AT one end of the terrace was situated the apartments of the
superintendent, at the other was the residence of a captain, with his
wife and son. When I saw any one appear from these buildings, I was in
the habit of approaching near, and was invariably received with marks of
courtesy and compassion.
The wife of the captain had been long ill, and appeared to be in a
decline. She was sometimes carried into the open air, and it was
astonishing to see the sympathy she expressed for our sufferings. She
had the sweetest look I ever saw; and though evidently timid, would at
times fix her eye upon me with an inquiring, confiding glance, when
appealed to by name. One day I observed to her with a smile, “Do you
know, signora, I find a resemblance between you and one who was very dear
to me.” She blushed, and replied with charming simplicity, “Do not then
forget me when I shall be no more; pray for my unhappy soul, and for the
little ones I leave behind me!” I never saw her after that day; she was
unable to rise from her bed, and in a few months I heard of her death.
She left three sons, all beautiful as cherubs, and one still an infant at
the breast. I had often seen the poor mother embrace them when I was by,
and say, with tears in her eyes, “Who will be their mother when I am
gone? Ah, whoever she may be, may it please the Father of all to inspire
her with love, even for children not her own.”
Often, when she was no more, did I embrace those fair children, shed a
tear over them, and invoke their mother’s blessing on them, in the same
words. Thoughts of my own mother, and of the prayers she so often
offered up for _her_ lost son, would then come over me, and I added, with
broken words and sighs, “Oh, happier mother than mine, you left, indeed,
these innocent ones, so young and fair, but my dear mother devoted long
years of care and tenderness to me, and saw them all, with the object of
them, snatched from her at a blow!”
These children were intrusted to the care of two elderly and excellent
women; one of them the mother, the other the aunt of the superintendent.
They wished to hear the whole of my history, and I gave it them as
briefly as I could. “How greatly we regret,” they observed, with warm
sympathy, “to be unable to help you in any way. Be assured, however, we
offer up constant prayers for you, and if ever the day come that brings
you liberty, it will be celebrated by all our family, like one of the
happiest festivals.”
The first-mentioned of these ladies had a remarkably sweet and soothing
voice, united to an eloquence rarely to be heard from the lips of woman.
I listened to her religious exhortations with a feeling of filial
gratitude, and they sunk deep into my heart. Though her observations
were not new to me, they were always applicable, and most valuable to me,
as will appear from what follows:
“Misfortune cannot degrade a man, unless he be intrinsically mean; it
rather elevates him.”—“If we could penetrate the judgments of God, we
should find that frequently the objects most to be pitied were the
conquerors, not the conquered; the joyous rather than the sorrowful; the
wealthy rather than those who are despoiled of all.”—“The particular
kindness shown by the Saviour of mankind to the unfortunate is a striking
fact.”—“That man ought to feel honoured in bearing the cross, when he
considers that it was borne up the mount of our redemption by the
Divinity himself in human form.”
Such were among the excellent sentiments she inculcated; but it was my
lot, as usual, to lose these delightful friends when I had become most
attached to them. They removed from the castle, and the sweet children
no longer made their appearance upon the terrace. I felt this double
deprivation more than I can express.