|Newspaper Title||South Australian Chronicle and Weekly Mail (Adelaide, SA : 1868 - 1881)|
|Trove Title||Miss Angel|
By Miss Thagkeray.
['Published by special arrangement with the Author.] .
[From some unexplained cause the advance proof of the finish of Miss Thackeray's tale, ' Miss Angel,' did not reach us by the last mail. 'We have therefore taken the concluding chapter from the Gornhill Magazine.]
Chapter the Last. : in the chukch of s. andrea delle frate AT KOME. I have been trying to tell a little story, of which the characters and incidents have come to me through a winter's gloom so vividly, that as I write now I can scarcely tell what is real and what is but my own imagination in it alL The other
day two good friends sent me a parcel containing a'^gifti=a'stran^B~rBaiization 'of all these dreams. ?- As :i opened it, I thought of the stories one has read in which visions appear and vanish with a warning, leaving signs that remain in the awakened sleeper's hands. Here in my hands are worn papers, semi-faded parch ments, concerning the hero and the heroine of my litttle history ; lawyers' cramped handwritings, involved sentences, and foolscap paper, in which Antony Zucchi conveys his worldly goods to An gelica, the daughter of John Joseph KaufFmann, of Golden Square, in which Angelica's four thousand pounds are care fully tied away, wrapped in a parchment, put aside fer future need ; there are also law letters, writen by Angelica at her husband's dictation; full of clear busi ness directions, others concerning her pictures, which come and go, across the sea from Italy,- escape the (French, -.and are safely deposited in Mr.' Bonomi's hands ;. other papers teE of JohnJoseph's death, her husband's peaceful end; But before these ' last Tecorda ? closing their lives, many and many a sun rose for these two people following the twilight of that autumnal evening; many 'and many an after-day was blessed for them, as they travelled on henceforth together. From town to town, from Italy to Italy, from Rome to Rome again. Is that .Angelica., once, more looking from some high terrace ? Itis early morn ing, a dawning city crowns Hie rising hill, night is still in the. valleys, and the coun try floats before Her eyes. She sees the laden bullocks slowly dragging -the heavy waggon, and crawling the mountain road into the light. The lamp still burns as it swings from the Bhaft, the drover's long goat's-skin cloak flaps as he strides along. The great gates of the city in the hill are open to the market ; the sunrise is growing invincible, it flashes from the eastern plain, striking every bird, flower, gable, every bronze-lit roof, every ten* drilled garden, and slender shoot of vine. What matters the name of j the ancient city ] Some Bible land seems spread be fore Angelica's wistful eyes, with shrines and campaniles, and bells swinging against the sky, and saintly figures passing in the gentle glories that come illuminating and sanctifying one more day. Then Antonio calls her from below, the horses are harnessed, the carriage ia wait ing which is to take them southwards. So they pass on together^ where work and pleasure call them, to .Venice, to Rome, where, after old John Joseph's peaceful death, Zucchi led his wife. Rossi gives a pretty description of. Antonio and Angelica in- their after life. They were united and yet unchanged, and true to their different natures. ' ' If you watch them before a picture,' he says, 'you see Antonio, gifted with eloquence, speaking with energy, judging, dissecting, criticising ; Angelica, silent, with animated eyes,, listens -to her hus band, and gazes attentive at the canvas. You may read in her face, and see her true opinion there. , She speaks at last, but it is to praise, for impulse inclines her to dwell on the beauty and charm of the works before heir. Hers is the nature of the bee,' continues her old biographer, ' she only tr.^ks honey from the flowers.' So she whom Goethe praised lived on. But -when her husband died «he- did not long survive the protector she had taken. ' Poverty I do not fear, 'she writes after Zucchi's death, ' but this 'solitude 13 terrible.' We may still read a touching farewell to Antonio, written on the marble in'the church of .Andrea delle Frate, at Borne. 'To my; sweetest kindest hus band, not as I had prayed,' Angelica has carved upon his tomb. The parting is long since over. But beside Antonio's Angelica's, own name is there. : Remem bered, forgotten, she passed away, not ungrateful for the life that had brought her so many things. One day not long ago, a little boy ia a passion of tears asked for' a pencil and paper to draw- something that he longed for and could hot get. The truth of that baby's philosophy is one which strikes us more and more as ? we travel oh upon our different ways. How many of us must have dreamt of things along the road, sympathies , and experiences that may be come us, some day not ours.; inward grace of love, perhaps, not outward sign of if. This spiritual blessing of sentiment no realisation, no fulfilment alone can bring to us, it is the secret intangible gift that belongs to the mystery of life, the diviner soul that touches xis and shows us a home in the desolate places^ a silence in the midst of the storm.