CHAPTER VI.
The moon shone brightly on the house of Petrarch, and the hamletslept in peace. Not a sound was heard, save the shrill voice of thegrasshoppers, so incessant that its monotony blended, as it were, withthe stillness. Over the green hills and the far expanse of the sheenyplain, the beautiful light of heaven fell with all the magical reposeof the serene hour, an hour that brought to one troubled breast, andone distracted spirit, in that still and simple village, no quietude.
Herbert came forth into the balcony of his residence, and leaning overthe balustrade, revolved in his agitated mind the strange and stirringincidents of the day. His wife and his child had quitted the inn ofRovigo instantly after that mortifying rencounter that had dashed socruelly to the ground all his sweet and quickly-rising hopes. As forhis companion, she had by his peremptory desire returned to Arquaalone; he was not in a mood to endure her society; but he hadconducted himself to her mildly, though with firmness; he had promisedto follow her, and, in pursuance of his pledge, he rode home alone.
He was greeted on his return by his servant, full of the the visitof the morning. With an irresistible curiosity, Herbert had made himdescribe every incident that had occurred, and repeat a hundred timesevery word that the visitors had uttered. He listened with someconsolation, however mournful, to his wife's praises of the unknownstranger's life; he gazed with witching interest upon the autograph ofhis daughter on the wall of his library. He had not confessed to hismistress the relation which the two strangers bore to him; yet he wasinfluenced in concealing the real circumstances, only by an indefinitesentiment, that made him reluctant to acknowledge to her ties sopure. The feelings of the parent overpowered the principles of thephilosopher. This lady indeed, although at the moment she had indulgedin so violent an ebullition of temper, possessed little influence overthe mind of her companion. Herbert, however fond of solitude,required in his restricted world the graceful results of femininesuperintendence. Time had stilled his passions, and cooled the fervourof his soul. The age of his illusions had long passed. This was aconnection that had commenced in no extravagant or romantic mood, andperhaps for that reason had endured. He had become acquainted with heron his first unknown arrival in Italy, from America, now nearly twoyears back. It had been maintained on his side by a temper naturallysweet, and which, exhausted by years of violent emotion, now requiredonly repose; seeking, in a female friend, a form that should notoutrage an eye ever musing on the beautiful, and a disposition thatshould contribute to his comfort, and never ruffle his feelings.Separated from his wife by her own act, whatever might have been itsimpulse, and for so long an interval, it was a connection which theworld in general might have looked upon with charity, which in hercalmer hours one would imagine even Lady Annabel might have glancedover without much bitterness. Certainly it was one which, under allthe circumstances of the case, could scarcely be esteemed by her as anoutrage or an insult; but even Herbert felt, with all his philosophyand proud freedom from prejudice, that the rencounter of the morningwas one which no woman could at the moment tolerate, few eventuallyexcuse, and which of all incidents was that which would most tend toconfirm his wife in her stoical obduracy. Of his offences towardsher, whatever were their number or their quality, this surely was theleast, and yet its results upon his life and fortunes would in allprobability only be equalled by the mysterious cause of their originalseparation. But how much more bitter than that original separationwas their present parting! Mortifying and annoying as had been theoriginal occurrence, it was one that many causes and considerationscombined to enable Herbert to support. He was then in the very primeof youth, inexperienced, sanguine, restless, and adventurous, with thewhole world and its unknown results before him, and freedom for whichhe ever sighed to compensate for the loss of that domestic joy thathe was then unable to appreciate. But now twenty years, which, in thecareer of such a spirit, were equal to a century of the existence ofcoarser clay, had elapsed; he was bowed with thought and suffering, ifnot by time; his conscience was light, but it was sad; his illusionshad all vanished; he knew the world, and all that the world couldbring, and he disregarded them; and the result of all his profoundstudy, lofty aspirations, and great conduct was, that he sighed forrest. The original catastrophe had been merely a separation betweena husband and a wife; the one that had just happened, involved otherfeelings; the father was also separated from his child, and a child ofsuch surpassing qualities, that his brief acquaintance with her hadalone sufficed to convert his dream of domestic repose into a visionof domestic bliss.
Beautiful Venetia! so fair, and yet so dutiful; with a bosom teemingwith such exquisite sensibilities, and a mind bright with such acuteand elevated intelligence! An abstract conception of the sentimentsthat might subsist between a father and a daughter, heightened by allthe devices of a glowing imagination, had haunted indeed occasionallythe solitary musing of Marmion Herbert; but what was this creation ofhis poetic brain compared with the reality that now had touched hishuman heart? Vainly had he believed that repose was the only solacethat remained for his exhausted spirit. He found that a new passionnow swayed his soul; a passion, too, that he had never proved; ofa nature most peculiar; pure, gentle, refined, yet ravishing andirresistible, compared with which all former transports, no matter howviolent, tumultuous, and exciting, seemed evanescent and superficial:they were indeed the wind, the fire, and the tempest that had gonebefore, but this was the still small voice that followed, excelled,and survived their might and majesty, unearthly and eternal!
His heart melted to his daughter, nor did he care to live without herlove and presence. His philosophical theories all vanished. He felthow dependent we are in this world on our natural ties, and howlimited, with all his arrogance, is the sphere of man. Dreaming ofphilanthropy, he had broken his wife's heart, and bruised, perhapsirreparably, the spirit of his child; he had rendered those miserablewho depended on his love, and for whose affection his heart nowyearned to that degree, that he could not contemplate existencewithout their active sympathy.
Was it then too late! Was it then impossible to regain that Paradisehe had forfeited so weakly, and of whose amaranthine bowers, but a fewhours since, he had caught such an entrancing glimpse, of which thegate for a moment seemed about to re-open! In spite of all, then,Annabel still loved him, loved him passionately, visited his picture,mused over the glowing expression of their loves, wept over the bridalbed so soon deserted! She had a dog, too, when Venetia was a child,and called it Marmion.
The recollection of this little trait, so trifling, yet so touching,made him weep even with wildness. The tears poured down his cheeks intorrents, he sobbed convulsively, his very heart seemed to burst. Forsome minutes he leant over the balustrade in a paroxysm of grief.
He looked up. The convent hill rose before him, bright in the moon;beneath was his garden; around him the humble roofs that he madehappy. It was not without an effort that he recalled the locality,that he remembered he was at Arqua. And who was sleeping within thehouse? Not his wife, Annabel was far away with their daughter. Thevision of his whole life passed before him. Study and strife, and fameand love; the pride of the philosopher, the rapture of the poet,the blaze of eloquence, the clash of arms, the vows of passion, theexecration and the applause of millions; both once alike welcome tohis indomitable soul! And what had they borne to him? Misery. Hecalled up the image of his wife, young, beautiful, and noble, with amind capable of comprehending his loftiest and his finest moods, witha soul of matchless purity, and a temper whose winning tenderness hadonly been equalled by her elevated sense of self-respect; a woman thatmight have figured in the days of chivalry, soft enough to be hisslave, but too proud to be his victim. He called up her image inthe castle of his fathers, exercising in a domain worthy of such amistress, all those sweet offices of life which here, in this hiredroof in a strange land, and with his crippled means, he had yet foundsolacing. He conjured before him a bud by the side of that beauteousflower, sharing all her lustre and all her fragrance, his own Ve
netia!What happiness might not have been his? And for what had he forfeitedit? A dream, with no dream-like beauty; a perturbed, and restless, andagitated dream, from which he had now woke shattered and exhausted.
He had sacrificed his fortune, he had forfeited his country, he hadalienated his wife, and he had lost his child; the home of his heroicancestry, the ancient land whose fame and power they had created, thebeauteous and gifted woman who would have clung for ever to his bosom,and her transcendant offspring worthy of all their loves! Profoundphilosopher!
The clock of the convent struck the second hour after midnight.Herbert started. And all this time where were Annabel and Venetia?They still lived, they were in the same country, an hour ago they wereunder the same roof, in the same chamber; their hands had joined,their hearts had opened, for a moment he had dared to believe that allthat he cared for might be regained. And why was it not? The cause,the cause? It recurred to him with associations of dislike, ofdisgust, of wrath, of hatred, of which one whose heart was so tender,and whose reason was so clear, could under the influence of no otherfeelings have been capable. The surrounding scene, that had so oftensoothed his mournful soul, and connected it with the last hours ofa spirit to whom he bore much resemblance, was now looked upon withaversion. To rid himself of ties, now so dreadful, was all hisambition. He entered the house quickly, and, seating himself in hiscloset, he wrote these words:
'You beheld this morning my wife and child; we can meet no more. Allthat I can effect to console you under this sudden separation shall bedone. My banker from Bologna will be here in two days; express to himall your wishes.'
It was written, sealed, directed, and left upon the table at whichthey had so often been seated. Herbert descended into the garden,saddled his horse, and in a few minutes, in the heart of night, hadquitted Arqua.