Yes, it was indeed a charmed garden, and also had its fairy, who, if she
did not compete with the moonbeams in rocking herself on the tops of the
trees and the edges of the wall, was nevertheless as delicate as an elf,
and who tripped from flower to brook and from brook to hill as lightly
and gracefully as the gazelle. The whole spring, the whole youth of
nature, flashed and beamed from this beautiful maiden-face, so full of
childlike innocence, purity, and peace. No storm had as yet passed over
these smiling features, not the smallest leaf of this rose had been
touched by an ungentle hand; freely and freshly had she blossomed in
luxuriant natural beauty; she had drunk the dews of heaven, but not
the dew of tears, for those deeply-dark beaming eyes had wept only such
tears as where called forth by emotions of joy and happiness.
She sat under a myrtle, whose blossoming branches bent down to her as if
they would entwine that pure and tender brow with a bridal wreath. With
her head thrown back upon these branches, she reposed with an inimitable
grace her reclining form. A white transparent robe, held by a golden
clasp, fell in waves to her feet, which were encased in gold-embroidered
slippers of dark-red leather. A blushing rose was fastened by a diamond
pin in the folds of her dress upon her budding bosom, finely contrasting
with the delicate flush upon her cheeks. A guitar rested upon her full
round arm. She had been singing, this beautiful fairy child, but her
song was now silenced, and she was glancing up to the clouds, following
their movements with her dreamy, thoughtful eyes. A smile hovered about
her fresh, youthful lips--the smile peculiar to innocence and happiness.
She dreamed; precious, ecstatic images passed before her mental eyes;
she dreamed of a distant land in which she had once been, of a distant
house in which she had once dwelt. It was even more beautiful and
splendid than this which she now occupied, but it had lacked this blue
sky and fragrant atmosphere; it lacked these trees and flowers, these
myrtle bushes, and these songs of the nightingale, and upon a few summer
days had followed long, dull winter months with their cold winding-sheet
of snow, with their benumbing masses of ice, and the fantastic flowers
painted on the windows by the frost. And yet, and yet, there had been a
sun which shone into her heart warmer than this bright sun of Italy, and
the thought of which spread a purple glow upon her cheeks. This sun had
shone upon her from the tender glances of a lady whom she had loved as
a tutelar genius, as a divinity, as the bright star of her existence!
Whenever that lady had come to her in the solitary house in which she
then dwelt, then had all appeared to her as in a transfiguration; then
had even her peevish old servant learned to smile and become humble and
friendly; then all was joy and happiness, and whoever saw that beautiful
and brilliant lady, had thought himself blessed, and had fallen down to
adore her.