No More Learning

"Who's there to save you from your fatal net? ”
-――――
"What art thou rocking, sleepless mother? ” — “Boys. ” —
"Yes: let them grow, and wound their country's fame,
Slaves to her foes, with parricidal arm! ”-
"What art thou writing, poet? " "Words of flame:
I mark my own, record my country's harm,
Whom thought of freedom never more employs. "
-
I blame them not, who with the foreign steel
Tear out our vitals, pierce our inmost heart;
For they are foes created for our smart,
And when they slay us, why they do it, feel.
But in these paths, ye seek what recompense?
For you what brilliant toys of fame are here,
Ye mongrel foes, who lift the sword and spear
Against your country, not for her defense?
Ye Franks, Bavarians, and ye Swabians, say—
Ye aliens, sold to bear the slavish name
What wages for your servitude they pay.
Your eagle may perchance redeem your fame;
More sure his robber train, ye birds of prey,
To coming ages shall prolong your shame!
Translation of C. C. Felton.
-


## p. 12467 (#525) ##########################################

FRIEDRICH RÜCKERT
12467
BARBAROSSA
HE ancient Barbarossa
By magic spell is bound,-
Old Frederic the kaiser,
In castle underground.
THE
The kaiser hath not perished,-
He sleeps an iron sleep;
For in the castle hidden,
He's sunk in slumber deep.
With him the chiefest treasures
Of empire hath he ta'en,
Wherewith in fitting season
He shall appear again.
The kaiser he is sitting
Upon an ivory throne;
Of marble is the table
His head he resteth on.
His beard it is not flaxen:
Like living fire it shines,
And groweth through the table
Whereon his chin reclines.
As in a dream he noddeth;
Then wakes he, heavy-eyed,
And calls, with lifted finger,
A stripling to his side:-
"Dwarf, get thee to the gateway,
And tidings bring, if still
Their course the ancient ravens
Are wheeling round the hill.
"For if the ancient ravens
Are flying still around,
A hundred years to slumber
By magic spell I'm bound. "
Translation by H. W. Dulcken.


## p. 12468 (#526) ##########################################

12468
FRIEDRICH RÜCKERT
THE DRUM
OH,
H, THE drum - it rattles so loud!
When it calls me with its rattle
To the battle to the battle-
Sounds that once so charmed my ear
I no longer now can hear;
They are all an empty hum,
For the drum —
Oh, the drum-it rattles so loud!
-
Oh, the drum-it rattles so loud!
At the door with tearful eye,
Father, mother, to me cry; —
Father! mother! shut the door!
I can hear you now no more!
Ye might as well be dumb,
For the drum —
Oh, the drum-it rattles so loud!
Oh, the drum-it rattles so loud!
At the corner of the street,
Where so oft we used to meet,
Stands my bride, and cries, "Ah, woe!
My bridegroom, wilt thou go? »
Dearest bride, the hour is come!
For the drum —
Oh, the drum-it rattles so loud!
Oh, the drum-it rattles so loud!
My brother in the fight
Bids a last, a long good-night;
And the guns, with knell on knell,
Their tale of warning tell; —
But my ear to that is numb,
For the drum
Oh, the drum-it rattles so loud!
Oh, the drum-it rattles so loud!
There's no such stirring sound
Is heard the wide world round
As the drum that with its rattle
Echoes Freedom's call to battle!
I fear no martyrdom
While the drum
Oh, the drum-it rattles so loud!
Translation of C. T. Brooks.


## p. 12469 (#527) ##########################################

FRIEDRICH RÜCKERT
12469
GONE IN THE WIND
SOL
OLOMON! where is thy throne? It is gone in the wind.
Babylon! where is thy might? It is gone in the wind.
Like the swift shadows of noon, like the dreams of the blind,
Vanish the glories and pomps of the earth in the wind.
Man! canst thou build upon aught in the pride of thy mind?
Wisdom will teach thee that nothing can tarry behind;
Though there be thousand bright actions embalmed and enshrined,
Myriads and millions of brighter are snow in the wind.
Solomon! where is thy throne? It is gone in the wind.
Babylon! where is thy might? It is gone in the wind.
All that the genius of man hath achieved or designed
Waits but its hour to be dealt with as dust by the wind.
Say, what is pleasure? A phantom, a mask undefined.
Science? An almond, whereof we can pierce but the rind.
Honor and affluence? Firmans that Fortune hath signed
Only to glitter and pass on the wings of the wind.
Solomon! where is thy throne? It is gone in the wind.
Babylon! where is thy might? It is gone in the wind.
Who is the fortunate? He who in anguish hath pined!
He shall rejoice when his relics are dust in the wind!
Mortal! be careful with what thy best hopes are entwined.
Woe to the miners for truth-where the lampless have mined!
Woe to the seekers on earth for — what none ever find!
They and their trust shall be scattered like leaves on the wind.
-
Solomon! where is thy throne? It is gone in the wind.
Babylon! where is thy might? It is gone in the wind.
Happy in death are they only whose hearts have consigned
All earth's affections and longings and cares to the wind.
Pity thou, reader! the madness of poor human-kind,
Raving of knowledge- and Satan so busy to blind!
Raving of glory-like me;-for the garlands I bind
(Garlands of song) are but gathered, and-strewn in the wind!
Solomon! where is thy throne? It is gone in the wind.
Babylon! where is thy might? It is gone in the wind.
I, Abul-Namez, must rest; for my fire hath declined,
And I hear voices from Hades like bells on the wind.
Translation of James Clarence Mangan.


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12470
FRIEDRICH RÜCKERT
TOLD BY A BRAHMIN
GⓇ
OLD weighed 'gainst Honor is naught in the scale,-
Hear of an Arab the ancient tale:-
The eye of a robber was set on the steed
That was dearer to him than wife or than creed.
The steed was his joy both day and night,
Her course was as swift as an arrow in flight.
At night she was chained with a chain whose twist
Through the tent-walls went to his sleeping wrist.
But the robber-snake in the douar crept,
While he and the men of his tribe all slept.
He loosened the chain with which she was tied,
He sprang on the mare and loudly cried:-
"Wake, fool, and know that I have thine horse;
Race after, and take her back by force. "
-
The robbed and his tribe race hard behind,
As fast as the simoom's desert wind.
They are neck to croup - he will overtake! —
Like a flash came the thought, "Her fame is at stake.
"If I overtake her she's mine again;
If not, with her robber she will remain.
"Yet ten times rather lose her than she
Should be overmatched, were it even by me. "
To the robber he shouted loud and clear,
"Fool, press your mount in her pricked right ear! "
For that was the spot that he touched at need,—
The secret sign for the mare's full speed.
The robber obeyed, and swift with him
She vanished in dust o'er the desert's rim.
Each man of the tribe turned round to upbraid:-
"Thou hast thyself and thine horse betrayed.
"Thou hast lost the best steed man ever crossed. "
Said he, "Her honor remains unlost!
"Unconquered,-though lost for her honor's sake,
That triumph no robber from me can take. "
Translation of Elizabeth Craigmyle.


## p. 12471 (#529) ##########################################

12471
GIOVANNI DOMENICO RUFFINI
(1807-1881)
-
IOVANNI DOMENICO RUFFINI, conspirator, politician, patriot, is
remembered in none of these characters, - not rare in his
time and country,- but as a novelist; and especially as the
author of one book, 'Dr. Antonio,'—a lovely record of love, patriot-
ism, and despair.
His first story, 'Lorenzo Benoni,' purporting to be a novel, is
really an autobiography; a faithful transcript of his boyhood and life
in Italy between 1818 and 1833, when Piedmont was the stronghold
of despotism, and when Ruffini, who was educated at the university
(he was born in Genoa in 1807), was one of the band of high if tur-
bulent spirits-Mazzini the leader - who joined the "Young Italy»
movement and set up the national standard. 'Lorenzo' in one way
merited the attention accorded it in the first reviews of the day. It
fell at a lucky moment, and was filled with Italian politics, then at
their most interesting moment. To the modern reader its sole inter-
est is in one unique quality: the naïve expression of a conspirator's
life, its futility, its childishness, its splendid courage, its duplicity,
its high motives, and the stage tricks used to elevate it as the
author unconsciously betrays. The minute details of Italian school
life are faithful enough; but a pedagogue is a pedagogue the world
over, and his portrait can never be a novel one.
Ruffini fled to France in 1833, and afterwards to England, where
he studied the language with such assiduity that it is hard to believe
that the tongue in which he wrote is not his own. On the promul-
gation of the constitution of 1848 he re-entered Italian politics, and
was deputy from Taggia, the little Riviera town which was to achieve
romantic distinction as the scene of Dr. Antonio. ' Charles Albert
appointed him Sardinian minister to France; but the battle of Novara
having resulted in the abdication of the King and his own exile, he
returned to London, and wrote a series of novels depicting Italian
life during the revolutions of 1833 and 1848. Lavinia,' 'Paragreens,'
'Carlino,' and 'Vincenzo' have the single merit of so portraying
the fortunes of commonplace men and women, that the foreigner is
able to understand their temper and social opportunity. Between the
gloomy 'Lorenzo Benoni' and the other unremarkable stories that


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12472
GIOVANNI DOMENICO RUFFINI
follow, Dr. Antonio' shines out an almost flawless jewel among a
handful of smooth pebbles.
Ruffini spent his peaceful age in Taggia, and died there in 1881.
'Dr. Antonio,' published in 1855, is written in a style as far as
possible from the modern manner. The author does not fill his can-
vas with figures, and then stand off, a dispassionate observer, to see
how they look and move. He is frankly the partisan, the protector,
of his hero and heroine; and prodigal in gifts to them of beauty,
character, and charm. He crowns his Lucy with golden hair, his
Antonio with dark curls, the one the complement of the other. His
language is old-fashioned; and through his limpid sentences walk
"Lucy the fair," "Antonio the noble. » The story rests on supports
which, though firm, are slender. Lucy Davenne, a young English
girl, accompanied by her father, an insular, prejudiced, wealthy baro-
net, traveling by carriage along the Cornice road, is overturned at a
dangerous pass and seriously injured. The parish doctor of the little
town of Taggia happens to rescue her, carries her to an inn, and
afterward attends her with patience and skill through a long invalid-
ism. The romance which grows softly, sweetly, daily, before our eyes,
is revealed by no gesture, no sound. Not a whisper, even to the
reader, breaks the silence of perfect reserve, entire reticence. The
unspoken love has a larger life, and permeates the atmosphere; it is
a part of the fragrance of the flowers; it is breathed in the cool
wind, tremulous with feeling. And perfect art leaves it so,-un-
analyzed, undefined.
Long and lovely are their days in the little osteria on the olive-
crowned height, the rainbow-colored Mediterranean at their feet, and
the snow mountains piercing the northern horizon. Pleasant the
hours when they drive along the silvery tract of road that undulates
among palms and olives, from the bending coast to frowning hills,
whose outlines are veiled in mists of mother-of-pearl. But when they
wake from their day-dream, and Lucy is forced to return to England,
the reader, with Dr. Antonio, can only submit. Parental authority is
supreme in Italian eyes; and Antonio, poet and dreamer, has the
practicality of his race and station.
After the lapse of years, Lucy, now the widow of an English lord,
returns to Italy, with the unconfessed purpose of seeing Antonio
again. He has thrown himself into politics, and become an author-
ity in the Liberal party. They meet, but scarcely an hour of inter-
course is vouchsafed them; for a crisis has come in the affairs of the
country. The battle of Novara is fought and lost; and Antonio is
captured, tried, and sentenced to imprisonment for life on the gloomy
promontory which overlooks Ischia. The calamity which befalls her
lover makes of the timid Lucy a very Machiavelli. With what art the


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GIOVANNI DOMENICO RUFFINI
12473
author shows the change! how prodigal of self, of money, of charm
to win her way! And finally it is done. The boat which is to res-
cue him passes under the prison walls, hands are stretched out to
save him, he has but to leap into the soft darkness of the Italian
night; but he does not come. The astonished, the indignant messen.
gers bring back to Lucy a little note, the letters formed by holes
pierced in the paper.
"There are five here besides myself: all noble fellows, the least
of them worth ten of me. I cannot desert them. You cannot save
us all; leave me to my fate. Providence has assigned me my place
among the sufferers. Perhaps our trials will be reckoned to our
country. Pray that it may be so. Pray for Italy.
Your own A-. »
God bless you.
The unuttered romance ends in failure and death. Does the sen-
timentalist protest that the real Antonio would not have submitted to
fate, or taken his country for a mistress when love failed? Antonio
was a character called out of the unordered individualities of Italian
life, and patriotism with him might well have been the absorbing
passion. And what of the vain sacrifice, the immolation to an idea,
which bound him to his chains when his duty was to love? For
Antonio there was no choice. The high resolve, the senseless, noble,
quixotic action, was but the expression of his ideal.
Ruffini was a man of one book; a dignified and interesting figure.
THE IDYL AT A CLOSE
From Dr. Antonio'
IT
IT WAS one of those hot sultry days in the month of August, so
trying to the nerves of sensitive people, and during which
Nature, as it were, herself exhausted, seems to come to a
standstill. Shooting through a thin veil of white clouds, as
through a burning-glass, the rays of the sun poured down upon
the earth volumes of heavy malignant heat. No leaf stirred,
no bird was singing; the very cicadas had suspended their shrill
chirp. The only sound that occasionally broke the ominous still-
ness was the plaintive cry of the cuckoo calling to its mate.
Lucy had tried drawing, gardening, practicing, sleeping, all
with no success; and now lay panting on a sofa. "Here you are
at last! " said she, as Dr. Antonio walked in: "I have been long-
ing for you these two hours. I feel so ill. "
"Indeed! " exclaimed Antonio, turning white: "what is the
matter with you? I met Sir John on his way to the count's not


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12474
GIOVANNI DOMENICO RUFFINI
an hour ago, and he never breathed a syllable about your being
unwell. "
"I said nothing about the matter to papa," answered Lucy:
"he is uneasy enough already at not having heard from Aubrey.
"
"You mean your brother? "
"Yes: Aubrey was to write by the Indian mail, which we see
has arrived, and without bringing any letter from him. "
"I am very sorry for that," said Antonio. "But tell me all
about yourself. You have not been coughing, have you? "
"No, but I feel very uncomfortable: so faint—so oppressed-
so hot. "
"No wonder. Everybody suffers more or less from this
weather. Let me feel your pulse. -There is no fever. It is
this confounded sirocco that tells on your nerves. Now just lie
down again quietly," — and he arranged the pillows under her
head,- «<
Miss
and I will try to make you more comfortable.
Hutchins," he added, walking away, "will you make a glass of
strong lemonade for Miss Davenne? the juice of two lemons in
half a tumbler of water-lukewarm water, if you please. "
"Yes, sir," answered the lady's-maid, in the most mellifluous
voice at her command. Miss Hutchins, be it known, was quite
conquered: a hard conquest, but Antonio had achieved it. The
once stiff abigail now courted his notice, and prided herself in
carrying out his directions.
-
Presently Antonio reappeared, followed by Speranza, both of
them looking like Jacks-in-the-green on a May morning, or like a
bit of Birnam Wood, from the quantity of cut boughs they were
carrying. They spread them all over the floor; then, Rosa bring-
ing in a watering-pot, the doctor watered the branches several
times, saying, "This will soon cool us, provided we let in no
air from the furnace without. " He shut up the glass door, and
let down the green curtain over it so as to create a twilight.
"Do you like your lemonade? " he asked, as Lucy put down her
glass.
"Very much it is so refreshing. "
"Do you feel inclined to go to sleep? "
"No," said Lucy: "are you going? "
"Not unless you feel sleepy. You do not? Very well. Shall
I read to you? " continued Antonio, going to the book-shelves
near the piano, and coming back with a book; "shall I read you
something from your favorite poet, Giusti ? "


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GIOVANNI DOMENICO RUFFINI
12475
"What a clever man you are! " said Lucy, instead of answer-
ing the question. "I feel better already. What is to become of
me when you are no long-” The rest of the phrase was lost
in a burst of tears.
Poor Antonio stood still, with the book in his hand and large
tears in his eyes,- within an ace of crying also. Fortunately
for him, something stuck in his throat at this moment and neces-
sitated his clearing it violently. Having by this means recov-
ered his voice, he said, "See how nervous you are: you weep
without the least cause, as if you were going away to-morrow.
Don't you know the Italian proverb, 'Prendi tempo e camperai'? "
His tone was that of a mother chiding her pet child. There
ensued a pause, during which Lucy by degrees recovered from
her emotion.
"Doctor," said she all at once, "do you believe in presenti-
ments? "
"Not a bit," replied Antonio briskly; "I believe in the si-
rocco. »
You are wrong, then," said Lucy gravely. "Did you not
tell me once of sensitive plants which foretold storms? Well, I
am one of them. I am sure that some misfortune is about to
happen to me. I feel it in the air. "
"You feel the treacherous south wind, that is what you feel.
A shower of rain will put your discomfort and presentiments all
to flight. "
Lucy shook her head incredulously; then said, "Will you read
to me? anything you choose. "
"Let us try 'Il Brindisi di Don Girella. ' It is so droll, it will
make you laugh;" and carrying a chair close to the glass door,
in order to profit by the little light that stole in through it, he
began reading.
We have reasons of our own for particularizing as minutely
as possible the details of this domestic scene, and the position.
with regard to each other of reader and listener. A little to the
right of the glass door, at some five or six paces from it, stood
sidewise the sofa on which Lucy was lying, her face towards the
light. She had on a white muslin gown with a blue sash; her
broad-brimmed straw hat was hanging by its blue ribbons on a
corner of the back of the sofa, just over her head. Miss Hutch-
ins, her arms crossed before her, sat at the large table in the


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GIOVANNI DOMENICO RUFFINI
centre of the room, busily engaged in trying to swallow a series
of obstinate yawns that would not be suppressed. Opposite to
Lucy- that is, to the left of the glass door, but so close to it
that the green curtain touched his book—was seated Antonio.
Well, the reading had been going on for some time, and
more than once had the condensed vis comica of the inimitable
poet brought a faint smile on Lucy's pale face. By degrees,
however, her perception of the author's meaning became fainter
and fainter; and the rich melodious voice of the reader, soothing
her like the murmuring of a brook, lulled the sweet girl into
that state which is not yet sleep, yet neither is it waking, but a
voluptuous compound of the two. All on a sudden a heavy foot-
step is heard coming up the stairs. Lucy started up: "Who
can that be? " faltered she with a shudder. At the same instant
the glass door is flung open with a crash, a colossal figure stalks
in noisily, and "Halloa, Lucy, my girl," roars out a voice like
thunder, as the living tower stoops down to kiss the prostrate
form. "Here you are at last! Heyday! What is all this? By
Jove! with your green boughs and watering-pots you look as pas-
toral as one of the shepherdesses in a ballet. Une chaumière et
ton cœur. Ah! ah! nothing is wanting to the idyl, as they used
to say at Eton; d— it, not even the shepherd!
>>>>
"Aubrey! " cried Lucy in a tone of reproach, but could say no
more.
The oath and witty sally, we need scarcely remark, were
aimed at our friend the doctor. Antonio had received such a
violent slap from the door, when Aubrey entered, as to be nearly
felled to the ground; and in the effort to recover his balance, his
chair was upset. The new-comer turned round at the noise, saw
Antonio, and uttered the silly vapid joke about the shepherd.
The eyes of the two men met in no friendly way. Aubrey's
haughty scowl, curled lip, and somewhat aggressive demeanor,
evinced little good-will to the object of his present scrutiny.
Antonio's firm-set lips, ashy-pale countenance, and collected look
of self-defense, gave evidence of his scenting the near approach
Thus they stood, confronting each other, types of two
fine races, two such as even Greece and Rome had seldom seen
the like of the one, fair, rosy, blue-eyed; (Lucy's very eyes! )
the other, dark as a tempest: the Englishman taller by nearly a
head than his tall antagonist, square-chested, broad-shouldered in
proportion, the very ne plus ultra of muscular development and


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GIOVANNI DOMENICO RUFFINI
12477
strength; the Italian less bulky but as firmly knit, springy and
supple as a tiger, with iron nerves and sinews, ready servants of
the indomitable will betrayed in the sombre fire of his eyes. God
grant that they may never meet in anger, for theirs will be like
the meeting of two thunder-clouds!
This mutual survey did not last ten seconds; but even that
time sufficed to develop between the two a strong feeling of an-
tipathy. Lucy, woman-like, divined it, and her increasing terror
loosened her tongue. "My brother, Captain Davenne: Dr. Anto-
nio, my doctor,-papa's best friend. " The words broke the spell.
Captain Davenne bowed slightly, as did Dr. Antonio. A parting
recommendation to Lucy to keep quiet, and to go to bed early
if she did not feel better in the evening, and the doctor with-
drew.
Aubrey began kicking about in the most uproarious manner
all the chairs and arm-chairs that were in the room, every fresh
kick eliciting a fresh start from Lucy; till at last, having dis-
posed them somewhat symmetrically by the side of the sofa, he
stretched his ponderous limbs on this extempore couch, talking
loudly all the while. Lucy was thus made aware, between one
kick and the other, of the string of lucky circumstances which
had procured for her so unexpectedly the blessing of her broth-
er's company. They were briefly these: The invalid brother offi
cer, whose duties had devolved upon Aubrey, recovering more
rapidly than had been anticipated, Captain Davenne had in con-
sequence been enabled to sail by the very Indian mail the arrival
of which, without a letter from him, had caused Sir John's un-
easiness in the morning. What was the use of writing when he
should reach England at the same time as his letter? In London
he had met Tom Carnifex,- eldest son of Lord Carnifex,- who
had just received a hasty summons from his father to join him
at Florence as quickly as he could. Tom had offered Aubrey a
place in his britschka; Aubrey had accepted it, and here he was.
Of the stranger he had found in his sister's company, of the
pleasant or unpleasant impression made on him by the sight, not
a single word.
Who so surprised and happy and elated as Sir John, when on
entering the room soon after, the first thing his eyes fell upon
was his long-missed treasure, Aubrey, seated by the side of his
sister? Sir John would, had his sense of decorum permitted,


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GIOVANNI DOMENICO RUFFINI
have done foolish things. How proudly and fondly he gazed on
the "boy," as he called him! Truth to say, Aubrey's Herculean
proportions and handsome features must have excited the admi-
ration of a more impartial judge than his father. The baronet's
eager inquiries immediately brought forth a second edition of
Aubrey's statements just related; and then began between father
and son a brisk fire of queries and answers, like hammers plying
in quick succession on an anvil. No wonder they had much to
say to one another, considering their ten years' separation. They
rattled on uninterruptedly, until John Ducket's advent to lay the
cloth for dinner put an end to their effusions. Captain Davenne
complimented John on his good looks; an honor which spread
on John's grave face a grin of intense complacency. The two
gentlemen then adjourned to Sir John's own room, from whence
they were shortly after summoned forth by the announcement
that dinner was on the table. Aubrey ate and drank enough for
two; and as he ate and drank, his praises of the fare, the wines,
the situation, rendered still more impressive by sundry oaths and
tremendous peals of laughter, which made plates, glasses, decan-
ters, and the very glass door ring again, grew louder and louder.
"By-the-by, my dear boy," said the baronet, "at what inn did
Carnifex leave you? "
"At none," was the answer. "I left my portmanteau at a
kind of pot-house, where he changed horses. I say, John, you
must go there after dinner and have my portmanteau brought
here. "
"I am afraid," said Sir John, "that there is no room for
you here: it is a mere nutshell; there is not a hole to spare, I
know. "
"Never mind," retorted Aubrey: "à la guerre comme à la
guerre; I can sleep on the sofa, or on the ground, anywhere.
Here I am, and here I mean to stay; for I suppose you won't
turn me out by force. "
This being Aubrey's ultimatum, from which it was clear that
no reasons, however good, would divert him, a short consultation
ensued between Sir John and John Ducket, the upshot of which
was that John should manage to find a resting-place for him-
self where he could, and that his room should be made as com-
fortable as possible for his young master. To be of service to
Aubrey, John would have willingly slept in the fields.


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GIOVANNI DOMENICO RUFFINI
12479
Dinner over, Captain Davenne, to Sir John's great amaze-
ment and consternation, lighted an enormous cigar. "First-rate
cigar," said he, puffing away: "I hope you don't dislike the smell,
Lucy; I know my father doesn't. " Lucy protested she had no
objection to it—she rather liked it than not. Now the truth
was that she could not bear it. What was it that forced from
her an assertion so little consonant with the truth? Lucy almost
unconsciously felt a sort of necessity to humor her brother.
Poor, timid, weak Lucy! How many of thy sisters have I seen,
as candid and artless as thou art, sin in a like and worse way,
to propitiate such bears as this brother of thine! For all which
sins, let us hope, not the weak, sensitive things will be called to
account some day, but the blustering, overbearing rulers in whose
violence the sins originated.
Sir John neither openly admitted nor contradicted Aubrey's
declaration as to himself: it might be he did not feel sure how
a flat denial on his part would be received, or it might be that
he chose on the first day of reunion to be indulgent. He only
prudently proposed a levée en masse to the garden, where they
would have coffee.
The usual hour for Antonio's evening call was now past, and
no Antonio had appeared. "I hope the doctor is not going to
give us the slip," said Sir John, after he had consulted his watch
two or three times. "My son's company is no good reason why
I should not have my friend's also. I wish you very much to
make his acquaintance, Aubrey: as nice a man, this Dr. Anto-
nio, as you could meet anywhere,- quite a gentleman; we are
under infinite obligations to him. " And then Sir John told his
son all over again the story of the overturn, and the Italian's
timely help, already related in sundry letters to India; and warm-
ing with the subject, the baronet went on to enlarge on all the
unremitting attention Antonio had paid to Lucy, and how ingen-
iously he had contrived to amuse her during her confinement to
the house. The lending of books, the lectures on botany, the
lessons on the guitar, were all set forth; the catalogue winding
up with that stupendous master-stroke, the easy-chair invented
by the doctor. To all of which discourse Aubrey listened with
an attention quite edifying, and an appearance of great grati-
fication, a gratification made more evident as he watched the
pleasure the details afforded to his darling sister, on whose glow-
ing countenance the sympathizing brother's eyes rested all the
while.
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GIOVANNI DOMENICO RUFFINI
"I long to shake hands with this phoenix of doctors," said
Aubrey, "and apologize for my rudeness. I suppose it was he I
found here this morning? "
"Yes," said Lucy.
"What do you say," continued Aubrey, speaking to Sir John,
but looking at his sister, "to our going and laying violent hands
on this forgetful friend of yours, and dragging him captive here?
ha ha ha! "
"Ah, do! " said Lucy, with sparkling eyes, and inwardly call-
ing herself all sorts of names for having so unkindly misjudged
her brother. Sir John agreeing immediately to the proposal,
Captain Davenne lit a fresh cigar, and out they sallied. As they
passed through the garden-gate, Aubrey was seized by a violent
fit of laughing.
"What are you laughing at? " asked Sir John, perplexed.
"Why, this is such a devilish queer house-such a wrong-
sided look about it. I would give something to carry it bodily
to London, and show it at a shilling a head. I bet something no
one would credit that Sir John and Miss Davenne had lived con-
tentedly weeks in it. I verily believe Hutchins and John have
forgotten what a decent room is like. "
Sir John felt his son's words as a personal reproach. He
hung his head.
"Apropos de bottes» (Aubrey had been in love with a French
actress at Madras, and spoke French fluently, and liked to show
that he did), "the old Duke of B asked after you. "
"Very kind of him," said the baronet, his features expanding.
"How is the old gentleman ? "
"As fresh as ever," said Aubrey. "He wondered what had
become of you. Indeed, everybody does: Lady Deloraine most
of all, at whose house I met theian ambassadress, and her
daughter-in-law Lady Charlotte Tuicy, both of them full of sus-
picions about your absence, and willing to join in any conspiracy
for carrying you off by force from your mysterious hiding-place. '
"God forbid they should put their threat in execution! " said
the baronet chuckling. "But talking of carrying off, have you
heard of that pretty business of Fanny Carnifex's elope->
"Blast the cowardly Italian beggar! " yelled out Aubrey. « I
have heard all about it. "
"Are they married, at least? " asked Sir John with an effort.
«< They are; but it is a matrimonial alliance that won't last
long. Fanny will soon be a jolly widow, I can tell her. "


## p. 12481 (#539) ##########################################

GIOVANNI DOMENICO RUFFINI
12481
"How do you mean? " inquired Sir John, surprised.
Aubrey stopped short, slowly raised his right arm, held it out
as if taking aim, and with a clack of his tongue, imitated the
report of a pistol. "Tom Carnifex is one of the best shots in
England, my dear sir," said he carelessly, by way of explanation.
The acting of this little scene was so splendidly natural, there
was in the look of the performer something so savage, that Sir
John could not help a shudder. However desirable it might have
once seemed to him that the offender should be made an example
of, it was no part of Sir John's programme of to-day to be pres-
ent at the execution.
Engrossed by such pleasant converse and anticipations, the
chief of the Davenne dynasty and his heir had come in sight of
Dr. Antonio's poor dwelling just as its tenant, in no very pleas
ant mood, was issuing from the door. Antonio was little pre-
pared for the present warm greeting from the surly stranger of
a few hours back, who now, shaking him heartily by the hand,
made a sort of laughing apology for having been so unceremoni
ous in the morning. Though rather taken by surprise, the Ital-
ian returned Aubrey's advances in as kindly a spirit as he could
summon on such short notice; and the three, Antonio in the
middle, walked back to the Osteria, where they found the count,
between whom and young Davenne an introduction in due form
took place. The evening passed, if not as quietly as usual, not
the less agreeably, perhaps, for being rather noisy. Captain
Davenne was in the most communicative of humors, and rattled
away famously, laughing a good deal at his own jokes and sto-
ries, drinking freely all the while of what he called lemonade; and
so it was, only with a strong infusion of old Jamaica rum. Some
of his tiger-hunting adventures, which he told with great spirit,
were listened to with thrilling interest,- Antonio translating for
the count, who had learnt about as much English as Sir John had
Italian. Lucy retired early, but not before she had seen a real
good-will and friendship springing up between her brother and
her doctor and friend. Let us hope that she slept well, poor girl.
As ten struck, Sir John and Antonio according to habit sat down
to their game of chess, which was on the baronet's part a series
of continual blunders. His thoughts were otherwise engaged.
When Lucy, about eight next morning, after her early bath
and one
or two hours of additional rest, crossed the anteroom
on her way out, she found her brother already installed on the
sofa, and yawning violently.
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12482
GIOVANNI DOMENICO RUFFINI
"Where are you going? " asked Aubrey.
"To water my flowers. I have a nice little garden of my
own: come and look at it. "
Aubrey raised his long length, went, looked at it, and admired
it. The garden was not her own making, was it?