Volume Ii Part 8 (1/2)
”When I said ordinary, every-day people, don't mistake me; I meant only those who, from cla.s.s and condition, follow a peculiar ritual, and live after a certain rubric of fas.h.i.+on; and who, hiding themselves under a common garment, whose cut, colour, and mode are the same, are really undistinguishable, save on great and trying occasions.
”Kings, for instance! whom great diplomatic folks are supposed to see a great deal of, and know in all the terms of an easy intimacy.
”But how do we see them? In an armour of reserve and caution, never a.s.sumed to any one else. The ease you speak of is all a.s.sumed. It is the conventional politeness accorded to a certain station. Kings, so far as I have seen, are never really engaging, save to a great minister out of power. Then their manner a.s.sumes all its attractiveness; on the principle, perhaps, that Curran paid his homage to the antique Hercules,--that _his_ day might yet come uppermost, and he would not forget the friend who visited him in adversity.”
”Well, to come back, tell us a story. Let it be what you will, or of where and whom you please, so that it last while we are rowing homeward.
Monologue is always better than conversation by moonlight.
”But stay; what are the lights we see yonder, glancing from amid the trees? And there, now, see the bright blaze that has sprung up, and is reflected red and lurid on the lake below. It is a 'Festa' of the Church; for hear, the bells are ringing merrily from the mountain-top, and there go the people in procession, climbing the steep path towards the summit.”
Wonderful superst.i.tion! that has fas.h.i.+oned itself to every phase and form of human nature--now, sending its aid to the darkest impulses of pa.s.sion, as we see in Ireland--now, conforming to the most simple tastes of an unthinking people; for these peasants here are not imbued with the piety of the Church--they only love its gauds. It is to the Tyrol you must go to witness the real devotional feeling of a people.
”Well, shall I tell you a story?”
”No; I am weaving one, now, for myself!”
CHAPTER VI. _Villa Cimarosa, Lake of Como_
Gilbert reminds me that I had arranged my departure hence for to-morrow: this was some weeks back, and now I have no intention of leaving. I cling to this ”Happy Valley,” as one clings to life. To me it is indeed such. These days of suns.h.i.+ne and nights of starry brilliancy--this calm, delicious water--these purpled mountains, glowing with richer tints as day wears on, till at sunset they are one blaze of gorgeous splendour,--the very plash of those tiny waves upon the rocky sh.o.r.e are become to me like friendly sights and sounds, from which I cannot tear myself. And Lucy, too, she is to me as a sister, so full of kind, of watchful consideration about me; since her own health is so much restored, all her anxiety would seem for mine. How puzzling is the tone a.s.sumed by Sir Gordon towards me! It was only yesterday that, in speaking of his granddaughter, he expressed himself in such terms of grat.i.tude to me for the improvement manifest in her health, as though I had really been the main agent in effecting it. I, whose power has never been greater than a heart-cherished wish that one so fair, so beautiful, and so good, should live to grace and adorn the world she moves in! What a strange race, what a hard-fought struggle, has been going on within me for some time back! Ebbing life contesting with budding affection; the calm aspect of coming death dashed by feelings and thoughts--ay, even hopes I had believed long since at rest. I feel less that I love than that I should love, if life were to be granted to me.
I believe it is the pursuit that in most cases suggests the pa.s.sion; that the effort we may make to win exalts the object we wish to gain. Not so here, however. _If I do love_, it has been without any consciousness. It is so seldom that one who has never had a sister learns to know, in real intimacy, the whole heart and nature of a young and lovely girl, with all its emotions of ever-changing hue, its thousand caprices, its weakness, and its pride. To me this study--it has been a study--has given an inexpressible interest to my life here.
And then to watch how gradually, almost imperceptibly to herself, the discipline of her mind has been accomplished--checking wild flights of fancy here, restraining rash impulses there, encouraging reflection, conquering prejudices,--all these done without my bidding, and yet palpably through my influence; What pleasant flattery!
One distressing thought never leaves me. It is this,--how will a nature so attuned as hers stand the rude jars and discords of ”the world?”
for, do how we will, screen the object of affection how we may from its shocks and concussions, the stern realities of life will make themselves felt. Hers is too impa.s.sioned a nature to bear such reverses, as the most even current sustains, without injury. The very consciousness of being mistaken in our opinions of people is a sore lesson; it is the beginning of scepticism, to end--who can tell where?
She smiles whenever I lecture her upon any eccentricity of manner, and evidently deems my formalism, as she calls it, a relic of my early teaching. So, perhaps, it may be. No cla.s.s of people are so unforgiving to any thing like a peculiarity as your _Diplomates_. They know the value of the impa.s.sive bearing that reveals nothing, and they carry the reserve of office into all the relations of private life. She even quizzes me about this, and says that I remind her of the old Austrian envoy at Naples, who never ventured upon any thing more explicit than the two phrases--_C'est dure_, or _C'est sure_, ringing the changes of these upon every piece of news that reached him. How altered am I, if this judgment be correct! I, that was headstrong even to rashness, led by every impulse, precipitate in every thing, ready to resign all, and with one chance my favour to dare nine full against me!
But why wonder if I be so changed? How has life and every living object changed its aspect to my eyes, rendering distasteful a thousand things wherein I once took pleasure, and making of others that I deemed flat, stale, and unprofitable, the greatest charms of my existence? What close and searching scrutiny of motives creeps on with years! what distrust, and what suspicion! It is this same sentiment--the fruit of a hundred self-deceptions and disappointments--makes so many men, as they advance in life, abjure Liberalism in politics, and lean to the side of Absolute Rule. The ”Practical” exercises the only influence on the mind tempered by long experience; and the glorious tyranny of St. Peter's is infinitely preferable to the miscalled freedom of Popular Government.
The present Pope, however our Radical friends think of it, is no unworthy successor of Hildebrand; and however plausible be the a.s.sumed reforms in his States, the real thraldom, the great slavery, remains untouched! ”Hands Free, Souls Fettered,” is strange heraldry.
Why have these thoughts crept over me? I would rather dwell on very different themes; but already, far over the mountains westward, comes the distant sound of strife. The dark clouds that are hurrying over the lofty summit of Monte Brisbone are wafted from regions where armed hosts are gathering, and the cry of battle is heard; and Switzerland, whose war-trophies have been won from the invader, is about to be torn by civil strife. Even in my ride to-day towards Lugano, I met parties of peasants armed, and wearing the c.o.c.kade of Ticino in their hats, hastening towards Capo di Lago. The spectacle was a sad one; the field labours of the year, just begun, are already arrested; the plough is seen standing in the unfinished furrow, and the team is away to share the fortunes of its owners in the panoply of battle. These new-made soldiers, too, with all the loutish indifference of the peasant in their air, have none of the swaggering effrontery of regular troops, and consequently present more palpably to the eye the sufferings of a population given up to conscription and torn from their peaceful homes to scenes of carnage and bloodshed, and for what?--for an opinion? for even less than an opinion: for a suspicion--a mere doubt.
Who will be eager in this cause on either side? None, save those that never are to mingle in the contest. The firebrand Journalist of Geneva--the dark-intentioned Jesuit of Lucerne; these are they who will accept of no quarter, nor listen to one cry of mercy: such, at least, is the present aspect of the struggle. Lukewarmness, if not actual repugnance, among the soldiery; hatred supplying all the enthusiasm of those who hound them on.
The Howards are already uneasy at their vicinity to the seat of war, and speak of proceeding southward; yet they will not hear of my leaving them. I feel spell-bound, not only to them but to the very place itself; a presentiment is upon me, that, after this, life will have no pleasure left for me--that I go hence to solitude, to suffering, and to death!
A restless night, neither waking nor sleeping, but pa.s.sed in wild, strange fancies, of reality and fiction commingled; and now, I am feverish and ill. The struggle against failing health is at last become torture; for I feel--alas that I must say it!--the longing desire to live. Towards daybreak I did sleep, and soundly; but I dreamed too--and how happily! I fancied that I was suddenly restored to health, with all the light-heartedness and spring of former days, and returning with my bride to Walcott.
We were driving rapidly up the approach, catching glimpses at times of the old abbey--now a gable--now some richly traceried pinnacle--some quaint old chimney--some trellised porch. She was wild with delight, in ecstasy at the sylvan beauty of the scene: the dark and silent wood--the brown, clear river, beside the road--the cooing note of the wood-pigeon, all telling of our own rural England. ”Is not this better than ambition, love?” said I. ”Are not leafy groves, these moss-grown paths, more peaceful than the high-roads of fame?” I felt her hand grasp mine more closely, and I awoke--awoke to know that I was dreaming--that my happiness was but a vision--my future a mere mockery.
Why should not Lucy see these scenes? She will return well and in strength. I would that she would dwell, sometimes, at least, among the places I have loved so much. I have often thought of making her my heir.
I have none to claim from me--none who need it. There is one clause, however, she might object to, nay, perhaps, would certainly refuse. My grand-uncle's will makes it imperative that the property should always descend to a Templeton.
What if she rejected the condition? It would fall heavily on me were she to say ”No.”
I will speak to Sir Gordon about this. I must choose my time, however, and do it gravely and considerately, that he may not treat it as a mere sick man's fancy. Of course, I only intend that she should a.s.sume the name and arms; but this branch of the Howards are strong about pedigree, and call themselves older than the Norfolks.