Florence: a tale

Front matter

NEW AND BEAUTIFULLY QQaMOTIMir^lB TOIEQ^ THE SEASONS, AND CASTLE OF INDOLENCE. By James Thomson, with Life by George Gilfillan. Profusely Illustrated by Harrison Weir, Taylor, Dodgson, Horsley, etc., etc., and superbly bound, small 4to, ]8s. " Few poets, on the whole, have lead a life more enviable, in a secular point of view, than the author of ' The Seasons.' He had most of the merits, with comparatively few of the faults of genius. His fame was speedily established, and his fortune, too, secured more rapidly than was, or is still, common with literary men. He has been, and is likely to remain, one of the most popular of poets. He has appealed directly to that broad, deep love of nature which beats in the human breast, and identi fied his fame with the sights and sounds of the material universe, — with rising and setting suns, with seed-time and harvest, summer and winter, — and while these remain, Thomson's poetry must.

His poem stands up before us, a great picture of nature, and were the universe to perish, and did it survive in another sphere, it would give some idea of its original. " Thomson does not seem to have gone into the fields elaborately to cull images, or to observe objects with a minute and botanical eye, but as be sat carelessly on the etile, or lay dissolved in luxurious semi-sleep under the mid-day shade, Nature came and painted itself on his favoured eye. Hence his descriptions excel as much in daguerrotypic accuracy as in bold force." — Rev. George Gilfillan. THE LITERARY GIFT BOOK ; for Fireside, Seaside and Garden. Edited by George Frederick Pardon. Illustrated with Ten Steel Engravings. Sup. royal 8vo. Elegantly bound ; 7s. 6d. Contents The Innkeeper's Daughter. Shylock ; a Shakesperian Sonnet.

The Birth of Hope. St. Valentine's Day. Times and Seasons that I Love. The Diamond Necklace ; Sonnet. Selina, the Christian Captive. The Wives of Weinsberg. The Right Hon. Lady Greenock. A Stroller's Confessions. Woman's Heroism; a Tribute to Florence Nightingale. A Peep through my Uncle's Window. The Poet's Remonstrance. Spring. Cousins in general, and my Cousin Amy in particular. The Richest Prince. A Question for all. The Right Hon. Lady Bolton. The "Friend of the Family. Annabella. Ellen. The Hon. Mrs. Ashley. FACES IN THE FIRE ; SHADOWS ON THE WALL ; and other Tales and Sketches ; by George Frederick Pardon. With Four Coloured Steel Plates and numerous Engravings. Crimson cloth, gilt edges, 3s. 6d. ; plain edges, 3s. Second Edition, with additions. " A pretty story, which reads as well as when it first appeared."— Atlas.

Chapter I

The stately homes of England ! How beautiful they stand, Amidst their tall ancestral trees, O'er all the pleasant land ! The deer across the greensward bound, Through shade and sunny gleam ! And the swan glides past them with the sound Of some rejoicing stream. Mrs. Hemans. It is rec rded of Cardinal Mazarin that he arose from his deathbed, to totter once more through those famous galleries of the Palais Cardinal, which contained the innumerable treasures, the priceless gems of art, he had gathered together with insatiable cupidity. The old man wrung his hands in anguish, as he revelled for the last time, in the contemplation of that vast wealth, which he must leave behind. He lifted up his voice and wept, and the bitter cry broke from him — " II faut quitter tout cela I" There be some that put their trust in their goods, and boast themselves in the multitude of their riches.

They shall carry nothing away with them when they die, neither shall their pomp follow them. They shall follow the generation of their fathers, and shall never see light. I • B FLORENCE. But we are wandering from the subject of this true history. One lovely evening in the month of June, a man in the prime of life was pacing the moss-grown terrace of an ancient manor-house. He gazed, with folded arms, and drooping mien, upon the fair landscape spread '-efore him. The) Ming sun lent a golden hue to flower and shrub, and dy1, d the magnificent woods, which stretched far away as the eye could reach, in the mellow tints of autumn. All nature was lighted up with the parting smile of the god of day, — " The sweet wind did gently kiss the trees, And they did make no noise." " I must leave all this !" was the bitter reflection dictated by no shadow of cupidity, which saddened the countenance of Herbert Dudley, as he paused from time to time to scan more narrowly the beauties of his fair patrimony.

" The time, the hour, the sweet influences of the summer-sky recall many of the happiest and some of the saddest hours of my existence. I thank Heaven for past mercies ; I look forward with trembling hope to future blessings. Fourteen years have winged their flight since I stood upon this terrace with my beautiful bride — fourteen years marked by a period of as much happiness as ever fell to the lot of man." He sighed heavily. " Alas ! one bitter trial — the loss of my Mary — closed the brightest chapter of my existence. The shadow of that mighty grief has brooded o'er my path up to the present hour — a shadow ever lengthening as I draw nearer to the goal." He paced rapidly up and down the terrace, then stopped abruptly, — " On this bright summer evening I will confide my ruin to poor little Florence ; God knows whether I can guard my winsome fairy from the bitter wind of poverty when I scarce know where to lay my head.

Corragio ! the battle must be fought single handed, the victory must be won ! " He drew himself up to his full height ; a flash of FLORENCE. 3 mingled pride and resolution lighted up his dark eye. With firm step and stately bearing he trod the moss grown walk ; but the assumed dignity gave way to an expression of pensive melancholy when his little daughter came bounding up the slope to meet him. "Papa, dear papa, I have been seeking you every where • Mary told me I should find you in the park. It is such a beautiful evening for a walk." " It is a lovely evening, and the old place is beautiful exceedingly," said Mr. Dudley, in a dreamy tone. There was a long pause; Mr. Dudley revolved his altered prospects, in moody silence. Florence, intimi dated by her father's unwonted manner, watched him, in mute surprise.

At length he spoke, — " You love your home, Florence ?" The spell was broken ; she answered with childish glee, — " Oh, yes, papa, I love the Wilderness dearly, and I will never leave it." She sprang from his side, tripped lightly down the flight of steps which led from the ter race to the gardens, and flitted hither and thither among the flowers, like a butterfly uncertain where to alight. Presently she returned, her little hands filled with flowers. " Look, papa, I have brought you roses, lilies, and heartsease " "Stop, my child!" said Mr. Dudley, drawing her towards him with inexpressible tenderness of look and tone ; " I have something to tell you. My Florence is old enough to understand that the path of duty is not always that of pleasure." " Oh, yes, papa ! " cried the little girl eagerly.

" When Carlos sprained his shoulder, poor fellow ! you told me that I must sacrifice my selfish pleasure, and must not ride for a long time. And I did not ride for a whole month. I understand you perfectly, papa." Mr. Dudley smiled faintly at the simplicity which suggested this not very apt illustration, and resumed — " My Florence is old enough to comfort her father in sorrow." The child made no reply in words, but nestled still b2 FLORENCE. closer to her father's side and raised her confiding eyes to his. Mr. Dudley continued, — " Look around you, Florence. This venerable man sion, these beautiful gardens and magnificent woods, were mine — yours. They are our property no longer. My child, you can love your father in a humbler home ?" The touching accent of appeal in which these words were uttered went to the little girl's heart.

She flung her arms around her father's neck, and pillowed her bright head on his bosom. Mr. Dudley laid his hand fondly on his daughter's head, and murmured in a broken voice, " God bless you, my child ! I lose for tune and station, but neither my honour nor my daughter !" He disengaged himself from her embrace, turned away abruptly, and entered the house. Florence stood transfixed like one in a dream. She endeavoured to grasp the full meaning of her father's words — she could not. With a dim perception of impending misery, she threw herself upon the grounr! and wept long and bitterly. Leaving our little heroine to the indulgence of her grief, we will give a brief sketch of the circumstances which had brought the wealthy proprietor of the Wil derness to the verge of ruin. Herbert Dudley was the only son of a gentleman of good family, but small fortune.

He distinguished him self at college in early life, and great expectations were formed as to his future career ; but his peculiarly sen sitive temperament unfitted him for public life. Bury him in retirement, place a pen in his hand, and his powers were all his own. The astuteness of his reason, the depth of his learning, the elegance of his diction surprised the philosopher, charmed the scholar, and delighted the man of letters. But summon him to the arena of public life, where " men do congregate," and the burning words which surged up in the brain died away in inarticulate murmurs upon the lips. Assuredly FLORENCE. 5 Herbert Dudley was not born to make a name among " the great men which are upon the earth." From time to time he would send a sparkling or a learned article to a review ; it was invariably accepted with thanks, but he shrank from pledging himself as a regular contributor; above all, he shrank from notoriety.

There was nothing practical about the existence of the man ; he was indifferent to wealth, power, or fame; he might have degenerated into a dreamy enthusiast, had not circumstances forced him into action. We have said that Herbert's father was a gentleman of good family but fallen fortunes. Had his patrimony been commensurate with his birth, his pride might have been less exacting ; unquestionably, it would have been less bitter. As it was, he shrank with scornful indignation from the idea of his only son embracing a profession, and quarrelled with his only brother for presuming to sully the family name by entering a mercantile house. The breach between the brothers was widened by the marriage of the merchant with the beautiful and accomplished daughter of a — linendraper. This was adding fuel to fire; the haughty representative of the long-descended but impoverished house of Dudley solemnly vowed that his degenerate brother should never more darken his doors.

The proud man was gathered to his fathers before his son accidentally encountered, and fell desperately in love with, his fair cousin, the merchant's daughter. What romantic episodes mark the lives of men of imaginative temperament ! What singular coincidences ! what extraordinary freaks of fortune ! unless we assume that their vivid fancy weaves a golden web out of the most common incidents of life. The cousins met for the first time upon the classic hill of Fiesole. It is evening ; the matchless Vale of Arno, bathed in the glorious hues of an Italian sunset, gleams with heavenly lustre. FLORENCE. " The sun is setting ; earth and sky One blaze of glory. What we saw but now, As though it were not, though it had not been ! He lingers yet ; and, lessening to a point, Shines like the eye of heaven— then withdraws ; And from the zenith to the utmost skirts All is celestial red !

" Herbert lay upon the terrace beneath the Franciscan convent which crowns the apex of Fiesole, now gazing on the distant city — Firenze la bella — now studying the " Divina Commedia ;" nay, he had barely muttered that memorable passage in the Inferno ; — " Godi, Firenze ! poi che se si grande, Che per mare e per terra batti l'ali, E per lo inferno il tuo nome si spande."* when a silvery voice exclaimed, as if in answer to the denunciation of the poet, — " Of all the fairest cities of the earth None is so fair as Florence !" Herbert started up, but before he could discover from whom the voice proceeded, he overheard a rejoinder, which jarred not a little upon his sensitive nerves. " Fair is foul, and foul is fair ! Stifled with heat, choked with dust, poisoned — faugh ! Cologne is odori ferous in comparison" (referring probably to Cole ridge's famous satire) "you bid me admire Florence the fair !"

The speaker darted a fierce glance at the troop of mendicants and straw-girls, who hung around his skirts, intoning the ceaseless cry : — " La carita, signore, la carita !" and added, wrathfully : " These wretched ragamuffins drive an honest man daft ; would that I had never left old England !" " Oh, hush, papa," exclaimed the first speaker, who had * Florence, exult! for thou so mightily Hast thriven, that o'er land and sea thy wings Thou beatest, and thy name spreads over hell. Inferno, canto 26. FLORENCE. 7 gained the terrace, and stood pointing to the scene below, while with kindling eye and flushing cheek she repeated the lines, — " Look round below On Arno's vale, where the dove-coloured steer Is ploughing up and down among the vines, While many a careless note is sung aloud, Filling the air with sweetness — and on thee, Beautiful Florence ! all within thy walls, Thy groves and gardens, pinnacles and towers, Drawn to our feet."

The Englishman seated himself upon the edge of the terrace, his momentary irritation forgotten in admira tion of the glorious landscape spread beneath his feet. Herbert, unwilling to intrude upon the father and daughter, moved gently from the tree which partially shaded him. The rustling of the boughs attracted the quick ear of the Englishman, who was by no means lost to all sublunary affairs. He turned quickly — the light fell full on Herbert's face. The English gentleman started to his feet, with an exclamation of astonishment; he advanced eagerly towards the young man, exclaim ing, " Good Heavens, sir, may I ask your name ?" " Herbert Dudley," was the prompt reply, and in an other moment the young man found his hands warmly grasped by the unknown. " Mary, my love," he cried, " this is your cousin Herbert.

" 'Sdeath," he exclaimed, suddenly drawing back, " I ought to remember the injured dignity of the Dudleys. I forget that I am a forsworn, lopped-off branch of that noble house. My brother " " My dear sir, my dear uncle, spare him, spare the dead. Do not visit upon the son the errors of the father." " You say well, young man. His faults lie lightly on him. Mary, shake hands with your cousin." The young girl frankly extended her hand, which Herbert gallantly raised to his lips. FLORENCE. Such a rencontre could scarcely fail to excite the poetic fancy of Herbert Dudley, when the heroine of the adventure was a beautiful and fascinating girl. The acquaintance, begun under such pleasant auspices, was not suffered to languish : the new-found relatives passed a happy winter together at Florence. When spring — the full flush and luxuriance of an Italian spring—glad dened the earth once more, the cousins were declared lovers, — "Love took up the glass of Time, and turn'd it in his glowing hands : Every moment lightly shaken, ran itself in golden sands ; — Love took up the harp of Life, and smote on all the chords with might, — Smote the chord of Self, that, trembling, pass'd in music out of sight."

The favourite haunt of the lovers was the classic hill of Fiesole. The bright April mornings found them wandering in the orange-groves of the Villa dei Tre Visi, where erst the fair story-tellers of the " Decamerone " wove " their hundred tales," or loitering on the terrace of the Villa Mozzi, the chosen retreat of Lorenzo the Magnificent. Mary, under the lover-like tuition of her cousin, conned the soft lay of him, — " Who formed the Tuscan's siren tongue." She hung enraptured upon the tide of eloquence which flowed from her companion's lips when he called up the illustrious dead whose memory hallows that thrice famous spot. Plato, Dante, Milton, Galileo, rose before her mental vision, mirrored in the bright imagery of her poet-cousin. Mary, like the gentle Desdemona, was beguiled of her heart by the wondrous tale ; and she, too, thanked Heaven for having made her such a man.

Nor were the bright moonlight evenings less propitious to the interviews of the new-found rela tives. How silver-sweet sound lovers' tongues by night ! FLORENCE. 9 How rapidly, in such charmed companionship, the hours make themselves wings and fly away ! Mr. Dudley sighed as he watched the youthful pair, and thought upon his own fair bride, so early called away. He accepted the proposals of his nephew for his daughter's hand with a generous kindness which went to the young man's soul. " I will not deny," he said, " that my brother's con duct wounded me deeply. Had I vegetated through life as became the dignity of the surviving scion of a worn-out race, I had won his esteem. I worked like a man among my fellow-men — he despised me. Again, had I married the daughter of a gentleman, were she hideous as the ' lothely ladie,' my brother's congratulations had not been wanting.

The lovely and accomplished girl I made my wife was the daughter of an honest tradesman — my brother spurned her with contempt. Nay, young man, would your own choice find favour in your father's eyes, were he alive at this moment? " " I dare not answer in the affirmative," was the reluctant response. " But I do not — cannot share my father's prejudices. Mary is one of those women who would lend lustre to a coronet, but borrow none." The father's eyes glistened as he grasped his nephew's hand. "The pride of the Dudleys is not wholly extinct in my breast," he said, with a smile. "The dream which gilded the prosaic details of the counting house approaches its fulfilment ; the goal is well-nigh reached. You do not understand me. I speak para bles." He paused, then resumed, " It has been the ambition of my life to redeem a portion of the alien ated lands of our forefathers, long in the market.

I had just completed the purchase when I encountered you. I was about to settle the estate upon Mary and her heirs, upon condition that her husband (at that time a very problematical personage) should assume the name and arms of Dudley. We met ; I waited ; I noted, to quote the wise saw of Prospero, that at the very first meeting you had 'changed eyes,' and 'all FLORENCE. worked as I could wish.' Such is my explanation. On the day Mary becomes your wife, the estate is yours — a free gift, unfettered by conditions of any kind." " My dear sir, my dear uncle, it is impossible. I cannot accept your princely gift." The merchant drew himself up, and all the pride of all the Dudleys flashed in his eye, as he replied, " The merchant's daughter shall restore to the heir of the Dudleys part of the alienated patrimony of his house.

This is my revenge." A tear glistened in Herbert's eye as he murmured, in a broken voice, " My life's devotion to your daugh ter's happiness shall prove my love and gratitude." " Forgive my ungenerous triumph, my son ; hence forth the past is forgotten."

Chapter II

If I had thought thou couldst have died, I might not weep for thee ; But I forgot, when by thy side, That thou couldst mortal be. It never through my mind had past, The time would e'er be o'er, And I on thee should look my last, And thou shouldst smile no more. And still upon that face I look, And think 'twill smile again ; And still the thought I will not brook, That I must look in vain ! But when I speak, thou dost not say What thou ne'er left'st unsaid ; And now I feel, as well I may, Sweet Mary ! thou art dead ! Rev. Charles Wolfe. The marriage was solemnized with the ceremony befitting an alliance which, strange to say, met with the approbation of all the friends of the contracting parties. The bridegroom was well-born ; spirituel, in the fullest meaning of that untranslateable word; distinguished-looking ; the bride was young, rich, and beau tiful.

It was a marriage comme il n'y en a pen. So said the world. The happy pair, each doing full justice to the virtues and noble qualities of the other, believed their union one comme il n'y en a point in this work-a day-world of ours. Herbert Dudley and his beautiful FLORENCE. wife resided at the Wilderness for six happy years. They were universally esteemed and beloved. Herbert, no longer the dreamy speculator, but the active country gentleman, laid aside his desultory literary labours, in order to devote himself to the double task of improving the estate, and ameliorating the condition of his poor neighbours, who had suffered severely, notwithstanding the strenuous exertions of their rector, during the years the manor had been deserted or occasionally let, for the shooting season, to some sporting squire.

One thing was wanting to complete the felicity of the wedded pair : they had no child. When the blessing was vouchsafed it cost them dear. Mary died a few weeks after the birth of her infant. The grief of her husband-lover bordered on distraction, and for a time the helpless infant was an object of indifference, if not of positive dislike. Such a state of unnatural feeling could not continue. Herbert Dudley buried his dead out of his sight, and little Florence (so she was named, in remembrance of the first meeting of the cousins at Florence the fair,) speedily became the idol around which every earthly hope was garnered. It is a trite remark that misfortunes seldom come alone. Mr. Dudley never recovered the shock of his daughter's death : the manor, where every object re minded him of her, grew distasteful.

He returned to London, to business ; he sought in the fluctuations of the money market oblivion of his woe. His mind was shaken, his habitual caution forgotten ; he speculated largely, succeeded beyond his wildest hopes, speculated again, and failed. Maddened by disappointment, he risked all, became involved, he scarcely knew how, in some not very creditable transactions, and, finally eight years after his daughter's death, lay upon his death-bed, a man of ruined fortune if not tarnished honour. His nephew flew to obey his dying summons. He listened to the sad tale of disappointed ambition and blasted hope. Herbert Dudley saw before him, not the ruined FLORENCE. 13 speculator, the baffled trader, but the generous relative, who, nobly forgiving past injuries, had conferred on him the boon he prized most on earth, the hand of his Mary, coupled with a portion of princely munificence.

He remembered, with a thrill of generous emotion, that the noble confidence with which the estate had been bestowed upon him (untrammelled by deeds or conditions) would enable him to step forth, in his turn, and rescue his benefactor from worse than death — dishonour. Freely he had received, freely he would give. By slow degrees, Herbert Dudley drew from his uncle, the amount of his liabilities and the nature of the tran sactions in which he had been engaged. He gathered from Mr. Dudley's broken phrases that he was more sinned against than sinning. Such a conviction was not enough, the fair fame of a Dudley must be cleared up to the world. Herbert vowed that if the sacrifice of every worldly good would suffice, his uncle's grey hairs should not go down with sorrow to the grave, the even ing of his days should not sink into the black night of dishonour.

Once roused, Herbert was energetic and determined ; he spurned the law's delay, and effected a settlement highly honourable to his uncle. Before he closed the eyes of the man for whom he was prepared to sacrifice so much, he breathed in his ear the welcome tidings that every just debt should be discharged, that his honour — the honour of the Dudleys — would never be impugned. A look of unutterable love and gratitude was his reward. With a fervent blessing aud prayer for pardon the dying man sank back, and the spirit returned to Him who gave it. Herbert Dudley went back to the Wilderness, a ruined but by no means a miserable man. He enjoyed the blessed consciousness that when weighed in the balance, he had not been found wanting. Mr. Dudley's creditors, struck with the magnanimity of the nephew in coming forward voluntarily to pay his uncle's debts, allowed ample time for all necessary FLORENCE. arrangements.

Several months elapsed before it was publicly known that the estate, commonly called the Wilderness, together with the manor-house, valuable furniture, books, pictures, &c. &c, in possession of Herbert Dudley, Esq., were to come to the hammer. The unlooked-for tidings spread sorrow and conster nation throughout the county. Herbert Dudley had no enemies ; and rich and poor vied with each other in expressions of the warmest sympathy. There were two individuals, however, whose feelings of regret were not confined to words ; these were Dr. Leicester, the rector of the parish, and the Earl of Wentworth, an old and intimate friend. Many hours had not elapsed, since the news, for once not exaggerated in its melancholy import, had saddened the inhabitants of the Rectory, before Dr. Leicester was on his way to the Wilderness, whither he bent his steps, anxious to offer condolence, advice, or any assistance that might be available, to his unfortunate friend and esteemed parishioner.

It was a bright summer morning, and the worthy divine paused repeatedly as he traversed the park, in order to admire the beauty of the scenery. But the beauty grew painfully obtrusive, when he recalled the object of his visit. His spirits sank when the venerable manor, so recently restored to the sway of a Dudley, rose before his eyes. He contrasted the years during which the manor had been closed to all comers, or let to some sporting squire, whose orgies had desecrated the deserted halls of the " ancient familye," with the seasons of kindly intercourse and unbounded hospitality which had distinguished the reign of the present pro prietor. The Doctor sighed, and felt inclined to murmur at the vagaries of fortune. His thoughts wandered to the fair young wife, sleeping in the ancient vault of the Dudleys, while a vision of the beautiful child who must go forth upon the wide world, beggared in the spring-time of life, brought a choking sensation to his throat, and a mist before his eyes.

FLORENCE. He, the consoler, stood in need of consolation. With a vigorous effort he shook off these symptoms of weakness, and advanced rapidly towards the house. The dejected air of the servant who answered his hasty summons went far to confirm the truth of the rumour which had agitated the rector to such an unwonted degree. In a husky voice he demanded whether Mr. Dudley were at home to visitors. The man answered in the affirmative, and led the way to the library. Herbert Dudley was sealed in his favourite oriel ; the window commanded a fine view over the park and sur rounding country. He was immersed in papers, and his countenance wore an expression of deep dejection, as he wearily examined their contents. He rose when Dr. Leicester was announced, and advanced to meet him, with extended hand.

" This is kind," he said warmly. " You come to sympathize with me in my grief." " I come to learn the truth of the reports which have spread sorrow and consternation for many miles around," replied the Rector. " For Heaven's sake, Dudley, set my miud at ease. There must be gross exaggeration or misrepresentation. You shake your head ! You put up your estate to auction — the step is a strange one — but it does not necessarily follow that you are a ruined man. Bah ! your uncle's wealth " The Rector paused — something in Herbert's countenance warned him that he was treading upon delicate ground. "My dear doctor, to you, as an old and valued friend, I will explain in few words, the circumstances which have led to this catastrophe." He paused, then added in a voice he vainly endeavoured to steady, " You know the bitter anguish with which my poor uncle lamented his daughter's death.

He grew rest less and discontented ; he pined for change of scene, craved some all-engrossing employment. He went up to London, and sought oblivion in " FLORENCE. " Gambling !" ejaculated Dr. Leicester, with a look of horror. Mr. Dudley smiled faintly. "Not gambling, but speculating. The sequel is gloomy. To bolster up the failing credit of a company, which shall be nameless, he not only perilled his own fortune, but that of his ward, a mere lad. He hazarded all in the same frail skiff. The shipwreck was total! When my uncle's eyes were opened to the extent of the ruin he had wrought, his humiliating and bitter self-upbraidings would have moved a heart of stone. Doctor, you can divine the rest of the story. You well know that to my uncle I am indebted for worldly prosperity." " You will ruin yourself and child from a Quixotic sense of honour !