DOI article:
Harland, Henry: Cousin Rosalys
DOI Page / Citation link:https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.26392#0053
By Henry Harland 49
point of doing so, my courage failed me. “ You can see her, you
can plead your cause.” Bless me, I never dared even vaguely to
hint that I had any cause to plead. I imagine young love is
always terribly afraid of revealing itself to its object, terribly afraid
and terribly desirous. Whenever I was not in cousin Rosalys’s
presence, my heart was consumed with longing to tell her that I
loved her, to ask her whether perhaps she might be not wholly
indifferent to me ; I made the boldest resolutions, committed to
memory the most persuasive declarations. But from the instant I
was in her presence again—mercy, what panic seized me. I
could have died sooner than speak the words that I was dying to
speak, ask the question I was dying to ask.
I called assiduously at the Palazzo Zacchinelli, and my aunt
bade me to dinner a good deal, and then one afternoon every week
she used to drive with Rosalys on the Pincian. There was one
afternoon every week when all Rome drove on the Pincian ; was
it Saturday ? At any rate, you may be very sure I did not let
such opportunities escape me for getting a bow and a smile from
my cousin. Sometimes she would leave the carriage and join me,
while Aunt Elizabeth, with Sandro in her lap, drove on, round and
round the consecrated circle ; and we would stroll together in the
winding alleys, or stand by the terrace and look off over the roofs
of the city, and watch the sunset blaze and fade behind St. Peter’s.
You know that unexampled view—the roofs of Rome spread out
beneath you like the surface of a troubled sea, and the dome of
St. Peter’s, an island rising in the distance, and the sunset sky
behind it. We would stand there in silence perhaps, at most say-
ing very little, while the sunset burned itself out; and for one of
us, at least, it was a moment of ineffable, impossible enchantment.
She was so near to me, so near, the slender figure in the pretty
frock, with the dark hair, and the captivating hat, and the furs ;
with
point of doing so, my courage failed me. “ You can see her, you
can plead your cause.” Bless me, I never dared even vaguely to
hint that I had any cause to plead. I imagine young love is
always terribly afraid of revealing itself to its object, terribly afraid
and terribly desirous. Whenever I was not in cousin Rosalys’s
presence, my heart was consumed with longing to tell her that I
loved her, to ask her whether perhaps she might be not wholly
indifferent to me ; I made the boldest resolutions, committed to
memory the most persuasive declarations. But from the instant I
was in her presence again—mercy, what panic seized me. I
could have died sooner than speak the words that I was dying to
speak, ask the question I was dying to ask.
I called assiduously at the Palazzo Zacchinelli, and my aunt
bade me to dinner a good deal, and then one afternoon every week
she used to drive with Rosalys on the Pincian. There was one
afternoon every week when all Rome drove on the Pincian ; was
it Saturday ? At any rate, you may be very sure I did not let
such opportunities escape me for getting a bow and a smile from
my cousin. Sometimes she would leave the carriage and join me,
while Aunt Elizabeth, with Sandro in her lap, drove on, round and
round the consecrated circle ; and we would stroll together in the
winding alleys, or stand by the terrace and look off over the roofs
of the city, and watch the sunset blaze and fade behind St. Peter’s.
You know that unexampled view—the roofs of Rome spread out
beneath you like the surface of a troubled sea, and the dome of
St. Peter’s, an island rising in the distance, and the sunset sky
behind it. We would stand there in silence perhaps, at most say-
ing very little, while the sunset burned itself out; and for one of
us, at least, it was a moment of ineffable, impossible enchantment.
She was so near to me, so near, the slender figure in the pretty
frock, with the dark hair, and the captivating hat, and the furs ;
with