Containing the Appearance on Our Stage of a New and Important Character.
THE Marquis of Montfort was the grandson of that nobleman who had been Glastonbury’s earliest patron. The old duke had been dead some years; his son had succeeded to his title, and Digby, that youth whom the reader may recollect1 was about the same age as Ferdinand Armine, and was his companion during the happy week in London which preceded his first military visit to the Mediterranean2, now bore the second title of the family.
The young marquis was an excellent specimen3 of a class inferior in talents, intelligence, and accomplishments4, in public spirit and in private virtues5, to none in the world, the English nobility. His complete education had been carefully conducted; and although his religious creed6, for it will be remembered he was a Catholic, had deprived him of the advantage of matriculating at an English university, the zeal7 of an able and learned tutor, and the resources of a German Alma Mater, had afforded every opportunity for the development of his considerable talents. Nature had lavished8 upon him other gifts besides his distinguished9 intelligence and his amiable10 temper: his personal beauty was remarkable11, and his natural grace was not less evident than his many acquired accomplishments.
On quitting the University of Bonn, Lord Montfort had passed several years on the continent of Europe, and had visited and resided at most of its courts and capitals, an admired and cherished guest; for, debarred at the period of our story from occupying the seat of his ancestors in the senate, his native country offered no very urgent claims upon his presence. He had ultimately fixed12 upon Rome as his principal residence, for he was devoted13 to the arts, and in his palace were collected some of the rarest specimens14 of ancient and modern invention.
At Pisa, Lord Montfort had made the acquaintance of Mr. Temple, who was residing in that city for the benefit of his daughter’s health, who, it was feared by her physicians, was in a decline. I say the acquaintance of Mr. Temple; for Lord Montfort was aware of the existence of his daughter only by the occasional mention of her name, as Miss Temple was never seen. The agreeable manners, varied15 information, and accomplished16 mind of Mr. Temple, had attracted and won the attention of the young nobleman, who shrank in general from the travelling English, and all their arrogant17 ignorance. Mr. Temple was in turn equally pleased with a companion alike refined, amiable, and enlightened; and their acquaintance would have ripened19 into intimacy20, had not the illness of Henrietta and her repugnance21 to see a third person, and the unwillingness22 of her father that she should be alone, offered in some degree a bar to its cultivation23.
Yet Henrietta was glad that her father had found a friend and was amused, and impressed upon him not to think of her, but to accept Lord Montfort’s invitations to his villa24. But Mr. Temple invariably declined them.
‘I am always uneasy when I am away from you, dearest,’ said Mr. Temple; ‘I wish you would go about a little. Believe me, it is not for myself that I make the suggestion, but I am sure you would derive25 benefit from the exertion26. I wish you would go with me and see Lord Montfort’s villa. There would be no one there but himself. He would not in the least annoy you, he is so quiet; and he and I could stroll about and look at the busts27 and talk to each other. You would hardly know he was present, he is such a very quiet person.’
Henrietta shook her head; and Mr. Temple could not urge the request.
Fate, however, had decided28 that Lord Montfort and Henrietta Temple should become acquainted. She had more than once expressed a wish to see the Campo Santo; it was almost the only wish that she had expressed since she left England. Her father, pleased to find that anything could interest her, was in the habit of reminding her of this desire, and suggesting that she should gratify it. But there was ever an excuse for procrastination29. When the hour of exertion came, she would say, with a faint smile, ‘Not today, dearest papa;’ and then, arranging her shawl, as if even in this soft clime she shivered, composed herself upon that sofa which now she scarcely ever quitted.
And this was Henrietta Temple! That gay and glorious being, so full of graceful30 power and beautiful energy, that seemed born for a throne, and to command a nation of adoring subjects! What are those political revolutions, whose strange and mighty31 vicissitudes32 we are ever dilating33 on, compared with the moral mutations that are passing daily under our own eye; uprooting34 the hearts of families, shattering to pieces domestic circles, scattering35 to the winds the plans and prospects36 of a generation, and blasting as with a mildew37 the ripening38 harvest of long cherished affection!
‘It is here that I would be buried,’ said Henrietta Temple.
They were standing39, the father and the daughter, in the Campo Santo. She had been gayer that morning; her father had seized a happy moment, and she had gone forth40, to visit the dead.
That vast and cloistered41 cemetery42 was silent and undisturbed; not a human being was there, save themselves and the keeper. The sun shone brightly on the austere43 and ancient frescoes44, and Henrietta stood opposite that beautiful sarcophagus, that seemed prepared and fitting to receive her destined45 ashes.
‘It is here that I would be buried,’ said she.
Her father almost unconsciously turned his head to gaze upon the countenance46 of his daughter, to see if there were indeed reason that she should talk of death. That countenance was changed since the moment we first feebly attempted to picture it. That flashing eye had lost something of its brilliancy, that superb form something of its roundness and its stag-like state; the crimson47 glory of that mantling48 cheek had faded like the fading eve; and yet it might be thought, it might be suffering, perhaps, the anticipation49 of approaching death, and as it were the imaginary contact with a serener50 existence, but certainly there was a more spiritual expression diffused51 over the whole appearance of Henrietta Temple, and which by many might be preferred even to that more lively and glowing beauty which, in her happier hours, made her the very queen of flowers and sunshine.
‘It is strange, dear papa,’ she continued, ‘that my first visit should be to a cemetery.’
At this moment their attention was attracted by the sound of the distant gates of the cemetery opening, and several persons soon entered. This party consisted of some of the authorities of the city and some porters, bearing on a slab52 of verd antique a magnificent cinerary vase, that was about to be placed in the Campo. In reply to his enquiries, Mr. Temple learned that the vase had been recently excavated53 in Catania, and that it had been purchased and presented to the Campo by the Marquis of Montfort. Henrietta would have hurried her father away, but with all her haste they had not reached the gates before Lord Montfort appeared.
Mr. Temple found it impossible, although Henrietta pressed his arm in token of disapprobation, not to present Lord Montfort to his daughter. He then admired his lordship’s urn18, and then his lordship requested that he might have the pleasure of showing it to them himself. They turned; Lord Montfort explained to them its rarity, and pointed54 out to them its beauty. His voice was soft and low, his manner simple but rather reserved. While he paid that deference55 to Henrietta which her sex demanded, he addressed himself chiefly to her father. She was not half so much annoyed as she had imagined; she agreed with her father that he was a very quiet man; she was even a little interested by his conversation, which was refined and elegant; and she was pleased that he did not seem to require her to play any part in the discourse56, but appeared quite content in being her father’s friend. Lord Montfort seemed to be attached to her father, and to appreciate him. And this was always a recommendation to Henrietta Temple.
The cinerary urn led to a little controversy57 between Mr. Temple and his friend; and Lord Montfort wished that Mr. Temple would some day call on him at his house in the Lung’ Arno, and he would show him some specimens which he thought might influence his opinion. ‘I hardly dare to ask you to come now,’ said his lordship, looking at Miss Temple; ‘and yet Miss Temple might like to rest.’
It was evident to Henrietta that her father would be pleased to go, and yet that he was about to refuse for her sake. She could not bear that he should be deprived of so much and such refined amusement, and be doomed58 to an uninteresting morning at home, merely to gratify her humour. She tried to speak, but could not at first command her voice; at length she expressed her wish that Mr. Temple should avail himself of the invitation. Lord Montfort bowed lowly, Mr. Temple seemed gratified, and they all turned together and quitted the cemetery.
As they walked along to the house, conversation did not flag. Lord Montfort expressed his admiration59 of Pisa. ‘Silence and art are two great charms,’ said his lordship.
At length they arrived at his palace. A venerable Italian received them. They passed through a vast hall, in which were statues, ascended60 a magnificent double staircase, and entered a range of saloons. One of them was furnished with more attention to comfort than an Italian cares for, and herein was the cabinet of urns61 and vases his lordship had mentioned.
‘This is little more than a barrack,’ said Lord Montfort; ‘but I can find a sofa for Miss Temple.’ So saying, he arranged with great care the cushions of the couch, and, when she seated herself, placed a footstool near her. ‘I wish you would allow me some day to welcome you at Rome,’ said the young marquis. ‘It is there that I indeed reside.’
Lord Montfort and Mr. Temple examined the contents of the cabinet. There was one vase which Mr. Temple greatly admired for the elegance62 of its form. His host immediately brought it and placed it on a small pedestal near Miss Temple. Yet he scarcely addressed himself to her, and Henrietta experienced none of that troublesome attention from which, in the present state of her health and mind, she shrank. While Mr. Temple was interested with his pursuit, Lord Montfort went to a small cabinet opposite, and brought forth a curious casket of antique gems63. ‘Perhaps,’ he said, placing it by Miss Temple, ‘the contents of this casket might amuse you;’ and he walked away to her father.
In the course of an hour a servant brought in some fruits and wine.
‘The grapes are from my villa,’ said Lord Montfort. ‘I ventured to order them, because I have heard their salutary effects have been marvellous. Besides, at this season, even in Italy they are rare. At least \ you cannot accuse me of prescribing a disagreeable remedy,’ he added with a slight smile, as he handed a plate to Miss Temple. She moved to receive them. Her cushions slipped from behind her, Lord Montfort immediately arranged them with skill and care. He was so kind that she really wished to thank him; but before she could utter a word he was again conversing64 with her father.
At length Mr. Temple indicated his intention to retire, and spoke65 to his daughter.
‘This has been a great exertion for you, Henrietta,’ he said; ‘this has indeed been a busy day.’
‘I am not wearied; and we have been much pleased.’ It was the firmest tone in which she had spoken for a long time. There was something in her manner which recalled to Mr. Temple her vanished animation66. The affectionate father looked for a moment happy. The sweet music of these simple words dwelt on his ear.
He went forward and assisted Henrietta to rise. She closed the casket with care, and delivered it herself to her considerate host. Mr. Temple bade him adieu; Henrietta bowed, and nearly extended her hand. Lord Montfort attended them to the gate; a carriage was waiting there.
‘Ah! we have kept your lordship at home,’ said Mr. Temple.
‘I took the liberty of ordering the carriage for Miss Temple,’ he replied. ‘I feel a little responsible for her kind exertion today.’
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1
recollect
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| v.回忆，想起，记起，忆起，记得 | |
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Mediterranean
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| adj.地中海的；地中海沿岸的 | |
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specimen
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| n.样本，标本 | |
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accomplishments
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| n.造诣；完成( accomplishment的名词复数 )；技能；成绩；成就 | |
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virtues
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| 美德( virtue的名词复数 )； 德行； 优点； 长处 | |
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creed
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| n.信条；信念，纲领 | |
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zeal
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| n.热心，热情，热忱 | |
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lavished
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| v.过分给予，滥施( lavish的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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amiable
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| adj.和蔼可亲的，友善的，亲切的 | |
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remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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specimens
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| n.样品( specimen的名词复数 )；范例；（化验的）抽样；某种类型的人 | |
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varied
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| adj.多样的，多变化的 | |
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accomplished
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| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
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arrogant
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| adj.傲慢的，自大的 | |
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urn
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| n.（有座脚的）瓮；坟墓；骨灰瓮 | |
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ripened
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| v.成熟，使熟( ripen的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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intimacy
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| n.熟悉，亲密，密切关系，亲昵的言行 | |
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repugnance
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| n.嫌恶 | |
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unwillingness
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| n. 不愿意，不情愿 | |
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cultivation
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| n.耕作，培养，栽培（法），养成 | |
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villa
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| n.别墅，城郊小屋 | |
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derive
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| v.取得；导出；引申；来自；源自；出自 | |
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exertion
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| n.尽力，努力 | |
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busts
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| 半身雕塑像( bust的名词复数 )； 妇女的胸部； 胸围； 突击搜捕 | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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procrastination
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| n.拖延，耽搁 | |
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graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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vicissitudes
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| n.变迁，世事变化；变迁兴衰( vicissitude的名词复数 )；盛衰兴废 | |
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dilating
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| v.（使某物）扩大，膨胀，张大( dilate的现在分词 ) | |
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uprooting
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| n.倒根，挖除伐根v.把（某物）连根拔起( uproot的现在分词 )；根除；赶走；把…赶出家园 | |
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scattering
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| n.[物]散射；散乱，分散；在媒介质中的散播adj.散乱的；分散在不同范围的；广泛扩散的；（选票）数量分散的v.散射(scatter的ing形式)；散布；驱散 | |
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prospects
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| n.希望，前途(恒为复数) | |
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mildew
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| n.发霉；v.（使）发霉 | |
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ripening
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| v.成熟，使熟( ripen的现在分词 )；熟化；熟成 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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cloistered
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| adj.隐居的，躲开尘世纷争的v.隐退，使与世隔绝( cloister的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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cemetery
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| n.坟墓，墓地，坟场 | |
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austere
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| adj.艰苦的；朴素的，朴实无华的；严峻的 | |
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frescoes
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| n.壁画( fresco的名词复数 )；温壁画技法，湿壁画 | |
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destined
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| adj.命中注定的；(for)以…为目的地的 | |
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countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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crimson
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| n./adj.深(绯)红色(的)；vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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48
mantling
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| 覆巾 | |
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anticipation
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| n.预期，预料，期望 | |
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50
serener
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| serene（沉静的，宁静的，安宁的）的比较级形式 | |
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51
diffused
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| 散布的，普及的，扩散的 | |
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52
slab
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| n.平板，厚的切片；v.切成厚板，以平板盖上 | |
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53
excavated
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| v.挖掘( excavate的过去式和过去分词 )；开凿；挖出；发掘 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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deference
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| n.尊重，顺从；敬意 | |
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discourse
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| n.论文，演说；谈话；话语；vi.讲述，著述 | |
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controversy
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| n.争论，辩论，争吵 | |
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doomed
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| 命定的 | |
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admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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ascended
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| v.上升，攀登( ascend的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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urns
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| n.壶( urn的名词复数 )；瓮；缸；骨灰瓮 | |
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elegance
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| n.优雅；优美，雅致；精致，巧妙 | |
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gems
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| growth； economy； management； and customer satisfaction 增长 | |
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conversing
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| v.交谈，谈话( converse的现在分词 ) | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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animation
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| n.活泼，兴奋，卡通片／动画片的制作 | |
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