The poet tells us--
"Nessun maggior dolore Che ricordarsi del tempo felice Nella miseria."
But it is not so. Where is he of the tribe of the unfortunate, who would not gladly barter the contemplation of present wretchedness, for the remembrance, clogged as it is by a thousand woes, of a time when joyous visions flitted across life"s path?
Yes! though the contrast, the succeeding moment, should cut him to the soul.
But
"Joy"s recollection is no longer joy, Whilst sorrow"s memory is a sorrow still."
Ah! there"s the rub! yet, better to think it _was_ joy, than gaze unveiled on the cold reality around; than view the wreck--the grievous wreck--a few short years have made.
We care not,--and, alas! to such as we have in our mind"s eye, these are the only cases allowed,--we care not! whether rapture has been succeeded by apathy, or whether the feelings continue as deeply enlisted--the thoughts as intensely concentrated;--but--in the servitude of despair!
And again we say--gentle memory! let us dream over our past joys! ay! and brood over our sorrows--undeserved--as in this hour of solitude, we may justly deem them.
Yes! let us again live over our days of suffering, and deem it wiser to steep our soul in tears, than let it freeze with an iced coating of cynic miscalled philosophy.
And shall adversity--that touchstone--softened as our hearts shall thus be--shall it pa.s.s over us, and improve us not?
No! it has purifying and cleansing qualities; and for us, it has them not in vain.
We are not dust, to be more defiled by water; nor are we as the turbid stream, which pa.s.sing over driven snow, becomes more impure by the close contact.
Thee, Mnemosyne! let us still adore; content rather to droop, fade, and die--martyrs to thee! than linger on as beasts of the forest, that know thee not. No hope may be ours to animate the future: let us still cling to thee, though thine influence sadden the past.
Away! we are on the placid sea! and Naples lies before us.
The sun had just risen from ocean"s bed, attired in his robe of gold; as our travellers watched from the deck of their Sparonara, to catch the first view of the "garden of the world," as the Neapolitans fondly style their city,
A dim haze was abroad, the mists were slowly stealing up the mountains, as their vessel glided on; a light breeze anon filling its canvas, then dying away, and leaving the sails to flap against the loosened cordage.
On their left, extended the charming heights of Posilipo---the cla.s.sic site of Baia--Pozzuoli--Nisida--and Ischia, to be reverenced for its wine.
On their right, Capra"s isle and Portici--and Vesuvius--wreathed in vapour, presented themselves.
As their vessel held on her way, Naples became visible--its turrets capt by a solitary cloud, which had not yet acknowledged the supremacy of the rising deity.
The effulgence of the city was dimmed, but it was lovely still,--as a diamond, obscured by a pa.s.sing breath; or woman"s eye, humid from pity"s tear.
"And this," said Sir Henry, for it happened that his travels in Italy had not extended so far south, "this is Naples! and this sea view the second finest in the world!"
"Which is the first?" said Acme, laughing, "not in England, I trust; for we foreigners do not invest your island with beauty"s attributes."
"My dear Acme!" replied Sir Henry, somewhat gravely, "I trust the day may arrive, when you will deem Delme Park, with its mansion bronzed by time--its many hillocks studded with ancient trees--its glistening brook, and h.o.a.ry gateways--its wooded avenue, where the rooks have built for generations--its verdant glades, where the deer have long found a home:--when you will consider all these, as forming as fair a prospect, as ever eye reposed on. But I did not allude at the time to England; but to the Turkish capital. George! I remember your glowing description of your trip in Mildmay"s frigate, up the Dardanelles. What comparison would you make between the two scenes?"
"I confess to have been much disappointed," replied George, "in my first view of Stamboul; and even the beauty of the pa.s.sage to the Dardanelles, seemed to me to have been exaggerated. But what really _did_ strike me, as being the most varied, the most interesting scenery I had ever witnessed, was that which greeted us, on an excursion we made in a row boat, from the Bosphorus into the Black Sea.
"There all my floating conceptions of Oriental luxury, and of Moslem pomp, were more than realised.
"The elegant kiosks--the ornamented gardens--the pinnacled harems, the entrance to which lofty barriers jealously guarded--the number of the tombs in their silent cities---gave an intense interest to the Turkish coast;--while sumptuous barges, filled with veiled women, swept by us, and gave a fairy charm to the sea. On our return, we were nearly lost from our ignorance of the current, which is rapid and dangerous."
"Well! I am glad to hear such a smiling account of Stamboul," rejoined Acme. "My feelings regarding it have been quite Grecian. It has always been to me a sort of Ogre city."
The breeze began to freshen, and the vessel made way fast.
As they neared the termination of their voyage, some church, or casino bedecked with statues, or fertile glen, whose sides blushed with the luscious grape, opened at every instant, and drew forth their admiration.
Their little vessel swung to her anchor.
The busy hum of the restless inhabitants, and the joyous toll of the churches, announcing one of the never-failing Neapolitan processions, was borne on the breeze.
The whole party embarked for the quarantine office, and--once authorised to join the throng of Naples--soon found themselves in the Strada Toledo, moving towards the Santa Lucia.
Their hotel was near the mole; its windows commanding an extensive view of the purple sea, beyond which the eye took in the changeful volcano; and many a vista--sunny, smiling, and beauteous enough, for the exacting fancy of an Englishman, who conjures up for an Italian landscape, marble-like villas--and porticoes, where grapes cl.u.s.ter, in festoons of the vine--heaving mountains--a purple sky--faces bronzed, but oh how fair!--and song, revelry, and grace.
But what struck Acme, and even Sir Henry, who was more inured to the whirl of cities, as the characteristical feature of Naples, was its moving life.
In the streets, there was an incessant bustle from morning until midnight.
Each pa.s.ser by wore an air of importance, almost amounting to a consciousness of happiness. There was fire in the glance--speech in the action--on the lip a ready smile.
In no city of Italy, does care seem more misplaced. The n.o.ble rolls on in his vehicle on the Corso, with features gay and self-possessed; while the merry laugh of the beggar--as he feasts on the lengthened honors of his Macaroni--greets the ear at every turn. Stray not there! oh thou with brow furrowed by anguish!
If thy young affections have been blighted--if hope fondly indulged, be replaced by despair--if feelings that lent their roseate hue, to the commonest occurrences of life, now darken every scene--if thou knowest thyself the accessary to this, thy misery, stray not in Naples, all too joyous for thee!
Rather haunt the shrines of the world"s ancient mistress! Perchance the sunken pillar--and the marble torso--and the moss-grown edifice--and the sepulchre, with the owl as tenant--and the thought that the great, the good, and the talented, who reared these fading monuments--are silent and mouldering below: mayhap these things will speak to thy heart, and repress the full gush of a sorrow that may not be controlled! And if--the martyr to o"er-sicklied refinement--to sentiment too etherialised for the world, where G.o.d hath placed thee--ideal woes have stamped a wrinkle on the brow, and ideal dreams now const.i.tute thy pleasure and thy bane: for such as thou art! living on feeling"s excess--soaring to rapture"s heights--or sinking to despair"s abyss--Naples is not fitting!
Visit the city of the sea! there indulge thy shapeless imaginings--with no sound to break thy day dreams--save the shrill cry of the gondolier, and the splash of his busy oar.
The young Greek, Delme, and George, were soon immersed in the round of sight seeing.
Visits to the ancient palace of Queen Joanna--to the modern villa of the Margravine--to the Sibyl"s Cave, and to Maro"s Tomb--to _some_ sites that owed their interest to cla.s.sic a.s.sociations--to _others_ that claimed it from present beauty--wiled away days swiftly and pleasurably.
What with youth, change of scene, and an Italian sky, George was no longer an invalid. His eye wore neither the film of apathy, nor the unnatural flush of delirium; but smiled its happiness on all, and beamed its love on Acme.
One night they were at the Fondo, and after listening delightedly to Lalande, and following with quick glance, the rapid movements of the agile ballerina, and after George had been honoured by a bow--which greatly amused Acme--from the beautiful princess; who, poor girl! _then_ felt a penchant for Englishmen, which she failed not to avow from her opera box--the party agreed to walk home to the hotel. On their way, they turned into a coffee-room to take ice.
The fluent waiter prattled over his catalogue; and Acme selected his "sorbetto Maltese," because the name reminded her of the loved island.
Leaving the coffee-room, they were accosted by a driver of one of the public coaches.
"Now, Signore! just in time for Vesuvius! See the sun rise! superb sight!
elegant carriage!"
"Do let us go!" said Acme, clapping her hands with youthful enthusiasm.
"No, no! my dear!" said Sir Henry, "we must not think of it! you would be so tired."