On the ninth day, when I was eating my breakfast, just as I had
finished my mutton-chop, and was going to attack the eggs, Cary, in a
half-laughing way, said, "Well, pappy, do you never intend to take the
air again? The weather is now delightful,--that second season they call
the summer of St. Joseph."
"Ain't I a prisoner?" said I. "I thought I had murdered somebody, and
was sentenced for life to this chamber."
"How can you be so silly!" said she. "You know perfectly well how these
foreigners make a fuss about everything, and exaggerate every trifle
into a mock importance. Now, we are not in Ireland--"
"No," said I, "would to Heaven we were!"
"Well, perhaps I might echo the prayer without doing any great violence
to my sincerity; but as we are not there, nor can we change the
venue--is n't that the phrase?--to our own country, what if we just were
to make the best of it, and suffer this matter to take its course here?"
"As how, Cary?"
"Simply by dressing yourself, and driving into Como. Your case will be
heard on any morning you present yourself; and I am so convinced
that the whole affair will be settled in five minutes that I am quite
impatient it should be over."
I will not repeat all her arguments, some good and some bad, but every
one of them dictated by that kind and affectionate spirit which, however
her judgment incline, never deserts her. The end of it was, I got up,
shaved, and dressed, and within an hour was skimming over the calm clear
water towards the little city of Como.
Cary was with me,--she would come,--she said she knew she did me good;
and it was true: but the scene itself--those grand, great mountains;
those leafy glens, opening to the glassy lake, waveless and still; that
glorious reach of blue sky, spanning from peak to peak of those Alpine
ridges--all soothed and calmed me; and in the midst of such gigantic
elements, I could not help feeling shame that such a reptile as I should
mar the influence of this picture on my heart by petty passions and
little fractious discontents an worthy of a sick schoolboy.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
Reviews
Reviews
No reviews yet
Be the first to share your thoughts on this work.
Elsewhere in the archive
Join the Discussion
Join the discussion
Sign in to leave a comment or review.
Sign InorCreate an account