A Love Story Part 16

A pale-faced maniac, with quivering frame, and glaring eye-b.a.l.l.s, continued to cry, in a low and piteous tone, "Murder! murder!!

murder!!!"

One woman, reclining on the cold pavement, dandled a straw, and called it her sweet child; while another hugged a misshapen block of wood to her bared breast, and deemed it her true love.

A third was on her knees, and at regular intervals, bent down her shrivelled body, and devoured the gravel beneath her.

Acme was happy to leave the scene, and move towards the garden; which was extensive, and beautifully laid out.

As they turned down one of the alleys, they encountered five or six men, drawn up in line, and armed with wooden muskets.

In front stood Napoleon, who, with stentorian voice, gave the word to "present arms!" then dropping his stick, and taking off his hat to Delme, began to converse familiarly with him, as with his friend Emperor Alexander, as to the efficiency of Poniatowski and his Polish lancers.

"Poor fellow!" said the Baron, as they moved on. "Never was insanity more harmless! He was once brigade major to Murat. This is his hour for exercise. Exactly at two, he goes through the scene of Fontainbleau, What will appear to you extraordinary is, that over the five or six men you saw around him, whose madness has been marked by few distinguishing traits, he has gradually a.s.sumed a superiority, until they now believe him to be, in reality, the Emperor he so unconsciously personates."

In the garden, which was of considerable size, were placed a number of swings and whirligigs, in full motion and occupancy.

On a stuccoed wall, were represented grotesque figures of animals dancing; opposite to which, one of Terpsich.o.r.e's votaries, with a paper cap on his head, shaped like a pyramid, was executing agile capers, whose zeal of purpose would have found infinite favour in the eyes of Laporte.

Having explored the garden, Delme accompanied the Baron to a small room, where the sculls of the deceased maniacs were ranged on shelves, with a small biographical note attached to each; and heard with attention, the old man's energetic reasoning, as to these fully demonstrating the truth of Spurzheim's theory.

Acme, meantime, remained on George's arm, talking to a girl of thirteen, who had been selected to conduct them to the carriage.

They entered their names in a book at the lodge, and then, turning to the benevolent director, paid him some well deserved compliments, for which he bowed low and often.

The young girl, who had been conversing most rationally with Acme, moved forward, and made a signal for the carriage to drive up.

She was a fair-haired gentle-looking creature, with quiet eye, and silvery voice. She a.s.sisted Acme to step into the carriage, who dropped a piece of silver into her hand, for which she gave a sweet smile and a curtsey.

She stood a moment motionless. Suddenly her eye lighted up--she darted into the carriage, and clapped her hands together joyfully.

"Viva! viva! we shall soon be home at Trapani!"

The tears sprang to the eyes of the young Greek.

Even the driver and cicerone were moved.

Acme took some flowers from her zone--kissed her cheek--and tried to change the current of her thoughts; but it was not till the driver promised he would call again, at the same hour the following day, that she consented with a sigh to relinquish her journey home.

From the Lunatic Asylum, our party adjourned to the Duomo, and beheld the coffin, where the revered body of the Palermitan Saint, attracts many a devout Catholic.

Sweet Rosalia! thy story is a pretty one--thy festa beauteous--the fireworks in thy honour most bright. No wonder the fair Sicilians adore thy memory.

In the cool of the evening, our travellers drove to the Marina; where custom--the crowded a.s.semblage--and the grateful sea breeze--nightly attract the gay inhabitants of Palermo.

The carriages, with their epauletted cha.s.seurs, swept on in giddy succession, and made a scene quite as imposing as is witnessed in most European capitals.

Delme did not think it advisable, to remain too long in the metropolis of Sicily; and the travellers contented themselves, with the sight-seeing of the immediate neighbourhood.

They admired the mosaics of the Chiesa di Monte Reale; and fed the pheasants, at that beautiful royal villa, well styled "the Favourite."

They took a boat to witness the tunny fishery; and Sir Henry explored alone the vast catacombs--that city of the dead.

After a few days thus pa.s.sed--the weather continuing uncommonly fine--they did not hesitate to engage one of the small vessels of the place, to convey them to Naples.

After enjoying their evening drive as usual, they embarked on board the Sparonara, one fine starry night, in order to get the full advantage of the favouring night breeze.

End of the First Volume.

A Love Story

by

A Bushman.

Vol. II.

"My thoughts, like swallows, skim the main, And bear my spirit back again Over the earth, and through the air, A wild bird and a wanderer."

1841.

A Love Story.

Chapter I.

Naples.

"And be it mine to muse there, mine to glide From day-break when the mountain pales his fire, Yet more and more, and from the mountain top, Till then invisible, a smoke ascends, Solemn and slow."

"Vedi Napoli! e poi muori!"

Memory! beloved memory! to us thou art as hope to other men. The present--solitary, unexciting--where are its charms? The future hath no joys in store for us; and may bereave us of some of the few faint pleasures that still are ours.

What then is left us--old before our time--but to banquet on the past?

Memory! thou art in us, as the basil of the enamoured Florentine. [Footnote 1: See Keats' poem taken from Boccaccio.] Thy blossoms, thy leaves,--green, fresh, and fragrant,--draw their nurture, receive their every colouring, from what was dearest to us on earth. And are they not watered by our tears?