I hung over him in mute affliction,
and watched the expiring spasms of nature. His last faltering accents
whispered repeatedly a blessing on me - alas! how has it been fulfilled!
When I had paid due honors to his remains, and laid them in the tomb of
our ancestors, I arranged briefly my affairs; put them in a posture to
be easily at my command from a distance, and embarked once more, with a
bounding heart, for Genoa.
Our voyage was propitious, and oh! what was my rapture when first, in
the dawn of morning, I saw the shadowy summits of the Apennines rising
almost like clouds above the horizon. The sweet breath of summer just
moved us over the long wavering billows that were rolling us on towards
Genoa. By degrees the coast of Sestri rose like a sweet creation of
enchantment from the silver bosom of the deep. I behold the line of
villages and palaces studding its borders. My eye reverted to a
well-known point, and at length, from the confusion of distant objects,
it singled out the villa which contained Bianca. It was a mere speck in
the landscape, but glimmering from afar, the polar star of my heart.
Again I gazed at it for a livelong summer's day; but oh how different
the emotions between departure and return. It now kept growing and
growing, instead of lessening on my sight. My heart seemed to dilate
with it. I looked at it through a telescope. I gradually defined one
feature after another. The balconies of the central saloon where first
I met Bianca beneath its roof; the terrace where we so often had passed
the delightful summer evenings; the awning that shaded her chamber
window - I almost fancied I saw her form beneath it. Could she but know
her lover was in the bark whose white sail now gleamed on the sunny
bosom of the sea! My fond impatience increased as we neared the coast.
The ship seemed to lag lazily over the billows; I could almost have
sprung into the sea and swam to the desired shore.
The shadows of evening gradually shrouded the scene, but the moon arose
in all her fullness and beauty and shed the tender light so dear to
lovers, over the romantic coast of Sestri. My whole soul was bathed in
unutterable tenderness. I anticipated the heavenly evenings I should
pass in wandering with Bianca by the light of that blessed moon.
It was late at night before we entered the harbor. As early next
morning as I could get released from the formalities of landing I threw
myself on horseback and hastened to the villa. As I galloped round the
rocky promontory on which stands the Faro, and saw the coast of Sestri
opening upon me, a thousand anxieties and doubts suddenly sprang up in
my bosom. There is something fearful in returning to those we love,
while yet uncertain what ills or changes absence may have effected. The
turbulence of my agitation shook my very frame. I spurred my horse to
redoubled speed; he was covered with foam when we both arrived panting
at the gateway that opened to the grounds around the villa. I left my
horse at a cottage and walked through the grounds, that I might regain
tranquillity for the approaching interview. I chid myself for having
suffered mere doubts and surmises thus suddenly to overcome me; but I
was always prone to be carried away by these gusts of the feelings.
On entering the garden everything bore the same look as when I had left
it; and this unchanged aspect of things reassured me. There were the
alleys in which I had so often walked with Bianca; the same shades
under which we had so often sat during the noontide. There were the
same flowers of which she was fond; and which appeared still to be
under the ministry of her hand. Everything around looked and breathed
of Bianca; hope and joy flushed in my bosom at every step. I passed a
little bower in which we had often sat and read together. A book and a
glove lay on the bench. It was Bianca's glove; it was a volume of the
Metestasio I had given her. The glove lay in my favorite passage. I
clasped them to my heart. "All is safe!" exclaimed I, with rapture,
"she loves me! she is still my own!"
I bounded lightly along the avenue down which I had faltered so slowly
at my departure. I beheld her favorite pavilion which had witnessed our
parting scene. The window was open, with the same vine clambering about
it, precisely as when she waved and wept me an adieu. Oh! how
transporting was the contrast in my situation. As I passed near the
pavilion, I heard the tones of a female voice. They thrilled through me
with an appeal to my heart not to be mistaken. Before I could think, I
felt they were Bianca's. For an instant I paused, overpowered with
agitation. I feared to break in suddenly upon her. I softly ascended
the steps of the pavilion. The door was open. I saw Bianca seated at a
table; her back was towards me; she was warbling a soft melancholy air,
and was occupied in drawing. A glance sufficed to show me that she was
copying one of my own paintings. I gazed on her for a moment in a
delicious tumult of emotions. She paused in her singing; a heavy sigh,
almost a sob followed. I could no longer contain myself. "Bianca!"
exclaimed I, in a half smothered voice. She started at the sound;
brushed back the ringlets that hung clustering about her face; darted a
glance at me; uttered a piercing shriek and would have fallen to the
earth, had I not caught her in my arms.
"Bianca! my own Bianca!" exclaimed I, folding her to my bosom; my voice
stifled in sobs of convulsive joy.
