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AD
TAS
FROM THE FUND OF
CHARLES MINOT
CLASS OF 1828








THE ITALIAN.





THE
ITALIAN;
OR, THE
CONFESSIONAL OF THE BLACK PENITENTS.
A ROMANCE.
Aloes Casi)
BY ANN RADCLIFFE,
AUTHOR OF THE “ ROMANCE OF THE FOREST,” “ SICILIAN
ROMANCE," “ MYSTERIES OF ODOLPHO," “ 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.
-
VOL. I.
LONDON :
PRINTED FOR A. K. NEWMAN AND CO.
1828.


78477.,5
Prici
TEP 2G 901
Minot luod
Bury St. Edmund's:
Printed by T.C. Newby, Angel Hi27.


THE
ITALIAN;
OR, THE
CONFESSIONAL OF THE BLACK PENITENTS.
ABOUT the year 1764, some English
travellers in Italy, during one of their
excursions in the environs of Naples,
happened to stop before the portico of
the Santa Maria del Pianto, a church
belonging to a very ancient convent of
the order of the Black Penitents. The
magnificence of this portico, though
impaired by time, excited so much ad-
miration, that the travellers were curious
to survey the structure to which it be-
longed, and with this intention they
ascended the marble steps that led to
it.
Within the shade of the portico, a
person with folded arms, and eyes di-
VOL. I.
в


THE ITALIAN.
rected towards the ground, was pacing
behind the pillars the whole extent of
the pavement, and was apparently so
engaged by his own thoughts, as not to
observe that strangers were approach-
ing. He turned, however, suddenly, as
if startled by the sound of steps, and
then, without further pausing, glided to
a door that opened into the church, and
disappeared. .
There was something too extraordi-
nary in the figure of this man, and too
singular in his conduct to pass unnoticed
by the visitors, He was of a tall thin
figure, bending forward from the shoul-
ders; of a sallow complexion, and harsh
features, and had an eye, which, as it
looked up from the cloak that muffled
the lower part of his countenance, was
expressive of uncommon ferocity.
The travellers, on entering the church,
looked round for the stranger, who had
passed thither before them, but he was
no where to be seen, and, through all
the shade of the long aisles, only one
other person appeared. This was a


THE ITALIAN.
3
friar of the adjoining convent, who
sometimes pointed out to strangers the
objects in the church, which were most
worthy of attention, and who now, with
this design, approached the party that
had just entered.
The interior of this edifice had nothing
of the shewy ornament and general
splendor, which distinguishes the
churches of Italy, and particularly
those of Naples; it exhibited a sim-
plicity and grandeur of design, consi-
derably more interesting to persons of
taste, and a solemnity of light and shade
much more suitable to promote the sub-
lime elevation of devotion.
When the party had viewed the dif-
ferent shrines and whatever had been
judged worthy of observation, and were
returning through an obscure aisle
towards the portico, they perceived the
person, who had appeared upon the
steps, passing towards a confessional on
the left, and, as he entered it, one of
the party pointed him out to the friar,
and inquired who he was; the friar,
B
2


THE ITALIAN.
ѕе у
av
turning to look after him, did not im-
mediately reply, but, on the question
being repeated, he inclined his head, as
in a kind of obeisance, and calmly re-
plied, --he is an assassin.
An assassin! exclaimed one of the
Englishmen; an assassin, and at li-
berty!
An Italian gentleman, who was of the
party, smiled at the astonishment of his
friend.
He has sought sanctuary here, replied
the friar; within these walls he may not
be hurt.
Do your altars, then, protect a mur-
derer? said the Englishman. . .
He could find shelter no where else,
answered the friar meekly.
This is astonishing ! said the English-
man; of what avail are your laws, if
the most atrocious criminal may thus
find shelter from them? But how does
he contrive to exist here! He is, 'at
least, in danger of being starved ?
Pardon me, replied the friar; there
are always people willing to assist those


THE ITALIAN.
ma
who cannot assist themselves; and, as
the criminal may not leave the church
in search of food, they bring it to him
here!
Is this possible! said the English-
man, turning to his Italian friend.
Why, the poor wretch must not
starve, replied the friend; which he
inevitably would do, if food were not
brought to him! but have you never,
since your arrival in Italy, happened to
see a person in the situation of this man?
It is by no means an uncommon one.
Never! answered the Englishman,
and I can scarcely credit what I see
now!
Why, my friend, observed the Italian,
if we were to shew no mercy to such
unfortunate persons, assassinations are
so frequent, that our cities would be
half depopulated.
In notice of this profound remark,
the Englishman could only gravely
bow.
· But observe yonder confessional,
added the Italian, that beyond the pil-


THE ITALIAN.
lars on the left of the aisle, below a
painted window. Have you discovered
it? The colours of the glass throw, in-
stead of light, a shade over that part of
the church, which, perhaps, prevents
your distinguishing what I mean?
The Englishman looked whither his
friend pointed, and observed a confes-
sional of oak, or some very dark wood,
adjoining the wall, and remarked also,
that it was the same which the assassin
had just entered. It consisted of three
compartments, covered with a black
canopy. In the central division was
the chair of the confessor, elevated by
several steps above the pavement of the
church; and on either hand was a small
closet, or box, with steps leading up to
a grated partition, at which the peni-
tent might kneel, and, concealed from
observation, pour into the ear of the
confessor, the consciousness of crimes
that lay heavy on his heart.
You observe it? said the Italian.
I do, replied the Englishman? it is
the same as the assassin has passed


THĘ ITALIAN
into; and I think it one of the most
gloomy spots I ever beheld ; the view
of it is enough to strike a criminal with
despair!
We, in Italy, are not so apt to despair,
replied the Italian, smilingly,
Well, but what of this confessional ?
inquired the Englishman. The assassin
entered it !
He has no relation with what I am
about to mention, said the Italian; bút
I wish you to mark the place, because
some very extraordinary circumstances
belong to it.
What are they? said the Englishman.
It is now several years since the con-
fession, which is connected with them,
was made at that very confessional,
added the Italian; the view of it, and
the sight of this assassin, with your sur-
prisę at the liberty which is allowed him,
led me to ą recollection of the story.
When you, return to the hotel, I will
communicate it to you, if you have no
pleasanter way of engaging your time.
I have a curiosity to hear it, replied


8
THE ITALIAN.
.
the Englishman, cannot you relate it
now?
It is much too long to be related now;
that would occupy a week; I have it in
writing, and will send you the volume.
A young student of Padua, who hap-
pened to be at Naples soon after this
horrible confession became public-
Pardon me, interrupted the English-
man, that is surely very extraordinary.
I thought confessions were always held
sacred by the priest to whom they were
made.
Your observation is reasonable, re-
joined the Italian ; the faith of the priest
is never broken, except by an especial
command from a higher power; and the
circumstances must even then be very
extraordinary to justify such a departure
from the law. But, when you read the
narrative, your surprise on this head
will cease. I was going to tell you, that
it was written by a student of Padua,
who, happening to be here soon after
the affair became public, was so much
struck with the facts, that, partly as an
as


THE ITALIAN.
exercise, and partly in return for some
trifling services I had rendered him,
he committed them to paper for me.
You will perceive from the work, that
this student was very young, as to the
arts of composition, but the facts are
what you require, and from these he has
not deviated. But come, let us leave
the church.
After I have taken another view of
this solemn edifice, replied the English-
man, and particularly of the confessional
you have pointed to my notice!
While the Englishman glanced his
eye over the high roofs, and along the
solemn perspectives of the Santa del
Pianto, he perceived the figure of the
assassin stealing from the confessional
across the choir, and, shocked on again
beholding him, he turned his eyes, and
hastily quitted the church.
The friends then separated, and the
Englishman, soon after returning to his
hotel, received the volume. He read as
follows:
B 5


THE
THE
ITALIA.N.
CHAPTER I.
What is this secret sin ; this untold tale,
That art cannot extract, nor penance cleanse
MYSTERIOUS MOTHER.
It was in the church of San Lorenzo
at Naples, in the year 1758, that Vincen-
tio di Vivaldi first saw Ellena Rosalba.
The sweetness and fine expression of
her voice attracted his attention to her
figure, which had a distinguished air of
delicacy and grace; but her face was
concealed in her veil. So much indeed
was he fascinated by the voice, that a
most painful curiosity was excited as to
her countenance, which he fancied must
express all the sensibility of character
that the modulation of her tones indi-
cated. He listened to their exquisite


THE ITALIAN.
11
expression with a rapt attention, and
hardly withdrew his eyes from her person
till the matin service had concluded ;
when he observed her leave the church
with an aged lady, who leaned upon
her arm, and who appeared to be her
mother. . , ,
Vivaldi immediately followed their
steps, determined to obtain, if possible, a
view of Ellena's face, and to discover the
home to which she should retire. They
walked quickly, looking neither to the
right nor left, and as they turned into
the Strada di Toledo he had nearly lost
them ; but, quickening his pace, and
relinquishing the cautious distance he
had hitherto kept, he overtook them as
they entered on the Terazzo Nuovo,
which runs along the bay of Naples,
and leads towards the Gran Corso. He
overtook them; but the fair unknown
still held her veil close, and he knew
not how to introduce himself to her no-
tice, or to obtain a view of the features
which excited his curiosity. He was
embarrassed by a respectful timidity,


12
THE ITALIAN.
that mingled with his admiration, and
which kept him silent, notwithstanding
his wish to speak.
In descending the last steps of the
Terrazzo, however, the foot of the elder
lady faltered, and, while Vivaldi has-
tened to assist her, the breeze from the
water caught the veil, which Ellena had
no longer a band sufficiently disengaged
to confine, and, wafting it partially aside,
disclosed to him a. countenance more
touchingly beautiful than he had dared
to image. Her features were of the
Grecian outline, and, though they ex-
pressed the tranquillity of an elegant
mind, her dark blue eyes sparkled with
intelligence. She was assisting her
companion so anxiously, that she did
not immediately observe the admiration
she had inspired; but the moment her
eyes met those of Vivaldi, she became
conscious of their effect, and she hastily
drew her veil.
The old lady was not materially hurt
by her fall, but, as she walked difficult-
ly, Vivaldi seized the opportunity thus


THE ITALIAN.
13
offered, and insisted that she should ac-
cept his arm. She refused this with
many acknowledgments; but he press-
ed the offer so repeatedly and respect-
fully, that, at length, she accepted it,
and they walked towards her residence
together.
On the way thither, he attempted to
converse with Ellena, but her replies
were concise, and he arrived at the end
of the walk while he was yet consider-
ing what he could say, that might in-
terest and withdraw her from this severe
reserve. From the style of their resi-
dence, he imagined that they were
persons of honourable but moderate
independence. The house was small,
but exhibited an air of comfort, and
even of taste. It stood on an emi-
nence, surrounded by a garden and
vineyards, which commanded the city
and bay of Naples, an ever-moving
picture, and was canopied by a thick
grove of pines and majestic date trees;
and, though the little portico and collo-
nade in front were of common marble,


THE ITALIAN
the style of architecture was elegant,
While these afforded a shelter from the
sun, they admitted the cooling breezes
that rose from the bay below, and a
prospect of the whole scope of its en.
chanting shores.
Vivaldi stopped at the little gate,
which led into the garden, where the
elder lady repeated her acknowledg-
ments for his care, but did not invite
him to enter; and he, trembling with
anxiety, and sinking with disappoint-
ment, remained for a moment gazing
upon Ellena, unable to take leave, yet
irresolute what to say that might pro-
long the interview, till the old lady
again bade him good day. He then
summoned courage enough to request
he might be allowed to enquire after
her health, and, having obtained her
permission, his eyes bade adieu to
Ellena, who, as they were parting,
ventured to thank him for the care he
had taken of her aunt. The sound of
her voice, and this acknowledgment of
obligation, made him less willing to go
SU


TNE ITALIAN.
15
than before, but at length he tore him-
self away. The beauty of her counte,
nance haunting his imagination, and the
touching accents of her voice still vi-
brating on his heart, he descended to
the shore below her residence, pleasing
himself with the consciousness of being
near her, though he could no longer
behold her, and sometimes hoping that
he might again see her, however dis-
tantly, in a balcony of the house, where
the silk awning seemed to invite the
breeze from the sea. He lingered hour
after hour, stretched beneath the um-
brageous pines that waved over the
shore, or traversing, regardless of the
heat, the base of the cliffs that crowned
it; recalling to his fancy the enchant-
ment of her smile, and seeming still to
listen to the sweetness of her accents.
In the evening, he returned to his
father's palace at Naples, thoughtful
yet pleased, anxious yet happy; dwell-
ing with delightful hope on the remem-
brance of the thanks he had received
from Ellena, yet not daring to form any


16
THE ITALIAN.
· plan as to his future conduct. He re-
turned time enough to attend his mother
in her evening ride on the Corso, where,
in every gay carriage that passed, he
hoped to see the object of his constant
thought; but she did not appear. His
mother, the Marchesa di Vivaldi, ob-
served his anxiety and unusual silence,
and asked him some questions, which
she meant should lead to an explanation
of the change in his manners; but his
replies only excited a stronger curiosity,
and, though she forbore to press her
inquiries, it was only that she might
employ a more artful means of renewing
them.
Vincentio di Vivaldi was the only son
of the Marchesa di Vivaldi, a nobleman
of one of the most ancient families of
the kingdom of Naples, a favorite, pos-
sessing an uncommon share of influence
at court, and a man still higher in
power than in rank. His pride of birth
was equal to either, but it was mingled
with the justifiable pride of a princi-
pled mind; it governed his conduct in


THE ITALIAN.
17
morals as well as in the jealousy of
ceremonial distinctions, and elevated
his practice as well as his claims. His
pride was at once his vice and his
virtue, his safeguard and his weakness.
The mother of Vivaldi, descended
from a family as ancient as that of his
father, was equally jealous of her impor-
tance; but her pride was that of birth
and distinction, without extending to
morals. She was of violent passions,
haughty, vindictive, yet crafty and de-
ceitful; patient in stratagem, and inde-
fatigable in pursuit of vengeance on the
unhappy objects who offerided her.
She loved her son, rather as being the
last of two illustrious houses, who was
to re-unite and support the honour of
both, than with the fondness of a
mother. ...
Vincentio inherited much of the cha-
racter of his father, and very little of
that of his mother. His pride was as
noble and generous as that of the Mar-
chesa, but he had somewhat of the
fiery passions of the Marchesa, without


· 18
THE ITALIAN.
III
any of her craft, her duplicity, or vin-
dictive thurst of revenge. Frank in his
temper, ingenuous in his sentiments,
quickly offended, but easily appeased;
irritated by any appearance of disre-
spect, but melted by a concession, a
high sense of honour rendered him no
more jealous of offence, than a delicate
humanity made him ready for reconcili-
ation, and anxious to spare the feelings
of others. .
On the day following that on which
he had seen Ellena, he returned to the
Villa Altieri, to use the permission
granted him of inquiring after the health
of Signora Bianchi. The expectation of
seeing Ellena agitated him with impa-
tient joy and trembliny hope, which
still increased as he approached her
residence, till, having reached the gar-
den gate, he was obliged to rest for a
few moments to recover breath and com-
posure. Having announced himself to
an old female servant who came to the
gate, he was soon after admitted to a
small vestibule, where he found Signora


THE ITALIAN.
19
Bianchi winding balls of silk, and alone;
though from the position of a chair,
which stood near a frame for embroi-
dery, he judged that Ellena had but
just quitted the apartment. Signora
Bianchi received him with a reserved
politeness, and seemed very cautious in
her replies to his inquiries after her
niece, who, he hoped, every moment,
would appear. He lengthened his
visit till there was no longer an ex-
cuse for doing so; till he had ex-
hausted every topic of conversation,
and till the silence of Signora Bian-
chi seemed to hint, that his departure
was expected. With a heart saddened
by disappointment, and, having obtained
only a reluctant permission to inquire
after the health of that lady on some
future day, he then took leave.
On his way through the garden he
often paused to look back upon the
house, hoping to obtain a glimpse of
Ellena at a lattice; and threw a glance
around him, almost expecting to see her
seated beneath the shade of the luxuriant


20
THE ITALIAN.
plantains ; but his search was every-
where vain, and he quitted the place
with the slow and heavy step of despon-
dency.
The day was employed in endeavours
to obtain intelligence concerning the
family of Ellena, but of this he procured
little that was satisfactory. He was
told, that she was an orphan, living in-
der the care of herauut, Signora Bianchi;
that her family, which had never been
illustrious, was decayed in fortune, and
that her only dependance was upon this
aunt. But he was ignorant of what
was very true, though very secret, that
she assisted to support this aged relative,
whose sole property was the small estate
on which they lived, and that she passed
whole days in embroidering silks, which
were disposed of to the nuns of a neigh-
bouring convent, who sold them to the
Neapolitan ladies, that visited their
grate, at a very high advantage. He
little thought, that a beautiful robe,
which he had often seen his mother wear,
was worked by Ellena; nor that some


THE ITALIAN.
21
copies from the antique, which orna-
mented a cabinet of the Vivaldi palace,
were drawn by her hand. If he had
known these circumstances, they would
only have served to increase the passion,
which, since they were proofs of a dis-
parity of fortune, that would certainly
render his family repugnant to a con-
nexion with hers, it would have been
prudent to discourage.
Ellena could have endured poverty,
but not contempt; and it was to protect
herself from this effect of the narrow
prejudices of the world around her, that
she had so cautiously concealed from it
a knowledge of the industry which did
honour to her character. She was not
ashamed of poverty, or of the industry
which overcame it, but her spirit shrunk
from the senseless smile and humiliating
condescension, which prosperity some-
times gives to indigence. Her mind
was not yet strong enough, nor her views
sufficiently enlarged, to teach her a con-
tempt of the sneer of vicious folly, and
to glory in the dignity of virtuous inde-


22
THE ITALIAN.
pendence. Ellena was the sole support
of her aunt's declining years; was pa-
tient to her infirmities, and consoling to
her sufferings; and repaid the fondness
of a mother with the affection of a
daughter. Her mother she had never
known, having lost her while she was
an infant, and from that period Signora
Bianchi had performed the duties of one
for her.
Thus innocent and happy in the
silent performance of her duties, and
in the veil of retirement, lived Ellena
Rosalba, when she first saw Vincentio
di Vivaldi. He was not of a figure to
pass unobserved when seen, and Ellena
had been struck by the spirit and dig-
nity of his air, and by his countenance,
so frank, noble, and full of that kind of
expression, which announces the ener-
gies of the soul. But she was cautious
of admitting a sentiment more tender
than admiration, and endeavoured to
dismiss his image from her mind, and,
by engaging in her usual occupations,
to recover the state of tranquillity


THE ITALIAN.
.
23
which his appearance had somewhat
interrupted.
Vivaldi, meanwhile, restless from dis-
appointment, and impatient from anx-
iety, having passed the greater part of
the day in inquiries, which repaid him
only with doubt, and apprehension,
determined to return to the Villa Al-
tieri, when evening should conceal
his steps, consoled by the certainty of
being near the object of his thoughts,
and hoping, that chance might favour
him once more with a view, however
transient, of Ellena.... .
The Marchesa Vivaldi held an assem-
bly that evening, and a suspicion con-
cerning the impatience he 'betrayed in-
duced her to detain him about her person
to a late hour, engaging him to select
the music for her orchestra, and to
superintend the performance of a new
piece, the work of a composer whom
she had brought into fashion. Her as-
semblies were among the most brilliant
and crowded in Naples, and the nobility,
who were to be at the palace this even-
Con-


24
THE ITALIAN.
ing, were divided into two parties as to
the merits of the musical genius, whom
she patronized, and those of another
candidate for fame. The performance
of the evening, it was expected, would
finally decide the victory. This, there-
fore, was a night of great importance
and anxiety to the Marchesa, for she
was as jealous of the reputation of her
favourite composer as of her own, and
the welfare of her own son did but
slightly divide her cares.
The moment he could depart unob.
served, he quitted the assembly, and
muffling himself in his cloak, hastened
to the Villa Altieri, which lay at a short
distance to the west of the city. He
reached it unobserved, and, breathless
with impatience, traversed the boundary
of the garden ; where, free from cere-
monial restraint, and near the object of
his affection, he experienced for the few
first moments a joy as exquisite as her
presence could have inspired. But this
delight faded with its novelty, and in a
short time he felt as forlorn as if he was


THE ITALIAN.
25
separated for ever from Ellena, in whose
presence he but lately almost believed
himself.
The night was far advanced, and, no
light appearing from the house, he con-
cluded the inhabitants had retired to
rest, and all hope of seeing her vanished
from his mind. Still, however, it was
sweet to be near her, and he anxiously
sought to gain admittance to the gar-
deas, that he might approach the win-
dow of the room, where it was possible
she reposed. The boundary, formed of
trees and thick shrubs, was not difficult
to be passed, and he found himself once
more in the portico of the villa.
.. It was nearly midnight, and the still-
ness that reigned, was rather soothed
than interrupted by the gentle dashing
of the waters of the bay below, and by
the hollow murmurs of Vesuvius, which
threw up, at intervals, its sudden flame
on the horizon, and then left it to dark-
ness. The solemnity of the scene accord-
ed with the temper of his mind, and he
listened in deep attention for the return-
vol. I.
C


26
THE ITALIAN.
ing sounds, which broke upon the ear
like distant thunder muttering imper-
fectly from the clouds. The pauses of
şilence that succeeded each groan of the
mountain, when expectation listened for
the rişing sound, affected the imagina-
tion of Vivaldi at this time with parti-
cular. awe, and, rapt in thought, he
continued to gaze upon the sublime
and shadowy, outline of the shores, and
on the sea, just discerned beneath the
twilight of a cloudless sky. Along its
grey surface many vessels were pursu-
ing their silent course, guided over the
deep waters only by the polar star,.
which burned with steady lustre. The
air was calm, and rose from the bay
with most balmy and refreshing cool-
ness; it scarcely stirred the heads of the
broad pines that overspread the villa ;
and bore no sounds but of the waves
and the groans of the far-off mountain,
till the chaunting of deep voices-swelled
from a distance. The solemn character
of the strain engaged his attention; he
perceived that it was a requiem, and he


THE ITALIAN.
endeavoured to discover from what
quarter it came. It advanced, though
distantly, and then passed away on
the air. , The circumstance struck him;
he knew it was usual in some parts of
Italy to chaunt this strain over the bed
of the dying ; but here the mourners
seemed to walk the earth, or the air.
He was not doubtful as to the strain it-
self;-once before he had heard it, and
attended with circumstances which
made it impossible that he should ever
forget it. As he now listened to the choral
voices softening in distance, a few pa-
thetic notes brought full upon his re-
membrance the divine melody he had
heard Ellena utter in the church of
San Lorenzo. Overcome by the recol-
lection, he started away, and wander-
ing over the garden, reached another
side of the villa, where he soon heard
the voice of Ellena herself, singing the
midnight hymn to the Virgin, and accom-
panying herself on a lute, which she
touched with most affecting and delicate
expression. He stood for a moment en-
C2


28
THE ITALIAN.
tranced, and scarcely daring to breathe,
lest he should lose any note of that meek
and holy strain, which seemed to flow from
a devotion almost saintly. Then, look-
ing round to discover the object of his
admiration, a light issuing from among
the bowery foliage of a clematis led him
to a lattice, and shewed him Ellena.
The lattice had been thrown open to
admit the cool air, and he had a full
view of her and the apartment. She
was rising from a small altar where she
had concluded the service; the glow of
devotion was still upon her countenance
as she raised her eyes, and with a rapt
earnestness fixed them on the heavens.
She still held the lute, but no longer
awakened it, and seemed lost to every
surrounding object. Her fine hair was
negligently bound up in'a silk net, and
some tresses that had escaped it, played
on her neck, and round her beautiful
countenance, which now was not even
partially concealed by a veil. The light
drapery of her dress, her whole figure,
air, and attitude, where such as might
have been copied for a Grecian nymph.


THE ITALIAN,
29
Vivaldi was perplexed and agitated
between the wish of seizing an oppor-
tunity, which might never again occur,
of pleading his love, and the fear of of-
fending, by intruding upon her retire-
ment at so sacred an hour. But while
he thus hesitated, he heard her sigh,
and then, with a sweetness peculiar to
her accent, pronounced his name. Du-
ring the trembling anxiety, with which
he listened for what might follow this
mention of his name, he disturbed the
clematis that surrounded the lattice, and
she turned her eyes towards the win-
dow; hut Vivaldi was entirely conceal-
ed by the foliage. She, however, rose
to close the lattice; as she approached
which, Vivaldi, unable any longer to
command himself, appeared before her.
She stood fixed for an instant, while her
countenance changed to an ashy pale-
ness ; and then, with trembling haste
closing the lattice, she quitted the apart-
ment. Vivaldi felt as if all his hopes
had vanished with her.
After lingering in the garden for some


30
THE ITALIAN.
time without perceiving a light in any
other part of the building, or hearing a
sound proceed from it, he took his me-
lancholy way to Naples. He now began
to ask himself some questions, which he
ought to have urged before, and to in-
quire wherefore he sought the dangerous
pleasure of seeing Ellena, since her
family was of such a condition as ren-
dered the consent of his parents to a
marriage with beri unattainable.
He was lost in reverie on this subject,
sometimes half resolved to seek her no
more, and then shrinking from this ap-
proach of despair, when, as he emerged
from the dark arch of a ruin, that ex-
tended over the road, his steps were
crossed by a person in the habit of a
monk, whose face was shrouded by his
cowl still more than by the twilight.
The stranger, addressing him by his
name, said, Signor! your steps are
watched; beware how you revisit Al-
tieri ! Having uttered this, he disap-
peared, before Vivaldi could return the
sword he had half drawn into the scab-
hu.


THE ITALIAN.
bard, or demand an explanation of the
words he had heard. He called loudly
and repeatedly, conjuring the unknown
person to appear, and lingered near the
spot for a considerable time; but the
vision came no more,
Vivaldi arrived at home with a mind
occupied by this incident, and torment-
ed by the jealousy to which it gave rise;
for, after indulging various conjectures,
· he concluded with believing the notice,
of which he had been warned, to be that
of a rival, and that the danger which
menaced him, was from the poniard of
jealousy. This belief discovered to him
at once the extent of his passion, and of
the imprudence which had thus readily
admitted it; yet so far was this new
prudence from overcoming his error,
that, stung with a torture more exquisite
than he had ever known, he resolved, at
every event, to declare his love, and sue
for the hand of Ellena. Unhappy young
man, he knew not the fatal error into
which passion was precipitating him!
On his arrival at the Vivaldi palace,


32
THE ITALIAN.
se
he learned that the Marchesa had ob-
served his absence, had repeatedly
inquired for him, and had given orders
that the time of his return should be
mentioned to her. She had, however,
retired to rest; but the Marchese, who
had attended the king on an excursion
to one of the royal villas on the bay,
returned home soon after Vincetio ; and,
before he had withdrawn to his apart-
ment, he met his son with looks of
unusual displeasure, but avoided saying
any thing which should either explain
or allude to the subject of it; and, after
a short conversation, they separated.
Vivaldi shut himself in his apartment,
to deliberate, if that may deserve the
name of deliberation, in which a conflict
of passions, rather than an exertion of
judgment, prevailed. For several hours
he traversed his suite of rooms, alter.
nately tortured by the remembrance of
Ellena, fired with jealousy, and alarmed
for the consequence of the imprudent
step which he was about to take. He
knew the temper of his father, and some


THE ITALIAN.
33
traits of the character of his mother,
sufficiently, to fear that their displeasure
would be irreconcilable concerning the
marriage he meditated; yet, when he
considered that he was their only son,
he was inclined to admit a hope of for-
giveness, notwithstanding the weight
which that circumstance must add to
their disappointment. These reflections
were frequently interrupted by fears
lest Ellena had already disposed of her
affections to this imaginary rival. He
was, however, somewhat consoled by
remembering the sigh she had uttered,
and the tenderness with which she had
immediately pronounced his name. Yet,
even if she were not averse from his suit
how could he solicit her hand, and hope
it would be given him, when he should
declare that this must be in secret ? He
scarcely dared to believe that she would
condescend to enter a family which
disdained to receive her; and again
despondency overcame him.
The morning found him as distracted
:c5


34
THE ITALIAN.
as the night had left him; his determi-
nation, however, was fixed; and this
was, to sacrifice what he now consider-
ed as a delusive pride of birth, to a
choice, which he believed would ensure
the happiness of his life. But, before
he ventured to declare himself to Ellena;
it appeared necessary to ascertain whe-
ther he held an interest in her heart, or
whether she had devoted it to the rival
of his love, and who this rival really was.
It was so much easier to wish for such
information than to obtain it, that, after
forming a thousand projects, either the
delicacy of his respect for Ellena, or his
fear of offending her, or an apprehension
of discovery from his family before he
had secured an interest in her affecti-
ons constantly opposed his views of an
inquiry.
• In this difficulty he opened his heart
to'a friend, who had long possessed his
confidence, and whose advice he solici:
ted with somewhat more anxiety and
sincerity than is usual on such occasions.
It was not a sanction of his own opinion


THE ITALIAN.
35
.
that he required, but the impartial judg-
ment of another mind. Bonarmo, how-
ever little he' might be qualified for the
office of an adviser, did not scruple to
give his advice. As a means of judging
whether Ellena was disposed to favour
Vivaldi's addresses he proposed that,
according to the custom of the country,
a serenadé should be given ; he main-
tained that, if she were not disinclined
towards him, some sign of approbation
would appear; and if otherwise, that
she would remain silent and invisible.
Vivaldi objected to this coarse and in-
adequate mode of expressing a love so
sacred as his, and he had too lofty an
opinion of Ellena's mind and delicacy,
to believe, that the trifling homage of
a serenade would either flatter her self-
love, or interest her in his favour; nor,
if it did, could he venture to believe,
that she would display any sign of ap-
probation,
His friend laughed at these scruples,
and at the supposition of a delicacy
which, he said was so romantic, that
as


36
THE ITALIAN.
Vivaldi's ignorance of the world could
be his only excuse for having imagined
it. But Vivaldi interrupted this raillery,
and would neither suffer him for a
moment to speak thus of Ellena, nor
to call such delicacy romantic. Bonarmo,
however, still urged the serenade, as at
least a possible means of discovering
her disposition towards him before he
made a formal avowal of his suit; and
Vivaldi, perplexed and distracted with
apprehension and impatience to termi-
nate his present state of suspense, was
at length so far overcome by his own
difficulties, rather than by his friend's
persuasion, that he consented to make
the adventure of a serenade on the ap-
proaching night. This was adopted
rather as a refuge from despondency,
that with any hope of success; for he
still believed that Ellena would not give
any hint, that might terminate his un-
certainty.
· Beneath their cloaks, they carried
musical instruments, and, muffling up
their faces, so that they could not be


THE ITALIAN.
37
known, they proceeded in thoughtful
silence on the way to the Villa Altieri.
Already they had passed the arch in
which Vivaldi was stopped by the
stranger on the preceding night, when
he heard a sudden sound near him, and,
raising his head from the cloak, he per.
ceived the same figure! Before he had
time for exclamation, the stranger cross-
ed him again. Go not to Altieri, said
he in a solemn voice, lest you meet the
fate you ought to dread.
What fate? demanded Vivaldi, step-
ping back ; Speak, I conjure you !.
But the monk was gone, and the
darkness of the hour baffled observation
as to the way of his departure.
Dio mi guardi ! exclaimed Bonarmo,
this is almost beyond belief! let us re-
turn to Naples; this second warning
ought to be obeyed.
It is almost beyond endurance, ex-
claimed Vivaldi: which way did he
pass ?
He glided by me, replied Bonarmo,


38
THE ITALIAN.
and he was gone before, I could cross
him!
I will tempt the worst at once, said
Vivaldi; if I have a rival, it is best to
meet him. Let us go on.
Bonarmo remonstrated, and repre-
sented the serious danger that threatened
from so rash a proceeding. It is evi-
dent that you have a rival, said he; and
your courage cannot avail you against
hired bravos. Vivaldi's heart swelled
at the mention of a rival. If you think
it dangerous to proceed, I will go alone,
said he.
Hurt by this reproof, Bonarmo ac-
companied his friend in silence, and
they reached without interruption the
boundary of the villa. Vivaldi led to
the place, by which he had entered on
the preceding night, and they passed
unmolested into the garden.
Where are these terrible bravos of
whom you warned me ? said Vivaldi,
with taunting exultation.
Speak cautiously, replied his friend ;


THE ITALIAN.
39
we may, even now, be within their
reach.
They also may be within ourš, ob-
served Vivaldi.
At length these adventurous friends
came to the orangery, which was near
the house, when, tired by the ascent;
they rested to recover breath, and to
prepare their instruments for the sere-
nade. The night was still, and they
now heard, for the first time, murmurs,
as of a distant múltitude; and then the
sudden splendour of fire-works broke
upon the sky, These arose from a villa
on the western margin of the bay, and
were given in honour of the birth of one
of the royal princes. They soared to
an immense height, and, as their lustre
broke silently upon the night, it light-
ened on the thousand up-turned faces of
the gazing crowd, illumined the waters
of the bay, with every little boat that
skimmed its surface, and shewed dis-
tinctly the whole sweep of its rising
shores, the stately city of Naples on the
strand below, and, spreading far among


40
THE ITALIAN.
the hills, its terraced roofs crowded with
spectators, and the Corso tumultuous
with carriages and blazing with torches.
While Bonarmo' surveyed this mag-
nificent scene, Vivaldi turned his eyes
to the residence of Ellena, part of which
looked out from among the trees, with
a hope that the spectacle would draw
her to a balcony; but she did not ap-
pear, nor was there any light that might
indicate her approach. :
While they still rested on the turf of
the orangery, they heard a sudden rust-
ling of the leaves, as if the branches
were disturbed by some person who
endeavoured to make his way between
them, when Vivaldi demanded who
passed. No answer was returned, and
a long silence followed.
. We are observed, said Bonarmo, at
length, and are even now, perhaps,
almost beneath the poniard of the as-
sassin : let us be gone.
O that my heart were as secure from
the darts of love, the assassin of my
peace, exclaimed Vivaldi, as yours is


THE ITALIAN
41
from those of bravos! My friend, you
have little to interest you, since your
thoughts have so much leisure for ap-
prehension.
My fear is that of prudence, not of
weakness, retorted Bonarmo, with acri-
mony; you will find, perhaps, that I
have none, when you most wish me to
possess it.
I understand you, replied Vivaldi ;
let us finish this business, and you shall
receive reparation, since you believe
yourself injured : I am as anxious to
repair an offence, as jealous of receiving
one.
Yes, replied Bonarmo, you would
repair the injury you have done your
friend with his blood.
Oh! never, never! said Vivaldi, fall-
ing on his neck. Forgive my hasty
violence; allow for the distraction of
my mind. ..
Bonarmo returned the embrace. It
is enough, said he; no more, no more!
I hold again my friend to my heart.
While this conversation passed, they


42
TIE ITALIAN.
had quitted the orangery, and reached
the walls of the villa, where they took
their station under a balcony that over-
hung the lattice through which Vivaldi
had seen Ellena on the preceding night.
They tuned their instruments, and open-
ed the serenade with a duet.
Vivaldi's voice was a fine tenor, and
the same susceptibility which made him
passionately fond of music, taught him
to modulate its cadence with exquisite
delicacy, and to give his emphasis with
the most simple and pathetic expression.
His soul seemed to breathe in the sounds,
-so tender, so imploring, yet so ener-
getic. On this night, enthusiasm in-
spired him with the highest eloquence,
perhaps, which music is capable of at-
taining; what might be its effects on
Ellena he had no means of judging, for
she did not appear either at the balcony,
or the lattice, nor gave any hint of
applause. No sounds stole on the still-
ness of the night, except those of the
serenade, nor did any light from within
the villa break upon the obscurity with-


THE ITALIAN.
43
out; once, indeed, in a pause of instru-
ments, Bonarmo fancied he distin-
guished voices near him, as of persons
who feared to be heard, and he listened
attentively, but without ascertaining the
truth. Sometimes they seemed to sound
heavily in his ear, and then a death-like
silence prevailed. Vivaldi affirmed the
sound to be nothing more than the con-
fused murmur of the distant multitude
on the shore, but Bonario was not thus
easily convinced. .,
The musicians, unsuccessful in their
first endeavour to attract attention, re-
moved to the opposite side of the build-
ing, and placed themselves in front of
the portico, but with as little success;
and, after having excercised their pow-
ers of harmony and of patience for above
an hour, they resigned all further effort
to win upon the obdurate Ellena. Vi.
valdi, notwithstanding the feebleness of
his first hope of seeing her, now suffered
an agony of disappointment; and Bo-
narmo, alarmed for the possible conse-
quence of his despair, was as anxious to


44
THE ITALIAN.
persuade him that he had no rival, as
he had lately been pertinacious in affirm-
ing that he had one.,:
At length they left the gardens, Vi-
valdi protesting that he would not rest
till he had discovered the stranger who
so wantonly destroyed his peace; and
had compelled him to explain his am-
biguous warnings; and Bonarmo remon-
strating on the imprudence and difficulty
of the search, and representing that such
conduct would probably be the means
of spreading a report of his attachment
where most he dreaded it should be
known.
Vivaldi refused to yield to remon-
strance or considerations of any kind.
We shall see, said he, whether this
demon in the garb of a monk, will haunt
me again at the accustomed place; if
he does, he shall not escape my grasp ;
and if he does not, I will watch as vigi-
lantly for his return, as he seems to
have done for mine. I will lurk in the
shade of the ruin, and wait for him
though it be till death.
...!


THE ITALIAN.
45
Bonarmo was particularly struck by
the vehemence with which he pro-
nounced the last words, but he no longer
opposed his purpose, and only bade him
consider whether he was well armed,
for, he added, you may have need of
arms there, though you had no use for
them at the Villa Altieri. Remember
that the stranger told you that your
steps were watched..
• I have my sword, replied Vivaldi, and
the dagger which I usually wear; but
I ought to inquire what are your wea-
pons of defence.
Hush ! said Bonarmo, as they turned
the foot of a rock that overhung the
road, we are approaching the spot;
yonder is the arch! It appeared duskily
in the perspective, suspended between
two cliffs, where the road wound from
sight'; on one of which were the
ruins of the Roman fort it belonged to,
and on the other, shadowing pines and
thickets of oak, that tufted the rock to
its base.
They proceeded in silence, treading
lightly, and often throwing a suspicious


46
THE ITALIAN.
glance around, expecting every instant
that the monk would steal out upon
them from some recess of the cliffs.
But they passed on unmolested to the
archway. We are here before him,
however, said Vivaldi, as they entered
the darkness, Speak low, my friend,
said Bonarmo, others besides ourselves
may be shrouded in this obscurity. I
like not the place.
Who but ourselves would chuse so
dismal a retreat ? whispered Vivaldi,
unless indeed it were banditti; the sa-
vageness of the spot would, in truth,
suit their humour, and it suits well also
with my own.
It would suit their purpose too, as
well as their humour, observed Bonar-
mo. Let us remove from this deep
shade, into the more open road, where
we can as closely observe who passes.
Vivaldi objected that in the road they
might themselves be observed, and if we
are seen by my unknown tormentor,
our design is defeated, for he comes
upon us suddenly, or not at all, lest we
should be prepared to detain him.


THE ITALIAN.
47
Vivaldi, as he said this, took his sta-
tion within the thickest gloom of the
arch, which was of considerable depth,
and near a flight of steps that was cut .
in the rock, and ascended to the for-
tress. His friend stepped close to his
side. After a pause of silence, during
which Bonarmo was meditating, and
Vivaldi was impatiently watching, Do
you really believe, said the former, that
any effort to detain him would be effec-
tual? He glided past me with a strange
facility; it was surely more than
human !
What is it you mean? inquired Vi-
valdi.
I mean, that I could be superstitious.
This place, perhaps, infests my mind
with congenial gloom, for I find that, at
this moment, there is scarcely a super-
stition too dark for my credulity.
Vivaldi smiled. And you must allow,
added Bonarmo, that he has appeared
under circumstances somewhat extraor-
dinary. How should he know your
name; by which, you say, he addressed


· 48
THE ITALIAN.
you at the first meeting? How should
he know from whence you came, or that
you designed to return? By what ma-
gic could he become acquainted with
your plans?
Nor am I certain that he is acquainted
with them, observed Vivaldi ; but if he
be, there was no necessity for super-
human means to obtain such knowledge.
The result of this evening surely
ought to convince you that he is acqaint-
ed with your designs, said Bonarmo.
Do you believe it possible that Ellena
could have been insensible to your at-
tentions, if her heart had not been pre-
engaged, and that she would not have
shewn herself at a lattice ?
You do not know Ellena, replied Vi-
valdi, and therefore I once more pardon
you the question. Yet had she been
disposed to accept my addresses, surely
some sign of approbation,-he checked
himself.
The stranger warned you not to go to
the Villa Altieri, resumed Bonarmo; he --
seemed to anticipate the reception


THE ITALIAN.
49
which awaited you, and to know a dan-
ger which hitherto you have happily
escaped.
Yes, he anticipated too well that
reception, said Vivaldi, losing his pru-
dence in passionate exclamation ; and
he is himself, perhaps, the rival, whom
he has taught me to suspect. He has
assumed a disguise only the more ef-
fectually to impose upon my credulity,
and to deter me from addressing Ellena.
And shall I tamely lie in wait for his
approach ? Shall I lurk like a guilty
assassin for this rival ?
For heaven's sake! said Bonarmo,
moderate these transports; consider
where you are. This surmise of yours.
is in the highest degree improbable.
He gave his reasons for thinking so, and
these convinced Vivaldi, who was pre-
vailed upon to be once more patient.
. They had remained watchful and still
for a considerable time, when Bonarmo
saw a person approach the end of the
arch-way nearest to Altieri. He heard
VOL. 1.
D
.


50
THE ITALIAN,
no step, but he perceived a shadowy
figure station itself at the entrance of
the arch, where the twilight of this
brilliant climate was, for a few paces,
admitted. Vivaldi's eyes were fixed on
the road leading towards Naples, and
he, therefore, did not perceive the ob-
ject of Bonarmo's attention, who, fear-
ful of his friend's precipitancy, forbore
to point out immediately what he ob-
served, judging it more prudent to
watch the motions of this unknown per-
son, that he might ascertain whether it
really were the monk. The size of the
figure, and the dark drapery in which
it seemed wrapt, induced him, at length,
to believe that this was the expected
stranger; and he seized Vivaldi's arm
to direct his attention to him, when the
form, gliding forward, disappeared in
the gloom, but not before Vivaldi had
understood the occasion of his friend's
gesture and significant silence. They
heard no footstep pass them, and, being
convinced that this person, whatever he


THE ITALIAN.
51
was, had not left the arch-way, they
kept their station in watchful stillness.
Presently they heard a rustling, as of
garments, near them, and Vivaldi, un-
able longer to command his impatience,
started from his concealment, and, with
arms extended to prevent any one from
escaping, demanded who was there.
The sound ceased, and no reply was
made. Bonarmo drew his sword, pro-
testing he would stab the air till he
found the person who lurked there; but
that if the latter would discover himself,
he should receive no injury. This as-
surance Vivaldi confirmed by his pro-
mise. Still no answer was returned;
but as they listened for a voice, they
thought something passed them, and
the avenue was not narrow enough to
have prevented such a circumstance.
Vivaldi rushed forward, but did not
perceive any person issue from the arch
into the highway, where the stronger
twilight must have discovered him.
Somebody certainly passed, whisper-
D 2


52
THE ITALIAN,
ed Bonarmo, and I think I hear'a sound
from yonder steps that lead to the for-
tress.
Let us follow, cried Vivaldi; and he
began to ascend....
Stop, for heaven's sake, stop! said
Bonarmo; consider what you are about!
Do not brave the utter darkness of these
ruins; do not pursue the assassin to his
den !
It is the monk himself! exclaimed
Vivaldi, still ascending ; he shall not
escape me!
Bonarmo paused a moment at the
foot of the steps, and his friend disap-
peared; he hesitated what to do, till
ashamed of suffering him to encounter
danger alone, he sprang to the flight,
and not without difficulty surmounted
the rugged steps.
· Having reached the summit of the
rock, he found himself on a terrace that
ran along the top of the arch-way, and
had once been fortified ; this, crossing
the road, commanded the defile each


THE ITALIAN.
53
way. Some remains of massy walls,
that still exhibited loops for archers,
were all that now hinted of its former
use. It led to a watch-tower, almost
concealed in thick pines, that crowned
the opposite cliff, and had thus served
not only for a strong battery over the
road, but, connecting the opposite sides
of the defile, had formed a line of com-
munication between the fort and this
out post.
Bonarmo looked round in vain for his
-friend, and the echoes of his own voice
only, among the rocks, replied to his
repeated calls. After some hesitation
whether to enter the walls of the main
building, or to cross to the watch-tower,
he determined on the former, and en-
tered a rugged area, the walls of which,
following the declivities of the precipice,
could scarcely now be traced. The
citadel, a round tower, of majestic
strength, with some Roman arches
scattered near, was all that remained
of this once important fortress ; except,


54
THE ITALIAN.
indeed, a mass of ruins near the edge of
the cliff, the construction of which,
made it difficult to guess for what pur-
pose it had been designed.
Bonarmo entered the immense walls
of the citadel, but the utter darkness
within checked his progress, and con-
tenting himself with calling loudly on
Vivaldi, he returned to the open air.
As he approached the mass of ruins,
whose singular form had interested his
curiosity, he thought he distinguished
the low accents of a human voice, and
while he listened in anxiety, a person
rushed forth from a door way of the
ruin, carrying a drawn sword. It was
Vivaldi himself. Bonarmo sprang to
meet him ; he was pale and breathless,
and some moments elapsed before he
could speak, or appear to hear the re-
peated inquiries of his friend.
Let us go, said Vivaldi ; let us leave
this place.
Most willingly, replied Bonarmo;
but where have you been, and


THE ITALIAN.
55
who have you seen, that you are thus
affected ?
Ask me no more questions, let us go,
repeated Vivaldi.
They descended the rock together,
and when, having reached the arch way,
Bonarmo inquired, half sportively, whe-
ther they should remain any longer on
the watch, his friend answered, No!
with an emphasis that startled him.
They passed hastily on the way to
Naples, Bonarmo repeating inquiries
which Vivaldi seemed reluctant to satisfy,
and wondering no less at the cause of
this sudden reserve, than anxious to
know whom he had seen.
It was the monk, then, said Bonarmo;
you secured him at last ?
I know not what to think, replied
Vivaldi ; I am more perplexed than ever.
He escaped you, then ?
. We will speak of this in future,
said Vivaldi; but be it as it may, the
business rests not here. I will return
in the night of to-morrow with a


56
THE ITALIAN.
torch ; dare you venture yourself with
me ?
I know not, replied Bonarmo, whether
I ought to do so, since I am not informed
for what purpose.
I will not press you to go, said
Vivaldi; my purpose is already known
to you.
Have you really failed to dis-
cover the stranger,-have you still
doubts concerning the person you
pursued ?
I have doubts, which to-morrow night,
I hope, will dissipate.
This is very strange! said Bonarmo;
it was but now that I witnessed the
horror with which you left the fortress
of Paluzzi, and already you speak of
returning to it! And why at night,
why not in the day, when less danger
would beset you?
I know not that, replied Vivaldi; you
are to observe, that day-light never
pierces within the recess to which I
penetrated; we must search the place
W


THE ITALIAN.
57
with torches, at whatsoever hour we
would examine it.
Since this is necessary, said Bonar-
mo, how happens it that you found
your way in total darkness?
I was too much engaged to know
how; I was led on, as by an invisible
hand.
We must, notwithstanding, observed
Bonarmo, go in the day-time, if not by
day-light, provided I accompany you.
It would be little less than insanity to
go twice to a place, which is probably
infested with robbers, and at their own
hour of midnight.
I shall watch again in the accustomed
place, replied Vivaldi, before I use my
last resource, and this cannot be done
during the day. Besides, it is neces-
sary that I should go at a particular
hour, the hour when the monk has usu-
ally appeared.
He did escape you, then, said Bonar-
mo, and you are still ignorant concern-
ing who he is ?
Vivaldi rejoined only with an inquiry
D 5


58
THE ITALIAN.
whether his friend would accompany him.
If not, he added, I must hope to find
another companion.
Bonarmo said that he must consider
of the proposal, and would acquaint
him with his determination before the
following evening.
While this conversation concluded,
they were in Naples, and at the gates
· of the Vivaldi palace, where they sepa-
rated for the remainder of the night.


CHAPTER II.
OLIVIA. Why what would you ?
VIOLA. Make me a willow cabin at your gate,
And call upon my soul within the house;
Write loyal cantos of contemned love,
And sing them loud even in the dead of night;
Halloo your name to the reverberate hills,
And make the babbling gossip of the air
Cry out, Olivia! 0! you should not rest
Between the elements of air and earth,
But you should pity me.
TWELFTH NIGÆT.
SINCE Vivaldi had failed to procure
an explanation of the words of the monk,
he determined to relieve himself from the
tortures of suspense respecting a rival,
by going to the Villa Altieri, and de-
claring his pretensions. On the morn-
ing immediately following his late
adventure, he went thither, and on
inquiring for Signora Bianchi, was told
that she could not be seen. With much
difficulty he prevailed upon the old
housekeeper to deliver a request that


60
THE ITALIAN.
as
he might be permitted to wait upon her
for a few moments. Permission was
granted him, when he was conducted
into the very apartment where he had
formerly seen Ellena. It was unoccu- .
pied, and he was told that Signora
Bianchi would be there presently.
During this interval, he was agitated
at one moment with quick impatience,
and at another with enthusiastic plea-
sure, while he gazed on the altar whence
he, had seen Ellena rise, and where, to
his fancy, she still appeared ; and on
every object on which he knew her eyes
had lately dwelt. These objects, so
familiar to her, had in the imagination
of Vivaldi acquired somewhat of the
sacred character she had impressed
upon his heart, and affected him in some
degree as her presence would have done,
He trembled as he took up the lute she
had been accustomed to touch, and,
when he awakened the chords, her own
voice seemed to speak. A drawing,
half finished, of a dancing nymph, re-
mained on a stand, and he immediately
sac


THE ITALIAN,
61
understood that her hand had traced
the lines. It was a copy from Hercula-
neum, and, though a copy, was touched
with the spirit of original genius. The
light steps appeared almost to move,
and the whole figure displayed the airy
lightness of exquisite grace. Vivaldi
perceived this to be one of a set that
ornamented the apartment, and obser-
ved with surprise, that they were the
particular subjects which adorned his
father's cabinet, and which he had un-
derstood to be the only copies permitted
from the originals in the Royal Museum.
Every object on which his eyes rest-
ed, seemed to announce the presence of
Ellena; and the very flowers that so
gaily embellished the apartment, breath-
ed forth a perfume which fascinated his
senses and affected his imagination.
Before Signora Bianchi appeared, his
anxiety and apprehension had increased
so much, that, believing he should be
unable to support himself in her pre-
sence, he was more than once upon the
point of leaving the house. At length


62
THE ITALIAN.
he heard her approaching step from the
hall, and his breath almost forsook him.
The figure of Signora Bianchi was not
of an order to inspire admiration, and a
spectator might have smiled to see the
perturbation of Vivaldi, his faltering
step and anxious eye, as he advanced
to meet the venerable Bianchi, as
he bowed upon her faded hand, and
listened to her querulous voice. She
received him with an air of reserve, and
some moments passed before he could
recollect himself sufficiently to explain
the purpose of his visit; yet this, when
he discovered it, did not apparently
surprise her. She listened with com-
posure, though with somewhat of a
severe countenance, to his protestations
of regard for her niece; and when he im-
plored her to intercede for him in ob-
taining the hand of Ellena, she said, I
cannot be ignorant that a family of your
rank must be averse to an union with
one of mine; nor am I unacquainted
that a full sense of the value of birth is
a marking feature in the characters of


· THE ITALIAN.
63
the Marchese and Marchesa di Vivaldi.
This proposal must be disagreeable, or
at least unknown to them; and I am
to inform you, Signor, that, though
Signora di Rosalba is their inferior in
rank, she is their equal in pride.
Vivaldi disdained to prevaricate, yet
was shocked to own the truth thus ab-
ruptly. The ingenuous manner, how-
ever, with which he at length did this,
and the energy of a passion too eloquent
to be misunderstood, somewhat soothed
the anxiety of Signora Bianchi, with
whom other considerations began to
arise. She considered that from her
own age and infirmities, she must very
soon, in the course of nature leave
Ellena a young and friendless orphan;
still somewhat dependant upon her own
industry, and entirely so on her discre-
tion. With much beauty and little
knowledge of the world, the dangers of
her future situation appeared in vivid
colours to the affectionate mind of Sig-
nora Bianchi; and she sometimes
thought that it might be right to sacri-


64
THE ITALIAN.
fice considerations, which in other cir-
cumstances would be laudable, to the
obtaining for her niece the protection of
a husband and a man of honour. If in
this instance she descended from the
lofty integrity, which ought to have op-
posed her consent that Ellena should
clandestinely enter any family, her pa-
rental anxiety may soften the censure
she deserved.
But, before she determined upon this
subject, it was necessary to ascertain
that Vivaldi was worthy of the confi-
dence she might repose in him. To
try, also, the constancy of his affection,
she gave little present encouragement
to his hopes. His request to see Ellena
she absolutely refused, till she should
have considered further of his proposals;
and his inquiry whether he had a rival,
and, if he had, whether Ellena was
disposed to favour him, she evaded,
since she knew that a reply would give
more encouragement to his hopes, than
it might hereafter be proper to confirm,
Vivaldi, at length, took his leave,


THE ITALIAN.
65
released, indeed, from absolute despair,
but scarcely encouraged to hope ; igno-.
rant that he had a rival, yet doubtful
whether Ellena honoured himself with
any share of her esteem.
He had received permission to wait
upon Signora Bianchi on a future day,
but till that day should arrive, time ap-
peared motionless, and, since it seemed
utterly impossible to endure this inter-
val of suspense, his thoughts on the way
to Naples were wholly engaged in con-
triving the means of concluding it, till
he reached the well-known arch, and
looked round, though hopelessly, for
his mysterious tormentor. The stranger
did not appear; and Vivaldi pursued
the road, determined to revisit the spot
at night, and also to return privately tu
the Villa Altieri, where he hoped a se-
cond visit might procure for him some
relief from his present anxiety.
When he reached home he found that
the Marchese, his father, had left an
order for him to await his arrival, which
he obeyed, but the day passed without


66
THE ITALIAN.
.his return. The Marchesa, when she
saw him, inquired, with a look, that
expressed much, how he had engaged
himself of late, and completely frustrated
his plans for the evening, by requiring
him to attend her to Portici. Thus he
was prevented from receiving Bonarmo's
determination, from watching at Pa-
luzzi, and from revisiting Ellena's resi-
dence.
He remained at Portici the following
evening, and, on his return to Naples,
the Marchese being again absent, Vi-
yaldi continued ignorant of the intended
subject of their interview. A note from
Bonarmo brought a refusal to accom-
pany him to the fortress, and urged him
to forbear so dangerous a visit. Being
for this night unprovided with a com-
panion for the adventure, and unwilling
to go alone, Vivaldi deferred it to ano-
ther evening ; but no consideration
could deter him from visiting the Villa
Altieri. Not chusing to solicit his friend
to accompany him thither, since he had
refused his first request, he took his so-


THE ITALIAN.
litary lute, and reached the garden at
an earlier hour than usual.
The sun had been set above an hour,
but the horizon still retained somewhat
of a saffron brilliancy, and the whole
dome of the sky had an appearance of
transparency, peculiar to this enchant-
ing climate, which seemed to diffuse a
more soothing twilight over the reposing
world. In the south-east the outline of
Vesuvius appeared distinctly, but the
mountain itself was dark and silent.
Vivaldi heard only the quick and
eager voices of some Lazaroni at a
distance on the shore, as they contend-
ed at the simple game of maro. From
the bowery lattices of a small pavilion
within the orangery, he perceived a light,
and the sudden hope which it occasioned,
of seeing Ellena, almost overcame him.
It was impossible to resist the oppor-
tunity of beholding her, yet he checked
the impatient step he was taking, to
ask himself, whether it was honorable
thus to steal upon her retirement, and
become an unsuspected observer of her


68
THE ITALIAN.
secret thoughts. But the temptation
was too powerful for this honorable
hesitation; the pause was momentary ;
and stepping lightly towards the pavilion,
he placed himself near an open lattice,
so as to be shrouded from observation
by the branches of an orange-tree, while
he obtained a full view of the apartment.
Ellena was alone, sitting in a thoughtful
attitude, and holding her lute, which
she did not play. She appeared lost to
a consciousness of surrounding objects,
and a tenderness was on her counte-
nance, which seemed to tell him that
her thoughts were engaged by some
interesting subject. Recollecting that,
when last he had seen her thus, she
pronounced his name, his hope revived,
and he was going to discover himself,
and appear at her feet, when she spoke,
and he paused. In
Why this unreasonable pride of birth!
said she ; A visionary prejudice destroys
our peace. Never would I submit to
enter a family averse to receive me;
they shall learn, at least, that I inherit


THE ITALIAN.
69
nobility of soul. O! Vivaldi! but for
this unhappy prejudice !--
Vivaldi, while he listened to this, was
immoveable ; he seemed as if entranced.
The sound of her lute and voice recalled
him, and he heard her sing the first
stanza of the very air, with which he
had opened the serenade on a former
night, and with such sweet pathos as
the composer must have felt when he
was inspired with the idea.
. She paused at the conclusion of the
first stanza, when Vivaldi, overcome by
the temptation of such an opportunity
for expressing his passion, suddenly
struck the chords of the lute, and
replied to her in the second. The tre-
mor of his voice, though it restrained
his tones, heightened its eloquence.
Ellena instantly recollected it; her
colour alternately faded and returned ;
and, before the verse concluded, she
seemed to have lost all consciousness.
Vivaldi was now advancing into the
pavilion, when his approach recalled
her; she waved him to retire, and
mo


70,
THE ITALIAN.
before he could spring to her support,
she rose, and would have left the place,
had he not interrupted her, and im-
plored a few moments attention.
It is impossible, said Ellena.
Let me only hear you say that I am
not hateful to you, rejoined Vivaldi;
that this intrusion has not deprived me
of the regard with which but now you
acknowledged you honoured memas.
Oh, never, never! interrupted Ellena,
impatiently; forget that I ever made
such acknowledgment; forget that you
ever heard it; I know not what I said.'
Ah, beautiful Ellena! do you think it
possible I ever can forget it? It will be
the solace of my solitary hours, the hope
that shall sustain me.-
· I cannot be detained, Signor, inter-
rupted Ellena, still more embarrassed,
or forgive myself for having permitted
such a conversation ; but as she spoke
the last words, an involuntary smile
seemed to contradict their meaning.
Vivaldi believed the smile in spite of
the words ; but before he could ex-


THE ITALIAN..
71
press the lightening joy of conviction,
she had left the pavilion; he followed
through the garden-but she was gone.
From this moment Vivaldi seemed to
have arisen into a new existence; the
whole world to him was Paradise ; that
smile seemed impressed upon his heart
for ever. In the fulness of present joy,
he believed it impossible that he could
ever be unhappy again, and defied the
utmost malice of future fortune. With
footsteps, light as air, he returned to
Naples, nor once remembered to look
for his old monitor on the way. ;
The Marchese and his mother being
from home, he was left at his leisure to
indulge the rapturous recollection that
pressed upon his mind, and of which he
was impatient of a moment's interrup-
tion. All night he either traversed his
apartment with an agitation equal to that
which anxiety had so lately inflicted, or
composed and destroyed letters to El-
lena; sometimes fearing that he had
written too much, and at others feeling
that he had written too little ; recollect-


72
THE ITALIAN.
ing circumstances which he ought to
have mentioned, and lamenting the cold
expression of a passion, to which it ap-
peared that no language could do jus-
tice
By the hour when the domestics had
risen, he had, however, completed a
letter somewhat more to his satisfaction,
and he dispatched it to the Villa Altieri
by a confidential person; but the ser-
vant had scarcely quitted the gates,
when he recollected new arguments,
which he wished to urge, and expres-
sions to change of the utmost importance
to inforce his meaning, and he would
have given half the world to have re-
called the messenger. :
In this state of agitation he was sum-
moned to attend the Marchese, who had
been too much engaged of late to keep
his own appointment. Vivaldi was not
long in doubt as to the subject of this
interview.
I have wished to speak with you, said
the Marchese, assuming an air of haugh-
ty severity, upon a subject of the utmost


THE ITALIAN.
73
:
importance to your honour and happi-
ness; and I wished, also, to give you
an opportunity of contradicting a report,
which would have occasioned me con-
siderable uneasiness, if I could have
believed it. Happily I had too much
confidence in my son to credit this ; and
I affirmed that he understood too well
what was due both to his family and
himself, to take any step derogatory
from the dignity of either. My motive
for this conversation, therefore, is merely
to afford you a moment for refuting the
calumny I shall mention, and to obtain
for myself authority for contradicting it
to the persons who have communicated
it to me.
Vivaldi waited impatiently for the
conclusion of this exordium, and then
begged to be informed of the subject of
the report.
It is said, resumed the Marchese, that
there is a young woman, who is called
Ellena Rosalba,- I think that is the
name !-do you know any person of the
name?
VOL. I.
E


74
THE ITALIAN.
Do I know! exclaimed Vivaldi, but
pardon me; pray proceed, my lord.
The Marchese paused, and regarded
his son with sternness, but without sur-
prise. It is said, that a young person
of this name has contrived to fascinate
your affections, and
It is most true, my lord, that Signora
Rosalba has won my affections, inter-
rupted Vivaldi, with honest impatience,
but without contrivance.
I will not be interrupted, said the
Marchese, interrupting in his turn. It
iş said that she has so artfully, adapted
her temper to yours, that, with the as-
sistance of a relation who lives with her,
she has reduced you to the degrading
situation of her devoted suitor.
Signora Rosalba has, my lord, ex-
alted me to the honour of being her
suitor, said Vivaldi, unable longer to
command his feelings. He was pro-
ceeding, when the Marchese abruptly
checked him : You avow your folly,
then!
My lord, I glory in my choice. ·


THE ITALIAN
E ITALIAN
75
Young man, rejoined his father, as
this is the arrogance and romantic en-
thusiasm of a boy, I am willing to for-
give it for once, and observe me, only
for once. If you will acknowledge your
error, instantly dismiss this new fa-
vourité.
My lord !
You must instantly dismiss her, re-
peated the Marchese with sterner em
phasis; and, to prove that I am more
merciful than just, I am willing, on this
condition, to allow her a small annuity
as some reparation for the depravity
into which you have assisted to sink
her.
My lord ! exclaimed Vivaldi, aghast,
and scarcely daring to trust his voice,
my lord !-depravity ? struggling for
breath. Who has dared to pollute her
spotless fame by insulting your ears
with such infamous falsehood ? Tell
me, I conjure you, instantly tell me,
that I may hasten to give him his re-
ward. Depravity !-an annuity !--an
annuity! 0 Ellena, Ellena! As he
E 2


76
THE ITALIAN.
pronounced her name, tears of tender-
ness mingled with those of indignation.
Young man, said the Marchese, who
had observed the violence of his emotion
with strong displeasure and alarm, I do
not lightly give faith to report, and I
cannot suffer myself to doubt the truth
of what I have advanced. You are
deceived, and your vanity will continue
the delusion, unless I condescend to
exert my authority, and tear the veil
from your eyes. Dismiss her instantly,
and I will adduce proof of her former
character, which will stagger even your
opinion, enthusiastic as it is.
Dismiss her! repeated Vivaldi, with
calm, yet stern energy, such as his
father had never seen him assume; My
lord, you have never yet doubted my
word, and I now pledge you that ho-
nourable word, that Ellena is innocent.
Innocent! 0 Heavens, that it should
ever be necessary to affirm so, and,
above all, that it should ever be neces-
sary for me to vindicate her!
I must indeed lament that it ever


THE ITALIAN.
77.
should, replied the Marchese coldly.
You have pledged your word, which I
cannot question. I believe, therefore,
that you are deceived: that you think
her virtuous, notwithstanding your mid-
night visits to her house. And grant
she is so, unhappy boy! what reparation
can you make her for the infatuated
folly which has thus stained her cha-
racter? What, i
By proclaiming to the world, my
lord, that she is worthy of becoming
my wife, replied Vivaldi, with a glow
of countenance which announced the
courage and the exultation of a virtuous
mind.
Your wife! said the Marchese, with
a look of ineffable disdain, which was
instantly succeeded by one of angry
alarm.-If I believed you could so far
forget what is due to the honour of your
house, I would for ever disclaim you as
my son.
O! why, exclaimed Vivaldi, in an
agony of conflicting passions, why
should I be in danger of forgetting what


78
THE ITALIAN.
as-
is due to a father, when I am
serting what is due to innocence; when
I am only defending her, who has no
other to defend her! Why may not I
be permitted to reconcile duties so con-
genial! But, be the event what it may,
I will defend the oppressed, and glory
in the virtue which teaches me, that it
is the first duty of humanity to do so.
Yes, my lord, if it must be so, I am
ready to sacrifice inferior duties to the
grandeur of a principle, which ought to
expand all hearts and impel all actions.
I shall best support the honour of my
house by adhering to its dictates.
Where is the principle said the Mar-
chese, impatiently, which shall teach
you to disobey a father ; where is the
virtue which shall instruct you to de-
grade your family?
* There can be no degradation, my lord,
where there is no vice, replied Vivaldi;
and there are instances, pardon me, my
lord, there are some few instances in
which it is virtuous to disobey.
This paradoxical morality, said the


THE ITALIAN.
79
Marchese, with passionate displeasure,
and this romantic language, sufficiently
explain to me the character of your as-
sociates, and the innocence of her, whom
you defend with so chivalric an air.
Are you to learn, Signor, that you be-
long to your fainily, not your family to
you; that you are only a guardian of
its honour, and not at liberty to dispose
of yourself? My patience will endure
no more!
: Nor could the patience of Vivaldi en-
dure this repeated attack on the honor
of Ellena. But, while he yet asserted
her innocence, he endeavoured to do so
with the temper which was due to the
presence of a father; and, though he
maintained the independence of a man,
he was equally anxious to preserve in-
violate the duties of a son. But unfor-
tunately the Marchese and Vivaldi dif-
fered in opinion concerning the limits
of these duties; the first extending
them to passive obedience, and the lat-
ter conceiving them to conclude at à
point, wherein the happiness of an indi-


80
THE ITALIAN.
vidual is so deeply concerned as in mar-
riage. They parted mutually inflamed;
Vivaldi unable to prevail with his father
to mention the name of his infamous
informant, or to acknowledge himself
convinced of Ellena's innocence ; and
the Marchese equally unsuccessful in
his endeavours to obtain from his son a
promise that he would see her no more.
Here then was Vivaldi, who only a'
few short hours before had experienced
a happiness so supreme as to efface all
impressions of the past, and to annihi-
late every consideration of the future;
a joy so full, that it permitted him not
to believe it possible that he could ever
again taste of misery; he, who had felt
as if that moment was an eternity, ren.
dering him independent of all others,
even he was thus soon fallen into the
regions of time and of suffering!.
The present conflict of passion ap-
peared endless ; he loved his father,
and would have been more shocked to
consider the vexation he was preparing
for him, had he not been resentful of


THE ITALIAN.
81
the contempt he expressed for Ellena.
He adored Ellena, and, while he felt the
impracticability of resigning his hopes,
was equally indignant of the slander
which affected her name, and impatient
to avenge the insult upon the original
defamer.
-- Though the displeasure of his father
concerning a marriage with Ellena had
been already foreseen, the experience
of it was severer and more painful than
he had imagined ; while the indignity
offered to Ellena was as unexpected as
intolerable. But this circumstance fur-
nished him with an additional argument
for addressing her; for, if it had been
possible that his love could have paused,
his honour seemed now engaged in her
behalf; and, since he had been a means
of sullying her fame, it became his duty
to restore it. Listening to the dictates
of a duty so plain and so delightful, he
determined to persevere in his original
design. But his first efforts were di-
rected to discover her slanderer, and re-
collecting, with surprise, those words of
E 5


82
THE ITALIAN.
the Marchese, which had confessed a
knowledge of his evening visits to the
Villa Altieri, the doubtful warnings of
the monk seemed explained. He be-
lieved that this man was at once the
spy of his steps, and the defamer of his
love, till the inconsistency of such con-
duct with the seeming friendliness of his
admonitions, struck Vivaldi and com-
pelled him to believe the contrary.
Meanwhile, the heart of Ellena had
been little less tranquil. It was divided
by love and pride; but had she been
acquainted with the circumstances of
the late interview between the Marchese
and Vivaldi, it would have been divided
no longer, and a just regard for her own
dignity would instantly have taught her
to subdue, without difficulty, this infant
affection.
Signora Bianchi had informed her
niece of the subject of Vivaldi's visit ;
but she had softened the objectionable
circumstances that attended his propo-
sal, and had, at first, merely hinted, that
it was not to be supposed his family
we


THE ITALIAN,
83
would approve a connection with any
person so much their inferior in rank as
herself. Ellena, alarmed by this sug.
gestion, replied, that since she believed
so, she had done right to reject Vivaldi's
suit; but her sigh, as she said this, did
not escape the observation of Signora
Bianchi, who ventured to add, that she
had not absolutely rejected his offers.
While in this and future conversations,
Ellena was pleased to perceive her se-
cret admiration thus justified by an ap-
probation so indisputable as that of her
aunt, and was willing to believe that the
circumstance which had alarmed her just
pride, was not so humiliating as she at
first imagined, Bianchi was careful to
conceal the real considerations, which
had induced her to listen to Vivaldi,
being well assured that they would have
no weight with Ellena, whose generous
heart and inexperienced mind would
have revolted from mingling any motives
of interest with an engagement so sacred
as that of marriage. When, however,
from further deliberation upon the advan-


84
THE ITALIAN.
tages which such an alliance must secure
for her niece, Signora Bianchi deter-
mined to encourage his views, and to
direct the mind of Ellena, whose affec-
tions were already engaged on her side,
the opinions of the latter were found
less ductile than had been expected.
She was shocked at the idea of entering
clandestinely the family of Vivaldi. But
Bianchi, whose infirmities urged her
wishes, was now so strongly convinced
of the value of such an engagement for
her niece, that she determined to prevail
over her reluctance, though she per-
ceived that this must be by means more
gradual and persuasive than she had be-
lieved necessary. On the evening when
Vivaldi had surprised from Ellena an
acknowledgment of her sentiments, her
embarrassment and vexation on her re-
turning to the house, and relating what
had occurred, sufficiently expressed to
Signora Bianchi the exact situation of
her heart. And when, on the following
morning, his letter arrived, written with
the simplicity and energy of truth, the


THE ITALIAN.
85
aunt neglected not to adapt her remarks
upon it to the character of Ellena, with
her usual address.
Vivaldi, after the late interview with
the Marchese, passed the remainder of
the day in considering various plans,
which might discover to him the person
who had abused the credulity of his
father; and in the evening he returned
once more to the Villa Altieri, not in
secret, to serenade the dark balcony of
his mistress, but openly, and to con-
verse with Signora Bianchi, who now
received him more courteously than on
his former visit. Attributing the anxiety
in his countenance to the uncertainty
concerning the disposition of her niece,
she was neither surprised or offended,
but ventured to relieve him from a part
of it, by encouraging his hopes. Vivaldi
dreaded lest she should enquire further
respecting the sentiments of his family,
but she spared both his delicacy and
her own on this point; and, after a con-
versation of considerable length, he left
Villa Altieri with a heart somewhat


86
THE ITALIAN.
soothed by approbation, and lightened
by hope, although he had not obtained
a sight of Ellena. The disclosure she
had made of her sentiments on the pre-
ceding evening, and the hints she had
received as to those of his family, still
wrought upon her mind with too much
effect to permit an interview.
Soon after his return to Naples, the
Marchesa, whom he was surprised to
find disengaged, sent for him to her clo-
set, where à scene passed similar to that
which had occurred with his father, ex-
cept that the Marchesa was more dex-
terous in her questions, and more subtle
in her whole conduct; and that Vivaldi,
never for a moment, forgot the decorum
which was due to a mother. Managing
his passions, rather than exasperating
them, and deceiving him with respect
to the degree of resentment she felt
from his choice, she was less passionate
than the Marchese in her observations
and menaces, perhaps, only because she
entertained more hope than he did of
preventing the evil she contemplated. -


THE ITALIAN.
87
Vivaldi quitted her, unconvinced by
her arguments, unsubdued by her pro-
phecies, and unmoved in his designs. He
was not alarmed, because he did not
sufficiently understand her character, to
apprehend her purposes. Despairing
to effect these by open violence, she cal-
led in an auxiliary of no mean talents,
whose character and views well adapted
him to be an instrument in her hands.
It was, perhaps, the baseness of her
own heart, not either depth of reflection,
or keenness of penetration, which enabled
her to understand the nature of his; and
she determined to modulate that nature
to her own views.
There lived in the Dominican convent
of the Spirito Santo, at Naples, a man
called father Schedoni; an Italian, as
his name imported, but whose family
was unknown, and from some circum-
stances, it appeared, that he wished to
throw an impenetrable veil nver his
origin. For whatever reason, he was
never heard to mention a relative, or
the place of his nativity, and he had


88
THE ITALIAN.
artfully eluded every enquiry that ap-
proached the subject, which the curiosity
of his associates had occasionally promp-
ted. There were circumstances, how-
ever, which appeared to indicate him to
be a man of birth, and of fallen fortune;
his spirit, as it had sometimes looked
forth from under the disguise of his man-
ners, seemed lofty; it shewed not, how-
ever, the aspirings of a generous mind,
but rather the gloomy pride of a disap-
pointed one. Some few persons in the
convent, who had been interested by his
appearance, believed that the peculi.
arities of his manners, his severe reserve
and unconquerable silence, his solitary
habits and frequent penances, were the
effect of misfortunes preying upon a
haughty and disordered spirit; while
others conjectured them the consequence
of some hideous crime gnawing upon an
awakened conscience.
He would sometimes withdraw him-
self from the society for whole days
together; or when with such a dispo-
sition he was compelled to mingle with
as C


THE ITALIAN.
89
it, he seemed unconscious where he
was, and continued shrouded in medi-
tation and silence till he was again
alone. There were times when it was
unknown whither he had retired, not-
withstanding that his steps had been
· watched, and his customary haunts ex-
ilmined. No one ever heard him com-
plain. The elder brothers of the con-
vent said that he had talents, but denied
him learning ; they applauded him for
the profound subtlety which he occa-
sionally discovered in argument, but ob-
served that he seldom perceived truth
when it lay on the surface; he could
follow it through all the labyrinths of
disquisition, but overlooked it, when it
was undisguised before him. In fact he
cared not for truth, nor sought it by
bold and broad argument, but loved to
exert the wily cunning of his nature in
hunting it through artificial perplexities.
At length, from a habit of intricacy and
suspicion, his vitiated mind could receive
nothing for truth, which was simple, and
easily comprehended.


90
THE ITALIAN.
Among his associates no one loved
him, many disliked him, and more
feared him. His figure was striking,
but not so from grace; it was tall, and,
though extremely thin, his limbs were
large and uncouth, and as he stalked
along, wrapt in the black garments of
his order, there was something terrible
in its air, something almost superhuman.
His cowl, too, as it threw a shade over
the livid paleness of his face, increased
its severe character, and gave an effect
to his large melancholy eye, which ap-
proached to horror. His was not the
melancholy of a sensible and wounded
heart, but apparently that of a gloomy
and ferocious disposition. There was
something in his physiognomy extremely
singular, and that cannot easily be de-
fined. It bore the traces of many pas-
sions, which seemed to have fixed the
features they no longer animated. An
habitual gloom and severity prevailed
over the deep lines of his countenance ;
and his eyes were so piercing, that they
seemed to penetrate, at a single glance,


THE ITALIAN.
91
into the hearts of men, and to read their
most secret thoughts; few persons could
support their scrutiny, or even endure
to meet them twice. Yet, notwith-
standing all this gloom and austerity,
some rare occasions of interest had cal-
led forth a character upon his counte-
nance entirely different; and he could
adapt himself to the tempers and pas-
sions of persons whom he wished to
conciliate with astonishing facility, and
generally with complete triumph. This.
monk, this Schedoni, was the confessor
and secret adviser of the Marchesa di
Vivaldi. In the first effervescence of
pride and indignation which the disco-
very of her son's intended marriage oc-
casioned, she consulted him on the
means of preventing it, and she soon
perceived that his talents promised to
equal her wishes. Each possessed, in
a considerable degree, the power of as-
sisting the other; Schedoni had subtlety,
with ambition to urge it; and the Mar-
chesa had inexorable pride, and courtly
influence ; the one hoped to obtain a


9:2
THE ITALIAN.
high benefice for his services, and the
other to secure the imaginary dignity
of her house, by her gifts. Prompted
by such passions, and allured by such
views, they concerted in private, and
unknown even to the Marchese, the
means of accomplishing their general
end.
Vivaldi, as he quitted his mother's
closet, had met Schedoni in the corridor
leading thither. He knew him to be her
confessor, and was not much surprised
to see him, though the hour was an un-
usual one Schedoni bowed his head
as he passed, and assumed a meek and
holy countenance; but Vivaldi, as he
eyed him with a penetrating glance, now
- recoiled with involuntary emotion; and
it seemed as if a shuddering presentiment
of what this monk was preparing for
him, had crossed his mind,


CHAPTER III.
--Art thou any thing?
Art thou some God, some Angel, or some Devil,
That mak'st my blood cold, and my hair to stand?
Speak to me, wbat thou art.
JULIUS CÆSAR.
VIVALDI, from the period of his last
visit to Altieri, was admitted a frequent
visitor to Signora Bianchi, and Ellena
was, at length, prevailed upon to join
the party, when the conversation was
always on indifferent topics. Bianchi,
understanding the disposition of her
niecè's affections, and the accomplished
mind and manners of Vivaldi, judged
that he was more likely to succeed by
silent attentions than by a formal decla-
ration of his sentiments. By such a de-


94
THE ITALIAN
claration, Ellena, till her heart was more
engaged in his cause, would, perhaps,
have been alarmed into an absolute re-
jection of his addresses, and this was
every day less likely to happen, so long
as he had an opportunity of conversing
with her.
Signora Bianchi had acknowledged
to Vivaldi that he had no rival to appre-
hend; that Ellena had uniformly rejected
every admirer who had hitherto disco-
vered her within the shade of her retire-
ment, and that her present reserve pro-
ceeded more from considerations of the
sentiments of his family than from dis-
approbation of himself. He forbore;
therefore, to press his suit, till he should
have secured a stronger interest in her
heart, and in this hope he was encou-
raged by Signora Bianchi, whose gentle
remonstrances in his favour became
every day more pleasing and more con-
vincing.
Several weeks passed away in this
kind of intercourse, till Ellena, yielding
to the representations of Signora Bian-
mor


THE ITALIAN.
05
chi, and to the pleadings of her own
heart, received Vivaldi as an acknow-
ledged admirer, and the sentiments of
his family were no longer remembered,
or; if remembered, it was with a hope
thạt they might be overcome by consi-
derations more powerful.
The lovers, with Signora Bianchi and
a Signor Giotto, a distant relation of
the latter, frequently made excursions
in the delightful environs of Naples ;
for Vivaldi was no longer anxious to
conceal his attachment, but wished to
contradict any report injurious to his
love, by the publicity of his conduct;
while the consideration that Ellena's
name had suffered by his late impru-
dence, contributed, with the unsuspec-
ting innocence and sweetness of her
manners towards him, who had been
the occasion of her injuries, to mingle a
sacred pity with his love, which oblite-
rated all family politics from his mind,
and bound her irrecoverably to his
heart,
These excursions sometimes led to


96
THE ITALIAN.
Puzzuoli, Baia, or the woody cliffs of
Pausilippo; and, as on their return,
they glided along the moon-light bay,
the melodies of Italian strains seemed to
give enchantment to the scenery of its
shore. At this cool hour the voices of
the vine dressers were frequently heard
in trio, as they reposed, after the labour
of the day, on some pleasant promon->
tory, under the shade of poplars; or the
brisk music of the dance from fishermen,
on the margin of the waves below. The
boatmen rested on their oars, while their
company listened to voices modulated
by sensibility to finer eloquence, than it
is in the power of art alone to display ;
and at others, while they observed the
airy natural grace, which distinguishes
the dance of the fishermen and peasant
girls of Naples. Frequently, as they
glided round a promontory, whose shaggy
masses impended far over the sea, such
magic scenes of beauty unfolded, adorned
by these dancing groups on the bay be-
yond, as no pencil could do justice to.
The deep clear waters reflected every


THE ITALIAN.
97
image of the landscape; the cliffs,
branching into wild forms, crowned with
groves, whose rough foliage often spread
down their steeps in picturesque lux-
uriance; the ruined villa, on some bold
point, peeping through the trees; pea-
sants' cabins hanging on the precipices,
and the dancing figures on the strand
all touched with the silvery tint and soft
shadows of moon-light. On the other
hand, the sea, trembling with a long
line of radiance, and shewing in the clear
distance the sails of vessels stealing in
every direction along its surface, pre-
sented a prospeçt as grand as the land-
scape was beautiful.,
One evening that Vivaldi sat with
Ellena and Signora Bianchi, in the very
pavillion where he had overheard that
short but interesting soliloquý, which
assured him of her regard, he pleaded
with more than his usual earnestness for
a speedy marriage." Bianchi did not
oppose! his' arguments; she had been
unwell for some time, and, believing
herself to be declining fast, was anxious
VOL. 1.


98
THE ITALIAN.
to have their nuptials concluded. She
surveyed with languid eyes the scene
that spread before the pavillion. The
strong effulgence which a setting sun
threw over the sea, shewing innumerable
gaily painted ships, and fishing boats
returning from Santa Lucia into the port
of Naples, had no longer power to cheer
her. Even the Roman tower that ter-
minated the mole below, touched as it
was with the slanting rays; and the
various figures of fishermen, who lay
smoking beneath its walls, in the long
shadow, or stood in the sunshine on the
beach, watching the approaching boats
of their comrades, combined a picture
which was no longer interesting. Alas!
said she, breaking from meditative
silence, this sun so glorious, which lights
up all the various colouring of these
shores, and the glow of those majestic
mountains; alas ! I feel that it will not
long shine for me-my eyes must soon
close upon the prospect for ever!
To Ellena's tender reproach for this
melancholy suggestion, Bianchi replied


THE ITALIAN.
99
only by expressing an earnest wish to
witness the certainty of her being pro-
tected ; adding, that this must be soon,
or she should not live to see it.' Ellena,
extremely shocked both by this presage
of her aunt's fate, and by the direct
reference made to her own condition in
the presence of Vivaldi, burst into tears,
while he, supported by the wishes of
Signora Bianchi, urged his suit with
increased interest.
This is not a time for fastidious scruples,
said Bianchi, now that a solemn truth
calls out to us. My dear girl, I will not
disguise my feelings; they assure me I
have not long to live. Grant me then
the only request I have to make, and my
last hours will be comforted.
After a pause she added, as she took
the hand of her niece, this will, no doubt,
be an awful separation to us both; and
it must also be a mournful one, Signor,
turning to Vivaldi, for she has been as
a daughter to me, and I have, I trust,
fulfilled to her the duties of a mother.
Judge, then, what will be her feelings
F 2


100
THE ITALIAN.
when I am no more. · But it will be
your care to sooth them. : '
Vivaldi looked at Ellena, and would
have spoken; her aunt, however, pro-
ceeded. My own feelings would now be
little less poignant, if I did not believe
that I was confiding her to a tenderness,
which cannot diminish, if I should pre-
vail with her to accept the protection
of a husband. To you, Signor, I commit
the legacy of my child. Watch over
her future moments, guard her from
inquietude as vigilantly as I have done,
and, if possible, from misfortune! I have
yet much to say, but my spirits are
exhausted.
While he listened to this sacred charge,
and recollected the injury Ellena had
already sustained for his sake, by the
cruel obloquy which the Marchese had
thrown upon her character, he suffered
a degree of generous indignation, of
which he scarcely could conceal the
cause, and a succeeding tenderness that
almost melted him to tears; and he
secretly vowed to defend her fame and


THE ITALIAN.
101
protect her peace, at the sacrifice of
every other consideration.
Bianchi, as she concluded her exhor-
tation, gavę Ellena's hand to Vivaldi,
who received it with emotion, such as
his countenance only could express, and
with solemn fervour raising his eyes to
heaven, vowed that he never would
betray the confidence thus reposed in
him, but would watch over the happiness
of Ellena with a care, as tender, as
anxious, and as unceasing aş her own;
that from this moment he, considered
himself bound by ties not less sacred
than those which the church confers, to
defend her as his wife, and would do so
to the latest moment of his existence.
As he said this, the truth of his feelings
appeared in the energy of his manner. ;
Ellena, still weeping, and agitated by
various considerations, spoke not, but,
withdrawing the handkerchief from her
face, she looked at him through her
tears, with a smile so meek, so affec-
tionate, so timid, yet so confiding, as
expressed all the mingled emotions of


102
THE ITALIAN.
her heart, and appealed more eloquently
to his, than the most energetic language
could have done.
Before Vivaldi left the villa, he had
some further conversation with Signora
Bianchi, when it was agreed that the
nuptials should be solemnized on the
following week, if Ellena could be pre-
vailed on to confirm her consent so
soon; and that when he returned the
next day, her determination would pro-
bably be made known to him, .
He departed for Naples once more
with the lightly-bounding steps of joy,
which, however, when he arrived there,
was somewhat alloyed by a message
from the Marchese, demanding to see
him in his cabinet. Vivaldi anticipated
the subject of the interview, and obeyed
the summons with reluctance.
He found his father so absorbed in
thought, that he did not immediately
perceive him. On raising his eyes from
the floor, where discontent and per-
plexity seemed to have held them, he
fixed a stern regard on Vivaldi. I under-


THE ITALIAN.
103
stand, said he, that you persist in the
unworthy pursuit against which I warned
you. I have left you thus long to your
own discretion, because I was willing to
afford you an opportunity of retracting
with grace the declaration which you
have dared to make me of your principles
and intentions; but your conduct has
not therefore been the less observed. I
am informed that your visits have been
as frequent at the residence of the un-
happy young wonian, who was the sub-
ject of our former conversation, as
formerly, and that you are as much
infatuated.
If it is Signora Rosalba, whom your
lordship means, said Vivaldi, she is not
unhappy; and I do not scruple to own,
that I am as sincerely attached to her
as ever. Why, my dear father, con-
tinued he, subduing the feelings which
this degrading mention of Ellena had
aroused, why will you persist in oppo-
sing the happiness of your son; and
above all, why will you continue to think


104
THE ITALIAN.
al
unjustly of her, who deserves your admi-
ration, as much as my love.
• As I am not a lover, replied the Mar-
chese, and that the age of boyish credu-
lity is past with me, I do not wilfully
close my mind against examination, but
am directed by proof, and yield to
conviction.
What proof is it, my lord, that has
thus easily convinced you? said Vivaldi;
who is it that persists in abusing your
confidence, and in destroying my peace?
· The Marchese haughtily reproved his
son for such doubts and questions, and
a long conversation ensued, which
seemed neither to reconcile the interests
or the opinions of either party. The
Marchese persisted in accusation and
menace; and Vivaldi, in defending El-
lena, and in affirming that his affections
and intentions were irrecoverable. .
Not any art of persuasion could pre-
vail with the Marchese to adduce his
proofs, or deliver up the name of his
informer; nor any menace awe Vivaldi
SO


THE ITALIAN.
105
into a renunciation of Ellena ; and they
parted mutually dissatisfied. The Mar-
chese had failed, on this occasion, to act
with his usual policy, for his menaces
and accusations had aroused spirit and
indignation, when kindness and gentle
remonstrance would certainly have awa-
kened ' filial affection, and might have
occasioned a contest in the breast of
Vivaldi.' Now no struggle of opposing
duties divided his resolution. He had
no hesitation on the subject of their dis-
pute; but, regarding his father as a
haughty oppressor, who would rob him
of his most sacred right; and as one
who did not scruple to stain the name
of the innocent and the defenceless,
when his interest required it, upon the
.doubtful authority of a base informer, he
suffered neither pity nor remorse to
mingle with the resolution of asserting
the freedom of his nature; and was even
more anxious than before, to conclude
a marriage, which he believed would
secure his own happiness and the repu-
tation of Ellena.
F 5


106
THE ITALIAN.
He returned, therefore, on the fol-
lowing day, to the Villa Altieri, with
increased impatience, to learn the result
of Signora Bianchi's further conversation
with her niece, and the day on which
the nuptials might be solemnized. On
the way thither, his thoughts were
wholly occupied by Ellena, and he pro-
ceeded mechanically, and withont ob-
serving where he was, till the shade
which the well-known arch threw over
the road recalled him to local circum-
stances, and a voice instantly arrested
his attention. It was the voice of the
monk, whose figure again passed before
him. Go not to the Villa Altieri, it said
solemnly, for death is in the house.
Before Vivaldi could recover from the
dismay into which this abrupt assertion
and sudden appearance had thrown him,
the stranger was gone. He had escaped
in the gloom of the place, and seemed
to have retired into the obscurity from
which he had so suddenly emerged, for
he was not seen to depart from under
the archway. Vivaldi pursued him


THE ITALIAN.
107
with his voice, conjuring him to appear,
and demanding who was dead; but no
voice replied. . .
Believing that the stranger could not
have escaped unseen from the arch by
any way, but that leading to the fortress
above, Vivaldi began to ascend the
steps, when, considering that the more
certain means of understanding this aw-
ful assertion would be, to go immediately
to the Villa Altieri, he left this porten-
tous ruin, and hastened thither.
An indifferent person would probable
have understood the words of the monk
to allude to Signora Bianchi, whose
infirm state of health rendered her death,
though sudden, not improbable ; but to
the affrighted fancy of Vivaldi, the dying
Ellena only appeared. His fears, how-
ever probabilities might sanction, or the
event justify them, were natural to ar-
dent affection ; but they were accom-
panied by a presentiment as extra-
ordinary as it was horrible ;-it occurred
to him more than once that Ellena was
murdered. He saw her wounded, and


108
THE ITALIAN.
bleeding to death ; saw her ashy coun-
tenance, and her wasting eyes, from
which the spirit of life was fast departing,
turned piteously on himself, as if implo-
ring him to save her from the fate that
was dragging her to the grave. And,
when he reached the boundary of the
garden, his whole frame trembled so,
with horrible apprehension, that he
rested awhile, unable to venture further
towards the truth. At length, he sum-
moned courage to dare it, and, unlocking
a private gate, of which he had lately
received the key, because it spared him
a considerable distance of the road to
Naples, he approached the house. Every
place around it was silent and forsaken;
many of the lattices were closed, and,
as he endeavoured to collect from every
trivial circumstance some conjecture,
his spirits still sunk, as he advanced,
till, having arrived within a few paces.
of the portico, all his fears were con-
firmed. He heard from within a feeble
sound of lamentation, and then some
notes of that solemn and peculiar kind


THE ITALIAN.
109
of recitative, which is in some parts of
Italy the requiem of the dying. The
sounds were so low and distant, that
they only murmured on his ear; but,
without pausing for information, he
rushed into the portico, and knocked
loudly at the folding doors, now closed
against him...!
After repeated summonses, Beatrice,
the old housekeeper, appeared, She
did not wait for Vivaldi's, inquiries.
Alas! Signor, said she, alas-a-day! who
would have thought it; who would have
expected, such a change as this!: It
was only yester-evening that you : Was
here,-she was then, as well as I am;
who would have thought that she would
be dead to-day... : :
She is dead, then! exclaimed Vival-
di, struck to the heart; she is dead !
staggering towards a pillar of the hall,
and endeavouring to support himself
against it. : Beatrice shocked at his
condition, would have gone for assis-
tance, but he waved her to stay. When


110
· THE ITALIAN.
did she die, said he, drawing breath
with difficulty, how and where?
· Alas! here in the villa, Signor, re-
plied Beatrice, weeping; who would
have thought that I should live to see
this day! I hoped to have laid down
my old bones in peace.
What has caused her death ? inter-
rupted Vivaldi impatiently, and when
did she die?
About two of the clock this morning,
Signor ; about two o'clock. O miser-
able day, that I should live to see it.
I am better, said Vivaldi, raising him.
self; lead me to her apartment, I
must see her. Do not hesitate, lead me
on.
Alas! Signor, it is a dismal sight;
why should you wish to see her. Be
persuaded ; do not go, Signor ; it is a
woeful sight!
Lead me on, repeated Vivaldi, sternly;
or if you refuse, I will find the way my-
self.
Beatrice, terrified by his look and


THE ITALIAN.
111
gesture, no longer opposed him, begging
only that he would wait till she had in-
formed her lady of his arrival; but he
followed her closely up the stair-case,
and along a corridor that led round the
west side of the house, which brought
him to a suit of chambers darkened by
the closed lattices, through which he
passed the one where the body lay.
The requiem had ceased, and no sound
disturbed the awful stillness that pre-
vailed in these deserted rooms. At the
door of the last apartment, where he
was compelled to stop, his agitation was
such, that Beatrice, expecting every
instant to see him sink to the floor, made
an effort to support him with her feeble
aid, but he gave a signal for her to retire.
He soon recovered himself, and passed
into the chamber of death, the solemnity
of which might have affected him in any
other state of his spirits; but these were
now too severely pressed upon by real
suffering to feel the influence of local
circumstances. Approaching the bed
on which the corpse was laid, he raised


112
THE ITALIAN
his eyes to the mourner who hung
weeping over it, and beheld-Ellena!
whọ, surprised by this sudden intrusion,
and still more by the agitation of Vivaldi
repeatedly demanded the occasion of it,
But he had neither power nor inclina-
tion to explain a circumstance, which
must deeply, wound the heart of Ellena,
since it would have told that the same
event, which excited her grief, acciden-
tally inspired his joy. ...
.. He did not long intrude upon the
the sacredness of sorrow, and the short
time he remained was employed in en-
deavours to command his own emotion,
and to sooth hers.
: When he left Ellena he had some
conversation with Beatrice, as to the
death of Signora Bianchi, and under-
stood that she had retired to rest on the
preceding night apparently in her usual
state of health, It was about one in
the morning, Signor, continued Beatrice,
I was waked out of my first sleep, by a
noise in my lady's chamber. It is a
grievous thing to me, Signor, to be
s


THE ITALIAN.
113
waked from my first sleep, and I, Santa
Maria forgive me! was angry at being
disturbed ! So I would not get up, but
laid my head upon the pillow again ;
and tried to sleep; but presently I heard
the noise again; nay now, says I, some-
body must be up in the house, that's
certain. I had scarcely said so, Signor,
when I heard my young lady's voice
calling Beatrice! Beatrice! Ah! poor
young lady! she was indeed in a sad
fright, as well she might. She was at
my door in an instant, and looked as
pale as death, and trembled so! Bea-
trice, said she, rise this moment; my
aunt is dying. She did not stay for my
answer, but was gone directly. Santa
Maria protect me! I thought I should
have swooned outright.
,
· Well, but your lady? said Vivaldi,
whose patience the tedious circumlocu-
tion of old Beatrice had exhausted.
Ah, my poor lady! Signor, I thought
I never should have been able to reach
her room; and when I got there, I was
scarcely more alive than herself. There


114
THE ITALIAN.
she lay on her bed ! O it was a griev-
ous sight to see! there she lay, looking
so piteously ; I saw she was dying. She
could not speak, though she tried often,
but she was sensible, for she would look
so at Signora Ellena, and then try again
to speak; it almost broke one's heart
'to see her. Something seemed to lie
upon her mind, and she tried almost to
the last to tell it; and as she grasped
Signora Ellena's hand, she would still
look up in her face with such doleful
expression as no one, who had not a heart
of stone, could bear. My poor young
mistress was quite overcome by it, and
cried as if her heart would break. Poor
young lady! she has lost a friend indeed,
such a one as she must never hope to
see again.
But she shall find one as firm and af-
fectionate as the last ! exclaimed Vival-
di, fervently. , ,
The good saint grant it may prove so !
replied Beatrice, doubtingly. All that
could be done for our dear lady, she
continued, was tried, but with no avail.


THE ITALIAN.
115
She could not swallow what the doctor
offered her. She grew fainter and
fainter, yet would often utter such deep
sighs, and then would grasp my hand so
hard ! At last she turned her eyes upon
Signora Ellená, and they grew duller
änd fixed, and she seemed not to see
what was before her. Alas! I knew
then she was going; her hand did not
press mine as it had done a minute or
two before, and a deadly coldness was
upon it. Her face changed so, too, in a
few minutes ! This was about two
o'clock, and she died before her confes-
sor could administer. .
Beatrice ceased to speak, and wept;
Vivaldi almost wept with her, and it
was some time before he could com-
mand his voice sufficiently to inquire
what were the symptoms of Signora
Bianchi's disorder, and whether she
had ever been thus suddenly attacked
before.
Never, Signor! replied the old house-
keeper ; and, though, to be sure, she
has long been very infirm, and going
down, as one may say, yet


116
THE ITALIAN.
What is it you mean? said Vivaldi.
Why, Signor, I do not know what to
think about my lady's death. To be
sure, there is nothing certain; and I
may only get scoffed at, if I speak my
mind abroad, for nobody would believe
me, it is so strange, yet I must have my
own thoughts for all that. .. .
Do speak intelligibly, said Vivaldi,
you need not apprehend censure from
me.
Not from you, Signor, but if the re-
port should get abroad, and it was
known that I had set it a going..
That never shall be known from me,
said Vivaldi, with increased impatience,
tell me, without fear, all that you con-
jecture.
Well then, Signor, I will own, that I
do not like the suddenness of my lady's
death, no, nor the manner of it, nor her
appearance after death!
Speak explicitly, and to the point,
said Vivaldi.
Nay, Signor, there are some folks
that will not understand if you speak
ever so plain, I am sure I speak plain


THE ITALIAN.
117
1
enough. If I might tell my mind,—I
do not believe she came fairly by her
death at last!
How! said Vivaldi, your reasons ?
Nay, Signor, I have given them al-
ready; I said I did not like the sud-
denness of her death, nor her appear-
ance after, nor
Good Heaven! interrupted Vivaldi,
you mean poison !
Hush, Signor, hush! I do not say
that; but she did not seem to die na-
turally.
Who has been at the villa lately?
said Vivaldi, in a tremulous voice.
Alas! Signor, nobody has been here ;
she lived so privately that she saw
nobody.
Not one person? said Vivaldi; con-
sider well, Beatrice, had she not any
visitor?
Not of a long while, Signor, no vi-
sitors but yourself and her cousin Signor
Giotto. The only other person that has
been within these walls for many weeks,
to the best of my remembrance, is a


118
THE ITALIAN.
sister of the convent, who comes for the
silks my young lady embroiders.
Embroiders! What convent?
The Santa Maria della Pieta, vonder,
Signor; if you will step this way to the
window, I will shew it you. Yonder,
among the woods on the hill side, just
above those gardens that stretch down
to the bay. There is an olive ground
close beside it, and observe, Signor,
there is a red and yellowish ridge of
rocks rises over the woods higher still,
and looks as if it would fall down upon
those old spires. Have you found it,
Signor?
How long is it since this sister came
here? said Vivaldi.
Three weeks at least, Signor.
And you are certain that no other
person has called within that time ?
No other person, Signor, except the
fisherman and the gardener, and a man
who brings maccaroni, and such sort of
things; for it is such a long way to
Naples, Signor, and I have so little
time.
le


THE ITALIAN.
119
Three weeks, say you ! you said three
weeks, I think? Are you certain as to
this ?
Three weeks, Signor! Santa della
Pieta! Do you believe, Signor, that
we could fast three weeks! Why, they
call almost every day.
I speak of the nun, said Vivaldi.
O yes, Signor, replied Beatrice ; it is
that, at least, since she was here.
This is strange, said Vivaldi, musing,
but I will talk with you some other
time. Meanwhile, I wish you could
contrive that I should see the face of
your deceased lady, without the know-
ledge of Signora Ellena. And, observe
me, Beatrice, be strictly silent as to
your surmises concerning her death: do
not suffer any negligence to betray your
suspicions to your young mistress.' Has
she any suspicions herself of the same
nature.
Beatrice replied, that she believed
Signora Ellena had none ; and promised
faithfully to observe his injunctions.
He then left the villa, meditating on


120
THE ITALIAN.
the circumstances he had just learned,
and on the prophetic assertion of the
monk, between whom, and the cause of
Bianchi's sudden death, he could not
forbear surmising there was some con-
nection; and it now occurred to him,
and for the first time, that this monk,
this mysterious stranger,' was no other
than Schedoni, whom he had observed
of late going more frequently than usual,
to his mother's apartment. He almost
started, in horror of the suspicion to
which this conjecture led, and preci-
pitately rejected it, was à poison that
would destroy his own peace for ever.
But though he instantly dismissed the
suspicion, the conjecture returned to his
mind, and he endeavoured to recollect
the voice and figure of the stranger,
that he might compare them with those
of the confessor. The voices were, he
thought, of a different tone, and the
persons of a different height and pro-
portion. This comparison, however,
did not forbid him to surmise that the
stranger was an agent of the confessor's;


THE ITALIAN.
121
that he was, at least, a secret spy upon
his actions, and the defamer of Ellena ;
while both, if indeed there were two
persons concerned, appeared to be at
the command of his parents. Fired
with indignation of the unworthy arts
that he believed to have been employed
against him, and impatient to meet the
slanderer of Ellena, he determined to
attempt some decisive step towards a
discovery of the truth, and either to
compel the confessor to reveal it to him,
or to search out his agent, who, he
fancied, was occasionally a resident
within the ruins of Paluzzi.
The inhabitants of the convent, which
Beatrice had pointed out, did not escape
his consideration, but no reason ap-
peared for supposing them the enemies
of his Ellena, who, on the contrary, he
understood had been for some years
amicably connected with them. The
embroidered silks, of which the old
servant had spoken, sufficiently ex-
plained the nature of the connection,
and, discovering more fully the circum-
VOL. I.


122
THE ITALIAN.
stances of Ellena's fortune, her conduct
heightened the tender admiration with
which he had hitherto regarded her.
The hints for suspicion, which Beatrice
had given respecting the cause of her
mistres's decease, incessantly recurred
to him; and it appeared extraordinary
and sometimes in the highest degree
improbable, that any person could be
sufficiently interested in the death of a
woman apparently so blameless, as to
administer poison to her. What motive
could have prompted so horrible a deed,
was still more inexplicable. It was
true that she had long been in a declining
state ; yet the suddenness of her depar-
ture, and the singularity of some circum-
stances preceding, as well as some
apperances that had followed it, com-
pelled Vivaldi to doubt as to the cause.
He believed, however, that, after having
seen the corse, his doubts must vanish;
and Beatrice had promised, that if he
could return in the evening, when Ellena
had retired to rest, he should be per-
mitted to visit the chamber of the


THE ITALIAN.
123
.
deceased. There was something repug.
- nant to his feelings, in going thus
secretly, or, indeed, at all, to the resi-
dence of Ellena at this delicate period,
Fet it was necessary he should introduce
there some medical professor, on whose
judgment he could rest, respecting the
occasion of Bianchi's death; and as he
believed he should so soon acquire the
right of vindicating the honour of Ellena,
that consideration did not so 'seriously
affect him as otherwise it would have
done. The inquiry which called him
thither, was, besides, of a nature too
solemn and important to be lightly
resigned; he had, therefore, told Bea-
trice, he would be punctual to the hour
she appointed. His intention to search
for the monk was thus again interrupted.


CHAPTER IV.
Unfold th’ iñpenetrable mystery, 'to. .
.: That sets your soul and you at endless discord.
MYSTERIOUS MOTHER.
s. ;;.
When Vivaldi returned to Naples, he
inquired for the Marchesa, of whom he
wished to ask some questions concern-
ing Schedoni, which, though he scarce
ly expected they would be explicitly
answered, might yet lead to part of the
truth he sought for.
The Marchesa was in her closet, and
Vivaldi found the confessor with her.
This man crosses me like my evil genius,
said he to himself as he entered, but I


THE ITALIAN.
125
will know whether he deserves my sus-
picions, before I leave the room..?!
Schedoni was so deeply engaged in
conversation, that he did not immedi-
ately perceive Vivaldi, who stood for a
moment examining his countenance, and
tracing subjects for curiosity in its deep
lines. His eyes, while he spoke, were
cast downward, and his features were
fixed in an expression at once severe
and crafty. The Marchesa was listen-
ing with deep attention, her head in-
clined towards him, as if to catch the
lowest murmur of his voice, and her face
picturing the anxiety and vexation of
her mind. This was evidently a con-
ference, not a confession.':,:::
.. Vivaldi advancing, the monk raised
· his eyes; his countenance suffered no
change, as they met those of Vivaldi.
He rose, but did not take leave, and re-
turned the slight and somewhat haughty
salutation of Vivaldi, with an inclination
of the head that indicated a pride with-
out pettishness, and a firmness border-
ing on contempt. :


126
THE ITALIAN.
The Marchesa, on perceiving her son,
was somewhat embarrassed, and her
brow, before sligtly contracted by vex.
-ation, now frowned with severity, Yet
it was an involuntary emotion, for she
endeavoured to, ehase the expression of
it with a smile, Vivaldi liked the smile
· still less than the frown, .
; Schedoni seated himself quietly, and
began, with almost the ease of a man
of the world, to converse, on general
topics. Vivaldi, however, was reserved
and silent; he knew not how to begin
a conversation, which might lead to the
knowledge he desired, and the Marche-
sa did not relieve him from the difficulty.
His eye and his ear assisted him to con-
jecture at least, if not obtain the infor-
mation he wished; and, as he listened
to the deep tones of Schedoni's voice,
he became almost certain, that they
: were not the accents of his unknown
adviser, though he considered, at the
same moment, that it was not difficult
to disguise or to feign a voice. His
stature seemed to decide the question


THE ITALIAN.
127
more reasonably; for the figure of Sche-
doni appeared taller than that of the
stranger; and though there was some-
thing of resemblance in their air, which
Vivaldi had never observed before, he
again considered, that the habit of the
same order, which each wore, might
easily occasion an artificial resemblance.
Of the likeness, as to countenance, he
could not judge, since the stranger's had
been so much shrouded by his cowl,
that Vivaldi had never distinctly seen a
single feature. Schedoni's hood was
now thrown back, so that he could not
compare even the hair of their heads
under similar circumstances ; but, as he
remembered to have seen the confessor
on a former day approaching his mo-
ther's closet with the cowl shading his
face, the same gloomy severity seemed
to characterize both, and nearly the
same terrible portrait was drawn on his
fancy. Yet this again might be only
an artificial effect, a character which
the cowl alone gave to the head; and
any face, seen imperfectly beneath its


128
, THE ITALIAN.
dark shade might have appeared equally
severe. Vivaldi was still perplexed in
his opinion. One circumstance, how-
ever, seemed to throw some light on his
judgment. The stranger had appeared
in the habit of a monk, and if Vivaldi's
transient observation might be trusted
he was of the very same order with that
of Schedoni. Yet if he were Schedoni,
or even his agent, it was not probable
that he would have shewn himself in a
dress, that might lead to a discovery of his
person. That he was anxious for con-
cealment, his manner had strongly
proved; it seemed then, that his habit
of a monk was only a disguise, assumed
for the purpose of misleading conjec-
ture. Vivaldi, however, determined to
put some questions to Schedoni, and at
the same time to observe their effect on
his countenance. He took occasion to
notice some drawings of ruins, which
ornamented the cabinet of the Marchesa,
and to say that the fortress of Paluzzi
was worthy of being added to her col-
lection. You have seen it lately, per-


THE ITALIAN.
129
haps, reverend father, added Vivaldi,
with a penetrating glance.
It is a striking relique of antiquity,
replied the confessor. is
That arch, resumed Vivaldi, . his eye
still fixed on Schedoni, that arch sus-
pended between two rocks, the one
overtopped by the towers of the fortress,
the other shadowed with pine and broad
oak, has a fine effect. But a picture of
it would want human figures. Now
either the grotesque shapes of banditti
lurking within the ruin, as if ready to
start out upon the traveller, or a monk
rolled up in his black garments, just
stealing forth from under the shade of
the arch, and looking like some super-
natural messenger of evil, would finish
the piece.
The features of Schedoni suffered no
change during this speech. Your pic-
ture is complete, said he, and I cannot
but admire the facility with which you
have classed the monks together with
banditti.
Your pardon, holy father, said Vival-
es
G 5


130
THE ITALIAN.
di, I did not draw a parallel between
them.
0! no offence, Signor, replied Sche:
doni, with a smile, but it was somewhat
ghastly.
During the latter part of this conve-
sation, if converation it may be called,
the Marchesa had followed a servant,
who had brought her a letter, out of the
apartment, and as the confessor appear-
ed to await her return, Vivaldi deter-
mined to press his inquiry. It appears,
however, said he, that Paluzzi, if not
haunted by robbers, is at least frequent-
ed by ecclesiastics; for I have seldom
passed it without seeing a spiritual bro-
ther, and he has appeared so suddenly,
and vanished so suddenly, that I have
been almost compelled to believe he was
literally a spiritual being.
The convent of the Black Penitents
is not far distant, observed the confes-
sor.
Does the dress of this convent resem-
ble that of your order, reverend father !
for I observed that the monk I speak


THE ITALIAN.
131
of was habited like yourself; aye, and
he was about your stature, and very
much resembled you, :
Thạt well may be, Signor, replied the
confessor calmly; there are many bre-
thren who, no doubt, resemble each
other; but the brothers of the Black
Penitents are clothed in sackcloth; and
the death's head on the garment, the
peculiar symbol of this order, would not
have escaped your observation; it could
not, therefore, be a member of their
society whom you have seen.
I am not inclined to think that it was,
said Vivaldi, but be it who it may, I
hope soon to be better acquainted with
him, and to tell him truths so strong,
that he shall not be permitted even to
affect the misunderstanding of them.
You will do right, if you have cause
of complaint against him, observed
Schedoni.
Vivaldi believed that he had now
detected Schedoni, who seemed, by his
countenance, to betray a consciousness


132
THE ITALIAN.
that Vivaldi had reason for complaint
against the stranger.
Vivaldi added, If you know that I have
any cause of complaint against that
brother, this must be by other means
than by my words; I have not expressed
either complaint or resentment.
Except by your voice and eye, Signor,
replied Sehedoni dryly. When a man
is vehement and disordered, we are
inclined to suppose he feels resentment,
and that he has cause of complaint,
either real or imaginary. As I have not
the honour of being acquainted with the
subject you allude to, I cannot decide
to which of the two your cause belongs.
I have never been in doubt as to that,
said Vivaldi håughtily; and if I had,
you will pardon me, holy father, but I
| should not have requested your decision.
My injuries are, alas ! too real; and I
nów think it is also too certain to whom
Imay attribute them. The secret adviser,
who steals into the bosom of a family
· only to poison its repose, the informer


THE ITALIAN.
133
the base asperser of innocence, stand
revealed to me in one person. .
Vivaldi delivered these words with a
tempered energy, at once dignified and
pointed, which seemed to strike directly
to the heart of Schedoni ; but, whether
it were his conscience, or his pride that
took the alarm, did not certainly appear.
Vivaldi believed the former. A dark
malignity overspread the features of the
monk, and at that moment Vivaldi
thought he beheld a man, whose passions
might impel him to the perpetration of
almost any crime, how hideous soever.
He recoiled from him, as if he had sud-
denly seen a serpent in his path, yet
stood gazing on his face, with an atten-
tion so wholly occupied, as to be uncon-
scious that he did so. It seemed as if
the evil power, once attributed to the
eye of envious malice, held him in fasci-
nation to the monk.*
Schedoni almost instantly recover-
ed himself; his features relaxed from
* Lord Bacon seems to adopt this opinion of the evil..
power of an envious ege, Essay.ix.


134
THE ITALIAN.
their first expression, and that porten-
tous darkness passed away from his
countenance; but with a look that was
still stern and haughty, he said, Signor,
however ignorant I may be of the suba
ject of your discontent, I cannot misun-
derstand, that your resentment is, to
some extent or other, directed against
myself as the cause of it. Yet I will
not suppose, Signor; I say I will not
suppose, raising his voice significantly,
that you have dared to brand me with
the ignominious titles you have just ut-
tered ; but
I have applied them to the author of
my injuries, interrupted Vivaldi; you,
father, can best inform me whether they
were applied to yourself.
I have then nothing to complain of,
said Schedoni, adroitly, and with a sud-
den calmness, that surprised Vivaldi.
If you directed them against the author
of your injuries, whatever they may be,
I am satisfied.
The seeming complacency, with which
he spoke this, renewed the doubts of


THE ITALIAN.
135
Vivaldi, who thought it, nearly impossi-
ble that a man conscious of guilt could
assume, under the very charge of it, the
the tranquil and dignified air which the
confessor now displayed. He began to
accuse himself of having condemned him
with passionate rashness, and gradually
became shocked at the indecorum of his
conduct towards a man of Schedoni's
age and sacred profession. · Those ex-
pressions of countenance, which had so
much alarmed him, he was now inclined
to think the effect of a jealous and offend-
ed honour, and he almost forgot the
malignity, which had mingled with
Schedoni's pride, in sorrow for the of-
fence that had provoked it. Thus, not
less precipitate in his pity than his anger,
and credulous alike to the passion of the
moment, he was now as eager to apolo-
gize for his error, as he had been hasty
in committing it. The frankness with
which he apologized for and lamented
the impropriety of his conduct, would
have won an easy forgiveness from a
generous heart. Schedoni listened with


136
THE ITALIAN.
en
apparent complacency and secret con-
tempt. He regarded Vivaldi as a rash
boy, who was swayed only by his pas-
sions; but, while he suffered deep re-
sentment for the evil in his character, he
felt neither respect nor kindness for the
good, for the sincerity, the love of jus-
tice, the generosity, which threw a bril-
liancy even on his foibles. Schedoni,
indeed, saw only evil in human nature.
Had the heart of Vivaldi been less
generous, he would have distrusted the
satisfaction which the confessor assum-
ed, and have discovered the contempt
and malignity, that lurked behind the
smile which now masked his counte-
nance. The confessor perceived his
power, and the character of Vivaldi
seemed to lie before him as a map. He
saw, or fancied he saw, every line and
feature of its plan, and the relative pro-
portions of every energy and weakness
of its nature. He believed, also, he
could turn the very virtues of this young
man against himself, and he exulted,
even while the smile of good-will was
e ve
CS


THE ITALIAN.
137
yet upon his countenance, in anticipat-
ing the moment that should avenge him
for the past outrage, and which, while
Vivaldi was ingenuously lamenting it,
he had apparently forgotten.
Schedoni was thus ruminating evil
against Vivaldi, and Vivaldi was consi-
dering how he might possibly make
Schedoni atonement for the affront he
had offered him, when the Marchesa
returned to the apartment; and per-
ceived in the honest countenance of
Vivaldi some symptoms of the agitation
which had passed over it; his com-
plexion was flushed, and his brow
slightly contracted. The face of Sche-
doni told nothing but complacency,
except that now and then when he
looked at Vivaldi, it was with half-shut
eyes, that indicated treachery, or, at
. least, cunning and ill-will.
The Marchesa, with displeasure di-
rected against her son, inquired the
reason of his emotion; but he, stung
with consciousness of his conduct to-
wards the monk, could neither endure


138
· THE ITALIAN.
to explain it, nor to remain in her pre-
sence, and, saying that he would con-
fide his honour to the discretion of the
holy father, who would speak only too
favourably of his fault, he abruptly left
the room.
When he had departed, Schedoni
gave, with seeming reluctance, the ex-
planation which the Marchesa required,
but was cautious not to speak too fa.
vourably of Vivaldi's conduct, which,
on the contrary, he represented as much
more insulting than it really was; and,
while he aggravated the offensive part
of it, he suppressed all mention of the
candour and self-reproach which had
followed the charge. Yet this he ma-
naged so artfully, that he appeared to
extenuate Vivaldi's errors, to lament
the hastiness of his temper, and to plead
for a forgiveness from his irritated mo-
ther. He is very young, added the
monk, when he perceived that he had
sufficiently exasperated the Marchesa
against her son ; he is very young, and
youth is warm in its passions and pre.


THE ITALIAN.
139
cipitate in its judgments. He was,
besides, jealous, no doubt, of the friend.
ship, with which you are pleased to
honour me; and it is natural that a son
should be jealous of the attention of
such a mother.
You are too good, father, said the
Marchesa; her resentment increasing
towards Vivaldi in proportion as Sche-
doni exercised his artificial candour and
meekness.
It is true, continued the confessor,
that I perceive all the inconveniences
to which my attachment, I should say
my duty, to your family exposes me;
but I willingly submit to these, while it
is yet possible that my advice may be
a mean of preserving the honour of your
house unsullied, and of saving this in-
considerate young man from future
misery and unavailing repentance.
During the warmth of this sympathy'
in resentment, the Marchesa and Sche-
doni mutually, and sincerely, lost their
remembrance of the unworthy motives,
by which each knew the other to be


140
THE ITALIAN.
influenced, as well as that disgust,
which those who act together to the
same bad end, can seldom escape from
feeling towards their associates. The
Marchesa, while she commended the
fidelity of Schedoni, forgot his views
and her promises as to a rich benefice;
while the confessor imputed her anxiety
- for the splendor of her son's condition
to a real interest in his welfare, not to a
ruthless care of her own dignity. After
mutual compliments had been ex-
changed, they proceeded to a long con-
sultation concerning Vivaldi, and it was
agreed, that their efforts for what they
termed his preservation, should no
longer be confined to remonstrąnces.


CHAPTER V.
What if it be a poison which the friar,
Subtly hath ministered?
SHAKESPEARE.
Vivaldi, when his first feelings of
pity and compunction for having in-
sulted an aged man, the member of a
sacred profession, were past, and when
he looked with a more deliberate eye
- upon some circumstances of the con-
fessor's manner, perceived that suspicion
was again gathering on his mind. But,
regarding this as a symptom of his own
weakness, rather than as a hint of truth,
he endeavoured, with a magnanimous


142
THE ITALIAN
disdain, to reject every surmise that
boded unfavourably of Schedoni.
When evening arrived, he hastened
towards Altieri, and having met without
the city, according to appointment, a
physician, upon whose honour and
judgment he thought he might rely,
they proceeded on their way together.
Vivaldi had forgotten, during the con-
fusion of his last interview with Ellena,
to deliver up the key of the garden gate,
and he now entered it as usual, though
he could not entirely overcome the
reluctance, which he felt on thus visit-
ing, in secret and at night, the dwelling
of Ellena. Under no other circum-
stances, however, could the physician,
whose opinion was so necessary to his
peace, be introduced without betraying
a suspicion, which must render her
unhappy, probably for ever.
Beatrice, who had watched for them
in the portico, led the way to the cham-
ber where the corpse was laid out; and
Vivaldi, though considerably affected
when he entered, soon recovered com.


THE ITALIAN.
143
.
posure enough to take his station on
one side of the bier, while the physician
placed himself on the other. Unwilling
to expose his emotion to the observation
of a servant, and also desirous of some'
private conversation with the physician,
he took the lamp from Beatrice, and
dismissed her. As the light glared upon
the livid face of the corpse, Vivaldi ga-
zed with melancholy surprise, and an
effort of reason was necessary to convince
him, that this was the same countenance
which only one evening preceding was
animated like his own; which had
looked upon him in tears, while, with
anxiety the most tender, Bianchi had
committed the happiness of her niece to
his care, and had, alas ! too justly pre-
dicted her approaching dissolution. The
circumstances of that scene now appeared
to him like a vision, and touched every
fibre of his heart. He was fully sen-
sible of the importance of the trust
committed to him, and, as he now hung
over the pale and deserted form of Bian-
chi, he silently renewed his solemn


144
THE ITALIAN.
vows to Ellena, to deserve the confidence
of her departed guardian.
Before Vivaldi had courage enough
to ask the opinion of the physician, who
was still viewing the face of the de-
ceased with very earnest attention and
disapproving countenance, his own sus-
picions strengthened from some circum-
stances of her appearance; and parti-
cularly from the black tint that prevail-
led over her complexion, it seemed o
him, that her death had been by poison.
He feared to break a silence, which
prolonged his hope of the contrary, fee-
ble though it was; and the physician,
who probably was apprehensive for the
consequence of delivering his real
thought, did not speak.
I read your opinion, said Vivaldi, at
length, it coincides with my own.
I know not as to that, Signor, replied
the physician, though I think I perceive
what is yours. Appearances are unfavour-
able, yet I will not take upon me to decide
from them, that it is as you suspect.
There are other circumstances, under


THE ITALIAN.
145
which similar appearances might occur.
He gave his reasons for this assertion,
which were plausible even to Vivaldi,
and concluded with requesting to speak
with Beatrice, for I wish to understand,
said he, what was the exact situation of
this lady for some hours previous to her
decease,
After a conversation of some length
with Beatrice, whatever might be the
opinion resulting from his inquiries, he
adhered nearly to his former assertions;
pronouncing that so many contradictory
circumstances appeared, as rendered it
impossible for him to decide, whether
Bianchi had died by poison or other-
wise. He stated more fully than he
had done before, the reasons which
must render the opinion of any me-
dical person, on this subject, doubt-
ful. But, whether it were that he
feared to be responsible for a decision,
which would accuse some person of
murder, or that he really was inclined
to believe that Bianchi died naturally,
it is certain he seemed disposed to adopt
VOL. 1.


146
THE ITALIAN.
the latter opinion; and that he was
anxious to quiet the suspicions of Vi-
valdi. He so far succeeded, indeed, as
to convince him that it would be un-
availing to pursue the inquiry, and
almost won him to believe, that she had
departed according to the common
course of nature.
Vivaldi, having lingered awhile over
the death-bed of Bianchi, and taken a
last farewell of her silent and altered
form, quitted the chamber and the house
as softly as he had approached, unob-
served, as he believed, by Ellena or
any other person. The morning dawned
over the sea, when he returned into the
garden, and a few fishermen, loitering
on the beach, or putting off their little
boats from the shore, were the only per-
sons visible at this early hour. The
time, however, was passed for renewing
the inquiry he had purposed at Paluzzi,
and the brightening dawn warned him
to retire. To Naples, therefore, he re-
turned, with spirits somewhat soothed
by a hope, that Bianchi had not fallen


THE ITALIAN.
147
prematurely, and by the certainty that
Ellena was well. On the way thither,
he passed the fort without interruption,
and, having parted with the physician,
was admitted into his father's mansion
by a confidential servant.
2


CHAPTER VI.
For here have been
Somo six or seven, who did hide their faces
Even from darkness.
SHAKESPEARE.
ELLENA, on thus suddenly losing her
aunt, her only relative, the friend of her ·
whole life, felt as if left alone in the
world. But it was not in the first mo-
ments of affliction that this feeling occur-
ed. Her own forlorn situation was not
even observed, while affection, pity, and
irresistible grief for Bianchi, occupied
her heart.
Bianchi was to be interred in the
church, belonging to the convent of
Santa Maria della Pieta. The body,


THE ITALIAN.
149
attired according to the custom of the
country, and decorated with flowers,
was carried on an open bier to the place
of interment, attended only by priests
and torch-bearers. But Ellena, not
enduring thus lightly to part with the
reliques of a beloved friend, and being
restrained by custom from following the
corpse to the grave, repaired first to the
convent, to attend the funeral service.
Her sorrow did not allow her to join in
the choral symphonies of the nuns, but
their sacred solemnity was soothing to
her spirits, and the tears she shed while
she listened to the lengthened note,
assuaged the force of grief.
When the service concluded, she
withdrew to the parlour of the lady ab-
bess, who mingled with her consolations
many entreaties that Ellena would make
the convent her present asylum; and her
affliction required little persuasion on
this subject. It was her wish to retire
hither, as to a sanctuary, which was not
only suitable to her particular circum-
stances, but especially adapted to the


150
'THE ITALIAN.
present state of her spirits. Here she
believed that she should sooner acquire
resignation, and regain tranquillity, than
in a place less consecrated by religion ;
and, before she took leave of the abbess,
it was agreed that she should be re-
ceived as a boarder. To acquaint Vi-
valdi with her intention was, indeed,
her chief motive for returning to Villa
Altieri, after this her resolution had
been taken. Her affection and esteem
had been gradual in their progress, and
had now attained a degree of strength,
which promised to produce the happi-
ness, or misery, of her whole life. The
sanction, given by her aunt to this.
choice, and particularly the very solemn.
manner in which, on the evening pre-
ceding her death, she bequeathed Ellena
to Vivaldi's care, had still more endear-
ed him to her heart, and imparted a
sacredness to the engagement, which
made her consider him as her guardian
and only surviving protector. The more
tenderly she lamented her deceased
relative, the more tenderly she thought


THE ITALIAN.
151
of Vivaldi; and her love for the one was
so intimately connected with her affec-
tion for the other, that each seemed
strengthened and exalted by the union.
When the funeral was over, they met
at Altieri.
He was neither surprised nor averse
from her withdrawing awhile to a
convent; for, there was a propriety in
retiring. during the period of her grief,
from a home where she had no longer a
guardian, which delicacy seemed to
demand. He only stipulated, that he
might be permitted to visit her in the
parlour of the convent, and to claim,
when decorum should no longer object
to it, the hand which Bianchi had
resigned to him..
Notwithstanding that he yielded to
this arrangement without complaining,
it was not entirely without repining;
but, being assured by Ellena of the
worthiness of the abbess of the Santa
Maria della Pieta, he endeavoured to
silence the secret murmurs of his heart
with the conviction of his judgment.
mut


152
THE ITALIAN.
Meanwhile, the deep impression made
by his unknown tormentor, the monk,
and especially by his prediction of the
death of Bianchi, remained upon his
mind, and he once more determined to
ascertain, if possible, the true nature of
this portentous visitant, and what were
the motives which induced him thus to
haunt his footsteps and interrupt his
peace. He was awed by the circum-
stances which had attended the visita-
tions of the monk, if monk it was ; by
the suddenness of his appearance, and
departure, by the truth of his prophecies;
and, above all, by the solemn event
which had verified his last warning; and
his imagination, thus elevated by wonder
and painful curiosity, was prepared for
something above the reach of common
conjecture, and beyond the accomplish-
ment of human agency. His under-
standing was sufficiently clear and strong
to teach him to detect many errors of
opinion, that prevailed around him, as
well as to despise the common supersti-
tions of his country, and, in the usual


THE ITALIAN.
153
state of his mind, he probably would
not have paused for a moment on the
subject before him; but his passions
were now interested, and his fancy
awakened, and, though he was uncon-
scious of this propensity, he would,
perhaps, have been somewhat disap-
pointed, to have descended suddenly
from the region of fearful sublimity to v
which he had soared—the world of
terrible shadows-to the earth, on which -
he daily walked, and to an explanation
simply natural.
He designed to visit again at midnight,
the fortress of Paluzzi, and not to watch
for the appearance of the stranger, but
to carry torches into every recess of the
ruin, and discover, at least, whether it
was haunted by other human beings
than himself. The chief difficulty which
had hitherto delayed him, was that of
finding a person in whom he could con-
fide, to accompany him in the search,
since his former adventure had warned
him never to renew it alone. Signor Bo-
narmo persisted absolutely, and, perhaps,


154
THE ITALIAN.
wisely, to refuse his request on this sub-
ject; and, as Vivaldi had no other
acquaintance, to whom he chose to give
so much explanation of the affair as might
induce compliance, he at length deter-
mined to take with him Paulo, his own
servant. .
On the evening, previous to the day
of Ellena's departure to the Santa della
Pieta, Vivaldi went to Altieri, to bid her
adieu. During this interview his spirits
were more than usually depressed ; and,
though he knew that her retirement
was only for a short period, and had as
much confidence in the continuance of
her affection, as is, perhaps, possible to
a lover, Vivaldi felt as if he was parting
with her for ever. A thousand vague
and fearful conjectures such as he had
never till this moment admitted, assailed
him, and amongst them, it appeared
probable that the arts of the nuns might
win her from the world, and sacrifice
her to the cloister. In her present
state of sorrow this seemed to be even
more than probable, and not all the as-


THE ITALIAN.
155
surances which Ellena gave him, and
in these, parting moments she spoke
with less reserve than she had hitherto
done, could entirely re-assure his mind.
It should seem, Ellena, by these boding
fears, said he, imprudently, that I am
parting with you for ever; I feel a weight
upon my heart which I cannot throw
off. Yet I consent that you shall with-
draw awhile to this convent, convinced
of the propriety of the step; and I ought,
also, to know that you will soon return;
that I shall soon take you from its walls
as my wife, never more to leave me,
never more to pass from my immediate
care and tenderness. I ought to feel
assured of all this; yet so apt are my
fears that I cannot confide in what is
probable, but rather apprehend what
is possible. And is it then possible
that I yet may lose you; and is it
only probable that you may be mine
for ever? How, under such circum-
stances, could I weakly consent to your
retirement? Why did I not urge you
to bestow immediately those indissoluble
SS


156
THE ITALIAN.
bands, which no human force can burst
asunder? How could I leave the des-
tiny of all my peace within the reach of
a possibility, which it was once in my
power to have removed! Which it was
in my power!- It is, perhaps, still in
my power. O Ellena! let the severities
of custom yield to the security of my
happiness. If you do go to the Santa
Maria, let it be only to visit its altar!
Vivaldi delivered this expostulation
with a rapidity that left no pause for
Ellena to interrupt him. When, at
length, he concluded she gently re-
proached him for doubting the conti-
nuance of her regard, and endeavoured
to sooth his apprehensions of misfortune,
but would not listen to his request.
She represented, that not only the state
of her spirits required retirement, but
that respect to the memory of her aunt
demanded it; and added gravely, that
if he had so little confidence in the
steadiness of her opinions, as to doubt
the constancy of her affection, and for
so short a period, unless her vows were


158
THE ITALIAN.
the Villa Altieri; but, as the time was
yet too early to suit his purposed inqui-
ry at Paluzzi, he returned to Naples.
Ellena, meanwhile, endeavouring to
dissipate melancholy recollections by
employment, continued busied in pre-
paration for her departure on the fol-
lowing day, till a late hour of the night.
In the prospect of quitting, though only
for a short period, the home where she
had passed almost every day since the
dawn of her earliest remembrance, there
was something melancholy, if not solemn.
In leaving these well-known scenes,
where, it might be said, the shade of
her deceased relative seemed yet to
linger, she was quitting all vestige of
her late happiness, all note of former
years and of present consolation; and
she felt as if going forth into a new and
homeless world. Her affection for the
place increased as the passing time
diminished, and it seemed as if the last
moment of her stay would be precisely
that in which the Villa Altieri would be
most valued.


THE ITALIAN.
159
In her favourite apartments she lin-
gered for a considerable time; and in
the room where she had supped on the
night immediately preceding the death
of Signora Bianchi, she indulged many
tender and mournful recollections, and
probably would have continued to in-
dulge them much longer, had not her
attention been withdrawn by a sudden
rustling of the foliage that surrounded
the window, when, on raising her eyes,
she thought she perceived some person
pass quickly from before it. The lattices
had, as usual, been left open to admit
the fresh breeze from the bay below,
but she now rose with some alarm to
close them, and had scarcely done so,
when she heard a distant knocking from
the portico, and in the next instant, the
screams of Beatrice in the ball.
Alarmed for herself, Ellena had, howa
ever, the courage to advance to the
assistance of her old servant, when, on
entering the passage leading to the hall,
three men, masked, and muffled up in
cloaks, appeared, advancing from the


160
THE ITALIAN.
opposite extremity. While she fled,
they pursued her to the apartment she
had quitted. Her breath and her cou-
rage were gone, yet she struggled to
sustain herself, and endeavoured to ask
with calmness what was their errand.
They gave no reply, but threw a veil
over her face, and, seizing her arms, led
her almost unresisting, but supplicating,
towards the portico.
In the hall, Ellena perceived Beatrice
bound to a pillar; and another ruffian,
who was also masked, watching over
and menacing her, not by words, but
gestures. Ellena's shrieks seemed to
recal the almost lifeless Beatrice, for
whom she supplicated as much as for
herself; but entreaty was alike unavail-
ing for each, and Ellena was borne
from the house and through the garden,
| All consciousness had now forsaken her.
On recovering, she perceived herself in
a carriage, which was driven with great
rapidity, and that her arms were within
the grasp of some persons, whom, when
her recollection returned more fully,


THE ITALIAN.
161
she believed to be the men who had
carried her from the villa. The dark-
ness prevented her from observing their
figures, and to all her questions and .
entreaties, a death-like silence was
observed.
During the whole night the carriage
proceeded rapidly, stopping only while
the horses were changed, when Ellena
endeavoured to interest by her cries the
compassion of the people at the post
houses, and by her cries only, for the
blinds were closely drawn. The postil-
lions, no doubt, imposed on the credu-
lity of these people, for they were in-
sensible to her distress, and her imme-
diate companions soon overcame the
only means that had remained, by
which she could make it known.
For the first hours, a tumult of terror
and amazement occupied her mind, but,
as this began to subside, and her un-
derstanding to recover its clearness,
grief and despondency mingled with
her fears. She saw herself separated


162
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from Vivaldi, probably for ever, for
she apprehended that the strong and
invisible hand, which governed her
course, would never relinquish its grasp
till it had placed her irrecoverably be-
yond the reach of her lover. A con-
viction that she should see him no more
came, at intervals, with such over-
whelming force, that every other con-
sideration and emotion disappeared
before it; and at these moments she
lost all anxiety as to the place of her
destination, and all fear as to her per-
sonal safety..
As the morning advanced and the heat
increased, the blinds were let down a
little to admit air, and Ellena then per-
ceived, that only two of the men, who
had appeared at the Villa Altieri, were
in the carriage, and that they were still
disguised in cloaks and visors. She
had no means of judging through what
part of the country she was travelling,
for above the small openings which the
blinds left, she could see only the tow-


THE ITALIAN.
163
ering tops of mountains, or sometimes
the veiny precipices and tangled thickets,
that closely impended over the road.
About noon, as she judged from the
excessive heat, the carriage stopped at
a post house, and ice water was handed
through the window, when, as the blind
was lowered to admit it, she perceived
herself on a wild and solitary plain,
surrounded by mountains and woods.
The people at the door of the post house
seemed “ unused to pity or be pitied.")
The lean and sallow countenance of
poverty stared over their gaunt bones,
and habitual discontent had fixed the
furrows of their cheeks. They regarded
Ellena with only a feeble curiosity,
though the affliction in her looks might
have interested almost any heart that
was not corroded by its own sufferings ;
nor did the masked faces of her com-
panions excite a much stronger at-
tention.
Ellena accepted the cool refreshment
offered her, the first she had taken on
the road. Her companions, having emp-
,
was


164
THE ITALIAN.
tied their glasses, drew up the blind,
and, notwithstanding the almost intole-
rable heat of noon, the carriage pro-
ceeded. Fainting under its oppression,
Ellena entreated that the windows might
be open, when the men, in compliance
with their own necessity rather than
with her request, lowered the blinds, and
she had a glimpse of the lofty region of
the mountains, but of no object that could
direct her conjecture concerning where
she was. She saw only pinnacles and
vast precipices of various tinted mar-
bles, intermingled with scanty vege-
tation, such as stunted pinasters, dwarf
oak, and holly, which gave dark touches
to the many-coloured cliffs, and some-
times stretched in shadowy masses to the
deep vallies, that, winding into obscu-
rity, seemed to invite curiosity to explore
the scenes beyond. Below these bold
precipices extended the gloomy region
of olive-trees, and lower still other
rocky steeps sunk towards the plains,
bearing terraces crowned with vines,
and where often the artificial soil was
ds


THE ITALIAN.
165
propped by thickets of juniper, pome-
granate, and oleander.
Ellena, after having been so long shut
in darkness, and brooding over her own
alarming circumstances, found tempo- ;
rary, though feeble relief, in once more
looking upon the face of nature; till,
her spirits being gradually revived and
elevated by the grandeur of the images
around her, she said to herself, if I am
condemned to misery, surely I could
endure it with more fortitude in scenes
like these, than amidst the tamer land- :
scapes of nature! Here, the objects
seem to impart somewhat of their own
force, their own sublimity; to the soul.
It is scarcely possible to yield to the
pressure of misfortune, while we walk,
as in the presence of the Deity; amidst
his most stupendous works!
· But soon after, the idea of Vivaldi
glancing athwart her memory, she mel.
ted into tears; the weakness, however,
was momentary, and, during the rest of
the journey she preserved a strenuous
equality of mind.


166
THE ITALIAN.
It was when the heat and the light were
declining, that the carriage entered a
rocky defile, which shewed, as through
a telescope reversed, distant plains, and
mountains opening beyond, lighted up
with all the purple splendour of the
setting sun. Along this deep and sha-
dowy perspective, a river, which was
seen descending among the cliffs of a
mountain, rolled with impetuous force,
fretting and foaming amidst the dark
rocks in its descent, and then flowing
in a limpid lapse to the brink of other
precipices, whence again it fell with
thundering strength to the abyss, throw-
ing its misty clouds of spray high in the
air, and seeming to claim the sole
empire of this solitary wild. Its bed
took up the whole breadth of the chasm,
which some strong convulsion of the
earth seemed to have formed, not leav-
ing space even for a road along its mar-
gin. The road, therefore, was carried
high among the cliffs that impended
over the river, and seemed as if sus-
pended in air; while the gloom and


THE ITALIAN
THE ITALIAN. 167
vastness of the precipices, which
towered above and sunk below it, to-
gether with the amazing force and
uproar of the falling waters, combined
to render the pass more terrific than the
pencil could describe, or language can
express. Ellena ascended it, not with
indifference but with calmness ; she
experienced somewhat of a dreadful
pleasure in looking down upon the
irresistible flood; but this emotion was
heightened into awe, when she perceiv-
ed that the road led to a slight bridge,
which, thrown across the chasm at an
immense height, united two opposite
cliffs between which the whole cataract
of the river descended. The bridge,
which was defended only by a slender
railing, appeared as if hung amidst the
clouds. Ellena, while she was crossing
it, almost forgot her misfortunes. Hav-
ing reached the opposite side of the
glen, the road gradually descended the
precipices for about half a mile, when
it opened to extensive prospects over
plains and towards distant mountains


108
THE ITALIAN.
00
the sunshine landscape, which had long
appeared to bound this shadowy pass.
The transition was as the passage
through the vale of death to the bliss of
eternity ; but the idea of its resem-
blance did not long remain with Ellena.
Perched high among the cliffs of a
mountain, which might be said to ter-
minate one of the jaws of this terrific
gorge, and which was one of the loftiest
of a chain that surrounded the plains,
appeared the spires and long terraces
of a monastery; and she soon under-
stood that her journey was to conclude
there.
At the foot of this mountain her
companions alighted, and obliged her
to do the same, for the ascent was too
steep and irregular to admit of a car-
riage. Ellena followed unresistingly,
like a lamb to the sacrifice, up a path
that wound among the rocks, and was
coolly overshadowed by thickets of
almond trees, figs, broad-leaved myrtle,
and ever-green rose bushes, inter-
mingled with the strawberry tree, beau.


THE ITALIAN.
169
tiful in fruit and blossoms, the yellow
jesamine, the delightful acacia mimosa,
and a variety of other fragrant plants
These bowers frequently admitted
glimpses of the glowing country below,
and sometimes opened to expansive
views bounded by the snowy moun-
tains of Abruzzo. At every step were
objects, which would have afforded
pleasure to a tranquil mind; the beau-:
tifully variegated marbles, that formed
the cliffs immediately above, their frac-
tured masses embossed with mosses and
flowers of every vivid hue that paints
the rainbow: the elegance of the shrubs
that tufted, and the majestic grace of
the palms, which waved over them,
would have charmed almost any other
eye than Ellena's, whose spirit was
wrapt in care, or than those of her com-
panions, whose hearts were dead to
feeling. Partial features of the vast
edifice she was approaching, appeared
now and then between the trees; the
tall west window of the cathedral with
the spires that overtopped it; the nar-
VOL. 1.


170
THE ITALIAN.
row pointed roofs of the cloisters; angles
of the insurmountable walls, which fenc-
ed the garden from the precipices below,
and the dark portal leading into the
chief court; each of these, seen at in-
tervals beneath the gloom of cypress
and spreading cedar, seemed as if
menacing the unhappy Ellena with hints
of future suffering. She passed several
shrines and images half hid among the
shrubs and the cliffs ; and, when she
drew near the monastery, her compani-
ons stopped at a little chapel which
stood beside the path, where, after ex-
amining some papers, an act which she
observed with surprise, they drew aside,
as if to consult respecting herself. Their
conversation was delivered in voices so
low, that she could not catch a single
tone distinctly, and it is probable that
if she could, this would not have assist-
ed her in conjecturing who they were ;
yet the profound silence they had
hitherto observed had much increased
her curiosity, now that they spoke.
One of them soon after quitted the


THE ITALIAN.
171
chapel and proceeded alone to the mo-
nastery, leaving Ellena in the custody
of his comrade, whose pity she now
made a last, though almost hopeless,
effort to interest. He replied to all her
entreaties only by a waving of the hand,
and an averted face; and she en-
deavoured to meet with fortitude and to
endure with patience the evil, which
she could neither avoid nor subdue.
The spot, where she awaited the return
of the ruffian, was not of a character to
promote melancholy, except, indeed,
that luxurious and solemn kind of me-
lancholy, which a view of stupendous
objects inspires. It overlooked the
whole extent of plains, of which she had
before caught partial scenes, with the
vast chain of mountains, which seemed
to form an insurmountable rampart to the
rich landscape at their feet. Their tower-
ing and fantastic summits, crowding
together into dusky air, like flames
tapering to a point, exhibited images of
peculiar grandeur, while each minuter
line and feature withdrawing, at this
12


172
THE ITALIAN.
evening hour, from observation, seemed.
to resolve itself into the more gigantic
masses, to which the dubious tint, the
solemn obscurity, that began to prevail
over them, gave force and loftier cha-
racter. The silence and deep repose of
the landscape, served to impress this
character more awfully on the heart,
and while Ellena sat wrapt in the
thoughtfulness it promoted, the vesper-
service of the monks breathing softly
from the cathedral above, came to her
ear; it was a music which might be
said to win on silence, and was in per-
fect unison with her feelings; solemn,
deep, and full, it swelled in holy peels,
and rolled away in murmurs, which
attention pursued to the last faint note
that melted into air. Ellena's heart
owned the power of this high minstrelsy;
and, while she caught for a moment the
sweeter voices of the nuns mingling in
the chorus, she indulged a hope that
they would not be wholly insensible to
her sufferings, and that she should re-
ceive some consolation from sympathy


THE ITALIAN.
173
as soft as these tender breathing strains
appeared to indicate.
- She had rested nearly half an hour on
the slope of turf before the chapel, when
she perceived, through the twilight, two
monks descending from the monastery
towards the spot where she sat. As
they drew near, she distinguished their
dress of grey stuff, the hood, the shaven
head, where only a coronet of white
hair was left, and other ensigns of their
particular order. On reaching the cha-
pel, they accosted her companion, with
whom they retired a few paces, and
conversed. Ellena heard, for the first
time, the sound of her conductor's voice,
and though this was but faintly, she
marked it well. The other ruffian did
not yet appear, but it seemed evident
that these monks had left the convent
in consequence of his information; and
sometimes, when she looked upon the
taller of the two, she fancied she saw
the person of the very man whose
absence she had remarked, a conjecture
which strengthened while she more ac.


174
THE ITALIAN.
curately noticed him. The portrait had
certainly much resemblance in height
and bulk; and the same gaunt awkward-
ness, which even the cloak of the ruffian
had not entirely shrouded, obtruded
itself from under the folded garments of
the recluse. If countenance, too, might
be trusted, this same friar had ruffian's
heart, and his keen and cunning eye
seemed habitually upon the watch for
prey. His brother of the order shewed
nothing strongly characteristic either
in his face or manner.
After a private conversation of some
length, the 'friars approached Ellena,
and told her, that she must accompany
them to the convent; when her dis
guised conductor, having resigned her
to them, immediately departed and
descended the mountain,
Not a word was uttered by either of
the party as they pursued the steep
tract, leading to the gates of this seclu-
ded edifice, which were opened to them
by a lay-brother. Ellena entered a
spacious court, Three sides of this


THE ITALIAN.
175
were enclosed by lofty buildings, lined
with ranges of cloisters; the fourth
opened to a garden, shaded with
avenues of melancholy cypress, that
extended to the cathedral, whose fret-
ted windows and ornamented spires
appeared to close the perspective.
Other large and detached buildings
skirted the gardens on the left, while,
on the right, spacious olive grounds and
vineyards spread to the cliffs, that form-
ed a barrier to all this side of the do.
main of the convent.
The monk, her conductor, crossed the
court to the north wing, and there ring-
ing a bell, a door was opened by a nun,
into whose hands Ellena was given. A
significant look was exchanged between
the devotees, but no words; the friar
departed, and the nun, still silent, con-
ducted her through many solitary pas,
sages, where not even a distant foot fall
echoed, and whose walls were roughly
painted with subjects indicatory of the
severe superstitions of the place, tending
to inspire melancholy awe. Ellena's


THE ITALIAN..
' 177
moment, with inquisitive ill nature,
quitted the room. The unhappy Ellena
had not been left long to her own re-
flections, when the abbess appeared ; a
stately lady, apparently occupied with
opinions of her own importance, and
prepared to receive her guest with ri-
gour and supercilious haughtiness.
This abbess, who was herself a woman
of some distinction, believed that of all
possible crimes, next to that of sacri-
lege, offences against persons of rank
were least pardonable. It is not sur-
prising, therefore, that, supposing El-
lena, a young woman of no family, to
have sought clandestinely to unite her-
self with the noble house of Vivaldi, she
should feel for her, not only disdain,
.but indignation, and that she should
readily consent, not only to punish the
offender, but, at the same time, to
afford means of preserving the ancient
dignity of the offended...
I understand, said the abbess, on
whose appearance the alarmed Elleną,
had arisen, I understand, said she,
1 5


178
THE ITALIAN.
without making any signal for her to be
seated, that you are the young person
who is arrived from Naples.
My name is Ellena di Rosalba, said
her auditor, recovering some degree of
courage from the manner which was de-
signed to depress her.
I know nothing of your name, replied
the superior ; I am informed only that
you are sent here to acquire a knowledge
of yourself and of your duties. Till the
period shall be passed, for which you
are given into my charge, I shall scru-
pulously observe the obligations of the
troublesome office, which my regard for
the honour of a noble family has induced
me to undertake
By these words, the author and the
motives of this extraordinary transaction
were at once revealed to Ellena, who
was for some moments almost over-
whelmed by the sudden horrors that
gathered on her mind, and she stood
silent and motionless. Fear, shame,
and indignation, alternately assailed her;
and the sting of offended honour, on


ur.
THE ITALIAN.
179
being suspected and thus accused of
having voluntarily disturbed the tran.
quillity and sought the alliance of any
family, especially of one who disdained
her, struck forcibly to her heart, till the
pride of conscious worth revived her
courage and fortified her patience, and
she demanded by whose will she had
been torn from her home, and by whose
authority she was now detained, as it
appeared, a prisoner.
The abbess, unaccustomed to have
her power opposed, or her words ques-
tioned, was for a moment too indignant
to reply; and Ellena observed, but no
longer with dismay, the brooding tem-
pest ready to burst over her head. It is
I, only, who am injured, said she to
herself, and shall the guilty oppressor
triumph, and the innocent sufferer sink
under the shame that belongs only to
guilt! Never will I yield to a weakness
so contemptible. The consciousness
of deserving well will recall my presence
of mind, which, permitting me to esti-
mate the characters of my oppressors


180
THE ITALIAN.
by their actions, will enable me also to
despise their power.
I must remind you, said the abbess,
at length, that the questions you make
are unbecoming in your situation; and
that contrition and humility are the
best extenuations of error. You may
withdraw.
Ellena forbore to make further inquiry,
or remonstrance, and, perceiving that
reproach would not only be useless, but
degrading to herself, she immediately
obeyed the mandate of the abbess, and
determined, since she must suffer, to
suffer, if possible, with firmness and
dignity.
She was conducted from the parlour
by the nun who had admitted her, and,
as she passed through the refectory
where the nuns, just returned from ves-
pers, were assembled, their inquisitive
glances, their smiles and busy whispers,
told her, that she was not only an object
of curiosity, but of suspicion, and that
little sympathy could be expected from
hearts, which even the offices of hourly


THE ITALIAN.
181
devotion had not purified from the ma-
lignant envy that taught them to exalt
themselves upon the humiliation of
others.
The little room to which Ellena was
led, and where, to her great satisfaction,
she was left alone, rather deserved the
denomination of a cell, than of a cham-
ber; since, like those of the nuns, it had
only one small lattice; and a mattress,
one chair, and a table, with a crucifix
and a prayer book, were all its furni-
ture. Ellena, as she surveyed her me-
lancholy habitation, suppressed a rising
sigh, but she could not remain unaffected
by recollections, which, on this view of
her altered state, crowded to her mind ;
nor think of Vivaldi far away, perhaps
for ever, and probably even ignorant of
her destination, without bitter tears.
But she dried them, as the idea of the
Marchesa obtruded on her thoughts, for
other emotions than those of grief pos-
sessed her. It was to the Marchesa
that she especially attributed her present
situation ; and it now appeared that the


182
THE ITALIAN.
family of Vivaldi had not only been
reluctant, but absolutely averse from a
connection with her's, contrary to the
suggestions of Signora Bianchi, who had
represented, that it might be supposed
only, from their known character, that
they would disapprove of the alliance,
but would of course be reconciled to an
event, which their haughtiest displeasure
never could revoke. This discovery of
their absolute rejection awakened all
the proper pride, which the mistaken
prudence of her aunt and her affection
for Vivaldi had lulled to rest; and she
now suffered the most acute vexation
and remorse for having yielded her con-
sent to enter clandestinely into any
family. The imaginary honours of so
noble an alliance vanished, when the
terms of obtaining them were considered;
and now, that the sound mind of Ellena
was left to its own judgment, she looked
with infinitely more pride and preference
upon the industrious means, which had
hitherto rendered her independent, than
on all distinction which might be reluca


THE ITALIAN.
183
tantly conferred. The consciousness of
innocence, which had supported her in
the presence of the superior, began to
falter. Her accusation was partly just,
said Ellena, and I deserve punishment,
since I could, even for a moment, sub-
mit to the humiliation of desiring an
alliance, which I knew would be unwil-
lingly conferred. But it is not yet too
late to retrieve my own esteem by asser-
ting my independence, and resigning
Vivaldi for ever. By resigning him! by
abandoning him who loves me,-aban.
doning him to misery! Him, whom I
cannot even think of without tears,--to
whom my vows have been given, --who
may claim me by the sacred remem-
brance of my dying friend, him, to
whom my whole heart is devoted! O!
miserable alternative that I can no
longer act justly, but at the expense of
all my future happiness! Justly! and
would it then be just to abandon him,
who is willing to resign every thing
for me, abandon him to ceaseless sor-


184 · THE ITALIAN.
row, that the prejudices of his family
may be gratified ?
Poor Ellena perceived that she could
not obey the dictates of a just pride,
without such opposition from her heart
as she had never experienced before.
Her affections were now too deeply
engaged to permit her to act with
firmness, at the price of long suffering.
The consideration of resigning Vivaldi
was so very grievous, that she could
scarcely endure to pause upon it for a
moment; yet, on the other hand, when
she thought of his family, it appeared
that she never could consent to make a
part of it. She would have blamed the
erroneous judgment of Signora Bianchi,
whose persuasions had so much assisted
in reducing her to the present alternative,
had not the tenderness with which she
cherished her memory, rendered this
impossible. All that now remained for
her, was, to endeavour patiently to
endure present evils, which she could
not conquer; for, to forsake Vivaldi as


THE ITALIAN.
185.
the price of liberty, should liberty be
offered her on such terms, or to accept
him in defiance of honourable pride,
should he ever effect her release, ap-
peared to her distracted thoughts almost
equally impracticable. But, as the
probability of his never being able to
discover her abode, returned to her
consideration, the anguish she suffered
told how much more she dreaded to
lose than to accept Vivaldi, and that
love was, after all, the most powerful
affection of her heart,


CHAPTER VII.
The bell then beating one!
SHAKESPEARE.
Vivaldi, meanwhile, ignorant of
what had occured at Villa Altieri, re-
paired, as he had proposed, to Paluzzi,
attended by his servant Paulo. It was
deep night before he left Naples, and so
anxious was he to conceal himself from
observation, that, though Paulo carried
a torch, he did not permit it to be
lighted till after he should have re-
mained some time within the archway,
thinking it most prudent to watch
awhile in secret for his unknown ad-
viser, before he proceeded to examine
the fort.
His attendant, Paulo, was a true
* Neapolitan, shrewd, inquisitive, insinu-
ating, adroit; possessing much of the
spirit of intrigue, together with a con-


THE ITALIAN.
187
siderable portion of humour, which
displayed itself not so much in words,
as in his manner and countenance, in
the archness of his dark, penetrating
eye, and in the exquisite adaptation of
his gesture to his idea. He was, a dis-
tinguished favourite with his master,
who, if he had not humour himself, had.
a keen relish of it in others, and who
certainly did possess wit, with all its
lively accompaniments, in an eminent
degree. Vivaldi had been won by the
maïveté and humour of this man, to
allow him an unusual degree of famili-
arity in conversation; and, as they now
walked together towards Paluzzi, họ
unfolded to Paulo as much of his former
adventure there as he judged necessary
to interest his curiosity and excite his
vigilance. The relation did both. Paulo,
however, naturally courageous, was in-
credulous to superstition of any kind;
and, having quickly perceived that his
master was not altogether indisposed to
attribute to a supernatural cause the
extraordinary occurrences at Paluzzi,


188
THE ITALIAN.
en
he began, in his manner, to rally him ;
but Vivaldi was not in a temper to en-
dure jesting; his mood was grave, even
to, solemnity, and he yielded, though
reluctantly, to the awe, which, at inter-
vals, returned upon him with the force
of a magical spell, binding up all his
faculties to sternness, and fixing them
in expectation. While he was nearly
regardless of defence against human
agency, his servant was, however, pre-
paring for that alone; and very pro-
perly represented the imprudence of
going to Paluzzi in darkness. Vivaldi
observed, that they could not watch for
the monk otherwise than in darkness,
since the torch which lighted them
would also warn him, and he had very
particular reasons for watching, before
he proceeded to examine. He added,
that, after a certain time had elapsed,
the torch might be lighted at a neigh-
bouring cottage. Paulo objected, that
in the meanwhile the person for whom
they watched might escape; and Vivaldi
compromised the affair. The torch was


THE ITALIAN
189
lighted, but concealed within a hollow of
the cliffs, that bordered the road, and
the sentinels took their station in dark-
ness, within the deep arch, near the spot
where Vivaldi had watched with Bo-
narmo. As they did this, the distant
chime of a convent informed Vivaldi
that midnight was turned. The sound
recalled to his mind the words of Sche-
doni, concerning the vicinity of the con-
vent of the Black Penitents to Paluzzi,
and he asked Paulo whether this was
the chime of that convent. Paulo replied
that it was, and that a remarkable cir-
cumstance had taught him to remember
the Santa del Pianto, or Our Lady of
Tears. The place, Signor, would interest
you, said Paulo; for there are some
odd stories told of it; and I am inclined
to think, this unknown monk must be
one of that society, his conduct is so
strange.
You believe, then, that I am willing
to give faith to wonderful stories, said
Vivaldi, smiling. But what have you
heard that is so extraordinary respect-


190
THE ITALIAN.
ing this convent! Speak low, or we
may be discovered.
Why, Signor, the story is not gene-
rally known said Paulo in a whisper; I
half promised never to reveal it.
If you are under any promise of se-
crecy, interrupted Vivaldi, I forbid you
to tell this wonderful tale, which, how-
ever, seems somewhat too big to rest
within your brain.
The story would fain expand itself to
your's, Signor, said Paulo; and, as I
did not absolutely promise to conceal it,
I am very willing to tell it.
Proceed, then, said Vivaldi; but let
me once more caution you to speak
low.
You are obeyed, Signor. You must
know, then, maestro, that it was on the
eve of the festival of Santo Marco, and
about six years since
Peace! said Vivaldi. They were si-
lent; but every thing remaining still,
Paulo, after some time, ventured to
proceed, though in a yet lower whisper.
It was on the eve of the Santo Marco,


THE ITALIAN.
191
and when the last bell had rung, that a
person- He stopped again, for a rust-
ling sound passed near him.
You are too late, said a sudden; voice
beside Vivaldi, who instantly recognised
the thrilling accents of the monk--It is
past midnight; she departed an hour
ago. Look to your steps !
Though thrilled by this well-known
voice, Vivaldi scarcely yielded to his
feelings for a moment, but checking the
question, which would have asked, Who
departed ? he, by a sudden spring, en-
deavoured to seize the intruder, while
Paulo, in the first hurry of his alarm,
fired a pistol, and then hastened for the
torch. So certainly did Vivaldi believe
himself to have leaped upon the spot
whence the voice proceeded, that on
reaching it, he instantly extended his
arms, and searching around, expected
every moment to find his enemy in his
grasp. Darkness again baffled his at-
tempt.
You are known, cried Vivaldi; you.


192
THE ITALIAN.
shall see me at the Santà dell Pianto!
What, oh! Paulo, the torch !-the
torch!
Paulo, swift as the wind, appeared
with it. He passed up those steps in
the rock, signor; I saw the skirts of
his garments ascending!
Follow me, then, said Vivaldi, mount-
ing the steps. Away, away, maestro !
said Paulo, impatiently; but for heaven's
sake, name no more the convent of the
Santa dell Pianto; our lives may answer
it.
He followed to the terrace above,
where Vivaldi, holding high the torch,
looked round for the monk. The place,
however, as far as his eye could pene-
trate, was forsaken and silent. The
glare of the torch enlightened only the
rude walls of the citadel, some points of
the cliff below, and some tall pines that
waved over them, leaving in doubtful
gloom many a recess of the ruins, and
many a tangled thicket that spread
among the rocks beyond.


THE ITALIAN.
193
EINS
Do you perceive any person, Paulo ?
said Vivaldi, waving the torch in the air
to rouse the flame.
Among those arches on the left, sig-
nor, those arches that stand duskily
beyond the citadel, I thought I saw a
shadowy sort of a figure pass. He
might be a ghost, by his silence, for
aught I know, maestro; but he seems
to have a good mortal instinct in taking
care of himself, and to have as swift a
pair of heels to assist in carrying him
off, as any Lazaro in Naples need desire.
Fewer words, and more caution!
said Vivaldi, lowering the torch, and
pointing it towards the quarter which
Paulo had mentioned. Be vigilant, and
tread lightly.
You are obeyed, signor; but their
eyes will inform them, though their ears
refuse, while we hold a light to our own
steps.
Peace, with this buffoonery! said
Vivaldi, somewhat sternly; follow in
silence, and be on your guard.
VOL. I.


194
THE ITALIAN.
Paulo submitted, and they proceeded
towards the range of arches, which
communicated with the building, whose
singular structure had formerly arrested
the attention of Bonarmo, and whence
Vivaldi himself had returned with such
unexpected precipitancy and conster-
nation.
On perceiving the place he was
approaching, he suddenly stopped, and
Paulo, observing his agitation, and
probably not relishing the adventure,
endeavoured to dissuade him from fur-
ther research : For we know not who
may inhabit this gloomy place, signor,
or their numbers, and we are only two
of us after all I Besides, signor, it was
through that door yonder; and he pointed
to the very spot whence Vivaldi had so
fearfully issued; through that door, that
I fancied, just now, I saw something
pass. .
Are you certain, as to this ? said Vi.
valdi, with increased emotion. What
was its form?


THE ITALIAN.
195
It was so dusky. thereabout, maestro,
that I could not distinguish.
Vivaldi's eyes were fixed upon the
building, and a violent conflict of feelings
seemed to shake his soul. A few seconds
decided it. I will go on, said he, and
terminate, at any hazard, this state
of intolerable anxiety. Paulo, pause
a moment, and consider well whether
you can depend on your courage, for it
may be severely tried. If you can,
descend with me in silence, and I warn
you to be wary; if you cannot, I will
go alone...
It is too late now, signor, to ask my-
self that question, replied Paulo, with a
submissive air; and if I had not settled
it long ago, I should not have followed
you thus far. My courage, signor, you
never doubted before.
Come on, then, said Vivaldi. He drew
his sword, and entering the narrow
door way, the torch, which he had now
resigned to Paulo, shewed a stone pas-
sage, that was, however, interminable
to the eye.
2


196
THE ITALIAN.
As they proceeded, Paulo observed,
that the walls were stained in several
places with what appeared to be blood,
but prudently forbore to point this out
to his master, observing the strict in-
junction of silence he had received.
Vivaldi stepped cautiously, and often
paused to listen, after which he went on
with a quicker pace, making signs only
to Paulo to follow, and be vigilant. The
passage terminated in a stair-case, that
seemed to lead to vaults below. Vi-
valdi remembered the light, which had
formerly appeared there, and, as recol-
lection of the past gathered on his mind,
he faultered in his purpose.
Again he paused, looked back upon
Paulo, but was going forward, when
Paulo himself seized his arm. Stop!
signor, said he in a low voice. Do you
not distinguish a figure standing yonder,
in the gloom ? :
Vivaldi looked onward, and perceiv-
ed, indistinctly, something as of human
form, but motionless and silent. It
stood at the dusky extremity of the


THE ITALIAN..
197
avenue, near the stair-case. Its gar-
ments, if garments they were, were dark;
but its whole figure was so faintly
traced to the eye, that it was impossible
to ascertain whether this was the monk.
Vivaldi took the light, and held it for-
ward, endeavouring to distinguish the .
object before he ventured further ; but
the inquiry was useless, and resigning
the. torch to' Paulo, he rushed on.
When he reached the head of the stair.
case, however, the form, whatever it
might be, was gone. Vivaldi heard no
footstep. Paulo pointed out the exact
spot were it had stood, but no vestige of
it appeared. Vivaldi called loudly upon
the monk, but he heard only the
lengthening echoes of his own voice
revolving among the chambers below,
and, after hesitating awhile on the head
of the stairs, he descended.
Paulo had not followed down many
steps, when he called out, It is there!
signor ; I see it again ! and now it fits
away through the door that opens to
the vaults!


198
THE ITALIAN.
Vivaldi pursued so swiftly, that Paulo
could scarcely follow fast enough with
the light; and, as at length he rested to
take breath, he perceived himself in the
same spacious chamber to which he had
formerly descended. At this moment
Paulo perceived his countenance change.
You are ill, signor, said he. In the
name of our holy saint, let us quit this
hideous place. Its inhabitants can be
nothing good, and no good can come of
our remaining here.
Vivaldi made no reply; he drew
breath with difficulty, and his eyes re-
mained fixed on the ground, till a noise,
like the creaking of a heavy hinge, rose
in a distant part of the vault. Paulo
turned his eyes, at the same instant,
towards the place whence it came, and
they both perceived a door in the wall
slowly opened, and immediately closed
again, as if the person within had feared
to be discovered. Each believed, from
the transient view he had of it, that this
was the same figure, which had appear-
ed on the stair-case, and that it was the


THE ITALIAN.
199
ex
monk himself. Reanimated by this be-
lief, Vivaldi's nerves were instantly re-
braced, and he sprang to the door,
which was unfastened, and yielded im-
mediately to his impetuous hand. You
shall not deceive me now, cried he, as
he entered ; Paulo, keep guard at the
door!
He looked round the second vault, n
which he now found himself, but no
person appeared; he examined the
place, and particularly the walls, with-
out discovering any aperture, either of
door or window, by which the figure
could have quitted the chamber; a
strongly grated casement, placed near
the roof, was all that admitted air, and
probably light. Vivaldi was astonished!
Have you seen anything pass ? said he
to Paulo.
Nothing, maestro, replied the ser-
vant.
This is almost incredible, exclaimed
Vivaldi; 'tis certain this form can be
nothing human !
If so, signor, observed Paulo, why


200
THE ITALIAN.
clea !
should it fear us? as surely it does; or
why should it have fled ?
That is not so certain, rejoined Vi-
valdi; it may have fled only to lead us
into evil. But bring hither the torch ;
here is something in the wall, which I
would examine.
Paulo obeyed. It was merely a
ruggedness in the stones, not the parti-
tion of a door, that had excited his
curiosity. This is inexplicable! ex-
claimed Vivaldi, after a long pause.
What motive could any human being
have for thus tormenting me.
Or any being superhuman, either, my
signor? said Paulo.
I am warned of evils that await me,
continued Vivaldi, musing ; of events,
that are regularly fulfilled; the being
who warns me, crosses my path per-
petually, yet with the cunning of a de-
mon, as constantly eludes my grasp,
and baffles my pursuit! It is incom-
prehensible, by what means he glides
thus away from my eye, and fades, as if
• into air, at my approach! He is repeata


THE ITALIAN.
203
Vivaldi and his servant discovered it at
the same instant; and a dreadful fore.
boding of their own destiny fixed them,
for some moments, to the spot. Vivaldi
first recovered himself, when, instead of
yielding to despondency, all his faculties
were aroused to devise some means for
escaping ; but Paulo's hopes seemed
buried beneath the dreadful vestments
upon which he still gazed. Ah, my
signor! said he, at length, in a faultering
accent, who shall dare to raise that gar-
ment? What if it should conceal the
mangled body whose blood has stained it!
Vivaldi, shudderingly, turned to look
at it again.
It moves ! exclaimed Paulo; I see it
move! as he said which, he started to
the opposite side of the chamber. Vi.
valdi stepped a few paces back, and as
quickly returned ; when determined to
know the event at once, he raised the
garment upon the point of his sword,
and perceived, beneath, other remains
of dress, heaped high together, while


204
THE ITALIAN.
even the floor below was stained with
gore.
Believing that fear had deceived the
eyes of Paulo, Vivaldi watched this hor-
rible spectacle for some time, but without
perceiving the least motion ; when he
became convinced, that not any remains
of life were shrouded beneath it, and
that it contained only articles of dress,
which had belonged to some unfortunate
person, who had probably been decoyed
hither for plunder, and afterwards mur-
dered. This belief, and the repugnance
'he felt to dwell upon the spectacle, pre-
vented him from examining further, and
he turned away to a remote part of the
vault. A conviction of his own fate and
of his servant's filled his mind for a
while with despair. It appeared that
he had been ensnared by robbers, till,
as he recollected the circumstances
which had attended his entrance, and
the several peculiar occurrences con-
nected with the archway, this conjecture
seemed highly improbable. It was un-
reasonable, that robbers should have


THE ITALIAN.
205
taken the trouble to decoy, when they
might at first have seized him; still more
so, that they would have persevered so
long in the attempt; and most of all,
that, when he had formerly been in their
power, they should have neglected their
opportunity, and suffered him to leave
the ruin unmolested. Yet, granting that
all this, improbable as it was, were,
however, possible, the solemn warnings
and predictions of the monk, so fre-
quently delivered and so faithfully ful-
filled, could have no connection with the
.schemes of banditti. It appeared, there-
fore, that Vivaldi was not in the hands
of robbers; or, if he were, that the monk,
at least, had no connection with them;
yet it was certain that he had just heard
the voice of this monk beneath the arch;
that his servant had said, he saw the
vestments of one ascending the steps of
the fort; and that they had both reason,
afterwards, to believe it was his sha-
dowy figure, which they had pursued to
the very chamber where they were now
confined,


206
THE ITALIAN.
As Vivaldi considered all these cir-
cumstances, his perplexity increased,
and he was more than ever inclined to
believe, that the form, which had as-
sumed the appearance of a monk, was
something superhuman.
If this being had appeared only, said
he to himself, I should, perhaps, have
thought it the perturbed spirit of him,
who doubtless has been murdered here,
and that it led me hither to discover the
deed, that his bones might be removed
to holy ground; but this monk, or what-
ever it is, was neither silent, nor appa-
rently anxious concerning himself; he
spoke only of events connected with my
peace, and predicted of the future, as
well as reverted to the past! If he had
either hinted of himself, or had been
wholly silent, his appearance and his
manner of eluding pursuit are so extra-
ordinary, that I should have yielded, for
once, perhaps, to the tales of our grand-
fathers, and thought he was the spectre
of a murdered person.
As Vivaldi expressed his incredulity,


THE ITALIAN.
207
however, he returned to examine the
garment once more, when, as he raised
it, he observed, and what had before
escaped his notice, black drapery min-
gled with the heap beneath; and, on
liſting this also on the point of the
sword, he perceived part of the habili-
ment of a monk! He started at the
discovery, as if he had seen the appa-
rition which had so long been tempting
his credulity. Here were the vest and
scapulary, rent and stained with blood !
Having gazed for a moment, he let them
drop upon the heap; when Paulo, who
had been silently observing him, ex-
claimed,
Signor! that should be the garment
of the demon who led us hither. Is it
a winding sheet for us, maestro? Or
was it one for the body he inhabited
while on earth ?
Neither, I trust, replied Vivaldi, en-
deavouring to command the perturbation
he suffered, and turning from the spec-
tacle ; therefore, we will try once more
to regain our liberty.


208
THE ITALIAN.
This was a design, however, beyond
his accomplishment; and, having again
attacked the door, raised Paulo to the
grated window, and vociferated for re-
lease with his utmost strength, in which
he was very ably seconded by Paulo,
he abandoned, for the present, all fur-
ther attempts, and, weary and despond-
ing, threw himself on the ground of the
dụngeon.
Paulo bitterly lamented his master's
rashness in penetrating to this remote
spot, and bewailed the probability of
their being famished. .
For, supposing, signor, that we were
not decoyed hither for plunder and
butchery, and supposing that we are
not surrounded by malicious spirits,
which San Januarius forbid I should
take upon me to affirm is impossible!
supposing all this, signor, yet still there
remains almost a certainty of our being
starved to death ; for how is it possible
that any body can hear our cries, in a
place so remote from all resort, and


THE ITALIAN.
209
buried, as one may say, under ground,
as this is
Thou art an excellent comforter, said
Vivaldi, groaning.
You must allow, signor, that you are
even with me, replied Paulo; and that
you are as excellent a conductor.
Vivaldi gave no answer, but lay on
the ground, abandoned to agonizing
thought. He had now leisure to con-
sider the late words of the monk, and to
conjecture, for he was in a mood for
conjecturing the worst, that they not
only alluded to Ellena, but that his
saying, she had departed an hour ago,
was a figurative manner of telling that
she had died then. This was a conjec-
ture, which dispelled almost all appre-
hension for himself. He started from
the ground, and paced his prison with
quick and unequal steps ; it was now no
longer a heavy despondency that op-
pressed him, but an acute anxiety that
stung him, and, with the tortures of
suspense, brought also those of pas-
sionate impatience and horror concern-


210
THE ITALIAN.
ing the fate of Ellena. The longer he
dwelt upon the possibility of her death,
the more probable it appeared. This
monk had already forewarned him of
the death of Bianchi; and, when he
recollected the suspicious circumstances
which had attended it, his terrors for
Ellena increased. The more he yielded
to his feelings, the more violent they
became, till, at length, his ungovernable
impatience and apprehensions arose
almost to frenzy.
Paulo forgot, for awhile, his own si-
tuation in the superior sufferings of his
master, and now, at least, endeavoured
to perform the offices of a comforter, for
he tried to calm Vivaldi's mind, by se-
lecting the fairest circumstances for
hope, which the subject admitted, and
he passed without noticing, or, if no-
ticing, only lightly touched upon, the
most prominent possibilities of evil.
His master, however, was insensible to
all he said, till he mentioned again the
convent del Pianto; and this subject, as
it seemed connected with the monk,


THE ITALIAN.
211
who had hinted the fate of Ellena, in-
terested the unhappy Vivaldi, who with-
drew awhile from his own reflections,
to listen to a recital, which might assist
his conjectures.
Paulo complied with his command,
but not without reluctance. He looked
round the empty vault, as if he feared
that some person might be lurking in
the obscurity, who would overhear, and
even answer him.
We are tolerably retired here too,
signor, said he, recollecting himself,
one may venture to talk secrets with
little danger of being discovered. How-
ever, maestro, it is best to make matters
quite sure; and therefore, if you will
please to take a seat on the ground, I
will stand beside you, and relate all I
know of the convent of Our Lady of
Tears, which is not much after all,
Vivaldi having seated himself, and
bidden Paulo do the same, the servant
began in a low voice-It was on the
vigil of the Santo Marco, just after the
last vesper bell had tolled-You never


212
THE ITALIAN.
was
was at the Santa Maria del Pianto,
signor, or you would know what a
gloomy old church it has.- It was in a
confessional in one of the side aisles of
this church, and just after the last bell
had ceased, that a person, so muffled
up, that neither face nor shape could
be distinguished, came and placed him-
self on the steps of one of the boxes
adjoining the confessional chair ; but
if he had been as airily dressed as your-
self, signor, he might have been just as
well concealed; for that dusky aisle is
lighted only by one lamp, which hangs
at the end 'next the painted window,
except when the tapers at the shrine of
San Antonio happen to be burning at
the other extremity, and even then the
place is almost as gloomy as this vault.
But that is, no doubt, contrived for the
purpose, that people may not blush for
the sins they confess; and, in good
faith, this is an accommodation, which
may bring more money to the poor's
box, for the monks have a shrewd eye
that way, and


214
THE ITALIAN.
ordinary occasions. It was, however,
something so very strange and horrible,
that the grand penitentiary suddenly
quitted the chair, and, before he reach-
ed the cloisters, he fell into strong con-
vulsions. On recovering himself, he
asked the people about him, whether
the penitent, who had visited such a
confessional, naming it, was gone;
adding, that if he were still in the church,
it was proper he should be detained. He
described, at the same time, as well as
he could, the sort of figure he had dimly
seen approaching the confessional just
before he had received the confession,
at recollecting which, he seemed ready
to go off again into his convulsions. One
of the fathers, who had crossed the aisle,
on his way to the cloisters, upon the
first alarm of Ansaldo's disorder, remem-
bered that a person, such as was describ-
ed, had passed him hastily. He had
seen a tall figure, muffled up in the ha-
bit of a white friar, gliding swiftly along
the aisle, towards the door, which open-
ed into the outer court of the convent;


THE ITALIAN,
215
but he was himself too much engaged
to notice the stranger particularly.
Father Ansaldo, thought this must be
the person; and the porter was sum-
moned, and asked whether he had
observed such an one pass.
He affirmed that he had not seen any
person go forth from the gate within the
last quarter of an hour, which might be
true enough, you know, signor, if the
rogue had been off his post. But he
further said, that no one had entered,
during the whole evening, habited in
white, as the stranger was described to
be; so the porter proved himself to be
a vigilant watchman ; for he must have
been fast asleep too, or how could this
personage have entered the convent,
and left it again, without being seen by
him.
In white, was he? said Vivaldi; if he
had been in black, I should have thought
this must have been the monk, my tor-
mentor.
Why, you know, signor, that occur-
red to me before, observed Paulo, and a


216
THE ITALIAN.
man might easily change his dress, if
that were all.
Proceed, said Vivaldi.
Hearing this account from the porter,
continued Paulo, the fathers believed,
one and all, that the stranger must be
secreted within the walls; and the con-
vent, with every part of the precints,
was searched; but no person was
found !
This must certainly be the monk, said
Vivaldi, notwithstanding the difference
of his habit; there surely cannot be
two beings in the world, who would
conduct themselves in this same my-
sterious manner!
He was interrupted by a low sound,
which seemed, to his distracted fancy,
to proceed from a dying person. Paulo
also heard it; he started, and they both
listened with intense and almost intoler-
able expectation.
Ah! said Paulo, at length, it was
only the wind.
It was no more, said Vivaldi, proceed
therefore.


THE ITALIAN.
217.
From the period of this strange con-
fession, resumed Paulo, Father Ansaldo
was never properly himself; he-
Doubtless the crime confessed related
to himself, observed Vivaldi.
Why, no, signor, I never heard that
that was the case; and some remark-
able circumstances, which followed,
seemed to prove it otherwise. About
a month after the time I have mention-
ed, on the evening of a sultry day, when
the monks were retiring from the last
service
Hark! cried Vivaldi.
I hear whispers, said Paulo, whisper
ing himself.
Be still! said Vivaldi.
They listened attentively, and heard
a murmuring, as of voices; but could
not ascertain whether they came from
the adjoining vault, or arose from be-
neath the one in which they were. The
sound returned at intervals; and the
persons who conversed, whatever they
were, seemingly restrained their voices,
VOL. I.


218
THE ITALIAN.
as if they feared to be heard, Vivaldi
considered whether it were better to
discover himself, and call for assistance,
or to remain still.
Remember, sigpor, said Paulo, what
a chance we have of being starved,
unless we venture to discover ourselves,
to these people, or whatever they are.
Venture! exclaimed Vivaldi, What
has such a wretch as I to do with fear?
O, Ellena, Ellena!
He instantly called loudly to the per-
son, whom he believed he had heard,
and was seconded by Paulo; but their
continued vociferations availed them
nothing; no answer was returned; and
even the indistinct sounds, which had
awakened their attention, were heard no
more,
Exhausted by their efforts, they laid
down on the floor of the dungeon, aban-
doning all further attempts at escape,
till the morning light might assist them.
Vivaldi had no further spirits to in
quire for the remainder of Paulo's nar.


THE ITALIAN.
219
rative. Almost despairing for himself,
he could not feel an interest concerning
strangers ; for he had already per-
ceived, that it could not afford him
information connected with Ellena; and
Paulo, who had roared himself hoarse,
was very willing to be silent.
'I 2


CHAPTER VIII.
Who may she be that steals through yonder cloister,
And, as the beam of evening tints her voil,
Unconsciously discloses faintly, features
Inform’d with the high soul of saintly virtue ?
DURING several days after Ellena's
arrival at the monastery of San Stefano,
she was not permitted to leave the room.
The door was locked upon her, and not
any person appeared except the nun,
who brought her a scanty portion of food,
and who was the same that had first
admitted her into that part of the con-
vent appropriated to the abbess.
On the fourth day, when, probably,
it was believed that her spirits were
subdued by confinement, and by her
experience of the suffering she had to
expect from resistance, she was sum-
moned to the parlour. The abbess was
alone, and the air of austerity with
which she regarded Ellena, prepared
the latter to endure.


THE ITALIAN.
221
After an exordium on the heinousness
of her offence, and the necessity there
was for taking measures to proteet the
peace and dignity of a noble family,
which her late conduct had nearly de-
stroyed; the abbess informed her, that
she must determine either to accept the
veil, or the person whom the Marchesa
di Vivaldi had of her great goodness,
selected for her husband.
You never can be sufficiently grateful,
added the abbess, for the generosity the
Marchesa displays, in allowing you a
choice on the subject. After the injury
you have endeavoured to inflict upon
her and her family, you could not expect
that any indulgence would be shewn
you. It was natural to suppose, that
the Marchesa would have punished you"
with severity; instead of which, she
allows you to enter into our society; or,
if you have not strength of mind suffi-
cient to enable you to renounce a sinful
world, she permits you to return into it,
and gives you a suitable partner to
support you through its cares and toils,


THE ITALIAN. 223
you may at present be insensible to her
goodness, I will forbear to 'take advan-
tage of your indiscretion, and will still
allow you liberty of choice. You may
retire to your chamber, to consider and
to decide. But remember, that you
must abide by the determination you
shall 'avow; and, that you will be al-
lowed no appeal from the alternative
which is now placed before you.- If
you reject the veil, you must accept the
husband who is offered you.
It is unnecessary, said Ellena, with
an air of dignified tranquillity, that I
should withdraw for the purposes of
considering and deciding. My resolu-
tion is already taken, and I reject each
of the proposals. I will neither con-
demn myself to a cloister, nor to the
degradation with which I am threatened
on the other hand. Having said this, I
am prepared to meet whatever suffering
you shall inflict upon me; bút be as-
sured, that my own voice never shall
sanction the evils to which I may be


224
THE ITALIAN.
subjected, and that the immortal love of
justice, which fills all my heart, will
sustain my courage no less powerfully
than the sense of what is due to my own
character. You are now acquainted
with my sentiments and my resolutions;
I shall repeat them no more.
The abbess, whose surprise had thus
long suffered Ellena to speak, still fixed
upon her a stern regard, as she said,
Where is it that you have learned these
heroics, and acquired the rashness,
which thus prompts you to avow them!
—the boldness which enables you to
· insult your superior, a priestess of your
holy religion, even in her sanctuary !
The sanctuary is prophaned, said El-
lena, mildly, but with dignity; it is be-
come a prison. It is only when the su-
perior ceases to respect the precepts of
that holy religion, the precepts which
teach her justice and benevolence, that
she herself is no longer respected. The
very sentiment which bids us revere its
mild and beneficent laws, bids us also


THE ITALIAN,
225
reject the violators of them; when you
command me to reverence my religion,
you urge me to condemn yourself.
Withdraw, said the abbess, rising im-
patiently from her chair; your admo-
nition, so becomingly delivered, shall
not be forgotten.
Ellena willingly obeyed, and was led
back to her cell, where she sat down
pensively, and reviewed her conduct.
Her judgment approved of the frank-
ness, with which she had asserted her
rights, and of the firmness with which
she had reproved a woman, who had
dared to demand respect from the very
victim of her cruelty and oppression.
She was the more satisfied with herself,
because she had never, for an instant,
forgotten her own dignity so far, as to
degenerate into the vehemence of pas-
sion, or to faulter with the weakness of
fear. Her conviction of the abbess's
unworthy character was too clear to
allow Ellena to feel abashed in her pre-
sence ; for she regarded only the cen-
sure of the good, to which she had ever
I 5


THE ITALIAN.
227
For several days after the late inter-
view with the abbess, she was kept a
close prisoner; but on the fifth evening
she was permitted to attend vespers.
As she walked through the garden to the
chapel, the ordinary freshness of the open
air, and the verdure of the trees and
shrubs were luxuries to her, who had so
long been restricted from the common
blessings of nature. She followed the
nuns to a chapel were they usually per-
formed their devotions, and was there
seated among the novices. The solem-
nity of the service, and particularly of
those parts, which were accompanied by
music, touched all her heart, and soothed
and elevated her spirit. .
Among the voices of the choir, was
one, whose expression immediately
fixed her attention; it seemed to speak
a loftier sentiment of devotion than the
others, and to be modulated by the me-
lancholy of an heart, that had long since
taken leave of this world. Whether it
swelled with the high peal of the organ,


THE ITALIAN.
23)
unhappiness; but the nun was so en-
tirely engaged by devotion, that she did
not succeed.
As they left the chapel, however, the
nun passed close by Ellena; who threw
back her veil, and fixed upon her a look
so supplicating and expressive, that the
nun paused, and in her turn regarded
the novice, not with surprise only, but
with a mixture of curiosity and com-
passion. A faint blush crossed her
cheek, her spirits seemed to faulter, and
she was unwilling to withdraw her eyes
from Ellena; but it was necessary that
she should continue in the procession,
and, bidding her farewell by a smile of
ineffable pity, she passed on to the
court, while Ellena followed, with at-
tention still fixed upon the sister, who,
soon disappeared beyond the door way
of the abbess's apartment; and Ellena
had nearly reached her own, before her
thoughts were sufficiently disengaged to
permit her to inquire the name of the
stranger.


THE ITALIAN.
233
resting graces, and adds to them the
dignity of-
If you mean that she is of middle age,
interrupted Margaritone, peevishly, it is
sister Olivia you mention, for we are all
younger than she is.
Ellena, raising her eyes almost uncon-
sciously, as the nun spoke this, fixed
them upon a face sallow, meagre, seem-
ingly near fifty years an inhabitant of
this world ; and she could scarcely sup-
press the surprise she felt, on perceiving
such wretched vanity lingering among
the chilled passions of so repulsive a
frame, and within the sequestered shade
of a cloister. Margaritone, still jealous
of the praise bestowed on Olivia, repelled
all further inquiry, and, having attended
Ellena to her cell, locked her up for
the night.
On the following evening Ellena was
again permitted to attend vespers, and,
on the way to the chapel, the hope of
seeing her interesting favourite reani-
mated her spirits. In the same part of
the gallery, as on the preceding night,


THE ITALIAN.' 237
Hush! said the nun, expressively;
no more; I may be observed. Good
night, my sister ; may your slumbers
be light. . .
Ellena's heart sunki She had not
spirits to say, Good night! but her eyes
covered with tears, said more. The
nun turned her own way suddenly, and,
pressing her hand in silence, left the
cell. Ellena, firm and tranquil under
the insults of the abbess, was now
melted into tears by the kindness of a
friend. These gentle tears were re-
freshing to her long oppressed spirits,
and she indulged them. Of Vivaldi
she thought with more composure than
she had done since she left Altieri; and
something like hope again to revive in
her heart, though reflection offered no-
thing to support it.
On the following morning, she per-
ceived that the door of her cell had not
been closed. She rose impatiently,
and, not without a hope of liberty, im-
mediately passed it. The cell, opening
upon a short passage, which communi-


238
THE ITALIAN
cated with the main building, and which
was shut up by a door, was secluded,
and almost insulated from every: cham-
ber; and this door being now secured,
Ellena, was as truly a prisoner as before.
It appeared then, that the nun had
omitted to fasten the cell only for the
purpose of allowing her more space to
walk in the passage, and she was grate-
ful for the attention. Still more she was
šo, when, having traversed it, she per-
ceived one extremity terminate in a nar-
row stair-case, that appeared to lead to
other chambers.
She ascended the winding steps
hastily, and found they led only to a
door opening into a small room, where
nothing remarkable appeared, till she
approached the windows, and beheld
thence an horizon and a landscape spread
below, whose grandeur awakened all
her heart. The consciousness of her
prison was lost, while her eyes ranged
over the wide and freely sublime scene
without. She perceived that this cham-
ber was within a small turret, projecting


THE ITALIAN.
239
from an angle of the convent over the
walls, and suspended, as in air, above
the vast precipices of granite, that
formed part of the mountain, These
precipices were broken into cliffs, which
in some places, impended far above
their base,, and, in others, rose in nearly
perdendicular lines, to the walls of the
monastery, which they supported. El-
lena, with a dreadful pleasure, looked
down them, shagged as they were with
larch, and frequently darkened by lines
of gigantic pine, bending along the
rocky ledges, till her eye rested on the
thick chesnut woods, that extended
over their winding base, and softening
to the plains, seemed to form a grada.
tion between the variegated cultivation -
there and the awful wildness of the rocks
above. Round these extensive plains
were tumbled the mountains of various
shape and attitude, which Ellena had
admired on her approach to San Ste-
fano; some shaded with forest of olive
and almond trees, but the greater part
abandoned, to the flocks, which, in


240
THE ITALIAN.
summer, feed on their aromatic herbage,
and on the approach of winter, descend
to the sheltered plains of the Tavogliere
di Puglia.
On the left opened the dreadful pass
which she had traversed, and the thun.
der of whose waters now murmured at
a distance. The accumulation of over-
topping points, which the mountains of
this dark perspective exhibited, pre-
sented an image of grandeur superior to
any thing she had seen, while within
the pass itself.
To Ellena, whose mind was capable
of being highly elevated, or sweetly
soothed, by scenes of nature, the dis-
covery of this little turret was an im-
portant circumstance. Hither she could
come, and her soul, refreshed by the
views it afforded, would acquire strength
to bear her, with equanimity, through
the persecutions that might await her.
Here, gazing upon the stupendous
imagery around her, looking as it were
beyond the awful veil, which obscures
the features of the Deity, and conceals


THE ITALIAN.
241
Him from the eyes of his creatures,
dwelling as with a present God, in the
midst of his sublime works ; with a mind
thus elevated, how insignificant would
appear to her the transactions, and the
sufferings of this world ! How poor the
boasted power of man, when the fall of
a single cliff from these mountains would
with ease destroy thousands of his race
assembled on the plains below! How
would it avail them, that they were
accoutred for battle, armed with all the
instruments of destruction that human
invention ever fashioned ? Thus man,
the giant who now held her in captivity,
would shrink to the diminutiveness of a
fairy; and she would experience, that
his utmost force was unable to enchain
her soul, or compel her to fear him,
while he was destitute of virtue.
Ellena's attention was recalled from
the scene without by a sound from
within the gallery, and she then heard
a key turning in the door of the passage.
Fearing that it was sister Margaritone,
who approached, and who, informed by
VOL. 1.
AL


THE ITALIAN.
243
tended vespers; where, however, she
was so, vigilantly observed, that she
feared to speak with Olivia, even by her
eyes. Olivia's were often fixed upon
her face, and with a kind of expression,
which Ellena, when she did venture to
look at her, could not perfectly inter-
pret. It was not only of pity, but of
anxious curiosity, and of something also
like fear. A blush would sometimes
wander over her cheek, which was suc-
ceeded by an extreme, paleness, and by
an air of such universal languor as pre-
cedes a fainting fit; but the exercises of
devotion seemed frequently to recall her
fleeting spirits, and to elevate them with
hope and courage.
When she left the chapel, Ellena saw
Olivia no more that night; but, on the
following morning, she came with break-
fast to the cell. A character of peculiar
sadness was on her brow.
O! how glad I am to see you! said
Ellena ; and how much I have regretted
your long absence ! I was obliged to re-
M 2


244
THE ITALIAN.
member constantly what you had en-
joined, to forbear enquiring after you.
The nun replied with a melancholy
smile, I come in obedience to our lady
abbess, said she, as she seated herself
on Ellena's mattress.
And did you not wish to come ? said
Ellena, mournfully.
I did wish it, replied Olivia, but-and
she hesitated.
Whence then this reluctance ? in-
quired Ellena. .
Olivia was silent a moment.
You are a messenger of evil news !
said Ellena! you are only reluctant to
afflict me.
It is as you say, replied Olivia; I am
only reluctant to afflict you; and I fear
you have too many attachments to the
world, to allow you to receive, without
sorrow, what I have to communicate.
I am ordered to prepare you for the
vows, and to say, that since you have
rejected the husband, which was pro-
posed to you, you are to accept the veil ;


THE ITALIAN.
245
that many of the customary forms are
to be dispensed with; and that the cere-
mony of taking the black veil will follow
without delay, that of receiving the white
one.
The nun paused ; and Ellena said,
You are an unwilling bearer of this cruel
message; and I reply only to the lady
abbess, when I declare, that I never
will accept either; that force may send
me to the altar, but that it never shall
compel me to utter vows which my heart
abhors; and, if I am constrained to
appear there, it shall be only to protest
against her tyranny, and against the
form intended to sanction it.
To Olivia this answer was so far
from being displeasing, that it appeared
to give her satisfaction.
I dare not applaud your resolution,
said she ; but I will not condemn it.
You have, no doubt, connections in the
world, which would render seclusion
from it afflicting. You have relations,
friends, from whom it would be dreadful
to part?
M 3


246
THE ITALIAN.
I have neither, said Ellena, sighing.
No! Can that be possible ? and yet
you are so unwilling to quit the world.
I have only one friend, replied Ellena,
and it is of him they would deprive
me !
Pardon, my love, the abruptness of
these inquiries, said Olivia; yet, while I
entreat your forgiveness, I am inclined
to offend again, and to ask your name.
· That is a question I will readily an-
swer. My name is Ellena di Rosalba.
! How ? said Olivia, with an air of de-
liberation; Ellena di-
Di Rosalba, repeated her companion;
and permit me to ask your motive for
the inquiry : do you know any person
of my name?
No, replied the nun, mournfully, but
your features have some resemblance
to those of a friend I once had,
As she said this, her agitation was
apparent, and she rose to go. I must
not lengthen my visit, lest I should be
forbidden to repeat it, said she. What
answer shall I give to the abbess? If


THE ITALIAN.
247
you are determined to reject the veil,
allow me to advise you to soften your
refusal as much as possible. I am,
perhaps, better acquainted with her
character than you are ; and O, my
sister! I would not see you pining away
your existence in this solitary cell.
How much I am obliged by the in-
terest you express for my welfare, said
Ellena, and by the advice you offer! I
will yield my judgment in this instance
to yours; you shall soften my refusal as
you think proper ; but remember that
it must be absolute; beware, lest the
abbess should mistake gentleness for
irresolution.
Trust me, I will be cautious in all
that relates to you, said Olivia. Fare-
well! I will visit you, if possible, in the
evening. In the mean time the door
shall be left open, that you may have
more air and prospect than this cell
affords. That staircase leads to a plea-
sant chamber.
I have visited it already, replied
Ellena, and have to thank you for the
mor


248
THE ITALIAN.
goodness, which permitted me to do so.
To go thither will greatly sooth my
spirits"; if I had some books, and my
drawing instruments, I could almost
forget my sorrows there.
Could you so, said the nun, with an
affectionate smile, Adieu ! I will en-
deavour to see you in the evening. If
sister Margaritone returns, be careful
not to inquire for me; nor once ask her
for the little indulgence I give you.
Olivia withdrew, and Ellena retired
to the chamber above, where she lost
for awhile all sense of sorrow amidst the
great scenery which its windows ex-
hibited.
At noon, the step of Margaritone
summoned Ellena from her retreat, and
she was surprised that no reproof fol-
lowed this second discovery of her ab-
sence. Margaritone only said, that the
abbess had the goodness to permit El-
lena to dine with the novices, and that
she came to conduct her to their table.
Ellena did not rejoice in this per-
mission, preferring to remain in her


250
THE ITALIAN.
Ellena took a chair in silence; and,
though she had at first felt forlorn and
embarrassed by the impertinent man-
ners of her companions, a consciousness
of innocence gradually revived her spi-
rits and enabled her to resume an air of
dignity, which repressed this rude pre-
sumption.
· Ellena returned to her cell, for the
first time, with eagerness. Margaritone
did not fasten the door of it, but she
was careful to secure that of the pas-
sage; and even this small indulgence
she seemed to allow with a surly re.
luctance, as if compelled to obey the
command of a superior. The moment
she was gone, Ellena withdrew to her
pleasant turret, where, after having suf-
fered from the coarse manners of the
novices, her gratitude was the more
lively, when she perceived the delicate
attention of her beloved nun. It ap-
peared that she had visited the chamber
in Ellena's absence, and had caused to
be brought thither a chair and a table,


THE ITALIAN.
253
The vesper bell, at length, summoned
her to prepare for mass, and she de-
scended to her cell to await the arrival
of her conductress. It was Margaritone,
who soon appeared; but in the chapel
she, as usual saw Olivia, who, when the
service had concluded, invited her into
the garden of the convent. There as
she walked beneath the melancholy
pines, that, ranged on either side the
long walks, formed a majestic canopy,
almost excluding the evening twilight,
Olivia conversed with her on serious,
but general topics, carefully avoiding any
mention of the abbess, and of the affairs
of Ellena. The latter, anxious to learn
the repeated effect of her rejection of the
veil, ventured to make some inquiries,
which the nun immediately discouraged,
and as cautiously checked the grateful
effusions of her young friend for the
attentions she had received.
Olivia accompanied Ellena to her cell,
and there no longer scrupled to relieve
her from uncertainty. With a mixture
VOL. I


254
THE ITALIAN.
of frankness and discretion, she related
as much of the conversation, that had
passed between herself and the abbess,
as it appeared necessary for Ellena to
know, from which it seemed that the
former was as obstinate, as the latter
was firm.
Whatever may be your resolution,
added the nun, I earnestly advise you,
my sister, to allow the superior some
hope of compliance, lest she proceed to
extremities.
And what extremity can be more
terrible, replied Ellena, than either of
those, to which she would now urge me?
Why should I descend to practice dis-
simulation ?
To save yourself from undeserved
sufferings, said Olivia, mournfully.
Yes, but I should then incur deserved
ones, observed Ellena ; and forfeit such
peace of mind as my oppressors never
could restore'to me. As she said this,
she looked at the nun with an expression
of gentle reproach and disappointment.


256
THE ITALIAN.
fear, when courage is necessary to
prevent evil ?
Inquire no further! said Olivia ; but
no blush of conscious duplicity stained
her cheek. It is sufficient that you
understand the consequence of open
resistance to be terrible, and that you
consent to avoid it.
But how avoid it, my beloved friend,
without incurring a consequence, which,
in my apprehension, would be yet more
dreadful ? How avoid it, without either
subjecting myself to a hateful marriage,
or accepting the vows ? Either of these
events would be more terrible to me,
than any thing with which I may be
menaced.
Perhaps not, said the nun. Imagi-
nation cannot draw the horrors of --
But, my sister, let me repeat, that I
would save you! 0, how willingly save
you, from the evils preparing! and that
the only chance of doing so is, by pre-
vailing with you to abandon, at least,
the appearance of resistance.
Your kindness deeply affects me, said
un


THE ITALIAN.
257
Ellena ; and I am fearful of appearing
insensible of it, when I reject your
advice; yet I cannot adopt it. The
very dissimulation, which I should em-
ploy in self defence, might be a means
of involving me in destruction,
As Ellena concluded and her eyes
glanced upon the nun, unaccountable
suspicion occurred to her, that Olivia
might be insincere, and that, at this.
very moment, when she was advising
dissimulation, she was endeavouring to
draw Ellena into some snare, which the
abbess had laid. She sickened at this
dreadful supposition and dismissed it,
without suffering herself to examine its
probability. That Olivia, from whom
she had received so many attentions,
whose countenance and manners. an-
nounced so fair a mind, and for whom
she had conceived so much esteem and
affection, should be cruel and trea-
cherous, was a suspicion, that gave her
more pain, than the actual imprison-
ment, in which she suffered; and, when


260
THE ITALIAN.
sequence of your decision must be
solemn and may be fatal.
The nun spoke this with a look and
emphasis so extraordinary, that Ellena
at once wished and dreaded to know
more; but, before she had recovered
from her surprise, Olivia had left the
room.
END OF THE FIRST VOLUME.
..!
T. C. Niis . Printer,
Bury Sie klinis.