Let me
Awake your love to my uncomforted brother.
OLD PLAY.
Meanwhile Villiers and his bride proceeded on their way to Naples. It
mattered little to Ethel whither they were going, or to whom. Edward was
all in all to her; and the vehicle that bore them along in their journey
was a complete and perfect world, containing all that her heart desired.
They avoided large towns, and every place where there was any chance of
meeting an acquaintance. They passed up the Rhine, and Ethel often
imaged forth, in her fancy, a dear home in a secluded nook; and longed
to remain there, cut off from the world, for ever. She had no thought
but for her husband, and gratitude to Heaven for the happiness showered
on her. Her soul might have been laid bare, each faculty examined, each
idea sifted, and one spirit, one sentiment, one love, would have been
found pervading and uniting them all. The heart of a man is seldom as
single and devoted as that of a woman. In the present instance, it was
natural that Edward should not be so absolutely given up to one thought
as was his bride. Ethel's affections had never been called forth except
by her father, and by him who was now her husband. When it has been
said, that she thought of heaven to hallow and bless her happiness, it
must be understood that the dead made a part of that heaven, to which
she turned her eyes with such sweet thankfulness. She was constant to
the first affection of her heart. She might be said to live perpetually
in thought beside her father's grave. Before she had wept and sorrowed
near it; now she placed the home of her happy married life close to the
sacred earth, and fancied that its mute inhabitant was the guardian
angel to watch over and preserve her.
Villiers had lived among many friends, and was warmly attached to
several. His cousin Horatio was dearer to him than any thing had ever
been, till he knew Ethel. Even now he revered him more, and felt a kind
of duteous attachment drawing him towards him. He wanted Horatio to see
and approve of Ethel:--not that he doubted what his opinion of her would
be; but the delight which his own adoration of her excellence imparted
to him would be doubled, when he saw it shared and confirmed by his
friend. Besides this, he was anxious to see Horace on his own account.
He wished to know whether he was happy in his marriage; whether Clorinda
were worthy of him; and if Lady Lodore were entirely forgotten. As they
advanced on their journey, his desire to see his cousin became more and
more present to his mind; and he talked of him to Ethel, and imparted to
her a portion of his fervent and affectionate feelings.
Entering Switzerland, they came into a world of snow. Here and there, on
the southern side of a mountain, a lawny upland might disclose itself in
summer verdure; and the brawling torrents, increased by the rains, were
not yet made silent by frost. Edward had visited these scenes before;
and he could act the guide to his enraptured Ethel, who remembered her
father's glowing descriptions; and while she gazed with breathless
admiration, saw his step among the hills, and thought that his eye had
rested on the wonders she now beheld. Soon the mountains, the
sky-seeking "palaces of nature," were passed, and they entered fair,
joyous Italy. At each step they left winter far behind. Ethel would
willingly have lingered in Florence and Rome; but once south of the
Appenines, Edward was eager to reach Naples; and the letters he got from
Saville spurred him on to yet greater speed.
Before leaving England, Lucy Saville had said to Ethel,--"You are now
taking our other comfort from us; and what we are to do without either
Horatio or Edward, I am unable to conjecture. We shall be like a house
without its props. Divided, they are not either of them half what they
were joined. Horace is so prudent, so wise, so considerate, so
sympathizing; Edward so active and so kind-hearted. In any difficulty,
we always asked Horace what we ought to do; and Edward did the thing
which he pointed out.
"Horatio's marriage was a sad blow to us all. You will bring Edward
back, and we shall be the happier for your being with him; but shall we
ever see our brother again?--or shall we only see him to lament the
change? Not that he can ever really alter; his heart, his understanding,
his goodness, are as firm as rock; but there is that about him which
makes him too much the slave of those he is in immediate contact with.
He abhors strife; the slightest disunion is mortal to him. He is not of
this world. Pure-minded as a woman, honourable as a knight of old, he is
more like a being we read of, and his match is not to be found upon
earth. Horatio never loved but once, and his attachment was unfortunate.
He loved Lady----" Here recollection dyed Miss Saville's cheeks with
crimson: she had forgotten that Lady Lodore was the mother of Ethel. After
a moment's hesitation she continued:--"I have no right to betray the
secrets of others. Horace was a discarded lover; and he was forced to
despise the lady whom he had imagined possessed of every excellence. For
the first time he was absorbed in what may be termed a selfish
sentiment. He could not bear to see any of us: he fled even from Edward,
and wandering away, we heard at last that he was at Naples, whither he
had gone quite unconscious of the spot of earth to which he was bending
his steps. The first letter we got from him was dated from that place.
His letter was to me; for I am his favourite sister; and God knows my
devoted affection, my worship of him, deserves this preference. You
shall read it; it is the most perfect specimen of enthusiastic and
heart-moving eloquence ever penned. He had been as in a trance, and
awoke again to life as he looked down from Pausilippo on the Bay of
Naples. The attachment to one earthly object, which preyed on his being,
was suddenly merged in one universal love and adoration. He saw that the
"creation was good;" he purged his heart at once of the black spot which
had blotted and marred its beauty; and opened his whole soul to pure,
elevated, heavenly love. I tamely quote his burning and transparent
expressions, through which you may discern, as in a glass, the glorious
excellence of his soul."
"But, alas! this state of holy excitement could not endure; something
human will still creep in to mingle with and sully our noblest
aspirations. Horatio was taken by an acquaintance to see a beautiful
girl at a convent; in a fatal moment an English lady said to him, 'Come,
and I will show you what perfect beauty is:' and those words decided my
poor brother's destiny. Of course I only know our new sister through his
letters. He told us that Clorinda was shut up in this convent through
the heartless vanity of her mother, who dreaded her as a rival, to wait
there till her parents should find some suitable match, which she must
instantly accept, or be doomed to seclusion for ever. In his younger
days Horace had said, 'I am in love with an idea, and therefore women
have no power over me.' But the time came when his heart was to be the
dupe of his imagination--so was it with his first love--so now, I fear,
did he deceive himself with regard to Clorinda. He declared indeed that
his love for her was not an absorbing passion like his first, but a
mingling of pity, admiration, and that tenderness which his warm heart
was ever ready to bestow. He described her as full of genius and
sensibility, a creature of fire and power, but dimmed by sorrow, and
struggling with her chains. He visited her again; he tried to comfort,
he offered to serve her. It was the first time that a manly, generous
spirit had ever presented itself to the desponding girl. The high-souled
Englishman appeared as a god beside her sordid countrymen; indeed,
Horatio would have seemed such compared with any of his sex; his
fascination is irresistible--Clorinda felt it; she loved him with
Italian fervour, and the first word of kindness from him elicited a
whole torrent of gratitude and passion. Horace had no wish to marry; his
old wound was by no means healed, but rather opened, and bled afresh,
when he was called upon to answer the enthusiastic ardour of the Italian
girl. He felt at once the difference of his feeling for her, and the
engrossing sentiment of which he had been nearly the victim. But he
could rescue her from an unworthy fate, and make her happy. He acted
with his usual determination and precipitancy, and within a month she
became his wife. Here ends my story; his letters were more concise after
his marriage. At first I attributed this to his having a new and dearer
friend, but latterly when he has written he has spoken with such
yearning fondness for home, that I fear--And then when I offered to
visit him, he negatived my proposition. How unlike Horatio! it can only
mean that his wife was averse to my coming. I have questioned slightly
any travellers from Italy. Mrs. Saville seldom appears in English
society except at balls, and then she is always surrounded by Italians.
She is decidedly correct in her conduct, but more I cannot tell. Her
letters to us are beautifully written, and of her talents, even her
genius, I do not entertain a doubt. Perhaps I am prejudiced, but I fear
a Neapolitan, or rather, I should say, I fear a convent education; and
that taste which leads her to associate with her own demonstrative,
unrefined countrymen, instead of trying to link herself to her husband's
friends. I may be wrong--I shall be glad to be found so. Will you tell
me whether I am? I rather ask you than Edward, because your feminine
eyes will discern the truth of these things quicker than he. Happy girl!
you are going to see Horatio--to find a new, gifted, fond friend; one as
superior to his fellow-creatures, as perfection is superior to frailty."
This account, remembered with more interest now that she approached the
subject of it, excited Ethel's curiosity, and she began, as they went on
their way from Rome to Naples, in a great degree to participate in
Edward's eagerness to see his cousin.