"'Let us take him to a resting-place,' said Spartacus.
"As we set about lifting him up, however, to see whether he could stand, he placed his finger on his lips, indicating that he wished us not to disturb him, and pointed with the other hand to the extremity of the court. Our glances went thither, but we saw no one. Shortly after we heard the sound of a violin, which was played with great precision and accuracy. I never heard an artist handle the bow with a more vast or graceful sweep; the chords of his instrument, as it were, sympathising with those of his soul, and conveying to the heart an expression at once pious and heroic. We both fell into a delightful reverie, and said to ourselves there was something grand and mysterious in such sounds. The eyes of the old man wandered vaguely though dazzling and ecstatic, and a smile of beatitude hung on his withered lips, proving conclusively that he was neither deaf nor insensible.
"After a short melody all was hushed, and we soon saw a man of ripe age come from a chapel near us. His appearance filled us with emotion and respect. The beauty of his austere face and his noble proportions contrasted strongly with the deformed limbs and savage appearance of the old man. The violin player came directly to us, with his instrument under his arm, and the bow in a leathern girdle. Large pantaloons of coarse stuff, shoes like the buskins of a former day, and a shirt of sheepskin, similar to the Dalmatian peasant dress, made him look like a shepherd or laborer. His white and delicate hands, however, did not bespeak a man who had been devoted to rude or agricultural labor; and the cleanliness of his dress and his proud deportment seemed to protest against his misery, and to refuse to submit to its consequences. My master was struck with the appearance of this man. He clasped me by the hand, and I felt his tremble.
"'It is the person,' said he. 'I know his face from having seen it in my dreams.'
"The violin player came towards us without embarrassment or surprise. He returned our salute with charming dignity, and, approaching the old man, said—
"'Come Zdenko: I am going. Lean on your friend.'
"The old man made an effort to rise; but his friend lifted him up, and bending so as to serve as a staff, he guided his trembling steps. In this filial care and patience in a strong, noble, and agile man, to another in rags, there was if possible something more touching than in a young mother shortening her step to suit that of her child. I saw my master's eyes fill with tears, and I felt a sympathy with that man of genius and probable fame, in his strong excitement at the scene before him, fancying myself lost in the mysteries of the past.
"We were seeking some pretext to address him, when his thoughts evidently recurring to us, he said, with a beautiful simplicity and confidence:—
"'You saw me kiss this marble, and this old man throw himself on these tombs. Think not that these are acts of idolatry. We kiss the robe of a saint, as we wear on the heart a token of love and friendship. The bodies of our deceased friends are like worn-out garments, which we would not trample on, but preserve with respect and lose with regret. My beloved father and kindred, I know are not here. The inscriptions which say "Here rest the Rudolstadts," are false. They are all ascended to heaven, though they live and act in the world in obedience to the ordinance of God. Under these marbles there are only bones. Their souls have forsaken the mortal, and have put on the immortal. Blessed be the ashes of our ancestors! Blessed be their dust and the ivy with which they are crowned! Above all—blessed be God! who has said, "Arise and return to my fruitful soul, where nothing dies!—where all is renewed and purified!'"
"'Leverani, Ziska, or Trismegistus, do I find you at the tombs of your ancestors?' said Spartacus, animated by a celestial certainty.