Puslapio vaizdai
PDF
„ePub“

Along his lips a smile ran in and out,
And play'd around the corners of his mouth :
Seeing the wedge was in, I said no more,
But left my comrade, Love, to drive it home.

How glorious was the rising of the sun,
How crisp the morning air from off the sea!
We both were ripe for sport, my horse and I.
He shook his mane and forelock to the breeze,
And, starting at a gallop, hurl'd the sand
A score of yards behind him; then he stood,
Wide-nostrill'd, snorting at the salt sea-foam.
Or, wheeling in large circuit from the wave,
With forward ears and neck superbly arch'd,
Broke off again at speed along the shore.
So, merrily, the morning hour went by.
At hand was Renzo, prompt on our return
To hold the stirrup and to take my horse;
And as he slacken'd the Calabrian's girth
And set the saddle back upon his loins,
Bashful, with half-averted face, he spoke :-
"Padrone, you are right, and I'm to blame :
If at the ventiquattro Rita comes,
And she comes often, to the garden wall,
Why, then and there, I will confession make
And do whatever penance she enjoins."
I gave his hand a hearty English shake,
And hasten'd in to break my hungry fast.

There, on a snowy cloth, had Rita piled
The gold and purple clusters of her vines,
With strawberries blushing in their ducal leaves
And figs in sugar'd ripeness all agape;

And now, imprison'd in a crystal bell,
She set the cheese of cheeses in the midst,
Strachino of Milan, with galantine

In amber jelly laid, and speckled trout

Bright from the mountain streamlet, nor forgot
The flask of sparkling Asti that I loved.

Then, as I smoothed the napkin on my knee,

As one clothed with authority I spoke :

66

Rita, my child, I love you well enough

To rate you soundly for your last night's work."-
True woman-like, to justify herself

She broke in here, and fairly proved my case:
"Ah! me; that Renzo should be so unkind;
And all because my playmate Guido smiles
And dances with me as in bygone days,
And vows the woman's fairer than the child,
Even as the rose is sweeter than the bud.
Oh yes, I know what jealous Renzo says,
I heard that song about his horse and me:
He keeps all loving-kindness for his nag,

But curb and spur are what poor Rita needs!
Ah! me, that Renzo should be so unkind."
She ceased, with pouted lips, impenitent;
And I went on :- "You wrong yourself and him
To weigh the tinsel of mere compliment
Against the jewel of a loving heart.

But flattery is a springe that takes you all.
O foolish girl! Be warn'd, be warn'd in time;
Playmates in youth may play at mates too long;
He that beguiles the ear may force the lips,
And then, mayhap, che so io? a stab in the dark."
Up went her hands, in terror, to her eyes
To shut the spectre out my words had raised;
Her bosom rose and fell with sobs suppress'd,
And Rita vanish'd in a shower of tears.

Though not unsympathetic, let me own
To breakfasting that day with appetite :
I chuckled at the tickling of a trout,
Joked on the bedding of fair galantine,
And ate my bread and cheese with carefulness.
Grapes bring their gold and purple gifts to kings,
And strawberries crown the feast of lesser lords;
But ripe figs are ambrosia of the gods,
And Asti sparkles bright as Hippocrene.
So, giving thanks, I lit my morning pipe.
Poor Rita brought me coffee, while I smoked;
And as she placed the salver by my side
Half sadly, half reproachfully, she spoke:
"Caro Lei, never think so ill of me
As to believe that I am false of heart,

Or I shall shame your judgment by good deeds.

If at the ventiquattro Renzo comes,

He will come, surely?—to the garden wall,

I'll make him sweet amends, in truth I will,

For what his jealous fancy took amiss."

"Sad brow and true maid, will you?"-"Nay," she said, "I cannot tell how sad my brow may be,

But true maid will I prove, and truer wife."-
"Well said, my pretty Rita; you shall have
That bunch of coral charms you covet so,
I kept them from you for a parting gift.
See, this to shield you from the evil eye,
And this to ward the calentura off,

And this but take them all-Faith, Hope, and Love,
These three will help you more than all the rest."-
"Much thanks, I kiss your Signoria's hand,

They will be valued doubly for your sake."-
And Rita's April face was wreath'd in smiles.

Now, all the long and sultry afternoon,
Tranced in the dim siesta of the South,
'Twixt sleeping and awake I lay, and caught
At intervals the touch of Rita's lute,

And snatches of her clear soprano voice
In words I fail'd to catch; and yet I dreamt
That she was conning o'er some tender song,
To please her truant Renzo, if he came.

I sat out on the balcony, at night,
Impregnating the air of Italy.

With puffs of fragrance from th' Habaña drawn,
And, leaning forward to knock off my ash,
A pretty picture met my eyes below.
For Renzo, stretch'd upon the dwarfish wall,
Gazed down at Rita on the garden-seat;
And Rita's downcast eyes were on her lap
Where, spoil'd of all their freshness, lay the rose
And sweet verbena sprigs of yesterday.

Then, drawing some short prelude from her lute,
She sang her pretty song to Flower and Leaf:

"Faded Flower! Your empty cup
Droops athirst, soon withering up:
Wither'd Leaf! Your fading breath
Keeps its fragrance, ev'n in death.

"Come and gone! your term is brief,
Faded Flower and wither'd Leaf;
Joy and Friendship, brief as you,
Must they fade and wither, too?

"Wither'd Leaf and faded Flower
Die at their appointed hour;
But the joy that Friendship brings,
Dying, to remembrance clings."

She ended, sighing: yet they sat and talk'd
A sweet hour by the moon; at last, I heard,
Amid the silence of the summer night,
A rustle-a whisper-and a gentle snap,
Like purse-lips closing on fresh-minted gold;
And then a pattering of little feet

Across the gravel, but they paused midway,
While Rita kiss'd her gather'd finger-tips
And toss'd them back to Renzo, who replied,
Laughing: "To-morrow, at the ventiquattro."
Then Rita, flitting in, made fast the door,
And all the house was still. So I, to bed;
Conceiting, like the silly fly on the wheel,
That I, and Love, had made their quarrel up.

BARON BUNSEN.1

BY THE REV. F. D. MAURICE.

FOURTEEN years have passed away since Baron Bunsen left England; nearly eight since he died. Page after page in his biography records that some friend who was dear to him went before him or has followed him. The generation that is growing up in both countries will only have a tradition of his name; will perhaps have learnt to connect it with some disparaging epithet. Events have moved on rapidly in our land; a seven days' war has changed the condition of his. Scarcely any controversy in which he took an interest is in the same state now as ten years ago. Statesmen and doctors with whom he conversed have altered, sometimes reversed, their relations to each other. Nevertheless, the biography which the Baroness. Bunsen has written of her husband will be read with ever-deepening interest, not only by those who owe him reverence and gratitude, but by those who have only the most indistinct, even the most unfavourable, impressions of him. The former will understand him far better than they did while they listened to his words; will feel how often they misconstrued him, how little they appreciated his purposes even when they were most impressed by his gifts and received most benefits from his kindness. Those who have no memories to revive and no wrong judgments to repent of may welcome this book as one of the most useful and

agreeable helps to a knowledge of events that have been passing, of men that have been acting, in the times nearest their own. I believe it interprets not only much that we have been

1 "A Memoir of Baron Bunsen." By his widow, Frances Baroness Bunsen. Two vols. Longmans, 1868.

"God in History; or, the Progress of Man's Faith in the Moral Order of the World." By C. C. J. Baron Bunsen. Translated by Susannah Winkworth. Longmans, 1868.

thinking of and searching after, but much that our children will be obliged to be thinking of and searching after far more vigorously than we have done. Such a book will not be much affected by criticisms-cordial, hostile, or lukewarm. It will make its own way. The stateliness of the language in which it is written, if not quite in accordance with the fashion of the hour, will leave an impression upon the reader's mind that the book is destined to last, that it will tell the days to come what has been done and felt in ours.

Merely as a story it would possess great attractions. It records the fortunes of a poor boy, the son of a Dutch soldier who had much ado to maintain existence on a few acres of land and a small pension that had been allotted him. This boy became the friend and counsellor of two Prussian monarchs, a negotiator with cardinals and popes, an ambassador in England enjoying the confidence of bishops, nobles, princes. What sensational incidents, unexpected gold mines, unparalleled patrons, can

account for a result so romantic and improbable? The real marvel of the narrative is the utter absence of all such machinery. There are no marvels, no great benefactors, the most thorough independence. A calm simple life is maintained through all these changes. The rule of fiction,

"Servetur ad imum Qualis ab initio processerit," is exhibited in fact. The hard-working boy at Corbach is the hard-working man in Rome and in London; delighted to leave the society of courtiers that he may work still more vigorously in a house at Heidelberg on a translation of the Bible for the German people. "For me," he writes to one of his sons in the year 1847, when he was in the full sunshine of London fortune, " God ordained

"from earliest childhood a rigorous "training; through poverty and distress "I was compelled to fight my way "through the world, bearing nothing "with me but my own inward conscious66 ness and a determination to live for an "ideal aim, disregarding all else as in"significant." (Vol. ii. p. 131.)

He

What this ideal aim was, the book, I think, very clearly reveals. But it certainly exhibits to us no stoic whose heart is closed against the impressions of the outward world, or the influences of human intercourse. A man so thoroughly sympathetic, so much affected by the persons with whom he conversed and the sights which he saw, one does not often meet with or read of. And they were not transitory effects. did not, like so many men who aim at self-culture, learn a little from this man and a little from that, and then, having sucked the orange, cast away that which contained it as rind. A man or woman from whom he had learned any lessons or received any blessing was an object of gratitude for ever. His sister Christiana seems to have had a vast power over his youth; from her his first definite religious convictions had been received. He was only too ready to pay her deference in manhood till she claimed a kind of dominion over him which would have hindered the fulfilment of sacred tasks and duties to which he was pledged. But her stern faith did not cease to be a potent element in his life, even when his thoughts had become most free and discursive. At Göttingen he was in the midst of a circle of friends full of zeal for German freedom, afterwards to be leaders of German science. He seems to have been the centre of them, not because he exercised authority over them, but because he could enter more than any into the thoughts and feelings of the rest. There was scarcely one of them with whom he did not maintain throughout life a genial intercourse. He felt the power of Schleiermacher during a short visit to Berlin when he was twenty-four; of Niebuhr, he said, at the same age, "It would be hard to describe my No. 104.-VOL. XVIII.

"astonishment at his command over "the entire domain of knowledge. All "that can be known seems to be within "his grasp, and everything known to "him to be at hand as if he held it by a thread." (Vol. i. p. 84.)

66

The influence which began thus never ceased to act upon him. Niebuhr's precepts and example determined in many ways the course of his studies. Under Niebuhr he learnt to join study with practical life. The Toryism of Niebuhr's European politics, so much contrasted with his love of Athenian democracy, evidently, for a time, had great mastery over Bunsen. But it did not expel his earlier passion for popular liberty. It helped to give that greater firmness and solidity-to prepare him for clearer views of what was demanded of people and monarchs, when the crisis came which was to test them both; a crisis which Niebuhr dreaded, and which Bunsen lived to see.

No deeper moral is to be learnt from this biography than that which these passages of it disclose, that the truly receptive man, if he is also humble and reverent, acquires a strength and independence of purpose that is never reached by a man who is always on the watch lest his opinions should be stolen from him, who dreads the intrusion of every new thought lest it should disturb what he has already. The different elements among which he works help to mould, not a pliable and changeable but a selfsubsisting character, which, because it is self-subsisting, has unlimited capacity for growth and development.

The critical moment of Bunsen's life was when he arrived in Florence in 1816. He had been tutor to a young American, Mr. Astor. Whilst travelling with him he had been studying Persian. His great longing was to visit India; there he thought he should be able to learn how the languages, religions, and arts of the East bore upon the West; there he should be at the well-head of the culture that he desired for himself the culture that was needed for his country. He must prepare himself for this work. Till he was fit for it

L

« AnkstesnisTęsti »