Swiftly and sweetly glided the last days of joy over the island, which after the rain glistened in greenness like a German garden. The soft, cool air, the fragrance of myrtles and oranges, single clouds of brightness in the warm sky, the magic-smoke of the coasts, the golden sun at morning and evening, and love and youth decked and crowned the rare season. High burned on the blooming earth the sacrificial flame of love into the still, blue heavens. As two mirrors stand before one another, and one pictures the other and itself and the world, and the other represents all this and also the pictures and the painter, so tranquilly stood Albano and Linda before each other, attracting and imaging soul within soul. As Mont Blanc majestically mirrors himself down in the still lake of Chede in a paler heaven, so stood Albano's whole, sound, light spirit in Linda's. She said he was an honest and an honorable man at once, and had, what was so rare, a whole will; only, as is often the case with men, he wanted to love still more than he did love, and therefore did not sufficiently recognize his quiet, original sin, from egotism. There was nothing against which he bristled up more indignantly and excitedly than against this latter charge, and he would not forgive it in any one save the Countess. He refuted her as strongly as he could; but her opinion became, under the best annihilation, only a mock corpse, and came back alive against him the very next hour.
He became through her more nearly acquainted with himself than even with her. He called her the Uranide, because she seemed to him, like the heavens, at once so near and so far off; and she had no objection to this full laurel-wreath. There is a heavenly unfathomableness, which makes man godlike, and love toward him infinite; so did the ancients make Friendship the daughter of Night and of Erebus. When Albano thus looked out over the broad, rich spirit of Linda,—at once living for her love, and harboring every other's love, and yet, as it were, intoxicated with the thirst for knowledge; at once a child, a man, and a virgin; often hard and bold with the tongue for and against religion and womanhood, and yet full of the tenderest, most childlike love toward both; melting in her glow before the beloved, and quickly stiffening at a cold assault; without any vanity, because she always stood before the throne of a divine idea, and man is never vain before God, but entirely confiding in herself and submissive to no one, without, however, any comparison of herself or others; full of bold, manly uprightness, and full of respect for talent and for shrewd understanding of the world; so perfectly free from selfishness, and with such a childlike delight in others' gladness, without special anxiety or respect for persons; so inconstant and inflexible, the one in wishing, the other in willing; but with her eye and life ever directed toward the sun and moon of the spiritual kingdom, character and love, toward her own and toward a beloved heart;—when Albano saw all this playing and flitting before him, then did he live, as it were, on the single and yet immense, the movable and yet almighty sea, whose limit is only the clear sky, which has itself none.
In the heaven of the three loving ones appeared at length the dawn of the day of departure. It was determined by the two friends that Albano might accompany them only as far as Naples, where their people waited for them, then find them once in Rome accidentally, then on Isola Bella for the last time accidentally,—a very unfriendly subjection to worldly appearance, upon which Linda, however, insisted as strongly as Julienne, and to which Albano himself, who by his birth was more hardened to the constraints of rank than a plebeian youth of like soul, easily yielded up the bitter yes, under the heavy veil which hung over all his connections. Julienne decided upon all lesser ways and means; she had been during the whole tour the business-agent of the Countess, who, as she said, had not head enough to buy herself a hat for it, so impetuous, absent in money matters, and dreamy was she. The sister was so lively, and entirely restored, but said, all the five and thirty hot springs of the island could not have done half so much for her recovery as the same number of tears of joy which she had fortunately shed.
Singular did all around them appear on the morning of departure. A bright, warm cloud dropped silvery drops; the sun looked in between two mountains; the enraptured islanders sang a new popular song, amidst the rain-harvest or drop-gleaning; while their friends were hastily borne away by the waves out of their circle of joy. Agata stood, in order to cool herself, on the shore, with a snake in her hand, and Albano felt a pain at the sight which he knew not how to explain to himself.[[104]] At this moment Epomeo parted the cloud-heaven, and shining fragments of cloud sailed slowly along before them toward the Apennine to the north, the heavenly dwelling-place of the mist, and swiftly and lightly glided the shadows of the sky over the swarming peaks of the waves.
"Ever mayest thou," said Albano, looking toward the island, which was swimming backward to the west, "stand fast with thy mountain; never may a calamity tear the fairest leaf out of the book of the blest!" "How will it be with us all," said Linda, "when we meet again, and seek again the lovely soil?" Just then they espied a high-arched rainbow; that stood half on the island and half on the waves, which seemed to fling it out as a gay, arching water-column upon the shore. "We are going," said Julienne, delighted, "to pass under the arch of peace." At this word the rain and the wreath of colors disappeared, and the sun alone shone behind them.
The passage ran through the torch-dance of the waves. The distances shone and smoked magnificently. "Why do distances take so mighty a hold of the soul, although painted with the same colors as what is nearer?" said Albano. "That is the very question," said Dian. Mightily lay the sea like a monster along the coasts stretched out over their whole way to Rome, and tossed up and down the scales of waves. Albano said, "When I saw on Vesuvius the mountain and the sea, I thought how pettily and falsely narrow man sunders the two Colossi of the earth into little, familiar members, and acts as if the same sea did not stretch round the whole earth."
His friends were too deeply and sadly moved to make any reply, and before strange eyes neither words nor hardly looks were at their command. When Albano saw again more nearly the battle-field of time,—the ruin-coasts, which ever grasp and lift the man; the old temples and Thermæe, like old ships, dying on the land; here a crushed and crumbling giant temple, there a city street down on the bottom of the sea;[[105]] the holy memorial-columns and light-houses of former greatness deserted and extinguished amidst the eternally youthful beauty of ancient nature,—he forgot the neighborhood of his own transitoriness, and said to Linda, whose eye he saw directed thither, "Perhaps I can guess what you are now thinking of,—that the ruins of the two greatest times, the Greek and the Roman, remind us only of a strange past, whereas other ruins, like music, only admonish us of our own. That was perhaps your thought." "We think of nothing at all here," said Julienne; "it is enough, if we weep that we are obliged to go away." "Truly the Princess is right," said Linda, and added, as if displeased at Albano and everything, "and what is life, more than a glass door to heaven? It shows us what is fairest and every joy, but it is, after all, not open."
By the accident of strangers' company they were compelled to leave each other with cold show, and, according to the custom of teasing, tantalizing fate, to conclude a great past with a little present.
Albano travelled as hastily as his sensibility would allow over the sublime world round about him. When he arrived in Mola, he heard the singular intelligence that they had found in Gaeta a whole leathern dress, with a mask, swimming far out to sea, which must have belonged to the ascended monk, and in respect to which they found nothing so inexplicable as the empty casing, without the dead body. In Mola, the fair island of Ischia at length breathed out its last fragrance; the high citadel of heaven and the ascending pole hid among other southern constellations this warm one also, which had so long gleamed over him with suns of bliss; and the last star of the short spring went down.
Such is life; such is bliss. Like the playing moon, it consists of first and last quarters, and slowly waxes and slowly wanes. In its hope, in its fear, a brief flash is the full moon of the deepest rapture; a short invisibility the new moon of the deepest desolateness;—and always is the light game, like the moon, beginning its circle anew.