The Marble Faun; Or, The Romance of Monte Beni - Volume 1

r tower?" said the sculpt

he Count, with a kind of sulkiness that often appeared

certainly be quite as interesting inside as out. It cannot be less than six hundred years old; the foundations and lower story are much older than th

st which some of you Forestieri take in them. A year or two ago an English signore, with a venerable wh

old mansion of the Knights Templars, close by the Ponte Vecchio, with a great many ghostly books, pic

And he gathered up all the traditions of the Monte Beni family, and, among the rest, the sad one which I told you at the fountain the other day. He had known mighty poets, he said, in his earlier

me," rejoined the sculptor. "But shall we climb your tower The thunder-st

igh, "it has a weary staircase, and dismal cha

s difficult steps, and the dark prison cells you speak of, your tower resembles the spiritual experience of

ain, and led the wa

lighted in its progress by loopholes and iron-barred windows. Reaching the top of the first flight, the Count threw open a door of worm-eaten oak, and disclosed a chamber that occupied the whole area of the tower. It was most pitiably forlorn of as

ut five hundred years ago. He was a very holy man, and was afterwards burned at the stake in the Grand-ducal Square at Firenze. There have always been stories, Tomaso says,

replied Kenyon; "on t

e back, I should surely have met one within these two months p

immemorial have held proprietorship and occupancy in ruined towers. These were a pair of owls, who, being doubtless acquainted with Donatello, showed little sign of

Count, with a sad smile, alluding to the scene which Kenyon had witnessed at the fo

nd narrow loopholes afforded Kenyon more extensive eye-shots over hill and valley, and allowed him to taste the c

e," said Donatello;

ings of the Saviour, and the martyrdoms of saints, hung on the wall; and behind the crucifix there was a good copy of Titian's Magdalen of the Pitti Palace, clad only in the flow of her golden ringlets. She had a confident look (but it was Titian's fault, not the penitent woman's), as if expecting to win heaven by t

was carved in gray alabaster; most skillfully done to the death, with accurate imitation of the teeth, the sutures, the empty eye-caverns, and the fragile little bones of t

the holy-water vase, and crossed h

the sacred symbol on a

made, then?" asked the sculptor.

the Count, looking askance at his friend. "You heretics, I

ear friend, thus to fling the dead weight of our mortality upon our immortal hopes. While we live on earth, 't is true, we must needs carry our skeletons about with us; but, for Heaven's sake, do not let us burden our

s copied by a famous sculptor from the skull of that same unhappy knight who loved the fountain lady, and lost her by a blood-stain. He lived and died with a deep sense of sin upon him, and on his death-bed he ordained that this token of him should go

ked it none the better, for seeing i

e. For there was the broad, sunny smile of God, which we fancy to be spread over that favored land more abundantly than on other regions, and beneath it glowed a most rich and varied fertility. The trim vineyards were there, and the fig-trees, and the mulberries, and the smoky-hued tracts of the olive orchards; there, too, were fields of every kind of grain, among which, waved the Indian corn, putting

e; there fell the great black patches of ominous shadow from the clouds; and behind them, like a giant of league-long strides, came hurrying the thunderstorm, which had alre

declivities, and even on their summits, stood cities, some of them famous of old; for these had been the seats and nurseries of early art, where

d never without as full a sensation of gratitude as my heart seems capable of feeling. How it strengthens the poor human spirit in its reliance on His providence, to

asp to catch the analogies which so cheered his friend. "I see sunshine on one spot, and cloud in another,

ill find it interpreting itself without the aid of words. It is a great mistake to try to put our best thoughts into human language. When we

t were, and alight on the solid platform of the battlemented tower. He looked about him, and beheld growing out of the stone pavement, which formed the roof, a little shrub, with green and glossy leaves. It was the only green thing there; and Heaven knows how its

it had always grown there from his earliest remembrance, and ne

Kenyon examined it. "If the wide valley has a great meaning, the plant ought to have at least

shed long ago. And, no doubt, it is for your use and edification, since you have had i

and perplexing himself with a minute scrutiny. "But here was a worm that woul