Morley Ernstein; or, the Tenants of the Heart

by G. P. R. James

Lieberg had not said true when he declared that the evening sky was beginning to turn grey. It was purple that it grew, that intense deep purple which is only to be seen in southern skies, where the sunshine seems to infuse a tint of gold into the azure of the heaven, rendering it like the lazuli stone in which the sparks of the metal may be seen through the fine hue of the gem. More and more red was every moment mingled with the blue, till the western horizon, where it lay upon the waters, glowed as if with intense fire, which seemed to catch the waves themselves and all the distant sea was in a flame. The splendour of the hour, however, was unseen by the eyes of Morley Ernstein--but I use, perhaps, a wrong expression, it was not altogether unseen; and, though I am so near the end of my history, where events press for attention rather than scenes or sensations, I must still pause for a moment to show how he saw without seeing, and felt without perceiving.

When Lieberg had left him, and his orders had been given, he went forth from the house with his heart full of strong emotions. He stood upon the promontory over the cave, and gazed, or seemed to gaze, across the wide world of waters, lighted by the setting sun. Though he had heard many things that day to interest and occupy him--though he had learned that Veronica had abandoned the world and taken the veil, and that Juliet was once more drawing near,--his mind was fixed upon himself, and upon the act he had just done, an act as great and important to him and to his future fate as if he had conquered a kingdom. He had broken a tie, bound round him by circumstances with such close and intimate folds, that it had appeared as if it could never be totally dissevered. He had cast off a fatal companionship for ever, which had endured already too long. By a strong effort of determination, he had repudiated a society which seemed destined to corrupt all the pure current of his blood, like the envenomed garment of Alcides, though happily for himself he had thrown it from him before it had entered into his flesh.

He stood, then, upon that promontory with his head erect, and his arms folded on his broad chest; feeling that he had done a right and a great act, that he had executed a strong and high determination, and deriving from the very fact the conscious dignity which the powerful performance of a wise resolution always imparts to the human mind. He marked not the sunset and its splendour--he marked not the illuminated ocean, or the classic shores in their purple shadows--he marked not the fire of the western sky, or the clouds glowing into a blaze above, but the whole sank into his spirit through the eye, and seemed to elevate his own sensations more and more by the harmonious tone of every thing around. He felt that it was in such a scene, in such a climate, in such an hour, that man might well do deeds worthy of his immortal soul. That under the eye of Heaven, and with the brightest of Heaven's works on every side, he might well purify his heart of its dross, and cast from him every baser thing. It was not unseen, then, all the loveliness that surrounded him; it was not unfelt; but in the busy turmoil of his own thoughts, it was unmarked.

Ere the sun had quite gone down, however, his mind became more calm, he recollected where he stood, he ran his eye along the line of coast, he raised it to the sky above, he gazed pensively at the sea below his feet, and marked the long, bow-like sails that skimmed across the waters towards the resting-place for the night.

The whole bay and the sea beyond it were alive with boats, and Morley Ernstein thought: "Amongst all those is probably one that bears to the same shore with myself; her who, I once believed was to be my leading star to every high act and noble purpose; but who has left me in darkness and despair. Over those waters, her bark is steering, and, perhaps, her mind, no longer with the eye of memory, sees him whom she once loved any more than her corporeal eye beholds me here. How calm everything is, how tranquil; and that small cloud, catching the last rays of the sun, glows like the conscious cheek of love. I wonder why all the boats are hurrying into Naples. This seems to me the very hour for lingering on the sea. I will go out and sail again;" and as he thus thought, he beckoned one of his boatmen, whom he saw on the beach below, to come up by the steps in the rock and speak with him. Ere the man could reach him, however, a change had come over the whole scene. The waves in the bay became crested with white foam--a sudden rushing sound was heard. Then came a light breath of air; and then a number of orange trees and large oleanders, which were ranged upon the terrace of the villa, were levelled with the ground in a moment by a violent gust of wind. Morley himself, strong and powerful as he was, was obliged to catch at a great ilex for support.[^[2]] Leaves and branches were torn up and whirled away, and a thin, dusty film was carried suddenly over sea and land, not sufficient to intercept the sight, but to render all the lately glowing features of the scene grey and sad. Whistling and screaming through the branches of the trees, over the rocks and stones; and through the windows and porticos the storm rushed on, and the Neapolitan servants ran hither and thither, closing the windows and increasing the din and confusion by their shouts, and outcries, and gesticulations. As soon as he had somewhat recovered himself, Morley placed his back against the tree, the large branches of which were waving to and fro like reeds, and gazed out upon the sea. When he had last looked in that direction he had seen a vessel, apparently steering from Capri, and sailing gallantly on towards Sorrento. He had then regarded it with that indefinite feeling of interest which often attaches to one particular thing amongst many similar ones, we cannot tell why or wherefore. Perhaps it was a thought which casually struck him that Juliet might be on board of that polacca, which caused him to look at the vessel I have mentioned more intently than any of the rest. But whatever it might be she had formed a beautiful object in the view, with all sails set, and the last red light of the sun dying her canvas with bright crimson. When he turned his eyes towards her again, however, now that the squall was raging with such fury; he could hardly believe she was the same ship. One of her masts was gone, and seemed to lay over the side, only attached to the vessel by the cordage. It was evident that the crew were taking in sail, and endeavouring to ease her in every way; but while Morley still gazed, the other mast went overboard, and she lay a complete log on the water, with the gale still blowing tremendously and dead upon the shore and the night coming rapidly on.

Climbing slowly up the stairs in the rock, the boatman, to whom Morley had beckoned, now approached him with difficulty, and the young Englishman, pointing to the vessel in distress, asked if he knew what she was. He replied that she was some Sicilian polacca, and that he had seen her lying off Capri while they were out sailing in the morning.

"She'll not see another day rise," added the man. "Many a poor sinner has gone to purgatory already to-night. Did you see that felucca upset and go down, sir, just as she was getting round the point?"

"No," answered Morley, "no; but we must not leave that ship to perish. You must get out the boat--I will go off to her."

The man laughed at the very idea. It is true, the wind was blowing dead upon the land, the sea running tremendously high, the gale scarcely abated at all of its fury, and the night coming on dark and stormy, the heavens looking totally unlike the pure, clear, starlit skies that had hung above them for the last six weeks. While he was still arguing with his master, however, a faint, distant flash, and the booming roar of a gun from the polacca, appealed to the heart of the young Englishman for help; and assuming a somewhat sterner tone, he bade the man gather together his companions and prepare the boat, in the language of command. He obeyed so far as collecting together the rest of the boatmen went, but no progress was made in getting the boat ready, and they remained drawn into a knot, talking eagerly and gesticulating violently, screaming, shouting, grinning, laughing, and almost weeping, in a manner that can only be seen in Italy.

Morley waited for a minute or two with some impatience, and then approaching them, used every means that the reader may conceive to induce them to accompany him. He succeeded so far, at length, that one of the younger men yielded, and declared he would go, if the padrone< br> would but stay a quarter of an hour to let the wind go down. Such a squall, he said, never lasted long, and at all events it would be more moderate. The consent of one soon brought that of the rest, and Morley ordered them, in the meantime, to make every preparation. Hoping perhaps that he would change his purpose, they contrived to extend the quarter of an hour to nearly double that time, notwithstanding all their master's impatience and reiterated commands, while the darkness increased, and gun after gun told the dangerous situation of the vessel, and each showed, by the greater brightness of the flash and loudness of the sound, that she was driving rapidly upon the rocky coast.