Morley Ernstein; or, the Tenants of the Heart

by G. P. R. James

With this moral reflection old Adam Gray concluded his soliloquy, and went to give the orders with which his master had entrusted him, in regard to preparing for departure. Ere noon all was ready, and Morley, alone in his carriage, with his arms folded on his chest, his brow bent, and his hat pressed over his forehead, drove out of the little town, while many a foreign idler of the baths stood gazing at him, sneering at the gloomy aspect that they did not comprehend, and pointing him out as the true personification of English spleen.

Buried in the depth of his own thoughts, Morley cared little what comments were made upon his appearance. The brief glimpse he had had of Juliet Carr, the momentary revival of hope, had but plunged him into deeper gloom now that it was gone, and for a time all the better feelings which reflection had produced passed away, and left him as bitter in spirit as ever. There was one strong, predominant determination, however, in his mind, which was, to seek another meeting with Juliet wherever she had gone; to induce her to give him reasons for her conduct; to make her speak plainly why she debarred him and herself of hope, why, if she loved him, as she did not deny that she did, she made him miserable now that her father's death had removed his opposition to their union.

Such were the feelings with which he went on through the wild valleys and deep ravines that led him back to the banks of the Rhine. This is not the journal of a tourist, reader! but still I must pause, to say a word or two upon the scenes through which Morley Ernstein now passed, because those scenes were not without effect upon his mind. At first the impression was imperceptible, but gradually it became more and more strong, operating like some fine restorative balm, and producing a slow but salutary effect, as he journeyed on. It is not through the ear alone, nor by the written words addressed to the eye, neither by the tale, nor the fable, nor the moral, that man's heart may receive instruction, if he will but take it. There is not--I say again--there is not a sight, there is not a sound, from the flower in the valley to the cloud-covered peak of the mountain--from the song of the lark to the thunder of the storm, which does not speak to the heart of man sweet counsel, and wisdom without end; sinking softly, calmly, almost imperceptibly, into the mind.

The mere aspect of nature's ever-varying face must, if we will let it, tranquillize the passions, harmonize all the jarring affections of our nature, and with a solemn, and a soothing voice, proclaim to us the love, and the wisdom of Him--

"Who shapes our fate, rough-hew it how we will."

Such also was the effect upon Morley Ernstein, as he journeyed onward, though it was produced very slowly. When he first raised his eyes, the mouth of the valley through which his course had been directed was just opening out upon the Rhine. High on either side rose grey ruins, pinnacled upon the ancient mountain-tops, all that remained of the feudal domination of the past; dark, and solemn, and sad, each itself a legend, appealing more strongly to the imagination than any of those with which tradition had ornamented the walls. Fancy might there range at liberty, might people the deserted halls with life, might see fair faces gazing from the casementless windows, might cover the winding roads with the bands of horsemen, and might see the plundered merchants, or the train of captives, borne up to the hold of the lordly robbers who reigned in the towers above. The ruined church called fancy to other creations--the bridal song, and gay procession, the joyful birth of the young heir, the dark funeral of the departed lord, and all the manifold acts to which the ceremonies of religion lend their aid.

It is true, the imagination of Morley Ernstein, occupied with one sad subject, was not disposed to tear his mind away from the present; but, still, as the eye rested upon this object or upon that, his thoughts would stray for a moment to the scenes of the dim past; or, leaving his own fate for an instant, would find a temporary occupation in that of others. The merry vintage was going on; and on every bank, and on every hill, thousands and thousands of the peasantry, rejoicing in the reward of honest industry, poured forth their songs as he passed by. While he gazed around, perhaps, he pictured to himself the return home of the labourers he saw, the embrace of affection, the soft domestic love, and all the household joys that were never to be his; but still he was not so selfish that he could not bless God for the happiness of others, though he himself could not partake of it. The better spirit, reader, gained the ascendancy, and in deep and pensive thought, calm though sad, he went upon his way.

All those who have travelled along the banks of the Rhine--and few there are who have not done so, now-a-days--know well, that though, perhaps, the Rhone presents more picturesque beauties, there is scarcely any spot on earth where, to loveliness of scenery, are joined so many thrilling memories, and such a wide extent of associations. Well might it be called the Storied Rhine; for there is not one step along its banks which has not its history; and from the ages of the Roman domination, down to the "Now," when the stranger stands beside it, there is scarcely a year in the wide course of time, which has not marked the Rhine by some great event. He, indeed, must have become dead to life, or never have been alive to half the wonderful things that life presents, who can wander by the side of that mighty river, without giving himself up to dreams of the past--ay, and perchance of the future.

Morley Ernstein was neither; and though the tone of his own feelings, of course, gave a colouring to all his thoughts, yet his meditations on the things around him soon became deep and long, and in those meditations he himself found relief.

Thus passed the next four days, but, as he went from inn to inn, he perseveringly strove to trace the road that Juliet Carr had taken. Once only, however, he met with the name of Lord Clavering, with the words, "and party," attached to it; and he knew not why, but a painful feeling that Juliet Carr should be included in the party of another passed across his mind. He strove to banish it instantly; he asked himself, with a sort of scornful smile, if he were jealous of Lord Clavering; but still the idea continued painful; and now, convinced that Juliet had taken the same road which he was following, he simply pointed out the name of the party to his courier, and directed him to search for it in the inn-books, and let him know when he found it again.