This eBook was produced by Dagny,
and David Widger,
"Strange is the land that holds thee,—and thy couch
is widow'd of the loved one."
EURIP. /Med./ 442
Translation by R. G.
"I, alas!
Have lived but on this earth a few sad years;
And so my lot was ordered, that a father
First turned the moments of awakening life
To drops, each poisoning youth's sweet hope."
"/Cenci/."
FROM accompanying Maltravers along the noiseless progress of mentaleducation, we are now called awhile to cast our glances back at theruder and harsher ordeal which Alice Darvil was ordained to pass. Alongher path poetry shed no flowers, nor were her lonely steps towards thedistant shrine at which her pilgrimage found its rest lighted by themystic lamp of science, or guided by the thousand stars which are neverdim in the heavens for those favoured eyes from which genius and fancyhave removed many of the films of clay. Not along the aerial andexalted ways that wind far above the homes and business of commonmen—the solitary Alps of Spiritual Philosophy—wandered the desolatesteps of the child of poverty and sorrow. On the beaten and ruggedhighways of common life, with a weary heart, and with bleeding feet, shewent her melancholy course. But the goal which is the great secret oflife, the /summum arcanum/ of all philosophy, whether the Practical orthe Ideal, was, perhaps, no less attainable for that humble girl thanfor the elastic step and aspiring heart of him who thirsted after theGreat, and almost believed in the Impossible.
We return to that dismal night in which Alice was torn from the roof ofher lover. It was long before she recovered her consciousness of whathad passed, and gained a full perception of the fearful revolution whichhad taken place in her destinies. It was then a grey and dreary morningtwilight; and the rude but covered vehicle which bore her was rollingalong the deep ruts of an unfrequented road, winding among theuninclosed and mountainous wastes that, in England, usually betoken theneighbourhood of the sea. With a shudder Alice looked round: Walters,her father's accomplice, lay extended at her feet, and his heavybreathing showed that he was fast asleep. Darvil himself was urging onthe jaded and sorry horse, and his broad back was turned towards Alice;the rain, from which, in his position, he was but ill protected by theawning, dripped dismally from his slouched hat; and now, as he turnedround, and his sinister and gloomy gaze rested upon the face of Alice,his bad countenance, rendered more haggard by the cold raw light of thecheerless dawn, completed the hideous picture of unveiled and ruffianlywretchedness.
"Ho, ho! Alley, so you are come to your senses," said he, with a kind ofjoyless grin. "I am glad of it, for I can have no fainting fine ladieswith me. You have had a long holiday, Alley; you must now learn oncemore to work for your poor father. Ah, you have been d——d sly; butnever mind the past—I forgive it. You must not run away again withoutmy leave; if you are fond of sweethearts, I won't balk you—but your oldfather must go shares, Alley."
Alice could hear no more: she covered her face with the cloak that hadbeen thrown about her, and though she did not faint, her senses seemedto be locked and paralysed. By and by Walters woke, and the two men,heedless of her presence, conversed upon their plans. By degrees sherecovered sufficient self-possession to listen, in the instinctive hopethat some plan of e