Joseph Wilmot, or, The Memoirs of a Man-Servant — page 272: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

the certainty that whosoever might take a lease of, altar standing on the summit of a noble ascent of them from the persons afterwards claiming to pos- sess them, would be involved in litigation with other claimants, that no one has chosen to risk his capital on such an enterprise. If you and your companions will honour us with your presence for a few more days, you may possibly experience some little pleasure in visiting the ruins of the monastery and of the castle.” “T should certainly like to do so,’ was my answer; “unless”—and I looked at Durazzo. “T did think of leaving to-morrow morning,” observed Constantine: “but I am not so selfish, my dear Wilmot, as to hurry you away thus pre- cipitately, We may visit the ruins of both castle and monastery in the course of to-morrow; and the day after we can take leave of our hospitable entertainers.” . It is unnecessary to detail any more of the con- versation which took place on the particular even- ing of which I am writing; and on retiring to our respective chambers, I reviewed all I had learnt from the lips of the worthy farmer before sleep visited my eyes. Immediately after breakfast on the following morning Durazzo, the page, and myself set out to visit the ruins of the monastery of St. Bartholo- mew. The farmer was too much occupied with his own avocations to accompany us: he offered to send one of his sons—but we knew that the young men had each their duties to perform; and we would not therefore take either of them away from the scene of their industry. Moreover the ruins were close at hand—there was no need of any one to show usthe way; and when once there, a guide was equally unnecessary. Ten minutes’ walk brought us to the ruins; and the first impression was that of a large space of ground, nearly half an acre, covered with moul- dering masses of masonry, overgrown with weeds, grass, and creeping plants. Here and there por- tions of walls still remained: the eastern end of the cathedral-church was in better preservation than the rest; and we had little difficulty in dis- cerning some five sculpture upon the remnants of the stone framework of the oriel window. But I have always found that however grand the ideas previously conceived in respect to a ruin, they in- variably experience disappointment when the visit is paid; and on departure there has been a sense of exaggeration on the part of the fancy, or else on that of the book or the tongue which hd pre- viously described the scene thus inspected. Such was the disappoinment I felt in the present in- stance, so far as the actual appearance of the ruins themselves were eoncerned: for after floundering about for nearly an hour amongst the huge blocks of masonry which encumbered the ground, and through the long dank grass, we scarcely succeeded in tracing the outlines of more than two or three of what had once been apartments in the monas- tery. Nevertheless, imagination was busy, at least on my part, in restoring that edifice to what might have been its former condition, and in peopling it with its ecclesiastical inmates. Methought I stood in the midst of the vast cathedral-church—tall shapely columns supporting the roof—and sculp- JOSEPH WILMOT; OR, THE MEMOIRS OF A MAN-SERVANT. 259 steps ; and tbat the priests in their robes were performing their holy functions there. In another place methought that where mere fragments of walls now existed, a spacious and comfortable re- fectory stood ; and that at a long table I coud see the holy fathers doing justice to the substan- tial fare. I stood before the mouldering remnant of a cell; and methought that therein was an enthusiast .lacerating himself with a scourge, and hoping to cleanse himself of his sins by cruellest. self-martyrdom. Perhaps one of the most definable portions ofthe ruin was that where a cloister once had been, and where it had bor- dered the grave-yard of the monastery. Me- thought that it was all restored—it was a cloister once again—a wall on one side, pillars on the other—the colonnade supporting a groined roof— and the pavement tormed of immense heavy flag- stones. And methought that I could behold two or three darkly clad individuals—monks in their gowns, with their hoods drawn over their counte- nances—slowly pacing that cloister, and telling their beads. In another part of the ruins there were assuredly the remnants of a large stabling establishment, adjoining what had once been a paved court-yard. But even to distinguish all this, the closest scrutiny and the keenest discern- ment were requisite. Then I pictured to myself the portly Lord Abbot being assisted into the comfortable saddle on his quiet-going mule—with perhaps a menial standing near, bearing a massive silver tray with a flagon and drinking cup upon if, that his reverend lordship might refresh and cheer himself with a stoup of wine previous to going forth upon some pastoral avocation. Ina word, there was scarcely an end to the vagaries and conceits which my roving imagination thus permitted itself, as I wandered for an hour amidst those ruins. I may here observe that the mood of Durazzo continued mournful, if not absolutely sombre, despite his exclamation of the preceding day that — he would not despond. He had certainly listened to the farmer’s tale of the previous evening —but only listened. I do not think it could be said that he had experienced any interest in it: for he had asked no question —he had made no comment. And now he certainly accompanied me and the youthful page amongst the ruins of St. Bartholo- mew: but it was with a preoccupied air and in an abstracted manner. When I directed his attention to any particular object, he rallied himself with a sudden start, and endeavoured to display an in- terest therein. But I saw that he only did this for my sake, and to render himself as companion- able as he cou}d—for that in reality his thoughts were far away. And no wonder! Could I blame him? How altered was his position from what it so recently had been !—his ship and his crew were gone—the means of rapidly obtaining a com- petency were taken from him—and the proud, gallant, skilful, daring pirate-chief was an outcast on a strange island, knowing not when he should again see his bride Leonora, and perhaps unable to settle his mind to any particular course for the immediate future. I chose not to question him on the point—I knew how painful it must be: but tured shafts of stone forming the frame-work of! from the very bottom of my soul I pitied him. the painted windows. Methought I beheld the| As for the young page, he also looked melancholy, OOO) Cc S (CO)