Is each, then, fairer in its turn? 'Tis hence the music. Not for me To wish a dayless morn, or yearn For nightless eve--if these could be.
But give me both--the new, the old: And let my spirit sip the wine From silver now, and now from gold: 'Tis wine alike--alike divine!
By Mrs. Craven, Author of "A Sister's Story."
Translated From The French, With Permission.
"Brama assai--poco spera--nulla chiede."--Tasso.
"Return, Gabrielle! if possible, return at once; at all events, come soon." These simple words from Clement to his cousin give no idea of the agitation with which they were written. Fleurange herself would never have suspected it, and less than ever at the arrival of a letter at once so affecting and so opportune. She even paid very little attention to her cousin's assurances as to the inutility of any further sacrifices for the sake of his family. Clement, however, had written her the exact truth. The situation of Professor Dornthal's family was of course very different from what it once was, but the change was far from being as great as they had all anticipated and prepared for a year before, when ruin overwhelmed and scattered them.
To leave the house in which they had lived twenty-five years; to see all the objects that adorned it offered for sale; to give up the place where the happiest moments of their lives had been spent; all this at first excluded the possibility of anticipating anything but privation and sadness without alleviation. Madame Dornthal herself did not look forward to the future in any other light, and the courage with which she left her native city was the same she would have shown had her husband been condemned to suffer exile; she would have shared it with him, endeavoring to soften it as much as possible, but without anticipating the least possibility of joy in their changed lives.
Joy, however, returned. It not unfrequently happens that reverses endured without murmuring receive unexpected compensations.
In the first place, their new home, though simple, and even rustic compared with their old one, was neither gloomy nor inconvenient. Two spacious rooms on the ground floor allowed the whole family to assemble not only for their meals, but the evening reunions--their greatest pleasure when all the absent ones returned. A small garden surrounded the house, and a grass-plot extended down to the river with a covered alley on each side. This place, called Rosenheim, merited its name by the abundance of flowers, and especially of roses, which on every side cheered the eye and embalmed the air. Their very first impressions, therefore, were quite different from what they had apprehended. Besides, Clement had reserved two or three of his father's favorite paintings, several engravings, as well as a number of other familiar and precious objects, which preceded them, and were there, like old friends, to welcome them.