Joseph Wilmot, or, The Memoirs of a Man-Servant — page 140: what you’re looking at

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

ae - JOSEPH WILMOT; OR, THE MFMOIRS OF A MAN SERVANT. 127 EE TS she enveloped her form completely with the capa- | —that there Cesar, the friend of the people, who cious mantle. Looking forth from the window, I repeated to the postilion the address which my fair companion had mentioned : he appeared to be ignorant of it : she requested me to name some additional particulars—which I accordingly did ; and now he comprehended whither he was to drive. “Tt is but a poor neighbourhood,” said the young lady; “ and he might well be unacquainted with it in the first instance.” For a few minutes silence prevailed ; and I was thinking to myself what course my companion would adopt, or what I myself could suggest, if she found that the old nurse was either dead or removed,—when she said, as she glanced forth at the aspect of a narrow and poor-looking street which we were just entering, “ We are now about to part: for whether or not she whom I hope to find be still here, yet in this quarter shall I obtain a lodging that will suit me. What can I say to you? how express my gratitude? Words fail me! —but rest assured that until the latest moment of my life your noble generosity—the mingled mag- Manimity and delicacy of your conduct—will remain in my memory! Yes—Oh! yes never, never shall I forget all you have done for me!” Her voice was tremulous with emotions while she thus spoke; and as the vehicle stopped, she proffered me her hand. [I took it,—at the same time asking, in terms as delicate as possible, whether she would not permit me to leave my purse in her possession? She at once declined ; and de- scending from the chaise, the door of which the postilion had just opened, she disappeared from my view—but not without flinging upon me an- other look of fervent gratitude ere she crossed the threshold of the house which she was entering. I now named to the postilion the address of the hotel at which I intended to put up, and to which I was recommended by the proprietor of the hotel where I had last stayed in Florence. On arriving at that establishment, I was accommodated with apartments, though it was nearly filled with guests —chiefly French, English, and Germans. I at once retired to bed, for I was wearied by an un- remitted travel since ten o’clock in the forenoon of the preceding day: but I could scarcely close my eyes in slumber—for my adventure with the fair unknown continued to haunt me like a wild fanciful dream. I rose at about noon—partook of breakfast— and then issued forth to ramble about the city,— determined to postpone until the following day the presentation of the letters of introduction with which the Count of Livorno had furnished me. I experienced strange and solemn sensations while wandering through the streets of the city founded by Romulus so many, many centuries back. I felt that wherever I was walking, had trodden the feet of some of the greatest men whose names belong to any history whether ancient or modern; and that though the same buildings by which I now passed, had not met their view, yet it was nevertheless upon this same soil which their feet had pressed, and the same heaven overhead to which they had looked up. Methought that here, where I was pursuing my way, the Great Camillus, who delivered his native city from Brennus and the bar- ’ barie Gauls, might have walked in times far back fell a victim to Brutus and the haughty Roman aristocracy, might also have wandered in thought or proceeded in triumph—that Pompey, the great commander and the representative of the patrician orders, might have spurned the dust from his proud feet while rambling there. Many, many other memories, gathered from my readings of the past, moved in solemn array through my mind: but, as I have before said, it is not my purpose in this book to inflict unnecessary digressions upon the reader. On the following day, and at a suitable hour, I thought of presenting my letters of introduction. One was to the Count of Tivoli—the other to Signor Avellino. They were both intimate ac- quaintances of the Count of Livorno—they spoke the English language, and were fond of the Eng- lish people; and this was one of the main reasons that had induced the Grand Duke of Tuscany’s nephew to commend me to their notice. Procuring a hackney-vehicle, I proceeded in the first instance to the mansion of the Count of Tivoli. The build- ing was spacious and of antiquated architecture ; but the apartments had been so _ beautifully modernized that on entering those handsomely furnished rooms the memory ceased to retain the impression of the comparatively rude and sombre exterior. There were numerous domestics in handsome liveries lounging in the entrance hall ; and one of them conducted me through several apartments into a well appointed library, where the Count of Tivoli was seated at the table read- ing a book. He was a man of about fifty—of the middle height, but appearing taller than he really was from the dignified manner in which he held himself when in a standing posture. His counte- nance was pale, with asomewhat severe expression, yet with an air of pensiveness deepening at times almost into melancholy. His demeanour—though aristocratic, as already hinted—did not impress me with an idea of a cold hauteur, but seemed to be one that could easily unbend; while his manner, though reserved at first, was evidently susceptible of blandness and kindness. I presented him the Count of Livorno’s letter: he motioned me to take a seat; and I saw that his countenance lost its expression of severity and reserve as he perused the contents of that epistle. “A young gentleman who is so well recom- mended,” he said, speaking in very good English, and proffering me his hand at the same time, “cannot receive other than a most cordial welcome from me. You have come to Rome, Mr. Wilmot, to see everything that is worth inspection, and to form an acquaintance with manners and customs in the Eternal City. In all these aims I will assist you. My son—my only son—the Viscount, is absent for the day: but to-morrow he will call upon you at your hotel. He will cheerfully act as your guide in taking you about the city; and in the evening you will dine with us.’ I thanked his lordship for his kindness; and he then proposed to conduct me to his picture- gallery, which contained several works by the great masters. Thither we proceeded ; and as the Count of Tivoli directed my attention to the prin- cipal features of attraction in each picture, he expatiated thereon with an excellent critical taste, and in so mild, off- hand, and well-bred a manner, 0)(@0) <S) (Cc (0)