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Updated: June 6, 2025
On May 24 Hawthorne commenced his journey to Florence with a vetturino by easy stages, and one can cordially envy him this portion of his Italian sojourn; with his devoted wife and three happy children; travelling through some of the most beautiful scenery in the world, nearly if not quite equal to the Rhineland without even the smallest cloud of care and anxiety upon his sky, his mind stored with mighty memories, and looking forward with equal expectations to the prospect before him, bella Firenze, the treasure-house of Italian cities; through sunny valleys, with their streams and hill- sides winding seaward; up the precipitous spurs of the Apennines, with their old baronial castles perched like vultures' nests on inaccessible crags; passing through gloomy, tortuous defiles, guarded by Roman strongholds; and then drawn up by white bullocks over Monte Somma, and to the mountain cities of Assisi and Perugia, older than Rome itself; by Lake Trasimenus, still ominous of the name of Hannibal; over hill- sides silver-gray with olive orchards; always a fresh view and a new panorama, bounded by the purple peaks on the horizon; and over all, the tender blue of the Italian sky.
As he looked at Emmet's sturdy figure plunging on before them, now lost in shadow, now passing through a bar of light that shone from a student's window, he wondered at the man's surrender of one who was to him a treasure-house into which were gathered all the beauty and mystery and fascination of women. The future held much of uncertainty for him, but his love was safe.
Then he took curtains from the treasure-house to cover it within, very marvellous to behold; for on them was wrought the Heaven with all the gathering of the stars, and the Sun driving his chariot to the west, and dark-robed Night, with the stars following her, the Pleiades, and Orion with his sword, and the Bear turning about the Pole, and the bright circle of the Moon; and on the other side the Morning chasing the stars.
Your loving old G.P. I have come now to the end of my citations for the present. My object, Antony, has been to rouse in your heart, if I can, a love, admiration, and reverence for the wonders to be found in the treasure-house of English prose literature. I have only opened a little door here and there, so that you can peep in and see the visions of splendour within.
But those who crave isolation, you yourself nay, hear me out, for I may never again risk the danger of incurring your wrath desire to be a body apart. What Paula has known and possessed, she keeps locked in the treasure-house of her memory under bolt and key; What Paula is, she feels she still must be and for whom? Again, for that same Paula.
There was no need for me to question Tizoc; for I knew that what I beheld before me, crowning with sombre grandeur this strange city, girded with such prodigious walls, was the Treasure-house that Chaltzantzin, the Aztec King, had builded in the dim dawning of a most ancient past.
Here was a mine of gold, a treasure-house of suggestiveness and wisdom. "Light, that makes things seen, makes some things invisible; were it not for darkness and the shadow of the earth, the noblest part of the creation had remained unseen, and the stars in heaven as invisible as on the fourth day, when they were created above the horizon with the sun, or there was not an eye to behold them.
The donor, we note, is confident that the Apostle, in return for so glorious a fabric, will undertake to obtain the Kingdom of Heaven for this generous client upon earth. The interior, which is sadly marred by white-wash and gaudy decoration, is a perfect treasure-house of works of art—antique, medieval, Renaissance—of which the guide-book will give a detailed list.
I heard, and I know that I am a poor, blind man, to whom a kingdom is offered, a treasure-house of love and all good gifts, and I cannot, alas! cannot, accept it!" The queen uttered a loud cry, and her weary head dropped upon his shoulder. The king gazed silently into the pale and sorrowful face, and a ray of infinite pity beamed in his eyes.
In the book of Job the clouds are spoken of as "the treasure-house of the rain and snow," and as the "bottles of heaven," and these names become full of meaning when we know that the water, which falls from the clouds at every shower, is constantly being drawn up again to fill them once more.
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