the steps by which she returned to the actual + world. For the present, be it enough to say that Hilda had been summoned + forth from a secret place, and led we know not through what mysterious + passages, to a point where the tumult of life burst suddenly upon her + ears. She heard the tramp of footsteps, the rattle of wheels, and the + mingled hum of a multitude of voices, with strains of music and loud + laughter breaking through. Emerging into a great, gloomy hall, a curtain + was drawn aside; she found herself gently propelled into an open balcony, + whence she looked out upon the festal street, with gay tapestries + flaunting over all the palace fronts, the windows thronged with merry + faces, and a crowd of maskers rioting upon the pavement below. + </p> + <p> + Immediately she seemed to become a portion of the scene. Her pale, + large-eyed, fragile beauty, her wondering aspect and bewildered grace, + attracted the gaze of many; and there fell around her a shower of bouquets + and bonbons—freshest blossoms and sweetest sugar plums, sweets to + the sweet—such as the revellers of the Carnival reserve as tributes + to especial loveliness. Hilda pressed her hand across her brow; she let + her eyelids fall, and, lifting them again, looked through the grotesque + and gorgeous show, the chaos of mad jollity, in quest of some object by + which she might assure herself that the whole spectacle was not an + illusion. + </p> + <p> + Beneath the balcony, she recognized a familiar and fondly remembered face. + The spirit of the hour and the scene exercised its influence over her + quick and sensitive nature; she caught up one of the rosebuds that had + been showered upon her, and aimed it at the sculptor; It hit the mark; he + turned his sad eyes upward, and there was Hilda, in whose gentle presence + his own secret sorrow and the obtrusive uproar of the Carnival alike died + away from his perception. + </p> + <p> + That night, the lamp beneath the Virgin’s shrine burned as brightly as if + it had never been extinguished; and though the one faithful dove had gone + to her melancholy perch, she greeted Hilda rapturously the next morning, + and summoned her less constant companions, whithersoever they had flown, + to renew their homage. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0027" id="link2HCH0027"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER L + </h2> + <h3> + MIRIAM, HILDA, KENYON, DONATELLO + </h3> + <p> + The gentle reader, we trust, would not thank us for one of those minute + elucidations, which are so tedious, and, after all, so unsatisfactory, in + clearing up the romantic mysteries of a story. He is too wise to insist + upon looking closely at the wrong side of the tapestry, after the right + one has been sufficiently displayed to him, woven with the best of the + artist’s skill, and cunningly arranged with a view to the harmonious + exhibition of its colors. If any brilliant, or beautiful, or even + tolerable effect have been produced, this pattern of kindly readers will + accept it at its worth, without tearing its web apart, with the idle + purpose of discovering how the threads have been knit together; for the + sagacity by which he is distinguished will long ago have taught him that + any narrative of human action and adventure whether we call it history or + romance—is certain to be a fragile handiwork, more easily rent than + mended. The actual experience of even the most ordinary life is full of + events that never explain themselves, either as regards their origin or + their tendency. + </p> + <p> + It would be easy, from conversations which we have held with the sculptor, + to suggest a clew to the mystery of Hilda’s disappearance; although, as + long as she remained in Italy, there was a remarkable reserve in her + communications upon this subject, even to her most intimate friends. + Either a pledge of secrecy had been exacted, or a prudential motive warned + her not to reveal the stratagems of a religious body, or the secret acts + of a despotic government—whichever might be responsible in the + present instance—while still within the scope of their jurisdiction. + Possibly, she might not herself be fully aware what power had laid its + grasp upon her person. What has chiefly perplexed us, however, among + Hilda’s adventures, is the mode of her release, in which some inscrutable + tyranny or other seemed to take part in the frolic of the Carnival. We can + only account for it, by supposing that the fitful and fantastic + imagination of a woman—sportive, because she must otherwise be + desperate—had arranged this incident, and made it the condition of a + step which her conscience, or the conscience of another, required her to + take. + </p> + <p> + A few days after Hilda’s reappearance, she and the sculptor were straying + together through the streets of Rome. Being deep in talk, it so happened + that they found themselves near the majestic, pillared portico, and huge, + black rotundity of the Pantheon. It stands almost at the central point of + the labyrinthine intricacies of the modern city, and often presents itself + before the bewildered stranger, when he is in search of other objects. + Hilda, looking up, proposed that they should enter. + </p> + <p> + “I never pass it without going in,” she said, “to pay my homage at the + tomb of Raphael.” + </p> + <p> + “Nor I,” said Kenyon, “without stopping to admire the noblest edifice + which the barbarism of the early ages, and the more barbarous pontiffs and + princes of later ones, have spared to us.” + </p> + <p> + They went in accordingly, and stood in the free space of that great + circle, around which are ranged the arched recesses and stately altars, + formerly dedicated to heathen gods, but Christianized through twelve + centuries gone by. The world has nothing else like the Pantheon. So grand + it is, that the pasteboard statues over the lofty cornice do not disturb + the effect, any more than the tin crowns and hearts, the dusty artificial + flowers, and all manner of trumpery gew-gaws, hanging at the saintly + shrines. The rust and dinginess that have dimmed the precious marble on + the walls; the pavement, with its great squares and rounds of porphyry and + granite, cracked crosswise and in a hundred directions, showing how + roughly the troublesome ages have trampled here; the gray dome above, with + its opening to the sky, as if heaven were looking down into the interior + of this place of worship, left unimpeded for prayers to ascend the more + freely; all these things make an impression of solemnity, which St. + Peter’s itself fails to produce. + </p> + <p> + “I think,” said the sculptor, “it is to the aperture in the dome—that + great Eye, gazing heavenward that the Pantheon owes the peculiarity of its + effect. It is so heathenish, as it were,—so unlike all the snugness + of our modern civilization! Look, too, at the pavement, directly beneath + the open space! So much rain has fallen there, in the last two thousand + years, that it is green with small, fine moss, such as grows over + tombstones in a damp English churchyard.” + </p> + <p> + “I like better,” replied Hilda, “to look at the bright, blue sky, roofing + the edifice where the builders left it open. It is very delightful, in a + breezy day, to see the masses of white cloud float over the opening, and + then the sunshine fall through it again, fitfully, as it does now. Would + it be any wonder if we were to see angels hovering there, partly in and + partly out, with genial, heavenly faces, not intercepting the light, but + only transmuting it into beautiful colors? Look at that broad, golden beam—a + sloping cataract of sunlight—which comes down from the aperture and + rests upon the shrine, at the right hand of the entrance!” + </p> + <p> + “There is a dusky picture over that altar,” observed the sculptor. “Let us + go and see if this strong illumination brings out any merit in it.” + </p> + <p> + Approaching the shrine, they found the picture little worth looking at, + but could not forbear smiling, to see that a very plump and comfortable + tabby-cat—whom we ourselves have often observed haunting the + Pantheon—had established herself on the altar, in the genial + sunbeam, and was fast asleep among the holy tapers. Their footsteps + disturbing her, she awoke, raised herself, and sat blinking in the sun, + yet with a certain dignity and self-possession, as if conscious of + representing a saint. + </p> + <p> + “I presume,” remarked Kenyon, “that this is the first of the feline race + that has ever set herself up as an object of worship, in the Pantheon or + elsewhere, since the days of ancient Egypt. See; there is a peasant from + the neighboring market, actually kneeling to her! She seems a gracious and + benignant saint enough.” + </p> + <p> + “Do not make me laugh,” said Hilda reproachfully, “but help me to drive + the creature away. It distresses me to see that poor man, or any human + being, directing his prayers so much amiss.” + </p> + <p> + “Then, Hilda,” answered the sculptor more seriously, “the only Place in + the Pantheon for you and me to kneel is on the pavement beneath the + central aperture. If we pray at a saint’s shrine, we shall give utterance + to earthly wishes; but if we pray face to face with the Deity, we shall + feel it impious to petition for aught that is narrow and selfish. Methinks + it is this that makes the Catholics so delight in the worship of saints; + they can bring up all their little worldly wants and whims, their + individualities and human weaknesses, not as things to be repented of, but + to be humored by the canonized humanity to which they pray. Indeed, it is + very tempting!” + </p> + <p> + What Hilda might have answered must be left to conjecture; for as she + turned from the shrine, her eyes were attracted to the figure of a female + penitent, kneeling on the pavement just beneath the great central eye, in + the very spot which Kenyon had designated as the only one whence prayers + should ascend. The upturned face was invisible, behind a veil or mask, + which formed a part of the garb. + </p> + <p> + “It cannot be!” whispered Hilda, with emotion. “No; it cannot be!” + </p> + <p> + “What disturbs you?” asked Kenyon. “Why do you tremble so?” + </p> + <p> + “If it were possible,” she replied, “I should fancy that kneeling figure + to be Miriam!” + </p> + <p> + “As you say, it is impossible,” rejoined the sculptor; “We know too well + what has befallen both her and Donatello.” “Yes; it is impossible!” + repeated Hilda. Her voice was still tremulous, however, and she seemed + unable to withdraw her attention from the kneeling figure. Suddenly, and + as if the idea of Miriam had opened the whole volume of Hilda’s + reminiscences, she put this question to the sculptor: “Was Donatello + really a Faun?” + </p> + <p> + “If you had ever studied the pedigree of the far-descended heir of Monte + Beni, as I did,” answered Kenyon, with an irrepressible smile, “you would + have retained few doubts on that point. Faun or not, he had a genial + nature, which, had the rest of mankind been in accordance with it, would + have made earth a paradise to our poor friend. It seems the moral of his + story, that human beings of Donatello’s character, compounded especially + for happiness, have no longer any business on earth, or elsewhere. Life + has grown so sadly serious, that such men must change their nature, or + else perish, like the antediluvian creatures that required, as the + condition of their existence, a more summer-like atmosphere than ours.” + </p> + <p> + “I will not accept your moral!” replied the hopeful and happy-natured + Hilda. + </p> + <p> + “Then here is another; take your choice!” said the sculptor, remembering + what Miriam had recently suggested, in reference to the same point. “He + perpetrated a great crime; and his remorse, gnawing into his soul, has + awakened it; developing a thousand high capabilities, moral and + intellectual, which we never should have dreamed of asking for, within the + scanty compass of the Donatello whom we knew.” + </p> + <p> + “I know not whether this is so,” said Hilda. “But what then?” + </p> + <p> + “Here comes my perplexity,” continued Kenyon. “Sin has educated Donatello, + and elevated him. Is sin, then,—which we deem such a dreadful + blackness in the universe,—is it, like sorrow, merely an element of + human education, through which we struggle to a higher and purer state + than we could otherwise have attained? Did Adam fall, that we might + ultimately rise to a far loftier paradise than his?” “O hush!” cried + Hilda, shrinking from him with an expression of horror which wounded the + poor, speculative sculptor to the soul. “This is terrible; and I could + weep for you, if you indeed believe it. Do not you perceive what a mockery + your creed makes, not only of all religious sentiments, but of moral law? + And how it annuls and obliterates whatever precepts of Heaven are written + deepest within us? You have shocked me beyond words!” + </p> + <p> + “Forgive me, Hilda!” exclaimed the sculptor, startled by her agitation; “I + never did believe it! But the mind wanders wild and wide; and, so lonely + as I live and work, I have neither pole-star above nor light of cottage + windows here below, to bring me home. Were you my guide, my counsellor, my + inmost friend, with that white wisdom which clothes you as a celestial + garment, all would go well. O Hilda, guide me home!” + </p> + <p> + “We are both lonely; both far from home!” said Hilda, her eyes filling + with tears. “I am a poor, weak girl, and have no such wisdom as you fancy + in me.” + </p> + <p> + What further may have passed between these lovers, while standing before + the pillared shrine, and the marble Madonna that marks Raphael’s tomb; + whither they had now wandered, we are unable to record. But when the + kneeling figure beneath the open eye of the Pantheon arose, she looked + towards the pair and extended her hands with a gesture of benediction. + Then they knew that it was Miriam. They suffered her to glide out of the + portal, however, without a greeting; for those extended hands, even while + they blessed, seemed to repel, as if Miriam stood on the other side of a + fathomless abyss, and warned them from its verge. + </p> + <p> + So Kenyon won the gentle Hilda’s shy affection, and her consent to be his + bride. Another hand must henceforth trim the lamp before the Virgin’s + shrine; for Hilda was coming down from her old tower, to be herself + enshrined and worshipped as a household saint, in the light of her + husband’s fireside. And, now that life had so much human promise in it, + they resolved to go back to their own land; because the years, after all, + have a kind of emptiness, when we spend too many of them on a foreign + shore. We defer the reality of life, in such cases, until a future moment, + when we shall again breathe our native air; but, by and by, there are no + future moments; or, if we do return, we find that the native air has lost + its invigorating quality, and that life has shifted its reality to the + spot where we have deemed ourselves only temporary residents. Thus, + between two countries, we have none at all, or only that little space of + either in which we finally lay down our discontented bones. It is wise, + therefore, to come back betimes, or never. + </p> + <p> + Before they quitted Rome, a bridal gift was laid on Hilda’s table. It was + a bracelet, evidently of great cost, being composed of seven ancient + Etruscan gems, dug out of seven sepulchres, and each one of them the + signet of some princely personage, who had lived an immemorial time ago. + Hilda remembered this precious ornament. It had been Miriam’s; and once, + with the exuberance of fancy that distinguished her, she had amused + herself with telling a mythical and magic legend for each gem, comprising + the imaginary adventures and catastrophe of its former wearer. Thus the + Etruscan bracelet became the connecting bond of a series of seven wondrous + tales, all of which, as they were dug out of seven sepulchres, were + characterized by a sevenfold sepulchral gloom; such as Miriam’s + imagination, shadowed by her own misfortunes, was wont to fling over its + most sportive flights. + </p> + <p> + And now, happy as Hilda was, the bracelet brought the tears into her eyes, + as being, in its entire circle, the symbol of as sad a mystery as any that + Miriam had attached to the separate gems. For, what was Miriam’s life to + be? And where was Donatello? But Hilda had a hopeful soul, and saw + sunlight on the mountain-tops. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_CONC" id="link2H_CONC"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CONCLUSION + </h2> + <p> + There comes to the author, from many readers of the foregoing pages, a + demand for further elucidations respecting the mysteries of the story. + </p> + <p> + He reluctantly avails himself of the opportunity afforded by a new + edition, to explain such incidents and passages as may have been left too + much in the dark; reluctantly, he repeats, because the necessity makes him + sensible that he can have succeeded but imperfectly, at best, in throwing + about this Romance the kind of atmosphere essential to the effect at which + he aimed. + </p> + <p> + He designed the story and the characters to bear, of course, a certain + relation to human nature and human life, but still to be so artfully and + airily removed from our mundane sphere, that some laws and proprieties of + their own should be implicitly and insensibly acknowledged. + </p> + <p> + The idea of the modern Faun, for example, loses all the poetry and beauty + which the Author fancied in it, and becomes nothing better than a + grotesque absurdity, if we bring it into the actual light of day. He had + hoped to mystify this anomalous creature between the Real and the + Fantastic, in such a manner that the reader’s sympathies might be excited + to a certain pleasurable degree, without impelling him to ask how Cuvier + would have classified poor Donatello, or to insist upon being told, in so + many words, whether he had furry ears or no. As respects all who ask such + questions, the book is, to that extent, a failure. + </p> + <p> + Nevertheless, the Author fortunately has it in his power to throw light + upon several matters in which some of his readers appear to feel an + interest. To confess the truth, he was himself troubled with a curiosity + similar to that which he has just deprecated on the part of his readers, + and once took occasion to cross-examine his friends, Hilda and the + sculptor, and to pry into several dark recesses of the story, with which + they had heretofore imperfectly acquainted him. + </p> + <p> + We three had climbed to the top of St. Peter’s, and were looking down upon + the Rome we were soon to leave, but which (having already sinned + sufficiently in that way) it is not my purpose further to describe. It + occurred to me, that, being so remote in the upper air, my friends might + safely utter here the secrets which it would be perilous even to whisper + on lower earth. + </p> + <p> + “Hilda,” I began, “can you tell me the contents of that mysterious packet + which Miriam entrusted to your charge, and which was addressed to Signore + Luca Barboni, at the Palazzo Cenci?” + </p> + <p> + “I never had any further knowledge of it,” replied Hilda, “nor felt it + right to let myself be curious upon the subject.” + </p> + <p> + “As to its precise contents,” interposed Kenyon, “it is impossible to + speak. But Miriam, isolated as she seemed, had family connections in Rome, + one of whom, there is reason to believe, occupied a position in the papal + government. + </p> + <p> + “This Signore Luca Barboni was either the assumed name of the personage in + question, or the medium of communication between that individual and + Miriam. Now, under such a government as that of Rome, it is obvious that + Miriam’s privacy and isolated life could only be maintained through the + connivance and support of some influential person connected with the + administration of affairs. Free and self-controlled as she appeared, her + every movement was watched and investigated far more thoroughly by the + priestly rulers than by her dearest friends. + </p> + <p> + “Miriam, if I mistake not, had a purpose to withdraw herself from this + irksome scrutiny, and to seek real obscurity in another land; and the + packet, to be delivered long after her departure, contained a reference to + this design, besides certain family documents, which were to be imparted + to her relative as from one dead and gone.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, it is clear as a London fog,” I remarked. “On this head no further + elucidation can be desired. But when Hilda went quietly to deliver the + packet, why did she so mysteriously vanish?” + </p> + <p> + “You must recollect,” replied Kenyon, with a glance of friendly + commiseration at my obtuseness, “that Miriam had utterly disappeared, + leaving no trace by which her whereabouts could be known. In the meantime, + the municipal authorities had become aware of the murder of the Capuchin; + and from many preceding circumstances, such as his persecution of Miriam, + they must have seen an obvious connection between herself and that + tragical event. Furthermore, there is reason to believe that Miriam was + suspected of connection with some plot, or political intrigue, of which + there may have been tokens in the packet. And when Hilda appeared as the + bearer of this missive, it was really quite a matter of course, under a + despotic government, that she should be detained.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, quite a matter of course, as you say,” answered I. “How excessively + stupid in me not to have seen it sooner! But there are other riddles. On + the night of the extinction of the lamp, you met Donatello, in a + penitent’s garb, and afterwards saw and spoke to Miriam, in a coach, with + a gem glowing on her bosom. What was the business of these two guilty ones + in Rome, and who was Miriam’s companion?” + </p> + <p> + “Who!” repeated Kenyon, “why, her official relative, to be sure; and as to + their business, Donatello’s still gnawing remorse had brought him + hitherward, in spite of Miriam’s entreaties, and kept him lingering in the + neighborhood of Rome, with the ultimate purpose of delivering himself up + to justice. Hilda’s disappearance, which took place the day before, was + known to them through a secret channel, and had brought them into the + city, where Miriam, as I surmise, began to make arrangements, even then, + for that sad frolic of the Carnival.” + </p> + <p> + “And where was Hilda all that dreary time between?” inquired I. + </p> + <p> + “Where were you, Hilda?” asked Kenyon, smiling. + </p> + <p> + Hilda threw her eyes on all sides, and seeing that there was not even a + bird of the air to fly away with the secret, nor any human being nearer + than the loiterers by the obelisk in the piazza below, she told us about + her mysterious abode. + </p> + <p> + “I was a prisoner in the Convent of the Sacre Coeur, in the Trinita de + Monte,” said she, “but in such kindly custody of pious maidens, and + watched over by such a dear old priest, that—had it not been for one + or two disturbing recollections, and also because I am a daughter of the + Puritans I could willingly have dwelt there forever. + </p> + <p> + “My entanglement with Miriam’s misfortunes, and the good abbate’s mistaken + hope of a proselyte, seem to me a sufficient clew to the whole mystery.” + </p> + <p> + “The atmosphere is getting delightfully lucid,” observed I, “but there are + one or two things that still puzzle me. Could you tell me—and it + shall be kept a profound secret, I assure you what were Miriam’s real name + and rank, and precisely the nature of the troubles that led to all those + direful consequences?” + </p> + <p> + “Is it possible that you need an answer to those questions?” exclaimed + Kenyon, with an aspect of vast surprise. “Have you not even surmised + Miriam’s name? Think awhile, and you will assuredly remember it. If not, I + congratulate you most sincerely; for it indicates that your feelings have + never been harrowed by one of the most dreadful and mysterious events that + have occurred within the present century!” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” resumed I, after an interval of deep consideration, “I have but + few things more to ask. Where, at this moment, is Donatello?” + </p> + <p> + “The Castle of Saint Angelo,” said Kenyon sadly, turning his face towards + that sepulchral fortress, “is no longer a prison; but there are others + which have dungeons as deep, and in one of them, I fear, lies our poor + Faun.” + </p> + <p> + “And why, then, is Miriam at large?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “Call it cruelty if you like, not mercy,” answered Kenyon. “But, after + all, her crime lay merely in a glance. She did no murder!” + </p> + <p> + “Only one question more,” said I, with intense earnestness. “Did + Donatello’s ears resemble those of the Faun of Praxiteles?” + </p> + <p> + “I know, but may not tell,” replied Kenyon, smiling mysteriously. “On that + point, at all events, there shall be not one word of explanation.” + </p> + <p> + Leamington, March 14, 1860. + </p> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg’s The Marble Faun, Volume II., by Nathaniel Hawthorne + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MARBLE FAUN, VOLUME II. *** + +***** This file should be named 2182-h.htm or 2182-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/1/8/2182/ + +Produced by Michael Pullen and David Widger + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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