 | The Duke D'Ormond, a tragedy; and Beritola, a tale |  |
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BERITOLA.
1
THE STORY OF BERITOLA.
1
In Sicily, when Manfred was its King,A chief, from Naples, lived, Bertholdo named,
Whose monarch's smiles did on his station fling
Whate'er resplendence subject could have claimed.
This Cavalier 'neath the protecting wing
Of his dear Lord, that island so far famed
As Viceroy ruled; and intercession needed,
Each deemed his cause gained, if he interceded.
2
This Noble had a fair and virtuous mate,Also a Neapolitan; he lived,
As I have mentioned, in exceeding state
In Sicily: and greatly was he grieved
Hearing that Carlos had in battle met
His royal Lord, and him of life bereaved.
Bertholdo now rather resolved to fly
Than yield to an usurped authority.
2
3
But the Sicilians, having of this gainedSome intimation, seized upon him when
He least suspected it, and bound, and chained,
Delivered him—with many a citizen
Attached to Manfred—to the King who reigned
Now in his stead, who thrust him in a den
Beneath the Palace of Palermo, where
They pined, of Freedom hopeless, many a year.
4
The Lady of Bertholdo, who was calledBeritola, quite ignorant of the fate
Of her loved Lord; doubtful if he were thralled;
Or dead in his defence who lately sate
On the Sicilian throne; and much appalled
Lest, in his absence, and the present state
Of universal tumult, she should be
Dishonoured, fled in haste from Sicily.
5
One Son had she eight summers who had lived;Guisfredi was his name: with him she fled;
Her womb a second burthen had conceived:
She, with much labour, and still greater dread,
3
To make good her escape. On wretched bed
Within a little hut, another child,
Upon the fugitive mother there first smiled.
6
Scacciato was he called; as we supposeHis banished fortune to commemorate,
Ere many weeks had gone by, lest her foes
Being informed where she lived desolate,
Should seize her, and her sons, a nurse she chose,
And with these babes, too young to mourn their fate,
And that same nurse, without a further train,
She sought her native city to regain.
7
But it so chanced that by contrarious windThe bark in which they all set sail was driven
'Gainst Ponza, where in narrow bay they find
From adverse storms, a temporary haven.
While fate their course thus frustrates, they inclined
T'explore the coverts of that rock uneven.
There disembarked Beritola, in mood
To muse upon her fate in solitude.
4
8
She found a ravine in that desert isleMeet for the purpose. Here and there a tree,—
Its root half rifted from the ancient pile
Of rock which o'er it tower'd portentously—
Hung bridge-like over head: a stream meanwhile—
Whose subterranean course you might but see
At intervals—dashing 'mid rocks and stones,—
There boiled and chafed in melancholy tones.
9
Here, sheltered by a venerable yew,Would oft the sad Beritola repair:—
One day—as 'twas her custom so to do—
That she had thither been to soothe her care,
Melting down hours to moments, while the hue,
And character of that wild scene, and bare,
Accorded so well with her desolate lot,
That she could scarcely leave the lonely spot;
10
One day, as 'twas her use, when she had beenReflecting there longer than she was wont;
And now towards the ocean verge, the well-known scene
Where she had left her babes, from that rude haunt,
5
Of babes or mariners:—nor streamers flaunt,
The wonted signal of that little bark,—
Within that narrow haven could she mark.
11
She flew towards a little neck of land,Which intercepting, from her sight did hide
A long continued prospect of the strand;
And, of that rocky isle, the adverse side:
'Till now athwart its surface she had scanned,
The streamer of that bark which there did ride,
Safe from the winds within a tiny creek,
Whose waves against that neck of land did break.
12
She gains its highest point,—nor mariner,—Nor child,—nor nurse,—nor pinnace could she see;
Wild, in an agony of mighty fear,
To that Isle's loftiest station instantly
She flies: and here she finds, what seemed to her
Too dreadful a misfortune true to be.
At distance she a gally does discern
Towing that pinnace cabled to its stern.
6
13
At once the truth rushed on her.—All is lost.—Some Pirates there have been! and they are gone!
Her children!—mariners!—have left that coast!
The pinnace too!—The only means whereon
She could have rested hope the sea t' have crossed!
She faints!—She falls!—No one can hear her groan!
For that small island as its native guest
Not even one inhabitant possessed.
14
No one is there is her extremity,E'en drop of water to bestow! Save sands,
And boundless seas, and rocks, and the blue sky,
Nought is there when her eye again expands
On which its gaze may fix! From sympathy,
And all the solace man from man commands,
In woes far less than this, in this her great,
And mighty woe, she is cut off by fate.
15
She who to all the luxuries was usedOf homage prompt from an obedient train,
She whom the rough winds never had abused,
Who ne'er the pelting hail, or drenching rain,
7
“The season's difference,” never felt its pain;—
She now is left to hunger, and to bear
All sounds of danger, and all forms of fear.
16
Her trance subsides! But such a fearful thing—When she awakes to it—the real seems;
That,—ere her hands with terror she doth wring—
She almost fancies that terrific dreams
Abuse her sense:—but th' elements soon bring—
Rude summoners of thought—a shock that teems
With horrid certainty. The biting air,
And roaring waves, hopes of illusion scare.
17
The day is closing. Yet no shriek she gave!As dumb as it is deep is her despair!
She does not rush into the yawning wave:
Nor beat her breast; nor rend her streaming hair:
Her first thought is; “yet perhaps in some cave
“My infants may be lodged. I will repair—
“While yet some light remains—in every nook,
“And rocky hiding-place, for them to look.”
8
18
First towards that place, her oft repeated haunt,That deep ravine, she wends. When it she saw
Again, it seemed to her she had been wont
To live in Paradise, when last with awe—
Then unbereft of children—she its gaunt,
And rude recesses, trod. Care seemed to gnaw
Her bosom then; but now to dumb despair,
Like joy, seemed milder miseries of care.
19
She looked upon the yew beneath whose shadeShe had so oft reclined, and “oh,” she cries,
“What comfort then was mine, when once I made
“Thee, conscious witness of my miseries!
“I then had babes, when from thy gloom I strayed,
“To welcome my return! Oh agonies
“Not to be borne! How will the little one
“Miss that fond bosom which it nestled on!”
20
“How will Guisfredi with his eyes suffused“With tears, exclaim, ‘where is my Mother, where?’
“Ye barbarous wretches had not ye refused
“Me to take with them, I would freely spare
9
“That it could children from their mother tear—
“The human heart to such obduracy?
“If ye had fathers been this could not be!”
21
Then from that spot the maniac mother flew,When she perceived that all her search was vain;
Each nook she visited, nor of that crew,
Nor of her children could she trace regain.
Once more she tottered to that gloomy yew,
Outworn and famishing! yet 'twas not pain;—
'Twas agony—or if a word more fierce
There be—'twas it that did her heart's core pierce.
22
Through that long night she sate upon the ground:And all that made her conscious she yet lived
Was when a star shot through the gloom profound,
And with its light somewhat the sense revived
Of outward things! yea, such grief did confound,
And overwhelm, her functions, that, derived
Was, from the silent stars, in that lone waste
Of being, all that after memory traced.
10
23
What agony did that next morning's dawnTo her convey? The first sight she had seen,
The first thing felt, when darkness was withdrawn,
Had been her sucking infant! Time had been
When Scacciato's little hands did fawn
Upon her breasts! Pangs exquisite and keen
Now harbour there, and no infantine lip
Brings coolness to them with its eager sip.
24
She sees, she sees, the little pouting mouthPressed to her bosom, its nectareous hue
More soft than that of rose, when, from the south
The amorous winds have just imbibed its dew!
She stretches her arms forth! The piteous drouth
Of her poor little nursling doth she view!
Sweet phantom, stay awhile! It will not stay!
She strains her strenuous arms! It melts away!
25
Just at that moment from a neighbouring cave,Which she had not perceived, in that ravine,
A She-Goat issued. From despair to save
That wretched mother, what a thought hath been
11
The thorns and jutting rocks which th' entrance screen
Of a low cavern; there, upon the ground,
Nestling, a pair of just dropped goats she found.
26
With eager, frantic gesture then she stooped,Exposing to their little lips her breast;
That natural sustenance which had long been cooped
E'en till she was with agony oppressed,
They swiftly drank. As blossom that hath drooped
Beneath the sun, as now toward the west
The day retires, the evening dew refreshes;
So she revived from every drop that gushes!
27
As towards that cavern's orifice she turns,While thus these goatlings drew away her pain,
It seems as if the sun less fiercely burns,
The sky a softer azure seems to gain;
A gush of nature in her breast that yearns
Towards these helpless creatures doth unchain
The fount of tears: it seems as if a hand
Has, from her temples, snatched a fiery brand.
12
28
A new-born welcome, to her eyes, is seenReflected from each branch that stirs in air,
Each leaf that by the breeze is kissed, a green
Of more refreshing hue appears to bear.
A liquid freshness mantles all the scene:
The parched aridity of her despair
To something of a softer nature changes;
And thought, e'en while she weeps, more freely ranges.
29
The fever of the body, and the mind,Seemed thus abated; and then first she felt
The call of hunger. But how could she find
What might assuage her appetite? She knelt—
And, thankful, that, when fate seemed least inclined
To be her friend, some succour had been dealt,
She now resolved, through trust in Heaven to gain
That which ne'er yet was trusted to in vain.
30
Thus sometimes weeping for her children lost;And sometimes for her husband;—of the fruits,
13
Of this rude isle—partaking: by these goats,—
And by their mother, she was so engrossed,
That they to her as friends were. Each salutes,
At morn's return, the other as a friend!
Each, at day's close, to the same cave doth wend.
31
Ah, who can tell, that hath not thus been tried,By what fine filaments the human breast
May be once more to natural objects tied?
When of each succour fortune doth divest
Her wretched victim. One who years did 'bide
Within a dungeon finally caressed
A Spider, as a friend! If this be so,
Why towards a goat may not like feelings glow?
32
The mind is all in all! He who can seeVarious intelligence in infant's smile,
Somewhat would he enlarge his sympathy,
May even with a reptile spurned, and vile,
Much more then may, with harmless creature, be
Domesticated so, he may beguile
Whole hours in their society, and find
At last, in them companionable mind.
14
33
Hath not, in later times, Geneva's Sage,—Who seemed o'erflowing with the soul of love,—
Proved to what height this passion may engage
The human heart, when its desires so move
Towards objects from without, that, to assuage
Its intense yearnings, we its influence prove
On bird or beast? Say, can ye hear, and blame,
When with such care his pigeons he doth tame?
34
In general those who most this instinct feel,Are they with natural sensibility
Endowed, whom fortune hath compelled to steel
Their hearts against each softer human tie.
But since, though stress of circumstance conceal
All overt promptings of this sympathy,
They still must own its force, that force enthralls
Them in mute fellowship with animals.
35
The lorn Beritola had better pleaFor humble intercourse; the slender thread
Was it to her, whose occult agency
Her with existence sensitive doth wed.
15
A sacred thing!—to those to hope quite dead,
A breathing creature as a spirit moves,
Before that heart, which, loving, no one loves!
36
That gentle Lady, was, by length of time,So to her houseless fortune reconciled,
That she, in that inhospitable clime,
Without a dwelling,—e'en though berries wild
Were her sole food, and banks of fragrant thyme
Her only pillow, and her beverage mild
Its natural springs,—had,—as her destiny,—
E'en though she might go thence,—fixed there to die.
37
While she abode there thus, it chanced there cameTo that same isle of Ponza, pinnace small
From Pisa: 'mong the crew was one by name
Currado, who had made a vow, to all
Apulia's shrines tribute to bring, and claim
From this an absolution general,
Not only for the failings of the past:
But for all failings long as life should last.
16
38
So to divert a melancholy mood,On his return, had he decreed, with dart,
And well trained hounds, from rock, and copses rude
Of that same isle, its tenants wild to start.
Within the confines of a straggling wood,
Which stretched towards that ravine, which to the heart
Of lorn Beritola was so endeared;
Currado with his company careered.
39
With this same Lord from Pisa had his DameDisembarked also on that desert isle;
She too with him pursued the flying game:—
As it so chanced the little goats meanwhile
Were browsing on a heath hard by. Here came
The panting dogs in formidable file
The goats pursuing, till, at length oppressed,
They found a shelter in that Lady's breast.
40
With brandished staff she kept the dogs at bay;Meantime their course that Lord and Lady bend
To that same cavern where Beritola
Fondles the goats whom she did erst defend.
17
Dishevelled from her head her locks depend.
Savage in mien was she, and not a trace
Remained of gentlewoman's courtly grace.
41
When as Currado, at that Dame's request,The dogs, who still clung round her, had dispersed,
How there she came, and wherefore she was guest
Of spot like this, what fate her thus had cursed,
He urged her courteously to manifest.
Beritola, in accents few, rehearsed
Her past mishaps, and then did she aver
That nothing, from that isle, should sever her!
42
Though they both marvelled greatly at her tale,For to Currado had Bertholdo once
Been known; they marvelled more nought could prevail
To make Beritola the life renounce
Which there she had sustained; nor did they fail
Blame on such resolution to pronounce.
Hoping meantime she might be reconciled
To purpose less inexorably wild.
18
43
Currado offered her, if she would goWith him, as brother should a sister treat,
That he to her all courtesy would shew,
And pledged that all with homage her should greet;
And that on her he should himself bestow
An exhibition for her station meet.
Nor though he urged her much, could he incline
Her, that forlorn condition to resign.
44
At last he cried, “I will withdraw awhile,“And leave my wife with thee, perhaps she may,
“More than myself, be able to beguile
“Thee of thy purpose stern. Meanwhile I pray,
“Deign so far on our proffered love to smile,
“As in some fitting garments to array
“Thy unprotected form: consent to wear
“Some vestments which my train shall hither bear.”
45
Currado's noble wife meantime did causeA table to be spread, and viands placed
Before Beritola, who long did pause
Ere she of them could be induced to taste.
19
Referred she, and so much that proffer graced,
That finally Beritola did own
That what she chiefly feared was to be known.
46
Meantime the She-Goat, which had roamed to browseAmong the rocks, the cave re-visited.
Beritola, as she was wont, allows
This faithful animal to thrust her head
Upon her lap. She licks her hand which strews
Portion of that whence she had lately fed
Before her on the ground. This uncouth guest
Caressing her, was thus by her caressed.
47
The Lady marvelled much. BeritolaTo her the story of that goat did tell:
Currado's wife then fervently did say
That if that Lady deigned with them to dwell,
Not only she in solitude should stay,
Remote from intercourse, but to compel
Her, with the less reluctance, she invites
Her goats to share in hospitable rites.
20
48
The Lady, ere Currado re-appeared,Promise extorted from the sad recluse;—
That when from Ponza's isle their pinnace steered,
She too with them would go. From the long use
Of savage life, was savage food endeared
So far to this lorn outcast, that the juice
Of berries, and pure water which appeased
Her thirst, her more than costly viands pleased.
49
The crew embark.—To her dumb faithful friends,—Whom she, for all the world, would not have left,—
Beritola still clave:—and oft she sends—
As distance of its shores, the sight bereft—
Reluctant thoughts towards that huge rock which bends
Roof-like, athwart that solitary cleft,
With many a yew, and gnarled oak-tree crowned,
And where those harmless comforters she found.
50
In widow's weeds attired, and seldom seenBeyond the limit of her chamber small,
(Which she had chosen as the fittest scene
For meditation, since in forest tall
21
And the main building of the ancient hall
Where dwelt Currado, trees umbrageous stood)
Beritola abode in solitude.
51
The edifice was ancient, and the place,And its austere environs, well agreed
With the profound imperishable trace
Of melancholy thought, which all could read
'Graved in Beritola's expressive face:—
The narrow limit ne'er did she exceed
Of her embowered, and insulated cell,
Save at the summons of the chapel bell.
52
The edifice was ancient, massy towersThence peered 'bove branchy woof of aged trees;
The clustering ivy there formed gloomy bowers
At noon of day: thence oft the wanderer sees
The owl sail silently in evening hours,
From cornice, battlement, and jutting frieze.
The raven croaks there; and as fails the light
The bat wheels round and round its sultry flight.
22
53
Thence from the chapel tower peals the stern bell,Its sounds reverberate from some neighbouring wood;
At midnight hour thence may be heard to swell
The distant weltering of the ocean flood;
As through the thick mist tolls the day's slow knell,
And o'er the groves the large red moon doth brood,
What fathomless masses of deep shade lurk there!
What forms fantastic start of awful fear!
54
A book sometimes Currado's Lady brought;To saintly legends earnestly she lent
An ear: to pious manual whence faith caught
For deeper zeal a fostering argument.
By her, while ofttimes in intensest thought
On what was passed, whole winter nights were spent,
When the near forest moaned with blast of night,
Her soul to Ponza's rocky isle took flight.
55
When with sonorous trumpet came the wind;And in those pauses deep, when storms are nigh,
Which in charm'd trance, as 'twere, creation bind,
In lowest whispers it doth pant and die;
23
It spake of fear, and deep-tongued mystery;
When like the lapsing flute's soft melodies,
Silence might seem to listen to its sighs;
56
Then much she loved romantic tales to conOf those, who,—after hardships long and strange,
And fearful risks, and desolation,
And “hair-breadth 'scapes,” and frequent rueful change,
At last, had ample retribution won;
And then her thoughts would to her husband range,
And to her children, and while thus she read,
A secret faith her spirit passioned.
57
With every heroine she identifiedHerself, by whom or husband had been lost,
Or children; till at last her fancy fed
By such discourse with books, had gain'd almost
To her reality: and she was led
To day-dreams, which so totally engrossed
Her sympathetic heart, that she addressed
Self-rais'd, self-questioned forms, as real guest.
24
58
That heart which had in Ponza's solitude—Except her goats—no one external friend;
Her with the faculty had there endued
Shapings with it so potently to blend,
And to work up, as in fantastic mood,
Ideas, till the real it did lend
To their procession, that this power pervaded
Her more than ever since by books 'twas aided.
59
Thus she became a visionary creature;The winds talked to her, and the silent moon;
In clouds she traced an intellectual feature;
And stars were her companions! The boon
Of phantasy seemed to exalt her stature:
Her eyes were as of one who in day's noon
Conversed with spirits. Such thoughts in her had birth,
She was not as a being of this earth.
60
Oft was she rapt with eager presages,Like Pythian Priestess was her very frame
Convulsed with workings from dim messages!
Which, though she felt, she knew not whence they came.
25
(And then with intropenetrating flame,
Her eye pierced through impenetrable things)
“This from my children, and my husband springs!”
61
Then to her goats would she awhile recur,And they, while dearer things from her were fled,
As children, and as husband, seemed to her;
A something, meanwhile raised up in their stead;
To these dumb creatures thus did she transfer
A higher influence 'till it seemed to shed—
With passion-linked thoughts—upon their traces,
Suggestions dim, and visionary graces.
62
Thus so much seemed they representativeTo her of dearer objects, that whate'er
Happened to each of these, she did believe
That it the secret fortune did declare
Of that more lov'd thing, of which this did live
A granted symbol: thus should sickness tear
These creatures from her, when she that had seen,
In thought, a childless widow had she been.
26
63
Her dreams were life! Her very thoughts were forms!A language hieroglyphic could she read
In all created things; and fancy warms
Her spirit so, that it a shape decreed
Which, ere the act matures, the soul informs
Of that which shall infallibly proceed
From the next moment! In each hue, or tinge
Of outward shapes, fate did a truth inpinge.
64
Thus things for her doubly exist. She seesWill's shadow ere that will is brought to act;
The birds seem sent to her on ministries
Of weal or woe: whate'er the fates transact,
Ere 'tis transacted, she perceives the breeze
Of its approaching presence: for all fact
There seems to be such fitness in her state;
'Twixt them seems harmony predestinate.
65
Thus, as it is by some supposed, in heavenThere will of thoughts be such true symbols seen,
That there a clear reflection will be given
Externally of that which is within,
27
Be thus imparted, that they will be, e'en
Like vast phantasmagoric types, which need,
Of further utterance, will supersede:
66
So did all accidents to this Dame speak—So were ideas to mute substances
Imparted, that she never strove to seek
Beyond the intimations which these glances—
When they on her o'erwhelmingly thus break
In intuitions, and impetuous trances—
Convey to her. Life, and all forms of life,
To her with speaking mysteries were rife.
67
She has, or fancies that she has, or ereA person stands before her, in her soul
Imprinted his idea. Things appear
But outward types which spirit doth controul.
Seen objects seem to her the hemisphere
In which is bodied forth the complex whole
Of man's interior state; and what we see
Is but mere accident of what we be.
28
68
Those beings who with her had lately beenSeem to leave with her their peculiar spirit;—
Their voice not only had she heard; had seen
Not only their exterior; of their merit
Not only had opinion form'd; but e'en—
Like impress on warm wax—she seemed t' inherit
Their very selfhood—see their life of lives:—
Their life's love:—that whence each act end derives.
69
She had drunk of their existence! E'en as things,With chemical affinities, combine,
Had she combined with them! Like scorpion stings
Did bad men leave with her! And love divine
Lies on her spirit as with brooding wings—
Like shadows on the crystal hyaline
Which him of Patmos saw—when blessedly
Into the good man's heart she seems to see!
70
But, gentles, it is fit that I should nowTurn to that vessel, which did steer away
From Ponza's isle; bearing upon its prow
Her precious babes. For Genoa's ample bay
29
The mariners to reef the sail, and weigh
The anchor, than that weeping nurse did land,
And weeping children, on a foreign strand.
71
When as the booty now was duly sharedAmong that ship's proprietors;—the nurse
And these poor children, found the sea had spared
Their lives for bondage: e'en than death, a curse
More to be dreaded! He, with whom they fared,
By name, was Guaspirini. To rehearse
How they endured with him a service hard,
And sordid, scarce would suit the theme of bard.
72
Ill clad, worse shod were they, and coarsely fed!The nurse, whose grief was measureless at first,
When she her mistress' loss remember'd, shed
Abundant tears, and her hard fortune curs'd.
And when she saw these babes fair prospects fled,
And to herself indignantly rehearsed
From what height they had fallen, abundant fears
For them had she, and on them fell her tears.
30
73
But since she saw that nothing could be gainedBy weeping for these babes, and since discreet
She was, and prudent, she from tears refrained,
And earnestly Guisfredi did entreat
To hide his name, and birth; and thus she feigned
They were her children, and did this repeat
To all enquirers. Peril, well she knew,
Might, were their birth divulged, to them ensue.
74
For many partizans had Carlos there:—Thus tutored she so well the elder boy
That if, by any chance, he questioned were
To tell his name, he did at once reply
“Giannotto,” with so unconcerned an air,
That no one doubted his sincerity.
And she entreated him, however base,
Or mean his task, to do it with good grace.
75
She hoped the future better days might bring,When safely both their birth and rights might be—
The first made known;—the last reclaimed;—when king
Legitimate should govern Sicily.
31
A heart less adverse to this family,
Than that of his, who, as their hard fate will'd,
Its throne, now undisputed monarch, filled.
76
Thus years past on—but when his sixteenth yearGiannotto gained, a high and lofty spirit
No longer suffered him the yoke to bear
Of sordid servitude. He did inherit
A soul impatient of the sway of fear,
And prompted by that confidence of merit
Which youth and health inspire, from Genoa, he
Stole in an Alexandrian argosy.
77
Three years he roamed from place to place: nor e'erOccasion found auspicious to display
Those powers, which inly told him that they were
Born for distinction on a future day.
At last he heard that he whose rightful heir
He was, was living still, though he yet lay
'Prisoned by Carlos.—Thus, without a home,
He to Lunigiana chanced to roam.
32
78
By accident, he there Currado met,Who, pleased with his deportment, him did hire
To wait upon his person; and while yet
Beritola, within her cell,—the fire
Of her most ardent spirit oft did whet
With dreams fantastic of his absent sire,
And of himself, and brother, there lived he,
Close by that mother, inadvertently.
79
Never had they yet met. For, as I said,Beritola did seldom quit her cell;
And never save when to her prayers she sped
At the due summons of the Chapel bell.
Now while such abject life Giannotto led,
A daughter of Currado it befel,
A youthful widow, her spouse dead, did come
Once more to dwell in her ancestral home.
80
With partial eyes Giannotto she surveyed,—As well she might:—for manly was his form:—
Nature had most profusely lent her aid
To give him that which doth most surely charm
33
Grace, which originates in passion warm,
And lofty; and a high intrepid fire
His eyes now shot, now beamed with soft desire.
81
Upon his lips there played a subtle smile,Whose charm his ivory teeth might well augment;
His rich black hair, in masses, all the while,—
Or, in crisp ringlets on his forehead,—lent
Assistance to those charms which most beguile:
As rich frame doth rich painting ornament,
To aid expression nothing can compare
With fluctuation of luxuriant hair.
82
His eye, though piercing, had a furtive glanceOf dewy softness: and his eloquent cheek,—
Whose hue his brows of jet might well enhance,—
Now pale, and now incarnadined, did speak
Language, of which ne'er yet a maiden's glance
The meaning with impunity might seek.
His symmetry! In it you well might trace
Alcides' prowess, with Apollo's grace.
34
83
Thou art a tyrant, Love!—Thou dost delightTo plant thy missiles in enamouring tresses,
On glowing cheeks, on brow of snowy white,
On lips of coral, and in soft caresses,
And thou dost take a pleasure to excite
Passion, where fate imperiously represses
The fond indulgence of that very aim
Which thou dost so mischievously inflame.
84
Thou bringest youth together purposely;And laughingly dost see their passion grow:
At first mere dalliance it seems to be;
Mere pastime for a summer's day to know;
Then, all at once, thou lay'st aside thy glee,
And dost thyself a mailed tyrant shew,
And spectres rise around thee, and they bear
Poison, and swords, and symbols of despair.
85
So did it fare with this enamour'd dame;At first she thought only to please the sense
Of sight, by viewing beauty, 'gainst whose claim
To admiration none could urge pretence.
35
As dangerous, and such sport prohibit hence;
Or as we interdict unlawful book:
On youth like this, so should not lady look.
86
One day Currado a rich banquet gave:The neighbouring nobles to his castle came:—
Tired of discourse on topics somewhat grave,
At last to motto which his house did claim
For its armorial blazonries, one gave
A weak objection, urging that the same
Of sense was destitute. To prove this, he
A letter quotes in its orthography.
87
That day Giannotto, as it was his care,Right opposite to Spina,—so was named
Currado's daughter,—stood behind a chair:
That noble, who a fit reply had framed,
36
Of shrewd intelligence, and that he blamed
The inept, and inapplicable phrase,
Which would, from his device, one letter raze.
88
“Speak,” cried Currado to Giannotto. ThenDid he, with prompt sagacity, remove
Th' objection, which the speaker with a vain,
Illiterate misconception, tried to prove
Adhesive to the motto. He made plain
That the stale comment which did disapprove
Its fashion, was with ignorance replete,
Of spelling, and of language obsolete.
89
The letter to which he exception made,Was th' adjunct of a word now used no more;
Not an intruder, and by this small aid
The sense original did he restore
To that device. The company betrayed
By lound applauses, iterate o'er and o'er,
Surprise unfeigned, but the youth's best reward
Sprung from a look which Spina's joy declared.
37
90
This joy was evanescent, but complete!'Twas one of those auspicious moments rare
When in their natural order spirits meet:—
Which merit trampled on awhile doth spare
From being outraged: when heart, heart doth greet:
And when eclipsed grandeur's distinctions are;
And when, as they should ever do, they find
Their usurpation disenthroned by mind.
91
Now the first tumult of the triumph o'er,Urged by an affable, and speaking smile,
Giannotto, asked by Spina, to her bore
A cup of Cyprian wine. Alas! the while
She spake, the urchin god did then explore
The means to work his bane. He did beguile
Him of his wonted strength so, that each limb
Shook, and before his eyes a mist did swim.
92
With tottering step, and faltering knees, and handWhich trembled like an aspin, did he raise
The mantling goblet, and the god so planned
That, at that moment, fell Currado's gaze
38
All its red juice was spilled, and as it strays
Down Spina's 'broidered dress, his lord's stern eye
Banished him from his presence instantly.
93
He cursed himself! He raved,—his train he tore!For he who knows the human heart can guess,
Mortification like to this, is more
Heavy to bear, than e'en profound distress.
From that day forth his cheeks the symbol wore
Of inward anguish: and his eye no less—
Fixed on the ground, whence no keen glances broke,—
The inward conflict of his spirit spoke.
94
But Spina, (who beheld with partial eye,This ardent youth, and who had shrewdly guess'd
That, for her sake, on him this obloquy
He had entailed, though no one forward press'd
T' entreat with her for him),—such sympathy
Felt for him in the secret of her breast,
That intercession none, with her, there needed
To plead for him for whom her heart so pleaded.
39
95
And she resolved convenient time to takeRichly the wretched youth to recompense,
For th' open shame, which, for her dear love's sake,
He had endured. Not many weeks from hence
Currado, to his wife, proposed to make
A summer's revel at fair residence
Which, a day's journey from his castle stood,
Embowered in thick and venerable wood.
96
He had decreed that Spina too should shareIn that same recreation. Further he
Addressed, for the first time since shame he bare,
Giannotto with frank cordiality,
Saying that he required him to repair—
The next morn with a festive company—
As he did add—“to spend a summer's day
In tall woods which round that pavilion lay.
97
The day arrived. The company repair—In litters some,—and some on chargers proud,
Whose rich caparisons and trappings rare
Gorgeously 'neath the morning sun-beams glowed:—
40
And gallant cavaliers,—a goodly crowd
Of revellers, were assembled at his hall—
Where then Currado held high festival.
98
Beritola,—who much was urged to go—Inexorably kept her old resolve:—
“It might be,” she exclaimed, “some one would know
“Me, 'mong so many who all there convolve
“From parts so various; and besides, I trow,
“I should in an unwelcome gloom involve
“This joyous company. I were indeed
“Intruder there in this funereal weed.”
99
Little did she suspect her son was there!Or she had ne'er made such excuse, I ween;
Exultingly not only would she bear
Scrutiny's chilling look him to have seen,
But dangers have defied, though such they were
As might daunt hearts for enterprize most keen.
The time was not yet come. Mother and son
Have still a perilous career to run.
41
100
Arrived: they found the place in all bedightThat well could furnish joyance to each guest;
Shrouded within a near wood's gloom from sight,
A far resounding minstrelsy expressed
All sounds inspiring amorous delight:
Tables were spread, where richest wines, express'd
From most luxurious vintages, induce—
Mantling in bowls—each one to taste their juice.
101
The day was cloudless. Through the canopyOf matted leaves which o'er them were suspended,
Glances of shifting light most sportively
Or played upon the turf, or sometimes blended
Their rays with gems, and crystals, daintily
Which from the neck of high-born dames depended.
And many a flickering beam seemed to enhance
The swift mutations of the mazy dance.
102
What saw there Spina? Through the eager trainHer eye was ever on one object fixed.
'Tis a delicious time when we retain—
By understanding which there is betwixt
42
Invisible to all, that—in that mixed,
And giddy circle, we can, thence, defy
Thousands, to thwart electric sympathy.
103
Perhaps, at no time Love does more impartDelicious feeling to the human breast;
Than, when it is contrived, with furtive art,
That among multitudes shall be expressed
By under tones, by side-long looks, that heart
To heart is linked. Love then is doubly blessed.
It feels superior to the uninspired
Mortals around, and is with deep trust fired.
104
Besides, the mystery that hovers round,Enhances its deliciousness! E'en so
Did Spina feel, and so her heart did bound—
As her eye following him, when to and fro
43
Or distance, or the crowds that come and go—
E'en for a moment, if he re-appear!
New charm her eye, new music smites her ear.
105
The scene becomes more gay, more soothing sweetThe liquid notes of music on the air
Seem with a latent melody replete:
And when she sees him in her presence there,
It is a joy to her when others greet
Her look, her dress, or e'en her converse share
With seeming approbation.—Love so fills
Her heart with joy, that it on all distils.
106
After that banquet, when each several guest,Now warm with wine and mirth and powers of song,
Had, or in knots met; or again addressed
Himself to the blithe dance, or had among
Those woods, reclining on his leman's breast,
Breathed out soft love tales,—Spina,—when that throng
As she believed, were most on pastime bent,—
A conscious look towards Giannotto sent.
44
107
He understood her. She had in his hand,That morning thrust a paper, which invited
Him to repair to her, when most that band
Of blithesome revellers appeared delighted
With the day's pleasure. Further she had planned
So her injunctions, so with care indited
Twin path-ways terminating in one spot:
That he not one particular had forgot.
108
Two roads, in opposite directions, led,By paths, which made a circle when conjoined,
To an unobvious, and straw-built shed,
Round which the beech and lime so thickly twined,
Which was with yew and holly so o'erspread,
That 'neath its wall of leaves no eye could find
Its rough substratum, or could e'en have guessed
Coarser integuments their shade compressed.
109
Within 'twas lined with moss, a seat of mossGirded th' interior, and beneath the feet
Rush-woven matting lay. The dainty gloss
Of virgin bower, and jasmine with its sweet,
45
Clematis there, with pyrancanthus meet;
So that this little grot was fit abode
For hamadryad, or some sylvan god.
110
A brawling brook before its entrance played,Whose murmur, mixed with warbling of the birds
Themselves disporting in that leafy shade,
To him who comes to muse there, oft affords
Delicious harmony. Here love-sick maids
Dwelling on all their unimparted hoards
Of passionate tenderness, whole summer day
Might like, in listlessness, to dream away.
111
Hither came Spina, and in little spaceHere also came Giannotto; but I grieve
To say, not unseen by an eye whose trace,
Though at safe distance, watched them as they leave
That joyous company; e'en in the chace
As the sagacious greyhound doth perceive
The track of timid leveret: so, fond pair,
One through that leafy labyrinth tracks you there.
46
112
Scarce to the youth, and dame was leisure lentTo give their full hearts' utterance, scarce the store
T' unlock of tenderness, which long restraint
Caused like a brimming cup to mantle o'er,
Ere vexed Currado, though with speed, with faint,
And cautious step, their shelter doth explore,
And so to learn the extent of what he fears
In ambush lies, and all their converse hears.
113
Yes, there he watches them, and there he findsThat they have fixed to meet in jasmine bower
That doth a gallery terminate which winds
Beneath the windows of that castle tower
In which fair Spina sleeps, when slumber binds
This festal train, at midnight's witching hour:
That they have fixed to meet there, and contrive
The means their smothered love to keep alive.
114
Should he now interrupt this interview,The consequence would be his daughter's love,
Which he would fain no creature ever knew,
Would be the theme of all: the thought doth move
47
Of ruffians ambushed in that very grove,
Whom he had there dispatched this pair to seize—
To ask assistance for his purposes.
115
And more was he to this determined, sinceHe from their converse gathered, that no fear
He need to entertain of consequence
Fatal to Spina's spotless character.
Yet since he finds, not from indifference,
But rather since she is esteemed too dear
E'en for love's questionable impusles,
Her safety springs, him rage the more convulses.
116
Yet does he tarry till their converse ended;The day was now declining, ere content
With what has past, and with a hope that blended
A deeper expectation with the event
Of their next interview, their steps they bended
Each different ways, towards the spot, whence rent
The air itself, till th' echoing woods reply,
Each various sound of festive revelry.
48
117
Thence bursts of laughter peal. Thence minstrelsies,Or rise in swell symphonious, or prolong
The tender lapsing cadence till it dies,
Like panting summer gale the leaves among
Which scarcely flutter at its amorous sighs:—
Thence sounds of various converse; and the strong
Redoubling of applauses echoing deep
Into the woods; in one loud chorus sweep.
118
Currado from his lurking place stole forth;And such his bearing that no one might trace
The secret burthen, which of all that mirth
Destroyed the charm; and robbed of every grace
The fair nymphs converse, who with tricksome mirth
To dalliance challenged him. Through all that space
Of anxious expectation, he conceals,
E'en from his spouse, the trouble that he feels.
119
Spina, Giannotto, 'neath the moon that nightDecreed to plight their vows. A gallery—
Where odorous trailing plants the smell delight,
As they their tendrils twine luxuriantly
49
That portion of the dwelling occupy
In which their rooms are placed, it is decreed
Shall be fit minister to such a deed.
120
At the far end of this, you may descendBy a few marble stairs, and there is placed
A fair pavilion where all luxuries blend
With which a spot should be, or can be, graced,
To passion consecrate: round it depend
Rich crimson draperies, through whose gold-inlaced,
And blazoned tissues, the sun's radiance glows
Soft as the softest bloom of Sharez rose.
121
Columns of porphyry support its roof:On which the sculptor with his cunning hand
Had formed a tracery of daintiest woof:
Within its centre did a fountain stand,
Whose perfumed waters, as 'twere their behoof
From one source all the senses to command,
By freshness, melody, and scent were graced,
By cooling touch, and by delicious taste.
50
122
Flowers of all sorts there stood in porcelain jars;Or round these shafts of marble were enwreathed;
The rose, the musky violet, the stars
Of the frail jasmine there profusely breathed.—
Birds from far climes glance there in mimic wars,
Or frolic loves, in golden wire-work sheathed,
Green, orange, blue, gold, crimson, every dye
Of plumed magnificence, there met the eye.
123
There odorous frankincense for ever burned:Around its walls were satin cushions piled,
Which,—while the eye their rich device discerned
With wonder—by their amplitude beguiled,—
And their luxurious softness,—him who yearned
For daintiest repose, on them to have coiled
His charmed limbs. Such was the fair retreat
In which this pair had doomed at night to meet.
124
A hush doth now o'er all the revels steal:Yet still the music floats upon the breeze,
Which e'en as if the leaves themselves did feel,
Gushes, in languid lapsings, from the trees.
51
It seems to die away in cadences
Fitting the hour; and that hour to it lent,
Or from it caught, a deeper blandishment.
125
The distant laugh, the titter of some girlWho listens to a sheepish paramour;
The very tones of revelry; the whirl
Of the gay dance, at that bewitching hour
Seem on the ear like tripping brook to purl:
To unison, by nature's awful power
Fused are they, till like faint stars' distant light
They modify, not break, the gloom of night.
126
The moon now sheds upon the silvery leavesA gentle radiance, and the wind seems hushed,
Except where whisperingly, whence foliage weaves
A bower for it to nestle in, it gushed
As o'er informed with scents which it receives
From buds and blossoms which profusely blushed
Upon their teeming stalks. Where 'tis not pent
In such an ambush, sleeps that element.
52
127
Now one by one that company retiresEach to his downy couch:—not Spina so:—
She sits upon that gallery, and soft fires—
Mild as those silvery splendours that now flow
From the moon's crystal face—with her desires
So interknead a superhuman glow,—
A tenderness on her shed so intense,—
Against love's risks its depth seems best defence.
128
Yes, there is that in the calm face of nightWhich while to passions depth it doth impart
A greater depth, doth with such exquisite,
And holy tenderness, refine the heart,
Especially when the pale moon's clear light,
Mellows down forms, till, spirit like, athwart
The gloom of night they gleam,—that in it lies
Which love at once augments and purifies.
129
She hears Giannotto's step. 'Twas his indeed!How soft it falls on her expecting ear!
Her heart responsive beats to every tread,
Whose smothered lapse scarce tells her he is there.
53
Upon her sylphy'd form its lustre clear.
Her snow white dress so softly round her gleams,
She seems a creature born of heavenly dreams.
130
She hears Giannotto's step. 'Twas his indeed!The love they plighted there I need not tell.
Nought could their depth of tenderness exceed,
Except the depth of that strong principle
Which made each feel that there was not a need
For either, in their self defence, the spell
Of honour to invoke. With such deep awe
On both their bosoms was engraved its law,
131
That not e'en all the soft embrace of love;Not e'en fond kisses, and e'en fonder sighs;
Not e'en those moon-beams soft as plumes of dove;
Nor softer glances of their tear-lit eyes;
Not e'en the breeze which seems to bid them prove
Those transports which its breath doth eulogize;
Not each;—not all of these together;—urge
Them to o'erstep honour's tremendous verge.
54
132
Currado mad with rage, when he had firstLearned that the dame had not a thought disguised
From her beloved Giannotto, then did burst
On the fond pair.—Though they were sore surprised,
And little pleased so soon to have dispersed
All their fond dream of love, yet enfranchised
As they felt they were, from dishonouring aim,
'Twas sorrow that they rather felt than shame.
133
Whether it be, as Bards have often sungThat lofty thoughts give secret warrantry
Of lofty birth; and thus those who are sprung
Of generous lineage, inly justify
In high pretensions; whether that the tongue
Will, of the lofty, still speak loftily,
And a high heart be, as it seems to me,
Nature's inalienable mystery.
134
Such theme, more fit for philosophic school,Than for the muse to dwell on, we will waive;
And here assert alone that by no rule
That discipline or courtesy e'er gave,
55
Manly deportment, self collected, brave,
Be gained, that did the noble pride exceed
Of young Giannotto in that hour of need.
135
But vexed Currado not a word would hear—Giannotto told him,—if he would permit,
That, at meet time, and place, he, to his ear,
The secret of his lineage would commit.
That when 'twere known to him, it would appear
That, though his station now was menial, fit
Was he, and honourably might he claim,
The hand of Spina, or of loftiest dame.
136
To reason was Currado deaf. Or ereHe hither had repaired, he gave command
To several of his followers, who with cheer
Aught that was hurtful to Giannotto planned,
To hide themselves whence they his cause might hear:—
The signal fixed on given, this servile band
Fell on the youth while asking to be heard;
And in a lonely dungeon him immured.
56
137
Spina they also seized; and in a cellNoisome, and dark did they constrain to lie;
Her father did not to her mother tell
Where she was thrust: the hard ground did supply
Her only bed: and though her salt tears fell,
No hand was there to wipe them: though a sigh
Oft from her heaving heart, as if 'twould break
Did burst; no one on her did pity take.
138
When as her mother asked where she might be,—Currado told of her unworthy love;—
And that she was imprisoned:—further she
Could not by any means in pity move
Him to divulge to her: thus silently
Her grief maternal smothering, did she prove
Had she not in Beritola found a friend—
Pangs fierce as those which did her daughter rend.
139
Yet she had this to succour her. BesidesShe had a bed, food, raiment, and a home!
But where the heart is wounded, it derides
The little comforts which from wealth can come.
57
Poor Spina: that she might,—or share her gloom—
Or might, by gentle sympathy, decrease
Pangs from that thrall which she would fain release.
140
It was a woeful sight to see that dameWho erst so splendidly was dress'd, and seemed
So blithesome in her manners; who did shame
All rival beauties by a grace that beamed
In all she said and did, so that to claim
Likeness to her in word or deed was deemed
Distinction's height,—it was a sight most sad
To see her pale, and shrunk, and coarsely clad!
141
Worse fares Giannotto. For the fetid dampExhaling from his dungeon, so impairs
His senses and his health, that, like frail lamp
Which when extinguishing but feebly flares,
His life seems passing from him: yet the stamp
Of innate dignity his mien still bears:
His grief unuttered in his heart he keeps;
And for poor Spina only sighs and weeps.
58
142
His sleep forsook him, and the little doleOf bread and water, which his frame sustained,
He scarce could touch. Despair was in his soul;
And in his dumb demeanour proudly reigned.
Ah, what can man's unnatural heart controul,
Thus, from that casket rich, what it contained
Of richest value,—his intrepid heart,—
Thus piece-meal to purloin with fiend-like art?
143
Poor Spina! Her grief was of milder mood:—She often wept, and as she wept she sung
Some woeful ditty which expressed in rude,
And uncouth rhyme, a fate like that which wrung
Her youthful heart: and oft, as she pursued
The artless strain, a sob was heard among
Her woeful melody, if aught displays
Her own experience in another's phrase.
144
And sometimes when her grief could least be cheered,Her voice was heard like maniac's wildering strain;
So wild it was that it might well be feared
That one who could so passionately plain
59
In future fate, could never know again
A tranquil moment, or a mind at ease;—
Wild was her melody as gusty seas!
145
Two years had they in this captivityBeen now immured, when Carlos' hateful sway
Was shaken off throughout all Sicily:—
Gladdened at heart Currado was, the day
When first the fame of this to him did flee,
For of the Ghibbilines had he alway
Been the warm advocate. His lonely guest,
When she heard this, unwonted cheer expressed.
146
Giannotto now so long had prisoner been,That those who envied him when they perceived
How partially by Spina he was seen,
Inly some pity for his fate conceived:
One of his keepers, who, with gentler mien,
Had now and then by little cares relieved
The heavy yoke of his captivity;
Informed him of this change in Sicily.
60
147
“Alas,” he cried, “I, who, for fourteen years,“A wretched wanderer, rambling through the earth,
“Have led a wretched life—now this appears,—
“Whence once I hoped life's joys might all have birth!
“Now it appears—and finds me chilled with fears—
“Deprived of all which gives to being worth.
“'Reft of that liberty which only could
“Make me hear this as loyal subject should.”
148
“How,” said the keepers, “how can rise or fall“Of mighty kings, have reference to thee,
“And to thy abject state?” The wretched thrall
Then cried, “Dost thou thus mock my agony?
“Thou tear'st my heart, when thou dost thus recal
“The stake that my dear father formerly
“Had in the fate of Sicily! What wrought
“Its king's fall, ruin on my father brought.”
149
“For though I then was young, I yet retain“The recollection, that, ere I did fly
“From thence, while Manfred there as king did reign
“My father was a chief in Sicily.”
61
The keeper.—“I may now,” did he reply,
“This tell to thee, since that fate now I feel,
“The fear of which made me his name conceal.”
150
“Bertholdo was my father called, and so“Is he called still, if he be living yet,
“Guisfredi is my real name: although
“In order to escape the very fate
“Which now I bear, all here who've seen me, know
“Me by another name; and of high state
“And large esteem, I doubt not, for his sake,
“That I should yet in Sicily partake.”
151
The keeper said no more: but from thence heWent quickly to Currado, and he told
All that Giannotto spake of Sicily,
And of the state, which he said he should hold
Should he that isle revisit. Silently
Currado listened while he did unfold
His tale, which though most earnestly he heard,
No wonder he betrayed by look or word.
62
152
But straightway to Beritola he went,And asked her if she e'er had had a son
By name Guisfredi. She, who, his intent,
Little suspected, answered, with a groan,
“Had it pleased heaven what once to me it lent,
“Still to preserve to me, e'en such an one,
“And such his name, now in his twentieth year
“Were living, my declining days to cheer.”
153
Currado, when he heard this, doubted notThat what Giannotto had affirmed was true,
And now the thought that he at once might blot
Out his own shame, and that of Spina too;
And that fair opportunity he got
By which much mercy he might likewise shew;
Thence without further parley he commands
Giannotto's presence. He before him stands.
154
Currado finding all he thought was true,And grieving that a youth of generous blood
He thus had outraged, did to him renew
Proffers of friendship, and while thus he stood,
63
Take Spina as his wife, and thus make good
That which, in hour of dalliance, he had vowed,
With his free pleasure it was now allowed.
155
He somewhat spake of past disloyalty;Of that which servants to their masters owe,
And though he had an untold mystery
Which somewhat did enfranchize him from low,
And base subjection, “yet so long,” said he,
“As thou in outward form thyself didst shew
“To be my servant, so long had I claim
“From thee of honour, not a purposed shame.”
156
And then he spake of grant of fair estates,And patrimonial wealth, all which, he said,
Since he no son possessed, my daughter waits—
If thou her husband be—when I am dead.
Giannotto who with ill grace tolerates
A theme, which seemed upon his truth to shed
Grievous disparagement, with speech abrupt
Did thus his declamation interrupt.
64
157
“Thy gifts be to thyself! Of my best years,“Hast thou the best part shorn of life and grace;
“I loved thy daughter, and that love still cheers,
“And long hath cheered, the dreary dwelling place
“To which thou hast consigned me. With deaf ears
“When I was anxious from thy heart to chace
“Base disesteem,—thou turnedst from my suit,
“And sent'st me from thee desolate, and mute.”
158
“I loved thy daughter, and shall ever love!“But, old man, which the greater crime is, think,
“When the strong fires of youthful passions move
“To speak as nature teaches, or to sink
“An ardent spirit, which would scorn to prove
“A recreant to its honour, which would shrink
“From shame as from a lep'rous plague—to doom
“A heart like this to self consuming gloom!”
159
“Which is the greater crime or thus to act,—“Or for a youth to love in life's warm spring,
“When not to be a lover is, in fact,
“Not to be worthy love from any thing?—
65
“Of universal nature? Hath the sting
“Of torment, or of death, on any one,
“Resulted from a deed that I have done?
160
“Proud should I be t'obtain thy daughter's hand!“And thee to honour for that daughter's sake!
But speak, I pray thee not, of house or land,
“Or fair estate,—or dowry,—though it make
“Her e'en the wealth of Crœsus to command!
“Love's the reward of Lovers!—and I take
“Thy gift—if thou give her—with ecstacy!
“Without her—all beside were mockery!
161
Currado (though—like most, from earliest youth,Who have been spoiled by undisputed sway,—
He was with power intoxicate) in truth
Who had a noble heart, and sooth to say,
His past demeanour with unmingled ruth
Towards Guisfredi viewed, pleased did survey
One doomed to wed his daughter, had a spirit,
Which,—what it gain'd by fortune—claim'd by merit.
66
162
Currado nothing said! But with a strong,And tender grasp, he to his bosom pressed
Guisfredi, who, with persecution long,
He, as his victim, held. With shame oppressed,
With downcast eye, and with a faltering tongue,
His quivering lips some faint excuse expressed.
Guisfredi, far too lofty pleased to be
With shame of others, this feigned not to see.
163
Spina was now released; but thin, and pale,The ghost of what she was, she seemed to be;
Yet still Guisfredi joyfully did hail—
Forlorn as was her aspect—her, whom he
Had loved in other days. The wondrous tale
Of what had chanced, Currado did decree,
To be concealed, e'en till a little space
Had re-produced the lovers' wonted grace.
164
Yet, to Guisfredi, 'twas a spectacleFar more affecting to behold her thus,
Than 'twas to see her, when, the theme of all,
She was, not only, of the envious,
67
Instance of destiny propitious.
He then admired: but pity love creates,
Which, for dimm'd beauty, more than compensates.
165
Yes! 'twas to him a most affecting sightTo see her pale and shrunken! For his sake
He knew that she had thus sustained a blight
Of all, which usually in young breasts wake
Dreams of impassioned love. An exquisite,
A permeating tenderness did shake
The very pillars of his inmost life,
When he, in such tried mistress, saw his wife.
166
And far, far more he loved her, than when sheGorgeous, with jewels decked, before him stood;
Now she appealed to that deep sympathy
Which he had learned, schooled, by the lessons rude,
And bitter conflicts, of adversity!
She was to him a hallowed thing endued
With consecration, whose entire revealing
Was privilege attached to fellow feeling.
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167
One morn Currado to Beritola went,And asked her how she might the bliss abide
If fortune towards her should so much relent,
Not only that her son might be espied
By her, but also that from banishment
He should with him bring Spina as his bride?
To whom the dame—“To see that son were dear
“As life itself, and so seen dearer were!”
168
Then said he to his wife—“And what wouldst thou“Say, gentle lady, furnished thus to be
“With son-in-law, husband of her whom now
“Thou mournest as a creature lost to thee?”
His wife replied, “Whoe'er it is, I trow,
“To whom thou dost thy preference decree,
“He shall have mine, whether his blood be pure,
“Or if he be of parentage obscure.
169
“Yet canst thou doubt a moment, thus to see“My daughter, and from thy hand to receive
“With her a son-in-law, would be to me,
“Not only from long sorrow a reprieve,
69
“I will not now repeat, that which would grieve
“Thyself to hear, how much for her I've felt:—
“Thus recompense for this were richly dealt!”
170
Then said Currado—“In a few day's space“Both of your hearts I hope to satisfy!”
Meanwhile beholding that each furrowed trace
Of sorrow, and corroding agony,
Had left Guisfredi's, and his daughter's face;
And seeing both apparelled daintily,
He of the former asked, “What joy could vie
“With thine, if here thy mother met thine eye?”
171
He answered, “I can scarce think that despair,“Which must so long have weighed upon her breast,
“Permits her yet to breathe the vital air:—
“But if mine eyes may yet be so far blest
“As to see her, the gladness that I share
“Would be redoubled, if her smiles attest
“An union, which, to me doth seem to bring
“All joys, from heaven's munificence which spring.”
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172
The ladies then were called. BeritolaWho of Giannotto often had been told,
And who had heard that he in prison lay,
Since Spina he with passion dared behold,
Knowing that this was he, did then betray—
As did Currado's lady—manifold
Symptoms of wonder, at what seemed a change
So unaccountable to them, and strange.
173
But by some hints which from Currado fell—And recollecting what he had premised
About her son;—she felt as if a spell
Hovered around the youth; till enfranchized
From hesitation, by a mark, full well
Remembered on his brow, she recognized
Her eldest son. With open arms she fled
Towards him, as towards one brought back from the dead.
174
To this did many questions fond succeed,All which did more and more elucidate
The wondrous truth: though there was little need
For much enquiry, for a passionate,
71
In either breast; each had an intimate
Feeling—from word, look, gesture—understood
At once, of kindness, and connatural blood.
175
Currado, now, to all his family,Triumphantly of this alliance spake;
And so to give to it solemnity;
And, much as in him lies, that he may make
Some reparation for th' indignity
Heaped on Guisfredi; further for the sake
Of adding to the tie a public fame;
A solemn marriage feast doth he proclaim.
176
Guisfredi hearing this, with earnest tone,Exclaimed “Currado, you have nobly done;—
“By your means, I, who did in prison groan,
“The height of human happiness have won.
“My mother even had she been your own
“Could you have honoured more than you have done?
“To make all perfect; having in the past
“Given what you could, give what you can at last.
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177
“With Guasparini, with whom,—as I've said,—“I once did dwell; still dwells, as I believe
“My younger brother; I beseech your aid
“Him from his thrall in Genoa to retrieve.
“Further let bridal revels be delayed
“Till news of him my mother's care relieve.
“'Tis but imperfect joy, the sight of one,
“To a mother who laments a second son!
178
“Further, to Sicily do thou consent—“At the same time—to send a messenger;—
“The change in the Sicilian Government,
“If still my father live, the harbinger
“Of joy to him must be: in such event
“Could he my mother's safety too infer
“It must be clear, as his to us would be,
“'Twere cause of augmentation to his glee.”
179
With general approbation all receiveOf filial and fraternal love this proof;
He who to Genoa goes, finds that still live
Scacciato and the nurse beneath the roof
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The news with which in that young man's behoof
The messenger was charged, till he had heard
By the confronted nurse its truth averred.
180
An only child, an heiress rich, and fair,Had Guasparini; he bestowed her hand
On Scacciato, and, with this young pair,
Embarked from Genoa in a galley manned
With his own people. Need I to declare
The joy,—too deep for those to understand
Who friends, that they thought lost, have ne'er regained,—
Which in these re-united spirits reigned?
181
If this could even for a while suspendThy fixed expression of solemnity,
Thy deep, and stubborn melancholy blend
Beritola, with soft hilarity.
If 'twere imperative enough to bend
A rooted habitude of misery,
What must it be on each whose bounding breast
The elasticity of youth possessed?
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182
In all that joy why should we overlookThat faithful nurse? Of all the long tried friend!
For twice seven years nothing her purpose shook
To bear her burthen to its destined end.
She never inadvertently mistook
What to th' accomplishment might chiefly tend
Of her soul's purpose, safety of that child!
For twice seven years her faith had been its shield.
183
First at her mistress and Guisfredi looksThis faithful creature, then Scacciato eyes;—
And oft the well pleased mother she invokes
Whether she thinks that she could recognize
Her eldest born. Then those whom fortune yokes
With the two youths,—those two fair dames,—she spies,
While oft between her muttering lips is heard,
“Two such youths, two such brides, were never paired.”
184
While at a banquet they were all convened,The messenger returned from Sicily,
Who brought the news Bertholdo had regained
His rich demesnes, from prison long set free.
75
Once more his long lost wife and sons to see;
From whom for twice seven years it now had been
He had not message heard, or letter seen.
185
This messenger reported that a shipFilled with Bertholdo's friends, steered thitherward;
And that, or ere the sun in ocean dip
His westering orb, that bark will not retard
Its swift return. “Bertholdo's quivering lip,”
Cries he, “can scarcely find appropriate word
“To speak th' impatience whose keen agonies,
“Burst forth in flashes from his eager eyes.”
186
Then the nurse bustled that all things might beDuly prepared, or ere they did embark;
Her eye at once seems every thing to see!
Such circumspection every act doth mark;
Together with a will so totally
Bent upon others' service;—such a spark
Of new lit fire is in her aged eye;—
And so refreshed is her activity,
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187
It does one good to look at her! Or ereI quit this theme, let me one word to thee
Devote, thou being whom without a tear
I scarce can think on! From their memory
Can it be e'er effaced, who in the sphere
Of early life have seen old age thus free
From self reflection? Can those who have proved
Such care from age, its portrait see unmoved?
188
Scarce had that messenger his story told,Or ere Bertholdo's delegates appeared;
Many fond salutations they unfold;
The spirit of Beritola they cheered,
Assuring her, by signals manifold,
That their Lord hoped e'en till he almost feared,
With such an ardent spirit did he yearn
For the blessed moment of their wished return!
189
From him then many greetings they expressed—Both to Currado and his wife, and prayed,
That, for the honour done to their lorn guest,
All that a grateful spirit could have said
77
To Guasparini, that which well repaid
His daughter's free espousals, courteously;—
And sureties were for their lord's amity!
190
When Sicily they left, Scacciato's fateUnknown was to Bertholdo: therefore these
Could only pledge themselves from intimate
Acquaintance with his thoughts, that much 'twould please
Him to receive his daughter as the mate
Of Scacciato: thus in courtesies
Reciprocally shewn, this band of friends;—
And interchange of kindly office,—blends.
191
The banquet ended, towards the neighbouring strand,Where lay the bark,—attended by their host,
And by his spouse, and by a friendly band,—
Beritola, her sons, and her loved most,
By side of each, hand closely locked in hand,
And that old nurse, repaired. A pang engrossed
Their hearts at parting, but the happy thought
Of him they soon should meet swift comfort brought!
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192
The Goats, I need not say, were not forgot!These had the links been; from them had been drawn
The little slender thread which bound the lot
Of present joy, to that which marked the dawn
Of their adventurous lives. Thus as a goat
A female life saved, may not hence be drawn
Fitly, the lesson, that we ne'er are wise,
So long as trifling agents we despise.
The whole of this narrative to stanza 89 inclusive, is taken from Rousseau's Confession. The incident occurred to bim while living with the Compte de Gouvon, and the motto to which it refers was “Tel fiert qui ne tue pas,” which the stupid objector contended ought to be “Tel fier, qui ne tue pas.”—Rousseau was called upon for an explanation, who said that fiert was derived from the verb ferir, a verb then obsolete; and that it was not the adjective fier mis-spelt, as the objector had supposed.
Perhaps, of all the intimations of love none are so piquant as those gracefully conveyed by an under manner in a miscellaneous society: the object of these intimations enjoys the complicated transport of gratified affections, of affections gratified with mystery, and of a feeling of triumphant superiority to all the uninspired mortals by whom he is surrounded. —Isabel, 1 vol. p. 17.
| The Duke D'Ormond, a tragedy; and Beritola, a tale | |