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    A Word, Only a Word — Volume 04
    A Word, Only a Word — Volume 04
    A Word, Only a Word — Volume 04
    Ebook89 pages1 hour

    A Word, Only a Word — Volume 04

    By Georg Ebers and Mary J. Safford

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    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherArchive Classics
    Release dateNov 25, 2013
    A Word, Only a Word — Volume 04
    Author

    Georg Ebers

    Georg Moritz Ebers (Berlin, March 1, 1837 – Tutzing, Bavaria, August 7, 1898), German Egyptologist and novelist, discovered the Egyptian medical papyrus, of ca. 1550 BCE, named for him (see Ebers Papyrus) at Luxor (Thebes) in the winter of 1873–74. Now in the Library of the University of Leipzig, the Ebers Papyrus is among the most important ancient Egyptian medical papyri. It is one of two of the oldest preserved medical documents anywhere—the other being the Edwin Smith Papyrus (ca. 1600 BCE).Ebers early conceived the idea of popularising Egyptian lore by means of historical romances. Many of his books have been translated into English. For his life, see his "The Story of My Life" — "Die Geschichte meines Lebens". (Wikipedia)

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      A Word, Only a Word — Volume 04 - Georg Ebers

      The Project Gutenberg EBook A Word Only A Word, by Georg Ebers, v4 #136 in our series by Georg Ebers

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      **Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts**

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      Title: A Word Only A Word, Volume 4.

      Author: Georg Ebers

      Release Date: April, 2004 [EBook #5575] [Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule] [This file was first posted on August 12, 2002]

      Edition: 10

      Language: English

      *** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A WORD ONLY A WORD, BY EBERS, V4 ***

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      A WORD, ONLY A WORD

      By Georg Ebers

      Volume 4.

      CHAPTER XXI.

      The admiral's ship, which bore King Philip's ambassador to Venice, reached its destination safely, though it had encountered many severe storms on the voyage, during which Ulrich was the only passenger, who amid the rolling and pitching of the vessel, remained as well as an old sailor.

      But, on the other hand his peace of mind was greatly impaired, and any one who had watched him leaning over the ship's bulwark, gazing into the sea, or pacing up and down with restless bearing and gloomy eyes, would scarcely have suspected that this reserved, irritable youth, who was only too often under the dominion of melancholy moods, had won only a short time before a noble human heart, and was on the way to the realization of his boldest dreams, the fulfilment of his most ardent wishes.

      How differently he had hoped to enter the Paradise of Art!

      Never had he been so free, so vigorous, so rich, as in the dawn of the day, at whose close he was to unite Isabella's life with his own—and now—now!

      He had expected to wander through Italy from place to place as untrammelled, gay, and free as the birds in the air; he had desired to see, admire, en joy, and after becoming familiar with all the great artists, choose a new master among them. Sophonisba's home was to have become his, and it had never entered his mind to limit the period of his enjoyment and study on the sacred soil.

      How differently his life must now be ordered! Until he went on board of the ship in Valencia, the thought of calling a girl so good, sensible and loving as Isabella his own, rejoiced and inspired him, but during the solitary hours a sea-voyage so lavishly bestows, a strange transformation in his feelings occurred.

      The wider became the watery expanse between him and Spain, the farther receded Isabella's memory, the less alluring and delightful grew the thought of possessing her hand.

      He now told himself that, before the fatal hour, he had rejoiced at the anticipation of escaping her pedantic criticism, and when he looked forward to the future and saw himself, handsome Ulrich Navarrete, whose superior height filled the smaller Castilians with envy, walking through the streets with his tiny wife, and perceived the smiles of the people they met, he was seized with fierce indignation against himself and his hard fate.

      He felt fettered like the galley-slaves, whose chains rattled and clanked, as they pulled at the oars in the ship's waist. At other times he could not help recalling her large, beautiful, love-beaming eyes, her soft, red lips, and yearningly confess that it would have been sweet to hold her in his arms and kiss her, and, since he had forever lost his Ruth, he could find no more faithful, sensible, tender wife than she.

      But what should he, the student, the wandering disciple of Art, do with a bride, a wife? The best and fairest of her sex would now have seemed to him an impediment, a wearisome clog. The thought of being obliged to accomplish some fixed task within a certain time, and then be subjected to an examination, curbed his enjoyment, oppressed, angered him.

      Grey mists gathered more and more densely over the sunny land, for which he had longed with such passionate ardor, and it seemed as if in that luckless hour, he had been faithless to the word,—had deprived himself of its assistance forever.

      He often felt tempted to send Coello his ducats and tell him he had been hasty, and cherished no desire to wed his daughter; but perhaps that would break the heart of the poor, dear little thing, who loved him so tenderly! He would be no dishonorable ingrate, but bear the consequences of his own recklessness.

      Perhaps some miracle would happen in Italy, Art's own domain. Perhaps the sublime goddess would again take him to her heart, and exert on

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