CHAPTER XLIV
THE DESERTED SHRINE
Kenyon knew the sanctity which Hilda (faithful Protestant, and daughterof the Puritans, as the girl was) imputed to this shrine. He was awareof the profound feeling of responsibility, as well earthly as religious,with which her conscience had been impressed, when she became theoccupant of her aerial chamber, and undertook the task of keeping theconsecrated lamp alight. There was an accuracy and a certainty aboutHilda's movements, as regarded all matters that lay deep enough to havetheir roots in right or wrong, which made it as possible and safe torely upon the timely and careful trimming of this lamp (if she were inlife, and able to creep up the steps), as upon the rising of to-morrow'ssun, with lustre-undiminished from to-day.
The sculptor could scarcely believe his eyes, therefore, when he saw theflame flicker and expire. His sight had surely deceived him. And now,since the light did not reappear, there must be some smoke wreathor impenetrable mist brooding about the tower's gray old head, andobscuring it from the lower world. But no! For right over the dimbattlements, 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 todiscern even the darkened shrine itself. There was no obscurity aroundthe tower; no infirmity of his own vision. The flame had exhausted itssupply of oil, and become extinct. But where was Hilda?
A man in a cloak happened to be passing; and Kenyon--anxious to distrustthe testimony of his senses, if he could get more acceptable evidence onthe other side--appealed to him.
"Do me the favor, Signore," said he, "to look at the top of yondertower, and tell me whether you see the lamp burning at the Virgin'sshrine."
"The lamp, Signore?" answered the man, without at first troublinghimself to look up. "The lamp that has burned these four hundred years!How is it possible, Signore, that it should not be burning now?" "Butlook!" said the sculptor impatiently. With good-natured indulgence forwhat he seemed to consider as the whim of an eccentric Forestiero, theItalian carelessly threw his eyes upwards; but, as soon as he perceivedthat there was really no light, he lifted his hands with a vividexpression of wonder and alarm.
"The lamp is extinguished!" cried he. "The lamp that has beenburning these four hundred years! This surely must portend some greatmisfortune; and, by my advice, Signore, you will hasten hence, lest thetower tumble on our heads. A priest once told me that, if the Virginwithdrew her blessing and the light went out, the old Palazzo del Tortewould sink into the earth, with all that dwell in it. There will be aterrible crash before morning!"
The stranger made the best of his way from the doomed premises; whileKenyon--who would willingly have seen the tower crumble down before hiseyes, on condition of Hilda's safety--determined, late as it was, toattempt ascertaining if she were in her dove-cote.
Passing through the arched entrance,--which, as is often the case withRoman entrances, was as accessible at midnight as at noon,--he gropedhis way to the broad staircase, and, lighting his wax taper, wentglimmering up the multitude of steps that led to Hilda's door. The hourbeing so unseasonable, he intended merely to knock, and, as soon asher voice from within should reassure him, to retire, keeping hisexplanations and apologies for a fitter time. Accordingly, reaching thelofty height where the maiden, as he trusted, lay asleep, with angelswatching over her, though the Virgin seemed to have suspended her care,he tapped lightly at the door panels,--then knocked more forcibly,--thenthundered an impatient summons. No answer came; Hilda, evidently, wasnot there.
After assuring himself that this must be the fact, Kenyon descended thestairs, but made a pause at every successive stage, and knocked at thedoor of its apartment, regardless whose slumbers he might disturb, inhis anxiety to learn where the girl had last been seen. But, at eachclosed entrance, there came those hollow echoes, which a chamber, or anydwelling, great or small, never sends out, in response to human knucklesor iron hammer, as long as there is life within to keep its heart fromgetting dreary.
Once indeed, on the lower landing-place, the sculptor fancied that therewas a momentary stir inside the door, as if somebody were listening atthe threshold. He hoped, at least, that the small iron-barred aperturewould be unclosed, through which Roman housekeepers are wont to takecareful cognizance of applicants for admission, from a traditionarydread, perhaps, of letting in a robber or assassin. But it remainedshut; neither was the sound repeated; and Kenyon concluded that hisexcited nerves had played a trick upon his senses, as they are apt to dowhen we most wish for the clear evidence of the latter.
There was nothing to be done, save to go heavily away, and awaitwhatever good or ill to-morrow's daylight might disclose.
Betimes in the morning, therefore, Kenyon went back to the ViaPortoghese, before the slant rays of the sun had descended halfway downthe gray front of Hilda's tower. As he drew near its base, he saw thedoves 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 shootingdown, and made a feint of alighting on his shoulder. But, though theyevidently recognized him, their shyness would not yet allow so decideda demonstration. Kenyon's eyes followed them as they flew upward, hopingthat 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 othermaidens set about the little duties of a household. Or, perhaps, hemight see her gentle and sweet face smiling down upon him, midwaytowards heaven, as if she had flown thither for a day or two, just tovisit her kindred, but had been drawn earthward again by the spell ofunacknowledged love.
But his eyes were blessed by no such fair vision or reality; nor, intruth, were the eager, unquiet flutterings of the doves indicative ofany joyful intelligence, which they longed to share with Hilda's friend,but of anxious inquiries that they knew not how to utter. They couldnot tell, any more than he, whither their lost companion had withdrawnherself, but were in the same void despondency with him, feeling theirsunny and airy lives darkened and grown imperfect, now that her sweetsociety was taken out of it.
In the brisk morning air, Kenyon found it much easier to pursue hisresearches than at the preceding midnight, when, if any slumberers heardthe clamor that he made, they had responded only with sullen and drowsymaledictions, and turned to sleep again. It must be a very dear andintimate reality for which people will be content to give up a dream.When the sun was fairly up, however, it was quite another thing. Theheterogeneous population, inhabiting the lower floor of the old tower,and the other extensive regions of the palace, were now willing to tellall they knew, and imagine a great deal more. The amiability of theseItalians, assisted by their sharp and nimble wits, caused them tooverflow with plausible suggestions, and to be very bounteous in theiravowals 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 theymeant good wishes, and were, so far, better than indifference. Therewas little doubt that many of them felt a genuine kindness for the shy,brown-haired, delicate young foreign maiden, who had flown from somedistant land to alight upon their tower, where she consorted only withthe doves. But their energy expended itself in exclamation, and theywere content to leave all more active measures to Kenyon, and to theVirgin, whose affair it was to see that the faithful votary of her lampreceived no harm.
In a great Parisian domicile, multifarious as its inhabitants mightbe, the concierge under the archway would be cognizant of all theirincomings and issuings forth. But except in rare cases, the generalentrance and main staircase of a Roman house are left as free as thestreet, of which they form a sort of by-lane. The sculptor, therefore,could hope to find information about Hilda's movements only from casualobservers.
On probing the knowledge of these people to the bottom, there wasvarious 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 ofopinion that she had met her, the morning before, with a drawing-bookin her hand. Having no acquaintance with the young person, she had takenlittle notice and might have been mistaken. A count, on the piano nextabove, was very certain that he had lifted his hat to Hilda, under thearchway, two afternoons ago. An old woman, who had formerly tended theshrine, threw some light upon the matter, by testifying that the lamprequired to be replenished once, at least, in three days, though itsreservoir of oil was exceedingly capacious.
On the whole, though there was other evidence enough to create someperplexity, Kenyon could not satisfy himself that she had been visiblesince the afternoon of the third preceding day, when a fruit sellerremembered her coming out of the arched passage, with a sealed packet inher hand. As nearly as he could ascertain, this was within an hourafter Hilda had taken leave of the sculptor at his own studio, with theunderstanding that they were to meet at the Vatican the next day. Twonights, therefore, had intervened, during which the lost maiden wasunaccounted for.
The door of Hilda's apartments was still locked, as on the precedingnight; but Kenyon sought out the wife of the person who sublet them, andprevailed on her to give him admittance by means of the duplicate keywhich the good woman had in her possession. On entering, the maidenlyneatness and simple grace, recognizable in all the arrangements, madehim visibly sensible that this was the daily haunt of a pure soul, inwhom religion and the love of beauty were at one.
Thence, the sturdy Roman matron led the sculptor across a narrowpassage, and threw open the door of a small chamber, on the threshold ofwhich he reverently paused. Within, there was a bed, covered with whitedrapery, enclosed with snowy curtains like a tent, and of barely widthenough 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 enoughof Hilda's gentle dreams were lingering there to make him happy fora single instant. But then came the closer consciousness of her loss,bringing along with it a sharp sting of anguish.
"Behold, Signore," said the matron; "here is the little staircase bywhich 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 tokeep it burning; and doubtless the Blessed Mary will intercede for her,in consideration of her pious offices, heretic though she was. What willbecome of the old palazzo, now that the lamp is extinguished, the saintsabove us only know! Will you mount, Signore, to the battlements, and seeif she have left any trace of herself there?"
The sculptor stepped across the chamber and ascended the littlestaircase, which gave him access to the breezy summit of the tower. Itaffected him inexpressibly to see a bouquet of beautiful flowers beneaththe 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 thereligious sentiment which so profoundly influenced her character. Onerosebud, indeed, she had selected for herself from the rich mass offlowers; for Kenyon well remembered recognizing it in her bosom when helast saw her at his studio.
"That little part of my great love she took," said he to himself. "Theremainder she would have devoted to Heaven; but has left it witheringin the sun and wind. Ah! Hilda, Hilda, had you given me a right to watchover you, this evil had not come!"
"Be not downcast, signorino mio," said the Roman matron, in response tothe deep sigh which struggled out of Kenyon's breast. "The dear littlemaiden, as we see, has decked yonder blessed shrine as devoutly asI myself, or any Other good Catholic woman, could have done. It is areligious act, and has more than the efficacy of a prayer. The signorinawill as surely come back as the sun will fall through the windowto-morrow no less than to-day. Her own doves have often been missingfor a day or two, but they were sure to come fluttering about her headagain, when she least expected them. So will it be with this dove-likechild."
"It might be so," thought Kenyon, with yearning anxiety, "if a puremaiden were as safe as a dove, in this evil world of ours."
As they returned through the studio, with the furniture and arrangementsof which the sculptor was familiar, he missed a small ebony writing-deskthat he remembered as having always been placed on a table there. Heknew 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 speciallycareful.
"What has become of it?" he suddenly inquired, laying his hand on thetable.
"Become of what, pray?" exclaimed the woman, a little disturbed. "Doesthe Signore suspect a robbery, then?"
"The signorina's writing-desk is gone," replied Kenyon; "it always stoodon this table, and I myself saw it there only a few days ago."
"Ah, well!" said the woman, recovering her composure, which she seemedpartly to have lost. "The signorina has doubtless taken it away withher. The fact is of good omen; for it proves that she did not gounexpectedly, and is likely to return when it may best suit herconvenience."
"This is very singular," observed Kenyon. "Have the rooms been enteredby yourself, or any other person, since the signorina's disappearance?"
"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 willsuit this strange old lock. Here is one; and as for the other, thesignorina carlies it in her pocket."
The sculptor had no reason to doubt the word of this respectable dame.She appeared to be well meaning and kind hearted, as Roman matronsgenerally are; except when a fit of passion incites them to showerhorrible curses on an obnoxious individual, or perhaps to stab himwith the steel stiletto that serves them for a hairpin. But Italianasseverations of any questionable fact, however true they may chance tobe, 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 vouchfor themselves as coming from any depth, like roots drawn out of thesubstance of the soul, with some of the soil clinging to them. There isalways a something inscrutable, instead of frankness, in their eyes. Inshort, they lie so much like truth, and speak truth so much as if theywere 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 ofItalian consciences.
"It is very strange what can have become of the desk!" repeated Kenyon,looking the woman in the face.
"Very strange, indeed, Signore," she replied meekly, without turningaway her eyes in the least, but checking his insight of them at abouthalf an inch below the surface. "I think the signorina must have takenit with her."
It seemed idle to linger here any longer. Kenyon therefore departed,after making an arrangement with the woman, by the terms of which shewas to allow the apartments to remain in their present state, on hisassuming the responsibility for the rent.
He spent the day in making such further search and investigation as hefound practicable; and, though at first trammelled by an unwillingnessto draw public attention to Hilda's affairs, the urgency of thecircumstances soon compelled him to be thoroughly in earnest. In thecourse of a week, he tried all conceivable modes of fathoming themystery, not merely by his personal efforts and those of his brotherartists and friends, but through the police, who readily undertook thetask, and expressed strong confidence of success. But the Roman policehas very little efficiency, except in the interest of the despotism ofwhich it is a tool. With their cocked hats, shoulder belts, and swords,they wear a sufficiently imposing aspect, and doubtless keep their eyesopen wide enough to track a political offender, but are too often blindto private outrage, be it murder or any lesser crime. Kenyon countedlittle upon their assistance, and profited by it not at all.
Remembering the mystic words which Miriam had addressed to him, hewas anxious to meet her, but knew not whither she had gone, nor howto obtain an interview either with herself or Donatello. Th
e days woreaway, and still there were no tidings of the lost one; no lamp rekindledbefore 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 almostreproachfully upward--in heaven itself!