Rosamunde

“ Then it was that Rosamunde, who watched him, saw his face become as the face of a devil. He reared up his sword over Pandart’s carcass, heeding not his whimpering nor his outstretched hand. Rosamunde, waking as from a dream, sprang forward and seized on Tristan’s arm.
“Slay him not,” she said. “Shall the man suffer for the master’s sin?” ”

“ There was a rich and mysterious savour in the air; even the flowers upon the casement ledge seemed brighter than their fellows in the fields below. To Tristan the place was as some rare shrine, whose odours and gleaming dyes breathed about the face of Love.
Rosamunde sat at the open window looking towards the lake. A bank of gillyflowers bloomed upon the sill. There was still the same proud pallor upon the woman’s face; solitude had not bribed her to salve her care with tears. Hers were not eyes that wept at the first kiss of anger or of pain. ”

“ They rode out down the slope of the hill, where the gardens amid the thickets were ablaze under the noon sun. Rosamunde was clad in a green robe, with a girdle of red leather shaped to her figure. She rode on before Tristan and the woman Isabel, as though not sorry of solitude and freedom from stone walls. ”

“ A narrow causeway curled upwards towards the towers upon the rock. The sea had sunk behind the cliffs; the sky faded to a less passionate colour. Rosamunde’s eyes were on the walls of Holy Guard, and she seemed lost in musings as they rode side by side.
“Tristan,” she said suddenly, as they neared the sea, “think not hardly of me; rather pity me in your heart. Strife and unrest are everywhere. It is better to escape the world.” ”

“ Rosamunde, with her torn robe gathered in her hand, moved into the room, with a glance thrown at Tristan over her shoulder. Following, he stood behind her in the shadow, watching her every movement. She gestured to him to strike one of the pillars with the scabbard of his sword. As the clangour sounded through the room, the man by the table twisted on his chair, sprang up and stared at them, dropping his brush on the stone paving at his feet. ”

“ Of that proud woman, Rosamunde of Joyous Vale, whom the Papists had snatched from him in the gloom of the woods, Tristan won no word or whisper. The men-at-arms of the palace spoke often of their march through the province of the Seven Streams. Many of the ruffians had carried torches in the sacking of Ronan’s tower, yet of Rosamunde and her fate the world seemed to have no care. Tristan, with his ugly face inscrutable as the face of a sphinx, watched and listened, bided his time. If Rosamunde was in Agravale, he would carry the gates of her prison off their hinges, and set her free. ”

“ Tristan stood at the gate and listened. Above the thunder of the foaming stream the rich voice clambered, strong and clear. Even the great golden vault of heaven seemed full of the echoes of that passionate song.
He found Rosamunde seated on the terrace-way where the oleanders bloomed. Under the stone bridge the water foamed and bubbled, the ferns and moss green and brilliant above the foam. About her rose the knolls of the gold-fruited trees. Farther, the forests climbed into the glory of the heavens. ”

“ In 1819 he composed Die Zwillingsbrüder, which has a plot along Comedy of Errors lines; in 1820 a “magic and machine” comedy called Die Zauberharfe (“The Magic Harp”) , the overture of which is familiar to us as the Rosamunde—though the overture which Schubert used three years later to the musical play of that name was the introduction that prefaced a full-length romantic opera, Alfonso und Estrella, dated 1821. An actual overture to Rosamunde was never written. The piece known universally by that title was not so designated till 1827, when it was published in an arrangement for piano duet. ”

“ You love Mr. Browning. I have known that all along. You think of him by day—you dream of him by night, and no thought is half so sweet as the thought of going home to him. But, Rosamond, you will not marry him. There is an impediment, as you say, but not insanity. I cannot tell you what it is, but I can see," and she bent nearer to the hand which trembled in her own. "I can see that for you to marry him, or—mark me, Rosamond—for you even to love him, is a most wicked thing—a dreadful sin in the sight of Heaven, and you must forget him—will you?" ”

“ Rosamund is absolutely devoid of it. If you had any spark of the Divine Fire in you, my dear boy, you could not have helped recognizing it in little Frances, even though she can hardly play a note. But, after all, one doesn’t expect much perception from youth. ”

“ Who now so happy as Rosamund? She had oft-times heard Allan speak with great tenderness of his sister—she was now rambling, arm in arm, with that very sister, the "vaunted sister" of her friend, her beloved Clare.
Not a tree, not a bush, scarce a wild flower in their path, but revived in Rosamund some tender recollection, a conversation perhaps, or some chaste endearment. Life, and a new scene of things, were now opening before her—she was got into a fairy land of uncertain existence. ”

“ The hill wind stirred her hair and fluttered the white ribbons at waist and shoulder. The golden-rod swayed in the sunshine. Below, amid yellow treetops, the roofs and chimneys of the village glimmered.
"Dear, do you not understand?" she said. "How can I make you understand that I love you—too late?"
"Give yourself to me, Rosamund; let me touch you—let me take you——"
"Will you love me always?"
"In life, in death, which cannot part us. Will you marry me, Rosamund?" ”

“ Rosamond did not like this proposition at all, for her mother had never taught her to work, and besides, she felt as if, with a crown upon her head, she were a kind of queen. It seemed to her as if the villagers also thought so when they looked at her as she walked through the streets, and she bore herself very proudly for a while, but at length became so tired and hungry, that she sank down on a doorstep, her head leaning on her hand ”

“ To Riverside?" asked Rosamond, suspending her preparations for a moment, and hardly knowing whether she were pleased or not.
"Yes, to Riverside," returned Miss Porter, "though on the whole, I think I'd better not. Mr. Browning may not care to see me. If he does, you can write and let me know. Give him my love, and say that if you had not described him as so incorrigible an old bach, I might be coming there to try my powers upon him. I am irresistible in my diamonds. Be sure and tell him that; and stay, Rosamond, I must give you some little token of my affection. What shall it be?" ”

“ Rosamund Gray, my soul is exceeding sorrowful for thee—I loathe to tell the hateful circumstances of thy wrongs. Night and silence were the only witnesses of this young maid's disgrace—Matravis fled.
Rosamund, polluted and disgraced, wandered, an abandoned thing, about the fields and meadows till daybreak. Not caring to return to the cottage, she sat herself down before the gate of Miss Clare's house—in a stupor of grief. ”

“ Some, I know, will think these things trifles—and they are so—but if these minutiæ make my reader better acquainted with Rosamund, I am content to abide the imputation.
These promises of character, hints, and early indications of a sweet nature, are to me more dear, and choice in the selection, than any of those pretty wild flowers, which this young maid, this virtuous Rosamund, has ever gathered in a fine May morning, to make a posy to place in the bosom of her old blind friend. ”

“ We will rather hasten on to the morning when to Mr. Browning the joyful tidings came that Rosamond was better—so much better, indeed, that he could see and talk with her if he chose.
Only once since the fearful night when he found her moaning in her bridal dress, had he stood by her bedside—for, though he longed to be there, he could not endure to see her turn away from him, whispering as she did so, "It was cruel—oh, so cruel to deceive me so." Neither had he been near Marie Porter, consequently he knew nothing of the means by which she had imposed upon him the story of her death. ”

“ What a hollow mockery does it impart to the heart of Lady Rosamond, whose cause of misery remains as yet half told. Life—a troubled dream, a waking reality, yet we cling to it with fond delusive hopes. ”

“ A nearer approach shows the rising color of the rose-tinted cheeks—the glorious light in those lovely eyes—the bewitching and irresistible smile. A manly voice is heard exclaiming in the tones of a rapturous lover, "Rosamond, my own darling, I never expected to realize such happiness. In the possession of such love I am a thousandfold rewarded for a lifetime of misery. ”

“ Could she do that?" said Rosamond.
"Yes, her wedding ring. It first belonged to Susan, who gave it to me for the occasion, and two weeks after I had it marked with Marie's name and the date of our marriage. It is broken now, and I would to Heaven I could thus easily break the tie which binds me to her, and keeps me from you! Oh, Rosamond, Rosamond, must it be? Must I live my life without you, when I need you so much—when my heart longs so to claim you for its own?"
He covered his face with his hands, and Rosamond could see the tears dropping slowly through his fingers. ”

“ Rosamund was amazed at the immensity of her own feelings. Of course she had always said that love was the strongest force in the world; but still it was a little surprising that, with nothing going on, she was n't in the least bored. It seemed to her as if she and the earth and Lockett had all been made for this one perfect consummation. ”

“ In real life, it must be confessed, Rosamund's method of locomotion did not resemble those of winged birds. But to-night Rosamund had no place in his thoughts. He was rescuing a graceful, dark-eyed, beautiful girl from incredible dangers—from robber chieftains, from surging floods, from savage cannibals, from onrushng trains and motor-cars. In his dreams the whole forces of Nature seemed bent upon the extermination of the graceful, dark-eyed, beautiful girl, and he alone prevented it. ”

“ Her cheek has lost none of its roundness; the outline is full, striking, fresh and interesting; the expressive dark eyes have lost not their usual brilliancy, save a mournful tenderness that is more often betrayed than formerly; the lustrous black hair is wantonly revelling in all the luxuriance of its former beauty. Time nor experience has not the ruthless power to desecrate such sacred charms. Lady Rosamond has yet to rejoice in these; she has yet to pluck the blossoms of happiness springing up from the soil of buried hope where seeds had been scattered by the unseen hand of Mercy. ”

“ Your mother told me once that she rather wondered if the whole thing would end in Rosamund’s becoming a Roman Catholic, too. She made friends with a woman at Francie’s convent.... But it won’t. Rosamund hasn’t the religious temperament, for one thing. All she needed was to find herself. A modern phrase, isn’t it—and one that I rather avoid, as a rule, but it’s expressive enough. The child had to learn proportion—and it was taught her through the strongest thing she knew—her love for Frances. Reality is the only medium for reality, after all. ”

“ He then recognised the earth, upon which he had left a heart so troubled, in a breast so beloved; and his soul, which reposed in pleasure, became full of melancholy, and of an infinite longing after the beloved of his former life, who was suffering below. “Oh, my Rosamond! why dost thou not leave a sphere, where nothing more loves thee?” And he cast a supplicating look at the angel of rest, and said: “Beloved one, take me down from the land of quiet, and lead me to the faithful soul, that I may see her, and again feel pain, so that she may not pine alone.” ”

“ So near to the abyss now that no more clutching at thoughts and memories can save her, Rosamund prays:
[316] “Let her die. Let it all be over for her. Oh God, if there is mercy and pity in You let Frances die now. She has made the sacrifice—she was willing to give up everything for You—let that be enough—let her die now. Don’t let her come back to it all. If she dies now, it will be all over. She will be with You in Heaven perhaps, or else it will just be nothing—all over. That would be best—oh, that would be best. Never to know or feel anything any more—to be at rest. ”

“ The solemn reminders on every side had a charm to soothe her hitherto troubled breast. Holy emotions were nurtured within the heart where once reposed unresisting conflicts of rebellious strife and discontent.
With the warm breath of nature came awakening life into the emaciated frame of the invalid. Lady Rosamond devoted every waking moment to her husband. In the charming eventide they sat upon the balcony of their residence overlooking the Corso, catching a glimpse of the open country beyond the surrounding mountains and the ever restless Tiber. ”

“ But if I were you I'd rather be truly loved by one—person than be obeyed by one hundred thousand.'
'But if you were I, Rosamund, you'd be a man; and men are different.'
'So it seems.'
'What a noise that churn makes! Rosamund, I've felt all my life long that I was destined to be great. Why else did my mother wash the King's stocking; or the Appanage of Royalty promise me the cap?'
'You've been dreaming, you silly boy!'
'But can a dream that I've been dreaming all my life fail to come true? I don't say that to sit on a throne and rule a kingdom would be the happiest lot in the world ”