done so in spite of Giulia’s earnest remonstrances and entreaties to her, by look and gesture, not to speak.
“Oh, Signor Vanni! I declare I believe you were going to pass us without speaking to us. Ah! you little think what a pain it was to us when we saw the horrid number. Not but what Signor Paolo will get a substitute, of course!”
“It is not his intention to do so. Addio! Signora Lisa! I am in haste to return home.”
And he was turning to leave them without further speech.
“But, Signor Beppo,” said Lisa, in a tone of petulant remonstrance, “are you going away without saying a word to your cousin?”
“I said too many the last time I had the—the pain of seeing her!”
Giulia had continued all this time with her eyes fixed to the ground, and gave no sign of having heard anything that had been said. But at these last words she looked up suddenly for half an instant, and seemed as if she was going to speak. But she changed her purpose, and said nothing, again casting down her eyes to the pavement.
“Ah! Signor Beppo!” rejoined Lisa, “I wish you could have seen her when you drew that odious number! I could hardly get her from the hall.”
“Lisa, what nonsense are you talking!” said Giulia, indignantly. “Are you mad? You know yourself that I was fainting from the heat.”
“I am not the least likely to suppose that it was from any other cause!” said Beppo, with icy sternness.
“But, Signor Beppo,” said poor Lisa, beseechingly, and beginning to fear that she had done more harm than good by stopping him in his walk, “you don’t really mean that Signor Paolo will suffer you to join the army?”
“I neither know nor care, Signora Lisa, what may become of me. My life is a weary burthen to me. I would as soon be rid of it by an Austrian bullet as in any other way. I am a lost and ruined man. My heart has been broken by a cruel, a faithless, false, and worthless woman!”
Lisa, whose arm was within Giulia’s, felt her tremble all over, as these words passed Beppo’s lips. She again raised her face, which was as pale as death, as if to speak; but again she checked herself, and remained silent.
“I despise myself,” continued Beppo, raising his hand as if in denunciation, and inspired by strong passion with an eloquence that no one who knew him would have believed him capable of; “I despise myself for still caring for one so monstrously false and so vile! I despise myself; yet I know that I can cease to do so only by ceasing to live; and I pray to God that he will soon give me that release!”
He turned from them and rushed down the little lane, at the corner of which Lisa had stopped him.
Giulia stood for a minute, rigid yet tottering, like some tall column mined at its base and swaying to its fall, and then, without word or sound, fell heavily on the pavement.
THE GREAT LOOP OF THE MAIN.
PART II.
There was in all probability an ancient Roman ferry at Urphar, the odd name of which place seems simply to have denoted a ferry, “Ueberfahrt” appearing in old German as Oberphar. At Eichill is to be seen a rude sculpture of a wolf and a lamb, which is thus accounted for. Long ago lived at Eichill a pious hermit, to whom a shepherd was desirous of bringing a lamb as a present. He found the hermit not at home, so he tied the lamb to the church door, and went out to seek him. In the meantime a wolf came, and marked the easy prey, but so eager was he to seize it, that he sprang past the lamb into the church through the open door. The lamb, which was tied to the handle, in its eagerness to escape, closed the door on Isegrim, who was thus taken prisoner. Hence a saying arose, “At Eichill, where the sheep caught the wolf.” In all probability the sheep merely symbolises the Paschal Lamb of Christianity, the wolf denoting Satan or heathenism. This place was once signalised by the ravages of the Black Death, of which Fries of Wertheim says:
He came, a gloomy cloud his head did cloak,
And hence his name, Black Death, among the folk.
In Eichill it was said that all the inhabitants perished by the pestilence, except seven heads of families, who were mortal enemies before. These, having lost wives and children, embraced each other under the Linden-tree, formed themselves into a holy brotherhood, and continued ever after firmly united till their deaths. We have crossed the hill which cuts off the part of the river containing these interesting places, and passed over a long slope to Kreuz-Wertheim, where we see on the opposite bank of the river, glorified by the evening sun, and strongly bringing to mind Heidelberg in Turner’s picture, the town and castle of Wertheim, perfectly repeated in the windless river. From the houses of entertainment on the banks come sounds of music and merriment, for Wertheim is making holiday, and has tricked itself out with flags to inaugurate the completion of negotiations for a railway, which is destined to restore its prosperity and, in due time, completely to vulgarise it.
The town of Kreuz-Wertheim is still distinguished by extensive remains of fortifications, with towers at intervals. It must have completely secured the command of the navigation of the river to the possessors of Wertheim as long as both places were in their hands. The town of Wertheim is built on both sides of the mouth of the Tauber, a good sized river, navigable for a short distance in its picturesque course. The castle, as its situation is exactly similar to that of Heidelberg, resembles it in colour, size, and general grandeur of effect. As a piece of antiquity it is far more interesting: parts of it, the keep for instance, are coeval with the earliest date of castle-building, while its more modern portion has not the exuberant Renaissance ornamentation of the Heidelberg castle, which is more of a palace than a stronghold. The front towards the Tauber was built by Count Rudolph, in 1310, and destroyed