Venetia

  CHAPTER I.

  The still waters of the broad and winding lake reflected the lustreof the cloudless sky. The gentle declinations of the green hills thatimmediately bordered the lake, with an undulating margin that nowretired into bays of the most picturesque form, now jutted forthinto woody promontories, and then opened into valleys of sequesteredbeauty, which the eye delighted to pursue, were studded with whitevillas, and cottages scarcely less graceful, and occasionally withvillages, and even towns; here and there rose a solitary chapel; and,scarcely less conspicuous, the black spire of some cypress strikinglycontrasting with the fair buildings or the radiant foliage that ingeneral surrounded them. A rampart of azure mountains raised theirhuge forms behind the nearer hills; and occasionally peering overthese, like spectres on some brilliant festival, were the ghastlyvisages of the Alpine glaciers.

  It was within an hour of sunset, and the long shadows had fallen uponthe waters; a broad boat, with a variegated awning, rowed by two men,approached the steps of a marble terrace. The moment they had reachedtheir point of destination, and had fastened the boat to its moorings,the men landed their oars, and immediately commenced singing a simpleyet touching melody, wherewith it was their custom to apprise theiremployers of their arrival.

  'Will they come forth this evening, think you, Vittorio?' said oneboatman to the other.

  'By our holy mother, I hope so!' replied his comrade, 'for this lightair that is now rising will do the young signora more good than fiftydoctors.'

  'They are good people,' said Vittorio. 'It gives me more pleasure torow them than any persons who ever hired us.'

  'Ay, ay!' said his comrade, 'It was a lucky day when we first put anoar in the lake for them, heretics though they be.'

  'But they may he converted yet,' said his companion; 'for, as I wassaying to Father Francisco last night, if the young signora dies, itis a sad thing to think what will become of her.'

  'And what said the good Father?'

  'He shook his head,' said Vittorio.

  'When Father Francisco shakes his head, he means a great deal,' saidhis companion.

  At this moment a servant appeared on the terrace, to say the ladieswere at hand; and very shortly afterwards Lady Annabel Herbert, withher daughter leaning on her arm, descended the steps, and entered theboat. The countenances of the boatmen brightened when they saw them,and they both made their inquiries after the health of Venetia withtenderness and feeling.

  'Indeed, my good friends,' said Venetia, 'I think you are right, andthe lake will cure me after all.'

  'The blessing of the lake be upon you, signora,' said the boatmen,crossing themselves.

  Just as they were moving off, came running Mistress Pauncefort,quite breathless. 'Miss Herbert's fur cloak, my lady; you told me toremember, my lady, and I cannot think how I forgot it. But I reallyhave been so very hot all day, that such a thing as furs never enteredmy head. And for my part, until I travelled, I always thought furswere only worn in Russia. But live and learn, as I say.'

  They were now fairly floating on the calm, clear waters, and therising breeze was as grateful to Venetia as the boatmen had imagined.

  A return of those symptoms which had before disquieted Lady Annabelfor her daughter, and which were formerly the cause of their residenceat Weymouth, had induced her, in compliance with the advice of herphysicians, to visit Italy; but the fatigue of travel had exhaustedthe energies of Venetia (for in those days the Alps were not passed inluxurious travelling carriages) on the very threshold of the promisedland; and Lady Annabel had been prevailed upon to take a villa on theLago Maggiore, where Venetia had passed two months, still sufferingindeed from great debility, but not without advantage.

  There are few spots more favoured by nature than the Italian lakes andtheir vicinity, combining, as they do, the most sublime featuresof mountainous scenery with all the softer beauties and the variedluxuriance of the plain. As the still, bright lake is to the rushingand troubled cataract, is Italy to Switzerland and Savoy. Emergingfrom the chaotic ravines and the wild gorges of the Alps, the happyland breaks upon us like a beautiful vision. We revel in the sunnylight, after the unearthly glare of eternal snow. Our sight seemsrenovated as we throw our eager glance over those golden plains,clothed with such picturesque trees, sparkling with such gracefulvillages, watered by such noble rivers, and crowned with suchmagnificent cities; and all bathed and beaming in an atmosphere sosoft and radiant! Every isolated object charms us with its beautifulnovelty: for the first time we gaze on palaces; the garden, theterrace, and the statue, recall our dreams beneath a colder sky;and we turn from these to catch the hallowed form of some cupolaedconvent, crowning the gentle elevation of some green hill, and flankedby the cypress or the pine.

  The influence of all these delightful objects and of this benignatmosphere on the frame and mind of Venetia had been considerable.After the excitement of the last year of her life, and the harassingand agitating scenes with which it closed, she found a fine solacein this fair land and this soft sky, which the sad perhaps can aloneexperience. Its repose alone afforded a consolatory contrast to theturbulent pleasure of the great world. She looked back upon thoseglittering and noisy scenes with an aversion which was only modifiedby her self-congratulation at her escape from their exhausting andcontaminating sphere. Here she recurred, but with all the advantagesof a change of scene, and a scene so rich in novel and interestingassociations, to the calm tenor of those days, when not a thought everseemed to escape from Cherbury and its spell-bound seclusion. Herbooks, her drawings, her easel, and her harp, were now again her chiefpursuits; pursuits, however, influenced by the genius of the land inwhich she lived, and therefore invested with a novel interest; forthe literature and the history of the country naturally attracted herattention; and its fair aspects and sweet sounds, alike inspired herpencil and her voice. She had, in the society of her mother, indeed,the advantage of communing with a mind not less refined and cultivatedthan her own. Lady Annabel was a companion whose conversation, fromreading and reflection, was eminently suggestive; and their hours,though they lived in solitude, never hung heavy. They were alwaysemployed, and always cheerful. But Venetia was not more than cheerful.Still very young, and gifted with an imaginative and thereforesanguine mind, the course of circumstances, however, had checked hernative spirit, and shaded a brow which, at her time of life and withher temperament, should have been rather fanciful than pensive. IfVenetia, supported by the disciplined energies of a strong mind, hadschooled herself into not looking back to the past with grief, herfuture was certainly not tinged with the Iris pencil of Hope. Itseemed to her that it was her fate that life should bring her nohappier hours than those she now enjoyed. They did not amount toexquisite bliss. That was a conviction which, by no process ofreflection, however ingenious, could she delude herself to credit.Venetia struggled to take refuge in content, a mood of mind perhapsless natural than it should be to one so young, so gifted, and sofair!

  Their villa was surrounded by a garden in the ornate and artificialstyle of the country. A marble terrace overlooked the lake, crownedwith many a statue and vase that held the aloe. The laurel and thecactus, the cypress and the pine, filled the air with their fragrance,or charmed the eye with their rarity and beauty: the walks werefestooned with the vine, and they could raise their hands and pluckthe glowing fruit which screened them, from the beam by which, it wasripened. In this enchanted domain Venetia might be often seen, aform even fairer than the sculptured nymphs among which she glided,catching the gentle breeze that played upon the surface of the lake,or watching the white sail that glittered in the sun as it floatedover its purple bosom.

  Yet this beautiful retreat Venetia was soon to quit, and she thoughtof her departure with a sigh. Her mother had been warned to avoidthe neighbourhood of the mountains in the winter, and the autumn wasapproaching its close. If Venetia could endure the passage of theApennines, it was the intention of Lady Annabel to pass the winteron the coast of the Mediterranean; otherwise to settle in one
of theLombard cities. At all events, in the course of a few weeks they wereto quit their villa on the lake.