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 THE 
 
 STORY OF A LIFE 
 
 BY THE AUTHOR OF 
 
 SCENES AND IMPRESSION'S IN EGYPT AND ITALY, 
 RECOLLECTIONS OF THE PENINSULA, &c. 
 
 IN TWO VOLUMES. 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 TRIN'TF.D FOR 
 
 LONGMAN, HURST, REES, ORME, BROWN, AND GREEN, 
 PATERNOSTER-ROW . 
 
 1825.

 
 PREFACE. 
 
 In this age of restlessness and excite- 
 ment, when so many are wandering, 
 and so many are sighing to wander, I 
 have thought that the imaginary life 
 of a weak and wayward being, self- 
 exiled, and subjected through long years 
 to vicissitude and sorrow, might not be 
 altogether devoid of interest, or perhaps, 
 indeed, without its use. 
 
 To have filled up well the outline of 
 this conception would have required a 
 bolder hand, and a finer touch than mine. 
 a S
 
 VI PREFACE. 
 
 To the young, the contented, and the 
 cheerful, this defective tale will offer no 
 attractions ; but among readers, these 
 form an innocent, and a happy mi- 
 nority. 
 
 In the hope, however, that the scenes 
 and situations scattered through these 
 pages may interest a very different class, 
 may divert a melancholy hour, or awaken 
 a salutary thought, I will dismiss the 
 sensitive anxiety, with which I commit 
 this — 
 
 " story of a life 
 And the particular accidents gone by,'' 
 
 to the easily offended eye of taste, and 
 the ungentle frown of criticism.
 
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 On a pleasant spring morning in the year 
 1 790, an elderly stranger arrived in the town of 
 Southampton, by the mail. There was nothing 
 to common observers very remarkable in his 
 appearance ■ — save, that his countenance be- 
 spoke him a foreigner; but then he was like 
 other foreigners, often seen in those parts ; that 
 is — thin, rather tall, stooped a little, had sallow 
 cheeks, and wore a loose, ill-made great-coat. 
 The very moment the waiter opened the coach 
 door, and discovered him to be the only pas- 
 senger, he stepped a pace backwards, buttoned 
 his breeches pocket, gave a sneer, and suffered 
 him to alight from the vehicle unassisted. It is 
 true he had rightly conjectured that he should
 
 Vlll INTRODUCTION. 
 
 thaw ao cork tor the pale emigraat, but he was 
 mistakea in pettishly giviag up all hope of his 
 sixpeaay fees. The stranger, a thoughtful 
 looking person, descended from the carriage 
 without seeming to expect, or require assistance. 
 He weat up to a chamber to wash — ordered 
 breakfast to be ready ia two hours, and strolled 
 forth aloae. Ia this short interval, he found, 
 and engaged, a small, quiet lodging in a country- 
 like suburb, called Orchard-Lane — rescued, 
 and bought, a little beaten half-starved dog, in 
 his walk back to the iaa — breakfasted — paid 
 his bill — gave the astoaished waiter a shilling ; 
 and by twelve o'clock he had laid himself down 
 to repose after his journey, on that bed, in 
 which for ten years he peacefully slept; and in 
 which he quietly died. 
 
 He was a man of mystery ; as he came, so 
 he lived, unknowing and unknown. Conjecture 
 was busy with him for nine days, or weeks per- 
 haps ; and then he became an accustomed sight 
 — a face belonging to the platform, and the 
 beach, when the tide was up. There, I remem- 
 ber whea I was a little boy, and used to walk
 
 INTRODUCTION. IX 
 
 out with my hand in my father's hand, we often 
 met him. 
 
 I grew up from boy to man, and forgot 
 him ; but, when, after long years of absence I 
 stood again upon Southampton beach, I thought 
 upon his face ; and how he had lived, and 
 walked about there — alone — and had died 
 perhaps — alone. 
 
 My path homeward led past the door, which 
 I had often seen him enter. I could not help, 
 knocking, and asking to see the old landlady. 
 She was dead also; but a daughter of the old 
 lady, a woman past fifty came out, and asked me 
 into her parlour, and answered all my enquiries 
 concerning the remembered stranger with in- 
 terest, and pleasure. Quakerlike in her dress : 
 quakerlike (or very kind) in her manners, she 
 was just that sort of personage, of whom we 
 find a few scattered here and there, as if ex- 
 pressly to let a kind of home to the forlorn and 
 solitary members of society's better class, and to 
 give them in the decline of life that benevolent 
 care, that tenderness of attention, which they 
 have no longer either fond relatives, or at
 
 X INTRODUCTION. 
 
 tached domestics to supply. It was from her 
 I learned the little circumstances of the morn- 
 ing, when he first came to them. She had 
 gathered them from the poor waiter, who, 
 having been entirely supported by the bounty 
 of this stranger during a severe winter of sick- 
 ness, and destitution, told her of them with 
 tears of shame. 
 
 It seemed that he had lived on a small an- 
 nuity of two hundred a year, and had a thou- 
 sand pounds in the hands of a London banker. 
 This last he never once mentioned during his 
 life-time, always representing himself as a per- 
 son whose income would die with him, and, in 
 confirmation, keeping a small sealed paper, on 
 which he showed a superscription signifying thai 
 it contained a sum sufficient to pay his funeral 
 expenses. When this was opened at his de- 
 cease it was found to contain a testamentary 
 document, willing the sum of one thousand 
 pounds to his landlady. 
 
 She said that he was a calm, cheerful, meek 
 man, very kind to the poor, and very con- 
 siderate to every one ; that his health was very
 
 INTRODUCTION'. XI 
 
 delicate ; that he read a great deal ; was a de- 
 vout, silent man : seldom speaking on religious 
 subjects, and that, owing to the state of his 
 nerves, and his suffering from head aches, he 
 seldom went to church. She took me up stairs, 
 and showed me the room in which he had lived, 
 and the chamber where he died. 
 
 In a glass case were a few large old books of 
 history, geography, and travels ; Burton's Ana- 
 tomy of Melancholy ; Thomas a Kempis ; Ro- 
 binson Crusoe; and a black letter Bible. There 
 was also a manuscript volume, written in a 
 very cramped, difficult hand. It seemed a 
 common place book, for in the first few leaves 
 I found only extracts from favourite authors ; 
 among others these lines from an old book of 
 emblems, by George Withers. 
 
 if tempests were not. 
 Such comforts could not by a calm be brought. 
 
 And immediately after, my eye caught the 
 opening of a narrative, which seemed, as if it 
 were some notice concerning his past life.
 
 XII INTRODUCTION. 
 
 This conjecture the perusal of a few pages 
 confirmed. At my earnest request, the kind 
 old lady, cheerfully lent me the volume, on 
 condition that I was to acquaint her with the 
 contents. That condition I have fulfilled, 
 and she has given the manuscript to me. It 
 contains the life, and fortunes of a miserable, 
 a deservedly miserable man ; a wayward, un- 
 stable being. — Melancholy, and merited his 
 misfortunes certainly were ; yet when I re- 
 collected how in my boyhood I had seen the 
 beggars bow down to him ; and how the 
 children at play would smile up in his face ; 
 how the unhatted orphan would bend, and 
 smooth dow r n his hair to him, and the little 
 charity girl set down her pitcher to drop him 
 a child's curtesy — why I mourned over so 
 early a shipwreck of the hopes, the happiness, 
 and the honor of one so calculated, under dif- 
 ferent circumstances, to have enjoyed, and 
 adorned existence.
 
 THE 
 
 STORY OF A LIFE 
 
 What is this World ? What axen men to have ?' 
 
 Five-and-thirty years have passed, since, in 
 that high and happy excitement of feeling, to 
 which even the parting from those who love us 
 lends a new and rapturous emotion, all burning 
 with hope, and exulting to be free, I left my 
 peaceful home. 
 
 Five-and-thirty years ! 
 
 The " God bless, preserve, and prosper you !" 
 of my anxious father still vibrates on my ear, in 
 the same tremulous tone in which it was uttered. 
 
 VOL. I. b
 
 2 STORY OF A LIFE. 
 
 The agitated step of ray fond mother, as she 
 hurried away from our last embrace ; the beau- 
 tiful face, paler than I had ever seen it, which 
 looked with a scarce-permitted gaze from the 
 window of my sister's chamber, are still present 
 to me. 
 
 The farewell of a groupe of servants, half 
 lament, and half encouragement, enabled me to 
 mount my horse without a pause, and gave 
 relief to a heart, which beat in my bosom, as if 
 it would have burst the throbbing barrier. Fast 
 fell my tears. For two miles I rode at a rapid 
 thought-dispelling pace ; then pulling up, pro- 
 ceeded at a lingering walk ; and on tree, on bush, 
 on rivulet, around, gazed fondly, as if they could 
 carry to my home a later look, a last adieu. 
 
 As I was beginning to ascend a frequented 
 and favourite hill, a hand caught and pressed 
 my knee — ■ the hand of Edward, my young, my 
 only brother. Hither had he run before me, to 
 ensure a parting, later, longer, and all his own. 
 "Up this hill, his hand still pressing me, and his 
 streaming eyes now lifted to my face, and now 
 bent upon the ground, he walked in struggling
 
 STORY OF A LIFE. 3 
 
 silence by my horse's side. At the corner of a 
 forest-lane, which led to one of our summer 
 haunts, he burst from me with sudden speed, 
 and was out of sight in a moment. How I loved 
 him — he was then only fourteen — full of ge- 
 nius, and, what is better, of goodness — very af- 
 fectionate in his gentle manners, of a quiet con- 
 tented disposition. He never had seen (ah, 
 happy boy !), he never did see the world. 
 
 There is always a sunniness on the past. How 
 often in my sad and eventful life have I closed 
 my wearied eyes to shut out the scene before me, 
 and looked back upon my forest home, till my 
 pressed eyelids have been forced to open for the 
 warm and gushing burst of sorrow. Now, I 
 never weep ; but they, who should gaze fixedly 
 on my withered cheek, might trace the deep- worn 
 channel of a life's tears. The broad mirror now 
 reflects to me a form I scarce can recognize. 
 My curling, thick, and raven locks are thin and 
 gray. My full dark eye is sunken. My limbs, 
 once my vain pride, are shrunk ; and the world 
 sweeps me with her rustling silks, as one too 
 many in her gay and busy throng. 
 
 b 2
 
 4- STORY OF A LIFE. 
 
 Yet let me pause. This murmuring is sin. — I 
 am a lone, a solitary man, but I am happy : yes, 
 happy in my hope; and whenever in this narra- 
 tive 1 paint in too vivid colouring the fancied 
 good 1 sought, think not it would be now my 
 choice ; think not that, could I again live over 
 my youthful days, schooled, disciplined, as I 
 have been, I would so fondly dote on earth. My 
 thirst is slaked for ever. To my tale — 
 
 An hour's ride brought me to the quiet old 
 sea-port town of Southampton. For the first time 
 I turned from its fair and cheerful street, to visit 
 which had been alwa} r s, in my boyhood, a holi- 
 day to my young fancy ; and, learning at the Inn 
 that the ship in which my passage was taken 
 would not sail till the evening, I hastened to the 
 solitary beach to give a free course to all the 
 contending feelings that stirred within me. 
 
 Some short account of my family, and my 
 earlier years, is almost necessary to the reader. 
 He will the better understand and judge of the 
 actions recorded ; and while he much condemns, 
 he may also much pity me. 
 
 My father, Walter Beavoir, was an only
 
 STORY OF A LIFE. 5 
 
 child, became an orphan at the early age of 
 seven, and passed his youth under the protection 
 and guardianship of Sir William Mowbray, his 
 maternal uncle. He was educated at Eton, and 
 completed his studies at Cambridge. At one- 
 and-twenty years of age, he found himself 
 possessed of a fortune of four thousand a year : 
 it was reduced, before he was thirty, to an income 
 of twelve hundred. Of the emptiness and in- 
 sipidity of a life of mere pleasure ; of the hollow- 
 ness of friendships formed amid the assemblies 
 of the gay, and in the haunts of the sensual, he 
 had full and early experience. Marriages, they 
 say, are made in heaven. He had reason to 
 think so ; — not that my mother was his first 
 love, or he the first object of her virgin affections : 
 no ; they had both loved — both sorrowed over 
 broken loves. They met in the world's crowd. 
 Each spoke a language the other alone seemed 
 formed to understand. They talked to each 
 other as the melancholy talk. True sympathy, 
 the offspring of a bleeding heart, will often 
 heal its bleeding fellow. They grew less sad, 
 serenely loved, and, without transports, married. 
 b 3
 
 6 STORY OF A LIFE. 
 
 That such a pair should seek the quiet retreat of 
 a residence in the country was natural : they 
 did so. Not far from the sweet village of 
 Beaulieu, in the depth of the New Forest, stood 
 the house in which I was born ; a comfortable 
 sheltered mansion, having a strong protecting 
 look ; and within, oh ! it was a little world of 
 smiles and peace. Content had found or made 
 a nest in the bosom of every inmate. The very 
 barking of our dogs at the hall door was that 
 of welcome ; and the strange gipsy child would 
 fearlessly approach alone. Sad, alas ! was the 
 error of my tender father. The talents of a 
 neighbouring clergyman who was charged 
 with the care of educating me from my earliest 
 years, and the affectionate interest he took in 
 my progress, determined my parents to leave 
 the task of fitting me for the world entirely to 
 him, to keep me unspotted by it, till armed in 
 proof I might go forth, in the confidence of an 
 anticipated triumph, over every temptation, 
 which should beset my path. — Fatal, mis- 
 taken error ! Vernon was the last man cal- 
 culated to build up the character of his pupil to
 
 STORY OF A LIFE. 7 
 
 that tower-like strength against which the 
 waves of this wild world might beat, and chafe 
 themselves in vain. 
 
 He spoke of religion, and it was a lovely 
 song. I listened with a raptured ear. He 
 spoke of virtue ; still it was a lovely song. 
 Every thing he taught, it was with a poet's 
 tongue; every object he looked upon, it was 
 with a poet's eye. We read, and I caught some 
 portion of his feeling and his fire. We rode, 
 walked, rambled through the wide forest. — 
 How short were those long summer days ! 
 
 The greenwood tree — the startled deer — 
 the timid fawn — the cooing of the plaintive 
 dove — the stroke of the woodman's axe — 
 the murmur of waters — the toll of the curfew 
 bell — and, of all rural sounds, that sweetest, the 
 whetting of the mower's scythe, as, late in 
 the red evening light, he pauses, then, bending 
 down and forward, cuts on again deep into the 
 dewy grass, — such sights and sounds we loved. 
 
 The best thing he taught me was pity for the 
 poor. Many a time have I seen him kneel by 
 the poor man's bed. Many a time have I caught 
 b 4?
 
 8 STORY OF A LIFE. 
 
 the silent hidden alms given with a delicate 
 pressure of the hand : — for Vernon did not fear 
 to touch the poor. Oh ! he was a Christian. He is 
 in heaven, surely, surely. I saw him laid in his 
 grave three years before the period of which I 
 write ; and I remember, as it were yesterday, the 
 grave faces of the cotters, and the moistened 
 cheeks of the poor women, and the little awful 
 looks of the young children, as they crowded 
 into the small church, and gazed, with still eyes, 
 upon the good man's coffin. 
 
 Poor Vernon ! — He was a stricken deer, and 
 had fled from the cold world to our forest 
 depths ; and so grateful was he to God for the 
 shelter, so much did he love it, he forgot that I 
 might some day leave it. He saw not why I 
 should ; how I could. 
 
 An innocent life ; a quiet grassy tomb : the love 
 of the poor, while living; their regret, when 
 dead; — these tilings he planned for me on his 
 pillow ; and therefore it was, than although he 
 bade me love my God, as the first great com- 
 mandment, he dwelt little on the weakness and 
 corruption of our nature.
 
 VIollY Of A I.IFL. 9 
 
 He died, and I mourned him. The total 
 B6ckl8IDf] in which we lived caused his loss to 
 be deeply felt by us all; for, at our fireside, he 
 daily sate, with that happy, fond, tearless accept- 
 ance of our hospitality, belonging to his gene- 
 rous nature. To me it was irreparable. 
 
 The only two families with whom we lived on 
 terms of intimacy were those of a Mr. Frank- 
 land and a Colonel Hamilton. The first was a 
 plain, worthy, country gentleman, who farmed 
 his own estate, and whose wife and family, con- 
 sisting of two daughters and a son, nearly of 
 . were all which such a father could desire. 
 
 The Colonel was a widower and childless, 
 lb had served with distinction in different 
 quarters of the world, and was a noble-looking 
 ruin of a fine soldier. I le spoke the continental 
 languages with ease and fluency; and during his 
 services in the East had acquired .some know- 
 ledge of Arabic and Persian. He was a princely 
 horseman, and as he had been severely wounded 
 in the leg, it was the only exercise he used.
 
 10 STORY OF A LIFE. 
 
 With that methodical distribution of time which 
 marked the old commander, he might always be 
 seen, at a certain hour of the day, in the far 
 vista of the forest road, which led from his white 
 gates, mounted on a favourite Arabian, gentle as 
 a tame fawn, but vigorous and fleet as the flying 
 stag, or fierce and red-eyed as the same animal, 
 angrily at bay. My father and I often joined 
 him in his ride. I had always looked with a sort 
 of sad veneration on him ; for his wife and all 
 his little ones had perished at sea, the vessel in 
 which they had left India having foundered on 
 her passage home. Ignorant of his loss, he had 
 followed his darling treasures and passed uncon- 
 sciously over their watery grave. An elderly 
 sister had hurried to him, as affectionate con- 
 soler, and still cheered his melancholy home. 
 
 Though I respected the single-hearted Mr. 
 Frankland, and liked his manly, intelligent son, 
 yet I far preferred the society of Colonel Ha- 
 milton. Of love I never thought; for the Miss 
 Franklands, though pretty, amiable, well-in- 
 formed, and well-bred, inspired me with no other 
 feeling than that ready liking, or kindness,
 
 STORY OF A LIFE. 11 
 
 which we always have for the cousin or the 
 sister's friend, seen daily from our boyhood. 
 
 Edward was all too young to be my com- 
 panion, at that time : constantly, therefore, was 
 I to be found at Colonel Hamilton's, sitting by, 
 listening, or reading to him; or else among 
 his arms, curiosities, and antiquities ; out, per- 
 haps, on his lawn, trying the Tartar bow, the 
 Mogul lance, or the Damascus blade : or, far- 
 ther in the wood, practising at a mark with his 
 Tyrolese rifle ; or, trying against a villainous 
 kite the treacherous blow-pipe of the Malay ; 
 or, yet happier, spurring by his side through 
 the long, long avenues of our noble forest. 
 
 One day, as after a rapid course we checked 
 our generous animals to breathe them, I ob- 
 served two men seated by the way side, so en- 
 tirely different in their appearance to any I 
 had ever seen, that the sight drew from me an 
 exclamation of surprise and pleasure. 
 
 One of them was a middle-aged man, with a 
 very brown complexion, very black eyes, white 
 teeth, a beard covering and hanging from his 
 chin, and large ear-rings golden or gilt. — The
 
 12 STORY OF A LIFE. 
 
 colour and fashion of his garb was bright 
 and oriental; his robe of pale blue; his 
 cap red, the turban folds around it of white 
 cotton. 
 
 His companion was an elderly hale man, 
 with a dark, foreign aspect, and small ear-rings, 
 his dress common. A small square mahogany 
 case with leathern straps, a bundle of red slip- 
 pers, and a huge pack of basket-work, filled with 
 rude and gaudy prints, spy glasses, small mir- 
 rors, toys, and other trifles, lay between them. 
 
 The Colonel readily saw what they were, and 
 addressed them accordingly. The one was a 
 Levantine, a common vender of Turkey rhu- 
 barb ; a Christian he told us, though hooted 
 after in some places ; shunned and fled from in 
 others, for a Turk. The other was an old itine- 
 rant merchant of that happy lowly class, who 
 have homes and families on the beauteous shores 
 of the Lake of Como. I remember, now, how 
 animatedly they replied, and how all their fea- 
 tures sparkled up as the Colonel, with a winning 
 art, peculiarly his own, conversed with them 
 for many minutes in Italian, concerning their
 
 STORY OF A LIFE. IS 
 
 countries, and their wanderings : the questions 
 and replies were laughingly interpreted to me. 
 They were all trifling, but not inconsequent, that 
 is, not inconsequent to me ; and, as we rode 
 back, the Colonel unconsciously added fuel to 
 the fire which the sight of these strangers, 
 acting on an idle mind, had kindled in 
 my youthful bosom. He was in a frank com- 
 municative mood ; I, eager and inquiring. — 
 With thirsty ears I drank in all that fell from 
 a lip carelessly yet naturally eloquent. Past 
 scenes and days seemed rising before him, as 
 he spoke of the delight with which in early life 
 he had traversed Italy, the isles of Greece, 
 the Levant, the silent forsaken plains of Troy ; 
 and of the unrivalled glorious grandeur of the 
 site of Constantinople ; saying of this last, I well 
 remember, that it were worth the trouble and 
 confinement of a voyage, to pass one day, from 
 rise to set of sun, merely gazing on it from a 
 vessel's deck. After dismounting, he led me 
 to his study, took down a large portfolio of 
 valuable engravings, which I had never before 
 seen, and pointed out to me several very striking
 
 14 STORY OF A LIFE. 
 
 and picturesque scenes from nature, and many 
 others, in which massive and majestic ruins were 
 shadowed forth in so bold a manner, that the 
 gazer at once felt a something of that awe, which 
 the gray monuments themselves might be sup- 
 posed to inspire. The subjects were all Italian ; 
 and I thought Italy, from these specimens, a 
 land, or rather a paradise, of wonders. He conti- 
 nued to dwell on the subject of his travels with a 
 cheerfulness of tone, and brightness of the eye, 
 unusual in him. I could have looked at these 
 prints, and listened to him for hours ; but we 
 accidentally alighted on one, which, as it met 
 his glance, caused him with a sudden shudder- 
 ing to close the case, and, with a strong pressure 
 of the hand, silently to dismiss me. 
 
 The print which had so moved him was a 
 celebrated storm-piece ; the helpless vessel in 
 her last struggle with the fury of a gale. The 
 crested top of a giant wave, on whose dark 
 bosom lay a dismasted, ungovernable hull, 
 seemed in the very act of breaking upon her, 
 in its destroying strength. 
 
 With a ready sympathy I had felt my eyes
 
 STORY OF A LIFE. 15 
 
 fill with tears as we parted ; yet soon — almost 
 instantly, my mind reverted to the scene of 
 the morning. All that was said at the time 
 and after recurred to me. The old pedlar had 
 sadly complained of our gloomy foggy climate, 
 of the dulness of our people's amusements; of 
 the absence of music; of the want of wine and 
 oil. It was the chill month of November, and 
 the forest leaves were falling. The day was 
 cloudy and cold ; the very deer in the opener 
 glades looked comfortless ; and instead of lying 
 to the last moment in their sunny lairs, then 
 flying off with flexible haunches, and saucy 
 boundings, — they stood with half-closed eyes, 
 or slowly crept on with pausing paces, 
 nibbling the dead grass, and turning it, as 
 tasteless, in their half-opened mouths. Every 
 thing looked dull. I thought not of the healthy 
 sports of winter ; of the oaken parlour, and its 
 sea- coal fire; of the sweet and rational enjoy- 
 ments of our evening circle round it : my fancy 
 was on the wing for sunny climes ; for the song, 
 the dance, the guitar, the masker and his music, 
 the vine, the trelliced vine and the sacred olive.
 
 16 STORY OF A LIFE. 
 
 In the streets of a city, such things as^foreign 
 men, and foreign garbs are often seen, and soon 
 forgotten : but it is not thus in the unrelieved 
 solitude of country life. 
 
 Those who have gone through schools and 
 mingled minds with their young playmates, learn 
 much which prepares them for the world, and 
 in a way which no private tuition can supply ; 
 especially when, as in my case, your childhood 
 has no fellow. From the time I left off chasing 
 the butterfly, and fishing for the minnow (and 
 that was early), I ceased to be a boy. I never 
 was a boy — a happy, hot, unbuttoned, cricket- 
 playing boy, with young loves, young cares, 
 young friendships, and young emulous struggles 
 of the body and the genius. Men were my play- 
 fellows : my tender nervous father, and the 
 gentle Vernon, these were my play-fellows. Yes, 
 luckily for me, I had one other, a better in his 
 way, and, all lottery as it was, a safe one — 
 Godfrey, a servant. He w r as about ten years 
 older than myself; and had been taken into the 
 family as my pony-groom, when I was only five 
 years of age. The attachment he then formed
 
 STORY OF A LIFE. 17 
 
 for me was of a nature the most simple and sin- 
 cere. In all those exercises, which, but for 
 him, none would have taught me, I soon be- 
 came proficient. I ran, I leaped, I swam, I 
 climbed, I dropped from wall or tree, with vi- 
 gour, activity, and a sure confidence in myself. 
 I had a quick eye and a steady hand with the 
 fowling-piece, and also with the bow and arrow. 
 I could row a boat, steer her, and manage her 
 sails. I feared nothing, for I knew nothing to 
 fear: moreover, I had got among the poor 
 foresters, and with Godfrey himself, a reput- 
 ation for great daring, because I had twice 
 visited by moonlight the gray and ivy-mantled 
 ruins of Netley Abbey ; because, by the same 
 light I had been seen at the Rufus stone, and 
 near the growing oak of Baddesley, and once 
 under the large old yew-tree which o'ershadows 
 the small quiet church of Dibden. An old Chris- 
 tian lady who was beheaded in her gray hairs 
 at Winchester, after the memorable and bloody 
 assize of the ferocious judge Jefferies, is said to 
 have been buried beneath it ; and it is with a 
 hasty step, that the belated hind does always pass 
 vol. i. c
 
 18 STORY Or A LIFE. 
 
 the haunted spot. In truth, I liked such rambles. 
 The abbey walls of Beaulieu, and that old 
 dwelling called the abbot's house, with its 
 ancient front, its Gothic canopy and empty 
 niche, its treacherously numerous stair -cases and 
 long passages, its vaulted hall and arched gate- 
 way of stone, were the scenes of some of my 
 earliest musings, and nursed my young fancy. 
 But now, of a sudden, I turned aside from 
 all my wonted pleasures. My life seemed to 
 me an unworthy state, loathsome and ignoble, 
 like a pool in the forest which the cattle turn 
 from, still, slimy, green, stagnant. 
 
 I did not, indeed, very narrowly examine 
 my wishes, to see whither they would lead 
 me, or what final end I proposed. It was 
 not a martial glow that I was heated by. 
 It was not a defined and worthy enterprise. 
 I had thought of no profession which it 
 might be becoming to pursue. My sister 
 and brother being already provided for by 
 a large bequest from an uncle, my assured for- 
 tune and the wish of my father pointed to a life
 
 STORY OF A LIFE. 19 
 
 with no other employ than the plain and con- 
 scientious discharge of the easy duties of a 
 country gentleman ; the rights and the happi- 
 ness of tenants and poor neighbours my only 
 cares. But a restless enemy had now found his 
 way into my heart. I became moody, discon- 
 tented, and, of course, unhappy; for my melan- 
 choly seemed to me, even then, a sort of guilty 
 ingratitude to heaven. I tried to bear up before 
 my father and mother ; but Mr. Somers, the 
 clergyman, who had succeeded to Vernon, and 
 with whom Edward daily studied, perceived and 
 spoke to me of the remarkable change in my 
 manners, and the evident depression of my 
 spirits. Somers was an excellent minister, a 
 mild, a simple-hearted, plain-spoken man. My 
 tender regard, however, my cherished affection 
 for the memory of Vernon, prevented my ap- 
 preciating his good qualities, or loving his 
 counsels. 
 
 Where could I find a friend, a confidant, an 
 
 adviser to aid me in my schemes ? Where does 
 
 a brother always who has a sister? To her I flew; 
 
 with her I walked and talked away the long day; 
 
 c 2
 
 20 STORY Or A LIFE. 
 
 and young Edward was the happy listener and 
 the gentle suggester of affectionate modes to re- 
 concile our parents to my short absence. One 
 year, only one year. No man ever saw so much 
 as i was to see in that one year. No man ever 
 returned to his fireside with such a stock of 
 anecdote and description as I was to return 
 with. — Travel and adventure ! — I thought, I 
 dreamed of nothing else. 
 
 The pedlar and the rhubarb-vender led up 
 every vision of the night ; and a long series of 
 engravings from the works of Salvator Rosa, 
 Claude, Poussin, his brother and others, fur- 
 nished out the rest ; — colours, buildings, rocks, 
 trees, waters, figures, animals, all perfect. At 
 times, too, (strange phantasm!) every thing 
 seemed to start out into life just as in a camera 
 obscura, retaining their diminutive proportions; 
 and I often awoke half laughing and half serious, 
 and, with a kind of childish sadness, would re- 
 gret that the world contained no Lilliput. 
 Time rolled on till this desire of travel, this aching 
 romantic want, gained all the strength of irre- 
 sistible passion. At length, I determined to break
 
 STORY OF A LIFE. 21 
 
 niv wishes to my father. Afraid I could not be of 
 such a father ; yet I dreaded giving him pain ; 
 and (ah, human nature !), I feared, more than all, 
 that, indulgent, docile, and tractable as was his 
 nature, he would firmly refuse my request He 
 did. A thousand times since have I called up all 
 his feeling, sensible remonstrances. He offered 
 to accompany me to London for a short visit, 
 that I might see, and taste the pleasures of a 
 city ; to make a tour with me in Wales ; to send 
 rae (too late, alas ! he thought of this) to the 
 university. 
 
 " Oh ! it was not pleasure, mere pleasure that 
 I wanted," was my reply ; neither to look on 
 scenes, manners, and customs at home. As to 
 the university, T had heard himself say, that it 
 was a lottery whether a man turned out a rake or 
 a pedant, a freethinker or a Christian. No — if 
 I could not have my wish, I was content to vege- 
 tate (for life I said it could not be called) at 
 home. My father heard me with deep sorrow. His 
 eyes seemed suddenly to open. He lifted, and 
 clasped his hands in great agony of mind. He 
 saw his own fatal error; but he felt my ingrati- 
 c 3
 
 22 STORY OF A LIFE. 
 
 tilde — felt it as an arrow from his God. I, too, 
 saw the wound — I, who had launched the wea- 
 pon. As he averted his face to hide his emotion, 
 I threw myself upon his neck; I wept, I kissed 
 him. I told him that I hated myself for the pro- 
 posal which had so pained him, still more for 
 the tone in which I had urged it. I gave up my 
 wish : I dismissed it from my heart, not merely 
 as a sacrifice of inclination to duty, but as a 
 guilty, unclean thing ; one that had first brought 
 sin to me, and misery to him. I was sincere; 
 that is, I so deemed myself. Our reconciliation 
 was full ; a long out-pouring of hearts and af- 
 fections. Peace, content, gaiety was restored. 
 Harriet and Edward, who had never, in their 
 fond innocent hearts,really approved my scheme, 
 looked relieved and happy. The only person 
 who doubted the sincerity, or rather the firm 
 and lasting character of this resignation of my 
 will, was Somers. He told me apart that he 
 had rather I had seen a little of this world, 
 concerning which I was so eager, in proper, 
 protecting company, as he thought the fever of 
 my mind would soon and effectually have been
 
 STORY OF A LITE. 2S 
 
 cured. This, I own, surprised me, for I had 
 always reckoned on his unqualified disapproba- 
 tion, nay, active opposition to my plan. 
 
 All for some time went smoothly on. Week 
 after week we used to get down our journals and 
 magazines. I generally fastened on a paper of 
 the Rambler; at first, merely because the name 
 caught me ; but I never rose from the perusal of 
 one of those golden essays, that I did not feel a 
 wiser, a better, too, as I thought, and, of course, 
 a happier man. Perhaps there is no greater or 
 more common error than to substitute the cheap 
 love of virtue for a simple, self-denying obe- 
 dience to its dictates. 
 
 A circumstance soon occurred which brought 
 back my old longing. 
 
 A fine boy of thirteen, a nephew of Somers's 
 and a midshipman belonging to a frigate lately 
 returned from a long cruise, came to pass a few 
 days with his uncle, and was brought by him to 
 our table. I have the image of the fearless little 
 fellow before me, in his vest of true blue, with 
 his anchor button, and the open frilled shirt 
 collar of his age. Youth, health, and intelli-
 
 24 STORY OF A LIFE. 
 
 gence gave a beauty to features otherwise not 
 remarkable ; but, above all, the bronzing of 
 southern suns had robbed his young cheek of 
 their roses, and left the brown hue of honour in 
 their room. 
 
 There is always a dignity in encountering 
 danger; there is always a ready sympathy for 
 those who endure hardship; but when toil, 
 exposure, and peril are sought voluntarily, and 
 exulted in, and this too by a boy, we look on 
 him with wonder. 
 
 At his tender age, he had been in a severe 
 contest between the frigate he served in and two 
 Algerine cruisers of the very largest class, one 
 of which was sunk in the action, and the other 
 taken with a great loss on both sides. It was 
 strange to hear so young and soft a voice relat- 
 ing, artlessly, as he was questioned, a tale of 
 struggling and blood. 
 
 It was charming to listen, as he naturally 
 dwelt upon the looks, arms, and dresses of the 
 Moors, and told of his surprise and delight. 
 
 He had also seen much as a traveller; had 
 been on shore with his Captain at Smyrna and
 
 STORY OF A LIFE. l J5 
 
 Athens ; and, at Lisbon, had passed nearly a 
 week with the envoy. Though a quiet, unpre- 
 tending boy, subdued by discipline and a hard 
 manly course of life into reserve, an arch expres- 
 sion of his sparkling eye told you what he was 
 with messmates and at the head of his own 
 boat's crew ; and he had a frank readiness of 
 reply to every question. I asked — listened — 
 gazed ; at times, he answered my enquiries with 
 a smile and surprise at the ignorance they be- 
 trayed ; at others, with a kind of seriousness and 
 confusion, because he could not understand 
 them ; but he saw that he was an object of my 
 notice and regard, and for the few days that he 
 staid in the forest he attached himself closely to 
 me. Accustomed to the confinement of a ship, 
 the rides, rambles, and excursions I planned for 
 him won his young heart. He told me of all 
 that he had seen and done, enjoyed and suffer- 
 ed ; and when he bade me farewell, it was with 
 that cheerful sincerity of regret, that implied an 
 honest wish to meet me again. I rode back 
 from Buckler's Hard, the day that he had taken 
 boat there for Portsmouth with Somers, whom
 
 26 STOliY OF A LIFE. 
 
 I had never liked so well as when he used to 
 look on his hopeful nephew with evident pride, 
 and hearken to him with that grave but sweet 
 smile of indulgence, which seems distinctly to 
 say, " Ah ! boy, be happy while you may." 
 
 When I laid down on my pillow that night, I 
 could not compose myself to sleep. The child 
 from whom I had that morning parted, had been 
 in battle — in storms at sea — had walked the 
 wet and slippery deck at midnight in a shaggy 
 watch coat, and had learned to think in darkness 
 and in silence. That natural taste, too, which 
 we all, more or less, have for novel, romantic, 
 and pleasurable sensations, had in him been 
 thus early gratified; for he had climbed the walls 
 of the Parthenon at Athens ; had seen the glit- 
 tering cupola of the Mosque, and the turbaned 
 Mahometan ; had been among cowls and in 
 convents ; had listened to the guitar and the se- 
 renade. I arose unrefreshed ; day after day I 
 lost appetite, spirits, health. Somers, in com- 
 mon with all the family, marked the sad change. 
 
 After much hesitation on the part of my 
 father it was at last agreed that I should go that
 
 STORY OF A LIFE. 27 
 
 winter, for change of air and scene, to Lisbon. 
 It was a common thing at that day to send in- 
 valids there for the sake of its fine climate ; and 
 my father, who knew Lisbon, was not without 
 a hope, that its dirt, discomfort, and the igno- 
 rance of the people would give me a thorough 
 surfeit of the pleasures of travel. 
 
 Colonel Hamilton gave me a letter of intro- 
 duction which insured me a cordial reception, 
 and a residence during my stay, in the mansion 
 of a very distinguished nobleman of Portugal ; 
 a circumstance which greatly delighted me, as 
 it would certainly afford me a better oppor- 
 tunity for seeing, and judging of, the manners 
 and customs of a foreign people. No sooner 
 was this plan, which had been arranged between 
 Somers, Colonel Hamilton, and my father, 
 mentioned to me, than I was all thankfulness, 
 hope, and joy ; expressed myself in a way that 
 quieted many of my father's apprehensions, and 
 promised to return at the appointed time, and 
 think no more of travel. 
 
 Here, then, I stood upon the beach gazing at 
 the ready vessel with bee loosened topsail : re-
 
 28 STORY OF A LIFE. 
 
 juicing in my freedom, and rich in the confirmed 
 discovery that I was so very dear to all at home. 
 
 It was near sun-set when the faithful Godfrey, 
 who had brought in my baggage from Beaulieu, 
 summoned me to the boat. He looked very 
 grave, and even sad. 
 
 " Well, master," said he, " I don't like this 
 vagary of going to foreign parts. I sha'nt sleep 
 sound till I do see you back. Home's home, 
 as the old saying goes, and there is no place 
 like it, and that you will find, master Osman." 
 " Why, Godfrey, it is only a trip for pleasure." 
 
 " Ah ! there is many a heart-ache got 
 pleasure going; it is a bad job; I don't like 
 it — and none of them like it — you know that, 
 master Osman." 
 
 I was very joyous, shook him by the hand, 
 and sprung into the boat ; as I seated myself, 
 and turned round, his look entirely unnerved 
 me. He was of a very powerful make, and 
 manly features. Tears, child's tears, were 
 running down his hardy cheeks, and he re- 
 mained motionless, and looking after me, as 
 one who stands near the closing grave of some 
 well-beloved object.
 
 STORY OF A LITE. 29 
 
 For one brief moment, I felt as if I could have 
 resigned my obstinate, unworthy will; as if I 
 could have gone back to the home, where I was 
 so loved, and never have left it more. It 
 passed away, that slight emotion. 'Twas as the 
 beseeching look of my better angel pitying me ; 
 but stronger were the demons near. They 
 pointed to phantoms of delight, with syren 
 whispers told of coming joys, and in a few 
 minutes more I was leaning over the vessel's 
 side as she floated gently down Southampton's 
 lake-like water, with every sail set, and 
 merely breeze enough to steady them. 
 
 With what a glorious deep solemnity did the 
 sun set that never-forgotten, memorable evening 
 — red was the sky — red the waters — red, 
 fiery red, the walls, the castle tower, and the 
 tall spires ; black was the forest shore, and black 
 the deep bosom of that wood, whence rose 
 the ruins of old Netley Abbey, here, naked, 
 gleaming red — there, purple, with its ivy man-
 
 30 STORY OF A LITE. 
 
 tie, and part lying in such dark and awful 
 shadow, that I could not have landed there 
 alone in my then mood. 
 
 It was all gray summer twilight as we neared 
 and passed the small round castle of Calshot, 
 standing far out, from the main land, on its 
 narrow spit of land, like the roused and ready 
 watch dog at his chain's length. 
 
 Silver bright were those tall, chalky, isolated 
 cliffs, between the Isle of Wight and the shores 
 of Lymington, called by old mariners " the 
 Needles," when with a cooler, fresher breeze 
 we scudded through the narrow passage, be- 
 neath a cloudless moon, and out upon the 
 opener sea veered our free course. 
 
 My home behind — my hope before — I 
 paced the deck in mingled musings of sorrow 
 and of rapture ; the first humiliating check to me 
 was the creeping on of that strange enemy, that 
 meanest foe — the sickness of the sea. I was 
 staggering on the broad, smooth deck, while the 
 young sea-boy was singing cheerily as he stood 
 secure and steady upon the giddy -footing of 
 the high and rocking yard ; all eyes around
 
 STORY OF A LIFE. 31 
 
 were bright, as the vessel bounded merrily and 
 swiftly over the buoyant waves — mine alone 
 were dim ; their cheeks ruddy from the breeze, 
 mine pale ; their spirits up, and minds awake 
 — my heart heavy, without the power of in- 
 dulging sadness ; my intellect confused, de- 
 degraded — I seemed to suffer under a prostration 
 of all strength, whether of mind or body. I 
 was the finest animal man on board, yet a suck- 
 ing babe were not more helpless ; the cultivated 
 mind — the glowing genius — where were 
 they ? What were they ? nothing, less than 
 nothing to me, then. What a poor creature 
 man is, if taken from his accustomed path ! the 
 dauntless Arab on the tumbling sea, in a frail 
 boat fast dipping to each wave ; the jovial ma- 
 riner on a fiery steed flying with frightened, 
 and frantic speed to the far desert — we feel 
 humbled as we think of them. To the laughing 
 counsels of the honest master I tried to give the 
 laugh of thanks, but felt almost indifferent to 
 life, so completely was I subdued. At length, 
 in bitter pride, I strove with the disease — gained 
 ground — grew cheerful — vain that I had con-
 
 32 STORY OF A LIFK. 
 
 quered ; and, ere two days were past, I was 
 again all full delight. 
 
 We were now far out upon the dark blue 
 waters of that restless bay, where the huge 
 waves in their loud roarings seem as though they 
 were instinct with life, and only yielded your 
 small bark a passage, in obedience to a higher 
 power than man's. 
 
 I was never tired with looking on them, as 
 they rose in black mountain masses; then, suffer- 
 ing the wind to curl their white crests, broke 
 into boiling foam. 
 
 'Tis beautiful, the ocean path — at all times 
 beautiful — even when fear is at the highest, 
 with those who sail upon the awful element; 
 and when it smiles in summer loveliness, in calm 
 or sunshine, what gentler scene in fair creation ! 
 
 Thus thought I ; thus I think ; but as I lay 
 by night in my small cabin, but as I felt the 
 strong waves dashing against the planked bar- 
 rier, that scarce seemed able to secure me from 
 their sullen menace, methought I first suspected 
 myself of fear. I cowered closer, and tried to 
 hush it in a poor, unformed, and silent prayer.
 
 STORY OF A LIFE. 
 
 I knew that I was not in the path of duty or obe- 
 dience — felt half criminal — but I hushed the 
 thought. — It passed away. 
 
 I slept, and dreamed a pleasant dream ; of 
 forest glades, and murmuring streams ; of 
 lying down in shady places; of the song of 
 birds ; of Edward — Edward with me smiling 
 and fond. 
 
 A cry of wild alarm burst on my startled ear 
 
 — a crashing sound — a violent groaning shock 
 
 — and all was still. 
 
 Was it a rock ? — Where w r ere we ? — Ship- 
 wreck ? — Oh ! horrid thought ! — I gained the 
 deck. 
 
 I was alone — alone on the dark, wild sea. 
 I saw, by the moon's glimmer through a storm- 
 cloud, another vessel driving before the gale — 
 our rigging torn — our bowsprit broken. There 
 was a mighty wind ; it forced the fastenings of 
 the sails ; they blew out in ribbons to the gale, 
 like the torn standards of the routed and the 
 flying. The groanings and howlings of the blast 
 among the cordage — the loud rattling of the 
 loose and falling blocks — the violent striking 
 of the tiller, as it flew to and fro, no longer go- 
 vol. i. .d
 
 S4« STORY OF A LIFE. 
 
 verned — the straining of the masts — 'twas 
 more than dreadful — 'twas maddening. — No 
 wonder that it seemed to me in that terrible 
 hour as if the strong and rushing waves had 
 voices — fierce, wild, and fearful voices, as of 
 shouting, exulting pursuers. — Yes; there were 
 spirits in that storm — in the wind, and on the 
 wave. My fear had come — thus early come ; 
 and they were mocking. 
 
 I clung to the side of the companion with all 
 my steadiness, and strength. The morning came; 
 a reddish glimmer in the east ; a dark scud above ; 
 the sea heavy and black, with thick far-blown 
 showers of spray, flying wild from the tops of 
 the curling billows. 
 
 The ship drove fast before the gale ; the 
 rudder torn away ; the canvass gone ; nothing 
 to hold the furious wind, but the bending, 
 straining masts, and the wailing cordage. The 
 waves broke over the vessel repeatedly. Every 
 sea that struck her I thought would be the 
 last ; that she would go to pieces, or suddenly 
 overset and sink. — Still on she drove ; though 
 under her bare poles, fast bounded on the 
 stormy billows.
 
 STORY OF A LIFE. $1 
 
 My soaring dreams of the yesterday, where 
 were they ? The terrors of the helpless Phaeton 
 were mine — the fate of Icarus before me. 
 
 Towards evening there was a lull. The sky 
 became one dim, misty gray ; the sea looked 
 black. 
 
 The swell was as awful to my eye as the 
 storm-lashed waves : now the ship rose on a hill 
 (as it were) of water ; now, sunk into a deep 
 dark valley of the element, as if about to be in- 
 gulfed in it for ever. 
 
 I began now to feel the gnawings of hunger, 
 and an eager thirst. Strange fate ! I was in the 
 midst of plenty, yet had neither strength or 
 skill to get at the water or provisions. A little 
 biscuit, which had fallen on the cabin floor, and 
 been trodden under dirty feet, and the moisture 
 sucked from a half-dried watch-coat, relieved me 
 greatly; but I could not, dared not, remain 
 below. The cabin seemed a tomb. I returned 
 upon the deck, and, heaping clothes above me, 
 slept. 
 
 I was awakened by a gentle hand ; the sun 
 shone warm upon my dazzled eyes ; I was weak 
 u 2
 
 36 ST< I LIFE, 
 
 and faint ; I could see nothing, but I heard nn 
 name uttered with a sad surprize, and by a well- 
 known voice. The nephew of Somers stood 
 beside me, and raised me in his young arms, and 
 bade me cheer up. 
 
 Tears filled my dull eyes, and falling fast 
 away, I was soon enabled to look on my deliverer. 
 But how? Where? Whence had he come? 
 Was it a dream ? He pointed out to where, on 
 the glittering ocean, lay a tall and stately ship in 
 quiet, proud security. 
 
 " What do you make of her, Sir ?" called a 
 stern, hoarse voice, through a speaking-trumpet. 
 Young Howard bade one of his seamen sup- 
 port me, and, catching up the trumpet from un- 
 der our companion, replied briefly all I knew, 
 and all he intelligently guessed. 
 
 " She was run aboard, Sir, in the gale the 
 other night, and her small crew deserted her, 
 and got into the vessel that run foul of her." * 
 
 • The reader has probably, and pardonably, decided that 
 the supposed situation of an individual, left alone on 
 board a vessel in a gale in the open sea, as described, is a 
 fanciful and a silly invention of the Author. The realities 
 of life do far outrun, in many things, the imaginations of 
 men. The circumstance I have made u^e of occurred m 
 and fell under mv own observation.
 
 sioir, 01 a LIFE. 37 
 
 I Je added thai she was now in a linking itatej 
 .iimI the miter almost bursting through her 
 decks. Obeying the order of his 00m mender, be 
 
 made ;i :.lu»it search lor, and ie< dviii d, tin- pa- 
 pers of the masters also bade bis coxswain gel up 
 .1 leu things of mine from my cabin; then help- 
 ing me to descend into bis small boat with si 
 much tenderness ;i> if I bad been s woman, we 
 pulled away from the wreck* So severely had 
 1 1 1 \ nerves been tried, that as the vigorous 
 ailors pulled strongly and with smiling eyes 
 over the swelling bosoms <>i the lofty seas, I 
 could icarcelj persuade myself that] was saved; 
 
 difficulties, dangers, and wonders seemed yet to 
 threaten me. Soon, however, WC came safely to 
 
 the armed side of the frigate; soon I stood upon 
 
 her Oaken deck, and was led down to a cabin near 
 her (hill's, by his immediate order. I was fol- 
 lowed by the surgeon, put to bed, something 
 
 given to restore- me, and left to rest and silence. 
 In all my chill terrors, during the storm, I could 
 not pray; but here, my thanksgivings burst 
 
 Prom me in a full flood of grateful tears, and in 
 
 low, broken, fervent ejaculations. 
 
 1.
 
 38 STORY 01< A LIFE. 
 
 The following morning I awoke, after a long 
 sound sleep, quite recovered, and was sent for 
 by the captain. He received me with a kind, but 
 calm cordiality. He had learned all concerning 
 me from Howard, whom I begged to see. He 
 was sent for ; and when I saw him stand at the 
 cabin door, with his hat held low in his hand, 
 pausing for permission to enter, I abruptly rose, 
 and flew eagerly to embrace him. " Be calm, 
 Mr. Beavoir, be calm," said the captain; "Mr. 
 Howard, you may go." It was in vain I would 
 have detained him ; in vain I spoke. 
 
 " Sir, I don't like scenes. Your fine feelings, 
 Sir, destroy men's usefulness. Howard is the 
 manliest boy in my ship." 
 
 " Recollect, Sir, I owe him my life." 
 
 " No, Sir, you owe it to the care and mercy 
 of God, and I trust that you will not soon for- 
 get it ; we are all apt, too apt, indeed, to give 
 him the second place in our affections and our 
 thanks. Young Howard did but his duty. Sir, 
 and would have done as much by a coop of my 
 fowls." 
 
 Rebuked, as 1 felt, I could not look on the
 
 STORY OF A LI IE. 39 
 
 speaker without respect and interest. He was 
 about fifty years of age ; his hair perfectly white, 
 and gathered in a queue ; his face deeply wrin- 
 kled ; a scar on his cheek ; a yet deeper one on 
 his forehead; his complexion that dark ruddiness 
 peculiar to those who pass their lives at sea ; 
 the left sleeve of his coat hung loosely looped 
 upon his breast, in itself a decoration; and he 
 had the fine eye, the full limb, and the firm 
 tread of a brave commander. 
 
 We had no sooner finished breakfast, than 
 he asked me to follow him on deck. It was a 
 Sunday morning. Here, under an awning, a 
 part of which was formed by spare colours, all 
 the officers and crew were collected aft for 
 divine service. 
 
 He read the prayers appointed in a plain 
 manly way, with such clear, but quiet emphasis, 
 as denoted a sincere veneration for his God, a 
 heart interest in religion. I felt that all eyes 
 were on me ; and, when I raised mine, the scene 
 impressed me as one of peculiar grandeur and 
 solemnity. The brown, weather-beaten features 
 of the hardy sailors ; their bare heads and brave 
 
 D 1
 
 40 STORY OF A LIFE. 
 
 bearing ; the long loose locks of hair that blew 
 on, or from, their manly cheeks; and the stained 
 hues cast on them by the red, blue, and yellow 
 colours above, formed a noble picture. The 
 strange contrast, too, to the village church was 
 not only in this grouping ; but the deep sound of 
 the rough quartermasters' voices, as, with their 
 hoarse directing cry to the answering steersmen, 
 it mingled with, or rose above, the prayers ; 
 the watch, forward on the forecastle, ready to 
 rein in any sudden coming gale ; and all this 
 upon the restless rocking wave, did wonderfully 
 impress me. I felt grateful, secure ; and offered 
 fervent thanks for my deliverance, though I 
 could hardly name or think of it without a 
 shuddering remembrance of its horrors. 
 
 Delightful as was this feeling of security after 
 danger ; novel and interesting as it was to ob- 
 serve the perfect order, stern silence, and prompt 
 obedience of so many fellow-creatures subjected 
 to one individual will ; still there was much that 
 oppressed, much that humbled me. The captain, 
 though kind in his treatment, was sparing of 
 words, and his looks were generally grave. If
 
 STORY OF A LIFE. 41 
 
 a slight smile ever crossed bis features, it was 
 bestowed on some rough old seaman, as he 
 passed him by, or on some fearless active boy, 
 as he was nimbly running up the rigging for his 
 hour's look out from the mast head. I felt that 
 I wasanidle cypher, and that I was so regarded. 
 At table, the officers who came there by invitation 
 (among the rest young Howard, asked outof cour- 
 tesy to me) sate constrained and silent ; not that 
 they appeared to dislike their commander; far 
 from it; there was a something in the lighting up 
 of their eyes when he addressed them, that be- 
 spoke a respect for him and a regard. You might 
 have sworn that they were cheerful in their obe- 
 dience to him, and would, at any time, hafve ha- 
 zarded their lives id defence of his person; but 
 the rules and customs of their service were as 
 chains round nature. 
 
 Few lives are more sad than that solitary 
 sultan-like isolation of the commander of a ship 
 of war. 
 
 The few days I was on board passed exactly 
 like each other. There was no talking on the 
 deck ; little in the cabin. I scarcely ever found
 
 42 STORY OF A LIFE. 
 
 an opportunity of speaking to young Howard ; 
 and seldom saw him, except at those moments 
 when he was engaged in cheerily performing his 
 duty. 
 
 It was with a pleasure, not unlike that I felt 
 when it was first told me at home that I had 
 permission to go abroad, that I now heard the 
 cry of" Land !" 
 
 The Rock of Lisbon (at which port it chanced 
 the frigate was to call), was in sight from the 
 mast head ; and its fine, cloudy, outline was 
 soon visible from the deck. 
 
 We ran into the harbour by night. I was 
 in bed before we entered, but too restless to sleep 
 well ; and I remember hearing the old captain's 
 voice naming his wife and children. I knew 
 from the tone that it was in prayer. Husband 
 and father — the high, the happy privileges of 
 those endearing titles kept me yet longer wake- 
 ful. It was near the morning watch before I 
 closed my eyes ; and then I was disturbed by a 
 dream. 
 
 Again, I was clinging to the mast in the aban- 
 doned vessel — again, the howling wind was
 
 STORY OF A LIFE. 43 
 
 sounding in my ears; but oh ! how horridly differ- 
 ent were the sights around. 
 
 The sky was lightning — lightning — not 
 flashing, but fixed ; — one wide and awful sheet 
 of bluish flame. The seas were glassily trans- 
 parent, though mountains high; while crowded 
 beneath the surface of the waters multitudes of 
 the long-drowned dead rose rushingly from 
 their chilly resting-places. Livid the corpses 
 were; yet they looked and swam with open 
 eyes, and the action of the living. All looked on 
 me — all called upon my name. In bubbling 
 murmurs, in hissing whisperings, "Osman!" 
 a million times repeated, was sounded in my ear. 
 
 How long could I have endured this ? I 
 awoke in terror. There was no sound but the 
 gentle sucking of the rippling tide ; and, through 
 the half-opened door, I saw the statue-like sen- 
 tinel with watchful protecting eye. 
 
 I soon became composed. I dressed. I prayed 
 that I might conquer, and forget these terrors. 
 I feared that the memory of them would han» 
 over my dearly-purchased feast of joy like the 
 tyrant's sword. I examined myself; and seemed
 
 44 STORY OF A LIFE. 
 
 to feel that my sin was, after all, a very light, a 
 venial one ; that it had already, and severely 
 been punished, and that I might now enjoy 
 myself happily, innocently ; that to dwell on 
 gloomy thoughts of death was not natural to 
 man — was foolish, useless, wrong: with a heart 
 much lightened, I went upon the deck. 
 
 What a scene presented itself to my dazzled 
 eye ! We lay in a broad, tranquil river, 'mid a 
 large fleet of ships at rest. Their lofty, carved, 
 and highly gilded sterns ; their painted prows ; 
 their silken streamers ; their sails all closely 
 furled on the black yards, or hanging idly in 
 festoons ; a thousand boats of forms and colours 
 strange, with white or striped awnings, and 
 oarsmen standing, and singing as they rowed — 
 these things were new and beautiful. But when 
 I turned, and saw a city on the shore, rising all 
 loftily in beauteous pride, with towers and pa- 
 laces, domes, and fair fronts of temples, sur- 
 mounted with the cross ; and, all around these 
 nobler features, the white and crowded dwell- 
 ings of many thousands of my fellow-beings —
 
 STORY OF A LIFE. 4.5 
 
 here, gay with light balconies and green Vene- 
 tians — there, displaying on their terraced roofs 
 small gardens, as it were, of plants ; and mark- 
 ed, where, near the castle, on the higher ground, 
 there rose with tall, bending, yet stately stem, 
 one solitary palm, I felt the measure of my trans- 
 port full. 
 
 How very bright all objects looked in the 
 rich flood of the strong sun-light ! — to me, too, 
 who had just come from the shady retirement of 
 the forest. 
 
 The Captain pressed my hand with great 
 kindness at parting, and I returned the pressure 
 with gratitude. From young Howard I parted 
 as from a brother. It was not, however, with 
 the less of joy that I quitted the vessel, and was 
 rowed to the steps of a handsome and thronged 
 square, whence I was conducted by a Gallician 
 porter to the residence of the Conde de Alegrete, 
 in the Rua de San Bento. My walk, in spite 
 of a few dirt-heaps, was one long sensation of 
 delighted and ill-repressed surprize ; the bare- 
 footed Franciscan with his shaven crown ; the 
 brown-throated, black-eyed, white-teethed pec*-
 
 46 STORY OF A LIFE. 
 
 pie in their novel garbs; the many negroes, with 
 black, shining faces, and curly heads ; the half- 
 concealed faces of the veiled women ; the gentry 
 in their cocked hats and long chin-covering 
 cloaks ; the gilded calecas, and the tall, stout, 
 shining mules ; the market asses, and their 
 jingling bells ; the rude and creaking bullock- 
 cars ; and around, the voices, and the din of la- 
 bour, cheerful labour; while, rising above all 
 these sounds, might be heard the incessant 
 tinkling of the small chimes, which, in that coun- 
 try, till the hour of noon, give constant warning 
 of the ever-ready Mass. 
 
 The Conde received me with unaffected plea- 
 sure, promised to make my stay as agreeable as 
 he could ; and, after cordial enquiries for Colo- 
 nel Hamilton, and listening with grave surprise 
 to the rapidly told tale of my late misfortune, and 
 merciful preservation, he led me to the apartment 
 I was to occupy during my stay, and left me to 
 myself. It was about ten o'clock in the fore- 
 noon. Every thing in the house — the furniture, 
 the attendance, the customs, — was so totally dif- 
 ferent from what I had left behind me, that per-
 
 STORY Or A LIFE. 47 
 
 haps, had I arrived in the depth of winter, I 
 should have felt little satisfaction in the change ; 
 but it was the first week in September — the 
 weather intensely hot, and every thing around 
 seemed to have an air of the most studied and 
 luxurious preparation to endure it with the 
 least possible inconvenience. The chamber 
 was very spacious, and paved with those broad, 
 thin, adorned bricks, so common among the 
 ruins of Moorish palaces ; three large windows, 
 lofty above, and descending to the floor, looked 
 towards the Tagus ; at this hour they were 
 flung open inwards, the green Venetians being 
 carefully closed ; and far out over the balcony, 
 there hung slanting down thick blinds of coarse 
 texture, kept constantly wetted from above by 
 a negro boy. 
 
 The bed was very high, and very broad. 
 From a coronetted canopy of white damask silk, 
 depended mosquito curtains of aa white gauze, 
 fine as if the spider had woven it; the mat- 
 tresses were light and firm, receiving no indent 
 from the frame ; the sheets of the very finest 
 cotton, with verv broad flounces of India mus-
 
 48 STORY OF A LIFF. 
 
 lin ; the pillows low, round, and flounced in 
 like manner ; a richly embroidered satin quilt. 
 The fixture wall-tables of white marble were 
 supported by grifiin claws, carved and gilt; 
 the heavy chairs with white damask, and gilding 
 to correspond ; broad mirrors shone dark and 
 cool above the tables, in rich, costly frames; and 
 the wails of the apartment were hung with a tapes- 
 try so beautifully vivid as to realize the colourings 
 of Arabian Fable— trees, fruits, flowers, birds — 
 all bright, and gaudy as they are in sunny climes. 
 Adjoining this chamber, was a small closet bath, 
 floored with marble, and provided with large 
 brimming waterpots ever ready to pour over 
 the exhausted frame. On a stand of ebony in 
 the chamber was an ewer, and basin of silver ; 
 and beneath many small narrow-necked vessels 
 of a porous clay filled with cool water. I am 
 particular in calling up the picture of all these 
 things, because we are certainly often acted 
 upon by the circumstances, in which we are 
 placed ; and very trifles, as adjuncts, operate 
 through our senses on the moral tone of the feel- 
 ings, and have some influence on our conduct.
 
 STORY OF A LIFE. 49 
 
 Above all things luxury breaks down the 
 strength, if not of our principle, at least of its 
 resisting power. 
 
 Here was I, with less experience of the world 
 than a boy trundling a hoop among his play- 
 fellows. With an imagination all fire — a 
 heart swelling and impressible — a face, and 
 form, and figure inherited from a father lofty in 
 his stature, strong yet faultless in his symmetry, 
 and having himself the black eye, and promi- 
 nent nose of manly beauty, to which in me was 
 added the mouth and smile of a mother, whose 
 countenance was ever full of sweetness and ex- 
 pression. Here was I, abandoned to my own 
 weak reason and strong will. It far less fre- 
 quently happens that they, who rough it among 
 their fellows as boys, and see life early, feel, or 
 allow themselves to form, a false and ill-placed 
 attachment, than those, who, coming late, and 
 ignorant into the world, are exposed suddenly 
 to the fierce assaults of passion from without, 
 and know not, or forget that they bear in their 
 own ardent bosoms, enemies under the sem- 
 blance of friends, ever treacherous, and ever 
 
 VOL. I. E
 
 50 STOilY OF A LIFE, 
 
 ready to betray them. To return — a black 
 servant brought, and placed upon the marble 
 slab, a salver with chocolate, fruits, and ices, 
 and left the room, telling me that the hour of 
 his master's dinner was at noon. I bared my 
 throat, loosened my dress, threw myself on the 
 bed, and lay indulging in that passive indo- 
 lence of thought, which has its pleasures; but, 
 alas ! its dangers also. Thousands of images 
 passed confusedly through my fancy, none 
 fixing it ; they were all bright as the colours on 
 the tapestry round me, but none distinct. Sud- 
 denly a sound, I had never before heard, reached 
 me — a vibrating sound of deep rich melody ; 
 now, lighter and sweeter were the tones ; again, 
 deep and full : a harp — certain I felt, it was a 
 harp — there was no measure — no continued 
 strain — a mere touching of the harmonious 
 strings. I arose and hastened to the window, 
 but, fearing to discover myself, just looked 
 through the Venetians. At right angles with 
 the Conde's Mansion, was another of like size 
 and aspect; and I readily distinguished the 
 windows of the chamber, whence the sounds
 
 STORY OF A LIFE. 51 
 
 proceeded. A garden lay below, belonging to 
 that mansion ; it was empty, hot, and still ; I 
 went out into the balcony and gazed vainly at 
 that chamber ; its Venetians were fast closed ; the 
 outer blind down ; nothing could I see ; the 
 sounds ceased. I felt disappointed and sad ; nay, 
 fearful I was myself the cause of their ceasing. 
 
 I returned to my couch, and to fresh musings 
 — the harp was in them now. In about half 
 an hour again the chords w r ere struck, but I 
 thought with more intention. 
 
 A low plaintive prelude was very touchingly 
 executed, and followed by an air so fondly, 
 softly, tenderly sad, that it pierced my very 
 soul. The words I could not distinguish, but 
 the ravishing melody of tone, the feeling turns 
 and pauses, and the faint warblings of the dying, 
 the slowly dying close left me in an ecstasy. 
 Where was. it gone ? — that sound of sweet- 
 ness ? Above ? yes, up, up — surely up from 
 earth ; 'twas incense for the skies, yet had 
 some mortal breathed it. Ah me ! I had 
 not been three short-lived hours upon a 
 foreign shore, and I had already drunk a 
 e 2
 
 52 STORY OF A LIFE. 
 
 luscious draught of that Circean cup, which is 
 ever drugged with poisons for our peace. 
 
 At the hour of noon I was summoned to the 
 repast ; all was novelty enough to stir and 
 kindle a colder fancy than mine. As the 
 Conde and myself were taking our seats at 
 table, there glided in with noiseless step, a pale 
 old monk, in the white habit of his order ; he 
 placed himself opposite to the Conde, uttered 
 a short Latin grace, and sunk down into his 
 chair in silence. I was introduced to him, and 
 acknowledged by a kind smile of quiet welcome. 
 My food was forgotten as I looked on this 
 strange, grave figure : the small peaked beard 
 of thin grey hairs, the little black skull-cap, 
 the rude cord around his loins, the rosary in 
 his hand, the sandal on his foot. I looked on 
 all these things with a reverential feeling. This 
 was somewhat increased by its being a day of 
 fast ; and although neither the Count himself, 
 or father Antonio had anything in their bearing 
 to me of the bigot, yet the very circumstance 
 of observing that there were dishes prepared ex-
 
 STORY OF A LIFE. 53 
 
 pressly for me, and pressed on my attention, 
 disconcerted and almost depressed me. 
 
 Of the five servants in attendance, three were 
 negroes, two elderly Portuguese with parch- 
 ment faces, lean, snuff-taking noses, and that 
 snuffling voice and nasal tone, so disagreeable 
 a peculiarity with most of the aged vulgar in 
 that country. They glanced down on my 
 heretically filled plate with a ludicrous ex- 
 pression of mingled disapprobation and envy ; 
 but the hospitable eagerness of the Count to 
 meet what he knew to be the custom of my 
 country, and the licence of my persuasion, quite 
 relieved me. The Count was a short man, 
 with a very sallow, suffering complexion, of de- 
 licate health and gentle manners ; his eye pene- 
 trating and expressive, his voice never loud, 
 and very mellow. Father Antonio was of a 
 very sad, subdued, interesting appearance. The 
 table was quite a new picture to me. The 
 plate was all chased, and adorned with scriptural 
 subjects; the bread was served in small rude 
 shaped loaves, some of which were of a bright 
 yellow colour, being made of India corn ; the 
 e 3
 
 54 STORY OF A LIFE. 
 
 wine was in very large-bellied bottles, of a glass 
 transparent, but of a deep green colour; the 
 oil stood on the table in narrow rush-covered 
 flasks. We drank our wine in large glasses of 
 goblet size, diluting it with iced water. The 
 pine, the melon, and the large purple grapes 
 were disposed on dishes of silver, as the painter 
 would groupe them. In the centre of the table 
 stood an elegant little ornament of silver, re- 
 presenting the porcupine, fretful and bristling ; 
 tooth picks of the most fragrant sandal-wood, 
 supplying the tiny and harmless quills : while 
 in a corner of the saloon were silver basins 
 and ewers, with snowy napkins hanging over 
 them, ready to carry at the close of the meal 
 to each guest. It may be supposed that my 
 late adventure and miraculous deliverance, 
 formed the principal subject of conversation, 
 and my host and the good father won on me by 
 their kindness of manner, and the calm quiet 
 easiness of their general discourse. We conversed 
 in French ; then, as now, that language being 
 among all educated foreigners, the medium of 
 communication in society. Fortunately, with
 
 STORY OF A LIFE. 55 
 
 Vernon j Colonel Hamilton, my father and 
 mother, I had practised myself in learning to 
 speak French, as a happy pastime and useful 
 attainment. I spoke it well, and, indeed, had a 
 very considerable acquaintance with all the 
 continental languages. 
 
 Soon after we had finished our repast, the 
 Count led the way to a gallery? a large window 
 at the end of which looked out upon the 
 glorious river, and for half an hour we paced 
 very gently to and fro. During this time he 
 took occasion to give me a rapid insight into 
 the manner of a Lisbon life, and to express his 
 regret that his dull residence was so ill suited 
 to my years and spirits. 
 
 "Mylazy countrymen," saidhe, "neither walk 
 or ride farther than to mass, the cafe, or the 
 theatre; but you will find a horse always at 
 your order ; a boat, when you are inclined to 
 go upon the river ; and a carriage ready every 
 evening at the hour of the opera, where I shall 
 have pleasure in accompanying you, for it 
 is one of the few amusements to which, in my 
 old age, I retain an undiminished attachment. 
 E 4
 
 56 STORY OF A LIFE. 
 
 As for other recreations or exercises, I shall 
 have pleasure in being your guide to the 
 few things worth visiting among us ; but 
 there are many of your own countrymen, and 
 other foreigners here, whose age and pursuits 
 will better fit them to be your companions." To 
 this I replied naturally and politely. The quiet 
 father and himself now left me to retire for their 
 siesta, and I was again restored to my dan- 
 gerous solitude. 
 
 I did not leave the couch of my waking 
 dreams till the cool of the evening, and then I 
 went upon the roof of the house. Delightfully 
 fragrant were the choice, healthy, well- watered 
 plants, and shrubs, which stood ranged, in long 
 rows, in large adorned flower pots of vase-like 
 forms ; the prospect of the shipping, and the 
 Tagus; of the opposite shores of Almada, with 
 its vineyards and orange gardens ; of the 
 quays below me, crowded with people; and 
 those sounds which belong to the hour when 
 labour breaks off from his daily task of toil, 
 and wipes his sweaty brow ; and which come up 
 in a pleasant contented hum upon the ear;
 
 STORY OF A LIFE. 57 
 
 all gave me that feeling of enjoyment, which 
 is the superior pleasure of mind. How dearly 
 purchased, alas ! many weepers there be that 
 but too well, too sadly know. 
 
 The sun set — the dusky light of eve soon 
 followed it ; night, all beautiful in her gorgeous 
 robe of deep but starry blue, canopied the 
 black earth. I should not, could not, at this 
 hour of life, leave the hushed, silent, aweful 
 companionship of golden stars for lighted 
 theatres ; but then I answered gaily to the 
 summons, and stepping into the mule-drawn 
 caleca, was soon conveyed to the grand theatre. 
 There were few in Europe to compare with it 
 at that period ; to me, however, this was no- 
 thing. I had never seen a theatre, never 
 heard an opera, could draw therefore no com- 
 parisons, exercise no discriminating judgment. 
 — I could do better — could enjoy. Things 
 were so conducted in that theatre, that the 
 whole house lay in deep shadow, while a full 
 and brilliant light was cast upon the scene. 
 The orchestra was admirably filled, and you 
 heard noi a twang, a scrape, or a note, till the
 
 58 STORY OF A LIFE. 
 
 overture burst forth in all its stirring strength. 
 — It was a hunting piece, and told its joyous, 
 animating scenes as well or better than could 
 pen or pencil. 
 
 The prancing forth — the rousing of the 
 game — the maddening, yet gleeful speed of the 
 hot chase ; the mellow death horn — the 
 triumphant return — the laughing feast ; your 
 ear listened, and your mind's eye saw the 
 whole. Then came the pause — the breathless 
 pause to those, who, for the first time, visit a 
 theatre; the heavy curtain slowly updrawn — 
 the discovered scene — the chill air that came 
 from it — the appearance of the characters - — 
 the stage dresses — the developement of the 
 acted story — the brilliant recitative — the 
 swelling chorus — the passionate, the soft 
 breathed airs : how all these trifles enchanted 
 me ! Forgetful, ignorant indeed of the usages 
 of the place, I leaned far out from the Count's 
 box, fearful lest I should miss one word, 
 a gesture, or one bar of music. It was a com- 
 mon tale of love. Wealth striving to win a 
 maiden's heart, or rather person. The per-
 
 STORY OF A LIFE. 59 
 
 suasions, counsels, and menaces of frosty age ; 
 a playful proving of the best loved swain — his 
 jealous fears of his dazzling rival — the lover's 
 quarrel — the forgiving fond embrace. 
 
 So complete was the witchery of the music — 
 so beautiful the singing, that the illusion w r as 
 perfect, at least to the ear. My soul hung with 
 a feverish delight on the sweet sounds. In 
 one scene in particular, I remember the true 
 maid brought in her fine apparel, the gift of 
 the rich suitor, and, casting it on the ground, 
 trod on it indignantly ; then, sung an air all 
 soft reproach, and tender seeking, and her 
 lover came to her fond call, and she fell upon 
 his bosom, and sobbed there in the happy, mur- 
 muring tones of reconcilement. That air was 
 not new to me — the harp, the closed chamber, 
 the unknown syren, all flashed upon me. I 
 struck my forehead with the action of pas- 
 sionate, rapturous remembrance, and turned 
 my eyes suddenly from the stage; they were met 
 by the inquiring gaze of a lady of surpassing 
 beauty, but with an air of sad contemplation, 
 as of one who hgd found it a fatal gift; her
 
 60 STOIIY OF A LIFE. 
 
 veiled eyelids instantly fell, as it were with a 
 sense of pain, and she pressed them nervously, 
 as endeavouring to chase away some thought 
 or image that disturbed her. She then looked 
 up again, and directing all her attention to the 
 stage, seemed to notice me no farther. 
 
 The shade of the house was sufficient to 
 conceal and favour the observing gaze, while 
 so near as I sate to the object of it, it could not 
 disappoint me by hiding her charms ; nay, it 
 rather threw them out into a fuller, richer re- 
 lief, as is the case in the portraits of the best and 
 oldest masters. Her form was tall and ma- 
 jestic, but yet femininely so ; she had that am- 
 ple bosom of matronly beauty, where the breasts 
 are widely parted, and swell to a gentle fulness: 
 the white and rounded arm of perfect propor- 
 tion. Her graceful neck rose stately from fine- 
 falling shoulders, a faint carnation hue just 
 tinged a cheek, the complexion of which was 
 pale and transparent. Her nose had that 
 delicately marked prominence, those thin nos- 
 trils, and that flexible expression so rare and 
 so admired. Her eyes were dark, large, lus-
 
 STOKY OF A LIFE. Gl 
 
 trous, and yet languid, veiled by white blue- 
 veined lids, and fringed with such eye lashes 
 as I never saw on any other; around her 
 beauteous mouth there were no smiles, but 
 you could trace where, in youth, there had 
 been. 
 
 Her robe was white ; the folds of the drapery 
 large ; above her high pale forehead her dark 
 hair was smoothly parted, without a curl ; and 
 she wore round her head a wreath of black 
 laurel-shaped leaves ; her long, white mantle- 
 like veil hung down from the back part of her 
 head, and fell carelessly and gracefully over her 
 shoulders, giving an air of inexpressible dignity 
 to her whole figure. 
 
 She looked like the sad priestess of some 
 ruined temple of Hymen, in which the altar had 
 been overthrown and broken, and the torch extin- 
 guished for ever: and it was so. Her husband, a 
 nobleman of Sicily, had married her for her beau- 
 ty; a stern guardian was said to have planned, 
 and compelled her to this marriage. Two children 
 she had borne her unworthy lord, but they 
 were dead. Twelve years she had been married.
 
 62 STOllY OF A LIFE. 
 
 Her husband thought of nothing but the gam- 
 ing table, and she was an admired, pitied, se- 
 cluded, neglected woman. They had been re- 
 siding here for the last twelve months, the Prince 
 Belmonte being attached to the Neapolitan em- 
 bassy. This much I gathered hastily from the 
 old Count, my host, given as the " on dit" of 
 society. I looked again at her, and felt some 
 strange confusion, when I thought of the harp 
 and the voice. Could it be ? it might — it must 
 have been some lovely person. Could it be she ? 
 Oh no : I had a fear, and yet a hope within me. 
 I wanted my invisible syren to prove some one 
 I might love ; some virgin girl, with heart all in 
 its sighing freshness ; but yet, how beautiful, how 
 very beautiful was this fair melancholy wife. 
 What were the friendship of such a being worth ? 
 Worth many loves. 
 
 It was with a swift flight of fancy that I seemed 
 already to be the privileged listener to her 
 whispered sorrows, and dreamed that such pity 
 could be innocent. 
 
 I could not, would not trust myself to ask the 
 Count where she resided, and clung strangely to
 
 STORY OF A LIFE. 63 
 
 the fancy, that she it was to whose enchanting 
 voice I had listened with much deep emotion. 
 
 We returned home; the Count soon retired 
 to his chamber, and I to the terraced roof, to 
 enjoy the soft air, and the clear calming dark- 
 ness of the still night. 
 
 All was repose around me ; but, alas ! not 
 within, Why do I say alas ? Then my feeling 
 was far different. Then I loved that tumult of 
 the bosom. I leaned from the balustrade, 
 and looked eagerly down upon the windows of 
 that chamber where I thought this being of en- 
 chantment surely dwelt. They were open. A 
 female sate solitary at one of them. The lamp 
 burning in the apartment showed nothing save 
 that her robe was white, and her figure tall ; and 
 it cast down a gleam upon a gilded harp. 
 
 Three hours, or more, I watched with that 
 heart-heaving intensity with which the lover 
 watches ; but they glided fast away. The lamp 
 began to burn feebly ; the night wind blew 
 chill ; and she, on whom I was gazing, and who 
 had sate moveless, arose, and disappeared. 
 
 I went down to my couch disappointed, and
 
 64 STORY OF A LIFE. 
 
 felt, as I lay me down for the night, that care 
 was on my pillow. 
 
 The morning came ; again I was early up, 
 and out in my balcony, and gazing at the win- 
 dow, and I saw the lady of my fancied love come 
 forth ; but judge my astonishment. She came 
 careless and smiling, with unbraided hair, and 
 an elderly duenna following ; and she was gaily 
 throwing back her white arms to catch those 
 long, thick, wanton tresses, and bind them up 
 again. 
 
 Her voice I heard — her features I looked 
 upon. No ; they were not the tones I listened 
 for. Those eyes and lips had beauties, but not 
 the charms I sought. She no sooner discovered 
 me than she seemed greatly surprised ; but soon 
 the expression of her countenance changed to 
 free delight; and, after the custom of the silly, 
 prisoned women of that land, she gave those 
 glances of the sparkling eye, those gestures of 
 the playful hand, that challenge the bold wooer. 
 
 My heart had deeper wants. I was young,
 
 STORY OF A LIFE. fi5 
 
 joyous, excited, but as yet innocent. I laughed 
 indeed, and kissed my hand, but went as from a 
 forbidden thing within. 
 
 I found from the servant, who waited on me, 
 that this was the married daughter of a wealthy 
 merchant, and that her husband had lately 
 sailed to the Brazils. 
 
 " Was she musical ? Did she play the harp ?" 
 " Oh ! yes ; a brave Signora for every thing." 
 Thus, then, said I, are we men fooled ! That 
 air — that tone, was hers : and the midnight mus- 
 ing hers ; and the morning tone again was 
 hers ; and the glance and the beckon hers ; and 
 her husband far away on tempest-tossed seas ! 
 Riddle, deceitful riddle ; — sing, smile, deck, 
 and perfume thy carved bed ; I'll none of your 
 false love. 
 
 Thus thought I, and spake bitterly, and 
 proudly to myself — still, as the beauteous image 
 of her whom I had seen at the opera, arose before 
 me, 1 felt less rfierit in resistance —less strength 
 than I was early boasting. Yet why ? She, she 
 was all sorrow and virtue. Thoughts of sin and 
 of her could never dwell together in my bosom. 
 
 VOL, I. f
 
 66 STORY OF A LIFE. 
 
 The Count took me in his carriage that morn- 
 ing to visit our envoy, some native and foreign 
 noblemen, and a few of the most considerable 
 merchants ; by all of whom I was very kindly 
 received. 
 
 " And the Prince of Belmonte, are we going 
 to call there ?" I ventured to ask. 
 
 No : he resided in the country ; the Count 
 scarce knew where ; and, indeed, was very 
 slightly acquainted with him. 
 
 The more obstacles which seemed placed be- 
 tween me and the acquaintance that I felt I most 
 passionately desired to form, the more restless 
 and invincible became my wishes. It was in 
 vain that I was surrounded by so many new and 
 interesting objects. 
 
 I visited the many-shrined churches — the 
 dull and cloistered convents — the grated nun- 
 neries ; — I walked in the vineyards, and stam- 
 mered out greetings with the laughing vine- 
 dressers ; — -I lay down in the orange gardens, 
 and sprinkled my open bosom with the cool 
 waters of the bubbling fountains ; — I rode in the 
 Campo Grande; — I sailed on the beautiful river,
 
 STORY Or A LIFE. 67 
 
 and fed my delighted eye with the gay aspect of 
 the varied shore, where green gardens, white 
 villas, and gray monasteries, were scattered for 
 many miles up the yellow waters. 
 
 I stood, at evening, in the streets, and listened 
 as the people gathered round the picture or 
 image of some favourite saint, and sung a litany 
 or the vesper hymn. I took my ice on the 
 bench before the door of the coffee house, and 
 heard, with an indolent pleasure, the sounds of 
 the guitar and the Castanet, and the plaintive 
 ballads of their wandering musicians. I was 
 regular at the opera. I read Portuguese daily 
 with the kind father Antonio, and our little re- 
 past at noon was increasingly cheerful, as our 
 intimacy grew closer. The envoy, the consul, 
 and the English gentlemen invited me to their 
 tables. They had evening parties ; there were 
 many ladies ; several unmarried, with the fresh 
 roses and ready smiles of the gay dance-loving 
 age. I drank freely from the w T ine cup, and 
 was interested and animated over the table talk, 
 and I danced gaily among the others of my age ; 
 but of those men none interested my heart as a 
 f 2
 
 68 STORY OF A LIFE. 
 
 friend : of those women not one warmed me into 
 an admirer. The very moment I was restored 
 to myself I was full of aching wants and vain 
 wishes ; yet had I nothing, however I might try 
 to disguise it to myself, with the pursuit of which 
 my principles or my sense could reconcile me. 
 The woman whose image was continually pre- 
 sent to me, was another's — another's by the 
 most sacred and solemn of all ties ; was of a 
 character moreover distinguishedly superior to 
 most of her Italian countrywomen, for she had 
 never yielded, even in courtesy, to the vile cus- 
 tom of cicisbeism — a circumstance, it was said, 
 which, instead of being the fruit of her base 
 lord, was viewed by him, according to his moods, 
 with an angry scorn, or with the keenest ridicule. 
 Hence her seclusion was almost monastic. Re- 
 gular inquiries I was not hardy enough to make 
 — the art we so soon learn, of putting chance 
 and careless questions on matters that deeply 
 move us, I had practised in vain. I could not 
 discover where she lived. Alas ! all this was 
 wild, and wrong — it bore the fruit of sin ; 
 although, as far as she was concerned, I thought
 
 STORY OF A LIFE. 69 
 
 only of the romantic interest of looking in her 
 eyes, gazing on her fair form, and listening to 
 her dulcet voice : but the vain wishing, and the 
 deferred joy, as they troubled my solitary hours, 
 so did they unstring all moral nerve within me. 
 
 There is never any necessity for man laying 
 bare those errors of early life by some exulted 
 in, by others laughed at, by more, better and 
 larger classes, mourned. Few, very few, men 
 walk the ordeal of early life without treading on 
 the burning ploughshare; well is it for those 
 whose consciences the iron does not sear. 
 
 All cities have the taking eyelids, the flatter- 
 ing of the lips, the voice of invitation in the 
 twilight ; a demon is ever near the idle and the 
 indolent, and he smiles when he sees the simple 
 victim caught, and kissed, and led down to the 
 chambers of death. Ah! my forest home, you 
 never saw the strong drink mingled — you never 
 heard the shout of revelry — you never listened 
 to the seductive song, or gazed upon the wanton 
 dance of the falsely-smiling, warm-embracing 
 but cold heart-broken harlot — most wretched of 
 all the wretched ! 1 mean not to speak of you 
 r 3
 
 70 STORY OF A LIFE. 
 
 in the tone of contempt ; it is man — your be- 
 trayer man — who has always " much heavier 
 guilt and much lighter woe." — Well for those 
 who, in the protected paths and calm duties of a 
 private and retired life, tread surely, surrounded 
 by restraining mercies. Better yet for those 
 who are early taught where to get the only 
 armour proof against invisible darts, which are 
 tempered in a lake of fire. 
 
 It was with joy that I heard the proposal of 
 the Count to leave the city, and pass a few weeks 
 at a quinta of his near Cintra. It seemed as if 
 I had escaped from the tyrannous grasp of pol- 
 luting fiends, when I stood again alone in the 
 deep shadow of woods — when I heard the mur- 
 mur of brooks, and the song of birds — when I 
 climbed the naked rock to see the sun rise, or 
 watched him sinking in his ocean bed. I loved 
 to look upon the black cypress -tree, which, in 
 Portugal, grows up of a stately beauty like the 
 cedar of Lebanon. The gnarled branches and 
 the white deeply-furrowed bark of the cork- 
 tree ; the vines in the quinta gardens here 
 trelliced, there hanging from branch to branch,
 
 STORY OF A LIFE. 71 
 
 in wild irregular festoons : these were all ob- 
 jects for the picturesque loving eye; innocent 
 food for it ; while the distant song of the water- 
 drawing peasant girl, the bell of the browzing 
 goat, or the mellow chimes, which came down 
 on the mountain breeze from the lofty convent, 
 soothed me into feelings of peace, sad, indeed, 
 but sweetly sad. 
 
 As I was returning late one evening from a 
 long delicious ramble, I struck into a path which I 
 guessed would lead in the direction of the Count's 
 quinta, but which I had never before trodden. 
 It was the twilight hour ; no longer were objects 
 distinctly seen, and the thickness of the wood 
 made my path still darker; a calm, a breathless 
 stillness reigned all around. I paused, as in 
 doubt whether to proceed or trace back my 
 way, and return by the public road. Suddenly 
 a harp note struck on the tremulous air ; 
 the mere vibration caused a quick thrill to run 
 through my every vein — to shake my every 
 nerve. Again I heard the faint, low prelude 
 of sweet promise, the tender melancholy air, 
 f 4
 
 72 STORY OF A LIFE. 
 
 the well-remembered voice of melting melody. 
 — I listened with mute, intense, painfully in- 
 tense interest, holding my breath, which would 
 have panted loud — my every faculty wound up. 
 It ceased: 1 listened on — to nothing. I felt 
 my heart too full — I felt it ache, sink, sicken ; — 
 my blood chilled, my brain swam round. What 
 sound I uttered, whether faint sigh, or loud ex- 
 claim, I know not. What time elapsed I know 
 not; but, at length, to the gentle pressure of a 
 soft hand, that chafed my pale forehead, I opened 
 my dull, dim eye. — Was it? — yes ; — she of the 
 sad, fair beauty — she, the once-seen, stood 
 over me with a look of womanly compassion : 
 no sooner did she observe me to recover, than 
 addressing herself with some directions to those 
 around, she left the apartment. It was a 
 garden pavilion. I lay stretched upon a low 
 ottoman ; an elderly female attendant and 
 two men-servants stood beside mec the former 
 took the place of her mistress by my couch, while 
 the men remained with their hats in hand, evi- 
 dently for the purpose of assisting me home, 
 when sufficiently recovered. " It was not far,"
 
 STORY OF A LIFE. 73 
 
 they said, " through the wood — a very short 
 league. Their mistress had given orders for 
 my safe and easy conveyance, and the gentle 
 baudet, whereon she rode daily in the grounds, 
 would carry me home with their support, with 
 little more inconvenience or fatigue than a 
 litter or chair." 
 
 I felt my strength very quickly return ; but 
 long and vainly I lingered in the indulged hope 
 that she might again visit the pavilion. How 
 my eye drank in the pleasure reflected from 
 gazing round me as I lay — the magic harp — 
 the seat so lately quitted — the small and 
 delicate plants, which seemed expressly chosen, 
 for that their frail and beautiful flowers were 
 the short-lived blossoms of one summer day; — 
 the book too — the opened book ; — I took it 
 up, and looked upon the page she had last read 
 from : — I started ; — it was a Shakspeare ; of 
 Queen Katherine'shigh sorrow she was reading, 
 and my eyes seized the sad lines : — 
 
 " Shipwrecked upon a kingdom where no pity, 
 No friends, no hope; no kindred weep for me; 
 Almost no grave allow'd me : — like the lily
 
 74- STORY OF A LIFE. 
 
 That once was mistress of the field and flourished, 
 I'll hang my head and perish." 
 
 I will pity thee, said my quick-beating heart — 
 will be to thee friends, hope, kindred — be the 
 cold grave forgotten. 
 
 " Go," said I aloud to one of the attendants, 
 " tell your lady that I feel sufficiently re- 
 covered to be able to proceed alone, and shall 
 only require your services to point out to me 
 the direction of my path ; but say, that I hope 
 for permission to be allowed to express to 
 her my thanks, for her kind hospitality, in 
 person." 
 
 He went, but almost immediately returned. 
 " The Signora is well pleased to hear that the 
 Cavalier is so far recovered ; but must 
 insist on her arrangement for his return 
 being yielded to. She is happy in having ren- 
 dered him the slight service, for which he is 
 desirous of thanking her in person; is sorry 
 that, from the lateness of the hour, she cannot 
 have the pleasure of receiving him, and bids 
 him God speed."
 
 STORY OF A LIFE. 75 
 
 I listened eagerly, but disappointedly, to 
 every syllable of the message; rose silently, 
 looked round the little temple of her solitude 
 with that searching: gaze with which we fix a 
 locality for ever in our memory, and went forth 
 slowly and reluctantly. 
 
 A large sized gentle baudet of the breed of 
 Barbary, with saddle and housings of green velvet, 
 and embroidered rein, stood ready for me, and 
 the two attendants armed, and bearing torches, 
 took their stations one before, the other by 
 my side. 
 
 We had not gone a full mile from the villa 
 when I heard the sudden clashing of swords, 
 and loud cries for help, at a very short dis- 
 tance. The servants with me were greatly 
 alarmed, overcome with unmanly apprehen- 
 sions, and begged of me to turn back. Their 
 requests and remonstrances, however, did but 
 indistinctly reach me, for already was I urging 
 my beast out of its patient amble to its quickest 
 pace and best speed in the direction of the 
 cry. 
 
 Against the huge trunk of an aged cork-tree
 
 76 STORY OF A LIFE. 
 
 of the wildest outline, I caught the figure of a 
 man defending himself stoutly against three 
 assailants. The clear darkness of the deep 
 blue starlight sky, showed me the active 
 motions, the glittering swords, and the sparks 
 that flew from them ; while the alternate calls 
 on saint and devil bespoke the resolute bearing 
 of the assaulted gentleman. Throwing myself 
 among the combatants, I was in an instant by 
 his side, and the foiled bandits, after one of 
 them had discharged a pistol, the shot of which 
 (the first I had ever heard by the way), flew 
 with a spitting whiz close, but harmlessly, past 
 my naked head, left us with a loud volley of 
 curses, and made off in an opposite direction 
 from the slowly advancing torches. 
 
 " My thanks to you, gentle Sir, for your bold 
 help," said the Stranger, as he leaned ex- 
 hausted and almost breathless upon his sword. 
 " The villains had well nigh overpowered me ; 
 three to one were heavy odds in their favour. 
 These sort of gentlemen don't want courage to 
 cut a throat for the sake of carrying off a well- 
 filled purse ;— my thanks, Signor." I replied
 
 STORY OF A LIFE. 77 
 
 briefly ; but judge my astonishment, when in the 
 person of him whom I had delivered in this 
 strange rencontre, I discovered, by the recog- 
 nition and obeisance of the servants, who now 
 came doubtingly forward, the Prince Belmonte, 
 the husband of that beauteous being who had 
 so disturbed my young heart. 
 
 I eagerly examined him. Tall, noble-looking, 
 handsome; elegant both in his person and 
 countenance. As he recovered himself, a kind 
 of cold hauteur, a polished calmness spread 
 over every feature, and was observable in every, 
 even the slightest movement of the limb, or 
 hand ; a look of that quiet surprise, which re- 
 quires to be informed, but indifferent as to 
 the issue, indicated to me the necessity of 
 giving some explanation for being found at 
 midnight on the road leading from his villa, 
 with the animal which his wife generally used 
 to take exercise on, and attended by his own 
 servants. I briefly stated to him that, after a 
 day of great heat and fatigue, I had been over- 
 taken by a fainting sickness near the gate of 
 his garden, and succoured by his lady's order ;
 
 78 STORY OF A LIFE. 
 
 and I closed by expressing my great pleasure 
 that Providence had enabled me so soon and 
 so agreeably to repay in part the obligation 
 conferred. 
 
 He appeared much struck by the animation 
 of my manner, for he said instantly, that he 
 rejoiced at any circumstance that had given him 
 the opportunity of making my acquaintance, 
 and still more to find that I was a neighbour. 
 
 As danger was evidently abroad, he insisted 
 that I should return with him, and pass the 
 remainder of the night at the villa. We ac- 
 cordingly prepared to retrace our steps; a 
 wound in the fleshy part of the thigh, which 
 he had not felt at the moment, and in the heat 
 of his late encounter, now became stiff, and 
 painful. I bound it up, and placing him on 
 the baudet, supported his limb with my hand, 
 as we moved slowly back towards the mansion. 
 It appeared from what he now told me, that he 
 had been returning from Lisbon alone, on 
 horseback, and having called on a friend, who 
 resided near the palace of Queluz, was induced 
 to stay till the late hour, in which he so im-
 
 STORY OF A LITE. 79 
 
 prudently ventured on, and was beset by the 
 robbers. They had seized his horse by the 
 bridle, and he had jumped off, made for the 
 tree, and placing his back against it, had de- 
 termined to sell his life dearly, and had success- 
 fully kept his ground till I so opportunely 
 joined him. If to me all this was strange, con- 
 fused, and exciting, what proved it to the 
 lady Agatha? 
 
 In a full and sweeping night robe, with her 
 head bound close (as for the grave), a broad 
 white fillet passing tight across her brow, pale, 
 very pale, yet beautiful, as if she was a love- 
 worn woman, widowed by absence and neglect, 
 she came down from her chamber with a taper in 
 her hand, to learn the cause of our return, and 
 of the confusion below. Her earnest attentions 
 were immediately given to the care and comfort 
 of her husband, while she thanked me in a 
 most courteous, lady-like manner, but with a 
 tone, which my quick and ready fears deemed 
 full of a sad regret, that my acquaintance was 
 thus in a manner forced upon her. 
 
 It was with the smile of a relieved mind 
 that she listened as I bade herself and her
 
 80 STORY OF A LIFE. 
 
 lord good night, adding that with early dawn I 
 must return to the Count, who would, no doubt, 
 be under considerable anxiety for my safety. 
 The Prince begged me to consider his villa as 
 always open to me ; and though he said the 
 Princess saw no company, he was sure that of 
 one, who had been introduced so singularly on 
 that evening to them both, would be ever wel- 
 come. She gave a silent assenting bend, and I 
 withdrew. 
 
 Most freely I gave myself to enjoy that pre- 
 cious privilege. He was confined to a sofa 
 for some weeks : daily I visited hira : I informed 
 him of such news as I gathered from the Count ; 
 I played with him at chess, at cards; I did 
 every thing to make myself agreeable in his 
 sight, that I might be ensured the bliss, the in- 
 nocent bliss as I thought it, of being near the 
 lady Agatha. 
 
 Very, very seldom did she address herself to 
 me, and then in a quiet, polite, but reserved 
 manner. 
 
 It became evident to me that she saw; evident
 
 STORY OF A LIFE. 81 
 
 that she desired to check those sentiments of 
 admiration, which, while I delightedly indulged 
 in them, I vainly flattered myself I might suc- 
 cessfully conceal. 
 
 The Prince was blind to all these emotions, 
 which betrayed my secret to her, for his iieart 
 was as cold and unfeeling as the marble-looking 
 fine hand with which he guided the pieces on 
 the chess-board. To his wife he had an air of 
 indifferent, smiling politeness, as he sate at 
 table, which might easily deceive the heartless, 
 uninterested observer ; me it could not. This 
 treasure of charms — this mind — this heart — 
 ah ! no — that was not his — it could not be. 
 The affections never will be mocked. She was 
 submiss with that proud womanly devotion 
 which scorns the display, or even the admission 
 of her misery ; which would spurn away the of- 
 fered consolation of those male coquettes, who 
 watch the moment to flatter and betray. No ; 
 she did not, could not, love him — could not 
 respect him. She sighed (but it was in secret), 
 and she endured him well. 
 
 His liking for, and attentions to me were very 
 
 VOL. I. G
 
 82 STORY OF A LIFE. 
 
 marked, and, for him I imagine, must have been 
 unusually cordial. His conversation was lively, 
 elegant, and, at times, attractive ; but in vain he 
 sought to recommend himself to me. I hated 
 him for his treatment of his wife, and soon I 
 founctthatl envied him ; too soon, alas ! that I 
 coveted his possession of her. 
 
 I learned, accidentally, in conversation, that 
 she had passed one day in the house, near the 
 Conde's, in the Rua de San Bento, for the sake 
 of attending the Opera in the evening, and that, 
 on her first arrival in Lisbon, she had occupied 
 those apartments for many weeks. 
 
 I have said that she studiously avoided both 
 my looks and words ; so admirably did she 
 contrive to disappoint my wishes, for any more 
 unrestrained expression of my feelings, that, 
 during three weeks of daily visiting, 1 never 
 once saw her alone. 
 
 To a naturally ventured question of mine, 
 concerning the Shakspeare, she coldly replied 
 (in French) that she had known the English 
 language from her childhood, as she had been 
 very early instructed in it; and then she point-
 
 STORY OF A LIFE. 83 
 
 edly changed the subject, as if requesting it 
 might not again be alluded to. I remember, 
 too, that whenever I entreated her to favour me 
 with an air, or music, her selections were de- 
 signedly disappointing ; they were of a light 
 and cheerful, or of a cold and scientific charac- 
 ter. Once only as I looked a deep-felt reproach 
 upon her, she sung, in sorrowing tones, a some- 
 thing to calm my diseased mind ; and her eyes 
 had the soft expression of one who was saddened, 
 pityingly saddened, to see the strong impression 
 that she made. 
 
 Heavens ! What I suffered through that 
 short period of my first love — for love it was, 
 though not, alas ! that fond, requited feeling 
 — that pure leaping of one young heart to its 
 virgin fellow. 
 
 It was a deep, passionate admiration — a 
 panting of the sick heart — a burning of the 
 fevered brain. Her image was ever present. 
 My walks, my lyings down, my days, my 
 nights, my dreams were full of her, were 
 haunted by her form. 
 
 Had I been a painter I could, from memory, 
 g 2
 
 84 STORY. -OF A LIFE. 
 
 have drawn the every beauteous trifle that- 
 stamped a bright originality upon each lovely 
 feature ; in all their varying and changeful ex- 
 pressions would have caught, and fixed the 
 passing charm, till each day should have multi- 
 plied new portraits of the idol mistress of my 
 love. It grew upon me this strange malady. I 
 did not seek to check it. I fed it full of wildest 
 hopes, of wishes, spurned as they rose ; but yet, 
 that as my fancy once dared admit them, had 
 dropped some stain upon my heart. 
 
 I said, and felt within myself, that I would 
 rather die than entertain a thought, a wish inju- 
 rious to her honour ; but, should the Prince 
 die! ah — why check the thought? He was 
 not immortal ; but for me, were in his grave al- 
 ready. The gambler's grave was often dug by 
 others ; sometimes by disappointed, ruined self. 
 He was a deep, a desperate gamester. He did 
 not love this angel, was not loved by her ; that 
 way hope lay. Thus whispered my evil spirit ; 
 and having whispered, in all my visionary vigils, 
 up came this phantom of delight to mock me. 
 
 The sensitive plant never yielded to the ap-
 
 STORY OF A LIFE. 85 
 
 proaching touch with quicker tremblings, than 
 1 to the gentle air of her very robe, as at any 
 time, in moving through the saloon, where we 
 sate, she passed my chair. 
 
 At last worn down, and preyed upon by the 
 tyrannous passion, I determined on disclosing to 
 her the state of my tortured feelings, and asking 
 for a few words, mere words, to live upon, to 
 love upon ; of pity, friendship, counsel, any 
 thing so she but heard me ; and replied 
 
 The Prince, by degrees, recovered his 
 strength of limb, and went out as usual. I heard 
 him announce, one evening, that he should be 
 absent on the morrow, and not return till the 
 day following. I felt certain that I should not 
 be expected by the lady Agatha, and might 
 thus surprise her into an interview. 
 
 It was that brilliant hour of evening, when it 
 is yet long to the set of sun ; but the sinking orb 
 is all a clear-seen, glorious world of light ; no 
 longer are the rays fervid ; no longer are the 
 glades between the forest trees exposed, glaring 
 and hot ; but the long shadows of evening spread 
 on and on, delightfully, as if to give and to 
 g 3
 
 86 STORY OF A LIFE. 
 
 gather coolness. The garden, the fountain, the 
 wood, the stream, the heath, the rock, invite all 
 forth to roam, and meditate, and to be thankful, 
 that they live in such a world. 
 
 Music breathes softer at such an hour. Again, 
 as I approached the gate leading to the Prince's 
 villa, again I heard the melody of the harp ; far 
 off I was; but yet I stayed my disturbing step, 
 and listened to the air : the same, the very same 
 that I had first heard, that I had loved, that I 
 had maddened on. With yet a deeper feeling, 
 if that were possible, she sung, and the last 
 tones seemed as if they melted away; not into 
 silence, but into distance, bearing that melody 
 on, — on, — upon unseen wings, — never to die. 
 
 She ceased, and I drew near. I approached 
 by a path, which so led upon the pavilion, that, 
 all unseen myself, I could first look within. 
 
 She had left the harp, and was seated in a 
 low chair of antique Grecian form ; she leaned 
 far back, and her limbs were extended far 
 before, her feet crossing, her hands, entwined 
 together, lay resting on her lap. Reclin- 
 ing thus, as one who thinks and sorrows, she
 
 STORY OF A LIFE. S7 
 
 gazed on vacancy; a mellow light fell on her, a 
 calm radiance floated over the whole picture; 
 her white simar of Florence silk was clasped more 
 loosely on her bosom, her square kerchief of 
 white lace was arranged on her head with that 
 slight confinement at the forehead, and that 
 easy careless fall behind, which is a most ancient, 
 and, to my eye, a most beautiful costume. But 
 it was on her I first saw it, and on her what 
 could have appeared otherwise? 
 
 I paused, and gazed on her with breathless 
 adoration; then, rushing suddenly forward, I 
 fell upon my knees before her, and, seizing her 
 fair hand, kissed and wept upon it, in a strange 
 agony of unrepressed tumultuous abandonment. 
 She would have risen ; but was so entirely 
 surprised, as to sink back upon her seat, ex- 
 hausted by the effort. I looked up into her dark 
 eyes; tears were gathering in them; few and 
 pearly they ran down her fair cheek, and trick- 
 ling fell on mine. Scalding they were, as if the 
 lightning of her glorious eyeburnedeven in them. 
 " Agatha, say, say that you pardon my un- 
 happy passion ; say that you will not hate me ; 
 g 4
 
 88 STORY OF A LIFE. 
 
 say that you will think of me as a friend — a lov- 
 ing, doting friend — one, my Agatha, to whom 
 the few short hours near you have been ages of 
 pain and joy, of sweet agony, of melancholy 
 transport.'' 
 
 " Beavoir, I may not, must not listen to 
 words and tones like these." 
 
 <f Pity me ! Oh ! say you pity me." 
 
 ff I am a woman, and have loved." 
 
 " You love another, then." 
 
 " I am a wife." 
 
 " You love another." 
 
 " Spare me, I pray you, spare me. Ah ! do 
 not waste the sweet affections of your young 
 heart on such a wild and guilty love; place them 
 where in honour you may ; where in hope you 
 may ; where a pure, young, love-warmed heart 
 may meet, in innocence, the fulness of your 
 own. I am a wife, and cannot hear you." So 
 saying, she rose abruptly." 
 
 " Come, let us go ; 1 may not, must not hear 
 you more, Beavoir. It is my wish, my prayer, 
 that you would never, never think of me ; not 
 even as a friend. You are not formed for friend-
 
 .STORY OF A LIFL. S9 
 
 ship. Your friendship would soon become a 
 stormy passion — a guilty love — a crime in you, 
 and misery to me. Farewell." 
 
 Again I kneeled, and caught her robe. 
 
 u Hear me for a moment: one little moment 
 hear me. I will be calm, guarded, resigned; 
 but do not, do not shun me. I have no guile, 
 no poison. Wretched I am; faithful I must be. 
 Innocent you are; still are you the cause of all 
 my bitter woe. Heaven formed you lovely, 
 formed you to be loved. This coldness is no 
 virtue ; 'tis tyranny — the proud sin of woman. 
 You see the deep sufferings of your victim. A 
 word ; a look : a pale smile of pity, such as 
 daily with innocence you might and could be- 
 stow; and my poor grateful heart would live, 
 with fond content, upon such alms." 
 
 " Beavoir, you know not what you ask. I 
 have a feeling for you, as strong, as true, as 
 pitying regard may be ; only name not love. 
 The word alone tears wider in my bosom a 
 slowly closing wound. Thus much I say with 
 pain. To none other have I ever breathed this. 
 To you the knowledge may be healing. Leave 
 me, I entreat you, leave me. If you would
 
 90 STORY OF A LIFE. 
 
 not that I yet more strictly shun you, leave 
 me." I rose. 
 
 " Be that the pledge. I go ; but go, in fond 
 and fervent hope, that I may reap the bright 
 reward of such kind look and tone as I may 
 innocently seek, as you may innocently give." 
 
 With a deep darkling gaze of saddened grati- 
 tude, she looked on me, and replied, " Then be 
 this scene forgotten." 
 
 " Forgotten ! — Oh ! it shall live a kalend of 
 delight. A day for the mind's eye and ear to 
 feed, to feast on. Reverted to at every hour of 
 wakeful being, and lived o'er again in dreams. 
 " Pardon my first, last crime." Then bending 
 closer to her, I pressed my lip devotionally on 
 her fair, fair forehead ; and rushed, for I dared 
 not linger, from her magic presence. 
 
 We met again — but now that I had poured 
 my passion out, the presence of others was no 
 protection to her. My looks, my words, my 
 every action were to her a constant worship- 
 ping; vain, vain washer imploring, all eloquently, 
 though silently, expressed. Resolutely she avoid- 
 ed all secret interviews; others she could not, 

 
 STORY OF A LIFE. 91 
 
 without she had told her cold, scornful lord, and 
 this I felt persuaded that she never would. Thus 
 cruelly I urged my suit, though neither seek- 
 ing, or thinking of any issue, least of all a guilty 
 one. One evening in returning me a book, in 
 which I had been calling her attention to some 
 passage of beauty, she placed between the leaves 
 a billet to my address. I retired, and flew has- 
 tily homeward. I shut myself up in my cham- 
 ber, kissed, and opened it with rapture. 
 " Note from Agatha. 
 " Mr. Beavoir, is this generous ? Is this manly ? 
 to your honour, to your delicacy I appeal; 
 let me not appeal in vain ; your attentions are 
 painful to me ; indeed, persecuting. 
 
 "A. B." 
 " To Agatha in reply. 
 " Beloved and idolized woman, do you think, 
 then, that it is possible for me to draw forth 
 the arrow which has slain my peace ? But why 
 do I speak thus, as if complainingly ? Peace is 
 slain ! yes ; but a love born from its expiring 
 sighs, which nothing can, which nothing shall de- 
 stroy .Vain are all your looks, now in cold reproof
 
 92 STONY OF A LIFE. 
 
 averted, and now so enchantingly imploring; 
 vain. You will not pity me; Agatha, you shall ; 
 you are alone in heart : you know, you feel that 
 you are. I ask no higher privilege, no fortune 
 more golden than to be your friend ; yes, friend, 
 to listen to your bosom's beatings, and answer 
 them with mine. 
 
 " Beautiful, beautiful thou art, Agatha ! yet, 
 before we met each other, my ear had listened 
 to your angel tones; my heart had already 
 vowed a fond allegiance to thee ; and then I saw 
 you, and, our eyes met. You have not forgot- 
 ten, no, you cannot have forgotten that evening 
 at the Opera. How your loved image haunted 
 me from that hour forth, till the more blessed 
 one, when I awoke to the soft pressure of your 
 hand! Moment of happiness, return — return. 
 I would daily die that death of swoons, to be 
 so sweetly wakened. 
 
 " Once only has fate favoured me ; once 
 only have I sought to pour out at your feet my 
 full, my overflowing heart. 'Tis true you would 
 not hear me; but, Agatha, you wept; your 
 burning tears have kissed my cheek, and, as
 
 STORY OF A LIFE. 9:J 
 
 they did so, sealed me for your slave. You 
 have loved another ; does he live ? if so, he is 
 not worthy of your thought. Here, here at 
 your foot, living but to look on you; here 
 should be his place of worship. O bid him come, 
 that my heart may wrestle with his heart, and 
 thine the prize. — Or is he dead ? I'll mourn 
 with thee ! learn of thee how he looked, and 
 spoke ; what way he wooed, and won thee. 
 Agatha, there is a second love ; a love of sym- 
 pathy — strong, undecaying, less destructible 
 than common love. Engraft thy broken myrtle 
 branch on my young heart ; love me, Agatha, as 
 a friend ; innocently ; but only love me ; then 
 will I be submiss, and calm, and gentle. It is 
 the struggle tears me, and makes me the wild 
 worshipper you shrink from. Soothed by your 
 smile, healed by your balmy voice, I shall be 
 quiet as the hushed infant at his mother's 
 breast. Let it be thus, my dearest, dearest Aga- 
 tha. If you forgive this; Oh ! you must; if you 
 forgive this, play for me to night — you have not 
 for many evenings past — in pity, in pure pity, 
 play for me that sweet air — do — it will medi-
 
 94 STORY OF A LIFE. 
 
 cine my sick heart. I will not pain, will not per- 
 secute you; reward me only by this ; if you re- 
 fuse, again shall my disappointed love have way. 
 You have seen how, with a young love seated 
 on his mane, the shaggy lion is no longer 
 fierce, but walks, all lamb-like, in fondled pride ; 
 be kind to me, Agatha ; and thus will I. 
 Ever and devotedly thine, 
 
 « Osman." 
 
 We met in the evening — I played chess 
 with the Prince, and afterwards we paced the 
 saloon together. Agatha sat apart, silent and 
 abstracted. I governed myself well ; ventured 
 on no long, and distressful gazings — scarce ad- 
 dressed her ; put no emphasis in my tones. — 
 She felt that I was behaving well. Once, and 
 once only, I saw her, through a mirror opposite, 
 look on me, in such sort as a tender mother 
 would on a sick and wilful child ; but the ex- 
 pression of her eye changed almost instantly, 
 and you could see that her mind was looking 
 back into years gone by, and scenes long passed 
 away.
 
 STORY OF A LIFE. 95 
 
 " Agatha," said the Prince, "you quite ne- 
 glect your harp." 
 
 " I have, lately," she replied, as she rose 
 and moved slowly towards it. I saw her eyes 
 raised upwards, and marked that chill shudder- 
 ing of the frame which tells of settled sorrow. 
 I felt low, and I dared not ask for my favorite 
 air. Two or more she gave in a style, for her, 
 of cold indifference and tameness ; at last, pre- 
 luding in low, sad, wandering tones, as if she 
 were playing a something never regularly com- 
 posed, she sung these words : — 
 
 " It never dies — a broken love, 
 For its nest is a broken heart, 
 It lives, it plains, a lonely dove, 
 Till the soul and the body part. 
 
 O sweet is the coo of a lonely dove, 
 O sweet is the grief of a broken love." 
 
 As she ceased from the simple strain, I ob- 
 served her eyes filled with tears. I was yet 
 a man — I loved her indeed to madness — I 
 could, the yesterday, have pressed her to my 
 bosom and kissed away her tears — but I felt
 
 96 STORY OF A LIFE. 
 
 awed — said little, and went subdued away. 
 
 — With the morrow the strength and fire of 
 my passion returned. I remembered the look 
 of pity that she had cast on me, and knew 
 such feeling was akin to love. 
 
 The late autumn of Portugal is a very de- 
 lightful season ; the ground is no longer parched 
 
 — the foliage of the evergreens is no longer 
 shrivelled up — the heat, and the drought are 
 gone — the meadow-saffron — the autumnal 
 snowdrop, and many sweet smelling flowers 
 appear, rejoicingly, as it were, after the first 
 rains ; while the young grass springs up, and 
 the new leaves shoot out, and the whole face 
 of the country smiles beneath the clear, pleasant, 
 mild October sun. I remember me of one 
 happy day about this period. 
 
 We had made a little party to visit the 
 monastery at the summit of the Cintra Moun- 
 tain — the Prince, the Count (for I had brought 
 them better acquainted), father Antonio, Aga- 
 tha, and myself. We rode mules, or baudets, 
 but I was, almost the whole time, that is, in 
 every steep or difficult path, on foot by the side
 
 STORY OF A LIFE. 9 ( 
 
 of Agatha, to watch, to guard her, to give the 
 constant and ready support. You are forced to 
 ride singly along these narrow mountain mule- 
 tracks. It was easy for me to contrive the 
 apparent chance of following close to Agatha ; 
 and my attentions seemed but natural. To 
 her alone were they painful ; though it was 
 plain that she was softened down and subdued 
 into a submissive gentleness by the tender, yet 
 impassioned, delicacy of my every act. We 
 first passed through a wood of large trees; the 
 oak, the pine, the cork-tree, and many others ; 
 among waters too — there were loud babbling 
 and silent streams — here, issuing from rocks, 
 there, gliding along in cool, green, mossy places. 
 We passed a thick coppice of the strawberry- 
 tree, and at last rose above all vegetation, and 
 reached the high naked point on which stands 
 the chapel. As we sate on this lonely spot 
 amid wild rocks, and looked down upon the 
 white houses of Cintra nestling in the wood's deep 
 bosom, and then out upon the wide-extended 
 calm sun-reflecting ocean, we were all silently 
 delighted : the eye of Agatha sparkled with 
 
 VOL. T. H
 
 9S -STORY OF A LIFE. 
 
 a new beauty, with an expression almost of 
 happiness. After a while our companions went 
 into the monastery, and she, for coolness, re- 
 pose, and the fair view, remaining seated on 
 the stone bench without, I bore her company. 
 Silent we sate, but there is a speaking silence — 
 a kind of sweet and secret complacency, to think 
 that the human being by our side has the like 
 tastes and feelings; that the congeniality of 
 hearts is acknowledged. 
 
 It was long before a word was uttered ; at 
 last, Agatha said to me, " Osman, look upon 
 that smiling ocean ; the pall of darkness will 
 shroud it ere a few short hours have passed 
 away ; — thus it is with life, and thus it is with 
 love." 
 
 She rose, and, entering the chapel, passed 
 into a gloomv recess where stood a mean 
 shrine lighted by a dim taper's ray, and fell 
 on her knees before it ; for an hour she re- 
 mained there motionless, and prayed in silence ; 
 there was a calm relieved expression on her 
 face, when she came forth, that charmed, but 
 awed me. I felt a sweet content as we dc-
 
 STORY OT A LIFE. 9.9 
 
 scended the mountain ; the vale below was ail 
 coolness and perfumer the deep shades of 
 evening gathered on us ere we reached home, 
 and all was still — even my wild and guilty 
 passion still. 
 
 It was arranged, in the course of the evening, 
 that we were to set out the next morning, as 
 early as four o'clock, to assist at the festival of 
 All Saints, one of the greatest annual festivals in 
 the country. 
 
 " Your countrymen," said the old Count, ad- 
 dressing himself to me, "generally absent them- 
 selves from the sad spectacle exhibited every 
 year on this gloomy holiday ; they retire to their 
 garden-houses; gladly would I also; but I dare 
 not; the eye of the Inquisition is evil, and is 
 every where. Shocking as it may be to one of 
 your gentle nature, it is well for the traveller, 
 especially the happy, free, privileged English- 
 man, to gaze for once on the solemn scene of 
 an Auto da Fe. 
 
 " The death procession of the poor sufferers 
 differs from that of all common executions, and 
 though sadly so, yet nevertheless is mournfully 
 h 2
 
 100 STORY OF A LIFE. 
 
 interesting, and very painfully humbling to the 
 mind. Here in this presence I freely speak my 
 sentiments. The good father Antonio partici- 
 pates in my feeling, and the day may yet arrive 
 when we shall both be made to pay the bitter 
 penalty of our free love to all sects of Christians 
 who cling in simple sincerity of faith to that 
 cross on which hung the one mighty Redeemer 
 of all." 
 
 The morning came. The Prince and Agatha, 
 who had to attend the court, went forward in 
 their carriage. The Count and father Antonio 
 in another. I rode alone. 
 
 The sad thought of the Auto da Fe was en- 
 tirely driven from my mind by all that delight- 
 fully engaged and filled it, in the various scenes 
 and lively groupings on the road. It was co- 
 vered vvith country people and peasants, all 
 gaily decked off in their holiday garbs. The 
 gaudy waistcoat, the shining buckle, the ribbon- 
 ed hat, the laced boddice, the silver crucifix, the 
 netted or the glossy upturned hair, the garru- 
 lous old, and the prattling young, all loud, and 
 joyous, and walking briskly on. The fine per-
 
 STORY OF A LIFE. 101 
 
 fume of the narcissus was wafted from every 
 nosegay; and the high-piled grape-basket was 
 held up to the passer-by with bright, inviting 
 smiles. All was joy. In the suburbs there 
 were fresh, green bushes at every vintner's, and 
 large groups of idle, merry muleteers quaffing 
 and laughing round the noisy door. In the 
 streets of the city itself there were gay, silken 
 tapestries hanging down from all the windows, 
 and blooming flower-pots arranged in all the 
 balconies. Now, the grey head of a yellow- 
 faced duenna ; now, the glossy ringlets and spark- 
 ling black eyes of a pretty eager-looking brunette; 
 now, the woolly pate, the black, shining cheek, 
 and the white rolling eyes of a negro servant, 
 were thrust forth in expectation. All was joy. 
 
 Amid all these more innocent preparers for 
 the pleasures of the coming holiday, might be 
 seen many big, burly, pitiless-looking monks, 
 and a few sallow, chilly, smiling priests ; while 
 tottering vergers, and active young choristers 
 dawdled or ran about with a sort of eager and 
 pleased importance. 
 
 It was about eight o'clock when we arrived. 
 h 3
 
 iO c 2 STORY OF A LIFE. 
 
 The Prince and Agatha were to dine with the 
 Count after the ceremony : and, in the evening, 
 we were all to attend the Opera together. With 
 so much actual and so much prospective enjoy- 
 ment I was highly excited. I could not sit 
 down. I washed, and changed my dress, walk- 
 ing about my chamber all the time. I sipped 
 my chocolate in the like restless manner ; had a 
 smile for the merchant's daughter, and forgot, 
 of a truth, that any body was to be or could be 
 miserable that day, till the sound of the Count's 
 voice and that of the benevolent monk, in fer- 
 vent prayer, coming from the Oratory near, 
 checked the vain flow of my spirits ; and, as I 
 heard them put up a solemn petition for the 
 poor wretches who were that day innocently to 
 suffer, I felt reproved for my levity, and my 
 heart beat a sincere amen. 
 
 Yet, nevertheless, so powerfully are we acted 
 upon by matter pressing on and around us, so 
 alive is the sense to delight, that, after, when I 
 went forth alone, though I did shudder when, as 
 crossing the square of the inquisition, I saw 
 the scaffold ; the insulted altar near it : the
 
 STORY OF A LIFE. 103 
 
 wheels of torment ; the stake ; the chain ; the 
 faggots ; the stern soldiers ; the savage-looking 
 familiars, and the thronging multitude of beg- 
 gars and low rabble gathering to look upon 
 those whom they might be comforted (for a 
 moment) by considering as yet more wretched 
 than themselves ; — though I did shudder as I 
 saw these things, yet, as I entered a church near, 
 and heard, for the first time, the full deep cho- 
 rus of an immense crowd of monks arranged in 
 procession, according to their various orders, and, 
 as in parts, they ceased, and the strain was taken 
 up by female voices, which came out from behind 
 their high and retired gratings, like the answer- 
 ings of spirits, I felt a solemn pleasure which, 
 while the organ continued to peal forth its 
 praise, and they to chaunt the sacred hymn, I 
 could not check the admission of. At last, forth 
 they went, each bearing a thick torch of yellow 
 wax lighted ; black, brown, and white, were the 
 robes of their different orders, with crosses of 
 white, green, or red, embroidered on them. 
 Their bald heads shone venerably, and, as they 
 passed, the people stood uncovered, bent, and 
 n 1
 
 ](H STORY OF A LIFE. 
 
 crossed themselves, with low, devout mutterings, 
 to the banners of the saints. 
 
 And now a shout of joy burst forth, as the 
 Patriarch and his proud train, and the gay 
 nobles of the court appeared from another 
 quarter. Immediately martial symphonies struck 
 up, and the royal guards of horse and infantry 
 sounded their piercing trumpets, and beat the 
 point of war. Above all these notes of joy, rung 
 loudly out the merry chimings of clear bells, in- 
 viting to open churches and dressed shrines; 
 and, through the wide, wide city, each streetwas 
 filled with glad and hurrying crowds. 
 
 All of a sudden I felt a slight rising in my breast 
 as of sickness — I deemed that I had gently stag- 
 gered, or wasgiddy; but no — every soundbecame 
 (on the instant) hushed or broken, like the fear- 
 checked laugh of the menaced idiot ; — another 
 sound arose — a dull, low rumbling — low, but 
 every ear heard it, and then upheaved the solid 
 earth, and terribly shook : and the bells rung, 
 fearfully to hear, a people's knell ; the ruin, the 
 awfully terrific ruin, rushed, rattling close upon 
 that wild peal : — towers and lofty palaces
 
 9TOKY OF A LIFE. 10.5 
 
 toppled and fell — the hti£e stones clanged 
 clear and frightfully, then thundering tumbled 
 heapingly below. Darkness arose. A 
 ruin-cloud, thick and earthy, that might be 
 felt. Bodies were crushed — flights stopped 
 — fears ended — cries stifled ; but I — I 
 amid these terrors, how shall I paint me ? 
 Methought that it was me the destroying 
 angel sought — me first, and more than all ; it 
 seemed that I was the sole cause of the dread 
 judgment. The wailings and the cries sounded 
 horrible in my ears; — the staring eyes, dilated 
 wide by terror, all seemed to look on me — I had 
 filled up the measure of men's crimes : for me, 
 for me the world's end was sooner come ; — the 
 trumpet, the trumpet, it would sound— now — 
 now the last vial of wrath was to be poured out, 
 and the throne set, and the books opened. My 
 heart failed me for fear, and I rushed frantidv 
 about to find where I might shelter me — ward 
 off my fate for one, one little moment, and 
 plead on mercy's ground. I ran into a church 
 — the crowded supplicants knelt, groaned, and 
 beat their bosoms — the roof yawned, and fell,
 
 106 STORY OF A LIFE. 
 
 and crushed, and buried them. I hurried after 
 a flying crowd towards the river bank. A stone 
 cross fell from a chapel front on a young mo- 
 ther (in my path) and slew her: her babe fell in 
 its swathings unharmed at my feet — I stooped 
 and caught it up in my arms, that its innocence 
 might plead for me at the awful bar. I flew on- 
 wards to the river. Strange Providence, or fate, 
 or destiny ! Before my eyes, within three paces of 
 me, the small square quay, and the closely cling- 
 ing crowd upon it were swallowed up quick. A 
 mighty rolling volume of black water burst 
 roaring on the fatal spot, and heavily subsided 
 with a loud, mournful sound of stifling absorp- 
 tion. I tinned, and fled across and out of the 
 perilous ruins; far and rapid was my course. I 
 paused not among those crowds, who, having 
 gained the open fields, had thrown themselves 
 down on their knees, on their faces, and on their 
 bellies, in every attitude of terror, agony, and 
 prayer. I stood not among those, who, in a 
 fondness struggling with their fear, turned their 
 pale gaze upon their vanishing homes. 
 
 I thought not of aiding any human being: it
 
 STORY OF A Lll'E. 107 
 
 seemed to me at once a wild and a vain pre- 
 sumption ; — as soon might one hope to touch 
 the hand of Lazarus lying in the bosom of Abra- 
 ham, as succour, serve, or approach even the 
 good, — as avert the fate of the evil and the sin- 
 ner. Something, indeed, of a different moment- 
 ary impulse, had moved me to lift the fallen in- 
 fant, and still I pressed it closely to my panting 
 bosom. On, on I fled, till, passing with a quick, 
 hesitating fearfulness, under the lofty central 
 arch of the Lisbon aqueduct, I found myself 
 alone — alone on the bank of a clear, shallow 
 rivulet, which, in peaceful murmurs, flowed 
 gently over its rocky bed, and glistened to the 
 sunbeams, and watered the roots of flowers 
 where bees were humming over their honey- 
 yielding treasures. 
 
 I threw myself down on the grassy bank. — 
 I did not thank, or praise, or supplicate my 
 God ; but I seemed to ask, and find securitv in 
 the sight of the water and the flowers, and a 
 companionship in these sweet, natural sounds. 
 Wrath was on the city ; but here, even I should 
 be spared here, for the very bees' sake.
 
 108 STORY OF A LIFE. 
 
 I had scarcely recovered myself with these 
 thoughts, and placed my little burthen on the 
 green earth by my side, when my attention 
 was arrested by a very solemn voice, which, in 
 an unknown and harsh tongue, was earnestly 
 engaged in a fervent, praiseful devotion. I 
 looked around, but could, at first, see no one : 
 at last, in a retired spot behind some myrtle 
 bushes, I saw a strange, an appalling figure. 
 
 An aged man, with a neglected beard of a dull, 
 sandy red, a wan, wild look, and tearful eyes, 
 sate uttering words aloud, but quite abstracted, 
 and ever and anon, he bowed forward his head, 
 and pressed his forehead in the du^t. A large 
 extinguished torch lay by him. He wore a high 
 mitre-shaped cap, and an ample surplice, or sur- 
 coatofa glaring yellow. Flames, devils, and 
 imps, of every form the black fancy could sug- 
 gest, and at the bottom a decapitated head with 
 the lighted firebrand and faggot beneath, were 
 rudely depicted on them. A motion of mine 
 disturbed him ; he started, and seized the torch
 
 STORY OF A LIFE. 109 
 
 by his side, as it had been a weapon, and rose 
 up suddenly; but, staggering from weakness 
 fell : he did not, however, faint, but cried aloud, 
 " Ha ! do you follow with your Christian ven- 
 geance here ? Now, may the God of Jacob swal- 
 low you up quick — I have not bowed down, 
 and worshipped your golden calf. With Shad- 
 rach, Meshech, and Abednego I have been faith- 
 ful. Ye would have cast me down into your 
 burning fiery furnace ; but, lo ! I am delivered 
 out of your hands." 
 
 I moved towards him with an eager, and 
 kind anxiety — 
 
 " Back, I say — back to your burning Sodom 
 — surely, my Lord shall destroy you, and rah* 
 down fire from Heaven on your head." 
 
 "I am no enemy — I would serve, save you." 
 
 " Are you a Christian ?" 
 
 « Yes." 
 
 " Then are you to me as the Philistine, 
 and the Canaanite. I spit my hate at thee, 
 though it bring my death stroke." 
 
 " Unhappy man, from my soul I pity you ; 
 trust me; you may safely, I am an Englishman,"
 
 110 STORY OF A LITE. 
 
 " Ah !" said the unfortunate, with a pro- 
 longed exclaim, and doubting gaze, " an Eng- 
 lishman ! I have heard my people say good 
 things of your nation ; you do not pluck us by 
 the beard, — you do not burn us, and sing 
 your hymns as we groan out our death agonies. 
 But yet you are a Christian ; how shall I — how 
 can I trust you ? You will go, smile, and tell 
 the shaven monk, fi there is a Jew dog in yon 
 hollow, go, drag him back to the roasting; go, 
 fetch the old Jew dog, and let us see him blaze/ 
 Yes, yes, you will, you will. Again they will light 
 this torch, and put it in my grasp, and make 
 me fire m}' own funeral pile. Ah ! the Christian ! 
 the Christian ! he has no bowels of mercies." 
 
 I was amazingly agitated and affected by all 
 this ; and, at length, after much ado, I prevailed 
 on him to listen to and trust me. 
 
 I tore off all the death garb which would 
 have betrayed him, and broke away the top of 
 the pitched cap, and fastened my cravat around 
 his aching temples, and parted with him the 
 clothes I had on me. Fortunately, after the 
 fashion of the time and countrv, I had jjoneout
 
 STORY OF A LIFE. 1 11 
 
 that morning in a cloak. It had been fastened 
 round my throat with a clasp, so that through- 
 out the whole awful scene, and in my flight, it 
 had hung on me forgotten. Now I gladly 
 wrapped it round this old man, who sate pas- 
 sively under my services, letting tears fall warm 
 upon my busied hands. I brought water in 
 my hat, and gave him to drink ; and I bathed 
 his haggard and unwashen face, and put my 
 shoes upon his bleeding feet. 
 
 And now, the little infant crying out, I went 
 back to the spot where I had laid it down ; took 
 it up, and returning, seated myself again by the 
 poor Jew's side. 
 
 As soon as his eye caught the figure, and 
 swathing of the babe, he broke out with — 
 
 " Ah ! this is of my people, and kindred — a 
 Hebrew child. Now blessed art thou young- 
 man ; two hast thou saved of the chosen race ; 
 surely the God of Abraham shall reward thee." 
 
 That this child was of Jewish parents I had 
 not been aware, and related to him how the 
 mother perished. He looked closer upon the 
 infant, and after handling an ornament around
 
 112 STORY OF A LIFE. 
 
 its neck, with a strict, but nervous attention, 
 breathed a deep and powerful sigh, and said — 
 
 " It is my daughter Rachel — my pleasant 
 daughter, who has been slain in the city. She, 
 the loveliest plant of all my house ; she, that was 
 like a polished corner of the temple ; she is gone 
 down to the grave before me who begot her, 
 gone where the wicked cease from troubling." 
 And he took the babe out of my arms, and 
 pressed it to his own bosom, and his matted 
 beard fell kindly and cherish ingly upon it — 
 and, it did not cry. 
 
 Soon after a piercing female shriek rent the 
 still air, and a girl with streaming hair, and 
 torn robe, and bare breasts, and uplifted face, 
 and cheek of a pallor wilder than that of death, 
 came up, and passed us with the speed of terror ; 
 and a man, a man, pursued. 
 
 I burst upon his path like the roused lion, 
 but he heeded not ; with one strenuous effort of 
 violent and mighty strength he hurled me from 
 him, and away and on after his timid virgin 
 prey. 
 
 I followed fast, but, stumbling, fell, and was,
 
 STORY OF A LIFE. 113 
 
 in my turn, overtaken by a party of ruffians, 
 who, after rifling my person, and taking from 
 it watch and rings, tied me hand and foot to a 
 neighbouring tree, and gagging me, sat down 
 under its shade, and proceeded to divide a great 
 quantity of booty : — first, however, each 
 took a long, full draught from a skin of wine, 
 which they grasped, and pressed bladder-like, 
 with a kind of exulting action. 
 
 Ere they began to cast their lots, the ruffian, 
 who had pursued the girl, returned with a 
 bloody knife, and a dark and bitter smile. 
 
 " She'll be no man's wife in this world," said 
 he, wiping his knife on the looser part of the 
 wine skin, and proceeding in a fierce and hun- 
 gry manner to cut from a loaf of coarse yellow 
 bread. 
 " What, you have not done for her Jack, sure?" 
 
 " I have cut her throat." 
 
 " Why, that's quarrelling with luck :" said a 
 third. 
 
 " Oh ! she'd too many tantrums for me." 
 
 " Then you have sent a poor young virgin to, 
 heaven afore her time." 
 
 VOL. I. i
 
 ] 1 4 STORY OF A LIFE. 
 
 " To the devil for aught I know, but a maid 
 for my share of her." 
 
 They now turned with a coarse, busy glee to 
 portion out the money and trinkets they had 
 gotten ; and drew lots for them in an old brown 
 rimless hat. After this two of them disap- 
 peared, but soon returned, bringing with them 
 a large skin of wine, and the broken bottom 
 of a common brown earthen pitcher, a mere 
 sherd, as a drinking cup ; out of this they con- 
 tinued to pledge each other deeply. 
 
 They were dressed in short full canvass trow- 
 sers, all tar-stained, and blue jackets, except 
 the murderous violator, over whose broad her- 
 culean shoulders was tightly drawn a woollen 
 shirt, or waistcoat of that blue and white stripe 
 worn by seamen, and admirably fitted to display 
 the frame : this was gigantic in its proportion ; 
 the breast half open, and shaggy ; one eye was 
 kept half closed, the other had the fierce glare of 
 ready malignity ; his neck was like a bull's ; his 
 hair dark, matted and dirty ; his beard red, and 
 stubbly, and the loss of a front tooth gave to his 
 laugh an expression absolutely horrible. It was
 
 STORY OF A LIFE. 115 
 
 clear they belonged to some lawless crew, and 
 had probably been buccaneers or pirates all 
 their lives. 
 
 It was awful to hear them joke about the 
 earthquake, and liken the rocking of the solid 
 earth to their vessel's motion. They sung too 
 snatches of old songs : 
 
 " Play, beggars, play," 
 " There's scraps to-day," 
 
 I remember was one, and the chorus of another 
 ran thus : 
 
 " Drain, drain the bowl, 
 " Each fearless soul, 
 
 <f Let the world wag as it will ; 
 u Let the Heavens growl, 
 " Let the Devil howl, 
 
 " Drain, drain the deep bowl, and fill." 
 
 Never will this awful revel pass from my me- 
 mory ; they continued to drink full draughts, 
 fiercely, and rapidly. At length their eyes be- 
 came dead, dull, fixed, and one after the other, 
 i 2
 
 116 STORY OF A LIFE. 
 
 they dropped into slumber, and lay spread about 
 in all the indecent, relaxed attitudes of drunken 
 sleepers, breathing full, and loud. 
 
 By continual working I contrived to loosen 
 first one arm, and then the other: a knife, 
 which they had dropped close to the tree, I 
 managed to reach, and first cutting the string 
 that bound the gag, and then the cords around 
 my legs ; I stole softly from the spot, with all 
 the throbbings of escape. In the first place, I 
 searched for the poor female ; she was a stained, 
 and marble corpse. I hurried away from the 
 piteous spectacle. Next I flew to the bank of 
 the rivulet, where I had left the Jew, and the 
 young child ; there were no traces of them. 
 
 Although the horror was deep, with which 
 I had listened to the wretched and wicked 
 beings, from whom I had just escaped, still, 
 as they aroused my disgust and indignation, 
 the scene, awful as it was, had restored my 
 mind's strength. 
 
 Agatha ! — the Count ! — I thought now of 
 them; of her especially; my whole heart was 
 big with anxiety, and terror.
 
 STORY OF A LITE. 1 i 7 
 
 I ran back towards the city, or rather to the 
 ruins of it, passing thousands of the sad in- 
 habitants; far aloof they stood, or kneeled, or 
 lay prostrate — wailing voices, and wringing 
 arms, terrified and wondering children, dumb- 
 stricken mothers, and raving widowers, were 
 among them. I entered the ruinous place ; 
 flames were on all sides rising, here in broad 
 sheets, there in thin wavy tongues; all pale 
 they rose as the sun shone strong upon them — 
 there were no streets; heaps, pyramidal or 
 broader heaps of stones, brick, and rubbish : 
 here half houses showing their apartments to 
 the open daylight; there sections of churches, 
 with their shrines gaudy, gay, and garish, 
 shamed by the golden sun- beam. A few 
 persons, whom love or avarice, virtue or crime, 
 had stirred to the effort, might be seen 
 moving about the black ruins, and among the 
 pale flames, like the shadows pictured in the 
 hell of Dante. The childless mother — the 
 widowed lover — the tottering miser — the so- 
 litary Christian monk — the faithful servant; 
 and, mingled with such beings, the daring 
 i 3
 
 118 STORY OF A LIFE. 
 
 robber — the red murderer — the fiend-like vio- 
 lator — the cruel exulting incendiary. Some 
 of all these classes were hunting, or eagerly, or 
 with a half-venturing, among the fallen houses 
 and the dead, and amid the helpless and groan- 
 ing wounded. I well remember passing the 
 opera house ; half of it was down, the other all 
 open to the gaze, and a pale flame was just 
 approaching to a gorgeous scene of a festive 
 hall, which hung down on the deserted stage. 
 As thus I now remember it, it reminds me of 
 an awful and a mocking picture, which exhibits 
 a biform personage, the one side representing a 
 richly apparelled female all beauty ; the other 
 a naked skeleton all hideousness. 
 
 On, on I wandered, eager, and almost wild ; 
 shuddering, yet fearing no longer; at last I 
 came upon a spot where I heard English voices, 
 and saw a party of seamen busy in extinguishing 
 the flames, which were just approaching to a 
 large and valuable store-house ; among them, 
 easily recognized, and actively directing them, 
 was young Howard. He started when I called 
 to him, and gave me the quick warm greeting
 
 STORY OF A LIFE. 119 
 
 of a strong heart-felt joy. He had sailed away 
 the very day after I had left the vessel, and 
 only arrived again in the river the very evening 
 before. He had been sent on shore, on duty, 
 four hours after the shock destroyed the city ; 
 had been to seek me, and feared, from the an- 
 swers to his enquiries, that I was a victim. 
 From him I learned that my amiable host, the 
 old Count, was killed, — that father Antonio had 
 escaped. He pointed out to me the nearest, 
 and safest path to the street I sought, and 
 which, but for him, I should not have found, 
 and thither I flew to learn tidings of Agatha. 
 She lived, and had been taken to a nunnery at 
 Belem, by father Antonio ; her husband, the 
 Prince, was among the dead. 
 
 And was it here? was it at such a mo- 
 ment ? — was it amid so many burning nests of 
 innocence and peace? — amid so many forsaken 
 couches of guilty love? — amid the dead and 
 the dying? — the wailing and the frantic? — 
 when thousands still trembled in expectant fear, 
 like quivering aspens, and thought a final 
 shock was surely coming? — was it here, and 
 i 4
 
 120 STORY OF A LIFE. 
 
 710ZV, that the thought of wedding, and possess- 
 ing Agatha, could be admitted in that heart 
 which had, in the morning of that day, sunk, 
 as if the abode of Satan were yawning to re- 
 ceive it, and, since that time, had swelled with 
 gratitude for life preserved, and after had 
 burned with indignation to look upon the mur- 
 derous sensualist, and the reckless wassailer ? 
 
 It was. I flew to the convent — of course 
 I was not admitted to an interview. I went to 
 the monastery of the white friars ; father An- 
 tonio was coming forth from the gate ; he im- 
 mediately engaged me to return with him to 
 the city, and employed me in all the labours of 
 succour, and the offices of charity. For three 
 days and nights we hardly rested; a hasty 
 morsel standing in the refectory ; a broken dog- 
 sleep on pallets in his cell, and then again to 
 our labour. The quiet, weak father had become 
 all energy and strength. I was but passively 
 useful ; surprised and contented to find myself 
 thus led, and constrained to do well. It were 
 vain to attempt a picture of all I saw. I re- 
 member witnessing the execution of two of the
 
 STORY OF A LIFE. 121 
 
 ruffian revellers I spoke of. They had been 
 taken, and brought in by a party of sailors 
 under young Howard, and were hung instantly, 
 by order of the authorities ; as were numbers of 
 like criminals ; I regret to say, the murderer 
 of the poor girl was not among them. 
 
 By degrees order was restored ; the fires all 
 extinguished ; guards stationed among the 
 ruins ; property taken again under the care of 
 owners; labourers and workmen busy at re- 
 pairs ; the suburb, however, was still one vast 
 motley camp of the terrified, and the destitute. 
 
 It was at the dusk hour on the evening of the 
 fourth day that, as I was returning alone to 
 Belem, a man in a loose cloak with a broad 
 slouched hat came, and pulled me by the sleeve, 
 and motioned me to enter a lone ruined yard. 
 I hesitated, but as the earnestness of his man- 
 ner seemed friendly, at length yielded. No 
 sooner were we out of all danger of beinjj seen, 
 and interrupted, than the stranger, throwing 
 open his cloak, and raising the flap of his hat, 
 discovered to me the rescued Jew. 
 
 Abruptly he spoke, " This night I sail away
 
 122 vroiiY or a life. 
 
 from all Christian countries, you — you are no 
 Christian. I come to you with treasure ; trea- 
 sure of God's giving. It is the wealth of 
 monks, inquisitors. I only have discovered its 
 hiding place. It is mine now, and yours ; for 
 I did swear to the God of my fathers that I 
 would share it with my deliverer ; never betray 
 the giver to mortal man." So saying, he placed 
 a small casket in my hands, and bowed his 
 head upon them, then raising himself up, and 
 turning suddenly, disappeared. 
 
 I felt flurried and embarrassed : what to do 
 with the strange gift? Was it honest to keep it ? 
 Was it possible to conceal it ? I felt that my 
 rank and condition would render this easy. 
 I could never be suspected as a plunderer. Was 
 it plunder ? a treasure won from the inquisition ; 
 its hiding place detected by one, who had writhed 
 under its tortures, and had escaped its last boon, 
 a burning death, only by miracle. Certainly he 
 was no robber, whatever my scruples should, 
 and ought to have been. I hastened home ; 
 the good father's cell was empty ; only one 
 small iron lamp burned feebly in the naked
 
 STORY OF A LIFE. 123 
 
 chamber, and this hung just over a lar^e 
 crucifix. Its thick and drooping wick just bent 
 out, from the black lip, over the pale and bleed- 
 ing head, pierced by its crown of thorns. 
 
 I stood up on the wooden chair, and open- 
 ing my casket, diamonds of the purest lustre 
 sparkled under that feeble light, and gave it 
 back in thousand-fold brightness. 
 
 Could my young heart be caught by a thing 
 so mean as wealth? Wealth too secretly 
 gotten, secretly possessed, and that must be 
 fearfully enjoyed. It was — I who had no 
 want on earth ; had a gentleman's well-stored 
 purse, and a generous father ; what did I want 
 of money ? Why, the devil whispered, 'twas a 
 wand of power ; a something that increased my 
 freedom. None, not even loving parents, could 
 control the actions of a man of wealth. I 
 might wed or wander, none say Nay to me. I 
 hugged the glittering prize, and put it in my 
 bosom; a few short weeks I thought, and 
 Agatha may yet be mine, innocently, honour- 
 ably mine. 1 will wear them out in dreaming 
 of my coming joys. The terror of the earth-
 
 124 STORY OF A LIFE. 
 
 quake past, it had produced an effect upon me 
 awfully criminal, as T look back on it. I 
 deemed that all should fearlessly make the 
 most of the short, and uncertain interval of life; 
 that joys were to be sought, and snatched, 
 whenever the kind heavens did seem to wink. 
 
 It was in such a frame of mind, that, within 
 a fortnight of the destruction of the fair city of 
 Lisbon, I found myself seated at a party with 
 one of our English merchants, the whole of 
 whose property had been saved on that melan- 
 choly occasion, ruinous to so many. He 
 had evinced great generosity to all the less 
 fortunate, and also to all the suffering poor 
 in the first days of the calamity, but now, 
 as time had stolen a little on, custom, that 
 second nature, had again covered his table 
 with the master's favourite dishes ; the 
 sauces, the wines, the fruits, were, as usual, 
 the very best procurable; the chance guests 
 of misery had been provided with other quar- 
 ters, or had sailed away from the sad scene of
 
 STORY OF A LIFE. 125 
 
 their losses ; the poorer inhabitants, who had, 
 in truth, been liberally subscribed for, had been 
 gotten away, at last, both from door and win- 
 dow ; the select few were again gathered round 
 him. Every thing that could reassure ; every 
 thing that could cheer, was acceptable. He had 
 met me with a smile on my face, and therefore 
 had asked me to dinner. I well remember the 
 party. The acknowledged wit of it ; the man, 
 who filled the right-hand seat at the top of the 
 table, who was helped to the very choicest 
 morceau of the " Dindon farcie aux truffes," and 
 had the virgin bumper of every bottle of cham- 
 pagne, was a Monsieur Beauregard, a French 
 gentleman nearer sixty than fifty years of age ; 
 a hungry anatomy of a man with thin sallow 
 cheeks, a nose of caricature aquiline, darkly 
 begrimed with snuff, and adorned with that 
 brown, pendent secretion, so abominably offen- 
 sive to the eye. 
 
 To have been at Lisbon during the earth- 
 quake, to have survived, and to have it, as a 
 subject of conversation, for the rest of life, was 
 a something, which seemed to transport him be^
 
 12f) STORY A OF LIFE. 
 
 yond himself. Now he would gravely show the 
 cause of the convulsion, ringing all the changes 
 on inflammable air — sulphurous minerals — hori- 
 zontal strata — perpendicular fissures — pyrites 
 — the filtering of waters — ignition — generat- 
 ing a highly rarefied air, &c. ; closing with the 
 remark, that he had expected, and clearly fore* 
 seen the shock; that it was well over, would be 
 very beneficial, and we might now feel secure for 
 a long time to come. The good-tempered host 
 listened to all with attention, and to the last de- 
 claration with peculiar delight, exclaiming — 
 " Mais, mon cher, vous avez bien raison ; 
 c'est clair." — " Pass the wine, Beavoir." — 
 " Beauregard, a vous ;" and, at the same time, 
 swallowing a bumper of claret with the true 
 boozer relish. 
 
 Now again Beauregard would draw forth his 
 flag of abomination, and spreading it on both 
 hands, pause ere he trumpeted, and dealing 
 forth some sly joke at the priests, or some gay 
 double entendre, envelope his face in the secre- 
 tion-wrinkled mouchoir, to conceal his exulting 
 smiles, as all laughed loudly at his sayings, and
 
 STORY OF A LIFE. 127 
 
 drank to him with that unmeaning cordiality, 
 which belongs to such a scene. 
 
 And he sung — this old man — he sung a 
 Chanson a boire, something about love, and wine, 
 and the desire of his heart to divide his life be- 
 tween them — a withered limb, and a thin pale lip 
 for the couch of Venus ! and the cup of Bacchus ! 
 — Well, I was as guilty as he. I drank, I laughed 
 at, and with him : combated I remember some 
 stuff he talked about materialism, and thought I 
 did so well ; and thought, because he smiled 
 politely, that I had conquered him. 
 
 There sat, however, by his side a young 
 man, whose look, manner, and voice were all 
 very attractive. He evidently had views, and 
 maintained doctrines very different from any of 
 us, and full of gloomy melancholy error. He 
 could not reconcile the late terrible calamities, 
 and the sufferings of so many innocent beings 
 with Divine goodness, or rather with Divine 
 power. I urged, I remember, that if age and 
 virtue, youth and beauty, infancy and innocence, 
 were, as we well knew they were, cut off every 
 day, and in every part of the globe, by sudden,
 
 128 STORY OF A LIFE. 
 
 and insomuch by untimely deaths, that the mere 
 fact of so many blows of fate being congregated 
 awfully into a few short moments of time, and 
 on one unfortunate spot, made nothing against 
 the goodness of that mighty and merciful Being, 
 who had appointed for all men once to die, and 
 to departed spirits everlasting habitations. 
 
 The youthful stranger smiled at me, sadly, 
 yet beautifully smiled. The evening closed, 
 as such usually close, with thick utterance, 
 double sight, and drowsy noddings ; but I had 
 very little exceeded, and this young man had 
 scarce drunk any thing. We passed home to- 
 gether. 
 
 It was in the open space before the convent of 
 White Friars at Belem, whose carved and pin- 
 nacle-crowned front threw its deep shadow and 
 solemnly clear outline down upon the moon- 
 lighted sand, that we parted. He caught my 
 hand, and raising it, grasped in his own, pointed 
 upwards to a distant dimly-beaming star. 
 
 " My destiny," cried he, " is linked with yon 
 paling planet — my race will soon be run — 
 destiny, dark destiny ! I have trod the grove,
 
 STORY OF A LIFE. 129 
 
 nnd the mountain, wearying heaven with pray- 
 ers ; but stronger are the powers of evil. I am 
 theirs — I have always hated their dark service 
 — I have danced and revelled franticly; but the 
 chains were always clanking to my mind's ear, 
 and the iron was eating into my soul. Fare- 
 well, young stranger ; may a brighter course be 
 yours; may your ascendant star climb gloriously 
 high ; bliss be your portion here, and heaven 
 hereafter ; but brace your mind strongly up — 
 be girded with firm resolve. I have prayed and 
 wept, fasted and groaned through long and 
 gloomy nights, and, when I have risen from 
 my vigils, have found the fiend mocking, and 
 ready in his strength, and driving me on to 
 ruin. 
 
 " That time is past, I now tread calmly, sadly 
 on. The war of elements ; the pestilence, the 
 sword are to me — nothing. They cannot hasten 
 my last hour ; nor is there one overshadowing 
 wing in heaven can shield me from the arrow of 
 my conquering foe." 
 
 Something I would have uttered to console 
 him ; but he moved rapidly away, and left me 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 130 STORY OF A LIFE. 
 
 alone with the shadow, and the moonbeams, 
 and the night wind. 
 
 I shuddered ; there was something so awful in 
 his melancholy tone of firmly persuaded woe. 
 I had felt a kind of cheerful, gay contempt for 
 the sentiments of the old Frenchman. I had felt a 
 deep horror when this young German enthusiast 
 had dared arraign the goodness, and dispute the 
 power of the Creator. But when he made me 
 this deep despairing confidence, I felt penetrated 
 with sorrow. ; — Certainly he was deranged. I 
 was sure of this ; but yet I had not come off an 
 unwounded listener; something of fear mingled 
 with my incredulity. I looked up at the stars, 
 and I wrapped my vest over my chilly bosom. 
 I thought of the wild tempest, and the yawning 
 waves — of the rocking earth, the falling city, 
 and the perishing thousands — twice rescued — 
 twice preserved. — Was I a child of Fate? — 
 'Twas strange — very strange. I paced the 
 cloister rapidly to my cell, that I might the 
 sooner escape from the mournful echo of my 
 steps — laid me down on my pallet, and as I 
 felt for the precious casket, forgot my fears, and
 
 STORY OF A LIFE. 131 
 
 talked to myself of happiness to come — of Aga- 
 tha — of smiles of affection and of beauty — of 
 a home of bliss and love. 
 
 The morning, that followed on this night, I 
 rose and went joyously, at the sound of the 
 matin bell, to the convent, which contained 
 her, whose form was ever present to me. It had 
 been my regular custom for many days. I could 
 not see her, but, I might, perchance, catch 
 the sound of her well-known voice, in the 
 chaunted hymn ; at all events, the very feeling 
 that I was in her presence, and silently pressing 
 my fond suit, had for me a charm — magic. 
 Surely she would yield, ah! gladly yield, when 
 the short period of her widowed seclusion was 
 gone by, and link her fate with mine for ever. 
 She knew that I loved — adored her, as the 
 Persian does his Sun. She did know it, and 
 therefore fled me. 
 
 A lean, and wrinkled menial of the convent 
 approached me as I left the chapel, and put a 
 sealed packet into my hand — all rushed on me. 
 — She was gone. When? — the last night. 
 Where ? — None knew save the Lady Abbess. 
 k 2
 
 132 STORY OF A LIFE. 
 
 I would instantly have spoken with her; she 
 would not even see me. I raved at the peaceful 
 portals, and called loudly through the cold 
 grate into the empty parlour ; none heeded, or 
 seemed to heed me. I flew to the river's bank ; a 
 boatman had observed a party from the convent 
 embark, in the middle of last night, on board a 
 ship which had sailed at early dawn, that morn- 
 ing ; he knew not whither bound. A score or 
 more of vessels had dropped down, at the same 
 hour, and the eye might still discern them, 
 where, just beyond the river's mouth, they 
 were shaping their various courses, like the 
 scattering white rays which play out in dark 
 nights from a light-house point. No boat, 
 he said, could now come up with any of them. 
 I mounted a horse, rode hastily to Cintra, 
 and rode up its mountain far as my beast could 
 carry me ; and then, leaping off, eagerly climbed 
 to the naked, rocky summit, and watched all 
 those white sails, without knowing why, or which 
 to gaze on, till night's curtain fell over the de- 
 parting vision of my promised joy. Then was it 
 that I entered, and asked the hospitality of the
 
 STORY OF A LIFE. 133 
 
 convent. The garrulous, methodical old fathers 
 had little fancy for so bewildered a guest at all, 
 still less for his society, so that I was soon left 
 alone, with bread, water, crucifix, and a lamp. 
 Now first I broke the seal of the small packet, 
 which seemed the only remaining link between 
 me and the vanished idol of my heart. I found 
 a short letter, and a manuscript of some length. 
 The letter ran thus : — 
 
 " Osman, 
 " You love me. I never can return your love. 
 I am surprised, alarmed, terrified at your ar- 
 dour. Nothing pure, nothing peaceful mingles 
 with your passion. It pierces like the sea-bird's 
 cry, wilder and louder than the storm. 1 look 
 upon you with tenderness, with sorrow, but 
 with dread. I fly to some distant cloister. 
 Again I tell you, never can I, never could I 
 return your love. In the life of my late lord I 
 could not, on his account, shut myself from your 
 sight. I was forced to listen to your impassioned 
 voice, to meet your ardent gaze ; and many a 
 time have I mourned, in secret, over the slow 
 k 3
 
 134< STORY OF A LIFE. 
 
 decay of those regretted charms, which first 
 awakened your wild passion, and which have 
 borne to me, their poor possessor, no fruit but 
 sorrow. The contrast of your warm affection 
 and my lord's cold indifference, was trying, 
 very trying to my heart ; thus only could your 
 love ever have moved me at all. Thus was it 
 that it did ; but restored, amid the late awful 
 scenes, to be the controller of my own actions, 
 I turn back with a full and faithful heart, to my 
 early, my only, my cold, yet cherished love. 
 
 " In the hope and belief that it will assuredly 
 dissipate all the illusions which associate me, in 
 your day-dreams, with vain schemes of impos- 
 sible happiness, I have written out for you 
 my tale of sorrow. 
 
 " I shall remember and pray for you. 
 
 " Agatha." 
 
 Again and again I read over this letter, and 
 wept upon it ; and though it seemed to tear all 
 hope from my bosom, yet I was to be remem- 
 bered and prayed for by Agatha. 
 
 I kissed that line and her fair signature fer-
 
 STORY OF A LIFE. 135 
 
 vently ■ — next, opening the manuscript, I read 
 as follows. 
 
 " There is a large and beautiful lake in my 
 dear native land, called Lough Erne. Islands 
 innumerable stud its silvery bosom. They are 
 green to the eye; and so are the softly swelling 
 hills on all the shores around. I am sure, when 
 I was a very little girl, the fondled and caressed 
 darling of a tender mother, and dwelt amid these 
 scenes, unknowing and unknown, and sung out 
 my little carol, just as the bird might warble, 
 or the lamb bleat, from the mere overflow of 
 joy ; I thought that heaven itself must look like 
 that fair country, and contain good people like 
 my mother, and happy singing children like to 
 me. One only spot in the whole scene had any 
 aspect of gravity or sadness. Very early I used to 
 feel a little oppression as I looked upon it, and 
 this sentiment grewupon me, and gained strength 
 from many a tale, which my old nurse told me. 
 
 * This small island, called Devenish, lay not 
 very distant from that part of the main shore, on 
 which stood our pretty mansion. It had a 
 K 4
 
 136 STORY OF A LIFE. 
 
 deader, duller, and paler look than any other of 
 the islets on the lake. The herbage was thin- 
 ner and coarser, and more sand was mingled 
 with the soil. The ruins of a suppressed priory 
 stood in the centre of this lonely isle; and, near 
 the spot, a very tall round tower of other days 
 reared its gray columnar form, like a monu- 
 mental pillar marking some patient and abiding 
 grief. Close to those remains there was a large 
 place of graves. The flat, weather-stained 
 tomb-stones are so thickly fringed round with 
 rank and drooping nettles, that you scarcely can 
 decypher a name. Still, however, it was used 
 as a place of burial, holy, and favoured by some 
 of the old Irish families (the poor, that is) ; and 
 I used to see many a boat carry over a corpse, 
 a few mourners, and a solitary priest. Quickly 
 a grave was dug ; quickly the prayers for the 
 dead were uttered ; and then, as quickly, they 
 hurried from the spot; and then, after, they 
 would sometimes, perhaps, bring a flat stone, 
 and lay it on the dead ; but the rain would soon 
 fall, and blacken such poor memorial — the 
 nettles spring up, and droop over it ; and it
 
 STORY OF A LIFE. 137 
 
 only enlarged that melancholy-looking garden 
 of death. There is a curious old relic among 
 the weeds there, a long narrow coffin of stone, 
 lying without a tenant. The virtues of this 
 relic, as a prophetic touch-stone, whereby we 
 may learn our present and future fate, are much 
 boasted by the old peasant chroniclers ; and, 
 guided by the legend, they who dare, it is said, 
 may read of their future weal and woe, by 
 lying down in it, as it fits or otherwise, and, 
 according to the postures, in which they lie and 
 turn in it, so read they of their doom. But 
 why do I dwell on trifles, and superstitions like 
 these ? Why do I paint the Isle of Devenish 
 thus minutely ? Because, as I have said, I had 
 an early fear of it, and could not sing so freely 
 when I gazed on it, as on any other object ; 
 again, because, after, it was to me enchanted 
 ground, the bower of my innocent bliss ; and, 
 after, the sad witness of the killing of that bliss, 
 and the desolate, gloomy, uncomforting listener 
 to my frantic complainings. 
 
 " I was an only child. My father away in a 
 foreign land ; I knew not where. He was in
 
 138 STORY OF A LIFE. 
 
 the military service of Spain ; but had, from time 
 to time, been employed in diplomatic situations; 
 and it was at Naples, while in the suite of the 
 Spanish Ambassador at that court, that he had 
 become known to, and formed his attachment 
 for, my mother. She was the daughter of an 
 English secretary, well-connected in Ireland, 
 where, indeed, she had herself been educated 
 as a child. That he was of a catholic, she of 
 a protestant family, proved no bar to their 
 union; they were young, loved, overruled or 
 disregarded all scruples of their friends, and 
 married. 
 
 " My mother's friends, after a while, neglected 
 her; and my father, who was in some things a 
 mere man of the world, and bent entirely on 
 the pursuit of his own ambitious schemes, began 
 to tire of the restraining presence of a wife, and, 
 taking her to Ireland, fixed her down in the 
 most painful sort of widowhood in the house 
 where I, the third and only surviving child, 
 was born. Humbled and unhappy, my mother 
 lived a life of mourning and jealous privacy. 
 On me she doted. I was her delight, her trea-
 
 STORY OF A LIFE. 139 
 
 sure, her care. She was a highly- gifted, and 
 a very accomplished woman, 3 fond, beloved 
 instructress to a fond and loving pupil. Few 
 visits were made to us ; but those few were by 
 the first and best families, periodically, twice 
 or thrice a year ; a kind of soother to my 
 mother's pride of birth, but leading to and 
 ending in nothing. 
 
 " Those neighbours in the small town a few 
 miles from us, or in the scattered houses near, 
 had neither the minds or manners, which she 
 approved or could have lived happily with. As 
 we had no gentleman in the family, we were 
 soon allowed to sink into obscurity, and pursue 
 our own quiet path : and, as I have heard, we 
 were seldom named or thought of, save when 
 some ill-natured person might feel inclined to 
 amuse a party, and gratify himself, by some 
 passing remarks on the silly affectation of the 
 retired Mrs. O'Neil. 
 
 " A small green cot lay chained to the root of 
 a tree at the bottom of our garden ; and in fine 
 weather it was the pastime of my mother to take 
 me with her, and be rowed all about our beau-
 
 140 STORY OF A LIFE. 
 
 teous lake. A cheerful old man in our service 
 took care of this, and of our little green car, and 
 two gentle ponies, and accompanied us, at all 
 times, when we went abroad for exercise. Thus 
 peacefully we lived. When I was about nine 
 years of age, I remember my father came, and 
 staid a month with us. He was a tall, dark, 
 severe-looking man ; but spoke very softly and 
 kindly to me. I used to pull flowers for him, 
 and he would place me on his knee, for a mi- 
 nute, kiss and set me down again. I tried 
 every little art to win his affection, to the evi- 
 dent delight of my poor mother. I would play 
 the lesson I best knew ; sing the sweetest of 
 my little songs ; coax him playfully to come 
 and see my white rabbit, my doves, my pretty 
 goldfinch, and hold him still by his coat-skirt, to 
 listen to my sweet-toned lark. All this I did, 
 artfully, perhaps, but yet with love, for I knew 
 he was my father, and my mother had always 
 made me pray for him, before I lay down to 
 rest. Children, however, are very quick-sighted ; 
 I saw that his eye never rested on me with real 
 fondness. He patted my head, and kissed my
 
 STORY OF A LIFE. 14] 
 
 cheek mechanically. He talked much, and 
 anxiously with my mother, and often, when 
 so engaged, would send me out of the room to 
 play, and as I ran before the window, in the 
 garden, I remember the voices sounded earnest 
 and eager within. At last he went away, and 
 I was again left alone with my mother. For 
 months after, her eyes used to fill repeatedly 
 with tears, involuntarily as it were, and I would 
 run and kiss them off, and she would strain 
 me to her bosom. 
 
 M Week, month, year rolled on. I was now 
 sixteen — a healthy, happy, peaceful young 
 being ; feminine, but yet fearless ; accomplished 
 far beyond my years, but humble and innocent, 
 and ignorant of my chance gifts from nature. 
 Ah ! the happy day ! the bright vision ! but 
 I anticipate. 
 
 " My mother and myself had passed a long 
 day on the lake, and old Dennis, our faithful 
 servant and champion, on all these excursions, 
 was lying on his oars close to the Isle of De- 
 venish, the rich effect of which, in the deep 
 blush of sun-set, I was attentively studying,
 
 142 STORY OF A LIFE. 
 
 under the guiding taste of my dear mother, in 
 order that I might catch a proper tone for my 
 colouring of such subjects. 
 
 " Suddenly the cot swayed as if to overset. 
 Old Dennis in reaching over for some purpose, 
 had fallen into the water ; my mother tried to 
 save, and followed him; they immediately 
 drifted away from the cot. In still alarm, yet 
 swift, and anxious, I contrived to row to where 
 my mother was struggling in the water ; I 
 reached out, and caught hold of her, but she 
 slipped from my grasp. I lost my presence of 
 mind with the failure of my effort. Wildly I 
 called — cried aloud for help, but I could see no 
 one. Dennis, unable to swim, from lameness, 
 joined in my eager cries, whenever the chok- 
 ing water suffered him. In that awful moment 
 a sound of oars was heard, a vigorous strong 
 pulling ; a cot shot round the point ; my mo- 
 ther was lifted with strength and skill into it; 
 away towards Dennis, and the like office per- 
 formed for him, though with a difficulty and 
 motion of the little bark that made me trem- 
 ble for them all. The stranger youth called to
 
 STORY OF A LIFE. 143 
 
 me to approach the shore, as it were better for 
 a while to land the sufferers on the bank, and 
 take them if possible to a cottage. 
 
 " All anxious as was that moment — how glo- 
 rious, how beautifully glorious that young 
 deliverer looked, — how soft, how manly, feel- 
 ingly soft, the rich tones of his voice. I gazed 
 and followed, at his bidding, with a kind of 
 grateful, rapt, and delighted wonder. He lifted 
 my mother in his arms, and carried her up, 
 and laid her on a grassy bank, and in like 
 manner, and with the like care, the old man 
 after. He then flew off, and returned, in a 
 minute or two, with a peasant and his wife; to 
 his cottage he had them borne, one after the 
 other, and leaving me with the warm-hearted 
 peasant woman to undress and attend my 
 mother, he did the same by old Dennis. In two 
 hours my mother was sufficiently recovered to 
 admit of her returning home, and expressed 
 her anxiety to do so. 
 
 " It was but a mile's row. Our youthful 
 stranger placed us all in his cot, leaving the 
 countryman to bring ours and the wet clothing
 
 144 STORY OF A LIFE. 
 
 after. My mother, dressed half in my clothes, 
 and with a peasant's frieze cloak wrapped closely 
 round her, lay warm upon my lap : Dennis 
 sate, a little forward, loudly thanking, and bless- 
 ing his young honour : and I bent over my 
 mother with a sort of fond exulting, that one, 
 so very dear, had been so nigh the grave, yet 
 snatched so mercifully from it, and given back 
 to my heart its large its only treasure — two 
 hours ago its only treasure. But there were new 
 throbbings now in my young heart, and, as I 
 looked up to answer the gentle voice, which 
 asked to be directed to our garden bank, I felt 
 them beat quick, very quick, and thrillingly. 
 All things combined to kindle my young love. 
 He was one of the first youths I had ever, if I 
 may so say, seen even. He came like a guar- 
 dian angel ; flew to the perishing cry ; was the 
 preserver of my mother's life. The moral beauty 
 of his active kindness was much — enough to 
 claim regard ; — but O ! there shone a sunny 
 lustre on his fine, fair brow, such as I never saw 
 in any other created being. The softly burning 
 light of his deep blue eyes ; the health-bronzed
 
 STORY OF A LIFE. 145 
 
 bloom of his young cheek ; his fine formed nose ; 
 his quiet, tender smile ; his long hair of a golden 
 brown, which fell, after the fashion of that day, 
 in thickly clustering, waving curls, on either 
 shoulder ; his full, fair, graceful throat, all open 
 to the air, with no other confinement than a 
 broad black ribbon round his laced and falling 
 collar ; and his firm, manly, yet elegant frame. 
 Such, and a thousand times more beautiful, he 
 was, for lights and sparkles fell about, and from 
 him, in all he looked, or moved, or uttered. 
 
 That very night, as he sate for a few minutes in 
 our parlour after seeing us safe within, and re- 
 ceived our warm acknowledgements with a still, 
 embarrassed joy, and then blessed aloud the 
 lucky chance that had enabled him to render 
 a service, on his part, so slight, so natural, and 
 asked her leave to call again — that very night, 
 I gave him up my heart. I loved him — love 
 him still ; and shall carry down his cherished 
 image to my grave. I cannot paint the growth 
 of this our love. Such love hath no idle course 
 of doubtful wooing ; no hopes, no fears ; heart 
 leaps to heart, eyes look into eyes, and lips 
 
 VOL. I. L
 
 146 STORY OF A LIFE. 
 
 but open to speak fondness. No — there are no 
 misgivings, few blushings even, in a first, a 
 fearless, innocent love, permitted, smiled upon. 
 It has no guilt, no fear, not a mean doubt in it. 
 My mother found it not in her heart to receive 
 the visits of her preserver coldly. In every 
 successive one he won upon her more and more. 
 He was the eldest son of a gentleman of an old 
 family, but small fortune, in a neighbouring 
 county, was himself destined for the church, 
 and was, at that time, residing with a clergy- 
 man on the borders of the lake, and reading 
 preparatory to his entering at the university. 
 
 '*, He was nineteen years of age ; in a few short 
 weeks he asked my hand and heart, and offered 
 his. I was to wait till he took orders. I was to 
 be secret till he had seen, and obtained the con- 
 sent of a fond, indulgent father, and of my own 
 mother; or, no, I might tell my mother — I 
 did so. What could she say ? how could she say 
 no to two young things, who loved, angel-like, 
 as we did ? She smiled her own consent, or hope, 
 rather, as she faintly called it, but sighed some 
 fears.
 
 STORY OF A LIFE. 147 
 
 " We nothing feared; we often met, often 
 went, for whole clays, with my mother, on the 
 lake, and drew, or laughed, or sung, or looked 
 and loved. We made many parties to the old 
 Isle of Devenish, and sate, under the shadow 
 of its ruins, sketching ; and Henry would climb 
 the tall, lone tower, and tell me, from the giddy 
 height, of beauties in the far distance. 
 
 " Henry ! Agatha ! — how sweet, how soft it 
 was to us so to call each other, and the hands 
 together fondly locked, and the ringlets parted 
 and put aside by the free hand, and the mere 
 looking in each other's face. 
 
 " Why did my heart beat heavily when my 
 mother read from a letter that my father would 
 arrive on the morrow ? He came, that father 
 dark, and stern." 
 
 I was here interrupted, as I read, by a 
 loud knocking at the door of my cell. " Come, 
 Senhor, come, for the love of God, help us !" 
 
 With a fretful anger I threw down the manu- 
 script, and answered the summons. 
 
 A travelling capuchin, who was lodging for 
 l 2
 
 148 STORY OF A LIFE. 
 
 the night in the convent, had, it seemed, fallen 
 down in a fit. He was a powerful man, and 
 his strength and violence made it so difficult to 
 hold him, that the few inmates of this se- 
 cluded monastery were quite unequal, by them- 
 selves, to such a task. There are not many 
 things more horrid to look upon than a strong 
 man struggling in fierce convulsions. The 
 white of the up-turned eye, the set teeth, the 
 foam on the pale lip, the grasping or clenched 
 hand, and the limb out-thrown with terrible 
 force. It always seems as if there were invisi- 
 ble demons torturing man, and he in all the 
 agony of a despairing, yet desperate resistance. 
 I remember not how long his fit lasted; but, the 
 very moment the stage of exhaustion succeeded, 
 I flew back to my cell. A large heap of paper 
 ashes was blown from the rude table as I 
 threw open the door, and the large wick of the 
 flat iron lamp was flaring down on the wood 
 of the table, where, having taken it from its 
 usual place on the wall, I had myself put it, and 
 incautiously left it. In a moment I compre- 
 hended the misfortune; — the manuscript was 
 consumed. It seemed as if I had a second time
 
 STORY OF A LIFE. 1 i9 
 
 lobt Agatha herself. I cursed ; I stamped ; I 
 tore my hair by the violence with which I 
 seized it; I beat my head against the wall; 
 I shed the tears of impotent, insane anger. 
 The manuscript was irrecoverably gone — the 
 history of that interesting woman, her loves, 
 her sorrows lost to me for ever. A burning 
 curiosity succeeded to my rage ; and conjecture 
 worked busily in my brain. Did the lover die 
 by the father's hand ? Was he slain among those 
 ruins? And her faith ; how and when was that 
 change forced upon her, or taken by her ? Her 
 mother ; did she yet live ? And her cruel father ? 
 
 — I paced my cell with rapid strides, and con- 
 jured up a thousand sequels to her tale. 
 
 Then stole upon me a new feeling — jealousy 
 
 — of an unhappy youth, whom I had never 
 seen ; the first impression he had caused by his 
 prompt and eager aid, the glowing picture of 
 his beauty, their looks, their tones, their 
 mutual tender, happy love. Envy, too, arose; I 
 had felt the passion of love, but such love never, 
 never. I had lived, then, hitherto in vain, and 
 the time seemed past, the spring season of 
 
 l 3
 
 150 STORY OF A LIFE. 
 
 life gone by. I never could love as he, as they 
 had done. One solitary comfort came to me, at 
 times, but slowly and painfully admitted. It was 
 evident that Agatha could never give me one such 
 answering throb of her heart, as would satisfy the 
 warm demand of mine. At first, however, even 
 this thought lightened not my heavy chains ; 
 forged by strong passion, and by bitter sorrow, 
 they bound me, as it were, in the dungeon of 
 despair. I shut myself up in hired apartments 
 at Cintra, or wandered forth among the deep 
 shades of that romantic and endeared solitude ; 
 one day frantic — the next, disconsolate ; every 
 day anxious and unhappy. 
 
 It was about a week after this event, that a 
 letter was brought to me in the hand-writing 
 of Somers. I opened it with a sick, nervous 
 feeling. It ran thus : — 
 
 " My dear friend. 
 "Your letter of November the sixth gave all 
 at the manor-house the greatest possible com- 
 fort : they were in sad terror about you, until
 
 STOUY 01 Y Li I I . 151 
 
 it happily came to relieve our worst fears. 
 Your Hither and your mother were suffering 
 very severely at the time from another source 
 of affliction and anxiety, and were far from 
 well. Your sister was very weak, and in the 
 lowest spirits. I can assure you that the in- 
 telligence of your safety and merciful preserv- 
 ation has revived and refreshed us all. We 
 hope that, on the receipt of this letter, you will 
 immediately leave Lisbon, and return home. 
 Your presence is most anxiously desired, and 
 will be very consoling to all. Family circles* 
 as they become smaller, should draw closer. 
 A very dear member of yours has been sud- 
 denly removed — your amiable brother Edward 
 is no more." 
 
 I dropped the letter, covered my face with 
 my hands, and groaned and wept bitterly, as I 
 paced my room with the quick step of agony. 
 Alone I was, yet I covered my face. At last I 
 took up the fatal paper, and read on — 
 
 il He died on the night of the first of Novem- 
 ber, after an illness of twelve days. He suffered 
 much, until within the last two; when, mortifi- 
 L 1
 
 152 STORY OF A LIFE. 
 
 cation having taken place within, he became 
 easier, and remained so to the last. I am not a 
 very young man, and it has fallen to my lot to 
 witness the last hours of many. Never did I see 
 any one give a brighter evidence of faith, hope, 
 and love, than poor Edward. His patient 
 endurance of acute pain, his constant anxiety 
 to spare the feelings of his mother, his fear of 
 giving trouble to the servants, or of breaking 
 their rest, and his tearful gratitude for every little 
 attention, affected all very deeply. Until the 
 day before his death the nature of his disorder 
 was so distressing, that he could neither read 
 himself, or give even the attention of a listener ; 
 but he frequently prayed in whispering ejacula- 
 tions, or silently with the closed lid, or with 
 the quiet upward glancing of the humble. On 
 the last day of his life, he read a little in the 
 morning out of the pocket bible which you 
 gave him on his tenth birth day ; but, growing 
 faint and weak, he closed the book, continuing, 
 however, to hold it in his hands, with his eyes 
 shut, and to press it with fervour and affection. 
 I knelt by him, and read to him a chapter of
 
 STORY OF A LIFE. 153 
 
 St. John, and prayed : he joined faintly in the 
 responses, and thanked me with great tender- 
 ness. Towards evening he said to me, in a 
 very solemn tone, ' The forgetting of God is a 
 great sin ; the cause of all others ; the cause of 
 all woe and guilt. It has been mine. , I 
 whispered to him peace, and told him it had 
 been the sin of every human being who had 
 ever lived. I told him it had been mightily 
 atoned for. c Yes, I know,' said he, * in whom I 
 have believed. I love and trust him; but I 
 feel great, great awe. It is not fear — it is a 
 bitter thing to die ; a great sorrow to leave all 
 whom we love on earth ; yet I know it is best 
 for me, or it would not be.' 
 
 " I watched in his chamber the last night of his 
 earthly existence. He died as gently as he hud 
 lived. About midnight I heard a soft sound, as 
 of quiet suppressed weeping; I did not like to 
 disturb him at such a moment. Some time 
 after, when all was still, I drew back the curtain 
 to look upon him. His gentle spirit had fled 
 away. I believe he died in those sweet tears.
 
 154 STORY OF A LIFE. 
 
 I cannot write more. Come, come to the house 
 of mourning, it will be good for you. 
 " Very affectionately yours, 
 
 " George Somers." 
 
 " To the house of mourning ! " I exclaimed, 
 as my tears flooded forth, " to the house of 
 mourning ! Oh ! Somers, the Osman whom 
 you knew, the brother of the sweet and gentle 
 Edward, I know not where he is. I look 
 within — I cannot find him. The inner Osman is 
 a being of warm, wild, restless wishes, with an 
 aching, unsatisfied heart. One who could 
 neither impart nor receive consolation. Not 
 privileged to weep and grieve in a pure com- 
 pany of mourners. My once happy home would 
 but represent to me the image of lost bliss, no 
 more communicable." 
 
 I wept long over the untimely fate of Edward. 
 I would lie down upon my couch for hours, and 
 think of him; and, when exhausted nature sank 
 with me into slumberings, the image of Edward, 
 in white dazzling raiment, with a crown of gold, 
 would paso and repass before me. His young
 
 STORY OF A LIFE. 155 
 
 face pale, but not fearfully pale. His look on 
 me most sorrowful ; but, when lifted upwards, 
 a seraph smile sate on his parted lip, and the 
 melody of holy praise came forth without a 
 breath. 
 
 For weeks I neither saw nor spoke to any of 
 my acquaintance. Once only I admitted Father 
 Antonio, whose efforts to rouse me were all vain. 
 The restorer of my mind's tone was a weak instru- 
 ment — a little child, just at that age when the 
 stammer is intelligible, and the totter fearless. 
 It tapped with its little hand at my chamber 
 door, and when opened for its weak short-reached 
 little arm, ran in and round my table, to look for 
 something to amuse its young wondering mind ; 
 then clasped my knees, and looked up in my 
 face, with a playful beseeching ; and pouted its 
 little lip, to offer the rewarding kiss. Fondly I 
 did kiss, fondly press it to my bosom ; and, from 
 that hour, I scarce suffered the little creature to 
 leave me while I remained at Cintra. J tossed 
 it in my arms, horsed it on my knee, leaned 
 down my cheek to its pretty pattings of mock 
 punishment, sung to it, laughed for it, loved it.
 
 156 STORY OF A LIFE. 
 
 I can hardly paint the exquisite delight I felt 
 in the companionship of this smiling little 
 cherub. It was so comforting to know that you 
 might love it without a doubt, without a single 
 fear about any moral consequences, either of 
 happiness or misery, to the infant or yourself. 
 
 In any ordinary circumstances such a heart- 
 indulgenceof a lone, solitary man might be passed 
 over as harmless, as innocent ; but with a family 
 praying for my safe return, with a positive duty to 
 perform, as son and brother, this shrinkingfrom it, 
 this lingering, was a base sin. I felt it so; but not 
 the less did I hew away at my broken cistern ; 
 and the like weak and wicked labour I was often 
 to renew. 
 
 About this period I began to adopt that kind 
 of religious notion, which has been, and long 
 will be in millions (especially young minds) 
 the prevailing one. For them the bard and the 
 philosopher have, after their fashion, hallowed 
 it; and a thousand glittering fables, framed but 
 to mislead, have been sung to the most melodious 
 harps, and delivered in the accents of the wisest 
 of men. To look through nature up to nature's
 
 STORY OF A LIFE. 157 
 
 God, methought was the only worship. To 
 live well, that the only service. Alas ! the ser- 
 vice that springs from such worship is never 
 faithful, never consistent. 
 
 Does the sun rise in glory, or set in splen- 
 dour? Does the moon walk in brightness? Do 
 the stars softly shine? Does the thunder terrific- 
 ally roll ? Does the lightning vividly play on the 
 dark bosom of the night-cloud ? Does the sea 
 make a noise? Do the winds lift up their voices? 
 Does the mountain rear a crown, awful with 
 everlasting snow? Does the sounding torrent 
 fall in mad rushings from the precipice? Are 
 the deep shades of a forest of peace, or green 
 vales of inviting loveliness, spread before us? 
 The heart is enticed, and the hand is kissed, 
 and nature is worshipped, when we think we 
 worship God. It is the sublimity and the 
 majesty of his array which alone captivates our 
 senses — the voice of the Law-Giver is unheard 
 — the requirements of the Judge are never 
 thought of. 
 
 In such scenes, we feel the complacency of a 
 kind of virtue ; because, we do not, we cannot 
 grossly sin ; but we come down again to streets
 
 158 STORY OF A LIFE. 
 
 and lanes, and are the same weak, wretched 
 beings that left them; save where taste comes to 
 our aid, then, indeed, the poets are a kind 
 of prayer books — admiration, the business of 
 our lives, and a naked materialism our God, 
 Thus was it with me — a Deity throned above 
 golden clouds, in a region of light and bliss, I 
 thought of with little apprehension; but a Deity, 
 meek, merciful, lowly, pure, walking our earth, 
 and seen of men, I shrunk from with a secret 
 terror, one day; and a contemptuous incredu- 
 lity the next. 
 
 To my tale. — Feeling myself unwell and un- 
 happy, alike unfit, and unwilling to return home 
 at such a moment, I wrote to state that my health 
 had suffered very severely, which, of a truth, it 
 had. I told them, that under these circumstances 
 I was constrained to disappoint both their wishes 
 and my own ; and I feared, from symptoms of 
 weakness in my chest, I should be detained 
 much longer in a southern climate than I had 
 ever contemplated. I begged them to feel no 
 alarm, saying that my case was far from un- 
 common, and by no means so dangerous as to 
 threaten life. As far as written language could
 
 STORY OF A LIFT. 1 59 
 
 do it, I sincerely mingled my grief with theirs, 
 for the loss of Edward. Of a truth, I had 
 loved and leaned upon that boy. I had con- 
 sidered him as a kind of link between me and 
 the Christian's hope ; and his removal from 
 earth seemed to separate me, especially as I 
 then felt, immeasurably from heaven. 
 
 I fell rapidly, and low in self-esteem, after I 
 had despatched this letter ; for I felt that I had 
 so exaggerated my illness, that my letter was 
 but a written lie. Was it possible that I could 
 frame and utter falsehoods ; — and for whom ? 
 — to whom ? Those who cherished me as an 
 infant, loved me as a boy, and fondly gloried in 
 me as a man. Ah ! the first utterance of an 
 untruth does, in all cases, open on the simple 
 sinner the flood-gates of sin in its strength, and 
 misery in its despair. The returning packet 
 brought me letters from my father and Harriet. 
 My father's was as follows : — 
 
 " My dearest boy, 
 " I am very much concerned that you cannot 
 immediately return to us, and still more fur the
 
 160 STORY OF A LIFE. 
 
 sad cause of your detention. Deeply anxious as 
 we all are for your speedy return, do not, I 
 earnestly request, undertake the voyage sooner 
 than prudence may warrant. On such a spot, 
 I well know, you could not willingly remain a 
 single unnecessary hour. Indeed, every asso- 
 ciation with your present residence must, of 
 necessity, be so melancholy, that we cannot doubt 
 your eagerness to leave it, and you must long 
 to be once more safe at home. The many 
 awful scenes you have lately witnessed, and your 
 merciful preservation throughout them, have no 
 doubt left a salutary and deep impression on 
 your heart. I feel satisfied that my dear 
 Osman will improve it. We have lately had 
 our lesson, and have learned, by the bedside of 
 your poor departed brother, how, with the hope 
 properly fixed, a very child can look steadily 
 upon the king of terrors. We are recovering, 
 although slowly, from the gloom into which his 
 loss had naturally thrown us ; for, in the first 
 moments, we were deaf to the voice of con- 
 solation, and turned from the comforting words 
 of poor Somers, with the natural impatience of 
 the bereft and the wretched. Colonel Ha-
 
 STORY OF A LIFE. 161 
 
 milton (who is always talking about you), has been 
 most kind. Old Frankland has shown, in his own 
 odd way, a true neighbourly sympathy, and the 
 girls have been to Harriet quite sisterly. Your 
 mother still keeps her room ; she was very 
 much affected, so much so, that it induced a 
 low nervous fever, which is only now beginning 
 to subside. She sends you her fondest love, 
 and bids me say, that she prays every night and 
 morning for your safe return. Somers, who is 
 now sitting in the room, and who, by the way, 
 has been, under God's blessing, our only stay 
 and true comforter, bids me give you his kindest 
 regards. 
 
 " Ever, my dearest boy, 
 Your affectionate father, 
 
 " Walter Beavoir." 
 Poor Godfrey sends his duty." 
 
 Letter from Harriet. 
 
 " My beloved Osman, 
 " I cannot describe to you how great was the 
 agony of our suspense between our first hearing 
 vol. i. m 
 
 "o*
 
 162 STORY OF A LIFE. 
 
 that the city of Lisbon had been so awfully de- 
 stroyed, and the arrival of that precious letter 
 which assured us of your safety. — Wonderful ! — 
 You were preserved among perishing thousands, 
 and poor dear Edward taken off in a scene of 
 peace and security. God be praised that you 
 were preserved ; to have lost you both would 
 have brimmed our cup of sorrow to the over- 
 flow. Our dearest mother is still very weak 
 and nervous, and continually asks after you in 
 tones of anxiety and doubt ; nay, at times, al- 
 most of reproach. Shall I own to you, my 
 beloved Osman, that, although I hint it to 
 no one, your continued absence grieves and 
 astonishes me? I love you, Osman, tenderly; 
 you know I do. I look up to you. I am proud 
 of you; — but I know your disposition better than 
 any one here. I trembled for you when you 
 left us, though I dared not oppose your eager, 
 your natural wish. I have no experience in 
 the world myself; — retirement is my lot ; and 
 I can gratefully, truly say, that my fate would 
 be my choice. With your sex it is, it should 
 perhaps be, different. But yet forgive me, my
 
 STORY OF A LIFE. 163 
 
 dearest Osman ; I saw clearly, painfully, that 
 you were going forth into the world without 
 that shield and breast-plate, that sword and 
 helmet, which alone can serve, alone can save, 
 in combats that are not mortal. 
 
 " No, Osman, it is not the state of your 
 health which detains you far from us, your true, 
 your only friends; it is not this. Again I say 
 that I have no experience in the world, yet am 
 I sure that you have not given the true reason 
 of your continuing to linger in Portugal. Oh ! 
 brother, what is it ? What can it be ? I have 
 heard, or rather I have read that a man who 
 loves forgets, forsakes all to follow the object 
 of his passion ; that father, mother, brother, 
 sister are no longer thought of; nay, that duty, 
 honour, and feeling have been sacrificed at the 
 shrine of love. And can this be ? 1 have said ; 
 then never let me love, or be again beloved. 
 But forgive, forgive me ; think not that I, for a 
 moment, would entertain a hard thought of one 
 so very dear to me as you are. 1 know your 
 warm nature, your easy temper, your susceptible 
 heart. I feel, I fear, that you love. Ah ! 
 M 2
 
 164 STORY OF A LIFE. 
 
 Osman, reflect — if it is so. Whither can it lead ? 
 Where end ? A foreigner, a stranger to onr altar, 
 you would entail misery on her, on us, on your- 
 self. It can hardly be innocent, such love ; but 
 oh ! my beloved brother, if it be a love unhal- 
 lowed, fly the fatal snare; break the ignoble 
 bonds; return to us quickly; you will bring 
 back smiles, and peace, and we shall all be 
 happy in our forest home. 
 
 " I have a thousand things to tell you of — 
 above all things, I have treasured up for you 
 every word and look of our departed Edward, 
 during his afflicting illness. Many times he 
 spoke of you with tears, at the sad thought, that 
 it was impossible for him to see you before he 
 died. Come, Osman, come to the gentle light 
 of truth and peace. Somers has contrived to 
 shed this blessing over our bereaved circle; 
 and here your fevered spirit will find repose. I 
 long to embrace you. 
 
 " Your fondly attached sister, 
 
 " Harriet."
 
 STORY OF A LIFE. 165 
 
 I tardily obeyed the summons. I took my 
 passage in a vessel, bound for Plymouth, and 
 sailed, with a small fleet under convoy, for 
 England. The weather was fine, the wind 
 fair. It was pleasant to look round on so many 
 sails joyously swelling over home-pointing 
 prows ; and I strove to bury in my bosom, and 
 to chase from my mind all the new, strange, and 
 melancholy feelings, with which I was now re- 
 turning to the dwelling of my fond family. 
 
 We had already made the Scilly light, when 
 it came on to blow, accompanied with a thick 
 heavy channel fog. We were driven during 
 the night very far out of our course, lost the con- 
 voy, and, in the morning, found, to our alarm 
 and mortification, that we had neared the coast 
 of France. We were espied, chased, and cap- 
 tured by a French frigate, and the same evening 
 I was seated at an hotel in Brest with a party 
 of French officers, partaking of an excellent 
 dinner, and tossing off* full glasses of cham- 
 pagne, all sparkling with its bead-like bubbles, 
 and killing, at every bumper, some national 
 prejudice or petty enmity, 
 M 3
 
 166 STORY OF A LIFE. 
 
 The manner in which our small merchant- 
 man was captured by this regular ship of war, 
 though exactly what it must always be, had an 
 air of quiet regularity that abundantly surprised 
 me. 
 
 A gun was fired after us — we lay to. Our 
 master walked the deck, wiping away the sweat 
 of vexation from his forehead with the sleeve 
 of his jacket, and cursing, after his own fashion, 
 the wind, the fog, the convoy, and the frog- 
 eating, wooden-shoed mounseers. He became 
 silent, however, as the frigate's boat pulled along 
 side. The man-ropes were put over ; he stood 
 himself with a sort of surly, subdued look at 
 the gang-way. A sprightly young French 
 officer stepped upon the deck, and taking out 
 his tabatiere with the air of a man who has 
 just won his throw, proceeded to snuff in a 
 quick, playful manner, and gather from the 
 captain, through a stammering cabin-boy sort 
 of interpreter, all the particulars of cargo, 
 crew, &c. While thus talking, he cast his eye 
 carelessly round, did not even confine our few 
 seamen, but placed one of his own at the
 
 STORY OF A LIFE. 167 
 
 wheel, distributed the rest among ours, again 
 made sail, and bore up for the coast. 
 
 I was the only passenger, the only gentleman 
 on board, and no sooner was I pointed out to 
 him, than he bowed quite ceremoniously, 
 offered his snuffbox, shrugged his shoulders; 
 smiled — said something about " la fortune de 
 la guerre," assured me that I should find France 
 Li beau pays" " charmant sejour" " des jolies 
 femmes." " Ah ! ha ! spirituelles," " aimables," 
 " tres aimables" " et qu'il y avoitdu bon vin en 
 France." " Soyez tranquille, soyez tranquille, 
 vous en serez content, mais tres content, je vous 
 en repond," was his often-repeated speech. As 
 private property was respected, I suffered no 
 personal inconvenience beyond captivity. To 
 one who was no combatant, and had been 
 taken in the manner in which I had, there was 
 no cause for mortification. Shall I own it? 
 yes — uufilial, barbarous as it may sound, I did 
 not regret the chance which found me a detenu 
 among the enemies of my country. I escaped 
 the dreaded return to my peaceful and virtuous 
 if 4
 
 168 STORY OF A LIFE. 
 
 home, from which I felt, in truth, a kind of 
 self-discarded outcast. It is not wonderful, 
 therefore, that I landed on the quay of Brest 
 with the sensations of one who would have 
 sought excitement anywhere, and among po- 
 lished, and civilized foes expected novelty, 
 amusement, and some diversion to his gloomy 
 unsettled thoughts. I signed my parole with 
 very little hesitation. It was at a cold com- 
 fortless office; and there was very little form in 
 the ceremony. In a few minutes after, I found 
 myself installed, as a traveller rather than a 
 captive, in the salon of the Boule d'Or, as 
 " Milord Anglois," " brave enfant," " bel 
 homme" " et puis riche." The officers of the 
 frigate dined together on shore, and, as our cargo 
 had been a valuable one, and the share of 
 the prize-money would be a something quite 
 good enough to prevent any thought about 
 expence from poisoning the pleasure of their 
 feast, they insisted on my being of the 
 party. 
 
 Here, then, was I at the festive board, with 
 Frenchmen; enjoying, and flattering them by
 
 STORY OF A LIFE. 169 
 
 enjoying their exuberant vivacity, and intended 
 nonsense. We adjourned from the table to the 
 theatre, where the Tartuffe of Moliere was given 
 with a fidelity of natural tone, look, and ges- 
 ture, which really made half a Frenchman of 
 me before the fall of the curtain. 
 
 I was carried by my new companions, with an 
 unresisting facility of disposition on my part, to 
 the gaming-table. This, however, I never can 
 regret; excused as a stranger, and supposed 
 not to have the immediate command of money, 
 though, on all sides, it was offered to me, I 
 stood by a gazer on that scene. 
 
 Well have the miserable votaries of the vice 
 of gaming named the place of their insane meet- 
 ings a hell ; — a hell it is ; but a cold, cruel, 
 benumbing hell. Cold I call the vice, because 
 it freezes up all the nobler and more generous 
 qualities of man. It seems as if, once under the 
 deadly influence of that fatal passion, man 
 changed his nature, bad as it is, for something 
 worse. The wife, the lovely wife, lies on a 
 lone and widowed couch, watered by her tears ; 
 — the innocent child looks up in vain, for a
 
 170 STORY OF A LIFE. 
 
 father's fond caress ; — the friend — he has no 
 friend ; none that he would not sacrifice at the 
 shrine of the demon whom he worships. How 
 well I recollect the scene; — the eager ven- 
 turing, the anxious throw, the suppressedly ex- 
 ulting smile, the clenched hand, the bitten lip, 
 the stricken forehead, the pale, motionless 
 despair, the affected calmness, the maddening 
 rage ; the restless eye of doubt, suspicion, 
 envy ; the out-breaking of hate and defiance; — - 
 of this last we had a melancholy example. The 
 very finest-looking young man of our party, 
 stung by his losses, and viewing the smile of 
 the winner as a taunt, insulted him. They 
 withdrew with seconds ; we were soon sum- 
 moned ; — alas ! it was to see the young hero 
 die, where no fame can crown the bowed head. 
 He lay on a sofa speechless, his vest all red 
 and dark with stiffening gore, his cheek blood- 
 less — he died, and made no sign. From that 
 day I formed a resolution never to touch the 
 dice-box, or the cards in the spirit of a gam- 
 bler : it is one of the few that 1 have ever kept; 
 rarely, during the two years I passed in France,
 
 STORY OF A LIFE. 171 
 
 did I even yield so far as to join in that petti 
 jcu de societe, which was the universal passe 
 temps throughout that country. 
 
 I was ordered to Blois, a provincial town, 
 where, as chance would have it, I was the only 
 prisoner. It was strange to myself to find how 
 rapidly, how easily I sunk into the artificial, 
 idly busy life, at that time the mode in France. 
 Let me, however, render justice to the French; 
 they are not merely a polite people, but a kind ; 
 with tempers invariably good, and dispositions 
 ever most obliging. 
 
 They are unfairly reproached with being in- 
 sincere. It is not so ; — they are a warm 
 people, easily excited, and in earnest while they 
 are so ; but a flying flower will turn the current 
 of their vain fancies. They are absent from 
 you — forget you ; you appear among them 
 again, are kindly remembered, and as kindly 
 treated as ever. Their frivolities are too 
 amusing not to be forgiven. Does the glove of 
 a lady fall to the ground ? — it is not picked up; 
 it is snatched with a forcible, a violent, a comic 
 eagerness, as if it were some precious thing,
 
 172 STORY OF A LIFE. 
 
 and to be rescued from the flames. Is she to 
 be led forth to table ? — the hand is extended, 
 the head bowed on one side, the body an- 
 gularly inclined, the foot pointed. — What, are 
 they going to dance a minuet? Not so — but 
 merely to sit down to dinner. 
 
 Does your French acquaintance meet you 
 in the morning ? — he is charme\ enchante to 
 see you — avec permission, is so bold as to 
 take the liberty to ask, if you were amused at 
 the comedie the evening before. Does he write 
 you a common note ? — he is " with entire de- 
 votion, and profound respect," or " without re- 
 serve, and with inviolable attachment, very 
 particularly yours, et cetera" All this is but 
 the custom of the nation, and the stranger has 
 only himself to blame if he attaches more to it 
 than it means. 
 
 For a time I enjoyed France; sipped the 
 early cafe — - took the diner at noon — was a 
 regular abonne at the theatre, and came, and 
 with high spirits, to the delightful petit souper 
 afterward^. The French women pleased and 
 charmed nie by their vivacity, the freedom,
 
 STORY OF A LIFE. 173 
 
 and fearlessness of their expressions; and I soon 
 discovered, that they were often very absurdly 
 misrepresented, as indifferent or careless guar- 
 dians of their honour. They will talk prettily 
 and animatedly, whether a heart or a sto- 
 macher be the theme ; but the downcast eye, the 
 changing cheek, the sinking heart, these true 
 symptoms not only of love, but of passion 
 mingling with love, they laugh at all such 
 things; shew their white teeth, and give the 
 shrug of careless triumph. Their vanity may be 
 gratified ; their heart is seldom touched. 
 
 During my stay in their cheerful circles I 
 sought and found a forgetfulness of my wretched 
 self. 
 
 The boudoir, the chamber, the salon, — I 
 was constant every where — and with all I 
 was rewarded by being pronounced " spiritual/' 
 " horame d'esprit;" "gai;" " poli ;" " tout a 
 fait Francois." What mimics, what contempt- 
 ible mimics men are. I smiled and laughed, 
 was a citizen of the world; but at night, when 
 I was restored to the solitude of my chamber, 
 my heart was heavy and sad ; it ached with some
 
 174 STORY OF A LIFE. 
 
 strange want; it spread forth little tendrils on 
 every side, but they could catch no stay, and 
 hung down dead and drooping. On the river's 
 bank, in the lonely ride, in the upward-looking 
 to the bright blue sky, I found some relief; grate- 
 ful too was the look, and gentle the tone, with 
 which I returned the salutation of the passing 
 peasant ; and there was heart and nature in the 
 transient sparklings of joy which beamed from 
 my gladdened features, whenever the black-eyed 
 peasant girl crossed my lone path, and smiled 
 on me. As for the town belles, your modistes, 
 UanchisseuseSy couturieres, Jilles de cJiambre, 
 and the whole race of your calculating smilers, 
 I was like ice to them all. One only anecdote 
 I retain concerning woman, at this period of my 
 life, which, before I change the scene, I will 
 pause to relate. 
 
 In the society which I daily frequented, there 
 was one very charming girl, about eighteen years 
 of age, full of elegance, grace, taste, and viva-
 
 STORY OF A LIFE. 175 
 
 city. Did she sit — stand — rise—move, — she was 
 without effort distinguished far above all around 
 her. Every thing she wore became her, so did 
 every thing she uttered. She was a dark, clear 
 brunette, with a flashing eye, and white and 
 even teeth shone dazzlingly from between her 
 beautifully red lips ; her shape was perfect ; her 
 hand, her foot exquisitely turned. As I recollect 
 her now, she was — she certainly was a very 
 lovely person. 
 
 It belonged to my position in their circle that 
 such a girl should smile on me, however un- 
 meaningly; for I was young, a foreigner, a 
 captive; had talent and tact in conversation, 
 and possessed some advantages of person my- 
 self. She smiled on me, as I have said ; and it 
 belonged to my duty, as it were, to smile again : 
 but I did so, I well remember, with a heart un- 
 moved. I never sought to make any impression 
 on her, for I had nothing of the male coquette 
 about me ; and the idea of making impressions 
 for no other end than to reflect back to me' my 
 own powers of pleasing, I ever most heartily 
 despised. Jealousy, however, hath eyes that
 
 176 STORY OF A LIFE. 
 
 can, and will see with a strange, and per- 
 verse obliquity. After an agreeable evening, 
 passed in one of the cheerful coteries, to which 
 I had a general invitation, I was returning, at 
 a late hour of the night, to my lodging, when 
 I heard myself called after, rather loudly and 
 sternly. I immediately turned about. With a 
 hurried and agitated step and mien, a young 
 man approached, whom, although I had often 
 heard him spoken of, I had never, till that 
 evening in the saloon I had just quitted, even 
 seen. He was a noble of Spain. 
 
 " You are well overtaken," said the youth ; 
 " draw and defend yourself." 
 
 " You forget yourself, Senhor ; I am a pri- 
 soner, and unarmed." 
 
 " Right, I had forgotten.-" There was a 
 pause; I said not a syllable; at last (and his 
 voice fell, and became sad, and broken as he 
 spoke) abruptly, yet with a slow utterance, he 
 added, " Do you love Julie de Rochefort ?" 
 
 " Senhor, I think not of her love." 
 
 " But you have it; you have her heart; she 
 looks at you, Jistens to you, loves you."
 
 sTORY OF A LIFE. 177 
 
 M I cannot think so; but why this strange 
 questioning, Senhor ? She smiles on whom she 
 will ; I have no account to render of her smiles; 
 Senhor, I will not hear you." 
 
 " Not hear me ! What ; rob me of my all ? 
 Send me forth with a heart beggared of all hap- 
 piness, of all hope? Do this, and then not hear 
 me ? — Proud spoiler, but you shall." 
 
 " Senhor, you rave; I care not, wish not for 
 her love." 
 
 " 'Tis false !— Tis false as hell ! It cannot be 
 that you should gaze, and not admire ; — it can- 
 not be that she should smile, and you not love ; — 
 aye, dote in transport on her matchless charms." 
 
 " These are but the wild and jealous fancies 
 of a fevered lover. I am not your rival ; I do 
 not love her." 
 
 " What ! have you whispered flatterings in 
 her ear, and wooed her to your will, — and do 
 you leave her?" 
 
 " Hear reason ; for heaven's sake listen. I 
 have neither sought, nor won any, the slightest, 
 interest in her; and she is pure for me as the un- 
 
 VOL. 1. N
 
 178 STORY OF A LIFE. 
 
 sunned snow. Believe me, she cares not for 
 me." 
 
 " She does ; she does. I marked the turning 
 gaze ; the beauteous hand that gently pressed 
 upon your willing arm, and the breast that 
 heaved its silent speech of love." 
 
 " Your eye deceived your restless mind," 
 
 "Ah! No." 
 
 He stood for a moment leaning on his un- 
 sheathed sword, silent, and very pale ; big tears 
 gathered in his eyes, and dropped, heavy, and 
 few; then coming closer, and putting up his 
 sword, he took my hand in his, and holding it 
 very nervously, looked fixedly in my face. 
 
 " Be it so. I could have cherished her with 
 a fonder, closer sheltering than mother-bird its 
 unfledged nestling. The light of her smile, the 
 music of her voice, had made this dull world to 
 me a very paradise. It is not to be. Let me 
 look upon you ; you are the husband of her 
 choice. In truth her womb will teem with 
 beauteous images ; yes, angel faces will grow 
 up around your table ; and I, — why I shall be
 
 story of a urn, 179f 
 
 a lonely thin"' ; shall roam loose on the wide 
 world with a lack-lustre eye; remind her, in 
 your bliss, remind her of this : — I will not part 
 from you in hate. — Farewell," he said, but 
 lingered still ; then, coming closer again, in the 
 hoarse whisper of a breaking heart, he added, 
 " I say, young Englishman, make her happy ; 
 be sure you make her happy ; — happy ; make 
 her happy." 
 
 Thus as he spoke, he turned, and fled rapidly 
 away. 
 
 I had no power to pursue. That manly form ; 
 that face of manly beauty; that warrior-eye 
 tear dimmed ; and the sable hair that lay pro- 
 fuse on his pale cheek. I can see them even 
 now; I have never forgotten a word of that 
 strange interview. 
 
 It was in vain I tried to sleep ; I rose with the 
 grey dawn — I knew not where he lodged, and 
 it was long ere I found his hotel ; his servants 
 were busied in strapping on trunks to his caleche, 
 I asked hastily for their lord : he had already 
 left the city three hours, they said ; had started 
 during the night on horseback, and alone. 
 n 2
 
 180 STORY OF A LIFE. 
 
 I waited impatiently for the hour when I 
 might have an interview with Julie. I was 
 quite happy in the thought that I had it in my 
 power to make known, for the noble Spaniard, 
 the deep devotion of his silent love. I pictured to 
 myself her pride — delight ; the joy with which 
 she would give to such a man her hand and 
 heart. 
 
 At length the moment came ; I was admitted 
 to her boudoir ; I found her robed en negligee, 
 all elegance ; a parrot perched upon her wrist, 
 picked sugar from her finger; a small Dutch 
 pug sat on the satin cushion by her side look- 
 ing up at her. I intreated her to put down the 
 bird, as I had something very interesting to im- 
 part ; she did so with a kind of playful obedi- 
 ence ; and all her features brightened with 
 expectation. My heart was warmed — my 
 tongue eloquent — I told the tale burningly — 
 I closed. She burst into a fit of laughter, loud, 
 unrestrained laughter. "And was that all? — 
 The poor man ! — and so he was gone to die. 
 — Was that it?— Oh ! to die, to be sure. — It 
 would be nothing if he did not kill himself, —
 
 STORY OF A LIFE. 181 
 
 Oh ! it was quite charming — too diverting — 
 she never had been so amused — it was quite im- 
 possible to avoid — ha ha ha !" It burst forth 
 again, that devilish laughter, and was echoed to 
 by the sharp bark of her pug, and the scream 
 of her parrot. 
 
 I left the boudoir — the house — the very 
 town ; took a cottage a mile away from it ; suf- 
 fered no woman near me, save with the wrinkled 
 aspect of a crone or witch ; read every author 
 that abused the fair sex, and fancied myself a 
 settled hater of them all. 
 
 A few friends I, from time to time, admitted, 
 that we might drink deep, and rail against the 
 sex. Some laughed at, and encouraged me in 
 this feeling, as a sort of humourous eccentricity : 
 others, thought me half a barbaria>j ; but one 
 stern old military man who had greater 
 plainness than his compatriots, could love with- 
 out caressing you, and esteem you without 
 saying so — one, who had scarcely ever noticed 
 me while I fluttered among the other insects of 
 society — now became my constant visitor, ami 
 N 3
 
 182 STORY OF A LIFE. 
 
 so infected me with his own contempt of the 
 world, that I, as worthless a thing as was crawl- 
 ing on it, took up the strain, and became a 
 soi-disant misanthrope. But the heart, — how 
 often, how continually was its aching throb 
 contradicting the cold and bitter language of 
 the lip. I panted to love, and be beloved 
 again ; the very miseries of love seemed to me 
 to be the welcomed and privileged dwellers in a 
 manly heart. 
 
 I looked around the world ; there was no eye 
 save Agatha's, to answer my fond gaze, and 
 her's, alas ! never might reply to it as my heart 
 desired. Yet, could I see her once again; 
 once more listen to her voice; what ecstasy 
 were even that ! Yes, if I could, I would go, 
 and wander seeking till I found her. I would 
 enter the chapel of every convent in Italy ; — 
 somewhere I should recognise that voice — that 
 tone never to be forgotten ; and if she cruelly 
 refused my prayer ; if she proved so resolutely 
 unkind as to deny me even one meeting at the 
 convent grate ; still I might haunt the spot btl
 
 STORY OF A LIFE. 183 
 
 presence hallowed ; live from day [to day, fed 
 to my heart's soothing, with the melody of her 
 matin hymnings. 
 
 It was at this time, with my mind thus again 
 dwelling constantly on her image, that I first 
 bethought me of the possibility of obtaining my 
 liberty : but how ? my parole — break that ; 
 better die a prisoner ; — and, if I gained my 
 freedom, whither, in duty, honour, and love of 
 the sacred ties of blood and kindred ought I first, 
 and instantly to fly ? — What a changed, humble 
 being I should return to my father's home ; 
 how could I walk about again, amid the stately 
 comeliness of the still forest, and feign a con- 
 tent which I should no longer feel ? 
 
 Never, as yet, had I touched upon the precious 
 case of jewels ; — the thought of it came across 
 me pleasingly. It was like the lamp of Eastern 
 fable — the offered wing of the insane mechanic. 
 Already I seemed to wave the pinion, and 
 forgot the lake all black, fathomless beneath. 
 What minister of evil stood ready with the 
 thought, poor and mean in conception, criminal 
 and base in execution, and that was followed 
 n 4
 
 184 STORY OF A LIFE. 
 
 long and often, by cursing judgments ? I know 
 not; — but it came, and this it was ; to cast away 
 all tie with the controlling world ; to give up 
 family, home, country ; to cast away the very 
 name given me at my birth ; to live alone ; to 
 wander, settle, love, depart, responsible to no 
 one ; and oh ! the wretched sophistry of a de- 
 ceitful heart, I was still to love — yes, consciously 
 to love ! the parents, who begot — the sister who 
 grew with me, the friends who had smiled upon 
 me — the forest haunts where I had laughed 
 and played in early boyhood ; from afar, like 
 some wandering spirit, I was to watch, and 
 hold unseen communion with a home for ever 
 quitted. The more I thought of this vile plan, 
 the stronger seemed its wild attraction. 
 
 The ragged, beaten boy may fly the threshold 
 of a cruel father, whom he knows and feels 
 but as an exacting task-master, hard and unkind. 
 The man of delicate nerves and quiet loving 
 tastes may fly the uncongenial bitterness of those 
 unhappy minds, which never seek, and cannot 
 know repose. But I who could consort with 
 tender parents, tender friends, all gentle
 
 STOUY OF A LIFE. IS 5 
 
 spirits, who always kissed the rod of God's good 
 government, and found it therefore no whip of 
 scorpions, but a wand of healing virtue, — I, to 
 meditate such a deed ! As I look back I shud- 
 der. Would I had only meditated. Forthwith 
 I revolved the surest mode of accomplishing my 
 purpose. It occurred to me that Venice would 
 be the most likely place for me to dispose of 
 my jewels with secresy and safety. I had am- 
 ple funds for my journey thither ; and, provid- 
 ing myself with a false passport under the name 
 of Alvarez, a merchant from Spanish America, 
 I took my measures so well, that I doubt not 
 I was already in Savoy, before my absence from 
 the little maison de campagne in which I was 
 in the common habit of secluding myself for 
 days together, was discovered. And here 
 my reader will ask, and I look back, and 
 ask myself — Was it possible that after 
 such an act I could ever enjoy one hour 
 of existence ? ever taste of peace ? or admit one 
 feeling of delight ? — So strangely constituted 
 was my mind, that my hours of bitterness and 
 shame, of sorrow and suffering, though many,
 
 1 86 STORY OF A LIFE. 
 
 were not unfrequently throughout my after life, 
 checquered by others of a joy, which, though 
 tasted by a guilty thing, I can yet look back 
 upon as pure. 
 
 Air and light, wood and water, were not 
 cursed to me. They never are to the veriest 
 wretch that lives. The hot brow is cooled ; the 
 lonely path is cheered ; the cold hand is warmed ; 
 the thirsting lip is moistened ; and all men — 
 sleep. 
 
 They were new, and they were glorious, the 
 sensations of delight, with which I traversed 
 the romantic wilds, and vallies of Savoy, — the 
 Alp! ah! it is elevating to look up at it; to 
 see the pure snow on its untrodden summit; to 
 see the patches of green pasturage, won from its 
 craggy side ; to see those large dark coverts of 
 the wild wood of nature's planting, which con- 
 ceal, or soften its stony surface; to see the 
 rivers that run at its foot — here, narrow, deep, 
 and blue — there, broad and shallow, sparkling 
 in mimic waves, or breaking, white with foam.
 
 STORY OF A LIFE. 187 
 
 and brawling loud in solitary places. These 
 sights are mercies; these scenes are a kind of 
 heaven on earth — on earth. For, fallen spirits 
 may, and do walk among them, and gaze on 
 them with loving tears, and let their evil 
 passions sleep. 
 
 It was at a village in the Maurienne, where 
 I stopped to refresh, that I witnessed a scene, 
 and received an impression, both of which live 
 fresh and cherished in my memory. In the 
 room where I sate, the window faced, at right 
 angles, another in the same auberge, which 
 looked more directly on the narrow street. The 
 population of that valley are poor and misera- 
 ble, alike in their appearance and their circum- 
 stances ; and, among them, are many objects, 
 yet lower in the scale of human misery, so that 
 the looking down to compare lots gives even 
 these poorest of peasants contentment. These 
 poor unfortunates are of two kinds. Sure it is 
 some curse on them, like that which we have 
 seen to visit the children's children of heaven's 
 chosen, but offending race. But I proceed. 
 Some of llicsc pour creatures are called Goitres:
 
 188 STORY OF A LIFE. 
 
 a huge unsightly wen, swelling to a monstrous 
 size, stands out, or hangs from their encumbered 
 neck ; a complexion of coarse, unwholesome 
 red, a heavy look, and the slow, and sluggish 
 gait of burthened, hopeless misery mark these, 
 and give to them the name and aspect of a 
 race apart. Others there are of sadder form 
 and aspect; these are of dwarfish, stunted 
 growth ; but the head is hideously large, and the 
 face broad ; a glazed and tightened skin, having 
 the sickly yellow hue of some unwholesome 
 swelling, spreads over it. The eye is large, 
 staring and glassy, with a dull, dead, jaundiced 
 white ; and the look is that wondering and 
 wandering which mark the idiot. My heart 
 did sink within me as I gazed on these sad 
 objects, and my bold mind dared ask, Oh ! 
 wherefore, wherefore are they thus ? — They ask 
 the passing traveller for alms, and many a one 
 turns from them digustedly — some give the 
 open spurning ; some (not men themselves), the 
 blow, and they shrink back with the subdued 
 look and the low cowering of the beaten hound. 
 Ladies too, fair sonnet-reading ladies, feel for
 
 STORY OF A LIFE. 189 
 
 the perfumed handkerchief, or trinket-vinai- 
 grette, and turn away the head from them. 
 
 I was pondering these things in idle wayward 
 mood, when I observed a young and gentle 
 female approach the window of the inn, and 
 extend her hand with alms to a poor cretin^ 
 who lay basking under a sunny wall opposite, 
 and who rose at her motion, and went over to 
 receive them. She dropped a piece of silver, 
 but so slowly, into his tattered hat, that I could 
 plainly see the pity moistening her eye was 
 busy in her heart. The poor cretin fell upon 
 his knees and gave an idiot laugh, and there 
 was an unusual light in his dull eye. Still she 
 continued to look on him with a sad and pitying 
 kindness, and she was questioning thejille pay- 
 sanne of the rustic aube?'ge, who stood bright 
 and cheerful by her side, informing her, as 
 she evidently questioned her, about the poor 
 wretch below. Yes, incomparable angel L then 
 I knew thee not. Little I marked thy comeli- 
 ness, for the moral charm did shine so brightly 
 in thy piteous looks, that I did think of heaven, 
 not earth, as I then gazed on thee.
 
 190 STORY OF A LIFE, 
 
 In two or throe minutes she left the window, 
 but the cretin remained with his eyes fixed on 
 the apartment, not beggingly, but wonderingly. 
 Presently his eye fell upon the carriage stand- 
 ing near the door, without horses. Next he 
 went round to the stable, then back, and 
 away with a quick step, and a light look. The 
 party, consisting of an elderly gentleman much 
 wrapped up, and apparently in feeble health, 
 a lady of like age, and this interesting girl, 
 came out, to enter their carriage, just as the 
 breathless cretin returned. He had a nosegay 
 of wild flowers in his hand, and in a small open 
 box of pasteboard a few stones, that sparkled, 
 picked probably from some brook, or grot in the 
 neighbourhood. He ran, and held them up to 
 his benefactress. She took the nosegay with a 
 kind smile. Still, as the coach was starting, he 
 held up his little treasure of shining pebbles 
 and spars, as the more costly offering of his 
 gratitude, with eager, unintelligible utterings. 
 But, when the wheels were fairly in motion, and 
 passed him by, and left him with his rejected 
 gift standing in the way alone, he threw down
 
 STORY OF A LIFE. 191 
 
 his stones in the mud, and shook his large head, 
 and sunk into the same dull, sickly look as ever. 
 Poor wretch ! he felt an angel nature near 
 him, and would have worshipped. Go, sad 
 child, go play with the dancing sun-beam 
 in the glittering brooks ; pluck the wild thyme ; 
 catch the loud grasshopper; and make music 
 with the harsh cow-horn. Thy knowledge and 
 thy tastes are nearer ours, than ours to those 
 of the lowest of created intelligences, that flit 
 invisibly around us. Thy heart less evil perhaps 
 than the very best, and most considered among 
 us all. Poor creature ! you cross the path of 
 some cold being who travels in search of plea- 
 sure, and, as he can find in you nothing to give 
 a light sensation to his heartless bosom, he 
 takes forth his perishable tablets, and notes 
 you down, an object horrible, a reality disgust- 
 ing. What tricks men play before high heaven ! 
 But I check me here; whom can I, whom 
 dare I to judge? I, a self-exiled wanderer, 
 forgetting, giving up home and home's love 7 
 leaving them to mourn and wonder for a last 
 and only son, lost to his parent's arms.
 
 192 STORY OF A LIFE. 
 
 At leaving Chamberry, for the better enjoying 
 the scenery of the route, I had begun to travel 
 on horseback, and continued so to journey till 
 I reached Turin. 
 
 It was a dull afternoon, when I quitted the 
 hamlet of Lanslebourg to ascend Mont Cenis, in* 
 tending to sleep, that night, at the hospice on the 
 mountain's top where I calculated I should arrive 
 about the set of sun. It was a long, winding as- 
 cent, steep, narrow, and stony ; and a great part 
 of it lay among forests of the black and lofty pine. 
 I had scarcely made a third of my way up when 
 the sky became like a vast funeral pall ; like it 
 too with a fringing of shining white ; a white, 
 cloudy, sun-lighted edge. For a while all was 
 still ; and then awoke the winds — blew strong, 
 and with a growing fierceness. Every object, 
 as I looked around, foretold a storm ; such a 
 one as desolates on land. The cloking traveller ; 
 the horse with arched neck, and ears erect, and 
 streaming mane, suspicious and affrighted ; 
 the goat down-leaping from his pinnacled and 
 craggy play-places ; the scarf of the hooded 
 peasant woman out-blown; the long grass
 
 STORY OF A LIFE. 193 
 
 wild waving; the rustic of foliage ; the bending 
 of branches, and even the strong stateliness of 
 the pine trembling ; all spoke warnings to the 
 eye and ear. Nor slept the thunder long ; — it 
 broke upon an awful pause in the rude gusts — 
 broke loudly — fearfully, as if the pillared frame 
 of heaven would fail. From the black sky's hor- 
 rid rifts burst the dread lightning; now white 
 and sheeted, of most blinding brightness; now 
 blue and arrowy, the suddenest dart of angry 
 death ; and rain, deluging rain descended, and 
 the rushing blast drove it in slanting torrents ; 
 and tall trees brake their stiff crowns, or were 
 uprooted, and laid flat on the wet earth. It raged 
 long and furiously. I had early dismounted, 
 and my horse had broke away in terror. I had 
 leaned against the hugest pine long ere any fell ; 
 but the vivid lightning struck, and cleft, and 
 blasted it, leaving me terrified, despised, pitied, 
 and unharmed near the ruined trunk of it. I 
 ran to where one solitary projecting crag offered 
 a shelter, but though it covered me, yet the 
 mighty superincumbent mass seemed, all the 
 while, to frown and menace me. I could not 
 VOL. i. o
 
 194 STORY OF A* LIFE. 
 
 remain beneath it, but ran out to a naked, bar- 
 ren, stony spot, and sate me crouching down 
 till the storm should spend its fury. I had 
 snatches, as it were, of a deep, sublime, and 
 trembling, awful delight, at the dread magnifi- 
 cence of this strife of nature, but the predomi- 
 nant feeling was terror — such as mid the yawn- 
 ing waves, and upon the quaking earth, I had 
 known already. Ye gazers on a storm from the 
 closed casements of the fire-warmed study, come, 
 and abide its pitiless pelting. Poets, and men 
 of science, come to the scathed pine in the 
 Alpine forest, and tremble as I have done. 
 
 Gradually the violence of the storm abated-; 
 but the whole night passed so foul and stormy, 
 that I could not even stir. Towards morning the 
 rain ceased, and the wind fell away, and there 
 was a calm. In the still gray dawn, I found 
 my horse standing, not far away, with droop- 
 ing head, and hind legs bent under him, and 
 •broken bridle ; and on again I toiled, driving 
 him before me. It was bitter cold, and the jewel 
 case, which was very small, and which I carried 
 about my person for safety, struck chill upon
 
 STORY OF A LIFE. 195 
 
 my bosom. It seemed a load too — a heavy 
 guilty load ; but the die was already cast ; I 
 would not throw it from me. At length I reached 
 the Hospice, and was dried, and warmed, and 
 fed ; and slept through the long day, and on 
 again through a refreshing night ; and, when the 
 sun was high, and shone brightly on the snows> 
 and beamed on the blue lake that mirrors back 
 the high, encircling peaks around, I again set 
 forward. Down to the base of Cenis, amid 
 those sounds and sights the traveller loves, I ra- 
 pidly descended; falling waters made voices to 
 my ear ; all things looked fresh and green ; the 
 tree, the bush, the plant, the blade of grass 
 were glistening as they dried their wholesome 
 tears ; birds sung, and every passing muleteer 
 was carolling for joy. And thus I entered Italy ; 
 and, traversing little mountain valleys, among 
 wood-fringed hills, with spires of rock, with 
 castle too, and monastery placed boldly on their 
 lofty jagged tops, I journeyed gaily on; till, 
 from an opening, commanding point, I looked 
 ikr out upon sunny plains, pleasant with green 
 fields, and shining rivers, with herds and 
 o 2
 
 196 STORY OF A LIFE. 
 
 flocks far seen in quiet motion, and, amidst 
 these scenes so fair — life, human life — the city, 
 spreading white, and towering high, and small 
 brown hamlets scattered near groves and spark- 
 ling streamlets. Surely such a sight may inno- 
 cently gladden. It is very sweet to rest on a 
 lone, lofty spot, and look down upon a place of 
 habitations : we feel, or fancy that we love the 
 unknown inmates — but love will never work its 
 neighbour ill ; yet down we go, and chase away 
 their happiness and peace and innocence, with 
 wants and wars and every guilty appetite that 
 passion prompts. I too did this — went, revelled 
 where the smiler wooed, fresh from the storm 
 that shook me with its terrors, and drenched me 
 shivering cold. I basked me in heaven's sun, 
 and, like the serpent at the woodman's fire, was 
 ready with my restless sting to pierce the pity- 
 ing hand that chafed my frozen form, and 
 warmed me back to life. 
 
 I made but a short delay in fair Turin, or 
 wealthier Milan, but hastened on to Venice, the 
 place whither I was hurrying to seal my misera- 
 ble fate by an act of wicked wilfulness ; where
 
 STORY OF A LIFE. 197 
 
 I was to purchase the guilty freedom of a lone, 
 wandering life; a state of existence that was 
 " exclusion from mankind." 
 
 Immediately on my arrival, I contrived, with 
 some art and address, (for with the possession 
 of wealth, I had already learned these noble 
 ways), so to offer my jewels for sale, that two or 
 more of the most considerable merchants should 
 become secret, yet rival bidders for the pur- 
 chase of them. Thus learned I, almost trem- 
 blingly, that their value was at the lowest two 
 hundred thousand gold sequins of Venice — a 
 sum that promised affluence for life. I sold 
 them, and lodged the proceeds in a way so 
 safely and secretly, that, be where I might, 
 thenceforth to my order, and only mine, could 
 any payment be made, we agreeing on a par- 
 ticular form, and a private mark to every bill. 
 Such secret arrangements were very common 
 once in Venice, and the merchant of that city 
 could, even in her latter day, give to the monied 
 stranger bills on correspondents scattered all 
 over the globe. Behold me, then, wealthy and 
 alone ; free to will and to do : to desire and to 
 o 3
 
 198 STORY OE A LIFE. 
 
 enjoy: — and all this, too, in Venice, a vast 
 palace for pleasures and fairy revels ; — among 
 sirens, too, whose very tones are like the " sweet 
 and swan-like voice of dying pleasure,' , whose 
 dark bright eyes look out from the white 
 faldettas dazzlingly ; — amid scenes, too, where 
 no rude sounds invade, where you are borne 
 about with little of toil to any one — for light is 
 the labour of the gondolier. Gentle, and -fast 
 his oar dips in the smooth water path ; and, as 
 you recline and look around, no cursing 
 drivers, or flogged and staggering cattle are 
 heard or seen in the still city. 
 
 " Venice was made for smiles. For a few 
 days I must I will be happy — let me begin to- 
 day. How beautiful, how very beautiful all 
 things look ! Why, the very water seems painted! 
 Palace and temple, and slow-waving flags, and 
 idle crowds, and coloured garbs, all mirrored 
 clearly on the glassy surface !" Thus exclaim- 
 ing, I gazed, transported, around me, and lightly 
 and swiftly we skimmed along the grand canal ; 
 and now, quitting it, we came out into those 
 wider waters that spread before the small
 
 STORY OF A LIFE. 199 
 
 square or quay of St, Mark, where, on a lofty 
 ancient trophy column, the winged lion walks 
 in bronzed pride — walks as in act to fly. Near 
 this place stands the ducal palace, with its 
 crowded arches; its two grandly ornamented 
 central windows, with canopies of stone, figures 
 and bas-reliefs below ; its roof, all bordered 
 with a rich and pointed fret-work. Guards 
 sauntered beneath ; nobles stood in the balco- 
 nies ; Vast numbers of gondolas were gathered 
 round the quay, and several open barks, with 
 men and women of the lower classes rapidly 
 filling them ; while, farther out from the shore 
 there lay some boats of strange, fantastic forms, 
 with prows, and prow-like sterns, high curving, 
 and Carved with ornaments ; the one all shells ; 
 the other flowers ; another again fruits ; and 
 richly gilded all, with silken flags, and gay dress- 
 ed rowers, and music in them, and songs, and 
 all the happy noises of a holiday. 
 
 As we came near to the quay, while pausing 
 
 for our turn to get in towards the landing-place 
 
 at the marble steps, the Gondolier said " The 
 
 Senhor is lucky in arriving at this season . It 
 
 o 4
 
 200 STORY OF A LIFE. 
 
 is a regatta to-day ; a fine thing for the Senhor 
 to see. After the high mass all Venice will be 
 on the water — the Doge, and the nobles, and 
 all the fair damas. If the Senhor will but 
 just step up into St. Mark's he will hear the 
 high mass, and I will go up with him, or wait for 
 him on the quay ; — my comrade will stay with 
 the gondola." 
 
 " Thanks, friend, I will go, but alone : but 
 tell me what is that little high screened bridge 
 between the walls of the Doge's palace, and 
 those of the fine building next to it?" 
 
 " Oh, that, — it is the Bridge of Sighs." 
 
 "The what?" 
 
 " The Bridge of Sighs." 
 
 "What! are there any sighs in Venice?" 
 
 " Aye, Senhor, and tears too ;" and then he 
 sung again his merry air, and broke off to bid 
 me look at a passing bark, where a fat monk was 
 shaking with laughter at a clown and a harle- 
 quin, who were playing off their tricks and 
 antics in the same boat. 
 
 " But the bridge, my friend ; why do they call 
 it the Bridge of Sighs ?"
 
 STORY OF A LIFE. 201 
 
 " Why, because that great building is the 
 prison ; and it is in the palace all prisoners are 
 judged ; and in those dungeons they suffer ; and, 
 as they must pass that bridge, 'tis thought they 
 sigh as they look out upon our pleasant city. 
 This is as 1 have heard, Senhor; but, in truth, 
 they might as well call that broad and public 
 one below another bridge of sighs, for there is 
 many a breast leans on it, for hours together, 
 that has a broken heart bleeding within, as the 
 eye looks up to the one above; but then you 
 know, Senhor, one can't see any one through a 
 stone blind, so it is but making one's self unhappy 
 for nothing;" — and again he cheerily sung, 
 and, making in between the crowded boats, he 
 brought me close to the landing-place. I got 
 out, and walked into the noble square of St. 
 Mark, and looked at the proud cupolas, and 
 glittering mosaics, and at the very large and 
 superb standards of the republic which, now 
 slowly out-floating, now heavily down-flapping 
 with their weight, hung on tall red crowned 
 masts in front of the great church. 
 
 The square was thronged with gay dresses,
 
 202 STOTvY OF A LIFE. 
 
 and cheerful faces ; and, though the thought of 
 the Bridge of Sighs came up, like a little vision 
 of clouds and sorrow to the mind's eye, I 
 dismissed it, and looked at all about me with 
 joy, or something very like it. 
 
 All the pleasures which wealth could com- 
 mand, to gild or cheat the passing hour, would 
 now surely be mine, for I was rich ; that very 
 morning I had seen my banker's treasury, the 
 bags of money, the ingots, the jewels, theheaps of 
 glittering coins. I grew avaricious as I looked 
 on them ; but I hugged myself in the mean 
 thought that I was wealthy too. As I passed 
 along the arcade, I saw disposed on a wall some 
 prints. I was attracted by a fine one, coloured, 
 of a Hebe, all radiant with bright looks and 
 blooming cheeks, and the lightning-clutching 
 eagle all fiery-eyed and fiercely tame, feeding 
 from her fair hand. I stopped to examine it ; 
 but my eye was instantly rivetted, as if by 
 fascination, on another that hung just below it. 
 
 This last was a Dutch engraving; there sate two 
 misers in furry caps and thread-bare robes, with 
 spectacles on nose, and money-scales in their
 
 STORY OF A LIFE. 203 
 
 trembling fingers, and the table between them 
 was loaden with treasure ; here, loosely heaped, 
 there, tied up and sealed in short, thick, heavy- 
 looking bags, — gold — all gold ; and the old men 
 were fingering it, and looking on it with the 
 cold, hard, cruelly exulting smile of avarice: 
 but above, at a little window, high in the wall, 
 looking in on them and on their pastime, was 
 another figure — Death, with his fleshless jaws, 
 and changeless grin ; and he thrust forth the 
 long bony arm of his dread anatomy, grasping 
 an hour glass, with the sand fast falling, nearly 
 gone ; and a scroll curled out from it, and you 
 could just read thereon the words, " Thou fool, 
 this night." I turned away — felt like that king 
 fabled by our mighty moralist, who had dared for 
 ten days to say, " To morrow I will be happy." 
 I slowly paced back my thoughtful path, mid 
 crowds of thoughtless laughers, to my gondola ; 
 I sat under my coffin-canopy a dull-eyed gazer. 
 The waving kerchiefs, and the encouraging cries, 
 and the loud signal sounds that, on all high fes- 
 tivals, mimic the voice of war, as if to mock his
 
 204 STORY Or A LIFE. 
 
 distant terrors ; — I heard and saw them all, but 
 little heeding. 
 
 I found a table awaiting me, at my return, 
 covered with delicacies, and the choicest wines 
 were sparkling in crystal vases. I sickened at 
 the sight ; a something tasteless I ate ; a 
 something strong I drank ; — but I was alone. 
 
 I looked out from the casement, and saw two 
 beggar-brats at play ; and the ragged father sat 
 sunning under the wall, and laughing at them 
 with a parent's pleasure ; and there was a gray 
 old man in rags, smiling at what that father 
 said; and I could plainly judge, from features, that 
 three generations, all rags and cheerfulness, were 
 below me there. Ah ! then how my heart smote 
 me; — alone — I had sealed my own fate — even 
 so —had sold myself to solitude — sold away my 
 parentage of heart, as well as name and blood 
 and country. Sold all this ! and for what ? 
 "This night, thou fool." For what? — the 
 tasteless banquet, and the aching heart. Aga- 
 tha;— that way, indeed, some hope lay; pillowed 
 on her bosom I could be — I was sure I could
 
 STORY OF A LIFE. 205 
 
 be — happy. I would hunt, and find, and wed 
 her; — but here she was not : and at the mo- 
 ment, my thoughts could find no rest ; the very 
 menials would laugh contemptuously at the 
 solitary board — the chaste bed —the wine cup 
 which none other pledged. 
 
 The remembered things, too, — the storm — 
 the dream — the earthquake — the sale of my- 
 self — the sinful hoard — and, the last spur to my 
 poor mean soul, the engraving with its gaunt 
 and threatening mocker, " Thou fool, this 
 night." It was too much for me to bear. Where 
 did I go for comfort? — I remember well my 
 loud wild cry. Strange, that through, my life 
 such scenes as have impressed me remain ! — the 
 very looks, the words, the dialogues, the breaks, 
 the order of them, and the manner of the speak- 
 ers, as when I spoke and saw, and listened. 
 
 "What ho !" — My new and ready slave came 
 cringing up. "Pleasures, friend, I want plea- 
 sures ; — see that I have them abundantly. I 
 shall not stay long in your city, and must taste 
 the sweets of it. Bid the gondola go wait at 
 the stairs of the great theatre, and give me my
 
 206 STORY OF A LIFE. 
 
 cloak and sword ; I shall walk thither alone. 
 Look to my orders ; — pleasures." So speaking, 
 I remember well, I wrapped my cloak around 
 me, and, threading narrow lanes and crossing 
 marble bridges, pursued my way with that 
 hasty dissatisfaction which is still not incon- 
 sistent with an eager expectation of finding some 
 light diversion, to drive away our angry temper 
 and low spirits. 
 
 It was in the last long lane* which leads td 
 the opera house, and which, at the moment, 
 was nearly empty, that I was asked for alms. 
 The beggar was a woman very thinly clad, with 
 a limping gait, and a wan, cold, suffering look. 
 With a wild earnestness, she asked thus, "It is 
 for more besides me ; others at home, who are 
 sick and starving. For the love of the most holy 
 virgin, Senhor, your charity ." The rich wear no 
 purses* My box already taken, I had no money 
 on my person. Return a mile? — Impossible; 
 besides it might be- — very likely was — all an 
 imposition, a trumped-up tale of woe. The whis- 
 pering eagerness of her first petition changed to 
 a piercing articulate beseeching, in the cry tha.
 
 STORY OF A LIFE. 207 
 
 followed me. I did not like it ; I felt a some- 
 thing in my bosom between the warmth of pity, 
 and the coldness of incredulity ; but indolence 
 gave its full weight to the latter feeling, and I 
 walked on with escaping speed to — the theatre. 
 
 The curtain rose : nothing could be more 
 joyously brilliant than the music. The opera 
 was all of serenading, and stolen meetings, and 
 duped guardians, and cheerful love-making. 
 The prima donna was a sparkling stage beauty, 
 practising every lure that innocence does not 
 know. There was a ballet too after it ; all arm- 
 entwining and graceful bendings; and the sway, 
 the pretty sway of that fly-away-follow-me sort 
 of tripping ; and the amorous glances and the 
 close embrace; and garlands and shawls held up 
 by snowy arms in fanciful festoons ; and lively 
 airs throughout the whole action of the ballet. 
 
 I sat lounging in my box, and gazed steadily 
 at the stage, and heard the music; but the 
 beggar's form was before me; her cry in my ear 
 the whole evening. The moment the curtain 
 fell, I went back with the slow step of shame, 
 but with an inward eagerness, to look for the un-
 
 208 STORY OF A LIFE. 
 
 fortunate. She was nowhere to be found. I 
 walked all about the city. It was a very chill, but 
 a clear night. I could not find her. I asked of 
 other beggars. "What? a lame, pale, poor- 
 looking woman?" — "Oh, there were many suck." 
 Still I walked on. A cloked cavalier, walking 
 by night in Venice, would not be guessed as on 
 an errand of mercy ; therefore I could not won- 
 der, though I swore at and spurned them, that 
 numbers of base men and old hood-wearing 
 hags should pluck me by the sleeve, and 
 bid me follow where loathing and reluctant 
 beauties lay waiting for the hated but fawned-on 
 purchaser. 
 
 I returned to my apartments harassed and 
 unhappy. I lay me down, and as I felt sleep 
 stealing on my eyelids, blessed, with a broken 
 thanksgiving, the coming mercy. 
 
 It was noon when I awoke : my slumbers had 
 been deep, dreamless, and refreshing. Although 
 the sun shone bright, yet there was a pleasant 
 air abroad that stirred and freshened all the 
 waters; like diamond cuttings on the finest glass,
 
 STORY OF A LIFE. 209 
 
 they gently rose, and the surface ruffled into 
 a sparkling beauty. It were difficult to look on 
 such a scene, and not to feel its gladdening in- 
 fluence. 
 
 I passed the whole day in my gondola. Tem- 
 ple, and palace, I visited with eager mind, 
 and gazed, and was beguiled. 
 
 The evening came ; the current of my blood 
 had flowed cheerfully all the day ; I partook of 
 my repast with appetite; a party of itinerant 
 musicians regaled me, as I sate, with sounds; 
 society it was ; for music, aye, the very simplest, 
 the very rudest, is society; brings up long trains 
 of images in faithful harmony ; if it makes you 
 sad, you feel that you are but sympathizing 
 with numbers — yes — if the air be old, and po- 
 pular, with coundess numbers — the living and 
 the dead — with him or her who first composed 
 or sung it ; with the very being, on whose real 
 sorrow a fine imagination dwelling, first breathed 
 forth the melody — and last, with all soft yield- 
 ing listeners, willing to lend themselves to in- 
 nocent illusion ; if again the strain be glad, 
 and joyous, in like manner with thousands are 
 
 VOL. i. p
 
 210 STORY OF A LIFE. 
 
 you rejoicing, and your mind's eye is looking 
 out on all the happy, among your fellow men, 
 with smiles. At night I again attended the 
 Opera ; again I passed through the recollected 
 lane, but looked around in vain, for the figure 
 I would have seen ; however, I felt consoled by 
 the thought, that I did, in heart, most earnestly 
 desire again to meet her, and that, when I did 
 so, 1 would bountifully assist her. 
 
 The theatre was brilliantly lighted up in 
 every part, for it was again the evening of a fes- 
 tival, and all the company were now in masks ; 
 not a syllable could you hear of the perform- 
 ance, except, when, for some very favourite 
 air, there was a momentary hush ; immediately 
 after, all again was the happy buzzing of a de- 
 lighted crowd, like that of gathering bees on 
 some rich, exhaustless bed of honey-giving flow- 
 ers. — Well ; I could not but feel pleasure. The 
 masks rambled to all parts of the house. The 
 doors of those boxes, where some of the more 
 noble and known patrons sate to receive them,, 
 were opening and shutting every minute, to 
 admit new, or exclude departing visitors. My
 
 STORY OF A LIFE. 211 
 
 own, where I thought to have been alone, was 
 soon filled from curiosity ; visitors came and dis- 
 appeared in quick succession. I retired, and 
 returned again in a domino and mask. There 
 was no great variety of dress or character — very 
 little attempt at sustaining parts ; one or two 
 ran about full of comedy and frolic, in the dress 
 of Venetian clowns; but for the rest, Turks, 
 Jews, Shepherds, Shepherdesses, and a few 
 in the rich old costumes of Spain and Italy, 
 wandered about talking with much life and ani- 
 mation ; a few, perhaps, joking with each other 
 in feigned voices, but the many in their own. 
 To me, however, the scene had all the charms 
 of novelty, and I looked on as forgetful of self 
 and sorrow, for the moment, as I could desire. 
 It was a new form, in which to study the won- 
 derful, and expressive beauty of the human 
 countenance. Never does the mouth of woman 
 appear to such enchanting advantage, as when 
 it plays, with every variety of expression, be- 
 neath the black, mysterious mask ; the ruby 
 lip, and the pearly treasure, and the wreathed 
 dimples, and the little soft white roundod chin; 
 p 2
 
 212 STORY OF A LIFE. 
 
 these certainly are charming features, seen never 
 in so great perfection, as when they laugh be- 
 low in contrast with the black mask above- 
 Many were the playful questionings I had to 
 parry ; at last one female mask invited me to 
 quit my seat, and led me, all carelessly submis- 
 sive to her guidance, to many of the gayest 
 boxes. — In one I could not but remark she 
 affected a kind of intimacy with me, which was 
 designed to provoke the jealousy of some anx- 
 ious lover. He was readily betrayed, even to 
 me a stranger; his attempts to disguise his 
 voice all failed him ; his assumed character fell, 
 and the love-despising lordly Turk faltered 
 from his swelling tones into the sighing slave. 
 She left the box with triumphing smiles upon 
 her pretty lip, and whispering to me to conduct 
 her to her gondola, implied her syren invita- 
 tion. 
 
 Already was I in the very act of entering the 
 boat, when the recognized form, the wan pale 
 form of the beggar woman stood before us, and 
 asked alms. It was with a peevish heartless tone 
 that my fair companion bade her begone —
 
 STORY OF A LIFE. 213 
 
 sternly I frowned upon an act, which, after all, 
 was but a counterpart of mine, the night before. 
 Thus judge we of each other. My blood had been 
 warmed to libertine tumult; it froze upon the in- 
 stant — I held out my arm for her to step into her 
 gondola alone — bowed, and turned away — and 
 as I turned, I marked the lip, but late so soft and 
 wooing in its beauty, now bitten pale ; she did 
 not speak, but taking off her mask, displayed 
 a face, and smiled. The curling nostril, the 
 glowing cheek, the eye of lightning, and the 
 marble of her high forehead, all stained with 
 black and bursting veins, spoke the unuttera- 
 ble rage of woman scorned. I shrunk from her 
 awful, horrid beauty ; and felt as chill as though 
 that fabled head with serpent locks were gazing 
 me to stone. I turned, and taking out my purse, 
 gave it hastily to the astonished and grateful 
 beggar. The very tone of her thankfulness was 
 restoring, and rewarding ; — deep, sincere, 
 and wondering, she fell upon her knees, and 
 blessed the Virgin ; and she prayed (vain prayer) 
 that my life might be happy. 
 
 " Ah !" said a gondolier, as she rose up, and 
 p 3
 
 214 STORY OF A LIFE. 
 
 limped feebly away, "that's real charity — I re- 
 member the day, Senhor, when the first lord 
 in Venice would have given purse upon purse 
 for the smile of her." 
 
 " Why, who was she, friend ?'' 
 
 " The first dancer in all Italy, and used to 
 come sometimes for a season here, and I have 
 seen her many a time in this very theatre close 
 by ; ah ! many a time ; but she has been unlucky, 
 Senhor — she was away a long time, in some 
 foreign country ; and she came back here poor, 
 and a cripple, and they were good to her at 
 at first, some of them ; but she has lost her 
 best friend, that gave her a home, and made 
 those whom he knew give her charity, and 
 maintain her poor soul — and now she begs. 
 Whenever I have a good day of it on the canals, 
 and meet her, why I always give her a trifle, 
 and that's more than the gentry do, that ever I 
 saw, saving yourself, Senhor." 
 
 " Do you know where she lives ?" 
 
 " Yes, Senhor." 
 
 " Then be here with your gondola at noon
 
 STORY OF A LIFE. 215 
 
 I punctually kept my appointment; it was a 
 very still, hot day — in all the smaller canals, 
 where there were few boats passing to and fro, 
 and no current, the water was covered with 
 scum and filth, unsightly to look upon, and 
 breeding the most unwholesome sickly smells. 
 In one of the very narrowest, and most filthy, my 
 gondolier stopped before some broken wooden 
 steps, leading to a worn threshold, in a door- 
 less house, and called " Gianetta;" — a little 
 ragged child immediately echoed " Gianetta," 
 at the top of his shrill voice, but there was no 
 answer. We got out, and entered the poor 
 dwelling. In a small dark chamber, with pa- 
 per-mended lattice, opening to the opposite 
 wall in a narrow lane, we found Gianetta — 
 she was kneeling over a pan of charcoal, on 
 which was an earthen pot filled with soup, 
 which she was busied in simmering with a 
 wooden spoon. A yellow visaged, dying man 
 lay breathing loud, and with pain, on a straw 
 mat covered with a blanket ; on another, by 
 his side, a fine pale woman was sitting up, and 
 'nvinjr the loose hanging breast to a little infant 
 
 O O DO 
 
 p 4
 
 216 STORY OF A LIFE. 
 
 newly born, while three children, of tender 
 ages, stood near the fire, eying the steaming 
 broth, and one, the youngest, was eating a 
 piece of bread, and holding up a little broken 
 bit to the mouth of poor Gianetta, who was 
 shaking her head kindly, as we do at a babe we 
 love. This grouping our entrance disturbed ; 
 Gianetta rose, and then again would have 
 kneeled to repeat her thanks — I held her up 
 from this undue expression of her gratitude. 
 
 " Senhor," said she, " your bounty has saved 
 us all. I have already got other lodgings for 
 my poor sufferers, and when I have strength- 
 ened them with a little nourishment, they shall 
 be moved." 
 
 The speechless man looked at me with tearful 
 eyes, and the woman, who gave suck, hugged 
 her poor infant closer, and broke out into such 
 thanks as mothers give for children saved. 
 
 Warm blood came rushing all about my 
 heart. I felt a momentary, permitted joy. I 
 went to see the new hired abode, and engaged 
 a better still ; I sent for a doctor, and bade the 
 gondolier see that it was a kind one ; I staid
 
 STORY OF A LIFE. 217 
 
 and had them removed under my own eye; saw 
 them in clean, and wholesome chambers, and 
 in comfortable beds, and then returned home, 
 and took my lonely meal in quiet thankfulness. 
 When it was dark I went out into my balcony, 
 and sate looking on the stars, and, at times, down 
 on the dark, and mirror-like canals, which re- 
 flected, in their still depths, these distant pla- 
 nets, as if they too were lighted up below with 
 the same pale rays of gold, which softly shine 
 above us, and gem the dark sky when night is 
 black around. 
 
 Lost in deep musings many hours rolled by. 
 Fewer, and fewer, were the straying lights, 
 which flitting on the waters, and casting on 
 them flashing gleams, marked the late returning 
 gondolas — at last all was motionless and si- 
 lent. 
 
 Was it a phantasy of the o'erwrought brain? 
 No ; — dreams are to the dreamer realities ; such 
 was this waking dream, this vision of the night 
 to me. 
 
 She came — Agatha ! — in form, in loveli- 
 ness, in array, the same, the very same I had
 
 218 STORY OF A LIFE. 
 
 first seen her. She stood, tall, in a self-guided 
 bark. She gazed up at me, as it slowly glided 
 beneath, upon the black water. I heard again 
 the well remembered air, sung too by the voice 
 of Agatha, — but not this Agatha ; — these lips 
 were closed — this gaze was a fixed, a silent 
 gaze. — It ceased, that well-known, much loved 
 strain, and there was no longer bark, or Aga- 
 tha — a light sheet of. mild and lambent flame 
 shone where that boat had passed. — I looked 
 up eagerly to the heavens, and I saw a bright 
 star, very bright; it moved; beamed, for a 
 moment, with the lustre of a million gems ; 
 then shot adown the lighted sky, and vanished. 
 Instantly a damp chilliness siezed me, ran 
 through my frame, with swiftness, and struck 
 to my heart like the icy sceptre of death — and 
 a requiem, I heard a requiem distinctly, so- 
 lemn, and sad, and regular : — the deep low 
 tones of chanting priests, and the notes of 
 pity breathed sweet and mournfully by wo- 
 men. When at length the silence of the night 
 succeeded to these strange, bodiless voices, I 
 hurried to my couch, and placed a bright,
 
 STORY OF A LIFE. 219 
 
 ourning lamp on the marble bracket near, and 
 slept brokenly, and fitfully, till the welcome 
 dawn. 
 
 Agatha was dead — I could not doubt it_ — 
 she was in her ie cold grave withouten com- 
 pany." My love ! — My love ! 
 
 I paced my chamber desolately restless ; — the 
 day wore on ; — the sun of noon shone down; 
 its rays pierced every where, and illumined all 
 things. I could not close the shutters ; I could 
 not bear or solitude or darkness. I went forth 
 to visit the sufferers whom I had relieved. The 
 poor sickly man, and the lately delivered mother 
 lay sleeping. Their deep slumbers were such 
 as God comforts with, and certainly it was with 
 a secret satisfaction that I looked upon the soft 
 beds, and the white sheets, and the shading 
 curtains. The poor woman Gianetta sate in 
 the adjoining chamber at work, and the little 
 children were lying near her clean and quiet. 
 
 She was full of gratitude, and I availed 
 myself of her warmth to ask the circumstances, 
 which had thus reduced her ; saying, that I had 
 heard, not without extreme surprise, that she 
 had, in her day, been very celebrated through-
 
 220 STORY OF A LIFE. 
 
 out Italy as a leading dancer at the opera. She 
 frankly complied ; but yet, after promising her 
 entire confidence freely, she sighed, and re- 
 mained silent, for many minutes ; then she 
 looked at me quietly smiling through tears, 
 which were gathering, but which she dashed 
 resolutely away, and thus related her brief 
 history. 
 
 GianettcCs Tale, 
 " You have indeed, Senhor, been rightly in- 
 formed. A few years ago, 1 was well known, 
 as the first dancer at the grand opera at Naples, 
 and I have also appeared in many other large 
 cities with no small success. I was born, 
 Senhor, among the poor, the happy poor, lowly 
 in condition, but rich in the fewness of their 
 wants. My father was a Neapolitan peasant of 
 the better class, and was the considered owner 
 of a small farm, a vineyard, and a wine press, 
 on that pretty height, which rises just above 
 the small old town of Pozzuoli. Pozzuoli is 
 near Baise, Senhor, a very beautiful spot ; there
 
 STORY OF A LIFE, 221 
 
 is a little bay on either side of it, and there are 
 many ancient ruins near it. But Baise is a very 
 famous place, — all travellers know it, — you 
 have seen it perhaps." 
 
 " Never, but I have heard, and read of it." 
 u Well, Senhor, if ever you do visit it, you will 
 say that there are few scenes in the world more 
 lovely ; and, it was in that scene that I was born, 
 and on that scene my young eyes first looked, 
 and made acquaintance with this world. My 
 father, as I have said, was but a peasant : a fine, 
 handsome, happy looking man. My mother was 
 a Sicilian ; my father met and married her at 
 Messina, whither he went for a few months 
 one summer, in the service of his young lord ; 
 but, at the death of my grandfather, he gave 
 up his service, and took possession of the pater- 
 nal farm. My mother was of a very fair com- 
 plexion, and had very high joyous spirits ; 
 in all things I was said to resemble her very 
 strongly : our family was large ; I was the first 
 born, the pride, the pet. Of my earlier years I 
 retain no more particular recollection, than that 
 I was happy every day, and all day ; and that,
 
 222 
 
 STORY OF A LIFE. 
 
 on Sundays and saints' days I was as fine, as a 
 bright coloured boddice, and a silver crucifix, 
 and ribbons in my glossy hair, could make me ; 
 and that a kind and laughing mother dressed 
 me. I was pretty too — a very pretty child, and 
 had a sweet temper — no wonder — every body 
 smiled on me ; I never asked for anything that 
 it was not given, and with pattings on my cheek ; 
 never, therefore, had I any thing that I was not 
 ready to give. I was taught nothing but to read, 
 and to learn, by heart, the paternoster, and 
 some prayers, and hymns to our blessed Lady, 
 and the holy St. Januarias, and the Santa 
 Agatha of precious memory. Once a week all 
 the children were catechized in the cloister 
 of the church, just before vespers. The pastor 
 was a kind, silly old man, whom we all laughed 
 at, and were playfully fond of, and practised 
 our sportive tricks on — so I learned nothing. 
 
 " My whole time was passed in doing the 
 gentle biddings of my busy mother ; that is, in 
 following her about, and cheering rather than 
 helping her, as she set our little dwelling in 
 order, or gathered the vegetables for our light
 
 STORY OF A LIFE. 223 
 
 repasts ; or laced on her best boddice, and put 
 her long hair into a pink Sicilian net for the Sun- 
 day's mass ; — else I was abroad among others 
 of my age ; — if it were hot, sitting in the shade 
 of walls, or trees, and playing with bricks and 
 shells, and pebbles for our toys, or peeping into 
 our paper prison full of painted butterflies ; — 
 if it were the cool evening hour, I was leading 
 my little troop of playfellows, and dancing at 
 their head, to the noisy music of my Sicilian 
 tamborine, and tossing back the fine thick 
 tresses of my dark brown hair as they fell 
 over my laughing eyes. 
 
 "Not very far from our cottage, in a vineyard, 
 belonging to my father, stood the noble ruins 
 of an ancient Roman amphitheatre; and, below 
 it, again, the marble remains of an old temple of 
 Jupiter. Twell recollect my early, and timid ex- 
 plorings in the arched and echoing passages of 
 the amphitheatre, and among the columns of the 
 temple ; but, as soon as use had taken away 
 our fear, they were the favourite play places 
 of myself, and my young companions, and 
 there we might always be found.
 
 STORY OF A LIFE. 
 
 " I remember the very stones suggested to us 
 some of our prettiest games ; one in particular ; 
 there stood against a wall, a large fragment of 
 a fallen frieze with figures on it ; a Bacchante 
 dancing and playing on a timbrel, and several 
 following with Thyrsi, and a car with Bacchus 
 and Ariadne, and little children clustering 
 round it, with festoons of flowers, and forms in 
 drapery with lyres, and others with baskets of 
 fruit. 
 
 "Little I thought, when, as a blooming child, 
 with mimic pride, I strove to imitate the grace- 
 ful action of that player of the timbrel, and 
 gave my little playmates rods, w y ith vine leaves 
 tied about them, and to make garlands for our 
 sport gathered and strung all wild flowers that 
 I found ; little I thought, to what those cheerful 
 hours were leading. 
 
 " It was on the fine evening of a very hot 
 day, during the season of the vintage, just in 
 the rich, red glow of the sunset hour, that I led 
 my little troop of child-bacchanals, across the 
 vineyard, to the amphitheatre. 
 
 " My father, and other labourers, and the boys
 
 STORY OF A LTFE. 225. 
 
 were standing on ladders, gathering the grapes 
 from the loaded festoons, and they stopped to 
 gaze on us, and threw us clusters; and we ate of 
 them, and stained ourselves with their red juice, 
 and then danced on a^ain. 
 
 " That evening I remember there were two 
 strangers seated among the ruins. It was not 
 an unusual sight. We often saw gentlemen 
 and travellers there, and they always gave us the 
 good-tempered, laughing " viva" of encourage- 
 ment. We passed them, therefore, as we were 
 wont, with fearless smilings and a wilder danc- 
 ing. These strangers rose up, and called us to 
 them ; and one, a very old man, asked me many 
 questions of my name, and age, and parents, 
 and gave me a small silver coin. Then they 
 bade us go play again — we did ; but yet, I 
 remember, not exactly as before ; not so light- 
 heartedly ; not so naturally ; — no — I may 
 truly say that I never played again. 
 
 " The very next day that old gentleman, and 
 a fine lady of middle age, came to our cottage, 
 and spoke with my mother, and sent for me. The 
 lady greatly praised my beauty, and asked to 
 
 vol. i. o.
 
 226 STORY OF A LIFE. 
 
 see me dance, and play my tamborine. Sillily, 
 and blushingly, I trilled my noisy play-thing, 
 and made some awkward boundings ; but I was 
 not at ease. My fate, however, was sealed ; it 
 was to be ; the Senhora was charmed ; I was 
 divine — beautiful — the very thing — a year's 
 instruction, and I should be the first dancer in 
 Naples — La Morelli would be nothing to me. 
 As all this was uttered, I was held round the 
 waist by the lady, who parted the locks above 
 my forehead, and called me a Venus, a 
 Psyche, and many other extravagant endear- 
 ing names, of which I knew not then the 
 meaning, and the old gentleman looked at me, 
 with a glass, as if I were a statue, or a painting, 
 and gave me another piece of silver. At last they 
 went away; but the lady said she was de- 
 termined that I should come, and visit her, and 
 that she would be my friend ; and she took a 
 little pink shawl from her own neck, and threw 
 it playfully over mine, and gave me a kiss. — Cer- 
 tainly she rather won me. She was handsome, 
 and her voice was soft, and her manners were 
 kind. After some hesitation on the part of my
 
 STORY OF A LIFE. 227 
 
 father and mother, through a cousin of Jiis at 
 Naples, who kept a mercer's shop, and who 
 strongly advised the measure, the affair was 
 arranged, and I was taken from my humble, 
 my happy home, to be brought up for the 
 stage. 
 
 " I remember the last evening that I passed in 
 my father's cottage : we sate out upon the stone 
 bench, before the door, under the old trelliced 
 vine ; and a young neighbour came to see us , 
 a youth of sixteen ; one, who had used to be 
 my play-fellow, till, as he grew, he became 
 called on to labour ; but still, upon saints' days 
 and holidays, he had always a choice nosegay 
 for his little Gianetta; and if he went with his 
 mules to the great city, he was sure to bring 
 me back a new ribbon. 
 
 " I do not think that he knew, or I knew, or 
 had ever dreamed any thing about love. He 
 was always wont to sing for us bright merry 
 ditties ; but he did not that evening : always 
 to laugh too ; but he did not that evening : he 
 tried indeed, but I could see into his heart, 
 and see that it was sad, and I felt mine sad ; 
 a sensation quite new to me, and sweeter, I 
 o 2
 
 228 STORY OF A LIFE. 
 
 thought, than any I had ever known before. He 
 could not talk even ; but he sate, and played on 
 his guitar some broken notes of half remem- 
 bered airs, and simple voluntaries ; and we all 
 listened silently, and I could hear my own 
 heart throb. He lingered till it was late; and 
 when the old people went in, still lingered, 
 kissed me, and cried, and said I should forget 
 him, and sobbed as he walked slowly away ; 
 and I cried after he was gone, and could not 
 sleep for sorrow and thinking. Ah ! poor 
 Giuseppe — I dare to say I should have mar- 
 ried Giuseppe. 
 
 "The next morning was very wet, and I rather 
 hoped that the lady would not send for me that 
 day ; one other holiday at home — one more — 
 but it was not to be. There came a letiga for 
 me with an old female servant. My father and 
 mother stood looking when I got in, as if all 
 were done in spite of their fonder love, and 
 better judgment. I felt doubting, and reluctant 
 myself, and it pained me to hear my little bro- 
 thers and sisters asking " why does sister go ?" 
 " where does sister go?" Never did mule-bells 
 sound so sad to me before, as when we moved
 
 STORY OF A LIFE. 22D 
 
 off along the road. It was irt vain the old ser- 
 vant tried to cheer me. All the young children, 
 my playfellows, stood in the lane, and said 
 ff viva Gianetta," but not cheerfully, for they 
 were sorry, and stood surprised, and looked long 
 after me ; and upon the hill above, I saw Giu- 
 seppe alone, leaning against the fragment of an 
 old column — poor Giuseppe." 
 
 Here she paused in her narrative ; then re- 
 covering herself with some effort, thus resumed 
 it. 
 
 " The lady to whom I went, was the greatest 
 patroness of the theatre, and was the wife of a 
 rich nobleman. The old gentleman I spoke of 
 was a kind of cicisbco, or rather her cicerone, 
 liked and encouraged for his talents ; in all 
 matters of taste he guided her judgment ; on 
 the merits of the poem, the song, the statue, 
 the painting, his was always the opinion ap- 
 pealed to, and the deciding voice. 
 
 " I was at this time just thirteen, and ripening 
 into that slight fulness of form, and roundness 
 of limb which in that climate mark the early pas- 
 sing from girl into woman. Well, Senhor, they 
 kissed me, my lady patroness, and other ladies ;
 
 230 STORY OF A LIFE. 
 
 and dressed me in fine clothes ; and plaited my 
 peasant-braided hair afresh, and curled more 
 gracefully my flowing wavy ringlets ; taught me, 
 moreover, how to whiten and soften my vil- 
 lage hands ; how to sit, to move, to stand, to 
 look, to bend, and then — to dance, they taught 
 me. What wonder if I grew vain of beauty ? 
 I did : I gained, too, the grace and lightness 
 of a sylph. Soon, too soon, I was seduced 
 from all my village tastes. My dress, my food, 
 my couch, the carriage to convey me, the 
 sights, above all the operas, and the brilliant 
 ballets, combined to destroy all the easily sa- 
 tisfied, innocent simplicity of the country girl. 
 
 61 I quite panted for the moment when I was 
 to appear myself upon the stage. True it is 
 that I had some fear, but great ambition. It 
 seemed to me a privilege that a queen might be 
 proud of to personify the goddess of love upon 
 the stage, and to exhibit beauty under circum- 
 stances so intoxicating, to a theatre crowded 
 with dazzled gazers. At last my debut ap- 
 proached — I was to make my first appearance 
 in a little ballet, representing the Paradise of
 
 STORY OF A LIFE. 231 
 
 Mohammed ; in this, all the first dancers were 
 previously to exhibit, and I was to be brought 
 in as the youngest, and most beautiful of the 
 Houri, at the close. 
 
 " Arrayed in a light robe of so fine a texture, 
 that my fair form was only veiled, I slowly- 
 descended on the stage in a cloud-borne car, 
 and a pretty little infant Cupid, with silvery 
 wings, waved his bright arrow, as he led me 
 forth. The whole throng of figurantes parted, 
 and grouped aside, and paused in their mazy 
 dance. The slow movement of magic light- 
 ness, to which I was to come forward, before I 
 gave my pas seid, was just rising above the 
 dying applause of a crowded audience, when, 
 amid the groupes of the figurantes, who were 
 all in suspended attitudes of the most studied 
 effect, my eye caught the figure of a lovely 
 little girl, holding up a tamborine above her 
 head, and, with lifted foot, and head thrown 
 back, seeming like her on the remembered 
 stone, to listen for the renewal of a broken 
 strain ; my heart filled and swelled ; I burst 
 into a flood of tears, and sunk senseless into
 
 252 STORY OF A LIFE. 
 
 the arms of those near, who witnessed my dis- 
 tress. They led me from the stage — em- 
 braced me — gave me cordials, encouraged, 
 and again led me on. 
 
 " I trembled as I looked on the multitude ; 
 all heads and glistening eyes ; but the bravos, 
 the loud clappings, the kind words near, at 
 length reassured me. I danced timidly, yet 
 very gracefully, and I looked, I doubt not, 
 beautiful as a stage Venus ever looked. My 
 happy effort was rewarded with thunders of 
 applause. 
 
 " Well, the kind, but ill-judging lady who 
 had taken me from my little vine-clad home, 
 where I was happy, innocent, and heedless, 
 and danced only to please myself and the blue 
 sky, lived only for a few short months, to see 
 me, as she had predicted, the charm of the 
 theatre. Her death was sudden, and left me 
 without a guide or a protectress. One of the 
 oldest and best singers at the opera, a married 
 man, proposed that I should board with him 
 and his wife, an elderly woman, who had been 
 designedly marked in all her attentions to ine.
 
 STORY OF A LIFE. 233 
 
 I agreed to this ; I was a very weak character ; 
 
 they soon got an entire control over me, as 
 
 much as if I had been their daughter, or rather 
 
 slave. My salary was large ; I wished to be 
 
 generous to my parents, but it was little that 
 
 they suffered me so to dispose of. 1 was 
 
 admired and vain. With such jealousy did 
 
 they watch me, that, although wherever I went 
 
 many bright eyes made love to me, no one could 
 
 get the opportunity of speaking to me, except 
 
 in their presence. The male dancers, the 
 
 loungers behind the scenes, the idle young 
 
 nobles, they watched most narrowly. Their 
 
 argus eyes were ever on me ; at every rehearsal, 
 
 every representation, one or the other stood 
 
 near with the fixed look of the sleepless lynx. 
 
 No convent life could be more strict. They 
 
 made me practise constantly the most difficult 
 
 steps, the lofty balancings, the never-ending, 
 
 giddy, (and I must say graceless) pirouettes ; 
 
 this, day after day, for hours, so that I began 
 
 to sicken at my fate, and long for any change. 
 
 But for the nightly incense of applause, and 
 
 the vain pleasure of looking in a mirror, I 
 
 should have been in absolute despair. I wanted
 
 234- STORY OF A LIFE. 
 
 a lover too : sometimes I thought of the brown, 
 manly Giuseppe ; but he was a peasant, with 
 the rude rough hand of labour, and the coarse 
 garb of poverty. I thought of him ; but always 
 with regret, that I could not change him, in 
 dress, manner, whiten his hand, comb out 
 his thick black hair, and give him perfumes. 
 They had turned my head with the jargon mix- 
 ture of their painter and sculptor phrases : an 
 Adonis — a Paris — such a lover I wanted. 
 Well, they gave me a lover at last, costly in 
 dress, in manner polished, with a delicate hand, 
 and well-dressed hair, and perfumed too ; but 
 — eighty years of age : they sold me to a 
 gray old man. They made me dance too 
 each night, and smile upon the world, then 
 home to a loathed couch, where I wept, un- 
 heeded wept, and they watched me stilL They 
 took me with them from city to city. Many 
 a time did I curse my hard fate, yet return to 
 our cottage was impossible. Enough had been 
 given to my parents to stimulate their cupidity; 
 yet so little, that they had readily credited the 
 invented tales of my extravagance, pride, and 
 disregard for them. In Florence, in Milan,
 
 STORY OF A LIFE. 235 
 
 in every city to which we resorted, some aged 
 or odious suitor for my favors was found, and 
 I was tyrannized into the smile of submission. 
 It was here in Venice that I first found a 
 deliverer, and 'a protector, in the person of an 
 English nobleman ; he was young, and wealthy ; 
 on his travels. Although my interested com- 
 panions had already devoted me to a rich 
 hoary patrician, yet, under a notion that they 
 might, in some way, dupe the Englishman also, 
 they admitted his visits. There was a kind of 
 manliness about his admiration, so different 
 from any thing I had met with before, that, 
 although he was neither handsome or soft- 
 voiced, I liked, and determined to confide in 
 him, and ask his protection. 1 told him my 
 exact situation, the control exercised over my 
 person and salary, in the very first interview 
 I ever had with him alone. I offered myself 
 to fly into his arms, and live in his service. 
 With indignant warmth he listened to my 
 tale, and cheerfully promised to deliver me. 
 He did so in a ready, resolute manner. One 
 night, after the opera, when my gray admirer 
 was handing me to my gondola, and my jealous
 
 236 STORY OF A LIFE. 
 
 guardians in company, I was suddenly lifted off 
 my feet by the strong, but tender pressing arm 
 of a stout man in a mask, and carried with 
 silent speed down a narrow lane, at the bottom 
 of which lay a gondola. It was a dark night ; 
 there was no lamp ; but I saw four gondolieri, 
 and knew it was a bark of the larger class, 
 and designed for flight ; so rapid was our course, 
 that we were already seated in a carriage at 
 Fusina, ere I thought myself clear of the city. 
 
 " My deliverer carried me to England, and 
 placed me in commodious lodgings, in London. 
 
 " In no place, in no country, is the condition 
 of a female, who has yielded, lost, or been 
 robbed of her honour, other than unhappy; 
 but, in England, the true paradise of girls, free, 
 chaste, and fearless ; of wives loved, leaned 
 upon, and honoured by noble manly husbands, 
 the lot of the mistress is doubly wretched. 
 Ah! miserable lot; there I lived, a beautiful 
 recluse ; a shunned thing ; seen only of men : 
 or, when I drove out in the carriage kept for 
 me; gazed at by ladies, in the parks, with a 
 kind of interest, or a scornful sneer, or a hal-
 
 STORY OF A LIFE. 237 
 
 lowed commiseration, just as their various 
 characters might prompt them. Ah ! how 
 sadly I suffered when I looked on mothers, 
 daughters, and young female friends in bloom- 
 ing groupes, full of modest attractions. Then 
 it was that I used to feel a lone, a leprous 
 thing. My protector was kind, manly, delicate, 
 loving in his wa} r , and very generous ; gave 
 me baubles, and gay dresses, and delicacies for 
 my table : occasionally he would bring two or 
 three intimate friends to dine with us ; once, 
 two ladies situated like myself accompanied 
 them, but they were coarse in their manners, 
 and, secluded as I lived, I was yet glad that 
 they never came again. 
 
 " How very sad m} r life was : I used to look 
 out opposite, and watch the poor maids who 
 scoured the door-steps, and chattered, laughed, 
 and nodded to each other, with a yearning of 
 love, and envy of their cheerful, though hard- 
 working lives. — Many of them too were very 
 beautiful in face, and form ; and, but for the 
 red hand, and awkward walking would have had 
 far more suitors than thousands above them. I
 
 238 STORY OF A LIFE. 
 
 was wonderfully struck with their fine pride ; 
 the frank and honest smile for the plain sweet- 
 heart (as they called it) of their own humble 
 class, and their rough rejection of the seducing 
 simpers of well-dressed loungers. 
 
 " I learned accidentally, and, with a feeling of 
 great pain, that it was difficult for a person in 
 my situation either to hire, or contrive, in any- 
 way, to keep a female servant of character : nor 
 can I wonder. A pretty-looking, modest little 
 thing, lived with me as waiting maid. I liked, 
 I petted, I spoiled her; taught her to know her 
 charms, and to be vain of dress, to think of ad- 
 mirers, and she was — ruined. More of her, 
 poor girl, presently. 
 
 "One evening my lord came, and brought two 
 friends to a late dinner. It was in the spring ; 
 pleasant weather, and we sat with the windows 
 open. Two foreign ballad-singers, attracted by 
 the noise and the lights, came, and sung to us. 
 I was strangely agitated, while they were sing- 
 ing, but as the air was new to me, and the two 
 voices blendingly mellowed into each other, I 
 knew not why ; only, all the time, I could not
 
 STORY OF A LIFE. 239 
 
 but think of our cottage, and the stone seat, and 
 the trelliced vine, and all my little childish 
 pleasures. At last one of the gentlemen went to 
 the window, and questioned them. " I am from 
 Genoa, Senhor," said one, in reply, " and this, 
 my poor companion from Naples, quite a young 
 man, but blind, Senhor ; we were both taken by a 
 Sallee rover, and the barbarous captain put out 
 the eyes of this brave youth, because he had 
 killed one of his favourites in the combat; we 
 were soon after retaken, and set free by a ship 
 of your nation, and have been landed here, and 
 are waiting to get a passage to our own country ; 
 but we are destitute, and sing for a morsel of 
 bread, and your good charity." 
 
 i(( Here is a crown for you, poor devils,' said 
 the gentleman carelessly, and then asked, 
 * what is your name, my poor blind boy?' 
 1 Giuseppe, Senhor, of Pozzuoli.' 
 
 " I can just recollect the quick filling and 
 breaking, as it were, of my heart. — It never 
 healed again. — For many weeks my existence was 
 a blank, and, when I recovered, I found that I 
 had miscarried during my long illness, and was
 
 240 STORY OF A LIFE, 
 
 reduced to the shadow of my former self; that 
 my fit had been attributed solely to my state of 
 pregnancy ; that my protector had continued 
 to call, and send regularly, but that he was 
 very soon to be married to a lady of rank and 
 fortune. This he, after a few visits, confirmed, 
 breaking it with great delicacy, and offering me 
 continued and generous assistance, but in- 
 timating that we could meet no more ; and, re- 
 commending my return to Italy. An engage- 
 ment, however, at the English Opera was pro- 
 posed to me, and when sufficiently recovered, I 
 accepted it. My strength and my beauty returned 
 — in part returned ; but thicker was the false co- 
 louring now required for my faded cheek, and 
 deeper the black line to give lustre to those eyes, 
 which care and sorrow had already dimmed. 
 
 " Yet I came upon the boards of your opera, 
 before your noble, splendid, and kind audience," 
 (your i for she guessed me to be an Englishman, 
 though I shook my head in denial ; to my 
 heart it went), " came with the practised smile, 
 and the waving arm, and the light, sylph-like 
 step, and the languishing bowing down of my
 
 STORY OF A LIFE. 241 
 
 neck. Though my heart was broken, yet I 
 tried to conceal it from myself; and, as I saw 
 numbers bewitched and fascinated by my 
 charms, I felt vain, listened to the whispers of 
 admiration, and again admitted a protector, 
 young, wealthy, and, as I thought, sincerely 
 ardent ; but he proved a mere slave of fashion, 
 cold as the chain he wore. The gaming table, 
 and the race ground, the club, the dinner, the 
 rout, the ball; he lived but for these things. I 
 was a mere appendage ; at first prized as a 
 novelty, after retained from pride. He made 
 me visit the theatres; drive in the parks; be 
 seen in the gardens ; and all this to gratify his 
 paltry vanity ; that I might be pointed at as his 
 possession ; but, in our private intercourse, he 
 was capricious, cold, indifferent, and even bitter. 
 I was a fading rose, and he rudely shook off and 
 trampled on the withering leaves. It were little 
 to be wondered at, that such a man should for- 
 sake me in misfortune. 
 
 " It chanced one day that, as I was stepping 
 into my chariot, to take my cheerless drive, the 
 horses started, 1 lost my footing, fell, and vio- 
 
 VOL. i. k
 
 242 STORY OF A LIFE. 
 
 lently sprained my ancle. For that season I could 
 dance no more ; and, in a few weeks, my pro- 
 tector, as he had styled himself, deserted me, 
 leaving me pregnant, and without any other 
 provision than my own trifling personals af- 
 forded me. My trinkets, my clothes, soon 
 wasted away ; however, I took a small lodging 
 at a foreign dress-maker's, and through her 
 kind economy, I was enabled to struggle through 
 a season of difficulty, and gave birth to a beau- 
 tiful boy. I wrote to inform my late protector, 
 but received no answer. I was reduced to 
 great distress, and hardly knew what to do. I 
 could again use my limb, but my ancle was no 
 longer strong enough for the dance. The ma- 
 nager, however, partly out of compassion, and 
 partly because I had a style of face and figure 
 very effective in stage groupings, engaged me 
 for mere parts of action, where I was only to be 
 seen as a Juno, or a queen, or a female genius, in 
 a car, or on a throne, or in the clouds ; and to 
 frown beautifully, or most radiantly to smile,- as 
 the character required. 
 
 " I would suckle my little baby just before I
 
 >TORY OF A LIFE. 24*3 
 
 left my poor lodging, and would think of it all 
 the while I was away : and, the very moment 
 that the performance was over, I would put 
 down my gilt paper crown, and wash off the 
 hot rouge, and press my poor head, that ached 
 from the smell of lamps, or from the long con- 
 straint of my position, sitting perhaps on a nar- 
 row plank, in a car of paste-board, among canvas 
 clouds, and hurry ba?k to the cradle of my 
 fatherless little one. 
 
 " A great anxiety for the health of this inno- 
 cent caused me again to write to its father. 
 I stated the expences of my confinement, the 
 debt to my landlady, the illness of my child — of 
 his child ; the aid, and comforts, which, from 
 the smallness of my salary as a figurante, I had 
 no means to procure for it. 
 
 " I got a cruel reply ; denying his child, and 
 vilifying me. It contained a bank-note of 
 small amount, telling me to physic my brat, and 
 myself for once, but to teaze him no more, and 
 never presume to name him as its father. 
 
 " I can never tell what I suffered that evening. 
 I was just dressed for the character of Oieopa- 
 r 2
 
 244 STORY OF A LIFE. 
 
 tra, when I received this bitter blow. With a 
 burning and a broken heart I was borne in 
 upon the stage in a lofty car, drawn by winged 
 genii, cherub-cupids smiling at my feet, and 
 clustering behind me; mechanically I looked 
 the beauty; the light, the loving, the wanton 
 Cleopatra. The applause was rapturous ; but 
 oh ! never was there a wilder storm of woe in 
 any bosom than in mine, at that moment, 
 when I sat, and bowed with open smilings; 
 looked on my Antony with lustre-lighted eyes ; 
 and clasped him in the true stage embrace; 
 long, close, and renewed with seeming trans- 
 port. All this I did, yet was I revolving death 
 — death to escape intolerable suffering, cruel 
 degradation — death to revenge myself on an 
 unfeeling wretch ; — vain thought, as if a being 
 so abject could feel a worthy pang, or were 
 not already far below remorse. . Wrapped in 
 my coarse shawl, I trod back that evening my 
 wet, cold way to my fireless lodgings ; but in 
 passing a druggist's shop, I bought a strong 
 dose of laudanum, and, ere I rapped at my 
 door, swallowed it. No sootier did I enter,
 
 STORY OF A LIFE. 245 
 
 than I took up my dear baby, and gave my 
 breast to its asking cry, and hugged the soothed 
 suckler, and its young eyes smiled, and its 
 tiny hands pressed my yielding bosom : when 
 lo ! a iiorrid thought rushed across my brain. 
 6 It is poison — poison — not the life-milk of 
 God's providing ; — I have poisoned the sweet 
 source/ I raved for my landlady ; gave my 
 child into her arms ; bade her save it; get a doc- 
 tor, and a nurse with kinder nipple ; told her 
 that mine was cursed ; that the flow of life from 
 mine was mingled with the black' draught of 
 death. In wild haste I spoke, and fled away ; but 
 I was pursued with humane activity, brought 
 back, made to throw off the poison, and lay, 
 for days, exhausted on my couch. I lost all 
 flesh; my eyes became hollow: my cheeks 
 very wan, and, to crown my misery, my kind 
 landlady became a bankrupt; was forced 
 to leave her house, and gG, and take ser- 
 vice as a journeywoman in an Italian flower- 
 shop. She gave me as much as she could spare 
 from her necessities, and I took a small room 
 in a noisome alley. I could get no employ, no 
 it 3
 
 246 STORY OF A LIFE. 
 
 work ; — for I knew no trade ; moreover, - 1 was 
 weak, lame 9 and had a child in my arms. I 
 soon became a beggar ; I, and my little infant, 
 wrapped in rags. We stood in the street by 
 day, and we slept by night where the ever 
 ready charity of those, almost as poor, would 
 suffer us. One day, as I was seated, shivering 
 on a door step, a very well-dressed pretty 
 woman passed by, and gave me half a crown, 
 saying, ' There, poor thing, there's for you. 
 God knows, it may be my turn some day.* I 
 had not immediately recognized her features; 
 she was so improved by time, and so altered by 
 dress ; but her voice I instantly recollected. It 
 was Susan, my pretty little maid, whom I had 
 so caressed, and spoiled, — Susan, changed into 
 a bold-eyed, but a beautiful courtezan ; yet 
 there was a restlessness in that eye, and a 
 changeful hue upon that cheek, which spoke the 
 painful consciousness that innocence was lost. 
 A dagger could not have struck deeper in my 
 heart than that sad sight. My emotion as- 
 tonished her; but, when I called her * Susan,' 
 and, after a doubting gaze, she knew me, she
 
 STORY OF A LIFE. 247 
 
 raised me up, and could not speak for surprise, 
 and tears. She called a coach, put me into it, 
 and immediately conveyed me to her lodgings. 
 Here she supported me for a whole winter. 
 Every where the condition of a prostitute is 
 wretched ; but in England their circumstances 
 and feelings are widely, and sorrowfully different 
 from those in other lands. 
 
 "In Italy, the humbled girl is bred, and sold 
 to her degrading profession. She follows it, 
 therefore, without any bitter feelings of re- 
 morse ; acquitted in her own mind of having 
 been the seeking consenter to her sin, she lives 
 through her bitter course as easily and cheer- 
 fully as she may ; but, in England, although 
 numbers are bred from the very cradle, among 
 the profligate, and schooled for the brothel, yet 
 are there thousands, thousands, who have been 
 seduced from virtuous homes, and indulgent 
 parents, from the manly master, and the kind 
 mistress, and the light service, and the cheer- 
 ful kitchen ; and, in England, they fall to rise 
 no more. 
 " I was at first awfully disgusted by all I heard. 
 R 4
 
 24-8 STORY OF A LIFE. 
 
 They drank — the women in these brothels ; the 
 hiccup and the oath mingled alike with their 
 caresses and their quarrels. They would sing, 
 and cry convulsively, over the bowl. They 
 would alternately fondle, scoff at, scorn, or as- 
 sault their visitors. How wild, and unfeminine 
 they seemed ! I thought them monsters, de- 
 mons in human form ; but I soon discovered 
 that it was not so. With stronger minds, and 
 more warmly domestic affections, than the wo- 
 men of most other countries, they feel their out- 
 cast fate more bitterly. They look backward 
 to their state of innocence, with a kind of des- 
 pairing regret: they look up, and around, at all 
 the virtuous of their own sex, with a weeping 
 envy : they will think and talk of their old, and 
 honest, and humble lovers; some faraway, 
 perhaps on the seas, gathering gold, prized 
 only for their sakes, in the battle, the tempest, 
 and the sickly climate ; or others at home, now 
 forgetting them, and settled in humble callings, 
 with modest, industrious wives, and rising fa- 
 milies. They think of these things, till a kind 
 of madness possesses them, and so they revel 
 and rave until they pine and die.
 
 STORY OF A LIFE. 249 
 
 " For six months I occupied an apartment, 
 just within the chamber of poor Susan; for, in. 
 a few days after she took me in, I was seized 
 with an affection of the hip-joint, which con- 
 fined me for twenty weeks to my room. There 
 were other females in that house and the ad- 
 joining, and I often saw, and always heard 
 the rioting. 
 
 " If ever a warm heart beat in the bosom 
 of a human being, it was in the breast of 
 Susan. She nursed, and served me, as though 
 I were still her mistress, — me, who had paved 
 the way for her ruin. Knowing, as I did, all 
 that she suffered ; a witness of her wretched 
 mode of existence; conscious that I was, inpart, 
 the cause of her fall, and yet eating daily the 
 bread, which she providedfrom the wages of her 
 reluctant sacrifice, — bread gotten with the cold 
 sigh of sorrow, or the burning blush of indig- 
 nation, yet, given to me with the kind smile 
 of bounty ; knowing, and feeling all this, I was 
 a constant, helpless prey to agony and remorse. 
 At length poor Susan, I weep with joy as I think 
 of it, Susan was snatched from this wretched 
 course of life, by the mercy of Heaven. She had
 
 250 STORY OF A LIFE. 
 
 been born and bred in a country village, and 
 chiefly brought up under the care of a kind 
 old grandmother, for whose memory, and for 
 every thing she had been wont to do and say, 
 Susan had always entertained an affectionate 
 reverence, and, though vanity and passion had 
 broken down those precepts, which might have 
 saved her, still, even here, in her lost state, she 
 always spoke of that lamented relative with a 
 filial love. 
 
 "There was her pincushion, a pairof scissors, 
 a thimble, still carefully preserved, and there 
 was a small old black book with clasps, still 
 kept, and often touched, and taken up, and 
 put down again, un-opened, with a heavy sigh. 
 
 '" I remember one night she returned to her 
 lodging, bringing with her a young man of mild 
 and gentlemanlike appearance, who had the 
 hesitating look of one strongly fascinated, yet 
 half ashamed. It seems that his eye caught 
 the book, for I heard him say, ' What does 
 this book here ? do you ever affect to read 
 this ?' c Sometimes,' replied Susan, ' when I 
 dare, but I have not been good enough lately,
 
 STORY OF A LIFE. 251 
 
 or for a long time past.' She spoke in a sacl 5 
 sincere tone, with an agitated, flushed cheek, 
 and a tearful eye. He put two guineas on the 
 table, assured her, with tenderness, that with 
 such a frame of mind she might safely open 
 it, that it was the book of mercy ; and he hur- 
 ried instantly away. 
 
 " It is a remarkable fact that this was the last 
 visit she ever received as a prostitute. 
 
 " The very next day there came a plain hum- 
 ble man, a journeyman in some trade, who had 
 courted her when at service, and who, knowing 
 all the better qualities of her heart and tem- 
 per, had long deplored her fall. He came 
 with a strange proposal, frankly and earnestly 
 made, that she would give up her way of life, 
 and marry him. It was a pity, he said, that such 
 a young woman should be so lost; that he'd take 
 her, for better, for worse, till death. On his 
 account, in justice to him, her hesitation was 
 long ; but he was steadily urgent in his offer, 
 and she gratefully accepted it. I saw them 
 married, and I thank God for that mercy. 
 They otiil protected me, and removed me with
 
 252 STORY OF A LIFE. 
 
 them ; but, very shortly after, learning that a 
 ship was advertised as about to sail on a return 
 voyage to Venice, the thought struck me that 
 I might perhaps get a passage to my native 
 country. If beggary was to be my lot, it would 
 be more tolerable in my native climate ; and 
 I was determined, helpless as I was, without 
 skill for any trade, and with a crippled limb, 
 which forbade all rude labour, no longer to 
 burthen her, who had so generously supported 
 me. My application was successful. There lies 
 the kind mariner, who brought me from Eng- 
 land hither, four years ago ; who long helped 
 to support me himself, and who procured 
 for me the charity of others. But his own 
 power, and all his influence with others, have, 
 with his little substance, now passed away. 
 Shipwreck and losses, disease and helplessness, 
 have brought him, not only to want, but utter 
 destitution. It was for him, and for his wife in 
 the pangs of labour, and for his famishing child- 
 ren, that I begged with such wild importunity ; 
 little it is I require for myself, nothing for any 
 one of mine — my own little one is dead — my
 
 STORY OF A LIFE. 253 
 
 father is dead — my mother is dead. Strangers 
 have got our cottage, and our vineyard ; my 
 brothers and sisters are all scattered, I know 
 not where ; and I know not where my poor 
 Giuseppe is now wandering, and singing for his 
 daily bread. Till the ruin of this my humble 
 patron, I was wretched indeed, but yet resign- 
 edly so. I well knew that with haggard and 
 emaciated features, and a palsied limb, and the 
 ragged veil of poverty, it were vain to hope 
 for the exciting of any sympathy amid the com- 
 mon crowd of the wealthy and self-indulgent. 
 Beauty in weeds and tears, loveliness in 
 poverty and pain, will seldom want assistance; 
 although oftentimes they are succoured by 
 those who look to the harvest of a base, and a 
 compelled reward. Forgive me this unworthy 
 spleen, Senhor ; I speak from the experience 
 of a bitter life, and I joy to have been at once 
 relieved, and reproved for my uncharitable 
 feeling, by your noble bounty. My tale is told. 
 I shall bask in the sun in winter, or lie down 
 in the shade in summer, in common with other 
 beggars, for a few years longer, fed by the
 
 254 STORY OF A LIFE. 
 
 convent dole, and at last, like them, I shall find 
 that cold, but calm bed, which none can with- 
 hold from me." 
 
 " Not so," I exclaimed ; " at least a roof 
 shall always shelter you, and want you shall 
 never know. Your tale is strange, and sad ; but 
 surely, your case has been a most remarkable 
 exception to that of others in your gay profes- 
 sion ; surely, in general, those whom we listen 
 to, and gaze on, with such delight and joy, in 
 crowded theatres, surely they must themselves 
 largely share the happiness, or pleasure rather, 
 which they shed around them. They cannot 
 often feign, or often suffer. They laugh, and 
 they are gay, — have no cares, no troubles." 
 
 "Ah! no, Senhor, believe me, it is not so; 
 some of the young are, for a while, cheerful and 
 thoughtless from the novelty of their life ; 
 others, in the heyday of their blood, are from 
 temperament, from passion, joyous. Here and 
 there, though very seldom, an old comic per- 
 former may be found — a laugher, a philosopher 
 in his way : but the many are miserable, very 
 miserable; their necessity, and their pride, keep
 
 STORY OF A LIFE. 255 
 
 them all their lives in harness ; and, they feed 
 from habit on the bravo, the viva, and the 
 applauding clap. Go, Senhor, go take your 
 stand, to-night, at the side door of the theatre, 
 and mark the faces which pass in — worn by 
 melancholy, wasted by dissipation, and wan 
 from actual distress; then take your seat in 
 front, and regard the painted pageant; the 
 galley slave in chains, tugging at his heavy oar, 
 works not with a more abhorrent, sickening 
 heart, than the many there. Oftentimes, in 
 my early service on the boards, have I laughed 
 at the grim, unclean, sallow faces of those poor 
 men, who, by the aid of a little rouge, were to 
 be transformed into gods or shepherds, priests 
 or bacchanals, and were to dance with god- 
 desses, graces, and nymphs, who well corre- 
 sponded in charms, before tinsel and paint had 
 done their work, and the stage-lamps shed over 
 them that light and colouring which make the 
 pulse of the young and unaccustomed gazer to 
 beat so quick and so delightfully. Believe me, 
 nothing is so painfully exhausting as tlie effort 
 of those who are continually called on, night
 
 256 STORY OF A LIFE. 
 
 after night, to utter, laugh, and look some 
 favourite buffoon-like character ; and, when it 
 happens, that any one of these suffers a domestic 
 calamity, it is heart rending to listen to, and 
 look at them. I remember well our Buffo at 
 Naples, an animated, kind, delightful little 
 man, had a young wife he really loved, who 
 died in child-birth just at the commencement 
 cf the carnival. He was distracted, lost his 
 rest, his appetite, his health ; could not endure 
 society : yet he was the father of four helpless 
 children, and necessitous ; thus, therefore, he was 
 compelled to sing, and wink, and nod his head, 
 and snap his fingers, and caper about the stage. 
 Young and thoughtless as I was, at the time, 
 my heart bled for him. One night, in particu- 
 lar, after drawing forth thunders of applause, 
 he came off, put his hands to his face, con- 
 vulsive sobbings shook his whole frame, he left 
 the house abruptly, and in the morning they 
 found him laid upon his wife's grave, laughing, 
 and he laughed as they led him away — and 
 laughed when they showed him his pretty 
 children — and laughed afterwards till he died.
 
 STORY OF A LIFE. 257 
 
 But he never spoke again to any one ; — a 
 harmless idiot he wandered on the sunny shore, 
 and the charitable fed him, and the children 
 followed him, and he laughed at them, and at 
 every sight, and every sound — the same sad 
 silly laugh — but he is dead, poor man. No 
 Senhor, believe me that true tales, true confes- 
 sions, of a few lives passed behind the scenes 
 of a theatre would be very salutary lessons for 
 those who sit dazzled and enchanted before 
 them." 
 
 The doctor now arrived to visit his patients, 
 and reported to us that the poor man could cer- 
 tainly not recover, and that in a very few days 
 he would be no more. Gianetta again took her 
 place at his bedside, and I returned home. 
 
 I was happy to have heard the sad tale of this 
 unfortunate, it diverted the current of my reflec- 
 tions from dwelling on my own sorrows : but 
 yet, the more I mused upon it, the more into- 
 lerable became the idea of residing any longer 
 in Venice ; for Venice was all a theatre, — mask- 
 
 vol. i s
 
 258 STORY OF A LIFE. 
 
 ing and mummery — song and wantonness — a 
 perpetual round of these pleasures — joined in 
 by all but those behind the curtain, those in 
 the dungeon, and upon the dying bed, and in 
 the dark recesses of the naked and the desti- 
 tute. 
 
 For the vein swelling with health, and the 
 purse heavy with gold, all was sunshine and ho- 
 liday. I was young and wealthy; but sunshine 
 and holiday were not for me. An outcast my- 
 self, I had strange and melancholy joy in hear- 
 ing of the wretched — in looking for, in loving 
 them. I immediately made the most liberal ar- 
 rangements for the future support of poor Gia- 
 netta, and the sufferers with whom she lived, 
 and then left the city. 
 
 It was by night — not a fine clear night — 
 the moon rode high, and loomed very large, 
 yet pale and desolate she looked — and the sky 
 was not blue, and small black clouds were hur- 
 rying across it fitfully. 
 
 Slowly we passed up the still Brenta. I sat 
 without, cloaked and motionless. Here and 
 there, upon its shadowy banks, white villas stood
 
 STORY OF A LIFE. 259 
 
 silent, and ghost-like among black trees ; — 
 suddenly, at a turn, we came upon a lone cha- 
 pel with lights, and sounds within. 
 
 I could see, through the opened door, the 
 heads and vestments of priests, and the tall 
 torches in their hands. I sprung to land, and 
 walked towards it. As I entered the aisle I 
 heard the ringing of tools upon the hollow 
 pavement — the heavy crow, and the lighter 
 spade. The grave-diggers were moving away 
 from the scene, but they paused, and turned, 
 and bowed the head, and crossed themselves 
 just as the requiem began ; — sadly and solemnly 
 the bald priests chanted it; and they stood 
 around a broad black stone, which had just 
 again been fitted into its disturbed bed. 
 
 " For whom," I asked, " do you sing the 
 service of the dead?" as the strain ceased. 
 
 " Senhor, we do not know ; a noble stranger 
 who has passed two years in deep seclusion iu 
 yonder villa." 
 
 " Of what country ?" 
 
 " Oh ! Italian, Senhor, but from the south ; 
 we have heard that she was a Neapolitan." 
 s 2
 
 260 STORY OF A LIFE. 
 
 " I thought you said a Nobleman" 
 
 " No ; a noble stranger : we only knew her 
 as the Lady Agatha. St. Anthony defend and 
 preserve us ! are you ill, Senhor ?" 
 
 "No ; — here's gold ; — your torch; — leave 
 me ; — 1 would be alone ; — I knew the lady ; 
 — pray leave me." 
 
 I kept a shuddering vigil by her grave. In 
 the morning I went to the villa, and wandered 
 through the gardens ; I spoke to no one ; asked 
 no questions ; but looked, and looked ; and ga- 
 thered flowers ; and picked up withered leaves ; 
 and let them fall again ; and stopped, and lis- 
 tened to the matin of the birds ; and drank 
 from the clear bubbling fountain ; and lay on 
 the green turf by its side ; and put off my en- 
 cumbering hat ; and bathed my burning brow ; 
 and then arose, and went away — far, and ra- 
 pidly away. I <lid not stop, even for rest, 'till 
 my servant told me that I was arrived, and 
 pointed to that city of sorrow, Rome — Rome, 
 where the ruin frowns, and the dark cypress 
 waves. As I ascended the cold wide stair-case, 
 and entered the vast and gloomy apartments of
 
 STORY OF A LIFE. 261 
 
 a large unfrequented albergo, I felt that it was 
 a fitting home for a wanderer like myself, with 
 widowed hopes. They brought me food ; I 
 walked to and fro, and sat not down to it. I 
 broke bread, and drank cup after cup of wine, 
 in nervous haste, and thought aloud, and talked 
 comfort to myself, and was glad to feel myself 
 in Rome, and took my lamp, and went to my 
 couch, and put aside the heavy damask cur- 
 tains, and laid me down, and slept profoundly 
 and long. 
 
 " I am in Rome," was my first thought when 
 I awoke, — " My Agatha — my phantom of 
 delight has fled me, is gone down with her 
 beauty to the grave ; how perishable are these 
 bright things with breath ! The morrow's ac- 
 cident kills the young bud born only of the 
 hope of yesterday. I have done with life ; 
 I'll live among the dead ; I am alone, where a 
 widowed city sits solitary; I'll wander in her 
 silent places the worshipper of ruin ; I am in 
 Rome :" — and I threw wide the casement, 
 and looked forth. — It was a street, an every- 
 day street ; priests in groups were taking snuff 
 s 3
 
 262 STORY OF A LIFE. 
 
 together ; sickly, but crafty -looking shopkeepers 
 stood at the doors of their traveller toy-shops ; 
 designing, needy idlers lounged about the inn- 
 gates; and a coarse-looking brown populace 
 of sturdy men and large-featured black-eyed 
 women paced noisily along the way, on all the 
 sausage and garlic business of common market 
 life. And this was Rome. I shut to the win- 
 dow, vexed to the soul. What had I expected? 
 — Whatever it was, I felt at the moment, as if 
 I had been fooled and mocked. 
 
 There came a knock at the door of my apart- 
 ment. A man with a lean visage and protrud- 
 ing eye-balls thrust in his head and followed it ; 
 a book was under his arm, and a long roll of 
 engravings in his hand. 
 
 " The Senhor is a stranger, a traveller ; 
 one world, one Rome, Senhor. — I shall be 
 happy to attend you every where, and at all 
 times ; I have the honour to be a cicerone j the 
 antiquities, the churches, the galleries, I shall 
 conduct you to them all ; you cannot dispense 
 with my services ; it is fortunate for you I am
 
 STOKY OF A LIFE. 265 
 
 disengaged ; all foreigners of taste, all enlight- 
 ened travellers, ask for me." 
 
 My servant came in, and saved me from this 
 man. At the sun-set hour, for I still sat a 
 thoughtful prisoner within, my host came to 
 tell me that it was the time when all the nobiiity 
 and wealth of Rome paraded the Corso in their 
 carriages ; would I go forth ? Yes ; but not 
 there ; surely there is another Rome ; thither 
 will I go, and let me be silently conducted, and 
 left there. And there is another Rome ! — We 
 drove to the Forum. There was no soft light 
 about ; no tinging ray of a red, or a yellow 
 sunset ; all was that gloomy grey, which we 
 might look for in the Valley of the Shadow of 
 Death ; and the objects awful — two or three 
 columns, together clinging, under heavy, dark 
 fragments of frieze and cornice ; arches of 
 triumph too; — dim arches, with none beneath, 
 or near them ; the earth heapy, and barren 
 brown, — a few black trees, — and one ruin 
 of a massive and towering majesty, (where an 
 assembled people once shouted in her games,) 
 yawning and silent; — Rome, all-living eye, and 
 s 4
 
 264 story or a lite. 
 
 ear, upon its every seat and step ; — Rome coming 
 forth from the proud spectacle, and, with bare 
 head, and ample toga, covering the space 
 around, and spreading through the marble city 
 — they are pale ghosts. 
 
 Rome rushing with eager gaze to the capitol ! 
 Meges captivi! Imperator triumphans ! Pale 
 ghosts all of them ! The Corona triumphalis ! 
 A shadowy thing ! S. P. Q. R. ! Letters ! — 
 The very language of their senate, that fell from 
 every Roman lip and sounded familiar in every 
 Roman ear, dead ; pored on by the student 
 beneath the midnight lamp, — and breathed, 
 reverentially, with a rich though doubtful 
 utterance. 
 
 There was a something deeply soothing to 
 my wounded heart, as I trod, or sat, or stood 
 mute among these ruins. If, methought, I 
 cannot live to enjoy the present, or look with 
 hope to the future, the past is open to me ; back, 
 through the long night of ages, I may tread 
 unquestioned ; and may wake, and talk with the 
 mighty dead; listen to their trumpets, — march
 
 STORY OF A LIFE. 265 
 
 with them to battle, — ride revel with them in 
 victory ; — stand, silent and listening, in their 
 solemn senate, or lie down under the spreading 
 beech, and smile, weep, or kindle as the poet 
 bids me. 
 
 The night was far spent when I retraced my 
 solitary path. Slowly I walked, and happily, 
 for I thought not about my wretched self. As 
 I approached the bottom of a long dark street, 
 I heard that sound of rushing waters, which in 
 the silence of darkness strikes always upon the 
 listening ear with such deep solemnity. Pass- 
 ing onwards I entered a small square, and 
 started as I looked around me. 
 
 The sea god of the heathen stood before me, 
 like a menacing apparition, upon his ocean car ; 
 and the wild sea horses were fiercely pawing 
 high, amid fragments of rock, and tumbling 
 waters ; and tritons stood restrainingly near their 
 arching necks ; and in niches above, there were 
 draper ied forms looking stilly ; — and all this 
 was in the night, and these things were pale 
 marble. Oh ! it is a city for all wanderers, 
 who seek forcjetfulness of self, the forms of
 
 266 STORY OF A LI IE. 
 
 other days. Go forth at hours when others sit 
 at home, — go forth, and live in their silent com- 
 pany. It is companionship to stand, and think 
 before a noble statue. Its presence has a power 
 over the rising thought. Mean things and 
 meditated sins fly from the dark recesses of the 
 heart, away, far away, and leave us purified and 
 at, peace, for those innocent and happy moments 
 which we lose unconsciously in thoughtful 
 gazing. I wonder not that so many men have 
 lived, and died in this silent idol worship. 
 There seems a protecting majesty upon marble 
 brows, — a high and unearthly calm about 
 them. You would expect to hear no sound in 
 those long galleries, so palely peopled, but 
 aerial harpings, such as the moaning wind will 
 sometimes wake upon those magic lyres men 
 make to Woo it. 
 
 Men have loved pictures too — why not? 
 Love, happily love a picture. It cannot frown 
 upon you — cannot fly you — cannot smile, 
 then die. Yes — it were long to tell the sweet 
 joys which fell, like kind dews, upon my fevered 
 brain, and thence distilled a precious balsam,
 
 STORY Of A LIFE. 267 
 
 which dropped all healing on my aching heart. 
 I say not, now as I look back, that it was peace ; 
 repose it was — a mercy given, one draught of 
 innocent, permitted pleasure to the thirsting lip 
 of guilt chastised. My life here was one of 
 reading, rambling, dreaming ; my health, my 
 spirits improved ; I did not live by any rule ; 
 my division of the night, and the day season, 
 the hours of my rest, the hours of my repose, 
 were all guided by the present feeling. My 
 lone rides among the ruined tombs and aque- 
 ducts ; my night walks in the Forum ; my 
 solitary visits to the galleries of Rome, even 
 now, in the still happiness of my hermit life, I 
 look back upon them with fearless delight. I 
 have always loved solitude, for I have always 
 had care to hide and woe to cherish ; but, in 
 Home, even care and woe may be harboured 
 and treasured in the heart, the scene is in 
 such sad accordance. Daily I visited St. Peter's, 
 and my spirit mourned in it. It was not prayer, 
 it was not penitence, — it was not fear, — it 
 was not love, — but the silent resigned mourn- 
 ing of a sick heart.
 
 268 STORY OF A LIFE. 
 
 It was not when the bright sun shone down 
 into that glorious temple that I could endure its 
 gorgeous splendour. It was not when the 
 high altar was arrayed, and when the high mass 
 was chaunted by the sovereign pontiff; and 
 when the mitred, and stoled conclave, and steel 
 corslets, and glittering guards, and an assem- 
 bled city knelt down upon its marble pave- 
 ment ; it was not then I ever loved it : but, 
 at evening's most melancholy hour. Then the 
 dim majesty was awful, wondrous ; it was a 
 space to the mind's eye infinite : for, in the 
 aisle's long depth, you saw but shadow, and in 
 the midst a circlet of living light ; little white in- 
 nocuous flames ; a faint-fed fire, whose feeble 
 rays died off, on all sides, intoglocm. Winged 
 angels flew, in dark draperies, about some 
 lateral shrine, and giant forms leaned white 
 against the huge pilasters ; and your heart beat, 
 and you paused, and dared not tread — too 
 ravished to recede, too fearful to go onwards — 
 for it seemed like a gate that led from life 
 — the still, chill portal of another world. 
 One evening, as I stood in the midst of that
 
 STORY OF A LIFE. 269 
 
 temple solitude, I heard a very low, light mur- 
 muring, and whispered breathings, and deep 
 sighs burst big from some manly bosom, and I 
 heard grave, kind tones at every pause. I 
 knew it was a confessional, from whence those 
 hallowed sounds came ; it was the outpouring 
 of some wounded heart, and the consoling voice 
 of the absolving priest. 
 
 I was deeply impressed, and affected; for 
 many days I thought of nothing else. I forgot 
 the prison nunneries, the monkish slaves, the 
 torture chamber, and the fagot of the inquisi- 
 tion ; I thought but on the blessed aid and 
 help, which, it seemed to me, their faith and 
 discipline extended to the confessing sinner. 
 True it was, that my reason told me that man's 
 absolving must be a form, a mere form, and 
 could not serve ; but I had a secret heavy, and 
 hateful. I should at least be heard — perchance 
 find comfort ; the relief at least of disburden- 
 ing my sorrows — the sound, the tone of con- 
 solation. 
 
 Deciding thus, I wrapped me one midnight in 
 my cloak, and stole forth with my tale all ready
 
 270 STORY OF A LITE. 
 
 for confession. I had so planned it, that I felt 
 secure in the concealment of my being a Pro- 
 testant ; but the main facts of my flight from 
 my country, and my family, — of Agatha, — of 
 the wealth acquired — concealing whence it 
 came, — and of my present isolated state, I con- 
 fessed freely. The priest heard me silently to 
 the close. 
 
 " And can your own church give no comfort 
 or counsel," said the invisible. " Me you have 
 not deceived ; but you are awfully deceiving 
 yourself. Go home to your anxious father, 
 and your weeping mother ; meet openly your 
 merited shame — your best, your only penance; 
 go with uncovered face, and bitter tears, to 
 your forsaken home ; — the wild agony of your 
 misplaced, unhallowed, but yet ungovernable 
 love, has brought with it its own punishment ; 
 as it is, therefore, although you are hardly saved 
 from my contempt, yet I will not visit you with 
 the anger of our church ; — I will not betray 
 you ; — break off your sins by showing mercy to 
 the poor, and striving to benefit your fellow-
 
 STORY OF A LIFE. 27 i 
 
 creatures ; — above all things, linger not in 
 Rome." 
 
 Restless, dissatisfied with myself, and with 
 all the world, I returned to my apartments ; — 
 no word of soothing — no romantic event — no 
 act of penance ordered — no shirt of hair — no 
 perilous pilgrimage — detected, and though 
 pitied, despised ; — and yet he had given me 
 counsel, alike wise and kind. But to return 
 home, and to say I have sinned, and be em- 
 braced, and pardoned, — it sounds lovely ; but 
 my heart's pride reared loftily its scorpion crest 
 at the bare thought. Solitary as the prodigal ; 
 like him ashamed, like him sorry, but like him 
 content to keep away, even though husks were 
 my portion. My husks too were golden, — such 
 as my hungering mind, and empty, aching 
 heart could feed on. But yet I envied, when 
 I thought of them, the very servants, whose 
 affection was daily acknowledged by my fa- 
 ther's smile : and I, poor I, with none to look 
 kindly on me, but pictured things; the good 
 angel, and the mourning Magdalen, and the 
 weeping Peter.
 
 272 STORY OF A LIFE. 
 
 One result, however, of my confession was a 
 sudden resolve to leave Rome, and I took the 
 road to Naples. 
 
 It was a night of heavy rain, black, and 
 comfortless when I reached Terracina. The inn 
 was all gloom ; no light was brought to the 
 door ; we called — none heeded, — we entered 
 the house — steps and voices sounded tumultu- 
 ously above. My servant and myself groped 
 up the staircase, and made our way, guided by 
 the noise, to a large cheerless room. One brass 
 lamp stood on the long table. The host, the 
 landlady, the cook, some vile sbirri, some pos- 
 tillions, some maids, and two or three peasants 
 were all crowded around an elderly gentleman 
 and lady, whom, in a moment, I perceived to 
 be English. 
 
 We have all heard of the woe of mothers 
 bereaved by the slayers of their sucking babes, 
 and we think it cannot be surpassed ; perhaps 
 not; but how shall this agonized father be 
 painted in words ? He was a helpless invalid,
 
 STORY OF A LIFE. 273 
 
 seated in a chair, from which he could not 
 rise ; but his imploring cry — his grey locks 
 disordered — his phrenzied eye — the tearing 
 open of his vest, and the nervous grasping of 
 his bosom — the upheld purse, and the loud 
 reward of all his fortune ; and the maddening 
 exclaim, Maria, Maria — my daughter, — my 
 daughter ! his wife embracing him with con- 
 vulsive tears, and silent; and all the lookers on 
 talking, or smiling with composure ; the lean 
 and sallow sbirri, hard, indifferent, and cun- 
 ning; the fat host speaking awkward comfort; 
 the postilions laughing; the peasants scowl- 
 ing ; and the women alone with any redeeming 
 compassion in their eyes. I soon gathered 
 the cause of his affliction : his daughter had 
 been seized since his arrival at the inn, and 
 borne off to the mountains by banditti. It was 
 in vain they told him that, on the morrow, 
 she would certainly be restored to him safe, 
 on the payment of the ransom they might de- 
 mand. " Now, nam : he would pay anything, if 
 the sbirri would follow, and bring her back 
 
 VOL. I. t
 
 274* STORY OF A LIFE. 
 
 now" The idea of his daughter among brigands, 
 even for a moment, was anguish, torment. 
 
 Eagerly I too offered rewards, and urged them 
 to their duty — a guide to lead me, or merely to 
 point the path, I would go instantly, and alone 
 — would carry the ransom, and bring back his 
 daughter. They smiled at me cold and con- 
 temptuously — said it was late — I was a stranger, 
 or I should not talk of going among the bri- 
 gands — alone too. They laughed — and I cursed 
 them, and went out armed; but the rain fell heavy, 
 and dark, and bewilderingly. I could not see a 
 yard before me — I shouted ; but I heard no 
 sound save the wild wind, and the loud surf- 
 roar. I came in again, and went to the father, 
 where he sat by untasted food, in silent, alarm- 
 ed agony, and took his hand in mine, and pro- 
 mised all my best services, at early dawn, on 
 the morrow, and bade him hope, and cheer up ; 
 and he looked at me thankful through his tears, 
 while the mother mourned aloud. All had left 
 the apartment but one little dark-eyed, brown 
 maid ; and she made a sign to me to go forth 
 with her, — and when we were alone in the
 
 STORY OF A LIFE. 275 
 
 corridor, she asked me — " Have you courage?" 
 " For anything that can serve or save this lady." 
 61 Then go to your sleeping chamber, and per- 
 suade the old people to go to bed ; and, at one 
 o'clock, when the moon rises, arm ; and 
 when you hear a pebble strike your casement, 
 drop yourself from the window ; it is a long 
 fall, but the ground is soft. I have known 
 older than you to leap it down safe." 
 
 It was with difficulty I could prevail on the 
 father and mother to retire to their chamber, 
 and on no account could they be persuaded to 
 do more than lie down, dressed as they were, 
 on mattresses. 
 
 It was near midnight when I got to my room, 
 and I lay looking at the window, that I might 
 catch the very first glimmer of the rising moon. 
 The rain fell less heavily, and at length ceased 
 altogether; and the moon rose red, and cres- 
 cented. I felt down and fixed my pistols 
 firmer in my broad loin-girth, and drew tighter 
 the strap of my sword-belt; and I thought a 
 prayer ; and then I felt honored and animated 
 by the enterprise. A black cloud had long 
 t 2
 
 276 STORY OF A LIFE. 
 
 hung over me; this was like the bright breaking 
 through of the blue sky; — father and daughter 
 — they would thank and bless me — I might per- 
 chance anchor my poor heart in that quiet 
 family ; or, at all events, I should save a girl, re- 
 lease a captive, and give joy to the hearts of 
 aged parents — or — I should die. 
 
 No, no ; — not die on an errand of mercy — 
 no, not die — or, if I did, 'twere well so to find 
 my grave." 
 
 The pebble struck light and short upon the 
 window ; in a moment I was by the side of my 
 conductress: from the peaked hood of a 
 thick brown fisher's jacket looked out her reso- 
 lute eyes, and her white teeth shone smilingly 
 out, when she saw how lightly and actively I 
 made the dropping leap from the high window. 
 
 " Follow me," said she, " as softly and silently 
 as you can ; do exactly as I do. I tell you they 
 will not ransom this girl. It is black Sebas- 
 tian who carried her off. I know him; but 
 she is safe yet; my cunning and your cou- 
 rage will match them. I know black Sebas- 
 tian."
 
 STORY OF A LIFE. 277 
 
 I followed her, step by step, up a narrow 
 mountain path. Now the wet earth slipped 
 beneath our tread — now we had to catch at a 
 fragment of rock, now at a shrub, for support. 
 It was an hour's toil — we did not speak. 
 
 The peril and the pride of enterprise were 
 alike new and delightful. My mind was busy 
 imaging out the figures of the banditti. I pic- 
 tured their start of surprise, their fierce assault, 
 the clash of steel, and the sound of shot; and I 
 screwed my courage firmly up, and felt the fine 
 throb of desperate resolve. 
 
 " We are very near," whispered the little 
 maid of the inn ; " stay for a minute here, I will 
 go see if they are on the watch." 
 
 She disappeared, and left me alone on 
 the summit of that bold height, which rises 
 above Terracina. I could see the wide moonlit 
 ocean, and the dark and curving shores, and 
 promontories and bays afar off. The rain- 
 drops on every thing around looked soft and 
 pearly, and the air was perfume. How poets 
 would have loved the place, and hour, and the 
 calm peacefulness ! — how lovers would have 
 t 3
 
 278 STORY OF A LIFE. 
 
 lingered in the still, enchanting scene \ — My 
 guide returned, and whispered fast and exult- 
 ingly, " They sleep, they sleep, the black Se- 
 bastian sleeps; and Spalatro, and Pietro; and 
 the poor young lady ! — Your pistols, Senhor; 
 you must not spare them ;" and she caught my 
 girdle, and led me on eagerly. We came to a 
 black ruined wall, (the Roman built it ;) she 
 led me round, beneath its shelter; — they lay 
 pillowed on stones. Again she whispered, " He 
 with the long hair is Sebastian, and the short 
 red man is Spalatro — Ah ! the blessed virgin ! 
 they were both brave — pistol them, Senhor ; — 
 Pietro will fly — tread softly — close, close — 
 make sure." 
 
 I stood above them, a pistol pointed in eacli 
 hand, and the pale moon looked down upon 
 us with her holy light ; and they were sleeping 
 in it. I had come prepared for blows, and 
 blood, and brave encounter ; but not for this. 
 They were brigands, spoilers, murderers ; but 
 the red hand had now confidingly relaxed its 
 grasp — the violent eyes were closed. How 
 awful was that moment ! — the light pressure
 
 STORY OF A LIFE. 279 
 
 of a finger, and I sent two souls unshrived to 
 the bar of heaven. I could as soon have dared 
 to pierce a white-robed spirit of heaven, as these 
 dark crime-stained men who slept. 
 
 " Awake !" 
 
 Upon their feet they sprung ; and the drawn 
 sword, and glittering dagger, and pointed car- 
 bine, menaced me with death ; but they paused 
 as they saw my armed attitude, and resolute 
 bearing. I heard a woman's curse upon the 
 wind, as the little maiden of the inn fled from us; 
 and the lady started from her rest, clasped her 
 uplifted hands, and knelt in terror. I called a 
 parley. " You slumbered on your watch ; 
 my pistols did almost touch your bared temples : 
 I have not shed your blood ." Here the man 
 called Pietro fired on me; he fell dead to my 
 answering pistol. The black Sebastian raised 
 his sword upon me, it was met by the guard 
 of mine, and my left hand still held a pistol 
 pointing to the red Spalatro. " Hear me : I 
 come from the father of this lady : give her up 
 to me, and name your ransom ; it shall be paid. 
 The large dark eye of the brigand chief rolled 
 t 4
 
 280 STORY OF A LIFE. 
 
 wonderingly over me ; he shook off the long 
 black hair from his olive cheek, and asked me, 
 " Who are you ?" " A man — a stranger." 
 " And you have volunteered this dangerous 
 service ? For what ?" " Because it was my 
 duty." " Take her — You have spared my 
 life. I had not raised my sword on you, 
 but for the death of the fool Pietro. Twelve 
 homeless years of murder, toil, and peril, for 
 gold ! and woman ! — For gold ! — Remember, 
 I'll have her ransom — to-morrow — pledge 
 me your crossed hand — two thousand ducats." 
 u It is not fear, or doubt, which moves me 
 to consent: I could win her with this true 
 sword ; but I will, and rather for the lady's 
 sake, stand by my first offer of ransoming her." 
 I crossed my hand, and he grasped it. He was 
 a man of mountain beauty ; a belted form, with 
 the full clean limbs of active strength. I have 
 seldom seen a finer promise of strong, enduring 
 
 life. A sound — a shot — and he sprung up 
 
 with a lofty convulsive leap, and fell flat, and 
 never stirred again, and heard not the reproach- 
 ful ravings of the little dark-eyed damsel, as
 
 STORY OF A LIFE. 281 
 
 she came and stood over him; and asked for 
 her young Antonio — her murdered Antonio — 
 and spoke of her sad wedding ; and cursed him 
 for tearing her from her bridal chamber — from 
 her Antonio — and taking her to his rocky den, 
 and his accursed couch — and the bed of leaves — 
 of withered leaves — where he blighted her 
 maiden pride." 
 
 The red fierce Spalatro stood, for a while, 
 motionless, astonished as the startled bull, when 
 he doubts whether to fly from, or rush upon his 
 object; — then turning suddenly, with a swift 
 speed, he rushed down the lonely and dark side 
 of the mountain. 
 
 In silver light lay the two blood-stained bo- 
 dies, and the lady had risen, and caught my 
 arm ; and the maid still stood above the corpse 
 of Sebastian, and her satisfied revenge exulted 
 over the dead. At first it was in vain I asked 
 her to lead us down ; she railed at me for a 
 weak and craven-hearted man ; then loudly 
 laughed, and triumphed at the thought that her 
 own hand had avenged her : at length she 
 did so by a more public path, and at evtry
 
 282 STORY OF A LIFE. 
 
 little shrine, and every wooden cross, she stopped, 
 and knelt down on the bare stones, and counted 
 her beads ; and the lady and myself followed her 
 in a silence, broken only by some warm words of 
 gratitude on her part, or by enquiries about 
 her father. 
 
 It was early day-light, when we entered the 
 village. The young maid flew to the opening 
 chapel to confess ; and I led back the youthful 
 lady to the inn. The yawning sbirri who stood 
 indolently leaning, in the cloaks in which they 
 had slept, at the portal, started as they saw us 
 coming, and as they caught my angry and 
 contemptuons frown, they ventured not to stop, 
 or question us. I opened the door of the pa- 
 rents' chamber, and the daughter ran in, in 
 tears, and, as I closed it after her, I heard the 
 embracing sob, and the broken utterances of 
 grateful happiness. 
 
 Of course I visited in this family at Naples, 
 and of course I was kindly and cordially re- 
 ceived. 
 
 The gratitude of the fond father seemed to 
 have no limits. I never entered the room that
 
 STORY OF A LIFt. 283 
 
 bis countenance did not brighten : he was 
 always ready to converse; but, even when 
 silent, his eye rested on me with a most benig- 
 nant, parental expression. It was long — weeks, 
 nay months — before Maria Cecil had sufficiently 
 recovered from the effect of the shock, which 
 her nature had received, to be quietly and na- 
 turally companionable. I learned from her 
 father, with more delight than wonder, that the 
 very brigands had been awed into respect for 
 his child, by the majesty of her innocent beauty, 
 and by the calm, confiding air of her silent 
 resignation. 
 
 I learned, too, that he had been admiringly 
 impressed with the strange wildness, which 
 had risked her life and my own by the refusal 
 to shed the blood of the sleeper. Maria Cecil ! 
 how shall I describe her ? First, then, she was 
 the gentle, compassionate being, whom I had 
 seen at the village in Savoy, gazing piteously 
 upon the poor Cretin. This, with delight I dis- 
 covered, as on the day after the strange eventful 
 night at Terracina, I handed her into her car- 
 riage ; a something in her air, hef look, brought
 
 284 STOllY OF A LIFE. 
 
 back that scene like remembered music. I could 
 not indeed have sworn it at the bar of justice, 
 though my life or death had hung upon the 
 issue ; yet, internally, even then my heart would 
 have sworn it, in throbbing whispers to itself. 
 I have said that it was long before this charming 
 being recovered her wonted composure, long 
 before she could allow the soft light of the moon 
 to give that happy calm to the exhausted spirit, 
 which God meant it to shed over all innocent 
 human beings who wake, or watch, or wander 
 silently in the still season of night. To her 
 the associations connected with that mellow, 
 lovely light, were sad and terrific — Death 
 shots, and flowing blood, and pale corses, and 
 female eyes glaring with mad revenge. But 
 peace did return to her; and when it came, 
 seemed like some dove which, startled and terri- 
 fied, had fled away, but winged back stealthily 
 to its loved nest, and having once more gained 
 its resting place, and proper home, sat in it, 
 murmuring low, and looking out serene. 
 
 It was long before I felt anything like 
 attachment for Maria Cecil. She seemed to
 
 STORY OF A LITE. 285 
 
 me a desert lily ; an ocean gem ; a sweet, se- 
 cluded, hallowed innocent girl ; a domestic 
 daughter, home-loving, nun-like, knowing 
 nought about the busy world. She was not 
 beautiful, yet very beautiful ; in the lighted ball- 
 room most would have passed her by. There 
 was no elegant defined contour, no fine regu- 
 larity of feature. Her eyes ! I never knew 
 their colour — fair they were, light, gentle, 
 loving, innocent-loving eyes, like those of happy 
 children. Whenever she spoke, or listened, she 
 raised and fixed them on you without a blush. 
 I know not if she was musical — at least I never 
 heard her play or sing ; but, when she spoke, 
 it was a pleasant sound, sweeter than any song. 
 I know not if she drew; but I have seen her 
 stand looking at waters, rocks, and trees, and 
 forms, and ruins, as fondly as if she did. She 
 was always up, and among the flowers, before 
 the sun had dried the night dew from their 
 glittering leaves ; and she would gather a nose- 
 gay, at that hour, for her sleeping father. He 
 rose late — never came out — but used to sit 
 at a window looking on the broad bay, and she
 
 286 STORY OF A LIFE. 
 
 would read to him, or sit embroidering by his 
 side, for hours ; or walk in the garden with her 
 mother ; or play tenderly with a pretty little 
 smiling child, the daughter of their gardener. 
 In the evening they always drove out for air, 
 but very seldom on the more public corso. 
 Sometimes Maria and her mother would ven- 
 ture out, on foot, among the garden paths, on 
 the gay height of Posilipo. I have often walked 
 with them there at sunset hour ; every where 
 that hour is lovely, but at Naples — stray from 
 the city, — be alone; or, as I was, in angel 
 company, and you shall long remember it, with 
 grateful, but yet regretful tears. The constant 
 girl, who reads my tale, smiles at my broken 
 faith — contemptuous smiles ; and why ? My 
 Agatha ! — no, I was not forgetting her, — the 
 goddess-like beauty, and the high, pure, chaste 
 mind of Agatha, and her warm heart. No: 
 in the peculiar character of my first affections, 
 none could ever rival her; my present feeling was 
 not like that of ardent love, but it was a holier 
 thing that grew up silently — that never flashed 
 forth from my kindling eye — that never burned
 
 STORY OF A LIFE. 287 
 
 in glowing words upon my lip. My faults, 
 my sorrows, — I wanted shelter for them, in a 
 virtuous heart. I wanted an innocent bosom, 
 to pillow my throbbing temples on. I wanted 
 to be led back repentantly to my country, to 
 see my home again, a welcomed wanderer, and 
 to go, live and die, in the plain, calm exercise 
 of social virtues. I could not live on consent- 
 ingly a blighted barren tree ; no branch, no leaf, 
 no blossom, no fruit. The thought was agony. 
 I had the gifts of fortune ; I wanted to impart 
 and share them. I had afflictions; I wanted 
 pity. Solitude had ever been my cry — well, I 
 was solitary — and sad. — I wooed, I won her. 
 Long and happy was the season of that wooing. 
 She had a fine mind, filled with rich thoughts, 
 and pure imaginings ; we read together, 
 spoke together, opened our hearts to each 
 other on every thing but — Love. 
 
 One day, as we sat all together, the news- 
 papers of Mr, Cecil were brought in, and he 
 read from the deaths the following aloud : " At 
 his seat, near Beaulieu, in the New Forest, 
 Hampshire, Colonel Frederic Hamilton, aid-
 
 288 STORY OF A LIFE. 
 
 de-camp to the king, aged 59 years. He has 
 left his large property, for her life, to his sister, 
 Mrs. Charlotte Hamilton, and afterwards to 
 Osman Beavoir, Esq., the only son of Walter 
 Beavoir, Esq., of Beaulieu. The will bears 
 date August, 1755. Some perplexity will arise 
 on the death of Mrs. Hamilton, as Mr. Osman 
 Beavoir disappeared from the town of Blois in 
 France, where he was stationed, on his parole, 
 as a prisoner of war, and has never since been 
 heard of: little doubts are entertained of his 
 death, but his disconsolate family still cling to 
 the hope that he exists. His acquaintances at 
 Blois are of opinion, that he destroyed himself 
 in consequence of a very bitter disappointment. 
 It appears he was distractedly attached to a 
 very beautiful young lady of that city, who, 
 with the strong prejudice of her nation, treated 
 all his advances in a very light unfeeling 
 manner." 
 
 It required no confession of the tongue. I 
 stood avowed before them as Osman Beavoir : 
 my extreme and uncontrollable agitation imme- 
 diately betrayed me. What shame, what deep
 
 STORY OF A LIFE. 289 
 
 indignation against myself, I felt and looked, 
 as I rose, and rapidly quitted the apartment. 
 A short, and loud-thinking walk in the balmy 
 garden restored me to that calmness, which is 
 always the immediate consequence of a strong- 
 formed resolution to tell out the plain and sim- 
 ple truth. I requested to speak with Mr. Cecil 
 alone. He was an English country gentleman 
 of the very first, though not the wealthiest, 
 class ; elegant in all his tastes, noble in all his 
 thoughts, was a delicate man, sickly in com- 
 plexion, grey hairs, his shoulders bowed down 
 with debility. In the eye alone shone out the 
 retired senator, and the once manly hunter of 
 the deer. I told him all — every thing. 
 
 I remember his reply : " I, Mr. Beavoir, 
 have nothing to do with forgiving you. I fear 
 you can never forgive yourself. For the romantic 
 and chivalrous stranger from New Spain, the 
 rescuer of my daughter, and a visitor most 
 agreeable to myself, I had felt a deep, in- 
 creasing interest. Strong as my objections are 
 to form an alliance with the family of a fo- 
 reigner, I saw the attachment which was spring- 
 vol. i. u
 
 200 STORY OF A LIFE. 
 
 ing up — I had resolved never to disappoint 
 the happiness of my child ; but, Sir, I confess, 
 this moment, which discovers you to me as an 
 Englishman of old and excellent family, and of 
 high expectations, exhibits you to me in colours 
 of a dark and repulsive hue. How can I en- 
 trust the happiness of my daughter to one who 
 has so trifled with that of his family, who has 
 forgotten his pride as a man of birth, his honor 
 as a captive, and his patriotism as an English- 
 man ? Sir, you have made me unhappy. At my 
 time of life, when our hairs are grey — a dis- 
 covery, a disappointment like this, shocks us 
 severely. I will counsel you, — go home — 
 cast away this paltry, polluting wealth — a 
 Beavoir, a man of Norman descent, sharing the 
 mean spoil of a beggarly Jew. I cannot under- 
 stand this — the Agatha you speak of is the 
 only poor excuse for your wild, your cruel 
 conduct." 
 
 I bore this, bore it all with an uncovered 
 face : I looked up, resolved, in stern penitence, 
 to bear up my open shame — my cheeks were 
 wet, though I could not be said to weep —
 
 STORY OF A LIFE. £91- 
 
 waters gushed out nervously from my eyes, and 
 coursed down, and stained me as a man of 
 guilt, but one returning from his ways. 
 
 He stretched forth his hand, and taking mine, 
 sunk into his wonted tenderness. " All these 
 things that you have done are bad, very bad ; 
 but you served me in my sorrow ; you saved 
 my daughter — you have cheered many an hour 
 for a sick old man — I cannot forget these 
 things. This door shall never be shut against 
 you — come, come as you were wont hereafter, 
 not now — go home now ; but yet I pray you 
 think not of my daughter any more — she must, 
 she will forget you." But she did not; she had 
 the angel attribute of true innocence. She 
 could pity, she could pardon, she could con- 
 demn, yet love the sinner. Many days elapsed 
 before I again ventured into her presence ; nor 
 were they days of hopeless, or unrelieved de- 
 pression. I had turned back in my wretched 
 course ; — again, I should be Osman Beavoir — 
 again, I should look upon those faces dear to 
 me — once more tread the deep forest, where 
 Vernon was wont to lead me; and the grave 
 u 2
 
 292 STORY OF A LIFE. 
 
 of my sainted Edward, I should visit that. I 
 would weep imploringly to Heaven to grant me 
 Maria Cecil ; surely there would be something 
 granted to a prayer so virtuous ; for who would 
 seek to be allied with purity, that did not love 
 it. I passed in at their garden-gate at the cool 
 evening hour ; the first object that presented 
 itself to me, coming up the garden path, was 
 Maria. As she raised her eyes there was a 
 pause, — a something was urging her to turn 
 away — but that feeling, whatever it may have 
 been, was transient, momentary. She advanced 
 calmly — she put forth her hand — she begged 
 me to come in to her father — she spoke of the 
 weather — pointed to some fresh-blown flower — 
 patted her fond spaniel, and led me to the house ; 
 and then turning back resumed her walk. 
 
 I sat withM r. Cecil for an hour: he was 
 quiet, and kind. " You will return home," he 
 said. " Immediately," was my reply, 6i but — " 
 "What?" — " May I hope again, at some future, 
 and not very distant period ?" — " It will be time 
 enough to speak of this when we meet again. — 
 Fly to your parents ; within a year I shall be
 
 STORY OF A LIFE. 293 
 
 again in England, and there, as every where, I 
 shall ever be ready to receive you with the feeling 
 of a warm, and I may add, Sir, from your ser- 
 vices to me, a grateful friend." 
 
 It was already dusk when I left him. I found 
 Maria still walking in the garden upon a terrace, 
 which looked out upon the bay. There was 
 nothing to be seen but black water, and one 
 vast misty cloud resting, as it were, upon it. 
 No star shone out ; but near, a coloured flower 
 or two pierced through the gray gloom, and, as 
 vou looked on them, and inhaled the perfume, 
 you felt it was some bowery spot. 
 
 I came close to Maria, and I could see, even 
 at that hour, that she was pale and thoughtful. 
 
 " You give me up — you despise — you will 
 forget me r 
 
 " No." 
 
 " You condemn me — think me base ?" 
 
 " No — your father, and mother, and your 
 sister, especially your sister, I have pitied 
 them." 
 
 " Can you forgive me ?" 
 
 " I forgive you ! — none can forgive but God 
 u 3
 
 294- STORY OF A LIFE. 
 
 only — none can judge but he. I wish I were 
 your sister." 
 
 " Explain, explain." 
 
 " She will be so happy." 
 
 " My dear Maria, could you then again 
 love me ?" 
 
 " Go home, and embrace your sister. I 
 have no brother. But there are titles tenderer 
 than brother, — lover, — husband. No, I will 
 not deceive you. I have, I have loved you ; I 
 could have given you my heart, — now, and 
 through life, it should have beat for you alone ; 
 perhaps, alas ! it will — but, oh ! this fatal 
 tale." 
 
 " Hear me, fair being, I will not rave to you 
 with idle wildness. I have erred, frantically 
 erred ; — I have loved the early love of phren- 
 zied passion ; — but near you, I have been 
 blessed, shelteringly blessed ; — you know it 
 well. Your calm and hallowed aspect has shed 
 its peaceful glory on me, day by day ; till my 
 love of you has been, as it were, identified with 
 yet a higher ; and will you, will you, at such 
 an hour, abandon him who clings to your bright
 
 STORY OF A LIFE. 295 
 
 robe, who abks to live with you, and be at rest ? 
 Maria, my earthly happiness, my bliss eternal, 
 all that I may be here and hereafter, hangs on 
 your answering lip. Nay — not yet — you shall 
 not yet say no. Picture me again a wanderer, 
 again an outcast, a lone, a blighted thing ; 
 — one, whom mercy has turned from — for 
 whom her dove-like eyes are closed. My evil 
 angel is here; — he listens for your answer, and 
 fills the cup of woe, and scatters thickly in the 
 poison of despair." 
 
 " Alas ! this is but raving — sinful raving : — 
 speak not thus to me — you were the preserver 
 of my life." 
 
 " Oh ! name not that ; if it is alone to grati- 
 tude for life preserved I owe your sweet avowal, 
 to the winds I give it, and will study to forget 
 the sound. — Again, I ask, give me but hope, a 
 ray, a distant gleam of promised happiness — 
 I have no wild, romantic, ardent wishes ; name 
 but the period of my penance, I will do it all — 
 months, years, I will serve for you at virtue's 
 shrine ; and when, in the full temple, all ask 
 u 4
 
 296 STORY OF A LIFE. 
 
 some temporal blessings from their god — you, 
 you alone will I petition for." 
 
 " I am not used to this. I am a plain, fond, 
 untaught girl. I tell you truly, I have loved 
 you, and if God wills that we should meet again, 
 you then may see how well. It is late — Fare- 
 well." 
 
 I took the offered hand, and kissed it with a 
 trembling tenderness, as if it were (it was) some 
 sacred thing. 
 
 Yes, said my joyous spirit, she loves me — 
 ah! thus it is with innocence. Ye sinners of 
 the world, when guilt sits heavy at your heart — 
 when sufferings and remorse bow down your 
 wounded spirits— I tell you, go not to the proudly 
 good ; to those, who warned alone by fear, tread 
 sternly in the narrow path ; but seek the inno- 
 cent young, or the repentant old ; their hands 
 are, as hands from heaven, stretched out still. 
 
 A fine strong light of happy hope shone 
 flight around me ; all my resolves were quickly 
 taken : the journey home — the joy, the tender 
 love of pardoning parents — the freely open heart 
 of a loving sister — the quickly passing year —
 
 STORY OF A LIFE. 297 
 
 the return of the Cecils, and the renewal of my 
 suit — consenting parents, and the day that 
 should make her mine — the forest scene, the 
 holy place, the holy words — I was too happy ; 
 these things all swam before me in the wakeful 
 night. 
 
 One only day remained for me to pass in Na- 
 ples. Mr. Cecil had most earnestly requested 
 that I would not call to take leave — I had pro- 
 mised I would not. Still I thought I might in- 
 nocently contrive a last, and loving gaze upon 
 the form of Maria ; and in the evening I took a 
 large sailing boat, and went upon the water. 
 Far off I went, and glided on the bosom of the 
 tranquil bay, and looked around on all the plea- 
 sant shores, dear to me from their own beauty ; 
 from the delightful climate ; but doubly dear 
 because Maria's eyes had rested on them, Ma- 
 ria's tongue had praised their beauty, and to 
 me, and with me, she had wandered in these 
 lovely scenes. Her arm had rested upon mine, 
 and I had seen her smile on playful children, 
 and heard her sigh when the wretched passed 
 her by.
 
 298 STORY OF A LIFE. 
 
 And now, from afar, I saw her on the ter- 
 race — enough, to see the outline — memory 
 filled up the portrait. 
 
 The garden hat of white Italian chip, round 
 like the peasant girls, and the mild e} r es, and 
 dark brown curls beneath, and the light sum- 
 mer capucin of muslin, and the ribands green 
 that tied it careless on: — beautiful angel ! — how 
 dared I hope that God would give me such a 
 favored child. That eve, at least, I thought 
 thee mine; that eve perhaps thy heart beat 
 pityingly, and lovingly, and hopefully, for the 
 worthless Osman. We both of us looked at the 
 same glorious scene — both saw that set of sun. 
 Had some bold painter, with imitative fire, 
 but feeble power, thrown such a scene on can- 
 vas, the connoisseur had cried "Unnatural." — 
 Jewelled mosaic was that marbled sky, of every 
 gorgeous hue we know, and thousands name- 
 less; and broad, and bright the setting rays 
 spread up behind transparent, and were lost in 
 upper air; and then it changed; lower and 
 lower sunk the great orb, going to where it is 
 worshipped ; and the sky became the brilliant
 
 STORY OF A LIFE. 299 
 
 yellow of the topaz; again it softened; amber* 
 pale amber, was the hue in which, as I turned 
 to gaze, I caught, for the last time, the floating 
 figure of Maria. 
 
 The breeze blew soft — the mariners sung 
 their evening hymn most cheerily — pathos at 
 every close ; but yet most happy was the sound. 
 
 " It is a fine night for a sail, Senhor," said 
 the Padrone ; " shall we stretch out of the bay ?" 
 A night sail had been so commonly my pastime, 
 that it was his wont to ask this. " Yes ;" and 
 to myself I thought, that I would thus wear out 
 the night, and watch the stars, and listen to 
 the waves. We had just cleared the bay, when 
 suddenly it fell quite calm, and the sail flapped 
 heavily, and the sailors lowered it with laugh- 
 ings, and asked me if I would let them sleep till 
 the morning breeze. I did not like the idea of 
 giving them a long and tiresome row, so bade 
 them do as they would : they smoked, and sung, 
 and told their little tales, and, at length, I heard 
 no sound but the breathing of tired men, thank- 
 fully sleeping. For a long time I continued lying 
 recumbent, with my eyes fixed on those distant
 
 300 STORY OF A LIFE. 
 
 worlds, of which we shall know more hereafter. 
 At length I murmured my confessions mourn- 
 fully ; and poured my thanksgivings, and 
 breathed my prayer, and felt forgiven, and felt 
 hope, and thought of home without a fear, 
 and then of fair Maria, attired as my bride, 
 and kneeling with me at the altar ; and seldom 
 in my life have I sunk more happily or con- 
 fidingly to rest. 
 
 Quick treadings awakened me : above me 
 was the livid Moor ; the turbaned Algerine ; his 
 knee was pressed upon my body ; one bare and 
 nervous arm grasped fiercely at my throat, and 
 with the other he held a naked scimitar, and 
 menaced death — but he did not slay. — A 
 dusky slave brought iron manacles, and chains. 
 I was a captive, and to the Moor. 
 
 " Allah Ackbar " — « Allah Ackbar," was 
 the loud shout ; and the poor mariners of Na- 
 ples wailed bitterly; and I was bound and 
 dumb. 
 
 They rowed us rapidly away, and their other 
 boat kept close to us ; and they were tawny men, 
 with small skull-caps of red, and no hair but
 
 STORY OF A LIFE. 301 
 
 the ferocious moustache ; and necks naked and 
 bull like ; and the butts of pistols, and the hilts 
 of daggers stuck out from their girdles ; and 
 they laughed as they rose to their oars, and 
 shouted, as in chorus, " Allah Ackbar." 
 
 In the pale grey hour of early dawn we came 
 along side a large armed vessel. A golden 
 flower pot, with green and yellow roses, was 
 painted on its stern ; a flag, blood-red, with 
 the half-moon embroidered on it, hung calmly 
 floating above ; and as we came upon the deck, 
 the crew were rising from their rest ; and some 
 were combing out the beard ; some curling 
 the moustaches; some anointing the shaven 
 head ; some lifting water, and performing the 
 prescribed ablutions ; and they looked up at us, 
 as we were driven forward, with mocking grins, 
 and cruel eyes, and a contemptuous hate. All 
 chained and wretched as I was, a something- 
 novel in this sight, a something realizing old 
 descriptions, moved me to a kind of secret 
 pleasure: and now the light broke brighter, 
 and one voice, loud, deep, and mellow, was lifted 
 up, and you could not hear any sound beside,
 
 302 STOTIY OF A LIFE. 
 
 were it even the rustle of a garment ; once my 
 chains clanked, and eyes glared on me, and 
 I held them still. In the short call, my 
 ear caught six times repeated the " Allah Ack- 
 bar," and I could distinguish " Mahomed 
 Resoul Allah," and " la lllah Illalah" — « la 
 Illah Illalah;" and the Moors all rose, and 
 stood with naked feet, and with the open hands 
 of peaceful salutation, and they raised them to 
 their shoulders, and crossed them on their 
 bodies, and silently, or, with soft under voice, 
 they prayed after their leader ; and they burst 
 out at each pause with the loud Ameen : and 
 eight times they prostrated themselves, and 
 with their foreheads humbly pressed the deck. 
 The black slave, and the Aga, in his full turban, 
 side by side, and their faces all turned to the 
 sacred Mecca. Deeply the scene impressed me. 
 I felt as the great painter, when a prisoner 
 among banditti, that it were a sight to charm 
 away for a moment the sense of misery. As 
 my eyes rested on the groupe, methought one 
 face was known to me; large moustaches of 
 a thick bristly red, overshadowed, in part, a
 
 STORY OF A LIFE. 303 
 
 mouth hideous with a broken tooth ; one eye 
 was half-closed, the other scowled sullenly be- 
 neath the turban-folds; the blue collarless Turk- 
 ish vest showed a thick strong neck ; and broad 
 herculean shoulders spread with a bursting 
 strength beneath ; a leg of vast proportions 
 pillared the giant frame, and his voice was like 
 no other, and his salaamings and prostrations 
 were done with clumsy, reluctant effort. I 
 could not be mistaken : it was the Lisbon rob- 
 ber — the violator — he that murdered the fair 
 girl. 
 
 The prayers were no sooner over than we 
 captives were summoned to the poop. The 
 Rais was a short, thin, pale, cruel looking 
 man. The deck was crowded; but there were 
 no sounds, save alternately his voice, and that of 
 his interpreter, and the trembling replies of a 
 poor Neapolitan taken with me, who spoke the 
 Lingua Franca, and then, at times, a long 
 pause, and the gurgle of water as the snake- 
 like pipe was slowly updrawn. The result of 
 this was the taking off of my chains, and an 
 assurance that, when my ransom was paid, I
 
 304 STORY OF A LIFE. 
 
 should go free, and a promise of freedom for 
 those taken with me, provided I would pay their 
 ransom, to which I agreed ; and there came to 
 me a cunning looking interpreter, and he gave 
 me a place, and a carpet, separate from the 
 other prisoners ; and gave me coffee and 
 bread, and squatted inquisitively by my side. 
 During the day I could get no privacy — no rest. 
 I had no power to think of my situation, and, 
 in the course of it, I witnessed a strange scene 
 of Turkish despotism. There was a sudden 
 tumult, and loud cries, and all hurried off; 
 and they dragged with them the renegade. 
 
 He had struck, it seemed, the black cook, 
 and had overset the food, and insulted the se- 
 rang. Again all was silence, as, amid the 
 hushed crowd, the two accusers told their tale ; 
 a muttered something fell from the prisoner, but 
 the dead silence awed him, and he felt fear, and 
 the savage eye looked apprehension. The 
 Rais drew up his smoke calmly and slow, and 
 the long gurgle echoed loud ; and then a still 
 smile just passed across his face, and he gave 
 a motion with his hand, and they tied the
 
 STOfcY OF A LI IT. 
 
 prisoner's arms behind him, and pressed him 
 into a kneeling posture ; and a large African 
 came forward, and his eves rolled white, and 
 he raised the shining blade, and the hideous 
 head fell to the death stroke, and sea water 
 was thrown upon the bloody spot : and 
 the huge body was cast into the ocean, and 
 the fierce head stuck upon a fixed spike on the 
 deck, and all dispersed, and washed their 
 hands, and gathered round the mats and 
 travs, and dipped their hands into their messes, 
 and laughed as they looked up at the grisly 
 warning. 
 
 To me the sight gave food for wondering 
 thought. Justice had been delayed ; but the 
 eye of heaven had followed the shedder of 
 blood. Punishment had, like a blood-hound 
 with a wounded limb, tracked him unceasingly, 
 and found him in a den among violent and 
 cruel spirits, like his own, where he had 
 thought himself secure. Nothing had more 
 astonished me, than the suddenness of the exe- 
 cution ; scarce two minutes elapsed from the 
 wave of the Rais' hand to the death, and there 
 
 vol. i . x
 
 306 STORY OP A LIFE. 
 
 was no imploring, no struggle. Still as a forest 
 beast, encircled by dreaded fire, he kneeled 
 mechanically to the pressing hand, and gave 
 his bowed neck to the expected sword. 
 
 It really was a scene of beguiling beauty, when 
 we ran into the harbour of Algiers, and so 
 many white houses, and minarets, and domes, 
 and gilded crescents rising over them, lay 
 spread before us, and we saw behind them a 
 green plain, all garden and orange grove, with 
 little villas sheltered in them, and behind, in the 
 far back ground, mountains of Africa. I did 
 hardly regret captivity : it would be short, I 
 felt certain, and, from the received opinion that 
 I was rich, would be made easy, if not pleasant, 
 to me. It was a strange situation to have been 
 in, and there were a thousand forms, and objects 
 new, to fill the mind's picture gallery, and give 
 it food for idle thought in after moments. 
 
 Many things determined me for the present 
 to retain the name of Alvarez, and the condition 
 of a wealthy traveller from Spanish America. 
 In the first place, I had left, in that name, ample 
 funds in a bank at Naples, which might answer
 
 STORY OF A LIFE. 307 
 
 ihe immediate demand for the ransom of myself, 
 and my boat's crew. In the second, as it 
 was only to the family of Cecil that my real 
 name, and my strange adventures, had become 
 known, I did not choose to throw myself on an 
 English consul, and enter on so much humi- 
 liating explanation with a stranger. The inter- 
 preter, on landing, took me to the house of a 
 lean Jew; spectacles he wore, things that sat 
 forward on his prominent nose, and which he 
 looked through or over, as close attention or 
 quick suspicion succeeded to each other, in his 
 acute but restless mind. He was a man of 
 sixty, his eyes were keen, and bright, and 
 glassy ; his beard black ; a black that never 
 would grow grey, that shone cold, and was 
 peaked. He wore a rimless cap of rusty black, 
 and a robe of thread-bare blue, and he was 
 sallow. Yacoob was his name ; over and over 
 again he questioned the interpreter, and the 
 Neapolitan boatman, and then me, through 
 them both. At length he passed into an inner 
 room, and we heard the sounds of locks and 
 creaking hinges, and he came forth again with 
 x 2
 
 308 STORY OF A LIFE. 
 
 silver, and counted slowly out the sum I 
 wanted, and took my bill. Then he named 
 his own garden house, and begged me to hire it 
 of him till the return of the galley from Naples 
 with the ransoms; and he tendered all services 
 bowingly ; and I was soon installed in a pretty 
 garden, with a tall lime-tree, and with spread- 
 ing almonds; with shade and grass ; with 
 flowers ; a fountain ; a cool hall ; and a terrace 
 roof, whereon to lie, and commune with the 
 stars. 
 
 In one thing I was rather disappointed; as 
 I was a captive, although of rank, it was not 
 allowed to me to pass forth from my green 
 prison, except for a short walk with the Jew, 
 or the interpreter. Here I could see little of 
 all that I had deemed would be so picturesque, 
 and striking, in the manners and the costumes of 
 the Moors. We only met the bare-bosomed 
 peasant with torn vest and ragged turban, as 
 he drove his ass laden with fruit, to the bazaar. 
 Even he passed us with a haughty, unyielding 
 air ; but, whenever we heard the shuffling clang- 
 ing tread of the loose-slippered Turk, or the
 
 STORY OF A LIFE. 300 
 
 horse tramp of the Moorish soldier, we were 
 lain to step on one side ; and, if we passed, in 
 our path, veiled women, walking to the tombs, 
 we durst not even bend our eyes to guess at their 
 hidden forms. Still the fortnight ran by busily, 
 nay, happily ; my every thought was rosy 
 coloured bright — home, reconciliation, and 
 marriage with Maria Cecil. 
 
 One evening, as I sat lounging on the 
 Divau, the little black slave, whom they had 
 left to serve me, was presenting coffee, and the 
 long pipe, which, as a passe temps 9 I had learned 
 to smoke, was just taken from the lip, that I 
 might taste it; when Yacoob came hurrying in, 
 not as usual, with the slow respect, and the put- 
 off papooshes*, but furious ; his glassy eyes 
 gleaming with the fire of rage ; he beat down 
 the coffee cup, and broke it; he plucked away 
 my pipe; he bent down, and caught up his 
 slipper, and struck me with it on the face with 
 frantic violence. I was powerless from sur- 
 prise, and 1 bled profusely, and when 1 raised 
 
 ' Slip|H.i
 
 310 STORY OF A LIFE. 
 
 my eyes above my shielding arm, I saw the in- 
 terpreter with Moorish soldiers, who seized me 
 laughing, and led me forth. Yacoob walked 
 hurriedly by us the whole way back to the city. 
 " My monies, my monies, you Christian dog ; 
 you robber. Well spake my brother Benjamin, 
 never trust them, the dogs, the dogs." And 
 he came nearer, and spate upon me ; and the 
 soldiers laughed at him, and me. " Your mo- 
 nies at Naples ! you have no monies. No one 
 knows you ; you have robbed me." It was in 
 vain I spoke; in vain I said there must be 
 some mistake ; in vain I spoke of Venice, and 
 my wealth there : he was deaf, and would not 
 hear me. At last the hurrying steps of the 
 urging guard brought us to the palace of 
 the Dey. 
 
 A large, fat, one-eyed man he was, with a 
 green turban, and a crimson vest; and numbers 
 of well-dressed Moors thronged round him, and 
 the hall was filled with sturdy warlike men. 
 He held his coffee untouched in his hand ; and 
 he took his pipe from his mouth, while the 
 interpreter informed him of this matter ; and the
 
 STORY OF A LITE. 311 
 
 old Jew was restless, now in low prostration to 
 the Dey, and now in gestures of angry menace 
 towards me. When he had fairly heard it all, 
 he shook with heavy laughter ; the duped Jew 
 was a something that tickled his Turkish fancy : 
 still, as he joked, he motioned with his hand, and 
 some black slaves drew near, and threw me 
 down, and my feet were put between the cord, 
 and the staff; and fastened, and drawn high, and 
 then severely they bastinadoed me, and nature 
 spoke out in cries and groans, which I could 
 not repress; thence I was carried to a large 
 khan, where there lodged many white slaves ; 
 and they put a ring about my leg, and hung a 
 chain thereto of twenty-five pounds weight; and 
 stripping me of the clothes I wore, they gave 
 me a jacket and trowsers of a coarse black stuff, 
 and laid me upon dirty straw ; and threw me a 
 portion of black bread ; and left me in bitter- 
 ness, and darkness, and despair. 
 
 " I was no longer even possessed of that 
 character of worth in the eyes of Moorish mas- 
 ter, or Christian slave, which thousands of the 
 miserable sufferers still enjoyed. Pity turned
 
 312 STORY OF A LIFE. 
 
 away in utter disregard from one, who had 
 sought freedom, and a fortnight's ease, by 
 swindling. I found no sympathy around — I 
 was alone, even here ; and now it was no in- 
 dulgent solitude — captivity — the lash — toil 
 
 — the craving of hunger — and the bed of filth 
 
 — cut off for ever from all chance of rescue or 
 escape. Now, that I would have gone to my 
 home, it had fled me like a vision of the night 
 — now, that I would have chosen good, it would 
 seem my hour of grace had passed away. What 
 a night I passed ! What nights — what days — 
 for they were many, ere I could leave the straw 
 wherein I lay ! At length I could hobble with 
 a tender foot, and was driven forth with the 
 others; we were taken daily three miles into 
 the country, where it was our task to clear out 
 the foul bed of a large empty reservoir, — a kind 
 of lake, which was to be refilled for the pleasure 
 of the Dey. 
 
 Here, in the burning sun, they made us strip, 
 and descending into the pond, we brought up 
 the black, thick, stinking mud in our arms, 
 heaped up, and pressed against our bosoms. If
 
 STORY OF A LIFE. SIS 
 
 to any human being such toil is bitterly de- 
 grading, judge what it was to me — a youth 
 of family, and fortune, of gentle breeding, 
 cradled in a mother's closet ; a thing to be close 
 to her at every hour, and rocked by her alone 
 to sleep; a man of luxurious habits; a senti- 
 mental wanderer ; all wild enthusiasm ; and 
 poetry my daily food. What did I, you ask ? 
 
 — Did I strike back when the slave-whip fell on 
 me? — Did I seek the means of self-destruction? 
 
 — Did I mourn, and sicken, and pine away? 
 Not so; my mind sunk with my condition, — 
 sunk low ; I toiled, and cursed, but yet I la- 
 boured submissively. I pressed eagerly for my 
 scanty portion of black bread, and exulted with 
 the others, when a few decayed olives were added 
 as a boon; and I bowed down, with the others, to 
 the earth, whenever the Dey came out to look at 
 his gardens, and, with them, I shouted, " Long 
 live our lord and master, Muley Abdalla." Beg- 
 gared of all that made life valuable. I yet was con- 
 tent to live, for I feared to die. I speak not of 
 the fear of cowards ; for in battle, or in perilous 
 encounter; with hot blood, and mind rxcitcd, 
 
 VOL. J. Y
 
 314 STORY OF A LIFE. 
 
 few perhaps would have borne a better part ; 
 but here I felt, although in the extremity of 
 wretchedness, the truth of that mighty master's 
 verse : — 
 
 " The weariest, and most loathed worldly life, 
 That age, ache, penury, and imprisonment 
 Can lay on nature, is a paradise 
 To what we fear of death." 
 
 and thus I bore with my chains and stripes. 
 
 It chanced one morning, as the Dey rode 
 past us, that he was struck by my form, and 
 features ; he sent to me an officer, and I was 
 called, all soiled, and dripping from my muddy 
 labours, and told that if I would only assume 
 the turban, and turn Mahometan, I should be 
 received into the Turkish guard, and might 
 make my fortune. " No," I said, " I was born, 
 and would die a Christian." They bade me 
 think of it, and answer on the morrow ; and 
 again, that night, I went home to the locked and 
 crowded khan, the filthy straw, the scanty black 
 bread ; the noisome stenches, and the constant
 
 STORY OF A LIFE. 315 
 
 quarreling of the querulous Italian slaves. How 
 many openings of better fortune, brighter 
 chances, future escape, this proposal opened 
 to me! "Only," mehought, "only to bow 
 down in the house of Rimmon, and to keep my 
 heart still tor the God of my fathers." It daz- 
 zled me as I thought upon it. The sleek war- 
 horse; the armed ease ; the life of observation ; 
 the study of their tongue, and customs ; and the 
 crowning moment of escape hereafter, when the 
 eye of vigilance was closed upon my action. 
 But recollections of a thousand disregarded 
 things came crowding forward. The small, old 
 church of Dibdin, and the black yew-tree, and 
 the grey martyred lady; Vernon too ; his voice, 
 as he read the Sunday lessons ; the sacramental 
 bread I had first taken from his nervous hand; 
 the pious tremor of his voice ; and the reve- 
 rential feeling with which I put my lip to the 
 sacred cup. Edward too, sainted, and looking 
 on me — no — all wild and unsettled as were 
 my notions of religion, all undefined as was my 
 timid, doubting faith, I thought upon those 
 early days, and hugged my galling chains, and
 
 326 STORY OF A BETF£. 
 
 stretched my sore, and fettered limbs, and slept, 
 upon my bed of straw, sound as a king might 
 on his couch of down, or rather babe within its 
 rocking bed. 
 
 Cheerful I rose, and strong — smiled my re- 
 fusal out; yet spoke it resolute. Three times 
 that day the slave-whip drew my blood; twice 
 I fell faint beneath the heavy burden of a 
 weighty stone ; but my heart was light, and 
 presages of happiness played round my wakened 
 fancy. Yes, I was now a sufferer, in some de- 
 gree, for conscience sake. The tempter had 
 been with me, and been rebuked. I might 
 think again of home, and of pure things — of 
 Edward in his grave ; of Agatha the shade ; of 
 Maria Cecil, a living blessing wherever she 
 dwelt. Thus, for many months, my life rolled 
 by, and in patience I possessed my soul. 
 
 END OF THE FIRST VOLUME. 
 
 London : 
 Printed by A. & IL Spottiswoode, 
 
 Now-Strcct-Squurc.

 
 UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS-URBANA 
 
 3 0112 042033586