by L. Mühlbach
THE CHARMED GARDEN
One must be very happy or very unhappy to love Solitude, to lean uponher silent breast, and, fleeing mankind, to seek in its arms what is soseldom found among men, repose for happiness or consolation for sorrow!For the happy, solitude provides the most delightful festival, as itallows one in the most enjoyable resignation to repose in himself, tobreathe out himself, to participate in himself! But it also providesa festival for the unhappy--a festival of the memory, of living in thepast, of reflection upon those long-since vanished joys, the loss ofwhich has caused the sorrow! For the children of the world, for thestriving, for the seeker of inordinate enjoyments, for the ambitious,for the sensual, solitude is but ill-adapted--only for the happy, forthe sorrow-laden, and also for the innocent, who yet know nothing of theworld, of neither its pleasures nor torments, of neither its loves norhatreds!
So thought and spoke the curious Romans when passing the high wallssurrounding the beautiful garden formerly belonging to the CountAppiani. At an earlier period this garden had been well known to allof them, as it had been a sort of public promenade, and under itsshady walks had many a tender couple exchanged their first vows andexperienced the rapture of the first kiss of love. But for the four lastyears all this had been changed; a rich stranger had come and offered tothe impoverished old Count Appiani a large sum for this garden with itsdecaying villa, and the count had, notwithstanding the murmurs of theRomans, sold his last possession to the stranger. He had said to thegrumbling Romans: "You are dissatisfied that I part with my garden formoney. You were pleased to linger in the shady avenues, to listen tothese murmuring fountains and rustling cypresses; you have walked here,you have here laughed and enjoyed yourselves, while I, sitting in mydilapidated villa, have suffered deprivation and hunger. I will make youa proposition. Collect this sum, you Romans, which this stranger offersme; ye who love to promenade in my garden, unite yourselves in a commonwork. Let each one give what he can, until the necessary amount iscollected, then the garden will be your common property, where you canwalk as much as you please, and I shall be happy to be relieved frompoverty by my own countrymen, and not compelled to sell to a strangerthe garden so agreeable to the Romans!"
But the good Romans had no answer to make to Count Appiani. They,indeed, would have the enjoyment, but it must cost them nothing--in vainhad they very much loved this garden, had taken great pleasure under itsshady trees; but when it became necessary to pay for these pleasures,they found that they were not worth the cost, that they could very welldispense with them.
The good Romans therefore turned away from this garden, which threatenedthem with a tax, and sought other places of recreation; while old CountAppiani sold his garden and the ruins of his villa to the rich strangerwho had offered him so considerable a sum for them. From that dayforward every thing in the garden had assumed a different appearance.Masons, carpenters, and upholsterers had come and so improved the villa,within and without, that it now made a stately and beautiful appearanceamid the dense foliage of the trees. It had been expensively andsplendidly furnished with every thing desirable for a rich man'sdwelling, and the upholsterers had enough to relate to the listeningRomans of the elegant magnificence now displayed in this formerlypitiable villa. How gladly would the former promenaders now havereturned to this garden; how gladly would they now have revisited thisvilla, which, with its deserted halls and its ragged and dirty tapestry,had formerly seemed to them not worth looking at! But their return to itwas now rendered impossible; for on the same day in which the new ownertook possession of the garden, he had brought with him more than fiftyworkmen, who had immediately commenced surrounding it with a high wall.
Higher and higher rose the wall; nobody could see over it, as nogiant was sufficiently tall; no one could climb over it, as thesmoothly-hammered stones of which it was built offered not the leastsupporting point. The garden with its villa had become a secret mysteryto the Romans! They yet heard the rustling of the trees, they saw thegreen branches waving in the wind; but of what occurred under thosebranches and in those shaded walks they could know nothing. At first,some curious individuals had ventured to knock at the low, narrow doorthat formed the only entrance into this walled garden. They had knockedat that door and demanded entrance. Then would a small sliding windowbe opened, and a gruff, bearded man with angry voice would ask what waswanted, and at the same time inform the knocker that no one could beadmitted; that he and his two bulldogs would be able to keep the gardenclear of all intruders. And the two great hounds, as if they understoodthe threats of their master, would show their teeth, and theirthreatening growl would rise to a loud and angry bark.
They soon ceased to knock at that door, and, as they could not gainadmission, they took the next best course, of assuming the appearance ofnot wishing it.
Four years had since passed; they had overcome the desire to enter thepremises or to look over the wall, but they told wondrous tales ofthe garden and of a beautiful fairy who dwelt in it, and whose soft,melodious voice was sometimes heard in the stillness of the nightsinging sweet, transporting songs. No one had seen her, this fairy, butshe was certainly beautiful, and of course young; there were also somebold individuals who asserted that when the moon shone brightly andgoldenly, the young fairy was then to be seen in the tops of thetrees or upon the edge of the wall. Light as an elf, transparent as amoonbeam, she there swung to and fro, executing the singular dancesand singing songs that brought tears to the eyes and compassion to thehearts of those who heard them. On hearing these tales, the Romans wouldmake the sign of the cross, and pass more quickly by the walls of thisgarden, which thenceforth they called "_The Charmed Garden_." It wasindeed a charmed garden! It was an island of happiness, behind thesewalls, concealed from the knavery of the world. Like an eternal smile ofthe Divinity rested the heavens over this ever-blooming, ever-fragrantgarden, in whose myrtle-bushes the nightingales sang, and in whosesilver-clear basins the goldfishes splashed.
Yes, it was indeed a charmed garden, and also had its fairy, who, if shedid not compete with the moonbeams in rocking herself on the tops of thetrees and the edges of the wall, was nevertheless as delicate as an elf,and who tripped from flower to brook and from brook to hill as lightlyand gracefully as the gazelle. The whole spring, the whole youth ofnature, flashed and beamed from this beautiful maiden-face, so full ofchildlike innocence, purity, and peace. No storm had as yet passed overthese smiling features, not the smallest leaf of this rose had beentouched by an ungentle hand; freely and freshly had she blossomed inluxuriant natural beauty; she had drunk the dews of heaven, but notthe dew of tears, for those deeply-dark beaming eyes had wept only suchtears as where called forth by emotions of joy and happiness.
She sat under a myrtle, whose blossoming branches bent down to her as ifthey would entwine that pure and tender brow with a bridal wreath. Withher head thrown back upon these branches, she reposed with an inimitablegrace her reclining form. A white transparent robe, held by a goldenclasp, fell in waves to her feet, which were encased in gold-embroideredslippers of dark-red leather. A blushing rose was fastened by a diamondpin in the folds of her dress upon her budding bosom, finely contrastingwith the delicate flush upon her cheeks. A guitar rested upon her fullround arm. She had been singing, this beautiful fairy child, but hersong was now silenced, and she was glancing up to the clouds, followingtheir movements with her dreamy, thoughtful eyes. A smile hovered abouther fresh, youthful lips--the smile peculiar to innocence and happiness.
She dreamed; precious, ecstatic images passed before her mental eyes;she dreamed of a distant land in which she had once been, of a distanthouse in which she had once dwelt. It was even more beautiful andsplendid than this which she now occupied, but it had lacked this bluesky and fragrant atmosphere; it lacked these trees and flowers, thesemyrtle bushes, and these songs of the nightingale, and upon a few summerdays had followed long, dull winter months with their cold winding-sheetof snow, with their benumbing masses of ice, and the fantastic flowerspainted on th
e windows by the frost. And yet, and yet, there had been asun which shone into her heart warmer than this bright sun of Italy, andthe thought of which spread a purple glow upon her cheeks. This sun hadshone upon her from the tender glances of a lady whom she had loved asa tutelar genius, as a divinity, as the bright star of her existence!Whenever that lady had come to her in the solitary house in which shethen dwelt, then had all appeared to her as in a transfiguration; thenhad even her peevish old servant learned to smile and become humble andfriendly; then all was joy and happiness, and whoever saw that beautifuland brilliant lady, had thought himself blessed, and had fallen down toadore her.
Of that lady was the young maiden now thinking, of that memorable womanwith the flashing eyes whose tender glance had always penetrated theheart of the child with delight, whose tender words yet resounded likemusic in her ears.
Where was she now, this lady of her love, her longings? why had she beenbrought away from that house with its snowy winding-sheet and the icedrapery upon its windows? Where lay that house, and where had she toseek it with her thoughts? What was the language she had there spoken,and which she now secretly spoke in her heart, although nobody elseaddressed her in it, no one about her understood it; and wherefore hadher friend and protector, he who had brought her here, who had alwaysbeen with her, wherefore had he suddenly given himself the appearance ofno longer understanding it?
And even as she was thinking of him, of this dear friend and protector,he came along down the alley; his tall form appeared at the end of thewalk; she recognized his noble features, with the proud eagle glance andthe bold arched brow.
The young maiden arose from her seat and hastened to meet him.
"How charming that you have come, Paulo," she gayly said, stretchingforth her little hands toward him. "I must ask you something, and thatdirectly, Paulo. Tell me quickly what is that language called in whichwe formerly conversed together, and why have we ceased to speak it sincewe came here to Rome?"
Paulo's brow became slightly clouded, but when he looked into herbeautiful face, animated by expectant curiosity, this expression ofdispleasure quickly vanished from his features, and, threatening herwith his finger, he said:
"Always this same question, Natalie; and yet I have so often begged ofyou to forget the past, and live only in the present, my dear, sweetchild! The past is sunken in an immeasurable gulf behind you, which youcan never pass, and if it stretches out its arms to you, it will only befor the purpose of dragging you down into the abyss with it. Forgetit, therefore, my Natalie, and yield thyself to this beautiful anddelightful present, to increase for you the attractions of which willever be the dearest task of my life."
"It is true," said the young maiden, sighing, "I am wrong to be alwaysrecurring to those long-past times; you must pardon me, Paulo, but youwill also acknowledge that my enigmatical past justifies me in feelingsome curiosity. Only think how it began! You one day came rushing to myroom, you pressed me all trembling to your heart, and silently bore meaway. 'Natalie,' said you, 'danger threatens you; I will save, orperish with you!' You mounted your horse with me in your arms. Behind usscreamed and moaned the servants of my house, but you regarded themnot, and I trustingly clung to your heart, for I knew that if dangerthreatened me, you would surely save me! Oh, do you yet remember thatfabulous ride? How we rested in out-of-the-way houses, or with poorpeasant people, and then proceeded on farther and farther! And how thesun constantly grew warmer, melting the snow, and you constantly becamemore cheerful and happy, until, one day, you impetuously pressed me toyour bosom, and said: 'Natalie, we are saved! Life and the future arenow yours! Look around you, we are in Italy. Here you can be free andhappy!'"
"And was not that a good prophecy?" asked Paulo. "Has it not beenfulfilled? Are you not happy?"
"I should be so," sighed Natalie, "could I avoid thinking so often ofthat past! Those words which you then spoke to me were the last I everheard in that language, which I had always spoken until then, but ofwhich I know not the name! From that hour you spoke to me in an unknowntongue, and I felt like a poor deserted orphan, from whom was taken herlast possession, her language!"
"And yet whole peoples have been robbed of that last and dearestpossession!" said Paulo, his brow suddenly darkening, "and not, as inyour case, to save life and liberty, but for the purpose of enslavingand oppressing them."
Natalie, perceiving the sudden sadness of her friend, attempted tosmile, and, grasping his hand, she said:
"Come, Paulo, we are naughty children, and vex ourselves with vagaries,while all nature is so cheerful and so replete with divine beauty. Onlysee with what glowing splendor the departing sun rests upon the tops ofthe cypresses! Ah, it is nowhere so beautiful as here in my dear garden.This is my world and my happiness! Sometimes, Paulo, it makes me shudderto think that the walls surrounding us might suddenly tumble down, andall the tall houses standing behind them, and all the curious peoplelounging in the streets, could then look in upon my paradise! Thatmust be terrible, and yet Marianne tells me that other people livedifferently from us, that their houses are not surrounded by walls, andthat no watchman with dogs drives away troublesome visitors from them.And yet, she says, they smilingly welcome such inconvenient people,receiving them with friendly words, while they only thank God when theyfinally go and leave the occupants in peace. Is it then true, Paulo,that people can be so false to each other, and that those who live inthe world never dare to speak as they think?"
"It is, alas! but too true, Natalie," said Paulo, with a sad smile.
"Then never let me become acquainted with such a world," said the youngmaiden, clinging to Paulo's arm. "Let me always remain here in oursolitude, which none but good people can share with us. For Marianne isgood, as also Cecil, your servant; and Carlo--oh, Carlo would give hislife for me. He is not false, like other people; I can confide in him."
"Think you so!" asked Paulo, looking deep into her eyes with ascrutinizing glance.
She bore his glances with a cheerful and unembarrassed smile, and aroguish nod of her little head.
"You must certainly wish to paint me again, that you look at me soearnestly. No, Paulo, I will not sit to you again, you paint me muchtoo handsome; you make an angel of me, while I am yet only a poor littlething, who lives but by your mercy, and does not even know her ownname!"
"Angels never have a name, they are only known as angels, and need nofurther designation. As there is an Angel Gabriel, so there is an AngelNatalie!"
"Mocker," said she, laughing, "there are no feminine angels! But nowcome, be seated. Here is my guitar, and I will sing you a song for whichCarlo yesterday brought me the melody."
"And the words?" asked Paulo.
"Well, as to the words, they must come in the singing--to-day one set ofwords, to-morrow another. Who can know what glows in your heart at anygiven hour, and what you may feel in the next, and which will escape youin words unknown to yourself, and which unconsciously and involuntarilystream from your lips."
"You are my charming poetess, my Sappho!" exclaimed Paulo, kissing herhand.
"Ah, would that you spoke true!" said she, with sparkling eyes and adeeper flush upon her cheeks. "Let me be a poetess like Sappho, and Iwould, like her, joyfully leap from the rocks into the sea. Oh, thereare yet poetesses--Carlo has told me of them. All Rome now worships thegreat improvisatrice, Corilla. I should like to know her, Paulo, only toadore her, only to see her in her splendor and her beauty!"
"If you wish it, you shall see her," said Paulo.
"Ah, I shall see her then!" shouted Natalie, and, as if to giveexpression to her inward joy, she touched the strings of her guitar, andin clear tones resounded a jubilant melody. Then she began to sing,at first in single isolated words and exclamations, which constantlyswelled into more powerful, animated and blissful tones, and finallyflowed into a regular dithyramb. It was a song of jubilee, a sigh ofinnocence and happiness; she sang of God and the stars, of happy love,and of reuniting; of blossom, fragrance, and fanning zephyrs; and inu
nconscious, foreboding pain, she sang of the sorrows of love, and thepangs of renunciation.
All Nature seemed listening to her charming song; no leaflet stirred,in low murmurs splashed the waves of the fountain by which she sat, andoccasionally a nightingale wailed in unison with her hymn of rejoicing.The sun had descended to a point nearer the horizon, and bordered itwith moving purple clouds. Natalie, suddenly interrupting her song,pointed with her rosy fingers to the heavens.
"How beautiful it is, Paulo!" said she.
He, however, saw nothing but her face, illuminated by the evening glow.
"How beautiful art thou!" he whispered low, pressing her head to hisbosom.
Then both were silent, looking, lost in sweetest dreams, upon thesurrounding landscape, which, as if in a silence of adoration, seemedto listen for the parting salutation of the god of day. A nightingalesuddenly came and perched upon the myrtle-bush under which Natalie andher friend were reposing. Soon she began to sing, now in complaining,now in exulting tones, now tenderly soft, now in joyful trumpet-blasts;and the night-wind that now arose rustled in organ-tones among thecypress and olive trees.
Natalie clung closer to her friend's side.
"I would now gladly die," said she.
"Already die!" whispered he. "Die before you have lived, Natalie?"
Then they were again silent, the wind rustled in the trees, thefountains murmured, the birds sang, and in golden light lay the moonover this paradise of two happy beings.
But what is that which is rustling in the pines close to the wall--whatis that looking out with flashing eyes and a poisonous glance? Is it theserpent already come to expel these happy beings from their paradise?
They see nothing, they hear nothing, they are both dreaming, so sure dothey feel of their happiness.
But there is a continued rustling. It is unnatural! It resembles notthe rustling of the evening wind! It is not the rustling of a bird,balancing itself upon the branch of the tree! What, then, is it?
An opening is made in the foliage, and it is the arm of a man that makesit. Upon the wall is to be seen the form of a man, and near him slowlyrises a second form. Cautiously he glances around, and then makes ascornful grimace, while his eyes shine like those of a hyena. He hasdiscovered the two sitting together in happy security, and enjoying thetranquil beauty of the evening in silent beatitude. He has seen them,and points toward them with his finger, while, at the same time, helightly touches the arm of the other man, who has boldly swung himselfup on the wall. The glance of the latter follows the direction in whichthe other points; he also now sees the reposing pair, and over hisfeatures also flits an unnatural smile. He suddenly fumbles in hisbosom, and when his hand is withdrawn a small dagger glistens in it.With a bold leap, the man is already on the point of springing from thewall into the garden. The other holds him back, and makes a threateningcounter-movement. He, it seems, is the commander, and uses his powerwith an indignant negative shake of the head; his commanding glanceseems to say: "Be silent, and observe!"
Staring and immovably their eyes were now fixed upon the silent pairsitting in the bright moonlight which surrounded them as with a glory.One of the men still holds the dagger in his hand, and with a powerfularm the other holds him in check. Then they whisper low together--theyseem to be consulting as to what is to be done. The man with the daggerseems to yield to the arguments or persuasions of the other. He nods hisconsent. The first disappears behind the wall, and the armed one slowlyfollows him. Yet once again, he glances over the wall, raising hisarm and shaking his dagger toward Natalie and her friend. Then hedisappeared, and all was again peaceful and still in this smilingparadise!
Was it, perhaps, only an illusive dream that bantered us, only a _fatamorgana_ formed by the moonbeams? Or does the serpent of evil reallylurk about this paradise? Will destruction find its way into thischarmed garden? Ah, no solitude and no wall can afford protectionagainst misfortune! It creeps through the strongest lock, and over thehighest wall; and while we think ourselves safe, it is already there,close to us, and nearly ready to swallow us up.
