Chapter IX: Part 9

"Do hear and see yonder the divine Vesuvius, who joins in celebrating the festival in such right good earnest," cried Dian, who plunged as deeply into the waves of joy as any Ischian. Albano looked over toward the flame, flickering high in the starry heaven, and, like a god, having the great thunder beneath it, and he saw how the night had made the promontory of Misenum loom up like a cloud beside the volcano. Beside them burned thousands of lamps on the royal palace of the neighboring island Procida.

While he looked out over the sea, whose coasts were sunk into the night, and which lay stretching away like a second night, immeasurable and gloomy, he saw now and then a dissolving splendor sweep over it, which flowed on ever broader and brighter. A distant torch also showed itself in the air, whose flashing drew long, fiery furrows through the glimmering waves. There drew near a bark, with its sail taken in, because the wind blew off shore. Female forms appeared on board, among which, one of royal stature, along whose red, silken dress the torch-glare streamed down, held her eyes fixed upon Vesuvius. As they sailed nearer, and the bright sea blazed up on either side under the dashing oars, it seemed as if a goddess were coming, around whom the sea swims with enraptured flames, and who knows it not. All stepped out on shore at some distance, where by appointment, as it seemed, servants had been waiting to make everything easy. A smaller person, provided with a double opera-glass, took a short farewell of the tall one, and went away with a considerable retinue. The red-dressed one drew a white veil over her face, and went, accompanied by two virgins, gravely and like a princess, to the spot where Albano and the music were.

Albano stood near to her; two great black eyes, filled with fire and resting upon life with inward earnestness, streamed through the veil, which betrayed the proud, straight forehead and nose. In the whole appearance there was to him something familiar and yet great; she stood before him as a Fairy Queen, who had long ago with a heavenly countenance bent down over his cradle and looked in with smiles and blessings, and whom the spirit now recognizes again with its old love. He thought perhaps of a name, which spirits had named to him, but that presence seemed here not possible. She fixed her eye with complacency and attention on the play of two virgins, who, neatly clad in silk, with gold-edged silken aprons, danced gracefully, with modestly drooping heads and downcast eyes, to the tambourine of a third; the two other virgins, whom the stranger had brought with her, and Agata, sang sweetly with Italian half-voice[97] to the graceful joy. "It is all done in fact," said an old man to the strange lady, "to the honor of the Holy Virgin and St. Nicholas." She nodded slowly a serious yes.

At this moment there stood, all at once, Luna, played about with the sacrificial fire of Vesuvius, over in the sky, as the proud goddess of the sun-god, not pale, but fiery, as it were a thunder-goddess over the thunder of the mountain, and Albano cried, involuntarily, "God! the great moon!" The stranger quickly threw back her veil, and looked round significantly after the voice as after a familiar one; when she had looked upon the strange youth for a long time, she turned toward the moon over Vesuvius.

But Albano was agitated by a god, and dazzled by a wonder; he saw here Linda de Romeiro. When she raised the veil, beauty and brightness streamed out of a rising sun; delicate, maidenly colors, lovely lines and sweet fulness of youth played like a flower-garland about the brow of a goddess, with soft blossoms around the holy seriousness and mighty will on brow and lip, and around the dark glow of the large eye. How had the pictures lied about her,--how feebly had they expressed this spirit and this life!

As if the hour would fain worthily invest the shining apparition, so beautifully did heaven and earth with all rays of life play into each other,--love-thirsty stars flew like heaven-butterflies into the sea,--the moon had soared away over the impetuous earth-flame of Vesuvius, and spread her tender light over the happy world, the sea and the shores,--Epomeo hovered with his silvered woods, and with the hermitage of his summit high in the night blue,--near by stirred the life of the singing, dancing ones, with their prayers and their festal rockets which they were sending aloft. When Linda had long looked across the sea toward Vesuvius, she spoke, of herself, to the silent Albano, by way of answering his exclamation, and making up for her sudden turning round and staring at him. "I come from Vesuvius," said she; "but he is quite as sublime near at hand as afar off, which is so singular." Altogether strange and spirit-like did it sound to him, that he really heard this voice. With one that indicated deep emotion he replied: "In this land, however, everything is great indeed, even the little is made great by the large,--this little human pleasure here between the burnt-out volcano[98] and the burning one,--all is at one, and therefore right and so godlike." At once attracted and distracted, not knowing him, although previously struck with the resemblance of his voice to that of Roquairol, gladly reflecting on his simple words, she looked longer than she was aware at the ingenuous, but daring and warm eye of the youth, made no reply, turned slowly away, and again looked silently at the sports.

Dian, who had already for a long time been looking at the fair stranger, found at last in his memory her name, and came to her with the half-proud, half-embarrassed look of artists toward rank. She did not recognize him. "The Greek, Dian," said Albano, "noble Countess!" Surprised at the Count's recognition of her, she said to him: "I do not know you." "You know my father," said Albano, "the Knight Cesara." "O Dio!" cried the Spanish maiden, startled, became a lily, a rose, a flame, sought to collect herself, and said, "How singular! A friend of yours, the Princess Julienne, is also here."

The conversation flowed now more smoothly. She spoke of his father, and expressed her gratitude as his ward. "That is a mighty nature of his, which guards itself against everything common," said she, at once, against the fashion of the quality, speaking even partially of persons. The son was made happy by this praise of a father; he enhanced it, and asked in pleased expectation how she took his coldness.

"Coldness?" said she, with liveliness, "I hate the word cordially. If ever a rare man has a whole will and no half of one, and rests upon his power, and does not, like a crustaceous animal, cleave to every other, then he is called cold. Is not the sun, when he approaches us, cold too?" "Death is cold," cried Albano, very much moved, because he often imagined that he himself had more force than love; "but there may well be a sublime coldness, a sublime pain, which with eagle's talon snatches the heart away on high, but tears it in pieces in mid-heaven and before the sun."

She looked upon him with a look of greatness. "Truly you speak like a woman," said she; "they alone have nothing to will or to do without the might of love; but it was prettily said." Dian, good for nothing as to general observations, and apt only at individual ones, interrupted her with questions about particular works of art in Naples; she very frankly communicated her characteristic views, although with tolerable decision. Albano thought at first of his artistic friend, the draughtsman Schoppe, and asked about him. "At my departure," said she, "he was still in Pestitz, though I cannot comprehend what such an extraordinary being would fain do there; that is a powerful man, but quite jumbled up and not clear. He is very much your friend." "How does," asked Dian, half joking, "my old patron, the Lector Augusti?" She answered concisely, and almost with a certain sensitiveness at the familiarity of his question: "It goes well with him at court. Few natures," she continued, turning to Albano, on the subject of Augusti, "are doomed to meet so much injustice of judgment as such simple, cool, consistent ones as his." Albano could not entirely say yes, but he recognized with satisfaction in her respect for the strangest individuality of character the pupil of his father, who prized a plant, not according to the smoothness or roughness of its skin, but according to its bloom. Never does a man portray his own character more vividly than in his manner of portraying another's. But Linda's lofty candor on the subject, which is as often wanting in finely cultivated females as refinement and reserve are in powerful men, took the strongest hold of the youth, and he thought he should be sinning if he did not exercise his great natural frankness towards her in a twofold degree.

She called her maidens to depart with her. Dian went off. "These are more necessary to me," said she to Albano, "than they seem." She had, namely, she related, something of the ocular malady[99] of many Spanish women, of being infinitely short-sighted in the night. He begged to be permitted to accompany her, and it was granted; he would have guided her, after what she had said, but she forbade it.

During the walk she often stood still, to look at the beautiful flame of Vesuvius. "He stands there," said Albano, "in this pastoral poem of Nature, like a tragic muse, and exalts everything, as a war does the age." "Do you believe that of war," said she. "A man must have," he replied, "either great men or great objects before him, otherwise his powers degenerate, as the magnet's do, when it has lain for a long time without being turned toward the right corners of the world." "How true," said she: "what say you to a Gallic war?" He owned his wish that it might break out, and his own disposition to take part in it. He could not help, even at the expense of his future liberty, being open-hearted towards her. "Blessed are you men," said she; "you dig your way down through the snow of life, and find at last the green harvest underneath. That can no woman do. A woman is surely a stupid thing in nature. I respect one and another head of the Revolution, particularly that political monster of energy, Mirabeau, although I cannot like him."

During these discoursings they came upon the ascent of Epomeo. Agata accompanied the two playmates of her earlier days with full tongue and hungry ear for so many mutual news-tellings. As he now went along beside the beautiful virgin, and occasionally looked in her face, which was made still more beautiful by mental energy, and became at once flower, blossom, and fruit (whereas generally the converse holds, and the head gains by the face): then did he pass a severe judgment upon his previous deportment toward this noble being, although he as well as she, out of delicacy, remained silent about the former juggling play with her name, as well as about the wonderfulness of to-day's meeting. Silently they went on in the rare night and region. All at once she stopped on an eminence, around which the dowry of Nature was heaped up on all sides in mountains. They looked round in the splendor; the Swan of Heaven, the moon, floated high over Vesuvius in the ether,--the giant serpent of the world, the sea, lay fast asleep in his bed that stretches from pole to pole,--the coasts and promontories glimmered only, like midnight dreams,--clefts full of tree-blossoms overflowed with ethereal dew made of light, and in the vales below stood dark smoke-columns upon hot fountains, and overhead they floated away in splendor,--all around lay, high up, illuminated chapels, and low around the shore dark cities,--the winds stood still, the rose-perfumes and the myrtle-perfumes stole forth alone,--soft and bland floated the blue night around the ravished earth; from around the warm moon the ether retired, and she sank down love-intoxicated out of mid-heaven larger and larger into the sweet earth-spring. Vesuvius stood now, without flame or thunder, white with sand or snow, in the east,--in the darkening blue the gold grains of the fiery stars were sowed far abroad.

It was the rare time when life has its transit through a superterrestrial sun. Albano and Linda accompanied each other with holy eyes, and their looks softly disengaged themselves from each other again; they gazed into the world, and into the heart, and expressed nothing. Linda turned softly round and walked silently onward.

Just then, all at once, one of the prattling maidens behind them called out: "There is really an earthquake coming; I actually feel it; good night!" It was Agata. "God grant one," said Albano. "O why?" said Linda, eagerly, but in a low tone. "All that the infinite mother wills and sends is to me to-day childishly dear, even death;--are not we, too, part and parcel of her immortality?" said he. "Yes, man may feel and believe this in joy; only in sorrow let him not speak of immortality; in such impotency of soul he is not worthy of it."

Albano's spirit here rose up from its princely seat to greet its lofty kinswoman, and said, "Immortal one! and though no one else were so!" She silently smiled and went on. His heart was an asbestos-leaf written over and cast into the fire, burning, not consuming; his whole former life went out, the leaf shone fiery and pure for Linda's hand.

When they reached the last eminence below which Linda's and Julienne's dwelling lay, and they stood near each other on the point of separation, then the maiden suddenly cried out below: "An earthquake!" Out of hell a thunder-car rolled on in the subterranean ways,--a broad lightning flapped its wings up and down in the pure heaven under the stars,--the earth and the stars trembled, and affrighted eagles flew through the lofty night. Albano had grasped the hands of the tottering Linda. Her face had faded before the moon to a pale, godlike statue of marble. By this time it was all over; only some stars of the earth still shot down out of the steadfast heavens into the sea, and wondrous clouds went up round about from below. "Am I not very timid?" said she, faintly. Albano gazed into her face livingly and serenely as a sun-god in morning-redness, and pressed her hands. She would have drawn them away violently. "Give them to me forever!" said he, earnestly. "Bold man," said she, in confusion, "who art thou? Dost thou know me? If thou art as I, then swear and say whether thou hast always been true!" Albano looked toward Heaven, his life was balanced; God was near him; he answered softly and firmly: "Linda, always!" "So have I!" said she, and inclined modestly her beautiful head upon his breast, but immediately raised it again, with its large moist eyes, and said, hurriedly: "Go now! Early to-morrow come, Albano! Adio! Adio!"

The maidens came up. Albano went down, his bosom filled with living warmth, with living radiance. Nature breathed with fresher perfumes out of the gardens; the sea murmured again below; and on Vesuvius burned a Love's-torch, a festal fire of joy. Through the night-skies some eagles were still sailing toward the moon, as toward a sun; and against the arch of heaven the Jacob's-ladder stood leaning with golden rounds of stars.

As Albano was walking along so solitary in his bliss, dissolved in the rapture of love, the fragrance of the vales, the radiance of the heights, dreaming, hovering, he saw birds of passage flying across the sea in the direction of the Apennines, on their way to Germany, where Liana had lived. "Holy One above!" cried his heart, "thou desiredst this joy; appear and bless it!" Unexpectedly he stood before a chapel niche wherein the Holy Virgin stood. The moon transfigured the pale statue,--the Virgin took life beneath the radiance, and became more like Liana,--he knelt down, and ardently gave God his prayers of gratitude and Liana his tears. When he rose, turtle-doves were cooing in dreams, and a nightingale warbled; the hot fountains smoked glimmering, and the happy singing of far-off people came up to his ears.

TWENTY-NINTH JUBILEE.

Julienne.--The Island.--Sundown.--Naples.--Vesuvius.--
Linda's Letter.--Fight Departure.

111. CYCLE.

After a long night, the fresh morning breathed when Albano was to find again the treasures of the most blessed dream, the flowers of fortune which the moon had opened, in broad sunlight. Life shouted to him exultingly, as he climbed again yesterday's heights, which shone overspread with the varnish of light; not to a rose-feast, but to all flower and harvest-festivals at once; to feasts of myrtles and lilies; to gleanings and blossom-gatherings. The sun went forth over the blessed region, and as a peacock with his trailing rainbow flies into a blossoming tree, so did the young day, heavy with colors and laden with gardens and full of reflections, mount the blue heights, and smile like a child upon the world. Albano looked now from his height down on the enchanted castle wherein yesterday the mighty enchantress had disappeared.

He went down to it. A singing maiden on the flowery roof, who seemed to have been waiting for him, pointed out, leaning over without interrupting her singing, a near apartment below her into which he was to enter. He stepped in; it was empty. Through the windows of oiled paper streamed a wondrous morning light; on the wooden ceiling figures from Herculaneum were painted; in a Campanian vase stood yellow butterfly flowers and myrtle-blossoms, which diffused around them a sweet perfumed atmosphere. The singular environs enclosed him more and more closely, for he found, in fact, some pictures and articles of furniture which seemed familiar to him. At last he saw, to his amazement, on the table a half ring. He took out his half which he had got from the pretended sister in the Gothic chamber on that ghostly night, and which, to be ready for the opportunity of a comparison, he always carried about with him. He pressed the semicircles into one another; suddenly they closed, clasping, and formed a fast ring. "God!" thought he, "what arm strikes again into my life?"

Just then the door was hastily opened, and the Princess Julienne entered hurriedly, smiling and weeping, and exclaimed, flying to him, "O my brother! my brother!" "Julienne," said he, seriously, and with deep emotion, "art thou really my sister at last?" "O, long enough has she been so!" replied she, and looked on him tenderly and blissfully, and smiled through her tears. Then she again embraced him, and again looked at him, and said: "Thou dear Albano-brother! So long have I, like a moon, been sailing around thee, and had, like her, to stay colder and farther off. Now will I love thee with exceeding fondness; my love shall run backward, and run forward too!" "Almighty!" Albano broke out, weeping, when he found himself so suddenly clasped by a beneficent arm out of the cloud, "all this dost thou now give me at once?" "Ah!" cried Julienne, with liveliness, "that I were only weeping for pure joy! But I must eat my bitter crust of sorrow with it too! Dear brother, Luigi writes me yesterday from Pestitz that I must hasten back, else he will hardly live to see my return. Did I think of this on my setting out? Thus what I receive with one hand I must give up with the other." Albano said nothing to this, because he could not possibly take the least interest in the Prince. So much the more did he refresh himself with fresh, clear joy in the open, breathing Orient of his earliest days of life, in the sight of this young, pure flower, which grew and played, as it were, in and out of the bright, fresh fountain of his childhood.

"But, heavens! explain to me," began Albano, "how all came to pass." "Now, I know, the questioning begins," she replied. "The ostensible sum and substance thou shalt shortly have; if thou askest for more, if thou wilt peep into the book of mysteries, then I shut it to, and repeat to thee some lies. Next October, it may be sooner, all comes to light. This for the present, and first of all,--my mother was, and remains, verily pure and holy in this relationship, by the Almighty God!"

"What a riddle!" said he. "Art thou the daughter of my father? Is Luigi my brother? Is my dead sister Severina thy sister?" asked he.

_Julienne_. "Ask October!"

_Albano_. "Ah, sister!"

_Julienne_. "O brother, trust the daughter of Melchisedec. Further,--I was indeed the sister in the apparition, whom the man with the bald head introduced to thee in Lilar. I could not, and yet I felt that I must, have thee ere thou hadst flown away into foreign parts. The old age which I then had in the mirror was, as thou seest, made only by an artificial mirror."[100]

_Albano_. "Truly, I thought then of no one but of thee. Only how comes there a man like the Baldhead and like the Father of Death, who so incomprehensibly predicted to me in Mola that I should find thee?"

_Julienne_. "That is impossible. Did he name my name?"

_Albano_. "That only was wanting. The Pater is, for the rest, in all probability one and the same man with the Baldhead. Immediately after the announcement he went toward heaven."

_Julienne_. "There let him stay, by all means, and the other too. Does this dark bond of enchantment concern or disturb me or thee, which, in its false miracles, has thus far always been interrupted by singular real ones? It was quite innocently that I happened in Lilar at that time, and perhaps I prevented something frightful."

_Albano_. "By heavens! I must ask what, then, is his object, who his leader, his manager?"

_Julienne_. "Probably the father of the Countess, for he lives still, I hear, unknown and unseen, although thy father is guardian. Be astonished when thou art at home, and leave the riddles, which, be assured, are unravelling themselves so agreeably for us both, and await the October days."

_Albano_. "But one thing, beloved sister, deny me not, I pray thee,--a clear word about my and thy wonderful relation to the noble Countess! Only that!"

_Julienne_. "Has my heart, then, already denied it thee? The glorious one,--well for her and me and thee! Thy first word of love,--which the gods have now so firmly sealed,--was to be the signal-word for my annunciation to thee; only from the beloved mightest thou receive the sister. What jugglers and ghosts have done towards it, and how much of it, no one knows better than--October; why shall I, meanwhile, be choosing between lies and perjury? I simply did all, only to bring you two together; the rest I knew beforehand. Nothing succeeded,--it all was a stifling snarl; everything went up hill. I saw precious beings[101] sowing in an unblessed spring dreadful griefs, and withal smiling so hopefully! and I could not hold their unhappy hands,--I, who with such certainty foreknew all the coming anguish. O thou pure, pious soul above!" said she, all at once, with quivering lip, looking towards heaven.

The brother and sister embraced each other softly, and wept in silence at the thought of the innocent sacrifice.

"No," said Albano, very warmly, "no hell-conspiracy could have sundered us had she only stayed with me, or even on the earth." "See, Albano," said Julienne, collecting again her more cheerful life-spirits, and opening all blinds, "how the morning hill sparkles and swims up and down! Let me speak out! By the very greatest good luck, I learned in winter that thou wast turning thy thoughts toward Naples. Linda had already been there once, and her mother at the baths of the neighborhood. For me, I said to her, Ischia's baths would do as well as any. Go with me; we will not disturb or go near your triste guardian in Rome at all. She readily assented. Of course there was no mention made of thee; previously, however, there had been often enough in letters and otherwise, when I always praised thee beyond measure. And now _nous voici donc_. Yesterday I received in Naples the mournful letter of my brother. Of thy arrival I knew as yet nothing. I let the Countess go alone to the feast of tones, and hastened home with heavy heart. When she came back, she opened her glad heart, and told me all; and then I told her all. Ah, thank God," she added, falling upon his neck, "that we have now at last disembarked in Elysium, and that the rotten Charon's-boat has not sent us to the bottom. But for all Europe, even for thy Dian, mark me, the privy seal remains upon our relationship." Albano must needs still put a few questions. She kept answering, in a lively tone, "October! October!" till all at once, as if awaking, she exclaimed, "O, how can I say that so gayly?" but without explaining herself on the subject.

"Now will I bring thee, as I have heretofore done, to the Countess, only by a shorter way," said she, took his hand, led him out, opened the opposite apartment, where Linda lived, and said, "I present to thee my brother." Deeply blushing, the noble form came to meet them, and embraced, without a word, her dear female friend. When her eye met again Albano's, she was so struck that she sought to draw away the hand which he kissed, for she had yesterday hardly seen but in a glimmering light his beautiful eye, and his noble brow, and the lips of love; and this blooming man stood, inspired with double emotion, so bright and still and earnest before her, full of noble, real love. Her heart would gladly have fallen upon his; at least, she gave him back her hand into his, and wished him joy of this morning. The obvious answer, "and of yesterday evening," he could not get over his lips, from a peculiar, modest shyness, of giving as of taking praise. "A third man is found at last for the travelling-college," said Julienne; "for thou must go off directly, in a few days; thou, too, must be off to Pestitz, Albano." "I, too, sister?" said he; "I meant to stay a month, and here is the visit of Vesuvius, Herculaneum, and Naples crowded into a few days." He wondered afterwards himself at the sweetness of obedience under the fair commands of love, since he used once to say, "Command me to command, and I will not obey." "I accompany my friend," said Linda, "glad as I should have been to go to Greece, to which I am already, for the second time, so near."

"This very night I fly away," said he; "I will only wake, see, live, and love." Julienne had already begun to show a sister's concern about his health and his objects; divided between two brothers, gladly would she, had it only been possible, have sacrificed herself to both. "The good creature has not even yet enjoyed Ischia," said she; "he must have that to-day."

Albano felt, at the expression of this new female love, that woman was the human heart in the fairest form. Within him rang a glad melody,--"What a day lies before thee, and what years!" Sweetly entwined and overspun with a canopy of double love-blossoms, he saw life and earth full of fragrance and light; over the morning dew of youth a sun had now been ushered up, and the dark drops glistened up and down through all gardens.

He cast, at length, a glance at the place which surrounded him. Niobe's group, the Genius of Turin, Cupid, and Psyche, stood there in casts, borrowed from the cabinet of an artist in Naples. The walls were decorated with rare pictures, among which was--Schoppe sneezing. This alone rushed with the northern past mightily into his softened heart, and he expressed his feeling to his beloved. "You," said she, "prefer friendship to art, for that portrait is the worst in my collection; but the original deserves, indeed, all regard."

She went into the cabinet, and brought out a miniature likeness of herself, which represented her, after the Turkish fashion, veiled, and with only one eye uncovered. How livingly beside the twilight of the veil did the open, soul-speaking eye look and strike! How did the flame of its might burn through the covering of mildness! Linda named the master of the magnificent picture, that very Schoppe, and added, he had said in this case the master must, out of reciprocal complaisance, himself praise a work which praised him more partially and powerfully than any other work of his ever had. She explained this difference of his pencil by another cause, which he had stated to her almost in these words: he had, he said, in his earliest youth, loved her mother as long as he had seen her, and afterwards never any one again; and therefore he had, as she resembled her mother, painted her _con amore_, and really striven to bring out something.

"O, honest old man!" said Albano, and could hardly keep tears out of the eyes which so often were happy. But it was only the holy pang of friendship; for there darted through him at last, like a beam of lightning through the clearest sky, a presumption made certain by everything,--by Schoppe's diary and Linda's words and Rabette's letter,--that Linda was the soul whom the singular being secretly loved. A sharp pain cut hastily but deeply through his brow; and he conquered himself only by his present younger freshness of spirit, by newly gathered power and force, and by the free thought that a friend may well and easily give up and sacrifice to his friend a _loved_ one, but cannot or dares not so easily surrender _one who loves him_.

Julienne said, "The only wonder is that my brother, between two such fantastical beings as this Schoppe and Roquairol, has not himself become one of the same feather." A running fire broke out. Linda said, "Schoppe is only a southern nature in conflict with a northern climate." "Properly with life itself," said Albano. Julienne simply remarked, "I love always rules in life; with neither of them is one ever tranquil and _à son aise_, but only _à leur aise_." She asked him at once about Roquairol. "He was once my friend, and I speak of him no more," said Albano, whose tongue was tied by the ruined favorite's torturing love for Linda, and even his relationship to Liana. Linda glided over the subject with the mere verdict that he was an overstrained weakling, and without special mention of his love for her or of her abhorrence of him. She quite as coldly forgot at a distance every one who was repulsive to her inner being as she did vehemently thrust him off when he was near.

Julienne withdrew to make arrangements for the little day's journey over the island. Albano despatched a note to Dian, containing the _marche-route_ to Naples. Linda said, in respect to Julienne, "A deeply and firmly grounded character!" "The stem and twigs all buried in little fragrant blossoms!" he added. "And exactly what she hates in books and conversations,--poesy,--that she pursues right earnestly in action. Individuality is everywhere to be spared and respected, as the root of everything good. You, too, are very good," she added, with soft voice. "Truly, I am so at present," said he; "for I love right heartily; and only a complete being can one really love, and with entire disinterestedness."

"So must the sun's image strike full and round, in order to burn." "Or an image which one takes for it," said she; "I am what I am, and cannot easily become anything else. If man has only a will once for all, which goes through life, not alternating from minute to minute, from being to being, that is the main thing." "Linda," cried Albano, "I hear my own soul. There are words which are actions; yours are." When she thus spoke out her soul, her beautiful form vanished from before his enchanted spirit, as the golden string vanishes when it begins to sound. Wounded and punished by the past for his often hard energy, he breathed only with a gentle breath--although now life, the world, and the very region made him bolder, brighter, firmer, and more ardent--upon the _unisonant_ Æolian strings of this _many-toned_ soul. But how must she have been charmed with a man at once so mighty and so tender,--a soft constellation of near suns,--a beautiful war-god with the lyre,--a storm-cloud full of Aurora,--a spirited, ardent youth, whose thought was so honest! She said it not, however, but simply loved, like him.

He threw an accidental glance at her little table-library. "Nothing but French!" said she. He found _Montaigne_, the life of _Guyon_, the _Contrat Social_, and, last of all, _Madame de Staël sur l'Influence des Passions_. He had read this, and said how infinitely pleased he had been with the articles upon love, parties, and vanity, and, in short, with her German or Spanish heart of fire, but not with her bald French philosophy, least of all with her immoral suicide-mania. "Good Heaven!" cried Linda; "is not life itself a long suicide? Albano, all men are still somewhere or other pedants, the good in morality so called, and you especially. Maxims of Kant, great, broad classifications, principles, must they all have. You are all born Germans, real Germans of the Germans, even you, friend. Am I right?" she added, softly, as if she desired a "yes."

"No," said Albano, "so soon as a man once pursues and desires anything right earnestly and exclusively, then he is called a coxcomb or a pedant." "O you everlasting readers and readeresses!" cried Julienne, stepping in and seeing him with a book in his hand. "Never has the Princess read preface or note," said Linda, "as I have never yet let any one go." Women who read prefaces and notes are of some significance; with men, at most the opposite were true. "We can set out; all is ready," said Julienne.

112. CYCLE.

When they came out into the festive world, how did the cool blue of heaven come floating, fanning down upon them instead of earthly airs! How sparkled the world and the day--and the future! How brightly foamed over in the goblet of life the draught of love made for each of the three beings out of two intoxicating ingredients!

They followed the path to the summit of Epomeo, but in an elastic, yielding freedom, and in a rapid variety of nature which is not to be matched anywhere upon the earth. They met valleys with laurels and cherries, with roses and primroses at once. There came cool defiles filled out with ripe oranges and apples, beside high rocks of aloes and pomegranates, and on the summits of the cherry and apple tree stirred overhead the vine and orange blossoms. In the blooming clefts warbled secure nightingales, and out of the crevices poisonless serpents' heads darted to the light,--sometimes appeared a cloister in a citron-grove, sometimes a white house attached to a vine-garden, now a cool grotto, now a kitchen garden near red clover, now a little meadow full of white rose-flowers and narcissi, and at every turn a man, who went by singing, dancing, and accosting them. Heights and gardens alternately hid and revealed the land and the water, and often for a long time the far-stretching sea and its cloud-coasts glimmered after them like a second heaven through the green twigs.

They drew nearer and nearer to the hermit's house on the summit, rocking themselves upon the gay, golden flag-feathers of life. They spoke to each other now and then a word of joy, not, however, by way of communicating each other, but because the heart could not help it, and a word was nothing but a sigh of happiness. They stood at last upon the throne of the earth, and looked down as from the sun. Round about them the sea lay camped, melting away into the blue of the horizon,--from Capua, far in the depths of the distance, stretched the white Apennines around Vesuvius and over on the long coast of Sorrento still onward,--and from Posilippo the lands pursued the sea even beyond Mola and Terracina,--on the opened world-surface appeared everything, the promontories, the yellow crater-margins on the coasts and the islands round about, which the terrible, veiled fire-god under the sea had driven up out of his fiery realm to the light of the sun,--and the lovely Ischia with its little cities on the shores and with its little gardens and craters, stood like a green blooming ship in the great sea, and rested on innumerable waves.

Then vanished the greatnesses of the earth from below, only the earth was great and the sun with his heavens. "O how happy we are!" said Albano. Yes, you were happy there; who will be so after you? Cradling himself upon the tree of life, at which his childish eye had already so early and longingly gazed upward, he gave utterance to all that exalted and possessed him. "Therein I recognize the all-powerful mother; angry and flaming, she comes up from the bottom of the sea, plants a burning land, and then does she again, smiling, distribute flowers among her children; so let man be, volcano--then flower." "What in comparison with this," said Julienne, "are all the winter amusements of the German May-moon! Is not that a smaller Switzerland only in a greater lake of Geneva?" The Countess, who through her Spain was more initiated in such charms, kept herself for the most part still. "Man," said she, "is the Oread and Hamadryad or some other divinity, and inspires wood and vale, and man himself, again, is inspired by man."

The Hermit appeared, and said, their meal, which was sent up, had long since arrived; he also took occasion to praise his situation. "Often," said he, and made Julienne laugh, "my mountain smokes like Vesuvius, and bathing-guests look up, and apprehend something, but it is only because I am baking my bread up here." They encamped themselves in the shady open air. They must needs be ever looking down again upon the lovely, diminished island, which with its gardens planted within gardens, with its springs intertwined with autumns, lay so whole and so near, a great family garden, where the people all dwell together, because there are no different lands to become entangled with each other, and the bees and the larks fly not far out over the garden of the sea. Like still, open flowers were the three souls beside each other; fragrantly flies the flower-dust to and fro, to generate new flowers. Linda sank away completely into her great deep heart; unused to love, she would fain gaze therein and find joy, while no word of Albano's escaped her, for it bespoke its birth of love in the heart. Overflowing with mildness, and deep in thought she sat there, with her great eye half under the downcast eyelid,--after her manner, always long silent as well as long speaking. As the diamond sparkles just like the dewdrop, but only with steady power and even without the sun, her heart resembled the softest in all feminine mildness and purity, and excelled it only in strength. With delight Julienne beheld, when, now and then, after a childlike forgetting of Albano, (because her stream of speech had borne her from one world to another,) suddenly and with unembarrassed joy, she replaced her finely formed hand in the youth's, to whom a pressure of her hand was nothing less than a tender embrace.

They took the nearest way down back to Albano's residence, which was ever looking up to them from its vine-shrubbery. They were ever so little with each other,--in the morning Albano was to travel. He must write from Portici, a messenger must come to take the letter,--"And he brings me one, too," said he. "Certainly not!" said Linda. Albano begged. "She will soon change and write," said Julienne. She said no. By degrees furrows of shade stole down the mountain along with the dark lava-streams, and in the poplars nightingales began already their melodious twilight. They drew near to Albano's house. Dian ran out with delight to meet the Princess. Albano begged him, without having asked either, to procure a bark, in order that they might enjoy the evening. Compulsory proposals of pleasure are precisely those to which maidens love best to say yes. Dian was immediately at hand with a boat; he always and quickly joined his pleasure to that of others.

They all embarked and moved along among the sunflowers, which every ray of the sun planted thicker and thicker upon the watery beds. Albano--in his present glow, accustomed to the manners of the warm land where the lover speaks before the mother and she speaks of him with the daughter, where Love wears no veil, but only hatred and the face, and where the _myrtle_, in every sense, is the setting of the fields--forgot himself a moment before Dian, and took Linda's hand; she quickly snatched it away from him, true to the manner of maidens, which is lavish of the arm and chary of the finger and the thimble. But she looked on him softly, when she had repelled him.

They passed along again, on their passage from east to north, before the rock with houses and before the streets of the suburb town on the shore. All was glad and friendly,--all sang that did not prattle,--the roofs were occupied with looms of silk ribbons, and the websters spoke and sang from roof to roof. Julienne could hardly keep her eye away from this southern sociableness and harmony. They put out farther into the sea, and the sun went down nearer to it. The waves and the breezes played with one another, the former breathing, the latter undulating,--sky and sea were arched into one blue concave, and in its centre floated, free as a spirit in the universe, the light skiff of love. The circle of the world became a golden, swollen harvest-wreath full of glowing coasts and islands,--gondolas flew singing into the distance, and had torches already prepared for the night, (sometimes a flying-fish traced his arc behind them in the air,) and Dian responded to their familiar songs as they glided along by. Yonder were seen great ships, proudly and slowly sailing along, fluttering like the sky, with red and blue plumes, and like conquerors bound to port. Everywhere was the must of life poured out, and it worked impetuously. So played a divine world around man! "O here in this great scene," said Albano, "where everything finds place, Paradises and dark Orcus-coasts of lava, and the yielding sea, and the gray Gorgon-head of Vesuvius, and the playing children of men, and the blossoms and all,--here where one must glow like a lava,--could not one, like the hot lava round about him, bury himself in the waves, in all his glow, if one knew that anything of this hour could pass away, even so much as a remembrance thereof, or a throbbing of the pulse for a loved heart? Were not that better?" "Perhaps," said Linda. Julienne was carried in thought by the softening pleasure to the distant sick-bed of her brother, and said, smiling: "Cannot one do like the fair sun over yonder, and go under the waves and yet come back again? And yet, after all, if you look upon his going down rightly, there is no such thing in reality."

The sun stood already big as a great golden shield held from heaven above the Pontian islands, and gilded their blue,--the white, rocky crown of thorns, Capri, lay in glowing light, and from Sorrento's coasts to Gaeta's glimmering gold had shot up along the walls of the world,--the earth rolled with her axis, as with a music-barrel, near the sun, and struck from the great luminary rays and tones,--sideward lay in ambush the giant messenger of night, camped on the sea, the immense shadow of Epomeo.

At this moment the sun touched the sea, and a golden lightning darted trembling round through the humid ether,--and he cradled himself on a thousand fiery wave-wings, and he quivered and hung, burning and glowing with love, on the sea, and the sea, burning, drank all his glow. Then it threw, as if he was about to pass away forever, the veil of an infinite splendor over the pale-growing god. Then it became still on the earth; a floating evening redness overflowed with rose-oil all the waves; the holy islands of sundown stood transfigured; the remotest coasts drew near and showed their redness of delight; on all heights hung rose-garlands; Epomeo glowed upward even to the ether, and on the eternal cloud-tree, which grows up out of the hollow Vesuvius, went out on the summit the last thin glimmering of splendor.

Speechless, the companions turned from the west toward the shore. The sailors began again to talk. "Make thy brother," Linda softly begged her friend, "keep himself always turned toward the west." She fulfilled the request without immediately guessing its motive. Linda looked continually into his beautifully irradiated face: "Ask him again," said she a second time, "the twilight is too deep, and my weak eyes see so poorly without light." It was not done, for they immediately went on shore. The earth trembled beneath and after them as they trod upon it, as a sounding-board of the blissful hour. Albano was fastened in speechless emotion upon the beloved face, which he must soon leave again. "I'll write to you," said she, unasked, with so touching a recall of her former threat, that, had he not been among strange eyes, he must have fallen, intoxicated with gratitude upon her hand, upon her noble heart. Hard was the parting, and the end of an harmonious day in which the tone of every single minute had been again a tri-clang. By this time Dian had already departed. "Not even the roses of evening," said Julienne, "are without thorns." "An abrupt leave-taking is always the best; we will go home," said Linda. Albano begged that he might be allowed to attend her. "Whither?" said Linda. Softly she added, for the sake of her eyes, "I can hardly see you any longer; however, only come, I can hear, nevertheless." "Beautiful inconstant one!" said Julienne. "I change myself," said she, "but no other does it; only as far as the chapel, Albano; you sail early in the morning." "Even earlier; perhaps this very night," said he.

While they thus more and more slowly descended the mountain, and the nightingales warbled, and the myrtle-blossoms breathed their perfume, and the tepid breezes fluttered, and overhead the whole second world, like a veiled nun, looked with a holy eye through the silver-grating of the constellations, every heart overflowed with faithful love, and the brother and the sister and the beloved took alternately each other's hand.

At once Linda stood upon the spot of yesterday's union and said, "Here he must go, Julienne!" and swiftly drew her hand out of his, and smoothed lightly his locks and cheek and then his eye, and asked, "How?" in the confusion of a dream. "Immediately," said Julienne; "one must, however, wait at least for the Italian winter, for the moon, before one can even go home." Then the brother fell upon the bosom of the tender sister, who would fain hereby procure for him a longer tarrying, and for her friend the privilege of seeing him again by a stronger illumination, and he exclaimed, with tears, "O sister! how much hast thou done for me, before I could do anything for thee, or even thank thee! Thou givest me, indeed, everything,--every joy, the highest felicity; O, what art thou like!" "There is the moon!" cried she; "now farewell, and a happy journey!"

Like a silvery day the moon had climbed the mountains, and the transfigured beloved one saw again the blooming face of her beloved. He took her hand and said, "Farewell, Linda!" Long looked they upon each other, their eyes full of soul, and they grew more strange and exalted in each other's eyes. Then did he, without knowing how, press to his heart the noble maiden, like a blessed spirit embracing a spring sun,--and he touched her holy countenance with his, and like the red mornings of two worlds their lips melted together. Linda closed her eyes, and kissed with trembling, and only a single life and bliss rolled and glowed between two hearts and lips. Julienne gently enfolded the embrace with her own, and desired no other bliss. Thereupon all parted, without speaking again, or looking round.

113. CYCLE.

Albano, with the new haste which now reigned in his actions, was already, beneath the cool morning star, flying from the happy soil. He told the architect, Dian, all his whole blessedness, because he knew how very much of a youth the man still remained in matters of love. "Bravo!" answered Dian, "who can escape without love in Italy? At least none of us. It is to be hoped your magnificent Juno is not so haughty toward you as toward other people: then there may well be for you a life of the gods."

In the morning breezes, irradiated with sun and wave, he swept gliding along on the blue, liquid mirror between two heavens, and his eye was blest when it looked back at the Olympus of Epomeo, and blest when it looked back again on the coasts that gleamed up and down on the long, outspread market-place of the earth.

When they came through the midst of those glimmering palaces, the ships, to the stationary ones, they found the people in the ecstasy of a saint's festival. He was compelled to bury the blue day and the sea in temples, in picture-halls, in fourth stories, where, according to the custom, several of the grandees dwelt, to whom he delivered letters from his father, and more beautifully in the subterranean, gloomy street which arches itself through the blooming Posilippo.

Only the prospect that, in the very next solitude, he should converse with his distant heart quieted his spirit, which was always flying away from the present. At evening they ascended the finest of the heights above Naples, the cloister of Camaldole, where, among the pleasures of the prospect, he saw, standing in gray distance behind Posilippo, the lofty Epomeo. He could no longer contain himself, but began, in a spot more thickly hidden with blossoms than others, which he had sought out for the purpose, the following letter to Linda:--