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HARVARD COLLEGE
LIBRARY
NIVEIRINHA
FROM THE FUND OF
CHARLES MINOT
CLASS OF 1828








THE ITALIAN.





THE
ITALIAN;
OR, THB
CONFESSIONAL OF THE BLACK PENITENTS.
A ROMANCE.
BY ANN RADCLIFFE,
AUTHOR OF THE “ ROMANCE OF THE FOREST," “ SICILIAN
ROMANCE," " MYSTERIES OF UDOLPH0,"” “CASTLES OF
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.
VOLUME II.
LONDON:
PRINTED FOR A. K. NEWMAN AND CO.
- 1828


184*3.95
AHD COTT
.
HARVAN
SEP 26 1901
Bury St. Edmund's :
Privted by T. C. Newby, Angel Hill.


THE
ITALI A N.
CHAPTER 1.
He, like the tenant
Of some night-haunted ruin, boro an aspect
Of horror, worn to habitude.
MYSTERIOUS MOTHER.
The adventurous Vivaldi and his
servant Paulo, after passing the night
of Ellena's departure from Villa Altieri
in one of the subterraneous chambers of
the fort of Paluzzi, and yielding, at
length, to exhausted nature, awoke in
terror and utter darkness, for the flam-
beau had expired. When a recollection
of the occurrences of the preceding
evening returned, they renewed their
efforts for liberty with ardour. The
grated window was again examined,
VOL. II.


.
THE ITALIAN.
and, being found to overlook only a con-
fined court of the fortress, no hope
appeared of escaping:
The words of the monk returned with
Vivaldi's first recollections, to torture
him with apprehension, that Ellena was
no more ; and Paulo, unable either to
console or to appease his master, sat
down dejectedly beside him. Paulo
had no longer a hope to suggest, or a
joke to throw away; and he could not
forbear seriously remarking, that to die
of hunger was one of the most horrible
means of death, or lamenting the rash-
ness, which had made them liable to so
sad a probability.
He was in the midst of a very pathetic
oration, of which, however, his master
did not hear a single word, so wholly
was his attention engaged by his own
melancholy thoughts, when on a sudden
he became silent, and then, starting to
· his feet, exclaimed, signor, what is
yonder? Do you see nothing?
Vivaldi looked round.
It is certainly a ray of light, continued


THE ITALIAN.
Paulo ; and I will soon know where it
comes from
As he said this he sprung forward,
and his surprise almost equalled his joy
when he discovered that the light issued .
through the door of the vault, which
stood a little open. He could scarcely
believe his senses, since the door had
been strongly fastened on the preceding
night, and he had not heard its pon-
derous bolts undrawn. He threw it
widely open, but recollecting himself,
stopped to look into the adjoining vault
before he ventured forth; when Vivaldi
darted past him, and bidding him follow
instantly, ascended to the day. The
courts of the fortress were silent and
vacant, and Vivaldi reached the arch-
way, without having observed a single
person, breathless with speed, and
scarcely daring to believe that he had
regained his liberty.
Beneath the arch he stopped to re-
cover breath, and to consider whether
he should take the road to Naples, or
to the Villa Altieri, for it was yet early
B 2


THE ITALIAN.
ever
was
morning, and at an hour when it ap-
peared improbable that Ellena's family
would be risen. The apprehension of
her death had vanished as Vivaldi's
spirits revived, which the pause of he-
sitation sufficiently announced: but
even this was the pause only of an
instant; a strong anxiety concerning
her determined him to proceed to the
Villa Altieri, notwithstanding the un-
suitableness of the hour, since he could,
at least, reconnoitre her residence, and
await till some sign of the family having
risen should appear.
Pray, signor, said Paulo, while his
master was deliberating, do not let us
stop here lest the enemy should appear
again ; and do, signor, take the road
which is nearest to some house where
we may get some breakfast, for the fear
of starving has taken such hold upon
me, that it has nearly anticipated the
reality of it already.',
Vivaldi immediately departed for the
villa. Paulo, as he danced joyfully
along, expressed all the astonishment


THE ITALIAN.
THE ITALIAN
'
5
that filled his mind, as to the cause of
their late imprisonment and escape ; but
Vivaldi, who had now leisure to con-
sider the subject, could not assist him
in explaining it. The only certainty
that appeared, was, that he had not been
confined by robbers; and what interest
any person could have in imprisoning
him for the night, and suffering him to
escape in the morning, did not appear.
On entering the garden at Altieri, he
was surprised to observe that several of
the lower lattices were open at this early
hour, but surprise changed to terror,
when, on reaching the portico, he heard
a moaning of distress from the hall, and
when, after loudly calling, he was an-
swered by the piteous cries of Beatrice.
The hall door was fastened, and, Beatrice
being unable to open it, Vivaldi, fol-
lowed by Paulo, sprang through one
of the unclosed lattices; when on reach-
ing the hall, he found the housekeeper
bound to a pillar, and learned that El-
lena had been carried off during the
night by armed men.


THE ITALIAN.
For a moment he was almost stupified
by the shock of this intelligence, and
then asked Beatrice a thousand ques-
tions concerning the affair, without
allowing her time to answer one of them,
When, however, he had patience to
listen, he learned that the ruffians were
four in number; that they were masked;
that two of them had carried Ellena
through the garden, while the others,
after binding Beatrice to a pillar,
threatening her with death if she made
any noise, and watching over her till
their comrades had secured their prize,
left her a prisoner. This was all the
information she could give respecting
Ellena.
Vivaldi, when he could think coolly,
believed he had discovered the insti-
gators and the design of the whole affair,
and the cause also of his late confine-
ment. It appeared that Ellena had
been carried off by order of his family,
to prevent the intended marriage, and
that he had been decoyed into the fort
of Paluzzi, and kept a prisoner there, to


THE ITALIAN,
prevent him from intercepting the
scheme, which his presence at the Villa
Altieri would effectually have done.
He had himself spoken of his former
adventure at Paluzzi ; and it now ap-
peared, that his family had taken advan-
tage of the curiosity he had expressed,
to lead him into the vaults. The event,
of this design was the more certain,
since, as the fort lay in the direct road
to the Villa Altieri, Vivaldi could not
go thither, without being observed by
the creatures of the Marchesa, who, bv
an artfui manœuvre, might make him
their prisoner, without employing vio-
lence. .
As he considered these circumstances,
it appeared certain, also, that father
Schedoni was in truth the monk, who
had so long haunted his steps; that he
was the secret adviser of his mother,
and one of the authors of the predicted
misfortunes, which, it seemed, he pos-
sessed a too certain means of fulfilling.
Yet Vivaldi, while he admitted the pro- ;
bability of all this, reflected with new


8
THE ITALIAN.
astonishment on the conduct of Sche-
doni, during his interview with him in
the Marchesa’s cabinet ;—the air of
dignified innocence, with which he had
repressed accusation, the apparent sim-
plicity with which he had pointed out
circumstances respecting the stran-
ger, that seemed to make against
himself; and Vivaldi's opinion of the
confessor's duplicity began to waver.
Yet what other person, said he, could
be so intimately acquainted with my
concerns, or have an interest suffi-
ciently strong for thus indefatigably
thwarting me, except this confessor,
who is, no doubt, well rewarded for his
perseverance? The monk can be no
other than Schedoni, yet it is strange
that he should have forborne to disguise
his person, and should appear in his
mysterious office in the very habit he
usually wears !
Whatever might be the truth as to
Schedoni, it was evident that Ellena
had been carried away by order of
Vivaldi's family, and he immediately
returned towards Naples with an inten-


THE ITALIAN.
tion of demanding her at their hands, -
not with any hope of their compliance,
but believing that they might acciden-
tally afford him some light on the sub-
ject. If, however, he should fail to
obtain any hint, that might assist in
tracing the route she had been carried,
he determined to visit Schedoni, accuse
him of perfidy, urge him to a full expla-
nation of his conduct, and, if possible,
obtain from him a knowledge of Ellena's
place of confinement.
When, at length, he obtained an in-
terview with the Marchese, and, throw-
ing himself at his feet, supplicated that
Ellena might be restored to her home,
the unaffected surprise of his father
overwhelmed him with astonishment
and despair. The look and manner of
the Marchese could not be doubted;
Vivaldi was convinced that he was ab-
solutely ignorant of any step which had
been taken against Ellena.
However ungraciously you have con-
ducted yourself, said the Marchese, my
honour has never yet been sullied by
duplicity; however I may have wished


THE ITALIAN.
to break the unworthy connection you
have formed, I should disdain to employ
artifice as the means. If you really
design to marry this person, I shall
make no other effort to prevent such a
measure, than by telling you the con-
sequence you are to expect ;--from
thenceforth I will disown you for my
son.
The Marchese quitted the apartment
when he had said this, and Vivaldi made
no attempt to detain him. His words
expressed little more than they had for-
merly done, yet Vivaldi was shocked by
the absolute menace now delivered.
The stronger passion of his heart, how-
ever, soon overcame their effect; and
this moment, when he began to fear
that he had irrecoverably lost the object
of his dearest affections, was not the
time, in which he could long feel re-
moter evils, or calculate the force of
misfortunes, which never might arrive,
The nearer interest pressed solely upon
his mind, and he was conscious only to
the loss of Elleną.


THE ITALIAN.
11
The interview, which followed with
his mother, was of a different character
from that which had occurred with the
Marchese. The keen dart of suspicion,
however, sharpened as it was by love
and by despair, pierced beyond the veil
of her duplicity; and Vivaldi as quickly
detected her hypocrisy as he had yielded
his conviction to the sincerity of the
Marchese. But his power rested here;
he possessed no means of awakening
her pity or actuating her justice, and
could not obtain even a hint, that might
guide him in his search of Ellena.
Schedoni, however, yet remained to
be tried; Vivaldi had no longer a doubt
as to his having caballed with the Mar-
chesa, and that he had been an agent
in removing Ellena. Whether he was
the person, who haunted the ruins of
Paluzzi, still remained to be proved,
for, though several circumstances seem-
ed to declare that he was, others, not
less plausible, asserted, the contrary.
On leaving the Marchesa's apartment,
Vivaldi repaired to the convent of the


12
THE ITALIAN.
Spirito Santo, and inquired for father
Schedoni. The lay brother, who opened
the gate, informed him that the father
was in his cell, and Vivaldi stepped
impatiently into the court, requesting
to be shewn thither.
I dare not leave the gate, signor, said
the brother, but, if you cross the court,
and ascend that staircase, which you
see yonder beyond the doorway on your
right, it will lead you to a gallery, and
the third door you will come to is father
Schedoni’s.
Vivaldi passed on without seeing ano-
ther human being, and not a sound dis-
turbed the silence of this sanctuary, till,
as he ascended the stairs, a feeble note
of lamentation proceeded from the gal-
lery, and he concluded it was uttered by
some penitent at confession.
He stopped, as he had been directed,
at the third door, when, as he gently
knocked, the sound ceased, and the same
profound silence returned. Vivaldi re-
peated his summons, but, receiving no
answer, he ventured to open the door,


THE ITALIAN.
13
In the dusky cell within no person
appeared, but he still looked round,
expecting to discover some one in the
dubious gloom. The chamber contained
little more than a mattress, a chair, a
table, and a crucifix; some books of
devotion were upon the table, one or
two of which were written in unknown
characters; several instruments of tor-
ture lay beside them. Vivaldi shuddered
as he hastily examined these, though he
did not comprehend the manner of their
application, and he left the chamber,
without noticing any other object, and
returned to the court. The porter said,
that since father Schedoni was not in his
cell, he was probably either in the church
or in the gardens, for that he had not
passed the gates during the morning.
Did he pass yester-evening ? said Vi-
valdi, eagerly.
Yes, he returned to vespers, replied
the brother, with surprise.
Are you certain as to that, my friend?
rejoined Vivaldi, are you certain that he
slept in the convent last night?


14
THE ITALIAN.
Who is it that asks the question ?
said the lay-brother, with displeasure,
and what right has he to make it? You
are ignorant of the rules of our house,
signor, or you would perceive such
questions to be unnecessary; any mem-
ber of our community is liable to be
severely punished, if he sleep a night
without these walls, and father Sche-
doni would be the last among us to
trespass. He is one of the most pious
of the brotherhood ; few indeed have
courage to imitate his severe example.
His voluntary sufferings are sufficient
for a saint. He pass the night abroad!
Go, signor, yonder is the church, you
will find him there, perhaps.
Vivaldi did not linger to reply. The
hypocrite! said he to himself as he
crossed to the church, which formed one
side of the quadrangle; but I will
unmask him.
The church, which he entered, was
vacant and silent like the court. Whi-
ther can the inhabitants of this place
have withdrawn themselves ? said he;


THE ITALIAN.
15
wherever I go, I hear only the echoes of
my own footsteps; it seems as if death
reigned here over all! But, perhaps, it
is one of the hours of general meditation,
and the monks have only retired to their
cells,
As he paced the long aistes, he sud-
denly stopped to catch the startling
sound that murmured through the lofty
roof; but it seemed to be only the clo-
sing of a distant door. Yet he often
looked forward into the sacred gloom,
which the painted windows threw over
the remote perspective, in the expec-
tation of perceiving a monk. He was
not long disappointed ; a person ap-
peared, standing silently in an obscure
part of the cloister, clothed in the habit
of this society, and he advanced towards
him.
The monk did not avoid Vivaldi, or
even turn to observe who was approach-
ing, but remained in the same attitude,
fixed like a statue. This tall and gaunt
figure had, at a distance, reminded him
of Schedoni, and Vivaldi, as he now


16
THE ITALIAN:
ance
looked under the cowl, discovered the
ghastly countenance of the confessor.
· Have I found you at last ? said Vivaldi.
I would speak with you, father, in pri-
vate. This is not a proper place for
such discourse as we must hold.
Schedoni made no reply, and Vivaldi,
once again looking at him, observed that
his features were fixed, and his eyes
bent towards the ground. The words
of Vivaldi seemed not to have reached
his understanding, nor even to have made
any impression on his senses.
He repeated them in a louder tone,
but still not a single line of Schedoni's
countenance acknowledged their influ-
ence. What means this mummery ?
said he, his patience exhausted, and his
indignation aroused; This wretched sub-
terfuge shall not protect you, you are
detected, your stratagems are known !
Restore Ellena di Rosalba to her home,
or confess where you have concealed
her.
Schedoni was still silent and unmoved.
A respect for his age and profession


THE ITALIAN.
17
withheld Vivaldi from seizing and com-
pelling him to answer; but the agony
of impatience and indignation, which he
suffered, formed a striking contrast to
the death-like apathy of the monk. I
now also know you, continued Vivaldi,
for my tormentor at Paluzzi, the pro-
phet of evils, which you too well prac-
tised the means of fulfilling, the predic-
tor of the death of Signora Bianchi.
Schedoni frowned. The forewarner of
Ellena's departure ; the phantom who
decoyed me into the dungeons of Pa-
luzzi ; the prophet and the artificer of
all my misfortunes.
The monk raised his eyes from the
ground, and fixed them with terrible
expression upon Vivaldi, but was still
silent.
Yes, father, added Vivaldi, I know
and will proclaim you to the world. I
will strip you of the hypocrisy in which
you shroud yourself; announce to all
your society the despicable artifices you
have employed and the misery you have


18
THE ITALIAN.
occasioned. Your character shall be
announced aloud.
While Vivaldi spoke, the monk had
withdrawn his eyes and fixed them again
on the ground. His countenance had
resumed its usual expression.
Wretch! restore to me Ellena di Ro-
salba! cried Vivaldi, with the sudden an-
guish of renewed despair. Tell me at least
where she may be found, or you shall
be compelled to do so. Whither, whi-
ther, have you conveyed her ?
As he pronounced this in loud and
passionate accents, several ecclesiastics
entered the cloisters and were passing
on to the body of the church, when his
voice arrested their attention. They
paused, and perceiving the singular at-
titude of Schedoni, and the frantic
gesticulations of Vivaldi, hastily ad-
vanced towards them. Forbear! said
one of the strangers, as he seized the
cloak of Vivaldi, do you not observe !
I observe a hypocrite, replied Vivaldi,
stepping back, and disengaging himself,


THE ITALIAN.
I observe a destroyer of the peace it
was his duty to protect. I-
Forbear this desperate conduct, said
the priest, lest it provoke the just ven-
geance of heaven! Do you not observe!
the holy office in which he is engaged ?
pointing to the monk, Leave the church
while you are permitted to do so in
safety ; you suspect not the punishment
you may provoke. "
I will not quit the spot till you an.
swer my inquiries, said Vivaldi to Sche-
doni, without deigning even to look
upon the priest; Where, I repeat, is
Ellena di Rosalba ? .
The confessor was still silent and un-
moved. This is beyond all patience,
and all belief, continued Vivaldi.
Speak ! answer me, or dread what I
may unfold. Yet silent! Do you know
the convent del Pianto? Do you know
the confessional of the Black Penitents ?
Vivaldi thought he perceived the
countenance of the monk suffer some
change. Do you remember that terri-


20
THE ITALIAN.
ble night, he added, when, on the steps
of that confessional, a tale was told ?
Schedoni raised his eyes, and, fixing
them once more on Vivaldi, with a look
that seemed intended to strike him to
the dust. Avaunt! cried he, in a tre-
mendous voice; Avaunt! sacrilegious
boy! Tremble for the consequence of
thy desperate impiety,
As he concluded, he started from his
position, and gliding with a silent swift-
ness of a shadow along the cloister,
vanished in an instant. Vivaldi, when
attempting to pursue him, was seized
by the surrounding monks. Insensible
to his sufferings and exasperated by his
assertions, they threatened, that, if he
did not immediately leave the convent,
he should be confined, and undergo the
severe punishment to which he had
become liable, for having disturbed and
even insulted one of their holy order,
while performing an act of penance.
He has need. 'ich acts, said Vi-
valdi; but wł they restore t


THE ITALIAN.
21
-
happiness his treachery has destroyed ?
Your order is disgraced by such a mem-
ber, reverend fathers ; your-
Peace! cried a monk, he is the pride
of our house; he is severe in his devo-
tion, and in self-punishment terrible
beyond the reach of But I am throw-
ing away my commendations, I am
talking to one who is not permitted to
value, or to understand, the sacred mys-
teries of our exercises.
Away with him to the Padre Abbate !
cried an enraged priest; away with
him to the dungeon!
Away! away! repeated his compa-
nions, and they endeavoured to force
Vivaldi through the cloisters. But with
the sudden strength which pride and
indignation lent him, he burst from their
united hold, and, quitting the church
by another door, escaped into the
street.
Vivaldi returned home in a state of
mind that would have engaged the pity
of any heart, which prejudice, or self
interest, had not hardened. He avoided


22
THE ITALIAN.
ICO
his father, but sought the Marchesa,
who, triumphant in the success of her
plan, was still insensible to the suffer-
ings of her son.
When the Marchesa had been 'in-
formed of his approaching marriage,
she had, as usual, consulted with her
confessor on the means of preventing it,
who had advised the scheme she adopt-
ed, a scheme which was the more easily
carried into effect, since the Marchesa
had early in life been acquainted with
the abbess of San Stefano, and knew,
therefore, enough of her character and
disposition to confide, without hesita-
tion, the management of this important
affair to her discretion. The answer of
the abbess to her proposal, was not
merely acquiescent, but zealous, and it
appeared that she too faithfully justified
the confidence reposed in her. After
this plan had been so successfully pro-
secuted, it was not to be hoped that the
Marchesa would be prevailed upon to
relinquish it by the tears, the anguish,
or all the varied sufferings of her son.


THE ITALIAN. .
23
Vivaldi now reproved the easiness of
his own confidence in having hoped it,
and quitted her cabinet with a despon-
dency, that almost reached despair.
The faithful Paulo obeyed the hasty
summons of his master, but he had not
succeeded in obtaining intelligence of
Ellena; and Vivaldi, having dismissed
him again on the same inquiry, retired
to his apartment, where the excess of
grief, and a feeble hope of devising some
successful mode of remedy, alternately
agitated and detained him.
In the evening, restless and anxious
for change, though scarcely knowing
whither to bend his course, he left the
palace, and strolled down to the sea
beach, A few fishermen and lazzaroni
only were loitering along the strand,
waiting for boats from St. Lucia. Vi-
valdi, with folded arms, and his hat
drawn over his face to shade his sorrow
from observation, paced the edge of the
waves, listening to their murmur, as
they broke gently at his feet, and gazing
upon their undulating beauty, while all


24
THE ITALIAN.
consciousness was lost in melancholy
reverie concerning Ellena. Her late
residence appeared at a distance, rising
over the shore. He remembered how
often from thence they had together
viewed this lovely scene! Its features
had now lost their charm; they were
colourless and uninteresting, or im-
pressed only mournful ideas. The sea
fluctuating beneath the setting sun, the
long mole and its lighthouse tipped with
the last rays, fishermen reposing in the
shade, little boats skimming over the
smooth waters, which their oars scarcely
dimpled ; these were images, that
brought to his recollection the affecting
evening when he had last seen this pic-
ture from the Villa Altieri, when, seated
in the orangery with Ellena and Bianchi,
on the night preceding the death of the
latter, when Ellena herself had so so-
lemnly been given to his care, and had
so affectingly consented to the dying
request of her relative. The recollection
of that scene came to Vivaldi with all
the force of contrast, and renewed all


THE ITALIAN.
25
the anguish of despair ; he paced the
'beach with quicker steps, and long
groans burst from his heart. He accused
himself of indifference and inactivity,
for having been thus long unable to dis-
cover a single circumstance, which might
direct his search; and, though he knew
not whither to go, he determined to
leave Naples immediately, and return
no more to his father's mansion till he
should have rescued Ellena.
Of some fishermen who were con-
versing together on the beach, he inquired
whether they could furnish him with a
boat, in which he meant to coast the
bay; for it appeared probable, that
Ellena had been conveyed from Altieri
by water, to some town or convent on
the shore, the privacy and facility of
such a mode of conveyance being suitable
to the designs of her enemies.
I have but one boat, signor, said a
fisherman, and that is busy enough in
going to and fro between here and
Santa Lucia, but my comrade, here,
perhaps, can serve you. What, Carlo,
VOL. II.


26
THE ITALIAN.
can you help the signor to your little
skiff ? the other, I know, has enough to
do in the trade.
· His comrade, however, was too much
engaged with a party of three or four
men, who were listening in deep attention
round him, to reply; Vivaldi, advancing
to urge the question, was struck by the
eagerness with which he delivered his
narrative, as well as the uncouthness of
his gesticulation; and he paused a mo-
ment in attention. One of the auditors
seemed to doubt of something that had
been asserted. I tell you, replied the
narrator, I used to carry fish there, two
or three times a week, and very good
sort of people they were ; they have laid
out many a ducat with me in their time.
But as I was saying, when I got there
and knocked upon the door, I heard, all
of a sudden, a huge groaning, and pre-
sently I heard the voice of the old house-
keeper herself, roaring out for help; but
I could give her none, for the door was
fastened ; and, while I ran away for
assistance to old Bartoli, you know old


THE ITALIAN.
27
Bartoli, he lives by the road side as you
go to Naples; well, while I ran to him,
comes a signor, and jumps through the
window, and sets her at liberty at
once. So then, I heard the whole
story.-
What story, said Vivaldi, and of whom
do you speak ?
All in good time, maestro, you shall
hear, said the fisherman, who looking at
him for a moment, added, Why, signor,
it should be you I saw there, you should
be the very signor that let Beatrice
loose.
Vivaldi, who had scarcely doubted
before, that it was Altieri of which the
man had spoken, now asked a thousand
questions respecting the route the ruf-
fians had taken Ellena, but obtained no
relief to his anxiety.
I should not wonder, said a lazzaro,
who had been listening to the relation;
I should not wonder if the carriage that
passed Bracelli early on the same morn-
ing, with the blinds drawn up, though
C2


28
THE ITALIAN.
it was so hot that people could scarcely
breathe in the open air, should prove to
be it which carried of the lady! .
This hint was sufficient to reanimate
Vivaldi, who collected all the informa-
tion the lazzaro could give, which was,
however, little more than that a carriage,
such as he described, had been seen by
him, driving furiously through Bracelli,
early on the morning mentioned as that
of Signora di Rosalba's departure. Vi-
valdi had now no doubt as to its being
the one which conveyed her away, and
he determined to set out immediately
for that place, where he hoped to obtain
from the post-master further intelligence
concerning the road she had pursued.
:. With this intention, he returned once
more to his father's mansion, not to
acquaint him with his purpose, or to bid
him farewel, but to await the return of
his servant Paulo, who he meant should
accompany him in the search. Vivaldi's
spirits were now animated with hope,
slender as were the circumstances that
ace


THE ITALIAN.
29
supported it; and, believing his design
to be wholly unsuspected by those who
would be disposed to interrupt it, he
did not guard either against the mea-
sures, which might impede his departure
from Naples, or those which might over-
take him on his journey.


CHAPTER II.
What, wouldst thou have a serpent sting thee iwice.
· SHAKESPEARE.
The Marchesa, alarmed at some hints,
dropped by Vivaldi in the late interview
between them and by some circum-
stances of his latter conduct, summoned
her constant adviser, Schedoni. Still
suffering with the insult he had received
in the church of the Spirito Santo, he
obeyed with sullen reluctance, yet not
without a malicious hope of discovering
some opportunity for retaliation. That
insult, which had pointed forth his hy-
pocrisy, and ridiculed the solemn ab-
straction he assumed, had sunk deep in
his heart, and, fermenting the direst
passions of his nature, he meditated a
terrible revenge. It had subjected him
to mortifications of various kinds. Am-
bition, it has already appeared, was one


THE ITALIAN.
31
was
of his strongest motives of action, and
he had long since assumed a character
of severe sanctity, chiefly for the pur-
pose of lifting him to promotion. He
was not beloved in the society of which
he was a member; and many of the
brotherhood, who had laboured to dis-
appoint his views and to detect his
errors, who hated him for his pride and
envied him for his reputed sanctity, now
gloried in the mortification he had re-
ceived and endeavoured to turn the cir-
cumstance to their own advantage.
They had not scrupled already to display
by insinuation and pointed sneers, their
triumph and to menace his reputation;
and Schedoni, though he deserved con-
tempt, was not of a temper to endure it.
But above all, some hints respecting
his past life, which had fallen from
Vivaldi, and which occasioned him so
abruptly to leave the church, alarmed,
him. So much terror, indeed, had they
excited, that it is not improbable that
he would have sealed his secret in
death, devoting Vivaldi to the grave,


32
THE ITALIAN.
neve
had he not been restrained by the
dreaded vengeance of the Vivaldi family.
Since that hour he had known no peace,
and had never slept; he had taken
scarcely any food, and was almost con-
tinually on his knees upon the steps of
the high altar. The devotees, who
beheld him, paused, and admired; such
of the brothers as disliked him sneered
and passed on. Schedoni appeared
alike insensible to each ; lost to this
world and preparing for a higher.
The torments of his mind and the
severe penance he had observed had
produced a surprising change in his
appearance, so that he resembled a
spectre rather than a human being.
His visage was wan and wasted, his
eyes were sunk, and become nearly
motionless, and his whole air and atti-
tudes exhibited the wild energy of some-
thing---not of this earth.
When he was summoned by the Mar-
chesa, his conscience whispered this to
be the consequence of circumstances
which Vivaldi had revealed; and, at


THE ITALIAN.
33
first, he had determined not to attend,
her; but, considering that, if it were so,
his refusal would confirm suspicion, he
resolved to trust once more to the sub-
tilty of his address for deliverance.
With these apprehensions, tempered
by this hope, he entered the Marchesa's
closet. She almost started on observing
him, and could not immediately with-
draw her eyes from his altered visage,
while Schedoni was unable wholly to
conceal the perturbation, which such
earnest observation occasioned. Peace
rest with you daughter!' said he; and
he seated himself, without lifting his
eyes from the floor.
I wished to speak with you, father,
upon affairs of moment, said the Mar-
chesa gravely, which are probably not
unknown to you. She paused, and
Schedoni bowed his head, awaiting in
anxious expectation what was to follow.
You are silent father, resumed the ..
Marchesa. What am I to understand
by this? .
That you have been misinformed,
c5


34
THE ITALIAN.
replied Schedoni, whose apt conscience
betrayed his discretion.
Pardon me, said the Marchesa, I am
too well informed, and should not have
requested your visit, if any doubt had
remained upon my mind,
Signora ! be cautious of what you
credit, said the confessor imprudently ;
you know not the consequence of a
hasty credulity.
Would that mine were a rash credu-
lity, replied the Marchesa ; but we
are betrayed.
We? repeated the monk, beginning to
revive: What has happened ?
The Marchesa informed him of Via
valdi's absence, and inferred from its
length, for it was now several days
since his departure, that he had cer-
tainly discovered the place of Ellena's
confinement, as well as the authors of
it.
Schedoni differed from her, but hinted
that the obedience of youth was hope-'
less, unless severer measures were
adopted,


THE ITALIAN.
35
Severer ! exclaimed the Marchesa;
good father, is it not severe enough to
confine her for life.
I mean severer with respect to your
son, lady, replied Schedoni. When a
young man has so far overcome all reve-
rence for a holy ordinance as publicly to
insult its professors, and yet more, when
that professor is in the very performance
of his duties, it is time he should be con-
trolled with a strong hand. I am not
in the practice of advising such mea-
sures, but the conduct of Signor Vivaldi
is such as calls aloud for them. Public
decency demands it. For myself, in-
deed, I should have endured patiently
the indignity, which has been offered
me, receiving it as a salutary mortifica.
tion, as one of those inflictions, that
purify the soul from the pride, which
even the holiest men may unconsciously
cherish. But I am no longer permitted
to consider myself; the public good
requires that an example should be
made of the horrible impiety, of which
your son, it grieves me, daughter, to


36
THE ITALIAN.
disclose it !-your son, unworthy of such
a mother! has been guilty.
It is evident that in the style, at least,
of this accusation, Schedoni suffered the
force of his resentment to prevail over
the usual subtility of his address, the
deep and smooth insinuation of his
policy.
To what do you allude, righteous fa-
ther ? inquired the astonished Marchesa;
what indignity, what impiety has my
son to answer for ? I entreat you will
speak explicitly, that I may prove I can
lose the mother in the strict severity of
the judge.
That is spoken with the grandeur of
sentiment which has always distinguish-
ed you, my daughter! Strong minds
perceive that justice is the highest of
the moral attributes, mercy is only the
favorite of weak ones.
Schedoni had a view in this commen-
dation beyond that of confirming the
Marchesa's present resolution against
Vivaldi. He wished to prepare her for
measures, which might hereafter be


THE ITALIAN,
37
necessary to accomplish the revenge he
meditated, and he knew that by flattering
her vanity, he was most likely to suc-
ceed. He praised her, therefore, for
qualities he wished her to possess, en-
couraged her to reject general opinions,
by admiring as the symptoms of a supe-
rior understanding, the convenient mo-
rality, upon which she had occasionally
acted ; and, calling sterņness justice,
extolled that for strength of mind, which
was only callous insensibility. .
He then described to her Vivaldi's
late conduct in the church of the Spirito
Santo, exaggerated some offensive cir-
cumstances of it, invented others, and
formed of the whole an instance of mon-
strous impiety and unprovoked insult.
The Marchesa listened to the relation
with no less indignation than surprise,
and her readiness to adopt the con-
fessor's advice, allowed him to depart
with renovated spirits and most trium-
phant hopes.
Meanwhile, the Marchese, remained
wholly ignorant of the subject of


38
THE ITALIAN.
the conference with Schedoni. His
opinions had formerly been sounded, and
having been found decidedly against the
dark policy it was thought expedient to
practise, he was never afterwards con-
sulted respecting Vivaldi. Parental
anxiety and affection began to revive as
the lengthened absence of his son was
observed. Though jealous of his rank,
he loved Vivaldi ; and, though he had
never possitively believed that he de-
signed to enter into a sacred engage-
ment with a person, whom the Marchese
considered to be so much his inferior as
Ellena, he had suffered doubts, which
gave him considerable uneasiness. The
present extraordinary absence of Vi-
valdi renewed his alarm. He appre-
hended that, if she were discovered at
this moment, when the fear of losing
her for ever and the exasperation which
such complicated opposition occasioned,
had awakened all the passions of his son,
this rash young man might be prevailed
upon to secure her for his own by the
indissoluble vow, On the other hand,


THE ITALIAN.
39
he dreaded the effect of Vivaldi's despair,
should he fail in the pursuit; and thus,
fearing at one moment that, which he
wished in the next, the Marchese suf-
fered a tumult of mind inferior only to
that felt by his son.
The instructions, which he delivered
to the servants, whom he sent in pursuit
of Vivaldi, were given under such dis-
traction of thought, that scarcely any
person perfectly understood his commis-
sion; and, as the Marchesa had been
careful to conceal from him her know-
ledge of Ellena's abode, he gave no
direction concerning the route to San
Stefano.
While the Marchese at Naples was
thus employed, and while Schedoni was,
forming further plans against Ellena,
Vivaldi was wandering from village to
village, and from town to town, in pur-
suit of her, whom all his efforts had
hitherto been unsuccessful to recover.
From the people at the post-house at
Bracelli he had obtained little informa-
tion that could direct him; they only


40
THE ITALIAN.
knew that a carriage, such as had been
already described to Vivaldi, with the
blinds drawn up, changed horses there
on the morning, which he remembered
to be that of Ellena's departure, and
had proceeded on the road to Morgani.
When Vivaldi arrived thither, all trace
of Ellena was lost; the master of the
post could not recollect a single circum-
stance connected with the travellers,
and, even if he had noticed them, it
would have been insufficient for Vivaldi's
purpose, unless he had also observed the
road they followed; for at this place
several roads branched off into opposite
quarters of the country; Vivaldi, there-
fore, was reduced to choose one of these,
as chance, or fancy, directed ; and, as it
appeared probable that the Marchesa
had conveyed Ellena to a convent, he
determined to make inquiries at every
one on his way.
He had now passed over some of the
wildest tracts of the Apennine, among
scenes, which seemed abandoned by civi.
lized society to the banditti, who haunted


THE ITALIAN.
41
their recesses. Yet even here, amidst
wilds that were nearly inaccessible,
convents, with each its small depen-
dant hamlet, were scattered, and, shroud-
ed from the world by woods and moun-
tains, enjoyed unsuspectedly many of
its luxuries and displayed, unnoticed,
some of its elegance. Vivaldi, who had
visited several of these in search of
Ellena, had been surprised at the re-
fined courtesy and hospitality, with
which he was received. .
It was on the seventh day of his
journey, and near sun-set, that he was
bewildered in the woods of Rugieri. He
had received a direction for the road he
was to take, at a village some leagues
distant, and had obeyed it confidently
till now, when the path was lost in several
tracts, that branched out among the
trees. The day was closing, and Vivaldi's
spirits began to fail, but Paulo, light of
heart, and ever gay, commended the
shade and pleasant freshness of the
woods and observed, that if his master
did lose his way, and were obliged to


42
THE ITALIAN.
remain here for the night, it could not
be so very unlucky, for they could climb
up among the branches of a chesnut,
and find a more neat and airy lodging
than any inn had yet afforded them.
While Paulo was thus endeavouring
to make the best of what might happen,
and his master was sunk in revery, they
suddenly heard the sound of instruments
and voices from a distance. The gloom,
which the trees threw around, prevented
their distinguishing objects afar off, and
not a single human being was visible,
nor any trace of his art beneath the sha-
dowy scene. They listend to ascertain
from what direction the sounds ap-
proached, and heard a chorus of voices,
accompanied by a few instruments, per-
forming the evening service.
We are near a convent, signor, said
Paulo, listen! they are at their devo-
tions.
• It is as you say, replied Vivaldi; and
we will make the best of our way
towards it.
Well, signor! I must say, if we find


THE ITALIAN.
as good doings here as we had at the
Capuchin's, we shall have no reason to
regret our beds al-fresko among the
chesnut branches.
Do you perceive any walls or spires
beyond the trees ? said Vivaldi, as he
led the way.
None, signor, replied Paulo; yet we
draw nearer the sounds. Ah, signor,
do you hear that note? How it dies
away! And those instruments just
touched in symphony! This is not the
music of peasants; a convent must be
near, though we do not see it...
Still as they advanced, no walls ap-
peared, and soon after the music ceased ;
but other sounds led Vivaldi forward to
a pleasant part of the woods, where, the
trees opening, he perceived a party of
pilgrims seated on the grass. They were
laughing and conversing with much
gaiety, as each spread before him the
supper, which he drew from his scrip;
while he, who appeared to be the Father
director of the pilgrimage, sat with a
jovial countenance in the midst of the
company, dispensing jokes and merry


44
THE ITALIAN.
stories, and receiving in return a tribute
from every scrip. Wines of various
sorts were ranged before him, of which
he drank abundantly, and seemed not to
refuse any dainty that was offered.
Vivaldi, whose apprehensions were
now quieted, stopped to observe the
group, as the evening rays, glancing
along the skirts of the wood, threw a
gleam upon their various countenances,
shewing, however, in each a spirit of
gaiety, that might have characterized
the individuals of a party of pleasure,
rather than those of a pilgrimage. The
Father-director and his flock seemed
perfectly to understand each other; the
superior willingly resigned the solemn
austerity of his office, and permitted the
company to make themselves as happy
as possible, in consideration of receiving
plenty of the most delicate of their
viands; yet somewhat of dignity was
mingled with his condescensions, that
compelled them to receive even his jokes
with a degree of deference, and perhaps
they laughed at them less for their
spirit than because they were favors,


THE ITALIAN. .
45
Addressing the superior, Vivaldi re-
quested to be directed how he might
regain his way. The father examined
him for a moment before he replied,
but, observing the elegance of his dress
and a certain air of distinction; and
perceiving, also, that Paulo was his ser-
vant, he promised his services, and in-
vited him to take a seat at his right
hand, and partake of the supper.
- Vivaldi understanding thạt the party
was going his road, accepted the invita-
tion; when Paulo, having fastened the
horses to a tree, soon became busy with
the supper. While Vivaldi conversed
with the father, Paulo engrossed all the
attention of the pilgrims near him; they
declared he was the cleverest and the
merriest fellow they had ever seen, and
often expressed a wish that he was
going as far with them as to the shrine
in a convent of Carmelites, which ter-
minated their pilgrimage. When Vivaldi
understood that this shrine was in the
church of a convent, partly inhabited
by nuns, and that it was little more
than a league and a half distant, he de-


46
THE ITALIAN.
termined to accompany them, for it was
as possible that Ellena was confined
there as in any other cloister; and of
her being imprisoned in some convent,
he had less doubt, the more he consi-
dered the character and views of his
mother. He set forward, therefore,
with the pilgrims and on foot, having
resigned his horse to the weary Father-
director. :
Darkness closed over them long be-
fore they reached the village, where
they designed to pass the night; but
they beguiled the way with songs and
stories, now and then, only, stopping at
command of the Father, to repeat some
prayer, or sing a hymn. But, as they
drew near a village, at the base of the
mountain, on which the shrine stood,
they halted to arrange themselves in
procession; and the superior, having
stopped short in the midst of one of his
best jokes, dismounted Vivaldi's horse,
placed himself at their head, and, be-
ginning a loud strain, they proceeded in
full chorus of melancholy music.
The peasants, hearing their sonorous


THE ITALIAN.
47
-
voices, came forth to meet and conduct
them to their cabins. The village was
already crowded with devotees, but
these poor peasants, looking up to them
with love and reverence, made every
possible contrivance to accommodate all,
who came; notwithstanding which,
when Paulo soon after turned into his
bed of straw, he had more reasons than
one to regret his chesnut mattress.
Vivaldi passed an anxious night;
waiting impatiently for the dawning of
that day, which might possibly restore
to him Ellena. Considering that a pil-
grim's habit would not only conceal him
from suspicion, but allow him oppor-
tunities for observation, which his own
dress would not permit, he employed
Paulo to provide him one. The address
of the servant, assisted by a single
ducat, easily procured it, and at an
early hour he set forward on his in-
quiry.


CHAPTER III.
Bring roses, violets, and the cold snow-drop,
Beautiful in tears, to strew the path-way
Ofour saintly sister.
A Few devotees only had begun to
ascend the mountain, and Vivaldi kept
aloof even from these, pursuing a lonely
track, for his thoughtful mind desired
solitude. The early breeze sighing
among the foliage, that waved high over
the path, and the hollow dashing of
distant waters he listened to with com-
placency, for these were sounds which
soothed, yet promoted his melancholy
mood; and he sometimes rested to gaze
upon the scenery around him, for, this
too was in harmony with the temper of
his mind. Disappointment had subdued
the wild energy of the passions and pro-
duced a solemn and lofty state of feel-
ing; he viewed with pleasing sadness
the dark rocks and precipices, the


THE ITALIAN.
49
CO
gloomy mountains and vast solitudes
that spread around him; nor was the
convent he was approaching a less sacred
feature of the scene, as its gray walks
and pinnacles appeared beyond the
dusky groves. Ah! if it should enclose
her! said Vivaldi, as he caught a first
glimpse of its hall. Vain hope! I will
not invite your illusions again, I will
not expose myself to the agonies of new
disappoinment; I will search, but not
expect. Yet, if she should be there!
Having reached the gates of the con-
vept, he passed with hasty steps into
the court; where his emotion increased
as he paused a moment and looked
round its silent cloisters. The porter
only appeared, when Vivaldi, fearful
lest he should perceive him not to be a
pilgrim, drew his hood over his face
and, gathering up his garments still
closer in his folded arms, passed on
without speaking, though he knew not
which of the avenues before him led to
the shrine. He advanced, however,
towards the church, a stately edifice,
VOL. II.


50
THE ITALIAN
detached, and at some little distance
from the other parts of the convent.
Its highly vaulted aisles, extending in
twilight perspective, where a monk, or
a pilgrim only, now and then crossed,
whose dark figures, passing without
sound, vanished like shadows; the uni-
versal stillness of the place, the gleam
of tapers from the high altar, and of
lamps which gave a gloomy pomp to
every shrine in the church :-all these
circumstancés conspired to impress a
sacred awe upon his heart.
He followed some devotees through
a side aisle to a court, that was over-
hung by a 'tremendous rock, in which
was a cave, containing the shrine of Our
Lady of Mount Carmel. This court
was' enclosed by the rock, and by the
choir of the church, except that to the
south a small opening led the eye to a
glimpse of the landscape below, which,
seen beyond the dark jaws of the cliff,
appeared free, and light, and gaily co-
loured, melting away into the blue and
distant mountains.
Vivaldi entered the cave, where, en-


THE 'ITALIAN.
closed within a filiagree screen of gold,
lay the image of the saint, decorated
with flowers and lighted up by innume-
rable lamps and tapers. The steps of
the shrine were thronged with kneeling
pilgrims, and Vivaldi, to avoid singu-
larity, kneeled also ; till a high peal of
the organ, at a distance, and the deep
voices of choristers announced that the
first mass was begun. He left the cave,
and returning into the church, loitered
at an extremity of the aisles, where he
listened awhile to the solemn harmony
pealing along the roofs, and softening
away in distance. It was such full and
entrancing music as frequently swells in
the high festivals of the Sicilian church,
and is adapted to inspire that sublime
enthusiasm, which sometimes elevates
its disciples. Vivaldi, unable to endure
long the excess of feeling, which thís
- harmony awakened, was leaving the
church, when suddenly it ceased, and
the tolling of a bell sounded in its stead.
This seemed to be the knell of death,
and it occurred to him, that a dying
D 2


52
THE ITALIAN.
person was approaching to receive the
last sacrament; when he heard remotely
a warbling of female voices, mingling
with the deeper tones of the monks and
with the hollow note of the bell, as it
struck at intervals. So sweetly, so plain-
tively, did the strain grow on the air,
that those, who listened, as well as those
who sung, were touched with sorrow,
and seemed equally to mourn for a
departing friend.
Vivaldi hastened to the choir, the
pavement of which was strewn with
palm branches and fresh flowers. A pall
of black velvet lay upon the steps of the
altar, where several priests were silently
attending. Every where appeared the
ensigns of solemn pomp and ceremony,
and in every countenance the stillness
and observance of expectation. Mean-
while the sounds drew nearer, and Vivaldi
perceived a procession of nuns approach-
ing from a distant aisle...
As they advanced, he distinguished
the lady abbess leading the train, dressed
in her pontificial robes, with the mitre


THE ITALIAN.
53
on her head; and well he marked her
stately step, moving in time to the slow
minstrelsy, and the air of proud yet
graceful dignity, with which she charac-
terised herself. Then followed the nuns, ,
according to their several orders, and
last came the novices, carrying lighted
tapers and surrounded by other nuns,
who were distinguished by a particular
habit.
Having reached a part of the church
appropriated for their reception, they
arranged themselves in order. Vivaldi,
with a palpitating heart, inquired the
occasion of this ceremony, and was told
that a nun was going to be professed.
You are informed, no doubt, brother,
added the monk, who gave him this
intelligence, that on the morning of our
high festival, our lady's day, it is usual
for such as devote themselves to heaven,
to receive the veil. Stand bye awhile,
and you will see the ceremony.
What is the name of the novice, who
is now to receive it ? said Vivaldi, in a


54 .
THE ITALIAN.
voice, whose tremulous accents betrayed
his emotion.
The monk glanced an eye of scrutiny
upon him as he replied, I know not her
name, but if you will step a little this
way, I will point her out to you,
Vivaldi, drawing his hood over his
face, obeyed in silence.
It is she on the right of the abbess,
said the stranger, who leans on the arm
of a nun, she is covered with a white
veil, and is taller than her companions.
Vivaldi observed her with a fearful
eye, and, though he did not recognize
the person of Ellena, yet, whether it
were that his fancy was possessed with
her image, or that there was truth in
his surmise, he thought he perceived a
resemblance of her. He inquired how
long the novice had resided in the con-
vent, and many other particulars, to
which the stranger either could not or
dared not reply.
With what anxious solicitude did Vi-
valdi endeavour to look through the veils


THE ITALIAN,
55
of the several nuns, in search of Ellena,
whom he believed the barbarous policy
of his mother might already have de-
voted to the cloister! With a solicitude.
still stronger, he tried to catch a glimpse
of the features of the novices, but their
faces were shaded by hoods, and their
white veils, though thrown half back,
were disposed in such artful folds that
they concealed them from observation,
as effectually as did the pendant lawn
the features of the nuns.
The ceremony began with the exhor-
tation of the Father Abbot, delivered
with solemn energy; then the novice,
kneeling before him, made her profes-
sion, for which Vivaldi listened with
intense attention, but it was delivered
in such low and trembling accents, that
he could not ascertain even the tone.
But during the anthem, that mingled
with the ensuing part of the service, he
thought he distinguished the voice of
Ellena, that touching and well-known
voice, which in the church of San


56
THE ITALIAN.
Lorenzo had first attracted his attention.
He listened, scarcely daring to draw
breath, lest he should lose a note; and
again he fancied her voice spoke in a
part of the plaintive response delivered
by the nuns.
Vivaldi endeavoured to command his
emotion and to wait with patience some
further unfolding of the truth ; but,
when the priest prepared to withdraw
the white, veil from the face of the
novice, and throw the black one over
her, a dreadful expectation that she was
Ellena, seized him, and he with diffi-
culty forbore stepping forward and dis-
covering himself on the instant.
The veil was at length withdrawn,
and a very lovely face appeared, but
not Ellena's. Vivaldi breathed again,
and waited with tolerable composure
for the conclusion of the ceremony ; till,
in the solemn strain that followed the
putting on the black veil, he heard
again the voice, which he was now con-
vinced was her's. Its accents were low


THE ITÀLIAN.
57
and mournful and tremulous, yet his
heart acknowledged instantaneously
their magic influence.
When this ceremony had concluded,
another began; and he was told it was
that of a novication. A young woman,
supported by two nuns, advanced to the
altar, and Vivaldi again thought he be-
held Ellena. The priest was beginning
the customary exhortation, when she
lifted her half veil, and shewing a coun-
tenance where meek sorrow was mingled
with heavenly sweetness, raised her blue
eyes, all bathed in tears, and waved her
hand as if she would have spoken.-It
was Ellena herself.
The priest attempted to proceed.
I protest in the presence of this con-
gregation, said she solemnly, that I am
brought hither to pronounce vows which
my heart disclaims. I protest-
A confusion of voices interrupted
her, and at the same instant she per-
ceived Vivaldi rushing towards the al-
tar. Ellena gazed for a moment, and
then, stretching forth her supplica-
D5


58
THE ITALIAN.
ting hands towards him, closed her eyes,
and sunk into the arms of some persons
round her, who vainly endeavoured to
prevent him from approaching and as-
sisting her. The anguish, with which
he bent over her lifeless form, and
called upon her name, excited the com,
miseration even of the nuns and especi-
ally of Olivia, who was most assiduous
in efforts to revive her young friend.
When Ellena unclosed her eyes and,
looking up, once more beheld Vivaldi,
the expression, with which she regarded
him, told that her heart was unchanged,
and that she was unconscious of the
miseries of imprisonment while he was
with her. She desired to withdraw,
and, assisted by Vivaldi and Olivia, was.
leaving the church, when the abbess
ordered that she should be attended by
the nuns only ; and, 'retiring from the
altar, she gave directions that the young
stranger should be conducted to the
parlour of the convent.
Vivaldi, though he refused to obey an
imperious command, yielded to the en-


THE ITALIAN.
59
treaties of Ellena, and to the gentle re-
monstrances of Olivia; and bidding
Ellena farewel for a while, he repaired
to the parlour of the abbess. He was
not without some hope of awakening her
to a sense of justice, or of pity; but he
found that her notions of right were
inexorably against him, and that pride
and resentment usurped the influence of
every other feeling. She began her
lecture with expressing the warm friend-
ship she had so long cherished for the
Marchesa, proceeded to lament that the
son of a friend, whom she so highly es-
teemed, should have forgotten his. duty
to his parents and the observance due
to the dignity of his house, so far as to
seek connection with a person of Ellena
di Rosalba's inferior station; and con-
cluded with a severe reprimand for his
having disturbed the tranquility of her
convent and the decorum of the church
by his intrusion. .
Vivaldi listened, with submitting pa.
tience to this mention of morals and
decorum from a person, who, with the


60
THE ITALIAN.
most perfect self-applause, was violating
some of the plainest obligations of hu-
manity and justice; who had conspired
to tear an orphan from her home and
who designed to deprive her for life of
liberty, with all the blessings it inherits.
But, when she proceeded to speak of
Ellena with the caustic of severe repro-
bation, and to hint at the punishment,
which her public rejection of the vows
had incurred, the patience of Vivaldi
submitted no longer; indignation and
contempt rose high against the superior,
and he exhibited a portrait of herself in
the strong colours of truth. But the
mind, which compassion could not per
suade, reason could not appal; selfish-
ness had hardened it alike to the influ-
ence of each ; her pride only was affec-
ted, and she retaliated the mortification
she suffered by menace and denuncia-
tion.
Vivaldi, on quitting her apartment,
had no other resource, than an applica-
tion to the Abate, whose influence, at
least, if not his authority, might assuage


THE ITALIAN.
61
the severity of her power. In this Abate,
a mildness of temper and a gentleness
of manner were qualities of less value
than is usually and deservedly imputed
to them; for, being connected with
feebleness of mind, they were but the
pleasing merits of easy times, which in
an hour of difficulty never assumed the
character of virtues, by inducing him to
serve those, for whom he might feel.
And thus, with a temper and disposition
directly opposite to those of the severe
and violent abbess, he was equally sel-
fish, and almost equally culpable, since
by permitting evil, he was nearly as inju-
rious in his conduct as those, who planned
it. Indolence and timidity, a timidity
the consequence of want of clear per-
ception, deprived him of all energy of
character; he was prudent rather than
wise, and so fearful of being thought to
do wrong that he seldom did right.
To Vivaldi's temperate representa-
tions and earnest entreaties, that he
would exert some authority towards
liberating Ellena, he listened with


62
THE ITALIAN.
patience; acknowledged the hard-
ships of her situation ; lamented the
unhappy divisions between Vivaldi and
his family, and then declined advancing
a single step, in so delicate an affair.
Signora di Rosalba, he said, was in the
care of the abbess, over whom he had
no right of control in matters relative to
her domestic concerns. Vivaldi then
supplicated, that, though he possessed
no authority, he would, at least, inter-
cede or remonstrate against so unjust a
procedure as that of detaining Ellena a
prisoner, and assist in restoring her to
the home, from which she had been for-
cibly carried.
And this, again, replied the Abate,
does not come within my jurisdiction;
and I make it a rule never to encroach
upon that of another person.
And can you endure, holy father, said
Vivaldi, to witness a flagrant act of
injustice and not endeavour to counteract
it? not even step forward to rescue the
victim when you perceive the preparation
for the sacrifice ?


THE ITALIAN.
63
I repeat, that I never interfere with
the authority of others, replied the su-
perior; having asserted my own, I yield
to them in their sphere the obedience,
which I require in mine. '
Is power then, said Vivaldi, the infal-
"lible test of justice ? Is it morality to
obey where the command is criminal ?
The whole world have a claim upon the
fortitude, the active fortitude of those,
who are placed as you are, in the alter-
native between confirming a wrong by
your consent, or preventing it by your
resistance. Would that your heart
expanded towards that world, reverend
father!
Would that the whole world were
wrong that you might have the glory of
setting it right! said the Abate, smiling,
Young man, you are an enthusiast, and
I pardon you. You are a knight of chi-
valry, who would go about the earth
fighting with every body by way of
proving your right to do good; it is
unfortunate that you are born somewhat
too late.


64
THE ITALIAN.'
Enthusiasm in the cause of humanity,
said Vivaldi, but he checked himself;
and, despairing of touching a heart so
hardened by selfish prudence, and indig.
nant at beholding an apathy so vicious
in its consequence, he left the Abate
without other effort. He perceived that
he must now have recourse to further
stratagem, a recourse, which his frank
and noble mind detested, but he had
already tried, without success, every
other possibility of rescuing the inno-
cent victim of the Marchesa's prejudice
and pride.
Ellena meanwhile had retired to her
cell, agitated by a variety of conside-
rations and contrary emotions, of which,
however, those of joy and tenderness
were long predominant. Then came
anxiety, apprehension, pride and doubt,
to divide and torture her heart. It was
true that Vivaldi had discovered her
prison, but, if it were possible, that he
could release her, she must consent to
quit it with him ; a step, from which a
mind so tremblingly jealous of propriety


THE ITALIAN.
65
as her's, recoiled with alarm, though it
would deliver her from captivity. And
how, when she considered the haughty
character of the Marchese di Vivaldi,
the imperious and vindictive nature of
the Marchesa, and still more, their
united repugnance to a connection with
her, how could she endure to think,
even for a moment, of intruding herself
into such a family! Pride, delicacy,
good sense seemed to warn her against
a conduct so humiliating and vexatious
in its consequences, and to exhort her
to preserve her own dignity by inde-
pendence; but the esteem, the friend-
ship, the tender affection, which she
had cherished for Vivaldi, made her
pause and shrink with emotions of little
less than horror, from the eternal renun-
ciation which so dignified a choice re-
quired. Though the encouragement,
which her deceased relative had given
to this attachment, seemed to impart to
it a sacred character, that considerably
soothed the alarmed delicacy of Ellena,
the approbation thus implied had no


66
THE ITALIAN,
power to silence her own objections, and
she would have regretted the mistaken
zeal, which had contributed to lead her
into the present distressing situation,
had she revered the memory of her
aunt, or loved Vivaldi less. Still, how-
ever, the joy, which his presence had
occasioned, and which the consciousness
that he was still near her had prolonged,
was not subdued, though it was fre-
quently obscured, by such anxious con-
siderations. With jealous and indiscreet
solicitude, she now recollected every
look and the accent of every word,
which had told that his affection was
undiminished, thus seeking, with incon-
sistent zeal, for a conviction of the very
tenderness, which but a moment before
she had thought it would be prudent to
lament, and almost necessary to re-
nounce.
She awaited with extreme anxiety the
appearance of Olivia, who might pro-
bably know the result of Vivaldi's con-
ference with the abbess, and whether
he were yet in the convent,


THE ITALIAN.
67
In the evening, Olivia came, a mes-
senger of evil; and Ellena, informed of
the conduct of the abbess and the con-
sequent departure of Vivaldi, perceived
all her courage and all the half formed
resolutions, which a consideration of
his family had suggested, faulter and
expire. Sensible only of grief and de-
spondency, she ascertained, for the first
time, the extent of her affection and the
severity of her situation. She perceived,
also, that the injustice, which his family
had exercised towards her, absolved her
from all consideration of their displea-
sure, otherwise than as it might affect
herself; but this was a conviction which
it were now probably useless to admit.
Olivia not only expressed the tender-
est interest in her welfare, but seemed
deeply affected with her situation; and,
whether it were, that the nun's misfor-
tunes bore some resemblance to Ellena's,
or from whatever cause, it is remarkable,
that her eyes, were often filled with
tears, while she regarded her young
friend, and she betrayed so much emo-


68
THE ITALIAN.
tion that Ellena noticed it with surprise,
She was, however, too delicate to hint
any curiosity on the subject; and too
much engaged by a nearer interest, to
dwell long upon the circumstance.
When Olivia withdrew, Ellena retired
to her turret, to sooth her spirits with a
view of serene and majestic nature, a
recourse which seldom failed to elevate
her mind, and soften the asperities of
affliction. It was to her like sweet and
solemn music, breathing peace over the
soul, ---like the oaten stop of Milton's
spirit.
Who with his soft pipe, and smooth-littied song,
Well knew to still the wild winds when they roar
And hush the waving woods.
While she sat before a window, ob-
serving the evening light beaming up
the valley, and touching all the distant
mountains with misty purple, a reed as
sweet, though not as fanciful, sounded
from among the rocks below. The in-
strument and the character of the strain
were such as she had been unaccustomed
to hear within the walls of San Stefano,


THE ITALIAN.
69
and the tone diffused over her spirits a
pleasing melancholy, that rapt all her
attention. The liquid cadence, as it
trembled and sunk away, seemed to tell
the dejection of no vulgar feelings, and
the exquisite taste, with which the com-
plaining notes were again swelled, almost
convinced her, that the musician was
Vivaldi.
On looking from the lattice, she per-
ceived a person perched on a point of
the cliff below, whither it appeared al-
most impracticable for any human step
to have climbed, and preserved from
the precipice only by some dwarf shrubs
that fringed the brow. The twilight did
not permit her immediately to ascertain
whether it were Vivaldi, and the situa-
tion was so dangerous, that she hoped
it was not he. Her doubts were removed,
when, looking up, he perceived Ellena,
and she heard his voice.
Vivaldi had learned from a lay-brother
of the convent, whom Paulo had bribed,
and who, when he worked in the garden,
had sometimes seen Ellena at the win-
-


70
THE ITALIAN.
dow, that she frequented this remote
turret; and, at the hazard of his life, he
had now ventured thither, with a hope
of conversing with her.
Ellena, alarmed at his tremendous
situation, refused to listen to him, but
he would not leave the spot, till he had
communicated a plan concerted for her
escape, and, entreating that she would
confide herself to his care, assured her
she would be conducted wherever she
thought proper. It appeared that the
brother had consented to assist his views,
in consideration of ample reward, and to
admit him within the walls on this even-
ing, when, in his pilgrim's habit, he
might have an opportunity of again see-
ing Ellena. He conjured her to attend,
if possible, in the convent parlour dur-
ing supper, explaining, in a few words,
the motive for this request, and the
substance of the following particulars:
The lady abbess, in observance of the
custom upon high festivals, gave a colla-
tion to the Padre-abate, and such of the
priests as had assisted at the vesper


THE ITALIAN.
71
service. A few strangers of distinction
and pilgrims were also to partake of the
entertainments of this night, among
which was included a concert to be per-
formed by the nuns. At the collation
was to be displayed a profusion of deli-
cacies arranged by the sisters, who had
been busy in preparing the pastry and
confectionary during several days, and
who excelled in these articles no less
than in embroidery and other ingenious
arts. This supper was to be given in
the abbess's "outer parlour, while she
herself, attended by some nuns of high
rank and a few favourites, was to have
a table in the inner apartment, where,
separated only by the grate, she could
partake of the conversation of the holy
fathers. The tables were to be orna-
mented with artificial flowers, and a
variety of other fanciful devices, upon
which the ingenuity of the sisters had
been long employed, who prepared for
these festivals, with as much vanity, and
expected them to dissipate the gloomy
monotony of their usual life, with as


72
THE ITALIAN.
much eagerness of delight, as a young
beauty anticipates a first ball.
On this evening, therefore, every
member of the convent would be engaged
either by amusement, or business, and
to Vivaldi, who had been careful to in-
form himself of these circumstances, it
would be easy, with the assistance of
the brother, to obtain admittance, and
mingle himself among the spectators,
disguised in his pilgrim's habit. He
entreated, therefore, that Ellena would
contrive to be in the abbess's apartment
this evening, when he would endeavour
to convey to her some further particulars
of the plan of escape, and would have
mules in waiting at the foot of the
mountain, to conduct her to the Villa
Altieri, or to the neighbouring convent
of the Santa della Pieta. Vivaldi secretly
hoped, that she might be prevailed upon
to give him her hand, on quitting San
Stefano, but he forbore to mention this
hope, lest it should be mistaken for a
condition, and that Ellena might be
either reluctant to accept his assistance,


THE ITALIAN.
73
or accepting it, might consider herself
bound to grant a hasty consent.
To his mention of escape she listened
with varying emotion; at one moment
attending to it with hope and joy, as
promising her only chance of liberation
from imprisonment, which was probably
intended to last for her life, and of re-
storing her to Vivaldi ; and at another,
recoiling from the thought of departing
with him, while his family was so deci-
dedly averse to their marriage. Thus,
unable to form any instant resolution on
the subject and entreating, that he would
leave his dangerous station, before the
thickening twilight should increase the
hazard of his descent, Ellena added,
that she would endeavour to obtain ad-
mittance to the apartment of the abbess,
and to acquaint him with her final deter-
mination. Vivaldi understood all the
delicacy of her scruples, and, though
they afflicted him, he honoured the good
sense and just pride, that suggested
them.
He lingered on the rock till the last
VOL. II.


74.
THE ITALIAN.
moments of departing light, and then,
with a heart fluttering with hopes and
fears, bade Ellena farewell, and de-
scended; while she watched his progress
through the silent gloom, faintly distin-
guishing him gliding along ledges of the
precipice, and making his adventurous
way from cliff to cliff, till the winding
thickets concealed him from her view.
Still anxious, she remained at the lattice,
but he appeared no more; no voice an-
nounced disaster;, and, at length, she
returned to her cell, to deliberate on the
subject of her departure.
Her considerations were interrupted
by Olivia, whose manner indicated
something extraordinary; the usual tran-
quillity of her countenance was gone,
and an air of grief mingled with appre-
hension appeared there. Before she
spoke, she examined the passage and
looked round the cell. It is as I feared,
said she abruptly; my suspicions are
"justified, and you, my child, are sacri-
ficed, unless it were possible for you to
quit the convent this night.


THE ITALIAN.
75
• What is it that you mean? said the
alarmed Ellena.
I have just learned, resumed the nun,
that your conduct this morning, which
is understood to have thrown a preme-
ditated insult upon the abbess, is to be
punished with what they call imprison-
ment; alas! why should I soften the
truth, with what I believe is death
itself, for who ever returned alive from
that hideous chamber.
With death! said Ellena, aghast;
Oh, .heavens ! how have I deserved
death?
That is not the question, my daughter,
but how you may avoid it. Within the
deepest recesses of our convent, is a
stone chamber, secured by doors of
iron, to which such of the sisterhood as
have been guilty of any heinous offence,
have, from time to time, been consigned.
This condemnation admits of no re-
prieve; the unfortunate captive is left
to languish in chains and darkness,
receiving only an allowance of bread
and water just sufficient to prolong her
E 2


76
THE ITALIAN.
sufferings, till nature, at length, sinking
under their intolerable pressure, obtains
refuge in death. Our records relate
several instances of such horrible punish-
ment, which has generally been inflicted
upon nuns, who, weary of the life which
they have chosen under the first delusions
of the imagination, or which they have
been compelled to accept by the rigour,
or avarice, of parents, have been detected
in escaping from the convent.
The nun paused, but, Ellena remain-
ing wrapt in silent thought, she resum-
ed: One miserable instance of this se-
verity has occurred within my memory.
I saw the wretched victim enter that
apartment-never more to quit it alive!
I saw, also, her poor remains laid at
rest in the convent garden! During
nearly two years she languished upon a
bed of straw, denied even the poor con-
solation of conversing through the grate
with such of the sisters as pitied her ;
and who of us was there that did not
pity her! A severe punishment was
threatened to those, who should ap-


THE ITALIAN.
77
,
proach with any compassionate inten-
tion! thank God! I incurred it, and I
endured it, also, with secret triumph.
: A gleam of satisfaction passed over
Olivia's countenance as she spoke this;
it was the sweetest thirt Ellena had ever
observed there. With a sympathetic
emotion, she threw herself on the bosom
of the nun, and wept; for some moments
they were both silent, Olivia, at length
said, Do you not believe, my child, that
the officious and offended abbess will
readily seize upon the circumstance of
your disobedience, as a pretence for
confining you in that fatal chamber?
The wishes of the Marchesa will thus
surely be accomplished, without the
difficulty of exacting your obedience to
the vows. Alas! I have received proof
too absolute of her intention, and that
to-morrow is assigned as the day of your
sacrifice; you may, perhaps, be thankful
that the business of the festival has
obliged her to defer executing the sen-
tence even till to-morrow.
Ellena replied only with a groan, as


8
.
THE ITALIAN
THE ITAL
her head still drooped upon the shoulder
of the nun; she was not now hesitating
whether to accept the assistance of Vi-
valdi, but desponding lest his utmost
efforts for her deliverance should be
vain.:
Olivia, who mistook the cause of her
silence, added, Other hints I could give
which are strong as they are dreadful,
but I will forbear. Tell me how it is
possible I may assist you ; I am willing
to incur a second punishment, in endea-
vouring to relieve a second sufferer.
Ellena's tears flowed fast at this new
instance of the nun's generosity. But if
they should discover you in assisting me
to leave the convent, she said, in a voice
convulsed by her gratitude, -0, if they
should discover you !
I can ascertain the punishment, Olivia
replied with firmness, and do not fear to
meet it.
How nobly generous this is! said the
weeping Ellena ; I ought not to suffer
you to be thus careless of yourself!
My conduct is not wholly disinte-


THE ITALIAN.
79
"
rested, the nun modestly replied, for I
think I could endure any punishment
with more fortitude than the sickening
anguish of beholding such suffering as I
have witnessed. What are bodily pains
in comparison with the subtle, the ex-
quisite tortures of the mind! Heaven
knows I can support my own afflictions,
but not the view of those of others, when
they are excessive. The instruments of
torture I believe I could endure, if my
spirit were invigorated with the consci-
ousness of a generous purpose; but pity
touches upon a nerve that vibrates in-
stantly to the heart and subdues resis-
tance. Yes, my child, the agony of
pity is keener than any other, except
that of remorse, and even in remorse, it
is, perhaps, the mingling unavailing
pity, that points the sting. But, while
I am indulging this egotism, I am, per-
haps, increasing your danger of the suf-
fering I deprecate.
Ellena, thus encouraged by the gene-
rous sympathy, of Olivia, mentioned
Vivaldi's purposed visit of this evening ;


80
THE ITALIAN.
and consulted with her on the proba-
bility of procuring admittance for her-
self to the abbess's parlour. Reanimated
by this intelligence, Olivia advised her
to repair not only to the supper-room,
but to attend the previous concert, to
which several strangers would be ad-
mitted, among whom might probably be
Vivaldi. When to this, Ellena objected
her dread of the abbess's observation,
and of the immediate seclusion that
would follow, Olivia soothed her fears
of discovery, by offering her the disguise
of a nun's veil, and promising not only
to conduct her to the apartment, but to
afford her every possible assistance to-
wards her escape.
Among the crowd of nuns who will
attend in that spacious apartment, Oli-
via added, it is improbable you would
be distinguished, even if the sisters were
less occupied by amusement, and the
abbess were at leisure to scrutinize. As
it is, you will hazard little danger of
discovery; the superior, if she thinks of
you at all, will believe that you are still


THE ITALIAN.
81
a prisoner in your cell, but this is an
evening of too much importance to her
vanity, for any consideration, distinct
from that emotion, to divide her atten-
tion. Let hope, therefore, support you,
my child, and do you prepare a few
lines to acquaint Vivaldi with your con- .
sent to his proposal, and with the ur-
gency of your circumstances; you may,
perhaps, find an opportunity of conveying
them through the grate.
They were still conversing on this
subject, when a particular chime sound-
ed, which Qlivia said summoned the
nuns to the concert-room; and she im-
mediately hastened for a black veil,
while Ellena wrote the few lines that
were necessary for Vivaldi.
E 5


CHAPTER IV.
That lawn conceals her beauty
As the thin cloud, just silver'd by the rays,
The trembling moon: think ye'tis shrouded from
The curious eye?
WRAPT in Olivia's veil, Ellena de-
scended to the music-room, and mingled
with the nuns, who were assembled
within the grate. Among the monks
and pilgrims without it, were some
strangers in the usual dress of the country,
but she did not perceive any person who
resembled Vivaldi ; and she considered,
that, if he were present, he would not
venture to discover himself, while her
nun's veil concealed her as effectually
from him as from the lady abbess. It
would be necessary, therefore, to seek
an opportunity of withdrawing it for a
moment at the grate, though this was an
expedient, which must expose her to
the notice of strangers.
. On the entrance of the lady abbess,


THE ITALIAN.
83
Ellena's fear of discovery rendered her
insensible to every other consideration ;
she fancied, that the eyes of the supe-
rior were particularly directed upon
herself. The veil seemed an insufficient
protection from their penetrating glances,
and she almost sunk with the terror of
instant discovery.
The abbess, however, passed on, and,
having conversed for a few moments with
the Padre-abate and some visitors of
distinction, took her chair; and the per-
formance immediately opened with one
of those solemnand impressive airs, which
the Italian nuns know how to give with
so much taste and sweetness. It rescued
even Ellena for a moment from a sense
of danger, and she resigned herself to
the surrounding scene, of which the
coup-d'ail was striking and grand. In a
vaulted apartment of considerable extent,
lighted by innumerable tapers, and
where even the ornaments, though pom-
pous, partook of the solemn character of
the institution, were assembled about
fifty nuns, who, in the interesting habit


94
THE ITALIAN. .
of their order appeared with graceful
plainness. The delicacy of their air,
and their beauty, softened by the lawn
that thinly veiled it, were contrasted by
the severe majesty of the lady abbess,
who, seated on an elevated chair apart
from the audience, seemed the empress
of the scene, and by the venerable figures
of the father abate and his attendant
monks, who were arranged without that
screen of wire work, extending the
whole breadth of the apartment, which
is called the grate. Near the holy
father were placed the strangers of dis-
tinction, dressed in the splendid Neapo-
litan habit, whose gay colouring and
airy elegance opposed well with the
dark drapery of the ecclesiastics; their
plumed hats loftily overtopping the half-
cowled heads and grey locks of the
monks. Nor was the contrast of coun-
tenances less striking; the grave, the
austere, the solemn, and the gloomy,
intermingling with the light, the bloom-
ing, and the debonair, expressed all the
Yariqus tempers, that render life a bles-


THE ITALIAN.
85
sing or a burden, and, as with the spell
of magic, transform this world into a
transient paradise or purgatory. In the
back ground of the picture stood some
pilgrims, with looks less joyous and more
demure than they had worn on the road
the preceding day; and among them
were some inferior brothers and atten-
dants of the convent. To this part of
the chamber Ellena frequently directed
her attention, but did not distinguish
Vivaldi ; and, though she had taken a
station near the grate, she had not cou-
rage indecorously to withdraw her veil
before so many strangers. And thus,
if he even were in the apartment, it was
not probable he would venture to come
forward.
The concert concluded without his
having been discovered by Ellena ; and
she withdrew to the apartment, where
the collation was spread, and where the
abbess and her guests soon after ap-
peared. Presently, she observed a stran-
ger, in a pilgrim's habit, station himself
near the grate; his face was partly


86
THE ITALIAN.
muffled in his cloak, and he seemed to
be a spectator rather than a partaker of
the feast.
Ellena, who understood this to be
Vivaldi, was watchful for an opportunity
of approaching, unseen by the abbess,
the place where he had fixed himself.
Engaged in conversation with the ladies
around her, the superior soon favoured
Ellena's wish, who, having reached the
grate, ventured to lift her veil for one
instant. The stranger, letting his cloak
fall, thanked her with his eyes for her
condescension, and she perceived, that
he was not Vivaldi! Shocked at the
interpretation, which might be given to
a conduct apparently so improper, as
much as by the disappointment, which
Vivaldi's absence occasioned, she was
hastily retiring, when another stranger
approached with quick steps, whom she
instantly knew by the grace and spirit
of his air, to be Vivaldi; but, determined
not to expose herself a second time to
the possibility of a mistake, she awaited
for some further signal of his identity,


THE ITALIAN.
before she discovered herself. His eyes
were fixed upon her in earnest attention
for some moments, before he drew aside
the cloak from his face. But he soon
did so; and it was Vivaldi himself.
Ellena, perceiving that she was known,
did not raise her veil, but advanced a
few steps towards the grate. Vivaldi
there deposited a small folded paper,
and, before she could venture to deliver
her own billet, he had retired among the
crowd. As she stepped forward to se-
cure his letter, she observed a nun has-
tily approach the spot where he had laid
it, and she paused. The garment of the
recluse wafted it from the place, where
it had been partly concealed ; and when
Ellena perceived the nun's foot rest upon
the paper, she with difficulty disguised
her apprehensions.
A monk, who from without the grate
addressed the sister, seemed with much
earnestness, yet with a certain air of
secrecy, communicating some important
intelligence. The fears of Ellena sug-
gested that he had observed the action


88
THE ITALIAN.
of Vivaldi; and was making known his
suspicions; and she expected, every
instant, to see the nun lift up the paper,
and deliver it to the abbess.
From this immediate apprehension,
however, she was released when the
sister pushed it aside, accidentally as it
seemed, without examination, a circum-
stance, that not less surprised than re-
lieved her. But, when the conference
broke up, and the monk, hastily retreat-
ing among the crowd, disappeared from
the apartment, and the nun approached
and whispered the superior, all her ter-
rors were renewed. She scarcely doubt-
ed, that Vivaldi was detected, and that
his letter was designedly left where
it had been deposited, for the purpose
of alluring her to betray herself. Trem-
bling, dismayed, and almost sinking
with apprehension, she watched the
countenance of the abbess, while the
nun addressed her, and thought she
read her own fate in the frown, that
appeared there. **
Whatever might be the intentions,


THE ITALIAN.
89
or the directions, of the superior, no
active measure was at present employed;
the recluse, having received an answer,
retired quietly among the sisters, and
the abbess resumed her usual-manner,
Ellena, however, supposing she was
observed, did not dare to seize the pa-
per, though she believed it contained
momentous information, and feared that
the time was now escaping, which might
facilitate her deliverance. Whenever she
ventured to look round, the eyes of the
abbess seemed pointed upon her, and
she judged from the position of the nun,
for the veil concealed her eyes, that she
also was vigilantly regarding her.
Above an hour had elapsed in this.
state of anxious suspense, when the col-
lation concluded, and the assembly
broke up; during the general bustle of
which, Ellena ventured to the grate, and
secured the paper. As she concealed
it in her robe, she scarcely dared to in- .
quire by a hasty glance whether she
had been observed, and would have
withdrawn immediately to examine the


90
THE ITALIAN.
contents, had she not perceived at the
same instant, the abbess quitting the
apartment. On looking round for the
nun, Ellena discovered that she was
gone.
Ellena followed distantly in the ab-
beşs's train ; and, as she drew nearer to
Olivia, gave a signal, and passed on to
her cell. There, once more alone, and
having secured the door, she sat down
to read Vivaldi's billet, trying to com-
mand her impatience, and to understand
the lines, over which her sight rapidly
moved, when, in the eagerness of turning
over the paper, the lamp dropped from
her trembling hand and expired. Her
distress now nearly reached despair.
To go forth into the convent for a light
was utterly impracticable, since it would
betray that she was no longer a prisoner,
and not only would Olivia suffer from a
discovery of the indulgence she had
granted, but she herself would be imme-
diately confined. Her only hope rested
upon Olivia's arrival, before it might be
too late to practise the instructions of


THE ITALIAN.'
91
Vivaldi, if, indeed, they were still prac-
ticable; and she listened with intense
solicitude for an approaching footstep,
while she yet held, ignorant of its con-
tents, the billet, that probably would
decide her fate. · A thousand times she
turned about the eventful paper, endea-
voured to trace the lines with her fingers,
and to guess their import, thus enve-
loped in darkness; while she experienced
all the various' torture that the consci-
ousness of having in her very hand the
information, on a timely knowledge of
which her life, perhaps, depended,
without being able to understand it,
could inflict.
Preșently she heard advancing steps,
and a light gleamed from the passage
before she considered they might be
some other than Olivia's; and that it
was prudent to conceal the billet she
held. The consideration, however, came
too late to be acted upon; for, before
the rustling paper was disposed of, a
person entered the cell, and Ellena
beheld her friend. Pale, trembling, and


92.
THE ITALIAN.
silent, she took the lamp from the nun,
and, eagerly running over Vivaldi's note,
learned, that at the time it was written,
brother Jeronimo was in waiting without
the gate of the nun's garden, where Vi-
valdi designed to join him immediately,
and conduct her by a private way beyond
the walls. He added, that horses were
stationed at the foot of the mountain, to
convey her wherever she should judge
proper; and conjured her to be expe-
ditious, since other circumstances, be-
sides the universal engagement of the
recluses, were at that moment particu-
larly favourable to an escape.
Ellena, desponding and appalled, gave
the paper to Olivia, requesting she
would read it hastily, and advise her
how to act. It was now an hour and a
half since Vivaldi had said, that success
depended upon expedition, and that he
had probably watched at the appointed
place; in such an interval, how many
circumstances might have occurred to
destroy every possibility of a retreat,
which it was certain the engagement of


THE ITALIAN.
93
.
the abbess and the sisters no longer
favoured!
The generous Olivia, having read the
billet, partook of all her young friend's
distress, and was as willing, as Ellena
was anxious, to dare every danger for
the chance of obtaining deliverance.
Ellena could feel gratitude for such
goodness even at this moment of ago-
nizing apprehension. After a pause of
deep consideration, Olivia said, In every
avenue of the convent we are now liable
to meet some of the nuns; but my veil,
though thin, has hitherto protected you,
and we must hope it may still assist
your purpose. It will be necessary,
however, to pass through the refectory,
where such of the sisters as did not par-
take of the collation, are assembled at
supper, and will remain till the first
matin calls them to the chapel. If we
wait till then, I fear it will be to no
purpose to go at all.
Ellena's fears perfectly agreed with
those of Olivia ; and, entreating that


94
THE ITALIAN.
another moment might not be lost in
hesitation, and that she would lead the
way to the nun's garden, they quitted
the cell together.
Several of the sisters passed them, as
they decended to the refectory, but
without particularly noticing Ellena,
who, as she drew near that alarming
apartment, wrapt her veil closer, and
leaned with heavier pressure upon the
arm of her faithful friend. At the door
they were met by the abbess, who had
been overlooking the nuns assembled at
supper, and missing Olivia, had inquired
for her. Ellena shrunk back to allude
observation, and to let the superior pass;
but Olivia was obliged to answer to the
summons. Having, however, unveiled
herself, she was permitted to proceed;
and Ellena, who had mingled with the
crowd that surrounded the abbess, and
thus escaped detection, followed Olivia
with faltering steps, through the refec-
troy. The nuns were luckily too much
engaged by the entertainment, at this


THE ITALIAN.
95
moment, to look round them, and the
fugitive reached, unsuspected, an oppo-
site door.
In the hall, to which they descended,
the adventurers were frequently crossed
by servants bearing dishes from the re-
fectory to the kitchen; and, at the very
moment when they were opening the
door that led into the garden, a sister,
who had observed them, demanded
whether they had yet heard the matin
bell, since they were going towards the
chapel.
Terrified at this critical interruption,
Ellena pressed Olivia's arm, in signal of
silence, and was hastening forward, when
the latter, more prudent, paused, and
calmly answering the question, was then
suffered to proceed.
As they crossed the garden towards
the gate, Ellena's anxiety lest Vivaldi -
should have been compelled to leave it,
increased so much, that she had scarcely
power to proceed. O if my strength
should fail before I reach it! she said


96
THE ITALIAN.
softly to Olivia, or if I should reach it
too late!
Olivia tried to cheer her, and pointed
out the gate, on which the moonlight
fell; At the end of this walk only, said
Olivia, see !-where the shadows of the
trees open is our goal.
Encouraged by the view of it, Ellena
fled with lighter steps along the alley;
but the grate seemed to mock her ap-
proach, and to retreat before her. Fa-
tigue overtook her in this long alley,
before she could overtake the spot so
anxiously sought, and, breathless and
exhausted, she was once more compelled
to stop, and once more in the agony of
terror exclaimed-0, if my strength
should fail before I reach it!-0, if I
should drop even while it is within my
view.
The pause of a moment enabled her
to proceed, and she stopped not again
till she arrived at the gate; when Olivia
suggested the prudence of ascertaining
who was without, and of receiving an


THE ITALIAN.
97
answer to the signal, which Vivaldi had
proposed, before they ventured to make
themselves known. She then struck
upon the wood, and, in the anxious
pause that followed, whispering voices
were distinctly heard from without, but
no signal spoke in reply to the nun's.
We are betrayed ! said Ellena softly
but I will know the worst at once; and
she repeated the signal, when, to her
unspeakable joy, it was answered by
three smart raps upon the gate, Olivia,
more distrustful, would have checked
the sudden hope of her friend, till some
further proof had appeared, that it was
Vivaldi who waited without, but her
precaution came too late; a key already
grated in the lock; the door opened,
and two persons muffied in their gar-
ments appeared at it. Ellena was has-
tily retreating, when a well known voice
recalled her, and she perceived, by the
rays of a half-hooded lamp, which Jero-
nimo held, Vivaldi .
O heavens! he exclaimed, in a voice
tremulous with joy, as he took her hand,
vol. 11.


98
THE ITALIAN.
Is it possible that you are again my own!
If you could but know what I have suf-
fered during the last hour !--Then ob-
serving Olivia, he drew back, till Ellena
expressed her deep sense of obligation
to the nun.
· We have no time to lose, said Jero-
nimo sullenly; we have staid too long
already, as you will find, perhaps.
Farewell, dear Ellena ! said Olivia,
may the protection of heaven never
leave you!
The fears of Ellena now gave way to
affectionate sorrow, as, weeping on the
bosom of the nun, she said farewell!
O farewell, my dear, my tender friend!
I must never, never see you more, but
I shall always love you; and you have
promised, that I shall hear from you;
remember the convent della Pieta!
You should have settled this matter
within, said Jeronimo, 'we have been
here these two hours already.
Ah Ellena! said Vivaldi, as he gently
disengaged her from the run, do I then
· hold only the second place in your heart?


THE ITALIAN.
99
Ellena, as she dismissed her tears,
replied with a smile more eloquent than
words; and when she had again and
again bade adieu to Olivia, she gave-
him her hand, and quitted the gate.
It is moonlight, observed Vivaldi to
Jeronimo, your lamp is useless, and
may betray us.
It will be necessary in the church,
replied Jeronimo, and in some circuitous
avenues we must pass, for I dare not
lead you out through the great gates,
signor, as you well know.
Lead on, then, replied Vivaldi, and
they reached one of the cypress walks,
that extended to the church; but, before
they entered it, Ellena paused and looked
back to the garden gate, that she might
see Olivia once again. The nun was
still there, and Ellena perceived her
faintly in the moonlight, waving her
hand in signal of a last adieu. Ellena's
heart was full ; she wept, and lingered,
and returned the signal, till the gentle
violence of Vivaldi withdrew her from
the spot.
F
2


100
THE ITALIAN.
I envy your friend those tears, said
he, and feel jealous of the tenderness
that excites them. Weep no more, my
Ellena.
If you knew her worth, replied El-
lena, and the obligations I owe her!-
Her voice was lost in sighs, and Vivaldi
only pressed her hand in silence.
- As they traversed the gloomy walk,
that led to the church, Vivaldi said, Are
you certain, father, that not any of the
brothers are doing penance at the shrines
in our way?
Doing penance on a festival, signor !
they are more likely, by this time, to be
taking down the ornaments.
That would be equally unfortunate
for us, said Vivaldi; cannot we avoid
the church, father?
Jeronimo assured him, that this was
impossible; and they immediately en-
tered one of its lonely aisles, where he
unhooded the lamp, for the tapers, which
had given splendour, at an earlier
hour, to the numerous shrines, had ex-
pired, except those at the high altar,


THE ITALIAN.
101
.
which were so remote, that their rays
faded into twilight long before they
reached the part of the church where
the fugitives passed. Here and there,
indeed, a dying lamp shot a tremulous
gleam upon the shriae below, and va-
pished again, serving to mark the dis-
tances in the long perspective of arches,
rather than to enlighten the gloomy so-
litude; but no sound, not even of a
whisper, stole along the pavement.
They crossed to a side door commu-
nicating with the court, and with the
rock, which enshrined the image of Our
Lady of Mount Carmel. There, the
sudden glare of tapers issuing from the
cave, alarmed the fugitives, who had
begun to retreat, when Jeronimo, step-
ping forward to examine the place, as-
sured them, there was no symptom of
any person being within, and that lights
burned day and night around the shrine.
Revived by this explanation, they
followed into the cave, where their con-
ductor opened a part of the wire work
enclosing the saint, and led them to


102
THE ITALIAN.
the extremity of the vault, sunk deep
within which appeared a small door.
While Ellena trembled with apprehen-
sion, Jeronimo applied a key, and they
perceived, beyond the door, a narrow
passage winding away into the rock.
The monk was leading on, but Vivaldi,
who had the suspicions of Ellena, paused
at the entrance, and demanded whither
he was conducting them.
To the place of your destination, re-
plied the brother, in a hollow voice;
an answer which alarmed Ellena, and
did not satisfy Vivaldi. I have given
myself to your guidance, he said, and
have confided to you what is dearer to
me than existence. Your life, pointing
to the short sword concealed beneath
his pilgrim's vest, your life, you may
rely upon my word, shall answer for
your treachery. If your purpose is
evil, pause a moment, and repent, or
you shall not quit this passage alive.
Do you menace me! replied the bro-
ther, his countenance darkening. Of
what service would be my death to you!


THE ITALIAN.
103
Do you not know that every brother in
the convent would rise to avenge it?
I know only that I will make sure of
one traitor, if there be one, said Vivaldi,
and will defend this lady against your
host of monks; and, since you also
know this, proceed accordingly.
At this instant it occurring to Ellena,
that the passage in question probably
led to the prison chamber, which Olivia
had described as situated within some
deep, recess of the convent, and that
Jeronimo had certainly betrayed them,
she refused to go further. If your pur-
pose is honest, said she, why do you
not conduct us through some direct
gate of the convent, why are we brought
into these subterraneous labyrinths ?
There is no direct gate but that of
the portal, Jeronimo · replied, and this
is the only other avenue leading beyond
the walls.
And why can we not go out through
the portal ? Vivaldi asked.
Because it is beset with pilgrims, and
lay brothers, replied Jeronimo, and


104
THE ITALIAN.
though you might pass them safely
enough, what is to become of the lady?
But all this you knew before, signor;
and was willing enough to trust me,
then. The passage we are entering
opens upon the cliffs, at some distance.
I have run hazard enough already, and
will waste no more time; so if you do
not chuse to go forward, I will leave
you, and you may act as you please.
He concluded with a laugh of deri.
sion, and was relocking the door, when
Vivaldi, alarmed for the probable con-
sequence of his resentment, and some-
what reassured by the indifference he
discovered as to their pursuing the ave-
nue or not, endeavoured to appease
him, as well as to encourage Ellena;
and he succeeded in both.
As he followed in silence through the
gloomy passage, his doubts were, how-
ever, not so wholly vanquished, but that
he was prepared for attack, and while
he supported Ellena with one hand, he
held his sword in the other.
The avenue was of considerable


THE ITALIAN. . 105
length, and, before they reached its
extremity, they heard music from a dis-
tance, winding along the rocks. Hark!
cried Ellena, whence come those sounds?
Listen!
From the cave we have left, replied
Jeronimo, and it is midnight by that;
it is the last chaunt of the pilgrims at
the shrine of our lady. Make haste,
signor, I shall be called for.
The fugitives now perceived, that all
retreat was cut off, and that, if they had
lingered only a few moments longer in
the cave, they should have been sur-
prised by those devotees, some one of
whom, however, it appeared possible
might wander into this avenue, and still
interrupt their escape. When Vivaldi
told his apprehensions, Jeronimo, with
an arch sneer, affirmed there was no
danger of that, for the passage, he ad-
ded, is known only to the brothers of
the convent.
Vivaldi's doubts vanished when he fur-
ther understood, that the avenue led only
from the cliffs without to the cave, and
F 5 :


106
THE ITALIAN.
was used for the purpose of conveying
secretly to the shrine, such articles as
were judged necessary to excite the su-
perstitious wonder of the devotees.
While he proceeded in thoughtful
silence, a distant chime sounded hol-
lowly through the chambers of the rock.
The matin-bell strikes ! said Jeronimo,
in seeming alarm, I am summoned.
Signora quicken your steps; an unne-
eessary request, for Ellena already pas-
sed with her utmost speed ; and she
now rejoiced on perceiving a door in
the remote winding of the passage,
which she believed would emancipate
her from the convent. But, as she ad-
vanced, the avenue appeared extending
beyond it; and the door, which stood
a little open, allowed her a glimpse of a
chamber in the cliff, duskily lighted.
Vivaldi, alarmed by the light within,
inquired, when he had passed, whether
any person was in the chamber, and re-
ceived an equivocal answer from Jero-
nimo, who, however, soon after pointed
to an arched gate, that terminated the


THE ITALIAN.
107
avenue. They proceeded with lighter
steps, for hope now cheered their hearts,
and, on reaching the gate, all appre.
hension vanished. Jeronimo gave the
lamp to Vivaldi, while he began to un-
bar and unlock the door, and Vivaldi
had prepared to reward the brother for
his fidelity, before they perceived that
the door refused to yield. A dreadful
suspicion seized on Vivaldi. Jeronimo
turning round, coolly said, I fear we are
betrayed ; the second lock is shot! I
have only the key of the first.
We are betrayed, said Vivaldi, in a
resolute tone, but do not suppose, that
your dissimulation conceals you. I un-
derstand by whom we are betrayed.
Recollect my late assertion, and consi-
der once more, whether it is your interest
to intercepț us.
My signor, replied Jeronimo, I do not
deceive you, when I protest by our holy
saint, that I have not caused this gate
to be fastened, and that I would open it
if I could. The lock, which holds it,
was not shot an hour ago. I am the more


108
THE ITALIAN.
surprised at what has happened, because
this place is seldom passed, even by the
holiest footstep; and I fear, whoever
has passed now, has been led hither by
suspicion, and comes to intercept your
flight.
Your wily explanation, brother, may
serve you for an inferior occasion, but
not on this, replied Vivaldi, either,
therefore, unclose the gate, or prepare
for the worst. You are not now to learn,
that, however slightly I may estimate
my own life, I will never abandon this
lady to the horrors, which your commu-
nity have already prepared for her.
· Ellena, summoning her fleeting spirits,
endeavoured to calm the indignation of
Vivaldi, and to prevent the consequence
of his suspicions, as well as to prevail
with Jeronimo, to unfasten the gate.
Her efforts were, however, followed by
à long altercation ; but, lat length, the
art or the innocence of the brother, ap-
peased Vivaldi, who now endeavoured
to force the gate, while Jeronimo in vain
represented its strength, and the certain


THE ITALIAN.
109
UIT
ruin, that must fall upon himself, if it
should be discovered he had concurred
in destroying it.
The gate was immoveable; but as no
other chance of escaping appeared,
Vivaldi was not easily prevailed with to
desist; all possibility of retreating too
was gone, since the church and the
cave were now crowded with devotees,
attending the matin service..
Jeronimo, however, seemingly did
not despair of effecting their release, but
he acknowledged that they would pro-
bably be compelled to remain concealed
in this gloomy avenue all night, and
perhaps the next day. At length, it
was agreed, that he should return to
the church, to examine whether a pos-
sibility remained of the fugitives passing
unobserved to the great portal ; and,
having conducted them back to the
chamber, of which they had taken a
passing glimpse, he proceeded to the
shrine.
For a considerable time after his de-
parture, they were not without hope ;


110
THE ITALIAN.
but, their confidence diminishing as hiş
delay increased, their uncertainty at
length became terrible; and it was only
for the sake of Vivaldi, from whom she
scrupulously concealed all knowledge
of the particular fate, which she was
aware must await her in the convent,
that Ellena appeared to endure it with
calmness. Notwithstanding the plau-
sibility of Jeronimo, suspicion of his
treachery returned upon her mind. The
cold and earthy air of this chamber was
like that of a sepulchre; and when she
looked round, it appeared exactly to
correspond with the description given
by Olivia of the prison where the nun
had languished and expired. It was
walled and vaulted with the rock, had
only one small grated aperture in the
roof to admit air, and contained no fur-
niture, except one table, a bench, and
the lamp, which dimly shewed the
apartment. That a lamp should be
found burning in a place so remote and
solitary, amazed her still more when she
recollected the assertion of Jeronimo,


THE ITALIAN.
111
i
that even holy steps seldom passed this
way; and when she considered also,
that he had expressed no surprise at a
circumstance, according to his own as,
sertion, so unusual. Again it appeared,
that she had been betrayed into the
very prison, designed for her by the
abbess; and the horror, occasioned by
this supposition, was so great, thạt she
was on the point of disclosing it to
Vivaldi, but an apprehension of the dis-
traction into which his desperate cou-
rage might precipitate him, restrained
her.
While these considerations occupied
Ellena, and it appeared that any cer-
tainty would be less painful than this
suspense, she frequently looked round
the chamber in search of some object,
which might contradict or confirm her
suspicion, that this was the death-room
of the unfortunate nun. No such cir-
cumstance appeared, but as her eyes
glanced with almost phrenzied eager-
ness, she perceived something shadowy
in a remote corner of the floor; and on


112
THE ITALIAN.
approaching, discovered what seemed a
dreadful hieroglyphic, a mattress of
straw, in which she thought she beheld
the death-bed of the miserable recluse;
nay more, that the impression it still re-
tained, was that which her form had left
there.
While Vivaldi was yet entreating her
to explain the occasion of the horror she
betrayed, the attention of each was
withdrawn by a hollow sigh, that rose
near them. Ellena caught unconscious-
ly the arm of Vivaldi, and listened,
aghast, for the return of the sound, but
all remained still.
• Itsurely was not fancied! said Vivaldi,
after a long pause, you heard it also ?
I did ! replied Ellena.
It was a sigh, was it not ? he added.
O yes, and such a sigh!
Some person is concealed near us,
observed Vivaldi, looking round; but
be not alarmed, Ellena, I have a sword.
A sword ! alas ! you know not-But
hark! there, again!
That was very near us! said Vivaldi.
.


THE ITALIAN.
113
This lamp burns so sickly! and he
held it high, endeavouring to penetrate
the furthest gloom of the chamber. Hah!
who goes there? he cried, and stepped
suddenly forward; but no person ap-
peared, and a silence as of the tomb, re-
turned.
If you are in sorrow, speak! Vivaldi,
at length said; from fellow-sufferers you
will meet with sympathy. If your de-
signs are evil-tremble, for you shall
find I am desperate.
Still no answer was returned, and he
carried forward the lamp to the oppo-
site end of the chamber, where he per-
ceived a small door in the rock. At the
same instant he heard from within, a low
tremulous sound, as of a person in
prayer, or in agony. He pressed against
the door, which, to his surprise, yielded
immediately, and discovered a figure
kneeling before a crucifix, with an at-
tention so wholly engaged, as not to
observe the presence of a stranger, till
Vivaldi spoke. The person then rose
from his knees, and turning, shewed the


114
THE ITALIAN.
silvered temples and pale features of an
aged monk. The mild and sorrowful
character of the countenance, and the
lambent lustre of eyes, which seemed
still to retain somewhat of the fire of
genius, interested Vivaldi, and encour-
aged Ellena, who had followed him.
An unaffected surprise appeared in the
air of the monk; but Vivaldi, notwith-
standing the interesting benignity of his
countenance, feared to answer his in-
quiries, till the father hinted to him, that
an explanation was necessary, even to
his own safety. Encouraged by his
manner, rather than intimidated by this
hint, and perceiving, that his situation
was desperate, Vivaldi confided to the
monk some partial knowledge of his
embarrassment.
While he spoke, the father listened
with deep attention, looked with com-
passion alternately upon him and Ellena;
and some hạrassing objection seemed to
contend with the pity, which urged him
to assist the strangers. He inquired how
long Jeronimo had been absent, and


THE ITALIAN.
115
shook his head significantly when he
learned that the gate of the avenue was
fastened by a double lock. You are
betrayed, my children, said he, you have
trusted with the simplicity of lyouth,
and the cunning of age has deceived
you.
The terrible conviction affected El-
lena to tears; and Vivaldi, scarcely able.
to command the indignation, which a
view of such treachery excited, was un-
able to offer her any consolation.
You, my daughter, I remember to
have seen in the church this morning,
observed the monk; I remember too,
that you protested against the vows you
were brought thither to seal. Alas! my
child, was you aware of the consequence
of such a proceeding ?
I had only a choice of evils, Ellena
replied.
Holy father, said Vivaldi, I will not
believe, that you are one of those who
either assisted in, or approved the per-
secution of innocence. If you were ac-
quainted with the misfortunes of this


116
THE ITALIAN.
lady, you would pity, and save her ; but
there is now no time for detail; and I
can only conjure you, by every sacred
consideration, to assist her to leave the
convent! If there were leisure to in-
form you of the unjustifiable means,
which have been employed to bring her
within these walls--if you knew that she
was taken, an orphan, from her home at
midnight-that armed ruffians brought
her hither,--and at the command of
strangers-that she has not a single re-
lation surviving to assert her right of
independence, or reclaim her of her
persecutors.- O! holy father, if you
knew all this ! Vivaldi was unable to
proceed.
The monk again regarded Ellena with
compassion, but still in thoughtful si-
lence. All this may be very true, at
length he said, but-and he hesitated.
I understand you, father, said Vivaldi-
you require proof; but how can proof
be adduced here? You must rely upon
the honour of my word. And if you are
inclined to assist us, it must be imme-


THE ITALIAN
117
diately!-while you hesitate, we are
lost. Even now I think I hear the foot-
steps of Jeronimo.
He stepped softly to the door of the
chamber, but all was yet still. The
monk, too, listened, but he also delibe-
rated; while Ellena, with clasped hands
and a look of eager supplication and
terror awaited his decision.
No one is approaching, said Vivaldi,
it is not yet too late !-Good father! if
you would serve us, dispatch.
Poor innocent! said the monk, half
to himself, in this chamber in this fatal
place! -
In this chamber! exclaimed Ellena,
anticipating his meaning. It was in this
chamber, then, that a nun was suffered
to perish! and I, no doubt, am con-
ducted hither to undergo a similar fate!
In this chamber! re-echoed Vivaldi,
in a voice of desperation. Holy father,
if you are indeed disposed to assist us,
let us act this instant; the next, per-
haps, may render your best intentions
unavailing!


118
THE ITALIAN.
The monk, who had regarded Ellena
while she mentioned the nun, with the
utmost surprise, now withdrew his at-
tention; a few tears fell on his cheek,
but he hastily dried them, and seemed
struggling to overcome some grief, that
was deep in his heart.
Vivaldi, finding that entreaty had no
power to hasten his decision, and ex-
pecting every moment to hear the ap-
proach of Jeronimo, paced the chamber
in agonizing perturbation, now pausing
at the door to listen, and then calling,
though almost hopelessly, upon the hu-
manity of the monk. While Ellena,
looking round the room in shuddering
horror, repeatedly exclaimed, On this
very spot! in this very chamber; O
what sufferings have these walls wit-
inessed! what are they yet to witness !
• Vivaldi now endeavoured to sooth the
spirits of Ellena, and again urged the
monk to employ this critical moment in
saving her; O heaven! said he, if she
is now discovered, her fate is certain !
I dare not say what that fate would


THE ITALIAN. 119
be, interrupted the father, or what my
own, should I consent to assist you?
but, though I am old, I have not quite
forgotten to feel for others! They may
oppress the few remaining years of my
age, but the blooming days of youth
should flourish ; and they shall flourish,
my children, if my power can aid you.
Follow me to the gate; we will see
whether my key cannot unfasten all the
locks that hold it.
Vivaldi and Ellena immediately fol-
lowed the feeble steps of the old man,
who frequently stopped to listen whe-
ther Jeronimo, or any of the the bro-
thers. to whom the latter might have
betrayed Ellena's situation, were ap-
proaching ; but not an echo wandered
along the lonely avenue, till they
reached the gate,}when distant footsteps
beat upon the ground.
They are approaching, father! whis-
pered Ellena. O, if the key should not
open these locks instantly, we are lost !
Hark! now I hear their voices--they


120
THE ITALIAN.
call upon my name! Already they have
discovered we have left the chamber.
While the father, with trembling
hands, applied the key, Vivaldi endea-
voured at once to assist him, and to en-
courage Ellena.
The locks gave way, and the gate
opened at once upon the moonlight
mountains. Ellena heard once more,
with the joy of liberty, the midnight
breeze passing among the pensile
branches of the palms, that loftily over-
shadowed a rude platform before the
gate, and rustling with fainter sound
among the pendent shrubs of the sur-
rounding cliffs.
There is no leisure for thanks, my
children, said the friar, observing they
were about to speak. I will fasten the
gate, and endeavour to delay your pur-
suers, that you may have time to escape.
My blessing go with you!
Ellena and Vivaldi had scarcely a
moment to bid him farewel! before he
closed the door, and Vivaldi taking her


THE ITALIAN.
121
arm, was hastening towards the place
where he had ordered Paulo to wait with
the horses, when, on turning an angle of
the convent wall, they perceived a long
train of pilgrims issuing forth from the
portal, at a little distance.
Vivaldi drew back; yet dreading
every moment, that he lingered near
the monastery, to hear the voice of Jero-
nimo, or other persons, from the avenue,
he was sometimes inclined to proceed
at any hazard. The only practicable
path leading to the base of the moun-
tain, however, was now occupied by
These devotees, and to mingle with them
was little less than certain destruction.
A bright moonlight shewed distinctly
every figure, that moved in the scene,
and the fugitives kept within the sha-
dow of the walls, till, warned by an ap-
proaching footstep, they crossed to the
feet of the cliffs that rose beyond some
palmy hillocks on the right, whose
dusky recesses promised a temporary
shelter. As they passed with silent
steps along the winding rocks, the tran-
VOL. II.
mu


122
THE ITALIAN.
quillity of the landscape below afforded
an affecting contrast with the tumult
and alarm of their minds.
- Being now at some distance from the
monastery, they rested under the shade
of the cliffs, till the procession of de-
votees, which were traced: descending
among the thickets and hollows of the
mountain, should be sufficiently remote.
Often they looked back to the convent,
expecting to see lights issue from the
avenue, or the portal; and attended in
mute anxiety for the sullen murmurs of
pursuit; but none came on the breeze;
nor did any gleaming lamp betray the
steps of a spy. .
Released, at length, from immediate
apprehension, Ellena listened to the ma-
tin hymn of the pilgrims, as it came
upon the still air, and ascended towards
the cloudless heavens. Not a sound
mingled with the holy strain, and even
in the measured pause of voices only the
trembling of the foliage above was dis-
tinguished. The responses, aş, they
softened away in distance, and swelled


THE ITALIAN.
123
again on the wafting breeze, appeared
like the music of spirits, watching by
night upon the summits of the moun-
tains, and answering each other in celes-
tial airs, as they walk their high boun-
dary, and overlook the sleeping world.
How often, Ellena, at this hour, said
Vivaldi, have I lingered round your
dwelling, consoled by the consciousness
of being near you! Within those walls,
. I have said, she reposes ; they enclose
my world, all without is to me a desert.
Now, I am in your presence! O Ellena!
now that you are once more restored to
me, suffer not the caprice of possibility
again to separate us! Let me lead you.
to the first altar that will confirm our
vows.
Vivaldi forgot, in the anxiety of a
stronger interest, the delicate silence he
had resolved to impose upon himself,
till Ellena should be in a place of safety.
This is not a moment, she replied,
with hesitation, for conversation; our
situation is yet perilous, we tremble on
the very brink of danger.
G 2


124
THE ITALIAN.
Vivaldi immediately rose ; Into what
imminent danger, said he, had my sel-
fish folly nearly precipitated you! We
are lingering in this alarming neigh-
bourhood, when that feeble strain indi-
cates the pilgrims to be sufficiently
remote to permit us to proceed !
As he spoke, they descended cautiouly
among the cliffs, often looking back to
the convent, where, however, no light
appeared, except what the moon shed
over the spires and tall windows of its
cathedral. For a moment, Ellena fan-
cied she saw a taper in her favourite
turret, and a belief, that the nuns, per-
haps the abbess herself, were searching
for her there, renewed her terror and
her speed. But the rays were only
those of the moon, striking through op-
posite casements of the chamber; and
the fugitives reached the base of the
mountain without further alarm, where
Paulo appeared with horses. Ah! sig.
nor mio, said the servant, I am glad to
see you alive and merry; I began to
fear, by the length of your stay, that


THE ITALIAN. .
125
the monks had clapped you up to do
penance for life. How glad I am to see
you maestro!
Not more so than I am to see you,
good Paulo. But where is the pilgrim's
clo:lk I bade you provide ?
Paulo displayed it, and, Vivaldi hav-
ing wrapt it round Ellena and placed
her on horseback, they took the road
towards Naples, Ellena designing to
take refuge in the convent della Pieta.
Vivaldi, however, apprehending that
their enemies would seek them on this
road, proposed leaving it as soon as
practicable, and reaching the neighbour-
hood of Villa Altieri by a circuitous
way.
They soon after arrived at the tre-
mendous pass, through which Ellena
had approached the monastery, and
whose horrors were considerably height-
ened at this dusky hour, for the moon-
light fell only partially upon the deep
barriers of the gorge, and frequently the
precipice, with the road on its brow,
was entirely shadowed by other cliffs
on
Wo


126
THE ITALIAN.
and woody points, that rose above it.
But Paulo, whose spirits seldom owned
the influence of local scenery, jogged
merrily along, frequently congratulating
himself and his master on their escape,
and carolling briskly to the echoes of
the rocks, till Vivaldi, apprehensive for
the consequence of this loud gaiety,
desired him to desist.
Ah signor! I must obey you, said he,
but my heart was never so full in my
life; and I would fain sing to unburden
it of some of this joy. That scrape we
got into in the dungeon there, at what's
the name of the place ? was bad enough,
but it was nothing to this, because here
I was left out of it; and you, maestro,
might have been murdered again and
again, while I, thinking of nothing at
all, was , quietly airing myself on the
mountain by moonlight.
But what is that yonder in the sky,
signor ? It looks for all the world like
a bridge; only it is perched so high, that
nobody would think of building one in
such an out of the way place, unless to


THE ITALIAN.
127
cross from cloud to cloud, much less
would take the trouble of clambering
up after it, for the pleasure of going
over.
Vivaldi looked forward, and Ellena
'perceived the Alpine bridge, she had
formerly crossed with so much alarm, in
the moonlight perspective, airily sus-
pended between tremendous cliffs, with
the river far below, tumbling down the
rocky chasm. One of the supporting
cliffs, with part of the bridge, was in
deep shade, but the other, feathered with
foliage, and the rising surges at its foot,
were strongly illuminated ; and many
a thicket wet with the spray, sparkled
in contrast to the dark rock it overhung.
Beyond the arch, the long drawn pros-
péct faded into misty moonlight.
Well, to be sure ! exclaimed Paulo,
to see what curiosity will do! If there
are not some people who have found
their way up to the bridge already.
Vivaldi now perceived figures upon
the slender arch, and, as their indistinct
forms glided in the moonshine, other


128
THE ITALIAN.
emotions than those of wonder disturbed
him, lest these might be pilgrims who
were going to the shrine of our Lady,
and give information of his route. No
possibility, however, appeared of avoid-
ing them, for the precipices, that rose
immediately above and fell below, for-
bade all excursion, and the road itself
was so narrow, as scarcely to admit of
two horses passing each other.
They are all off the bridge now, and
without having broken their necks, per-
haps! said Paulo, where, I wonder,
will they go next? Why surely, signor,
this road does not lead to the bridge
yonder; we are not going to pick our
way in the air too? The roar of these
waters has made my head dizzy already;
and the rocks here are as dark as mid-
night, and seem ready to tumble upon
one; they are enough to make one de-
spair to look at them; you need not
have checked my mirth, signor.
· I would fain check your loquacity,
replied Vivaldi. Do, good Paulo, be
silent and circumspect, those people


THE ITALIAN.
129
may be near us, though we do not yet
see them.
The road does lead to the bridge, then,
signor! said Paulo dolorously. And see!
there they are again; winding round
that rock, and coming towards us.
Hush! they are pilgrims, whispered
Vivaldi, we will linger under the shade
of these rocks, while they pass. Re-
member, Paulo, that a single indiscreet
word may be fatal; and that if they
hail us, I alone am to answer.
You are obeyed, signor.
The fugitives drew up close under
the cliffs, and proceeded slowly, while
the words of the devotees, as they ad-
vanced, became audible.
It gives one some comfort, said Paulo,
to hear cheerful voices, in such a place
as this. Bless their merry hearts ! their's
seems a pilgrimage of pleasure; but they
will be demure enough, I warrant, by
and bye. I wish I-
Paulo! have you so soon forgotten?
said Vivaldi sharply.
The devotees, on perceiving the tra-


130
THE ITALIAN.
vellers, became suddenly silent; till he
who appeared to be the Father-Director,
as they passed, said Hail ! in the name
of Our Lady of Mount Carmel ! and
they repeated the salutation in chorus,
Hail! replied Vivaldi, the first mass
is over, and he passed on.
But if you make haste, you may come
in for the second, said Paulo, jogging
after.
. You have just left the shrine, then ?
said one of the party, and can tell us-
Poor pilgrims, like yourselves, replied
Paulo, and can tell as little. Good
morrow, fathers, yonder peeps the
dawn!
He came up with his master, who had
hurried forward with Ellena, and who
now severely reproved his indiscretion ;
while the voices of the Carmelites, sing-
ing the matin-hymn, sunk away among
the rocks, and the quietness of solitude
returned.
Thank heaven! we are quit of this
adventure, said Vivaldi.
And now we have only the bridge to


;
131
THE ITALIAN.
get over, rejoined Paulo, and I hope we
shall all be safe.
They were now at the entrance of it;
as they passed the trembling planks, and
looked up the glen, a party of people
appeared advancing on the road the fu-
gitives had left, and a chorus of other
voices than those of the Carmelites, was
heard mingling with the hollow sound
of the waters.
Ellena, again alarmed, hastened for-
ward, and Vivaldi, though he endea-
voured to appease her apprehension of
pursuit, encouraged her speed.
These are nothing but more pilgrims
signora, said Paulo, or they would not
send such loud shouts before them;
they must needs think we can hear.
The travellers proceeded as fast as the
broken road would permit; and were
soon beyond the reach of the voices;
but ais Paulo turned to look whether the
party was within sight, he perceived two
personis, wrapt in cloaks, advancing un-
der the brow of the cliffs, and within à
few paces of his horse's heels. Before


132
THE ITALIAN.
he could give notice to his master, they
were at his side.
Are you returning from the shrine of
our Lady ? said one of them.
Vivaldi, startled by the voice, looked
round, and demanded who asked the
question ?
A brother pilgrim, replied the man,
one who has toiled up these steep rocks,
till his limbs will scarcely bear him fur-
ther. Would that you would take com-
passion on him, and give him a ride.
. However compassionate Vivaldi might
be to the sufferings of others, this was
not a moment when he could indulge
his disposition, without endangering the
safety of Ellena; and he even fancied
the stranger spoke in a voice of dissi-
mulation. His suspicions strengthened
when the traveller, not repulsed by a
refusal, inquired the way he was going,
and proposed to join his party; For
these mountains, they say, are infested
with banditti, he added, and a large
company is less likely to be attacked
than a small one.


THE ITALIAN.
133
If you are so very weary, my friend,
said Vivaldi, how is it possible you can
keep pace with our horses ? though I
acknowledge you have done wonders in
overtaking them.
The fear of these banditti, replied the
stranger, urged us on..
You have nothing to apprehend from
robbers, said Vivaldi, if you will only
moderate your pace; for a large com-
pany of pilgrims are on the road, who
will soon overtake you,
He then put an end to the conversa-
țion, by clapping spurs to his horse, and
the strangers were soon left far behind.
The inconsistency of their complaints
with their ability, and the whole of their
manner, were serious subjects of alarm
to the fugitives; but, when they had
lost sight of them, they lost also their
apprehensions; and, having, at length,
emerged from the pass, they quitted the
high road to Naples, and struck into a
solitary one that led westward towards
Aquila.


THE ITALIAN.
135
an
woods, and soon after were directed by
some peasants at work, into a road that
leads from Aquila to the town of Celano,
one of the very few roads, which intrudes
among the wild mountains, that on every
side sequester the lake. As they ap-
proached the low grounds, the scent of
orange blossoms breathed upon the dewy
air, and the spicy myrtle sent forth all
its fragrance from among the cliffs,
which it thickly tufted. Bowers of lemon
and orange spread along the valley; and
among the cabins of the peasants, who
cultivated them, Vivaldi hoped to obtain:
repose and refreshments for Ellena.
The cottages, however, at which
Paulo inquired, were unoccupied, the
owners being all gone forth to their la-
bour: and the travellers, again ascending,
found themselves soon after among moun-
tains inhabited by the flocks, where the
scent of the orange was exchanged for
the aromatic perfume of the pasturage.
My signor! said Paulo, is not that a
shepherd's horn sounding at a distance ?


136
THE ITALIAN.
If so, the signora may yet obtain some
refreshment.
While Vivaldi listened, a hautboy and
a pastoral drum were heard considerably
nearer.
They followed the sound over the
turf, and came within view of a cabin,
sheltered from the rising sun by a tuft
of almond trees. It was a dairy-cabin
belonging to some shepherds, who at a
short distance were watching their flocks,
and, stretched beneath the shade of
chesnuts, were amusing themselves by
playing upon these rural instruments;
a scene of Arcadian manners frequent,
at this day, upon the mountains of Ab-
ruzzo. The simplicity of their appear-
ance, approaching to wildness, was
tempered by a hospitable spirit. A vene-
rable man, the chief shepherd, advanced
to meet the strangers; and learning
their wants, conducted them into this
cool cabin, where cream, cheese made
of goat's milk, honey extracted from the
delicious herbage of the mountains, and


THE ITALIAN.
137
dried figs were quickly placed before.
them.
Ellena, overcome with the fatigue of
anxiety, rather than that of travelling,
retired, when she had taken breakfast,
for an hour's repose; while Vivaldi rested
on the bench before the cottage, and
Paulo, keeping watch, discussed his
breakfast, together with the circum-
stances of the late alarm, under the shade
of the almond trees.
When Ellena again appeared, Vivaldi
proposed, that they should rest here
during the intense heat of the day; and,
since he now considered her to be in a
place of temporary safety, he ventured
to renew the subject nearest his heart;
to represent’the evils, that might over-
take them, and to urge an immediate
solemnization of their marriage.
Thoughtful and dejected, Ellena at-
tended for some time in silence to the
arguments and pleadings of Vivaldi.
She secretly acknowledged the justness
of his representations, but she shrunk,
more than ever, from the indelicacy, the


· 136
THE ITALIAN.
degradation of intruding herself into his
family; a family, too, from whom she
had not only received proofs of strong
dislike, but had suffered terrible injus-
tice, and been menaced with still severer
cruelty. These latter circumstances,
however, released her from all obliga-
tions of delicacy or generosity, so far as
concerned only the authors of her suf-
fering; and she had now but to consider
the happiness of Vivaldi and herself.
Yet she could not decide thus precipi-
tately on a subject, which iso solemnly
involved the fortune of her whole life;
nor forbear reminding Vivaldi, affec-
tionately, gratefully as she loved him,
of the circumstances, which witheld her
decision.
Tell me yourself, said she, whether I
ought to give my hand, while your fa-
mily-your mother--She paused, and
blushed, and burst into tears.
Spare me the view of those tears, said
Vivaldi, and a recollection of the circum-
stances, that excite them. O, let me
not think of my mother, while I see you


THE ITALIAN...
139
weep! Let me not remember that her
injustice and cruelty destined you to
perpetual sorrow !
Vivaldi's features became slightly con-
vulsed, while he spoke ; he rose, paced
the room with quick steps, and then
quitted it, and walked under the shade,
of the trees in front of the cabin.
In a few moments, however, he com-
manded his emotion and returned. Again
he placed himself on the bench beside
Ellena, and taking her hand, said so-
lemnly, and in a voice of extreme sensi-
bility, Ellena, you have long witnessed
how dear you are to me; you cannot
doubt my love ; you have long since
promised-solemnly promised, in the
presence of her who is now no more,
but whose spirit may even at this mo-
'ment look down upon us,-of her, who
bequeathed you to my tenderest care,
to be mine for ever. By these sacred
truths, by these affecting recollections !
I conjure you, abandon me not to de-
spair, nor, in the energy of a just resent-
ment, sacrifice the son to the cruel and


140
THE ITALIAN.
mistaken policy of the mother! You,
nor I, can conjecture the machinations,
which may be spread for us, when it
shall be known that you have left San
Stefano. If we delay to exchange our
vows, I know, and I feel-that you are
lost to me for ever !
Ellena was affected, and for some mo-
ments unable to reply. At length,
drying her tears, she said tenderly, Re-
sentment can have no influence on my
conduct towards you; I think I feel
none towards the Marchesa—for she is
your mother. But pride, insulted pride,
has a right to dictate, and ought to be
obeyed ; and the time is now, perhaps,
arrived when, if I would respect myself,
I must renounce yoll.
Renounce me! interrupted Vivaldi,
renounce me! And is it, then, possible
you could renounce me? he repeated,
his eyes still fixed upon her face with
eagerness and consternation. - Tell me
at once, Ellena, is it possible ?
I fear it is not, she replied.
You fear! alas! if you fear, it is too


THE ITALIAN.
141
possible, and I have lost you already!
Say, O! say but that you hope it is
not, and I, too, will hope again.
The anguish, with which he uttered
this, awakened all her tenderness, and
forgetting the reserve she had imposed
upon herself, and every half formed reso-
lution, she said, with a smile of ineffable
sweetness, I will neither fear, nor hope,
in this instance; I will obey the dictates
of gratitude, of affection, and will believe
that I never can renounce you, while
you are unchanged.
Believe! repeated Vivaldi, do you
only believe! And why that mention of
gratitude; and why that unnecessary
reservation? Yet even this assurance,
feebly as it sustains my hopes, is ex-
torted; you see my misery, and from
pity, from gratitude, not affection, would
assuage it. Besides, you will neither
fear nor hope! Ah, Ellena! did love
ever yet exist without fear--ard without
hope! O! never, never! I fear and
kope with such rapid transition ; every
assurance, every look of yours gives


142
THE ITALIAN.
such force either to the one, or to the
other, that I suffer unceasing anxiety.
Why, too, that cold, that heart-breaking
mention of gratitude ? No, Ellena! it
is too certain that you do not love me !
--My mother's cruelty has estranged
your heart from me!
How much you mistake! said Ellena.
You have already received sacred tes- .
timonies of my regard ; if you doubt
their sincerity, pardon me, if I so far
respect myself as to forbear entreating
you will believe them.
How calm, how indifferent, how cir-
cumspect, how prudent! exclaimed Vi.
valdi in tones of mournful reproach.
But I will not distress you; forgive me
for renewing this subject at this time.
It was my intention to be silent till you
should have reached a place of more.
permanent security than this; but how
is it possible, with such anxiety pressing
upon my heart, to persevere in that
design. And what have I gained by
departing from it?-increase of anxiety,
of doubt-of fear.


THE ITALIAN.
143
Why will you persist in such self-in-
fictions? said Ellena. I cannot endure
that you should doubt my affection,
even for a moment. And how can you
suppose it possible, that I ever can be-
come insensible of yours.; that I can
ever forget the eminent danger you have
voluntarily incurred for my release, or
remembering it, can cease to feel the
warmest gratitude ?
That is the very word which tortures,
me beyond all others ! said Vivaldi; is,
it then, only a sense of obligation you
own for me? O! rather say you hate,
me, than suffer me to deceive my hopes
with assurances of a sentiment so cold,
so circumscribed, so dutiful as that of
gratitude!
With me the word has a very different
acceptation, replied Ellena siniling. I
understand it to imply all that is tender
and generous in affection; and the sense
of duty which you say it includes, is one
of the sweetest and most sacred feelings
of the human heart.
Ah! Ellena! I am too willing to be


144
THE ITALIAN.
deceived, to examine your definition
rigorously; yet I believe it is your
smile, rather than the accuracy of your
explanation, that persuades me to a con-
fidence in your affection; and I will
trust, that the gratitude you feel is thus
tender and comprehensive. But I be-
seech you, name the word no more! Its
sound is like the touch of the Torpedo, I
perceive my confidence chilled even
while I listen to my own pronunciation
of it.
The entrance of Paulo interrupted
the conversation, who, advancing with
an air of mystery and alarm, said in a
low voice,
Signor! as I kept watch under the
almond trees, who should I see mount-
ing up the road from the valley yonder,
but the two bare-footed Carmelites,
that overtook us in the pass of Chiari !
I lost them again behind the woods, but
I dare say they are coming this way,
for the moment they spy out this dairy
hut, they will guess something good is
to be had here; and the shepherds
е по


THE ITALIAN.
145
would believe their flocks would all
die, if-
I see them at this moment emerging
from the woods, said Vivaldi, and
now they are leaving the road and
crossing this way. Where is our host,
Paulo ?
He is without, at a little distance,
signor. Shall I call him?
Yes, replied Vivaldi, or, stay; I will
call him myself. Yet, if they see mer
Aye, signor; or, for that matter, if
they see me. But we cannot help our-
selves now; for if we call the host, we
shall betray ourselves, and, if we do not
call him, he will betray us; so they
must find us out, be it as it may.
Peace! peace! let me think a moment,
said Vivaldi. While Vivaldi undertook
to think, Paulo was peeping about for
a hiding place, if occasion should re-
quire one.
Call our host immediately, said Vi-
valdi, I must speak with him.
He passes the lattice at this instant,
said Ellena.
VOL. II.
H


146
THE ITALIAN.
Paulo obeyed, and the shepherd en-
tered the cabin.
My good friend, said Vivaldi, I must
entreat that you will not admit those
friars, whom you see coming this way,
nor suffer them to know what guests
you have. They have been very trou-
blesome to us already, on the road; I
will reward you for any loss their sudden
departure may occasion you.
Nay for that matter, friend, said Paulo,
it is their visit only that can occasion
you loss, begging the signor's pardon ;
their departure never occasioned loss to
any body. And to tell you the truth,
for my master will not speak out, we
were obliged to look pretty sharply
about us, while they bore us company,
or we have reason to think our pockets
would have been the lighter. They are
designing people, friend, take my word
for it; banditti, perhaps, įn disguise.
The dress of a Carmelite would suit
their purpose, at this time of the pilgri-
mage. So be pretty blunt with them,
if they want to come in here, and you
will do well, when they go, to send


THE ITALIAN.
147
somebody to watch which way they
take, and see them clear off, or you may
lose a stray lamb, perhaps.
The old shepherd lifted up his eyes
and hands, To see how the world goes!
said he. But thank you, maestro, for
your warning; they shall not come
within my threshold, for all their holy
seeming, and it's the first time in my
life I ever said nay to one of their garb,
and mine has been a pretty long one, as
you may guess, perhaps, by my face.
How old, signor, should you take me to
be! I warrant you will guess short of
the matter though; for on these high
mountains
I will guess when you have dismissed
the travellers, said Vivaldi, after having
given them some hasty refreshment
without; they must be almost at the
door by this time. Dispatch, friend.
If they should fall foul upon me, for
refusing them entrance, said the shep-
herd, you will come out to help me,
signor? for my lads are at some dis-
tance.
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148
THE ITALIAN.
Vivaldi assured him that he wo
and the shepherd left the cabin.
Paulo ventured to peep at the lattice,
on what might be going forward with-
out. They are gone round to the door,
signor, 1 fancy, said he, for I see no-
thing of them this way; if there was
but another window! What foolish
people to build a cottage with no win-
dow near the door! But I must listen.
He stepped on tip-toe to the door,
and bent his head in attention.
They are certainly spies from the mo-
nastery, said Ellena to Vivaldi, they
follow us so closely! If they were pil-
grims, it is improbable, too, that their
way should lie through this unfrequented
region, and still more so that they should
not travel in a larger party. When my
absence was discovered, these people
were sent, no doubt, in pursuit of me,
and having met the devotees, whom we
passed, they were enabled to follow our
route.
We shall do well to act upon this
supposition, replied Vivaldi, but, though


THE ITALIAN.
149
I am inclined to believe them emissaries
from San Stefano, it is not improbable
that they are only Carmelites returning
to some convent on the lake of Celano.
I cannot hear a syllable, signor, said
Paulo. Pray do listen yourself! and
there is not a single chink in this door
to afford one consolation. Well ! if
ever I build a cottage, there shall be a
window near-
Listen! said Vivaldi.
Not a single word, signor! cried
Paulo, after a pause, I do not even hear
a voice !-But now I hear steps, and
they are coming to the door, too; they
shall find it no easy matter to open it,
though; he added, placing himself
against it. Aye, aye, you may knock,
friend, till your arm aches, and kick and
lay about you—no matter for that.
Silence! let us know who it is, said
Vivaldi; and the old shepherd's voice
was heard without. They are gone,
signors, said he, you may open the
door.
Which way did they go ? asked Vi-


150
THE ITALIAN.
valdi, when the man entered, I cannot
say, as to that, signor, because I did not
happen to see them at all; and I have
been looking all about, too.
I saw them myself, crossing this way
from the wood yonder, said Paulo.
And there is nothing to shelter them
from our view between the wood and
this cottage, friend, added Vivaldi; what
can they have done with themselves ?
For that matter, gone into the wood
again, perhaps, said the shepherd.
Paulo gave his master a significant
look, and added, it is likely enough,
friend; and you may depend upon it
they are lurking there for no good pur-
pose. You will do well to send some-
body to look after them; your flocks
will suffer for it, else. Depend upon it,
they design no good.
We are not used to such sort of folks
in these parts, replied the shepherd,
but if they mean any harm, they shall
find we can help ourselves. As he spoke
he took down a horn from the roof, and
blew a shrill blast that made the moun-


THE ITALIAN.
151
tains echo; when immediately the
younger shepherds were seen running
from various quarters towards the cot-
tage.
Do not be alarmed, friend, said Vi-
valdi, these travellers mean you no harm,
I dare say, whatever they may design
against us. But, as I think them sus-
picious persons, and should not like to
overtake them on the road, I will reward
one of your lads if you will let him go a
little way towards Celano, and examine
whether they are lurking on that route,
The old man consented, and, when
the shepherds came up, one of them re-
ceived directions from Vivaldi.
And be sure you do not return, till
you have found them, added Paulo.
No, master, replied the lad, and I will
bring them safe here, you may trust me.
If you do, friend, you will get your
head broke for your trouble. You are
only to discover where they are, and to
watch where they go, said Paulo.
Vivaldi, at length, made the lad com-
prebend what was required of him, and


152
THE ITALIAN,
he departed; while the old shepherd
went out to keep guard.
The time of his absence was passed
in various conjectures by the party in
the cabin, concerning the Carmelites.
Vivaldi still inclined to believe they
were honest people returning from a
pilgrimage, but Paulo was decidedly
against this opinion. They are waiting
for us on the road, you may depend
upon it, signor, said the latter. You
may be certain they have some great
design in hand, or they would never have
turned their steps from this dairy house
when once they had spied it, and that
they did spy it, we are sure.
But if they have in hand the great
design you speak of, Paulo, said Vivaldi,
it is probable that they have spied us
also, by their taking this obscure road,
Now it must have occurred to them
when they saw a dairy hut, in so soli-
tary a region, that we might probably
be found within-yet they have not
examined. It appears, therefore, they
have no design against us. What can


THE ITALIAN.
153
.
you answer to this, Paulo ? I trust the
apprehensions of Signora di Rosalba are
unfounded.
Why! do you suppose, signor, they
would attack us when we were safe
housed, and had these good shepherds
to lend us a helping hand ? No, signor,
they would not even have shewn them-
selves, if they could have helped it; and
being once sure we were here, they
would skulk back to the woods, and lurk
for us in the road they knew we must
go, since, as it happens, there is only
one.
How is it possible, said Ellena, that
they can have discovered us here, since
they did not approach the cabin to
enquire,
They came near enough for their pur-
pose, signora, I dare say; and, if the
truth were known, they spied my face
looking at them through the lattice.
Come, come, said Vivaldi, you are an
ingenious tormentor, indeed, Paulo. Do
you suppose they saw enough of thy
face last night by moonlight, in that
H5


164
THE ITALIAN.
dusky glen, to enable them to recollect
it again at a distance of forty yards ?
Revive, my Ellena, I think every appear-
ance is in our favour.
Would I could think so too ! said she,
with a sigh.
,0! for that matter, signora, rejoined
Paulo, there is nothing to be afraid of;
they should find tough work of it, if
they thought proper to attack us, lady.
It is not an open attack that we have
to fear, replied Ellena, but they may
surround us with their snares, and defy
resistance,
However Vivaldi might accede to the
truth of this remark, he would not ap-
pear to do so ; but tried to laugh away
her apprehensions; and Paulo was si-
lenced for a while, by a significant look
from his master. :
The shepherd's boy returned much
sooner than they had expected, and he
probably saved his time, that he might
spare his labour, for he brought no intel-
ligence of the Carmelites. I looked for
them among the woods along the road


THE ITALIAN.
155
side in the hollow, yonder, too, said the
lad, and then I mounted the hill further
on, but I could see nothing of them far
or near, nor of a single soul, except our
goats, and some of them do stray wide
enough, sometimes; they lead me a
fine dance often. They sometimes,
signor, have wandered as far as Monte
Nuvola, yonder, and got to the top of it,
up among the clouds, and the crags,
where I should break my neck if I
climbed ; and the rogues seemed to
know it, too, for when they have seen
me coming, scrambling up, puffing and
blowing, they have ceased their capering,
and stood peeping over a crag so sly,
and so quiet, it seemed as if they were
laughing at me; as much as to say,
Catch us if you can.
Vivaldi, who during the latter part of
this speech had been consulting with
Ellena, whether they should proceed on
their way immediately, asked the boy
some further questions concerning the
Carmelites; and, becoming convinced
that they had either not taken the road


156
THE ITALIAN.
to Celano, or, having taken it, were at
a considerable distance, he proposed
setting out, and proceeding leisurely,
For I have now little apprehension of
these people, he added, and a great deal
lest night should overtake us before we
reach the place of our destination, since
the road is mountainous and wild, and,
further, we are not perfectly acquainted
with it.
Ellena approving the plan, they took
leave of the good shepherd, who could
with difficulty be prevailed with to ac-
cept any recompence for his trouble,
and who gave them some further direc-
tions as to the road ; and their way was
long cheered by the sound of the tabor
and the sweetness of the hautboy, wafted
over the wild.
When they descended into the woody
hollow mentioned by the boy, Ellena
sent forth many an anxious look beneath
the deep shade; while Paulo, sometimes
silent, and at others whistling and
singing loudly, as if to overcome his
fears, peeped under every bough that


THE ITALIAN.
157
crossed the road, expecting to discover
his friends the Carmelites, lurking within
its gloom.
Having emerged from this valley, the
road lay over mountains covered with
flocks, for it was now the season when
they had quitted the plains of Apulia,
to feed upon the herbage for which this
region is celebrated. It was near sun
set, when, from a summit, to which the
travellers had long been ascending, the
whole lake of Celano, with its vast circle
of mountains, burst at once upon their
view,
Ah signor ! exclaimed Paulo, what a
prospect is here! It reminds me of home;
it is almost as pleasant as the bay of
Naples ! I should never love it like that
though, if it were an hundred times
finer.
The travellers stopped to admire the
scene, and to give their horses rest,
after the labour of the ascent. The eve-
ning sun, shooting athwart a clear ex-
panse of water, between eighteen and
twenty leagues in circumference, lighted


158
THE ITALIAN.
up all the towns and villages, and tow.
ered castles, and spiry convents, that
enriched the rising shores ; brought out
all the various tints of cultivation, and
coloured with beamy purple the moun-
tains, which on every side formed the
{ majestic background of the landscape.
Vivaldi pointed out to Ellena the gigan-
tic Velino in the north, a barrier moun-
tain, between the territories of Rome
and Naples. Its peaked head towered
far above every neighbouring summit,
and its white precipices were opposed
to the verdant points of the Majella,
snow crowned, and next in altitude,
loved by the flocks. Westward, near
woody hills, and rising immediately from
the lake, appeared Monte Salviano, co-
vered with wild sage as its name im-
ports, and once pompous with forests of
chesnut; a branch from the Apennine
extended to meet it. See, said Vivaldi,
where Monte-Cornostands like a ruffian,
huge, scared, threatening, and horrid !
and in the south, where the sullen moun-
tain of San Nicolo shoots up, barren and


160
THE ITALI
with its sharp head, which is almost as
good as Vesuvius-if it would but throw
out fire!
We must despair of finding a mountain
in this neighbourhood, so good as to do
that, Paulo, said Vivaldi, smiling at this
stroke of nationality; though, perhaps,
many that we now see, have once been
volcanic.
I honour them for that, signor; and
look at them with double satisfaction;
but our mountain is the only mountain
in the world. O! to see it of a dark
night! what a blazing it makes ! and
what a height it will shoot to! and what
a light it throws over the sea! No other
mountain can do so. It seems as if the
waves were all on fire. I have seen the
reflection as far off as Capri, trembling
all across the gulf, and shewing every
vessel as plain as at noonday; aye, and
every sailor on the deck. You never
saw such a sight, signor.
Why you do, indeed, seem to have
forgotten that I ever did, Paulo, and
also that a volcano can do any mischief,


THE ITALIAN.
161
But let us return, Ellena, to the scene
before us. Yonder, a mile or two within
the shore, is the town of Celano, whither
we are going
The clearness of an Italian atmosphere
permitted him to discriminate the minute
though very distant features of the land-
scape; and on an eminence rising from
the plains of a valley, opening to the
west, he pointed out the modern Alba,
crowned with the ruins of its ancient
castle, still visible upon the splendor of
the horizon, the prison and tomb of
many a prince, who, “ fallen from his
high estate,” was sent from imperial
Rome to finish here the sad reverse of
his days; to gaze from the bars of his
tower upon solitudes, where beauty or
grandeur administered no assuaging
feelings to him, whose life had passed
amidst the intrigues of the world, and
the feverish contentions of disappointed
ambition; to him, with whom reflection
brought only remorse, and anticipation
despair; whom “no horizontal beam


162
THE ITALIAN.
enlivened in the crimson evening of life's
dusty day.”
And to such a scene as this, said Vi-
valdi, a Roman emperor came, only for
the purpose of witnessing the most bar-
barous exhibition ; to indulge the most
savage delights! Here, Claudius cele-
brated the accomplishment of his ar-
duous work, an aqueduct to carry the
overflowing waters of the Celano to
Rome, by a naval fight, in which hun-
dreds of wretched slaves perished for
his amusement! Its pure and polished
surface was stained with human blood,
and roughened by the plunging bodies
of the slain, while the gilded gallies of
the emperor floated gaily around, and
these beautiful shores were made to
echo with applauding yells, worthy of
the furies !
We scarcely dare to trust the truth of
history, in some of its traits of human
nature, said Ellena.
Signor, cried Paulo, I have been
thinking that while we are taking the


THE ITALIAN,
163
air, so much at our ease, here, those
Carmelites may be spying at us from
some hole or corner that we know no-
thing of, and may swoop upon us, all of
a sudden, before we can help ourselves.
Had we not better go on, signor ?
Our horses are, perhaps, sufficiently
rested, replied Vivaldi, but, if I had not
long since dismissed all suspicion of the
evil intention of those strangers, I should
not willingly have stopped for a mo-
ment.
But pray let us proceed, said Ellena.
Ay, signora, it is best to be of the safe
side, observed Paulo. Yonder, below,
is Celano, and I hope we shall get safe
housed there, before it is quite dark, for
here we have no mountain that will light
us on our way! Ah! if we were but
within twenty miles of Naples now,-
and it was an illumination night!
As they descended the mountain, El-
lena, silent and dejected, abandoned
herself to reflection. She was too sen-
sible of the difficulties of her present
situation, and too apprehensive of the


164
THE ITALIAN.
influence, which her determination must
have on all her future life, to be happy,
though escaped from the prison of San
Stefano, and in the presence of Vivaldi,
her beloved deliverer and protector.
He observed her dejection with grief,
and, not understanding all the finer
scruples that distressed her, interpreted
her reserve into indifference towards
himself. But he forbore to disturb her
again with a mention of his doubts or
fears; and he determined not to urge
the subject of his late intreaties, till he
should have placed her in some secure
asylum, where she might feel herself at
perfect liberty to accept, or to reject
his proposal. By acting with an honour
so delicate, he unconsciously adopted a
certain mean of increasing her esteem
and gratitude, and deserved them the
more, since he had to endure the appre-
hension of losing her by the delay thus
occasioned to their nuptials.
They reached the town of Celano
before the evening closed; when Vivaldi
was requested by Ellena to inquire for


THE ITALIAN.
165
a convent, where she might be lodged
for the night. He left her at the inn,
with Paulo for her guard, and proceeded
on his search. The first gate he knocked
upon belonged to a convent of Carme-
lites. It appeared probable, that the
pilgrims of that order, who had occa-
sioned him so much disquietude, were
honest brothers of this house; but, as
it was probable also, that if they were
emissaries of the abbess of San Stefano,
and came to Celano, they would take
up their lodging with a society of their
own class, in preference to that of any
other, Vivaldi thought it prudent to re-
tire from their gates, without making
himself known. He passed on, therefore,
and soon after arrived at a convent of
Dominicans, where he learned, that
there were only two houses of nuns in
Celano, and that these admitted no other
boarders but permanent ones.
Vivaldi returned with this intelligence
to Ellena, who endeavoured to recon-
cile herself to the necessity of remaining
where she was; but Paulo, ever active


166
THE ITALIAN.
and zealous, brought intelligence, that at
a little fishing town, at some distance,
on the bank of the lake, was a convent
of Ursalines, remarkable for their hospi-
tality to strangers. The obscurity of so
remote a place, was another reason for
preferring it to Celano, and Vivaldi pro-
posing to remove thither, if Ellena was
not too weary to proceed, she readily
assented, and they immediately set off.
It happens to be a fine night, said
Paulo, as they left Celano, and so, signor,
we cannot well lose our way; besides,
they say, there is but one. The town
we are going to lies yonder on the edge
of the lake, about a mile and a half off.
I think I can see a dark steeple or two,
a little to the right of that wood where
the water gleams on.
No, Paulo, replied Vivaldi, after look-
ing attentively. I perceive what you
mean; but those are not the points of
steeples, they are only the tops of some
tall cypresses.
Pardon me, signor, they are too ta-
pering for trees; that must surely be


THE ITALIAN.
167
the town. This road, however, will
lead us right, for there is no other to
puzzle us, as they say.
This cool and balmy air revives me,
said Elena ; and what a soothing shade
prevails over the scene! How softened,
yet how distinct, is every near object;
how sweetly dubious the more removed
ones; while the mountains beyond cha-
racter themselves sublimely upon the
still glowing horizon.
Observe, too, said Vivaldi, how their
broken summits, tipt with the beams
that have set to our lower region, ex-
hibit the portraiture of towers and cas-
tles, and embattled ramparts, which
seemed desingned to guard them against
the enemies, that may come by the
clouds.
Yes, replied Ellena, the mountains
themselves display a sublimity, that
seems to belong to a higher world ;
their besiegers ought not to be of this
earth; they can be only spirits of the
air.
They can be nothing else, signora,


THE ITALIAN.
169
some time after, exclaimed, See, signor,
where another light glides along! See !
it is reflected on the lake.
I hear the faint dashing of waves, now,
said Ellena, and the sound of oars, too.
But observe, Paulo, the light is not in
the town, it is in the boat that moves
yonder.
Now it retreats, and trembles in a
lengthening line upon the waters, said
Vivaldi. We have been too ready to
believe what we wish and have yet far
to go.
they were approaching
formed a spacious bay for the lake im-
mediately below. Dark woods seemed
to spread along the banks, and ascend
among the cultivated slopes towards the
mountains ; except where, here and
there, cliffs, bending over the water,
were distinguished through the twilight
by the whiteness of their limestone pre-
cipices. Within the bay, the town be-
came gradually visible ; lights twinkled
between the trees, appearing and van-
ishing, like the stars of a cloudy night;
VOL. II.
1
ere


170
THE ITALIAN.
and, at length was heard the melancholy
song of boatmen, who were fishing near
the shore.
Other sounds soon after struck the
ear. O, what merry notes ! exclaimed
Paulo, they make my heart dance. See !
signora, there is a group, footing it away
so gaily on the bank of the lake, yonder,
by those trees. O, what a merry set!
Would I were among them! that is, I
mean, if you, maestro, and the signora
were not here.
Well corrected, Paulo.
It is a festival, I fancy, observed Vi-
valdi, These peasants of the lake can
make the moments fly as gaily as the
voluptuaries of the city, it seems.
O! what merry music! repeated Paulo,
Ah ! how often I have footed it as joy-
ously on the beach at Naples, after sun-
set of a fine night like this; with such
a pleasant fresh breeze to cool one! Ah!
there are none like the fishermen of Na-
ples for a dance by moonlight; how
lightly they do trip it! O! if I was but
there now! That is, ļ mean, if you,


THE ITALIAN.
171
maestro, and the signora were there too.
O! what merry notes !
We thank you, good signor Paulo,
said Vivaldi, and I trust we shall all be
there soon; when you shall trip it away,
with as joyous a heart as the best of
them.
The travellers now entered the town,
which consisted of one street, straggling
along the margin of the lake; and hav-
ing inquired for the Ursaline convent,
were directed to its gates. The portress
appeared immediately upon the ringing
of the bell, and carried a message to the
abbess, who as quickly returned an in-
vitation to Ellena. She alighted, and
followed the portress to the parlour,
while Vivaldi remained at the gate, till
he should know whether she approved
of her new lodging. A second invi- ,
tation induced him also to alight; he
was admitted to the grate, and offered
refreshment, which, however, he declined
staying to accept, as he had yet a lodging
to seek for the night. The abbess, on
learning this circumstance, courteously
med
I 2


172
THE ITALIAN.
recommended him to a neighbour-
ing society of Benedictines, and de-
sired him to mention her name to the
abbot.
Vivaldi then took leave of Ellena, and,
though it was only for a few hours, he
left her with dejection, and with some
degree of apprehension for her safety,
which, though circumstances could not
justify him in admitting, he could not
entirely subdue. She shared his de-
jection, but not his fears, when the
door closed after him, and she found
herself once more among strangers.
The forlornness of her feelings could
not be entirely overcome by the at-
tentions of the abbess; and there was
a degree of curiosity, and even of
scrutiny, expressed in the looks of
some of the sisters, which seemed more
than was due to a stranger. From such
examination she eagerly escaped to the
apartment allotted for her, and to the
repose, from which she had so long been
withheld.
Vivaldi, meanwhile, had found an


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173
Сите
hospitable reception with the Bene-
dictines, whose sequestered situation
made the visit of a stranger a pleasu-
rable novelty to them. In the eager-
ness of conversation, and, yielding to
the satisfaction, which the mind re-
ceives from the recurrence of ideas that
have long slept in dusky indolence, and
to the pleasure of admitting new ones,
the abbot and a few of the brothers
sat with Vivaldi to a late hour. When,
at length, the traveller was suffered to
retire, other subjects than those, which
had interested his host, engaged his
thoughts; and he revolved the means
of preventing the misery that threatened
him, in a serious separation from El-.
lena. Now, that she was received into
a respectable asylum, every motive
for silence upon this topic was done
away. He determined, therefore, that
on the following morning, he would
urge all his reasons and entreaties for
.an immediate marriage; and among
the brothers of the Benedictine, he had


174
THE ITALIAN.
little doubt of prevailing with one to
solemnize the nuptials, which he be-
lieved would place his happiness and
Ellena's peace, beyond the influence of
malignant possibilities.


CHAPTER VI.
I under fair pretence of friendly ends,
And well-placed words of glozing courtesy,
Bated with reasons not unplausible,
Wind me into the easy-hearted man,
And hug him into snares.
MILTON.
WHILE Vivaldi and Ellena were on
the way from San Stefano, the Marchese
Vivaldi was suffering the utmost vexa-
tion respecting his son; and the Mar-
chesa felt not less apprehension, that the
abode of Ellena might be discovered;
yet this fear did not withhold her from
mingling in all the gaieties of Naples.
Her assemblies were, as usual, among
the most brilliant of that voluptuous
city, and she patronized, as zealously as
before, the strains of her favourite com-
poser. But, notwithstanding this per.
petual dissipation, her thoughts fre-
quently withdrew themselves from the
scene, and dwelt on gloomy forebodings
of disappointed pride,


176
THE ITALIAN.
A circumstance which rendered her
particularly susceptible to such disap-
pointment at this time, was, that over-
tures of alliance had been lately made
to the Marchese, by the father of a lady,
who was held suitable, in every consi-
deration, to become his daughter; and
whose wealth rendered the union parti-
cularly desirable at a time when the
expenses of such an establishment as
was necessary to the vanity of the Mar-
chesa, considerably exceeded his income,
large as it was.
The Marchesa's temper had been
thus irritated by the contemplation of
her son's conduct in an affair, which so
materially affected the fortune, and, as
she believed, the honour of his family ;
when a courier from the abbess of San
Stefano brought intelligence of the
flight of Ellena with Vivaldi. She was
in a disposition, which heightened dis-
appointment into fury; and she forfeited,
by the transports to which she yielded,
the degree of pity, that otherwise was
due to a mother, who believed her only


THE ITALIAN.
177
son to have sacrificed his , family and
himself to an unworthy passion. She
believed, that he was now married, and
irrecoverably lost. Scarcely able to
endure the agony of this conviction, she
sent for her ancient adviser Schedoni,
that she might, at least, have the relief
of expressing her emotions, and of ex-
amining whether there remained a pos-
sibility of dissolving these long dreaded
nuptials. The phrenzy of passion, how-
ever, did not so far overeome her cir-
cumspection, as to compel her to acquaint
the Marchese with the contents of the
abbess's letter, before she had consulted
with her confessor. She knew that the
principles of her husband were too just,
upon the grand points of morality, to
suffer him to adopt the measures she
might judge necessary; and she avoided
informing him of the marriage of his son,
until the means of counteracting it should
have been suggested and accomplished,
however desperate such means might be.
Schedoni was not to be found. Tri-
fing circumstances increase the irrita-
I 5


178
THE ITALIAN.
tion of a mind in such a state as was
her's. The delay of an opportunity for
unburthening her heart to Schedoni,
was hardly to be endured ; another and
another messenger were dispatched to
her confessor.
My mistress has committed some
great sin, truly! said the servant, who
had been twice to the convent within
the last half hour. It must lie heavy
on her conscience, in good truth, since
she cannot support it for one half hour.
Well! the rich have this comfort, how-
ever, that, let them be ever so guilty,
they can buy themselves innocent again,
in the twinkling of a ducat. Now a
poor man might be a month before he
recovered his innocence, and that, too,
not till after many a boutof hard flogging.
In the evening Schedoni came, but it
was only to confirm her worst fear. He,
too, had heard of the escape of Ellena,
as well as that she was on the lake of
Celano, and was married to Vivaldi.
How he had obtained this information
he did not choose to disclose, but he


180
THE ITALIAN.
confessor ; but he is young, very young,
and, therefore does not foresee the con-
sequence, to which it leads. He does
not perceive how seriously it will affect
the dignity of his house ;-how much it
will depreciate his consequence with
the court, with the nobles of his own
rank, and even with the plebeians, with
whom he has condescended to connect
himself. Intoxicated with the passions
of youth, he does not weigh the value of
those blessings, which wisdom and the
experience of maturer age know how to
estimate. He neglects them only because
he does not perceive their influence in
society, and that lightly to resign them,
is to degrade himself in the view of
almost every mind. Unhappy young
man! he is to be pitied fully as much
as blamed..
Your excuses, reverend father, said
the tortured Marchesa, prove the good-
ness of your heart; but they illustrate,
also, the degeneracy of his mind, and
detail the full extent of the effects, which
he has brought upon his family. It af-
Se


THE ITALIAN.
181
.
fords me no consolation to know, that
this degradation proceeds from his head,
rather than his heart; it is sufficient
that he has incurred it, and that no
possibility remains of throwing off the
misfortune.
Perhaps that is affirming too much,
observed Schedoni.
Hów, father! said the Marchesa.
Perhaps a possibility does remain,
said he.
Point it out to me, good father! I do
not perceive it.
Nay, my lady, replied the subtle
Schedoni, correcting himself, I am by
no means assured, that such possibility
does exist. My solicitude for your tran-
quillity, and for the honour of your
house, makes me so unwilling to relin-
quish hope, that, perhaps, I only ima-
gine a possibility in your favour. Let
me consider. --Alas! the misfortune, se-
vere as it is, must be endured';—there
remain no means of escaping from it.
It was cruel of you, father, to suggest


182
THE ITALIAN.
La hope which you could not justify, ob-
served the Marchesa.
You must excuse my extreme solici.
tude, replied the confessor. But how
is it possible for me to see a family of
your ancient estimation brought into
such circumstances; its honours blighted
by the folly of a thoughtless boy, without
feeling sorrow and indignation, and
looking round for even some desperate
means of delivering it from disgrace.
He paused.
Disgrace! said the Marchesa, in a low
voice, father, you-you-Disgrace !-
The word is a strong one, but it is,
alas ! just. And shall we submit to
this ?-Is it possible we can submit to it?
There is no remedy, said Schedoni,
coolly.
Good God! exclaimed the Marchesa,
that there should be no law to.prevent,
or, at least, to punish such criminal
marriages?
It is much to be lamented, replied
Schedoni.
no 1
asos!


THE ITALIAN.
183
The woman who obtrudes herself
upon a family, to dishonour it, continued
the Marchesa, deserves a punishment
nearly equal to that of a state criminal,
since she injures those who best sup-
port the state. She ought to suffer-
Not nearly, but quite equal, inter-
rupted tlie confessor, she deserves--
death!
He paused, and there was a moment
of profound silence, till he addedamfor
death only can obliviate the degradation
she has occasioned; her death alone
can restore the original splendour of the
line she would have sullied.
He paused again, but, the Marchesa
still remaining silent, he added, I have
often marvelled that our lawgivers should
have failed to perceive the justness, nay
the necessity, of such punishment.!
It is astonishing, said the Marchesa,
thoughtfully, that a regard for their own
honour did not suggest it.
Justice does not the less exist, because
her laws are neglected, observed Sche-
doni. A sense of what she commands
sens


186
THE ITALIAN.
It does not deserve pardon, but thanks,
replied the Marchesa, not thanks only,
but reward. Good father, I hope it will
some time be in my power to prove the
sincerity of my words,
The confessor bowed his head,
I trust that the services you have ren-
dered me, shall be gratefully repaid
rewarded, I dare not hope, for what
benefit could possibly reward a service
so vast, as it may, perhaps, be in your
power to confer upon my family! What
recompence could be balanced against
the benefit of having rescued the honour
of an ancient house.
Your goodness is beyond my thanks,
or my desert, said Schedoni, and he was
again silent.
The Marchesa wished him to lead her
back to the point, from which she her.
self had deviated, and he seemed deter-
mined that she should lead him thither.
She mused, and hesitated. Her mind
was not yet familiar with atrocious guilt;
and the crime which Schedoni had sug.
gested, somewhat alarmed her. She


THE ITALIAN.
187
feared to think of, and still more to name
it; yet, so acutely susceptible was her
pride, so stern her indignation, and so
profound her desire of vengeance, that
her mind was tossed as on a tempestuous
ocean, and these terrible feelings threa-
tened to overwhelm all the residue of
humanity in her heart. Schedoni ob-
served all its progressive movements,
and, like a gaunt tyger, lurked in silence,
ready to spring forward at the moment
of opportunity.
It is your advice, then, father, resumed
the Marchesa, after a long pause,—it is
your opinion—that Ellena--She hesi-
tated, desirous that Schedoni should
anticipate her meaning; but he chose
to spare his own delicacy rather than
that of the Marchesa.
You think, then, that this insiduous
girl deserves- She paused again, but
the confessor, still silent, seemed to wait
with submission for what the Marchesa
should deliver,
I repeat, father, that it is your opinion
this girl deserves severe punishment.--


188
. THE ITALIAN.
Undoubtedly, replied Schedoni. Is
it not also your own?
That notany punishment can be too se-
vere? continued the Marchesa. That jus-
tice, equal with necessity, demands
lher life? Is not this your opinion too?
O! pardon me, said Schedoni, I may
have erred; that only was my opinion ;
and when I formed it, I was probably
too much under the influence of zeal to
be just. When the heart is warm,
how is it possible that the judgment
can be cool.
It is not then, your opinion, holy
father, said the Marchesa with dis-
pleasure.
I do not absolutely say that, replied
the confessor. But I leave it to your
better judgment to decide upon its
justness.
As he said this, he rose to depart.
The Marchesa was agitated and per-
plexed, and requested he would stay ;
but he excused himself by alledging,
that it was the hour when he must
attend a particular mass.


THE ITALIAN. 189
Well then, holy father, I will occupy
no more of your valuable moments at
present; but you know how highly I
estimate your advice, and will not refuse,
when I shall at some future time re-
quest it.
I cannot refuse to accept an honour,
replied the confessor, with an air of
meekness, but the subject you allude to
is delicate-
And therefore I must value and require
your opinion upon it, rejoined the Mar-
chesa.
I would wish you to value your own,
replied Schedoni ; you cannot have a
better director.
You flatter, father.
I only reply, my daughter.
On the evening of to-morrow, said the
Marchesa, gravely, I shall be at vespers
in the church of San Nicolo; if you should
happen to be there, you will probably
see me, when the service is over, and
the congregation is departed, in the
north transept. We can there converse


190
THE ITALIAN.
on the subject nearest my heart, and
without observation. Farewell !
Peace be with you, daughter! and
wisdom counsel your thoughts! said
Schedoni, I will not fail to visit San
Nicolo.
He folded his hands upon his breast,
bowed his head, and left the apartment
with the silent footstep that indicates
wariness and conscious duplicity.
The Marchesa remained in her closet,
shaken by ever-varying passions, and
ever-fluctuating opinions; meditating
misery for others and inflicting it upon
herself.


CHAPTER VII.
Along the roofs sounds the low peal of Death,
And Conscience trembles to the boding note;
She viows his dim form floating o'er the aisles,
She hears mysterious murmurs in the air,
And voices, strange and potent, hint the crime
That dwells in thought, within her secret soul.
The Marchesa repaired, according to
her appointment, to the church of San
Nicolo, and, ordering her servants to
remain with the carriage at a side-door,
entered the choir, attended only by her
woman.
When vespers had concluded, she lin-
gered till nearly every person had quitted
the choir, and then walked in the soli-
tary aisles. Her heart was as heavy as
her step; for when is it that peace and
evil passions dwell together? As she
slowly paced the transept, she perceived
a monk passing between the pillars, near
the cloisters, who, as he approached,
lifted his cowl, and she knew him to be
Schedoni.


192
THE ITALIAN.
er
He instantly observed the agitation of
her spirits and that her purpose was not
yet determined, according to his hope.
But, though his mind became clouded,
· his countenance remained unaltered ; it
was grave and thoughtful. The sternness
of his vulture-eye was, however, some-
what softened, and its lids were con-
tracted by subtlety.
The Marchesa bade her woman walk
apart, while she conferred with her con-
fessor.
This unhappy boy, said she, when the
attendant was at some distance, how
much suffering does his folly inflict upon
his family! My good father, I have need
of all your advice and consolation. My
mind is perpetually haunted by a sense
of my misfortune; it has no respite;
awake, or in my dream, this ungrateful
son alike pursues me! The only relief
my heart receives is when conversing
with you—my only counsellor, my only
disinterested friend.
The confessor bowed. The Marchese
is, no doubt, equally afflicted with your-


THE ITALIAN.
193
self, said he; but he is, notwithstanding,
much more competent to advise you on
this delicate subject than I am.
The Marchese has prejudices, father,
as you well know; he is a sensible man,
but he is sometimes mistaken, and he is
incorrigible in error. He has the faults
of a mind that is merely well disposed ;
he is destitute of the discernment and
the energy which would make it great.
If it is necessary to adopt a conduct, that
departs in the smallest degree from those
common rules of morality which he has
cherished, without examining them, from
his infancy, he is shocked, and shrinks
from action. He cannot discriminate
the circumstances, that render the same
action virtuous or vicious. How, then,
father, are we to suppose he would ap-
prove of the bold inflictions we meditate?
Most true! said the artful Schedoni,
with an air of admiration.
We, therefore, must not consult him,
continued the Marchesa, lest he should
now, as formerly, advance and maintain
objections, to which we cannot yield.
VOL. II.


194
THE ITALIAN.,
What passes in conversation with you,
father, is sacred, it goes no farther.
Sacred as a confession, said Schedoni,
crossing himself.
I know not, -resumed the Marchesa,
and hesitated; I know not-she repeated
in a yet lower voice, how this girl may
be disposed of; and this it is which
distracts my mind.
I marvel much at that, said Schedoni.
With opinions so singularly just, with a
mind so accurate, yet so bold as you
have displayed, is it possible that you
can hesitate as to what is to be done !
You, my daughter, will not prove your-
self one of those ineffectual declaimers,
who can think vigorously, but cannot
act so; One way, only, remains for you
to pursue, in the present instance; it is
the same which your superior sagacity
pointed out, and taught me to approve.
Is it necessary for me to persuade her,
by whom I am convinced! There is only
one way.
And on that I have been long medi-
tating, replied the Marchesa, and, shall


196
THE ITALIAN.
A philosopher might, perhaps, have
been surprised to hear two persons se.
riously defining the limits of virtue, at
the very moment in which they medi.
tated the most atrocious crime; a man
of the world would have considered it
to be mere hypocrisy; a supposition
which might have disclosed his general
knowledge of manners, but would cer-
tainly have betrayed his ignorance of the
human heart.
The Marchesa was for some time
silent and thoughtful, and then repeated
deliberately, I have not the shield of the
law to protect me.
But you have the shield of the church,
replied Schedoni ; you should not only
have protection, but absolution.
Absolution !-Do virtue--justice, re-
· quire absolution, father?
When I mentioned absolution for the
action, which you perceive to be so just
and necessary, replied Schedoni, I acco-
modated my speech to vulgar prejudice
and to vulgar weakress. And, forgive
me, that since you, my daughter, de-


THE ITALIAN.
197 :
scended from the loftiness of your spirit
to regret the shield of the law, I endea-
voured to console you, by offering a shield
to conscience. But enough of this ; let
us return to argument. This girl is put
out of the way of committing more mis-
chief, of injuring the peace and dignity of
a noble family; she is sent to an eternal
sleep, before her time.- Where is the
crime, where is the evil of this? On
the contrary, you perceive, and you have
convinced me, that it is only strict jus-
tice, only self defence.
-- The Marchesa was attentive, and the
confessor added, she is not immortal;
and the few years more, that might have
been allotted her, she deserves to forfeit,
since she would have employed them in
cankering the honour of an illustrious
house.
Speak low, father, said the Marchesa,
though he spoke almost in a whisper;
the aisles appear solitary, yet some per-
son may lurk behind those pillars. Ad-
vise me how this business may be


THE ITALIAN.
199
principle may both prompt and perform
the deed? Why should we hesitate to
do what we judge to be right?
Ah! reverend father, said the Mar-
chesa, with emotion, but where shall
we find another like yourself-another,
who not only can perceive with justness,
but will act with energy.
Schedoni was silent.
Such a friend is above all estimation ;
but where shall we see him ?
Daughter! said the monk, empha-
tically, my zeal for your family is also
above all calculation.
Good father, replied the Marchesa,
comprehending his full meaning, I know
not how to thank you.
Silence is sometimes eloquence, said
Schedoni, significantly.
The Marchesa mused; for her con-
science also was eloquent. She tried to
overcome its voice, but it would be
heard; and sometimes such starts of hor-
rible conviction came over her mind,
that she felt as one who, awaking from


200
THE ITALIAN.
a dream, opens his eyes only to measure
the depth of the precipice, on which he
totters. In such moments she was asto-
nished, that she had paused for an instant
upon a subject so terrible as that of
murder. The sophistry of the confessor,
together with the inconsistencies, which
he had betrayed, and which had not
escaped the notice of the Marchesa, even
at the time they were uttered though
she had been unconscious of her own,
then became more strongly apparent,
and she almost determined to suffer the
poor Ellena to live. But, returning
passion, like a wave that has recoiled
from the shore, afterwards came with
recollected energy, and swept from her
feeble mind the barriers, which reason
and conscience had begun to rear.
This confidence with which you have
thought proper to honour me, said Sche-
doni, at length, and paused; this affair,
so momentous—
Ay, this affair, interrupted, the Mar-
chesa, in a hurried manner, but when,


THE ITALIAN.
201
and where, good father? Being once
convinced, I am anxious to have it
settled.
That must be as occasion offers, replied
the monk, thoughtfully. On the shore
of the Adriatic, in the province of Apu-
lia, not far from Manfredonia, is a house
that might suit the purpose. It is a lone
dwelling on the beach, and concealed
from travellers, among the forests, which
spread for many miles along the coast.
And the people ? said the Marchesa.
Aye, daughter, or why travel so far as
Apulia ? It is inhabited by one poor
man, who sustains a miserable existence
by fishing. I know him, and could un-
fold the reasons of his solitary life ;-
but no matter, it is sufficient that I
know him.
And would trust him, father?
Aye, lady, with the life of this girl-
though scarcely with my own.
How! If he is such a villain he may
not be trusted! think further. But now,
you objected to a mercenary, yet this
man is one!
K 5


202
THE ITALIAN.
dd
Daughter, he may be trusted, when
it is in such a case ; he is safe and sure.
I have reasons to know him.
Name your reasons, father.
The confessor was silent, and his coun-
tenance assumed a very peculiar cha-
racter; it was more terrible than usual,
and overspread with a dark, cadaverous
hue of mingled anger and guilt. The
Marchesa started involuntarily as, pas-
sing beneath a window, the evening,
gleam that fell there, discovered it; and
for the first time she wished, that she
had not committed herself so wholly to
his power. But the die was now cast;
it was too late to be prudent; and she
again demanded his reasons.
No matter, said Schedoni, in a stifled
voice-she dies !
By his hands ? asked the Marchesa,
with strong emotion. Think, once more,
father.
They were both again silent and
thoughtful. The Marchesa, at length,
said, Father, I rely upon your integrity
and prudence; and she laid a very flat-
le ales!
were


THE ITALIAN.
203
tering emphasis upon the word integrity,
and I conjure you to let this business be
finished quickly, suspense is to me the
purgatory of this world, but not to trust
the accomplishment of it to a second
person. She paused, and then added,
I would not willingly owe so vast a debt
of obligation to any other than yourself.
Your request, daughter, that I would
not confide this business to a second
person, said Schedoni, with displeasure,
cannot be acceded to. Can you sup-
pose, that I, myself
Can I doubt that principle may both
prompt and perform the deed, inter-
rupted the Marchesa with quickness,
and anticipating his meaning, while she
retorted upon him his former words.
Why should we hesitate to do what we
judge to be right?
The silence of Schedoni alone indi-
cated his displeasure, which the Mar.
chesa immediately understood.
Consider, good father, she added sig-
nificantly, how painful it must be to me,
to owe so infinite an obligation to a stran-
-


204
THE ITALIAN.
ger, or to any other than so highly valued
a friend as yourself.
Schedoni, while he detected her
meaning, and persuaded himself that he
despised the flattery, with which she su
thinly veiled it, unconsciously suffered
his self love to be soothed by the com-
pliment. He bowed his head, in signal
of consent to her wish.
Avoid violence, if that be possible,
she added, immediately comprehending
him, but let her die quickly! The pu-
nishment is due to the crime.
The Marchesa happened, as she said
this, to cast her eyes upon the inscrip-
tion over a confessional, where appeared,
in black letters, these awful words,
“ God hears thee !” It appeared an
awful warning. Her countenance chang-
ed; it had struck upon her heart.
Schedoni was too much engaged by his
own thoughts to observe, or understand
her silence. She soon recovered her-
self; and considering that this was a
common inscription for confessionals,
disregarded what she had at first consi-


THE ITALIAN.
205
dered as a peculiar admonition; yet
some moments elapsed, before she could
renew the subject.
You was speaking of a place, father,
.esumed the Marchesa you men-
tioned a-
Aye, muttered the confessor, still mu-
sing-in a chamber of that house there
is-
What noise is that? said the Mar-
chesa, interrupting him. They listened.
A few low and querulous notes of the
organ sounded at a distance, and stop-
ped again.
What mournful music is that? said
the Marchesa, in a faltering voice, It
was touched by a fearful hand! Vespers
were over long ago !
Daughter, said Schedoni, somewhat
sternly, you said you had a man's cou-
rage. Alas! you have a woman's heart.
Excuse me, father; I know not why
I feel this agitation, but I will command.
it. That chamber?
In that chamber, resumed the con-


206
THE ITALIAN.
fessor, is a secret door, constructed
long ago. -
And for what purpose constructed ?
said the fearful Marchesa.
Pardon me, daughter; 'tis sufficient
that it is there; we will make a good
use of it. Through that door in the
night when she sleeps
I comprehend you, said the Marchesa,
I comprehend you. But why, you have
your reasons, no doubt, but why the ne-
cessity of a secret door in a house,
which you say is so lonely--inhabited
by only one person ?
A passage leads to the sea, continued
Schedoni, without replying to the ques-
tion. There, on the shore, when dark-
ness covers it; there, plunged amidst
the waves, no stain shall hint of
Hark! interrupted the Marchesa,
starting, that note again!
The organ sounded faintly from the
choir, and paused, as before. In the
next moment, a slow chanting of voices
was heard, mingling with the rising


THE ITALIAN,
207
peal, in a strain particularly melancholy
and solemn,
Who is dead? said the Marchesa,
changing countenance; it is a requiem.
Peace be with the departed ! exclaimed
Schedoni, and crossed himself; Peace
rest with his soul !
Hark! to that chaunt! said the Mar-
chesa, in a trembling voice; it is a first
requiem; the soul has but just quitted
the body!
They listened in silence. The Mar-
chesa was much affected; her com-
plexion varied at every instant; her
breathings were short and interrupted,
and she even shed a few tears, but they
were those of despair, rather than of sor-
row. That body is now cold, said she
to herself, which but an hour ago was
warm and animated! Those fine senses
are closed in death! And to this condi-
tion would I reduce a being like myself!
Oh, wretched, wretched mother! to
what has the folly of a son reduced thee!
She turned from the confessor, and
walked alone in the aisle. Her agitation


208
THE ITALIAN.
increased ; she wept without restraint,
for her veil and the evening gloom con-
cealed her, and her sighs were lost amidst
the music of the choir.
Schedoni was scarcely less disturbed,
but his were emotions of apprehension
and contempt. Behold, what is woman!
said he T he slave of her passion, the
dupe of her senses! When pride and
revenge speak in her breast, she defies
obstacles, and laughs at crimes ! Assail
but her senses, let music, for instance,
touch some feeble chord of her heart,
and echo to her fancy, and lo! all her
perceptions change :---she shrinks from
the act she had but an instant before
believed necessary, yields to some new
emotion, and sinks-the victim of a
sound! O, weak and contemptible
being!
The Marchesa, at least, seemed to
justify his observations. The desperate
passions, which had resisted every re-
monstrance of reason and humanity,
were vanquished only by other passions ;
and, her senses touched by the mournful


THE ITALIAN.
209
S
a
есите
melody of music, and her superstitious
fears awakened by the recurrence of a
requiem for the dead, at the very mo-
ment, when she was planning murder,
she yielded, for a while, to the united
influence of pity and terror. Her agi-
tation did not subside; but she returned
to the confessor.
We will converse on this business at
some future time, said she; at present,
my spirits are disordered. Good night,
father! Remember me in your orisons.
Peace be with you, lady! said the
confessor, bowing gravely, You shall not
be forgotten. Be resolute, and yourself.
The Marchesa beckoned her woman
to approach, when, drawing her veil
closer, and leaning upon the attendant's
arm, she left the transept. Schedoni
remained for a moment on the spot,
looking after her, till her figure was lost
in the gloom of the long perspective; he
then, with thoughtful steps, quitted the
church by another door. He was dis-
appointed, but he did not despair,


THE ITALIAN.
211
before the fine air of Celano, and the
tranquillity of her asylum, began to
revive her. Vivaldi, who was her daily
visitor at the grate of the convent; and
who, watching over her with intense so-
licitude, had hitherto forbore to renew
a subject, which, by agitating her spi-
rits, might affect her health, now, that
her health strengthened, ventured gra-
dually to mention his fears lest the place
of her retreat should be discovered, and
lest he yet might irrecoverably lose her,
unless she would approve of their speedy
marriage. At every visit he now urged
the subject, represented the dangers that
surrounded them, and repeated his argu-
ments and entreaties; for now, when he
believed that time was pressing forward
fatal evils, he could no longer attend to
the delicate scruples, that bade him be
sparing in entreaty. Ellena, had she
obeyed the dictates of her heart, would
have rewarded his attachment and his
services, by a frank approbation of his
proposal; but the objections which,
reason exhibited against such a con-


THE ITALIAN.
213
received from them, she would no longer
refuse their alliance. She added, that
Vivaldi ought to be more jealous of the
dignity of the woman, whom he honoured
with his esteem, than to permit her ma-
king a greater concession.
Vivaldi felt the full force of this ap-
peal; he recollected, with anguish, cir-
cumstances of which she was happily
ignorant, but which served to strengthen
with him the justness of her reproof.
And, as the aspersions, which the Mar-
chese had thrown upon her name,
crowded to his memory, pride and indig-
nation swelled his heart, and so far over-
came apprehension of hazard, that he
formed a momentary resolution to aban.
don every other consideration, to that of
asserting the respect that was due to
Ellena, and to forbear claiming her for
his wife, till his family should make ack-
nowledgment of their error, and willingly
admit her in the rank of their child. But
this resolution was as transient as plau-
sible; other considerations, and former
fears pressed upon him. He perceived


214
THE ITALIAN.
the strong improbability, that they would
ever make a voluntary sacrifice of their
pride to his love; or yield mistakes,
nurtured by prejudice and by willing
indulgence, to truth and a sense of jus-
tice. In the mean time, the plans, which
would be formed for separating him from
Ellena, might succeed, and he should
lose her for ever. Above all, it appeared,
that the best, the only method, which
remained for confuting the daring asper-
sions, that had affected her name, was,
by proving the high respect he had him-
self felt for her, and presenting her to
the world in the sacred character of his
wife. These considerations quickly de-
termined him to persevere in his suit;
but it was impossible to urge them to
Ellena, since the circumstances they
must unfold, would not only shock her
delicacy and amict her heart, but would
furnish the proper pride she cherished
with new arguments against approaching
a family who had thus grossly insulted
her.
While these considerations occupied


216
THE ITALIAN,
cold ingratitude; and her circumspection,
little less than prudence degenerated
into meanness.
Vivaldi, as apt in admitting hope as
fear, immediately perceived her reso-
lution beginning to yield, and he urged
again every argument which was likely
to prevail over it. But the subject was
too important for Ellena, to be imme-
diately decided upon; he departed with
only a faint assurance of encouragement;
and she forbade him to return till the
following day, when she would acquaint
him with her final determination.
This interval was, perhaps, the most
painful he had ever experienced. Alone,
and on the banks of the lake, he passed
many hours in alternate hope and fear;
in endeavouring to anticipate the deci-
sion, on which seemed suspended all his
future peace, and abruptly recoiling
from it, as often as imagination repre-
sented it to be adverse.
Of the walls, that enclosed her, he
scarcely ever lost sight; the view of
them seemed to cherish his hopes, and,


THE ITALIAN.
217
while he gazed upon their rugged sur..
face, Ellena alone was pictured on his
fancy; till his anxiety to learn her dis-
position towards him arose to agony,
and he would abruptly leave the spot.
But an invisible spell still seemed to
attract him back again, and evening
found him pacing slowly beneath the
shade of those melancholy boundaries,
that concealed his Ellena.
... Her day was not more tranquil.
Whenever prudence and decorous pride
forbade her to become a member of the
Vivaldi family, as constantly did gra-
titude, affection, irresistible tenderness
plead the cause of Vivaldi. The memory
of past times returned ; and the very
accents of the deceased seemed to mur-
mur from the grave, and command her
to fulfil the engagement, which had
soothed the dying moments of Bianchi.
On the following morning, Vivaldi
was at the gates of the convent, long
before the appointed hour, and he lin-
gered in dreadful impatience, till the
clock struck the signal for his entrance.
VOL. II.


218
THE ITALIAN.
Ellena was already in the parlour;
she was alone, and rose in disorder on
his approach. His steps faltered, his
voice was lost, and his eyes only, which
he fixed with a wild earnestness on her's,
had power to inquire her resolution.
She observed the paleness of his coun-
tenance, and his emotion, with a mixture
of concern and approbation. At that
moment, he perceived her smile, and
hold out her hand to him; and fear, care,
and doubt vanished at once from his
mind. He was incapable of thanking
her, but sighed deeply as he pressed her
hand, and, overcome with joy, sup-
ported himself against the grate, that
separated them.
You are, then, indeed, my own! said
Vivaldi, at length recovering his voice-
We shall be no more parted—you are
mine for ever! But your countenance
changes ! O heaven ! surely I have not
mistaken! Speak! I conjure you, El-
lena; relieve me from these terrible
doubts !
I am your’s, Vivaldi, replied Ellena


THE ITALIAN,
faintly, oppression can part us po
more.
She wept, and drew her veil over her
eyes.
What mean those tears ? said Vivaldi,
with alarm. Ah! Ellena, he added in
a softened voice, should tears mingle
with such moments as these! Should
your tears fall upon my heart now!
They tell me that your consent is given
with reluctance—with grief; that your
love is feeble, your heart-yes, Ellena !
that your whole heart is no longer mine!
They ought rather to tell you, replied
Ellena, that it is all your own; that my
affection never was more powerful than
now, when it can overcome every consi-
deration with respect to your family,
and urge me to a step, which must
degrade me in their eyes,-and, I fear,
in my own.
O retract that cruel assertion ! inter-
rupted Vivaldi. Degrade you in your
own!-degrade you in their eyes ! He
was much agitated; his countenance
was flushed, and an air of more than
L 2


220
THE ITALIAN.
usual dignity dilated his figure, while he
said, The time shall come, my Ellena,
when they shall understand your worth,
and acknowledge your excellence. O!
that I were an emperor, that I might
shew to all the world how much I love
and honour you!
Ellena gave him her hand, and, with-
drawing her veil, smiled on him through
her tears, with gratitude and reviving
courage.
Before Vivaldi retired from the con-
vent, he obtained her consent to consult
with an aged Benedictine, whom he had
engaged in his interest, as to the hour,
at which the marriage might be solem-
nized with least observation. The priest
informed him, that at the conclusion of
the vesper service, he should be dis-
engaged for several hours.; and that,
as the first hour after sun set was more
solitary than almost any other, the bro-
therhood being then assembled in the
refectory, he would meet Vivaldi and
Ellena at that time, in a chapel on the
edge of the lake, a short distance from


THE ITALIAN,
221
the Benedictine convent, to which it
belonged, and solemnize their nuptials.
With this proposal, Vivaldi imme-
diately returned to Ellena, when it was
agreed that the party should assemble
at the hour mentioned by the priest
Ellena, who had thought it proper to
mention her intention to the abbess of
the Ursalines, was, by her permission,
to be attended by a lay-sister; and Vi-
valdi was to meet her without the walls,
and conduct her to the altar. When the
ceremony was over, the fugitives were
to embark in a vessel, hired for the pur-
pose, and, crossing the lake,, proceed
towards Naples. Vivaldi again withdrew
to engage a boat, and Ellena to prepare
for the continuance of her journey.
As the appointed hour drew near, her
spirits sunk, and she watched with me-
lancholy foreboding, the sun retiring
amidst stormy clouds, and his rays fading
from the highest points of the mountains,
till the gloom of twilight prevailed over
the scene. She then left her apartment,


222 THE ITALIAN.
took a grateful leave of the hospitable
abbess, and, attended by the lay-sister,
quitted the convent.
Immediately without the gate she
was met by Vivaldi, whose look, as he
put herarm within his, gently reproached
her for the dejection of her air.
They walked in silence towards the
chapel of San Sebastian. The scene
appeared to sympathise with the spirits
of Ellena. It was a gloomy evening,
and the lake, which broke in dark waves
upon the shore, mingled its hollow
sounds with those of the wind, that bowed
the lofty pines and swept in gusts among
the rocks. She observed with alarm
the heavy thunder clouds that hùng
upon the mountains, and the birds cir-
cling swiftly over the waters, and scud-
ding away to their nests among the cliffs;
and she noticed to Vivaldi, that, as a
storm seemed approaching, she wished
to avoid crossing the lake. He imme-
diately ordered Paulo to dismiss the boat,
and to be in waiting with a carriage, that,


THE ITALIAN.
223
if the weather should become clear, they
might not be detained longer than was
otherwise necessary.
As they approached the chapel, Ellena
fixed her eyes on the mournful cypresses
which waved over it, and sighed. Those,
she said, are `funeral mementos-not
such as should grace the altar of mar-
riage! Vivaldi, I could be supersti-
tious.—Think you not they are porten-
tous of future misfortune? But forgive
me; my spirits are weak.
Vivaldi endeavoured to sooth her
mind, and tenderly reproached her for
the sadness she indulged. Thus they
entered the chapel. Silence, and a kind
of gloomy sepulchral light, prevailed
within. - The venerable Benedictine,
with a brother, who was to serve as
guardian to the bride, were already
there, but they were kneeling, and en-
gaged in prayer.
Vivaldi led the trembling Ellena to
the altar, where they waited till the Be-
nedictines should have finished their
orisons, and these were moments of


224
THE ITALIAN.
great emotion. She often looked round
the dusky chapel, in fearful expectation
of discovering some lurking observer;
and, though she knew it to be very im-
probable, that any person in this neigh-
bourhood could be interested in inter-
rupting the ceremony, her mind invo-
luntarily admitted the possibility of it.
Once, indeed, as her eyes glanced over
a casement, Ellena fancied she distin-
guished a human face laid close to the
glass, as if to watch what was passing
within ; but when she looked again, the
apparition was gone. Notwithstanding
this, she listened with anxiety to the
uncertain sounds without, and sometimes
started as the surges of the lake dashed
over the rock below, almost believing
she heard the steps and whispering
voices of men in the avenues of the cha-
pel. She tried, however, to subdue
apprehension, by considering, that if
this were true, an harmless curiosity
might have attracted some inhabitants
of the convent hither, and her spirits
became more composed, till she observed


226
THE ITALIAN.
But you will allow me to repress idle
curiosity, said Vivaldi, and to inquire
who watches beyond that door? The
tranquillity of this lady demands thus
much.
The brother assented, and Vivaldi
stepped to the door; but perceiving no
person in the obscure passage beyond
it, he returned with lighter steps to the
altar, from which the officiating priest
now rose.
My children, said he, I have made
you wait,-but an old man's prayers
are not less important than a young
man's vows, though this is not a moment
when you will admit that truth.
I will allow whatever you please, good
father, replied Vivaldi, if you will admi-
nister those vows, without further de-
lay;- time presses.
The venerable priest took his station
at the altar, and opened the book. Vi-
valdi placed himself on his right hand,
and with looks of anxious love, endea-
voured to encourage Ellena, who, with
a dejected countenance, which her veil


228
THE ITALIAN.
sengers of evil. Her half stifled shriek
alarmed Vivaldi, who caught her before
she fell to the ground; but, as he had
not faced the door, he did not understand
the occasion of her terror, till the sudden
rush of footsteps made him turn, when
he observed several men armed, and
very singularly habited, advancing to-
wards the altar.
Who is he that intrudes upon this
sanctuary ? he demanded sternly, while
he half rose from the ground where
Ellena had sunk.
What sacrilegious footsteps, cried the
priest, thus rudely violate this holy
place?
Ellena was now insensible; and, the
men continuing to advance, Vivaldi drew
his sword to protect her.
The priest and Vivaldi now spoke
together, but the words of neither could
be distinguished, when a voice, tremen-
dous from its loudness, like bursting
thunder, dissipated the cloud of mys-
tery.
You Vincentio di Vivaldi, and of Na-


THE ITALIAN.
231
vas
Vivaldi, who stooped to reach the parch-
ment, when it was snatched by the
official.
Unhappy young man! said the priest,
it is too true; you are summoned by
that awful power, to answer to your
crime, and I am spared from the com-
mission of a terrible offence!
Vivaldi appeared thunderstruck. For
what crime, holy father, am I called
upon to answer? This is some bold
and artful imposture, since it can delude
even you! What crime-what offence ?
I did not think you had been thus
hardened in guilt ! replied the priest,
Forbear! add not the audacity of false.
hood, to the headlong passions of youth.
You understand too well your crime.
Falsehood! retorted Vivaldi, But
your years, old man, and those sacred
vestments, protect you. For these ruf-
fians, who have dared to inaplicate that
innocent victim, pointing to Ellena, in
the charge, they shall have justice from
my vengeance.
Forbear! forbear! said the priest,


THE ITALIAN.
239
NUDI
was contrary to the rules of the place,
that a woman should enter it, and before
the priest could reply, his Benedictine
brother eagerly said, that they dared not
transgress the law of the convent.
Ellena's fears for Vivaldi entirely
overcame those for herself, and she en-
treated that he would suffer himself to
be conveyed to the Benedictines; but
he could not be prevailed with to leave
her. The officials, however, prepared
to separate them; Vivaldi in vain urged
the useless cruelty of dividing him from
Ellena, if, as they had hinted, she also
was to be carried to the Inquisition ;
and as ineffectually demanded, whither
they really designed to take her.
• We shall take good care of her, signor,
said an officer, that is sufficient for you.
It signifies nothing whether you are
going the same way, you must not go
together.
Why, did you ever hear, signor, of
arrested persons being suffered to remain
in company ? said another ruffian, Fine
plots they would lay; I warrant they


THE ITALIAN.
241
but a sudden film came over his sight,
and his senses forsook him, while yet
the name of Ellena faltered on his lips.
As they bore her from the chapel, she
continued to call upon Vivaldi, and alter-
nately to supplicate, that she might once
more behold him, and take one last
adieu. The ruffians were inexorable,
and she heard his voice no more, for he
no longer heard-no longer was able to
reply to her's.
0! once again! she cried in agony,
One word, Vivaldi! Let me hear the
sound of your voice yet once again! But
it was silent.
As she quitted the chapel, with eyes
still bent towards the spot where he lay,
she exclaimed, in the piercing accents
of despair, Farewell, Vivaldi !0! for
ever- ever, farewell!
The tone in which she pronounced the
last farewell, was so touching, that even
the cold heart of the priest could not
resist it; but he impatiently wiped away
the few tears that rushed into his eyes,
before they were observed. Vivaldi
VOL. 11.
M


242
THE ITALIAN.
heard it-it seemed to arouse him from
death !-he heard her mournful voice for
the last time, and, turning his eyes, saw
her veil floating away through the por-
tal of the chapel. All suffering, all
effort, all resistance were vain ; the
ruffians bound him, bleeding as he was,
and conveyed him to the Benedictine
convent, together with the wounded
Paulo, who unceasingly vociferated on
the way thither, I demand to be sent to
the Inquisition ! I demand to be sent to
the Inquisition !
END OF VOLUME THE SECOND.
T.C. Nesby, l'initi,
Bury, St. Elmas,


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