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FROM THE FUND OF
CHARLES MINOT
CLASS OF 1828








THE ITALIAN,





THE
ITALIAN;
OR, THE
CONFESSIONAL OF THE BLACK PENITENTS.
A ROMANCE.
BY ANN RADCLIFFE,
AUTHOR OF THE “ ROMANCE OF THE FOREST,” “BICILIAN
ROMANCE,” “ MYSTERIES OF UDOLPHO," “ Castles or
ATHLIN AND DUNBAYNE,” &c.
He, wrapt in clouds of mystery and silence,
Broods o'er his passions, bodies them in deeds,
And sends them forth on wings of Fate to others ::
Like the invisible Will, that guides us,
Unheard, unknown, unsearchable !
NEW EDITION.
IN FOUR VOLUMES.
VOL. IV.
LONDON :
PRINTED FOR A. K. NEWMAN AND CO.
1828.


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Muhel fund
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Bury St. Edmund's:
Printed by T. C. Newby, Angel PH.
مروت
ا ور امام
۲


THE
ITALIA N.
CHAPTER I.
Is it not dead midnight?
Cold fearful drops stand on my trembling flesh.
What do I ſear?
SAAKESPEARE.
Ar about the same hour, as on the
preceding night, Vivaldi heard persons
approaching his prison, and, the door
unfolding, his former conductors ap-
peared. They threw over him the same
mantle as before, and, in addition, a
black veil, that completely muffled his
eyes ; after which, they led him from
the chamber. Vivaldi heard the door
shut, on his departure, and the sentinels
followed his steps, as if their duty was
VOL. IV.


THE ITALIAN.
finished, and he was to return thither
no more. At this moment, he remem-
bered the words of the stranger when
he had displayed the poniard, and Vi.
valdi apprehended the worst, from
having thwarted the designs of a person
apparently so malignant; but he ex-
ulted in the rectitude, which had pre.
served him from debasement, and, with
the magnanimous enthusiasm of virtue,
he almost welcomed sufferings, which
would prove the firmness of his justice
towards an enemy; for he determined
to brave every thing rather than impute
to Schedoni circumstances, the truth of
which he possessed no means of ascer-
taining.
While Vivaldi was conducted, as on
the preceding night, through many pas-
sages, he endeavoured to discover, by
their length and the abruptness of their
turnings, whether they were the same
he had traversed before. Suddenly, one
of his conductors cried Steps! It was
the first word Vivaldi had ever heard
him utter. He immediately perceived


THE ITALIAN.
that the ground sunk, and he began to
descend; as he did which, he tried to
count the number of the steps, that he
might form some judgment whether this
was the flight he had passed before.
When he had reached the bottom, he
inclined to believe that it was not so ;
and the care, which had been observed
in blinding him, seemed to indicate
that he was going to some new place.
He passed through several avenues,
and then ascended; soon after which,
he again descended a very long stair-
case, such as he had not any remem-
brance of, and they passed over a con-
siderable extent of level ground. By
the hollow sounds, which his steps
returned, he judged that he was walking
over vaults. The footsteps of the sen-
tinels, who had followed from the cell,
were no longer heard, and he seemed
to be left with his conductors only. A
second flight appeared to lead him into
subterraneous vaults, for he perceived
the air change, and felt a damp vapour
wrap round him. The menace of the
B 2


THE ITALIAN.
monk, that he should meet him in the
chambers of death, frequently occurred
to Vivaldi.
His conductors stopped in this vault,
and seemed to hold a consultation, but
they spoke in such low accents, that
their words were not distinguishable,
except a few unconnected ones, that
hinted of more than Vivaldi could com-
prehend. He was, at length, again led
forward ; and soon after, he heard the
heavy grating of hinges, and perceived
that he was passing through several
doors, by the situation of which Vivaldi
judged they were the same he had en-
tered the night before, and concluded,
that he was going to the hall of the
tribunal.
His conductors stopped again, and
Vivaldi heard the iron rod strike three
times upon a door; immediately a
strange voice spoke from within, and
the door was unclosed. Vivaldi passed
on, and imagined that he was admitted
into a spacious vault; for the air was
freer, and his steps sounded to a dis-
tance.


THE ITALIAN.
Presently a voice, as on the preceding
night, summoned him to come forward ;
and Vivaldi understood that he was
again before the tribunal. It was the
voice of the inquisitor, who had been
his chief examiner.
You, Vincentio di Vivaldi, it said,
answer to your name, and to the ques-
tions, which shall be put to you, with-
out equivocation, on pain of the torture.
As the monk had predicted, Vivaldi
was asked what he knew of father Sche-
doni, and, when he replied, as he had
formerly done to his mysterious visitor,
he was told that he knew more than he
acknowledged.
I know no more, replied Vivaldi.
You equivocate, said the inquisitor.
Declare what you have heard, and re-
member that you formerly took an oath
to that purpose.
Vivaldi was silent, till a tremendous
voice from the tribunal commanded him
to respect his oath.
I do respect it, said Vivaldi ; and I
conjure you to believe that I also re-


THE ITALIAN.
spect truth, when I declaré, that what
I am going to relate, is a report, to
which I give no confidence, and con-
cerning even the probability of which I
cannot produce the smallest proof.
Respect truth! said another voice
from the tribunal, and Vivaldi fancied
he distinguished the tones of the monk.
He paused a moment, and the exhorta-
tion was repeated. Vivaldi then related
what the stranger had said concerning
the family of Schedoni, and the disguise
which the father had assumed in the
convent of the Spirito Santo: but for.
bore even to name the penitentiary
Ansaldo, and any circumstance con-
nected with the extraordinary confes-
sion. Vivaldi concluded with again
declaring, that he had not sufficient
authority to justify a belief in those
reports.
On what authority do you repeat
them ? said the vicar-general.
Vivaldi was silent.
On what authority ? inquired the in-
quisitor, sternly.


THE ITALIAN.
.
7
Vivaldi, after a momentary hesitation,
said, What I am about to declare, holy
fathers, is so extraordinary
Tremble ! said a voice close to his
ear, which he instantly knew to be the
monk's; and the suddenness of which
electrified him. He was unable to con-
clude the sentence.
What is your authority for the re-
ports ? demanded the inquisitor,
It is unknown, even to myself! an-
swered Vivaldi.
Do not equivocate, said the vicar-
general.
I solemnly protest, rejoined Vivaldi,
that I know not either the name, or the
condition of my informer, and that I
never even beheld his face, till the pe-
riod when he spoke of father Schedoni.
Tremble! repeated the same low, but
emphatic voice in his ear. Vivaldi
started, and turned involuntarily to-
wards the 'sound, though his eyes could
pot assist his curiosity.
You did well to say, that you had
something extraordinary to add, ob-


THE ITALIAN.
served the inquisitor. 'Tis evident, also,
that you expected something extraor-
dinary from your judges, since you sup-
posed they would credit these assertions.
Vivaldi was too proud to attempt the
justifying himself against so gross an
accusation, or to make any reply.
Why do you not summon father An-
saldo, said the voice. Remember my
words!
Vivaldi, again awed by the voice,
hesitated for an instant how to act, and
in that instant his courage returned.
My informer stands beside me! said
Vivaldi, boldly; I know his voice !
Detain him ; it is of consequence.
Whose voice ? demanded the inqui-
sitor. No person spoke but myself.
Whose voice? said the vicar-general.
The voice was close beside me, re-
plied Vivaldi. It spoke low, but I knew
it well.
This is either the cunning, or the
frenzy of despair ! observed the vicar-
general.
Not any person is now beside you,


THE ITALIAN.
except the familiars, said the inquisitor,
and they wait to do their office, if you
shall refuse to answer the questions put
to you.
I persist in my assertion, replied Vi-
valdi; and I supplicate that my eyes
may be unbound, that I may know my
enemy.
The tribunal, after a long private con-
sultation, granted the request; the veil
· was withdrawn, and Vivaldi perceived
beside him-only the familiars! Their
faces, as is usual, were concealed. It
appeared that one of these torturers
must be the mysterious enemy, who
pursued him, if, indeed, that enemy was
an inhabitant of the earth! and Vivaldi
requested, that they might be ordered
to uncover their features. He was
sternly rebuked for so presumptuous a
requisition, and reminded of the invio-
lable law and faith, which the tribunal
had pledged, that persons appointed to
their awful office, should never be ex-
posed to the revenge of the criminal,
whom it might be their duty to punish.
B 5


10
THE ITALIAN.
Their duty! exclaimed Vivaldi, thrown
from his guard by strong indignation,
And is faith held sacred with demons !
Without awaiting the order of the
tribunal, the familiars immediately co-
vered Vivaldi's face with the veil, and
he felt himself in their grasp. He en-
deavoured, however, to disentangle his
hands, and, at length, shook these men
from their hold, and again unveiled his
eyes; but the familiars were instantly
ordered to replace the veil.
The inquisitor bade Vivaldi to recol-
lect in whose presence he then was,
and to dread the punishment, which his
resistance had incurred, and which
would be inflicted without delay, unless
he could give some instance, that might
tend to prove the truth of his late as-
sertions,
If you expect that I should say more,
replied Vivaldi, I claim, at least, pro-
tection from the unbidden violence of
the men, who guard me. If they are
suffered, at their pleasure, to sport with
the misery of their prisoner, I will be


THE ITALIAN.
11
inflexibly silent; and, since I must
suffer, it shall be according to the laws
of the tribunal.
The vicar-general, or, as he is called,
the grand inquisitor, promised Vivaldi
the degree of protection he claimed, and
demnanded, at the same time, what were
the words he had just heard,
Vivaldi considered, that, though jus-
tice bade him avoid accusing an enemy
of suspicious circumstances, concerning
which he had no proof, yet, that neither
justice nor common sense required he
should make a sacrifice of himself to
the dilemma, in which he was placed :
he therefore, without further scruple,
acknowledged, that the voice had bidden
him require of the tribunal to summon
one father Ansaldo, the grand peniten-
tiary of the Santa del Pianto, near
Naples, and also father Schedoni, who
was to answer to extraordinary charges,
which would be brought against him by
Ansaldo. Vivaldi anxiously and repeat-
edly declared, that he knew not the


12
THE ITALIAN.
nature of the charges, nor that any just
grounds for them existed.
These assertions seemed to throw the
tribunal into new perplexity. Vivaldi
heard their busy voices in low debate,
which continued for a considerable time.
In this interval, he had leisure to per-
ceive the many improbabilities that either
of the familiars should be the stranger
who so mysteriously haunted him; and
among these was the circumstance of
his having resided so long at Naples.
The tribunal, after some time had
elapsed in consultation, proceeded on
the examination, and Vivaldi was asked
what he knew of father Ansaldo. He
immediately replied, that Ansaldo was
an utter stranger to him, and that he
was not even acquainted with a single
person residing in the Santa del Pianto,
or who had any knowledge of the pe-
nitentiary.
How! said the grand inquisitor. You
forget that the person, who bade you
require of this tribunal to summon An-
saldo, has knowledge of laim.


THE ITALIAN.
13
Pardon me, I do not forget, replied
Vivaldi; and I request it may be re-
membered that I am not acquainted
with that person. If, therefore, he had
given me any account of Ansaldo, I
could not have relied upon its authen-
ticity. Vivaldi again required of the
tribunal to understand that he did not
summon Ansaldo, or any other person,
before them, but had merely obeyed
their command, to repeat what the
stranger had said.
The tribunal acknowledged the just-
ness of this injunction, and exculpated
him from any harm, that should be the
consequence of the summons. But this
assurance of safety for himself was not
sufficient to appease Vivaldi, who was
alarmed lest he should be the means of
bringing an innocent person under sus-
picion. The grand inquisitor again ad-
dressed him, after a general silence had
been commanded in the court.
The account you have given of your
informer, said he, is so extraordinary,
that it would not deserve credit, but
Im


14
THE ITALIAN.
that you have discovered the utmost,
reluctance to reveal the charges he gave.
you, from which, it appears, that, on
your part, at least, the summons is not
malicious. But are you certain that
you have not deluded yourself, and that
the voice beside you was not an imagi-
nary one, conjured up by your agitated
spirits ?
I am certain, replied Vivaldi, with
firmness.
It is true, resumed the grand inquisi-
tor, that several persons were near you,
when you exclaimed, that you heard the
voice of your informer; yet no person
heard it besides yourself!
Where are those persons now ? de-
manded Vivaldi.
They are dispersed; alarmed at your
accusation.
If you will summon them, said Vi-
valdi, and order that my eyes may be
uncovered, I will point out to you,
without hesitation, the person of my
informer, should he remain among them.
The tribunal commanded that they


THE ITALIAN.
16
should appear, but new difficulties arose.
It was not remembered of whom the
crowd consisted ; a few individuals only
were recollected, and these were suma
moned, i
Vivaldi, in solemn expectation, heard
steps and the hum of voices gathering
round him, and impatiently awaited for
the words, that would restore him to
sight, and, perhaps, release him from
uncertainty. In a few moments, he
heard the command given; the veil was
once more removed from his eyes, and
he was ordered to point out the accuser.
Vivaldi threw an basty glance upon the
surrounding strangers.
The lights burn dimly, said he, I
cannot distinguish these faces.
It was ordered that a lamp should be
lowered . from the roof, and that the
strangers should arrange themselves on
either side of Vivaldi. When this was
done, and he glanced his eyes again up-
on the crowd ; He is not here! said
Vivaldi ; not one of these countenances
resembles the monk of Paluzzi, Yet,


16
THE ITALIAN.
stay; who is he that stands in the shade
behind those persons on the left ? Bid
him lift his cowl !
The crowd fell back, and the person,
to whom Vivaldi had pointed, was left
alone within the circle.
He is an officer of the Inquisition,
said a man near Vivaldi, and he may
not be compelled to discover his face,
unless by an express command from the
tribunal.
I call upon the tribunal to command
it! said Vivaldi.
Who calls ? exclaimed a voice, and
Vivaldi recognised the tones of the
monk, but he knew not exactly whence
they came.
I, Vincentio di Vivaldi, replied the
prisoner, I claim the privilege, that has
been awarded me, and bid you unveil
your countenance.
There was a pause of silence in the
court, except that a dull murmur ran
through the tribunal. Meanwhile, the
figure within the circle stood motionless,
and remained veiled,


THE ITALIAN.
17
Spare him, said the man, who had
before addressed Vivaldi; he has rea-
sons for wishing to remain unknown,
which you cannot conjecture. He is
an officer of the Inquisition, and not the
person you apprehend.
Perhaps I can conjecture his reasons,
replied Vivaldi, who, raising his voice,
added, I appeal to this tribunal, and
command you, who stand alone within
the circle, you in black garments, to
unveil your features !
Immediately a loud voice issued from
the tribunal, and said,
We command you, in the name of
the most holy Inquisition, to reveal
yourself!
The stranger trembled, but, without
presuming to hesitate, uplifted his cowl.
Vivaldi's eyes were eagerly fixed upon
him ; but the action disclosed not the
countenance of the monk! but of an
official whom he recollected to have
seen once before, though exactly on
what occasion he did not now re-
member.


18
THE ITALIAN.
This is not my informer! said Vivaldi,
turning from him with deep disappoint-
ment, while the stranger dropped his
cowl, and the crowd closed upon him.
At the assertion of Vivaldi, the members
of the tribunal looked upon each other
doubtingly, and were silent, till the
grand inquisitor, waving his hand, as if
to command attention, addressed Vi-
valdi.
It appears, then, that you have for-
merly seen the face of your informer.
I have already declared so, replied
Vivaldi.
The grand inquisitor demanded when,
and where, he had seen it.
Last night, and in my prison, an-
swered Vivaldi.
In your prison ! said the ordinary in-
quisitor, contemptuously, who had be-
fore examined him, and in your dreams,
too, no doubt!
In your prison ! exclaimed several
of the members of the lower tribunal.
He dreams still ! observed an inqui-
sitor. Holy fathers! he abuses your


THE ITALIAN.
19
patience, and the frenzy of terror has
deluded his credulity. We neglect the
moments.
We must inquire further into this,
said another inquisitor. Here is some
deception. If you, Vincentio di Vivaldi,
have asserted a falsehood-tremble !
Whether Vivaldi's memory still vi-
brated with the voice of the monk, or
that the tone, in which this same word
was now pronounced did resemble it,
he almost started, when the inquisitor
had said tremble ! and he demanded who
spoke then.
It is ourself, answered the inquisitor.
After a short conversation among the
members of the tribunal, the grand in-
quisitor gave orders that the sentinels,
who had watched on the preceding night
at the prison door of Vivaldi, should be
brought into the hall of justice. The
persons, who had been lately summoned
into the chamber, were now bidden to
withdraw, and all further examination
was suspended till the arrival of the
sentinels ; Vivaldi heard only the low


20
THE ITALIAN.
ma
voices of the inquisitors, as they con-
versed privately together, and he re-
mained silent, thoughtful, and amazed.
When the sentinels appeared, and
were asked who had entered the prison
of Vivaldi during the last night, they
declared, without hesitation, or confu-
sion, that not any person had passed
through the door after the hour when
the prisoner had returned from exami-
nation, till the following morning, when
the guard had carried in the usual al-
lowance of bread and water. In this
assertion they persisted without the least
equivocation, notwithstanding which
they were ordered into confinement till
the affair should be cleared up.
The doubts, however, which were ad-
mitted, as to the integrity of these men,
did not contribute to dissipate those,
which had prevailed over the opposite
side of the question. On the contrary,
the suspicions of the tribunal, augment-
ing with their perplexity, seemed to
fluctuate equally over every point of the
subject before them, till, instead of


THE ITALIAN.
21
throwing any light upon the truth, they
only served to involve the whole in
deeper obscurity. More doubtful than
before of the honesty of Vivaldi's extra-
ordinary assertions, the grand inquisitor
informed him, that if, after further in-
quiry into this affair, it should appear he
had been trifling with the credulity of his
judges, he would be severely punished
for his audacity; but that, on the other
hand, should there be reason to believe,
that the sentinels had failed in their duty,
and that some person had entered his pri-
son during the night, the tribunal would
proceed in a different manner.
Vivaldi, perceiving that, to be believ-
ed, it was necessary he should be more
circumstantial, described, with exact-
ness, the person and appearance of the
monk, without, however, mentioning
the poniard which had been exhibited.
A profound silence reigned in the cham-
ber while he spoke ; it seemed a silence
not merely of attention, but of astonish-
ment. Vivaldi himself was awed,
and, when he had concluded, almost
s


22
THE ITALIAN.
expected to hear the voice of the monk
uttering defiance, or threatening venge-
ance; but all remained hushed, till the
inquisitor, who had first examined him,
said, in a solemn tone,
We have listened with attention to
what you have delivered, and will give
the case a full inquiry. Some points, on
which you have touched, excite our
amazement, and call for particular re-
gard. Retire whence you came and
sleep this night without fear ;-you will
soon know more.
Vivaldi was immediately led from the
chamber, and, still blindfolded, re-
conducted to the prison, to which he
had supposed it was designed he should
return no more. When the veil was
withdrawn, he perceived that his guard
was changed.
Again left to the silence of his cell,
he reviewed all that had passed in the
chamber of justice; the questions which
had been put to him; the different
manners of the inquisitors; the occur
rence of the monk's voice; and the


THE ITALIAN.
23
similarity, which he had fancied he
perceived between it and that of an ina
quisitor, when the latter pronounced the
word tremble ; but the consideration of
all these circumstances did not in any
degree relieve him from his perplexity:
Sometimes he was inclined to think,
that the monk was an inquisitor, and
the voice had more than once appeared
to proceed from the tribunal; but he
remembered, also, that, more than once,
it had spoken close to his ear, and he
knew that a member of this tribunal
might not leave his station during the
examination of a prisoner; and that,
'even if he had dared to do so, his sin-
gular dress would have pointed him out
to notice, and consequently to suspicion,
at the moment when Vivaldi had ex-
claimed, that he heard the voice of his
informer.
Vivaldi, however, could not avoid
meditating, with surprise, on the last
words, which the inquisitor, who had
been his chief examiner, had addressed
to him, when he was dismissed from


24
THE ITALIAN.
before the tribunal. These were the
more surprising, because they were the
first from him that in any degree indi-
cated a wish to console, or quiet the
alarm of the prisoner; and Vivaldi even
fancied, that they betrayed some fore-
knowledge, that he would not be dis-
turbed this night by the presence of his
awful visitor. He would entirely have
ceased to apprehend, though not to ex-
pect, had he been allowed a light, and
any weapon of defence, if, in truth, the
stranger was of a nature to fear a
weapon; but, to be thus exposed to the
designs of a mysterious and powerful
being, whom he was conscious of having
offended, to sustain such a situation,
without suffering anxiety, required
somewhat more than courage, or less
than reason.


CHAPTER II.
- It came o'er my soul as doth the thunder,
While distant yet, with an unexpected burst
It threats the trembling ear. Now to the trial.
CARACTACUS.
In consequence of what had tran-
spired at the last examination of Vivaldi,
the grand penitentiary Ansaldo, toge-
ther with the father Schedoni, were
cited to appear before the table of the
holy office.
Schedoni was arrested on his way to
Rome, whither he was going privately
to make further efforts for the liberation
of Vivaldi, whose release he had found
it more difficult to effect, than his im-
prisonment; the person, upon whose
assistance the confessor relied in the
first instance, having boasted of more
influence than he possessed, or perhaps
thought it prudent to exert. Schedoni
had been the more anxious to procure
an immediate release for Vivaldi, lest a
VOL. IV.
.


26
THE ITALIAN.
report of his situation should reach his
family, notwithstanding the precautions,
which are usually employed to throw
an impenetrable shroud over the pri-
soners of this dreadful tribunal, and
bury them for ever from the knowledge
of their friends. Such premature dis-
covery of Vivaldi's circumstances, Sche-
doni apprehended, might include also a
discovery of the prosecutor, and draw
down upon himself the abhorrence and
the vengeance of a family, whom it was
now, more than ever, his wish and his
interest to conciliate. It was still his
intention, that the nuptials of Vivaldi
and Ellena should be privately solemn.
ized immediately on the release of the
prisoner, who, even if he had reason to
suspect Schedoni for his late persecutor,
would then be interested in concealing
his suspicions for ever, and from whom
therefore, no evil was to be apprehended.
How little did Vivaldi foresee, that in
repeating to the tribunal the stranger's
šummons of father Schedoni, he was
déferring, br, perhaps, wholly prevent-


THE ITALIAN.
27
ing his own marriage, with Ellena di
Rosalba! How little, also, did he ap-
prehend what would be the further con-
sequences of a disclosure, which the
peculiar circumstances of his situation
had hardly permitted him to withhold,
though, could he have understood the
probable event of it, he would have
braved all the terrors of the tribunal,
and death itself, rather than incur the
remorse of having promoted it.
The motive for his arrestation was
concealed from Schedoni, who had not
the remotest suspicion of its nature, but
attributed the arrest, to a discovery,
which the tribunal had made, of his
being the accuser of Vivaldi. This dis-
closure he attributed to his own impru-
dence, in having stated, as an instance
of Vivaldi's contempt for the Catholic
faith, that he had insulted a priest whilst
doing penance in the church of the Spi-
rito Santo. But by what art the tribunal
had discovered, that he was the priest
alluded to, and the author of the accu-
sation, Schedoni could by no means
c 2


28
THE ITALIAN.
conjecture. He was willing to believe,
that this arrest was only for the purpose.
of obtaining proof of Vivaldi's guilt ;
and the confessor knew, that he could
so conduct himself in evidence, as in all
probability to exculpate the prisoner,
from whom, when he should explain
himself, no resentment on account of his
former conduct, was to be apprehended.
Yet Schedoni was not perfectly at ease;
for it was possible, that a knowledge of
Vivaldi's situation, and of the author of
it. had reached his family and had pro-
duced his own arrest. On this head,
however, his fears were not powerful; '
since, the longer he dwelt upon the sub-
ject, the more improbable it appeared,
that such a disclosure, at least so far as
it related to himself, could have been
effected. . .
:- Vivaldi, from the night of his late
examination, was not called upon till
Schedoni and father Ansaldo appeared
together in the hall of the tribunal.
The two latter had already been sepa-
rately examined, and Ansaldo had pri-


THE ITALIAN,
29
vately stated the particulars of the con-
.fession he had received on the vigil of
the Santo Marco, in the year 1752, for
which disclosure he had received formal
absolution. What had passed at that
examination does not appear, but on
this his second interrogation, he was
required to repeat the subject and the
circumstances of the confession. This
was probably with a view of observing
its effect upon Schedoni and on Vivaldi,
which would direct the opinion of the
tribunal, as to the guilt of the con-
fessor, and the veracity of the young
prisoner.
On this night, a very exact inquiry
was made, concerning every person,
who had obtained admission into the
hall of justice; such officials as were not
immediately necessary to assist in the
ceremonies of the tribunal were excluded,
together with every other person be-
longing to the Inquisition not material
to the evidence, or to the judges. When
this scrutiny was over, the prisoners
were brought in, and their conductors


THE ITALIAN.
ordered to withdraw. A silence of some
moments prevailed in the hall; and,
however different might be the reflections
of the several prisoners, the degree of
anxious expectation was in each, pro-
bably, nearly the same.
The grand vicar having spoken a few
words in private to a person on his left
hand, an inquisitor rose.
If any person in this court, said he, is
known by the name of father Schedoni,
belonging to the Dominician society of
the Spirito Santo at Naples, let him
appear!
Schedoni answered to the summons.
He came forward with a firm step, and,
having crossed himself, and bowed to
the tribunal, awaited'in silence its com-
mands.
: The penitentiary Ansaldo was next
called upon. Vivaldi observed, that he
faltered as he advanced ; and that his
obeisance to the tribunal was more pro-
found than Schedoni's had been. Vivaldi
himself was then summoned ; his air
was calm and dignified, and his coun-


.
31
THE ITALIAN.
tenance expressed the solemn energy of
his feelings, but nothing of dejection.
Schedoni and Ansaldo were now, for
the first time, confronted. Whatever
might be the feelings of Schedoni on
beholding the penitentiary of the Santa
del Pianto, he effectually concealed
them.
The grand vicar himself opened the
examination: You, father Schedoni, of
the Spirito Santo, he said, answer and
-say, whether the person who now stands
before you, bearing the title of grana
-penitentiary of the order of the Black
Penitents, and presiding over the convent
of the Santa Maria del Pianto, at Naples,
is known to you. .
To this requisition Schedoni replied
with firmness in the negative.
You have never, to your knowledge,
seen him before this hour?
Never! said Schedoni.
Let the oath be administered, added
the grand vicar. Schedoni having ac-
cepted it; the same questions were put
to Ansaldo concerning the confessor,


32
THE ITALIAN.
when, to the astonishment of Vivaldi and
of the greater part of the court, the
penitentiary denied all knowledge of
Schedoni. His negative was given,
however, in a less decisive manner than
that of the confessor, and, when the
usual oath was offered, Ansaldo declined
to accept it. .
Vivaldi was next called upon to iden-
tify Schedoni: he declared, that the
person who was then pointed out to
him, he had never known by any other
denomination than that of father Sche-
doni; and that he had always under-
stood him to be a monk of the Spirito
Santo; but Vivaldi was at the same
time careful to repeat, that he knew
nothing further relative to his life.
Schedoni was somewhat surprised at
this apparent candour of Vivaldi towards
himself, but, accustomed to impute an
evil motive to all conduct, which he
could not clearly comprehend, he did
not scruple to believe, that some latent
mischief was directed against him in
this seemingly honest declaration,


THE ITALIAN.
33
.
After some further preliminary forms
had passed, Ansaldo was ordered to
relate the particulars of the confession,
which had been made to him on the eve
of the Santo Marco. It must be remem-
bered, that this was still what is called in
the Inquisition, a private examination.
After he had taken the customary
oaths to relate neither more nor less
than the truth of what had passed before
him, Ansaldo's depositions were written
down nearly in the following words;
to which Vivaldi listened with almost
trembling attention, for, besides the
curiosity which some previous circum-
stances had excited respecting them, he
believed, that his own fate in a great
measure depended upon a discovery of
the fact, to which they led. What, if
he had surmised how much! and that
the person whom he had been in some
degree instrumental in citing before this
tremendous tribunal, was the father of
his Ellena di Rosalba !
Ansaldo, having again answered to
C 5


34
THE ITALIAN.
his name, and titles, gave his deposition
as follows:
It was on the eve of the twenty-fifth
of April, and in the year 1752, that as
I sat, according to my custom, in the
confessional of San Marco, I was alarmed
by deep groans, which came from the
box on my left hand.
· Vivaldi observed, that the date now
mentioned agreed with that recorded by
the stranger, and he was thus prepared
to believe what might follow, and to give
his confidence to this extraordinary and
unseen personage. .
Ansaldo continued, I was the more
alarmed by these sounds, because I had
not been prepared for them; I knew
not that any person was in the confes-
sional, nor had even observed any one
pass along the aisle-but the duskiness.
of the hour may account for my having
failed to do so'; it was after sun set, and
the tapers at the shrine of San Antonio
as yet burned feebly in the twilight..
Be brief, holy father, said the inqui-


THE ITALIAN.
35
sitor, who had formerly been most active
in examining Vivaldi; speak closely to
the point.
The groans would sometimes cease,
resumed Ansaldo, and long pauses of
silence follow; they were those of a
soul in agony, struggling with the con-
sciousness of guilt, yet wanting resolution
to confess it. I tried to encourage the
penitent, and held forth every hope of
mercy and forgiveness, which my duty
would allow, but for a considerable time
without effect;-the enormity of the sin
seemed too big for utterance, yet the
penitent appeared equally unable to en-
dure the concealment of it. His heart
was bursting with the secret, and required
the comfort of absolution, even at the
price of the severest penance.
Facts! said the inquisitor, these are,
only surmises.
Facts will come full soon! replied
Ansaldo, and bowed his head, the mens
tion of them will petrify you, holy fa-
thers! as they did me, though not for
the same reasons. While I endeavoured


36
THE ITALIAN.
to encourage the penitent, and assured
him, that absolution should follow the.
acknowledgment of his crimes, however
heinous those crimes might be, if accom-
panied by sincere repentance, he more
than once began his confession, and ab-
ruptly dropt it. Once, indeed, he quitted
the confessional ; his agitated spirit
required liberty; and it was then, as he
walked with perturbed steps along the
aisle, that I first observed his figure. He
was in the habit of a white friar, and,
as nearly as I can recollect, was about
the stature of him, the father Schedoni,
who now stands before me.
As Ansaldo delivered these words, the
attention of the whole tribunal was
turned upon Schedoni, who stood un-
moved, and with his eyes bent towards
the ground.
His face, continued the penitentiary,
I did not see; he was, with good reason,
careful to conceal it; other resemblance,
therefore, than the stature, I cannot
point out between them. The voice,
indeed, the voice of the penitent, I think


THE ITALIAN.
37
I shall never forget; I should know it
again at any distance of time.
· Has it not struck your ear, since you
came within these walls ? said a member
of the tribunal.
Of that hereafter, observed the inqui-
sitor; you wander from the point, father.
The vicar general remarked, that the
circumstances just related were impor-
tant, and ought not to be passed over as
irrelevant. The inquisitor submitted to
this opinion, but objected that they were
not pertinent at the moment;, and An-
saldo was again bidden to repeat what
he had heard at confession. . .
When the stranger returned to the
steps of the confessional, he had acquired
sufficient resolution to go through with
the task he had imposed upon himself,
and a thrilling voice spoke through
the grate the facts I am about to relate.
Father Ansaldo paused, and was
somewhat agitated; he seemed endea-
vouring to re-collect courage to go
through with what he had begun. Dur-
ing this pause, the silence of expectation


38
THE ITALIAN.
rapt the court, and the eyes of the tri-
bunal were directed alternately to An-
saldo and. Schedoni, who certainly re-
quired something more than human
firmness to support unmoved the severe
scrutiny and the yet severer suspicions,
to which he stood exposed. Whether,
however, it was the fortitude of conscious
innocence, or the hardihood of atrocious:
vice, that protected the confessor, he
certainly did not betray any emotion.
Vivaldi, who had unceasingly observed
him from the commencement of the
depositions, felt inclined to believe, that.
he was not the penitent described. An-
saldo, having, at length, recollected
himself, proceeded as follows:
I have been through life, said the
penitent, the slave of my passions, and
they have led me into horrible excesses.
I had once a brother!-He stopped, and
deep groans again told the agony of his
soul; at length, he added—That brother
had a wife !-Now listen, father, and
say, whether guilt like mine may hope
for absolution! She was, beautiful


THE ITALIAN.
39
loved her; she was virtuous, and I de-
„spaired. You, father, he continued in
a frightful tone, never knew the fury of
despair! It overcame or communicated
its own force to every other passion of
my soul, and I sought to release myself
from its tortures by any means. My
brother died !-The penitent paused
again, continued Ansaldo, I trembled
while I listened; my lips were sealed.
At length, I bade him proceed, and he
spoke as follows.~My brother died at
a distance from home. ---Again the peni-
tent paused, and the silence continued
so long, that I thought it proper to in
quire of what disorder the brother had
expired. Father, I was his murderer!
said the penitent in a voice, which I
never can forget"; it sunk into my heart.
- Ansaldo appeared affected by the re-
membrance, and was 'for a moment
silent. At the last words. Vivaldi had
particularly noticed Schedoni, that he
might judge by their effect upon him,
whether he was guilty; but he remained


40
THE ITALIAN.
in his former attitude, and his eyes
were still fixed upon the ground.
Proceed, father! said the inquisitor ;
what was your reply to this confession ?
I was silent, said Ansaldo; but at
length I bade the penitent go on. I
contrived, said he, that my brother should
die at a distance from home, and I so
conducted the affair, that his widow
never suspected the cause of his death.
It was not till long after the usual time
of mourning had expired, that I ventured
to solicit her hand: but she had not yet
forgotten my brother, and she rejected
me. My passion would no longer be
trifled with. I caused her to be carried
from her house, and she was afterwards
willing to retrieve her honour by the
marriage vow. I had sacrificed my con-
science, without having found happi-
ness she did not even condescend to
conceal her disdain. Mortified, exas-
perated by her conduct, I began to sus-
pect, that some other emotion than re-
sentment occasioned this disdain ; and


THE ITALIAN.
last of all jealousy-jealousy came to
crown my misery-to light up all my
passions into madness!
The penitent, added Ansaldo, ap-
peared by the manner in which he ut-
tered this, to be nearly frantic at the
moment, and convulsive sobs soon stifled
his words. When he resumed his con-
fession, he said, I soon found an object
of my jealousy. Among the few persons,
who visited us in the retirement of our
country residence, was a gentleman,
who, I fancied, loved my wife; I fancied
too, that, whenever he appeared, an air
of particular satisfaction was visible on
her countenance. She seemed to have
pleasure in conversing with, and shewing
him distinction. I even sometimes
thought, she had pride in displaying to
me the preference she entertained for
him, and that an air of triumph, and
even of scorn, was addressed to me,
whenever she mentioned his name. Per-
haps I mistook resentment for love, and
she only wished to punish me, by exciting
ve


THE ITALIAN.
my jealousy. Fatal error! she punished
herself also !
Be less circumstantial, father, said
the inquisitor.'
Ansaldo bowed his head, and conti-
nued. One evening, continued the
penitent, that I returned home unex-
pectedly, I was told that a visitor was
with my wife! As I approached the
apartment where they sat, I heard the
voice of Sacchi; it seemed mournful
and supplicating. I stopped to listen,
and distinguished enough to fire me with
vengeance. I restrained myself, how-
ever, so far as to step softly to a lattice
that opened from the passage, and over-
looked the apartment. The traitor was
on his kņee before her. Whether she
had heard my step, or observed my face,
through the high lattice, or that she
resented his conduct, I know not, but
she rose immediately from her chair. I
did not pause to question her motive;
but seizing my stiletto, I rushed into
the room, with intent to strike it to thọ


THE ITALIAN.
43
villain's heart. The supposed assassin
of my honour escaped into the garden,
and was heard of no more.-But your
wife ? said I. Her bosom received the
poniard ! replied the penitent.
Ansaldo's voice faltered, as he repeated
this part of the confession, and he was
utterly unable to proceed. The tribunal,
observing his condition, allowed him a
chair, and, after a struggle of some
moments, he added, Think, holy fathers,
O think! what must have been my
feelings at that instant! I was myself
the lover of the woman, whom he con-
fessed himself to have murdered.
Was she innocent ? said a voice; and
Vivaldi, whose attention had latterly
been fixed upon Ansaldo, now, on looking
at Schedoni, perceived that it was he
who had spoken, At the sound of his
voice, the penitentiary turned instantly
towards him. There was a pause of
general silence, during which Ansaldo's
eyes were earnestly fixed upon the ac-
çused. At length he spoke ; She was


44
THE ITALIAN.
innocent ! He replied with solemn em-
phasis, She was most virtuous!
Schedoni had shrunk back within
himself; he asked no further. A mur-
mur ran through the tribunal, which
rose by degrees, till it broke forth into
audible conversation; at length, the
secretary was directed to note the ques-
tion of Schedoni.
Was that the voice of the penitent,
which you have just heard ? demanded
the inquisitor of Ansaldo. Remember,
you have said that you should know it
again!
I think it was, replied Ansaldo; but
I cannot swear to that.
What infirmity of judgment is this!
said the same inquisitor, who himself
was seldom troubled with the modesty
of doubt, upon any subject. Ansaldo
was bidden to resume the narrative.
On this discovery of the murderer,
said the penitentiary, I quitted the con-
fessional, and my senses forsook me be-
fore I could deliver orders for the detec-


THE ITALIAN.
45
tion of the assassin. When I recovered,
it was too late ; he had escaped! From
that hour to the present, I have never
seen him, nor dare I affirm that the
person now before me is he.
The inquisitor was about to speak,
but the grand vicar waved his hand, as
a signal for attention, and, addressing
Ansaldo, said; Although you may be
unacquainted with Schędoni, the monk
of the Spirito Santo, reverend father,
can you not recollect the person of the
Count di Bruno, your former friend?
Ausaldo again looked at Schedoni,
with a scrutinizing eye; he fixed it long;
but the countenance of Schedoni suffered
no change.
No! said the penitentiary, at length,
I dare not take upon me to assert, that
this is the Count di Bruno. If it be he,
years have wrought deeply on his fea-
tures. That the penitent was the Count
di Bruno - I have proof; he mentioned
my name as his visitor, and particular
circumstances known only to the Count
and myself; but that father Schedoni


46
THE ITALIAN.
was the penitent, I repeat it, I dare not
affirm.
But that dare I ! said another voice;
and Vivaldi, turning towards it, beheld
the mysterious stranger advancing, his
cowl now thrown back, and an air of
menace overspreading every terrific
feature. Schedoni, in the instant that
he perceived him, seemed agitated ; his
countenance, for the first time, suffered
some change..... . ......
The tribunal was profoundly silent,
but surprise and a kind of restless expec.
tation marked every brow. Vivaldi was
about to exclaim, That is my informer !
when the voice of the stranger checked
him.
Dost thou know me ? said he, sternly,
to Schedoni, and his attitude became
fixed. . .. .' :aicin;
Schedoni gave no reply..
Dost thou know me repeated his
accuser, in a steady solemn voice.
Know thee! uttered Schedoni, faintly.
Dost thou know this ? cried the stran-
ger, raising his voice, as he drew from


THE ITALIAN.
47
his garment what appeared to be a dag-
ger. Dost thou know these indelible
stains ? said hé, lifting the poniard, and
with an outstretched arm, pointing it
towards Schedoni. . . . .
The confessor turned away his face ;
it seemed as if his heart sickened..
With this dagger was thy brother
slain ! said the terrible stranger. Shall
I declare myself?
Schedoni's courage forsook him, and
he sunk against a pillar of the hall for
support. :
The consternation was now general ;
the extraordinary appearance and con-
duct of the stranger seemed to strike
the greater part of the tribunal, a tribunal
of the Inquisition itself! with dismay.
Several of the members rose from their
seats; others called aloud for the officials,
who kept guard at the doors of the hall,
and inquired who had admitted the
stranger, while the vicar general and a
few inquisitors conversed privately toge-
ther, during which they frequently
looked at the stranger and at Schedoni,


48
THE ITALIAN.
as if they were the subjects of the dis-
course, Meanwhile the monk remained
with the dagger in his grasp, and his
eyes fixed on the confessor, whose face
was still averted, and who yet supported
himself against the pillar.
At length, the vicar general called
upon the members, who had risen, to
return to their seats, and ordered, that
the officials should withdraw to their
postş.
Holy brethren! said the vicar, we re-
commend to you, at this important hour,
silence and deliberation. Let the exa-
mination of the accused proceed; and
hereafter let us inquire, as to the admit-
tance of the accuser. For the present,
suffer him also to have hearing and the
father Schedoni to reply. .
We suffer him! answered the tribunal,
and bowed their heads.
Vivaldi, who; during the tumult, had
ineffectually endeavoured to make him.
self heard, now profited by the pause,
which followed the assent of the ingui-
sitors, to claim attention : but the in-


THE ITALIAN.
49
stant he spoke, several members impa,
tiently bade, that the examination should
proceed, and, the grand vicar was again
obliged to command silence, before the
request of Vivaldi could be understood.
Permission to speak being granted him,
That person, said he, pointing to the
stranger, is the same, who visited me
in my prison; and the dagger the same
he now displays! It was he, who com-
manded me to summon the penitentiary
Ansaldo and the father Schedoni. I have
acquitted myself, and have nothing fur-
ther to do in this struggle.
The tribunal was again agitated, and
the murmurs of private conversation
again prevailed. Meanwhile Schedoni
appeared to have recovered some degree
of self command; he raised himself, and,
bowing to the tribunal, seemed preparing
to speak; but waited till the confusion
of sound, that filled the hall, should
subside. At length, he could be heard,
and, addressing the tribunal, he said,
· Holy fathers ! the stranger who is now
before you is an impostor! I will prove
VOL. IV.
D


50
THE ITALIAN.
that my accuser was once my friend ;-
you may perceive how much the disco,
very of his perfidy affects me. The
charge he brings is most false and ma.
licious!
Once thy friend ! replied the stranger,
with peculiar emphasis, and what has
made me thy enemy! View these spots,
he continued, pointing to the blade of
the poniard ; are they also false and
malicious? are they not, on the contrary,
reflected on thy conscience !
I know them not, replied Schedoni,
my conscience is unstained.
A brother's blood has stained it! s aid
the stranger, in a hollow voice.
Vivaldi, whose attention was now
fixed upon Schedoni, observed a livid
hue overspread his complexion, and
that his eyes were averted from this
extraordinary person with horror : the
spectre of his deceased brother could
scarcely have called forth a stronger
expression. It was not immediately that
he could command his voice; when he
could, he again appealed to the tribunal.


THE ITALIAN,
Holy fathers ! said he, suffer me to
defend myself?
Holy fathers! said the accuser, with
solemnity, hear! hear what I shall
unfold!
Schedoni, who seemed to speak by a
strong effort only, again addressed the
inquisitors; I will prove, said he, that
this evidence is not of a nature to be
trusted.
· I will bring such proof to the contrary!
said the monk. And here, pointing to
Ansaldo, is sufficient testimony, that the
Count di Bruno did confess himself
guilty of murder.
The court commanded silence, and
upon the appeal of the stranger to An-
saldo, the penitentiary was asked whe-
ther he knew him. He replied, that he
did not. . .
• Recollect yourself, said the grand
inquisitor, it is of the utmost conse-
quénce, that you should be correct on
this point. irisi..
The penitentiary observed the stran-
D 2


52
THE ITALIAN.
ger with deep attention, and then re-
peated his assertion.
. ;
Haye you never seen him before ? said.
an inquisitor. ....
Never, to my knowledge, replied An-
saldo. ,
· The inquisitors looked upon each other
in silence. .
- He speaks the truth, said the stranger.
This extraordinary fact did not fail to
strike the tribunal and to astonish Vi.
valdi. Since the accuser confirmed it,
Vivaldi was at a loss to understand the
means, by which he could have become
acquainted with the guilt of Schedoni,
who, it was not to be supposed, would
have acknowledged crimes of such mag-
nitude as those contained in the accu-
sation, to any person, except, indeed,
to his confessor, and this confessor, it
appeared, was só far from baving be-
trayed his trust to the accuser, that he
did not even know him. Vivaldi was
no less perplexed, as to what would be
the nature of the testimony, with which


THE ITALIAN.
the accuser designed to support his
charges: but the pause of general amaze-
ment, which had permitted Vivaldi these
considerations, was now at an end; the
tribunal resumed the examination, and
the grand inquisitor called aloud, ...
. You, Vincentio di Vivaldi,' answer
with exactness to the questions, that
shall be put to you. :
He was then asked some questions,
relative to the person, who had visited
him in prison. In his answers Vivaldi
was clear and concise, constantly af-
firming, that the stranger was the same
who now accused Schedoni.
When the accuser was interrogated,
he acknowledged, without hesitation,
that Vivaldi had spoken the truth. He
was then asked his motive for that ex-
traordinary visit. .
It was, replied the monk, that a mur-
derer might be brought to justice, ".
This, observed the grand inquisitor,
might bave been accomplished by fair
and open accusation. If you had known
the charge to be just, it is probable that
WW-


54
THE ITALIAN.
you would have appealed directly to
this tribunal, instead of endeavouring
insidiously to obtain an influence over
the mind of a prisoner, and urging him
to become the instrument of bringing
the accused to punishment.
Yet I have not shrunk from discovery,
observed the stranger, calmly; I have
voluntarily appeared.
At these words, Schedoni seemed
again much agitated, and even drew his
hood over his eyes. .
That is just, said the grand inquisitor,
addressing the stranger ; but you have
neither declared your name, nor whence
you come!
To this remark the monk made no
reply; but Schedoni, with reviving spi-
rit, urged the circumstance, in evidence
of the malignity and falsehood of the
accuser.
Wilt thou compel me to reveal my
proof? said the stranger: Darest thou
to do so ?
Why should I fear thee? answered
Schedoni,


THĘ ITALIAN.
55
Ask thy conscience! said the stranger,
with a terrible frown,
The tribunal again suspended the
examination, and consulted in private
together. .
To the last exhortation of the monk,
Schedoni was silent. Vivaldi observed,
that during this short dialogue, the con-
fessor had never once turned his eyes
towards the stranger, but apparently
avoided him, as an object too affecting
to be looked upon. He judged from
this circumstance, and from some other
appearances in his conduct, that Sche-
doni was guilty ; yet the consciousness
of guilt alone did not perfectly account,
he thought, for the strong emotion, with
which he avoided the sight of his ac-
cuser--unless, indeed, he knew that
accuser to have been, not only an accom-
plice in his crime, but the actual as,
sasin. In this case, it appeared natural
even for the stern and subtle Schedoni
to betray his horror, on beholding the
person of the murderer, with the very
instrument of crime in his grasp. On


56
THE ITALIAN.
the other hand, Vivaldi could not but
perceive it to be highly improbable,
that the very man, who had really com-
mitted the deed should come voluntarily
into a court of justice, for the purpose
of accusing his employer; that he should
dare publickly to accuse him, whose
guilt, however enormous, was not more
so than his own. ..
The extraordinary manner, also, in
which the accuser had proceeded in the
commencement of the affair; engaged
Vivaldi's - consideration ; his apparent
reluctance to be seen in this process,
and the artful and mysterious plan by
which he had caused Schedoni to be
summoned before the tribunal, and had
endeavoured that he should be there
accused by Ansaldo, indicated, at least
to Vivaldi's apprehension, the fearfulness
of guilt, and, still more, that malice,
and a thirst of vengeance, had instigated
his conduct in the prosecution. If the
stranger had been actuated only by a
love of justice, it appeared, that he
would not have proceeded toward it in


THE ITALIAN.
57
a way thus dark and circuitous, but have
sought it by the usual process, and have
produced the proofs, which he even now
asserted he possessed, of Schedoni's
crimes. In addition to the circumstances,
which seemed to strengthen a suppo-
sition of the guiltlessness of Schedoni,
was that of the accuser's avoiding to
acknowledge who he was, and whence
he came. But Vivaldi paused again
upon this point; it appeared to be inex-
plicable, and he could not imagine why
the accuser bad adopted a style of se-
crecy, which, if he persisted in it, must
probably defeat the very purpose of the
accusation ; for Vivaldi did not believe
that the tribunal would condemn a pri.
soner upon the testimony of a person
who, when called upon, should publicly
refuse to reveal himself, even to them,
Yet the acouser must certainly have
considered this circumstance before he
ventured into court; notwithstanding
which, he had appeared ! ; .
These reflections led Vivaldi to various
D 5


58
THE ITALIAN.
conjectures, relative to the visit he had
himself received from the monk, the
dream that had preceded it, the extra-
ordinary means, by which he had ob-
tained admittance to the prison, the de-
claration of the sentinels, that not any
person had passed the door, and many
other unaccountable particulars; and,
while Vivaldi now looked upon the wild
physiognomy of the stranger, he almost
fancied, as he had formerly done, that
he beheld something not of this earth.
I have heard of the spirit of the mur-
dered, said he, to himself, restless for
justice, becoming visible in our world
But Vivaldi checked the imperfect
thought, and, though his imagination
inclined him to the marvellous, and to
admit ideas which, filling and expanding
all the faculties of the soul, produce
feelings, that partake of the sublime, he
now resisted the propensity, and dis-
missed, as absurd, a supposition, which
had begun to thrill his every nerve with
horror. He awaited, however, the result


THE ITALIAN
59
of the examination and what might be
the further conduct of the stranger, with
intense expectation.
When the tribunal had, at length,
finally determined on the method of
their proceedings, Schedoni was first
called upon, and examined, as to his
knowledge of the accuser. It was the
same inquisitor, who had formerly inter-
rogated Vivaldi, that now spoke. You,
father Schedoni, a monk of the Spirito
Santo convent, at Naples, otherwise
Ferando Count di Bruno, answer to the
questions, which shall be put to you.
Do you know the name of this man,
who now appears as your accuser ? :
· I answer not to the title of Count di
Bruno, replied the confessor, but I will
declare that I know this man. His name
is Nicola di Zampari.
What is his condition !
· He is a monk of the Dominican con-
vent of the Spirito Santo, replied Sche-
doni. Of his family I know little.
Where have you seen him?
In the city of Naples, where he has


60
THE ITALIAN.
resided, during some years, beneath the
same roof with me, when I was of the
convent of San Angiolo, and since that
time, in the Spirito Santo
:You have been a resident at the San
Angiolo ? said the inquisitor.
. I have, replied Schedoni; and it was
there that we first lived together in the
confidence of friendship.
You now perceive how ill placed was
that confidence, said the inquisitor, and
repent, no doubt, of your imprudence ?
The wary Schedoni was not entrapped
by this observation.
I must lament a discovery of ingrati-
tude, he replied, calmly, but the subjects
of my confidence were too pure to give
occasion for repentance.
This Nicola di Zampari, was ungrateful
then? You had rendered him services ?
said the inquisitor.
- The cause of his enmity I can well
explain, observed Schedoni, evading, for
the present, the question.
Explain, said the stranger, solemnly.
Schedoni hesitated;: some sudden


THE ITALIAN.
61
consideration seemed to occasion him
perplexity. . . . i
I call upon you, in the name of your
deceased brother, said the accuser, to
reveal the cause of my enmity!
Vivaldi, struck by the tone, in which
the stranger spoke this, turned his eyes
upon him, but knew not how to inter:
pret the emotion visible on his coun-
tenance. ...
The inquisitor commanded Schedoni
to explain himself; the latter could
not immediately reply ; but, when he
recovered a self command, he added, .
I promised this accuser, this Nicola
di Zampari, to assist his preferment with
what little interest I possessed ;: it was
but little. Some succeeding circum-
stances encouraged me to believe, , that
I could more than fulfil my promise.
His hopes were elevated, and, in the
fulness of expectation--he was disap-
pointed, for I was myself deceived, by
the person, in whom I had trusted.
To the disappointment of a choleric man
I am to attribute this unjust accusation.


62
THE ITALIANITALIA
.
Schedoni paused, and an air of dissa-
tisfaction and anxiety appeared upon
his features. His accuser remained si-
lent, but a malicious smile announced
his triumph.
You must declare, also, the services,
said the inquisitor, which merited the
reward you promised.
Those services were inestimable to
me, resumed Schedoni, after a momen-
tary hesitation, though they cost di
Zampari little: they were the conso-
lations of sympathy, the offices of
friendship, which he administered, and
which gratitude told me never could be
repaid. .
Of sympathy! of friendship! said the
grand vicar. Are we to believe that a
man, who brings false accusation of so
dreadful a nature as the one now before
us, is capable of bestowing the conso-
lations of sympathy and of friendship
You must either acknowledge, that ser-
vices of a less disinterested nature won
your promises of reward ; or we must
conclude that your accuser's charge is


THE ITALIAN.
03
just. Your assertions are inconsistent,
and your explanation too trivial to deceive
for a moment.
I have declared the truth, said Sche-
doni, haughtily.
In which instance ? asked the inqui.
sitor, for your assertions contradict
each other!
Schedoni was silent. Vivaldi could
not judge whether the pride, which oc-
casioned his silence, was that of inno-
cence, or of remorse. .
It appears from your own testimony,
said the inquisitor, that the ingratitude
was your's, not your accuser's, since he
consoled you with kindness, which you
have never returned him!-Have you
any thing further to say ?
Schedoni was still silent,
· This, then, is your only explanation ?
added the inquisitor. :
Schedoni bowed his head. The in-,
quisitor then addressing the accuser,
demanded what he had to reply.
I have nothing to reply, said the


64
THE ITALIAN.
stranger, with malicious triumph ; the
accused has replied for me!
We are to conclude, then, that he has
spoken truth, when he asserted you to
be a monk of the Spirito Santo, at Na-,
ples ? said the inquisitor. ..
You, holy father, said the stranger,
gravely, appealing to the inquisitor, can
answer for me, whether I am.
Vivaldi listened with emotion. ? .
The inquisitor rose from his chair,
and with solemnity replied, I answer,
then, that: you are not a monk of Na-
ples.". ;
: ..
. ?
: By that reply, said the vicar general,
in a low voice, to the inquisitor, I per-
ceive you think father Schedoni is
guilty.
The rejoinder of the inquisitor was
delivered in so low a tone, that Vivaldi
could not understand it. He was per-
plexed to interpret the answer given to
the appeal of the stranger. He thought,
that the inquisitor would not have vena.
tured an assertion thus positive, if his


THE ITALIAN.
65
opinion had been drawn from inference
only; and that he should know the
accuser, while he was conducting him-
self towards him as a stranger, amazed
Vivaldi, no less than if he had understood
the character of an inquisitor to be as
artless as his own. On the other hand,
he had so frequently seen the stranger
at Paluzzi and in the habit of a monk,
that he could hardly question the as-
sertion of Schedoni, as to his identity. :
The inquisitor, addressing Schedoni,
said, Your assertion we know to be in
part erroneous; your accuser is not a
monk of Naples, but a servant of the
most holy Inquisition. Judging, from
this part of your defence, we must sus
pect the whole.
A servant of the Inquisition! exclaimed
Schedoni, with unaffected surprise. Re-
verend father ! your assertion astonishes
me! You are deceived, however strange
it may appear, trust me, you are de-
ceived! You doubt the credit of my
word; I, therefore, will assert no more.
But inquire of Signor Vivaldi; ask him,


66
THE ITALIAN
whether he has not often, and lately,
seen my accuser at Naples and in the
habit of a monk. -
: I have seen him at the ruins of Paluzzi,
near Naples, and in the ecclesiastical
dress, replied Vivaldi, without waiting
for the regular question, and under cir,
cumstances no less extraordinary than
those, which have attended him here,
But, in return for this frank acknow-
ledgment, I require of you, father Sche-
doni, to answer some questions, which
shall venture to suggest to the tri-
bunal-By what means were you in-
formed, that I have often seen the stranger
at Paluzzi-and were you interested or
not in his mysterious conduct towards
me there?
To these questions, though formally
delivered from the tribunal, Schedoni
did not deign to reply.
It appears, then, said the vicar gene-
ral, that the accuser and the accused
were once accomplices. .
The inquisitor objected, that this did
not certainly appear; and that, on the


THE ITALIAN
67
contrary, Schedoni seemed to have
given his last questions in despair ; an
observation, which Vivaldi thought ex-
traordinary from an inquisitor.
Be it accomplices, if it so please you,
said Schedoni, bowing to the grand
vicar, without noticing the inquisitor :
you' may call us accomplices, but I say,
that we were friends. Since it is necesa
sary to my own peace, that I should
more fully explain some circumstances
attending our intimacy, I will own, that
my accuser was occasionally my agent,
and assisted in preserving the dignity of
an illustrious family at Naples, the
family of the Vivaldi. And there, holy
father, added Schedoni, pointing to Vin-
centio, is the son of that ancient house,
for whom I have attempted so much!
Vivaldi was almost overwhelmed by
this confession of Schedoni, though he
had already suspected a part of the
truth. In the stranger he believed he
saw the slanderer of Ellena, the base
instrument of the Marchesa's policy and
of Schedoni's ambition; and the whole


68
THE ITALIAN.
.
of his conduct at Paluzzi, at least,
seemed now intelligible. -In Schedoni
he beheld his secret accuser and the
inexorable enemy, whom he believed to
have occasioned the imprisonment of
Ellena.' At this latter consideration, all
circumspection, all prudence forsook
him : he declared, with energy, that,
from what Schedoni had just acknow-
Jedged to be his conduct, he knew him
for his secret accuser and the accuser,
also, of Ellena di Rosalba; and he called
upon the tribunal to examine into the
confessor's motivés for the accusation and
afterwards to give hearing to what he
would himself unfold.
· To this, the grand vicar replied, that
Vivaldi's appeal would be taken into
consideration; and he then ordered, that
the present business should proceed.
The inquisitor, addressing Schedoni,
said, The disinterested nature of your
friendship is now sufficiently explained,
and the degree of credit, which is due
to your late assertions, understood. Of
you we ask no more, but turn to father


THE ITALIAN,
.. 69
Nicola di Zampari, and demand what he
has to say in support of his accusation.
What are your proofs, Nicola di Zam-
pari, that he, who calls himself father
Schedoni,, is Ferando Count di Bruno;
and that he has been guilty of murder,
the murder of his brother, and of his
wife ? Answer to our charge! ...
To your first question, said the monk,
I reply that he has himself acknowledged
to me, on an occasion, which it is not
necessary to mention, that he was the
Count di Bruno; to the last, I produce
the poniard which I received, with the
dying confession of the assassin, whom
he employed. :: :
Still, these are not proofs, but asser-
tions, observed the yicar general, and
the first forbids our confidence in the
second.--If, as you declare, Schedoni
himself ackņowledged to you that he
was Count di Bruno, you must have
been to him the intimate friend he has
declared you were, or he would not have
confided to you a secret šo dangerous
to himself. And, if you were that-friend,


00
THE ITALIAN
what confidence 'ought we to give to
your assertions respecting the dagger?
since, whether your accusations be true
or false, you prove yourself guilty of
treachery in bringing them forward
at all.. .
Vivaldi was surprised to hear such
candour from an inquisitor.
Here is my proof, said the stranger,
who now produced a paper, containing
what he asserted to be the dying con-
fession of the assassin. It was signed
by a priest of Rome, as well as by him-
self, and appeared from the date to have
been given only a very few weeks be-
fore. The priest, he said, was living,
and might be summoned. The tribunal
issued an order for the apprehension of
this priest, and that he should be brought
to give evidence on the following evening;
after which, the business of this night
proceeded, without further interruption,
towards its conclusion. ;:.:.:..
: The vicar general spoke again, Nicola
di Zampari, I call upon you to say, why,
if your proof of Schedoni's guilt be so


THE ITALIAN.
1°
clear, as the confession of the assassin
himself must make it,—why you thought
it necessary to summon father Ansaldo
to attest the criminality of the Count
di Bruno ? The dying confession of the
assassin is certainly of more weight than
any other evidence.
I summoned the father Ansaldo, re-
plied the stranger, as a means of proving
that Schedoni is the Count di Bruno,
The confession of the assassin sufficiently
proves the count to have been the insti-
gator of the murder, but not that Sche-
doni is the count. . . ..
But that is more than I will engage
to prove, replied Ansaldo; I know it
was the Count di Bruno, who confessed
to me, but I do not know that the father
Schedoni, who is now before me, was
the person who so confessed.
Conscientiously observed ! said the
vicar general, interrupting the stranger,
who was about to reply; but you, Ni-
cola di Zampari, have not on this head
been sufficiently explicit.-How do you
know that Schedoni is the penitent, who


72
THE ITALIAN.
confessed to Ansaldo on the vigil of
San Marco ? '
| Reverend father, that is the point I
was about to explain, replied the monk.
I myself, accompanied Schedoni, on the
eve of San Marco, to the church of the
Santa Maria del Pianto, at the very
bour when the confession is said to have
been made. Schedoni told me he was
going to confession; and, when I ob-
served to him his unusual agitation, his
behaviour implied a consciousness of
extraordinary guilt; he even betrayed
it by some words, which he dropped in
- the confusion of his mind. I parted
with him at the gates of the church.
lle was then of an order of white friars,
and habited as father Ansaldo has de.
scribed. Within a few weeks after this
confession, he left his convent, for what
reason I never could learn, though I
have often surmised it, and came to
reside at the Spirito Santo, whither I
also had removed. . ..iiis
Here is no proof, said the vicar, gen-
eral; other friars of that order might


THE ITALIAN.
73
confess at the same hour, in the same
church.
But here is strong presumption for
proof, observed the inquisitor. Holy
father, we must judge from probabilities,
as well as from proof.
But probabilities themselves, replied
the vicar general, are strongly against
the evidence of a man, who would
betray another by means of words drop-
ped in the unguarded moments of pow-
erful emotion.
Are these the sentiments of an inqui-
sitor! said Vivaldi to himself, can such
glorious candour appear amidst the tri-
bunal of an Inquisition ! Tears fell fast
on Vivaldi's cheek while he gazed upon
this just judge, whose candour, had it
been exerted in his cause, could not have
excited more powerful sensations of
esteem and admiration. An inquisitor!
he repeated to himself; an inquisitor!
The inferior inquisitor, however, was
so far from possessing any congeniality
of character with his superior, that he
was evidently disappointed by the ap-
VOL. IV.


THE ITALIAN.
pearance of liberality, which the vicar
general discovered, and immediately
said, Has the accuser any thing further
to urge in evidence, that the father
Schedoni is the penitent, who confessed
to the penitentiary Ansaldo ?
I have, replied the monk, with aspe-
rity. When I had left Schedoni in the
church, I lingered without the walls for
his return, according to appointment.
But he appeared considerably sooner
than I expected, and in a state of dis-
order, such as I had never witnessed in
him before. In an instant he passed
me, nor could my voice arrest his pro-
gress. Confusion seemed to reign within
the church and the convent, and, when
I would have entered, for the purpose
of inquiring the occasion of it, the gates
were suddenly closed, and all entrance
forbidden. It has since appeared, that
the monks were then searching for the
penitent. A rumour afterwards reached
me, that a confession had caused this
disturbance ; that the father confessor,
who happened at that time to be the


THE ITALIAN.
75
grand penitentiary Ansaldo, had left the
chair in horror of what had been divulged
from the grate, and had judged it neces-
sary, that a search should be made for
the penitent, who was a white friar.
This report, reverend fathers, excited
general attention; with me it did more-
for I thought I knew the penitent. When
on the following day I questioned Sche-
doni as to his sudden departure from the
church of the Black Penitents, his an-
swers were dark, but emphatic, and he
extorted from me a promise, thoughtless
that I was ! never to disclose his visit of
the preceding evening to the Santa del
Pianto. I then certainly discovered who
was the penitent.
Did he, then, confess to you, also !
said the vicar general.
· No, father. I understood him to be
the penitent, to whom the report alluded,
but I had no suspicion of the nature of
his crimes, till the assassin began his
confession, the conclusion of which
clearly explained the subject of Sche-
doni's ; it explained also his motive for
E 2


76
THE ITALIAN.
.
endeavouring ever after to attach me to
his interest.
You have now, said the vicar general;
you have now, confessed yourself a mem-
ber of the convent of the Spirito Santo,
at Naples, and an intimate of the father
Schedoni; one, whom for many years
he has endeavoured to attach to him.
Not an hour has passed since you denied
all this; the negative to the latter cir-
cumstance was given, it is true, by im-
plication only ; but to the first a direct
and absolute denial was pronounced.
I denied that I am a monk of Naples,
replied the accuser, and I appealed to
the inquisitor for the truth of my denial.
He has said, that I am now a servant of
the most holy Inquisition.
The vicar general, with some surprise,
looked at the inquisitor for explanation ;
other members of the tribunal did the
same; the rest appeared to understand
more than they had thought it necessary
to avow. The inquisitor, who had been
called upon, rose, and replied,
Nicola di Zampari has spoken the


THE ITALIAN.
77
truth. It is not many weeks since he
entered the holy office. A certificate
from his convent at Naples bears testi-
mony to the truth of what I advance,
and procured him admittance here.
It is extraordinary that you should not
have disclosed your knowledge of this
person before! said the vicar general.
· Holy father, I had reasons, replied
the inquisitor; you will recollect that
the accused was present, and you will
understand them.
I comprehend you, said the vicar
general, but I do neither approve of,
nor perceive any necessity for your
countenancing the subterfuge of this
Nicola di Zampari, relative to his iden-
tity. But more of this in private.
I will explain all there, answered the
inquisitor.
It appears, then, resumed the vicar
general, speaking aloud, that this Nicola
di Zampari was formerly the friend an d
confidant of father Schedoni, whom he
now accuses. The accusation is evi-
dently malicious; whether it be also


78
THE ITALIAN.
false, remains to be decided. A material
question naturally arises out of the sub-
ject-Why was not the accusation
brought forward before this period ?
The monk's visage brightened with
the satisfaction of anticipated triumph,
and he immediately replied,
Most holy father! as soon as I ascer-
tained the crime, I prepared to prosecute
the perpetrator of it. A short period
only has elapsed since the assassin gave
his confession. In this interval I dis-
covered, in these prisons, Signor Vivaldi,
and immediately comprehended by
whose means he was confined. I knew
enough both of the accuser and accused,
to understand which of these was innoe
cent, and had then a double motive for
causing Schedoni to be summoned ;-
I wished equally to deliver the innocent
and punish the criminal. The question
as to my motive for becoming the enemy
of him, who was once my friend, is
already answered ; it was a sense of jus-
tice, not a suggestion of malice.
The grand vicar smiled, but asked no
CU


THE ITALIAN.
79
further; and this long examination con-
cluded with committing Schedoni again
into close custody, till full evidence
should be obtained of his guilt, or his
innocence should appear. Respecting
the manner of his wife's death, there
was yet no other evidence, than that,
which was asserted to be his own con-
fession, which, though perhaps sufficient
to condemn a criminal before the tri-
bunal of the Inquisition, was not enough
to satisfy the present vicar general,
who gave direction that means might
be employed towards obtaining proof
of each article of the accusation: in
order that, should Schedoni be acquitted
of the charge of having murdered his
brother, documents might appear for
prosecuting him, respecting the death of
his wife.
Schedoni, when he withdrew from the
hall, bowed respectfully to the tribunal,
and whether, notwithstanding late ap.
pearances, he were innocent, or that
subtlety enabled him to reassume his
usual address, it is certain his manner


80
THE ITALIAN.
no longer betrayed any symptom of
conscious guilt. His countenance was
firm and even tranquil, and his air dig-
nified. Vivaldi, who, during the greater
part of this examination, had been con-
vinced of his criminality, now only
doubted his innocence. Vivaldi was
himself reconducted to his prison, and
the sitting of the tribunal was dissolved.


CHAPTEĶ III.
The time shall come when Gloster's heart shall bleed
In life's last hours, with horrors of the deed;
When dreary visions shall at last present
· Thy vengeful image.
COLLINS,
When the night of Schedoni's trial
arrived, Vivaldi was again summoned to
the hall of the tribunal. Every circum-
stance was now arranged according to
the full ceremonies of the place; the
members of the tribunal were more
numerous than formerly at the exami-
nations; the chief inquisitors wore
habits of a fashion different from those,
which before distinguished them, and
their turbans, of a singular form and
larger size, seemed to give an air of
sterner ferocity to their features. The
hall, as usual, was hung with black, and
every person who appeared there, whe-
ther inquisitor, official, witness or pri-
soner, was habited in the same dismal
hue, which, together with the kind of


82
THE ITALIAN.
light diffused through the chamber from
lamps hung high in the vaulted roof,
and from torches held by parties of
officials who kept watch at the several
doors, and in different parts of this im-
mense hall, gave a character of gloomy
solemnity to the assembly, which was
almost horrific,
Vivaldi was situated in a place, whence
he beheld the whole of the tribunal, and
could distinguish whatever was passing
in the hall, The countenance of every
member was now fully displayed to him
by the torchmen, who, arranged at the
steps of the platform, on which the
three chief inquisitors were elevated,
extended in a semicircle on either hand
of the place orcupied by the inferior
members. The red glare, which the
torches threw upon the latter, certainly
did not soften the expression of faces,
for the most part sculptured by passions
of dark malignity, or fiercer cruelty; and
Vivaldi could not bear even to examine
them long.
Before the bar of the tribunal, he


THE ITALIAN
83
distinguished Schedoni, and little did
he suspect, that in him, a criminal
brought thither to answer for the guilt
of murder--the murder of a brother, and
of a wife, he beheld the parent of Elleną
di Rosalba !
Near Schedoni was seated the peni-
tentiary Ansaldo ; the Roman priest,
who was to be a principal witness, and
father Nicola di Zampari, upon whom
Vivaldi could not even now look without
experiencing somewhat of the awe,
which had prevailed over his mind when
he was inclined to consider the stranger,
rather as the vision of another world,
than as a being of this. The same wild
and indescribable character still distin-
guished his air, his every look and
movement, and Vivaldi could not but
believe that something in the highest
degree extraordinary would yet be dis-
covered concerning him..
The witnesses being called over, Vi..
valdi understood that he was placed
among them, though he had only re-
peated the words, which father Nicola


84
THE ITALIAN.
had spoken, and which, since Nicola
himself was present as a witness against
Schedoni, he did not perceive could be
in the least material on the trial..
When Vivaldi, had, in his turn, an-
swered to his name, a voice, bursting
forth from a distant part of the hall, ex-
claimed, It is my master! my dear
master! and on directing his eyes
whence it came, he perceived the faith-
ful Paulo struggling with his guard.
Vivaldi called to him to be patient, and
to forbear resistance; an exhortation,
however, which served only to increase
the efforts of the servant for liberty, and
in the next instant he broke from the
grasp of the officials, and, darting to-
wards Vivaldi, fell at his feet, sobbing,
and clasping his knees, and exclaiming,
O my master! my master! have I found
you at last ?
Vivaldi, as much affected by this
meeting as Paulo, could not immediately
speak. He would, however, have rais-
ed and embraced his affectionate ser-
vant, but Paulo, still clinging to his
A
.


THE ITALIAN.
85
knees and sobbing, was so much agi-
tated that he scarcely understood any
thing said to him, and to the kind assur-
ances and gentle remonstrances of Vi-
valdi, constantly replied, as if to the
officers, whom he fancied to be forcing
him away.
Remember your situation, Paulo, said
Vivaldi, consider mine also, and be go-
verned by prudence. .
You shall not force me hence ! cried
Paulo, you can take my life only once;
if I must die, it shall be here.
· Recollect yourself, Paulo, and be
composed. Your life, I trust, is in no
danger.
Paulo looked up, and again bursting
into a passion of tears, repeated, O! my
master! my master! where have you
been all this while ? are you indeed
alive? I thought I never should have
seen you again! I have dreamt an
hundred times that you were dead and
buried ! and I wished to be dead and
buried with you. I thought you was
gone out of this world into the next. I
n no


86
THE ITALIAN.
feared you was gone to heaven, and so
believed we should never meet again,
But now, I see you once more, and
know that you live? ()! my master!
my master!
The officers who had followed Paulo,
now endeavouring to withdraw him, he
became more outrageous,
Do your worst at once, said he; but
you shall find tough work of it, if you
try to force me from hence, so you had
better be contented with killing me
here.
The incensed officials were laying
violent hands upon him, when Vivaldi
interposed. I entreat, I supplicate you,
said he, that you will suffer him to
remain near me.
It is impossible, replied an officer;
we dare not.
I will promise that he shall not even
speak to me, if you will only allow him
to be near, added Vivaldi.
Not speak to you, master! exclaimed
Paulo, but I will stay by you, and
speak to you as long as I like, till my


THE ITALIAN.
87
last gasp. Let them do their worst at
once ; I defy them all, and all the devils
of inquisitors at their heels too, to force
me away. I can die but once, and they
ought to be satisfied with that; -80
what is there to be afraid of ? Not
speak!
He knows not what he says, said
Vivaldi to the official, while he endea-
voured to silence Paulo with his hand :
I am certain that he will submit to
whatever I shall require of him, and
will be entirely silent; or, if he does
speak now and then, it shall be only in
a whisper.
· A whisper, said an officer sneeringly,
do you suppose, signor, that any person
is suffered to speak in a whisper here?
A whisper! shouted Paulo, I scorn to
speak in a whisper. I will speak so
loud, that every word I say shall ring in
the ears of all those old black devils on
the benches yonder; ay, and those on
that mountebank stage too, that sit
there looking so grim and angry as if
they longed to tear us in pieces. They


88
THE ITALIAN.
Silence, said Vivaldi with emphasis ;
Paulo, I command you to be silent.
They shall know a bit of my mind,
continued Paulo, without noticing Vi-
valdi; I will tell them what they have
to expect for all their cruel usage of my
poor master. Where do they expect to
go when they die, I wonder ? Though
for that matter, they can scarcely go to
a worse place than they are in already,'
and I suppose it is, knowing that, which
makes them not afraid of being ever so
wicked. They shall hear a little plain
truth, for once in their lives, however;
they shall hear-
During the whole of this harangue,
Vivaldi, alarmed for the consequence of
such imprudent, though honest, indig-
nation, had been using all possible effort
to silence him, and was the more alarm-
ed, since the officials made no further
attempt to interrupt Paulo, a forbear-
ance, which Vivaldi attributed to 'ma-
lignity, and to a wish that Paulo might
be entrapped by his own act. At
length he made himself heard.
I entreat, said Vivaldi.
vel


THE ITALIAN.
Paulo stopped for a moment.
Paulo! rejoined Vivaldi earnestly, do
you love your master ?
Love my master! said Paulo resent-
fully, without allowing Vivaldi to finish
his sentence; Have I not gone through
fire and water for him ? or, what is as
good, have I not put myself into the
Inquisition, and all on his account ! and
now to be asked-Do I love my master?
If you believe, signor, that any thing
else made me come here, into these
dismal holes, you are quite entirely out;
and when they have made an end of
me, as I suppose they will do, before all
is over, you will, perhaps, think better
of me than to suspect that I came here
for my own pleasure. . .
All that may be as you say, Paulo,
replied Vivaldi coldly, while he with
difficulty commanded his tears; but
your immediate submission is the only
conduct that can convince me of the sin-
cerity of your professions. I entreat you
to be silent.
Entreat me! said Paulo. O my mas.


90
THE ITALIAN.
ter! what have I done that it should
come to this ? Entréat me! he repeat-
ed, sobbing. . .
You will then give me this proof of
your attachment ? asked Vivaldi..
Do not use such a heart-breaking
word again, master, replied Paulo,
while he dashed the tears from his
cheek; such a heart-breaking word,
and I will do any thing. .
You submit to what I require then,
Paulo ?
Ay, signor, if-if it is even to kneel
at the feet of that devil of an inquisitor,
yonder.
I shall only require you to be silent,
replied Vivaldi, and you may then be
permitted to remain near me.
Well, signor, well; I will do as you
bid me, then, and only just say
Not a syllable, Paulo, interrupted
Vivaldi.
Only just say, master.
Not a word, I entreat you! added
Vivaldi, or you will be removed im-
mediately.


THE ITALIAN.
91
His removal does not depend on that,
said one of the officials, breaking from
his watchful silence; he must go, and
that without more delay.
What! after I have promised not to
open my lips ! said Paulo, do you pre-
tend to break your agreement ?
There is no pretence, and there was
no agreement, replied the man sharply,
so obey directly, or it will be the worse
for you.
The officials were provoked, and
Paulo became still more enraged and
clamorous, till at length the uproar
reached the tribunal at the other end of
the hall, and silence having been com-
manded, an inquiry was made into the
cause of the confusion. The conse-
quence of this was, an order that Paulo
should withdraw from Vivaldi; but, as
at this moment he feared no greater
evil, he gave his refusal to the tribunal
with as little ceremony as he had done
before to the officials.
At length, after much difficulty, a
sort of compromise was made, and,


92
THE ITALIAN.
Paulo being soothed by his master into
some degree of compliance, was suffered
to remain within a short distance of
him.
The business of the trial soon after
commenced. Ansaldo the penitentiary
and father Nicola appeared, as wit-
nesses, as did, also, the Roman priest,
who had assisted in taking the deposi-
tions of the dying assassin. He had
been privately interrogated, and had
given clear and satisfactory evidence, as
to the truth of the paper produced by
Nicola. Other witnesses, also, had
been supænaed, whom Schedoni had
no expectation of meeting..
The deportment of the confessor, on
first entering the hall, was collected and
firm ; it remained unchanged when the
Roman priest was brought forward; but,
on the appearance of another witness,
his courage seemed to faulter. Before
this evidence was, however, called for,
the depositions of the assassin were
publicly read. They stated, with the
closest conciseness, the chief facts, of


THE ITALIAN.
93
which the following is a somewhat more
dilated narrative.
· It appeared, that about the year 1742,
the late Count di Bruno had passed over
into Greece, a journey which his brother,
the present confessor, having long ex-
pected, had meditated to take advantage
of. Though a lawless passion had first
suggested to the dark mind of Schedoni
the atrocious act, which should destroy
a brother, many circumstances and con-
siderations had conspired to urge him
towards its accomplishment. Among
these was the conduct of the late count
towards himself, which, however rea-
sonable, as it had contradicted his own
selfish gratifications, and added strong
reproof to opposition, had excited his
most inveterate hatred. Schedoni, who,
as a younger brother of his family, bore,
at that time, the title of Count di Mari-
nella, had dissipated his small patrimony
at a very early age; but, though suf-
fering might then have taught him pru-
dence, it had only encouraged him in
duplicity, and rendered him more eager


94
THE ITALIAN,
to seek a temporary refuge in the same
habits of extravagance which had led to
it. The Count di Bruno, though his
fortune was very limited, had afforded
frequent supplies to his brother; till,
'finding that he was incorrigible, and
that the sums, which he himself spared
with difficulty from his family, were
lavished, without remorse, by Marinella,
instead of being applied, with economy,
to his support, he refused further aid
than was sufficient for his absolute
necessities.
It would be difficult for a candid mind
to believe how a conduct so reasonable
could possibly excite hatred in any
breast, or that the power of selfishness
could so far warp any understanding, as
to induce Marinella, whom we will, in
future, again call Schedoni, to look upon
his brother with detestation, because he
had refused to ruin himself that his
kinsman might 'revel! Yet it is certain
that Schedoni, terming the necessary
prudence of Di Bruno to be meanness
and cold insensibility to the comfort of


THE ITALIAN.
95
others, suffered full as much resentment
towards him from system, as he did
from passion, though the meanness and
the insensibility he imagined in his bro-
ther's character were not only real traits
in his own, but were displaying them-
selves in the very, arguments he urged
against them. :
The rancour thus excited was che-
rished by innumerable circumstances,
and ripened by envy, that meanest and
most malignant of the human passions ;
by envy of di Bruno's blessings, of an
unencumbered estate, and of a beautiful
wife, he was tempted to perpetrate the
deed, which might transfer those bles-
sings to himself. Spalatro, whom he
employed to this purpose was well
known to him, and he did not fear to
confide the conduct of the crime to this
man, who was to purchase a little habi-
tation on the remote shore of the Adri-
atic, and, with a certain stipend, to
reside there. The ruinous dwelling, to
which Ellena had been carried, as its


96
THE ITALIAN.
solitary situation suited Schedoni's views,
was taken for him. .
Schedoni, who had good intelligence
of all di Bruno's movements, acquainted
Spalatro, from time to time, with his
exact situation; and it was after di
Bruno, on his return, had crossed the
Adriatic, from Ragusi to Manfredonia,
and was entering upon the woods of the
Garganus, that Spalatro, with his com-
rade, overtook him. They fired at the
count and his attendants, who were only
a valet, and a guide of the country; and,
concealed among the thickets, they se-
curely repeated the attack. The shot
did not immediately succeed, and the
count, looking round, to discover his
enemy, prepared to defend himself, but
the firing was so rapidly sustained, that
at length, both di Bruno and his servant
fell, covered with wounds. The guide
fled.
The unfortunate travellers were bu:
ried by their assassins on the spot; but,
whether the suspicion, which attends


THE ITALIAN.
97
upon the consciousness of guilt, prompted
Spalatro to guard against every possi-
bility of being betrayed by the accom-
plice of his crime, or whatever was the
motive, he returned to the forest alone;
and, shrouded by night, removed the
bodies to a pit, which he had prepared
under the flooring of the house where
he lived; thus displacing all proof, should
his accomplice hereafter point out to
justice the spot in which he had as- :
sisted to deposit the mangled remains of
di Bruno.
Schedoni contrived a plausible history
of the shipwreck of his brother upon the
Adriatic, and of the loss of the whole
crew; and, as no persons, but the as-
sassins, were acquainted with the real
cause of his death, the guide, who had
fled, and the people at the only town he
had passed through, since he landed,
being ignorant even of the name of di
Bruno, there was not any circumstance
to contradict the falsehood. It was
universally credited, and even the widow
of the count had, perhaps, never doubted
VOL. IV.
L. IV.


98
THE ITALIAN..
its truth; or if, after her compelled
marriage with Schedoni, his conduct
did awaken a-suspicion, it was too vague
to produce any serious consequence.
During the reading of Spalatro's con-
fession, and particularly at the conclusion
of it, the surprise and dismay of Sche.
doni were too powerful for concealment;
and it was not the least considerable
part of his wonder, that Spalatro should
have come to Rome for the purpose of
making these depositions ; but further
consideration gave him a conjecture of
the truth.
The account, which Spalatro bad
given of his motive for this journey to
the priest, was, that, having lately un-
derstood Schedoni to be resident at
Rome, he had followed him thither, with
an intention of relieving his conscience
by an acknowledgment of his owncrimes,
and a disclosure of Schedoni's. This,
however, was not exactly the fact. The
design of Spalatro was to extort money
from the guilty confessor; a design,
from which the latter had believed he


THE ITALIAN. 99.
had protected himself, as well as from
every other evil consequence, when he
misled his late accomplice, respecting
his place of residence; little foseseeing
that the very artifice, which should send
this man in search of him to Rome, in-
stead of Naples, would be the means of
bringing his crimes before the public.
Spalatro had followed the steps of
Schedoni as far as the town at which he
slept, on the first night of his journey ;
and, having there passed him, had
reached the villa di Cambrusca, when,
perceiving the confessor approaching, he
had taken shelter from observation,
within the ruin. The motive, which
before made him shrink from notice,
had contributed, and still did so, to a
suspicion that he aimed at the life of
Schedoni, who, in wounding him, be-
lieved he had saved himself from an
assassin. The wounds, however, of
Spalatro, did not so much disable him,
but that he proceeded towards Rome
from the town whence the parting road
2


100
THE ITALIAN..
.
had conducted his master towards
Naples...
The fatigue of a long journey, per-
formed chiefly on foot, in Spalatro's
wounded condition, occasioned a fever,
that terminated together his journey and
his life ; and in his last hours he had un-,
burdened his conscience by a full confes-
sion of his guilt. The priest, who, on this
occasion, had been sent for, alarmed by
the importance of the confession, since
it implicated a living person, called in a
friend as witness to the depositions.
This witness was father Nicola, the
former intimate of Schedoni, and who
was of a character to rejoice in any dis-
covery, which might punish a man from
whose repeated promises he had re-
ceived only severe disappointments.
Schedoni now perceived, that all his
designs against Spalatro had failed, and
he had meditated more than have yet
been fully disclosed. It may be re-
membered that on parting with the
peasant, his conductor, the confessor


THE ITALIAN.
101
gave him a stiletto to defend him, as he
said, from the attack of Spalatro, in case
of encountering him on the road. The
point of this instrument was tipped
with poison : so that a scratch from it
was sufficient to inflict death. Sche-
doni had for many years secretly carried
about him such an envenomed instru-
ment, for reasons known only to himself.
He had hoped, that, should the peasant
meet Spalatro, and be provoked to de-
fend himself, this stiletto would termi-
nate the life of his accomplice, and re-
lieve him from all probability of disco-
very, since the other assassin, whom he
employed, had been dead several years,
The expedient failed in every respect;
the peasant did not even see Spalatro ;
and, before he reached his home, he
luckily lost the fatal stiletto, which, as
he had discovered himself to be ac-
quainted with some circumstances con-
nected with the crimes of Schedoni, the
confessor would have wished him tº
keep, from the chance, that he might
some time injure himself in using it.


102
THE ITALIAN.
S
The poniard, as he had no proper means
of fastening it to his dress, had fallen,
and was carried away by the torrent he
was crossing at that moment.
But, if Schedoni had been shocked
by the confession of the assassin, his
dismay was considerably greater, when
a new witness was brought forward,
and he perceived an ancient domestic of
his house. This man identified Sche-
doni for Ferando Count di Bruno, with
whom he had lived as a servant, after
the death of the count his brother. And
not only did he bear testimony to the
person of Schedoni, but to the death of
the countess, his wife. Giovanni de-
clared himself to be one of the domes-
tics, who had assisted in conveying her
to her apartment, after she had been
struck by the poniard of Schedoni, and
- who had afterwards attended her funeral
in the church of the Santa del Miracoli,
a convent near the late residence of di
Bruno. He further affirmed, that the
physicians had reported her death to be
the consequence of the wound she had


THE ITALIAN.
103
received, and he bore witness to the
fight of his master, previous to the
death of the countess, and immediately
upon the assassination, and that he had
never publicly appeared upon his estate,
since that period. . . i.
· An inquisitor asked, whether any
measures had been taken by the rela.
tions of the deceased lady, toward a
prosecution of the count. . .
The witness replied, that a long
search had been made for the count, for
such a purpose, but that he had wholly
eluded discovery, and that, of course,
no further step had been taken in the
affair. This reply appeared to occasion
dissatisfaction; the tribunal was silent,
and seemed to hesitate; the vicar ge-
neral then addressed the witness.
• How can you be certain that the
person now before, you, calling himself
father Schedoni, is the Count di Bruno,
your former master, if you have never
seen him during the long interval of
years you mention ? .
. Giovanni, without hesitation, answer,


104
THE ITALIAN.
ed, that, though years had worn the
features of the count, he recollected
them the moment he beheld him ; and
not the count only, but the person of
the penitentiary Ansaldo, whom he had
seen a frequent visitor at the house of
Di Bruno, though his appearance, also,
-was considerably changed by time, and
by the ecclesiastical habit, which he
now wore. .
The vicar general seemed still to
doubt the evidence of this man, till An-
saldo himself, on being called upon,
remembered him to have been a servant
of the count, though he could not iden-
tify the count himself. .
The grand inquisitor remarked, that,,
it was extraordinary he should recollect
the face of the servant, yet forget that
of the master, with whom he had lived
in habits of intimacy. To this Ansaldo
replied, that the stronger passions of
Schedoni, together with his particular
habits of life, might reasonably be sup-
posed to have wrought a greater change
upon the features of the count than the


THE ITALIAN.
105
character and circumstances of Gio-
vanni's could have effected on his, '
Schedoni, not without reason, was
appalled, on the appearance of this
servant, whose further testimony gave
such clearness and force to some other
parts of the evidence, that the tribunal
pronounced sentence upon Schedoni, as
the murderer of the count his brother;
and as this, the first charge, was suffi-
cient for his condemnation to death,
they did not proceed upon the second,
that which related to his wife,
· The emotion betrayed by Schedoni,
on the appearance of the last witness,
and during the delivery of the evidence,
disappeared when his fate became cer-
tain, and when the dreadful sentence of
the law was pronounced, it made no
visible impression on his mind. From
that moment, his firmness or his hardi-
hood never forsook him, : '..
Vivaldi, who witnessed this condem-
nation, appeared infinitely more affected
by it than himself, and, though in re
vealing the circumstance of father Ni ;


106
THE ITALIAN.
cola's, summons, which had eventually
led to the discovery of Schedoni's
crimes, he had not been left a choice
in his conduct, he felt, at this moment,
as miserable as if he had actually borne
"witness against the life of a fellow-
'being : what, then, would have been
his feelings, had he been told that this
Schedoni, thus condemned, was the
father of Ellena di Rosalba! But,
whatever these might be, he was soon
condemned to experience them. One
of the most powerful of Schedoni's pas-
sions appeared even in this last scene;
and, as, in quitting the tribunal, he
passed near Vivaldi, he uttered these
few words-- In me you have murdered
the father of Ellena di Rosalba !
: Not with any hope that the interces-
sion of Vivaldi, himself also a prisoner,
could in the least mitigate a sentence
pronounced by the Inquisition, did he
say this, but for the purpose of reveng-.
ing himself for the evil, which Vivaldi's
evidence had contributed to produce,
and inflicting the exquisite misery such


THE ITALIAN. 107
information must give. The attempt
succeeded too well. : ;
; At first, indeed, Vivaldi judged this
to be only the desperate assertion of a
man, who believed his last chance of
escaping the rigour of the law, to rest
with him; and, at the mention of El-
lena, forgetting every precaution, he
loudly demanded to know her situation.
Schedoni, throwing upon him an hor-
rible smile of triumph and derision, was
passing forward without replying, but
Vivaldi, unable to support this state of
uncertainty, asked permission of the
tribunal to converse, for a few moments,
with the prisoner; a request, which
was granted with extreme reluctance,
and only on condition that the conver-
sation should be public.
To Vivaldi's questions, as to the situ-
ation of Ellena, Schedoni only replied,
that she was his daughter, and the so-
lemnity, which accompanied these re-
peated assertions, though it failed to
convince Vivaldi: of this truth, occa-
sioned him agonizing doubt and appre-


108
THE ITALIAN.
hension : but when the confessor, per-
ceiving the policy of disclosing her
place of residence to Vivaldi, softened
from his desire of vengeance to secure
the interest of his family, and named
the Santa della Pieta as her present
asylum, the joy of such intelligence
overcame, for a time, every other con-
sideration,
To this dialogue, however, the offi-
cials put a speedy conclusion; Schedoni
was led back to his cell, and Vivaldi
was soon after ordered to his former
close confinement.
But Paulo became again outrageous,
when he was about to be separated
from his master, till the latter, having
petitioned the tribunal, that his servant
might accompany him to his prison, and
received an absolute refusal, endea-
voured to calm the violence of his
despair. He fell at his master's feet
and shed tears, but he uttered no further
complaints. When he rose, he turned
his eyes in silence upon Vivaldi, and
they seemed to say, Dear master! I


THE ITALIAN.
109
shall never see you more! and with this
sad expression, he continued to gaze on
him till he had left the hall. "
: Vivaldi, notwithstanding the various
subjects of his distress, could not bear
to meet the piteous looks of this poor
man, and he withdrew his eyes; yet,
at every other step he took, they con-
stantly returned to his faithful servant,
till the doors folded him from sight.
When he had quitted the ball, Vivaldi ..
pleaded, however hopelessly, to the offi-
cials, in favour of Paulo, entreating that
they would speak to the persons, who
kept guard over him, and prevail with
them to shew him every allowable in-
dulgence.
, . . .
No indulgence can be allowed him,
replied one of the men, except bread
and water, and the liberty of walking in
his cell, . . . . .
No other! said Vivaldi. iii
None, repeated the official. This
prisoner has been near getting one of
his guards into a scrape already, for,
somehow or other, he so talked him


110
THE ITALIAN.
over, and won upon him (for he is but a
young one here) that the man let him
have a light, and a pen and ink; but,
luckily, it was found out, before any
harm was done.
And what became of this honest fel-
low? inquired Vivaldi.
· Honest! he was none so honest,
either, signor, if he could not mind his
duty.
Was he punished, then ?
No, signor, replied the man, pausing,
and looking back upon the long avenue
they were passing, to inquire whether
he was observed to hold this conversa-
tion with a prisoner : No, signor, he
was a younker, so they let him off for
once, and sent him to guard a man,
who was not so full of his coaxing
ways.
Paulo made him merry, perhaps ?
asked Vivaldi. What were the coaxing
ways you spoke of ?
Merry, signor! no! he made him cry,
and that was as bad. ::
Indeed! said Vivaldi. The man must


THE ITALIAN.
111
have been here, then, a very short time.
:: Not more than a month, or so, signor.
But the coaxing ways you talked of,
· repeated Vivaldi, what were they ?a
ducat, or so?
A ducat! exclaimed the man, no!
not a paolo !
Are you sure of that? cried Vivaldi,
shrewdly.
Ay, sure enough, signor. The fellow
is not worth a ducat in the world !:
But his master is, friend, observed
Vivaldi, in a very low voice, while he
put some money into his hand.
The officer made no answer, but con-
cealed the money, and nothing further
was said.
Vivaldi had given this as a bribe, to
procure some kindness for his servant,
not from any consideration of himself,
for his own critical situation had ceased
at this time to be a subject of anxiety
with him. His mind was at present
strangely agitated between emotions the
most opposite in their nature, the joy,
which a discovery of Ellena's safety in-


112
THE ITALIAN.
spired, and the horrible suspicion, that
Schedoni's assurances of relationship
occasioned. That his Ellena was the
daughter of a murderer, that the father
of Ellena should be brought to ignomi-
nious death, and that he himself, how-
ever unintentionally, should have assisted
to this event, were considerations almost
too horrible to be sustained ! Vivaldi
sought refuge from them in various con-
jectures as to the motive, which might
have induced Schedoni to assert a false-
hood in this instance; but that of revenge
alone appeared plausible ; and even this
surmise was weakened, when he consi-
dered, that the confessor had assured
him of Ellena's safety, an assurance
which, as Vivaldi did not detect the
selfish policy connected with it, he be-
lieved Schedoni would not have given,
had his general intent towards him been
malicious. But it was possible, that
this very information, on which all his
comfort reposed, might be false, and
had been given only for the purpose of
inflicting the anguish a discovery of the


THE ITALIAN.
113
truth must lead to ! With an anxiety so
intense as almost to overcome his faculty
of judging, he examined every minute
probability relative to this point, and
concluded with believing, that Schedoni
had, in this last instance, at least, spo-
ken honestly.
Whether he had done so in his first
assertion was a question, which had
raised in Vivaldi's mind a tempest of
conjecture and of horror; for, while the
subject of it was too astonishing to be
fully believed, it was, also, too dreadful,
not to be apprehended even as a pos.
sibility.
. .
.!


CHAPTER IV.
O holy nun! why bend the mournful head ?
Why fall those tears from lids uplift in pray'r!
Why o'er thy pale cheek steals the feeble blush,
Then fades, and leaves it wan as the lily
On which a moon-beam falls ?
While these events were passing in
the prisons of the Inquisition at Rome,
Ellena, in the sanctuary of Our Lady of
Pity, remained ignorant of Schedoni's
arrest, and of Vivaldi's situation. She
understood, that the confessor was pre-
paring tò acknowledge her for his
daughter, and believed that she com-
prehended also the motive for his ab-
sence; but, though he had forbidden
her to expect a visit from him till his
arrangement should be completed, he
had promised to write in the mean time
and inform her of all the present circum-
stances of Vivaldi; bis unexpected
silence had excited, therefore, appre-
hensions as various, though not so ter-
rible, as those, which Vivaldi had suf-


THE ITALIAN.
115
fered for her ; nor did the silence of
Vivaldi himself appear less extraor-
dinary.
His confinement must be severe indeed,
said the afflicted Ellena, since he cannot
relieve my anxiety by a single line of
intelligence. Or, perhaps, harassed by
unceasing opposition, he has submitted
to the commands of his family, and has
consented to forget me. Ah! why did
I leave the opportunity for that com-
mand to his family ; why did I not en-
force it myself!
Yet, while she uttered this self re-
proach, the tears she shed contradicted
the pride which had suggested it; and
a conviction lurking in her heart, that
Vivaldi could not so resign her, soon
dissipated those tears. But other con-
jectures recalled them ; it was possible
that he was ill-that he was dead! .
In such vague and gloomy surmise
her days passed away; employment
could no longer withdraw her from her-
self, nor music, even for a moment,
charm away the sense of sorrow; yet


116
.THE ITALIAN.
she regularly pártook of the various
occupations of the nuns; and was so far
from permitting herself to indulge in any
useless expression of anxiety, that she
had never once disclosed the sacred
subject of it; so that, though she could
not assume an air of cheerfulness, she
never appeared otherwise than tranquil.
Her most soothing, yet perhaps most
melancholy hour, was when about sun.
set she could withdraw unnoticed, to the
terrace among the rocks, that overlooked
the convent, and formed a part of its
domain. . There, alone and relieved
from all the ceremonial restraints of the
society, her very thoughts seemed more
at liberty. . As, from beneath the light
foliage of the accacias, or the more ma-
jestic shade of the plane trees, that
waved their branches over the many
coloured cliffs of this terrace, Ellena
looked down upon the magnificent sce
nery of the bay, it brought back to me-
mory, in sad yet pleasing detail, the
many happy days she had passed on
those blue waters, or on the shores, in


THE ITALIAN
117
the society of Vivaldi and her departed
relative Bianchi; and every point of the
prospect, marked by such remembrance,
which the veiling distance stole, was
rescued by imagination and pictured by
affection in tints more animated than
those of brightest nature. .
One evening, Ellena had lingered on
the terrace later than usual. She had
watched the rays, retiring from the
highest points of the horizon, and the
fading imagery of the lower scene, till,
the sun having sunk into the waves, all
colouring was withdrawn, except an
empurpling and reposing, hue, which
overspread the waters and the heavens,
and blended in soft confusion every fea-
ture of the landscape. The roofs and
slender spires of the Santa della Pieta,
with a single tower of the church rising :
loftily over every other part of the
buildings that composed the convent,
were fading fast from the eye ; but the
solemn tint, that invested them, accorded
so well with their style, that Ellena was
unwilling to relinquish: this interesting
.


118.
THE ITALIAN.
object. Suddenly she perceived through
the dubious light an unusual number of
moving figures in the court of the great
cloister, and listening, she fancied she
could distinguish the murmuring of many
voices. The white drapery of the nuns
rendered them conspicuous as they
moved, but it was impossible to ascer-
tain who were the individuals, engaged
in this bustle. Presently the assemblage
dispersed; and Ellena, curious to under-
stand the occasion of what she had
observed, prepared to descend to the
convent. ; ,"
She had left the terrace, and was about
to enter a long avenue of chesnuts, that
extended to a part of the convent, com-
municating immediately with the great
court, when she heard approaching steps,
and, on turning into the walk, perceived
several persons advancing in the shady
distance. Among the voices, as they
drew nearer, she distinguished one, whose
interesting tone engaged all her atten.
tion, and began also to awaken memory..
She listened, wondered, doubted, hoped,


THE ITALIAN,
119
and feared !.. It spoke again! Ellena
thought she could not be deceived in
those tender accents, so full of intel-
ligence, so expressive of sensibility and
refinement. She proceeded with quickers
steps, yet faltered as she drew near the
group, and paused to discern whether
among them was any figure, that might
accord with the voice and justify her
hopes. .
The voice spoke again; it pronounced
her name; pronounced it with the
tremblings of tenderness and impatience,
and Ellena scarcely dared to trust her
senses, when she beheld Olivia, the nun
of San Stefano, in the cloisters of the
Della Pieta! .;
Ellena could find no words to express
her joy and surprise on beholding her
preserver in safety, and in these quiet
groves; but Olivia repaid all the affec-
tionate caresses of her young friend,
and, while she promised to explain the
circumstance, that had led to her pre-
sent appearance here, she, in her turn,
made numerous inquiries, relative to


120
THE ITALIAN...
Ellena's adventures after she had quitted
San Stefano. They were now, how-
ever, surrounded by two many auditors
to allow of unreserved conversation ;
Ellena, therefore, led 'the' nun to her
apartment, and Olivia then explained
her reasons for having left the convent
of San Stefano, which were, indeed,
sufficient to justify, even with the most
rigid devotee, her conduct as to the
change. This unfortunate recluse, it
appeared, persecuted by the suspicions
of the abbess, who understood, that she
had assisted in the liberation of Ellena,
had petitioned the bishop of her diocese
for leave to remove to the Santa della
Pieta. The abbess had not proof to
proceed formally against her, as an ac.
complice in the escape of a novice, for
though Jeronimo could have supplied
the requisite evidence, he was too deeply
implicated in this adventure to do so
without betraying his own conduct.
From his having withheld such proof,
it appears, however, that accident, rather
than design, had occasioned his failure


THE ITALIAN.
121
on the evening of Ellena's departure
from the monastery. But, though the
abbess had not testimony enough for
legal punishment, she was acquainted
with circumstances sufficient to justify
suspicion, and had both the inclination
and the power to render Olivia very
miserable.
In her choice of the Santa della Pieta,
the nun was influenced by many consi-
derations, some of which were the con.
sequence of conversations she had held
with Ellena respecting the state of that
society. Her design she had been unable
to disclose to her friend, lest, by a disco-
very of such correspondence, the abbess
of San Stefano should obtain grounds on
which to proceed against her. Even in
her appeal to the bishop the utmost
caution and secrecy had been necessary,
till the order for her removal, procured
not without considerable delay and
difficulty, arrived, and when it came,
the jealous anger of the superior renderou
an immediate departure necessary.
Olivia, during many years, had been
VOL. IV.


122
THE ITALIAN.
unhappy in her local circumstances, but
it is probable she would have concluded
her days within the walls of San Ste-
fano, had not the aggravated oppression
of the abbess aroused her courage and
activity, and dissipated the despondency,
with which severe misfortune had ob-
scured her views.
· Ellena was particular in her inquiries
whether any person of the monastery
had suffered for the assistance they had
given her; but learned that not one,
except Olivia, had been suspected of
befriending her; and then understood,
that the venerable friar, who had dared
to unfasten the gate, which restored her
with Vivaldi to liberty, had not been
involved by his kindness.'
. It is an embarrassing and rather an
unusual circumstance, concluded Olivia,
to change one's convent; but you per-
ceive the strong reasons which deter-
mined me upon a removal. I was, how-
ever, perhaps, the more impatient of
severe treatment, since you, my sister,
had described to me the society of Our


THE ITALIAN.
123
.
Lady of Pity, and since I believed it
possible that you might form a part of
it. When, on my arrival here, I learned
that my wishes had not deceived me on
this point, I was impatient to see you
once more, and as soon as the ceremonies
attending an introduction to the superior
were over, I requested to be conducted
to you, and was in search of you when
we met in the avenue. It is unnecessary
for me to insist upon the satisfaction
which this meeting gives me; but you
may not, perhaps, understand how much
the manners of our lady abbess, and of
the sisterhood in general, as far as a first
interview will allow me to judge of them,
have reanimated me. The gloom, which
has long hung over my prospects, seems
now to open, and a distant gleam pro-
mises to light up the evening of my
stormy day.
Olivia paused and appeared to recol-
lect herself; this was the first time she
had made so direct a reference to her
own misfortunes; and, while Ellena
silently remarked it, and observed the
G 2


124
THE ITALIAN.
75
dejection, which was already stealing
upou the expressive countenance of the
nun, she wished, yet feared to lead her
back towards the subject of them.
Endeavouring to dismiss some painful
remembrance, and assuming a smile of
languid gaiety, Olivia said, Now that I
have related the history of my removal,
and sufficiently indulged my egotism,
will you let me hear what adventures
have befallen you, my young friend,
since the melancholy adieu you gave
me in the gardens of San Stefano.
This was a task, to which Ellena's
spirits, though revived by the presence
of Olivia, were still unequal. Over the
scenes of her past distress Time had not
yet drawn her shadowing veil; the
colours were all too fresh and garish for
the meek dejection of her eye, and the
subject was too intimately connected
with that of her present anxiety, to be
reviewed without very painful feelings.
She therefore requested Olivia to spare
her from a detail of particulars, which
she could not repeat but with extreme
as


THE ITALIAN.
125
reluctance; and, scrupulously observing
the injunction of Schedoni, she merely
mentioned her separation from Vivaldi
upon the banks of the Celano, and
that a variety of distressing circum-
stances had intervened before she
could regain the sanctuary of the della
Pieta.
Olivia understood too well the kind of
feelings, from which Ellena was desirous
of escaping, willingly to subject her to
a renewal of them; and felt too much
generous compassion for her sufferings
not to endeavour to sooth the sense of
them by an exertion of those delicate
and nameless arts, which, while they
mock detection, fascinate the weary
spirit as by a charm of magic!
The friends continued in conversation,
till a chime from a chapel of the convent
summoned them to the last vespers ;
and, when the service had concluded,
they separated for the night.
With the society of the Santa della
Pieta, Olivia had thus found an asylum
such as till lately she had never dared


126
THE ITALIAN.
to hope for; but, though she frequently
expressed her sense of this blessing, it
was seldom without tears; and Ellena
observed, with some surprise and more
disappointment, within a very few days
after her arrival, a cloud of melancholy
spreading again over her mind.
But a nearer interest soon withdrew
Ellena's attention from Olivia to fix it
upon Vivaldi ; and, when she saw her
infirm old servant, Beatrice, enter a
chamber of the convent, she anticipated
that the knowledge of some extraor-
dinary, and probably unhappy, event
had brought her. She knew too well
the circumspection of Schedoni to be-
lieve, that Beatrice came commissioned
from him; and, as the uncertain situation
of Vivaldi was so constantly the subject
of her anxiety, she immediately con-
cluded, that her servant came to an-
nounce some evil relative to him.--His
indisposition, perhaps his actual con-
finement in the Inquisition, which lately
she had sometimes been inclined to
think might not have been a mere


THE HE 127
1
AN
AS
.
ITALIANmenace to Vivaldi, though it had proved
to be no more to herself;-or possibly
she came to tell of his death his death
in those prisons! This last was a pos-
sibility that almost incapacitated her
for inquiring what was the errand of
Beatrice.
The old servant, trembling and wan,
either from the fatigue of her walk, or
from a consciousnes of disastrous intel-
ligence, seated herself without speaking,
and some moments elapsed before she
could be prevailed with to answer the
repeated inquiries of Ellena,
O signora ! said she, at length; you
do not know what it is to walk up hill
such a long way, at my age! Well !
heaven protect you, I hope you never
will !
I perceive you bring ill news, said
Ellena ; I am prepared for it, and you
need not fear to tell me all you know.
Holy San Marco! exclaimed Beatrice;
if death be ill news, you have guessed
right, signora, for I do bring news of
that, it is certain. How came you, lady,


128
THE ITALIAN.
to know my errand ? They have been
beforehand with me, I see, though I have
not walked so fast up hill this many a
day, as I have now, to tell you what
has happened.
She stopped on observing the changing
countenance of Ellena, who tremulously
called upon her to explain what had
happened-who was dead; and entreated
her to relate the particulars as speedily
as possible.
You said you was prepared, signora,
said Beatrice; but your looks tell ano-
ther tale-
What is the event you would disclose!
said Ellena, almost breathless. When
did it happen ?-be brief.
I cannot tell exactly when it happened,
signora, but it was an own servant of
the Marchese's that I had it from.
...The Marchese's ? interrupted Ellena,
in a faltering voice.
Ay, lady; you will say that is pretty
good authority.
· Death! and in the Marchese's family!
exclaimed Ellena.


130
THE ITALIAN.
he, of what has just happened in our
family.
O heavens ! exclaimed Ellena, he is
dead! Vivaldi is dead !
You shall hear, signora, continued
Beatrice.
Be brief! said Ellena, answer me
simply, yes or no.
I cannot, till I come to the right place,
signora ; if you will but have a little
patience, you shall hear all. But if you
flutter me so, you will put me quite out.
Grant me patience! said Ellena, endea-
vouring to calm her spirits.
With that, signora, I asked him to
walk in and rest himself, and tell me all
about it. He answered, he was in a great
hurry, and could not stay a moment,
and a great deal of that sort; but I,
knowing whatever happened in that
family, signora, was something to you,
would not let him go off so easily; and
so, when I asked him to refresh himself
with a glass of lemon ice, he forgot all
his business in a minute, and, we had
a long chat.


THE ITALIAN.
131
And Beatrice might now have conti-
nued her circumlocution, perhaps as
long as she had pleased, for Ellena had
lost all power to urge inquiry, and was
scarcely sensible of what was said. She
neither spoke, nor shed a tear; the one
image that possessed her fancy, the
image of Vivaldi dead, seemed to hold
all her faculties, as by a spell.
So when I asked him, added Beatrice,
again what had happened, he was ready
enough to tell me all about it. It is
near a month ago, said he, since she was
first taken; the Marchesa had been
The Marchesa ! repeated Ellena, with
whom that one word had dissolved the
spell of terror—the Marchesa ?
Yes, signora, to be sure. Who else
did I say it was?
Go on, Beatrice; the Marchesa ?-
What makes you look so glad all of a
sudden, signora ? I thought just now
you was very sorry about it! What! I
warrant you was thinking about my
young lord, Vivaldi.
Proceed, said Ellena,


132
THE ITALIAN.
Well! added Beatrice, it was about
a month ago that the Marchesa was first
taken, continued the varlet. She had
seemed poorly a long time, but it was
from a conversazione at the di Voglio Pa-
lazzo, that she came home so ill, It is
supposed she had been long in a bad
state of health, but nobody thought her
so near her end, till the doctors were
called together; and then matters look-
ed very bad indeed. They found out
that she had been dying, or as good,
for many years, though nobody else had
suspected it, and the Marchesa's own
physician was blamed for not finding it
out before. But he, added the rogue,
had a regard for my lady. He was very
abstinate, too, for be kept saying almost
to the last, there was no danger, when
every body else saw how it was going.
The other doctors soon made their words
good, and my lady died.
And her son-said Ellena, was he
with the Marchesa when she expired ?
What, Signor Vivaldi, lady? No, the
signor was not there.


THE ITALIAN.
The Marchesa you are sure then was
ignorant where he was? said Ellena,
with new astonishment and perplexity
as to the person who, after betraying
him into the Inquisition, could yet have
suffered her, though arrested at the same
time, to escape.
Yes, signora, for she wanted sadly to
see him. And when she was dying, she
sent for her confessor, one father Sche-
doni, I think they call him, and
What of him ? said Ellena incauti-
ously.
Nothing, signora, for he could not be
found.
Not be found! repeated Ellena.
No, signora, not just then; he was
confessor, I warrant, to other people
beside the Marchesa, and I dare say
they had sins enough to confess, so he
could not get away in a hurry.
Ellena recollected herself sufficiently
to ask no further of Schedoni; and,
when she considered the probable cause
of Vivaldi's arrest, she was again con-
soled by a belief that he had not fallen


THE ITALIAN.
135
.
into the power of real officials, since
the comrades of the men who had arrest-
ed him, had proved themselves other-
wise; and she thought it highly proba
ble, that, while undiscovered by his
family, he had been, and was still en-
gaged in searching for the place of her
confinement.
But I was saying, proceeded Beatrice;
what a bustle there was when my lady,
the Marchesa, was dying. As this father
Schedoni was not to be found, another
confessor was sent for, and shut up with
her for a long while indeed! And then
my Lord Marchese was called in, and
there seemed to be a deal going forward,
for my lord was heard every now and
then by the attendants in the anti-
chamber, talking loud, and sometimes
my lady Marchesa's voice was heard
too, though she was so ill ! At last all.
was silent, and after some time my lord
came out of the room, and he seemed
very much flustered, they say, that is,
very angry and yet very sorrowful. But
the confessor remained with my lady for


136
THE ITALIAN.
a long while after; and, when he de-
parted, my lady appeared more unhappy
than ever. She lived all that night, and
part of the next day, and something
seemed to lie very heavy at her heart,
for she sometimes wept, but oftener
groaned, and would look so, that it was
piteous to see her. She frequently asked
for the Marchese, and when he came,
the attendants were sent away, and they
held long conferences by themselves,
The confessor also was sent for again,
just at the last, and they were all shut
up together. After this, my lady ap-
peared more easy in her mind, and not
long after she died.
Ellena, who had attended closely to
this little narrative, was prevented for
the present from asking the few ques-
tions, which it had suggested, by the
entrance of Olivia, who, on perceiving
a stranger, was retiring, but Ellena, not
considering these inquiries as important,
prevailed with the nun to take a chair
at the embroidery frame she had lately
quitted,
lind


THE ITALIAN.
137
After conversing for a few moments
with Olivia, she returned to a conside-
ration of her own interests. The absence
of Schedoni still appeared to her as
something more than accidental; and,
though she could not urge any inquiry
with Beatrice, concerning the monk of
the Spirito Santo, she ventured to ask
whether she had lately seen the stranger,
who had restored her to Altieri, for Bea-
trice knew him only in the character of
Ellena's deliverer.
No, signora, replied Beatrice rather
sharply; I have never seen his face
since he attended you to the villa, though
for that matter, I did not see much of
it there ; and then how he contrived to
let himself out of the house that night,
without my seeing him, I cannot divine,
though I have thought of it often enough
since. I am sure he need not to have
been ashamed to have shewn his face to
me, for I should only have blessed him
for bringing you safe home again,
· Ellena was somewhat surprised to
find, that Beatrice had noticed a cir.


138 -
THE ITALIAN.
Cu
cumstance apparently so trivial, and
replied, that she had herself opened the
door for her protector.
While Beatrice spoke, Olivia raising
her eyes from the embroidery, had fixed
them upon the old servant, who respect-
fully withdrew her's; but, when the
nun was again engaged on her work,
she resumed her observation. Ellena
fancied she perceived something extra-
ordinary in this mutual examination,
although the curiosity of strangers to-
wards each other might have accounted
for it.
Beatrice then received directions from
Ellena, as to some drawings, which she
wished to have sent to the convent, and
when the servant spoke in reply, Olivia
again raised her eyes, and fixed them
on her face with intense curiosity.
I certainly ought to know that voice,
said the nun with great emotion, though
I dare not judge from your features. Is
it,can it be possible !--is it Beatrice
Olca, to whom I speak? So many years
have passed


THE ITALIAN.
139
Beatrice, with equal surprise, answer-
ed, It is, signora ; you are right in my
name. But, lady, who are you, that
know me?
While she earnestly regarded Olivia,
there was an expression of dismay in
her look, which increased Ellena's per-
plexity. The nun's complexion varied
every instant, and her words failed when
she attempted to speak. Beatrice mean-
while exclaimed, My eyes deceive me!
yet there is a strange likeness. Santa
della Pieta! how it has Auttered me!
my heart beats still-you are so like
her, lady, yet you are very different too.
· Olivia, whose regards were now en-
tirely fixed upon Ellena, said in a voice
that was scarcely articulate, while her
whole frame seemed sinking beneath
some irresistible feeling, Tell me, Bea-
trice, I conjure you quickly say, who is
this? — She pointed to Ellena, and the
sentence died on her lips.
Beatrice, wholly occupied by inter-
ests of her own, gave no reply, but ex-
claimed, It is in truth the Lady Olivia !


140
THE ITALIAN.
It is herself! In the name of all that is
sacred, how came you here? O! how
glad you must have been to find one
another out! She lonked, still gasping
with astonishment, at Olivia, while El-
lena, unheard, repeatedly inquired the
meaning of her words, and in the next
moment found herself pressed to the
bosom of the nun, who seemed better
to have understood them, and who,
weeping, trembling, and almost fainting,
held her there in silence.
Ellena, after some moments had thus
passed, requested an explanation of
what she witnessed, and Beatrice at the
same time demanded the cause of all
this emotion. For can it be that you
did not know one another ? she added.
What new discovery is this? said
Ellena, fearfully to the nun. It is but
lately that I have found my father! O
tell me by what tender name I am to
call you.
Your father! exclaimed Olivia.
Your father, lady! echoed Beatrice,
Ellena, betrayed by strong emotion


THE ITALIAN.
141
.
into this premature mention of Schedoni,
was embarrassed and remained silent.
No, my child, said Olivia, softening
from amazement into tones of ineffable
sorrow, while she again pressed Ellena
to her heart-No!a-thy father is in the
grave.
Ellena no longer returned her ca-
resses : surprise and doubt suspended
every tender emotion; she gazed upon
Olivia with an intenseness that partook
of wildness. At length she said slowly
It is my mother, then, whom I see!
When will these discoveries end! .
It is your mother! replied Olivia
solemnly, a mother's blessing rests with
you!
The nun endeavoured to sooth the
agitated spirits of Ellena, though she
was herself nearly overwhelmed by the
various and acute feelings this disclosure
occasioned. For a considerable time
they were unable to speak but in short
sentences of affectionate exclamation,
but joy was evidently a more predominant
feeling with the parent than with the


142
THE ITALIAN.
child. When, however, Ellena could
weep, she became more tranquil, and by
degrees was sensible of a degree of hap-
piness, such as she had perhaps never
experienced.
Meanwhile Beatrice seemed lost in
amazement mingled with fear. She ex-
pressed no pleasure, notwithstanding
the joy she witnessed, but was uniform-
ly grave and observant. '
Olivia, when she recovered some de-
gree of composure, inquired for her
sister Bianchi. The silence and sudden
dejection of Ellena indicated the truth.
On this mention of her late mistress,
Beatrice recovered the use of speech.
Alas! lady, said the old servant, she
is now where I believed you were ! and
I should as soon have expected to see
iny dear mistress here as yourself!
Olivia, though affected by this intel-
ligence, did not feel it with the acute-
ness she would have done probably at
any other moment. After she had in-
dulged her tears, she added, that from
the unusual silence of Bianchi, she had


THE ITALIAN.
143
suspected the truth, and particularly
since not any answer had been returned
to the letter she had sent to Altieri upon
her arrival at the Santa della Pieta.
Alas! said Beatrice, I wonder much
my lady abbess failed to tell you the
sad news, for she knew it too well!-
My dear mistress is buried in the church
here! as for the letter, I have brought
it with me for Signora Ellena to open.
· The lady abbess is not informed of
our relationship, replied Olivia, and I
have particular reasons for wishing, that
at present she should remain ignorant
of it. Even you, my Ellena, must ap-
pear only as my friend, till some inqui-
ries have been made, which are essential
to my peace.
· Olivia required an explanation of El-
lena's late extraordinary assertion, re-
specting her father, but this was a
request made with emotions very diffe-
rent from those, which hope or joy in-
spire. Ellena, believing, that the same
circumstances, which had deceived her-
self during so many years, as to his


144
THE ITALIAN.
death, had also misled Olivia, was not
surprised at the incredulity her mother
had shewn, but she was considerably
embarrassed how to answer her inqui-
ries. It was now too late to observe
the promise of secrecy extorted from
her by Schedoni; the first moments of
surprise had betrayed her; yet, while
she trembled further to transgress his
injunction, she perceived that a full ex-
planation was now unavoidable. And,
since Ellena considered, that as Sche-
doni could not have foreseen her present
peculiar situation, his command had no
reference to her mother, her scruples on
this head disappeared. When, there-
fore, Beatrice had withdrawn, Ellena
repeated her assertion, that her father
still lived; which, though it increased
the amazement of Olivia, did not van-
quish her incredulity. Olivia's tears
flowed fast, while in contradiction to
this assurance, she mentioned the year
in which the Count di Bruno died, with
some circumstances relative to his death;
which, however, as Ellena understood


THE ITALIAN.
145
that her mother had not witnessed it,
she still believed had not happened. To
confirm her late assertion, Ellena then
related a few particulars of her second
interview with Schedoni, and as some
confirmation that he lived, offered to
produce the portrait, which he had
claimed as his own. Olivia, in great
agitation, requested to see the miniature,
and Ellena left the apartment in search
of it.
Every moment of her absence was to
Olivia's expectation lengthened to an
hour; she paced the room; listened for
a footstep; endeavoured to tranquillize
her spirits; and still Ellena did not re-
turu. Some strange mystery seemed to
lurk in the narrative she had just heard,
which she wished, yet dreaded to de-
velope; and when, at length, Ellena
appeared with the miniature, she took it
in trembling eagerness, and having gazed
upon it for an instant, her complexion
faded, and she fainted.
Ellena had now no doubt respecting
the truth of Schedoni's declaration, and
VOL. IV.


146
THE ITALIAN.
blamed herself for not having more gra-
dually prepared her mother for the
knowledge of a circumstance, which she
believed had overwhelmed her with joy.
The usual applications, however, soon
restored Olivia, who, when she was
again alone with her daughter, desired
to behold once more the portrait. El.
lena, attributing the strong emotion,
with which she still regarded it, to sur-
prise, and fear lest she was admitting a
fallacious hope, endeavoured to comfort
her by renewed assurances, that not only
the Count di Bruno yet existed, but that
he lived at this very time in Naples, and
further, that he would probably be in
her presence within the hour-When I
quitted the room for the miniature,
added Ellena, 1 dispatched a person with
a note, requesting to see my father im-
mediately, being impatient to realize
the joy, which such a meeting between
my long lost parents must occasion.
In this instance Ellena had certainly
suffered her generous sympathy to over-
come her discretion, for, though the


THE ITALIAN.
147
contents of the note to Schedoni could
not positively have betrayed him, had
he even been in Naples at this time, her
sending it to the Spirito Santo, instead
of the place which he had appointed for
his letters, might have led to a premature
inquiry respecting herself. .
While Ellena had acquainted Olivia
that Schedoni would probably be with
them soon, she watched eagerly for the
joyful surprise she expected would ap-
pear on her countenance; how severe
then was her disappointment when only
terror and dismay were expressed there!
and, when in the next moment, her
mother uttered exclamations of distress
and even of despair!
If he sees me, said Olivia, I am irre-
coverably lost! O! unhappy Ellena !
your precipitancy has destroyed me.
The original of this portrait is not the
Count di Bruno, my dear lord, nor your
parent, but his brother, the cruel hus-
band
Olivia left the sentence unfinished, as
if she was betraying more than was at
н2


148
THE ITALIAN.
present discreet; but Ellena, whom
astonishment had kept silent, now en-
treated that she would explain her words,
and the cause of her distress.
I know not, said Olivia, by what
means that portrait has been conveyed
to you; but it is the resemblance of the
Count Ferando di Bruno, the brother of
my lord, and my second husband
she should have said, but her lips refused
ito honour him with the title..
She paused and was much affected,
but presently added -
I cannot at present explain the sub-
ject more fully, for it is to me a very
distressing one. Let me rather consider
the means of avoiding an interview with
di Bruno, and even of concealing, if
possible, that I exist.
Olivia was, however, soothed when
she understood that Ellena had not
named her in the note, but had merely
desired to see the confessor upon'a very
particular occasion.
While they were consulting upon the
excuse it would be necessary to form


THE ITALIAN.
149
for this imprudent summons, the mes-
senger returned with the note unopened,"
and with information, that father Sche-
doni was abroad on a pilgrimage, which
was the explanation the brothers of the
Spirito Santo chose to give of his ab-
sence; judging it prudent, for the
honour of their convent, to conceal his
real situation.
Olivia, thus relieved from her fears,
consented to explain some points of the
subject so interesting to Ellena; but it
was not till several days after this dis-
covery, that she could sufficiently com-
mand her spirits to relate the whole of
her narrative. The first part of it agreed
perfectly with the account delivered in
the confession to the penitentiary An-
saldo ; that, which follows, was known
only to herself, her sister Bianchi, a
· physician, and one faithful servant, who
had been considerably intrusted with
the conduct of the plan.
It may be recollected, that Schedoni
left his house immediately after the act,
which was designed to be fatal to the


150
THE ITALIAN.
countess his wife, and that she was car-
ried senseless to her chamber. The
wound, as appears, was not mortal.
But the atrocity of the intent determined
her to seize the opportunity, thus offered
by the absence of Schedoni and her own
peculiar circumstances, to release herself,
from his tyranny without having recourse
to a court of justice, which would have
covered with infamy the brother of her
first husband. She withdrew, therefore,
from his house for ever, and with the
assistance of the three persons before
mentioned, retired to a remote part of
Italy, and sought refuge in the convent
of San Stefano, while at home the report
of her death was confirmed by a public
funeral. Bianchi remained for some
time after the departure of Olivia, in her
own residence near the Villa di Bruno,
having taken under her immediate care
the daughter of the Countess and of the
first Count di Bruno, as well as an infant
daughter of the second.
After some time had elapsed, Bianchi
withdrew with her young charge, but


THE ITALIAN.
151
not to the neighbourhood of San Stefano.
The indulgence of a mother's tenderness
was denied to Olivia, for Bianchi could
not reside near the convent without sub-
jecting her to the hazard of a discovery,
since Schedoni, though he now believed
the report of her death, might be led to
doubt it, by the conduct of Bianchi,
whose steps would probably be observed
by him. She chose a residence, there-
fore, at a distance from Olivia, though
not yet at Altieri. At this period, Ellena
was not two years old ; the daughter of
Schedoni was scarcely as many months,
and she died before the year concluded.
It was this his child, for whom the con-
fessor, who had too well concealed him-
self to permit Bianchi to acquaint him
with her death, had mistaken Ellena,
and to which mistake his own portrait,
affirmed by Ellena to be that of her
father, had contributed. This miniature
she had found in the cabinet of Bianchi
after her aunt's decease, and, observing
it inscribed with the title of Count di


152
THE ITALIAN.
28
Bruno, she had worn it with a filial
fondness ever since that period.
Bianchi, when she had acquainted
Ellena with the secret of her birth, was
withheld, both by prudence and huma-
nity, from intrusting her with a know-
ledge, that her mother lived; but this,
no doubt, was the circumstance she ap-
peared so anxious to disclose on her
death-bed, when the suddenness of her
disorder had deprived her of the power.
The abruptness of that event had thus
contributed to keep the mother and
daughter unknown to each other, even
when they afterwards accidentally met,
to which concealment the name of Ro-
salba, given to Ellena from her infancy
by Bianchi, for the purpose of protecting
her from discovery by her uncle, had
assisted. Beatrice, who was not the do-
mestic intrusted with the escape of
Olivia, had believed the report of her
death, and thus, though she knew El-
lena to be the daughter of the Countess
di Bruno, she could never have been a


THE ITALIAN.
153
means of discovering them to each other,
had it not happened that Olivia recog-
nized this ancient servant of Bianchi,
while Ellena was present. .
. When Bianchi came to reside in the
neighbourhood of Naples, she was un-
suspicious that Schedoni, who had never
been heard of since the night of the as-
sassination, inhabited there ; and she so
seldom left her house, that it is not sur-
prising that she should never happen to
meet him, at least consciously; for her
veil and the monk's cowl, might easily
have concealed them from each other if
they had met.
It appears to have been the intention
of Bianchi to disclose to. Vivaldi the,
family of Ellena, before their nuptials
were solemnized ; since, on the evening
of their last conversation, she had de-
clared, when her spirits were exhausted
by the exertion she had made, that
much remained for her to say, which
weakness obliged her to defer till another
opportunity. Her unexpected death
prevented any future meeting. That
H 5


154
THE ITALIAN.
she had not sooner intended to make a
communication, which might have re-
moved, in a considerable degree, the
objection of the Vivaldi to a connection
with Ellena, appears extraordinary, till
other circumstances of her family, than
that of its nobility, are considered. Her
present indigence, and yet more, the
guilt attached to an individual of the di
Bruno, it was reasonable to suppose
would operate as a full antidote to the
allurement of rank, however jealous of
birth the Vivaldi had proved themselves.
Ferando di Bruno had contrived, even
in the short interval between the death
of his brother and the supposed decease
of his wife, again to embarrass his af-
fairs, and on after his flight, the income
arising from what remained of his landed
property had been seized upon by his
creditors, whether lawfully or not, he
was then in a situation which did not
permit him to contest, and Ellena was
thus left wholly dependant upon her
aunt. The small fortune of Bianchi had
been diminished by the assistance she


THE ITALIAN,
155
afforded Olivia, for whose admittance
into the convent of San Stefano it had
been necessary to advance a considerable
sum; and her original income was after,
wards reduced by the purchase of the
Villa Altieri. This expenditure, however,
was not an imprudent one, since she
preferred the comforts and independence
of a pleasant home, with industry, to the
indulgence of an indolence which must
have confined her to an inferior resi-
dence; and was acquainted with the
means of making this industry profitable
without being dishonourable. She ex-
celled in many elegant and ingenious
arts, and the productions of her pencil
and needle were privately disposed of to
the nuns of the Santa della Pieta. When
Ellena was of an age to assist her, she
resigned much of the employment and
the profit to her niece, whose genius
having unfolded itself, the beauty of her
designs and the elegance of her execų.
tion, both in drawings and embroidery,
were so highly valued by the purchasers
at the grate of the convent, thąt Bianchị


156
THE ITALIAN.
committed to Ellena altogether the
exercise of her art.
Olivia meanwhile had dedicated her
life to devotion in the monastery of San
Stefano, a choice, which was willingly
made, while her mind was yet softened
by grief for the death of her first lord,
and wearied by the cruelty she had
afterwards experienced. The first years
of her retirement were passed in tran-
quillity, except when the remembrance
of her child, whom she did not dare to
see at the convent, awakened a parental
pang. With Bianchi she, however,
corresponded as regularly as oppor-
tunity would allow, and had at least
the consolation of knowing, that the
object most dear to her lived, till
within a short period of Ellena's arrival
at the very asylum chosen by her
mother, her apprehensions were in some
degree excited by the unusual silence.
of Bianchi. ..
When Olivia had first seen Ellena in
the chapel of San Stefano, she was
struck with a slight resemblance she


THE ITALIAN.
157
bore to the late Count di Bruno, and
had frequently afterwards examined her
features with a most painful curiosity ;
but, circumstanced as she was, Olivia
could not reasonably suspect the stran-
ger to be her daughter. Once, however,
a sense of this possibility so far over-
came her judgment, as to prompt an in-
quiry for the sirname of Ellena! but the
mention of Rosalba had checked all
further conjecture. What would have
been the feelings of the nun, had she
been told when her generous compassion
was assisting a stranger to escape from
oppression, that she was preserving her
own child-! It may be worthy of ob-
servation, that the virtues of Olivia, ex-
erted in a general cause, had thus led
her unconsciously to the happiness of
saving her daughter; while the vices of
Schedoni had as unconsciously urged
him nearly to destroy his niece, and had
always been preventing, by the means
they prompted him to employ, the suc-
cess of his constant aim. .


CHAPTER V.
Those hours which lately smild where are they now?
Pallid to thoughl, and ghastly!
YOUNG
The Marchesa di Vivaldi, of whose
death Beatrice had given an imperfect
account, struck with remorse for the
crime she had meditated against Ellena,
and with terror of the punishment due
to it, had sent, when on her death-bed,
for a confessor, to whom she unburthen-
ed her conscience, and from whom she
hoped to receive, in return, an allevia-
tion of her despair. This confessor was
a man of good sense and humanity; and,
when he fully understood the story of
Vivaldi and Ellena di Rosalba, he de-
clared, that her only hope of forgive-
ness, both for the crime she had medi-
tated and the undeserved sufferings she


THE ITALIAN.
159
had occasioncd, rested upon her willing-
ness to make those now happy, whom
she had formerly rendered miserable.
Her conscience had already given her
the same lesson; and, now that she was
sinking to that grave which levels all
distinctions, and had her just fear of
retribution no longer opposed by her
pride, she became as anxious to pro-
mote the marriage of Vivaldi with Ellena
as she had ever been to prevent it. She
sent, therefore, for the Marchese; and,
having made an avowal of the arts she
had practised against the peace and re-
putation of Ellena, without, however,
confessing the full extent of her intended
crimes, she made it her last request,
that he would consent to the happiness
of his son.
The Marchese, however, shocked as
he was at this discovery of the duplicity
and cruelty of his wife, had neither her
terror of the future, nor remorse for the
past, to overcome his objection to the
rank of Ellena; and he resisted all her
importunity, till the anguish of her last


160
THE ITALIAN.
hours overcame every consideration but
that of affording her relief; he then gave
a solemn promise, in the presence of
the confessor, that he would no longer
oppose the marriage of Vivaldi and El-
lena, should the former persist in his at-
tachment to her. This promise was
sufficient for the Marchesa, and she died
with some degree of resignation. It did
not, however, appear probable, that the
Marchese would soon be called upon to
fulfil the engagements, into which he
had so unwillingly entered, every in-
quiry afier Vivaldi having been hitherto
ineffectual.
During the progress of this fruitless
search for his son, and while the Mar-
chese was almost lamenting him as dead,
the inhabitants of the Vivaldi palace
were, one night, aroused from sleep by
a violent knocking at the great gate of
the court. The noise was so loud
and incessant, that, before the porter,
could obey the summons, the Marchese,
whose apartment looked upon the court,
was alarmed, and sent an attendant


• THE ITALIAN.
161
from his anti-room, to inquire the occa-
sion of it.
Presently a voice was heard from the
first anti-chamber, cxclaiming, I must
see my Lord Marchese directly; he
will not be angry to be waked, when he
knows all about it; and, before the
Marchese could order that no person,
on whatever pretence, should be admit-
ted, Paulo, haygard, ragged, and cover-
ed with dirt, was in the chamber. His
wan and affrighted countenance, his
disordered dress, and his very attitude,
as on entering he half turned to look
back upon the anti-rooms, like one,
who, just escaped from bondage, listens
to the fancied sounds of pursuit, were
altogether so striking and terrific, that
the Marchese, anticipating some dread-
ſul news of Vivaldi, hai scarcely power
to inquire for him. Paulo, however,
renılered questions unnecessary, for,
without any circumlocution, or preface,
he immediately informed the Marchese,
that the signor, his dear master, was in
the prisons of the Inquisition, at Rome,


162
THE ITALIAN.
if, indeed, they had not put an end to
him before that time.
Yes, my lord, said Paulo, I am just
got out myself, for they would not let
me be with the signor, so it was of no
use to stay there any longer. Yet it
was a hard matter with me to go away,
and leave my dear master within those
dismal walls; and nothing should have
persuaded me to do so, but that I hoped,
when your lordship knew where the
signor was, you might be able to get
him out. But there is not a minute to
be lost, my lord, for when, once a gen-
tleman has got within the claws of those
inquisitors, there is no knowing how
soon they may take it in their heads to
tear him in pieces. Shall I order horses
for Rome, my lord ? I am ready to set
off again directly.
The suddenness of such intelligence,
concerning an only son, might have
agitated stronger nerves than those of the
Marchese, and so much was he shocked
by it, that he could not immediately
determine how to proceed, or give any


THE ITALIAN163
WLAN.
.
answer to Paulo's repeated questions.
When, however, he became sufficiently
recollected to make further inquiry into
the situation of Vivaldi, he perceived
the necessity of an immediate journey ;
but first it would be prudent to consult
with some friends, whose connections at
Rome might be a means of greatly faci-
litating the important purpose, which
led him thither, and this could not be
done till the following morning. Yet
he gave orders, that preparation should
be made for his setting out at a mo-
ment's notice; and, having listened to
as full an account as Paulo could give
of the past and present circumstances of
Vivaldi, he dismissed him to repose for
the remainder of the night.
Paulo, however, though much in want
of rest, was in too great agitation of spis
rits, either to seek or to find it; and
the fear he had indicated, on entering
the Marchese's apartment, proceeded
from the hurry of his mind, rather than
from any positive apprehension of new
evil. For his liberty he was indebted


164
THE ITALIAN.
to the young sentinel, who had, on a
former occasion, been removed from the
door of his prison, but who, by means
of the guard, to whom Vivaldi had
given money, as he returned one night
from the tribunal, had since been able
to communicate with him. This man,
of a nature too humane for his situation,
was become wretched in it, and he de-
termined to escape from his office, before
the expiration of the time, for which
he had been engaged. He thought that
to be a guard over prisoners was nearly
as miserable as being a prisoner himself.
I see no difference between them, said
he, except that the prisoner watches on
one side of the door, and the sentinel on
the other.
On this desire to release himself, he
conferred with Paulo, whose good na-
ture and feeling heart, among so many
people of a contrary character, had won
his confidence and affection, and he laid
his plan of escape so well, that it was
on the point of succeeding, when Paulo's
obstinancy in attempting an impossibi-


THE ITALIAN.
165
.
lity, had nearly counteracted the whole:
It went to his heart, he said, to leave
his master in prison, while he himself
was to march off in safety, and he would
run the risk of his neck, rather than
have such a deed upon his head. He
proposed, therefore, as Vivaldi's guards
were of too ferocious a nature to be
tampered with, to scale a wall of the
court into which the grate of Vivaldi's
dungeon looked. But had this lofty
wall been passable; the grate was not ;
and the attempt had nearly cost Paulo
not only his liberty, but his life. !
When, at length, he had made his
way through the perilous avenues of the
prison, and was fairly beyond the walls,
he could hardly be prevailed upon by
his companion to leave them. For near
an hour he wandered under their shade,
weeping and exclaiming, and calling
upon his dear master, at the evident
hazard of being retaken; and probably
would have remained there much longer,
had not the dawn of morning rendered
his companion desperate. Just, however


166
THE ITALIAN.
W
as the man was forcing him away, Paulo
fancied he distinguished, by the strength-
ening light, the roof of that particular
building, in whose dungeon his master
was confined; and the appearance of
Vivaldi himself could scarcely have occa-
sioned a more sudden burst of joy;
succeeded by one of grief. It is the
roof, it is the very roof! exclaimed
Paulo, vaulting from the ground, and
clapping his hands ; it is the roof, the
rooi! O, my master, my master! the
roof, the roof! He continued alternately
to exclaim, My master! the roof! my
master! the roof! till his companion
began to fear he was frantic, while
tears streamed down his cheeks, and
every look and gesture expressed the
most extravagant and whimsical union
of joy and sorrow. At length, the ab-
solute terror of discovery compelled his
companion to force him from the spot;
when having lost sight of the building,
which inclosed Vivaldi, he set off for
Naples with a speed that defied all in-
terruption, and arrived there in the con-
I
.


THE ITALIAN.
167
dition, which has been mentioned, having
taken no sleep, and scarcely any suste-
nance, since he left the Inquisition. Yet,
in this exhausted state, the spirit of his
affection remained unbroken, and when,
on the following morning, the Marchese
quitted Naples, neither his weariness,
nor the imminent danger, to which this
journey must expose him, could prevent
his attending him to Rome.
The rank of the Marchese and the
influence he was known to possess at
the court of Naples were circumstances,
that promised to have weight with the
Holy Office and to procure Vivaldi a
speedy release ; but superior to these,
were the high connections, which the
Count di Maro, the friend of the Mar-
chese, had in the church of Rome.
The applications, however, which
were made to the inquisitors, were not
so soon replied to as the wishes of the
Marchese had expected, and he had been
above a fortnight in that city, before he
was even permitted to visit his son. In


168 THE ITALIAN."
this interview, affection predominated on
both sides over all remembrance of the
past. The condition of Vivaldi, his faded
appearance, to which the wounds he had
received at Celano, and from which he
was scarcely recovered, had contributed;
and his situation in a melancholy and
terrible prison, were circumstances, that
awakened all the tenderness of a father;.
his errors were forgiven, and the Mar-
chese felt disposed to consent to all, that
might restore him to happiness, could he
but be restored to liberty.
• Vivaldi, when informed of his mother's
death, shed bitter tears of sorrow and
remorse, for having occasioned her so
much uneasiness. The unreasonableness
of her claims was forgotten, and her
faults were extenuated; happily, in-
deed, for his peace, the extent of her
criminal designs he had never under-
stood"; and, when he learned that her
dying request had been intended to
promote his happiness, the cruel con-
sciousness of having interrupted her's,


THE ITALIAN.
169
occasioned him severe anguish, and
he was obliged to recollect her former
conduct towards Ellena at San Ste-
fano, before he could become reconciled
to himself.
VOL. IV.


CHAPTER VI.
Your's in the ranks of death.
SHAKESPEARE:
NEAR three weeks had elapsed since
the Marchese's arrival at Rome, and not
any decisive answer was returned by
the Inquisition to his application, when
he and Vivaldi received at the same
time a summons to attend father Sche-
doni in his dungeon. To meet the man,
who had occasioned so much suffering
to his family was extremely painful to
the Marchese, but he was not allowed
to refuse the interview; and, at the hour
appointed, he called at the chamber of
Vivaldi; and, followed by two officials,
they passed on together to that of
Schedoni.
While they waited at the door of the
prison-room till the numerous bars and
locks were unfastened, the agitation,


THE ITALIAN.
171
which Vivaldi had suffered, on receiving
the summons, returned with redoubled
force, now that he was about to behold,
once more, that wretched man, who had
announced himself to be the parent of
Ellena di Rosalba. The Marchese suf-
fered emotions of a different nature, and
with his reluctance to see Schedoni was
mingled a degree of curiosity, as to
the event, which had occasioned this
summons.
The door being thrown open, the
officials entered first, and the Marchese,
and Vivaldi, on following, discovered
the confessor lying on a mattress. He
did not rise to receive them, but, as he
lifted his head, and bowed it in obei-
sance, his countenance, upon which the
little light admitted through the triple
grate of his dungeon gleamed, seemed
more than usually ghastly; his eyes
were hollow, and his shrunk features
appeared as if death had already touched
them. Vivaldi, on perceiving him,
groaned, and averted his face; but, soon
I 2


THE ITALIAN.
173
Schedoni appeared to meditate ; some-
times he fixed his eyes upon Vivaldi, for
an instant, and when he withdrew them,
he seemed to sink into deeper thought-
fulness. As he raised them once again,
they assumed a singular expression of
wildness, and then settling, as if on
vacancy, a sudden glare shot from them,
while he said-Who is he that glides
there in the dusk ?
His eyes were directed beyond Vi-
valdi, who, on turning, perceived the
monk, father Nicola, passing behind
him.
I am here, said Nicola : what do you
require of me?
That you will bear testimony to the
truth of what I shall declare, replied
Schedoni.
Nicola and an inquisitor, who had
accompanied him, immediately arranged
themselves on one side of the bed, while
the Marchese stationed himself on the
other. Vivaldi remained at its foot.
Schedoni, after a pause, began : That
which I have to make known relates to


174
THE ITALIAN.
the cabal formerly carried on by him,
the father Nicola, and myself, against
the peace of an innocent young woman,
whom, at my instigation, he has basely
traduced.
At these words, Nicola attempted to
interrupt the confessor, but Vivaldi re-
strained him.
Ellena di Rosalba is known to you?
continued Schedoni, addressing the
Marchese.
Vivaldi's countenance changed at this
abrupt mention of Ellena, but he re-
mained silent.
I have heard of her, replied the Mar-
chese, coldly.
And you have heard falsely of her,
rejoined Schedoni. Lift your eyes, my
lord Marchese, and say, do you not
recollect that face ? pointing to Nicola.
The Marchese regarded the monk
attentively, it is a face not easily to be
forgotten, he replied ; I remember to
have seen it more than once.
Where have you seen him, my lord ?
In my own palace, at Naples ; and


THE ITALIAN,
175
you yourself introduced him to me there.
I did, replied Schedoni.
Why, then, do you now accuse him
of falsehood, observed the Marchese,
since you acknowledge yourself to have
been the instigator of his conduct ?
.O heavens ! said Vivaldi, this monk,
then, this father Nicola, is, as I suspected,
the slanderer of Ellena di Rosalba !
Most true, rejoined Schedoni; and,
it is for the purpose of vindicating
And you acknowledge yourself to be
the author of those infamous slạnders !
passionately interrupted Vivaldi ;-you,
who but lately declared yourself to be
her father!
In the instant, that Vivaldi had uttered
this, he became sensible of his indis-
cretion, for till now he had avoided
informing the Marchese that Ellena had
been declared the daughter of Schedoni.
This abrupt disclosure, and at such a
moment, he immediàtely perceived might
be fatal to his hopes. The astonishment
of the Marchese, upon this discovery,
cannot easily be imagined; he looked


176
THE ITALIAN.
at his son for an explanation of what he
had heard, and then with increased de-
testation at the confessor ; but Vivaldi
was not in a state of mind to give any
explanation at this moment, and he
requested his father to suspend even his
conjectures, till he could converse with
him alone.
The Marchese desisted for the present
from further inquiry, but it was obvious,
that his opinion and his resolution, res- ·
pecting the marriage of Vivaldi, were
already formed.
You, then, are the author of those
slanders! repeated Vivaldi.
Hear me! cried Schedoni, in a voice,
which the strength of his spirit, con-
tending with the feebleness of his con-
dition, rendered hollow and terrible.
Hear me!
He stopped, unable to recover imme-
diately from the effect of the exertion he
had made. At length, he resumed,
I have declared, and I continue to
declare, that Ellena di Rosalba, as she
has been named for the purpose, I con-


178
THE ITALIAN.
now to do justice in this instance, and
to acknowledge, before these witnesses,
that Ellena Rosalba is innocent of every
circumstance of misconduct, which you
have formerly related to the Marchese
di Vivaldi !
Villain ! do you hesitate, said Vivaldi
to Nicola, to retract the cruel slanders,
which you have thrown upon her name,
and which have been the means of de-
stroying her peace, perhaps for ever?
Do you persist
The Marchese interrupted his son :
Let me put an end to the difficulty, by
concluding the interview; I perceive
that my presence has been required for
a purpose that does not concern me.
Before the confessor could reply, the
Marchese had turned from him to quit
the chamber; but the vehemence of
Vivaldi's distress prevailed with him to
pause, and this allowed him to under-
stand from Schedoni, that the justifi-
cation of the innocent Ellena, though it.
had been mentioned first, as being the


THE ITALIAN.
179
object nearest to his heart, was not the
only one, that had urged him to require
this meeting.
If you consent, added Schedoni, to
listen to the vindication of my child, you
shall afterwards perceive, signor, that I,
fallen though I am, have still been desi-
rous of counteracting, as far as remains
for me, the evil I have occasioned. You
shall acknowledge, that what I then
make known is of the utmost consequence
to the repose of the Marchese di Vivaldi,
high in influence, and haughty in pros:
perity as he now appears.
The latter part of this assurance
threatened to overcome the effect of the
first; the pride of the Marchese swelled
high; he took some steps towards the
door, but then stopped, and conjecturing
that the subject, to which Schedoni al-
luded, concerned the liberation of his
son, he consented to attend to what
Nicola should disclose,
This monk, meanwhile, had been
balancing the necessity for acknowledge
ing himself a slanderer, against the posa


180
THE ITALIAN.
sibility of avoiding it; and it was the
resolute manner of Vivaldi, who appeared
to have no doubt as to his guilt in this
instance, that made him apprehend the
consequence of persisting in falsehood,
not either remorse of conscience, or the
appeal of Schedoni. He acknowledged,
then, after considerable circumlocution,
in which he contrived to defend himself,
by throwing all the odium of the ori-
ginal design upon the confessor, that he
had been prevailed upon by his arts to
impose on the credulity of the Marchese,
respecting the conduct of Ellena di Ro-
salba. This avowal was made upon
oath, and Schedoni, by the questions he
put to him, was careful it should be so
full and circumstantial, that even the
most prejudiced hearer must have been
convinced of its truth; while the most
unfeeling must have yielded for once to
indignation against the asperser and
pity of the aspersed. Its effect upon
the present auditors was various. The
Marchese had listened to the whole
explanation with an unmoved counte-


THE ITALIAN.
181
nance, but with profound attention,
Vivaldi had remained in a fixed attitude,
with eyes bent on father Nicola, in such
eager and stern regard, as seemed to
search into his very soul; and, when the
monk concluded, a smile of triumphant
joy lighted up his features, as he looked
upon the Marchese, and claimed an
acknowledgment of his conviction, that
Ellena had been calumniated. The
cold glance, which the Marchese re-
turned, struck the impassioned and
generous Vivaldi to the heart, who per-
ceived, that he was not only totally
indifferent as to the injustice, which an
innocent and helpless young woman
had suffered, but fancied that he was
unwilling to admit the truth, which his
judgment would no longer allow him to
reject. .
Schedoni, meanwhile, appeared almost
to writhe under the agony, which his
mind inflicted upon him, and it was only
by strong effort, that he sustained his
spirit so far as to go through with the
interrogations he had judged it necess
a


182
THE ITALIAN.
sary to put to Nicola. When the subject
was finished, he sunk back on his pillow,
and, closing his eyes, a hue so pallid,
succeeded by one so livid, overspread his
features, that Vivaldi for an instant be-
lieved he was dying ; and in this suppo-
sition he was not singular, for even an
official was touched with the confessor's.
condition, and had advanced to assist
him, when he unclosed his eyes, and
seemed to revive.
The Marchese, without making any
comment upon the avowal of father
Nicola, demanded, on its conclusion, the
disclosure, which Schedoni had asserted
to be intimately connected with his.
peace; and the latter now inquired of
a person near him, whether a secretary
of the Inquisition was in the chamber,
who he had requested might attend, to
take a formal deposition of what he should
declare. He was answered, that such
an one was already in waiting. He then
asked, what other persons were in the
room, adding, that he should require
inquisitorial witnesses to his deposition;


184
THE ITALIAN.
He declared himself to be the anony-
mous accuser, who had caused him to
be arrested by the Holy Office, and
that the charge of heresy, which be
had brought against him, was false and
malicious.
At the moment when Vivaldi received
this confirmation of his suspicions, as to
the identity of his accuser, he discovered
more fully that the charge was not what
had been stated to him at the chapel
of San Sebastian, in which Ellena was
implicated ; and he demanded an expla-
nation of this circumstance. Schedoni
acknowledged, that the persons, who
had there arrested him, were not officers
of the Inquisition, and that the instru-
ment of arrest, containing the charge of
elopement with a nun, was forged by
himself, for the purpose of empowering
the ruffians to carry off Ellena, without
opposition from the inhabitants of the
convent, in which she was then lodged.
To Vivaldi's inquiry, why it had been
thought necessary to employ stratagem
in the removal of Ellena, since, if Sche-


THE ITALIAN
185
doni had only claimed her for his daugh-
ter, he might have removed her without
any, the confessor replied, that he was
then ignorant of the relationship, which
existed between them. But to the fur.
ther inquiries, with what design, and
whither Ellena had been removed, and
the means, by which he had discovered
her to be his daughter, Schedoni was
silent; and he sunk back, overwhelmed
by the recollections they awakened. i
The depositions of Schedoni having
been taken down by the secretary, were
formally signed by the inquisitor and
the officials present: and Vivaldi thus
saw his innocence vindicated by the
very man who had thrown him among
the perils of the Inquisition. But the
near prospect of release now before him
failed to affect him with joy, while he
understood that Ellena was the daughter
of Schedoni, the child of a murderer,
whom he himself had been in some de-
gree instrumental in bringing to a
dreadful and ignominious death. Still,
however, willing to hope, that Schedoni


186
THE ITALIAN
had not spoken the truth concerning his
relationship to Ellena, he claimed, in
consideration of the affection he had so
long cherished for her, a full explanation
of the circumstances connected with the
(liscovery of her family,
At this public avowal of his attach-
ment, a haughty impatience appeared
on the countenance of the Marchese, who
forbade him to make further inquiry on
the subject, and was immediately retiring
from the chamber.
My presence is no longer necessary,
he added; the prisoner has concluded
the only detail, which I could be inte-
rested to hear from him; and, in consi-
deration of the confession he has made
as to the innocence of my son, I pardon
him the suffering, which his false charge
has occasioned to me and my family.
The paper containing his depositions is
given to your responsibility, holy father,
addressing the inquisitor, and you are
required to lay it upon the table of the
Holy Office, that the innocence of Vin-
centio di Vivaldi may appear, and that


THE ITALIAN,
187
m
10
he may be released from these prisons
without further delay. But first, I de-
mand a copy of those declarations, and
that the copy also shall be signed by
the present witnesses.
The secretary was now bidden to
copy them, and, while the Marchese
waited to receive the paper, (for he
would not leave the chamber till he had
secureil it,) Vivaldi was urging his
claim for an explanation, respecting the
family of Ellena, with unconquerable
perseverance. Schedoni, no longer per-
mitted to evade the inquiry, could not,
however, give a .circumstantial expla-
nation, without partly disclosing, also,
the fatal designs, which had been medi-
tated by him and the late Marchesa di
Vivaldi, of whose death he was ignorant;
he related, therefore, little more res-
pecting Ellena than that a portrait, which
she wore as being her father's, had first
led to the discovery of her family.
While the confessor had been giving
this brief explanation, Nicola, who was
somewhat withdrawn from the circle,


188
THL ITALIAN.
stood gazing at him with the malignity
of a demon. His glowing eyes just
appeared under the edge of his cowl,
while, rolled up in his dark drapery, the
lower features of his face were muffled ;
but the intermediate part of his counte-
nance, receiving the full glare of the
torch, displayed all its speaking and
terrific lines. Vivaldi, as his eye glanced
upon him, saw again the very monk of
Paluzzi, and he thought he beheld also
a man capable of the very crimes, of
which he had accused Schedoni. At
this instant, he remembered the dreadful
garment, that had been discovered in a
dungeon of the fortress ; and, yet more,
he remembered the extraordinary cir-
cumstances attending the death of Bi-
anchi, together with the immediate
knowledge, which the monk had dis-
played of that event. Vivaldi's suspi-
cions, respecting the cause of her death,
being thus revived, he determined to ob-
tain, if possible, either a relief from, or
a confirmation of them; and he solemnly
called upon Schedoni, who, already


THE ITALIAN
189
condemned to die, had no longer any
thing to fear from a disclosure of the
truth, whatever it might be, to declare
all that he knew on the subject. As he
did so, he looked at Nicola, to observe
the effect of this demand, whose coun-
tenance was, however, now so much
shrouded, that little of its expression
could be seen ; but Vivaldi remarked,
that, while he had spoken, the monk
drew ủis garment closer over the lower
part of his face, and that he had imme.
diately turned his eyes from him upon
the confessor.
. With most solemn protestations, Sche-
doni declared himself to be both inno-
cent and ignorant of the cause of Bianchi’s
death.
Vivaldi then demanded by what means
his agent, Nicola, had obtained such
immediate information, as the warning
he had delivered at Paluzzi proved him
to have, of an event, in which it appeared
that he could be so little interested ; and
why that warning had been given.


190
THE ITALIAN
Nicola did not attempt to anticipate
the reply of Schedoni; who, after a mo-
mentary silence, said, That warning,
young man, was given to deter you
from visiting Altieri, as was every cir-
cumstance of advice orintelligence which
you received beneath the arch of Paluzzi.
Father, replied Vivaldi, you have never
loved, or you would have spared your-
self the practice of artifices so ineffectual
to mislead, or to conquer, a lover. Did
you believe that an anonymous adviser
could have more influence with me than
my affection, or that I could be terrified
by such stratagems into a renunciation
of its object ?
I believed, rejoined the confessor, that
the disinterested advice of a stranger
might have some weight with you; but
I trusted more to the impression of awe,
which the conduct and seeming fore-
knowledge of that stranger were adapted
to inspire in a mind like your's; and I
thus endeavoured to avail myself of your
prevailing weakness


THE ITALIAN.
191
And what do you term my prevailing
weakness ? said Vivaldi, blushing.
A susceptibility which renders you
especially liable to superstition, replied
Schedoni.
What! does a monk call superstition
a weakness rejoined Vivaldi. But
grant he does, on what occasion have I
betrayed such weakness? ..
Have you forgotten a conversation
which I once held with you on invisible
spirits?
As he asked this, Vivaldi was struck
with the tone of his voice; he thought
it was different from whathe had remem-
bered to have heard from him ; and he
looked at Schedoni more intently, that
he might be certain it was he who had
spoken. The confessor's eyes were fixed
upon him, and he repeated slowly in the
same tone, Have you forgotten ?
I have not forgotten the conversation
to which you.allade, replied Vivaldi, and
I do not recollect to have then disclosed
any opinion, that may justify your
assertion.


192
THE ITALIAN. -
The opinions you avowed were rational,
said Schedoni, but the ardour of your
imagination was apparent, and what
ardent imagination ever was contented
to trust to plain reasoning, or to the
evidence of the senses? It may not
willingly confine itself to the dull truths
of this earth, but, eager to expand its
faculties, to fill its capacity, and to ex-
perience its own peculiar delights,
soars after new wonders into a world of
its own!
Vivaldi blushed at this reproof, now
conscious of its justness; and was sur-
prised, that Schedoni should so well
have understood the nature of his mind,
while he himself, with whom conjecture
had never assumed the stability of opin-
ion, on the subject to which the confessor
alluded, had been ignorant even of its
propensities.
I acknowledge the truth of your re-
mark, said Vivaldi, as far as it concerns
myself.. I have, however, inquiries to
make on a point less abstracted, and to-
wards explaining which the evidence of


194
THE ITALIAN.
subterfuge. I had no pistol, he rejoined ;
my sword was my only weapon!
Pause a moment, said the monk.
I repeat that I had no fire-arms, re-
plied Vivaldi.
I appeal to father Schedoni, rejoined
Nicola, whether I was not wounded by
a pistol shot.
To me you have no longer any right
of appeal, said Schedoni. Why should
I save you from suspicions, that may
bring you to a state like this, to which
you have reduced me! Your crimes
have reduced you to it, replied Nicola,
I have only one my duty, and that
which another person 'could have
effected without my aid--the priest, .
to whom Spalatro made his last con-
fession.
It is, however, a duty of such a kind,
observed Vivaldi, as I would not wil-
lingly have upon my conscience. You
have betrayed the life of your former
friend, and have compelled me to assist
in the destruction of a fellow being.
: You, like me, have assisted to destroy


196
THE ITALIAN.
You had a companion, observed the
monk; had not he fire arms ?
Vivaldi, after a momentary conside-
ration, recollected that Paulo had pistols,
and that he had fired one beneath the
arch of Paluzzi, on the first alarm occa-
sioned by the stranger's voice. He
immediately acknowledged the recol-
lection. But I heard no groan, no
symptom of distress! he added. Besides,
the garments were at a considerable
distance from the spot where the pistol
was fired! How could a person so se-
verely woundeıl as those garments indi-
cated, have silently withdrawn to a
remote dungeon, or having done so, is
it probable he would have thrown aside
his dress!
All that is nevertheless true, replied
Nicola. My resolution enabled me
to stifle the expression of my anguish ;
I withdrew to the interior of the ruin, to
escape from you, but you pursued me
even to the dungeon, where I threw off
my discoloured vestments, in which I
ne


THE ITALIAN.
197
dared not return to my convent, and
departed by a way, which all your inge-
nuity failed to discover. : The people,
who were already in the fort, for the
purpose of assisting to confine you and
your servant, during the night on which
Signora Rosalba was taken from Altieri,
procured me another habit and relief for
my wound. But, though I was unseen
by you during the night, I was not
entirely unheard, for my groans reached
you more than once from an adjoining
chamber, and my companions were
entertained with the alarm, which your
servant testified-Are you now con.
vinced ?
The groans were clearly remembered
by Vivaldi, and many other circumstances
of Nicola's narration accorded so well
with others, which he recollected to have
occurred on the night alluded to, that
he had no longer a doubt. of its veracity.
The suddenness of Bianchi's death,
however, still unchanged his suspicions
as to its cause; yet Schedoni had declared
not only his ignorance, but his innocence


198
THE ITALIAN.
:
of this cause, which it appeared from
his unwillingness to give testimony in
favour of his agent, he would not have
affirmed, had he been conscious, that
the monk was in any degree guilty in
this instance. That Nicola could have
no inducement for attempting the life of
Bianchi, other than a reward offered him
by Schedoni, was clear; and Vivaldi,
after more fully considering these cir-
cumstances, became convinced, that her
death was in consequence of some inci.
dent of natural decay.
While this conversation was passing,
the Marchese, impatient to put a con-
clusion to it and to leave the chamber,
repeatedly urged the secretary to dis-
patch; and, while he now earnestly
renewed his request, another voice
answered for the secretary, that he had
nearly concluded. Vivaldi thought,
that he had heard the voice on some
former occasion, and, on turning his
eyes upon the person who had spoken,
discovered the stranger to be the same,
who had first visited him in prison,


THE ITALIAN. 199
Perceiving by his dress, that he was an
officer of the Inquisition, Vivaldi now
understood too well the purport of his
former visit, and that he had come with
a design to betray him by affected sym-
pathy into a confession of some heretical
opinions. Similar instances of treachery
Vivaldi had heard were frequently prac-
tised upon accused persons, but he had
never fully believed such cruelty possible
till now, that it had been attempted
towards himself.
The visit of this person bringing to
his recollection the subsequent one he
had received from Nicola, Vivaldi in-
quired, whether the sentinels had really
admitted him to his cell, or he had
entered it by other means; a question,
to which the monk was silent, but the
smile on his features, if so strange an
expression deserved to be called a smile,
seemed to reply, Do you believe that I,
a servant of the Inquisition, will betray
its secrets ?
Vivaldi, however, urged the inquiry,
for he wished to know whether the guard,


THE ITALIAN
201
Vivaldi shrunk from Nicola in horror,
and Schedoni paused; but while he
had spoken, Vivaldi had again noticed
the extraordinary change in his voice,
and shuddered at its sound no less than
at the information it had given. Nicola
was silent; but his terrible eyes were
fixed in vengeance on Schedoni.
His office has been short, resumed the
confessor, turning his heavy eyes, upon
Nicola, and his task is almost done! As
he pronounced the last words his voice
faltered, but they were heard by the
monk, who, drawing nearer, to the bed,
demanded an explanation of them. A
ghastly smile triumphed in the features
of Schedoni; Fear not but that an expla-
nation will come full soon, said he..
Nicola fixed himself before the con-
fessor, and bent his brows upon him, as
if he would have searched into his very
soul. When Vivaldi again looked at
Schedoni, he, was shocked on observing
the sudden alteration in his countenance,
yet still a faint smile of triumph lingered
there. But, while. Vivaldi gazed, the


202
THE ITALIAN.
features suddenly became agitated; in
the next instant his whole frame was
convulsed, and heavy groans laboured
from his breast. Schedoni was now
evidently dying.
The horror of Vivaldi and of the Mar-
chese, who endeavoured to leave the
chamber, was equalled only by the ge-
neral confusion, that reigned there;
every person present seemed to feel at
least a momentary compassion, except
Nicola, who stood unmoved beside
Schedoni, and looked steadfastly upon
his pangs, while a smile of derision
marked his countenance. As Vivaldi
observed, with detestation, this expres-
sion, a slight spasm darted over Nicola's
face, and his muscles also seemed to
labour with sudden contraction ; but
the affection was transient and vanished
as abruptly as it had appeared. The
monk, however, turned from the mise-
rable spectacle before him, and, as he
turned he caught involuntarily at the
arm of a person near him, and leaned on
his shoulder for support. His manner


THE ITALIAN.
203
appeared to betray that he had not been
permitted to triumph in the sufferings
of his enemy, without participating at
least in their horror.
Schedoni's struggles now began to
abate and in a short time he lay motion-
less. When he unclosed his eyes, death
was in them. He was yet nearly in-
sensible ; but presently a faint gleam of
recollection shot from them, and gradu-
ally lighting them up, the character of
his soul appeared there : the expression
was indeed feeble, but it was true. He
moved his lips as if he would have
spoken, and looked languidly round the
chamber, seemingly in search of some
person. At length, he uttered a sound,
but he had not yet sufficient command
of his muscles, to modulate that sound
into a word, till by repeated efforts the
name of Nicola became intelligible. At
the call, the monk raised his head from
the shoulder of the person, on whom he:
had reclined, and, turning round, Sche-
doni, as was evident from the sudden
change of expression in his countenance,


204
THE ITALIAN.
discovered him; his eyes, as they settled
on Nicola seemed to recollect all their
wonted fire, and the malignant triumph,
lately so prevalent in his physiognomy,
again appeared as in the next moment,
he pointed to him. His glance seemed
suddenly impowered with the destruc-
tive fascination, attributed to that of the
basilisk, for while it now met Nicola's,
that monk seemed as if transfixed to the
spot and unable to withdraw his eyes
from the glare of Schedoni's ; in their
expression he read the dreadful sentence
of his fate, the triumph of revenge and
cunning. Struck with this terrible con-
viction, a pallid hue overspread his face;
at the same time, an involuntary motion
convulsed his features, cold trembling
seized upon his frame, and, uttering a
deep groan, he fell back, and was caught
in the arms of the people near him. At
the instant of his fall Schedoni uttered
a sound so strange and horrible, so con-
vulsed, yet so loud, so exulting, yet so
unlike any human voice, that every
person in the chamber, except those,


THE ITALIAN.
205
who were assisting Nicola, struck with
irresistible terror, endeavoured to make
their way out of it. This, however,
was impracticable, for the door was
fastened, until a physician, who had
been sent for, should arrive, and some
investigation could be made into this
mysterious affair. The consternation of
the Marchese and of Vivaldi, compelled
to witness this scene of horror, cannot
easily be imagined.
Schedoni, having uttered that demo-
niacal sound of exultation, was not per-
mitted to repeat it, for the pangs he had
lately suffered returned upon him, and
he was again in strong convulsions, when
the physician entered the chamber. The
moment he beheld Schedoni, he declared
him to be poisoned ; and he pronounced
a similiar opinion on father Nicola ; af-
firming, also, that the drug, as appeared
from the violence of the effect, was of
too subtle and inveterate a nature to
allow of antidote. He was, however,
willing to administer the inedicine usual
in such cases.


THE ITALIAN.
207
By whom administered ? said the in-
quisitor, consider that, while you answer,
you are on your death-bed.
I have no wish to conceal the truth,
rejoined Schedoni, nor the satisfaction-
he was obliged to pause but presently
added, I have destroyed him, who would
have destroyed me, and and I have
escaped an ignominious death.
He paused again ; it was with diffi-
culty that he said thus much, and he
was now overcome by the exertion he
had made. The secretary, who had
not been permitted to leave the cham-
ber, was ordered to note Schedoni's
words.
You avow, then, continued the inqui-
sitor, that the poison was administered,
both in the case of father Nicola and in
your own, by yourself?
Schedoni could not immediately reply;
but when he did, he said, I avow it.
He was asked by what means he had
contrived to procure the poison, and
was bidden to name his accomplice.


208
THE ITALIAN.
I had no accomplice, replied Sche-
doni.
How did you procure the poison then?
Schedoni, slowly and with difficulty,
replied, It was concealed in my vest.
Consider that you are dying, said the
inquisitor, and confess the truth. We
cannot believe what you have last as-
serted. It is improbable that you should
have had an opportunity of providing
yourself with poison after your arrest,
and equally improbable that you should
have thought such provision necessary
before that period. Confess who is your
accomplice.
This accusation of falsehood 'recalled
the spirit of Schedoni, which, contend-
ing with and conquering, for a moment,
corporeal suffering, gave him strength
to say, in a firmer tone, It was the
poison, in which I dip my poniard, the
better to defend me..
The inquisitor smiled in contempt of
this explanation, and Schedoni, observ-
ing him, desired a particular part of his


THE ITALIAN.
209
vest might be examined, where would
be found some remains of the drug con- -
cealed as he had affirmed. He was in-
dulged in his request, and the poison
was discovered within a broad hem of
his garment.
Still it was inconceivable how he had
contrived to administer it to Nicola,
who, though he had been for some time
alone with him on this day, would scarce-
ly have so far confided in an enemy, as
to have accepted any seeming suste-
nance, that might have been offered
by him. The inquisitor, still anxious to
discover an accomplice, asked Schedoni,
who had assisted to administer the drug
to Nicola, but the confessor was no
longer in a condition to reply. Life was
now sinking apace; the gleam of spirit
and of character, that had returned to
his eyes, was departed, and left them
haggard and fixed; and presently a livid
corse was all that remained of the once
terrible Schedoni !
· While this awful event had been ac-


210
THE ITALIAN.
complishing, the Marchese, suffering
under the utmost perturbation, had with-
drawn to the distant grate of the dun-
geon, where he conversed with an offi-
cial, as to what might be the probable
consequence of his present situation to
himself; but Vivaldi, in an agony of
horror, had been calling incessantly for
the medicine, which might possibly
afford some relief to the anguish he
witnessed ; and when it was brought,
he had assisted to support the sufferers.
At length, now that the worst was
over, and when the several witnesses
had attested the last avowal of Sche-
doni, every person in the chamber
was suffered to depart; and Vivaldi
was re-conducted to his prison, accom-
panied by the Marchese, where he was
to remain, till the decision of the Holy
Office, respecting his innocence, as as-
serted by the deposition of Schedoni,
should be known. He was too much
affected by the late scene to give the
Marchese any explanation at present,


THE ITALIAN.
211
respecting the family of Ellena di Ro-
salba ; and the Marchese, having re-
mained for some time with his son,
withdrew to the residence of his friend.


CHAPTER VII.
Master, go on, and I will followthee
To the last gasp with truth and loyalty.
SHAKESPEARE.
In consequence of the dying confession
of Schedoni, an order was sent from
the Holy Office for the release of Vivaldi,
within a few days after the death of the
confessor; and the Marchese conducted
his son from the prisons of the Inquisition
to the mansion of his friend the Count
di Maro, with whom he had resided,
since his arrival at Rome.
While they were receiving the cere-
monious congratulations of the count
and of some nobles, assembled to wel.
come the emancipated prisoner, a loud
voice was heard from the anti chamber
exclaiming, Let me pass! It is my
master, let me pass ! May all those who
attempt to stop me, be sent to the Inqui.
sition themselves.


214
THE ITALIAN.
away in his passage, and wiping the
snuff from the soiled clothes, Vivaldi
was participating in all the delight, and
returning all the affection of his servant,
and was so wholly occupied by these
pleasurable feelings as scarcely to be
sensible, that any persons besides them-
selves were in the room. The Marchese,
meanwhile, was making a thousand
apologies for the disasters Paulo had
occasioned; was alternately calling upon
him to recollect in whose presence he
was, and to quit the apartment imme-
diately; explaining to the company,
that he had not seen Vivaldi since they
were together in the Inquisition, and
remarking profoundly that he was much
attached to his master. But Paulo,
insensible to the repeated commands
of the Marchese and to the endeavours
of Vivaldi to raise him, was still pouring
forth his whole heart at his master's
feet. Ah! my signor, said he, if you
could but know how miserable I was
when I got out of the Inquisition !
He raves ! observed the Count to the


THE ITALIAN.
215
Marchese, you perceive that joy has
rendered him delirious!
How I wandered about the walls half
the night, and what it cost me to leave
them ! But when I lost sight of them,
signor, O! San Dominico ! I thought my
heart would have broken. I had a great
mind to have gone back again and given
myself up; and, perhaps, I should too,
if it had not been for my friend, the
sentinel, who escaped with me, and I
would not do him an injury, poor fellow!
for he meant nothing but kindness when
he let me out. And sure enough, as it
has proved, it was all for the best, for
now I am here, too, signor, as well as
you; and can tell you all I felt when I
believed I should never see you again.
The contrast of his present joy to his
remembered grief again brought tears
into Paulo's eyes; he smiled and
wept and sobbed and laughed with
such rapid transition, that Vivaldi began
to be alarmed for him ; when suddenly
becoming calm, he looked up in his
master's face and said gravely, but with


216
. THE ITALIAN.
eagerness, Pray, signor, was not the
roof of your little prison peaked, and
was there not a little turret stuck up at
one corner of it ? and was there not a
battlement round the turret ? and was
there not- Vivaldi, after regarding
him for a moment, replied smilingly,
Why truly, my good Paulo, my dun-
geon was so far from the roof, that I
never had an opportunity of observing
it.
That is very true, signor, replied
Paulo, very true indeed; but I did not
think of that. I am certain, though, it
was as I say, and I was sure of it at
the time. O signor! I thought that
roof would have broken my heart, O
how I did look at it! and now to think
that I am here, with my dear master
once again!
As Paulo concluded, his tears and
sobs returned with more violence than
before ; and Vivaldi, who could not
perceive any necessary connection be-
tween this mention of the roof of his
late prison and the joy his servant ex-


THE ITALIAN.
217
pressed on seeing him again, began to
fear that his senses were bewildered,
and desired an explanation of his words.
Paulo's account, rude and simple as it
was, soon discovered to him the relation
of these apparently heterogeneous cir-
cumstances to each other; when Vivaldi,
overcome by this new instance of the
power of Paulo's affection, embraced
him with his whole heart, and, com-
pelling him to rise, presented him to
the assembly as his faithful friend and
chief deliverer.
The Marchese, affected by the scene
he had witnessed and with the truth of
Vivaldi's words, condescended to give
Paulo a hearty shake by the hand and
to thank him warmly for the bravery
and fidelity he had displayed in his
master's interest. I never can fully
reward your attachment, added the
Marchese, but what remains for me to
do, shall be done. From this moment
I make you independent, and promise,
in the presence of this noble company,
VOL. IV.


218
THE ITALIAN.
use
to give you a thousand sequins, as some.
acknowledgment of your services.
Paulo did not express all the gratitude
for this gift which the Marchese ex-
pected. He stammered and bowed and
blushed and at length burst into tears;
and, when Vivaldi inquired what dis-
tressed him, he replied, Why, signor, of
what use are the thousand sequins to
me, if I am to be independent! what
use if I am not to stay with you ?
Vivaldi cordially assured Paulo, that
he should always remain with him, and
that he should consider it as his duty to
render his future life happy. You shall
henceforth, added Vivaldi, be placed at
the head of my household ; the manage-
ment of my servants and the whole con-
duct of my domestic concerns shall be.
committed to you, as a proof of my entire
confidence in your integrity and attach-
ment; and because this is a situation
which will allow you to be always near
me.
Thank you, my signor, replied Paulo,


220
THE ITALIAN.
mur of applause, which his conduct
drew from the noble spectators, for
Paulo's warm heart had subdued even
the coldness of their pride, a convulsive
sound from the anti chamber betrayed
the excess of emotion, which he had
thus abruptly withdrawn himself to
conceal.
In a few hours, the Marchese and
Vivaldi took leave of their friends and
sat out for Naples, where they arrived,
without any interruption, on the fourth
day. But it was a melancholy journey
to Vivaldi, notwithstanding the joy of
his late escape ; for the Marchese,'hav-
ing introduced the mention of his at-
tachment to Ellena di Rosalba, informed
him, that under the present unforeseen
circumstances, he could not consider his
late engagement with the Marchesa on
that subject as binding, and that Vivaldi
must relinquish Ellena, if it should ap-
pear, that she really was the daughter
of the late Schedoni.
Immediately on his arrival at Naples,
however, Vivaldi, with a degree of im-


THE ITALIAN.
221
patience, to which his utmost speed was
inadequate, and with a revived joy so
powerful as to overcome every fear and
every melancholy consideration, which
the late conversation with his father had
occasioned, hastened to the Santa della
Pieta,
Ellena heard his voice from the grate,
inquiring for her of a nun, who was in
the parlour, and in the next instant,
they beheld each other yet once again.
In such a meeting, after the long un-
certainty and terror, which each had
suffered for the fate of the other, and
the dangers and hardships they had
really incurred, joy was exalted almost
to agony. Ellena wept, and some mi-
nutes passed before she could answer to
Vivaldi's few words of tender exclama-
tion: it was long ere she was tranquil
enough to observe the alteration, which
severe confinement had given to his ap-
pearance. The animated expression of
his countenance was unchanged; yet,
when the first glow of joy had faded
from it, and Ellena had leisure to ob.


THE ITALIAN.
223
information it was necessary to give,
and to the fuller explanation he wished
to receive upon a subject, which, though
it was the one that pressed most anxi-
ously upon his mind, he had not yet
dared to mention, Vivaldi ventured to
declare his knowledge of her having
discovered her parent to be living. The
satisfaction immediately apparent upon
Ellena's countenance heightened his
distress and his reluctance to proceed;
believing, as he did, that the event he
had to communicate must change her
gladness to grief.
Ellena, however, upon this mention
of a topic so interesting to them both,
proceeded to express the happiness she
had received from the discovery of a
parent, whose virtues had even won her
affection long before she understood her
own interest in them.
It was with some difficulty, that Vi..
valdi could conceal his surprise at such
an avowal of prepossession; the man-
·ners of Schedoni, of whom he believed
her to speak, having certainly never


224
THE ITALIAN.
been adapted to inspire tenderness.
But his surprise soon changed its ob-
ject, when Olivia, who had heard that
a stranger was at the grate, entered the
parlour, and was announced as the
mother of Ellena di Rosalba.
Before Vivaldi left the convent, a full
explanation, as to family, was given on
both sides, when he had the infinite joy
of learning, that Ellena was not the
daughter of Schedoni; and Olivia had
the satisfaction to know, that she had
no future evil to apprehend from him,
who had hitherto been her worst enemy.
The manner of his death, however, with
all the circumstances of his character,
as unfolded by his late trial, Vivaldi was
careful to conceal.
When Ellena had withdrawn from
the room, Vivaldi made a full acknow-
ledgment to Olivia, of his long attach-
ment to her daughter, and supplicated
for her consent to their marriage. To
this application, however, Olivia re-
plied, that, though she had long been
no stranger to their mutual affection, or


228
THE ITALIAN.
her, they were met to part no more;
and, as a recollection of the moment,
when she had been carried from the
chapel glanced upon her mind, that
moment when she had called upon him
for succour, supplicated even to hear
his voice once more, and when a blank
silence, which, as she believed, was
that of death, had succeeded; as the
anguish of that moment was now re-
membered, Ellena became more than
ever sensible of the happiness of the
present,
Olivia, in thus relinquishing her
daughter so soon after she had found
her, suffered some pain, but she was
consoled by the fair prospect of hap-
piness, that opened to Ellena, and
cheered, by considering, that, though
she relinquished, she should not lose
her, since the vicinity of Vivaldi's resi-
dence to Ļa Pieta, would permit a fre-
quent intercourse with the convent.
As a testimony of singular esteem,
Paulo was permitted to be present at
the marriage of his master, when, as


THE ITALIAN.
229
perched in a high gallery of the church,
he looked down upon the ceremony and
witnessed the delight in Vivaldi's coun-
tenance, the satisfaction in that of my
“old Lord Marchese,” the pensive hap-
piness in the Countess di Bruno's and
the tender complacency of Ellena's,
which her veil, partly undrawn, allowed
him to observe, he could scarcely refrain
from expressing the joy he felt, and
shouting aloud, “0, giorno felice ! O,
giorno felice!”*
* O bappy day! O happy day!
Core
is,
.


232
THE ITALIAN.
of the present day, rather than of Italy;
except“ Where a long alley peeping on
the main,” exhibited such gigantic lof-
tiness of shade and grandeur of perspec-
tive, as characterize the Italian taste..
On this jubilee, every avenue and
grove and pavilion were richly illumi-
nated. The villa itself, where each airy
hall and arcade was resplendent with
lights and lavishly decorated with flow-
ers and the most beautiful shrubs, whose
buds seemed to pour all Arabia's per-
fumes upon the air, this villa resembled
a fabric called up by enchantment,
rather than a structure of human art.
The dresses of the higher rank of vi-
sitors were as splendid as the scenery,
of which Ellena was, in every respect,
the queen. But this entertainment was
not given to persons of distinction only,
for both Vivaldi and Ellena had wished
that all the tenants of the domain should
partake of it, and share the abundant
happiness, which themselves possessed ;
so that the grounds, which were exten,
sive enough to accommodate each rank,


THE ITALIAN
233
SSO,
were relinquished to a general gaiety.
Paulo was, on this occasion, a sort of
master of the revels; and, surrounded
by a party of his own particular asso-
ciates, danced once more, as he had so
often wished, upon the moonlight shore
of Naples,
As Vivaldi and Ellena were passing
the spot, which Paulo had chosen for
the scene of his festivity, they paused
to observe his strange capers and ex-
travagant gesticulation, as he mingled
in the dance, while every now and then
he shouted forth, though half breathless
with the heartiness of the exercise, 0,
giorno felice! 0, giorno felice !
On perceiving Vivaldi, and the smiles
with which he and Ellena regarded him,
he quitted his sports, and advancing,
Ah! my dear master, said he, do you
remember the night, when we were
travelling on the banks of the Celano,
before that diabolical accident happened
in the chapel of San Sebastian ; don't
you remember how those people, who
were tripping it away so joyously, by


THE ITALIAN.
235
in my own; though I do not entirely
agree with you, as to the comparative
proportion of each. .
Paulo! said Ellena. I am indebted
to you beyond any ability to repay;
for to your intrepid affection your mas-
ter owes his present safety. I will not
attempt to thank you for your attach-
ment to him; my care of your welfare
shall prove how well I know it; but I
wish to give to all your friends this
acknowledgment of your worth and of
my sense of it.
Paulo bowed and stammered and
writhed and blushed and was unable to
reply; till, at length, giving a sudden
and lofty spring from the ground, the
emotion, which had nearly stifled him,
burst forth in words, and 0, giorno
felice! O, giorno felice! flew from his
lips with the force of an electric shock.
These communicated his enthusiasm to
the whole company, the words passed
like lightning from one individual to
another, till Vivaldi and Ellena with-
drew. amidst a choral shout, and all the


236
THE ITALIAN
THE ITALIAN.
woods and strands of Naples re-echoed
with-0, giorno felice ! O, giorno felice !
You see, said Paulo, when they had
departed and he came to himself again,
you see how people get through their
misfortunés, if they have but a heart to
bear up against them, and do nothing
that can lie on their conscience after-
wards; and how suddenly one comes to
be happy just when one is beginning to
think onę never is to be happy again!
Who would have guessed that my dear
master and I, when we were clapped up
in that diabolical place, the Inquisition,
should ever come out again into this
world! Who would have guessed when
we were taken before those old devils of
inquisitors, sitting there all of a row in
a place under ground, hung with black,
and nothing but torches all around, and
faces grinning at us, that looked as
black as the gentry aforesaid ; and when
I was not so much as suffered to open
my mouth, no! they would not let me
open my mouth to my master !—who, I
say, would have guessed we should ever be
!


.
237
THE ITALIAN.
let loose again! who would have thought
we should know what it is to be happy!
Yet here we are all abroad once more!
All at liberty! And may run, if we will,
straight forward, from one end of' the
earth to the other, and back again
without being stopped! May fly in the
sea, or swim in the sky, or tumble over
head and heels into the moon! For re-
member, my good friends, we have no
lead in our consciences to keep us
down ! i
You mean swim in the sea, and fly in
the sky, I suppose, observed a grave
personage near him, but as for tụmbling
over head and heels into the moon !' I
don't know what you mean by that!
Pshaw ! replied Paulo, who can stop,
at such a time as this, to think about
what he means ! I wish that all those,
who on this night are not merry enough
to speak before they think, may ever
after be grave enough to think before
they speak! But you, none of you, no!
not one of you! I warrant, ever saw the
roof of a prison, when your master hap-


238
THE ITALIAN. ,
pened to be below in the dungeon, nor
know what it is to be forced to run
away, and leave him behind to die by
himself. Pour souls ! But no matter
for that, you can be tolerably happy,
perhaps, notwithstanding; but as for
guessing how happy I am, or knowing
anything about the matter. O! its
quite beyond what you can understand.
0, giorno felice! 0, giorno felice! re-
peated Paulo, as he bounded forward to
mingle in the dance, and 0, giorno
Felice ! was again shouted in chorus by
his joyful companions.
THE END.
BURY ST. EDMUND'S:
PRINTED BY T. C. NEWBY, ANGEL-HILL.





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NOV 20, 1998