It was a dull and heavy day in the month of September. The sky had been covered each evening, for the last week, with dark flocculent clouds, high up in air, but still leaden and lowering, and now the rain descended in the city of the ten colleges in a perfect deluge. The country round Padua rejoiced, for the summer had been very dry and hot, and the land yearned for the dew of heaven; but the streets of the town were almost impassable, except under the arcades on the west side--where any street was fortunate enough to have a west side--for there was a strong wind blowing, which drifted the large drops under the arches to the east, and a torrent flowed down the middle of each street, increased every two or three yards by a gushing spout projecting from the house top.
There was, however, sunshine in one of the dwellings of the town, for Julia's heart was happier than she almost liked to own. She sat with a letter before her from Gowrie, announcing that he would be speedily back in Padua; and she herself was writing to him, telling him part of the feelings which arose in her own bosom--for she had not yet taken courage to tell him all--and conveying to him the glad tidings that her aged relation had entirely recovered from his late serious illness, and was looking better than she had seen him for many a month.
Manucci himself was sitting beside her, busy with some abstruse problem, and from time to time raising his eyes to watch her write, or to mark the varied expressions which passed over her beautiful face, with that calm and heavenly satisfaction which spreads through the breast of age--when the mind is well regulated and the heart generous--at witnessing the hopes of youth and the joys which no longer can be shared.
Julia wrote on. The old man bent his head over the papers; and a few minutes after Tita entered to tell her master that a man with sea-fish was at the door, and to ask if he would purchase any. She spoke to him, but he did not answer; and Julia suddenly turned round and gazed at him. He was very pale, and his head rested upon one of the great wings of the chair. Starting up with a low cry of fear, his grandchild ran round, and raised his head. The eyes were closed, but he still breathed hard and noisily. His limbs, however, were motionless, and he was evidently insensible. Assistance was called, and he was removed to his room and laid upon his bed. Tita ran away at once, first for a physician and then a priest; and both came nearly at the same time. The man of art applied the remedies usual in those days, while the good priest watched narrowly to take advantage of the first return of consciousness to perform his functions likewise. Extreme unction was given while he was still insensible; and about two hours after the attack Manucci opened his eyes for a moment, and the priest eagerly advanced the crucifix towards him. Whether the motion was voluntary or involuntary who can tell? but old Manucci raised his hand, and it fell upon the cross. It was the last effort of expiring life. The next moment a sharp shudder passed over his frame, and he was a corpse.
"He has died like a good Catholic," said the priest, who was a man of a kindly and a liberal heart.
Julia wept, but replied not; and the old man, coming round to the side of the bed where she stood, tried to comfort her to the utmost of his power. She pressed his hand gratefully, but still remained in silent tears; and the priest, drawing the physician apart, they conferred together for several minutes in a low tone.
"The sooner the better," said the physician, "lest the suspicions that have been abroad should make them stop it."
"You're a witness he died as a good Catholic, with his hand upon the cross," rejoined the priest.
"I am," answered the physician; "but it will be better to say as little, either of his death or anything else, as possible, till the funeral is over, otherwise we shall have a scandal, and perhaps a disturbance."
"You are right, you are right," said the priest. "My dear child," he continued aloud, turning towards Julia, who was kneeling by the dead man's bedside, while Tita stood weeping at the foot, "you had better come with me into another room. There is nothing here but the clay. The spirit which you loved has departed in peace to our Father which is in heaven. There are sad duties to be performed; but trouble not yourself with them. I and your friend here, Signor Anelli, together with good Tita, will care for all that;" and approaching her side, he took her hand and gently led her away.
The funeral was performed as secretly as possible and as speedily; and it is always speedy in Italy; and Julia sat alone in the little room, where she had been writing when the old man was struck by the hand of death. The two letters were still open upon the table; and, as her eye fell upon the very last sentence she had been writing, in which she spoke of Manucci's recovered health, the tears flowed fast and long.
"I must write him another tale now," she said, tearing the letter; and then rising, she inquired whether Austin Jute, whom Gowrie had left to assist her in case of need, was in the house, for Hume had by this time left Padua.
The man was in her presence in a moment, and Julia told him that she wished him to set out immediately to seek his lord at Bologna, and tell him what had occurred.
"Disobedience is a great sin, dear lady," replied Austin Jute; "but I must either disobey you or my lord. He told me to leave you on no account whatever; and to say sooth, I believe, as things go, I can be of better service here than at Bologna, for Sir John Hume has gone to join my master, and there is no one but me to take care of you. If you will write a few lines, however, dear lady, I will see that it goes by a sure messenger."
Nor was Austin Jute wrong in his conclusions, though at that moment he did not choose to tell the lady all he had heard. Rumour had been busy in Padua, and of course from the moment it was generally known that old Signor Manucci was dead, some one of her hundred tongues was busied in manufacturing a new falsehood every instant. Citizens and shopkeepers talked. Tutors and professors laid their heads together. The heads of the colleges met and consulted, and thought fit to call in the advice of a commissary of the holy office. They had made such a bustle about it, however, before that secret and discreet functionary had anything to do with the matter, that a report of what was going on had spread far and wide. Austin Jute had his ears and his eyes open; and, as he knew many of the servants of the colleges, he soon learned much that was taking place, and determined to watch all the more eagerly over her who had been committed, in some degree, to his charge. Such were the motives of his answer to Julia; and ere evening he had cause to rejoice that he had not undertaken her mission, for one oversight, or rather act of neglect, on the part of the inquisitor, afforded him an opportunity of turning his stay in Padua to the greatest advantage. Some one suggested, in the meeting of the heads of colleges, that it would be expedient, before proceeding further, to examine the priest who had attended Manucci on his death bed. The commissary of the holy office was either tired, hungry, or busy; and he left the worthy doctors of the university to make that investigation themselves. Had the good father been examined by the inquisitor, he would have dared as soon chop off his right hand as give any intimation of what was likely to take place. For the mere scholastic dignitaries he had no such fear or reverence; and the moment he quitted them, he hastened to the house near the Treviso gate. The first person he saw was Tita, but immediately behind her stood Austin Jute; and a short conference was held by the three, so brief, indeed, that the old servant did not catch half of the good priest's meaning, for he was too much alarmed to remain more than a few moments.
As soon as he was gone, Austin laid his hand upon the old woman's arm, saying, "Not an instant is to be lost. We must take Time by the forelock. We shall never catch him if he once gets on. I must go and prepare means. You go and bring the young lady down into the garden, and by the steps to the gate. Tell her to take whatever money she has, gold, or jewels, or anything else, and as few clothes as possible, packed in a small space. Lock and bar the door of the house as soon as I am gone, but keep the garden gate upon the latch, and mind you do not open the front door, whatever knocking or hammering you may hear."
"But what is it, what is it?" exclaimed Tita. "I did not understand what the good father meant."
"That your sweet lady will be handed over to the inquisition within half an hour, if you do not do as I tell you, and quickly," replied Austin. "Remember, a minute lost is never regained. Time and tide wait for no man.--Haste, haste, Tita. But stay! It were well if the lady had some disguise. Where could one get a novice's gown and veil?"
"Not nearer than at the stall by St. Antony's," replied the old woman; "but I've got my festa gown and a large black hood, that would cover her head and shoulders. The gown is too big, but no matter for that, it'll go on the easier."
"Away, then. Dress her in it, and bring her down. But mind, lock and bar the door, and open to no one." Thus saying, he set out at full speed.
With trembling hands Tita fulfilled his directions in regard to securing the front entrance of the house. As soon as that was accomplished she hastened to her young mistress, whom she found writing a few sad lines to Gowrie. The agitation and terror in the woman's face at once caught Julia's attention; and she started up, exclaiming, "What is it now? What new misfortune has happened?"
"Oh, dear lady, you must fly!" said Tita. "Austin Jute, my young lord's man, says there is not a moment to be lost; and he understands what the good father said better than I do. I only heard him say they were coming here immediately to search; but Austin says you must get all the money you have, and everything that is valuable, and put on some disguise, and come down as fast as possible to the garden gate, where he will join us; they will put you in the inquisition else."
The beautiful girl seemed to comprehend her danger at once; and the thought of being deprived of liberty, and cut off from all power of communicating with the only being on earth whom she now sincerely loved, brought a look of terror into her face.
"A disguise!" she exclaimed. "Where shall I find a disguise? I have none but my ordinary clothes."
"Never mind that. I will bring that in a minute," replied Tita; "only you get ready without delay. Get the money and the jewels, and all that is worth carrying, and don't open the door on any account till I come down, however they may knock."
Thus saying, she ran away to her own room, and soon descended with her gala dress, which was that of a Lombard peasant. By this time her naturally sharp wits had recovered from the first effect of fear and agitation, and now she was all promptness and decision. Throwing the dress she had brought over her young mistress, she fastened the bodice as tight as she could, and gathered together the large folds of the petticoat. But before she covered her head with the black hood, which she had likewise brought, she could not forbear gazing at her for an instant, and kissing her cheek, saying, "Bless thee, my child. Thou art as beautiful a little peasant as any in all the Veronese." The rest of the preparations were soon made. Some few articles of dress were packed in a small bundle; the money taken from the drawer in which it had been placed; and a heart cut in red cornelian, and set round with large diamonds--the only trinket which Julia possessed, with the exception of the gold pins for her hair, and a brooch to clasp her mantle--was taken from a casket and placed in her fair bosom. All this being arranged, they hurried down the stairs towards a door leading into the garden, their steps being accelerated by a considerable noise in the usually quiet street. In the passage of the house, however, Tita stopped, saying, "I had better take the key," and approaching the door, she drew the key forth quietly, and hastened after her mistress, who was by this time at the small door leading into the garden.
I should, perhaps, have mentioned before, some particulars respecting the situation of the house, in explanation of the directions which Austin Jute had given. It was, as I have said before, the last house in the street, and close to the bridge which led over the little canal, towards the Place d'armes within the Treviso gate. As that gate had been one of much importance in former times, a good deal of pains had been taken to strengthen it against an enemy, and at the side of the canal, a work of earth, faced with masonry, with a regular platform and parapet, had been formed, commanding the bridge on one side, and the Place d'armes on the other. As quieter times had come, this work, abutting upon the house of Signor Manucci, had been neglected; and the space within, had been cultivated by him as a little garden. The whole level was considerably higher than that of the water, and a short flight of steps arched over, descended from the garden to a small sally port in the wall, which led to a narrow path not more than two feet wide, by the side of the canal, at a spot distant some sixty or seventy yards from the bridge. The house itself was, in fact, included in the fortification; and the turret, in which the poor old man's study had been placed, overlooked the wall and the country round, and had probably, in former times, served the purpose of a watch tower. The little garden, however, except at one point, was only visible from the turret when a person stretched his head far out of the windows in the massy walls; neither could the steps be seen which led to the sally port.
With all these particulars Austin Jute, whose disposition was naturally inquisitive, had made himself thoroughly acquainted; but he had forgotten to warn the fugitives not to cross that one part of the garden which was visible from the windows above; and Julia, as soon as she had passed the door, was running straight across, when Tita stopped her, calling, "Under the wall, my dear--under the wall, and behind the fig tree and the mulberries.--I will lock this door though.--Heaven! we are not a minute too soon. They are knocking in the street there, as if they would have the door down. Well, let them try. It will take them some time, I warrant, for it is good strong oak, clasped with iron."
With this reflection she followed her young mistress, and keeping amongst the shrubs as much as possible, they reached the top of the steps, and descended to the sally port. That was soon unlocked, and there they remained for nearly a quarter of an hour in a sort of semi-darkness, hearing faint and dull the sound of heavy blows proceeding from the street, as the officers of the university and the holy office, when they found that no gentler means were effectual in obtaining admission, had recourse to sledge-hammers to effect an entrance. At the end of that time a loud crash was heard, and Tita whispered, "They've got in now."
Julia trembled very much, but a comparative silence succeeded, which lasted some five minutes more, and Tita tried to cheer her, saying, "Perhaps, after all, they wont find their way to the study this time either. I pulled to the door in the passage as I came along, and the spring's not easily seen."
Hardly had the words been pronounced, however, when the sound of voices coming through the windows above showed that her hope was fallacious; and Julia said, in a low tone, "Had we not better go out to the bank of the canal?"
"No, no," replied Tita; "we shall hear them if they come into the garden, for they must knock that door down, too, or force the lock."
A moment after the latch of the sally port was lifted, and the door opened. "Come out! come out!" said the voice of Austin Jute; and, like lightning, Julia darted through the door, and stood beside her lover's servant on the bank of the canal.
"I'll lock this door, too," said Tita, taking out the key and placing it on the other side.
"Safe bind, safe find," said Austin; "but the proverb is not true at the other side of the house, for they've dashed the door in, and the whole street is filled with a mob. So much the better for us. There will be fewer people in the other places."
"But which way shall we take?" asked Tita; "if we go to the bridge, we must cross the end of the street; and all the neighbours know me right well."
"That would never do," replied Austin. "Take the other way to the bridge higher up. Then we can cross there, and come back to the gate from the other side. It's longer; but it cannot be helped. The farthest about is sometimes the nearest way home. I have bought three asses, and they have just gone through the gates, to wait for us at the little wine-shop half a mile on."
Tita took a few steps in the direction which he indicated, leading the way, for the path was not wide enough to admit of two abreast; but then she stopped suddenly, saying, "I think two asses would do, Signor Austin."
"How do you mean?" asked the man.
"Why, I mean that it will be much better for me not to go away from the city," said Tita; "if they find us all gone, and should afterwards catch the Signorina, they will be sure to say that she ran away because she knew she was guilty of something. Now, a plan is come into my head, and as soon as I've seen you out of the gates, I'll just go round by the market, buy a basketful of things, and go back with the key, as if I knew nothing that has happened."
"But, Tita, they may shut you up in prison," cried Julia.
"No, my dear, they wont," replied the old woman, calmly; "they'd only have to feed me there if they did, so they'll know better. I can tell them, with a safe conscience, that you were gone before they ever came to the house; and if they ask where, I'll say you took the Treviso way. The truth is, my child, I am not fit now for running anywhere in a hurry; and if I were to go with you, I should only delay you, and perhaps lead to your being found out, for many people all round know old Tita, and there is scarcely any one in the town has ever seen you. I know you will think of me when you are away; and when you are safe and happy again, perhaps you may send for the old woman who nursed you in your youth."
"That I will, Tita," replied Julia; "but I am terrified to leave you with these people."
"No fear, no fear, my child," answered the old woman. "They can say nothing against me, for I went to confession every week. But you would never go, you know, my child, because neither you nor the signor thought it did any good; and, indeed, I don't think you had anything to confess. They can't hurt me; and they wont, I'm sure, for I'm neither too wise for them nor too good for them, and have always done what the priest told me; said my prayers, and counted my beads; and if that is not being a good catholic, I don't know what is."
"But you must have some of this money, at least," said Julia, as Tita was walking on again.
"Give me two ducats," said the old woman; "that'll keep me a long while."
But Julia insisted on her taking much more; and when that was settled, they proceeded on their way, without difficulty or obstruction. It was not without some tears that Julia parted with her faithful old servant, nor without much emotion that she went forward on an untried path of life, protected by a man whom she had known only a few weeks; but there seemed no other course before her, and she strove not to show any doubt or dread. The asses were found ready at the spot where they had been appointed, and telling the man who brought them, that "the other girl" would not come, Austin Jute placed his fair companion on the pad with which one of them was furnished, bestrode the other himself, and led the way for about a mile farther on the Treviso road. Then, however, he turned to the left, and, circling round the city, endeavoured to regain the highway to Bologna.
In the meantime good Tita re-entered the town by one of the other gates, bought herself a new basket as she went along, and leisurely took her way to the market, where she stopped at several of the stalls, and, as the following day was a fast-day, bought herself a portion of fish and vegetables sufficient for the frugal meal of one person, and no more. She laid the key between the articles of food and the side of the basket, and was, with the same calm, deliberate step, proceeding homeward, when a man, who was passing through, exclaimed, with looks of wonder and surprise, "Ha, Tita, you take matters wonderfully quietly! Do you not know that they have broken into your house, upon a charge of sorcery against your old master, and are now seeking for proofs amongst his papers, I understand. Orders have been given, they say, to apprehend your young lady, for all men admit that she never came to confession or absolution, and some would have one believe that she is but, after all, a familiar spirit, which your master consented to have dealings with, in order to get at unheard-of treasures."
"I had her in my arms when she was two years old," said Tita, sturdily; "and she was more like flesh than spirit, and good Christian flesh, too."
This answer seemed irrefragable to the good townsman, who replied, "Well, you know best; I never saw her."
And Tita replied, with a toss of the head and a scornful air, "Unheard-of treasures, forsooth, when the poor old man died as poor as a rat! Sorcery must be a poor trade I trow, and the devil be very uncivil to his friends and acquaintances."
With this answer, she walked quickly homeward, as if she had heard, for the first time, of what had occurred. When she reached the door of the house, she found the whole passage filled with people, many of whom were anxious to get up the stairs, and see the inside of a sorcerer's dwelling, in good company; but the officers of the inquisition, the beadles and servants of the university, and some half-dozen of the company of soldiers to which the garrison of Padua was now reduced, kept back the people with brandished partizans and staves, till at length a shout was raised by some one who knew her, of "Here is old Tita! here is old Tita! A fagot and a tar-barrel for the old witch!"
Now Tita had sufficient experience in the ways of the world to know that the attacking party always has a certain advantage; and, consequently, making her way through the crowd as best she could, she assailed the officers, high and low, with great volubility. Could they not wait for her coming back, she said, when she had only gone out for half an hour? What was the need of breaking down the door, when they had only to wait a minute or two, and it would have been opened for them? But they must needs be making work for the smith and the carpenter.
She insisted, as if it was a right she demanded, instead of a fate that was certain to befall her, to be carried immediately before the illustrissimi up stairs; and even when in their presence, she assumed all the airs of towering passion, and poured forth, upon the commissary of the inquisition himself, such a torrent of vituperation, that for a moment or two he was utterly confounded. As he recovered himself, however, he reprehended her with dignity, and demanded how they could tell she would ever come back at all. To which Tita adroitly rejoined, "What right had you to suppose I would not? Had not I got the key with me?" and she instantly produced it from the basket which she carried on her arm.
Whether logic was not in its most palmy state in Padua at the time, or whether the functionaries of the holy office were not accustomed to deal in the most logical manner with questions brought before them, I know not; but assuredly, the commissary regarded the anger, the apostrophe, and the key, as very convincing proofs of Tita's ignorance and innocence. He nevertheless proceeded to question her in regard to the departure of the Signora Julia, who, he informed her, was gravely suspected of having aided her late grandfather in unlawful studies, of which pursuits, on his part, they had discovered irrefragable proofs.
"Lord bless you, illustrious signor," replied the old woman, with a very skilful sort of double dealing, not exactly falsifying the matter of fact, but giving it a colour altogether different from that which it naturally bore, "my young lady went out before I did. Why, she set off on the road to Treviso some time ago; and she is gone to see a gentleman to whom she is to be married, I understand; but I don't know much about the matter, for she does not talk to me greatly about such things; and all I know is, that a better young lady or a better Christian does not live. As to my poor master's dealing in magic, I don't believe a word of it; for I never saw a ghost or a spirit about the house, and I am sure it would have frightened me out of my wits if I had. I'll tell everything I know, and show every cranny about the house for that matter, for I've swept it every bit from end to end many a time, and I never saw anything about the place except what I've heard gentlemen call philosophy, which I thought was something they taught at the university, God forgive me!"
This reply produced an unwilling smile, and the great readiness which Tita expressed to tell all she knew perhaps saved her from many after questions, for but a few more were asked; and then the commissary and those who were joined with him departed, sweeping away all the papers, and many of the instruments of poor Manucci, Tita following them to the very street, and teazing them vociferously to have the door mended.
It was a sultry autumnal day--one of those days of early autumn when the summer seems to return and make a fierce struggle to resume its reign, when the leaves are yet green, or just tinted with the yellow hue of decay, when the grape is still ruddy on the bough, and the fig looks purple amongst its broad green leaves. The air had seemed languid and loaded all the day, as if a sirocco had been blowing, though the wind was in the west, and a hazy whiteness spread over the wide plains through which wander the Po, the Mincio, and the Adige. The silver gray cattle strayed lazily through the fields, sometimes lifting their heads, and bellowing as if for fresh cool air, sometimes plunging amongst the sedges, or actually swimming in the streams. Not a bird was seen winging its way through the air, the very beccaficos were still amongst the vines, and the horses of a large party of travellers who were approaching the banks of the Po, hung their heads, and wearily wended on, oppressed more by the languid heat of the day than by the length of the way they had travelled.
The travellers themselves, however, seemed gay and full of high spirits: the three gentlemen who rode in front jesting lightly with each other, though one was an elderly man of a staid, though somewhat feeble looking countenance: and the servants behind chattering in various languages with no very reverent lowness of tone.
"Do you remember, Hume," said one of the former, as they rode on, "our first journey by night through these plains?"
"Yes," replied the other, "and your plunging your horse into the Mincio, vowing we had all got off the high road."
"Because we had nothing but fire-flies to light us," replied Gowrie, "and Mr. Rhind took the first we saw for falling stars."
"Though there were no stars in the sky to fall," cried Hume; "or if they had fallen, they would have been caught in the thick blanket of cloud, and tossed up again."
"Well, my young friend," said meek Mr. Rhind, "they were the first I ever saw, you know, and every man may make a mistake."
"I wonder you did not take them for the burning bush," said Hume, a little irreverently; "for, my dear Rhind, you had had the Old Testament in your mouth from the moment we left Mantua, and you had paid our bill to the Moabitish woman who cheated us so fearfully. You called her by every gentile name you could muster, simply because she would have twentyscudimore than her due."
"Well, I own I loved her not," replied Mr. Rhind.
"But she did not want you to love her!" retorted Hume; "she wanted Gowrie to love her, and he would not; so she charged the twenty scudi for the disappointment; and all she wantedwith youwas to pay the money."
"Which I certainly would not have done, if I could have helped it," replied Mr. Rhind.
"But you could not, my dear sir," said Lord Gowrie; "depend upon it, Rhind, there is no striving against woman, circumstances, or an innkeeper's bill; and it is only waste of words and time to contest a point with either."
"I am sorry you find it so, my dear lord," replied Mr. Rhind, somewhat tartly, for he had been rather hardly pressed by his young companions' gay humour during the morning. Lord Gowrie only laughed, however, for his heart was very light. He was returning to her he loved; he had known few sorrows since his very early years, and each step of his horse's foot seemed, to hope and fancy, to bring him nearer to happiness. He could have jested at that moment good-humouredly with a fiend; and certainly Mr. Rhind did not deserve that name. The young earl, however, saw clearly that his former preceptor was somewhat annoyed, and he consequently changed the subject, stretching out his hand, and saying, "Behold the mighty Po. I know not how it is, but this river, about the part where we are now, though less in course and in volume than either the Rhine, the Rhone, or the Danube, always gives me more the idea of a great river than they do. Perhaps it may be even from the lack of beautiful scenery. With the others we lose the grandeur of the river in the grandeur of its banks. Here the broad stream comes upon us in the dead flat plain, without anything to distract the attention or engage the eye. I am inclined to believe that a river, as a river, is always more striking when there is no other great object to be seen."
"And yet to me," said Hume, "the ocean itself, simply as the ocean, without storms to lash it into magnificent fury, or rocky shores to hem it in, like a defending and attacking army, but seen from a plain sandy shore upon a calm day, is not half so sublime a sight as poets and enthusiasts would have us believe. There is a great deal of quackery in poetry, don't you think so, Gowrie? Poets bolster themselves and one another up with associations and images, till they believe things to be very sublime, which abstractedly are very insignificant. I remember once standing upon a low beach, and putting the whole sea out, by holding up a kerchief at arm's length. I have never since been able to think it sublime except during a storm."
"Take care how you try other things by such standards," said Gowrie; "I am afraid, my dear Hume, that the same kerchief would have equally reduced the finest, the noblest, and the best of all the things of earth. It is he who extends his vision, not he who contracts it, that learns to judge things most finely, and also, I believe, most really."
As these words were passing, they were slowly approaching the banks of the great river, which at that spot is broader perhaps than at any other point of its course. The land on either side was bare and dusty, and the heat became more and more intense from the want of verdure around. At length a proposal was made that instead of crossing at once in the ferry boat, and pursuing their journey on horseback from the other side, they should hire a boat and drop down to Occhiobello, leaving the horses and grooms to rest for an hour or two at Massa, and then follow down the stream in the course of the evening, when the weather would be less sultry. The proposal came from Mr. Rhind, who was evidently a good deal fatigued; and the Earl of Gowrie, ever anxious to contribute as much as possible to his old tutor's comfort, acceded at once, although the plan might cause a few hours' delay, and he was anxious to hasten on as fast as possible, impelled by love and the expectation of speedily meeting her for whom his affection seemed but to increase by absence. There was some difficulty, indeed, in procuring a boat; for although the large ferry-boat, which, like Charon's, had carried over many a generation, was lying at its accustomed mooring place, yet no small boats were near, and they had to ride slowly down the bank of the stream for more than a mile before they came to a village where they could procure what they wanted. There, however, they engaged a small skiff of a rude kind, then commonly used by the peasantry; the three gentlemen embarked without any of their attendants; and the boatmen, after a little consultation amongst themselves, put off from the shore.
"What were you talking about just now while you were looking at the sky every minute?" asked Lord Gowrie, in Italian, addressing the master of the boat.
"We were saying that we should not get back without a storm, signor," replied the man. "I should not wonder if we had to stay at Occhiobello to-night, for when the Po is angry she is a thorough lion."
"I hope the storm will not come before we land," said Mr. Rhind, who was of a timid and unadventurous nature.
His two young companions only laughed, teazing him a little with regard to his fears, for they were at that age when a portion of danger is the sauce of life, giving a higher flavour to enjoyment. The boatmen assured the old gentleman that the storm would not come till evening; and away they went down the full quick stream, having for the first half hour the same hot and glaring sun above them, shining with undiminished force through the thin haze which lay upon the landscape. If they expected to find fresher air upon the water they were mistaken, for not a breath of wind rippled the current of the stream, and the reflection of the light from its broad glassy current rendered the heat more intense and scorching than on the land. Sir John Hume amused himself by taking Mr. Rhind to task for the bad success of his plan; but Lord Gowrie good-humouredly remarked, that at all events they were saved the trouble of riding. The boat dropped down the stream more rapidly than usual, for there was a large body of water in the river at the time, and the current was exceedingly fierce; but at the end of about a quarter of an hour the wind suddenly changed to the southeast, and blowing directly against the course of the eager waters, tossed them into waves as if on the sea. The change was so sudden--from almost a perfect calm, with the bright smooth glassy river hastening on unrippled towards the Adriatic, to a gale of wind and a wild fierce turbulent torrent--that good Mr. Rhind was nearly thrown off his seat, and showed manifest symptoms of apprehension. The boatmen showed no alarm, however, and Lord Gowrie and Sir John Hume contented themselves with looking up towards the sky, which in the zenith was becoming mottled with gray and white, while to windward some heavy black masses of cloud were seen rising rapidly in strange fantastic shapes. The air was as sultry as before, however, and after blowing for about a quarter of an hour sufficiently hard to retard the progress of the travellers very much, the wind suddenly fell altogether, and a perfect calm succeeded. The waters of the river still remained as much agitated as ever, and Lord Gowrie called the attention of Hume to a very peculiar appearance in the sky to the south.
"Do you see that mass of leaden gray cloud, Hume?" he said, "lying upon the black expanse behind. See how strangely it twists itself into different forms, as if torn with some mortal agony."
"Agony enough," answered Sir John Hume, "for the poor cloud looks as if it had the cholic; but I have remarked that it always is so when the wind is in the southeast. We shall see presently if there be thunder or anything else, for it is nothing strange to witness a conflict of the elements at this season of the year, especially in this dry and arid country, where the sun seems to reign supreme, without one green blade of grass to refresh the eye, or one cheering sound to raise a heart not utterly deprived of feeling for its fellow creatures."
The young gentleman spoke in English; but the elder boatman, a man who had numbered many years, and who with his three sons was now still following the profession in which he had been bred in his early youth, seemed to remark the direction of his eyes, and to divine the subject of his thoughts and conversation. "Ah, sir," he said, "I should not wonder if there were an earthquake before night. You are staring at that queer-looking cloud; and I have rarely seen such a fellow as that, working away as if it were twisting itself into all sorts of shapes rather than begin the devastation, without its ending in something very sharp."
The two young men, who comprehended every word, though spoken in the broad Mantuan dialect, looked at each other in silence; but Mr. Rhind, who, notwithstanding his long residence in Italy, had with difficulty mastered the common terms of the language, remained silent, merely observing, "Well, it is pleasant that the wind has gone down, although the river is still tossing about in a strange way; I am half-inclined to be sick as if I were at sea."
Half an hour passed without the prognostication of the fisherman being fulfilled. The same lull in the air, the same agitation of the water continued; Occhiobello was in sight, and the sun was sinking far away over the Piedmontese hills, surrounded by a leaden purple colour, in which it was difficult to say whether the dull stormy gray or the crimson glow of evening predominated. In the south, the same heavy clouds were seen, somewhat higher than when the wind fell, cutting hard upon the blue sky overhead; and the large mass of vapour, the peculiar appearance of which I have already mentioned, lay contorting itself into a thousand different forms every moment. On the right bank, not far behind them, when they looked back, the travellers could see their horses and servants coming at an easy pace down the course of the stream, the slow progress of the boat having given an advantage to the party on land; and in front, a little more than half way between them and Occhiobello, a row boat was perceived crossing the broad river from the left bank to the right, apparently with great difficulty, and heavily laden.
"That is Mantini's boat," said one of the boatmen to the other.
"Ay, he'll get himself into a scrape some day," said the old man. "You see he's got horses in it now!"
"How is that likely to get him into a scrape?" asked Lord Gowrie. "Is the boat not fitted for horses?"
"Oh yes, signor," replied the man; "but it is not that I spoke of. The law says, no boat shall carry horses, oxen, or asses, except the regular ferry boats."
"Few would get across, then, by any other conveyance," said Sir John Hume; "for this infernal tossing is beginning to make me think that none but asses, would go in a small boat when they could get a big one. Come, row on, row on, my men; for if you lose time grinning at my joke, I shall not take it as a compliment."
The men put their strength to the oar, and the boat flew on a good deal more rapidly; for a gay good-humoured manner will always do more with an Italian than either promises or commands. The boat before them was rather more than half way across the river, while they, in the mid-stream, were rapidly approaching it, when suddenly the old boatman, starting up, pushed his way to the stern between the earl and Mr. Rhind, and thrust his oar deep in the water, somewhat in the fashion of a rudder, exclaiming, "It is coming, by St. Antony! keep her head on, boys--keep her head on!" and looking out along the course of the stream, Lord Gowrie saw a wave rushing up against the current, not unlike that which, under the name of the Mascaré, proves so frequently fatal to boats in Dordogne. Towards the middle of the river, the height of this watery wall, as it seemed to be, was not less than seven or eight feet, though near the banks it was much less, and all along the top was an overhanging crest of foam, snow-white, like an edge of curling plumes. A loud roar accompanied it; and the fierce hurricane, which was probably the cause of the phenomenon, seemed to precede the billow it had raised by some forty or fifty yards; for the heavy-laden boat which they had seen, and which, having approached much nearer the bank, was much less exposed to the force of the rushing wave than their own, was in an instant capsized by the violence of the blast, and every one it contained cast into the rushing water.
Horses and men were seen struggling in the stream; and with horror the earl beheld a woman's garments also. "Towards the bank!--towards the bank!" he cried, "to give them help;" but the boatmen paid not the least attention, and scarcely had the words quitted his mouth when the wind struck their boat also. One of the young men, who had been standing up, was cast headlong into the bottom of the bark; those who were seated could hardly resist the fury of the gale; and the next instant the wall of water struck them with such force, that instead of rising over it, as the old boatman had hoped, the skiff filled in a moment, and went down.
For an instant the Earl of Gowrie saw nothing but the green flashing light of the wave, and heard nothing but the roaring of the water in his ears; but accustomed from his infancy to breast the dangerous billows of the Firth of Tay, he struck boldly out, rising to the surface, with very little alarm for himself or for his companion Hume, whom he knew to be a practised swimmer also. His first thought was for his good old preceptor; but he soon saw that Mr. Rhind was even in a better condition than himself, having somehow got possession of an oar, over which he had cast his arms, so as both to hold it fast, and to keep his head and shoulders out of water. The old boatman and his two sons were seen at some little distance striking away towards the shore; and Hume, never losing his merriment even in the moment of the greatest peril, shouted loudly, "Get to land, Gowrie--get to land! I will pilot Rhind to the bank, if he will but keep his helm down, and his prow as near the wind as possible."
As Hume was much nearer to the worthy tutor, Lord Gowrie followed his advice; but the first two strokes which he took towards the land, drifting, as he did so, part of the way down the stream, showed him at a few yards' distance a scene of even greater interest than that which actually surrounded him. It was that of the boat which had been capsized by the first rush of the hurricane. It had not sunk at once as his own smaller craft had done, and one or two men were clinging to a part of it which appeared above the water. Close by, a horse's head and neck protruded above the stream; and the hoofs were seen beating the water furiously, in the poor animal's violent efforts to reach the land. Considerably nearer to the earl was a group of three persons, two men and a woman. One of the men, only a few feet distant from the others, and apparently but little practised in the art of swimming, was struggling furiously, with energetic efforts, to reach a better swimmer, who was not only making his own way towards the shore, but supporting coolly and steadily with his left hand the head and shoulders of the girl beside him. She herself was dressed in the garb of a peasant; but a feeling of terror indescribable seized upon the earl, when in the face of the man who supported her he recognised the features of his own servant, Austin Jute. He saw in an instant that if the drowning man once caught hold of them, all three must inevitably perish; and swimming towards them as fast as possible, he shouted, "To the shore, Austin--to the shore! Don't let him reach you, or you're lost!"
"Here, take her, my lord," cried Austin Jute--"take her, and leave me to settle with him. Drowning men catch at a straw; and he has got hold of one of the tags of my jerkin--in God's name take her quick, or he'll have us all down!"
As he spoke the earl reached his side. He asked no questions, for one look at the girl's face before him was enough. The dark eyes were closed. The long black hair floated in ringlets on the water, and the face was very pale, but the small fair hands were clasped together on the breast, as if with a strong effort to resist an almost overpowering inclination to grasp at the objects near.
"She lives," thought the earl, cheered by that sign; and placing his hand under her shoulders he bade the servant let go his hold. Then, with no more exertion than was needful to support himself and her in the water, and to guide them in an oblique line towards the shore, he suffered the stream to bear them on. The only peril that remained was to be encountered in passing the boat, where the horse was still struggling furiously; but that was safely avoided, and then, confident in his own strength and skill, the earl made more directly for the bank, and reached it just as the sun was disappearing in the west. For one so young, Lord Gowrie had known in life both very bitter sorrow and very intense joy; but nothing that he had ever felt was at all to be compared with his sensations at the moment when, after staggering up the bank with Julia in his arms, he placed her on the dry turf at the foot of a mulberry tree, and gazed upon her fair face as she lay with the eyes still closed.
"Julia," he said, "Julia;" and then everything gave way to joy as she faintly opened her eyes and unclasped her hands. The bright purple light of evening was streaming around them, and glancing through the vine leaves which garlanded the trees. There was no one there but themselves; and with warm and passionate joy he kissed her fair cheek again and again, and wrung the water from her hair, and bound the long tresses round her ivory brow, while, with wild words of tenderness and love, he poured forth the mingled expression of joy and apprehension and thankfulness. For a moment or two she did not speak. I know not indeed whether it was terror, or exhaustion, or the overpowering emotions of the moment that kept her silent; but even when she could find words they were at first but two, "Oh, Gowrie!"
A moment after they were joined by Sir John Hume and Mr. Rhind, and, looking up the stream, Gowrie saw a group of several persons on the bank, busy apparently in helping sufferers out of the water.
"Did you see my man Austin, Hume?" asked the earl, after some other words had passed, of that quick and whirling kind by which moments of much agitation are followed.
"Oh yes, he is safe," answered Hume. "Indeed, you need not have asked the question, he'll not drown easily, though another fellow near him did his best to prevent him keeping his head above water."
"It was that which alarmed me for him," replied the earl; "and I owe him too much this day, Hume, not to feel anxious for his safety. Are you sure he reached the shore?"
"Quite sure," replied his friend, "and I trust that there are not many lost from amongst us. Fair lady," he continued, taking Julia's hand, "I rejoice indeed to see you safe, and if Gowrie will take my advice, and you can find strength to walk, he will lead you at once to the little town down there, where you can dry your wet garments and obtain some refreshment and repose."
As the young knight spoke, Mr. Rhind turned an inquiring glance to Lord Gowrie's face, as if he would fain have asked who the beautiful creature before him was, and what was her connexion with his former pupil. The earl did not remark the expression, however; but Julia called his attention away by touching his hand and making a sign to him to bend down his head. He did so at once, and after listening to a few whispered but eager words, he said aloud, "No, we will not go to Occhiobello. There is a village up there; it will do well enough. Have you strength to go, Julia? If not, we will either get or make a litter for you."
She rose, feebly, however, and though feeling faint and giddy, declared that she was quite capable of walking. "Let us see first," she added, "if all the people are saved. It would darken the joy of our own escape if any of the rest were lost."
"Here comes your man Jute," said Sir John Hume, addressing the earl. "He will tell us how the others have fared."
They walked on a little way to meet the man who was approaching; and as soon as he was within ear shot the earl called to him, inquiring if all were safe.
"Two have gone to the bottom, my good lord," replied Austin; "the master of our own boat for one, and the same fellow who tried so hard to drag me down with him. For the former I am sorry enough; for he seemed a good cheerful-minded man; but for the latter I don't care a rush; and, to say truth, I believe he may be as well where he is. He followed us down to the boat, my lord," continued Jute, in a whisper to the earl, "and jumped in, willy nilly, just as we were putting off. I've a great notion he had no good will to my young lady, for he kept his eyes fixed upon us the whole time, as if ready to make a spring at us as soon as we got out of the boat."
"You must tell me more by and by," said the earl. "Now let us forward."
Thus saying, with Julia's arm drawn through his own, he walked slowly on towards the group which was standing on the bank, while Hume followed, conversing with Mr. Rhind, whom he seemed to be teazing by exciting his curiosity in regard to Julia, without satisfying him by a single word. Such broken sentences as, "Oh, very beautiful indeed. Don't you think so?--Quite a mystery altogether--I can tell you nothing about it, for I know nothing--Gowrie has known her a long time--Her name? Lord bless you! my dear sir, I don't know her name, I hardly know my own sometimes--" reached Gowrie's ear from time to time, and brought a serious smile upon his lip. At length, however, they approached the group upon the bank, and found the whole of the Italians much more taken up with grief for the various losses they had sustained than with joy at their own escape from a watery grave. The brother of the man Mantini, who had been drowned, was sitting upon the sand, pouring forth a mixture of strange lamentations, sometimes for the boat, sometimes for his brother. The other old fisherman and his two sons were wringing their hands, and bemoaning the ruinous accident which had befallen them. The old man could not be comforted; and his sons seemed to increase the paroxysms of his grief from time to time by recapitulating the various perfections of their little craft, and the sums of money which had been expended upon her. Lord Gowrie, however, contrived very speedily to tranquillize their somewhat clamorous grief by saying, "Do not wring your hands so, my good man; you lost your boat in my service, and the best you can buy or build to replace it, you shall have at my cost. Show us now the way to that village, for I see no path towards it; and come and see whether you can procure some lodging for us there during the night. I dare say you know most of the good people there, and can tell us where we can find rest and provisions."
The old man declared that the best of everything was to be found at the village, though there was a better inn, he said, at Occhiobello, which was not above three quarters of a mile farther.
"That makes all the difference to the lady," replied the earl; "and we shall do very well at the village for the night."
He then approached the younger Mantini, and attempted to comfort him as he had done the other boatman, by promising to pay the amount of his loss.
"That wont buy back my brother," said the man, sadly. "I should not have cared a straw about the old boat if it had not been for that."
"That is God's doing, not man's," replied the earl; "and man cannot undo it. This should be some comfort, for he deals better for us than we could deal for ourselves; but think of what I have said, and let me know the expense of a new boat, this night at the village there. Can you tell who was the other unfortunate man who has been drowned?"
"His name I don't know," answered the boatman; "but when I wanted to keep him out of the boat, which was too heavy laden as it was, he whispered that he was a messenger of the holy office, and told me to refuse him a passage at my peril. He brought a curse into our boat, I trow, or we should not have had such a storm; but there is no use of my sitting here and watching the water. Two horses and two men have gone down beside the boat, and no one will ever rise again till the last trumpet calls them out of the grave. I may as well go with you to the village as sit here watching the water that rolls over them all;" and getting up, he followed the rest of the party with his hands behind his back, in dull and silent grief.