I had, I fancy, a dim idea of that malign and
outlawed spirit sitting alone in darkness for a hundred years, until he
was called back by the sweet tones of the Italian music, and the lilt of
the "Areopagita" that he had loved so long ago. CHAPTER IX


John's recovery, though continuous and satisfactory, was but slow;
and it was not until Easter, which fell early, that his health was
pronounced to be entirely re-established. The last few weeks of his
convalescence had proved to all of us a time of thankful and tranquil
enjoyment. If I may judge from my own experience, there are few epochs
in our life more favourable to the growth of sentiments of affection
and piety, or more full of pleasurable content, than is the period of
gradual recovery from serious illness. The chastening effect of our
recent sickness has not yet passed away, and we are at once grateful to
our Creator for preserving us, and to our friends for the countless acts
of watchful kindness which it is the peculiar property of illness to
evoke. No mother ever nursed a son more tenderly than did Mrs. Temple nurse
my brother, and before his restoration to health was complete the
attachment between him and Constance had ripened into a formal
betrothal. Such an alliance was, as I have before explained,
particularly suitable, and its prospect afforded the most lively
pleasure to all those concerned. The month of March had been unusually
mild, and Royston being situated in a valley, as is the case with most
houses of that date, was well sheltered from cold winds. It had,
moreover, a south aspect, and as my brother gradually gathered strength,
Constance and he and I would often sit out of doors in the soft spring
mornings. We put an easy-chair with many cushions for him on the gravel
by the front door, where the warmth of the sun was reflected from the
red brick walls, and he would at times read aloud to us while we were
engaged with our crochet-work. Mr. Tennyson had just published
anonymously a first volume of poems, and the sober dignity of his verse
well suited our frame of mind at that time. The memory of those pleasant
spring mornings, my dear Edward, has not yet passed away, and I can
still smell the sweet moist scent of the violets, and see the bright
colours of the crocus-flowers in the parterres in front of us. John's mind seemed to be gathering strength with his body. He had
apparently flung off the cloud which had overshadowed him before his
illness, and avoided entirely any reference to those unpleasant events
which had been previously so constantly in his thoughts. I had, indeed,
taken an early opportunity of telling him of my discovery of the picture
of Adrian Temple, as I thought it would tend to show him that at least
the last appearance of this ghostly form admitted of a rational
explanation. He seemed glad to hear of this, but did not exhibit the
same interest in the matter that I had expected, and allowed it at once
to drop. Whether through lack of interest, or from a lingering dislike
to revisit the spot where he was seized with illness, he did not, I
believe, once enter the picture-gallery before he left Royston. I cannot say as much for myself. The picture of Adrian Temple exerted
a curious fascination over me, and I constantly took an opportunity of
studying it. It was, indeed, a beautiful work; and perhaps because
John's recovery gave a more cheerful tone to my thoughts, or perhaps
from the power of custom to dull even the keenest antipathies, I
gradually got to lose much of the feeling of aversion which it had at
first inspired. In time the unpleasant look grew less unpleasing, and
I noticed more the beautiful oval of the face, the brown eyes, and the
fine chiselling of the features. Sometimes, too, I felt a deep pity for
so clever a gentleman who had died young, and whose life, were it ever
so wicked, must often have been also lonely and bitter. More than once
I had been discovered by Mrs. Temple or Constance sitting looking at the
picture, and they had gently laughed at me, saying that I had fallen in
love with Adrian Temple. One morning in early April, when the sun was streaming brightly through
the oriel, and the picture received a fuller light than usual, it
occurred to me to examine closely the scroll of music painted as hanging
over the top of the pedestal on which the figure leant. I had hitherto
thought that the signs depicted on it were merely such as painters might
conventionally use to represent a piece of musical notation. This has
generally been the case, I think, in such pictures as I have ever seen
in which a piece of music has been introduced. I mean that while the
painting gives a general representation of the musical staves, no
attempt is ever made to paint any definite notes such as would enable an
actual piece to be identified. Though, as I write this, I do remember
that on the monument to Handel in Westminster Abbey there is represented
a musical scroll similar to that in Adrian Temple's picture, but
actually sculptured with the opening phrase of the majestic melody,
"I know that my Redeemer liveth." On this morning, then, at Royston I thought I perceived that there were
painted on the scroll actual musical staves, bars, and notes; and my
interest being excited, I stood upon a chair so as better to examine
them. Though time had somewhat obscured this portion of the picture as
with a veil or film, yet I made out that the painter had intended to
depict some definite piece of music. In another moment I saw that the
air represented consisted of the opening bars of the _Gagliarda_ in the
suite by Graziani with which my brother and I were so well acquainted. Though I believe that I had not seen the volume of music in which that
piece was contained more than twice, yet the melody was very familiar
to me, and I had no difficulty whatever in making myself sure that I had
here before me the air of the _Gagliarda_ and none other. It was true
that it was only roughly painted, but to one who knew the tune there was
no room left for doubt. Here was a new cause, I will not say for surprise, but for reflection. It might, of course, have been merely a coincidence that the artist
should have chosen to paint in this picture this particular piece of
music; but it seemed more probable that it had actually been a favourite
air of Adrian Temple, and that he had chosen deliberately to have it
represented with him. This discovery I kept entirely to myself, not
thinking it wise to communicate it to my brother, lest by doing so I
might reawaken his interest in a subject which I hoped he had finally
dismissed from his thoughts. In the second week of April the happy party at Royston was dispersed,
John returning to Oxford for the summer term, Mrs. Temple making a short
visit to Scotland, and Constance coming to Worth Maltravers to keep me
company for a time. It was John's last term at Oxford.