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 DOCTOR ANTONIO. 
 
 JOHN RUFF IN I, 
 
 COPYRIGHT EDITION, 
 
 LEIPZIG 
 
 BERNHARD TAUCHNITZ 
 
 i86i. 
 
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 CONTENTS. 
 
 Page 
 
 Chapter I. Great and Small 7 
 
 — II. The Osteria 22 
 
 — III. Sir John Davenne 46 
 
 — IV. Skirmishes 55 
 
 — V. A pitched Battle . 71 
 
 — VI, Little Occupations 92 
 
 — VII. Bits of Information 106 
 
 — VIII. Speranza 117 
 
 — IX. Lucy's Scheme 136 
 
 — X. In the Balcony 147 
 
 — XL The 15th of May 1840 165 
 
 — XII. In the Garden 179 
 
 — XIII. In the Boat 190 
 
 — XIV. Sicily 200 
 
 — XV. Progress to the Sanctuary 220 
 
 — XVI. New Characters and Incidents .... 240 
 
 — XVIL The Theatre 257 
 
 — XVIII. Antonio pledges himself 268 
 
 — XIX. The Idyl at a Close 277 
 
 ivi240289 
 
6 CONTENTS. 
 
 Page 
 
 Chapter XX. Absence 293 
 
 — XXI. Eight Years after 299 
 
 — XXII. Naples 319 
 
 — XXIII. The 15th of May 1848 335 
 
 — XXIV. Tidings 348 
 
 — XXV. Vse Victis 359 
 
 — XXVI. Continuation 372 
 
 — XXVII. Ischia 386 
 

DOCTOR ANTONIO. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 Great and Small. 
 
 On a fine sunny afternoon of early April, in the year 1840, 
 an elegant travelling carriage was rattling, at the full speed 
 of four post-horses, over the road, famous among tourists as 
 the Cornice Road, and which runs along the western Riviera 
 of Genoa, from that city to Nice. 
 
 Few of the public highways of Europe are more favoured 
 than this — few, at any rate, combine in themselves three 
 such elements of natural beauty as the Mediterranean on 
 one side, the Apennines on the other, and overhead the 
 splendours of an Italian sky. The industry of man has done 
 what it could, if not to vie with, at least not to disparage 
 Nature. Numerous towns and villages, some gracefully 
 seated on the shore, bathing their feet in the silvery wave, 
 some stretching up the mountain sides like a flock of sheep, 
 or thrown picturesquely astride a lofty ridge, with here and 
 there a solitary sanctuary perched high on a sea-washed cliff, 
 or half lost in a forest of verdure at the head of some glen; 
 marble palaces and painted villas emerging from sunny vine- 
 yards, gaily flowering gardens, or groves of orange and 
 lemon trees; myriads of white casirii with green jalousies 
 scattered all over hills, once sterile, but now, their scanty 
 soil propped up by terrace shelving above terrace, clothed 
 to the top with olive-trees,— all and everything, in short, of 
 man's handiwork, betokens the activity and ingenuity of a 
 tasteful and richly-endowed race. 
 
8 j^OCTOR ANTONIO. 
 
 Tli3 read, in its obadignceto the capricious indentations 
 of the coast, is irregular and"serpent-like; at one time on a 
 level with the sea, it passes between hedges of tamarisk, 
 aloes, and oleander, at another winds up some steep moun- 
 tain side, through dark pine forests, rising to such a height 
 that the eye recoils terrified from looking into the abyss be- 
 low; here it disappears into galleries cut in the living rock, 
 there comes out upon a wide expanse of earth, sky, and 
 water; now turns inland, with a seeming determination to 
 force a passage across the mountain, anon shoots abruptly 
 in an opposite direction, as if bent upon rushing headlong 
 into the sea^ The variety of prospect resulting from this 
 continual shifting of the point of view is as endless as that . 
 offered by the everchanging combinations of a kaleidoscope. 
 Could we but give this sketch a little of the colouring, — real 
 colouring, of the country, what a picture we should make of 
 it! But we cannot. It is past the power of words to shadow 
 out the brilliant transparency of this atmosphere, the tender 
 azure of this sky, the deep blue of this sea, the soft grada- 
 tions of tone tinting these wavy mountains, as they lap one 
 over the other. The palette of a Stanfield, or a D'Azeglio/ 
 would scarcely be equal to the task. 
 
 Amid such scenery the carriage just introduced to the 
 reader's notice rolled briskly on. It was as fine a piece of 
 workmanship as ever issued from the hands of a first-rate 
 London coach-maker, light, elegant, well balanced, capa- 
 cious, comfortable -looking, and wanting in none of the 
 appendages that bespeak rank and wealth, from the (scarcely 
 visible on the dark well-varnished panels) miniature coat- 
 of- arms, with numerous quarterings, surmounted by the 
 bloody hand, that fixed the position held by the travellers, 
 on the social ladder of GreatBritain,to the smart lady's-maid 
 and somewhat portly man out of livery, who showed their 
 appreciation of the fine Nature around, by slumbering 
 placidly in the rumble. 
 
 The two occupants of the inside, an elderly gentleman 
 and a young lady, evidently father and daughter, seemed, if 
 
GREAT ANI> SMALL, >Q 
 
 one might judge from appearances, as insensible as their 
 servants to the various beauties sohciting their admiration. 
 White sails, gliding, hke huge swans, over the heaving 
 waves, fruit trees, so laden with blossoms as to look less 
 like trees than overgrown nosegays, fields yellow with 
 daffodil, blue with anemone, white with long-stemmed Star 
 of Bethlehem, hoary rocks, armed at every crevice with the 
 lance-like leaves of gigantic aloes, passed in rapid succession 
 by our travellers, equally unnoticed or disregarded. 
 
 Half buried in a heap of cushions, pillows, and shawls, 
 the young lady lay at full length, trying hard to sleep; but 
 though her cheek was pale with fatigue, and a blue circle 
 round her eyes spoke sadly of want of rest, sleep refused to 
 come, as her incessant change of position, her jerks and 
 moans of childish impatience, clearly showed to her com- 
 panion. A fair specimen she was of a type of beauty, not 
 rarely met with in England, especially among the higher 
 classes— a type uniting characteristics that would seem in- 
 compatible, a stamp of distinction akin to haughtiness, and 
 an almost ideal suavity of outline. The veil of languor 
 spread over her person, gave her loveliness a pecuhar charm, 
 one irresistibly touching. Nature, who had made this girl 
 so beautiful, seemed to have written on her every feature 
 "fragile." The thin blue veins marbling her temples, the 
 soft azure of her eye, the maiden-blush clearness of the skin, 
 were but too suggestive of the transitory bloom and beauty 
 of some delicate flower. The hair, locks of which strayed 
 here and there out of their elegant prison of embroidered 
 gauze, had that rich golden hue with which the Italian 
 painters adorn the heads of cherubs. Altogether, hers was 
 as graceful and fairy-like a form as ever human eye rested 
 on, such as an angel would choose if condemned to assume 
 a mortal shape, just corporeal enough to attest humanity, 
 yet sufficiently transparent to let the celestial origin shine 
 through. 
 
 Sir John Davenne — for such was the name of the elderly 
 gentleman by the side of this fair creature — sat lost in a 
 
10 DOCTOR ANTONIO. 
 
 brown study, one seemingly of no pleasant nature, and from 
 which nothing had power to rouse him, but the sound, how- 
 ever stifled, of a short dry cough, which awakened all the 
 solicitude of an affectionate parent. He would then turn to 
 his young companion, ask, in a whisper full of tenderness, 
 if she felt worse, mutter some words of endearment or cheer- 
 ing, and shake up or smooth the pillows. 
 
 The appearance of the father was at first sight pre- 
 possessing also in its way. The fresh complexion, almost 
 feminine in its softness, the clear blue eye, the lofty brow, 
 scarcely shaded by two scanty tufts of glossy gray hair, 
 carefully brushed forward, the tall upright figure, that gave 
 little evidence of the fifty-six or fifty-seven summers its 
 possessor had numbered, all were calculated to produce an 
 agreeable impression. A nearer inspection, a more pro- 
 longed gaze, revealed blots on this polished surface. The 
 forehead, pure in colour and smooth as marble, was high 
 but narrow, and sloping backwards, like the foreheads of 
 George the Third and Charles the Tenth, an hereditary 
 feature in the family from which this gentleman descended, 
 and that kept the promise it gave, of an obstinacy which 
 would not have discredited the crowned heads it has been 
 likened to. The light-blue eye was too prominent and 
 round, the nostrils of the thin arched nose were pinched, 
 the small finely-cut lips had a pressure upwards, which, with 
 the acute angle of the nostril, indicated an indulged habit of 
 contemptuous pride. The general expression of this gentle- 
 man's countenance seemed to say, that the clay that other 
 men were made of "did come between the wind and his 
 nobiUty." 
 
 An uninterrupted series of explosions from the postilion's 
 whip, and the stony pavement over which the carriage now 
 clatters, loudly announce its having entered a town. A 
 stentorian "ohe!" from the Automedon of the aristocratic 
 vehicle, gives warning to the unseen occupant of a shabby 
 two- wheeled calessino, standing in front of the post-house, 
 to make room for its betters. Be it the effect of the bloody 
 
GREAT AND SMALL. 1 1 
 
 hand, that makes itself felt even at a distance, or be it simply 
 that the owner of the gig had pressing business of his own, 
 certain it is that the word of command was scarcely uttered 
 before obeyed, and the dusty calessino started away at the 
 full speed of its shaggy horse, leaving its ponderous com- 
 petitor undisputed master of the field. 
 
 The lady's-maid and the man-servant get down from the 
 rumble, and wait obsequiously at the carriage doors. The 
 invalid asks for a glass of water. The water is obtained, 
 and Sir John pours into it some drops from a phial, and 
 holds it to the lips of the suffering girl. In the meantime, 
 two professional beggars, a man and woman, in pictorial 
 rags, begin a long litany of miseries, ending with an ever- 
 repeated burden that the Madonna Santissima e iutti i Santi 
 del Paradiso will repay any charity tenfold to the huoni hene- 
 fattori. Miss Davenne looks for her purse, and puts some 
 money into the woman's hand, who happens to be on her 
 side of the carriage. Sir John throws some silver on the 
 ground for the old man. Certainly, both father and daughter 
 are actuated by an identically meritorious feeling, but how 
 unlike is the manner in which it is expressed! Even the 
 beggars feel the difference— the old woman drops a courtesy 
 and a smile, while the old man picks up the money and turns 
 away sullenly. 
 
 "What is the name of this place?" asks Miss Davenne. 
 "San Remo," is the answer. Sir John Davenne does not 
 approve of the name; at least one may argue as much from 
 his pursed-up lips as he hears it. He looks up the street 
 and down the street, and finally draws in his head. Had 
 Sir John Davenne kept a note-book he would probably have 
 made an entry of this sort, — "San Remo, a queer-looking 
 place, narrow, ill-paved streets, high, irregular houses, 
 ragged people, swarms of beggars," and so forth for a whole 
 page. Fortunately for the public reputation of San Remo, 
 Sir John kept no note-book. 
 
 By this time four horses were already put to the carriage, 
 but the length of the next stage, and the hilly character of 
 
12 .I)OCTOR ANTONIO. 
 
 the road, required, according to the postmaster, an extra 
 horse. This fifth horse, however, which was to be placed 
 tandem- fashion, manifested a most determined disinclina- 
 tion for the post assigned him; kicking and plunging in fair 
 alternation, he at last broke loose, and set off full gallop 
 down the narrow street, pursued by all the men and boys 
 apparently in the town, by whose combined efforts, after a 
 keen chase, he was captured at last, triumphantly brought 
 back, and fastened in front of the other four. The postilion 
 jerked himself into his heavy saddle, waved his long whip 
 round his head, first to the right and then to the left, a report 
 like a pistol following each manoeuvre, and the carriage was 
 at length again set in motion, amid a perfect uproar of un- 
 intelligible vociferations. 
 
 In a short time it came in sight of the gig first noticed at 
 San Remo, and now toihng up a long steep hill; a curious 
 specimen, to be sure, of the conveyances of the country,— 
 such a weather-beaten, discoloured, squeezed-in, almost 
 shapeless thing,— it was a wonder how it held together or 
 remained on its wheels. The distance between the two car- 
 riages diminished very perceptibly, the four wheels gaining 
 on the two, much in the proportion of a big steamer iti stern 
 chase of a small boat. Now the thick layers of dust on th6 
 road deadened the sound of wheels and horses' feet, and 
 made the usual warnings with the whip more necessary than 
 ever. Still the postilion gave no sign of life. Most likely 
 he took it for granted that the driver of the gig must be 
 aware of the coming up of his magnificent neighbour, and 
 would take proper care of himself, or maybe he was so en- 
 grossed by the mending of his lash as to forget his duty; 
 however it was, it so turned out, that the English equipage, 
 just as it reached the verge of the eminence, dashed un- 
 expectedly at full speed past the unprepared humble vehicle. 
 The shaggy httle horse, frightened out of its wits, made such 
 a sudden bolt to the left, that had the hand holding the reins 
 been a whit less strong and experienced, gig, horse, and 
 driver must have gone down into the sea. 
 
GREAT AND SMALL. 13 
 
 ^ The volley of expletives with which the single gentleman 
 of the gig saluted the sudden advent of his fellow-travellers, 
 (and from the angry tone in which they were uttered, there 
 was no mistaking them for blessings), sufficiently testified 
 his resentment of the postilion's unceremonious proceeding. 
 Fortunately Miss Davenne, though a tolerably good Italian 
 scholar, did not understand the patois of the Riviera, other- 
 wise she would have had an odd and not particularly agree- 
 able illustration of passionate local eloquence. 
 
 If the unexpected encounter had shaken the shaggy pony 
 and his master out of their equanimity, the famous extra 
 horse of Sir John's carriage proved not a bit more stoical. 
 Perhaps the alarm was contagious, or perhaps the creature 
 had a special antipathy to the process of going down hill, 
 which now began. Whatever was the cause, from the mo- 
 ment of passing the calessino, his progress became a chance 
 medley of galloping, plunging, and rearing. Sir John, who^ 
 \vith his head out of the window, was following with mo- 
 mently increasing anxiety the strange evolutions of the 
 beast, would have at once called to the postilion, but from 
 the double fear of startling his daughter out of the half 
 slumber into which she seemed to have dropped after leav- 
 ing San Remo, and of too suddenly checking the horses in 
 full career. But the carriage having reached the bottom of 
 the hill, which was not a long one, and Miss Davenne being 
 awake by this time. Sir John ordered the postilion to stop, 
 and in the same breath desired John, the companion of the 
 lady's-maid in the rumble, to get down and see what was 
 the matter. John got down; and there ensued a parley be- 
 tween the valet and the post-boy, unlikely to lead to any 
 satisfactory result, seeing that the postilion did not under- 
 stand one syllable of John's questions or directions, ex- 
 pressed in the most imperfect of Italian, nor did John com- 
 prehend one syllable of the postilion's explanations, given 
 in the patois of the Riviera. Each party repeated his own 
 words over and over again, without conveying any idea to 
 •the other; English John insisting .on the restive horse bqing 
 
14 DOCTOR ANTONIO. 
 
 put into the traces, and one of the quiet hind horses taking 
 his place; while the postilion, with native fluency, persisted 
 in asseverating that there was no danger, that the plunging 
 and rearing of the leader was caused by the knocking of the 
 splinter bar against his legs, and that he could put that to 
 rights in no time. 
 
 At last the energetic pantomime of the Italian lad, for 
 the postilion was not above twenty, gave John a glimpse of 
 his interlocutor's meaning. The fact pointed out by the 
 youth was so evidently one, though perhaps not the sole 
 cause of the horse's restlessness, that John, glad to be 
 spared any more arguing to so little purpose, and also at 
 some cost to his dignity, readily accepted the explanation; 
 and having reported to his master that there was only a 
 trifle wrong with the harness, which would be remedied 
 directly, climbed back gravely to his comfortable seat by 
 Miss Hutchins. 
 
 The postiUon had just begun to try shortening the chains 
 of the bar, so that it should not strike against the horse, 
 whistling loudly the while, when the gig, which had been 
 left behind, came up and stopped by his side, without his 
 having heard or seen it. "Hallo, Prospero!" said a voice, 
 which made the young man simultaneously start, look up, 
 and take off his hat with some precipitation, "what the devil 
 is the matter with you to-day? Do you know, you stupid 
 boy, that you have been within an ace of pitching me into 
 the sea?" 
 
 ^'VitchmgVossignoria into the sea!" exclaimed Prospero, 
 with an odd mixture of anger and distress in his voice. 
 '■^Vossignoria knows I would rather be drowned myself a 
 hundred times. But this is not the Signor's calessino^ and 
 how could I guess the Signor was in it?" 
 
 "And what had that to do with the matter?" retorted 
 the voice of the so addressed "Signor" angrily. "What 
 does it signify whether it was I or the Great Khan of Tar- 
 tary? How dare you, sir, play with the life of any one? It 
 is your business and duty to take care that the horses you 
 
GREAT AND SMALL. 1 5 
 
 drive be not the death of peaceable citizens. Do you 
 hear?^' 
 
 Prospero, now thoroughly humbled, said he was very 
 sorry, and would do his best that the like should not happen 
 again. 
 
 "Very well; but what horse is that you have got there?" 
 continued the voice; and a hand stretched forth from under 
 the hood of the calessino pointed to the extra horse. 
 
 "It is a new one, Signor; it came to the stables only 
 yesterday. He's a fidgety beast." 
 
 "Fidgety you call him. Bagatellal he's as vicious an 
 animal as I ever saw, and one your master ought not to put 
 'to any carriage with Christians inside. I have been watch- 
 ing your fidgety beast for the last quarter of an hour. Take 
 good advice while it is yet time, Prospero; instead of fasten- 
 ing that buckle, undo it, and let the horse find its own way 
 back to San Remo." 
 
 . Had Prospero been a man of fifty, with an established 
 'Character as a post-boy, the probabilities are that he might 
 'have accepted of good advice; but he was a mere lad, as we 
 have said, full of courage and confidence in the strength of 
 his own arms, and with an ardent desire to be known as a 
 first-rate whip on the road. Now, to send back a horse, 
 under the circumstances, was tantamount to the confession 
 of his own inability to manage him — a confession that 
 Prospero's self-love and ambition alike forbade. Postilions 
 have their point of honour as well as the people they drive. 
 So Prospero replied, with some cunning, "Leave him on 
 .'the road, Signor, you mean, for how would he ever find his 
 ' way back, when we got him only yesterday, and that from 
 inland? A pretty scrape I would be in with master, if I were 
 , to turn the horse loose here ! But there is no danger," con- 
 ' tinned Prospero, recovering his good humour and politeness, 
 "any beast would kick if he had a great piece of wood flap- 
 ping against his legs every step he took. See here, Signor, 
 if I let down the ropes a bit, and shorten up the chain, so as 
 ^ to keep the bar pretty stiff, he'll go as quiet as a lamb," 
 
l6 DOCTOR ANTONIO. 
 
 "Well, you ought to know best," answered the voice; 
 "at all events, keep a sharp look-out on him, and try next 
 time you come up with me, not to upset me, or give me a 
 cold bath, if you can help it." 
 
 These last words were said good-humouredly; the posti- 
 lion showed all his white teeth in the merry laugh with 
 which he received the recommendation, and made a low 
 bow as the gig drove off. 
 
 This dialogue, of course not understood by the English 
 travellers, lasted scarcely two minutes; the manner of speak- 
 ing of both interlocutors being rapid and incisive. The 
 voice of the invisible one was remarkable for its richness of 
 tone, and natural management of what it may be allowable 
 to call the chiaroscuro of speech. When we say invisible, we 
 mean with respect only to those within the carriage, who, 
 the two vehicles standing one before the other in nearly the 
 same line, could see nothing of the person in the hooded 
 gig, but the hand with which he had pointed to the horse. 
 
 The lengthening of the ropes and the shortening of the 
 chains being at last accomplished, it was not long before 
 the great English carriage once more passed the democratic- 
 looking calessino, but this time at a very gentle pace, and 
 not till after every sort of whistle, cry, or call a throat could 
 give forth, and every possible signal a whip is capable of, 
 had been rung through the air by the repentant Prospero. 
 Sir John Davenne gave a sigh of relief as they passed. Odd 
 enough, the Baronet had condescended to take a personal 
 dislike to the calessino, and he hoped that he had seen it 
 now for the last time. Ah! Sir John Davenne, there is a 
 legend or motto older than even the Crusades, "Uhomme 
 propose, Dieu dispose." The shy horse was behaving well 
 for the time being, Miss Davenne was now fairly asleep, so 
 all his causes for uneasiness or annoyance being at once 
 removed. Sir John relapsed into his former reverie, which, 
 in another few minutes , and in spite of one or two manful 
 efforts, became a most flagrant doze. 
 
 A little after Sir John had closed his eyes, the road, 
 
GREAT AND SMALL. I7 
 
 which for some time had been going up hill, began to de- 
 scend. For a good mile it ran sloping zigzag round a barren 
 reddish cliff that jutted into the sea, till, at a sharp turning 
 to the right, there opened to view the last but most rapid 
 part of the declivity, then a run of no more than two hun- 
 dred paces on a level with the sea. Here the road began 
 to rise again, and soon became bifurcated; the lesser branch 
 climbing straight up a little promontory, that shut in the 
 horizon to the west — a verdant smihng bit of land, with a 
 steeple, and here and there housetops shining in the sun — 
 the main branch skirting the rocky base to the left. 
 
 Now Prospero, whose sense of responsibihty had been 
 put on the qui vive by the warnings of the occupant of the 
 gig, ventured down the slope with all possible care, and 
 with an eye to the ticklish leader. But not all his vigilance 
 or skill were sufficient to ward off a result inevitable under 
 the circumstances, namely, that the strain kept on the traces 
 of the front horse in ascending, being necessarily slackened 
 in the descent, nay, at times entirely suspended, the bar by 
 which the animal was fastened to the pole once more began 
 to hit against his hind quarters. An occasional lash out of 
 his heels gave warning of coming danger. Matters grew 
 worse, as the declivity, gentle at first, just about the turning 
 before mentioned became more abrupt, and the incon- 
 venience arising from the splinter bar increased in direct 
 ratio to the accelerated motion of the vehicle. The rage 
 and terror of the goaded animal augmented with every step, 
 while the efforts of the alarmed driver to quiet him , only 
 served to frighten the other four. Feeling that the whole 
 five were getting beyond his control, Prospero suddenly 
 loosened the reins, and with a clack of his tongue launched 
 them at full gallop, keeping a sharp look-out on the road, 
 so as to avoid everything in the shape of an impediment, 
 which, however small, at the fearful rate the carriage was 
 going, must have endangered its equilibrium. He trusted, 
 of course, to being able to pull in the horses so soon as 
 they should feel the rise of the hill before them. 
 
 Doctor Antonio, 3 
 
1 8 DOCTOR ANTONIO. 
 
 It was, indeed, the only chance of safety left, and in an- 
 other minute the attempt would have succeeded, but Sir 
 John all at once awoke. The real state of things had in- 
 fluenced his sleep, for he had been dreaming all this time 
 of horses running away, and in a very natural bewilderment 
 on first waking, he put his head out of the window, roaring 
 to the postihon to stop. The noise awakened Miss Davenne, 
 who, in her turn, greatly alarmed, began to scream. The 
 call and the screams made the unlucky Prospero turn his 
 head a Httle, and in so doing he lost sight of the road for a 
 second; — even a second was too much at this critical con- 
 juncture. One of the hind wheels jerked over a stone, the 
 carriage gave a bound as if it were about to take wing, 
 oscillated for a moment on the edge of the road, then 
 tumbled over, horses and all. Bad as the case was, it might 
 have been worse. The road was only a few feet above the 
 shore, and, luckily, at that spot there was a thick bed of 
 sand, which softened the fall. It was well that Sir John had 
 not been sooner roused from his nap, or the upset might 
 have proved too much even for a man of his consequence. 
 
 While Miss Hutchins, all in a flutter of spirits and gar- 
 ments, wuth her sudden flight through the air, picks herself 
 up as fast as she can, astonished to find she is all in one 
 piece — while John, as grim and dignified as ever, in spite of 
 a very ugly somerset, and a long cut across the nose, which 
 is bleeding profusely, pulls Sir John, who happens to be 
 uppermost, and seems to have sustained no injury, through 
 one of the windows— while all three uniting their efforts, try 
 to extricate from the fallen carriage Miss Davenne's in- 
 animate form — while Prospero, from the very excess of 
 despair, stares vacantly first at one and then the other, 
 leaving his horses to kick and struggle at their pleasure, 
 looking as though he had fallen from the clouds instead of 
 from off the road, the hated gig might have been seen, like 
 a thunderbolt on w^heels, rushing furiously down the hill. 
 Has the shaggy little horse run away also, or does the person 
 driving belong to that rare order of beings, upon whom the 
 
GREAT AND SMALL. 1 9 
 
 prospect of giving aid to fellow-creatures in distress, acts 
 like an intoxicating draught, rendering them insensible to 
 personal danger? We shall see by and by. 
 
 "Anybody hurt? any harm done?" cried the gentleman 
 of the gig, as he drew up in front of where the accident had 
 happened. "Can I be of any use? I am a medical man." 
 At the same time there got out of the calessino , and made 
 for the group standing round Miss Davenne, a tall, dark, 
 black-bearded man, wearing a broad-brimmed conical hat 
 — in short, just such a figure, as met by Sir John under any 
 other circumstances, would have made him cock the two 
 pistols he had invariably carried about him, since travelling 
 in the classical land of banditti. As it was, the English 
 baronet, who did not understand one word of the stranger^s 
 Italian, contented himself with staring at the new-comer 
 half in amazement, half in displeasure, as much as to say. 
 To what species does this creature belong? Nothing 
 daunted by this stare, the stranger pushed past Sir John, 
 knelt down by the side of the prostrate girl, and was trying 
 to feel her pulse, when Sir John, not catching his mean- 
 ing, made a dart forward, as if to thrust him away from his 
 daughter. 
 
 "Are you mad?" bawled the stranger in Italian; then in 
 French, "Je suis medecin, vous dis-je," adding rapidly this 
 time in good plain English, as if in the Baronet's face he had 
 seen the flag of Great Britain hoisted, "Did you not hear me 
 say that I was a physician?" The sound of his native tongue 
 at length conveys to Sir John's comprehension a clear and 
 distinct conception, and a ray of consolation falls on his 
 spirit. For, to have a doctor at hand in such a strait, and a 
 doctor who speaks English, however his appearance may 
 jar with all the Englishman's preconceived notions of 
 medical gentlemen, Sir John allows to himself is something. 
 
 As if what he had said called for no further remark or 
 question, the Doctor proceeded to feel the lady's pulse, took 
 off her bonnet, and gently examined her head. No wound 
 there, not even a bruise. The chest, too, was safe, for, 
 
 2* 
 
20 DOCTOR ANTONIO. 
 
 though faint, her breathing was regular; "unless there be 
 concussion of the brain," said the Doctor to himself. Just 
 as he shook his head at this unpleasant conjecture, his eyes 
 met those of Sir John Davenne. The keen anxiety of that 
 countenance could not for a moment be mistaken. "You 
 need not be uneasy about your daughter," said the Doctor, 
 answering the unspoken question, and taking the relation- 
 ship for granted, "this is a mere fainting fit, the young lady 
 will soon recover;" and while still speaking, he pulled a 
 case out of his coat pocket, from which he took a pair of 
 large scissors. These he thrust into Miss Hutchins' trem- 
 bhng hands, saying, "You must manage to undo your lady's 
 dress, while I run down to the sea for some water. Cut 
 everything, mind, without moving her." 
 
 Waiting for no reply, the tall gentleman strides away, 
 fills his hat with water, and returns in the twinkling of an 
 eye. All his movements are quick but sedate, and though 
 visibly excited, all he does and says, he does and says in a 
 resolute, quiet, earnest way of his owti, without hurry or 
 fuss. As he comes back, the struggling horses and the 
 petrified Prospero attract his attention, and he calls out in a 
 voice that enforces immediate obedience, "Cut the ropes of 
 those horses, do you hear? and do it at once," and keeps 
 his eye on the postilion till he sees him twist his head round 
 like Harlequin's pantomime of distress, and begin to fumble 
 in one of his jacket pockets for a knife. 
 
 The Doctor sprinkled Miss Davenne's face and throat 
 freely with water, laid a wet handkerchief across her fore- 
 head, while Hutchins held smelling-salts to her nose, and 
 bathed her hands with Eau-de-Cologne. But in defiance of 
 all efforts she continued insensible. It was becoming clear 
 to a medical eye, that some more energetic remedies might 
 be necessary to restore animation. The Doctor again drew 
 out his case of instruments, and, to Sir John's great con- 
 sternation, set about choosing a lancet. Happily, at this 
 moment, Miss Davenne half opened her eyes, and faltered 
 
GREAT AND SMALL. 21 
 
 out "Papa." Sir John stooped fondly over her, "What is 
 it, my darling?" 
 
 "Oh, my foot! such a dreadful pain in my foot!" 
 
 "Which foot?" asked the Italian. 
 
 She looked up at him in some amazement, then pointing 
 to her right foot, said, "This one." The words were no 
 sooner uttered than the Doctor seized his great scissors, and 
 in a second had skilfully cut open the elegant boot and fine 
 stocking, laying bare a little alabaster foot, just fit for a 
 Cinderella's slipper, but shockingly sprained. Nor was this 
 all. The leg was broken just above the ankle. This, with 
 rapid medical intuition, he rather guessed than saw, and by 
 a motion as quick as thought, he dropped a shawl over the 
 wounded limb, so as to hide it from both father and 
 daughter, saying, in a calm tone, "Ah, a sprained ankle! a 
 rather painful, but not a serious thing. I must have all the 
 handkerchiefs you can give me," he added, looking round. 
 Handkerchiefs of all sizes and qualities came forth from the 
 pockets of the bystanders, "Enough, enough," said he, 
 smihng, as he looked at the unexpected shower. "These 
 will answer in the meantime for a temporary bandage, which 
 will alleviate the pain the young lady feels." He bound up 
 the poor foot carefully, then said, "Now, madam, let me 
 impress upon you the importance of remaining as quiet as 
 possible. I must leave you for a little while, to fetch what 
 is necessary to enable me to dress your foot properly, which 
 must be done before you can be removed from your present 
 uncomfortable position. Do you promise me not to stir 
 while lam gone?" 
 
 "Yes," said Miss Davenne, with a feeble effort to smile 
 her thanks. 
 
 The Doctor sprung lightly to his feet, and was hastening 
 away, when suddenly turning to John, who was standing near 
 him with a look of deep commiseration , almost comical to 
 see on his black and blue face, he said, "Suppose you were 
 to hold an umbrella over the lady's head, the sun is full 
 
22 DOCTOR ANTONIO. 
 
 upon her;" then continuing his way, he jumped into his gig, 
 and pushed the shaggy horse to a gallop. 
 
 CHAPTER 11. 
 
 The Osteria. 
 
 "So that gentleman is a doctor, papa," said Lucy, this 
 being the simple christian name given to the daughter of 
 the haughty Baronet. 
 
 "At least he gives himself out for one, my dear," said 
 Sir John. 
 
 " How very lucky for me ! " remarked the young lady. 
 
 "Very," replied Sir John, "though he is an odd-looking 
 figure for a physician." 
 
 "Yes, in England we should think so," answered Lucy; 
 "but abroad, you know, people are less particular about 
 dress, and there is something gentlemanlike about him after 
 all. Did you observe his hands, papa? I am sure they are 
 like a gentleman's." 
 
 "May be so, may be so," said Sir John, doubtingly. 
 
 "I wonder whether he is English, papa; he speaks very 
 good English." 
 
 "Yes, but there is a strong smack of the foreigner in his 
 accent," returned her father. 
 
 Lucy was silent, and, leaning her head on her hand, 
 seemed little disposed to continue the dialogue. Sir John 
 thus left to himself, all at once remembered the postilion, 
 and as he remembered, all the anger forgotten in his 
 anxiety for Lucy returned, rose to fury and overflowed his 
 lips. He began to abuse the unlucky lad in very Doric 
 English, interspersed now and then with a word intended for 
 Itahan. "Look at the cold-blooded villain," stormed Sir 
 John, pointing to Prosper©, who, as he stood mechanically 
 holding the bridles of the horses, and staring vacantly, did 
 look as if the storm of words rattling about his ears for the 
 last five minutes did not concern him; but this apathy was 
 not indifference nor callousness, nor cold-bloodedness, on 
 
THE OSTERIA. 2;^ 
 
 the contrary, it was the stoniness of despair. This im- 
 mobility irritating Sir John more and more every instant, 
 brought him at last to swear, that, since he could not remain 
 on the spot long enough to prosecute the rascal for de- 
 liberate intent to murder, he would write to the postmaster 
 and have the lad dismissed. The post-boy never winced. 
 No, he would do better— he would apply to the English 
 Envoy at Turin; he. Sir John Davenne, was determined to 
 make an example of the wretch for the benefit of future 
 travellers and post-boys. Still Prospero stood as unmoved 
 as if part of the rock by his side. He, Sir John Davenne, 
 would never rest, no, never, till the good-for-nothing Italian 
 ruffian had been summarily punished, though he should 
 have recourse to the King of Sardinia himself. The doomed 
 Prospero heard the sound of the Baronet^s angry voice, but 
 without its ever disturbing his agreeable contemplation of 
 the postmaster's fury in posse, and the dread in esse, of 
 having done some mortal injury to the bella Signorina. This 
 outburst of ire had one use, at least, it was a diversion of its 
 kind, which helped Sir John to wait for the Italian doctor's 
 promised return with more patience than he would other- 
 wise have done. 
 
 Miss Davenne felt thankful when she saw the poor old 
 gig once more. "Now, then,'' said the Doctor's cheerful 
 voice, "we must all make ourselves useful. Ah! this um- 
 brella is in my way here, will you have the goodness, sir," 
 turning to Sir John, "to hold it yourself, and screen your 
 daughter from the sun? Excuse me, but you will do it more 
 effectually if you sit down by her, thus," and he placed Sir 
 John at his daughter's head. 
 
 "You, too," he continued, addressing the servants, "will 
 seat yourselves at the young lady's feet, and attend closely 
 to what I say to you. My place is here in the middle;" and 
 he knelt down on one knee with his back turned to Sir John 
 and the patient, so as to entirely preclude their seeing any- 
 thing of what was going to pass. 
 
 "I shall not keep you long, nor hurt you much," he added, 
 
24 DOCTOR ANTONIO. 
 
 turning his head for an instant towards Miss Davenne. So 
 saying, he undid the handkerchiefs, and bade Hutchins and 
 John support the foot. 
 
 Lucy remained as quiet and passive in his hands, with 
 even a look of faith in him shining in her eyes, as if, instead 
 of chance having brought them together on a high road in 
 Italy, he had been her medical attendant since her infancy. 
 Indeed, all present, even Sir John, seemed under the spell 
 of the combination of simplicity and force that breathed in 
 the man. 
 
 A pull — a crackling as if of bones clasping together— a 
 suppressed groan. "There, it is over!" cried the Doctor, 
 shaking off, with a jerk of his head, the large drops of per- 
 spiration breaking over his broad forehead. " You feel less 
 pain already, do you?" he asked, bending towards Lucy. 
 Poor girl, she was so bewildered she could scarcely tell how 
 she felt. The foot had to be bound up, an operation which 
 required great care, and took some time. At last it was 
 finished. Two thin flat pieces of something which were 
 among the rollers the doctor had fetched, (two slips of wood, 
 we suspect, wrapped up in linen beforehand to conceal 
 their real nature from the bystanders,) were fastened on 
 each side of the foot, over the bandage, so as to secure it 
 and keep all in its place, and there was an end of it. 
 
 By this time, four strong sunburnt peasant women had 
 brought a very primitive kind of litter with mattresses on it, 
 and were waiting at a little distance from the principal 
 group. 
 
 "Bring one of the mattresses here," cried the Doctor, 
 directing them to place it close to Miss Davenne's side. He 
 then opened a sheet, saying to her, "We are going to slip 
 this sheet under you, to lift you up gently and place you on 
 the mattress, which we can then raise into the litter without 
 fear of shaking or hurting your foot. All I beg of you is, to 
 remain perfectly passive in our hands, and even guard 
 against any involuntary movement meant to help yourself 
 or us." 
 
THE OSTERIA. 2$ 
 
 "This is the second time you have so earnestly warned 
 me. I am then very dangerously hurt?" asked the young 
 lady with some alarm. 
 
 "Not in the least," rephed the Italian; "you are not to 
 take fright at the cautions I impose on you," and bending 
 again towards her, he added, in an undertone, "you can 
 understand that many unpleasant consequences may follow 
 an accident without entaiUng any danger to life. For in- 
 stance, to cure your leg— for, properly speaking, it is your 
 leg that is hurt and not your foot— is an easy task, one de- 
 pending more on time and patience than on any surgical 
 skill; but to make sure, that, when it is cured, it shall be 
 absolutely as it was before the injury, not the eighth of an 
 inch longer or shorter," (Lucy changed colour as she heard 
 this,) "is a very different affair, and will require the utmost 
 care and nicety. Now, then, do you see why I impress on 
 you the danger of disobedience to your Doctor," added he 
 with a smile of encouragement; "any imprudence or neglect 
 on your side may render every attention on his part useless." 
 
 Seeing by the look which answered his that he had said 
 enough to insure his patient's docihty, the Doctor, with 
 Hutchins' help, passed the sheet under Miss Davenne, then 
 beckoning forward three of the women, he and they took 
 each a corner, raised her, balanced as if in a hammock, and 
 laid her first on the mattress by her side, then carefully 
 transferred that to the htter. He covered her with a shawl, 
 put a cushion under her head, and gave the signal of de- 
 parture; but the litter was scarcely in motion when he called 
 to the bearers to stop and turn it round, so that her head 
 being foremost the poor girl could see her father, who was 
 a little behind. "It will be a comfort to the young lady," 
 explained the Doctor to the women carrying her, "to be able 
 to see the dear and well-known face of her father." 
 
 Any one of experience must often have noticed and ad- 
 mired the quick perception and dehcacy of many a poor 
 peasant in all connected with the affections. More especially 
 is the strength of the social bonds felt by the olive-skinned 
 
26 DOCTOR ANTONIO. 
 
 passionate children of Italy. The four pair of black eyes 
 glistened with tears that made them look like black dia- 
 monds, while the stout matrons uttered, with that peculiar 
 intonation of their country, so expressive, so indescribable, 
 the usual appeal to the Virgin. 
 
 Lucy did not need to hear the explanation to guess the 
 intention of the change thus ordered, and with a slight in- 
 clination of the head, or rather of her eyelids, accompanied 
 by a smile, made the Doctor sensible of her having under- 
 stood it. The look and smile brought a pleasant glow to the 
 face and heart of the physician. This incident estabhshed 
 a sympathetic communication, something like a magnetic 
 current, according to modern parlance, between the young 
 people— the Doctor was under thirty. What a kind-hearted 
 man, thought Lucy. The gentle, grateful heart, thought the 
 Doctor. Thus each had had a glimpse into the nature of the 
 other. 
 
 The Italian was walking slowly behind the htter, when 
 the Baronet, coming up to his side, said, somewhat abruptly, 
 "I think it right to introduce myself to you; — Sir, I am Sir 
 John Davenne, of Davenne Hall, in . . . shire." 
 
 The younger gentleman, thus startled out of his reflec- 
 tions, took off his hat, and, with a bow sufficiently graceful, 
 replied — 
 
 "And I, sir, am Doctor Antonio, the parish doctor of Bor- 
 dighera;" and there was a twinkle in his eye, as if he rehshed 
 something in his own reply excessively. 
 
 Sir John contracted his nostrils and pursed up his mouth, 
 just the play of muscles of one whose sense of smell is 
 offended, an habitual grimace of the Baronet's when either 
 provoked or displeased. 
 
 "May I ask you," continued he, addressing his interlocu- 
 tor, with a manner too provokingly ceremonious not to be- 
 tray an intense pique, most likely at his not having been 
 consulted in all the arrangements about his daughter, "may 
 I ask you where we are going?" 
 
 "Excuse me, my dear sir," (confound his impudence! 
 
THE OSTERIA. 2*J 
 
 said Sir John , mentally,) " in my hurry and anxiety for the 
 lady I have forgotten to tell you. We are going to that red 
 house yonder, half hidden by trees," answered the Doctor, 
 pointing to a shabby, two-storied, rather dismantled-looking 
 building to the left of the road, about half-way between the 
 spot where they were and the bright-green little headland 
 already mentioned; "it is a mere roadside inn," he con- 
 tinued, "kept by poor but respectable and kind people. 
 You will find there, I am sorry to say, scanty accommoda- 
 tion, but all proper care and attention, and," added he 
 significantly, "the thing of most importance in this moment, 
 a bed for your daughter." 
 
 To judge from the play of the muscles about the nose, 
 Sir John would have willingly dispensed with a good deal of 
 the vaunted care and attention in favour of a little more per- 
 sonal comfort, but he said nothing of the sort, and re- 
 plied, — 
 
 "Well, well, the accommodation is of little consequence, 
 for, as soon as my daughter has had some repose, we shall 
 resume our journey to Nice." 
 
 "You are surely not in earnest," cried the Itahan, stop- 
 ping short in his amazement; but immediately checking him- 
 self, he added, in a quiet and conciliatory manner, "I fear, 
 nay, I am sure, that Miss Davenne will not be able to resume 
 her journey for some"— (a pause of hesitation). 
 
 "Hours?" suggested the Baronet. 
 
 "Days, perhaps weeks," concluded the Doctor, gently. 
 
 "Weeks!" gasped Sir John, standing still in his turn. 
 "Weeks!" repeated he, this time with a burst of indigna- 
 tion. "Impossible! I have engagements that I cannot post- 
 pone. I must be in London within ten days." 
 
 "For your daughter, I regret to say, that is entirely out 
 of the question." 
 
 "Out of the question!— out of the question!" grumbled 
 Sir John, "Why out of the question?" 
 
 The tone in which this query was put was so peremptory 
 and trenchant, that the Doctor began to chafe. 
 
28 DOCTOR ANTONIO. 
 
 "Because," said he, warmly, "since you must have it, 
 your daughter's case — it is not my wish to alarm you, but — 
 your daughter's case is not — ." He was going to add, "what 
 I stated at first," with God knows what else; but at sight of 
 the anxious look of the already alarmed father, the young 
 physician had not the heart to go on, and wound up, instead, 
 with, "is not one to be trifled with." 
 
 There, thought Sir John, recovering his self-possession 
 and anger, I see what it is; this man is bent on frightening 
 me to make the most of a good job— a reflection httle cal- 
 culated to sweeten his temper. 
 
 "Well, well," said he, impatiently, "I know, everybody 
 knows what a sprain is. An odd pretension this, to keep us 
 prisoners for an indefinite period of time, on the plea of a 
 sprain ! " 
 
 "Pretension to keep you prisoner!" exclaimed the Italian, 
 with a wonderful contraction of the temples. "Nobody 
 keeps you prisoner, my dear sir." (That second "my dear 
 sir," the innocent translation of the common form of ad- 
 dress in Italy, the "Caro Signer mio," one entirely of 
 courtesy and not of familiarity, acted on all Sir John's aristo- 
 cratic fibres as the grating of a file upon marble acts on the 
 nerves of most sensitive people.) "You are not among 
 Moorish pirates, there are other medical men in the 
 neighbourhood whom you can consult, there are English 
 physicians at Nice whose advice you can ask." 
 
 "I will ask the advice of nobody," retorted the Baronet, 
 testily, "I want none. All I want is to be off, and off I 
 will be!" 
 
 "You will do as you please," rejoined the Italian, "but I 
 have a duty to perform, and perform it I will, and must. 
 Miss Davenne, I declare most solemnly, cannot be removed 
 with safety, for, at least, 'forty days.'" And having said 
 this, the young man moved on, leaving his interlocutor to 
 his own cogitations. 
 
 "Forty days!" gasped forth Sir John, standing stock 
 
THE OSTERIA. 2g 
 
 Still. "Forty days!" and this time he changed his first tone 
 of dismay into angry cachinnation. "That's a good joke !" 
 and deliberately turning back, he waved to John, who was 
 standing near the carriage, and desired him to have it 
 brought up immediately to the red house, and ascertain 
 what amount of injury it had sustained. This done, the 
 Baronet followed the little caravan with slow and sullen 
 steps. 
 
 The procession was not long in reaching its destination. 
 
 "Here we are," said the Doctor, approaching Miss 
 Davenne, as, leaving the high road, they turned down a 
 wide lane in the direction of the beach, went through a gate 
 on the left, over which hung a branch of pine-tree, and 
 entered a garden, wherein stood the brick-coloured house. 
 The htter was carried up a steep flight of outside stairs, and 
 through a large room and a smaller one, to a little cham- 
 ber, where Lucy and the mattresses were deposited upon a 
 bedstead. 
 
 The Doctor dismissed the four women, and turning to 
 his charge, who looked sad and pale, said, — 
 
 "Though everything is very homely here, you may rest 
 satisfied that the bed and linen are clean : I saw to that be- 
 fore bringing you here." 
 
 "You are very kind," said Lucy, in a very low voice. 
 
 "The bare walls and want of furniture strike you dis- 
 agreeably, I daresay," went on the Doctor; "we shall soon 
 try and make the room a little more cheerful. Shall I intro- 
 duce your landlady, Rosa, and her daughter Speranza, to 
 you? Pretty names, are they not?" added he, as he noticed 
 a smile on Lucy's face; "they sound like a good omen. 
 Both are very desirous of making themselves useful, and 
 you will make them very happy by accepting their services." 
 
 Lucy nodded to the women he pointed out to her, and 
 who were standing at the door, one an elderly woman, the 
 other a pale, black-eyed girl. They came forward at a sign 
 from Doctor Antonio, and kissed the hand of the beautiful 
 young lady with a mixture of enthusiastic tenderness and 
 
30 DOCTOR ANTONIO. 
 
 reverence. The fair skin, blue eyes, and golden hair, made 
 Lucy seem to them more of an angel than one of the same 
 species as themselves. 
 
 The Doctor, satisfied with the good feeling he saw al- 
 ready established between the guest and her hostesses, said 
 to Lucy, "I must tell you what are the best arrangements I 
 have been able to make for you. The four rooms of which 
 this floor consists, the only decent ones in the house, are 
 given up for your use; this for yourself, the one next it for 
 your maid, and on the other side of the large entrance-room 
 or lobby we came through, a bed-chamber for your father. 
 Your man-servant will have a room down stairs." 
 
 "That will do nicely," said poor Lucy, trying to look 
 cheerful. "I hope papa will be as well satisfied as I am." 
 The Italian ventured no reply to this extravagant hope, but 
 asked, "Have you any appetite? do you wish for anything 
 to eat?" 
 
 "No, I thank you, I am not in the least hungry." 
 
 "So much the better. I should not advise your taking 
 any sohd food for the present. I shall now leave you, and I 
 hope you will be able to sleep. At all events, remain quiet, 
 and make no attempt at moving, remember. I will send you 
 a mixture of which you may take a spoonful, from time to 
 time, if you are thirsty." 
 
 "But I shall see you again, soon?" said Lucy, rather dis- 
 mayed at hearing that her new friend was going away. 
 
 "In an hour or two," returned the Doctor, quietly, "and 
 then we shall see what can be done to make this room a 
 little more comfortable. 1 speak, of course, only of relative 
 comfort. Everything here below is relative, non e vero?" 
 
 There seemed as though a sigh struggled with the smile 
 with which the question was put. 
 
 "Use your scissors freely in undressing your young 
 lady," said he to Aliss Hutchins, on leaving the room. 
 "Miss Davenne must not move, must not, — you under- 
 stand?" and then he repeated the same caution in Itahan to 
 Rosa and Speranza. 
 
THE OSTERIA. 31 
 
 As he issued from the chamber, on the threshold he met 
 Sir John, who had hngered awhile below to catch sight of 
 the carriage. The Baronet intimating by neither act nor 
 word any wish for communication. Doctor Antonio walked 
 on in silence. Reflecting, however, that the Baronet might 
 have something to say after seeing his daughter, he loitered 
 a few minutes in the lobby; (thus we shall call henceforward 
 the entrance-room.) But the Englishman came forth, and 
 conducted by the girl, Speranza, crossed the room towards 
 his own without noticing in any way the presence of the 
 Itahan, who, perceiving that he was not wanted, left the 
 house. 
 
 Sir John, when ushered into the room destined for him, 
 threw himself doggedly on a chair, and darted an angry 
 glance around. "A charming place, indeed, to spend forty 
 days in!" sneered the Baronet. "Why not six months?" 
 and he laughed aloud. The room, to say the truth, fully 
 verified, if it did not surpass, the account of the inn given 
 by the Doctor. The once white walls, now grown yellow 
 from age, with not even a series of wretched prints of the 
 Via Crucis, or a wretched bit of a glass to break their barren 
 uniformity; the undraped window; the old deal table; the 
 hard cane-bottomed chairs, two in number; the long coffin- 
 like ^^ cassapanca" (locker) at the foot of the uncurtained 
 bed, made the room look more like the cell of an anchorite, 
 than the bedchamber of a Protestant Baronet. 
 
 "We must get out of this hole at all events," murmured 
 Sir John, rising and walking fretfully up and down, till the 
 sound of approaching steps caused him to stop. It was John, 
 who came as bidden, to report casualties. John brought 
 good news. Save the glasses that had been smashed, and 
 some scratches on the panels, there was nothing in the state 
 of the carriage to prevent their going on to Nice. 
 
 "Very well," said Sir John, "have the glasses immediately 
 replaced." Unfortunately that could not be done, John had 
 already made inquiries on the subject, and the result was 
 that panes of the req_uired size were not to be found at the 
 
32 DOCTOR ANTONIO. 
 
 neighbouring town. Sir John pished and pshawed at this 
 intelligence, and declared, in the bitterest of tones, that he 
 should have much wondered, indeed, if it had been other- 
 wise. John proceeded to state that he had not been able to 
 bring the carriage to the door, on account of the garden 
 gate being too narrow to permit of its passage; and then 
 there was no coach-house there, added John. What was to 
 be done? 
 
 Sir John made no reply, but led the way down to the 
 garden gate, and after a short survey of the spot, a look at 
 the carriage, one at the sky, and some further hesitation, 
 bade John have the carriage removed a little to one side, 
 where it might stand for the night, if necessary. "For," ex- 
 plained Sir John, with an angry sigh, " the nights are still 
 fresh, and unless we can start in an hour or two, which is 
 not sure, those damned glasses will detain us for the night. 
 But to-morrow," continued the Baronet resolutely, "to- 
 morrow, glasses or no glasses, we shall be off to Nice." 
 
 "Please, sir," observed John, hesitating, "will it be safe 
 to leave the carriage and luggage all night in the lane?" 
 
 "Certainly not," returned the master. "Let me see,— in 
 case we are detained you had better keep watch in the car- 
 riage with a brace of pistols." 
 
 Having thus settled the matter, whether much to John's 
 personal satisfaction we cannot say. Sir John mounted the 
 stone steps leading to the second story, his present quarters, 
 and walked towards Lucy's room, but was met half-way by 
 Miss Hutchins on tiptoe, with a report that her mistress felt 
 very faint indeed, and had just closed her eyes to try and 
 sleep. Whereupon Sir John, much grieved at the news, 
 which confirmed but too well his fear of being kept where 
 he was for the night, betook himself to his own room. How- 
 ever, he had not stayed there for a quarter of an hour when 
 out he went again, and down the steps, and took to walking 
 to and fro in front of the house, pushing on now and then 
 to the outer gate, to cast a melancholy look at the carriage 
 and up and down the lane. A second attempt to see his 
 
THE OSTERIA. 33 
 
 daughter having been foiled by the identical circumstances 
 that had foiled the first, the unhappy Baronet took some 
 dozen turns up and down the lobby, and repaired to his 
 own room., sank into a chair, and said aloud, as he con- 
 sulted his watch, "Why, time stands still in this confounded 
 country!" 
 
 Yet time had moved on and brought with it a fresh addi- 
 tion to this poor gentleman's already superabundant stock 
 of spleen and discomfort. Alas for the frailty of all flesh, 
 even for that of the proudest man in England! Sir John 
 was hungry, very hungry, and ashamed of being so, and 
 provoked at being so, and terror-stricken at the dire neces- 
 sity—a necessity which made itself more felt at every passing 
 moment— of having to ask for food. Ask for food in tliat 
 house!— sit down to dinner under tlmt roof! It was tant- 
 amount to laying down arms in the face of the enemy; it 
 was giving up at a blow all the heroic of his situation. Fancy 
 Attilius Regulus, the first thing on his return to Carthage, 
 asking for a beefsteak! Sir John felt all this. Sir John 
 struggled bravely for a time, but at last surrendered. He 
 instinctively put out his hand for a bell, of which there was 
 no vestige whatever, and to his mortification had to go to 
 the top of the stairs and call for John. "Go and see what 
 there is in the larder," said Sir John, languidly, "supposing 
 that there is anything like a larder in this— in this place; 
 however, find out if anything fit to eat can be procured." 
 
 The sacrifice being consummated, Sir John went to see 
 his daughter. Poor Lucy ! she had all the heroism to her- 
 self. She was suffering acutely. "Where, my child?"— 
 "Oh, papa, everywhere. I feel bruised all over. I have 
 such an odd and disagreeable sensation at my foot, just as 
 if it were swelled into a mountain of cork." 
 
 "But, my dear, you know that can be only fancy. Try 
 and sleep." 
 
 "Dear papa, I have tried, and I cannot." 
 
 Poor thing, she was fainting with fatigue, and yet could 
 not get a wink of sleep. Sir John did his best to soothe her, 
 
 Doctor Antonio, 3 
 
34 DOCTOR ANTONIO. 
 
 and, as he fondly stroked the stray curls that lay on her hot 
 cheek, promised that she should go to Nice the next day, 
 where, if she were forced to remain, she would have every 
 comfort. But his words failed of their intended effect. Lucy 
 felt no courage for the journey to Nice on the morrow, she 
 did not care for the comfortable apartments which her father 
 was sure their courier must easily have found for them, in a 
 place so much the resort of the English, "and first-rate 
 English physicians, my child," he added, by way of some- 
 thing better than all. 
 
 "As to that," said Lucy, "I am quite satisfied with this 
 Italian doctor; he is kinder, and more considerate than any 
 of the doctors I ever had — and you know, papa, I have had 
 plenty." 
 
 Sir John puckered up his nose; he made no answer, how- 
 ever. "Don't you think so too, papa?" asked Lucy, with 
 the obstinacy of an indulged child. 
 
 "Why, Lucy, I cannot say, I have seen so little of the 
 gentleman, and I am not given to take hasty likings." A 
 silence ensued, for pretty Lucy did not like being answered 
 in this way. 
 
 In about half an hour there was a tap at the open door, 
 and John's voice formally announced that dinner was on the 
 table. "You must try and eat something," said her father, 
 rising; "I will send you in the wing of a chicken, or an egg 
 — that can be had here, at least. It will do you good, and 
 raise your spirits." 
 
 "No, papa!" said Lucy, with marked determination, 
 "the Doctor said I was not to eat." 
 
 "Well, my dear, follow his directions for to-day," re- 
 plied Sir John, as obstinate in his feeling as the young lady ; 
 "to-morrow, I hope, you will have better advice to go by;" 
 so saying, he left the room. 
 
 The cloth was laid in the lobby. The dinner, much to 
 Sir John's surprise, and a little to his annoyance, though 
 very simple, was excellent. Fish, a roast fowl, vegetables, 
 an omelet, cheese, preserved fruit, oranges, and a bottle of 
 
THE OSTERIA. 35 
 
 the wine of the country, not to be despised even by the most 
 fastidious palate of a connoisseur. Sir John ate and grumbled, 
 but though he grumbled, he ate very heartily all the time. 
 John, a large black patch across his wounded nose, a napkin, 
 not of Flemish damask, but of good white home-spun linen 
 under his arm; John, in white cravat and suit of sables, 
 waited on his master as solemn and erect as on a gala-day 
 at Davenne. 
 
 The Baronet was in the moody enjoyment of his second 
 orange, fresh plucked from the bough, when Doctor An- 
 tonio, a large bundle under his arm, made his appearance 
 at the top of the steps. The Doctor, with a bow to Sir John, 
 passed on to the left— Sir John's room was on the side op- 
 posite —and was ushered by Hutchins into Miss Davenne's 
 chamber. 
 
 "How long you have been!'^ said Lucy, with all the im- 
 patience of sickness, as soon as she caught sight of him. 
 
 "I am very glad to hear you say so," he replied; "it is a 
 good sign when the patient longs for the presence of the 
 physician; it implies confidence in him, and that is half the 
 battle. I have been detained against my will. But tell me 
 how you are." Doctor Antonio listened to his patient's ac- 
 count of herself with that interest which is so consoling to 
 any one suffering, then said, "I wish I could reheveyou, but 
 I confess, that, for the present, at least, I do not think I can. 
 You have gone through much agitation and much pain, and 
 nature so disturbed requires a little time to recover its equi- 
 librium. All that we doctors can do is to help, we cannot 
 force nature. Drink freely of the mixture I sent you; per- 
 haps it will make you sleep in a little while." 
 
 Lucy shook her head, as if she were quite sure she should 
 never sleep again, but only said, "What have you got 
 there?" pointing to the bundle. 
 
 "Some curtains for your window. All these rooms are to 
 the south, and we must try and guard you from the intrusion 
 of our Itahan sun." So saying, suiting the action to the 
 word, he got on a chair, and began driving in some nails as 
 
36 DOCTOR ANTONIO. 
 
 gently as he could. "One learns to be a little of everything 
 in these small country places," he said, looking at her from 
 his not very heroic elevation, and with one of the curtains 
 on his arm; "we are differently off from you dwellers in 
 large cities; we are poor folks, who can offer no inducement 
 to tradesmen to come and settle amongst us. Every one 
 hereabouts is his own gardener, carpenter, and upholsterer, 
 as you see in this moment. Indeed, very often, to save the 
 small fee, a man is his own doctor." 
 
 "You say *we' in speaking of this neighbourhood," ob- 
 served Miss Davenne; "you do not mean to say that you 
 really belong to this place?" 
 
 "And what makes you suppose that I do not?" asked the 
 Doctor, somewhat amused. 
 
 "I don't know exactly," answered the young lady, "but 
 there is something about you which makes me fancy that 
 you have not lived all your life here." 
 
 "In plain words, you mean to say that I do not look 
 quite hke the boor you would expect to find in the doctor 
 of a village. You are an acute observer for your age, voung 
 lady." 
 
 "And how old do you think I am?" inquired Lucy, amused 
 in her turn. 
 
 "Sixteen or seventeen at most." 
 
 "Much older, I am very nearly twenty." 
 
 "Ah! indeed? then you look younger than your age. 
 Well, I must do homage to your penetration, and own that 
 you are right, so far, in guessing that I do not belong to 
 the Riviera. I am a native of Sicily; I was born in Ca- 
 tania." 
 
 "Will you forgive my being so full of curiosity, but have 
 you not lived in England?" 
 
 "No, I have never been there," answered the Doctor. 
 "My Enghsh puzzles you also, does it? I will tell you at 
 once how I learnt to speak it. My mother's eldest sister 
 married, in 18 10, a British officer of one of the regiments 
 quartered at that time in Sicily. My aunt's children were 
 
THE OSTERIA. 37 
 
 brought up in every respect like English children, and, hav- 
 ing English nurses, talked English from their cradle. Now, 
 as I was educated with my cousins, I naturally learnt the 
 language also, which became almost as familiar to me as 
 that of my own country." 
 
 Thus, alternately talking and hammering, the busy 
 Doctor entertained the sick girl, and managed to put up the 
 curtains. He contemplated for a moment, and with an air 
 of great satisfaction, what his talents in the upholstery line 
 had accomplished, then glancing round the room, he said, 
 "Ah! more work for me. I see a split in that door behind 
 your bed. Nothing is more treacherous than a draught, the 
 smaller it is the worse." Away went the Doctor, but was 
 back again in an instant, a long slip of paper in one hand, 
 and an egg-shell in the other. 
 
 "Did you ever see a more economical or expeditious way 
 of making paste ? " asked he, showing Lucy the pinch of flour 
 and drop of water contained in his egg-shell. 
 
 She laughed and wondered at his activity and ingenuity. 
 Then no one could help being struck by the noble simplicity 
 with which he did things gentlemen, in general, think 
 beneath them, even putting himself into postures that would 
 make most people ridiculous, without ever losing, for a mo- 
 ment, that comely manliness of appearance which would not 
 have let him pass unnoticed even in a crowd. 
 
 Sir John came in just as Antonio was stooping down to 
 paste the paper over the chink. The Baronet followed each 
 of the Doctor's movements, at first with a look of uneasi- 
 ness, as if he suspected him of being mad, and then, as he 
 perceived the nature of the stranger's occupation. Sir John's 
 features relaxed into a smile, expressive at once of the most 
 intense disgust and contempt. Sir John's heau itUal of a 
 gentleman was himself: now, not to save the world from 
 ruin would Sir John have condescended to what he con- 
 sidered a menial act; and the man who would paste paper 
 ver a chink in the door, do the work of a carpenter, or 
 
38 DOCTOR ANTONIO. 
 
 paper-hanger, be it even for a Davenne, lost all right to 
 respect and consideration in his eyes. 
 
 While Sir John was wasting a great deal of thought on 
 the Doctor, who never thought of him at all, Speranza, the 
 landlady's daughter, brought in a large nosegay, chiefly of 
 wild flowers, and handed it to Dr. Antonio, who, apparently 
 as contented with his success in pasting paper as in hanging 
 curtains, began at once to examine and arrange the bouquet. 
 Lucy, observing that he placed only some of the flowers in a 
 vase, and threw others out of the window, inquired why he 
 threw away some of the prettiest. 
 
 "Because the scent of those you call the prettiest may be 
 injurious to you. I intend you to have a nosegay to gladden 
 your eyes, and not one to perfume your room. It is wrong 
 to put scented flowers into a sleeping apartment at any time, 
 and a fortiori, they are still more out of their place in a sick- 
 chamber. Nor do I mean to leave even these here," and 
 walking into the adjoining room, he set the vase on a table, 
 where Miss Davenne could see them from her bed. 
 
 "Now, what next?" said he, rubbing his forehead with 
 his forefinger, as if trying to recollect something. "Ah! that 
 is it;" and turning to Lucy,— "Are you in the habit of having 
 a light in your room at night?" On her saying "yes," he 
 continued,— "Then we must try and contrive one safe for 
 you." He called to Speranza to bring a cork and a bit of 
 the wick used in their oil-lamps, out of which materials he 
 made a night-lamp, that answered as well as one of Child's 
 patent. After once more looking to the bandages on Miss 
 Davenne's foot, he said, — 
 
 "It is getting late, so I must wish you good evening. If, 
 during the night, you should feel worse, which I hope and 
 think will not be the case,— mind I say this solely in reference 
 to you and not to myself— send at once over to Bordighera 
 for me. The people of the house will find a messenger; and 
 then everybody knows where Doctor Antonio lives." 
 
 "And pray how far is this— Burdigore, or whatever you 
 
THE OSTERIA. 39 
 
 call it?" inquired Sir John, speaking for the first time since 
 he came into the room. 
 
 "About ten minutes' walk," answered Antonio. "If you 
 come to this window you can see it. There, on the top of 
 the hill to our right." 
 
 "Thank you; and may I beg you to tell me whether there 
 is a magistrate to be found in this neighbourhood?" 
 
 "We have a justice of the peace at Bordighera," replied 
 the Doctor. 
 
 "Ha! that will do very well. I shall find time to see him 
 to-morrow early, for I don't intend to let that scoundrel of a 
 postilion escape so easily." 
 
 "If that is the case, you must have a little patience," re- 
 joined the Doctor; "Prospero could not obey any summons 
 just now. He is ill in bed, not from any bodily injury, but 
 from the moral shock he has received. I had to bleed him 
 before coming here this afternoon." 
 
 "I am sorry to hear it," said Sir John, molhfied. "At the 
 same time you must agree with me, sir, that it is a duty I 
 owe to all travellers not to overlook the flagrant misconduct 
 of a drunken fellow, and" — 
 
 "Excuse my interrupting you, sir. I have no wish to 
 screen Prospero from blame, but, believe me, intoxication 
 had nothing to do with the unhappy event of to-day. Prospero 
 was never drunk in his life. I can affirm this positively, as I 
 have known him for three years. The vice of drunkenness is 
 very rare in these parts, and our postiHons, especially, are 
 looked upon as patterns of sobriety. Ask all the guards of 
 the mail-coaches that go daily from Genoa to Nice, and vice 
 versa ^ and they will tell you, as they have told me many a 
 time, that if so few accidents occur on this road, in spite of 
 its almost unbroken series of ascents and descents, and not 
 a few sharp turnings, it is owing to the care and proverbial 
 soberness of the postilions." 
 
 Sir John did not reply to this defence, so the Doctor, with 
 a bow, took his leave. 
 
40 DOCTOR ANTONIO. 
 
 "I hope you will not prosecute that poor young man, 
 papa," said Lucy. 
 
 "It would be useless for the present, my dear, as you have 
 just heard, and ere the fellow is about again, we shall be a 
 good way off." 
 
 "Ah, papa," returned Lucy, "I fear I shall not be able to 
 bear the fatigue of a journey for some time, I feel so weak 
 and shattered. I am very sorry on your account, dear 
 papa." 
 
 "Don't vex yourself about me, my dear girl,'' said Sir 
 John, patting her cheek. "First of all, you don't know your- 
 self what a night of sound sleep may do for you; and then, 
 at the worst," added the Baronet, grown more magnanimous 
 since his dinner, "so that you get well, I shall not care about 
 a little discomfort for a few days." Lucy caught his hand 
 and kissed it gratefully. 
 
 "Do you know, papa," said the invalid, after a short 
 pause, "that I have found out what countryman he is?" 
 
 "Who?— the postiHon?" asked Sir John, rousing himself 
 from not very pleasant reflections. 
 
 "Papa, papa, how can you? — the Doctor. He is a Si- 
 cilian." 
 
 "Indeed; I have been told that Sicily is a very fine coun- 
 try," answered the Baronet, rather coldly. 
 
 "I am sure there is some mystery about him," continued 
 Lucy. "I don't believe — Do you, papa? — that he was ever 
 born to be a doctor. I should not wonder if he turned out 
 to be one of the noblemen who have been banished. I re- 
 member hearing at Rome about political refugees. He is 
 just like one of those heads by Vandyck we saw at Genoa. 
 Don't you think him very handsome, papa?" 
 
 "Yes, he is a fine man, and would make a capital chasseur, 
 with his long beard," said Sir John, drily. 
 
 "Oh, papa, that is too bad — how can you say so of a 
 person so evidently a gentleman, and who has been so very 
 kind to us?" 
 
THE OSTERIA. 4 1 
 
 "My dear Lucy, your gratitude is not very logical. This 
 person having been of use to us, is no reason for my at once 
 believing him to be a prince in disguise. However, my dear 
 Lucy, I don't object to your romancing about this black- 
 bearded Esculapius, only I suspect he will prefer the mode I 
 shall take of showing my sense of the obligations we are 
 under to him." 
 
 Lucy fixed her eyes with some anxiety on her father's 
 face. "Don't be afraid, Lucy, the fee I offer to your hero 
 shall be in proportion to his presumptive rather than to his 
 apparent rank." As Lucy still looked uneasy, the Baronet 
 continued, "You foolish child, do you think this Doctor has 
 given himself all this trouble for the loveof your pretty face?" 
 
 Lucy sighed, for she had a very strong idea of her own 
 that the Doctor had given himself all that trouble out of pure 
 kindness; perhaps she was romantic in thinking thus. How- 
 ever, she said nothing more, as the sigh was followed by an 
 attack of cough which left her in a state of exhaustion. 
 
 Sir John, when she was again quiet, thought it best to 
 leave her alone, in the faint hope that she might fall asleep. 
 As he stooped to kiss her, his eye was attracted by something 
 strange at the head of her bed, which he had not noticed 
 before. On looking closer, he found slightly fixed to the wall 
 a little leaden crucifix, a plaster cast of the holy Virgin, with 
 a small vessel of holy water incrusted underneath, and a palm 
 branch, which, in fact, had been blessed. Any one who has 
 ever travelled in Italy must have seen such things daily, either 
 for sale in the streets, or in the bedrooms of the poorer 
 houses. Sir John, as exclusive in matters of external worship 
 as in everything else, lost his Httle remaining patience at 
 finding what he considered idolatrous emblems over his 
 daughter's head, and peremptorily ordered Hutchins to carry 
 away all that trash, and to take care that he never saw such 
 in any of the rooms again. He waited to see his order obeyed, 
 and then, in no very charitable frame of mind, took a candle, 
 and retired to his own apartment. 
 
 Lucy's discouragement as to moving next day, and the 
 
4 2 DOCTOR ANTONIO. 
 
 State of complete prostration in which he had left her, caused 
 Sir John, once more alone, to recur with sad misgivings to 
 Doctor Antonio's alarming declaration as to the impossibility 
 of his daughter's removal, and as he thought on it, the firm 
 determination hitherto nourished to pay that declaration no 
 attention, began to waver. Evidently a reaction was taking 
 place in Sir John's mind. For the first time, since entering 
 the Osteria, the proud gentleman felt as if the terrible award 
 of "forty days" in that wilderness might be fulfilled. An ad- 
 mission, it is true, no sooner made than recalled, nay, put at 
 nought by a mental rejoinder, to the effect, that will and mo- 
 ney to execute that will, could not fail, after all, to conquer all 
 difficulties. If a mattress were placed across the seats of the 
 carriage, thought Sir John, and the horses made to go at a 
 walk, why, Lucy would lie there as safe and comfortable as 
 in her own bed. An excellent arrangement, to be sure, but 
 — there were still "buts" in the way. Alas ! do what he would 
 to see it not, reality, stern reality, stared the unhappy Baronet 
 in the face. 
 
 Amid such conflicting thoughts he prepared to lie down 
 on his bed with a heavy sigh,~a sigh not merely called up 
 by the appearance of the miserable couch and the prospect 
 of an uncomfortable night; other grounds for disquietude 
 now awoke out of old recollections in the Baronet's mind. 
 That he was in a strange land, amid foreigners, none of his 
 countrymen within reach, was in itself enough; but that he 
 was among Italians was more than enough to occasion and 
 authorize all sorts of fears. There was in a cell of his brains 
 a tapestry of notions about Italy, on which stilettos, banditti, 
 and vendette, figured in juxtaposition with solitary inns, or 
 gaunt houses by the seashore, where travellers were enticed, 
 murdered, and plundered. "Devihsh disagreeable country! '' 
 sighed forth Sir John, "and where your village doctors must 
 needs look likeRinaldoRinaldini." The bells of the churches 
 at Bordighera tolling the De Profundis, marking the first hour 
 of night; the voices of the fishermen haihng each other in 
 the distance; the very sound of the sea breaking lazily on 
 
THE OSTERIA. 43 
 
 the beach, had something sinister to the Baronet's ear. He 
 stole quietly out of his room, went to the lady's-maid's door, 
 and calling to her, bade her, in a cautious whisper, lock and 
 bolt her door, then returning to his own chamber he barred 
 himself in, and went to bed in as happy a disposition of mind 
 as if he had fallen in with a tribe of Red Indians. 
 
 We must render this justice to Sir John. Had he known 
 and believed that the accident met with by his daughter was 
 of the serious nature itreally was, uneasiness abouthisdarhng 
 would have prevented all such paltry misgivings and fears 
 from raising their hydra heads ; whereas, indulging the belief 
 that there was nothing worse the matter than a sprained 
 ankle, and seeing in that no cause for apprehension. Sir John 
 was sufficiently at ease to be able to brood to his heart's con- 
 tent, not only over the real annoyances, but over what he 
 was pleased to fancy the dangers of his situation. But how 
 could he, in the face of many a suspicious circumstance, 
 and after Antonio's transparent hints, still labour under such 
 a delusion? The answer is obvious. Sir John was misled 
 by a preconceived idea, the idea that Doctor Antonio had 
 every interest in rather exaggerating than diminishing the 
 seriousness of the injury sustained by Miss Davenne. And 
 as to his ever supposing that an utter stranger, a village 
 doctor, and an Itahan to boot, could, out of regard for his, 
 Sir John's feelings, have kept back the worse feature of his 
 daughter's case, such an absurdity could never enter his 
 mind. The haughty Baronet might as well have supposed 
 that— that the Davenne family was not one of the first families 
 in all the United Kingdom. 
 
 While Sir John bolted himself in, and his humble name- 
 sake, in a state of intense nervousness, kept watch in the 
 carriage, Rosa and Speranza, their services being no longer 
 required by their guests above, had betaken themselves to 
 their intended sleeping-place — a small dark back-kitchen, 
 and in which a little store of charcoal and wood was habitu- 
 ally kept. A straw mattress, and a blanket between the two, 
 were to be their bed and covering; it was all these poor, 
 
44 DOCTOR ANTONIO. 
 
 simple, hard-working creatures had thought of reserving for 
 themselves. Between compassion for the young lady and 
 awe of Sir John, and his man John, they had given up for 
 their use not only that part of the house destined to the few 
 humble chance travellers who sometimes passed the night 
 there, but also their own room, and all they possessed in 
 shape of bedsteads, mattresses, hnen pillows, &c. Far from 
 regretting the sacrifice of their usual little comforts, mother 
 and daughter were entirely engrossed by how they could 
 add to those of their unexpected inmates, — "How fortunate," 
 said Speranza, "that these gentlefolks should travel with 
 their own plate! But for that, what should we have done 
 with our four silver spoons and forks ? For only think, mother, 
 the old gentleman must have clean forks and spoons with 
 every dish." And the two women fell to reviewing in their 
 minds the households of their wealthier neighbours, and 
 weighing the chances they had of having such and such articles 
 of furniture lent to them on the morrow. But, after all, what 
 was the use of their racking their brains , when there was 
 Doctor Antonio? Doctor Antonio would manage to get all 
 that was wanting — Doctor Antonio would set everything to 
 rights. To hear the two women anybody might have sup- 
 posed that this country doctor was one of the genii in the 
 "Arabian Nights," who had only to stamp his foot to make 
 the earth bring forth a palace, with all its appurtenances. 
 
 "There is one thing, mother," said the girl, "we must do 
 at once, and that is to take down the pine branch from over 
 the gate. I know the old gentleman cannot bear the sight 
 of it, he made such a face when he passed it." — "Then it 
 shall come down," replied the mother; "perhaps we had 
 better take the benches and tables out of the garden. To- 
 morrow is Sunday, and the folks from Bordighera will be 
 coming here after Vespers, and I am sure the gentleman 
 won't like to see so many people about the garden. We can 
 give those who choose their bottle of wine in the parlour, 
 and those who don't must go elsewhere. It won't do to have 
 smoking and singing going on under the windows of the 
 
THE OSTERIA. 45 
 
 5'/^norma." — "That's true," said the daughter; "Doctor 
 Antonio, of all things, said she was to be kept quiet. Oh, 
 mother, did you ever see such a sweet face? she looks like 
 the Madonna over the altar."— "Ay, she does indeed," 
 agreed Rosa. "God bless her!"— "God bless her!" echoed 
 Speranza; and with that blessing on their hps mother and 
 daughter fell asleep. 
 
 Having for the present disposed of all our personages 
 save the principal one — the one at least who ought to be so, 
 according to our title-page— we may as well take a peep at 
 him. 
 
 Doctor Antonio's dwelling at Bordighera consists of one 
 tolerably large room, which answers at once for drawing- 
 room, consulting room, and library, and within which opens 
 a small bed-chamber; one side of the sitting-room is entirely 
 covered with well-filled book-shelves, half a dozen chairs 
 and a middle-sized table complete the furniture. On the 
 wall opposite to the book-shelves hang a flute, a guitar, two 
 foils, some fencing-gloves and masks; below these is a map 
 of Sicily. Books are lying on the chairs, on the ground, 
 everywhere; and there is a mountain of them on the table, 
 before which sits our hero, caressing his beard, and poring 
 over a volume, which absorbs all his attention. Between 
 the printed leaves there are coloured engravings of legs in 
 all stages of dilapidation, and of every variety of mode of 
 dressing and bandaging them. Now and then Doctor 
 Antonio rises and walks up and down the room, in deep 
 meditation, goes to the book-shelves, takes down a large 
 folio, and seems to be comparing notes. Hours are going 
 swiftly by, and he is still reading and stroking his beard. 
 Presently he looks at his watch, exclaims aloud in astonish- 
 ment at how time has passed, lifts his lamp as if about to 
 go to his bed in the next room, then stops suddenly, puts 
 down the hght again, and once more goes to the book- 
 shelves. There is yet one point on which he is not quite 
 clear, there is a complication which may arise, and which he 
 has not yet found mentioned. 
 
46 DOCTOR ANTONIO. 
 
 The dawn shining through the windows found him still 
 reading. At length he closed the book, extinguished his 
 now useless lamp, and, all dressed as he was, threw himself 
 on the bed. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 Sir John Davenne. 
 
 Sir John Davenne, the fifth Baronet of that name, had 
 inherited with his paternal acres, what was to the full as 
 much a family possession, and one as carefully transmitted 
 from generation to generation— the tic of overweening and 
 most exaggerated pride; pride of pedigree, of every person 
 that could, in the remotest degree, claim kindred with the 
 Davennes, of everything belonging or having belonged to 
 them, and a corresponding contempt of every thing or crea- 
 ture less favoured in a line of ancestry , and historical recol- 
 lections. 
 
 The Davennes of Davenne, in the county of—, professed 
 to be descended from the Norman Squire of the name of 
 D'Avesne, mentioned in sundry chronicles as having at- 
 tended a De Vere at the Battle of Hastings. Sir John as- 
 serted, as his father and his father's father had done before 
 him, that the Davennes had always shared in the glories 
 and dangers of the warlike De Veres, who, history tells us, 
 were among the hosts of Cceur de Lion's crusaders. 
 Emerging from the borrowed light of these nobles, a 
 Davenne won his golden spurs about that period, and from 
 that time their family history became incorporated with that 
 of their country. The Davennes took their share in the 
 wars of the Roses; one was killed at Bosworth, another 
 went with Essex to Ireland; a Davenne, after manfully fight- 
 ing at Marston Moor and Naseby, was among the few who 
 accompanied Charles in his flight to the Scots, and remained 
 near his unfortunate master to the last — one of the most ob- 
 stinate and undaunted of the cavaliers. When the power of 
 
SIR JOHN DAVENNE. 47 
 
 Cromwell became supreme and established, Davenne, whose 
 property had been confiscated, fled with his family to join 
 the Court of the young Charles in Holland. His loyalty and 
 devotion to the Royal cause met with a more favourable 
 denouement at the Restoration than that of many other cava- 
 liers as loyal and devoted. He not only received back his 
 own estate, but, the tables being turned, got that of his 
 neighbour to boot, who was, in the language of the times, a 
 crop-eared Roundhead. It was at this epoch, also, that the 
 Davenne of that day was created a Baronet, a title that the 
 two Baronets, the father and grandfather of our Sir John, 
 had refused to have converted into a higher one; the late 
 Sir Aubrey saying, he liked better to be at the head of the 
 baronets than at the tail of the lords. 
 
 From the Restoration to the Revolution of 1688, the Da- 
 vennes seem to have thought more of attending to the here- 
 ditary paternal acres, than of intermeddling with the quarrels 
 of Kings and Parliaments. It is certain that the family re- 
 mained at Davenne when James the Second took refuge at 
 St. Germains. Probably the Sir John of that day had youth- 
 ful recollections, which counselled him to shrug his shoulders 
 at the wickedness of the times, and to content himself with 
 damning, in his own halls, the refractory Bishops and Com- 
 mons. The only evidence he gave of his adherence to the 
 Stuart dynasty was in refraining himself and all his family 
 from appearing at the Court of William and Mary. 
 
 The warhke spirit of the old Davennes suddenly blazed 
 out again in the eldest son of this prudent father. He fought 
 and distinguished himself under Marlborough, and attained 
 to the rank of General. His successor. Sir Aubrey, paid 
 tribute to the mihtary exigencies of his sire, by serving 
 during the war of the American Independence. Keeping in 
 mind the professional feehng of Sir Aubrey, and his high 
 Tory principles handed down for centuries from Davenne 
 to Davenne, it is easy to imagine the bitterness with which 
 he viewed the success of the Americans, and the acknow- 
 ledgment of their autonomy. But one must have lived in 
 
48 DOCTOR ANTONIO. 
 
 those days, or received from the lips of those who were then 
 actors on the scene, a description of the Enghsh citizen, and 
 of the country gentleman in particular, to be able to con- 
 ceive the virulence, hatred, and horror that took possession 
 of Sir Aubrey when the Revolution of 1789 broke out in 
 France. His feelings at moments were worked up almost 
 to frenzy, when in the daily papers he read speeches of 
 English orators, which, to the angry Tory, seemed to ex- 
 press, in the very Parliament of Great Britain, sentiments 
 little better than those of the French Republicans. 
 
 The reigning Sir John, born in 1783, had consequently 
 been educated and had grown up to manhood amid all the 
 violent feelings roused on this side of the Channel, by the 
 state of affairs in France, and twenty years of incessant war. 
 From the day when a child, he stood by his father's chair, 
 and gave the daily toast of "Confound the French!" up to 
 the present moment. Sir John's opinions, likings, and dis- 
 likings, all partook of the colouring of the passionate 
 medium through which they had passed, and in which they 
 had been developed. An unbounded and exclusive admira- 
 tion for all that was, and an utter abhorrence of all that was 
 not English, enclosed his mind and perceptions as within a 
 Chinese wall. 
 
 Sir John had married in 18 it, two years after his father's 
 demise, the daughter of Viscount Deloraine, and grand- 
 daughter by the mother's side of the Duke of—. It was a 
 happy chance that this marriage united safety to the "sangre 
 azul" of his line, and satisfaction to his own inchnations, for 
 Sir John was not the man to have done violence to his affec- 
 tions, for a twofold reason; first, because he hated contradic- 
 tion in any shape; secondly, because he believed the lustre 
 of his family to be such, as to make up for all deficiencies 
 of escutcheon in his intended bride, had his choice fallen 
 even on the daughter of a cobbler. In the spring of the year 
 following this union, his son and heir was bom, and became 
 the point on which his pride and affections centred, it not 
 being till 1820, when the little Aubrey was in his eighth 
 
SIR JOHN DAVENNE. 49 
 
 year, that a girl came to put in a claim for her share of 
 interest and love. 
 
 In 1 8 15, when the Continent was thrown open to British 
 travellers, Sir John, prevented in his youth from making the 
 grand tour, thought it befitting a man of his quality to make 
 up, though rather late, for this deficiency in an aristocratical 
 education, and, with his wife and httle son, spent some 
 months in visiting France, Germany, and Italy. It is scarcely 
 necessary to say, that Sir John's sojourn abroad left un- 
 disturbed the spider's web of prejudice spread over his 
 intellect, which kept safe all the dead flies of his youthful 
 notions. Intercourse with foreign people and manners, such 
 intercourse at least as fastidious morgue and a perpetual fear 
 of '■'■ deroger''' would allow of, rather strengthened than other- 
 wise what Sir John considered his patriotism; that sort of 
 patriotism which shut up all honour, all good, all worth, 
 within the narrow circle in which he himself was born and 
 lived and moved. 
 
 Shortly after this foreign tour, a vacancy having taken 
 place in the representation of — shire, where Davenne was 
 situated, Sir John was urged to stand for the county, but de- 
 chned that honour, as, indeed, he had constantly declined 
 being returned for the family borough. Sir John had good 
 sense enough to know that he was neither born to shine as 
 an orator nor a statesman, and too much pride to figure only 
 among the silent "yes and noes" of the House. But the 
 ambition which he had not for himself. Sir John cherished, 
 and thought himself amply justified in cherishing, for his 
 son. Aubrey was a fine Hercules of a boy, full of the 
 sportiveness and arrogance of the unchecked childhood of 
 the rich. His high animal spirits, vivacious boldness, and 
 dauntless repartees, were, in his father's eyes, so many 
 tokens of precocious genius. Far cleverer men than Sir 
 John are blinded by parental partiahty and pride of author- 
 ship. Aubrey, then, evidently destined to become a great 
 man, was devoted to Parliament and statesmanship while 
 still in petticoats, and, scarcely out of them, placed in the 
 
 Doctor Antonio^ 4 
 
50 DOCTOR ANTONIO. 
 
 hands of a tutor, who was to drive him full gallop to the 
 first stage of the journey, Oxford. But the little William 
 Pitt in the bud, opposed to all scientific and hterary inocula- 
 tion a vis inertice worthy of a better cause; which being per- 
 ceived in the long-run even by the infatuated father, he sent 
 his son to Eton, where, in fact, the young gentleman soon 
 distinguished himself, not in classical learning, but in the 
 native arts of boxir^g and single-stick. 
 
 At seventeen, Aubrey, at once a petit-maitre and a bold 
 young scamp, took leave of Eton and school-boy life. He 
 had already all the appearance of a man, his physical de- 
 velopment being in the inverse ratio to the intellectual. 
 When informed by his father that he was to go to Oxford, 
 and that he was vowed from his childhood to the priesthood 
 of Downing Street, Aubrey begged distinctly to state that 
 he hated politics, thought books in general a bore, and, as 
 sure as he went to Oxford, he should be rusticated, if not 
 expelled; that he had long made up his mind to serve no 
 other god or goddess but Mars; and that the best thing his 
 father could do was to purchase him at once the right of de- 
 fending his Majesty's colours. All this was said with a fluent 
 flippancy that struck to the earth the father's cherished am- 
 bition. Sir John tried reasoning, coaxing, expostulating, 
 and at last threatening: but Aubrey was his father's own son; 
 he tossed his handsome head, damned the family borough 
 and the House of Commons ; and gave it as his ultimatum, 
 that if his father did not consent to let him enter the army 
 as a gentleman, he would enlist as a common soldier. 
 
 Sir John's hair rose on his head as he listened to young 
 Wilful's declaration, and as he listened the conviction flashed 
 upon his mind that the boy would be as good as his word. 
 Sir John knew something of the Davenne blood, and had 
 sundry recollections of Master Aubrey's early obstinacy. 
 The struggle was kept up for some time, but ended, of 
 course, by Aubrey's being victorious; for, under the dignified 
 coating, which made of Sir John Davenne a somewhat re- 
 markable person, there lurked, as we have hinted, a host of 
 
SIR JOHN DAVENNE. * 5 1 
 
 weaknesses,— the most natural among them paternal over- 
 indulgence. Now Aubrey, with his manly swagger and great 
 good looks, was born to be the successful opponent, nay, 
 tyrant of his father. In the Baronet's eyes, the arrogance 
 which was the base of his son's character — an arrogance so 
 intense that it seemed as if all the pride of the buried 
 Davennes ran liquid in his veins, was a grace the more. 
 Even all Aubrey's boyish scrapes at Eton, which, as re- 
 counted by himself, showed they took their origin from an 
 unwarrantable assumption on his own part, had but endeared 
 him the more to Sir John, who saw in this spirit which 
 brooked uneasily an equal, only the proper pride befitting 
 the representative of the Davennes. Thus it came about, 
 that within six months after leaving Eton, Aubrey was 
 gazetted cornet in a dragoon regiment, and within the year 
 sailed with the— for India; he having brought his father not 
 only to consent to his entering the army, but— more difficult 
 still, for here his idolatry of his son militated against the 
 son's wishes — to negotiate an exchange for him into a regi- 
 ment under orders for Calcutta. Aubrey's waking and sleep- 
 ing dreams had long been on tiger and elephant hunts, and 
 India his land of Canaan. Thus the realization of the son's 
 aspirations had crushed those of the parent. 
 
 While smarting under this severe disappointment, the 
 first of any importance in his hitherto unchequered life. Sir 
 John, looking round him in search of consolation, perceived, 
 for the first time, that he had at hand a balm for his heart- 
 sore in the pale lovely cherub who lifted up to him her tiny 
 arms, and seemed to ask for her share in his affections, a 
 share that was soon all hers. The wound that Aubrey's 
 egotistical wilfulness had inflicted was scarcely skinned over, 
 when the decease of Lady Davenne again threw a deep gloom 
 over the Baronet's home. Lady Davenne's health had long 
 been declining, and more rapidly so ever since her son's 
 departure. The blow was none the less felt for being 
 anticipated. Sir John's grief was extreme, though silent and 
 subdued; for the haughty ;Baronet considered all outward 
 
52 DOCTOR ANTONIO. 
 
 demonstration of strong feeling inconsistent with his dignity. 
 He had another also, and better reason, for controlling his 
 emotions, viz., the fear of adding, by his own, to his 
 daughter's violent affliction. 
 
 Sir John retired to his home in the country, and lived 
 there in comparative seclusion, entirely engrossed by his 
 daughter, who had now become his one occupation — his one 
 pleasure. Lucy was a weakly, sensitive, intelligent child, 
 truly needing all a parent's fostering care, one of those 
 lovely fragile blossoms which equally call forth fond hope 
 and tender anxiety. Country air, however, regular hours, 
 and a prudent alternation of exercise and repose, of study 
 and amusement, under the management of a sensible gover- 
 ness, so successfully strengthened her health, that at seven- 
 teen Miss Davenne, though still somewhat delicate, was 
 grown into a tall, blooming, cheerful girl, and passing 
 beautiful withal. 
 
 The life of a London belle was now before her. Sir John 
 never dreamed of her departing from the habits of her caste. 
 She was to be presented at Court; and the closed shutters of 
 the house in—Square were once more opened, and such sun 
 and light as is to be found in the metropohs of Great Britain 
 shone in on the stately rooms. To town, then. Sir John and 
 his daughter went in the spring of 1837; and Lucy, once 
 launched into the current of London gaiety, was soon whirl- 
 ing giddily in its eddies. The end of her first season found 
 her with pale cheeks and exhausted spirits; but the qualm 
 that Sir John had felt was easily forgotten, when he saw that 
 some months of comparative quiet at Davenne seemed to 
 set her to rights again. Youth is a potent auxihary to re- 
 covery; so when spring came round, it found father and 
 daughter again in London. But party giving and party going, 
 heated rooms and late hours, were not long in counter- 
 acting Nature's beneficial efi"ects. Lucy's head drooped be- 
 fore the height of the season was reached; the alarmed 
 father heard again the dry short cough- the signal of an 
 enemy he had not forgotten. 
 
SIR JOHN DAVENNE. 53 
 
 Poor Sir John called in first one physician and then an- 
 other; one advocated country air and milk diet; a second, 
 cold ablutions and horse exercise; a third, sea-bathing and 
 port- wine, — but all agreed in the necessity of an entire 
 abstinence from every kind of excitement or gaiety. All was 
 tried, but not any or all the remedies were able to banish 
 the fits of teasing cough that thrilled through the heart of 
 the terrified father, nothing could vanquish the morbid 
 languor which seemed about to arrest the current of his 
 daughter's life. Lucy continued thus for some months, until 
 the physicians gave that advice, which to experienced ears 
 sounds hke the passing bell: "Try a change of climate; let 
 Miss Davenne spend next winter at Rome," was the fiat 
 issued. In spite of an old grudge he had against Rome, — 
 "the dullest place in Christendom," Sir John was used to 
 call it, and at the cost of the newly restored delights of clubs 
 and coterie, the Baronet had not a moment's hesitation. The 
 house in London again exhibited closed shutters — that 
 dreary mark of desertion; the housekeeper at Davenne had 
 a month's work in dressing up all the furniture; and Sir John 
 and his daughter went to Rome. 
 
 The sacrifice was repaid. The winter of 1839-40 proved 
 one of the finest and mildest ever recorded at Rome, and 
 six months' breathing of the soft congenial air had a most 
 restorative effect on Lucy's constitution. Sir John was so 
 happy at this result, that, with the approbation of an English 
 physician of some renown, he determined to prolong his 
 stay until the hot weather set in, travel in Switzerland during 
 the summer, and return again to Piazza di Spagna for an- 
 other winter. Just as he had made all his arrangements 
 there came a letter from Aubrey, now Captain Davenne, 
 dated from Madras, announcing his intended return by the 
 next mail, on a furlough of three years. This necessitated 
 a change, or rather modification of Sir John's plan. They 
 must leave Rome earher than he had purposed, and Eng- 
 land would have to take the place of Switzerland in their 
 itinerary. The only embargo laid by the Doctor, when con- 
 
54 DOCTOR ANTONIO. 
 
 suited again, was that the journey should be made by sea 
 and not by land, to spare the newly convalescent Lucy all 
 possible fatigue. 
 
 In compliance with this advice. Sir John and his daughter, 
 towards the middle of March, embarked at Civita Vecchia 
 on board a Government steamer, bound for Marseilles. The 
 sea was like a lake when they sailed, but the fine weather 
 lasted only a few hours. One of those furious gales, frequent 
 in the Mediterranean at that time of the year, suddenly came 
 on. The vessel, with both paddles disabled, lay at the mercy 
 of the winds and waves for a night and day, and it was not 
 till after a narrow escape of being wrecked in the Gulf of 
 Spezia, that the passengers were landed at the town of that 
 name, which lies to the east of Genoa. The protracted terror 
 and sea-sickness had so completely worn out Lucy that she 
 was unable to move or even stand; she had to be carried 
 ashore in this pitiable state, and more than a week's rest 
 was required ere she could recover sufficient strength to 
 resume the journey, — this time by land, and by easy stages, 
 the courier being sent forward every morning to provide the 
 best possible accommodation for the night. Exhaustion was 
 unluckily not the only result of the combined fright and sea- 
 sickness. Some of the old symptoms, which had vanished 
 during the sojourn at Rome, reappeared, to Sir John's great 
 alarm. 
 
 It was on the fourth day since their leaving Spezia, when, 
 having slept at Oneglia, they expected to be at Nice by the 
 evening, that our story found the father and daughter; the 
 latter, as we described, tossing restlessly in search of ease 
 and sleep, the former, divided between newly awakened 
 anxiety for one child and the mental delivery of sundry 
 speeches to the other, all intended to persuade him to leave 
 the army and take to statesmanship. 
 
SKIRl^lISHES. 55 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 Skirmishes. 
 
 Rather thoughtful, but with his usual air of self-posses- 
 sion, at a good steady pace, but without hurry, Doctor An- 
 tonio, early the next morning, might have been seen coming 
 down the hill of Bordighera in the direction of the roadside 
 inn, where his young charge lay. Doctor Antonio was not 
 handsome, at least not handsome as heroes of novels 
 generally are. He had a large mouth, a nose of a cut neither 
 Greek nor Roman, rather high cheek-bones, in short, a cast 
 of features altogether irregular and somewhat leonine, — all 
 that could be said in its favour being, that it was highly ex- 
 pressive and intellectual. There was power of will and 
 thought in his round prominent temples, which he could 
 contract wonderfully at times. His smile, occasionally 
 tinged with a shade of quiet irony, was habitually sweet and 
 winning. The appearance of the man, on the whole, was 
 remarkable, with more in it, perhaps, of what commands 
 respect than attracts sympathy. 
 
 Our Doctor, then, early in the morning, made his way to 
 the Osteria del Maitone, such being the name of the humble 
 roadside inn; whether so called from its red brick colour, or 
 from standing upon a ground once occupied by a brick-kiln, 
 we have no data to go by. That it had a wretched as well 
 as a quaint appearance, no one with eyes in his head could 
 venture to deny. The fact was, that, when first built, the 
 house had been intended to have its front to the north, that 
 is, to face the road, but in course of time, probably to escape 
 from the dust, the original windows and entrance had been 
 blocked up with stones and plaster, and new ones broken 
 out on the opposite side, viz., on the side that faced the 
 south. The consequence of this was a twisted and distorted, 
 and somewhat unnatural look, most ludicrous to behold. To 
 replace the stairs which formerly had led from the ground 
 floor to that above, and which the present arrangement 
 
56 DOCTOR ANTONIO. 
 
 rendered useless, a double flight of massive stone steps, 
 connected at the top by a wide landing-place or balcony, 
 had been added on the outside, and went up from the garden 
 as high as the middle window of the upper story, cut down 
 to answer as a glass-door. These comparatively enormous 
 steps and balcony being sadly out of proportion with the 
 diminutive house against which they rested, increased the 
 oddity of its physiognomy, and suggested the idea of a 
 grown man's coat put on the back of a boy ten years old. 
 
 Doctor Antonio found his patient in a state far from satis- 
 factory. Lucy had scarcely closed her eyes all night; com- 
 plained of headache and constant thirst; her hps were 
 parched; her pulse bad — she was in a high fever. *'I wish 
 I had bled you yesterday," said the Doctor after feeling her 
 pulse; "have you any objection to being bled?" 
 
 ''None in the least, if you say it is necessary," replied 
 Lucy; "but you had better speak to papa first." 
 
 "Very well; will you be so good, then, as to send your 
 maid and tell Sir John Davenne that I wish to see him?" 
 
 Hutchins, with a glance at her mistress, moved to go. 
 "Wait a moment in your own room, Hutchins, before you 
 go to papa," said Lucy; "I want to ask Dr. Antonio some- 
 thing." 
 
 As soon as they were alone, Lucy opening wide her eyes, 
 bright with fever, fixed them earnestly on the rather as- 
 tonished Doctor, and then said, "Am I in danger?" 
 
 The Doctor laughed outright. 
 
 "No more than I am," he answered; "what put such a 
 notion into your head?" 
 
 "Pray," said Lucy, "don't try to cheat me; don't treat 
 me like a child. I am not afraid to die, and if I am dying I 
 ought to be told, and I must, and will know." 
 
 "You have a brave heart, I am sure," replied the Doctor, 
 with some emotion, "but I can assure you that your present 
 situation calls for none of your fortitude. Believe me, you 
 are no more hkely to die just now than I am." 
 
 '■^ParolaV' asked Lucy, putting out her little thin hand. 
 
SKIRMISHES. 5 7 
 
 " Parola^'' answered Antonio, grasping it with his own. 
 
 "Thank you," said Lucy; "I will tell you now what made 
 me think that I was in danger. Early this morning the first 
 thing I saw was the girl you called Speranza. I suppose I had 
 been half-asleep, for I did not see her come into the room. 
 She was seated in a chair watching me intently. Her eyes, 
 so expressive at any time, were so full of pity and sadness 
 when they met mine, that a thrill of fear shot through my 
 heart. Tears, big tears, were actually rolling down her 
 cheeks. Methought that a girl would not have been so dis- 
 tressed about a stranger, except something very wrong was 
 the matter with me, and as I felt very ill I could only fancy"— 
 
 " Very absurd things," interrupted the Doctor. " Speranza 
 is a foolish girl, full of feeling, which she cannot help show- 
 ing, in and out of season. We Itahans are noted as a silly 
 demonstrative people, you know," added he, smiling. "Be- 
 sides, I do not wonder that a warm-hearted girl, such as I 
 know Speranza to be, should be moved to tears to see one 
 so young and so" — (here Antonio stopped and hesitated, 
 but not more than a second,) "and so lovely, suffering so 
 much. Will you allow me now to see your father?" 
 
 "Oh yes," and raising her voice a little, Lucy bade 
 Hutchins go and deliver Doctor Antonio's message. 
 
 Sir John had got up very early in the deplorable frame 
 of mind of one who had passed a deplorable night, and had 
 some hints of the gout into the bargain. Sir John had al- 
 ready seen Hutchins, and received from her an unfavourable 
 report of his daughter's state, and consequently lost all hope 
 of leaving that day. Sir John had called for John to bring 
 him his razors, and heard that John was not in the house. 
 This string of annoyances had told in a forcible manner on 
 the nerves of the absolute Baronet, who waited impatiently 
 for the return of his servant to pour out on his large round 
 head all the amount of crossness— crossness, not wrath, is 
 the word — that was pent up in his breast. "Everything goes 
 wrong in this cursed country!" exclaimed the Baronet, by 
 way of relief. 
 
58 DOCTOR ANTONIO. 
 
 Sir John had few but very decided notions about Italy 
 and Italians. Italy, Sir John allowed, was a fine country, 
 but scarcely habitable: a furnace in summer, a glacier in 
 winter. Rome w^as a place worth seeing, but dull! dull! dull! 
 The Italians he pronounced to be a rapacious, shabby-look- 
 ing, oily-tongued people, who never went out without a 
 rosary in one pocket and a stiletto in the other. Every 
 second man met with in the street was either a singer, or a 
 bandit, or a ruined noble who lived by his wits; a catalogue 
 of the constituent elements of the Italian social body, en- 
 riched of late by the fresh addition of the bloodthirsty re- 
 pubhcan conspirator, plotting for ever against his lawful 
 sovereign — a new variety of the species Italian, of which Sir 
 John had heard much during his late stay at Rome, from a 
 young Roman prince, the nephew of a Cardinal, and wtio 
 greatly affected English society. For, the better to study 
 Italian character, habits, and manners, Sir John frequented 
 only English families; had an English physician, English 
 servants, even an English cook; ate English dinners, drank 
 soi-disant English wanes, and bought from English shops— in 
 short. Sir John had reahzed at Rome a little London of his 
 own. 
 
 When John, on his return, presented himself before his 
 master, his face had on it such a hvely expression of despair, 
 that even in his present mood the Baronet changed the me- 
 ditated storm of invective into the question of, — 
 
 "What the devil is the matter now?" 
 
 "I have been at Bordighera, sir," replied John, "and 
 there is neither beef, nor tea, nor fresh butter to be had! 
 What are we to do?" asked John in so piteous a tone that 
 three parts of a smile extended Sir John's lips. 
 
 Just at this interesting moment there came a rap at the 
 door, and Miss Hutchins with the message. Sir John, a little 
 alarmed, went at once to the lobby, where he found the 
 Doctor. Sir John begged the Doctor to be seated. 
 
 " I find Miss Davenne this morning," began the Doctor, 
 as he took a chair, "with a good deal of fever. It is only 
 
SKIRMISHES. 59 
 
 what I expected. I think she would be relieved by a little 
 bleeding.'^ 
 
 Sir John, one of whose favourite crotchets it was that all 
 Italian doctors bled all their patients to death, on hearing 
 this proposal gave a bound on his chair, and said, with great 
 warmth, — "Bleeding! no bleeding whatever, on any account. 
 I will have no bleeding ! " 
 
 Doctor Antonio coloured up to the white of his eyes, — 
 and who knows what he was going to reply? — but checking 
 the ready rejoinder by a strong effort, he said, slowly and 
 calmly, "Not even if I assure you that it is absolutely ne- 
 cessary?" 
 
 "I do not admit the necessity," replied Sir John, dog- 
 gedly; "and I make no bleeding the sine qua non of your 
 attendance on my daughter." 
 
 "It is so, is it?" said the Doctor; and without further 
 parley he drew out his memorandum-book and wrote down 
 some names on a fly-leaf, handing which to Sir John, he con- 
 tinued, — "These are the names and addresses of the two 
 nearest medical practitioners; the young lady will be safe 
 with either of them. I shall not withdraw till one of the 
 gentlemen is here." So saying, he rose, with a bow, went 
 to the balcony, and stood against the railing with folded 
 arms, in the attitude of a sentinel waiting to be relieved. 
 
 Face to face with the resolve so suddenly acted upon by 
 the Italian, Sir John, like most people who have been hur- 
 ried on by passion, loegan to regret having gone so far. Like 
 Alp on Alp, one difficulty after another shewed its rugged 
 head. Suppose neither of the other two doctors spoke Eng- 
 lish, — not very probable they would; suppose Lucy, who had 
 taken a fancy to this Antonio, refused to see them ; suppose 
 this man was right, and suppose her life should be en- 
 dangered by his opposition. There is nothing for it, thought 
 Sir John, but a little conciliation with this most disagreeable 
 of Italians — the man, of course, waits but for a word ; and 
 making a prodigious effort, he called out in a querulous 
 tone, "Why do you wish to bleed?" 
 
6o DOCTOR ANTONIO. 
 
 "Because," replied Antonio, turning towards theBaronet, 
 as he uttered the words, and then resuming his former po- 
 sition, "because, as I have akeady stated, I think it indis- 
 pensable." 
 
 A dead pause ensued. 
 
 "Italian practice everywhere the same," broke out Sir 
 John, soliloquizing aloud; "nothing but the lancet — the 
 same quacks all through the country. No, no, it can't be; 
 how can I authorize bleeding?" 
 
 Antonio heard, but made no reply. 
 
 "Doctor Antonio, you are then determined to bleed?" 
 exclaimed the Baronet, walking about the room in exaspera- 
 tion. 
 
 "You mistake," retorted the young man, with some 
 haughtiness; "I am determined to do no more in this case 
 but resign the young lady into better hands. I shall wait 
 the arrival of my successor below," and he moved towards 
 the steps. Sir John came to the glass-door, and in utter 
 desperation said, — 
 
 "Perhaps I have been too hasty; but you can under- 
 stand my feelings, sir, — the feehngs of a father for an only 
 daughter." 
 
 There was real distress in the voice, real distress in the 
 working of the Baronet's features, as perceived by the Doc- 
 tor, who had faced round upon him. 
 
 "The proof that I understand and respect your feelings," 
 said Antonio, "is, that instead of resenting your taunts on 
 my profession and country, which I would have done with 
 anybody else, I adjure you once more to let me do for my 
 patient what I consider necessary." 
 
 The words were spoken so simply, yet so earnestly, there 
 was such a stamp of dignity about the whole man, as he 
 stood on the threshold in the attitude of one giving a solemn 
 warning, so much reserve yet courtesy in his voice, that Sir 
 John, provoked as he was, could not help being struck by 
 the ensemble, and said, with marked hesitation, — 
 
 "If I were to consent to your bleeding my daughter, I 
 
SKIRMISHES. O I 
 
 should be going against the express caution of every phy- 
 sician who has ever attended her." 
 
 "I should myself have given you similar advice," said 
 Antonio; "but there are certain conditions which must mo- 
 dify the most salutary rules, and Miss Davenne's state is a 
 case in point." 
 
 "Well," said Sir John, "situated as I am, I have no alter- 
 native but to let you do what you think proper; only re- 
 member, that in bleeding Miss Davenne you act entirely on 
 your own responsibihty." 
 
 "A thing I have never shrunk from, and I accept it 
 willingly," replied Antonio, brightening, and without any 
 further delay he returned to Lucy's room. 
 
 Sir John had no sooner given this ungracious consent 
 than he was angry with himself for giving it, and walked 
 back to his room with the feeling of one sorely aggrieved. 
 At the end of a quarter of an hour, this feeling, duly nursed 
 and fondled, had grown up, expanded, and ripened, into a 
 clear and decided conviction that he had been unfairly got 
 the better of, a discovery immediately followed by intense 
 commiseration for himself, the victim, and a burst of fresh 
 hot indignation against Antonio, the victimizes "And so 
 here I am at the mercy of this man!" said Sir John to him- 
 self. All the Davennes' proud blood tingled in his veins at 
 the idea. He angrily strode to the glass-door and called to 
 John, who was pacing the garden in low spirits, to order 
 post-horses for the carriage at once, and to come up to him 
 afterwards. Then opening his desk with a violent jerk, the 
 Baronet began to write, not with his usual pompous com- 
 posure, but much in the approved stage mode, making 
 dashes right and left, fit to tear the paper to the heart, ac- 
 companied by a scratching and spluttering of the pen, suffi- 
 cient to set on edge the teeth of any but a man in a passion. 
 
 Sir John had finished and sealed his angry missive, when 
 his servant brought in the consoling intelligence that the 
 horses would come up immediately. "Put them to the minute 
 they come," said the Baronet, " and go to Nice as fast as you 
 
62 DOCTOR ANTONIO. 
 
 can with this letter to the British Consul there, and deliver 
 it into his own hands. I have asked him to give you the 
 name and address of the first physician, — English physician 
 I mean, of the town. Find him out and bring him here at 
 any cost, and with the least possible delay. No stoppages 
 on the road; you must be back here to-morrow." 
 
 John bowed, and in ten minutes more Sir John had the 
 consolation of hearing the carriage roll off. 
 
 One word is due to the messenger. John Ducket was the 
 lineal descendant of a generation of servitors of theDavenne 
 family, all like himself born and reared on the estate of 
 Davenne, and succeeding one another as butlers with a re- 
 gularity that had finished by making the office hereditary in 
 their family. John, bom while his master was still in petti- 
 coats, had been named by Sir Aubrey after his heir, in re- 
 cognition of the faithful services of the Duckets. As Time 
 used his scythe, John succeeded his father and grandfather, 
 and was now Sir John's confidential valet, — a man in whom 
 the Baronet put infinite trust, and less to his master's credit, 
 often his souffre-douleur. John had been drilled to passive 
 obedience from his youth upwards, and continued to walk 
 in that way, — an obedience far from onerous, for if there 
 was a man in the world who thought more highly of the 
 Davenne family than Sir John himself, that man was John 
 Ducket. He worshipped the very name; every word that 
 fell from Sir John's lips had all the authority of an oracle 
 with his man. Had Sir John ordered him to go to Nice and 
 bring him back the first person he met in the town instead 
 of the first physician, John would have set out with the 
 same determination to obey literally, and believed Sir John 
 to be perfectly in the right. 
 
 While John, loUing at his ease inside his master's car- 
 riage, plays the Baronet, and looks down supercihously on 
 the pedestrian wayfarers, who take him for a great person- 
 age, and touch their hats to him as they get out of the way 
 — while Sir John counts the passing hours, and savours in 
 spirit revenge, that fruit so sweet in anticipation, so bitter in 
 
SKIRMISHES. 63 
 
 the tasting, Doctor Antonio awaits with disguised anxiety 
 the effect of the morning's bleeding. He has already called 
 four times in the course of a few hours, and Hutchins con- 
 tinues to give the same answer, which he continues to re- 
 ceive with the same look of intense satisfaction: "Miss 
 Davenne is quiet, and appears to sleep." As no one is to 
 be permitted to enter her room for fear of disturbing a rest 
 so longed for and so necessary to the poor girl, Hutchins, 
 who watches her through the door left open between the 
 rooms, from time to time goes on tiptoe to Sir John and 
 gives him a similar bulletin. The house, thanks to Rosa 
 and her daughter's attentive care, is so quiet that one might 
 fancy it uninhabited. The Sunday customers from Bor- 
 dighera are pitilessly sent away. Towards evening Lucy 
 calls her maid, and asks if the Doctor is come. He has been 
 sitting alone in the balcony for the last hour, and goes to 
 her at once. Lucy feels better, even thinks she has slept. 
 Antonio places his fingers on her pulse, desires her not 
 to speak, holds a glass containing a bland soporific to her 
 lips, and wishes her a good night. No doubt of it; the 
 timely bleeding has dissipated the complication that he ap- 
 prehended; you see in his face that a great weight is taken 
 off his mind. His step, as he walks homewards, is more 
 springy than in the morning, and he hums a tune as he 
 goes. 
 
 Lucy slept, and soundly; indeed did not awake till ten 
 the next morning, and then so refreshed and composed that 
 she felt quite another creature. "I was beginning to think 
 you meant to dismiss me altogether," said Antonio, cheer- 
 fully, as he was ushered in by Miss Hutchins. "I have 
 called twice already this morning, and each time found 
 closed doors." 
 
 "I really have slept unconscionably late," said Miss 
 Davenne, in a little confusion. 
 
 "All right," replied the Doctor; "you have to make up 
 for much lost time. And how do you feel? your countenance 
 is a herald of good news." 
 
64 DOCTOR ANTONIO. 
 
 "What does it say?" asked Lucy; "let me hear if It 
 speaks the truth." 
 
 "It says," Antonio went on, "first, that you have got rid 
 of fever; secondly, that you are wishing for some break- 
 fast. Have I guessed aright?" 
 
 "Like a second Daniel," answered Lucy, smiling; "I was 
 really just longing for a cup of tea and some fresh butter." 
 
 "Hum," said the Doctor, "for the cup of tea we are all 
 safe. I was so sure that an English young lady would be 
 sighing for her tea, that, see, I put some in my pocket for 
 you." 
 
 "How kind of you!" said Lucy. "Do you, as an Italian 
 gentleman, disapprove of tea?" asked she, with some return 
 of archness. 
 
 "Quite the contrary, — I am a great devotee of *the cup 
 that cheers but not inebriates;' I always take tea for break- 
 fast myself. As to fresh butter, that is a very different affair. 
 I believe if I were to offer its weight in gold, I could not find 
 any for you in this neighbourhood." 
 
 "Don't people eat butter here!" exclaimed Lucy; "or do 
 you mean to say that no one here knows how to make it?" 
 
 "They are not quite so behindhand," answered the 
 Italian; "but I will tell you all about it presently. As you 
 have been such an amiable patient, doing me such credit, I 
 must contrive to reward you. I shall make you some butter 
 myself." 
 
 "You!" cried Lucy, "you churn butter!" 
 
 "You will see," he answered, almost laughing at her 
 genuine surprise; and went out of the room, and returned in 
 a quarter of an hour, carrying a large bottle three-parts full 
 of milk. 
 
 He now seated himself near the bed, and with all the 
 gravity in the world began shaking the bottle with a violence 
 and perseverance that soon made him as red as fire. Lucy 
 tried in vain not to laugh. "You are laughing at my churn," 
 he said, very calmly; "it is a primitive one, to be sure, but 
 it will do its work very well;" and up and down went the 
 
SKIRMISHES. 65 
 
 bottle again. "Look," he said— and he held it before the 
 large pair of eyes that were fixed upon him with such a 
 mixed gaze of merriment and wonder — "do you see those 
 Httle balls? That's the beginning of your pat of butter." 
 
 "But you forget," said Lucy, "that you have not told 
 me why you are obliged to make the butter yourself;" and 
 as she spoke, the thought crossed her, What would papa 
 think if he saw the Doctor now! 
 
 "In the first place," explained the Doctor, "the soil is 
 too dry here to afford good pasture, and that is the reason 
 why our farmers do not keep more than one or two cows. 
 Now the milk of one or two cows does not give cream enough 
 to make it worth while to churn every second day, you 
 know." 
 
 "No, I don't know anything about it," said the still 
 laughing girl; "but go on." 
 
 "The consequence is," he resumed, "that they wait till 
 they have a week's cream before they make any butter, and 
 as by that time most of the cream is rancid, the butter it 
 makes is detestable stuff, that burns your throat, and half 
 chokes you. Yet, it might be very good, for, owing to the 
 aromatic plants that grow about in abundance, the milk, 
 though not rich, is very sweet. But the truth is, there is no 
 demand for butter." 
 
 "No demand!" repeated Lucy. "How do all the people 
 in the neighbourhood, I mean the gentlemen's families, 
 manage?" 
 
 The Doctor smiled. "We are not in England, signora, 
 and we find our oil an excellent substitute." 
 
 "Oh!" said Lucy, "I have such a horror of oil." 
 "One of your English prejudices," he answered. A short 
 silence ensued, while Lucy considered the manly intelligent 
 face and commanding figure of the Doctor, so at odds with 
 his occupation. 
 
 At last, after an earnest searching gaze into his bottle, 
 the Doctor exclaimed, "Eccolo, oh caro, here's your pat of 
 butter;" and with a httle triumphant air, he added, "Now, 
 
 Doctor Anfonio. 5 
 
66 DOCTOR ANTONIO. 
 
 I must see to the washing and pressing of my microscopic 
 production, lest it should melt away during the process." 
 Hutchins' countenance during the whole of the performance 
 would have been a good study for a painter; incredulity, 
 derision, and at last wonder, being admirably expressed in 
 every feature of her face, 
 
 "As I cannot come and churn for you every day," said 
 the Doctor, returning, "I think the best way to have fresh 
 butter for you and your household daily, is to hire a couple 
 of cows for your use. Speranza will manage the matter for 
 you, if you like, and milk them herself, she said, to be sure 
 that the article is genuine. And since we are on the subject 
 of eatables, let me give you one or two hints which may be 
 useful, as you will not be able to leave this poor place for 
 some Httle time to come." 
 
 "What will papa do, then?" asked Lucy, anxiously; "he 
 is so impatient to go to London." 
 
 "My dear young lady," answered Doctor Antonio, sooth- 
 ingly, "depend upon it, Sir John cares for nothing so much 
 as for your recovery; so now hsten to what I was going to 
 say. Two mail-coaches are daily passing this, one from 
 Genoa to Nice, and one from Nice to Genoa, and you can 
 by their means be regularly supplied from the markets of 
 either place with anything you may require, only you must 
 have some one at Genoa or Nice to purchase for you, and 
 have the things brought to the coach-office. I have friends 
 in both places who will undertake all this for you, if you 
 like." 
 
 "Thank you very much," said Lucy, "but we have our 
 courier at Nice who can do all that for us without troubling 
 your friends." 
 
 "So much the better," rephed Antonio. Hutchins at 
 this moment entered with the breakfast, and Miss Lucy 
 attacked the toast and butter with an alacrity of good omen, 
 pronouncing the butter to be the very best she had ever 
 tasted. "Now that I think of it," said Miss Davenne, "what 
 
SKIRMISHES. 67 
 
 has become of Speranza? I have not seen her since yester- 
 day morning." 
 
 "Speranza," answered the Doctor, "has had a good 
 scolding, and is ashamed to show herself." 
 
 "Ah! so you have been scolding; why did you scold 
 her?" 
 
 "For frightening a certain young lady with her non- 
 sensical scared looks," returned Antonio; "I should never 
 have guessed her to be such a simpleton." 
 
 "How?" asked the young lady. 
 
 "I suppose I shall do no harm by telling you of her fool- 
 ishness. You must know," continued the Doctor, "that 
 when the girl heard that you had sent away the crucifix and 
 the Madonna hanging by your bed" — 
 
 "She took offence, did she?" suggested Lucy. 
 
 "No, no ! but she at once jumped to the hasty conclusion, 
 that you were not a Christian, and she felt so sorry, so sorry, 
 as she told me, to think that you never could go to Paradise, 
 that when she next saw you, she could not help crying 
 about it." 
 
 "Dear kind soul!" exclaimed Lucy; "she must not be 
 allowed to believe that I am not a Christian. Pray, Doctor 
 Antonio, go and fetch her." 
 
 He went at once, and presently returned drawing in after 
 him the reluctant Itahan girl, looking prettier than ever, her 
 cheeks as red as cherries with the glow of shame. "I beg 
 your pardon, signora," she faltered to Lucy, "I did not 
 mean to offend you, indeed I didn't." 
 
 "I am not offended, caramia," said Lucy prettily, in 
 Italian, though with a little embarrassment on her side also, 
 which brought a faint blush on her pale face : the two girls 
 made a nice picture. "Truly, I am grateful to you for taking 
 so much interest in an utter stranger. If I were not a Chris- 
 tian, I should indeed be an object for the pity of every one. 
 But I am, my good Speranza, and I worship and pray to the 
 same Father in heaven whom you worship and pray to." 
 
 Speranza took the young lady's hand, and was about to 
 
68 DCCTOR ANTONIO. 
 
 carry it to her lips, when Lucy drew her hastily forward, 
 and kissed her on the cheek. 
 
 "That will do now," interfered the Doctor, who did not 
 want his patient to grow excited; "you must not forget that 
 some of my butter is still on your plate." 
 
 Sir John came into the room a little after this scene, and 
 while the actors in it, still under its impression, were looking 
 very pleased. For, though not new, it is nevertheless a con- 
 sohng truth, and one worthy of being recorded, that nothing 
 is so wholesome, nothing does so much for people's looks, 
 as a little interchange of the small coin of benevolence. Sir 
 John was in a mood that allowed of his taking the infection 
 of the good humour he saw in the others. Unlike the first 
 night. Sir John had slept very well— is it not wonderful and 
 mortifying to think how much the colour of one's mental per- 
 spective depends upon the sort of night that one has passed? 
 — Sir John, then, had slept very well; had shaved to his 
 heart's content; had received a good account of his daughter ; 
 had had a cup of excellent tea — the Doctor's own tea, and 
 altogether felt in good spirits. 
 
 "You see. Sir John," said Doctor Antonio, good-hu- 
 mouredly, after the morning's salutations had been ex- 
 changed, "you see that even so terrible an extremity as 
 bleeding may be attended with satisfactory results. Here 
 is your daughter to witness to the fact." 
 
 "No one rejoices more sincerely than I do at the success 
 of your remedy; and Miss Davenne and myself are much in- 
 debted to you," replied Sir John, with no little embarrass- 
 ment, as the thought came upon him all at once of the pos- 
 sibility of the English physician arriving while the Italian 
 was still there. But just as the apprehension of such a coUision 
 presented itself before him. Doctor Antonio took his hat, 
 saying, that he was afraid he should not be able to call again 
 before the evening. 
 
 "Are you going to desert me, now that I am better?" 
 asked Miss Davenne, with a cloud on her brow. 
 
 "Not for the world," rephed the Doctor earnestly; "but 
 
SKIRMISHES. 69 
 
 I have a visit to make at a place some miles off, which I have 
 delayed for the last two days , and can do so no longer." 
 
 "One moment, Doctor Antonio," said Sir John, so much 
 relieved that his good humour waxed active, and with an 
 instinctive wish, so common in human nature, to do some- 
 thing to please the man for whom he had prepared a rod of 
 mortification; "can you give me any news of that unlucky 
 post-boy?" 
 
 "Of Prospero?" replied the no little surprised Doctor, 
 "he is poorly enough; he has an intermittent fever." 
 
 "Is it dangerous?" asked Lucy. 
 
 "Not dangerous," was the answer, "but hkely to nail him 
 to his bed for weeks ;— a very sad prospect. Miss Davenne, 
 for people who have nothing to trust to for their bread but 
 the labour of their hands, and who, besides, have others 
 dependent upon them." 
 
 "Is Prospero married?" inquired the young lady. 
 
 "Not yet, but he has an old mother and a younger brother 
 whom he supports, for poor Prospero is a better son and 
 brother than postihon. But I really must leave you, so good- 
 bye, and a rivederla." 
 
 "Papa," said Lucy, when the sound of the Doctor's steps 
 had died away, "you have no objection, have you, to my 
 sending some money to that poor man? Doctor Antonio 
 gives him such a good character." 
 
 Sir John checked an exclamation of satisfaction that rose 
 to his lips at a proposal which gratified at once his parental 
 pride in the warm feelings of his child, and reconciled the 
 promptings of his really kind heart with those extravagant 
 notions of dignity, before whose tribunal all soft impulse 
 was a weakness. The fact is, that Sir John, to his praise be 
 it said, on hearing of poor Prospero's case, had instantly 
 begun to think how he could manage to send him a little 
 money without committing himself. Now, Lucy's proposal 
 was just what he could have wished. Prospero would have 
 the money, and it would be her doing, not his; so he an- 
 swered, with a studied carelessness, "You may do so if you 
 
70 DOCTOR ANTONIO. 
 
 ■wish it, my dear, though no thanks to him that we did not 
 break our necks; however, that's no reason why the mother 
 should suffer. Send the money to the poor old woman, who 
 certainly deserves to be pitied for having such a harebrained 
 son." 
 
 "I think, papa, I had better talk to Doctor Antonio about 
 it, he will tell us what is best to be done." 
 
 "As you hke, my dear," said Sir John; then, to change 
 the subject, he remarked what a beautiful day it was. 
 
 "Is it not?" said Lucy; "and the air is so sweet. Go 
 and take a walk, papa, it will do you good." 
 
 "I have half a mind to do so; but you will be lonely, per- 
 haps. Would you like Hutchins to read to you while I am 
 out?" 
 
 "I asked the Doctor if she might do so, papa, but he 
 said it would not do yet." 
 
 "Your Doctor Antonio, my dear," said Sir John, fretfully, 
 "is a dreadfully slow man." 
 
 "You know the Italians have a proverb that says, 'c^^ va 
 piano va sanOy cTii va sano va lontano,' " replied Miss Davenne, 
 playfully. "I will be quiet and think. A pleasant walk to 
 you, papa." 
 
 The sea, the sky, the mountains, everything was smiling 
 around, and a soft breeze tempered the ardour of the noon- 
 day sun. As, fanned by the genial air. Sir John walked on 
 leisurely towards Bordighera, a sense of physical comfort 
 stole over him, and under its influence all the better feelings 
 of his nature awoke. Indeed, so softened was his heart, 
 that had he been called on to specify his grievances against 
 Doctor Antonio, — windmills which yesterday he had mis- 
 taken for giants, — he would have just now been sorely at a 
 loss how to do so. We may even go so far as to aver that 
 there was a moment in which Sir John wished, actually 
 wished, that he either had not sent John to Nice, or that 
 John might return alone. 
 
 But this good humour was short-lived. Exactly because 
 Sir John was a very proud, he was also a very sensitive per- 
 
A PITCHED BATTLE. 71 
 
 son, and likely to be ruffled by finding a doubled rose-leaf 
 on his couch of grandeur. The doubled rose-leaf came to 
 disturb him this time in the bodily shape of a lusty villager, 
 with a frank good-humoured countenance. Sir John had al- 
 ready met several people, all of whom had lifted their caps 
 as they passed, which he felt was only just as it ought to be. 
 The news of the accident which had befallen the English 
 gentleman and his daughter, the description given by Rosa 
 and Speranza of the surpassing beauty and gentleness of 
 the latter, had spread both far and wide, and had naturally 
 created a warm sympathy for the strangers. This feeling 
 the good-natured people met with by Sir John had ex- 
 pressed on this morning, as we said, by taking their caps 
 off to the gentleman; but the stout labourer just mentioned 
 was not to be satisfied with silent pantomime. He accosted 
 the Baronet, and addressed him at some length, winding up 
 with an attempt to shake hands; a famiharity hateful to Sir 
 John at elections and pubhc rejoicings in England, and one 
 he was little inclined to tolerate on a road in Italy. The 
 burly peasant, whose professions of interest and good-will 
 were expressed in a patois utterly unintelligible to his 
 listener, was far from dreaming of the offence he had given 
 when he saw the embarrassed Englishman suddenly turn his 
 back upon him, and retrace his steps to the Osteria, where 
 he arrived in a very different temper from that which had 
 graced the beginning of his walk. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 A pitched Battle. 
 
 Sir John had not been long home, when the sound of 
 fast-approaching wheels made him spring to his feet and 
 hurry to the balcony, from whence he perceived his own 
 carriage standing at the garden gate, and his own man John, 
 who, after assisting a short, plump, middle-aged gentleman 
 
72 DOCTOR ANTONIO. 
 
 to alight, conducted him across the garden. Sir John 
 hastened to close the door between Hutchins' room and the 
 lobby, and returned to his observatory in time to see the 
 new-comer stop at the foot of the steps, take off his hat, 
 draw forth a snow-white handkerchief, and while slowly 
 wiping his large bald head, shining in the sun like a golden 
 ball, take a hasty survey of all that he could see of his own 
 person; then after first stamping one foot and then the 
 other, to shake away some small particles of dust that 
 dimmed the brilliancy of his polished patent-leather boots, 
 mount the stairs with a deliberate step. "Something like a 
 physician," murmured the Baronet, as he caught a nearer 
 view of the broad, honest, English face, close-shaved chin, 
 and rigorous professional black costume, to which the irre- 
 proachable white neckcloth and finely-plaited wide shirt-frill 
 gave an exquisite finish. Sir John's heart expanded as a 
 flower bitten by the first frost expands under the cheering 
 rays of an October sun. 
 
 Sir John's reception of the stranger was as cordial as Sir 
 John's nature and habits permitted: he put out the index 
 and medium of his right hand in sign of welcome, and posi- 
 tively made a slight apology for the trouble he had given. 
 The English doctor received with due deference between 
 his own thumb and index the two fingers held out, giving 
 them a gentle professional pressure, as if he were feeling 
 their pulse. This done, Doctor Yorke — for such was the 
 name of the new doctor, such a contrast to the other — with 
 the self-possession of a man long habituated to deal with 
 all classes of all nations, and to detect at a glance the be- 
 setting foible as well as the besetting malady, proceeded to 
 beg Sir John not to speak of trouble. His services were, 
 as they ought to be, at the behest of sufferers in general; it 
 was his duty to be prepared for all emergencies. In the 
 present case, any little personal inconvenience was more 
 than compensated for by the honour of making the ac- 
 quaintance of Sir John Davenne, (here both gentlemen 
 bowed,) and by, as he fondly hoped, the satisfaction of 
 
A PITCHED BATTLE. 73 
 
 being of use to Miss Davenne, of whose unfortunate ac- 
 cident he had heard from the servant. 
 
 This was all according to Sir John's ideas of propriety; 
 and the sense of relief he felt in hstening to Doctor Yorke, 
 was something only to be compared to what a man feels 
 who escapes from suffocation. While the stout little doctor 
 paused to take breath, Sir John had time to bless his good 
 fortune that had sent him a man so well bred. At last, all 
 the preliminaries being over, the two Englishmen sat down, 
 and Sir John entered at length on the tale of his misadven- 
 tures, — the embarking at Civita Vecchia, the horrors of the 
 storm, the landing at Spezia, (what a hole that Spezia! 
 beds as hard as stone, and too short by a foot,) and the 
 journey by land up to the climax of the overturn. To hear 
 Sir John, one would have thought that the storm in the 
 Mediterranean, and the short beds at Spezia, were both 
 contrived for his personal annoyance; but he made no 
 specific charge until he came to the unlucky wight of a 
 postilion, when, forgetful of the morning's mercy, the 
 Baronet declared his behef that the overturn was a deliberate 
 act, nothing less than a clear attempt at murder. "Ask me 
 not his motives," pursued Sir John, waxing warm— for Sir 
 John wanted to be angry, and was trying all he could to 
 lash himself into a passion — "his motives? do I know what 
 may have been his motives? — But that there was premedita- 
 tion, cool premeditation, sir, I have an unanswerable proof 
 in the scoundrel's indifference after the mischief was done. 
 Did he so much as hft his httle finger to render assistance? 
 No, sir, he stood as unconcerned as his horses— No, I am 
 wrong, the poor beasts shook with terror." 
 
 Sir John next described Doctor Antonio bursting on 
 them like a Congreve rocket. "The queerest-looking figure 
 for a medical man I ever m.et with," said the Baronet, "with 
 a beard like a French pioneer, and a sugar-loaf hat just 
 like a captain of banditti in a melodrama." Doctor Yorke's 
 polite attention redoubled at this point, and in the left 
 corner of his mouth there quivered an arch smile, either in 
 
74 DOCTOR ANTONIO. 
 
 compliment to Sir John's graphic powers, or in enjoyment 
 of some odd conceit of his own. ''This Doctor Antonio, if 
 that be really his name, says he is a physician, and without 
 the smallest ceremony pounces upon my daughter, sets 
 about examining her foot, declares there is nothing the 
 matter but a sprained ankle, and with not so much as 'by 
 your leave,' takes upon himself to order her to be carried 
 here. Well, sir,' proceeded Sir John, with angry and 
 significant emphasis, "that is not all. I naturally enough 
 express my intention of continuing my journey to Nice after 
 a few hours' rest. 'Hours!' cries the man, staring at me; 
 'rather weeks.' Weeks! and on my remonstrating at the 
 mention of such a monstrous period, the oracle pronounces 
 his award, that my daughter cannot be removed for at least 
 forty days. Forty days! very easy for him to say, but not 
 so easy for me to get through in such a place as this; to say 
 nothing of my only son, Captain Davenne, being expected 
 in London at the end of this month, after an absence of ten 
 years." 
 
 "Very provoking, indeed," remarked Doctor Yorke. 
 
 "Not that this circumstance can alter the case in point," 
 added Sir John, condescendingly; "but I put the question to 
 you, Doctor—" 
 
 "Yorke," suggested the Doctor. 
 
 "I put the question to you, Doctor Yorke, speaking to 
 you as to a distinguished member of the medical profession 
 — (Doctor Yorke bows)— Is it likely that a mere sprain 
 would prevent any one from travelling in an easy carriage 
 for the enormous length of time of forty days?" 
 
 Doctor Yorke thus directly appealed to, drew a massive 
 gold snuff-box with an inscription on it out of his waistcoat 
 pocket, gave it the three consecrated taps, held it to Sir 
 John, who dechned, took a pinch himself, and after a second 
 of self-indulgence and meditation, said that the query put 
 to him was not so easily answered as might seem on a 
 prima facie view. Generally speaking, a simple sprain cured 
 in a week or two, though he must add that he had met, in 
 
A PITCHED BATTLE. 75 
 
 the course of his practice, with accidents of that description 
 attended by such aggravated symptoms, as to necessitate 
 absolute repose for even a longer period than that men- 
 tioned by the Baronet. In which category was Miss Da- 
 venne's sprain to be placed? that was the point at issue, and 
 which nothing, resumed Doctor Yorke, could decide but a 
 careful examination of the foot. 
 
 "Exactly so," chimed in Sir John, "a careful examination 
 by a gentleman of your standing and experience is all I can 
 wish for. I shall willingly bow to your authority." 
 
 "Then, Sir John, the less time we lose the better," ob- 
 served Doctor Yorke. "Is the Italian gentleman here?" 
 
 Sir John replied in the negative. 
 
 "I beg you will send for him immediately, as his pre- 
 sence is indispensable." 
 
 "I am sorry to hear it, Doctor Yorke," answered the 
 Baronet rather shyly; "for when Doctor Antonio paid his 
 visit this morning, he mentioned that he had a call to make 
 at some distance, and was not likely to return before the 
 evening." 
 
 "Very strange!" exclaimed Doctor Yorke, "when he 
 knew you had sent to Nice for a consulting physician." 
 
 Sir John, with increasing embarrassment, was here 
 obliged to confess that he had not mentioned the circum- 
 stance to Doctor Antonio. 
 
 "God bless my heart, this is very awkward!" said the 
 little gentleman, beginning to look very blank. "Do you 
 not know, my dear Sir John, that it is a rule, a canonical 
 rule among us medical men, never to examine another 
 man's patient except in his presence?" A fine mess we are 
 in, added he mentally to himself. 
 
 "But, Doctor Yorke, under the present circumstances, 
 cannot you dispense with a mere formality?" observed Sir 
 John, in a persuasive tone; "we are in Italy, you know, not 
 in England." 
 
 "The rule holds good here as well as there," quietly 
 returned the English practitioner; "it is not the mere 
 
7 6 DOCTOR ANTONIO. 
 
 formality it appears in your eyes, nor a mere act of courtesy 
 either. It has been accepted as a law amongst us, with a 
 view to prevent abuses, most likely to arise if there were 
 no restrictions. You know the vulgar adage, Too many 
 cooks— Ah! there you are," continued the Doctor, in quite 
 a different key; "how lucky! we were just regretting your 
 absence." 
 
 These last words were addressed to Doctor Antonio, 
 whose tall figure here darkened the outer door. Doctor 
 Antonio had returned sooner than he expected, and as he 
 rode past the Osteria, a sort of misgiving had seized him 
 that the toast and butter of the morning might have proved 
 hard of digestion, so to clear this doubt, he had alighted and 
 called. 
 
 Antonio's round, salient temples worked fearfully, and 
 a flash of anger darted from his eyes— but it was only for a 
 second, and as he entered the room his countenance was 
 restored to its usual serenity and placid smile. Doctor 
 Yorke rose with extended hand to meet his brother in 
 medicine. Sir John now became disagreeably aware that 
 the two physicians were acquainted, and to all seeming on 
 excellent terms, which in fact they were. They had become 
 known to each other at the time the cholera was raging at 
 Nice and in the environs, and had met for many a consulta- 
 tion on that sad occasion, and stood side by side at many a 
 deathbed. 
 
 "How do you do, my dear sir?" said Antonio, cheerfully, 
 "how glad I am to shake hands with you! Come down to 
 see the young lady, eh? we will go to her presently." 
 
 "You see me here," said Doctor Yorke, desirous of 
 divesting his position of all ambiguity, "at Sir John Da- 
 venne's express invitation, to consult about Miss Davenne 
 with Miss Davenne's physician, who, I am glad to find, is 
 yourself. I am sure when the patient is in such good hands 
 there is no need of me; however, if you have no objec- 
 tion "- 
 
 "None in the world," said Doctor Antonio, not allowing 
 
A PITCHED BArrLE. 77 
 
 his colleague to finish the sentence; "to submit the measures 
 I have employed to so kind and competent a judge, is at all 
 times an honour for me''— Doctor Yorke waved his fat white 
 hand deprecatingly — "yes, an honour, and, allow me to add, 
 a gratification,'' wound up Antonio. "But enough spoken 
 between old friends ; I fear I have already detained you too 
 long. Had Sir John Davenne been so good as to let me 
 know this morning that he expected you," pursued the 
 Italian, with meaning in his voice, and facing round upon 
 the Baronet, "you should not have found me out of the 
 way—" 
 
 Sir John's conscience lent weight to the words , and he 
 held his tongue, glad that he had not found time to mention 
 the bleeding, the second count in the indictment against 
 Antonio. "I am now at your service. Doctor Yorke, but I 
 think there is a point to be considered before we go to Miss 
 Davenne, that is, if she be unprepared also — " 
 
 " Quite so," said Sir John. 
 
 "Well, then," went on the Italian, "Miss Davenne may, 
 perhaps, take fright, be alarmed I mean, as sick people are 
 apt to be, by the unexpected sight of two doctors at her 
 bedside" — ("And enough, too," said the English physician, 
 in a stage-aside) — "she may very naturally suppose," con- 
 tinued Antonio, gravely, "that something very serious is the 
 matter with her." 
 
 "Ah, true! very right, very thoughtful indeed," smiled 
 Doctor Yorke; "an old head on young shoulders, Sir John." 
 
 Sir John wished Doctor Yorke would not be so facetious. 
 
 "It would be prudent, therefore," resumed the Italian, 
 "to introduce Doctor Yorke as a friend of mine." 
 
 "No he that," put in Doctor Yorke. 
 
 "A friend of mine, met with by chance on his way back 
 to Nice, and of whose advice I was glad to avail myself." 
 
 This proposal being agreed to. Sir John went to his 
 daughter to tell her of the intended visit. 
 
 As soon as Sir John had left the two doctors alone, 
 Antonio said, "I must profit by this moment to warn you 
 
78 DOCTOR ANTONIO. 
 
 that the case in question is of a serious nature, nothing less 
 than a fractured leg, and a foot severely sprained." 
 
 Doctor Yorke drew in his lips, ejaculating, "Tut, tut, 
 very bad, very bad!" 
 
 "Yes, indeed," pursued Antonio, "a most disagreeable 
 compHcation. Unwilling to alarm my patient, who is a deli- 
 cate, excitable young creature, I termed it a sprained ankle." 
 —("A good notion that," struck in the Englishman.)— "And 
 as I was about to state to the father the real nature of the 
 case, the eld man looked so scared that my heart failed me; 
 the more so as I knew that he was condemned to remain in 
 this out-of-the-way place, and among strangers. Now I 
 think it over," continued Antonio, "perhaps I was wrong; 
 and if you consider it more advisable to make him acquainted 
 with the truth "— 
 
 "By no means, by no means," interrupted the short gen- 
 tleman, hurriedly. "What could be the use of doing so? 
 You have acted like a fine fellow as you are;" and seizing 
 Antonio's hand the little doctor gave it a warm squeeze. 
 Hutchins made the English doctor put a bridle on his sen- 
 sibility, by announcing that her young lady was ready to 
 receive the gentlemen, who followed, and entered Miss 
 Davenne's room arm in arm, to satisfy any demur on her 
 part as to their friendship. The Italian formally introduced 
 the Enghshman as his colleague and intimate friend. Doctor 
 Yorke followed the lead, and said a multitude of httle pret- 
 tinesses to the young lady, whose reception of the new doctor, 
 if polite, was very cool. The inspection of the foot scarcely 
 lasted a minute. After a few questions from Doctor Yorke, 
 for form's sake, and the expression of his gratification at the 
 prospect of her speedy recovery, the two doctors withdrew, 
 and so did Sir John. 
 
 They found the cloth laid in the lobby, and a succulent 
 refection served— thanks to provident John, who had taken 
 advantage of his trip to Nice to bring back a supply of beef, 
 tea, and fresh butter, likely to suffice for six months, and 
 stuffed every spare inch of the carriage with all the delicacies 
 
A PITCHED BATTLE. 79 
 
 of the table he could lay hands on, both in the way of eating 
 and drinking. Sir John and the English doctor sat down to 
 lunch, Doctor Antonio declining the Baronet's invitation to 
 join them. Antonio placed himself in a manner to face both 
 Sir John and the doctor, and after a little silence addressed 
 himself to the latter. 
 
 "As I have some engagements," said he, "that rather 
 press on my time, I beg leave to enter at once on the matter 
 which brought us together. Sir John Davenne's presence is 
 also material to me." Sir John's nostrils curled ominously 
 at the announcement. "To put you in possession of the 
 case," continued Antonio, "I will briefly recapitulate its 
 circumstances from the beginning, then submit the course "— 
 
 "My dear Doctor Antonio, that is quite unnecessary," 
 interrupted Doctor Yorke, with poHte haste; "the very satis- 
 factory state of your patient bears more than sufficient testi- 
 mony to the masterly course you have pursued." 
 
 "Thank you," said Doctor Antonio; "but I have my 
 reasons for wishing to proceed in this matter as regularly 
 and methodically as possible. Will you obhge me by allow- 
 ing me to have my own way?" 
 
 "Certainly, certainly," replied Doctor Yorke, prescient 
 of a storm in the air. 
 
 "When I first saw the young lady," began the Italian, 
 "which was immediately after the accident, I found her 
 lying on the beach in a deep fainting fit. The usual restora- 
 tives proving unsuccessful, yet there being no external 
 injury visible to account for the protracted swoon, I ap- 
 prehended a concussion of the brain, and I was about making 
 preparations to bleed her, when she revived, and by her ex- 
 clamations directed my attention to her right foot. Upon 
 examination I found that she had sprained her ankle in 
 the peculiar way I mentioned to you before you saw 
 her." 
 
 Doctor Yorke here nodded most significantly. 
 
 "I bound up the foot as well as I could with handker- 
 chiefs, and drove home for a proper bandage. You have 
 
80 DOCTOR ANTONIO. 
 
 seen the dressing of the foot; does it meet with your ap- 
 probation?" 
 
 "Most entirely," said Doctor Yorke; "it would do no 
 discredit to a first-rate surgeon, — a rare aptitude, which it 
 would be well if more of us physicians possessed." 
 
 Doctor Antonio bowed slightly, and went on. 
 
 "I then had the lady placed on a sort of htter— the only 
 conveyance she could bear, and conveyed to this house, 
 cautioning her repeatedly against attempting the slightest 
 movement, for fear of unpleasant consequences. Is it your 
 opinion that I was too particular?" 
 
 "No, no, my dear fellow," said Doctor Yorke, his wish 
 growing stronger with every detail to prevent the bursting 
 of the storm-cloud; "caution is never de trap, and you are not 
 the man to make a fuss about nothing. The foot is a very 
 dehcate member," continued he, turning to Sir John, "so 
 full of ligaments, tendons, and — a — in short, a monstrous 
 ticklish matter. To manage a foot is like walking upon 
 eggs." 
 
 "SirJohnDavenne," continuedAntonio, "being naturally 
 anxious to pursue his journey, I felt in duty bound to tell 
 him at once, that for forty days at least the lady could not 
 possibly travel. Do you think that I overrated the time?" 
 
 "I wish I could say *yes,^ — I wish I could," blurted out 
 the English doctor, "but I can't; I am forced to agree with 
 you that she cannot stir from hence for many a day to come." 
 
 Sir John heaved a sigh, and the faint sunshine on his 
 face vanished. 
 
 "All this," went on Antonio, "was taking place on Satur- 
 day afternoon. Early on Sunday morning I found my patient 
 very far from well, restless, thirsty, with parched hps, no 
 sleep, a good deal of excitement, and a pulse up to 120. I 
 did not hesitate for a moment, and" — 
 
 "You bled her, of course," suggested Doctor Yorke. 
 
 Sir John hated his fellow-countryman at that instant. 
 
 "Yes, I bled her," rejoined Antonio. "Would you have 
 done so?" 
 
A PITCHED BATTLE. 8 1 
 
 "Necessarily— the symptoms were imperative." 
 
 "By six o'clock in the evening the fever had abated, and 
 this morning, after a good night's rest, entirely disappeared. 
 The patient, as you say, is going on as satisfactorily as can 
 be expected. I have nothing more to add touching the case," 
 concluded the Italian. 
 
 "And I," said Doctor Yorke, with an animation intended 
 to satisfy Doctor Antonio's legitimate anger, and to bring 
 Sir John to a sense of the necessity of some acknowledgment 
 of the services rendered, "and I have only to say — Go on, 
 and prosper as you have begun." 
 
 "I thank you," said Doctor Antonio, with some reserve. 
 Then turning to Sir John, he added, "I hope you are satis- 
 fied, sir." The Baronet, rather at a loss what to say, bowed 
 as graciously as he could. 
 
 "And now," resumed Doctor Antonio, rising, "it only 
 remains for me to say that I resign my patient into abler 
 hands than mine, and to wish you good-morning." 
 
 "You don't mean what you say, my good fellow," said 
 Doctor Yorke, who felt that it was all over with them; and 
 so perturbed was the good man, that his fork, with a slice 
 of ham on it, remained suspended between his plate and 
 mouth, while his extended eyes wandered from the Baronet 
 to the dark-visaged Italian. 
 
 "Excuse me, Doctor Yorke, but I do fully mean what I 
 say, I have reasons that are peremptory with me for acting 
 as I do. A medical man, to enable him to fulfil his trust, 
 must have his will unfettered, and mine is not; he must pos- 
 sess the confidence, not only of his patient — and in that here 
 I am fortunate, but also of those in authority round his 
 patient. Now, this too is wanting. Sir John Davenne has 
 no confidence in me." 
 
 Doctor Yorke made an attempt to speak. 
 
 "Grant me one moment more," said Antonio, with a 
 kindly smile to him, "and I have done. Sir John Davenne, 
 I repeat, has no confidence in me. I simply point out the 
 fact; I do not complain of it. And the best proof of this 
 
 Doctor Antonio. 6 
 
82 DOCTOR ANTONIO, 
 
 want of confidence is your presence here, the presence of a 
 medical gentleman without any previous intimation to me. 
 My course in this state of affairs, the only one consistent 
 with what I owe to my patient, with what I owe to myself, 
 and to the dignity of our profession, is to withdraw; and this 
 I do without any ill-will, on the contrary, in the best possible 
 humour with everybody." And hastily shaking the hand 
 Doctor Yorke had held out to detain him, the Italian bowed 
 to Sir John, and walked away, neither humbled nor elated, 
 rather sad. Doctor Yorke ran to the balcony, which he 
 reached just in time to see his retreating friend disappear 
 through the garden-gate. 
 
 "Fine mess we are in!" muttered Doctor Yorke, as he 
 resumed his seat at the table, with the face— such as 
 probably he had caused many of his patients to make — of 
 one who has just swallowed a very disagreeable medicine. 
 There ensued an awkward silence, broken at last by Doctor 
 Yorke saying, "It is a pity you had not mentioned to Doctor 
 Antonio your intention of sending for me." 
 
 "I did not see the necessity," replied Sir John, curtly; 
 "Doctor Antonio's attendance upon my daughter arose from 
 a chance, of which he cleverly availed himself, with the view 
 of making a good thing of it." 
 
 Though a worldly man, exclusively bent on making his 
 own fortune, and generally disposed, as such, to humour 
 the Avhims of his clients, especially if wealthy. Doctor Yorke 
 had feelings, and in spite of all his systematic efforts to keep 
 them down as a nuisance, these feelings, like spirited horses 
 in harness, would now and then kick, and plunge, and run 
 away with him, as now when he felt that Sir John was an 
 ungrateful old English baronet indeed. So, uttering an 
 "oh!" that sounded like a groan. Doctor Yorke took a 
 pinch of snuff, ah irato, and said, with some warmth, "Allow 
 me to say, that in this you are entirely mistaken. Doctor 
 Antonio is the last man to be influenced by sordid motives." 
 
 "Is he?" returned the Baronet, letting loose at once all 
 the spleen heaped up during the last half-hour. "I am glad 
 
A PITCIiED BATTLE. 83 
 
 to hear it. I am ready to give him credit for being a pattern 
 of disinterestedness. But what if I am sick of his overbear- 
 ing manner, and will not endure any longer his airs of 
 superiority. Am I not at liberty to choose my own phy- 
 sician? Now, will you oblige me, sir, with dropping the 
 subject?" 
 
 "As you please," returned the doctor coolly, and with 
 an imperceptible toss of his head, as much as to say — of 
 what use is reasoning? — "but just allow me a last question 
 in reference to it. Is it your opinion, then, that Miss Da- 
 venne can do without medical attendance?" 
 
 "I rely upon yours," rephed Sir John. 
 
 "Certainly," said Doctor Yorke, with marked hesitation, 
 *'as far as directions by letter, and a call now and then — say 
 once a week, can do, I am at your service." 
 
 "Cannot you remain with us," said Sir John, with a be- 
 ginning of dismay, "and undertake my daughter's case? 
 The remuneration," he went on haughtily — 
 
 "Do not mention a word of the kind," interrupted the 
 little gentleman with quickness. "I wish with all my heart 
 that I could stay here, or that you were nearer to Nice, so 
 that I could get you out of your difficult predicament. It so 
 happens, however, that my staying here, were it only for a 
 day, is a matter of absolute impossibility just now. I have 
 a set of sick people at Nice whom I cannot leave; Lord B — , 
 with a severe fit of gout, a patient of twenty years' standing 
 — not to be deserted, you see; then there is httle Viscount 
 F — with the measles, — his mother, a poor nervous creature, 
 dotes on him, takes fright at everything and nothing, wants 
 to be assured every two hours that the child is doing well — 
 keeps me constantly on the trot. I cannot leave these 
 patients, quite impossible; you see yourself." 
 
 Though disappointed beyond expression, Sir John did 
 not for one moment question the validity of the plea, and 
 the two aristocratic names fell like two drops of oil on the 
 wound inflicted by Doctor Yorke's refusal. Would the 
 
 6* 
 
84 DOCTOR ANTONIO. 
 
 Baronet have been so patient, bad the people concerned 
 been plain Mr. Smith or Mr. Brown? 
 
 "This being the case, can you recommend any good 
 practitioner near this?" asked Sir John, after a second's re- 
 flection. The Doctor rubbed his forehead violently, turned 
 his eyes to the ground, as if studying a map spread there, 
 then answered,— 
 
 "Why, within a circuit of ten miles, indeed, I may say in 
 all the Riviera, there is no one to be compared to Doctor 
 Antonio." 
 
 "Doctor Antonio again!" broke in the Baronet, angrily; 
 "name any one but him." 
 
 Doctor Yorke recurred again to his snuff-box for counsel. 
 "I wish I could," said he; "but men hke this— Itahan doctor 
 do not grow on every bush by the way-side. He might be 
 an Englishman : see how he speaks Enghsh. Yes, he ought 
 to be an Enghshman. Certainly his appearance and manners 
 are so foreign that I do not wonder at your being startled. 
 I quite understand that; still — the young lady, our first con- 
 sideration in all this, seems satisfied with him." 
 
 As Doctor Yorke stopped purposely here, as if expect- 
 ing an answer. Sir John was obliged to give a reluctant bow 
 of acquiescence. 
 
 "Important point," resumed the doctor; "a patient satis- 
 fied—mind kept unruffled— very capital consideration this, 
 Sir John, and well worth the sacrifice of any Uttle unpleasant 
 first impressions. In short," wound up the doctor, after 
 taking breath, "the best course, in my opinion, would be to 
 make up matters with this-r-Italian doctor, and get him to re- 
 sume his visits." 
 
 "Resume his visits!" exclaimed the Englishman, within 
 a hairbreadth of losing his temper, but recollecting in time, 
 that it would never do for a man like him to get into a 
 vulgar passion with a man like Doctor Yorke, who could 
 revenge himself by showing him up to his patients at Nice. 
 "Ask him to return after what has passed, expose myself to 
 
A PITCHED BATTLE. 85 
 
 the humiliation of a refusal!— lower my dignity with this— a 
 — confounded touchy foreigner!" 
 
 " Come, come," said Doctor Yorke, in a soothing manner, 
 "who talks of humiliations, who speaks of your asking any- 
 thing? Am I the man to advise Sir John Davenne to any 
 step derogatory to his character and position in society? 
 What if I can arrange this business to the satisfaction of all 
 parties, while you remain neuter and quiet here? what if I 
 guarantee that the proposal I have suggested shall be ac- 
 cepted with— with gratitude?" 
 
 The word "gratitude," no sooner dropped in the heat of 
 argument than mentally recalled, did more for the success 
 of Doctor Yorke's diplomacy than all his eloquence, which 
 was not httle. Sir John felt replaced, as if by magic, on his 
 pedestal or hobby-horse; his own superiority, the honour 
 conferred by his notice, were both openly confessed, and 
 the inferiority of his adversary was implied, if not acknow- 
 ledged. Doctor Yorke saw and urged his advantage with 
 great nicety of tact. Sir John, after a decent show of re- 
 sistance, relented, and empowered his countryman to ne- 
 gotiate Antonio's return, with but one stipulation: Doctor 
 Yorke was to promise that he had taken upon himself to 
 declare on behalf of the Italian, that Doctor Antonio had 
 intended no offence. Upon this understanding, the medical 
 plenipotentiary, after one hesitating glance at the sun, 
 armed himself with an umbrella, and sallied forth in search 
 of Doctor Antonio. 
 
 Doctor Antonio had retired to his tent, in other words, 
 had taken himself home, where, the door remaining wide 
 open, his brother physician found him desperately fencing 
 with some imaginary enemy, represented for the time being 
 by one of the walls of his sitting-room. "An excellent way 
 of getting rid of one's spleen," gasped forth the httle man, 
 "though rather hard work in this hot weather." 
 
 "Hot weather!" said Antonio, "but it is most pleasantly 
 cool." 
 
 "Ouf! allow me to close that window, if you please, I 
 
66 I)OCTOR ANTONIO. 
 
 am in a perfect bath of perspiration. Thank you. — Fine 
 mess we are in!" added he to himself, as, after one look at 
 Antonio, he fell rather than sat down on a chair. 
 
 "Very good of you to venture so far in the sun, you who 
 have such detestation of it," said Antonio; "what will you 
 take? a glass of old sherry, or rosolio, or, as you are so hot, 
 some warm negus?" 
 
 "No, no wine— some lemonade, if you please. Ouf! 
 these chairs are none of— -the softest, my good friend," said 
 Doctor Yorke, fanning himself with his handkerchief. 
 
 "Not comfortable, eh?" said Antonio, smiling. "How 
 did you leave Miss Davenne?" asked he, squeezing a fresh 
 lemon into a glass. 
 
 "I am not made of stone like you," answered Doctor 
 Yorke, beginning his attack, "so I did not see her before 
 coming here. I had not the heart to go and tell her that 
 you had forsaken her." 
 
 "Poor little dove!" said Antonio, with a feeling that did 
 not proceed from stone, "as gentle as a lamb, and so 
 sensible withal." 
 
 "Yes," said Doctor Yorke, coolly, "you had time to find 
 all that out." 
 
 "She will regret me, I am sure." 
 
 "No doubt she will," said the little man, dehghtedly; 
 "and that poor Sir John! one cannot help feeling for him 
 also. I never in my life saw a man half so puzzled." 
 
 "What about?" asked the Itahan, stirring the sugar into 
 the glass of lemonade. 
 
 "None so blind as those who don't choose to see. You 
 abandon him, and I cannot stay. So what's to become of 
 his daughter, sweet, pretty creature?'^ 
 
 "You cannot stay!" 
 
 "Impossible! I must return to Nice this afternoon, I have 
 so many ill there." 
 
 "Very provoking!" sighed Antonio, "very— unfortunate! 
 I am very sorry, very sorry on account of the poor young 
 lady. As for that stiff, old incarnation of pride, her father, 
 
A PITCHED BATTLE. 87 
 
 he has only got what he deserves. I never saw such a hard, 
 self-conceited, stubborn, arrogant, unfeeling old mummy." 
 
 Doctor Yorke put up his shoulders to shelter himself 
 from this pelting of epithets. 
 
 "If his daughter had been my own sister," continued 
 Antonio, "I could not have done more for her; and what has 
 been the return I have met with at this worthy gentleman^s 
 hands? Nothing from the first but opposition, distrust, 
 contradiction, insolence, and Heaven knows what not." 
 
 "You must make allowance for him, my dear fellow," 
 interposed Doctor Yorke, soothingly — "force of habit — 
 people of rank, you know— one of the first famiUes in Eng- 
 land." 
 
 "Zounds!" exclaimed Antonio, all in a blaze, "what's 
 that to me? Let all England worship his rank and his family 
 then; I don't choose to do so; I am made in God's image 
 as well as he, and won't be trampled on were he twenty 
 times as rich or as great as he is. You English are a proud 
 race — so much the better — I am proud myself, and like 
 people to know their worth. But is a noble pride, such as 
 is founded on the consciousness of one's value, to exclude 
 a proper regard for the dignity of others?" 
 
 "Certainly not," remarked Dr. Yorke, with his hands 
 clasped over the respectable bulk of his waistcoat, twirling 
 his thumbs first one way, then another. 
 
 "Methinks a little courtesy," resumed the Italian, "such 
 as even perfect strangers accord to one another, was the 
 least I was entitled to, had that man had an atom of sense 
 or feeling, considering the relation in which we stood to one 
 another. For, after all, was he or I the obliged party? Had 
 he rendered me a service, or I him? I see a carriage over- 
 turned; I hasten to give assistance; I— but now that I think 
 of it, perhaps that was an intrusion. Yes, yes, to be sure ! 
 Fool that I was, not to read it at once in the old man's face! 
 Yes, he was right; what business had I to meddle with the 
 lady's foot, or to bandage it, or to do anything that I did, 
 without first asking permission of this English potentate! 
 
88 DOCTOR ANTONIO. 
 
 When you see him again, pray offer him my unfeigned apo- 
 logies, and tell him that I shall never sin in that way again. 
 
 I will be d if I do ! Henceforward all Enghsh ladies may 
 
 break their legs, and arms, and necks, without any fear of 
 my proffering assistance in a hurry." 
 
 Have you ever seen a skilful angler with a large salmon 
 on his hook, ever watched how he lets the infuriated fish run 
 all the line off the reel without the slightest check, nay, 
 yields rod and line to the utmost of his power, encouraging 
 the captive to spend his energies, how he waits the moment 
 when it shall have exhausted itself by some vigorous leap, 
 and then, with one dexterous jerk, throws his prey panting 
 and helpless on the bank? By an identical process did acute 
 Doctor Yorke let his young friend go on uninterruptedly 
 with his philippic, giving his wrath plenty of line, and watch- 
 ing all the while for the favourable moment to wind up, and 
 land him high and dry. 
 
 "But the young lady," said Doctor Yorke, seizing the 
 first pause, "you don't mention the young lady. Did she 
 behave ill too?" 
 
 "Bless her," said Antonio, in a suddenly softened voice, 
 "no; from the very beginning she was grateful and kind." 
 
 "Why, then, in the name of wonder," cried the httle 
 doctor, turning sharply round on Antonio, "should you visit 
 the sins of the father on his unoffending child?" 
 
 Antonio was silent. 
 
 "Very well," said Doctor Yorke; "I understand your 
 silence. The question with me now is," (tightening the 
 line,) "who is to attend Miss Davenne? You will not, and I 
 cannot." 
 
 "No lack of doctors," replied Antonio, with a grim smile; 
 "there is one at Ventimiglia, another at San Remo. I have 
 already given Sir John Davenne the names and addresses of 
 both." 
 
 "Very considerate of you; but you know very well that 
 neither of them will do. Yes; stare at me as long as you 
 please— but you know very well that Miss Davenne's case 
 
A PITCHED BATTLE. 89 
 
 requires a degree of manual skill that neither of the gentle- 
 men you mentioned possess, and an unremitting care and 
 attention that only a person on the spot can give. Now, 
 then," continued the Doctor, giving a great pull, "what if 
 this innocent young lady— such a lovely girl too!— should 
 be lame for life, and all for want of proper care?" 
 
 "God forbid!" ejaculated Antonio fervently. 
 
 "Come, now," pursued Doctor Yorke, "say a word, and 
 help an old friend out of this scrape, will you?" 
 
 "What scrape?" asked the astonished Italian, who ex- 
 pected quite a different request. 
 
 "Why," said the Englishman, landing his salmon, "you 
 must feel that, whatever my engagements at Nice may be, — 
 and they are really of consequence, even at a certain risk to 
 my practice, I cannot decently leave father and daughter in 
 such a dilemma, alone in a strange land." 
 
 "Am I to understand," inquired Antonio, after a short 
 silence, "that you come from Sir John?" 
 
 "Of course I do," was the answer. 
 
 "And that Sir John is willing "— 
 
 "Willing is not the word," interrupted the dehghted httle 
 gentleman; "happy, my dear sir, happy to receive you back 
 on your own terms. You are to be absolute monarch in the 
 sick-room." 
 
 "Well, let it be so," said Antonio, vanquished. "I will 
 return, and again take upon myself the care of his daughter; 
 but bear in mind, that if I do so, it is for your sake and that 
 of the young lady." 
 
 "Thank you, thank you," said Doctor Yorke, with real 
 feeling; "you are a noble fellow, and worth a dozen Sir 
 Johns. Thank you," he repeated again, cordially shaking 
 Antonio's two hands. The Italian put on his hat, the very 
 conical hat that had so scared and shocked Sir John at their 
 first meeting, and the two doctors, side by side, directed 
 their steps towards the Osteria del Mattone. Doctor Yorke 
 avoided the mention of the "no offence" declaration, which 
 according to Sir John's instructions, was to be the sine qua 
 
go DOCTOR ANTONIO. 
 
 nnn preliminary of all negotiation. He did not choose t6 
 risk the success of his diplomacy by any such complication. 
 He knew Antonio's warm and generous nature too well not 
 to be certain that any hint on the subject from the Baronet 
 would be met more than half-way by the Italian, and re- 
 sponded to in a kindly spirit. 
 
 Sir John had all this time been pacing to and fro the 
 lobby, in a state of considerable perplexity, every now and 
 then stepping out into the balcony, which formed the limit 
 of his perambulation on one side, to look up the road to 
 Bordighera. During one of these halts the Baronet descried 
 the two gentlemen coming down the hill, arm in arm — a 
 sight which, far from seeming palatable, made his nostrils 
 suddenly contract, as though every orange and lemon tree 
 perfuming the air in the garden, exhaled baneful and nau- 
 seous vapours. However, by the time the two gentlemen 
 entered the room there was no indication left of contending 
 feelings on Sir John's smooth brow, and the reception he 
 gave to both his visitors proved most gracious. He even 
 condescended to address to Doctor Antonio a few pohte 
 but rather formal words, expressive of his regret for the 
 misunderstanding that had taken place, and which elicited 
 from the Italian a declaration identical in substance, but far 
 more satisfactory in tone. Doctor Yorke, whose anxiety 
 during this transaction betrayed itself by sundry desperate 
 appeals to his snuff-box, drew an enormous breath at last, 
 and said inwardly,— "Fine mess I am out of."— "And now," 
 said Sir John, turning to Doctor Yorke, "it only remains for 
 me to tender my thanks, and, by releasing you at once, offer 
 the best amends in my power for trespassing so long on your 
 valuable time. Shall I order horses to the carriage at once?" 
 The alacrity with which the offer was accepted shewed how 
 w^elcome it was. "Well then, gentlemen," pursued the 
 Baronet, "I must leave you to entertain one another, as I 
 shall take this opportunity of sending some letters on busi- 
 ness to Nice;" and, glad of an excuse to escape, he hurried 
 from the room. 
 
A PITCHED BATTLE. QI 
 
 Sir John made good use of the time it took to procure 
 horses; he wrote letter upon letter to his son Aubrey; ad- 
 dressed to the house in — Square, to his bankers, to his man 
 of business in London, and to his head man in the country, 
 (directions being given to the three last named to forward 
 all his letters and papers to him at Bordighera,) added to 
 which he penned a long list of articles which his courier was 
 desired to forward without delay to the Osteria. John was 
 also intrusted with a score of verbal instructions, all of 
 which, letters, lists, instructions, and directions, implied 
 that Sir John had made up his mind to a protracted stay in 
 his present disagreeable quarters. It was so in fact; Sir 
 John had at last realized his situation, and though much 
 against the grain, sulkily submitted to its necessities. This, 
 and this alone, was the result of the experience of the last 
 few hours. Pique is a bad counsellor, and few men can 
 afford to be just under the smart of a double defeat. We 
 regret to say it, for in spite of his prejudices we confess to 
 a foible for Lucy's father, but truth must be told, and the 
 truth is, that the leaven of resentment was fermenting in 
 Sir John's breast as fast as ever. 
 
 Sir John insisted on accompanying Doctor Yorke to the 
 carriage, and seeing, with his own eyes, that everything was 
 as it ought to be. This was the pretext which enabled him 
 to lay on the seat, by Doctor Yorke's side, a folded paper, 
 that the doctor chose not to see at the moment, but which, 
 as soon as the carriage-door had been banged to by John, 
 he carefully unfolded and examined, and, with manifest 
 marks of satisfaction, deposited in his pocket-book. What 
 with mental worry and bodily exertion, the English phy- 
 sician was so worn out, that after once more exclaiming, 
 "Fine mess I have been in!" he stretched himself at length, 
 and fell so soundly asleep that he never awoke till the 
 carriage stopped at his own door at Nice. 
 
92 DOCTOR ANTONIO. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 Little Occupations. 
 
 "I HAVE a thousand questions to ask you," said Lucy, 
 when Antonio made his appearance the next morning. 
 
 "Have you?" replied the Italian, good-humouredly; 
 "very well, I am ready. You will be sooner tired of asking 
 than I of answering. But first, will you tell me how you are, 
 and allow me to feel your pulse?" 
 
 The medical inquiries being properly satisfied, "Now," 
 said Lucy, "to begin, let me tell you that I wish to give 
 Prospero some money. How much shall I send him?" 
 
 "Let me see," said Antonio, pondering. "Supposing 
 that Prospero is unable to work for a fortnight, and it is 
 more likely than not, fifteen days' work at thirty sous a day, 
 his usual wages, come to twenty-two francs, fifty centimes. 
 If you send him five-and-twenty francs there will be a little 
 over to procure some better food during his recovery." 
 
 Lucy desired Hutchins to bring her her purse. Be it 
 remarked once for all, that Hutchins was always at hand 
 during the Italian's visits, either working by the side of her 
 young mistress, or at a little table in her own room facing 
 the open door between them. Lucy handed some money to 
 the Doctor. 
 
 "Fifty francs!" said he, "that is double the sum I 
 named." 
 
 "The additional five-and-twenty francs," observed Lucy, 
 "will pay for Prospero's medicines." 
 
 "Prospero has neither doctor nor medicine to pay for. I 
 am the doctor of the parish, and the parish pays me to attend 
 the poor." 
 
 "But who provides them with medicines?" 
 
 "Myself. I have plenty of which I am only too glad to 
 be rid. We must be very careful how we relieve the poor. 
 A larger gift than positively necessary only encourages 
 idleness, and is a doing of evil instead of good." 
 
LITTLE OCCUPATIONS. 93 
 
 "That's just what papa always says," replied Lucy. "I 
 shall not insist on having my own way this time, Doctor 
 Antonio, if you promise me that, should Prospero require 
 more help, or should you hear of any one in distress, you 
 will let me know." 
 
 "Indeed, I am not sure that I shall make any promise of 
 the kind," said Antonio, with a smile that softened the 
 words; "had you your own way, as you call it, I fear that 
 the poor but independent people of this country would 
 be spoiled before long. Are your questions already at an 
 end?" 
 
 "Scarcely begun. Tell me next why yesterday you 
 brought that odious Enghsh doctor to see me?" 
 
 "Odious! in what way odious?" asked Antonio in his 
 turn, and with surprise in his tone. 
 
 "Odious, because he is so sweet and oily, I hate honey- 
 tongued people. I will have no other doctor but you, so 
 you need not bring any one to see me." 
 
 "Thank you for the preference, which, if I guess right, I 
 owe to my uncourtly manner. There is no fear of Doctor 
 Yorke starting a competition with me ; he is quietly at home 
 in Nice by this time." 
 
 "I hope he will stay there then. But why did he come 
 at all?" said Lucy, resolutely. 
 
 "He came at my request, as he told you. He chanced 
 to pay me a visit on his way back to Nice, and I was glad to 
 consult him about your foot. Now, as this could not be 
 done without his examining it, I brought him to you. In- 
 dependently of the weight I attach to his opinion, I thought 
 also that, should our views of the case coincide, as I hoped, 
 his advice would give mine an additional authority with Sir 
 John." 
 
 "Why?" asked Lucy, as pertinacious as a child. 
 
 "It seems very natural to me, does it not to you, that an 
 Englishman should have more confidence in an English than 
 a foreign physician?" 
 
 "Have you and papa disagreed, then?" 
 
Q4 DOCTOR ANTONIO. 
 
 "Disagreed! no. Sir John not being a doctor, could 
 not be expected to view certain points as I did— that is 
 all." 
 
 "And, pray," insisted Lucy, "what were those points?" 
 
 "You are cross-examining me, I believe," said Doctor 
 Antonio, laughing. 
 
 "Yes, I am," resumed Lucy, gravely, "but not out of 
 idle curiosity, as I daresay you think. I do not know exactly 
 what it is that makes me suspect there has been some mis- 
 understanding between you and papa about me, but I do 
 suspect it," and she looked into Antonio's face; "and I want 
 to know all about it, that I may do what I can to smooth it 
 away." 
 
 "You are very good, but there is no occasion now for 
 any mediation. Thanks to that 'odious' Doctor Yorke," 
 said he, smiling, "Sir John has been made to see the neces- 
 sity of a more prolonged stay in this poor place than he 
 might have expected or wished. Now you know the point on 
 which we were at variance." 
 
 "Ah! that is why papa was so silent and thoughtful all 
 last evening. Shall we be able to leave this by the end of 
 this month?" 
 
 "I fear not.' 
 
 "How provoking!" exclaimed Lucy. 
 
 "Are you then also so anxious to leave Italy?" 
 
 "Oh, no! I was only thinking of papa. Shall we be able 
 to go away in a month from this day?" 
 
 "Yes, I think so, within a month or thereabouts." 
 
 "A month, I am afraid, will seem very long to papa. He 
 is so dull here, with not even a horse to ride, he who used 
 to take his ride every morning. Is there any saddle-horse 
 to be hired in this neighbourhood?" 
 
 "Not the least chance of it." 
 
 "How provoking!" exclaimed Lucy again. "And when 
 shall I be allowed to get up?" 
 
 "I am sorry that I cannot answer that question. Best 
 put it ad referendum^ as they say in the Swiss Diet." 
 
LITTLE OCCUPATIONS. 95 
 
 "•Sine die, you mean," said Lucy; "your Latin may be 
 classical, but it is little pleasant." 
 
 "Cannot you make an effort, and fancy for a while that 
 you have no feet at all?" said Antonio, gravely. Lucy had 
 a great mind to laugh, but said instead, that it was a shame, 
 and all nonsense, and that she had never seen such a cross 
 doctor in her life; for Lucy, though nearly twenty, had pre- 
 served much of the freshness, the charm, and even the 
 pouting ways of childhood. 
 
 "I assure you," said the Italian, in answer to this boutade^ 
 "that I shall not keep you in bed an hour longer than indis- 
 pensable." 
 
 "Very much obliged to you," said Lucy, pettishly. 
 
 The Doctor did not speak. 
 
 "Do you know, Doctor Antonio," continued Lucy, after 
 a while, "that I long to get up to see again that little sun- 
 shiny hill that was right before us, just when we were over- 
 turned? I should like to see it quietly, not passing by at full 
 gallop." 
 
 "You mean the Cape of Bordighera?" said Antonio. 
 
 "Yes, I suppose so. I had been half asleep, when papa, 
 calling to the postilion, startled me, and on opening my 
 eyes, I had a glimpse of something so green, so fresh, so 
 beautiful; only a ghmpse, but comprehensive of such love- 
 liness, that the recollection haunts me like the vision of a 
 fairy land." 
 
 "Do not let your fancy have too much play," was the an- 
 swer, "or you will lose the benefits of reahty." 
 
 "How do you mean?" 
 
 "I mean that reality, my dear young lady, be it ever so 
 charming, rarely keeps pace with the promises of imagina- 
 tion." 
 
 "I don't know much about the charms of fancy," said 
 Lucy, "but I do know that reality is often disagreeable." 
 
 "As when one is obliged to keep in bed," said the Doctor, 
 slyly. 
 
96 DOCTOR ANTONIO. 
 
 "Exactly so. But tell me, pray, did I imagine or really 
 see big palm-trees on the hill of Bordighera?'^ 
 
 "You saw them. Bordighera is famous for its palm- 
 trees." 
 
 Lucy having apparently exhausted her stock of queries, 
 Antonio was taking leave of her, when she detained him, 
 saying, "One more question, and then you may go; it is 
 about Speranza. She interests me very much; at times she 
 looks so very unhappy. Do you know what is the matter 
 with her?" 
 
 "Speranza has trials of her own," said Antonio; "hers is 
 a simple but affecting story, which would lose all its effect 
 if told by me. I am glad that you feel an interest in that 
 girl. There is much primitive nobility in her nature. Do 
 not disdain to seek her acquaintance, and try to win her con- 
 fidence. The moral world, dear lady, is just like the physical 
 one. We have only to stoop to find in the humble spheres 
 much to notice and sympathize with." 
 
 The Doctor remarked, not without some surprise, that 
 from that day Miss Davenne never complained again of 
 having to stay in bed, or so much as hinted at the possibility 
 of getting up. 
 
 On the morrow Lucy was permitted to read in modera- 
 tion, and Doctor Antonio brought her a volume of Shake- 
 speare, and Manzoni's Promessi Sposi. In a day or two she 
 was allowed to sit up in bed. According to the Doctor's 
 directions, the bed was taken out of its comer and moved 
 near to the window, which, the Osteria standing on rising 
 ground, commanded a full view of the Mediterranean. 
 
 "Have you ever lived by the sea?" inquired the Doctor. 
 "Never. When 1 was sent to Brighton for sea-bathing, 
 the doctors forbade my being in any of the houses near the 
 beach." 
 
 "So much the better," answered Antonio; "our sea, then, 
 will have all the charms of novelty for you. It is a sight 
 always new, a book that never tires. It will afford you un- 
 ceasing occupation and matter for wonder, to watch the 
 
LITTLE OCCUPATIONS. 97 
 
 changeableness and richness of its colours, varying from the 
 pure white of snow to the deep black of ink. Then ask it 
 the secret of its thousand sounds, from the low plaintive 
 murmur, so like a sigh or a kiss, to the thunderlike roaring 
 that makes the earth quake. All poets have sung of the sea, 
 but none more powerfully than the Hebrew king.'* And 
 taking up an English Bible that was lying on the table near 
 Lucy, he sought out in the Psalms, and read these verses : 
 — "*They that go down to the sea in ships, that do business 
 in great waters ; these see the works of the Lord, and His 
 wonders in the deep. For He commandeth, and raiseth the 
 stormy wind, which lifteth up the waves thereof. They 
 mount up to the heaven, they go down again to the depths : 
 their soul is melted because of trouble. They reel to and 
 fro, and stagger like a drunken man, and are at their wit's 
 end.' No matching that. Miss Davenne, for simplicity, truth, 
 and grandeur." 
 
 Lucy looked and listened to him as certainly she had 
 never listened to or looked at any one before; then she said, 
 "How strange! you seem to know the Bible well!" 
 
 "And does that astonish you?" 
 
 "Yes; I thought that Roman Catholics never read the 
 Bible." 
 
 "That is a common error with Protestants. If you were 
 acquainted with our Church services, you would be aware 
 that portions of the Scriptures form their chief part, and are 
 read and chanted daily in our churches, both morning and 
 evening; in Latin, it is true, but a translation is to be found 
 in all our prayer-books. In fact, the whole Bible, translated 
 into ItaUan, is open to all readers, with only two conditions : 
 first, that it be the translation of the Scriptures commonly 
 called the Vulgate^ collated and completed by St. Jerome; 
 and, secondly, that the Latin text be printed opposite the 
 Itahan. If the Bible is not so generally diffused in Italy as 
 might be wished, I think the fact depends partly upon the 
 want of popular instruction, and chiefly upon the little 
 encouragement given by the clergy to its perusal. However, 
 
 Doctor Antonio. 7 
 
gS DOCTOR ANTONIO. - 
 
 I can assure you, that many among the educated class in 
 Italy know the Bible thoroughly, and read it both in the 
 authorized and unauthorized translation." 
 
 Lucy was grateful, and enjoyed both the reading of her 
 books and the contemplation of the sea, as he had hoped she 
 would; she even gave the Doctor a full and vivid description 
 of a charge of cavalry, in which the waves, furiously dashing 
 and breaking against each other, and plunging and rearing 
 like maddened horses, were the actors. But by degrees both 
 the sea and her reading lost some of their power to interest; 
 and Antonio, who watched his patient with a solicitude that 
 had something motherly in it, became aware that it was time 
 to find her some new occupation. First, he proposed that she 
 should read to him a chapter of Manzoni every day; then he 
 was sure it would improve his accent, if she could bear to 
 hear him read a scene or two from Shakespeare. With these 
 readings came now and then those little laughs, tinkhng like 
 silver bells, that sounded so sweet in Antonio's ears, and in 
 which, though at the expense of his not faultless pronuncia- 
 tion, he joined so heartily. 
 
 His visits were now very frequent — be called three or 
 four times a day; indeed, every moment he could spare from 
 his duties found him by the couch of the fair invaUd. And 
 he rarely came empty-handed, bringing almost always some- 
 thing with him that he thought would amuse or interest her. 
 It was at first an album of views and costumes of Sicily, a 
 small collection of ancient coins, a few specimens of lava — 
 all his scanty stock of curiosities. This exhausted, it was a 
 flower, a rare plant, a curious insect; a scarabccus in an 
 armour of jet, a green locust with a head like a horse, a 
 butterfly with wings of gold or silver, or one of those canary- 
 coloured hairy caterpillars with regular black stripes round 
 its body. Hours went by unnoticed, while the Doctor ex- 
 plained to her, in clear and brief sentences, their habits and 
 peculiarities, and even the use of many of them. "That 
 little creature, whose shining green coat you admire so 
 much," he would say, "will sadly fall in your estimation, I 
 
LITTLE OCCUPATIONS. 99 
 
 am afraid, when you know its name and the use that is made 
 of it. Do you not guess now what it is?" 
 
 "No," replied Lucy, "I do not think I ever saw one be- 
 fore, at least I never noticed it." 
 
 "That is a specimen of the genus cantJmrides, or Spanish 
 fly, of which blisters are made, and a sly wee thing it is, for 
 as soon as you touch it, it emits a nauseous smell, and counter- 
 feits death. Is it not wonderful how every living being, how- 
 ever small or ugly, has its special purpose, and is provided 
 with some means of self-defence? Now, look at this many- 
 legged thing, which runs so nimbly about; see, it rolls itself 
 up into a ball. That is its defence against impending danger. 
 This slow, ill-favoured little fellow, whom you scarcely deign 
 to notice in the bright day-light, has often, I daresay, at- 
 tracted your admiration in an evening walk." 
 
 "Is that the glow-worm, then?" asked Lucy. 
 
 "Yes; he also makes beheve that he is dead when his 
 liberty is about to be interfered with, though he is extremely 
 tenacious of life. I once made an experiment with one of 
 them. He bore first the imprisonment of a week under a 
 glass, and afterwards a three hours' stay at the bottom of a 
 vase full of water, and nevertheless came out of it alive, so 
 I thought it but fair to set him free." 
 
 Doctor Antonio succeeded perfectly in his object, to 
 make the hours of her confinement less long and dreary for 
 Lucy. She was never tired of asking questions, which 
 Antonio answered with a good humour highly creditable to 
 his patience as an instructor. 
 
 One day, after just such another conversation, Lucy lay 
 back as if in deep thought, which Doctor Antonio, by his 
 own silence, seemed to respect. What was Lucy thinking 
 of? or was she thinking at all? No, she was enjoying one of 
 those rare moments when the mere sense of existence is 
 happiness; when the blue sky, the rippling sea, the soft 
 air, all seem bluer,brighter, sweeter, than ever known before. 
 Doctor Antonio's eyes, from the sea on which they had been 
 -fixed, wandered to, and settled on the thoughtful countenance 
 
 7' 
 
100 DOCTOR ANTONIO. 
 
 of his companion. A moment more and she looked at him. 
 "Have I wearied you?" he asked. 
 
 "Oh, no!" said Lucy, in a very reassuring manner. 
 
 During the question and answer, the evening breeze 
 came floating by, laden with the rich odour of the orange 
 and lemon trees, that grew in the plot of ground below 
 the window. "What a delicious fragrance!" exclaimed 
 Lucy. 
 
 "Delicious indeed," echoed Antonio; "are you fond of 
 flowers?" 
 
 "Very, very fond," said she. "I had plenty of them at 
 Davenne, but none that ever smelt half so sweet as the 
 plants in this garden." 
 
 "If I were a young lady," said Antonio, "I am sure that 
 a garden would be one of my chief amusements." 
 
 "So you think, because you are a man," said Lucy; "you 
 do not know anything about young ladies, you have no idea 
 how much they are made to learn — to find out afterwards, as 
 I have done," added she, shghtly colouring, "that they know 
 nothing." 
 
 "As to that," answered Antonio, laughing, "I am sure 
 most young men can say as much for themselves." 
 
 There was another moment of silence, then Lucy returned 
 to the point from which she had started. "I always fancy," 
 said she, "that the orange flowers smell sweetest in the 
 evening." 
 
 "It is not fancy," rephed the Doctor; "orange and all 
 strongly-scented flowers do really give out more perfume 
 towards the close of day, and during the first hours after 
 sundown. There are even some, hke the Indian jessamine, 
 which, scentless in the day, are very sweet at night." 
 
 "Then what does make flowers smell; do you know?" 
 
 "I will show you to-morrow," he said, "it is too late this 
 evening.— I greatly rejoice," he went on kindly, "at the in- 
 terest you take in these subjects, it helps you well through 
 this wearisome confinement. It is incredible, is it not, what 
 a rich mine for observation and wonder we may find, if we 
 
LITTLE OCCUPATIONS. lOI 
 
 choose, close to us in an insect, a plantj .evfen ajbladcof 
 grass?" 
 
 The colour rose in Lucy's face as the Italian spoke, and 
 holding out her hand, she said, "How much I owe you!" 
 Antonio laughed outright at the strange notion, and bid 
 good-bye in great haste. Left to herself, she gazed long out 
 upon the sea, the distant tremulous hnes of which, illumined, 
 during the last minutes of Antonio's visit, by the golden 
 glories of the sky, were fast vanishing in the dying light of 
 the horizon: and as she watched, she seemed to listen, as 
 though the inarticulate language of that immense creation, 
 soft as a sigh this evening, was answering the silent ques- 
 tionings of her heart. Sky, and sea, and garden, had lost 
 all colour, motion, and form, still Lucy remained looking into 
 the darkness. 
 
 "Why, Lucy, my darling," exclaimed Sir John, opening 
 the door, with a light in his hand, "all in the dark, and 
 alone!" 
 
 "Yes, papa, after Doctor Antonio went away, I sent poor 
 Hutchins to take a walk." 
 
 Sir John advanced close to the bed, still holding the 
 light. "See, Lucy, I have taken quite a fancy to this odd- 
 shaped lamp. The woman of the house told John that they 
 were to be had at Genoa, in silver. I must have some to 
 take home with us;"— and Sir John showed Lucy the object 
 of his admiration, one of the common lamps used throughout 
 Italy,— a brass globe for the oil, with three beaks on a very 
 slender shaft, that, passing through the centre, was ter- 
 minated at the top in a handle, from under which hung the 
 chain, that held an extinguisher, and a pin for quickening 
 the light. 
 
 "It is very pretty, papa." Sir John's eye fell on his 
 daughter's face, as she turned it towards the lamp, and he 
 exclaimed, "How well you look to-night, Lucy! I have not 
 heard you cough to-day." 
 
 "Oh! I have lost my cough for these last two days," an- 
 swered Lucy; "the air of this place does me so much good." 
 
102 DOCTOR ANTONIO. 
 
 ^' -'r think it-does," observed the father in a pleased 
 manner; "we must not have too much of a good thing, 
 however," added he, closing the window. 
 
 On the following morning, Doctor Antonio brought Lucy 
 a sprig of orange flowers, its pure white blossoms nestling 
 among the glossy dark green leaves. "Here, I present you," 
 he said, "with what may be called the crown of our shores." 
 
 "You beautiful thing!" apostrophized Lucy, as he gave 
 it into her hand; then inhaling the odour eagerly, "Now, 
 where does such a fragrance come from?" 
 
 Antonio detached from the flower one of its thick white 
 petals, and bade her hold it up between her and the light. 
 "Do you see those transparent dots in its texture?" he 
 asked. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Now then," he added, "you see where the smell comes 
 from. Each of those diaphanous dots is a diminutive essence- 
 bottle; it holds a particle of the essential oil, which perfumes 
 the flower, as you might scent your wardrobe with a cassolette 
 of attar of roses." 
 
 "How strange!" cried the dehghted girl; "how glad I 
 am to know this ! " 
 
 He then cut a bit of the rind of an orange, and shewed 
 her that it was full of the same kind of little vessels for oil. 
 "So it is," said Lucy; "and are all flowers scented in the 
 same way?" 
 
 "Yes, and many green leaves; those of the myrtle, for 
 instance, have receptacles of the same sort." 
 
 "I always thought," said Lucy, "that the smell was in 
 these small powder puffs;" and she pointed to the anthers. 
 
 "They have quite a different destination," answered he; 
 and he told her the names and uses of the different parts of 
 the flower. "I shall never remember all that," said Lucy, 
 with a sad shake of her head. 
 
 "I will write them down for you, if you really wish to 
 remember them," said Antonio. 
 
 "Oh do. Doctor Antonio, and I will repeat my lesson to 
 
LITTLE OCCUPATIONS. IO3 
 
 you to-morrow." The bright animation of the fair speaker's 
 countenance made Antonio say, "You have a taste for' 
 botany, you see." 
 
 "Botany!" exclaimed Lucy, "oh, no! I cannot bear the 
 very name of botany and its hard scientific words; but I hke 
 to hear you talk of flowers." 
 
 "Well," said Antonio, smiling, "we will busy ourselves 
 about flowers, and only about your favourite flowers. I sup- 
 pose you will not object if I bring you some more rare than 
 usual, to read about them, because I warn you my know- 
 ledge on the subject does not extend very far." 
 
 "Far enough to tell me all I wish to know," said Lucy; 
 "but if you get tired of teaching me, then I suppose I must 
 have one of your terrible wise books." 
 
 From that day flowers became Miss Davenne's favourite 
 occupation, and Antonio's most useful auxiliaries in his task 
 of kindness. Delightful to her were those long conversa- 
 tions, in which he told her Nature's mysterious processes 
 and the all-wise distribution of qualities allotted to the 
 vegetable in relation to the animal creation, the simihtude 
 and dissimilitude existing between the two kingdoms, and 
 the link connecting them into one great whole. 
 
 Antonio happened to call one afternoon during a violent 
 shower. "See," said he, pushing Lucy's bed nearer to the 
 window, that she might have a peep of the trees at the 
 further end of the garden, "see what a banquet for trees 
 and plants, how the leaves stand up and drink every drop 
 that falls!" 
 
 "How odd it is," said Lucy, "to hear you talk of plants 
 as if they were living beings, breathing, drinking, and— what 
 next? — eating, perhaps," and she laughed. 
 
 "Why not?" observed Antonio, with one of his quiet half 
 sarcastic smiles. "It seems that of all the flowers that adorn 
 the earth, you wish to keep for young ladies the exclusive 
 privilege of eating oysters and underdone beefsteaks. But 
 let me tell you that some of your rivals of the garden actually 
 do consume solid food. ' 
 
104 DOCTOR ANTONIO. 
 
 "O Doctor Antonio!" was the laughing exclamation, 
 "what do you mean?" 
 
 "I am in earnest," he said. "The Dionoea, commonly 
 called ' Venus's fly-trap,' has leaves armed with small hairy 
 spines. When an insect touches the leaf, the leaf closes, 
 clenching its bristles together like locked fingers, holds fast 
 its prey, and never opens until the insect has wasted away. 
 More than that, the experiment has been tried of feeding the 
 Dionoea with small bits of raw meat." 
 
 "Raw meat!" repeated the young lady, with disgust. 
 
 "Yes, indeed, raw meat! and the leaves closed in the 
 same way, and when they opened again the meat was gone 
 —eaten up." 
 
 "Horrid Dionoea!" cried Lucy, "I will never have an- 
 other in my garden. A flower to eat raw meat! It might as 
 well be a cannibal." 
 
 Doctor Antonio's aim had been at first not that of in- 
 structing, but simply of providing his bedridden young 
 patient with such httle diversions as he could place within 
 her reach. Her quick perception of his meaning, and eager- 
 ness to learn, ended, however, by drawing him on farther 
 than he had thought of, and at last he found himself regularly 
 giving her lessons in botany, and frequently writing down a 
 resume of their conversations for the grateful pupil. In this 
 way Lucy soon commanded a little stock of knowledge on 
 botany, acquired without effort, and almost unconsciously. 
 So when the Doctor put one of the wise-looking books before 
 her, she found that much of its contents was already famihar 
 to her, and when he told her to try and classify such and 
 such plant by herself, and she succeeded, it would have 
 been hard to say which was the greater, her gratification or 
 wonder. And Lucy looked up to her instructor as a marvel- 
 lous lamp of science, and probably thought him the cleverest 
 man in the world. 
 
 One morning, Lucy heard, to her infinite surprise, some 
 one singing to the guitar in Hutchins' room. It must be 
 Doctor Antonio, it could be no one else. "Bravo!" she 
 
LITTLE OCCUPATIONS. 1 05 
 
 cried; "will not the mysterious troubadour show his 
 face?" 
 
 "Now, Miss Davenne," said Antonio, entering the room, 
 a guitar slung across his shoulders, "you will never again 
 think me deficient in gallantry." She looked very much 
 astonished. "Oh! do not deny it, you know you have been 
 expecting a serenade every evening past. It would be too 
 bad that a young lady in Italy should neither meet with 
 banditti nor be serenaded. Now, you have had a serenade, 
 and one in broad daylight too, which adds to its zest." 
 
 "Confess, Doctor Antonio, that you think young ladies 
 very foolish creatures," said Lucy, laughingly. 
 
 "Why so?" said he, laughing also. 
 
 "Because you suppose they must be always expecting 
 something silly or extravagant, as if they were so different 
 from you." 
 
 "By no means. Are there not such things as banditti 
 and serenades, and is not the love of adventure natural to 
 youth? For my part, when I was your age I would have 
 given anything for a moving accident by flood or field, and 
 Mrs. Radcliffe's romances are nothing compared to those I 
 created in my own fancy." 
 
 "What? you who look so grave!" 
 
 "Yes, indeed, my own sedate self. But in the meantime 
 you say nothing of my song." 
 
 "I was just going to tell you how much I liked it, it is so 
 simple and full of pathos." 
 
 "That's right, it is one of my favourite Sicilian airs. I 
 have come to-day with the intention of teaching it to you." 
 
 "But I cannot play the guitar." 
 
 "But you can learn; no time so good as the present. Are 
 you in the humour to take your first lesson now?" 
 
 Lucy was all impatience to begin. Antonio showed her 
 how to hold the instrument, and the motion of the fingers 
 of the one hand on the frets, and of the other on the strings. 
 After the lesson, at Lucy's request, he finished the song he 
 had only begun, and a pretty one it was, and well she liked it. 
 
I06 DOCTOR ANTONIO. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 Bits of Information. 
 
 "Will you allow me," said Lucy, one evening, "to ask 
 you a question?" 
 
 "A mighty ticklish one, I daresay," replied Antonio, "if 
 it needs so ceremonious a preamble." 
 
 "The question relates to you. Doctor Antonio, and I do 
 not quite feel as if I ought to ask it." 
 
 "Never mind," said Antonio, "I here give you full permis- 
 sion to put whatever questions you please, whether they 
 concern me or not." 
 
 "Thank you. I wish to know, then, how a superior man 
 like you" — 
 
 Antonio fell to laughing outright. 
 
 "Ah! very well," said Lucy, stopping short, "you may 
 laugh as much as you please, but you are a superior man, 
 you know you are." 
 
 "If a decent average of education and good breeding 
 constitute what you are pleased to call a superior man, then 
 I may be proud of my country indeed." ^ 
 
 "Do you mean to say that there are many like you in 
 your country?" 
 
 "Are you serious?" asked Antonio. "You look upon 
 Italy, then, as a kingdom of the blind, where the one-eyed 
 is king. Believe me, my dear lady, you may find many far 
 superior to me, who both live comparatively useless, and 
 die unknown. — You have no idea," pursued he, "what an 
 amount of intelligence, strength, and noble aspirations wastes 
 away, for want of space and air, in this huge pneumatic 
 machine, marked on the map of Europe as Italy." 
 
 A cloud of unspeakable sadness overshadowed his 
 usually serene countenance. Lucy felt for him, and was 
 silent. 
 
 "Well," said Antonio, with a graceful movement of the 
 head to one side, as if shaking off some weight, "will you go 
 
BITS OF INFORMATION. lOy 
 
 on? You were wondering how a superior man like me— did 
 you mean, could condescend to play the guitar?" 
 
 "Oh, no, no!— could live in a small country village like 
 this, among rude peasants" — 
 
 "Rude peasants!" repeated the Italian; "I beg your par- 
 don for again interrupting you, but I cannot bear to hear 
 the mildest race on earth so grossly misrepresented. Call 
 them ignorant, superstitious, anything but rude. What 
 caused you to think them so?" 
 
 "Why," said Lucy, a little abashed, "papa told me that 
 more than once he has been stopped in his walks, and rudely 
 spoken to." 
 
 "That Sir John, who does not know their language, 
 should be annoyed at being addressed by the country people, 
 I can understand; but how he can mistake their cordiahty 
 for disrespect, and accuse them of rudeness, that, I confess, 
 passes my comprehension." 
 
 "Still, Doctor Antonio, you have not answered my ques- 
 tion." 
 
 "You consider my lot, then, as a mean one?" 
 
 "Not mean, but unworthy of you." 
 
 "What if I have no choice?" said Antonio. 
 
 "But you know that such is not the case," retorted Lucy, 
 with some warmth; "you know that you have only to speak 
 one word to change your present position for one far 
 superior." 
 
 "I see how it is," rephed Antonio, smiling; "you have 
 been making friends with Speranza, and she has told you 
 fairy tales of the grandeur that awaits my acceptance. Let 
 me warn you against such suspicious channels of informa- 
 tion as Speranza and her mother, in all that relates to 
 me." 
 
 "Yet you told me that Speranza was a sensible person." 
 
 "So she is, and so is her mother; but their imagination 
 gets the better of their sense whenever I am concerned. I 
 am their hobby-horse, and were they told that a throne was 
 in store for me somewhere, they could believe it." 
 
I08 DOCTOR ANTONIO. 
 
 "If they are attached to you, and I know they are— they 
 have good reasons for being so/' 
 
 "Imaginary, or, at least, highly exaggerated reasons. 
 Women, I am told, are apt to run into extremes. Nothing 
 will ever put it out of Rosa's head that I saved her daughter's 
 hfe in her last illness, which is not the fact; and as to Spe- 
 ranza, she thinks she owes me an enormous debt of grati- 
 tude, for some efforts I made in a matter she had much at 
 heart, efforts, I must say, which utterly failed." 
 
 "How ingenious you are in trying to undervalue your- 
 self!" 
 
 "Not in the least, Miss Davenne; I beg you to beheve 
 that I have a tolerably good opinion of myself, but I cannot 
 bear to be overrated. Should you like to know in what con- 
 sisted those great prospects boasted of by Speranza?" 
 
 "To be sure I should," said Lucy. 
 
 "They will cut a sorry figure when reduced to their na- 
 tural proportions. Last year— but to be clearer, perhaps, I 
 had better tell you first what chain of circumstances brought 
 me to this place." 
 
 "Pray, do so," said Lucy, eagerly. 
 
 "It is a story for which few words will suffice. That a 
 native of Sicily, or of any part of this peninsula, who asked 
 but to live and die in his home, should have been suddenly 
 and forcibly cast out from it, a flaming sword behind, and 
 all the wide world before him, is a matter of too common 
 occurrence in this land of anomalies, to require any ex- 
 planation. To think, or only to be suspected of thinking with 
 liberality, is enough to expose any Italian to such a chance. 
 But what must seem, and is in fact more strange, consider- 
 ing the close partnership in oppression, into which all the 
 governments of Italy have entered, is how a man, driven out 
 of Sicily, could find a refuge, and be tolerated in the Sardi- 
 nian States. [The reader is requested to remember that 
 Doctor Antonio is speaking in 1840.] Now this is how it 
 happened. The day that the soil of Catania became too hot 
 for me— it is unnecessary for our present purpose to enter 
 
BITS OF INFORMATION. 109 
 
 into the cause, political, of course, that made it so— that 
 day, I was fortunate enough to obtain a passage on board a 
 Genoese merchant vessel going to Genoa. When we arrived 
 there my passport was demanded, and as naturally I had 
 none, I was refused permission to land. Fortunately, my 
 uncle— the English officer whom I already mentioned to you 
 as the husband of my mother's eldest sister— when I took 
 leave of him, had had the lucky thought of giving me a 
 letter of introduction to an old friend and comrade of his, 
 the British Consul at Genoa. I sent my letter to that gentle- 
 man, and through his kind offices, I obtained leave not only 
 to land, but to remain in the town a week. I was sorely at 
 a loss, as you may imagine, what to do, and where to go at 
 the expiration of that time, when one morning I saw a para- 
 graph in the local official paper that put an end to my irre- 
 solution. I ought to have told you that at the time I allude 
 to, the year 1837, the Asiatic cholera was raging throughout 
 this Riviera. The paragraph I read was an address to me- 
 dical men in general, especially to young physicians, urging 
 them to place themselves at the disposal of the Proto Medi- 
 cato, a sort of board of public health, by whom this appeal 
 was issued. Some pecuniary emolument was offered to 
 those who should volunteer their services. A motive of 
 humanity prompted me to do so, and a more selfish motive 
 decided me. I felt as though a plank had been thrown to 
 me, on which, if I could place my foot, I should be saved 
 from complete shipwreck; for to have left Italy would have 
 been utter despair to me. If successful I should be sure of 
 gaining my bread honestly, and at no charge to my family. 
 So I went to the Board of Health, and stated, as was the 
 fact, that I had some experience in the treatment of cholera, 
 which had broken out in Sicily a few months previous. I 
 was very well received ; but, on showing my diploma, which, 
 with a few other papers, I had brought with me from Cata- 
 nia, I was told that, being a foreigner— yes, a man born in 
 the south was called a foreigner in the north of Italy!— my 
 seicvices could not be accepted, unless, through a petition to 
 
no DOCTOR ANTONIO. 
 
 the king, I obtained an exemption. At first, the notion of 
 sending in a petition to be allowed the privilege of exposing 
 my life in the service of my fellow-creatures, proved very 
 unpalatable. However, these gentlemen were so very earn- 
 est in begging me to comply with what was, they said, but 
 a formaUty; they offered, with such a good grace, to trans- 
 mit the petition themselves, and support it in the proper 
 quarters; the British Consul, on the other hand, combated 
 my reluctance so strenuously, that at length I yielded. So I 
 sent the petition— horrid stuff, to be sure— and at the end of 
 another week, my permit of residence having extended so 
 far, I was informed that my request was granted. The Board 
 of Health at once despatched me to San Remo, where I ar- 
 rived on the 23d of April. 
 
 "My birthday!^' exclaimed Lucy, in girlish glee. "What 
 a strange chance ! " 
 
 "Say happy as well as strange," observed Antonio, 
 touched by her innocent elation at the coincidence. "So 
 you will be twenty in two days. I am glad you have told me 
 now, for though in a strange land you shall hear friendly 
 voices giving you hearty good wishes." 
 
 "Do not forget," said Lucy, playfully; "but now you 
 must go on and tell me how you came to remain here." 
 
 "I have little more to say. When I arrived at San Remo, 
 the cholera was at its height. I did my best, though with 
 little success. What can man's skill and energy avail against 
 an impalpable foe, which seems to mock and set at nought 
 all human calculation, and defy all remedies? All I can say 
 in my own favour is, that I did not spare myself." 
 
 " That I am sure you did not," said Lucy, warmly. 
 
 "And I have been more than repaid by the affection and 
 gratitude of the people all about this part. After several 
 months of hard struggle and hard work, the fearful visita- 
 tion diminished, and then disappeared of its own accord. 
 Shortly after, the parish doctor of Bordighera, a very old 
 man, died, and the town-council offered me the appoint- 
 ment. I liked the little town, which I had visited many a 
 
BITS OF INFORMATION. 1 1 I 
 
 time. I liked the good people, most of whom I knew, and 
 so I accepted the offer. But the Government refused to 
 ratify my election, again on the plea of my being a foreigner, 
 and having taken my degree in a foreign university. Bor- 
 dighera, however, had it at heart that I should be the doctor, 
 and a deputation, composed of the mayor and one or two of 
 the council-men, actually went to Turin to try what could be 
 done. The Commandant of San Remo, with whom I had 
 become very friendly, backed the deputation, and wrote in 
 my favour. My services were pompously set forth and 
 pleaded, and at last my nomination— a state affair— received 
 the official seal and signature. That is how I came to settle 
 in this country place as physician and parish doctor." 
 
 "What a sad destiny to be thus driven from one's birth- 
 place, from one's home, far from those one loves best!" ex- 
 claimed Lucy, with tears in her eyes. "What you have just 
 been saying gives me a glimpse of a state of things I never 
 dreamed of before. You will be shocked at my ignorance 
 —but pray, how many separate States are there in Italy?" 
 
 "So many," repHed Antonio, "that unless I reckon them 
 on my fingers I am not sure of the number myself. Let me 
 see,— there is Naples (including Sicily), Rome, Sardinia, Tus- 
 cany, Parma, Lucca,* and Modena; the Lombardo- Venetian, 
 under Austrian rule, makes the eighth." 
 
 "And are the governments all alike?" 
 
 "All alike, each and all of them working on the grinding 
 principle." 
 
 "And the Pope,— is his as bad as the rest?" 
 
 "Fully, nay, if possible, still worse. I daresay it did not 
 strike you as being so." 
 
 "To tell the truth," said Lucy, with some little embar- 
 rassment, "I did not think about the matter." 
 
 * A clause in the Treaty of Vienna provided, that after the death of Maria 
 Louisa of Austria, reigning Duchess of Parma, the Duke of Lucca should be 
 restored to his paternal States of Parma, and that Lucca should be incorporated 
 with Tuscany. These changes took place ia 1847, at the demise of Maria 
 Louisa, and consequently the number of the petty States of Italy was dimin- 
 ished by one, that of Lucca. 
 
112 DOCTOR ANTONIO. 
 
 "No great wonder, at your age. A young lady who goes 
 to Rome in search of health and amusement is not likely to 
 trouble herself much about the character of the government. 
 Did you know many Roman families?" 
 
 " Scarcely any, except that of Prince Sofronia. We visited 
 exclusively among the English." 
 
 "That is almost universally the case with strangers. 
 They come to Italy as they would to a convenient hostelry; 
 and when a man goes to an hotel it is certainly not with 
 the intention of interesting himself about the people of the 
 house." 
 
 "What should I do, then, to get some knowledge of men 
 and things when I next go to Rome?" 
 
 "There is only one way," said Antonio: "to mix with all 
 classes of society, and to keep eyes and ears wide open. 
 But this, of course, a young lady cannot and ought not 
 to do." 
 
 "I wish I were not a young lady," said Lucy, with child- 
 like impatience, "if being so is always to hamper me at 
 every turn. But, at all events, I can try to obtain informa- 
 tion." 
 
 "Of course," replied Antonio; "and as you say you are 
 to return to Rome, let me give you a timely warning. Never, 
 under any pretext or persuasion, lend one of your Protestant 
 Bibles to a Roman." 
 
 "Why not? You told me the other day that many Italians 
 read the Bible." 
 
 "Very true; but I told you at the same time that only 
 one translation was allowed. Were you to be found in- 
 fringing the prohibition against disseminating any other 
 version, you might learn to your cost what sort of leniency 
 and toleration graces the sway of the Vicar of Jesus Christ. 
 As to those among my countrymen who take upon them- 
 selves to read unauthorized translations, they do so at their 
 own risk and peril. But I think we have had enough of po- 
 litics. I must now tell you of my great prospects." 
 
 "Ah, yes! do," said Lucy. 
 
BITS OF INFORMATION. 1 1 3 
 
 "I had been here two years, when I was offered a similar 
 appointment in a distant part of Piedmont proper. The sole 
 advantage over the one I hold here was pecuniary, the emo- 
 luments being fully double. On the other hand, the little 
 town to which I was invited was situated in a narrow valley, 
 hemmed in by mountains, damp at all seasons, and very 
 cold in winter. Was I, who had none dependent on me, to 
 leave my kind and grateful neighbours, each of whom I 
 knew by sight and name? — was I to give up this vast extent 
 of glorious nature, which gladdens my eyes and lightens my 
 heart whenever I look at it, and all for a little paltry money? 
 I could not do it. I am a spoilt child of the south. I want 
 air, light, warmth, colour. I dote on this sky, — on this sea. 
 I cannot do without them; they are my life." 
 
 "It does my heart good," said Lucy, "to see you can be 
 enthusiastic for once." 
 
 "Put me on the chapter of this nature at any time," re- 
 torted Antonio, smiling, "and you will see." 
 
 "So you sent a refusal," said Lucy. 
 
 "To be sure, and without the least hesitation." 
 
 "It was just like you," pronounced Lucy, whose interest 
 and respect for the narrator rose with every particular which 
 placed in stronger light the noble simphcity of his mind. 
 
 "My second grand opening in life," continued the Ita- 
 lian, "was of so misty a nature that I am at a loss how to 
 explain it. It was the chance of a supplementary chair of 
 anatomy at the University of Turin. There was to be a 
 competition for it. The actual head professor, somewhat a 
 friend of mine, advised me to come forward as one of the 
 competitors. To have my name admitted on the list of 
 candidates would have required me to send in a petition 
 again, to be exempted from one of the requisite conditions, 
 viz., that of Sardinian nationality. Now, I had petitioned 
 once, and that was more than enough for me, so I thanked 
 my friend, and there the affair ended." 
 
 "That was too bad," said Lucy, in a tone of reproof. 
 
 "You say so, because you don't know what petitioning 
 
 Dociof Antonio, 8 
 
114 DOCTOR ANTONIO. 
 
 means in this country/' replied Antonio. "One is compelled 
 to use an express formulary, a most abject one, and of which 
 the language is less that of man to man than of a slave to 
 his driver. The very name of the thing, a supplication, 
 (supplica,) is sickening to me. No, not to save my life shall 
 I ever write another petition." 
 
 Two days after this conversation was the 23d of April. 
 When Antonio called he found three immense bouquets, at 
 least twenty inches in diameter, arranged according to the 
 Genoese fashion, and fastened to sticks two feet long, stand- 
 ing by Lucy's bed. Rosa and Speranza, not satisfied with 
 preparing their own, had furnished Sir John with one to 
 present to his daughter. "Look,— look! Doctor Antonio," 
 cried Lucy, as he entered the room, pointing to her mag- 
 nificent flower show. 
 
 "Many happy returns of this day!" began the Italian. 
 "I knew I had no chance of vying with Rosa and Speranza, 
 so I brought you no nosegay, but a single flower multiplied 
 by itself;" — and so saying he tendered to Lucy a branch of 
 peach-tree in full blossom, that he had hid behind him. 
 
 "Oh! this is best of all — how glorious!" criedLucy, clasp- 
 ing her hands in delight. 
 
 "Yes, is it not splendid?" said Antonio. "Can you con- 
 ceive anything more elegant than this corolla? anything 
 richer than the tints of these petals, fading from this royal 
 purple into the most delicate blush of the rose? The corolla, 
 as you see, is polypetalous" — 
 
 "No technicaUty, no analyzing," interrupted Lucy; "let 
 me enjoy unmixed admiration to the full." 
 
 "You are right," answered Antonio; "if by analyzing we 
 add to our stock of knowledge, it is rare that we do not 
 interfere with our enjoyment. That this is one of Nature's 
 wonders, a chef-d'ceuvre, is all we require to know about it." 
 
 "It makes me think," said Lucy, "of what is written of 
 the lilies of the field, — * And yet I say unto you, that Solomon 
 in all his glory was not arrayed hke one of these.' " 
 
 *'To my eyes," resumed Antonio, "this peach-branch 
 
BITS OF INFORMATION. II5 
 
 bespeaks the hand of a supreme Artificer as conclusively in 
 its way as all the glories of the firmament." 
 
 "It does, indeed," returned Lucy. "How unaccountable 
 it seems that there should be people who see nothing in all 
 the marvels of the universe but the working of matter and 
 the result of a blind chance!" 
 
 Antonio said nothing, but gazed on the fair speaker with 
 intense sympathy. She remained pensive, with her face up- 
 turned towards the heavens, 
 
 "And looks commercing with the skies. 
 Her rapt soul sitting in her eyes." 
 
 No words so aptly as these of Milton can describe our sweet 
 Lucy at this moment. Neither of the young people spoke 
 for some time, but their hearts had never before been in 
 such close communion as during this pause. Antonio was 
 the first to speak. 
 
 "Have you ever read Picciola?" 
 
 "No. Is it a novel?" asked Lucy. 
 
 "Yes, it is a novel, by a celebrated French author, 
 Monsieur Saintine. What you said just now brought it to 
 my recollection." 
 
 "What is it about?" 
 
 "A flower," answered Antonio. "The heroine of the 
 novel is a flower." 
 
 "How strange!— a flower!" 
 
 "Nothing more nor less," said Antonio; "and performing 
 the most glorious part ever allotted to a heroine." 
 
 "You excite my curiosity," said Lucy. "Do tell me a 
 little about this Picciola." 
 
 "The groundwork of the tale is simply this. The hero, 
 just such a sceptic as you have been alluding to, is a young 
 nobleman, implicated in some conspiracy against Napoleon I., 
 and for that cause imprisoned in the Fortress of Fenestrelle. 
 Shut up between the four bare walls of his cell, deprived of 
 books, pen, and ink, and of all human intercourse, save with 
 his jailer, the poor prisoner is allowed no other recreation 
 but that of an hour's exercise in an inner court of the fortress. 
 
 8' 
 
Il6 DOCTOR ANTONIO. 
 
 In one of these daily walks up and down the dull yard, his eye 
 lights by chance upon a diminutive green shoot, trying to 
 force its way between two stones. At first the sight is per- 
 fectly indifferent to the prisoner; but as on each returning 
 day he views the gradual development of the plant, and its 
 hard struggle for existence, his interest is gradually aroused, 
 and increases every day, till it grows into a passion. The 
 mysterious wonders of vegetation strike upon the mind and 
 heart of the materialist, and the humble little flower becomes 
 the ladder upon which he elevates himself to the conception 
 of a first cause. Picciola, or little one — such is the name he 
 has given to the plant— is, in short, the missionary which 
 converts the sceptical blase m3.n of the world into a believer." 
 
 ''That is really a beautiful story," said Lucy; "I must 
 get the book, if you will write down the title for me. And 
 what plant was it that worked such a miracle?" 
 
 "The hero of the tale, it is said, could never discover the 
 botanical name of his wonder-working flower." 
 
 "What a pity!" said Lucy. "One might have wished 
 that it had been a violet or a forget-me-not,— or— By the 
 by, Doctor Antonio, among all the flowers you have brought 
 me there have never been any forget-me-nots. Do they not 
 grow in Italy?" 
 
 "Yes, in quantities." 
 
 "And you have never brought me any!" said Lucy re- 
 proachfully. "Why have you never done so?" 
 
 "Why, I don't know," said Antonio, smiling, but with a 
 shade of embarrassment; "perhaps I thought that seeing me 
 so often, you did not need any to remind you of me." 
 
 "A presumptuous, bad reason," answered Lucy, tartly; 
 "I would not advise you to rely too much on it." 
 
 The next time he called, the Doctor brought his young 
 patient a large bunch of these pretty little blue flowers. She 
 put them into a glass on the table near her, and said, point- 
 ing to them, half seriously, half playfully, "You don't know 
 yet that I am very forgetful; as long as I have these, I shall 
 not forget you." 
 
SPERANZA. 1 1 7 
 
 If Antonio had been a commonly vain man, he might 
 have thought that she meant more than she expressed; but 
 he only gave her credit for wishing to atone for her rather 
 sharp speech of the day before. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 Speranza. 
 
 What with reading, watching the sea, lessons in botany, 
 lessons on the guitar, and chatting with Doctor Antonio, 
 Lucy had reached the twentieth day of her stay in bed in 
 tolerable spirits, and without complaining of time hanging 
 heavily on her hands. The necessity of this tedious confine- 
 ment was, in fact, the only serious inconvenience still en- 
 tailed on Miss Davenne by her late accident. The fits of 
 pain that would now and then shoot through her injured limb, 
 especially the foot, during the first days, had gradually sub- 
 sided, and then completely vanished; so had that sense of 
 restlessness which interfered with her sleep; and, on the 
 whole, Lucy^s health was rather improved than otherwise 
 from what it had been for some time previous to the unlucky 
 casualty that had brought her to the Osteria. 
 
 On that twentieth morning, then, Antonio paid his visit 
 earlier than usual, and said, "I have come to wish you good- 
 bye till to-morrow; I am called away to a place some hours 
 distant, and I shall have to sleep there." 
 
 This piece of news made Lucy's heart contract painfully. 
 "It will be a long day for me," she answered, and could not 
 resist adding, "But you will be sure to be back to-morrow?" 
 
 "Without fail," replied Antonio; "I shall bid Speranza 
 come and keep you company. Her stories may amuse you. 
 Now, tell me, do not you think I had better see Sir John 
 Davenne, to let him know that I shall be absent for the next 
 four-and-twenty hours?" 
 
 "Yes, pray do so," said Lucy, thankfully; for Lucy had 
 not been without remarking, that there existed a certain re- 
 
Il8 DOCTOR ANTONIO. 
 
 straint in the manner of the gentlemen towards each other, 
 and hailed anything in the shape of an advance from the 
 Doctor, as possibly conducive to a better understanding. So 
 Hutchins was sent, as usual, to see where Sir John was, and 
 Antonio taking leave of Lucy followed Iris to the presence 
 of the British Jupiter. 
 
 As it is not our intention to give our hero credit for more 
 generosity than he had in his nature, we shall at once state 
 that the proffer he had just made to Miss Davenne, was not 
 a sign of any growing kindness, but neither more nor less 
 than a stroke of policy. Antonio had a little plan to propose 
 to Sir John, which he rather preferred that Miss Davenne 
 should know nothing about for the present. Now, to see 
 Sir John unknown to Lucy being difficult, he was glad of 
 having a specious pretext for an official teie-a-tete with the 
 stiff-necked, stift'-backed papa of his patient. 
 
 Ever since Doctor Yorke's memorable visit and Antonio's 
 decisive victory, Sir John, by one of the strangest among 
 the strange delusions of mental optics, had eyed the Italian 
 in the light of the author of all his woes. Sir John was not 
 quite sure whether Antonio, with his nonsensical chattering 
 to Prospero on the road, had not been the primary cause of 
 the overturn of the carriage; but as to the Italian's having 
 in some way or other managed to bring about the present 
 unpleasant state of things, of this Sir John felt not the 
 slightest doubt; and his resentment was proportionate to 
 the injury he had received. Now, well-bred gentlemen, as 
 everybody knows, have a thousand ingenious ways of their 
 own to make it perfectly understood, that they wish you at 
 the deuce, without deviating the eighth of an inch from the 
 strictest propriety in word or manner. Least of all, was this 
 inheritor of a yard long of pedigree, this quintessence of 
 gentlemanliness, deficient in the talent of making himself 
 disagreeable in a pohte way if he chose. This is a pecuHar 
 branch of diplomacy much studied and practised in fashion- 
 able drawing-rooms, and among the higher circles. In this 
 school are acquired the ceremonious bow, that throws you 
 
SPERANZA. 1 i g 
 
 to a greater distance than would the wrong end of any 
 telescope; the bland smile that proves so charmingly pro- 
 voking; the frigid "hope you are well," that sounds like a 
 memento mori^ and a variety of other such choice ways of 
 being superlatively annoying in the most engaging manner; 
 —all of which our polished Enghshman applied with dis- 
 tinguished ingenuity in the present emergency. But where 
 he came out with unparalleled excellence, was in the daily 
 expression of regret and reiteration of apologies for the 
 trouble the Doctor was put to. One would have sworn to 
 seeing sharp needles issue from his mouth at every word. 
 Antonio, after several unsuccessful attempts at conciliation, 
 took the hint, and repaid the Baronet in his own coin; re- 
 turned his bows at precisely the same angle of inclination 
 at which they were made; inquired for Sir John's health in 
 the same icy tone in which the state of his own had been 
 investigated; conducting himself in all other respects as if 
 no Sir John existed, and going in and out of the Osteria 
 with an ease and equanimity, that left his Enghsh foe in a 
 pleasant doubt as to whether or not his tactics were under- 
 stood. 
 
 Strangely enough, this uncomfortable state of things had 
 lasted on, even when the causes producing it had partly 
 ceased to exist, viz., when the old gentleman's feelings of 
 irritation towards the younger one had considerably subsided, 
 —a result chiefly brought about by that best of all peace- 
 makers, time, and various other almost imperceptible agen- 
 cies, whose workings on the human mind are as positive as 
 undefinable. The Osteria, which at first had been like Fre- 
 deric the Great's kingdom, "all sting," though not positively 
 transformed into a land of peace flowing with milk and 
 honey, was nevertheless no longer the bed of nettles it had 
 been. Sir John was, on the whole, tolerably comfortable, 
 he received the Times regularly every morning, and was well 
 supplied with those savoury literary entremets, English 
 periodicals. An avalanche of arm-chairs, couches, looking- 
 glasses, curtains, lamps, crockery, &c., &c., had come from 
 
120 DOCTOR ANTONIO. 
 
 Nice to minister to his ease, and so had a cook— fancy, the 
 cook of the late bishop of Albenga, the greatest gastronome 
 in the Riviera. By the mail from Nice to Genoa, his courier 
 managed to supply his table with everything in season. Two 
 cows at a neighbouring farm had been appropriated to the 
 service of the family, and very passable butter figured at the 
 Baronet's breakfast and tea. His walks were free from all 
 molestation, it being now well known that the Milordo Inglese 
 did not like to be spoken to. Sir John was a kind of walk- 
 mg notification of "no trespass allowed." The mayor, and 
 the majority of the town-council of Bordighera, had waited 
 on him in state, and so had an elderly nobleman, called, by 
 antonomasia, "the Count," who lived in retirement in his 
 palazzino, just on the other side of the hill of Bordighera. 
 These visits, punctiHously returned of course, had agreeably 
 tickled the Baronet's self-love and importance. After all, 
 he saw he was among people who knew their betters. Find, 
 if you can, a member of the baronetage of Great Britain, 
 who acknowledges or believes that an Italian nobleman, 
 whose name, perhaps, figures in history before the Plan- 
 tagenets were heard of, can be his equal ! Sir John, in a 
 word, felt nearly as comfortable as he had done anywhere 
 since he left his native shores, and was therefore consider- 
 ably mollified towards Italian mankind in general, and in 
 particular towards that sample of it, which went under the 
 name of Doctor Antonio. The never-ending anthem of 
 praise Lucy sang of all that the Doctor did and devised to 
 amuse her, and what Sir John had himself witnessed of it, 
 had probably not been without some effect on the father's 
 heart. Unhappily, Sir John was too proud to give any out- 
 ward sign of his altered sentiments whichmight be regarde d 
 as an advance on his part, and continued, from false shame, 
 if not so biting as of old, at least as formal, as distant, and 
 frigid as ever. 
 
 This premised, we shall understand how Sir John, on 
 emerging from his room, apologized most ceremoniously to 
 Doctor Antonio for having kept him waiting so long— just 
 
SPERANZA. 121 
 
 half a minute — and how Doctor Antonio in return offered a 
 rather verbose excuse for having disturbed Sir John at such 
 an unseasonable hour. Hearing which, the Baronet made a 
 declaration to the purpose, that he was always at Doctor 
 Antonio's service, and begged him to be seated. Here came 
 a flourish of bows, followed by a skirmish as to who should 
 or should not be seated first, a difficulty which was settled 
 by both the gentlemen sitting down at the same time. 
 
 "It is my pleasant duty," began the Doctor in a some- 
 what oratorical tone, "to communicate excellent news of our 
 interesting invalid. Miss Davenne is uncommonly well this 
 morning." 
 
 "I rejoice to hear you say so," replied Sir John, with 
 great condescension, "though I could scarcely expect less, 
 considering all the skill and attention you have shown in 
 your treatment of Miss Davenne." 
 
 Antonio would have said something to beg a truce to 
 compliments. "No, no!" pursued Sir John, "you must allow 
 me to say so. I know the extent of my obligations and the 
 value of your time, and I shall do my best to show my sense 
 of both." 
 
 Does this Don Magnifico mean to pay me for my con- 
 versations on botany and my lessons on the guitar? thought 
 Antonio, and at the thought, he knitted his brows portent- 
 ously, and said dryly, "You overrate both the extent of your 
 obhgations and the value of my time; especially at this 
 season of the year, when, I am happy to say, there are so 
 few ill in the parish, my time is worth very little. Perhaps, 
 to avoid any future misunderstanding, I had better at once 
 distinctly inform you, that nine out of ten of my visits are 
 not professional, and consequently exclude any question of 
 fees." 
 
 Sir John made a very wry face, and his nostrils con- 
 tracted as if there were a bad smell in the wind. Antonio 
 went on saying, "My motive for troubling you this morning, 
 is on a matter relating to Miss Davenne. Miss Davenne, I 
 must render her this justice, has borne her confinement in 
 
l:>2 DOCTOR ANTONIO. 
 
 bed with admirable patience and sweetness; still the trial is 
 heavy, and will become more so as she advances in her re- 
 covery, and I have been thinking much of late whether we 
 could not contrive some means of alleviating it. Supposing 
 we could manage to have her carried every day to that bal- 
 cony, so that she might enjoy a more extended view of the 
 country around, have more fresh air, amuse herself with 
 drawing, and even receive visits, if she chose, — I think this 
 would prove a great relief to her." 
 
 "A great relief, certainly," echoed Sir John. 
 
 "Now," resumed Antonio, "what would be quite out of 
 the question with ninety-nine out of a hundred persons in her 
 case, seems to me worth while trying, and even likely to 
 succeed with a lady of Miss Davenne's sense, and discre- 
 tion, and earnestness in obeying directions." 
 
 "Could we not," said Sir John, "have a sofa placed on 
 the balcony, and have her carried there every day?" 
 
 "A sofa would not be safe," answered the Doctor. "We 
 must guard Miss Davenne against the chance of doing her- 
 self harm, even by an involuntary movement, and I think I 
 have hit on a means which meets even that danger. Here is 
 the plan of a seat," continued Antonio, handing Sir John a 
 paper with a rough sketch on it, "which is something, as you 
 see, between the body of a carriage and an arm-chair, on 
 which Miss Davenne could lie at length. This padded hol- 
 low in front is meant to keep the foot steady, and guarded 
 from any motion, even independent of the will. The whole 
 could be put on wheels made to move at the pleasure of any 
 one sitting on it. If you approve of my plan, I can have it 
 executed immediately by a most skilful cabinet-maker, a 
 friend of mine, (Sir John winced visibly at this last announce- 
 ment,) and whom I shall see this very day at a place to which 
 I am going for four-and-twenty hours." 
 
 "Your idea is excellent," said the Baronet. "But are 
 you sure that the man you speak of is capable of executing 
 your orders perfectly?" 
 
 "I have no doubt of it," said the Italian; "the person I 
 
SPERAN2A. 123 
 
 mean is a genius in his way, and I even rely on him for sug- 
 gesting any improvements that can be made, and which he 
 will see at a glance. By the by,'' added he, ''I have men- 
 tioned nothing of this to Miss Davenne, lest the scheme 
 should fail from some cause or other, and" — 
 
 " Quite right," interrupted Sir John, "I shall not breathe 
 a word about it." 
 
 "Thank you— and now that I have your sanction," 
 wound up Antonio, rising, "I will not trespass longer on 
 your time." 
 
 "Pray, sir," said Sir John, rising also, "receive my very 
 best thanks; very considerate of you, I am sure— very- 
 kind. I am infinitely obliged to you." 
 
 Sir John was really in earnest in his thanks, and these 
 last words were pronounced in a tone to which he had little 
 accustomed Antonio's ears. The Italian's unvarying inde- 
 pendence and disinterestedness both piqued and pleased 
 the haughty Baronet. Of all qualities in a man, that which 
 Sir John could best appreciate and valued the most, was 
 pride. After all, said he to himself as he bent his steps to- 
 wards Lucy's room, there is a dash of the gentleman in that 
 Italian. After all, said Doctor Antonio to himself, as he 
 crossed the garden, there is a touch of feeling in that old 
 ogre. Thus both gentlemen had separated more kindly dis- 
 posed towards each other than they had felt hitherto. 
 
 Lucy did her best to beguile the hours, but with little 
 success. Everything which had so lively an interest for her 
 so long as Antonio was there, had none now that he was ab- 
 sent. The very sky was not so brilliant, the sea not so blue. 
 She put aside her books and flowers, and fell to musing. 
 Never had such a feeling of loneliness fallen on her be- 
 fore, and as it is the privilege of a present sadness to awaken 
 those of the past, so did there come to her, strangely dis- 
 tinct from out a mass of confused thoughts and images, the 
 recollection of her mother, making the girl clasp her hands, 
 while a pang of sorrow stung her to the quick, as if for the 
 first time she had known, that nevermore had she a mother's 
 
124 DOCTOR ANTONIO. 
 
 heart to lean on. Then memory carried her back to her 
 childhood. Her old nurse, her playthings, the lawn, the 
 garden, all old familiar faces and scenes came before her, 
 and hot tears rolled over her cheeks. Lucy was very sad, 
 and wondered why it was that she was so sad, and why it 
 was that she felt so lonely; why there was such a blank 
 around her. Her eyes drooped, and she began to wish that 
 Speranza would come to keep her company, as Antonio had 
 said she would. Speranza was the only society that would 
 have suited Lucy this morning, — Speranza who seemed to 
 her, and really was, so very different from Hutchins, to whom 
 Miss Davenne never could have looked as a resource. 
 
 Speranza at last made her appearance, and went quietly 
 to take her usual seat by the foot of the bed. Lucy, on 
 looking at her, saw traces of tears in her eyes, and said, 
 "You have been crying, Speranza — tell me what is the mat- 
 ter." Speranza attempted a faint denial with her hand, — 
 her heart, poor thing, was so full, that any effort at speak- 
 ing would have made it overflow — and bent her head lower 
 over her distaff. 
 
 "Come and speak to me," said Lucy, and drawing her 
 gently down towards herself, she asked in her sweetest tone, 
 "What ails you, my poor girl?" Lucy's tender voice went 
 straight to the poor peasant's heart, who, unable to control 
 herself any longer, hid her face in Lucy's bosom, and burst 
 into a passion of tears and sobs. "Pray, tell me what is the 
 matter, perhaps I can help you," insisted Lucy, kissing Spe- 
 ranza's head, and crying herself by way of comforting her. 
 
 "Thank you, madam," sobbed the girl, "God will reward 
 you for your pity — for me— but my sorrow — is past help;" 
 and saying so she drew a letter out of her pocket, put it into 
 Lucy's hand, then seating herself again on her stool, covered 
 her head with her apron, and began rocking herself to and 
 fro, with little moans expressive of intense anguish. The 
 letter, written in a neat clear hand, was dated " Genoa," and 
 signed "Battista," in huge, rather primitive characters. It 
 ran thus; — 
 
SPERANZA. 125 
 
 "My good Speranza,— My case was brought yesterday 
 before the Council of Revision, and I gave in my certificates, 
 I mean the Mayor of Bordighera's letter, and the one you 
 sent me from the Cure. The officer who read the letters, 
 and had the talk all to himself, said they were stuff and non- 
 sense, and that I might thank the Council for not declaring 
 me contumacious— I think that's the word— and punishing 
 me as such. Then they wrote down my name in what is 
 called the Roll-book. So it is all over with me now, I am 
 regularly entered for four years as a sailor in the king's 
 service. If I had come fairly by it I should not mind. I 
 might say to you, * You are young, and so am I. Four years 
 come to an end some day;— wait for me.' But I have been 
 hardly used, and not a bit of justice in it, and so they shall 
 find me a bad bargain, I can tell them. I'll give his Majesty 
 the slip the very first opportunity, and try my fortune in 
 some better country, where there is justice for the poor as 
 well as rich; so you need not think of me any more, unless 
 you choose to think of me as a departed friend, for such I 
 am and shall be to the last. If I were to tell you that my 
 heart is fairly broken, it would serve no purpose but to 
 make your sorrow greater, so I sha'n't say anything of the 
 kind, only good-bye on this side of the grave. I have tried 
 hard to be a good son, and live in the fear of God and of 
 the Madonna Santissima. What good has it done me? I 
 have more than a mind to take to swearing, and drinking, 
 and fighting, like most of my messmates, who seem never 
 the worse for it, but rather the better. It's of no use writing 
 any more,— so God bless you, as I do from my innermost 
 heart; and do not forget me in your prayers, and think 
 sometimes of your unfortunate — Battista. 
 
 "P.S. — My duty to dear, dear mother Rosa, and to kind 
 Doctor Antonio. I meant to have sent you the lock of hair 
 you gave me on the evening before my first voyage to Mar- 
 seilles, and the ring we exchanged in the chapel of the Ma- 
 donna of Lampedusa. But I can't part with them,— really I 
 can't." 
 
126 DOCTOR ANTONIO. 
 
 Lucy wiped her eyes as she gave back the letter to Spe- 
 ranza, who had never ceased her moans, and swaying to 
 and fro. 
 
 Now, though explicit enough in the main, Battista's 
 epistle left many minor points obscure, which the warm- 
 hearted English girl, with a true woman's interest in a love 
 story, wished to have explained. This desire led to a string 
 of questions from the one and answers from the other, these 
 last interspersed by sobs and tears, which, though adding 
 to their pathos, rather interfered with their clearness. It is 
 out of these answers, only put in some better order, that we 
 are going to extract Speranza's little story, leaving it, how- 
 ever, entirely in her own mouth, lest by telHng it ourselves 
 we should do what Antonio was afraid of doing, and would 
 not do— that is, spoil its simplicity. 
 
 "Battista," began Speranza, "was the only son of a poor 
 woman, who was always called * Widow Susan,' though her 
 man was still alive; but he had deserted her when Battista 
 was only two years old, and had gone to France, and settled 
 there. As Widow Susan hved next door to us— that was long 
 before we kept this Osteria— Battista and I were almost as 
 much together as if we had been brother and sister, and 
 when we were neither of us as high as that" — and the giri 
 pointed to a table — "he never called me by any name but 
 kittle wife,' and I always called him ^my little man.' Every 
 Sunday, after vespers, Battista would wait for me at the 
 church door to go home with me, and never spoke to any 
 girl but me, though he was spoken to often enough — for, 
 though I say it, it is true, madam, he was the handsomest 
 boy in the parish. When I grew older, and began to go to 
 the wood, Battista was sure to come and meet me half-way, 
 and carry my bundle for me. And so it came about that it 
 was as good as settled, and everybody in Bordighera, and 
 we most of all, took it for granted, that, as soon as we were 
 old enough, we should be married; though neither father, 
 nor mother, nor Widow Susan, had ever said a word about 
 the matter, Battista had a great liking for the sea, and would 
 
SPERANZA. 1 27 
 
 fain have gone to see the world, and make some money for 
 me, but he was too good a son to think of leaving his poor 
 dear mother, who had no support but him, and so he stayed 
 at home, and turned fisherman; and it was a real pride, 
 madam," — and Speranza's cheek flushed, — "to see how he 
 managed his boat. He was the smartest and best of all our 
 boatmen, and everybody said so. 
 
 "Year after year passed, bringing no change, till this 
 house was set up for sale, and my father, who had long taken 
 a fancy to it, agreed for the purchase, and we came to live 
 here. My father, whose health was failing fast, had it in his 
 mind that the air of this place, not so sharp as at Bordighera, 
 would do him a deal of good. So we settled here, and father 
 one evening— I remember it as if it was yesterday — said to 
 Battista, *As this house is to be yours one day, I mean when 
 you and Speranza are man and wife, I expect you to lend a 
 hand towards paying the price of it; for I must tell you that 
 all my little savings have gone at once in the first install 
 ment, and there are three more of them owing, one each 
 year for three years running, and we cannot expect to get 
 the money for these payments, and enough to keep us too, 
 out of the produce of the land and the custom of the house. 
 So, my lad, go to work, with God's blessing, as hard as you 
 can, and make money. Widow Susan shall come and live 
 with us while you are away; so your mind may be at rest 
 about her.' 
 
 "Battista was quite overjoyed at this arrangement and 
 at my father's talking to him in this way, because it made 
 him quite sure of being one day his son. He made no delay, 
 but set off at once to Nice, where he engaged himself on 
 board a trading vessel bound to Genoa, went from thence 
 to Leghorn and then to Marseilles, and as far away as Cette, 
 and to many other places; and whenever he came home, 
 which he did three or four times in the first two years that 
 he spent at sea, he always brought some little comfort for 
 his mother, and something curious or fine for me, and a 
 
128 DOCTOR ANTONIO. 
 
 little money for father; but it was very little, because Bat- 
 tista's wages were very scanty. 
 
 "One day my father said to Battista, *At this rate it will 
 take us ten years to pay for this place. I had to borrow 
 money for the second payment, and now the third is almost 
 due. How am I to manage?' Battista said, that if it hadn't 
 been for the Conscription, which bound a man hand and 
 foot, he knew of a place where he could go and be sure of 
 getting money, and he named it,— a far, far oif place, in a 
 country called Tipodes, that the schoolmaster said was on 
 the other side of the earth, below our feet. But Battista, 
 who has been there since, says it is all nonsense; for if it was 
 so, how could people stand on their feet? and yet they do." 
 And Speranza looked up at Lucy as if she had uttered an 
 unanswerable argument. 
 
 "That is not quite a proof," said Lucy, smiling; "but we 
 will talk of that another time. Go on with your story now." 
 
 "Well, then," pursued Speranza — "'But,' said father 
 to Battista, 'you can't be taken, you know, because you are 
 all the same as the only son of a widow.' " 
 
 "*So I am,' said Battista; 'still I must attend and draw 
 out a number, as it seems, at least I was told that such was 
 the law, when I went for my papers at Genoa.' " 
 
 " *Ah!' says father, 'they are always plaguing poor folks 
 with their law. Well, never mind, it's only three months to 
 wait; who knows, you may draw a good number, and that 
 will set it all right.' " 
 
 " 'Please God it be so,' " said Battista. 
 
 "God was good to us, madam, for, when the time came, 
 Battista's number was one of the highest, and he had not to 
 be marched away. He was not present at the drawing, 
 which took place at Nice; but that did not signify, the gentle- 
 men of the board drew for the young men who were absent. 
 As soon as his good luck was known at Bordighera, the 
 mayor wrote him a letter to Genoa, where Battista had gone 
 a trip,— a beautiful letter it was,— to give him the happy 
 news; and with this letter in hand, Battista got leave to go 
 
SPERANZA. 129 
 
 where he pleased, and all the papers he wanted, and he 
 sailed away for that far, far off place. 
 
 "From that day we had nothing but misfortunes. Widow 
 Susan fell ill of a fever, and, in spite of Doctor Antonio's 
 care, died within a month. I was so broken-hearted at this 
 unexpected loss, and at having to break the sad news to 
 Battista, — he had made me promise to let him know any- 
 thing, good or bad, that might happen to his mother,— and 
 withal so worn out with sitting up night after night with 
 Widow Susan, that I fell ill myself next, and was in bed for 
 six weeks, and should never have got up again but for Doctor 
 Antonio. I was just beginning to crawl about when, one 
 morning, the mayor called here, and said that Battista's 
 case was not so clear as he had thought at first, and that 
 Battista must go and pass before that Council of Revision, 
 which has taken him now, and that if he did not go he 
 would be breaking the law. In a few days more a paper 
 was posted up at the town-hall, and another at our house, 
 where Battista's poor mother had lived last, summoning 
 him to appear at a short notice. Now, there was no sense 
 in this, for had not the mayor himself put it as plain as 
 pen, ink, and paper could make it, that Battista could not 
 be taken? and then how could he answer the summons, 
 when he was a three months' voyage off, as everybody 
 knew? 
 
 "Oh no!'' continued Speranza, in a voice full of indigna- 
 "tion, "all this was done to throw the blame of having dis- 
 obeyed the law upon the poor lad; and who could have an 
 interest in making him appear in the wrong, but the Com- 
 mandant of San Remo?" 
 
 "How the Commandant of San Remo?" asked Lucy, in 
 surprise. 
 
 "You must know," went on Speranza, "that this Com- 
 mandant had an old spite at Battista, and this is how it was. 
 Once the Commandant sent to desire Battista to get him 
 some fine fish, as he was going to give a grand dinner to the 
 Governor of Nice. Battista caught a beautiful San Pietro, 
 
 Doctor Antonio. 9 
 
130 DOCTOR ANTONIO. 
 
 (John Dory,) and took it to the Commandant's palazzo, ex- 
 pecting to be praised, and to have a good price for it. But 
 he was offered just half its worth, and that put him in a 
 passion after all the trouble he had taken, and he said he 
 would rather throw it back into the sea than give it for less 
 than its value; and so he did, and the grand dinner turned 
 out all wrong, because of there being no fish. When the 
 Commandant heard the reason, he was terribly angry, and 
 swore that sooner or later he would make Battista pay for it. 
 We could not help feeling for Battista, but all the same — 
 we scolded him well for getting into such a scrape. Just 
 fancy a poor fisherman presuming to stand against the 
 greatest man in the province — a military man, too, used to 
 have his own way and to make everybody tremble. Every 
 one said that the Commandant would be as good as his 
 word, and so it proved. 
 
 "Time went by, and very hard time it was, and we had 
 no tidings of Battista. What we earned by keeping the inn 
 was very little indeed. Father was going fast, and his 
 temper waxed sourer every day, and he never ceased moan- 
 ing and complaining about his health, and at no news from 
 Battista, and worrying about his debts, and this and that, 
 till the customers grew weary of him, and fell off one by 
 one. The little we made went in soup, and good meat, 
 and wine for the poor old man, who was ill of a bird in the 
 stomach — " 
 
 "Of what?" exclaimed Lucy. 
 
 "A bird, madam, which ate everything he swallowed; 
 ask Doctor Antonio, madam, he will tell you what I mean. 
 We were so poor now, that often I had to go twice a day to 
 the wood, and after all, I earned only enough to pay for a 
 bit of meat, or a bottle of wine for father. If it had not 
 been for Doctor Antonio, who helped us in many a way, and 
 was like a guardian angel hovering over us, I don't think we 
 could have got on at all. At last, after sixteen months of 
 this life, a letter came from Battista. It was sad, for, poor 
 fellow! he knew, by the time it was written, of his mother's 
 
SPERANZA. 131 
 
 death, but to us it came like a message from heaven, to bid 
 us keep up our courage. This letter was the first that 
 reached us, but not the first that he had sent. He said that 
 he was well, and had put by already a good round sum of 
 money, and was sure of doubling it in six months more ; but 
 after that he should come home, and we should all be happy 
 together. We wept for joy as we read it. Father, who was 
 in bed in a very low way, joined his hands and said, *Now, 
 my God, take me when it is thy will; I am ready to go, for 
 my child will not be left destitute.' A week after," con- 
 tinued Speranza, wiping her eyes, "we carried the dear old 
 man to the burying-ground. 
 
 "Ah! madam, we reckoned the days as a man condemned 
 to death counts the hours he has to live. Six months went 
 by, then seven, eight, nine, ten, and no Battista. It was 
 one stormy evening last March; mother and I were sitting 
 sorrowfully in the dark, to spare oil— our little provision was 
 almost gone, and we had no money to buy any — the wind 
 was howhng, and the sea roaring like a wild beast, and I was 
 thinking of poor sailors at sea, when all at once I heard a 
 step crossing the garden — my heart jumped up to my throat, 
 and I rushed half crazy to the door. It was he — I knew his 
 step, I was in his arms once more. Oh ! the blessed moment ! 
 All my troubles were forgotten, all my misery was gone, for 
 he had come back, he was there,— he, Battista. Oh ! why 
 did God give me this Httle look of heaven to make me feel 
 the loss of it more bitterly. Mother and I were mad with 
 joy, but it did not last long. As soon as the lamp was 
 hghted we saw a world of sorrow in poor Battista's face, he 
 was so worn and pale; his eyes were sunken, his cheeks 
 quite hollow. He had his right arm tied up in a handker- 
 chief. ^What is the matter?' asked I, all in a shake. *We 
 have been shipwrecked,' he said, *all hands drowned, poor 
 fellows, except another and myself, and everything I had on 
 earth gone!' and as he spoke these words, he fell a crying. 
 I thought, I did indeed, that my heart was going to split in 
 two. I undid the handkerchief; there was a great gash 
 
 9* 
 
i^2 DOCTOR ANTONIO. 
 
 across the hand. Mother went to fetch Doctor Antonio— I 
 was too sick to move — and brought him back with her. As 
 soon as I heard the Doctor's voice I felt comforted, for I 
 said to myself, He will help us. The voice of a friend is 
 very sweet in sorrow, dear lady," said the poor creature, 
 trying hard to keep down her tears. "Doctor Antonio 
 dressed the wound, and began at once to cheer us by say- 
 ing, that we ought to be thankful for the good left us — what 
 if Battista had been drowned with the others? — that money, 
 after all, was not happiness ; that Battista and I were young 
 and strong; and that, as he had lost his money, we must 
 work the harder, and bless God that we were spared to one 
 another. And as I listened to these good words the sick- 
 ness left my heart. The Doctor sat down with us, and then 
 Battista told us all about the shipwreck; how the vessel had 
 struck on a sunken rock close in to the coast of Corsica — 
 almost in sight of home! — and gone down in a minute; how 
 he and one of his shipmates had been picked up by a French 
 ship going to Marseilles, and he had made his way on foot 
 from thence to Bordighera. We sat long, and talked and 
 talked over the past, and of poor dear father, and poor dear 
 Widow Susan, and made plans for the future; and when we 
 separated, we did so with light hearts — for, after all, was he 
 not spared to me, and I to him? As it was now long after 
 midnight, and Battista would find no house open at that 
 hour. Doctor Antonio took him home to his lodgings for 
 that night. 
 
 "Next morning, I made sure that Battista would be down 
 with us early, so that I wondered very much when eight 
 o'clock came, and still no Battista. But I never supposed 
 that anything was wrong until I saw Doctor Antonio coming 
 alone. As soon as ever he was near enough, I knew by his 
 face that he had bad news for me. The Doctor told me at 
 once that Battista had been summoned to San Remo on that 
 business of the Conscription, and that I must not distress 
 myself, but make ready and go with him and mother to San 
 Remo. He would, he said, see the Commandant, and do his 
 
SPERANZA. 133 
 
 best to right Battista. The Doctor did not tell us then, what 
 we knew very soon afterwards, that two carabineers had 
 been sent from San Remo to fetch Battista; that they had 
 arrested him in the street, put handcuffs on him, and thus 
 paraded him about the town as if he had been a thief or a 
 murderer, and then taken him away in a boat. They said it 
 was law. I don^t think there's much justice in such laws," 
 said Speranza, very sharply. 
 
 "So the Doctor and mother and I went as fast as we 
 could to San Remo, and made first of all for the jail, but as 
 we had no pass, were refused admittance. We next went to 
 the Commandant's, who was busy, we were told, and could 
 see no one. Doctor Antonio insisting, however, he was in- 
 troduced, but he could obtain nothing — not even the per- 
 mission for us to see Battista — only the answer that it was 
 the law, and that the law must be obeyed. After being kept 
 a week in the jail at San Remo— God knows for what reason! 
 — Battista was marched off, under an escort of carabineers, 
 to Genoa, and taken to the dockyard there, out of which he 
 was never allowed to go. Doctor Antonio wrote in his be- 
 half to all his friends at Genoa, even to the British Consul 
 there. The cure gave us a letter, saying how Battista was 
 all the same as fatherless, for his father had deserted him 
 when only two years of age; but nothing availed." 
 
 "And what difference," asked Lucy, "would it have 
 made if his father had really been dead?" 
 
 "Oh, madam, he would not have been taken in the Con- 
 scription. The only son of a widow is exempted from the 
 service. So far the law is merciful to one whose father is 
 dead; and why should it not be so to one whose father is all 
 the same to him as if he was in the churchyard? But what's 
 the use of reasoning about it? the law is too strong for the 
 poor— Battista, as you know, is condemned, and"— (Spe- 
 ranza made a desperate effort to conquer her emotion, and 
 continued slowly and composedly)— "Well, let it be so; I 
 can bear it all without complaining. Everybody is not born 
 to be happy. I am wiUing to offer up my hopes in this 
 
134 DOCTOR ANTONIO. 
 
 world as a sacrifice to the Blessed Virgin, holy mother of 
 sorrows. If it is ordained that I am not to be — Battista's 
 wife, well. I can give him — up on this side of the grave. 
 But I cannot, no" — (she went on with a burst of passion, that 
 made her eyes actually rain tears) — "I cannot bear that he 
 should turn to wickedness; that he who has been such a 
 pattern of goodness should take to breaking God's com- 
 mandments, and that we should be separated in all eternity. 
 That is what wrings my heart and drives me mad. Oh, no, 
 no! that is what God will not let come to pass." 
 
 This was the first view that Lucy had ever had into an 
 aching heart — this was the first time that such things as 
 want, hardship, and anguish, hitherto vague abstractions 
 with her rather than stern realities, had stood up in a living 
 shape, and told their sad tale, and moaned and writhed 
 within her sight and hearing. We leave the reader to 
 imagine how all the holy springs of sympathy and pity 
 heaved in Lucy's gentle bosom, and gushed forth in sooth- 
 ing words and caresses, and earnest promises of assistance. 
 
 "Perhaps you know the king?" said Speranza, all at once 
 raising her head with a flash of hope in her eyes. 
 
 "No," said Lucy; "why do you ask?" 
 
 "Because," said Speranza, "if you could have told him 
 Battista's story, I am sure he would be merciful to us. Oh! 
 if the king could only know, he would be sorry for us. Why 
 should he, so great on his throne, wish poor folks to be 
 wretched?" 
 
 "If we cannot speak to the king," said Lucy, "we can 
 write to him,— I mean, we can send him a memorial on be- 
 half of Battista." 
 
 "That would be of no use," replied the girl, dejectedly. 
 "Memorials sent by poor people never reach the king; the 
 bad counsellors stop them." 
 
 "But, perhaps," insisted Lucy, "we can find somebody 
 who will promise to put the memorial into the king's own 
 hands." 
 
 Speranza shook her head despondingly. It was plain 
 
SPERANZA. I30 
 
 that she had as bad an opinion of memorials as Doctor 
 Antonio. 
 
 "We shall find some way, depend upon it," continued 
 Lucy; "I will ask Doctor Antonio what to do." Both girls 
 brightened up at this. Evidently Speranza's faith was greater 
 in Doctor Antonio than in the memorial. 
 
 Lucy thought long over Speranza's story, wishing that 
 the morrow were come, that she might ask the Doctor how 
 best to help her protegee ; and then she fell to musing with 
 particular complacency on the part he had played in the 
 Httle drama. Nor, it must be confessed, did she consider 
 the Itahan girl's enthusiastic expression of his having been 
 hke a guardian angel, either exaggerated or misplaced. 
 The man seemed born to do good. For, had she not heard, 
 did she not know from her own experience, that wherever 
 there was sickness or sorrow, tears to dry, or sinking hearts 
 to raise, there he was to be found, cheering, sustaining, 
 ministering in many a way? And now a glimmering light 
 dawned on Lucy's understanding, by which she began to 
 perceive how a superior man like Doctor Antonio might be 
 reconciled to his present lot; nay, she even felt disposed to 
 think highly of that humble sphere into which fate had 
 jostled him,— a sphere, she saw, teeming with misery, op- 
 pression, and injustice, and therefore calculated to draw 
 forth all the energy and chivalrous kindness of his nature. 
 
 Lucy very soon lost herself in an inextricable labyrinth 
 of speculation and argument, into which we need not follow 
 her, but which interested her far more than Manzoni or the 
 guitar, and brought her on to the end of the day less dis- 
 agreeably than she had expected. Sir John, also, when he 
 came to see her in the evening, looked more serene and 
 cheerful than he had done since they had taken up their 
 abode in the Osteria, — a serenity and cheerfulness partly 
 attributed by Lucy to the Doctor's considerate step in the 
 morning; but as Sir John was very loud in his praises of the 
 Bishop of Albenga's former cook, we are inclined to believe 
 
136 DOCTOR ANTONIO. 
 
 that the dinner he had eaten had more to do with his present 
 optimism than Doctor Antonio. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 Lucy's Scheme. 
 
 When Lucy awoke next morning, she discovered that all 
 was right again with the sky and the sea, and that the birds' 
 song was wondrously sweet. The breakfast tray had just 
 been removed, when the well-known step, so quick yet so 
 firm, the step that she could have singled out from among 
 ten thousand others, made itself heard. Lucy wondered 
 why her heart gave just such a bound asSperanza had spoken 
 of, when describing her recognition of Battista's footstep in 
 the garden. 
 
 Another moment and here was Doctor Antonio, erect, 
 and gentle, and smiling, as was his wont, radiating bene- 
 volence, so to say, from every pore. Here he was, all 
 covered with dust, and looking none the worse for it in 
 Lucy's eyes, for that dust betokened some impatience and 
 eagerness to see her again. 
 
 "A prize patient," he began, "who has slept soundly, for 
 she looks well — see , I have worked hard for you this morn- 
 ing," and he showered down a quantity of aromatic wild 
 plants; "here's thyme, lavender, and rosemary, and sweet- 
 briar, enough to put the best perfumer's shop to the blush. 
 You ought to tell Hutchins to make sachets of them. There's 
 no patchoulis or musk can compete with these." 
 
 "Thank you, thank you," said Lucy; "how fresh they 
 smell! they make me think of green hillsides." 
 
 "If you do as I advise you," said Antonio, "they will 
 serve some day, when you are far, far away, to make you 
 think of our poor Riviera." 
 
 "Do not talk to me about going away. Doctor Antonio. 
 I have grown so fond of this ugly old house, that I shall try 
 and persuade papa to buy it, and make it into a beautiful 
 
Lucy's scheme. 137 
 
 cottage. Should you be sorry to have us for neighbours?" 
 The arch look in her face softened into a smile, that Doctor 
 Antonio's eye met rather gravely, yet lingered on. 
 
 "Now, Doctor Antonio, come and sit down by me, and 
 do not expect to get away for two hours, at least. I have 
 so many things to tell you, so many things to ask you." 
 
 Antonio complied, and Lucy then, with a somewhat im- 
 portant air, began: "Speranza told me yesterday everything 
 about herself and Battista." 
 
 "I know she did, and I am glad of it. You have raised 
 her spirits, and she looks less unhappy already. I have this 
 moment read poor Battista's letter." 
 
 "We must help them," said Lucy, eagerly; "and you 
 must advise me what to do. All Speranza told me is true, is 
 it not, and Battista is really a good man?" 
 
 "Yes," said Antonio, "he is an excellent lad, what we 
 Italians call di huona pasta, quiet and simple, insomuch that 
 I have sometimes wondered how such a lively and clever 
 girl as Speranza, became so strongly attached to him; folly, 
 after all, to wonder at such things. Suffice to say, that all 
 Bordighera is unanimous in speaking well of the unlucky 
 fellow, — and praising one's neighbour, you know, is not the 
 distinguishing virtue of small places. As to the accuracy of 
 Speranza's statements, of that I am not quite so sure. Not 
 that I mean that Speranza deceived you wilfully— she is in- 
 capable of that; but she and Rosa, and Battista himself, and 
 indeed, I may say, nine-tenths of the inhabitants of Bordi- 
 ghera, entertain certain false notions of their own on this 
 case , which nothing you can say will ever put out of their 
 heads ; and naturally, Speranza cannot but have given you 
 her own erroneous impressions. An article of faith with 
 them all is, first, that Battista's mother, owing to her having 
 been deserted by her husband, was to be considered a widow 
 — in fact, they always called her Widow Susan — and Battista 
 consequently a widow's son. Now this may be to a certain 
 extent in the spirit, but does not come at all within the letter 
 of the law. Secondly, they all believe that the Mayor of 
 
138 DOCTOR ANTONIO. 
 
 Bordighera's letter, purporting that Battista was not to 
 march, constitutes in Battista's favour an official title, in 
 right of which he ought at all events to be exempted from 
 the service. And in this also they are mistaken. The 
 Mayor's letter was nothing but the expression of an indivi- 
 dual opinion, an act of kindness, and of no legal value what- 
 ever. Battista's case stands thus. He drew a number, or to 
 speak more correctly, a number was drawn for him, suf- 
 ficiently high, it was thought, to insure his not being drafted 
 away, but which ultimately proved not so.^* 
 Lucy looked as if she did not understand, 
 "Suppose," exclaimed Antonio, "that the province to 
 which Bordighera belongs, be called upon to furnish ten 
 young men for the navy — very well — the lad who draws 
 number * twenty' is considered to be, and in all probability 
 is safe. It nevertheless occasionally happens, that out of 
 the ten who have drawn low numbers, say from i to 10, and 
 are consequently those who by right would have to serve, 
 one or two are not of the regulation size, one or two more 
 have settled abroad, and are not forthcoming, some others 
 are able to prove that they are among the exceptions re- 
 cognised by the law, and so on. What is the natural con- 
 sequence?— for, when the Government says, I want ten men, 
 ten men must be found one way or the other — the natural 
 consequence is, that those who have high numbers are sub- 
 stituted for the ineligible, or missing low numbers. This 
 was poor Battista's case; and though at first no one doubted 
 but that his high number would secure him from being 
 taken, yet from the unprecedented exemptions and ex- 
 clusions that took place in the class to which he belonged, it 
 turned out that every one, the Mayor among others, was 
 mistaken." 
 
 "I see it all now," said Lucy, "and judging from what 
 you have just said, I fancy that the charge Speranza brings 
 against the Commandant of San Remo, of having, out of 
 revenge, caused Battista's misfortune, has no ground but in 
 her imagination." 
 
Lucy's scheme. 139 
 
 "I am inclined to think so," answered Antonio; "that 
 much partiality and injustice is shown, in general, by worthy 
 Commandants in this matter of the Conscription, as in most 
 others, is a fact of notoriety beyond all doubt, and which 
 explains the preconceptions entertained on this head by 
 Speranza and Co. The Commandants are too often disposed 
 to abuse their power. But nothing in the particular case of 
 which we are speaking, has come to my knowledge which 
 entitles me to say that Battista's difficulties are in any way 
 to be laid at the door of the Commandant of San Remo. 
 Let us try and be just even to our adversaries." 
 
 "Is this Commandant hostile to you?" asked Lucy, in 
 some little alarm. 
 
 "Oh, not at all! though I may be dubious as to his 
 private sentiments being over-friendly, we are to all ap- 
 pearance on excellent terms. I will tell you one day to what 
 I am indebted for this show of good-will. When I called 
 him my adversary, I meant in a political point of view. He 
 is of course a most violent partisan of pure depotism, in- 
 deed one of the fiercest I ever met with. He foams at the 
 mouth when he speaks of the Liberals; he would willingly 
 hang the last of them with his own hands." 
 
 "What a monster!" exclaimed Lucy. 
 
 "But if I acquit him," pursued Antonio, "on the ground 
 of conspiracy against Battista, I have no words to express 
 my indignation at the gratuitously harsh, nay barbarous 
 manner, and for that I hold him responsible, with which he 
 had the law enforced — a law pressing hard enough upon 
 the poor without need of aggravation. What reason could 
 there be for keeping the poor fellow a week in the jail of 
 San Remo, denying him even the comfort of seeing those 
 two poor women, and sending him with a guard of cara- 
 bineers to Genoa, like a malefactor, unless it was to gratify 
 an old grudge?" 
 
 "How very cruel!" said Lucy, with flashing eyes. 
 "Surely if such conduct were made pubhc, or the people of 
 
I^O DOCTOR ANTONIO. 
 
 the town were to petition the Goverment, he would be at 
 once removed." 
 
 "You forget that we are in Italy," said Antonio, with a 
 sad smile. "Such conduct is public. The Commandants, 
 my dear Miss Davenne, are but the expression of the spirit 
 of the Government, and, as such, supported and backed by 
 it to the utmost. What do you imagine would be the result 
 of such a petition as you suggest? Why, it would be sent 
 back to the Commandant himself, and then the petitioners 
 might look to themselves." 
 
 "Why, what could he do to them?" asked Lucy. 
 
 "Ask rather what he could not. He could do anything 
 he chose. We are all at his mercy. He can arbitrarily sum- 
 mon any one to his presence, load him with abuse, consign 
 him to prison, or march him away to a fortress, without trial 
 or legal form of any kind; — he can order the shop of one 
 tradesman to be closed, the license of another to be with- 
 drawn;— he can, by sending two hnes to Turin, have me dis- 
 missed from the appointment I hold, and expelled from the 
 kingdom; — he can stick a hat on a pole, and Gessler-like, 
 command every one that passes to bow to it. If he does 
 not do this, it is not that he lacks the power, but that the 
 idea does not come into his head." 
 
 "But you describe a state of things quite intolerable," 
 said Lucy. 
 
 "Intolerable is the word," went on Antonio, "at least for 
 thinking people. The unthinking, who constitute the majo- 
 rity everywhere, feel it less. The obscurity of the greater 
 number screens them, to some extent, from annoyance, and 
 res angusta domi, with the cares it entails, engrosses most of 
 them too much to allow of time or disposition to think of 
 anything but their individual concerns; then the priests 
 assert that it is all right. But we are wandering far from 
 Battista." 
 
 "Yes, indeed," smiled Lucy, "we were quite forgetting 
 him. Now, give me your advice, or rather tell me how I can 
 best help him." 
 
Lucy's scheme. 141 
 
 "Alas!" said Antonio, "I see no way but one." 
 
 "And what is that?" inquired Lucy, finding Doctor 
 Antonio stop short. 
 
 "To provide a substitute for him," said he. 
 
 "You mean paying some one to serve inBattista's place?" 
 
 "Just so; but that is quite out of the question." 
 
 "Why out of the question? Will it cost so very much? 
 I will do it if I can," said the eager girl. "Now, Doctor An- 
 tonio, what have I said to make you open your eyes so wide, 
 and look so astonished?" 
 
 "I confess that your kindness and generosity take me a 
 little by surprise." 
 
 "O Doctor Antonio, Doctor Antonio, what a bad compli- 
 ment!" said Lucy, shaking her head. "Have we not often 
 agreed that it is the duty of the rich to help the poor?" 
 
 "So it is," said Antonio, recovering his sedateness. 
 "Thank Heaven, there exists a better order of beings, for 
 whom doing good is a necessity of their nature." 
 
 "That is just what I thought of you many a time, and I 
 have a right to think so," said Lucy, with a playfulness that 
 struggled with the tears that would start into her eyes; "and 
 you have no right to say me nay. Do you think," she went 
 on quickly, "that it would be difficult to find this sub- 
 stitute?" 
 
 "I cannot be sure; but I hope not. I heard a short while 
 ago of a seaman of Spedaletti, a village close by, whose 
 time had expired, and who was said to be anxious to re- 
 enter the service." 
 
 "Would he require a large sum to take Battista's place?" 
 
 "I should say from fifteen to eighteen hundred francs." 
 
 "And how much is that in English money?" 
 
 "From sixty to seventy-two pounds." 
 
 "That is not so very much," said Lucy; "I do not think 
 that I have it actually in my purse; but I can afford the 
 sum." 
 
 Hutchins was desired to bring Miss Davenne's desk ; and 
 upon examination of the state of the exchequer, the balance 
 
142 DOCTOR ANTONIO. 
 
 was found to be thirty pounds, seventeen shillings, and some 
 pence. "I will ask papa for the rest," said the young lady; 
 "the Avhole sum shall be ready to-morrow. Will you set 
 about this matter directly, so as not to lose another day?" 
 
 "Most willingly," was Antonio's answer. "My first step 
 shall be to find out the man that was mentioned to me. If 
 he be really willing to re-enter the service, we will despatch 
 him immediately to Genoa, with fifty francs for his travelling 
 expenses. The rest of the sum we agree to give can be 
 deposited in the hands of some person at Genoa, the British 
 Consul for instance, to be paid over when the exchange 
 is effected. You must make up your mind to some delay 
 ere this can take place. There are hosts of formalities to 
 be complied with in this as in any other affair. But not a 
 word to Speranza; we must have a care how we raise her 
 hopes, for were our scheme to fail, we should have only 
 prepared too bitter a disappointment for her." 
 
 " Then you think there is a chance of our not succeed- 
 ing?" inquired Lucy, with a blank face. 
 
 "Yes," rephed Antonio; "should the Commandant get 
 scent of our plan, and take it into his head to oppose us, we 
 should infallibly be defeated. We have therefore to act 
 with the greatest caution." 
 
 How sweet to Lucy's ears sounded the words our scheme, 
 we must do this or that! How pleasant it was to have an in- 
 terest in common with that kindest of doctors ! 
 
 "When the right time comes, I shall have to lecture both 
 Battista and the substitute on the danger of any imprudent 
 talking," said Antonio; "in the meanwhile, I must write a 
 word of encouragement to the lad. I will do so this very 
 day." 
 
 "Thank you," said Lucy; and seeing that the Doctor was 
 about to rise, she added, "I have not done yet. Doctor An- 
 tonio; I want to know what was that far, far off place to 
 which Battista went?" 
 
 "Sydney," said the Doctor, "m tlie country of Tipodes ^'^ 
 and he laughed outright. 
 
LUCYS SCHEME. 1 43 
 
 "And of what complaint did Speranza's father die?" 
 
 "Of a complaint of which you never would remember the 
 hard scientific name; one that prevents the stomach from 
 assimilating any nutriment. As sufferers from this disease 
 are always craving for food, and yet grow thinner every day, 
 the good folks of these parts have settled it, that it is a beast 
 or bird in their stomach that devours all they eat. Did not 
 Speranza tell you as much?" 
 
 "She did, in fact; and, pray," continued Lucy, "what 
 does 'going to the wood* mean? Speranza spoke of it so 
 often." 
 
 "Almost all our parishes," explained Antonio, "possess 
 some woods of their own, which are a great help to poor 
 families, who draw from them not only the fuel and fodder 
 they require for their use, but reahze a little money, by sup- 
 plying these two necessaries to their more affluent neigh- 
 bours. This hard work of going to the wood devolves ex- 
 clusively on women; it is, however, the only severe labour 
 to which they are subjected. It is usual for the wives and 
 daughters of poor peasants to start as early as one or two 
 in the morning for the wood, which is often a two or three 
 hours' walk from where they live, so as to be back by ten 
 o'clock, in time to prepare the family dinner, after earning 
 fivepence or sixpence— a pittance equal to the wages paid 
 for a woman's whole day's out-of-door work. There are 
 some girls — and these are always pointed out with admira- 
 tion — who manage to go to the wood twice a day. This, 
 and the gathering of olives in the season, constitute the 
 chief occupation and resource of the women here; and it is 
 to the want of sleep, and excessive fatigue consequent on 
 this going to the wood, that I ascribe the fact of many of 
 them looking so worn and old before their time." 
 
 "And," asked Lucy, "this Madonna of Lampedusa 
 alluded to in Battista's letter?" 
 
 "It is a sanctuary," answered Antonio, "held in high 
 veneration, and much resorted to by our simple people on 
 account of an image of our Lady enshrined there, and which, 
 
144 DOCTOR ANTONIO. 
 
 as the story goes, was miraculously brought to these shores 
 from Lampedusa, a little island to the south of Sicily. It is 
 a place worth visiting: the chapel is built on a projecting 
 rock, half-way up a steep mountain, and the view from it is 
 magnificent." 
 
 "I should like to see it," said Lucy. 
 
 "Nothing easier, when you are able to go out; the dis- 
 tance is not great, four hours would take you there. Several 
 rooms are attached to the establishment for the accommoda- 
 tion of visitors and invalids, who are often sent to benefit by 
 the air, which has a reputation for particular salubrity." 
 
 "Have you ever been there yourself?" 
 
 "Many a time. It is only an hour's walk from Taggia — 
 a curious small town about two miles inland, three hours' 
 drive from this, and where I was yesterday. By the by, I 
 made a sketch of it for you. Where is it now? I put it some- 
 where—ah ! here it is in my hat." 
 
 "How well it is done!" exclaimed Lucy; "I was sure you 
 could draw, from the way you spoke of scenery. What a 
 pretty place this Taggia must be, stretching so gracefully up 
 the side of the hill!" 
 
 "I am glad you admire it— the place, I mean, not the 
 sketch. I hope to see you do it more justice yourself— some 
 day. But I must go now, or I shall be too late to send off a 
 letter to Battista. A revoirT 
 
 In crossing the garden Antonio met Sir John, and stopped 
 to tell him that the arm-chair he had planned would be ready 
 in a few days, and that the person who was to make it had 
 pronounced that it would answer the purpose. Sir John 
 reiterated his thanks, and then condescended to inquire after 
 the postboy — an inquiry always made when Sir John wished 
 to be particularly civil to Doctor Antonio. Prospero was a 
 sort of neutral ground, on which the belligerent powers met 
 in courteous truce. Prospero, said Antonio, had just crawled 
 out of bed, but was as yet unfit for work in any shape. Would 
 Doctor Antonio be so obliging, requested Sir John, as to in- 
 form that unlucky person, that, in consideration of the good 
 
LUCY^S SCHEME. I45 
 
 character given him by Doctor Antonio, he, Sir John, had 
 made up his mind to take no further notice of the deplorable 
 affair in which the postboy had played so conspicuous a 
 part? Antonio did his best to acknowledge the compliment 
 to himself couched in Sir John's words, and said how glad 
 he was to be intrusted with so kind and cheering a message 
 for his patient. Upon which the two gentlemen separated, 
 much satisfied with each other. 
 
 In the evening Lucy gave her father an outline of poor 
 Battista's story, telling of his present sad plight, and winding 
 up with a demand of some money to help him. The demand 
 was immediately acceded to, Sir John being really as generous 
 as he was rich; indeed, he seldom grudged money to any- 
 body, least of all to this pet daughter. The grant of money 
 was not all that Lucy received from her excellent father — 
 it came accompanied by a large amount of advice, the 
 essence of which was, that she ought to make further in- 
 vestigations into the man's real character in order to ascer- 
 tain that he deserved her kindness; for who knew, said 
 Sir John, that he might not be one of those bloodthirsty 
 Republicans, never content but when in open defiance of all 
 lawful authority, of whom they had heard so much when at 
 Rome ! How on earth came Sir John, apropos of Battista, to 
 start off upon the scent of Republicanism! The fault was 
 Lucy's, who, in her hot haste to vindicate her new protege, 
 had ventured on dangerous ground, and stumbled against 
 some of the steel traps that beset her father's intellectual 
 premises. Some of his pretty Lucy's assertions hit the Com- 
 mandant of San Remo rather hard, and even seemed to 
 glance at higher quarters. Sir John, knowing himself as 
 most people do know themselves, thought himself a liberal- 
 minded man, and always open to conviction; but the truth 
 was, that he could not hear any, the slightest animadversion 
 thrown upon any constituted order of Government, or in- 
 deed upon any Government officer, without bristling like a 
 porcupine, and setting up the whole array of fretful quills 
 that guarded his understanding from the intrusion of noveltj^ 
 
 Doctor Antom'o, lO 
 
146 DOCTOR ANTONIO. 
 
 in any shape. His daughter's innuendos startled him the 
 more, as he was unaccustomed to see her take any interest 
 in pohtics, and he began to think that the whole transaction 
 smacked of disaffection. It was accordingly in a tone of 
 voice a pitch higher than he was in the habit of using when 
 speaking to his darling, that he wound up his discourse by 
 saying, "As to those absurd strictures on Government with 
 which you have favoured me, my dear Lucy, let me tell you, 
 and you may tell Doctor Antonio, from whom, I suppose, 
 you gleaned them, that a people in possession of a good 
 municipal system, such as I see in action here, have no one 
 to blame but themselves, if such occasional grievances, as 
 all communities are liable to, are not redressed in good 
 time." 
 
 This was one out of a little store of favourite sentences 
 which Sir John kept for effect, and delivered when in a vein 
 of wisdom. What ground he had for believing that the 
 municipal system at work in Bordighera was good, we are 
 at a loss to discover, considering that he had taken no 
 earthly pains to know anything about the matter, unless, 
 indeed, he took it for granted that a system represented by 
 such jolly-looking fellows as the mayor, and some of the 
 councilmen, whom he knew by sight, could be nothing else 
 than wholesome. 
 
 Lucy had winced several times during the evening's con- 
 versation; she, however, remained, after the last speech, 
 humbly silent, a better means perhaps of allaying the 
 irritable susceptibility of her father's feelings, than any 
 answer, even in the soft, low voice she possessed. Neither 
 did she think it necessary to repeat to Doctor Antonio any 
 of Sir John's last evening's harangue, when he came, brisk 
 and cheerful, the next morning, to give her the news she 
 was longing for, that the man he had spoken of was found, 
 and for fourteen hundred francs had agreed to go in the 
 place of Battista, and was positively to set out the following 
 day for Genoa. Lucy's eyes said many more pleasant and 
 grateful things than her words, as she gave into his hand 
 
IN THE BALCONY. 147 
 
 the money, which they decided should be sent to the British 
 Consul at Genoa. They were both very happy, talking over 
 the happiness they were preparing for others, and even Sir 
 John might be satisfied for that day: the Government, in- 
 deed all Governments and municipal systems, were merci- 
 fully forgotten. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 In the Balcony. 
 
 The easy-chair of Antonio's devising at length arrived, 
 and was duly tried by Sir John, who pronounced it to be the 
 paragon of easy-chairs. Sundry other minor preparations 
 connected with the event in contemplation, and among which 
 figured a huge box of drawing materials, supplied from Nice, 
 being completed, on the first day of May about noon. Doctor 
 Antonio entered Miss Davenne's room, and said, "Prepare 
 yourself for a great surprise." 
 
 "What can that be?" asked Lucy; then looking up at 
 him, she seemed to read his face, for her colour rose, and 
 she said, "Am I to get up?" 
 
 "iJraya/" shouted Antonio, "guessed right at first. La 
 lingua iaite dove il dente duole. Yes, you are to get up, but 
 on condition of submitting to a quantity of tiresome warn- 
 ings, directions, and restrictions. You are not allowed to 
 walk, not so much as to put your foot on the ground; it 
 requires another fortnight of absolute repose. You only get 
 up to lie down quietly on that long chair that Rosa and 
 Speranza are bringing in, and are expressly requested to 
 give yourself up passively to them, and to Miss Hutchins, 
 who will dress you. You are not disappointed after all?" 
 he asked anxiously, as he marked the bloom in the fair 
 cheek die away, and the corners of the expressive mouth 
 begin to droop. " I wish that I could let you do more, but I 
 dare not." 
 
 Lucy must have had a harder heart than she had, could 
 
148 DOCTOR ANTONIO. 
 
 she have been proof against the earnest and feeling tone 
 and look of the Italian. The little cloud of annoyance melted 
 into a sunny smile, — "I am very ungrateful," she said, "for- 
 give me;" and she held out her hand to him — such a charm- 
 ing Httle hand, that he felt a terrible inclination to kiss it; 
 he contented himself, however, with holding it for a second 
 within his own. An hour after. Sir John giving a helping 
 hand in great glee, Lucy was wheeled through the glass- 
 door of the lobby to the balcony we have so often mentioned 
 in this our true story, where an awning had been put up to 
 protect her from the sun. 
 
 "How beautiful! how passing beautiful!" exclaimed the 
 girl, her eyes dilating as she looked around. "How could 
 you ever fear, or for a moment think," turning to the Doctor, 
 "that my fancy could go beyond such reality as this? No 
 fancy, not even a poet's, could conjure up, in wildest day- 
 dream, this wondrous beauty." 
 
 "Truth to say," he answered, "I was only a very httle 
 afraid of your being disappointed. Sicilian as I am, and an 
 enthusiast also in my admiration of my native island, yet I 
 own that the scene before us is second to none of the most 
 celebrated in Sicily." 
 
 "What an Eastern look those waving palms give the hill 
 of Bordighera! One might believe one's-self in Asia Minor," 
 said Lucy. 
 
 It was indeed a beauteous scene. In front lay the im- 
 mensity of sea, smooth as glass, and rich with all the hues 
 of a dove's neck, the bright green, the dark purple, the soft 
 ultramarine, the deep blue of a blade of burnished steel, — 
 there glancing in the sun like diamonds, here rippling into 
 a lace-like net of snowy foam. In strong relief against this 
 bright background, stands a group of red-capped, red-belted 
 fishermen, drawing their nets to the shore, and accompany- 
 ing each pull with a plaintive burden, that the echo of the 
 mountain sends softened back. On the right, to the west- 
 ward, the silvery track of the road undulating amid thinly 
 . scattered houses, or clusters of orange and palm trees, leads 
 
IN THE BALCONY. 1 49 
 
 the eye to the promontory of Bordighera, a huge emerald 
 mound which shuts out the horizon, much in the shape of a 
 leviathan couchant, his broad muzzle buried in the waters. 
 Here you have in a small compass, refreshing to behold, 
 every shade of green that can gladden the eye, from the 
 pale grey olive to the dark foliaged cypress, of which one, 
 ever and anon, an isolated sentinel, shoots forth high above 
 the rest. Turfs of feathery palms, their heads tipped by the 
 sun, the lower part in shade, spread their broad branches, 
 like warriors' crests on the top, where the slender silhouette 
 of the towering church spire cuts sharply against the spot- 
 less sky. 
 
 The coast to the east recedes inland with a graceful curve, 
 then with a gentle bend to the south is lost by degrees in 
 the far, far sea. Three headlands arise from this crescent, 
 which so lovingly receives to its embrace a wide expanse of 
 the weary waters ; three headlands of differing aspect and 
 colour, lying one behind the other. The nearest is a bare 
 red rock, so fiery in the sun the eye dares scarcely fix on it; 
 the second, richly wooded, wears on its loftiest ridge a long 
 hamlet, like to a mural crown; the third looks a mere blue 
 mist in the distance, save one white speck. Two bright 
 sails are rounding this last cape. The whole, flooded as it 
 is with light, except where some projecting crag casts its 
 transparent grey shadow, is seen again reversed, and in 
 more faint loveliness, in the watery mirror below. Earth, 
 sea, and sky mingle their different tones, and from their 
 varieties, as from the notes of a rich, full chord, rises one 
 great harmony. Golden atoms are floating in the trans- 
 lucent air, and a halo of mother-of-pearl colour hangs over 
 the sharp outlines of the mountains. 
 
 "There is ample food for your pencil," said Antonio. 
 "A fortnight hence, when you have become intimately 
 acquainted with, and so to say, made your own the various 
 beauties you are now viewing with such restless eyes, you 
 will enjoy them to the full." 
 
 "But I do so already, I assure you," affirmed Lucy. 
 
150 DOCTOR ANTONIO. 
 
 "But will do SO better in a little while," persisted Antonio. 
 "The perception of the beautiful is gradual, and not a light- 
 ning revelation; it requires not only time, but some study. 
 It is with a landscape such as this as with a piece of music, 
 say a symphony. Many a beauty of detail we can make out 
 on a first hearing, but the connecting links between the 
 various passages, their reference to each other, and to the 
 whole, what, in short, constitutes the ensemble of the per- 
 formance, does not seize upon us till after we have heard it 
 repeatedly and attentively." 
 
 "I daresay you are right," said Lucy, who generally 
 thought Antonio right. "I wonder," she went on, "why 
 anything Eastern-looking always takes such a hold on one's 
 fancy. I cannot take my eyes from those palm-trees, they 
 make me think of crusades and knights all mixed up with 
 Scripture stories." 
 
 "Fancy borrows much from memory," said Antonio; 
 "and so looks back to the past. Stories first heard standing 
 at a mother's knee, are never wholly forgotten, — a little 
 spring that never quite dries up in our journey through 
 scorching years." 
 
 "I love this Bordighera!" said Lucy, after a little pause. 
 
 "Beautiful as it is," remarked Antonio, "it robs you of a 
 most extensive and magnificent view of the coast of France." 
 
 "Ido not regret it at all," answered Lucy; "a wide-spread 
 landscape puzzles my attention, and then I never can keep 
 my eye from straining to the horizon. The sea and the 
 heavens are the only large spaces one really enjoys." 
 
 "Very true," said Antonio; "you have the soul of an 
 artist." 
 
 "I wish it were so," said Lucy, shghtly colouring. 
 
 "Now for my duty of cicerone," said the Doctor, good- 
 humouredly. " You see that small village at the foot of the 
 craggy mountain, it is called Spedaletti, and gives its name 
 to the gulf." 
 
 "What an odd name, Spedaletti! it means little hospitals, 
 does it not?" 
 
IN THE BALCONY. I5I 
 
 "Yes. A friend of mine, who prides himself on being 
 somewhat of an antiquarian, pretends to have ascertained 
 the origin of the name. He says, that a ship belonging to 
 the Knights of Rhodes, (some of those you were thinking of 
 just now,) while on a cruise in the Mediterranean, I forget 
 the century, landed some men sick of the plague here, where 
 barracks were erected for their reception; and these same 
 buildings, according to my friend, served as the first nucleus 
 of the present village, which he avers has naturally retained 
 the name of their first destination. To give some weight to 
 my friend's opinion, there are at a little distance the ruins 
 of a chapel called the 'Ruota,' which may or may not be a 
 corruption of Rodi (Rhodes.)" 
 
 "And are there still hospitals there?" Lucy inquired. 
 
 "No; Spedaletti in the present day is exclusively in- 
 habited by the healthy families of very industrious fisher- 
 men, who never want for occupation. Nature, which made 
 this bay so lovely, made it equally safe and trustworthy. 
 Sheltered on the west by the Cape of Bordighera, and on the 
 east by those three headlands, let the sea be ever so high 
 without, within it is comparatively calm, and the fishermen 
 of Spedaletti are out in all weathers." 
 
 "And what is the name of that village perched so boldly 
 on the brow of the second mountain, just above Spedaletti? 
 Has that a story also?" 
 
 "It is appropriately called La Colla (the hill). I doubt 
 whether you will think it interesting to know, of course I do, 
 that while the cholera was raging fearfully at San Remo, 
 which lies at the foot of the other side of the mountain, not 
 one case was heard of at La Colla." 
 
 "Such a thing must have appeared very like a miracle to 
 the inhabitants," observed Lucy. 
 
 "That there was plenty of nonsense talked on the sub- 
 ject, I have not the least doubt. The extremely elevated 
 situation of La Colla accounts very well for its escape. But 
 a more striking and really inexplicable fact is, that the fatal 
 scourge did not get round that second cape, the Cape of 
 
152 DOCTOR ANTONIO. 
 
 San Remo, but leaped at once to Nice, sparing all the inter- 
 mediate tract of country. — Confess," pursued Antonio, smil- 
 ing, "that La Colla seems very matter of fact to you in com- 
 parison with Spedaletti. Knights and the plague take 
 precedence, do they not, of the cholera and doctors?" 
 
 "I will answer you," said Lucy, "in the Irish fashion, by 
 asking another question. Is that white speck gleaming out 
 so brightly on that far away promontory, a convent?" 
 
 "That is another sanctuary, the Madonna della Guardia, 
 a would-be rival of that of Lampedusa, but beaten hollow 
 by the latter." 
 
 "Are all sanctuaries then dedicated to the Madonna?" 
 
 "Almost all. The Madonna is the great passion of our 
 people. To me, I openly avow, there is something extremely 
 touching in this, call it superstition if you like, which deifies 
 woman, and makes of her the channel through which com- 
 passion and mercy from on high flow to suffering mortals 
 here below. It is the highest compliment paid to your better 
 nature." 
 
 "Do you truly think that women are better than men?" 
 
 " My instinctive feeling is that they are," repHed Antonio; 
 "but, to speak candidly, I cannot boast of sufficient ex- 
 perience of women, or indeed of men, to be able to decide 
 the point ex cathedra. This I do know, that of all my fellow- 
 creatures with whom it has yet been my lot to come in close 
 contact, the one I have found far superior to all, is a woman." 
 
 Why such a statement, calculated one would have thought 
 to please her woman's pride, should have chilled Lucy, and 
 made her silent, we do not pretend to guess. Sure it is that 
 it did so, and that she sat, long after the Doctor was gone, 
 unmindful of sea or landscape, of books or pencil, lost in 
 what seemed a melancholy reverie. Poor little Lucy! she 
 was startled from her thoughts by Sir John coming to her 
 with a letter in his hand. It was from Aubrey, to say that 
 he had been obliged to postpone his departure on account 
 of regimental business, and that he knew not, under the cir- 
 cumstances, when he should be able to get away, not for 
 
IN THE BALCONY. I 53 
 
 four months, certainly, but that he would write again to let 
 his father know. Lucy bore this piece of news very philo- 
 sophically. 
 
 "After all, papa, it is only four months, and one comfort 
 is, we need not be in such a hurry to leave this." 
 
 "Well," repHed Sir John, "as it turns out, perhaps we 
 may call this delay lucky; — yes, after all, this news takes a 
 weight off my mind ; — it would have been a dreary welcome 
 for my boy to find none but servants in his home. We can 
 travel slowly, and stop a short time in Paris" — 
 
 "Oh, papa!" said Lucy, "I do not care a bit about Paris; 
 let us stay in this beautiful Italy as long as we can." 
 
 "But, my dear," replied rather fretfully the Baronet, who 
 did not like so many scotches put to his plans, "I wish you 
 to know something of Paris, it is right and proper. We went 
 through it so hurriedly last year, and you were so ill at the 
 time, that you could scarcely form an idea of it." And after 
 a little inward cogitation, as if discussing some point with 
 himself, he added, "Though vastly inferior to London, still 
 Paris is a place to spend a few weeks in rather agreeably; 
 there are some things worth seeing in Paris; the Champs 
 Elysees, for instance, although not to be compared to Hyde 
 Park"— 
 
 But this first of May was destined to be a red letter day 
 with Sir John, the result of whose summing up of the com- 
 parative merits of the two great cities was never made public, 
 in consequence of an interruption from his man John, who 
 announced that there was a man below who wanted to see 
 Sir John. Where did he come from? The man had mentioned 
 Doctor Antonio's name, and John thought he looked like a 
 horse-dealer. "Ahorse-dealer!" cried the Baronet; and he 
 ran down the steps with an alacrity that would have done 
 honour to more juvenile legs than his were. 
 
 Any one in Sir John's predicament, any one, we mean, 
 who, being accustomed to a daily ride, had been cut off from 
 his favourite exercise for nearly a month, will easily under- 
 stand how the very mention of a horse-dealer sounded as 
 
154 t)OCTOR ANTONIO. 
 
 welcome in Sir John's ears as the rushing of water in the 
 ears of a thirsty wayfarer. He had had two horses sent him 
 successively from Nice, the first of which was soon dis- 
 covered to be lame, the second so vicious as to be perfectly 
 unmanageable; and the upshot was, that he had given up 
 riding in despair. 
 
 The man turned out to be really a horse-dealer on his 
 way to Genoa with horses for sale, first-rate animals, hestie 
 magnificTie^ as he said. The conversation was kept up in a 
 sort of lingua Franca^ by which, however, Babel-like, the 
 principals managed to understand one another. Of course, 
 it was "il Dottore" who had said the "Signor Milordo 
 Inglese" would like to see the horses; they were at so short a 
 distance that "SuaEccellenza" could almost see the stables; 
 and the cunning fellow stood on his toes, and pointed some- 
 where or nowhere. However, he carried away Sir John in 
 triumph, accompanied by John, who passed with his master 
 for beingathorough connoisseur in horseflesh; and inacouple 
 of hours after, to Lucy's utter astonishment and delight, her 
 father made his re-appearance under her balcony, mounted 
 on a square-made, handsome-looking bay cob, warranted 
 quiet as a lamb, which he properly was, as he numbered a 
 good third more of years than the dealer had sworn to. 
 
 "I hope he really is quiet, '^ cried out Lucy, rather 
 alarmed at her father's gay manoeuvring. 
 
 "A baby might ride him," answered Sir John, who 
 had for a year or two felt the necessity of avoiding caracol- 
 ing spirited steeds. "See what a mouth he has, Lucy, he 
 obeys the least touch;" and suiting the action to the word, 
 the enchanted Baronet turned and returned the cob, till 
 Lucy called out "Papa, papa, you will make yourself and 
 the poor beast quite giddy." 
 
 While this was going on, a lad in a post-boy's jacket and 
 hat in hand came stealthily through the httle garden gate, 
 and after a moment's hesitation, went up to Sir John, who 
 immediately reined in his steed. This was Prospero, who, 
 in his humble way, was about to contribute his mite towards 
 
IN THE BALCONY. 155 
 
 the Baronet's gratification on this memorable day. Though 
 Prospero's heartfelt thanks were delivered in a jargon which 
 had no meaning for Sir John's ears, there was that in the 
 poor lad's voice and look which conveyed to the English 
 gentleman's mind as clear a perception of what the Italian 
 said and meant, as if he had spoken English like John. The 
 pale countenance and emaciated form were an emphatic 
 accompaniment to his simple eloquence. Sir John was 
 moved, and to hide that he was moved, he immediately 
 began in a blustering tone to read the boy a lecture on the 
 duties of post-boys to travellers in general, and to travellers 
 of a certain sort in particular. This harangue being denuded 
 of all that expressive pantomime of look and gesture, which 
 would have made patent to any understanding the lad's ad- 
 dress, fell heavily on the uncomprehending ears of Prospero, 
 who, twirhng his hat, and with eyes fixed to the ground, 
 looked very like the criminal Sir John was carefully describ- 
 ing him to be. 
 
 In this crisis, just when the Baronet, still on the back of 
 his cob, was beginning to be puzzled how to conclude the 
 scene with dignity, his eye lighted on Doctor Antonio, who 
 had walked up to the Osteria to see the purchase, of which 
 by this time all the parish had heard. "My dear Doctor," 
 cried out Sir John in a hearty voice, "I am very glad to see 
 you; I am under infinite obligations to you." Doctor An- 
 tonio to be called "my dear Doctor," in that bluff, sincere 
 way by Sir John Davenne! It was the first time, so no 
 wonder Antonio pondered on the words. He begged Sir 
 John not to talk of obhgations, and congratulated him 
 warmly on the lucky chance that had secured him such a 
 capital beast. John came up at this point, and announced 
 to his master that the stable wherein he used to keep the 
 former two horses, for some reason or other, could not be 
 had for a week, at least,— an intelligence which marred not 
 a little the good old gentleman's satisfaction. Seeing 
 which, the kind Doctor took the repentant-looking Prospero 
 aside, and after a minute's parley with him, turned to the 
 
156 DOCTOR ANTONIO. 
 
 Baronet and said, that at the house where the lad lived, 
 there was a tolerably good stable, and that, perhaps, it 
 would be a convenience to Sir John, and most certainly an 
 act of charity on his part, to intrust the care of the horse to 
 Prospero, who, when able to resume his duty as post-boy, 
 had a younger brother to act as groom in his place. The 
 Baronet caught at once at the proposal, and Prospero, not 
 a little elated at this piece of good fortune, helped to dis- 
 mount his new "Signer Padrone," who delivered the cob to 
 his care, with special directions to be every morning by 
 seven o'clock at the Osteria, to receive daily orders. 
 
 Lucy, who from the balcony could hear and see all that 
 was passing below, had followed all the incidents of this 
 little episode with an intensity of interest, which, to an in- 
 different observer, could not but have appeared unwarranted 
 by the occasion; and when Sir John had called Antonio 
 "my dear Doctor," a flush of complacency had overspread 
 her white cheek, and her smile had become sweeter and 
 sweeter. After all, it was but natural, that, kind-hearted 
 as she was, the better understanding which was evidently 
 growing up between her father and her doctor should give 
 her pleasure. 
 
 "How kind of you!" said Lucy to Antonio, as he went 
 up to her, and took a seat by her side. 
 
 "Kind! how do you mean?" asked Antonio, his eye- 
 brows bristling up like a hedgehog who puts himself on the 
 defensive. 
 
 "To think about the horse," explained Lucy. 
 
 "Ha! ha! ha!" and the Italian forthwith opened his 
 safety-valve against charges of kindness, that is, — he laughed 
 his own peculiar laugh, a clear, merry laugh, with something 
 still in it of boyhood's ring. "But suppose I have not been 
 thinking about it, what then?" 
 
 Lucy's eyes looked incredulous. 
 
 "When some time ago you expressed a wish that your 
 father could have a horse, I mentioned the subject in a letter 
 I was writing at the moment, and then, I am afraid, I forgot 
 
IN THE BALCONY. 157 
 
 all about the matter; so you see, you have only to be grate- 
 ful to a lucky chance." 
 
 "And did this easy-chair and awning for a foolish girl, 
 who showed her gratitude by being cross and impatient, 
 come here by chance too?" 
 
 "There again," said Antonio, throwing back his head 
 with a movement usual with him when annoyed, "as if such 
 common courtesies were worth making a fuss about. At 
 this rate, if I sneeze, and a neighbour says, 'God bless you,' 
 I am bound to him for Hfe." 
 
 Lucy could not help laughing at the oddity of the illustra- 
 tion, and asked, "May I, without giving offence, express my 
 admiration of the beautiful workmanship of this chair, and 
 of the bright yellow wood of which it is made?" 
 
 "Yes, you may," replied Antonio, smihng; "it always 
 does me good to hear the people or things of this country 
 praised. The chair is of olive wood, and is the work of a 
 very clever fellow. If we ever go to Taggia together, I will 
 show you pieces of furniture of the same wood, and by the 
 same hand, that I daresay would not be out of place even in 
 Davenne Hall." 
 
 "Such a clever workman," said Lucy, "ought to go to 
 London, he would be sure of making a fortune there." 
 
 "Very likely," answered Antonio, "but he does not 
 seem to feel the necessity of making one. The people of 
 the Riviera are extremely attached to their birthplace, and 
 stick to their homes and quiet habits, seldom going abroad 
 unless compelled by want. Besides, our chairmaker is some- 
 thing more than a skilful workman, he is an artist." 
 
 "I can understand any one being reluctant to leave this," 
 said Lucy, "much more any one with an artist's eye and 
 feehngs. Where could he find a nature like this?" and her 
 own eyes gleamed with deep rapture. Antonio was watch- 
 ing her; for all answer he said, "The open air has done you 
 good already, you look more— lively than this morning." 
 
 "Do I? I feel so well and happy; and it is said, you 
 know, that happiness does a great deal for one's looks," 
 
158 DOCTOR ANTONIO. 
 
 Antonio threw up those black eyes of his into Lucy's soft 
 blue ones, but made no remark. The look and the silence 
 embarrassed Lucy, she knew not why, but she felt as if 
 called upon for some explanation, which rather disappointed 
 Antonio when it came. 
 
 "My brother cannot be home for four months, and so 
 now papa will not fret about our staying here; and then I 
 am so glad about the horse, and that I am able to sit here 
 and enjoy this beautiful view. Have I not a right to feel 
 happy?" 
 
 " To be sure," said Antonio, rather gravely, and stroking 
 his beard, "to be sure." What had he missed in the enumera- 
 tion of Lucy's causes of happiness? 
 
 A short pause ensued, during which Doctor and patient 
 seemed anything but at their ease. "By the by," said the 
 Italian, rousing himself, "I have not seen your drawing; will 
 you show it me?" 
 
 "It is all in a mess," said Lucy, with a little blush. "I 
 can make nothing of it; I am ashamed of myself, and utterly 
 disheartened." 
 
 "I guess how it has been," replied Antonio; "you have 
 been too greedy. Shall I give you a little advice? You see 
 that half-ruined tower, shaded by palm-trees, on the Cape 
 of Bordighera? — try that first, or that piece of wall with its 
 drapery of bitter sweet, standing forward so well from the 
 background of dark blue sea. Do not bewilder yourself 
 with too many objects at once; and, take my word for it, it 
 will not be long before you master strong foregrounds and 
 soft distances. But beware of ambition." 
 
 "* Vaulting ambition, which o'erleaps itself and falls,'" 
 said Lucy, laughing. 
 
 "That is from your Shakespeare," said Antonio. "I think 
 all Enghsh people know him by heart. I never met one of 
 your countrymen or women, however ignorant in other 
 respects, who did not some time or other give out a line 
 from Shakespeare. What a man he must have been, who 
 could thus embody, and *give a local habitation and a 
 
IN THE BALCONY. 159 
 
 name' to the feelings of a whole nation for centuries to 
 come ! " 
 
 "You seem as much at home with Shakespeare as with 
 your own poets," said Lucy. 
 
 "He is one of my poets. Shakespeare is not the poet of 
 any age or country, but of mankind. He, like the sun, 
 spreads light and warmth over the whole world of intel- 
 ligence. — Can you draw figures?" went on the Doctor, point- 
 ing to the beach. "What a group those fishermen would 
 make, with that woman on the donkey stopping to speak to 
 them!" 
 
 "But I cannot draw figures the least bit in the world," 
 said Lucy, in a despairing voice. 
 
 "Well, you can learn. Figures are so picturesque in 
 Italy, it is almost a matter of duty to copy them." 
 
 "Yes, but one must know how. I am sure I have not an 
 idea how to begin, whether with the hat or the shoes j and 
 who is there here to teach me?" 
 
 "If you really wish for a master, I will find you one." 
 
 "Can you, indeed? then I do wish it." 
 
 "I will introduce you to a master to-morrow. You have 
 often said that you would like to read Dante's poem with 
 some one who could explain and annotate upon it; now, if 
 you continue in that mind, I know of a fit person." 
 
 " You seem to have the gift of finding everything I want 
 or wish for," said Lucy, turning a pair of grateful eyes 
 to him. 
 
 "You were so uncomplaining in your submission to my 
 severe orders," answered Antonio, " that I feel bound, now 
 that you are able to leave your bed, to give you the benefit 
 of all that our neighbourhood affords, to amuse you; and I 
 assure you we have more resources than at first might be 
 thought possible. Among all classes in this country there 
 exists a singular aptitude to learn, and much natural taste. 
 For instance, we have a tolerably good band of musicians, 
 most of them self-taught, and an excellent organist, who 
 never had any master but himself.'* 
 
l60 DOCTOR ANTONIO. 
 
 "Wonderful!" said Lucy; "and are they as good as they 
 are clever?" 
 
 "To say the least, they have many good points/' returned 
 Antonio; "they are sober, independent, and warm-hearted; 
 there is a native mildness in their blood; and when they 
 quarrel— for where is it that men are always at peace with 
 one another? — the quarrel rarely ends in blows. You look 
 as if you scarcely believed me." 
 
 Lucy's colour rose, for she felt what Antonio was saying 
 to be the very reverse of the character she was in the habit 
 of hearing ascribed to Italians. 
 
 "Forget preconceived notions, or rather," continued An- 
 tonio, "remember all, and compare hearsay evidence with 
 what comes under your own observation. Facts are stubborn 
 things, Miss Davenne, and observation of facts will show 
 you that amongst us there is scarcely an example of wives 
 and daughters bearing the marks of the brutality of their 
 husbands and fathers; that drunkenness is a very rare thing, 
 and so is crime; that there are whole provinces — that of San 
 Remo is one— in which no murder has been committed within 
 the memory of man. Property is so divided, that the two 
 extremes of great riches and great poverty are almost un- 
 known, and so, fortunately, are most of the evils arising out 
 of them, — beggary for instance. I am not speaking of the 
 great towns of course, but of the country districts, in which 
 nearly every man owns his little bit of land, which he cul- 
 tivates as well as he can. The small proprietor who has 
 time to spare, hires his services to the neighbour, who, pos- 
 sessing more land, requires more hands, but both employer 
 and employed deal and converse with each other on a foot- 
 ing of perfect equality. The hired labourer no more con- 
 siders himself the inferior of his employer because he takes 
 money from him, than the employer thinks himself the 
 labourer's surperior for paying it." 
 
 "You are describing a real Arcadia," said Lucy. 
 
 "I wish it were so," continued Antonio, shaking his 
 head; "but there are deep shades to the picture. The bane- 
 
IN THE BALCONY. l6l 
 
 fill action of despotism makes itself felt here as everywhere 
 else in Italy. The state of utter ignorance in which the 
 populations I am speaking of are left by a Government 
 systematically hostile to all sorts of instruction— the worship 
 of the dead letter in Heu of the spirit that vivifies, in which 
 they are nursed and kept by their priests— the habit of dis- 
 sembling grievances, for which there is no possible redress, 
 and which it would be dangerous to resent;— all these dele- 
 terious influences combine to keep the standard of morality 
 rather low. The man who would not for the world eat a 
 morsel of meat on Friday, or miss hearing mass on a saint's 
 day, will not scruple to cheat his master of an hour's work, 
 or to say the thing that is not, to obtain an abatement in the 
 rent he pays to his landlord." 
 
 "That is too bad," said Lucy; "and do the priests know 
 of such doings, and not try to prevent or put a stop to 
 them?" 
 
 "Certainly they do not use their authority to the extent 
 necessary to cure the evil. They fear to lose their influence 
 if they deal, I will not say severely, but firmly with their 
 flock. There seems to be a tacit agreement between sheep 
 and shepherds. Give us everything in point of form, say 
 the latter. We will, answer the former, but on condition 
 that you do not exact too much in point of substance. Thus 
 the letter kills the spirit. Provided the churches be well 
 attended, the confessionals besieged, the alms plentiful, the 
 communion tickets numerous, our Reverendi seem to care 
 little whether morality remains stationary or even shdes 
 backwards. The Cure, who is in many respects what I be- 
 lieve you call vicar in England, preaches from the pulpit 
 that lying is a sinful habit, and that a hired labourer owes a 
 fair day's work for a fair day's wages, but to little purpose. 
 And why is there no amendment? Because the confessors 
 do not practically support what is preached; they are too 
 lenient, and dare not, textually dare not, refuse absolution 
 to those of their penitents who are in a state of backsliding. 
 They dare not, because they say, *we do not choose to lose 
 
 Doctor Antonio. ^' 
 
1 62 DOCTOR ANTONIO. 
 
 our penitents/ and such to a certainty would be the case, 
 were they to show a proper degree of severity. The aim 
 and ambition of confessors, you must understand, is to have 
 a great number of penitents, and they vie with each other 
 who shall be most run after. The country folks know this 
 weakness and profit by it. It has happened to me more 
 than once to hear it said, *If my confessor will not give 
 me absolution, I shall go to such and such a one who 
 has "larger sleeves,"^ meaning by that, who is more in- 
 dulgent." 
 
 "These are, indeed, ugly shades to your pretty picture," 
 sighed Lucy. 
 
 "Very ugly," echoed Antonio. "The great business of 
 our Jieverendi — there are, of course, many honourable ex- 
 ceptions — is the embelHshment of their respective churches; 
 and for this purpose they take advantage of the taste for 
 the beautiful, which is innate in our people. Offerings or 
 contributions flow in plentifully for the purchase of a new 
 organ, a set of silver lamps, for pictures, for the adornment 
 of the shrine of the Madonna. At the same time the town 
 is dirty, not lighted at night, the pavement all holes, the 
 roads are detestable, and bridges absent where bridges are 
 most needed. But what does it matter so long as the church 
 looks splendid, and outshines this or that church in the 
 neighbourhood?" 
 
 "And how do you fare with these Reverendi, as you call 
 them?" asked Lucy. 
 
 "Why, so so, they are not over friendly to me, I be- 
 lieve, the Cure especially, who cannot forgive my regularly 
 refusing the ticket that he as regularly sends me every 
 Easter." 
 
 "What is it for?" 
 
 "A most vexatious botheration. At Easter, the Cures take 
 upon themselves to send to every one of their parishioners 
 what is called a communion ticket, and they require of 
 every person, after communicating, to leave this ticket in 
 the vestry as a proof of having done so. You can conceive 
 
m THE BALCONY. 1 63 
 
 that this species of coercion is very humiliating,— at least I 
 feel it so. Very willing as I am to fulfil my religious duties, 
 still I choose to do so freely, and like a man who judges for 
 himself, not like a boy, on compulsion. So I always send 
 back the ticket." 
 
 " And the Cure is angry with you," said Lucy, with a little 
 grave face. 
 
 "Yes, but he keeps his anger to himself. He and his 
 reverend brethren give me credit for being a tolerable 
 physician— as good, at least, as can be hoped for here- 
 abouts; but it is not their confidence in my medical skill 
 alone that keeps them civil to me. Public opinion runs high 
 in my favour, and even here, and in spite of all, public 
 opinion has its weight. And then my beard," continued 
 Antonio, stroking it playfully; ''is not that one of the 
 strongest possible proofs of my favour with our three-tailed 
 Pacha, the Commandant of San Remo?" 
 
 "How so?" asked Lucy. 
 
 "It may seem strange, but nevertheless it is true. Miss 
 Davenne, that one of the strictest duties, as well as one of 
 the most agreeable sports of Commandants, is to suffer no 
 chin to be unshorn; and mine , I believe, is the only one in 
 all the Riviera which can boast of anything like a beard on 
 it. The truth is, when I first came to San Remo, I was so 
 occupied by day and night, that I literally lacked the time 
 to shave. This reason I pleaded to our Gessler, who ac- 
 cepted it, and httle by Uttle, and by dint of habit, my beard 
 came to be tolerated." 
 
 "You seem to care very much about your beard," ob- 
 served Miss Davenne, smiling at Antonio's grave way of 
 speaking about it. 
 
 "I confess I rather do," he answered, smiHng also. 
 "Without speaking of the time it saves, and other disagree- 
 ables, I think that since Nature, who does nothing without 
 a purpose, bestowed a beard on man, she meant it as orna- 
 mental or useful. Altogether, it seems to me that every 
 man, but an Italian in particular, with his olive complexion, 
 
164 DOCTOR ANTONIO. 
 
 looks better with than without a beard. You are laughing 
 at me, but tell me which do you prefer, which looks best, 
 one of Vandyck's heads with its beard, or a modern close- 
 shaven portrait? I suspect the advantage hes with the 
 former." 
 
 "Yes," said Lucy, with a little blush, and a little hesita- 
 tion, as her own remark to her father oA first seeing Doctor 
 Antonio started to her memory, "when living men are like 
 Vandyck portraits." 
 
 "No reservations," cried Antonio, "or I shall think you 
 share in the prejudice I have heard exists in England against 
 beards." 
 
 "Oh no, I don't!" said Lucy; "but most Enghsh people 
 dislike them." 
 
 "Well, let them shave, there's no accounting for tastes," 
 observed Antonio, with an air of resignation. 
 
 "You promised once to tell me what made you such a 
 favourite with this Commandant. By the by, does he com- 
 mand all the Riviera?" 
 
 "No such thing. Every province of this kingdom wears 
 a like jewel on its head." 
 
 "And in what originated your favour with this one?" 
 
 "In a most absurd notion of his. I have often told you 
 that, when I came to San Remo, the cholera was at its 
 height. I found the Commandant panic-stricken, and labour- 
 ing under a fixed idea that he must take the disease. I saw 
 at once the necessity of setting his imagination to work the 
 contrary way, so I gave him a small phial of camphorated 
 vinegar, with directions to smell it a certain number of 
 times a day, assuring him that it was an infallible specific 
 against cholera. And he believes it to this day," went on 
 Antonio, with a hearty laugh. "The phial is now empty, 
 and should the cholera re-appear, he knows of no one to 
 whom he could apply for a fresh supply of this wonderful 
 antidote but myself; so he is very civil to me, and— to my 
 beard." 
 
THE 15TH OF I^LW 1840. 165 
 
 Lucy enjoyed the joke, and laughed so heartily that An- 
 tonio joined her till the tears stood in his eyes. 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 The 15th of May 1840. 
 
 A FORTNIGHT has slipped away, during which Lucy's 
 health and other matters have been steadily progressing at 
 the Osteria; new habits have been formed, new occupations 
 and pursuits entered upon — in short, every consecutive 
 day has brought to our little colony its fresh supply of 
 pleasurable excitement, and increased good-will. 
 
 The weather, to begin with, has been splendid, and Sir 
 John has not once missed his morning ride, and is en- 
 chanted with Buffy, (thus Lucy had christened the plump 
 bay cob,) whose temper and paces, Sir John declares, im- 
 prove wonderfully with every ride; — an assertion to which 
 the Count, who is now a daily visitor to the Osteria, nods 
 enthusiastic assent, observing that really his English friend 
 has had the animal for nothing. By what mysterious pro- 
 cess these two gentlemen understand one another, consider- 
 ing that the stock of spoken signs they have in common, is 
 limited to a score or so of French words on either side, is a 
 matter of wonder to everybody, most of all, perhaps, to 
 themselves. But that they do understand one another, is a 
 fact beyond dispute, inasmuch as Sir John professes himself 
 highly indebted to his noble friend , for the primary idea of 
 a project, which engrosses most of Sir John's time and 
 thoughts, and in the realization of which he is greatly as- 
 sisted by the Count and Doctor Antonio. The project is 
 no other than to make a collection of the finest young 
 orange and palm plants to be found in the neighbourhood, 
 and transplant them to the seigneurial seat of all the Da- 
 vennes. "Yes, I shall build an orangery," says Sir John, 
 "but that's nothing, I shall build a palmary; Lucy, a pal- 
 mary!" and exultant Sir John rubs his hands. "You see, 
 
l66 DOCTOR ANTONIO. 
 
 my dear, I shall not only create the thing, but the very name 
 of it." The Baronet follows up his scheme with unabated 
 ardour; is in communication with all the owners of palm- 
 trees in Bordighera — Bordighera that stands unrivalled for 
 palm-trees ; rides over to San Remo, where the orange- trees 
 are said to have distanced all competitors; is for ever re- 
 ceiving, and, with Lucy acting as a secretary, answering 
 letters connected with his plan, — in short, Sir John gallops 
 both cob and hobby-horse to his heart's content, and to that 
 of all about him. 
 
 A post-diem celebration ofMissDavenne's twentieth birth- 
 day, which, as you remember, she had actually spent in her 
 bed, has been the grand event of the fortnight. Wonderful 
 the doings, and great the bustle at the Osteria, which is be- 
 ginning to forget its ughness, and to fancy, hke many other 
 plain old things, that very fine feathers make very fine 
 birds; and it cannot be denied that Sir John has done his 
 best about the new plumage. Ay, a dinner — hybrid, per- 
 haps, between a public and private entertainment, and for 
 which Sir John managed to send out printed cards of invita- 
 tion — has been given to the Count, and some other notables, 
 among whom figured Doctor Antonio, the Mayor, several 
 Councilmen, the Justice of Peace of Bordighera; and in the 
 evening minor luminaries, one of them Lucy's drawing- 
 master. The dinner was on a splendid scale, the late Bishop 
 of Albenga's cook surpassed himself; John could only prove 
 equal to himself. Sir John did the honours the more charm- 
 ingly that he did not do them in state, but in an incog, un- 
 pretending way, as one may suppose other magnates do, 
 when they drop their crowns and make believe to be only 
 Counts or Countesses. Probably, Sir John felt as he was 
 accustomed to do, when presiding at the annual dinner he 
 gave his tenants at Davenne. 
 
 In Italy, as elsewhere, toasts are a prevalent fashion, but 
 speeches of dubious eloquence are superseded by the rattle 
 of glass touching glass in general sympathetic clatter. The 
 Count proposed a bumper to the health of their distinguished 
 
THE 15TH OF MAY 184O. 167 
 
 host, and of his accomplished daughter, and the sentiment 
 was drunk with universal enthusiasm. The Mayor, two Coun- 
 cilmen, and the Justice of Peace followed in the same track, 
 showing much ingenuity in devising variations on the same 
 theme. Sir John felt himself called upon to return thanks 
 for himself and his daughter, which he did in a rather lengthy 
 speech ; and Doctor Antonio, after transmitting to the guests in 
 Itahan the Baronet's effusion, conveyed to him in a few neatly- 
 turned English phrases, the gratified feehngs of the company. 
 During the evening, Lucy made her first appearance, 
 wheeled in upon her rolhng-chair, and we need scarcely say 
 that her beauty and grace created quite a sensation among 
 the proverbially enthusiastic Itahans. Antonio sang some of 
 his most spirited Sicilian songs, which were heartily ap- 
 plauded and encored ; and the drawing-master, who is some- 
 thing of an Improvvisatore, extemporized a sonnet to Miss 
 Davenne, in which he compared her to a lily, and to a palm- 
 tree, and to Minerva into the bargain, all which was received 
 with loud bravos by those present, with the exception of 
 the Count, who (it being a notorious matter that the Count 
 and the drawing-master were at daggers drawn) was ob- 
 served to make, while the sonnet was being delivered, sundry 
 wry faces, intended to convey and express a considerable 
 amount of doubt as to the bona fde impromptu nature of the 
 performance. Except this trifling incident, which escaped 
 the notice of both the Baronet and his daughter, and the 
 marked coolness with which tea was received by the majority 
 — a damp soon counteracted by Sir John ordering in a fresh 
 supply of black bottles for the dissenters — everything went 
 on capitally, and entirely to the satisfaction of all concerned; 
 so much so, that Antonio, after a rather long colloquy with 
 the Baronet in the balcony, came forth and announced seance 
 tenante in the Amphitryon's name, that should a Uttle con- 
 versation and a little music prove a sufficient inducement to 
 give him their company. Sir JohnDavenne would be delighted 
 to receive all present on every successive Wednesday and 
 Saturday, at eight o'clock in the evening. 
 
1 68 DOCTOR ANTONIO. 
 
 There is a circumstance connected with this entertain- 
 ment too important to be overlooked, and it is, that Doctor 
 Antonio achieved the conquest of Sir John on the occasion. 
 Was it his rigorous professional costume, and white cravat 
 — was it his gentlemanly manner, or his speechifying powers, 
 or all the three causes combined, that won Sir John^s British 
 heart? We cannot say, but to this we must testify, that Sir 
 John's heart was won. Sir John treated Doctor Antonio all 
 dinner-time, and throughout the evening, with marked dis- 
 tinction, addressing him publicly as "my honourable friend," 
 and privately and confidentially as "my dear friend;" he 
 even went so far as to declare emphatically to Lucy, after 
 every one was gone, that "could that man be brought to 
 shave, he would not be out of place at the table of a king." 
 From that day forward, the Doctor was promoted to the 
 honour of shaking hands with the Baronet; and let Antonio 
 say what he would, John was despatched daily to the Doctor's 
 dwelling with Sir John Davenne's compliments, and the 
 newspaper of the previous day. 
 
 Already have two brilliant '"'soirees miisicales,'" as Sir John 
 calls them, been held in the course of the last week at the 
 Osteria, and the expected third is creating great anxiety in 
 the neighbourhood; the English Milordd's concerts are the 
 talk of the country for ten miles round. Visitors from so far 
 oft as Ventimiglia and San Remo have left cards for Sir John 
 and INIiss Davenne, and many are making interest with the 
 Count and the Doctor for invitations. The management of 
 the music devolves entirely on Doctor Antonio, under whose 
 superintendence quartettos are executed. The performers, 
 a bassoon, a violin, a violoncello, are all dilettanti from 
 Bordighera; Antonio makes the fourth, playing by turns 
 the guitar or the flute. Hutchins' httle room is transformed 
 on Wednesdays and Saturdays into a refreshment room, the 
 buffet in which is most regularly attended. To see Sir John 
 on these evenings is to see a man thoroughly on good 
 terms with himself — step, voice, and look express, "I am 
 monarch of all I survey;" and let wise folks theorize as they 
 
THE 15TH OF MAY 1 840. l6g 
 
 may, the upshot of the matter will always be, that mankind, 
 including womankind, do like occasionally to be "the glass 
 of fashion, and the mould of form, the observed of all ob- 
 servers" — were it only at Bordighera. On all other evenings 
 of the week Sir John's society is hmited to the Count and 
 Doctor Antonio, to which privileged circle Sir John, while 
 sipping his tea, imparts little glimpses of London life — 
 fashionable Hfe of course — interspersed with hints that, hke 
 flashes of lightning, reveal something of the splendours of 
 Davenne Hall, and of the greatness and mightiness of the 
 Davennes, or "the family," as Sir John fondly calls his race. 
 As ten strikes, he regularly sits down to chess with Doctor 
 Antonio (this is the signal for Lucy to withdraw, and for the 
 Count to begin to doze), and invariably wins two games out 
 of three, Antonio having discovered that Sir John cannot 
 lose games without losing his temper also, and when cross, 
 Lucy's father is unbearable. 
 
 Almost the whole of Lucy's time during this fortnight 
 has been spent in the balcony. Ever since she has been 
 able to pass the day in the open air, her health has 
 strengthened considerably. She exceedingly enjoys the 
 ^'-soirees musicales ," greatly for the sake of the music— Lucy 
 is really fond of music— but a little, too, for the sake of the 
 effect she herself produces. Curious enough! Lucy never 
 seems to have surmised before that she was lovely, or if she 
 had surmised it, only begins now to care about being so. 
 Every one, she observes, is so well bred, so respectful to 
 her, so full of attention. Lucy is, in truth, a little queen 
 with a little Court. She is making visible progress in 
 drawing, particularly in figures, to which she has taken a 
 great fancy, so much so, that she has sketched Speranza 
 twenty times over — Speranza, who sits to her with angelic 
 patience for hours, no longer wan and dejected, but 
 brightened by some mysterious presentiment that a happy 
 change is at hand for her; besides, there are the practisings 
 on the guitar, and Doctor Antonio's visits, so Lucy's hours 
 are pretty full. The drawing-master, too, amuses her to a 
 
lyO DOCTOR ANTONIO. 
 
 degree,— such a fiery, violent little man, so good-natured 
 withal and so clever! Dante, Lucy tells the Doctor, is rather 
 too deep a well for her, but she perseveres in drawing up 
 all she can. She openly confesses that she does more fully 
 enjoy the prospect from the balcony now than on the first 
 days ; to use her own expression, it seems as if all its separate 
 beauties had melted into one great beauty. 
 
 Doctor Antonio does not look elated by high favour with 
 Sir John: he takes it meekly, maybe like a man who felt 
 himself entitled to it all along; nor have his successes as 
 conductor of the orchestra, and guitar and flute-player, 
 turned his head. Doctor Antonio continues exactly the same 
 serene, unassuming, serviceable, good-humoured creature 
 he was fifteen days ago. If there be any change in him, it is 
 a change for the better in his personal appearance, so shght, 
 however, that the eye must be scrutinizing indeed— the eye 
 of a woman probably— to find it out. His coat is perhaps a 
 thought more carefully brushed, his hair and beard more 
 carefully trimmed, his cravat less loosely twisted round his 
 throat than it used to be. Nor does the management of the 
 musical department at all interfere with his attendance on 
 Miss Davenne, which is as assiduous as ever; and though he 
 has evidently plenty to do elsewhere, he finds time to make 
 himself useful and agreeable at the Osteria. For instance, 
 on hearing Lucy observe one day, that the musquitoes were 
 beginning to become troublesome at night, he fell to work 
 immediately, fastened up poles to her bed, and to Sir John's, 
 and upon these poles hung musquito nets; then on a com- 
 plaint from the same quarter, of flies being intolerable, he 
 caused large bundles of a common viscous plant, (Erigeron 
 Viscosum, Lin.^) dipped in milk, to be hung up in all the 
 rooms and the balcony, which attracted all the flies, and 
 freed her at once from one of the plagues of Italy. Lucy had 
 one thought very carefully hidden in the inmost folds of her 
 heart, and that thought was, that surely there never was any 
 one in the world like this Doctor Antonio. 
 
 Such was, on the whole, the rather satisfactory state of 
 
THE 15TH OF MAY 184O. I7I 
 
 things and parties in the Osteria del Matione on this blessed 
 day, the 15th of May 1840. 
 
 It was ten in the morning, as lovely a morning as poets 
 and birds can sing. Miss Davenne, in a light-blue gown, 
 sat in the balcony busy with her pencils. Was the choice of 
 a blue dress quite accidental on her part, or was it in any 
 way connected with Antonio having mentioned the evening 
 before, that, of all the colours, he liked blue the best? Who 
 can tell? Antonio was also seated on the balcony, a little 
 behind Lucy, and pulling his beard violently, a sign of 
 troubled weather. Hutchins within was arranging in a vase 
 a large bunch of roses just brought by the Doctor. He rarely 
 came empty-handed; and yet his horror of anything like 
 thanks remaining unabated, Lucy had learnt to acknowledge 
 his little presents only with a smile. Contrary to custom, the 
 two had little to say to one another, and conversation flagged. 
 Maybe that Lucy was engrossed with her drawing, maybe 
 that she was otherwise absorbed. Antonio was most pal- 
 pably so, and his wonted equanimity had deserted him this 
 morning. It is the first time since we made his acquaintance, 
 that he betrays strong symptoms of a malady which might 
 have been supposed utterly unknown to him — irresolution. 
 A word or a phrase trembled on his lips which he was afraid 
 to utter. He occasionally bent forward as if about to rise, 
 then fell back on his seat again. At last he made an heroic 
 effort, bounded up from his chair, and said resolutely — 
 
 "Suppose, Miss Davenne, you were to try and walk?^' 
 
 A welcome summons to Lucy, whose pale cheek, paler 
 even than usual on this morning, is suddenly suffused with 
 crimson. As Miss Lucy has declared some time ago that 
 she will rather die in her chair than use crutches , Hutchins 
 is called, and desired to support her young lady on one side, 
 while Doctor Antonio does as much on the other. Lucy rises, 
 leans on the two proffered arms, and moves. Antonio's heart 
 beats loud and strong as the piston of a steam-engine. 
 
 "Do you feel pain anywhere?" asks the Doctor in a 
 whisper. 
 
172 DOCTOR ANTONIO. 
 
 "Not any," declares Lucy, but her ankle is a little 
 stiff. 
 
 "And," pursues Antonio, in a queer thick voice, "do you 
 think you could walk alone?" 
 
 "I think I could," says Lucy, turning her smihng face up 
 to his. 
 
 "Well, try." 
 
 The Doctor and Hutchins gently let go their hold of 
 Lucy; Antonio stands in front of her with outstretched arms, 
 ready to catch her, much in the attitude of a mother who 
 watches the first steps of a dear babe. Lucy walks on un- 
 supported, — one, two, three, four steps — only four; but 
 more than enough for Antonio's quick, experienced eye to 
 feel sure, that there is no cause for any apprehension of im- 
 paired gait. 
 
 " Vittoria!" shouts Antonio, clapping his hands so loudly 
 that Lucy and Hutchins are both startled by the report; 
 " Vittoria!'^ he shouts again, then suddenly checks himself, 
 lest his joy should betray the extent of his fears, and oc- 
 casion Lucy a retrospective shock. But tears are in his eyes 
 as he and Hutchins once more take hold of their precious 
 charge ; " for," continues the Doctor, pretending to composure, 
 yet still all in a flurry, "she must not overfatigue herself; she 
 must lean well on his arm, so — and now he quietly on the 
 sofa — there, all's right again." To see his countenance now 
 all in a glow with noble and sweet emotion, to hear his voice, 
 to listen to his laugh, must have made the conquest of the 
 most morose of human kind. Lucy does hsten, but silently; 
 she never for a moment removes her eyes from him; they 
 follow him as he strides into the balcony, as he comes back 
 with her httle table, as he first stoops to slip a bit of paper 
 under one of its legs, and then arranges her pencils and 
 colours just where they ought to be. Lucy does not speak, 
 does not even say "thank you;" for Lucy feels that she 
 could not say it without doing something else she is striving 
 against. She does not even dare to extend her hand to him, 
 as her heart, full to the brim, prompts her to do, lest she 
 
TIIE 15TH OF MAY 1840. X73 
 
 should give way; but those clear soft eyes that rest on him 
 speak volumes. 
 
 After half an hour's rest, Lucy had another walk from 
 the sofa back to the balcony, and was to have a third within 
 another half hour from the balcony to the sofa, and no more 
 till Antonio called again — an injunction that will not be in- 
 fringed, judging from the manner with which it was received. 
 While the third, and for the time being, last trip was in pro- 
 gress. Sir John came in; and we leave the reader to imagine 
 if the good humour that shone in his eyes was hkely to be 
 spoiled by the sight of Lucy on her feet again, and actually 
 walking. He hastened to withdraw her arm from Hutchins, 
 and put it under his own, delighted to take just five steps 
 with his darling, and replace her on the sofa. And three 
 happier faces than these three, we lay a wager on it, the 
 lobby of the Osteria had never beheld. 
 
 When the present excitement produced by this incident 
 had subsided, Sir John began recounting with great glee 
 his morning's excursion. Sir John had ridden over early 
 to San Remo, to inspect a garden recommended to his notice 
 by Doctor Antonio, and in that garden had found a treasure 
 — a real treasure, as he emphatically declared, "orange-trees 
 of the Bergamot species, flowers of the size of those (point- 
 ing to the roses on the table), and a fragrance, a fragrance!" 
 Sir John was as happy at this discovery as if the Bergamot 
 species were of his own making. The owner of the garden 
 had himself shown Sir John over the grounds, and placed 
 all the plants at the Baronet's disposal, "A most gentle- 
 manlike person," Sir John asserted, (what a pity, Sir John, 
 you do not keep a note-book now!) "a most gentlemanlike 
 person, to whom, by the by, I have given an invitation for 
 to-morrow's soiree musicale." Having thus far vented his 
 enthusiasm, and fondly kissed Lucy, and patted her cheek, 
 and observed to the Doctor how well she looked — an asser- 
 tion the Doctor allowed to pass uncontradicted — Sir John 
 sat down to his letters and papers. Antonio said good-bye, 
 and was already at the glass-door, when he met with a 
 
174 DOCTOR ANTONIO. 
 
 « 
 
 sudden obstruction in the shape of Speranza, closely followed 
 by her mother, who both dashed past him, rushing into the 
 room like thunder-bolts.' 
 
 Both the women are in tears, and half choke with sobs, 
 yet theirs are not the looks or gestures of people under the 
 pressure of painful feelings. Speranza, on her knees by the 
 side of the sofa, cHngs passionately to Lucy, covering her hands 
 and feet with kisses and tears. Rosa, less violently agitated, 
 has stopped short in the middle of the room, where, alter- 
 nately wiping her eyes with the corner of her apron, and 
 clasping and unclasping her hands, she ejaculates all the 
 time, "0/^ carol oh Madonna Santissimal — Oh, that I should 
 have lived to see this day, ohime, ohi?ne!" Presently it is the 
 Doctor^sturn to have his hands kissed and bathed, which is no 
 sooner done than Sir John has to go through the same ordeal. 
 "The girl is mad," cries the astounded Baronet, getting very 
 red in the face, and violently repossessing himself of his own 
 hand. "Yes," says Antonio, "mad with joy. Battista is come, 
 I suppose, is he not, you silly girl?" The silly girPs smiling 
 assent sparkles through a fresh shower; she takes Antonio^s 
 hands, and gently draws him towards the balcony, where 
 Speranza and he, and Rosa after them, vanish from sight. 
 
 "What sadly demonstrative creatures these Itahansare!" 
 observed Sir John, in a dissatisfied, grumbling tone, by way 
 of entering a protest against his momentary emotion. 
 
 "It is their nature to feel strongly, and to express strongly 
 what they feel," answered Lucy. 
 
 "There's no denying the last part of your statement, my 
 dear," said her father; "the more's the pity." 
 
 "Why so, papa?" asked Lucy. 
 
 "Because," replied Sir John dryly, "any such exhibition 
 of sensibility is highly derogatory to human dignity, and 
 carries with it a presumption of shallowness. Deep feelings, 
 like deep rivers, Lucy, so I have heard, are rarely noisy." 
 
 "But in this case, papa, nobody can doubt the reality of 
 poor Speranza's feelings, and you must have been struck by 
 that yourself, for I saw the tears in your eyes." 
 
THE 15TH OF MAY 1840. 1 75 
 
 "Tears in my eyes!" growled Sir John, in a scornful 
 tone, "nonsense!" and, taking up the Times newspaper, he 
 raised it as a barrier between himself and Lucy's investigat- 
 ing glance. 
 
 Antonio, after a little while, came back and said, that, as 
 in duty bound, Battista craved the honour of being admitted 
 to the presence of his kind benefactor and benefactress. 
 **0h yes, by all means !" cried Lucy eagerly, "let him come 
 in at once." Young ladies of twenty, whatever their station, 
 are apt to feel some curiosity about the hero of a love-story, 
 let him wear a ducal mantle, or only a seaman's blue jacket. 
 
 "Yes, let us get it over at once; but on condition," inter- 
 posed Sir John, "that we have no fresh supply of tears or 
 hand-kissing." 
 
 "I think there is no fear of that," said Antonio; "the 
 women are now more composed, and, as far as I can judge, 
 Battista is not much addicted to the melting mood." 
 
 "So much the better for him and for us," grumbled Sir 
 John; "I have had enough of that sort of thing to-day to 
 serve me for the rest of my hfe." 
 
 And now the hero of the day, a comely, middle-sized, 
 strong-built, chocolate-complexioned young man of two-and- 
 twenty, led by Speranza, and pushed on by Rosa in the rear, 
 makes his anything but triumphal entry, and with slow, re- 
 luctant steps approaches the sofa where Lucy rests. The 
 young lady, feeling for his confusion, kindly, and in a low 
 voice, addresses some words of welcome to him. Battista 
 looks up, utters a half cry, and stands for a second amazed; 
 and, with averted eyes, would then have taken to his heels, 
 but for Rosa and Speranza, who catch and bring him back. 
 He turns his eyes to the right and to the left, plunges them 
 into the depths of the red woollen pouch he is twisting in his 
 trembling hands, looks anywhere but at Lucy — verily, Bat- 
 tista would rather face a hurricane on a furious ocean than 
 those blue eyes. "Are you crazy?" says Antonio, per- 
 plexed; "why, man, have you nothing to say to this lady, who 
 has been a second Providence to you?" Battista makes in- 
 
176 DOCTOR ANTONIO. 
 
 effectual attempts to speak; at last the inarticulate sounds 
 become a muttered whisper of— "It is the Madonna," and 
 down he drops on his knees , and crosses himself most 
 vigorously. Sir John may say what he chooses, but we 
 question whether homage in better taste was ever paid to 
 earthly purity and loveliness. Antonio saw the expediency 
 of cutting short a scene which, from the very intensity of 
 the poor lad's feelings, was becoming embarrassing to all 
 parties; so stepping up to him, he raised him up, saying, 
 "That will do, my lad, the lady understands all you wish to 
 express — come away now, we will put off your thanks to an- 
 other time;" and patting him good-humouredly on the 
 shoulder, the Doctor towed the abashed boy out of the 
 room, the two bewildered women following in the rear. 
 
 We beg the reader to believe that this is no picture drawn 
 from fancy, but a real sketch from nature. Had not such a 
 scene as we have described, with all the particulars related, 
 come to pass under our own eyes, we should never have 
 ventured to put it on paper. We ourselves can understand 
 very well how a simple, ignorant, but imaginative Itahan 
 youth, whose notion of all that is beautiful and graceful is 
 from earliest infancy embodied in the image of the Madonna, 
 that is, in a lovely figure with flowing, fair curls, clothed in 
 blue, — we can understand, we repeat, how such a youth, put 
 suddenly face to face with such a suave specimen of woman- 
 kind as this young English girl, should identify her with his 
 long-worshipped type of loveliness and gentleness. 
 
 Battista's infatuation held good for some time, in spite 
 of Antonio's lectures and Speranza's scoldings, who was 
 quite ashamed, she declared, of seeing him make such a 
 goose of himself. Battista had but one argument, but with 
 that he parried and overruled all objections; he had seen 
 lier before, he was sure of that, and she had spoken to him, 
 and told him that she was the Madonna. It was, according 
 to Battista, one night, a tremendous night at sea, when, tired 
 with long working at the pumps, he had thrown himself on 
 a locker and fallen asleep. And the Madonna appeared to 
 
THE 15TH OF MAY 184O. 1 77 
 
 him in his sleep, and said, with flashing eyes, "Is this thy 
 devotion to me, that thou goest to thy rest without saying 
 a *salve regina' in my honour?" With that Battista awoke, 
 got up, said his prayers reciting as usual a "salve regina," 
 and then once more fell asleep. When, lo! the Madonna 
 came to him again, this time with most benignant eyes, and 
 said, in sweet tones, "Battista, thou art a good boy; as long 
 as thou puttest thy trust in me no evil shall befall thee; be 
 of good cheer, thou shalt see Bordighera again." Now, 
 whether they believed it or not, Battista did not care — Bat- 
 tista was growing dogged with these continual reasonings — 
 but the voice he had heard, the eyes, the hair, the figure he 
 had seen in the up-stairs room of the Osteria on that blessed 
 morning of the 15th of May, were the voice, hair, eyes, and 
 figure of Battista's nocturnal visitor at sea. Battista could 
 swear to it all, and to the blue gown into the bargain. 
 
 "We must help them to marry," said Lucy in the after- 
 noon, when alone with the Doctor. "Must we?" answered 
 Antonio, with a merry laugh; "I thought all that would come 
 of itself soon enough, even without our help." 
 
 "I have a great mind to call you a slow doctor, as papa 
 once did," said Lucy, Avith a pout of impatience; "you know 
 very well what I mean. Did you not tell me yourself that 
 Rosa's affairs were in a bad state? and is it not a fact that 
 Battista has lost all he had in the world? Now, is it not 
 very plain that they do want our assistance to be able to 
 marry?" 
 
 "Do not say our assistance," said Antonio, "for as to me, 
 I have nothing to give but good wishes." 
 
 "Not at all," said Lucy, quickly; "you must give a great 
 deal more, — time, and trouble, and all sorts of things; you 
 must find out about their debts and difficulties, and calculate 
 what sum will be necessary to set them afloat." 
 
 "A large sum," replied Antonio, gravely, shaking his 
 head at the eager speaker, "a large sum." 
 
 "Never mind," said Miss Lucy, "papa will give it, what- 
 ever it is, to please me — he must; I shall tell him that we 
 
 Doctor Antonio. 12 
 
lyS DOCTOR ANTONIO. 
 
 might as well have left Battista on board his ship, if we do 
 nothing more for him, and for Speranza." 
 
 Antonio only smiled, but his heart was pouring blessings 
 on her, though the blessings never reached Lucy's ear. 
 
 A day begun under such happy auspices— a day so rich 
 in deep and gentle emotions to most of our personages, 
 came to a close, we are glad to say, in a manner worthy of 
 itself. Towards midnight, all the echoes of the garden were 
 awakened by the sounds of sweet music. The dilettanti of 
 Bordighera in full force, we need not say by whom inspired, 
 assembled below the balcony to give a grand serenade to 
 Miss Davenne. Sir John, who had not yet gone to bed, 
 went down to the garden to acknowledge the compliment, 
 and was received by loud " vivas V Trays with wine and 
 glasses were soon circulating among the company, by the 
 united exertions of Rosa, Speranza, and the no little astonished 
 John, whose raised eyebrows, in spite of his rigid silence, 
 had more than once betrayed of late the series of surprises 
 through which his master was making him pass. When we 
 speak of the company, we mean not only the musicians, but 
 also a great number of amateurs who had followed in their 
 wake, and filled the garden. 
 
 Lucy, from behind her blind, enjoyed the serenade ex- 
 ceedingly. The music was unquestionably good; but that 
 which gave her far more pleasure than the well-played over- 
 tures to "La Gazza Ladra," and "Semiramide," was a 
 villanella for three voices, one of them a rich, sweet bass, 
 dear to her ears and heart. These villanellas, somewhat of 
 the fashion of the serenade in Don Pasquale, are the popular 
 songs of the Riviera. The melody, of the simplest kind, is 
 taken up in succession by one or other of the voices, with 
 no other accompaniment than a few syncopated notes from 
 the other two. Altogether an effective sort of performance 
 when the voices are true, which is commonly the case in 
 Italy— and one full of melancholy. So much so , at least, in 
 the present instance, that Lucy forthwith began to do freely 
 what she had so determinately resisted doing in the morn- 
 
IN THE GARDEN. J7Q 
 
 ing, and made her way back to her bed crying heartily. Her 
 tears, however, did not interfere with her sleep, which was 
 sound and refreshing. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 In the Garden. 
 
 "See what a beautiful carpet Nature has spread out for 
 you!" said Antonio, a few days after, as he handed Miss 
 Davenne into the garden. The night had been windy, and 
 there was on the ground a thick silvery layer of orange and 
 lemon blossoms, out of which came forth in strong relief a 
 profusion of violently red wild poppies. "Will you have 
 such in store for me when I come to Davenne?" 
 
 "Not so rich and gaudy as this," answered Lucy; "still," 
 continued she, with some pride, "you will find at Davenne, 
 at all seasons, what my country alone can produce — real 
 English turf, as green as only itself ever is, and as soft as 
 velvet." 
 
 "I shall admire it very much," said Antonio; "indeed 
 I feel inclined beforehand to admire everything that is 
 EngHsh." 
 
 "Do you?" was the reply, in a little joyous, triumphant 
 tone. "Oh, then, come to England soon, and I shall be 
 your cicerone there!" 
 
 "In that case I must not go for a long time," said the 
 Italian, jokingly; "or have you forgotten that you are to 
 stav here, and build a cottage out of spite to somebody or 
 other?" 
 
 "I wish it were true; I could stay here willingly all my 
 life," said Lucy, simply. 
 
 "Could you, indeed?" exclaimed Antonio with a thrill in 
 his voice, while a column of blood rushed to his face. 
 
 She looked up to him. 
 
 "But you can't," he added gravely, nay, with a touch of 
 despondency, "you know you cannot. What would the 
 
 12' 
 
I So DOCTOR ANTONIO. 
 
 world say," he went on with an awkward attempt to laugh, 
 "if the daughter of Sir John Davenne were to desert her 
 place in society, and bury herself in an obscure Italian vil- 
 lage!" 
 
 He paused slightly, it might be for an answer, then con- 
 tinued, — "Rank and riches are chains of gold, but still chains. 
 It was Seneca, was it not, who said that a great fortune was 
 a great servitude?" 
 
 "I fear so," answered Lucy, with a sigh that would not 
 be kept down. 
 
 The couple moved on in silence. It was a treat to see 
 them walk leisurely along— he measuring his steps to hers, 
 and supporting her with such gentle care — she leaning on 
 his arm so confidingly, so complacently. Both young, elegant, 
 and graceful— both bearing about them that cast of distinc- 
 tion which characterizes refined natures; yet with so much 
 in common, how different in type ! Lucy all golden hues and 
 softness, Antonio all dark shades and energy;— her httle 
 cherub's head bending gracefully forwards as if in search of 
 a stay, his so resolutely set upon his shoulders ; — her step 
 so light and childlike, his so manly and steady, as if at 
 every stride he took possession, in right of some unknown 
 power, of every bit of ground he walked upon. Such a con- 
 trast, and yet such a harmony — strength and weakness 
 blended together! Every characteristic feature of the one 
 setting forth to advantage and giving zest to that of the 
 other — the fiery black diamond casting lustre over the 
 oriental pearl, the oriental pearl in return lending softness 
 to the black diamond ! 
 
 While Doctor Antonio and Miss Davenne were, notwith- 
 standing sighs and little misgivings, enjoying this first morn- 
 ing's saunter together, they were inflicting real suffering on 
 anunsuspected witness of their fe?e-a-/e^e. Battista, of course, 
 was every day, and all day, at the Osteria, most of the time 
 in the garden, where he used to smoke his pipe, and have a 
 peep at Miss Davenne from some convenient place, probably 
 with the design of getting clear of his perplexities about her. 
 
IN THE GARDEN. 151 
 
 Sir John having complained of the unwonted odour of 
 tobacco infesting his apartments, Battista had renounced his 
 pipe, but not his observations, which he carried on most 
 perseveringly, comforting himself with chewing the fragrant 
 weed the while. Now, Lucy never having ventured out of 
 the house before, her presence close to his daily post came 
 quite unawares upon Speranza's lover, who hastened to take 
 himself and his confusion as far from the young lady and 
 her companion as the limits of the little enclosure would 
 allow, in the hope of being able to make his exit when they 
 should have turned towards the house again. But to his 
 great mortification, instead of turning, they continued their 
 walk directly towards him, and thus cut off his meditated re- 
 treat through the garden gate, leaving him no alternative 
 but to confront them, which he would not do, or of ignobly 
 hiding behind the trunks of some trees, which he did, and 
 where the Doctor's keen glance was not long in detecting 
 him. 
 
 "Look at your devotee," said Antonio; "see how he is 
 skulking behind those trees to avoid your presence. Shall 
 we march straight upon him, and force him to extremities?" 
 
 "No," replied Lucy, thoughtfully. 
 
 "Are you tired? should you like to sit down?" asked 
 Antonio. 
 
 "No, not yet, thank you, I would rather walk a little 
 longer," and on they walked, Lucy still musing. 
 
 "Suppose," said she all at once, "you were to go to 
 London and settle there?" 
 
 Antonio looked at her with unfeigned surprise, then an- 
 swered, "Well, suppose I did, what great good would be 
 obtained then?" 
 
 "Why," said Lucy, "with your talents and medical skill, 
 and papa's interest, you would soon get a large practice, and 
 make a fortune." 
 
 "Did we not agree," retorted Antonio, with a smile, "that 
 fortune might be a drawback?" 
 
 "True," replied Lucy, rather abashed, "yet it seems 
 
1 82 DOCTOR ANTONIO. 
 
 SO natural— does it not? — to try and better one's con- 
 dition." 
 
 "Well, but will a fortune better my condition?" said 
 Antonio, doubtingly — "that is the question. Let us take it 
 for granted that the practical difficulties of the plan you re- 
 commend are overcome; let us assume that my fortune is 
 made. I am rich then, but to what purpose? and mark first 
 at what cost: at the cost of a complete exile from my country, 
 at that of all my inclinations and habits, of much that cheers 
 my heart and eyes, of the familiar tongue, of my dear warm 
 sun and blue sea, of those orange groves, wafting to me 
 perfumed recollections of my sweet Sicily. These things, 
 light losses to many perhaps, would be heavy ones to me, 
 yet to be borne, were the aim to be reached worth the 
 sacrifice. But such an aim is exactly wanting for me. My 
 mother, thank God, is tolerably provided for; my other re- 
 lations well off. As for myself, I really should be at a 
 loss to say what increase of comforts Fortune could bring 
 to me." 
 
 Antonio paused, but as Lucy was silent, he continued — 
 "A fine mansion? — but I feel lodged like a prince in my 
 little dwelling at Bordighera, larger, after all, than I require, 
 and which, for situation and the prospect it commands, beats 
 many a lordly chateau. To be sure I have no velvet carpets 
 nor double green-baize doors. What use is there for such 
 things in this genial climate, where the winters are so short 
 and mild, that I scarcely think of having a fire lighted? A 
 rich table?— but mine is the table of an epicure: no need 
 here to be a man of capital, no need of forcing-houses to 
 have the luxuries of the table at command. Equipages and 
 horses? — have I not my calessino and shaggy little horse? 
 Then I dislike riding and driving, and never feel so happy 
 as when I can have a good walk, fanned by this wholesome, 
 sweet-scented sea-breeze. So that, all things considered," 
 wound up the Italian, as if his discourse must have brought 
 conviction home to his patient listener, "you see that a for- 
 tune could do nothing for my real comforts." 
 
IN THE GARDEN. 1 83 
 
 As he stopped, he was struck by the pallor that had suc- 
 ceeded to the vivid blush on Lucy's cheek. "You are over- 
 tired," he said, "let us go in at once." 
 
 Lucy's womanly instinct had been sharply roused by what 
 Antonio had said, and left unsaid. The apparent indifference 
 with which he had received and treated her proposal, with- 
 out so much as alluding at least to one argument, whose men- 
 tion seemed so naturally called for by the wish she had just 
 been expressing, of remaining where she was for life; the 
 sort of affectation with which he had dwelt upon his reasons 
 for being content with his lot,— all this had affected her 
 painfully. Lucy had no conception of that firm self-control 
 which enables a man to rein in at once an involuntary emo- 
 tion, and hold straight on along the highroad of common 
 sense. Antonio, whatever his object, had purposely viewed 
 the idea she had thrown out in an exclusively matter-of-fact 
 way women can hardly bear, and are always hurt by, the 
 more or the less depending on the relation in which they 
 stand to the speaker. The one instinct awoke another, 
 which bid her conceal her wounded feeling, and she saw no 
 better means of doing so than going on resolutely with the 
 subject. 
 
 "Be it all as you say," resumed Lucy, "yet you must, at 
 all events, admit that in London your abilities and knowledge 
 would be better appreciated than here; and there must be 
 satisfaction in being properly valued. I suppose you are not 
 insensible to fame?" 
 
 "Fame!" echoed Antonio, smiling; "have you forgotten 
 Dante's definition of fame? ''Non e il romor mondan aliro die 
 un fiato — Di vento ch'or va quindi ed or va quinci.^^* 
 
 "It sounds so sad and unnatural," saidLucy, "to hear one 
 so young talk as if he had not one spark of ambition 
 left." 
 
 "I beg your pardon," retorted the Doctor, quickly; "I 
 
 * " the noise 
 
 Of worldly fame is but a blast of wind. 
 That blows from divers points." — Cary, 
 
184 DOCTOR ANTONIO. 
 
 have an ambition, and a great one, that of serving my coun- 
 try, and doing my best in her cause." 
 
 "What chance is there of your doing that cause more 
 good here, situated as you are, than in London?" 
 
 "Very little, certainly; however, should any movement 
 take place in Sicily, or in any other part of this peninsula, 
 as sooner or later must be the case, think how much more 
 speedily and easily J could join it from here than from 
 London." 
 
 "You are fondly devoted to your country," said Lucy. 
 
 "Who is not?" rephed Antonio. 
 
 "Are you sure that the cause you are engaged in is the 
 rightful cause?" 
 
 "As sure as I am that there is a God in heaven," answered 
 Antonio, solemnly; "what makes you ask?" 
 
 "You must make allowance for — for my prejudices, I 
 suppose," said Lucy. "I have heard so many strictures 
 passed on Italian character, not only by papa, but by many 
 other of my countrymen, — I have heard so much said against 
 the Liberal party in Italy, particularly while we were at Rome, 
 that" — Lucy hesitated. 
 
 — "That you are rather inclined to think they must be in 
 the wrong," said Antonio, finishing the sentence for her. "I 
 do not wonder at it, nor do I wonder at the opinions you have 
 heard expressed by EngHshmen on these subjects. The 
 sympathies of the strong and the powerful are seldom with 
 the weak and the oppressed. Do you recollect how in- 
 genious Job's friends were in proving that it was his fault if 
 he lay covered with sores on the dunghill? Such is the com- 
 mon tendency of human selfishness in presence of suffering, 
 in order to dispense with compassion and assistance. That 
 our national character may be open to objections, (pray 
 shew me the people whose character is not,) that busybodies, 
 nay, evil, self-seeking spirits may be found in the ranks of 
 the national party — where are they not? — I can readily ad- 
 mit. Far be it from me to hold out my country as a pattern 
 of perfection. Italians are men hke other men, with their 
 
IN THE GARDEN. 1 85 
 
 share of man's greatness and man's weakness. Look through 
 the world, study the history of mankind, and what is the 
 lesson they teach?— one of reciprocal forbearance and in- 
 dulgence. But," proceeded he with growing animation, 
 ^'believe me, Miss Davenne, when I say, what 1 am ready to 
 proclaim aloud, and to seal with my blood if necessary, that 
 Italy is a noble, much trampled on, much wronged country, 
 and her cause one as holy as truth and justice can make a 
 cause. Excuse my warmth," continued Antonio, relapsing 
 into his usual sedate manner; "but if you knew the hundredth 
 part of the self-devotion and sacrifice spent in behalf of this 
 ill-fated land, with no better meed from the world than 
 sneering indifference, you would, I am sure, sympathize with 
 my feelings." 
 
 A tear trembled in Lucy's eyes as she rephed, "But I do 
 sympathize with your feelings,— I wish so very much you 
 would tell me all about your country." 
 
 "I will some day, at least about Sicily," said Antonio; 
 "but now you really need some rest, and see, there comes 
 your drawing-master." 
 
 Lucy's drawing-master, side by side with Sir John, was 
 indeed hurrying across the garden, talking all the while in a 
 thundering voice, and accompanying what he said with 
 frantic gesticulations. Had it not been for Sir John, the big- 
 headed little man would, notwithstanding Doctor Antonio's 
 loud calls, have passed on without noticing Miss Davenne 
 or her cavalier. 
 
 "What on earth has happened?" cried the Doctor. 
 
 "A piece of such rare impudence as passes imagination!'^ 
 ejaculated the drawing-master, stopping short, and throwing 
 his hat on the ground in a rage. — "Cose incredibili, orrende, 
 mostruose! Can you believe that now, when the organ-builder 
 is come from Nice to set up the organ, the Count after all 
 his promises refuses to receive him, and flatly denies that 
 he ever engaged to give him a room in his palazzo? Denies 
 it, sir, with the minute of our proceeding of the 19th No- 
 vember 1839, every word of which I myself wrote down at 
 
1 86 DOCTOR ANTONIO. 
 
 the time and place, — with that minute, I say, staring him in 
 the face, the mean, stingy fellow! I will make ten thousand 
 copies of that minute, and of that of this morning's meet- 
 ing, and to every copy I will affix in red ink this verse of 
 Berchet," — and he recited with immense emphasis the follow- 
 ing four lines :— 
 
 "Vile, un manto d'infamia hai tessuto 
 L'hai voluto , sul dosso ti sta ; 
 Ne per pianger, o vil, che farai, 
 Nessun mai dal tuo dosso il torra," 
 
 LITERAL TRANSLATION. 
 
 Coward ! thou hast woven a mantle of infamy. 
 Thou hast chosen it , it hangs on thy back; 
 Nor for tears that thou mayest shed. 
 Will any one ever take it off thy back. 
 
 "Yes; I will spread and distribute these copies all over the 
 Riviera, and have this noble Count hissed in our streets and 
 highways, I will brand him, and hand him down to posterity 
 as the barefaced impostor he is." 
 
 Having made this passionate declaration, the incensed 
 little body stopped to take breath, picked up his hat, and 
 with quite a dramatic change of look and gesture, said gal- 
 lantly to Miss Davenne — 
 
 "I rely on the Signorina's well-known goodness to excuse 
 me from giving her a lesson to-day. I am in no mood for it; 
 and I have arrangements to make with regard to this un- 
 pleasant affair, which render my presence inBordighera im- 
 perative;" — then, turning to Antonio, he added, with a so- 
 lemnity that more than bordered on the ludicrous, — 
 
 "Of one thing you may rest assured, my friend, the Con- 
 fraternity of the Reds shall come out of this difficulty with 
 honour, though it be at the cost of all I possess in the 
 world;" so saying, he trotted out of the garden, first giving 
 his hat such a resolute thump on his head as to send it down 
 over his eyes. 
 
 "Had you not better follow him?" said kind Miss Lucy 
 to Doctor Antonio. "If he were to meet the Count while 
 
IN THE GARDEN. 1 87 
 
 he is in such a passion, I am afraid there would be some 
 mischief." 
 
 "Do not make yourself uneasy as to that," replied An- 
 tonio, smiling ; "with all his fury and blaze, our little friend is 
 a most peaceful creature, he would not hurt a fly willingly. 
 If he were to meet the Count just now, he would probably 
 show his displeasure by a peculiarly stately bow, or at the 
 worst by a volley of harmless verses, hurled in petto at his 
 pro tempore foe." 
 
 "But what is all this fury about?" asked Lucy. "I could 
 not find out what made him so angry." 
 
 "I must begin by telling you," said Antonio, "that the 
 Count is priore, (president,) and your drawing-master sotto- 
 priore (vice-president) of the Confraternity of the Reds. But 
 you know nothing of the Reds or the Whites. Suppose, as 
 you are to have no lesson, that I were to give you a lecture 
 on Confraternities." 
 
 Before Lucy could answer. Sir John said, "Ay, pray do. 
 Doctor Antonio; and instead of going to the balcony, let us 
 have chairs out here, and listen to the Doctor's story under 
 these orange-trees." 
 
 When they were all seated, Antonio began: — 
 
 "As I told you more than once before, the parish church, 
 its embeUishment, the splendour of the church services, and 
 processions, are the great interest, indeed the only public 
 excitement accessible to the mass of the laity here. The parish 
 church, with its church- wardens, choristers, and officials of 
 all sorts, affords scope, however, to the activity of only a 
 limited number of persons. To remedy this inconvenience, 
 there have arisen, under the wing of the parent establish- 
 ment, brotherhoods of many colours, whose business it is to 
 assemble in a place of worship of their own for prayer in 
 common, to bury their dead, and under one pretext or another, 
 continually muster in processions. There are here, as in 
 every little town of the Riviera, Confraternities of the Reds, 
 the Whites, and the Blacks, so named from the colour of the 
 hooded robes worn by the brethern. Each of these associa- 
 
1 88 DOCTOR ANTONIO. 
 
 tions, naturally not over-friendly the one to the other, has a 
 numerous staff of dignitaries and functionaries— a prior and 
 under-prior, a prioress and under-prioress, a chapter, or body 
 of councillors, choristers, crucifix-bearers, standard-bearers, 
 mace-bearers, lamp-bearers, and so on, whose annual election, 
 especially that of the priore and sotto-priore, and chapter, set 
 the brethren in a blaze. Thus, you see, every one of these 
 societies becomes a small focus of petty ambitions, rivalries, 
 intrigue, and gossip. What wonder, if, in the state of utter 
 ignorance wherein the majority are kept, and which renders 
 them incapable of intellectual enjoyments and pursuits— if in 
 their exclusion from all participation, even in the manage- 
 ment of their parish affairs, or of anything to do with those 
 local interests, such as are confided in England to corpora- 
 tions, — what wonder, I say, if, in the absence of legitimate 
 sources of excitement, as necessary to man as the very air 
 he breathes, these good folks should fall back on futile and 
 childish occupations?" 
 
 "Ah!" interrupted Sir John, knowingly, "an absolute go- 
 vernment cannot help much of what you complain of. Doctor 
 Antonio; change one thing, and all the rest tumble about 
 your ears. But after all, you do not mean to say, that the 
 different parishes do not elect their own town-councillors, 
 out of whose number, I suppose, the mayor is chosen?" 
 
 "Elect their own town-councillors!" cried Antonio, "not 
 even in a dream. A mad dog has not greater horror of water 
 than our ruhng powers of the elective principle. Municipal 
 institutions are a dead letter here — a body without a soul, a 
 mere mockery. Do you wish to know who chooses the 
 mayor and town-councillors? The late mayor, (necessarily a 
 creature of the government, or he wouldn't have been a 
 mayor,) the Cure, and the officer of the Carabineers, these 
 three make out a list, which is placed before the Commandant 
 for approval and revision. The Commandant sends it duly 
 revised and approved to the Intendente, (the chief civil 
 magistrate of the province,) who in his turn forwards it to 
 Turin, where it receives the official confirmation. As to your 
 
IN THE GARDEN. I 89 
 
 observation," continued Antonio, turning to Sir John, "that 
 all I complain of is the unavoidable consequence of an ab- 
 solute government, I can only ask. If any particular form of 
 government avowedly works badly, why should it find 
 defenders and upholders among those who would not sub- 
 mit to it in their own country?" 
 
 Sir John pursed up his lips most ominously, but did not 
 speak. 
 
 "I now come to the kernel of the matter," said Antonio, 
 without appearing to notice the cloud on the Baronet's brow. 
 "The Chapter of the Reds, the Count presiding, as usual, 
 some time ago voted a sum for the purchase of an organ for 
 their own little church, or oratorio, as they call it — money is 
 never wanting for such objects. At a later period, and when 
 the organ in question was almost finished, the Chapter met 
 again to consider the propriety of voting a further sum to 
 defray the travelling expenses and the stay here of the organ- 
 builder. It was on this occasion that the Count declared he 
 would take all that upon himself, and receive the organ- 
 builder at his own palazzo, whereupon there was a unanimous 
 vote of thanks to the Count. This took place in that famous 
 sitting of the 19th November 1839, to which the drawing- 
 master just now referred. It would seem that the Count, 
 who has the reputation of being a stingy man, wishes now to 
 take back his word, and refuses to fulfil his promise. Inde 
 ira." 
 
 Sir John fumed a good deal on hearing this, and protested 
 that there must be some gross mistake in the statement of 
 the drawing-master. The Count a stingy man! Nonsense! 
 He had put his Casino at his (Sir John's) disposal, 'twenty 
 times over. A nobleman like the Count was incapable of 
 such shabby tricks. He would see the Count himself, and 
 have the whole matter cleared up. 
 
 Sir John was as good as his word. On the evening of 
 that same day he had a long conversation with the Count, 
 the upshot of which was,, that on the morrow the organ- 
 
I go DOCTOR ANTONIO. 
 
 builder was installed in the Count's palazzo, to the infinite 
 satisfaction of all parties. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 In the Boat. 
 
 One afternoon, as Lucy, arm-in-arm with her father, was 
 strolling as usual about the garden, Antonio a few paces in 
 front of them, the latter took the bar off the little gate that 
 opened on the beach, and led the way down a gentle slope 
 to the seaside. The path, as smooth and carefully swept as 
 a gravelled garden walk, (we suspect Battista of having had 
 some hand in this,) was bordered on either side by a quantity 
 of yellow, white, and pink flowers, shooting out of the dry 
 sand as brisk and vivacious as if planted in the richest soil. 
 Lucy was so taken up observing, admiring, and picking them, 
 and so intent on listening to Antonio's explanations about 
 this particular genus of marine plants, that she did not no- 
 tice Battista with another man, standing by a boat with a 
 gaily-striped awning, its bow already in the water, till she 
 came close to them. 
 
 "Oh, what a pretty boat!'' exclaimed she. 
 
 "The boat and the crew are here for your service, if you 
 feel inclined to make use of them," said Antonio to her. 
 
 "Thank you, I shall enjoy a row on this beautiful, beauti- 
 ful sea so much!" exclaimed Lucy in high glee. "You have 
 no objection, papa? But," added she with some' timidity, 
 '*will it be safe to go with only two men?" 
 
 "You will be as safe as in your balcony," replied Antonio. 
 "Battista is a first-rate boatman as well as sailor, no one 
 more expert in the management of sail or oar. The country- 
 men of Columbus are well known as capital seamen, allowed 
 to be so even by the Enghsh, who are proud, and justly so, 
 of their superiority on the sea. An intelligent Government," 
 continued Antonio, as he handed Lucy into the boat, "would 
 
IN THE BOAT. IQI 
 
 work wonders with such elements; but—" and the comple- 
 ment of the sentence was a shrug and a sigh. 
 
 Lucy looked at the speaker, and said, "Now, we are none 
 of us to think of Governments or politics; we are going to 
 enjoy ourselves this afternoon." There was so much of the 
 woman's kindness mixed with the girl's buoyancy in this, that 
 the Italian did not feel sore at the remark. Lucy only liked 
 to hear Antonio talk of the troubles of his country when Sir 
 John was not present. 
 
 There was not a ripple on the sea, whose bright blue was 
 only now and then chequered by broad white streaks— milky 
 paths on the azure— some stretching forth in straight lines, 
 others winding forward in graceful zig-zags. Battista and 
 his comrade put forth the strength of their brawny arms, the 
 former keeping his eyes carefully averted from Miss Davenne, 
 who lay back on the cushioned seat, parting the water by 
 the boat's side with her dehcate fingers, deep in pleasant 
 imaginings, it would seem, from the half smile on her hps. 
 Swiftly they glided past the Cape of Bordighera, and then a 
 new and splendid panorama opened out before them. 
 
 A glorious extent of hilly coast against a background of 
 lofty mountains, stretched semicircularly from east to west, 
 broken all along into capes and creeks, and studded with 
 towns and villages, full of original character, — Ventimiglia, 
 with its crown of dismantled mediseval castles, — Mentone, 
 so gay on the sunny beach, well named Roccabruna, all 
 sombre hues and frowns, — Turbia, and its Roman monu- 
 ment, a record of the greatest power on earth, covering with 
 its shadow the lilHputian principality of Monaco below, — 
 Villafranca and its lighthouse. Further on, running south- 
 ward, loomed vaporous in the distance, the long, low strip 
 of French shore, with Antibes at its extremity; and further 
 still, in the west, the fanciful blue lines of the mountains of 
 Provence. Here and there a snowy peak shot boldly above 
 the rest; some hoary parent Alp, one might fancy, looking 
 down to see that all went right among the younger branches. 
 
 Lucy's eyes and soul feasted in silence on this prospect. 
 
192 DOCTOR ANTONIO. 
 
 over which the warm tints of the setting sun cast a magical 
 splendour of unspeakable effect. As the sense of the 
 beauties amid which she lived grew every day stronger upon 
 our sweet Enghsh girl, she gradually found out how empty 
 and inadequate to express what she felt were those every- 
 day set forms of admiration, of which she had been so 
 profuse at first. Sir John, on the contrary, though long 
 familiar with this scene, was enthusiastic in his praises of it, 
 ending with a lament that the Osteria was not on this side 
 of the Cape of Bordighera. 
 
 But the Gulf of Spedaletti, and the three well-known 
 head-lands to the east, found an eager advocate in Lucy, 
 who insisted on their superiority. She allowed that the view 
 towards the coast of France was the more varied and exten- 
 sive of the two; but she declared that it wanted the 
 harmonious unity and character of melancholy grandeur 
 which marked the view from the Osteria. "A painter," said 
 Lucy, "might prefer the former; but a poet, I am sure, 
 would find the latter more suggestive of thoughts and im- 
 ages going home to the heart." 
 
 "Heyday!" laughed Sir John, looking fondly and proudly 
 at the fair speaker, "is my pet going to turn poet herself?" 
 
 "Who knows?" retorted the smiling girl, with a guilty 
 blush. Indeed, she felt as if she were. 
 
 Between two richly wooded hillocks, a little to the west- 
 ward of Bordighera, appeared the white Palazzino of the 
 Count, now all in a purple glow. "There's a glorious situa- 
 tion for you," exclaimed Sir John, pointing it out to his 
 daughter. 
 
 "The Count is a man of taste," said Antonio, "he chose 
 the site, and gave the plan of his casino himself." 
 
 "He is a cleverer fellow, then, than I thought," observed 
 the Baronet; "it stands exactly where it ought." 
 
 "Does it not?" replied the Doctor. "Transport it in 
 imagination anywhere else, and it will lose something by the 
 change." 
 
 "What you say of the Count's casino, might be said, I 
 
IN THE BOAT. 1 93 
 
 think, of all the numerous towns and villages that we see 
 from here," said Lucy; "no one could wish them moved 
 higher or lower, to the right or to the left, by way of making 
 them look prettier or more picturesque. Even the most 
 insignificant hamlet seems just where it looks best on its 
 own account, and where it adds most to the effect of the 
 whole. Do you not think so, Doctor Antonio?" 
 
 "To such an impartial admirer," answered Antonio, 
 smiling on her, "I may venture to say, that the race which 
 inhabits this country is a race of unconscious artists. They 
 possess an uncultivated but decided appreciation of the 
 beautiful, the workings of which are as clearly traceable in 
 the choice of a situation, and the building of a town or 
 village, as in the choice and arrangement of a flower in the 
 women's hair. Perhaps Nature has so ordained it, that 
 man's works should not be at odds with her own in this 
 privileged land. If you observe the attitudes and gestures 
 of these people, the way in which they mingle the colours, 
 and the grace with which they wear their simple costume, 
 you will at once detect an inborn nicety of taste, for which 
 they are indebted to the medium in which they live. Take, 
 for instance, the head-gear of the men, nothing but a red 
 pouch hned with brown, or the coloured kerchief which the 
 women tie round their heads; can anything be more simple? 
 yet see in how many different ways, and all picturesque, 
 they contrive to wear them. The peasant girl, who carries 
 on her head or under her arm the bundle of grass for her 
 cow, never forgets to hang at one of its ends a bunch of red 
 poppies, or of blue corn-flowers, or any other flower of the 
 season. How often I have seen originals of Leopold Robert's 
 two famous pictures here!'' 
 
 "Are the women generally handsome?" asked Lucy. 
 
 "Yes — that is, they have all the characteristics of a fine 
 race," replied Antonio; "long, well-cut eyes, rich hair, fine 
 necks, on which the head is well placed, small wrists, ankles, 
 and feet. But many of these beauties are lost or spoiled by 
 
 Doctor Antonio, 1 3 
 
194 DOCTOR ANTONIO. 
 
 over-exertion, or neglect, their hair in particular. You have 
 a good specimen of the women of this country in Speranza." 
 
 "Ah! she is really very beautiful!" exclaimed Lucy, with 
 such enthusiasm, that Sir John stared, then said,— 
 
 "Is she? well, it is odd that I never found it out." 
 
 "That is because you have not looked enough at her, 
 papa," retorted Lucy, laughing. "If you had tried to draw 
 her picture twenty times, as I have done, you would have 
 found out the exquisite purity and elegance of all the lines 
 about her." 
 
 "Well done, Miss Lucy; where did you pick up all this 
 fine artist's talk?" cried the somewhat amazed father. "I 
 suppose. Doctor Antonio, the medium you are so fond of 
 talking about is affecting my little English girl?" 
 
 "Probably," answered the Doctor, with one of his quiet 
 smiles. "However, I agree with Miss Davenne. Speranza 
 is a beauty; and I never see her washing her linen at the 
 fountain, without thinking of Homer's description of 
 Nausicaa. If the rest of her person were as faultless as her 
 head and her bust, Rosa's daughter might sit for a Hebe. 
 As it is , the going to the wood and carrying great weights, 
 spoils the finest proportions.'^ 
 
 "I must take a good look of this beauty when we reach 
 home," said Sir John. 
 
 The boat, now on its way back, was just opposite Bordi- 
 ghera. "What is that on the height, a little way in front of 
 the town," asked Lucy, "that looks like a bit of a ruin?" 
 
 "It is, or rather was, an open battery. By the by, there 
 is a story in connexion with it, in which, as the English are 
 concerned, you may take an interest." 
 
 "I hope it is not something against them," said Lucy. 
 
 "Judge for yourself," replied the Doctor. — "On a calm 
 day of July 1812, an English brig-of-war came in sight of 
 Bordighera, and, with or without a motive, ran so close in 
 shore as to place herself under the battery of the town. 
 Now, the officers in command of the batteries along the 
 coast had precise orders to fire upon all English vessels 
 
IN THE BOAT. 1 95 
 
 chancing to come within reach of cannon shot. The Riviera 
 in those times belonged, by right of the strongest, to France. 
 The French heutenant , who , at the head of a dozen men, 
 happened to be in command of this battery on this particular 
 day of 2ist July, must have been, to all appearance, a sober- 
 minded man, without a particle of '■'■furia Francese" in his 
 blood, for he saw the enemy's progress with perfect cool- 
 ness, and without making any hostile preparation. But a 
 conduct so philosophical was far from suiting the good folks 
 of Bordighera, who had reckoned on something better. It 
 was not every day that brought to the quiet and rather dull 
 citizens of the little town such a good chance of sport and 
 excitement as an English vessel to fire upon ; and they were 
 determined to make the most of it. So they came in 
 numbers to the battery, and uproariously insisted that the 
 officer should carry into effect the instructions he held, by 
 at once firing upon the audacious brig. The lieutenant, not 
 daring to take upon himself the responsibility of a refusal, 
 yielded a grudging assent, but first, though every rope of 
 the rigging was distinctly visible to the naked eye, he 
 reconnoitred the enemy through an immense spyglass; and 
 so long did the survey last, that it might have been sus- 
 pected he was not without a secret hope that the vessel 
 which had placed itself in his way, and in harm's way, would 
 move off. However, it did not; there it lay, as idle *as a 
 painted ship upon a painted ocean.' There was nothing 
 else for it, so the order was given to load and fire an old 
 eight-pounder. The aim was pretty good, since part of the 
 enemy's bowsprit was demolished. Again the Frenchman 
 looked through his glass ; there was a great bustle on board 
 the brig, and then the boats were lowered, for an attack no 
 doubt; and many were the curses that he launched at the 
 blockheads who had brought him and themselves into such 
 a scrape. When lo! instead of approaching the land, the 
 boats were observed to be towing the brig as fast as they 
 could out of the httle bay. You may imagine the triumphant 
 exultation of these Falstaffs of Bordighera; the huzzas with 
 
 13' 
 
Ig6 DOCTOR ANTONIO. 
 
 which they celebrated their bloodless victory must have 
 been heard by those on board, though the projectiles with 
 which they were accompanied fell short of their aim. 
 
 "One fine day, two months later, the same brig hove in 
 sight, making for Bordighera in a very decided manner, but 
 this time in company with a small frigate and another brig, 
 which came up right and left, bringing their guns to bear so 
 as to command the high road, and cut off any succour either 
 from the side of Genoa or that of Nice. This done, the first 
 brig fired a broadside, but evidently not intended to do 
 much harm, since only one man was killed. At the same 
 time, a hundred sailors and marines were landed, and 
 marched straight on the battery. The struggle was neither 
 long nor sanguinary; the old eight-pounder was spiked, and 
 the lieutenant and his dozen men locked into the guard- 
 room. It is said that only two out of the warlike citizens 
 were to be discovered in the town — the mayor, Mr. Giribaldi, 
 was one; the other a hero whose name is lost to history, 
 who, at sight of the red uniforms, fired his gun at random, 
 and ran away. The English carried the mayor on board 
 the frigate, sentenced him to — an excellent dinner, and sent 
 him back in the evening in a very jovial state, the key of 
 the guard-room in his pocket. Thus terminated the war 
 between Bordighera and Great Britain, for at sunrise the 
 next morning, there was no trace of frigate or brigs." 
 
 As the Doctor finished his story, the latter part of which 
 had tickled Sir John amazingly, the boat gently forcing its 
 way through the sand, came to a full stop also. Antonio 
 jumped out and offered his hand to Lucy; but Lucy play- 
 fully put it aside, and sprang on shore without assistance. 
 Antonio uttered an exclamation of alarm. 
 
 "Well done, Lucy!" cried the Baronet, who had seen 
 the whole transaction, and was highly amused by Antonio's 
 rueful countenance. "Ha! ha! the patient is asserting her 
 independence, and going to give her doctor the slip." 
 
 What was there in these words, spoken without any 
 malice prepense^ nay, most good-humouredly, to cast a gloom 
 
IN THE BOAT. r97 
 
 over Doctor Antonio's brow! He evidently attached to them 
 a meaning they had not. All men, even those with healthy, 
 well-balanced minds, have their hours of over-sensitiveness, 
 and it is probable that our Doctor was in one of those 
 pleasant hours. He made no reply to Sir John's vivacious 
 sally, and walked on alone. Lucy, with that quick percep- 
 tiveness that affection gives, understood his silence, and, 
 going up to his side, complained of being tired. Antonio 
 immediately gave her his arm, and the three returned to the 
 Osteria in unbroken silence. What party, large or small, 
 and bent on a pleasure expedition, ever did return in the 
 self-same mood in which they set out? Once at the house, 
 Antonio took his leave, then suddenly coming back, said, 
 with what was studied carelessness, "By the by. Sir John, 
 I think this is your forty-eighth day of bondage." The 
 colour fled from Lucy's cheek. 
 
 "Is it?" asked Sir John, in some surprise. 
 
 "Yes, and the day of your deliverance also," pursued 
 Antonio, quickly. "It is my pleasant duty to tell you, that 
 Miss Davenne is sufficiently recoverd to bear the fatigue of 
 a journey without danger or inconvenience." 
 
 Wonder of wonders! Sir John does not leap for joy at 
 this announcement, does not throw himself, in a transport 
 of gratitude, on his deliverer's neck, or madly shake his 
 hand, but lets him depart with an embarrassed "Ah! indeed 
 — very well, thank you," and follows Lucy into the house 
 without another word. How is it that Sir John receives this 
 longed-for piece of news with such marked coolness? Is he 
 not the same man who, but a few weeks ago, would have 
 wiUingly purchased his release from the wretched Osteria 
 with half his year's income? No, Sir John is not the same 
 man — Sir John is altered. Sir John has grown lazy, has no 
 energy to take a resolution, lacks the courage to say "to- 
 morrow, next day, next week." The elderly gentleman has 
 insensibly taken the colour of the medium in which he is 
 living. The sky, the sea, the soft, sweet-scented air, have 
 all told upon him also, Hannibal has found his Capua, 
 
igS DOCTOR ANTONIO. 
 
 O Italy, fair Italy! thine is the imperishable spell to 
 soften and subdue all natures, however rugged and rebel- 
 lious: all on whom thy warm breath plays yield to thee. 
 Many have come to thee in hatred and defiance, lance in 
 rest, who, no sooner had they tasted the sweet milk of thy 
 breast, than they laid down their arms, blessed thee, and 
 called thee "Mother." Thy history is full of such conquests, 
 O parent land of many beauties and sorrows! 
 
 Sir John sat down silently and moodily. Lucy's intent 
 gaze seemed as if it would read his innermost thoughts; and 
 it was with anxious trepidation that she awaited the result 
 of his brown study. There was a frown on the Baronet's 
 forehead— the frown of a man at a loss to see clearly into 
 his own mind and feelings. Light dawned on him at last, 
 and showed him the inconvenience of leaving Bordighera 
 just then. His collection of plants for Davenne was not yet 
 completed, and really Lucy's health was so improved, it 
 would be a pity to go away without some pressing necessity; 
 and since Aubrey could not be in London before the end of 
 August at the soonest, it might be as well to let Lucy have 
 as long as possible of the air which seemed to suit her. As 
 he came to this conclusion, Sir John's features relaxed, and 
 brightened like those of a man who had solved a riddle. 
 "After all," said he, rising, "it is pleasant to know that we 
 can go away whenever we hke, though I see no reason for 
 setting off at once, as Doctor Antonio proposes, unless my 
 darling wishes to do so." 
 
 "Oh, no, papa! pray, let us stay a little longer," replied 
 Lucy, eagerly— "we are so comfortable here." 
 
 "Oh! comfortable, comfortable ! " muttered the Baronet, 
 with a comic mixture of testiness and satisfaction; "for my 
 part, I confess I do not see these great comforts, unless the 
 prospect of being broiled alive in this furnace of a country, 
 which will be the case in a few days, be one in your 
 eyes. However, before it gets too hot, we shall luckily 
 be gone." 
 
 Sir John involuntarily sighed, and, quite reconciled to 
 
IN THE BOAT. IQQ 
 
 himself by this little tirade, he left the room, without any 
 suspicion that his daughter had sighed also, and from 
 the depths of her young innocent heart, at the thought of 
 leaving the Osteria. Sir John was no exception to the 
 rule, that all papas and mammas have exactly that sort of 
 sight, which distinguishes objects at a distance clearly, 
 while they need spectacles to see those under their very 
 nose. 
 
 Thus it came to pass, that two hours later, as Sir John 
 was arranging his pieces on the chess-board, (Lucy having 
 retired for the night,) he said to the taciturn Doctor, — ^"So 
 you really think, Doctor Antonio, that this clim.ate agrees 
 particularly well with my daughter?" 
 
 Antonio looked with some surprise at his interlocutor, 
 even paused an instant before answering, "You have only 
 to compare the Miss Davenne of to-day with the Miss 
 Davenne of a few weeks ago, to be able to answer the ques- 
 tion yourself; no more cough, colour good, sleep and appe- 
 tite both excellent — " 
 
 "It is your opinion, then," persisted Sir John, "that a 
 longer stay here may tend to strengthen her constitution?" 
 
 Antonio felt an almost irresistible impulse to knock over 
 table and chess-board to give the unsuspecting Englishman 
 a hearty hug, — fathers of lovely daughters have no idea 
 of the perils they run, — but gloriously conquered himself, 
 and answered with proper professional dignity, "I have no 
 doubt of it. This climate is as healthy as any in the world ; 
 and regular, quiet habits, and the absence of all excitement, 
 are the real panacea for such delicate persons as Miss 
 Davenne. A course of sea-baths during the hot season 
 would, I am sure, do her good." 
 
 "In that case," replied the Baronet, "I suppose we must 
 manage to remain here a little longer; now for our game, it 
 is your turn to begin." 
 
 They played three games that evening. Sir John was so 
 kind as to be wonderfully surprised at winning them all 
 three. Antonio all the way to Bordighera sang, "O bell' 
 
200 DOCTOR ANTONIO. 
 
 alma innamorata," with an energy and expression that did 
 credit to his lungs and musical taste. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 Sicily. 
 
 Late on a warm summer evening, Sir John, Lucy, and 
 Antonio, sat on the balcony, listening to the nightingales and 
 watching the progress of the slow sinking moon. As the 
 bright disk, lingering for a while on the top of the hill of 
 Bordighera, shot, through its thick screen of trees, streams 
 of light that quivered like fire, Lucy uttered a little cry of 
 delight. 
 
 ''Is not that like a volcano?" asked she; "I never saw 
 one, but I fancy it must be like that," and she pointed to 
 the hill. 
 
 "You are right," said Antonio: "it is so similar that it 
 seems as though I were looking on my old familiar Etna in 
 miniature. It recalls to me many a happy night, when, 
 seated on the terrace-roof of my home in Catania, I watched 
 the solemn signs of an impending eruption, and dreamed 
 bright waking dreams of the future. The present," he con- 
 tinued, with a sad smile, "bears as little likeness to my 
 dreaming as the red-hot liquid to the cold lava, that the 
 lazzaroni shape into fanciful ornaments to catch a few ^granV 
 from strangers." 
 
 This led to many a question from Lucy, and answers 
 from the Doctor, about Etna, Catania, and Sicily, in the 
 course of which Antonio had more than once occasion to 
 stigmatize, in strong terms, what he called the mismanage- 
 ment of his unfortunate native Island. Sir John could not 
 hear this without entering his protest. "Come, come, be 
 just," remonstrated the Baronet; "are kings, in a question 
 which is one of life and death to them, to be allowed no 
 right of self-defence?" 
 
 "Put your question the other way, and you will be nearer 
 
SICILY. 201 
 
 the mark," retorted Antonio; "Is a nation to be allowed no 
 right of protecting and defending its liberties and in- 
 dependence?" 
 
 "Certainly," said the Baronet; "but you go too far, too 
 far by a great deal; if kings are sometimes driven to ex- 
 tremities, whose fault is it but that of the party with whom 
 there is no possible transaction, I mean the ultra-democratic 
 party, that will be satisfied with nothing short of implanting 
 republics on the ruins of every throne?" 
 
 "Ultra -democratic party! republics!" exclaimed An- 
 tonio, in unfeigned amazement. "Who ever dreamed of a 
 republic in Sicily? If we ever come to that, and it may be 
 the case some day, it will be the Bourbons' own doing. The 
 Sicilians are an essentially monarchical people; their tradi- 
 tions, habits, and customs are deeply rooted in monarchy. 
 We owe our free institutions to kings, and through a long 
 line of kings was Sicily respected and happy. When the 
 storm of 1789 swept the Bourbons of Naples from off their 
 continental dominions, where did they find safe shelter, 
 assistance of all kind and devoted hearts, but in faithful, 
 loyal Sicily? For all which what return they made the world 
 knows. And who helped us to consohdate our poHtical 
 edifice, I mean who assisted in the framing of our Constitu- 
 tion of 1 8 12 — that Constitution in the name and defence of 
 which Sicihans have been struggling and dying for the last 
 eight-and-twenty years — but monarchical Great Britain?" 
 
 "Have you, then, a Parliament hke ours?" asked Lucy. 
 
 "We had," answered Antonio, sadly. 
 
 "And why has it been abohshed?" inquired Lucy. "You 
 promised to tell me all about Sicily some day — pray, do so 
 now." 
 
 "That was a rash promise," said Antonio, with a half 
 smile, "the fulfilment of which would amount to nothing 
 less than giving you a summary of Sicilian history, and I 
 scarcely think your patience, or Sir John's, would last out 
 the trial." However, Lucy insisted, Sir John expressed his 
 willingness, and Antonio yielded. (The reader who objects 
 
202 DOCTOR ANTONIO. 
 
 to history in a work of fiction, has only to slip over the rest 
 of the present chapter.) 
 
 "Sicilian liberties,""^ said Antonio, "are contemporaneous 
 with those of England. As early as in the eleventh century, 
 Sicily, under the auspices of a Norman Prince, like England, 
 settled the foundations of her freedom and independence. 
 The national sovereignty resided, de factOy in the Parliament, 
 who disposed of the crown of the island, and no prince ever 
 considered his title good or his power secure, unless based 
 on an election by Parhament. The great objection felt to 
 the Princes of the House of Anjou, was on the score that 
 they were imposed by the Pontiff, and not elected by the 
 nation. This, and no other, was the origin of the irritation, 
 which exploded in the Sicilian Vespers (1282). It was the 
 Parliament who, of its own free will, called to the throne the 
 line of Arragon, in the person of Peter, and at a later period 
 the Castilian, in that of Ferdinand the Catholic. And it is 
 not amiss to note, that, at the death of the latter, his suc- 
 cessor, Charles the Fifth, was not immediately acknow- 
 ledged; was not till 15 18 that he received the investiture 
 from the Parliament, and swore, like his predecessors, to 
 maintain intact the immunities and free customs of Sicily. 
 It may seem strange that the Sicilian Autonomy passed un- 
 scorched through the fire of three centuries of union with 
 Spain, but our wonder will cease when we reflect that the 
 bond between Spain and Sicily was rather nominal than 
 real, and that during this whole period, the island preserved 
 its own national representation, its own laws, its own ad- 
 ministration, flag, coin, and army. At the war of succession, 
 in the beginning of the last century, the throne of Sicily 
 was disputed along with all the other dominions of the 
 deceased Charles the Second of Spain. The Treaty of 
 Utrecht gave Sicily to Victor Amadeus of Savoy, who, by a 
 
 * Memoire Historique sur les Droits Politiques de la Sicile, par MM. 
 Bonaccorsi et Lumia. La Sicile et les Bourbons , par M. Amari, Membre du 
 Parlement Sicilien. Gli Ultimi Rivolgimenti Italiani, Memorie Storiche di 
 F. A. Gualterio. Vol. IV. 
 
SICILY. 203 
 
 Special clause of that Treaty, was bound Ho approve, con- 
 firm, and ratify, all the privileges, immunities, customs, &c., 
 enjoyed by the island.' Thus the liberties of Sicily came 
 to form part of the public right of Europe. But the sway of 
 Victor Amadeus was of short duration, for, a little more 
 than twenty years after, Cardinal Alberoni succeeded in 
 tricking the Duke of Savoy out of Sicily, which once more 
 of its own free-will united itself to the fortunes of Spain. 
 The Bourbons began their rule by a scrupulous observance 
 of the fundamental compact, and the two kingdoms of 
 Naples and Sicily continued to be as independent and dis- 
 tinct, the one from the other, as during the reign of Philip 
 the Second. When Charles the Third received at Palermo, 
 in 1735, the crown of Sicily, and the homage of the National 
 Representation, he in his turn took the oath of fidelity to 
 the Constitution. And so did his son and successor, Fer- 
 dinand, who assumed the style of Ferdinand the Third of 
 Sicily and Fourth of Naples, in order that the distinction of 
 the two kingdoms should be made clear to all the world. 
 
 "The first years of his reign, under the guidance of the 
 enlightened Tannucci, (Ferdinand was eight years of age 
 when placed on the throne,) gave general satisfaction as far 
 as regards Sicily, and this explains how the storm of 1789 
 passed over the island without disturbing its tranquillity. 
 Happy and secure in a Constitution, which gave her the 
 power of reform by pacific means, when necessary, why 
 should she take part in a struggle that could bring her no- 
 thing better than what she already possessed? Meanwhile 
 the thrones of Continental Europe were shaken from their 
 foundations, and none more so than the Neapolitan. Will 
 it be beheved that this was the moment chosen to aim a 
 blow at our secular liberties, and thus estrange the faithful 
 Sicihans from their Sovereign? The Neapolitan Govern- 
 ment had joined the coalition against France, and set about 
 raising money, that great sinew of war. Our Parliament 
 was accordingly applied to for a monthly grant of twenty 
 
204 DOCTOR ANTONIO. 
 
 thousand ounces (ten thousand pounds sterling) for as long 
 as might be required. The Sicilian Parhament was com- 
 posed of three parts, hraccia we call them, that is, three 
 arms or branches of the State; the nobihty, the clergy, and, 
 thirdly, the tenants of the Crown. A majority of the whole 
 was required for the validity of any measure. The clergy 
 and nobility did not oppose the grant, but they objected to 
 there being no period specified for its duration. The de- 
 pendants of the Crown alone voted the supply without re- 
 striction. King Ferdinand, by an audacious stretch of 
 power, ordered that the vote of his tenants should stand 
 good for that of the whole Parhament. This first attack on 
 our rights, however, fell to the ground of itself; for just as 
 a fierce resistance was on the eve of breaking out, the 
 defeat of the Austro-Neapolitan army, under General Mack, 
 leaving Naples at the mercy of the French, compelled the 
 Court and its adherents to take refuge on board the English 
 ships of war then in the bay. 
 
 "After having escaped many dangers on land, the Royal 
 fugitives had to encounter the perils of the sea. Two days 
 after their embarkation a violent storm arose, during which 
 one of the young princes expired; but at length the rest were 
 safely landed at Palermo. 'Men of Palermo,' cried Queen 
 Caroline, as she stepped on the pier, *will you receive your 
 Queen? ' At that moment all past grievances were forgotten, 
 a general enthusiasm prevailed, and Ferdinand and Caroline 
 were conducted in a sort of triumph to the Royal Palace, 
 where they were soon surrounded by all their accustomed 
 luxury. The inhabitants of Palermo could not do enough 
 for their Majesties, — horses, carriages, plate, and money 
 were supplied in abundance. The Sicilians felt confident 
 that this arrival among them was to cement a firmer union, 
 and secure a more permanent good understanding between 
 the nation and the Sovereign. They were speedily un- 
 deceived. But of this period of four years, from 1799 to 
 1802, when, at the Peace of Amiens, the Royal family were 
 restored to the throne of Naples, I shall say nothing, as it 
 
SICILY. 205 
 
 would be only giving the same picture, but with subdued 
 colours, which I shall have to paint hereafter. 
 
 "In the year 1806, Ferdinand and his family were obhged 
 once more to fly to Sicily. Like to all the Bourbons, ex- 
 perience and misfortune preached in vain to this Royal pair. 
 Holding, as they did, to the hope of reconquering Naples by 
 the aid and resources of Sicily, it would have seemed but 
 natural that they should carefully avoid, if only out of policy, 
 hurting the feelings of the islanders. But quite the contrary. 
 First of all, the Court laid violent hands on the Monti di Pieta, 
 the patrimony of the poor. The money invested in the bank 
 on Government security by private individuals was next 
 seized; the property of absentees, whether that of friends or 
 foes mattered nothing, was confiscated; and the sums thus 
 collected went to fatten the Neapolitan emigres, who swarmed 
 at Court, and who, according to a grave historian, Colletta, 
 were nothing better than 'rogues, cowards, the worst con- 
 sciences of the kingdom.^ Every post in the Administration, 
 (and remember the Court was in Sicily,) every office, every 
 charge, every honour was bestowed on Neapolitans, and 
 Neapolitans alone. A system of political delation was 
 organized. No public place, no drawing-room, but was in- 
 fested by spies; the very privacy of famihes was not safe 
 from their intrusion. The Government sniffed Jacobins 
 everywhere. A person was imprisoned solely because he 
 had often been seen to converse with a friend of his, who 
 had been exiled on the charge of Jacobinism, — pi-o crehris 
 conversationibus. A citizen was banished for having read a 
 certain newspaper with pleasure, — pro lecturd Gazettarum 
 cum delectotione. There was no end to the petty vexations 
 exercised against those who wore whiskers and pantaloons, 
 both considered as the outward signs of Jacobinism. 
 
 "King Ferdinand was one of the weakest of the Spanish 
 Bourbons: so that he could hunt or fish with his low asso- 
 ciates, be the King of Nimrods, or Lazzaroni, he Httle cared 
 who enacted the part of King of the Two Sicilies. His wife, 
 the absolute, iron- willed, unscrupulous Caroline of Austria, 
 
206 DOCTOR ANTONIO. 
 
 ruled him completely. This ambitious woman could not 
 make up her mind to the loss of the Neapolitan throne. The 
 rapid and immense success and fortune of the Napoleon 
 dynasty depriving her at last of all hope of regaining Naples 
 by the sole help of the Sicilians, and of a few Enghsh vessels, 
 she bethought herself of trying a new experiment. She 
 entered into a secret negotiation with Napoleon himself, 
 through the medium of her niece, Maria Louisa. Napoleon 
 kept her at bay some time, holding out hopes that he would 
 finally restore Naples to her, and give her the March of 
 Ancona into the bargain, provided she managed to get rid 
 of the English. 
 
 "If the Bourbons of Naples still wore a crown, it was, 
 undoubtedly, thanks to the English, and it was not for those 
 reaping the advantage to argue, whether there was more of 
 self-interest than generosity in the opposition offered by 
 England to France, wherever it was found possible. That 
 an English fleet had saved the king and royal fam.ily in 1799 ; 
 that Enghsh blood had been freely shed at Maida, and Eng- 
 lish gold freely spent for them, (from 1805 the king had re- 
 ceived a yearly subsidy of three hundred and eighty thou- 
 sand pounds, which was raised to four hundred thousand in 
 1809;) that from ten to fifteen thousand English soldiers 
 were in the island for their protection — all these were 
 notorious facts. It was natural to expect, at least, a candid 
 policy from those accepting of these favours. But neither 
 common gratitude nor common honesty were the distinguish- 
 ing attributes of Ferdinand and his queen. The English did 
 at last get scent of Caroline's machinations. The details 
 are up to this day shrouded in mystery, but damning proofs 
 of their reality exist among the papers in the Foreign Office 
 at Paris. 
 
 "Up to 1810, England remained an attentive but passive 
 looker-on of all that was passing in the island; that year, 
 however, she roused herself to action. Lord Amherst was 
 recalled, and Lord William Bentinck sent in his place as 
 
SICILY. 207 
 
 Minister Plenipotentiary from Great Britain, and Com- 
 mander-in-Chief of the British forces in the Mediterranean. 
 
 "The Enghsh Ambassador found Palermo in a high state 
 of excitement, occasioned by a new outrage committed by 
 the Court on the very eve of his arrival. The large sums 
 voted by the Sicilian Parliament the year before being ex- 
 hausted, the King, urged on by his Camarilla, resolved on 
 obtaining fresh supplies without troubling the representa- 
 tives of the country. For this end, the Council of State, 
 composed, with one single exception, of Neapolitans, was 
 convened, and from its deliberation emanated the three 
 Decrees which threw Palermo into such a ferment. By the 
 first, all the landed property of religious bodies and of 
 parishes was arbitrarily declared to be Crown property; and 
 in order more promptly to realize the value, a second decree 
 organized a lottery, in which the lands aforesaid were to be 
 the prizes. The third established a tax of one per cent, on 
 all sales of whatever kind. 
 
 "The indignation at these measures was general, and 
 Parliament acted as the mouthpiece of this indignation. 
 Forty-three of the nobles of the Baronial branch signed an 
 energetic protestation, and had it laid before the King. He 
 did not make them wait long for an answer. In the night of 
 the 5th July 181 1, the Princes of Belmonte, Castelnuovo, 
 Villa Franca, Aci, and the Duke d^Angio, considered as the 
 ringleaders of the opposition, were arrested, and embarked 
 for different prisons in the neighbouring islands. 
 
 "It was just at this crisis that Lord William Bentinck 
 appeared, and his advent was hailed by the Sicilians as that 
 of a saviour. While on one side he did his best to calm the 
 popular effervescence, on the other he made energetic 
 representations to the King and ministers, on the impru- 
 dence and folly of the course they had entered upon, — but 
 in vain. 'That fat serjeant,' said the Queen, who had taken 
 a hatred of him, 'was sent here by the Prince Regent to 
 make his bow to the King, and not to lay down the law.^ 
 Unable to overcome this obstinacy, Lord William went back 
 
2o8 DOCTOR ANTONIO. 
 
 to England to explain to the Cabinet of Saint James's the 
 actual state of affairs in Sicily. After a six weeks' absence 
 he returned to Palermo, and this time with full powers to 
 adopt any measures he deemed advisable. The Englishman 
 was not one to let himself be made a fool of; so finding that 
 the conferences, to which he was continually summoned by 
 king, queen, and heir- apparent, led to no answers of the 
 very categorical demands he had presented, he cut the 
 matter short by very decided conduct on his own part. He 
 began by suspending the suppHes of money furnished by 
 England to the royal family, established his head-quarters 
 at Paleniio, and brought thither some of the English troops 
 from Messina. These steps producing no effect, he threatened 
 to put himself at the head of his army, take Palermo, seize 
 the King and Queen, and send them off to London. As Lord 
 WiUiam was known to be a man to keep his word, the busi- 
 ness was soon settled. The King had an official illness, and 
 naming the Prince-Royal Vicar- General of the kingdom, he 
 went for change of air to his Park of Ficuzza. The Queen 
 also left Palermo; the command of the Sicilian army was 
 given to Lord William; the five barons were set at liberty, 
 and the illegal decrees annulled. At the same time, the 
 three branches of the Legislature were called together for 
 the avowed purpose of reforming the Constitution. 
 
 "The Prince -Vicar opened Parliament in person, and 
 after a speech on the subject of the intended changes, pro- 
 posed the Constitution of Great Britain as guide for that 
 now contemplated for Sicily. The first meeting of Parlia- 
 ment, prolonged through the whole of the night, and even 
 part of the next day, will always be marked in our annals as 
 bearing witness to the patriotic devotion of all its members. 
 The clergy, renouncing their privileges, agreed to unite 
 themselves to the barons, so as to form one chamber of 
 peers. The barons on their side gave up all those he- 
 reditary rights, of which, from time immemorial, they had 
 shown themselves so jealous. On that night feudality ceased 
 to exist in Sicily. Twelve articles, after long debates, were 
 
SICILY. -209 
 
 agreed to, as those on which to raise the new Constitution. 
 As the Sovereign's sanction was necessary, the Parhament, 
 unwiUing to run the risk of future subterfuge, prayed the 
 Prince -Vicar to obtain the King's approbation before affix- 
 ing his own signature. The Prince wrote a letter to the 
 King to that effect, and in the margin of this letter the King 
 wrote with his own hand, 'This being in conformity to my 
 intention, I authorize you to do it.' 
 
 "Notwithstanding this, the Court party was busy hatch- 
 ing a plot against the openly approved of reform. A day was 
 fixed on for the King to go to the Church of St. Francis, 
 to return thanks for his recovery; and under cover of this 
 pretext, a demonstration against the Constitution was to be 
 made. But the royal conspirators had forgotten to take 
 Lord William Bentinck into their reckoning. Some artillery 
 appeared in the streets, and there was a mihtary parade, — 
 significant hints that stifled the demonstration in its birth. 
 The King gave up St. Francis, and contented himself with 
 saying his prayers at home. But the lesson was lost upon 
 him, or rather upon the incorrigible Caroline. Nothing 
 daunted, she prepared another coup-de-main, for the execu- 
 tion of which she trusted to the Sicilian troops stationed at 
 Trapani and Corleone. The object in contemplation was to 
 get rid at once of the English and the Constitution. But 
 Lord William was once more too much for her. All attempts 
 at persuasion proving unavailing, coercive measures were 
 resorted to. A regiment of cavalry, to begin with, sur- 
 rounded the Royal dwelling during the night, and blockaded 
 it completely. Then only, and not till after many a shift 
 and evasion, did Ferdinand yield to stern necessity, and 
 agree to Lord William's conditions, which were, — That the 
 Queen should leave Sicily at once; that the Government 
 should be once more confided to the Prince Royal; and that 
 the alter ego conferred upon him should be without re- 
 striction. 
 
 "This victory over the Court party, together with the 
 absence of the Queen, restored something like tranquillity 
 
 Doctor Antonio. 1 4 
 
2IO DOCTOR ANTONIO. 
 
 to the country. During this calm, the Parliament continued 
 its work of reform, and several important clauses were added 
 to the Constitution, — among them one regulating the suc- 
 cession to the Crown, and estabhshing the independence of 
 Sicily. The article is literally as follows:— *In the event of 
 the King of Sicily recovering the throne of Naples, or indeed 
 acquiring any other Crown, he shall be bound to put in his 
 place, upon the throne of Sicily, his eldest son, or he shall 
 leave his son in the island, and give it up to him, declaring, 
 from the present date , Sicily independent of Naples and of 
 all other kingdoms or governments.' In May 1813, the Con- 
 stitution of 18 12, as it was called, was promulgated, and 
 Lord William Bentinck, believing his task finished in Sicily, 
 went to Spain. His back, however, was scarcely turned, 
 when the new political edifice was vigorously attacked. 
 Though Queen Caroline was absent, her spirit still ruled at 
 Court; and not only was every effort made to throw discredit 
 on the Constitution, but everything was tried to excite the 
 popular mind against the English. Lord William Bentinck 
 returned in time to reconquer the ground lost in his ab- 
 sence, but he was soon ordered to Leghorn and Genoa. It 
 was as though the good genius of Sicily had departed with 
 him. 
 
 "I shall leave undescribed the hand-to-hand struggle for 
 and against liberty that ensued between the nation and the 
 king, and hasten to the catastrophe. After the fall of Napo- 
 leon, the English evacuated Sicily. Then followed the nego- 
 tiations at Vienna, the surprise of the Emperor's return, the 
 stir and tumult of the hundred days, and the final victory of 
 the Allies. Murat's dethronement, decided on at Vienna, 
 restored to the Bourbons their dominions on terra flrma, and 
 Ferdinand, leaving the heir-apparent at Palermo, went at 
 once to Naples, The signing of the general Treaty of the 
 Congress of Vienna took place in June 1815, and in Decem- 
 ber of the following year appeared those two famous edicts, 
 which erased the name of Sicily, as an independent king- 
 dom, from the map of Europe. 
 
SICILY. '2 11 
 
 "By the first of these edicts, purporting to be based on 
 the 104th article of the Treaty of Vienna, Ferdinand cancelled 
 the separate titles under which he had reigned over Naples 
 and Sicily, adopted the style of Ferdinand the First of the 
 united kingdom of the Two Sicilies, and by uniting the two 
 crowns annihilated at one blow the independence, the na- 
 tional flag, and coin of the island. By the second, with a 
 strange want of logic, the Constitution was at once sup- 
 pressed and maintained, for the king, while claiming as his 
 royal prerogative the right of fixing the taxes, nevertheless 
 engaged himself never to raise their amount beyond the 
 figure decided on by the Parliament of 18 13. *No increase' 
 (such were the words used) 'can take place without the con- 
 sent of Parliament.' 
 
 "I said that the first decree purported to be based on an 
 article (104th) of the Treaty of Vienna. I should have said 
 pretended, for, after all, it was a quibble. The terms used 
 in the Treaty were these: — 'King Ferdinand the Fourth is 
 re-established, himself, his heirs, and successors, on the 
 throne of Naples, and hereby recognised by the Powers as 
 King of the kingdom of the Two Sicilies.' Now this arrange- 
 ment could neither in its form nor substance affect Sicily. 
 The agents sent by Ferdinand to Vienna were sent to discuss 
 an affair purely personal to himself— his restoration, namely, 
 to his lost throne of Naples. The interests of Sicily were 
 not mixed up in this matter— Sicily had nothing to do or to 
 say to the Congress of Vienna— had not even a representa- 
 tive there. The King and the Chevalier Medici figured be- 
 fore it solely on account of the Neapolitan dominions. This 
 is so true, that it was only as Ferdinand the Fourth of 
 Naples, and not under the conjoined title of Ferdinand the 
 Third of Sicily, that the king was named in the acts of the 
 Congress. It is also to be presumed, that, if the Powers as- 
 sembled at Vienna had really intended to merge the two 
 countries into one, they would have declared such an inten- 
 tion clearly and without circumlocution, as they did when 
 the annexation of Warsaw to Russia, Belgium to Holland, 
 
 14* 
 
2\2 DOCTOR ANTONIO. 
 
 and Genoa to Piedmont, was stipulated. It is to be sup- 
 posed, that the conditions of such a union, as in the other 
 cases, would have been specified. Nothing of this is to be 
 found in the Art. 104th. It simply says, ^Ferdinand is re- 
 cognised as King of the kingdom of the Two Sicihes.' Can 
 it be seriously argued for a moment, that the form of the 
 singular given to the word kingdom instead of the plural— a 
 single letter more or less in a word — be sufficient grounds 
 to go on to destroy a right founded on ages? 
 
 "So much for Sicilian independence. As for Sicilian 
 liberties, Ferdinand had provided himself with a plausible 
 pretext for getting rid of them in a treaty secretly concluded 
 with Austria. By this treaty it was declared that 'His 
 Majesty the King of the Two Sicilies, in resuming the 
 government of his kingdom, shall not admit any innovation 
 which can interfere in any way with the ancient monarchical 
 institutions, or with the system and principles adopted by 
 His Imperial and Royal Majesty in the internal government 
 of his Italian (the Lombardo -Venetian) provinces.' Had this 
 convention been aimed against the Sicilian Constitution, it 
 would only have been one proof more of Ferdinand's per- 
 fidy and treachery, and could never have been considered 
 as binding on Sicily. But the words of the Treaty prove 
 that only Naples was and could be meant. The possession 
 of the kingdom, and the changes to be or not to be effected, 
 were spoken of in the future. Now, in the first place, Fer- 
 dinand had never lost anything in Sicily, the Prince -Vicar 
 having administered the affairs of the island as his delegate; 
 and secondly, the changes in Sicily had been consummated 
 three years previous to the above convention; and far from 
 being incompatible with monarchical institutions, they had 
 been made with the view of re-establishing the monarchy in 
 its former conditions, and of restoring to vigour laws which 
 had been sworn to by thirty monarchs, one after the other. 
 But of what avail is right without might? Those who had 
 the power would not use it in our behalf. The English 
 Cabinet haggled a little with the Neapolitan Ministers as to 
 
SICILY. 2 I 3 
 
 the more or less of nominal privileges to be left us, but on 
 the main point, independence, we were abandoned to our 
 fate"— 
 
 Sir John here made a movement as if about to speak, but 
 the Italian resumed, with a smile— 
 
 "I am only repeating historical facts, Sir John. The 
 fault of what happened, perhaps, lies less with individuals 
 than with the circumstances of the time. Peace was the 
 great desideratum of Europe, and to that desire Sicily was 
 sacrificed. When I say sacrificed, I am only echoing opinions 
 pubhcly held and expressed, both in and out of the British 
 Parhament, by distinguished fellow-countrymen of your own. 
 Lord William Bentinck , than whom no better authority on 
 the subject, said, in June 1821, — 'What I complain of is, that 
 liberty was not given to a people to whom it was promised. 
 In fact, I look on our national honour as pledged to see the 
 promise fulfilled. As to the instructions sent from England, 
 I must own that, had I framed them myself, even the deep 
 interest I feel in the Sicilians, could have suggested nothing 
 better. But what has been done to enforce these instruc- 
 tions? Nothing. Received with hope and joy by the Sici- 
 lians, by what were they followed? By the union of the two 
 kingdoms. This Act of Union was not a mere violation, it 
 was the complete overthrow of the Sicilian Constitution. It 
 annihilated the rights of the nation, and made Sicily a pro- 
 vince of Naples.' I cannot vouch for these being Lord Wil- 
 liam's exact words, as I am quoting from memory," con- 
 tinued the Doctor, "but I am positive as to their meaning. 
 Sir James Mackintosh was another who took a similar view 
 of the subject. But enough of this. 
 
 "Do I need to say that Parliament was never assembled, 
 and that both the letter and the spirit of the so-called con- 
 cession of 1 8 16 were daily infringed ? Public irritation in- 
 creased with each passing hour, and an outbreak was at 
 hand, when the Revolution of 1820 exploded at Naples, and 
 was followed by the proclamation of the Constitution of 
 Spain. The moment seemed favourable to the Sicilians for 
 
214 DOCTOR ANTONIO. 
 
 the securing of their ancient independence by peaceful means. 
 A deplorable misunderstanding, however, brought on a col- 
 lision between the people and the Neapolitan soldiers quar- 
 tered in Palermo, in which the former were victors. A pro- 
 visional Junta was formed, with full powers to decide on the 
 best measures for re-estabhshing the independence of the 
 island. This Junta sent a deputation to the King at Naples 
 to demand an independent Government for Sicily, with the 
 Prince-Royal at the head of it. These demands were not 
 listened to. The Neapolitan Parliament claimed to absorb 
 Sicily in the name of two very opposite principles: — ist, the 
 divine right of the king, confirmed by the Treaty of Vienna; 
 2d/y, the right of democracy, which could not allow so aristo- 
 cratic a constitution as that of 1812 to subsist in Sicily, Un- 
 fortunately the island was divided against itself by the 
 partisans of the Constitution of Sicily and of that of Spain. 
 An army was sent from Naples, and in the month of Sep- 
 tember the siege of Palermo was commenced. After a fort- 
 night of obstinate fighting, a capitulation was signed, which 
 left to the Sicilian Parliament the solution of the question 
 of independence. But the Parliament of Naples took upon 
 itself to annul this capitulation, as one dishonouring the 
 Neapohtan army; it retained, nevertheless, the arms and 
 fortifications which had been given up in virtue of the 
 agreement. While the two countries were thus quarrelling 
 with each other, what was King Ferdinand doing? He was 
 gone to Laibach and Troppau to solicit Austrian inter- 
 ference against that very Constitution to which he had so 
 solemnly sworn in the month of July of 1820. What mat- 
 tered one perjury more or less to the old King? A few- 
 months afterwards the Austrians occupied Naples and Sicily, 
 and the two countries who had not been able to agree to 
 live respectively free, now groaned under the yoke of a 
 common slavery. 
 
 "Ferdinand died in 1825. He was succeeded by his son 
 Francis, who, as Prince-Royal, had taken the oaths to the 
 Constitution of 1812, in 1820 to that of Spain, who had even 
 
SICILY. 2 I 5 
 
 participated in the armed protestation against the foreign 
 occupation of 182 1. But in ascending the throne, Francis I. 
 lost his memory, and followed without hesitation in the 
 paternal footsteps. The whole five years this reign lasted, 
 the Government was floundering in a bog. The spread of 
 corruption, both at Naples and in Sicily, was incredible. 
 Everything was to be bought, everything to be sold; offices, 
 honours, titles, even justice itself, was in the market. Vigha, 
 the King's valet, and Caterina de Simone, the Queen's First 
 Camerista, were the two most influential persons of the 
 kingdom, and through them most of the infamous bargains 
 were concluded. The King did not attempt to veil his 
 cognizance of all that was going on ; he was, on the contrary, 
 profuse of his cynical witticisms on the subject. In 1828, 
 the world had proof that he was to the full as cruel as he 
 was despicable. An attempt at insurrection in the town of 
 Cosenza and in the province of Salerno, was literally 
 quenched in blood. By order of Del Carretto, the King's 
 other self, the little town of Bosco was cannonaded till it was 
 reduced to ruins, and then a column of infamy raised to 
 shew where once it stood. The last days of Francis are 
 said to have ben tormented by vain remorse. He died in 
 1830, leaving to Ferdinand, the reigning king, a degraded, 
 impoverished, and highly irritated kingdom. 
 
 "Young Ferdinand's early measures (he was scarcely 
 twenty) augured well. Most of the ministers, creatures, and 
 favourites of the late King were gradually dismissed; Viglia 
 was sent away; days of public audience were established; 
 and a manifesto issued declaring it to be Ferdinand's deter- 
 mination to restore order to the dilapidated finances of the 
 country. These were most popular measures. Nor was Sicily 
 left without her quota of promises. It was the King's inten- 
 tion, as distinctly stated in his manifesto, 'to seek to heal 
 the wounds inflicted on Sicily by his father and grandfather.' 
 The dismissal of the Marquis della Favara, lieutenant- 
 general of the island, a man universally detested, and the 
 appointment in his stead of the Count of Syracuse, his 
 
2l6 DOCTOR ANTONIO. 
 
 Majesty's own brother, made the good islanders believe 
 that the new Sovereign was in earnest. Consequently, 
 when in 1831 he visited Sicily, his reception was most 
 enthusiastic. Unfortunately the sequel behed the com- 
 mencement. What had appeared pure love of justice, was in 
 truth mere kingcraft. The shock of the Revolution of the 
 three days in France was still reverberating throughout 
 Europe, and our King was wise enough to see the expediency 
 of soothing and conciliating the people, still under the smart 
 of the ignoble misgovernment of Francis. 
 
 "But as the danger diminished, so did the king resume 
 his natural disposition. The first symptom of the reaction 
 which was taking place in Ferdinand's mind, was the nomina- 
 tion of Del Carretto, the exterminator of Bosco, as minister 
 of police. This fatal man, and Monsignor Code, the king's 
 confessor, soon acquired a complete ascendency over the 
 young monarch. Jesuitism* and the pohce became presently 
 the two corner-stones of the State. Everything had been 
 marketable in the preceding reign — matters were no better 
 now — Monsignor Code and Del Carretto playing the part of 
 the ci-devant Cameriere and Camerista. The punishment of 
 flogging, which had been first known in the Two Sicilies 
 during the Austrian occupation of 1821, was re-established 
 under the present administration. It was not long ere all 
 the new-born illusions of the Sicilians vanished. The Govern- 
 ment seemed imbued with the desire of poisoning rather 
 than healing old wounds. Our Parliament was no more 
 spoken of than if such a thing had never existed— it was a 
 crime only to name it; yet the taxes had risen far beyond 
 the amount fixed by the Decree of December 181 6, and in 
 spite of the engagement entered into that they should not 
 be augmented without the consent of Parliament. The 
 
 * The king's infatuation for this famous order went so far in subsequent 
 years, as to appoint , by a Royal Rescript, its founder , St. Ignatius de Loyola, 
 field-marshal of the army, with the pay and appurtenances attached to the 
 rank. The money was actually paid to the Chief House of Jesuits at Naples. 
 See Gli tdiitni Rivolgi??ienii Italiani , Meniorte Storiche, di F. A. Gual- 
 terio. Vol. IV. chap. xlix. p. 75. Florence, Felice Le Motimer, 1852. 
 
SICILY. 2 I 7 
 
 abrupt recall of the Count of Syracuse, in 1835, brought the 
 popular discontent to a climax. 
 
 "In the summer of 1836, the cholera made its appearance 
 at Naples. Up to that time, the quarantine regulations be- 
 tween Naples and Sicily had been extremely severe and 
 vexatious. But when the terrible scourge was actually in 
 Naples, the sanitary cordons so strictly maintained while it 
 was still as far off as Russia, were all at once disregarded 
 and neglected. This inconsistency gave rise to a very 
 universal belief, that the King and his ministers were in 
 league to send the cholera into Sicily. The epidemic reached 
 Palermo but too soon, and no city, I believe, suffered more 
 cruelly from its ravages. Out of a population of 170,000 
 inhabitants, 24,000 perished in a month. The general terror 
 quickly lashed itself into a general delirium. The idea that 
 the Government was poisoning the people by wholesale got 
 abroad. An infant suspicion of this kind once born, soon 
 becomes a full-grown certainty. 
 
 "Mario Adorno, one of those who had writhed most vio- 
 lently under the loss of Sicilian independence, took advantage 
 of the prevailing excitement to bring about an insurrectionary 
 movement in Syracuse, where he shortly after proclaimed the 
 Constitution. Catania immediately followed the example, 
 raised the Sicilian standard, tore down the statues of the 
 Bourbons, and formed a Provisional Government. Partial 
 risings took place also in the valley of Messina, and in the 
 small towns adjacent to Palermo, where the belief in the 
 poisoning plot was deeply rooted. Furnished with unhmited 
 sovereign power, and accompanied by a strong body of 
 troops, Del Carretto was sent to Sicily, less to conquer than 
 to reap the fruits of victory; for, by the time he landed, all 
 revolution was over. In fact, the news of his expedition 
 having reached the Catanians, they, finding themselves un- 
 supported, of their own accord effected a counter-revolution. 
 All those most compromised sought safety in flight, with 
 the exception of Mario Adorno, who was taken and shot. 
 The absence of all resistance in noway induced the destroyer 
 
2l8 DOCTOR ANTONIO. 
 
 of Bosco to forego one cruelty in his power. Courts-martial 
 were established everywhere, and citizens sent by thousands 
 to prison. Several hundreds were condemned to death, 
 and no less than a hundred underwent the penalty. At 
 Bagheria a boy of fourteen years of age was shot. Execu- 
 tions took place to the sound of mihtary music. Such, in- 
 deed, was the rage for killing, that once, after one of these 
 direful exhibitions, when the corpses were counted over, 
 one more than the appointed number was found. 
 
 "The noble conquest being achieved, and the noble con- 
 queror rewarded with the insignia of San Gennaro, the real 
 meaning of the bloody tragedy was speedily revealed by the 
 official acts which followed. The King gladly seized on the 
 pretext, which had been thus offered him, to do away at once 
 with even the shadow of the last remaining Sicilian franchises. 
 The substance had long ago vanished. The taxes were 
 augmented, the administration was filled with Neapolitans, 
 a thorough system of centralization in Naples adopted, all 
 vestige of municipal liberty, of the liberty of the press, of 
 association, of petition, was destroyed. To make a long 
 story short, nothing was left to Sicily but eyes to weep, and 
 the undying memory of her rights. This memory, and the 
 consciousness of the righteousness of her cause, will sup- 
 port that noble and unfortunate country through all her 
 trials until a day of reckoning comes for her, as come it 
 surely will." 
 
 Antonio wiped the drops of perspiration from his brow 
 — less the effect of heat than of deep emotion. Lucy was 
 scarcely less moved, and it was almost in a whisper that 
 she said, "You have not told us what obliged you to leave 
 Catania." 
 
 "True," answered Antonio; "all recollection of my indi- 
 vidual troubles was lost in that of our national catastrophe. 
 Indeed, few will be able to credit that such a trivial incident 
 as I have to mention could be sufficient in any country to 
 force a man into exile. I had taken no share in the disturb- 
 ances in my native town. Not that my Sicilian heart did not 
 
SICILY. 219 
 
 beat fast and loud at the sacred names of Independence and 
 Liberty— not that I did not sympathize with, and approve of 
 the struggle, in spite of the sad forebodings that filled my 
 mind as to the issue of an insulated attempt; but my every 
 hour was occupied by professional duties. The cholera, 
 though less deadly than at Palermo, was nevertheless mak- 
 ing sad havoc in Catania, and day and night I was in requi- 
 sition. One evening in the month of March, I was called to 
 the bedside of a dear friend, who had been suddenly taken 
 ill. I had but just time to recognise the first symptoms of 
 the prevalent malady, when a party of soldiers entered the 
 room. An order for the arrest of my friend had been issued, 
 and a serjeant at the head of half a dozen men were sent to 
 seize his person. The poor sick creature was desired to get 
 out of bed and prepare to accompany the soldiers. I inter- 
 fered, and making known my name and profession, I said, 
 that, to remove my friend in his actual state was equivalent 
 to killing him, and I therefore cautioned the serjeant as to 
 the heavy responsibihty he was taking upon himself. The 
 answer I received was, that precise orders had been given, 
 and that, dead or alive, my friend must go; saying which, 
 the serjeant drew the blankets off the bed. I lost all self- 
 control at the brutal act. I do not know to this day what I 
 did or said, but it ended by my being handcuffed, forced out 
 of the house, and marched through the streets. 
 
 "We had not proceeded far when we were met by an 
 officer, one of high rank, too, as far as I could judge in the 
 growing darkness. He stopped my escort, and asked some 
 questions of the serjeant. 'A physician!^ I heard the stranger 
 exclaim; Uhis is surely not the time to arrest physicians, my 
 good friend.' After a httle more parley, I was freed of the 
 manacles ; the officer took me by the arm, and led me one 
 way, while the serjeant and his men went the other. Being 
 close to him, I now saw by his epaulettes that my companion 
 was a general officer. 'Where do you wish to go?' he asked. 
 I named the street where I lived. He saw me to my own 
 door, and as he took leave of me, he said, 'These are difficult 
 
2 20 DOCTOR ANTONIO. 
 
 times, and a charge of rebellion is a very serious one. Had 
 I any advice to give you, it would be to get out of the way 
 as soon as possible;' and with these words he left me. This 
 was the circumstance which led to my exile. Far less than 
 I had said or done that day had cost many a man his life. 
 My mother and uncle insisted on my following my unknown 
 friend's counsel, and so I did. Since then I have become 
 acquainted with his name, and with the fact that I am not 
 the only one whose life he has succeeded in saving. God 
 bless him ! I am proud and happy to say that he is a Sicilian ! " 
 
 "And your sick friend?" asked Lucy. 
 
 "Dead, young lady, dead, a few hours after I left him. 
 I knew of his death before sailing. They had not dared to 
 take him away, but had contented themselves with leaving 
 a guard to watch his dying agonies." 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 Progress to the Sanctuary. 
 
 All difficulties in the way of Battista and Speranza's 
 marriage being now removed by a splendid grant from Sir 
 John of two hundred pounds, three-fifths of which were suf- 
 ficient to cover all the debts of the family, and the remaining 
 eighty pounds more than enough to make the Osteria a 
 profitable, nay, brilliant business, it was settled that the two 
 lovers should be married on the 25th of June, Speranza's 
 birthday. Now, in every age and in every country, birth, 
 marriage, and death have always been escorted by preli- 
 minaries and ceremonies of one kind or another. In the 
 present case, a pilgrimage to the sanctuary of Lampedusa 
 was deemed especially necessary, that our Promessi sposi 
 might pay their devotions, and offer their thanks (in the 
 shape of ex-votos) to the lady of that name, to whose inter- 
 cession they owed such a bright change of fortune. For 
 Rosa, and Speranza, and Battista, as, indeed, nearly the 
 whole of the parish of Bordighera, held it as an article of 
 
iM 
 
 t 
 
 a 
 
 J.; I i^i^ 
 
PROGRESS TO THE SANCTUARY. 221 
 
 faith, that the Madonna in general, and the Madonna of 
 Lampedusa in particular, had brought Lucy, and all the 
 blessings that had come with her, to the Osteria;— thus un- 
 consciously laying that mischievous trick of the overturn of 
 the carriage at the Madonna's door. Lucy's interest and 
 curiosity being greatly excited by the idea of this pilgrimage, 
 it came to be arranged that Sir John and his daughter should 
 take the same time to visit the famous shrine, and breathe 
 the fresh air of the mountain for a couple of days; that 
 Doctor Antonio, of course, should be of the party, and that 
 to him should be intrusted the care of all the preparations 
 for the trip, and arrangements for the sojourn at Lampedusa. 
 
 On the 20th of June then. Sir John, his daughter, and 
 Antonio — the betrothed were not to come up till next morn- 
 ing — left the Osteria in a smart boat, with a gaily striped 
 red and white awning, commanded by Battista, and at which 
 he had been hard at work for more than a week, cleaning, 
 painting, and trimming, to do honour to the occasion. 
 Under the combined action of a sail tolerably well puffed 
 by a little breeze, and of three pair of vigorous oars, they 
 were not long in doubhng the second headland. San Remo 
 — bright, verdant San Remo, rising up in the form of a 
 triangle, and smiled upon by its seven hills, clad all over in 
 most luxurious vegetation, then broke full in their view. 
 
 "Do palm-trees grow naturally in this part of the coun- 
 try?" asked Lucy, pointing to the plantations that covered 
 the shore; "or are they cultivated for beauty's sake?" 
 
 "Their beauty, I believe, is their least merit in the eyes 
 of their proprietors," answered Antonio. "Palms, you do 
 not perhaps know, are a very profitable kind of property, 
 and that is why they are cultivated. Cargoes of them are 
 sent yearly to France and Holland. In all the Catholic 
 countries the consumption of palms during Passion-week is 
 very great; but throughout Italy, and especially at Rome, it 
 is enormous. There is a family of San Remo, which has 
 held for centuries, and still holds, the exclusive privilege of 
 
222 DOCTOR ANTONIO. 
 
 furnishing palms to what is called *The Apostohc Palace/ 
 that is, to the household of the Pope." 
 
 "Was the monopoly purchased?" inquired Sir John. "I 
 need scarcely ask, however, for I have been told that every- 
 thing is, ever was, and ever will be, sold at Rome." 
 
 "Contrary to the rule," replied the Doctor, "this privilege 
 was given in acknowledgment of good service. The story, 
 such as it is, may amuse you, and help to while away the 
 time till we land. You have, I daresay, seen and admired 
 in Rome the obelisk which stands in Piazza San Pietro, or 
 Vaticano, and itself goes by the name of Vaticano. This 
 obelisk in 1584, that is, during the first years of the Pontifi- 
 cate of Sixtus v., was still lying half-buried in the earth, not 
 far from the ancient vestry of San Pietro. Many a Pope be- 
 fore Sixtus had formed plans for having it disinterred and 
 removed to the Piazza San Pietro, but had always been de- 
 terred by the great difficulties and expenses of the under- 
 taking. Pope Sixtus v., an ambitious and enterprising spirit, 
 as everybody knows, made up his mind to realize that which 
 his predecessors had only thought about. He confided the 
 arduous task to Domenico Fontana, an architect of great 
 renown, liberally furnishing him with all the necessary means 
 for its success. The mechanics of that period were far be- 
 hind those of the present day; and it was found no easy 
 matter to free from the ground in which it was sunk, and 
 transfer without injury to the place where it was intended 
 to stand, a monolith of such portentous magnitude. These 
 two preliminary acts, however, were successfully performed 
 in the course of a year. But the final and most delicate 
 operation, that of raising the stupendous bulk upright, still 
 remained to be accomplished. All the preparations for this 
 purpose being at last completed, Fontana went to the Pope 
 and requested him to fix a day for the elevation. The Pope 
 did so, and promised to honour with his presence a ceremony 
 which could not fail to attract from all parts an immense 
 concourse of people. 
 
 "'That is what most alarms me/ said the architect; 
 
PROGRESS TO THE SANCTUARY. 22^ 
 
 'should the noise of the crowd bewilder the workmen, and 
 prevent my slightest direction from being attended to, I 
 can answer for nothing.' 
 
 " 'Never fear,' said Pope Sixtus, *I will take good care of 
 that;' and he instantly penned an edict, by which he made 
 known, that whosoever uttered a sound during the erection 
 of the column should suffer death. This proclamation, with 
 the tremendous Papal seal affixed to it, was without delay 
 placarded on the walls of Rome. 
 
 "On the day settled, Fontana, after having confessed, 
 taking the sacrament, and received the Pope's benediction, 
 mounted the high scaffolding from which he was to super- 
 intend the great work. His orders were to be signified by 
 means of bells, and of divers coloured flags, so that the 
 workmen out of hearing could understand and execute them. 
 The Piazza Vaticano, crowded to suffocation, looked as if 
 paved with heads; and a great and imposing sight it must 
 have been to behold that countless multitude remain, by the 
 will of one man, as motionless and silent, as if, instead of 
 living people, it were composed of statues. Pope Sixtus, 
 from the lofty seat prepared for him, looked down upon the 
 assembled throng, standing thus spell-bound before him. 
 
 "At last the signal is given, the capstans begin to wind, 
 the pulleys to revolve, the cables and ropes to stretch and 
 strain, and creak. Up, up, slowly rises the granite monster. 
 Fontana waves his flags, the Pope stoops eagerly forward, 
 the thousands below hold their breath— a minute more and 
 the huge monolith will be erect. All at once an ominous 
 crack is heard, the obelisk is motionless for a second, then 
 sinks some inches; the ropes no longer bear upon it. The 
 Pope frowns, — all Rome turns pale. Fontana's presence of 
 ,mind forsakes him. 'Water! water!' shouts a voice on a 
 sudden; 'wet the ropes.' Fontana obeys the blessed prompt- 
 ing; water is thrown on the ropes, the slackened hemp con- 
 tracts, once more the workmen bend to their work with a 
 will. The majestic column is upreared, and stands before 
 
224 DOCTOR ANTONIO. 
 
 the admiring world, another glorious proof of man's daring 
 and ingenuity. 
 
 "He whose timely interference had brought about this 
 result, was the captain of a trading vessel, named Bresca, a 
 native of San Remo; one who in his seafearing life had pro- 
 bably had some similar experience of the slackening of 
 hempen ropes. In spite, however, of the undeniable service 
 he had rendered, the Swiss Guards, who knew of no virtue 
 but obedience, of no crime but disobedience to their master, 
 seized on Bresca, and brought him before the Pope. The 
 known severity of Sixtus V., a severity frequently amount- 
 ing to wanton cruelty, left little hope of the captain's life 
 being spared. Fortunately, the success of the undertaking 
 he had had so much at heart, disposed the Pope to be lenient 
 — we ought to say, to be just — towards the man who had so 
 materially contributed to that success. His Holiness, then, 
 contrary to general expectation, received Bresca courteously, 
 and promised to grant any favour he might ask. The good 
 captain, as a matter of course, begged first the Pope's holy 
 blessing, and secondly, the privilege for him, and his de- 
 scendants, of yearly furnishing the Apostolic Palace with 
 palms. This request was immediately conceded by a Papal 
 Brief, which further conferred on Bresca the title and grade 
 of Captain in the Pontifical army, and the right of wearing 
 the uniform, and of hoisting the Papal flag on his vessel. 
 This Brief is still in the possession of the Bresca family, and 
 the monopoly it bestowed lasts to this day." 
 
 "Still, I think, this Pope Sixtus must have been a hateful 
 man," exclaimed Lucy. 
 
 "Certainly not an amiable one," observed Antonio. "One 
 can scarcely help shrinking from the skilful surgeon who 
 cuts deep into the human frame, although we know that the 
 most humane motives arm his hand. The task of Sixtus V. 
 was of a somewhat similar nature. When he came to be the 
 head of Church and State, both were in so rotten a condi- 
 tion, that only heroic remedies, if any — the free use of knife 
 and scalpel— could heal them; and these he apphed unflinch- 
 
PROGRESS TO THE SANCTUARY. 2 25 
 
 ingly, unsparingly. Men are but what circumstances make 
 them— a truce to morahzing, for here we are at the end 
 of our voyage," added the Doctor, looking around— "and 
 there, just in front of us, between those two gently receding 
 mountains, the little valley of Taggia stretches inland; and 
 that river falling into the sea, a hundred paces a-head of us 
 to the east, is the Argentina, the pride of the inhabitants of 
 the dale, and now and then their scourge, as when chafed 
 by mountain torrents it roars like a mad bull, and carries 
 everything before it." 
 
 A walk of two minutes brought our party to a cross-way 
 formed by the Taggia road, and the high road to Nice meet- 
 ing at right angles, and where an open carriage was in wait- 
 ing for them. Their drive was now through plantations of 
 olive-trees, whose branches closing from either side of the 
 way, made a green canopy over their heads. 
 
 "What capital studies for a painter these twisted gnarled 
 trunks would make!" cried Lucy; "I never saw such a 
 number of odd picturesque shapes." 
 
 "Whatever may be said," observed Antonio, "of the 
 monotonous effect of olives seen in masses, we cannot deny 
 the individual tree credit for variety and originality of 
 form." 
 
 "Certainly not," said Lucy; "for my part, I confess to a 
 .foible for the olive-tree. It speaks to my heart and imagina- 
 tion. It recalls to my mind the branch-symbol of peace that 
 the dove brought back to Noah; the moving forest of olive- 
 boughs that welcomed our Saviour on His entry into Jeru- 
 salem; the garden where He prayed and suffered."— Really, 
 Lucy, as these holy associations awoke in her mind, did look 
 very like one of Guide's divine Madonnas, at least Antonio 
 did not wonder at Battista's mistake any more. 
 
 "Pray, Doctor," said she, after a pause, "let me have 
 one of those twigs that hang over head." Antonio having 
 complied, Lucy examined the leaves, dark dead-green on 
 .one side, and silvery-grey on the other, then said, — "Are 
 those httle white balls hanging in bunches the fruit?" 
 
 Dodor Antonio. ^5 
 
226 DOCTOR ANTONIO. 
 
 "They are," answered Antonio; "and if the weather 
 permits, by next January, those same small white things will 
 be transformed into glossy black berries, which, ground in 
 mills, furnish the well-known oil. After that, the crushed 
 kernel, washed and dried, makes excellent fuel, while the 
 dead leaves are used as manure. The olive-wood, as you 
 already know, is much prized by cabinet-makers for their 
 finest articles; so, you see, no part of the tree but has a 
 value." 
 
 "How comes it, then," asked Sir John, "that with so rich 
 a product at their very doors the people of this country are 
 poor?" 
 
 "The apparent contradiction is easily explained," replied 
 Antonio. "In the first place, you must understand that only 
 once in three years there is a good crop, that is to say, only 
 every third year are the trees well covered with the white 
 balls you are now looking at, which, remember, are, after 
 all, the promise, and nothing more, of a rich harvest. For 
 these little balls have to remain on the tree from April or 
 May when they form, until the following January when they 
 are to be gathered, and as they are of a very delicate con- 
 stitution, likely to be equally injured by extremes of any 
 kind, whether of heat or cold, drought, rain, or wind, you 
 may easily imagine the risks and losses they are liable to 
 during so long an interval as that of eight or nine months. 
 Add to this, that the cultivation of the olive is expensive, 
 the tree needing, at least, every fourth year, plenty of a par- 
 ticular and very dear manure, consisting of woollen rags and 
 the horns and hoofs of cattle; that at certain seasons the 
 earth round each tree must be dug to give air to the roots; 
 that the muricciuoli, or little walls of the terraces, which 
 support the soil of our mountainous districts, are continually 
 requiring repairs, while, as a climax, the cost of gathering 
 the fruit, and making the oil, is calculated to be twenty-five 
 per cent, of the net produce. Bearing all this in mind, you 
 will, I think, cease to wonder at so rich a product affording 
 only poor incomes," 
 
PROGRESS TO THE SANCTUARY. 227 
 
 Sir John, far from assenting to the Doctor's explanation, 
 shook his head, as much as to say, there must be bad 
 management somewhere; but as they had now come in 
 sight of the two dark, ivy-festooned towers, which com- 
 mand the approach to the town, the conversation took a 
 different turn. 
 
 "Many a fierce assault of the Saracens has been bravely 
 met and repulsed here," observed the Doctor, as he assisted 
 his companions to alight. "Down to a comparatively recent 
 period, this Riviera has been infested by Barbary Corsairs, 
 who took advantage of the unguarded state of the coast, and 
 the want of easy communication between town and town, to 
 pounce upon a given point, and accomplish their only ob- 
 ject, plunder, before help from other parts could be pro- 
 cured. Yes, indeed," continued Antonio, answering the 
 mute wonder expressed in Lucy's eyes; "there are persons 
 still alive who recollect a descent of the kind, when a con- 
 vent of friars was broken into, and most of the monks car- 
 ried off. It was the policy of the most Serene Republic of 
 Genoa, at all times, out of jealousy of her near neighbour, 
 France, to prevent any carriage road being made between 
 the capital and this part of her dominions; and but half a 
 century ago a journey from Genoa here was considered, 
 and really was a difficult and rather dangerous under- 
 taking." 
 
 "Not much to boast of yet as to safety, Doctor; your 
 Prospero was almost as bad as a Corsair," said Sir John, 
 laughing. 
 
 "Ah, indeed!" retorted the Doctor in the same tone; 
 "still I hope Bordighera has not been quite so bad as Algiers 
 or Tunis." 
 
 "Not quite, not quite," returned Sir John, good-hu- 
 mouredly, "Then this fine road is a modern work," con- 
 tinued he. 
 
 "Entirely so," replied Antonio ; "the actual Cornice road 
 was only completed in 1828, and we owe it to the following 
 accident:— Charles Fehx, the then reigning Sovereign, was 
 
 15* 
 
2 28 DOCTOR ANTONIO. 
 
 extremely partial to Nice, where he often resided. His road 
 from Turin thither was naturally by the Col di Tenda. It so 
 happened, that during one of these visits to Nice, there was 
 a heavy fall of snow, rendering the return to Turin by the 
 usual route impossible. The only alternative was to go by 
 water to Genoa, from whence his Majesty could easily reach 
 his capital. He accordingly embarked, but the weather was 
 so boisterous, and the sea so heavy, he was obhged to put 
 back. The people of the Riviera, who had long been vainly 
 endeavouring to obtain permission to open a road along the 
 coast, seized the opportunity thus offered to them. I ought 
 to have said before, that the Government of Piedmont, along 
 with the ancient States of the Repubhc of Genoa, had in- 
 herited also its prejudices against a road towards France. 
 So the populations of all the towns and villages turned out 
 en masse, headed by the Mayors and Cures, gaps were filled, 
 and rocks removed, in an incredibly short space of time. 
 *Here, your Majesty, is a road at your service,' cried out 
 every voice, and his Majesty was graciously pleased to ac- 
 cept of the accommodation. Red-hot orders arrived from 
 Turin, commanding the Riviera to let alone road-making— a 
 day too late, however, for the road was made, and King and 
 courtiers had already sanctified it." 
 
 With this the Doctor led the way through the town, a 
 quaint-looking place, to be sure, with an intense middle-age 
 air and colour about it, full, both on the right and the left, 
 of dark vaults and mysterious archways, some of these last 
 opening unexpectedly on green, sunny vistas, refreshing to 
 behold. Miss Lucy wondered at the number of massy stone 
 bridges thrown overhead across the street from house to 
 house; and which, her cicerone explained, were meant as a 
 safeguard against a frequent unpleasant visitor — the earth- 
 quake. Another thing that puzzled the young English lady, 
 was to see, now and then, on the outer-door steps, plates 
 full of oranges, lemons, and vegetables, without any one to 
 WMtch them. She was surprised to hear that they were 
 there for sale; anybody who wanted such or such an article^ 
 
PROGRESS TO THE SANCTUARY. 229 
 
 taking it sans ceremonie out of the plate, and leaving instead 
 the price, one or two sous. 
 
 This novel method of trading highly amused Sir John, 
 who remarked, "That though ingenious and economical, it 
 was not of a kind to thrive much in many places." 
 
 Our trio now came to a street wider than the rest, where 
 a great many persons of all classes, gentlemen, priests, la- 
 bourers, and mechanics, were either assembled in groups, 
 or loitering about under arcades extending on both sides. 
 "This is the Pan/fmo/' said Doctor Antonio; "the Exchange 
 and theRegentStreet combined, of the good folks of Taggia. 
 Here business is transacted, and here beaux and magnates 
 exhibit their finery and importance to the world. That tall 
 man in uniform is the quartermaster of the carabineers, one 
 of the powers that be. If we stay here a few minutes longer, 
 we shall see him set off to make an official report as to how 
 Doctor Antonio of Bordighera was seen to traverse the Pan- 
 iano at five minutes past four in the afternoon, in the com- 
 pany of a foreign lady and gentleman; an important event 
 of which my friend the Commandant of San Remo will be 
 informed before sunset." 
 
 "Are you in earnest?" cried Lucy. "I can scarcely be- 
 lieve that any one would trouble himself about such trifles." 
 
 "Trifles, indeed!" repeated Antonio with the utmost 
 gravity; "might not Sir John be a French general in dis- 
 guise, (he looks very like one, I am sure,) come to revolu- 
 tionize his Sardinian Majesty's town of Taggia? Our police 
 are for ever ready and wiUing to save the country from such 
 risks." 
 
 Every hat was raised as our friends passed by, and many 
 a nod and smile, and waving of hands, addressed in par- 
 ticular to the Doctor, gave evidence of his treading on 
 familiar ground. He beckoned to a tall, thin, fair-haired 
 young man, ("the maker of your easy-chair, MissDavenne,") 
 who came forward, and after saluting the company, shook 
 hands with Antonio— an act of familiarity that called up on 
 Sir John's countenance only half of his wonted grimace, for. 
 
2;^0 DOCTOR ANTONIO. 
 
 making a strenuous effort, the Baronet so far overcame him- 
 self as to suppress the other half. This unpleasant impres- 
 sion was, however, soon obliterated by the quiet and de- 
 ferential manner with which the young cabinet-maker in- 
 troduced his visitors into his workshop, a large room with 
 bare walls, and where they found a lad modelling a head in 
 plaster. 
 
 "That youth," said the Doctor, "has a decided talent 
 for sculpture ; untaught he has already modelled heads and 
 even full-length figures. He is about to go to Rome, where 
 a rich and generous family of this country has volunteered 
 to pay all his expenses while he studies there; and I am 
 greatly mistaken if the name of Salvatore Revelli does not 
 become, in a few years, one honoured in the Republic of 
 Arts.* This tall fellow, too," continued Antonio, playfully 
 pointing to the cabinet-maker, "but for his obstinacy in 
 sticking to the Pajitano, might have earned fame and money. 
 — Now, out with your fine things, sir, if you please." 
 
 The number of fine things was not large — where was the 
 use of adding to them when what was there already found 
 no purchasers ? — nevertheless, there was more than enough 
 to prove the uncommon skill and taste of the workman. 
 There were, indeed, only a few paper-knives and portfolios, 
 richly ornamented with most delicate and fanciful carvings, 
 or diminutive figures, and three tables of most exquisite 
 workmanship. On one of these was delineated a series of 
 figures representing the different costumes of the people 
 of the Riviera, so admirably done that Lucy exclaimed— 
 "This is not the work of a cabinet-maker, it is that of an 
 artist, who not only draws beautifully, but is also a first-rate 
 colourist!" 
 
 "My friend," said Antonio, "has all the merit of choice 
 and arrangement, but there are no colours in these figures 
 
 * Antonio prophesied right. Revelli placed himself at once among the 
 most promising young sculptors of the day by his first work exhibited in Genoa 
 in 1849; a bas-relief representing an episode in the life of Columbus, and in- 
 tended for the monument the Genoese are erecting to their great countryman. 
 
PROGRESS TO THE SANCTUARY. 23 1 
 
 except those bestowed by nature on the different bits of 
 wood of which they are composed." 
 
 Lucy could scarcely believe this, and Sir John needed 
 the joint testimony of eyes and glasses before he could ad- 
 mit the fact. He at once offered to purchase all that had 
 been shown them, expressing his regret to the Doctor that 
 the cabinet-maker's stock was not larger. After a cordial 
 exchange of good wishes and thanks, Antonio and his 
 friends took their leave, and winding their way through 
 some more streets, all verdure and sunshine in the balconies 
 and terraces above, all shades and gloom below, they ar- 
 rived at a bridge which joined the two banks of the little 
 valley. 
 
 On a lofty ridge opposite rose Castellaro, shimmering in 
 golden light. "How bright and beautiful! " said Lucy; "that 
 is the gayest village in the world; one might fancy that 
 Castellaro feels the happiness of existence." 
 
 "Or," pursued Antonio, "that in a transport of joy it is 
 about to fling itself into the arms of the valley." 
 
 "Just so," laughed the Baronet; "they must have stout 
 hearts who live in those foremost houses; the mere idea 
 makes me giddy." 
 
 About the middle of the bridge they came to a stone 
 pillar, on which was a Madonna and a Latin inscription. 
 "Here is another memorial of an earthquake," said Antonio, 
 pointing to the inscription. "It is here stated, that in the 
 month of June 1831, a dreadful visitation destroyed two 
 arches of the bridge, the third and this one on which we are 
 now standing. Two children, brother and sister, who were 
 crossing at the very instant of the shock, were thrown down 
 with this, the eleventh arch, and, wonderful to relate, sus- 
 tained no injury; in acknowledgment of which miraculous 
 escape the grateful father erected this pillar, with an in- 
 scription commemorative of the fact." 
 
 At the foot of a narrow steep path, a little past the bridge, 
 the party found two mules and two men waiting for them. 
 The Doctor preferred walking, he said. Sir John, once in the 
 
2^2 DOCTOR ANTONIO. 
 
 saddle, opened his umbrella and took the lead, closely fol- 
 lowed by Lucy, a man at the head of each mule. "I never 
 saw such a detestable break-neck road," cried out the 
 Baronet, after a short time, "certainly the parish does not 
 ruin itself by keeping the roads in order." 
 
 "It will improve as soon as we pass into the parish of 
 Castellaro," said Doctor Antonio. "Castellaro has more 
 than once pressed on Taggia the necessity of the latter hav- 
 ing its part of the road repaired. You will never guess the 
 answer always given:— It is not Taggia that wants to go to 
 Castellaro, but Castellaro that wants to come to Taggia; so 
 let Castellaro repair the road if it chooses, at its own ex- 
 pense. Such are the notions of political economy enter- 
 tained hereabouts." 
 
 The elastic air of the mountain, strongly impregnated 
 with the racy perfume of the rosemary and thyme growing 
 plentifully about, began to act as a gentle stimulant on our 
 travellers, whose spirits rose with every step. Sir John 
 waxed so poetical, as to liken the enormous clusters of 
 yellow furze scattered over the hill, to smiles irradiating a 
 rugged old face. Lucy, with girlish buoyancy, fell to pelting 
 Antonio with every flower supplied by the victim, who cried 
 out treason, and, seemingly in mortal fear, would fall back, 
 shriek, and hide behind rocks and trees, and play such 
 childish tricks, as we, his historiographers, cannot take upon 
 ourselves to relate. Lucy's merry peals of laughter at An- 
 tonio's odd ways, and at the grave face with which he warned 
 her against peeping behind, and thus spoiling her pleasure, 
 were most cheering to Hsten to. He presently came out of 
 one of his hiding-places shouting and waving a huge bunch 
 of flowers, so inconceivably gay, that they could only be 
 met with, he declared, on the way to the gayest village in 
 the world. From the centre of each of the large white 
 blossoms he held in his hand, there sprung up a long elegant 
 aigrette of deep hlac stamens. The ensemble, so rich and 
 delicate, had a certain resemblance to the tail of a white 
 peacock. "What can it be?" said Lucy. "It is the cappam 
 
PROGRESS TO THE SANCTUARY. 2^^ 
 
 spinosa,'" answered Antonio, "and these flowers you admire 
 so much are but capers in full blossom, best known for 
 culinary purposes." This piece of information did not cool 
 Miss Davenne's admiration, who said she liked caper-sauce, 
 and, seeing Antonio stick some of the flowers in his famous 
 conical hat, wished to have some in her own, which looked 
 pretty indeed. Sir John, laughingly, allowed himself to be 
 adorned in the same way — the two guides had likewise 
 their share, and thus caparisoned, the little troop traversed 
 the village of Castellaro, rather stared at, but received with 
 the same tokens of respect and sympathy which had ac- 
 companied them throughout the day. Now and then some 
 villager would step up to the Doctor with a request that he 
 would go to visit some sick person, which, the case not 
 being urgent, was put off with a good-humoured smile for 
 the morrow. 
 
 A broad, smooth road, in high order, what Sir John called 
 a road fit for Christians, opened from the village north- 
 wards, and stretching over the side of the steep mountain 
 in capricious zigzags, now concealed, now gave view to the 
 front of the sanctuary, shaded by two oaks of enormous 
 dimensions. "The Castellini who made this road 'in the 
 sweat of their brows,'" said Antonio, "point it out with 
 pride, and well they may. They tell you with infinite com- 
 placency how every one of the pebbles with which it is 
 paved was brought from the sea-shore, those who had mules 
 using them for that purpose, those who had none bringing 
 up loads on their own backs; how every one, gentleman 
 and peasant, young and old, women and boys, worked day 
 and night, with no other inducement than the love of the 
 Madonna. The Madonna of Lampedusa is their creed, 
 their occupation, their pride, their Carroccio, their fixed 
 idea." 
 
 "A strange infatuation," remarked Lucy; "I should like 
 to hear the legend, for, of course, there is some tradition 
 extant about it." 
 
 "All that relates to the miraculous image," answered 
 
23-1 DOCTOR AxXTOXIO. 
 
 Antonio, "and the date and mode of its translation to Castel- 
 laro, is given at full length in two inscriptions, one in Latin, 
 the other in bad Italian verses, which are to be seen in the 
 interior of the little chapel of the sanctuary. Andrea 
 Anfosso, a native of Castellaro, being the captain of a 
 privateer, was one day attacked and defeated by the Turks, 
 and carried to the Isle of Lampedusa. Here he succeeded 
 in making his escape and hiding himself, until the Turkish 
 vessel which had captured his left the island. Anfosso, 
 being a man of expedients, set about building a boat, and 
 finding himself in a great dilemma what to do for a sail, 
 ventured on the bold and original step of taking from the 
 altar of some church or chapel of the island a picture of the 
 Madonna to serve as one; and so well did it answer his pur- 
 pose that he made an unusually prosperous voyage back to 
 his native shores , and in a fit of generosity offered his holy 
 sail to the worship of his fellow-townsmen. The wonderful 
 of the affair does not stop here. A place was chosen by 
 universal acclamation, two gunshots in advance of the pre- 
 sent sanctuary, and a chapel erected, in which the gift was 
 deposited with all due honour. But the Madonna, as it 
 would seem, had an insurmountable objection to the spot 
 selected, for, every morning that God made, the picture was 
 found at the exact place where the actual church now stands. 
 Sentinels were posted at the door of the chapel, the entire 
 village remained on foot for nights, mounting guard at the 
 entrance — no precaution, however, availed. In spite of the 
 strictest watch, the picture, now undeniably a miraculous 
 one, found means to make its way to the spot it preferred. 
 At length the Castellini came to understand that it was the 
 Madonna's express will, that her headquarters should be 
 shifted to where her resemblance betook itself every night; 
 and though it had pleased her to make choice of the most 
 abrupt and the steepest spot on the whole mountain, just 
 where it was requisite to raise arches in order to lay a 
 sure foundation for her sanctuary, the Castellini set them- 
 selves con amove to the task so clearly revealed to them. 
 
PROGRESS TO THE SANCTUARY. 235 
 
 and this widely-renowned chapel was completed. This 
 took place in 1619. In the course of time some rooms were 
 annexed for the accomodation of visitors and pilgrims , and 
 a terrace built, and many other additions and embellish- 
 ments are even now in contemplation, and no doubt will 
 be accomplished some day; for, although the Castellini 
 have but a small purse, theirs is the grand lever which can 
 remove all impediments— the faith that brought about the 
 Crusades." 
 
 As Antonio ceased speaking, John and Miss Hutchins, 
 two personages of whom we have been lately strangely 
 forgetful, were at Lucy's stirrup, who playfully asked the 
 Doctor, if the taboo were raised, and she might now look 
 behind her. "As if you had not been doing so for the last 
 hour,'' said Antonio, shaking his head at her. Lucy turned 
 sharply round, and embraced at one glance the wonderfully 
 varied scene before her. 
 
 To the north a long, long vista of deep, dark, frowning 
 gorges, closed in the distance by a gigantic screen of snow- 
 clad Alps — the glorious expanse of the Mediterranean to 
 the south— east and west, range upon range of gently un- 
 dulating hills , softly inclining towards the sea — in the plain 
 below, the fresh, cozy valley of Taggia, with its sparkling 
 track of waters, and rich belt of gardens, looking Mke a per- 
 fect mosaic of every gradation of green, chequered with 
 winding silver arabesques. Ever and anon a tardy pome- 
 granate in full blossom spread out its oriflamme of tulip- 
 shaped dazzling red flowers. From the rising ground op- 
 posite frowned mediaeval Taggia, hke a discontented guest 
 at a splendid banquet. A Httle farther off, westwards, the 
 eye took in the Campanile of the Dominican Church, 
 emerging from a group of cypresses ; and further still, on the 
 extreme verge of the western cliff, the sanctuary of our lady 
 of the Guardia shewed its white silhouette against the dark 
 blue sky. 
 
 A half fretful, half plaintive, "Now, Lucy, my dear, if 
 you would only put off your enthusiasm till after dinner," 
 
236 DOCTOR ANTONIO. 
 
 from Sir John, interrupted Miss Davenne's silent but de- 
 lighted survey, and brought her at once to her father's side. 
 They sat down to a succulent dinner, of which Sir John par- 
 took with an alacrity and zest highly complimentary to the 
 hygienic qualities of the mountain air. The repast being 
 over, Lucy proposed that they should take coffee on the 
 terrace, which being agreed to by her father, they im- 
 mediately went thither, and Sir John, after sipping his 
 Mocha, and paying an ample tribute of admiration to the 
 loveliness of the view, took the Times from his pocket, and 
 plunged into its columns. Lucy and Antonio thus left to 
 themselves sat watching in silent wonder the glories of the 
 evening hour. 
 
 The sky was bright and limpid as polished steel, save 
 where three lovely cloudlets, like long scarfs of orange 
 gauze, hovered in the west. The sun, half hidden behind 
 the brow of the western mountain range, shot, through the 
 breaks of the lower hills in front, some of its rays in fiery 
 columns aslant the valley. As the dazzling orb sunk slowly, 
 the zone of shade on the mountain opposite rose with cor- 
 responding progress, and like a tide of dark waters, chasing 
 before it the broad sheets of light, narrowed them by de- 
 grees to a purple line, which lingered for a while on the 
 topmost ridges, the last farewell then vanished with a 
 quiver. Now the foremost range of the chain resumes at 
 once the rigidity of its outlines, while those in the back- 
 ground, behind which the sun has gone down, float in a 
 transparent mist of lapis-lazzuli and pink. The sky in the 
 west is a glorious furnace, the warm reflections from which 
 befleck with crimson the distant snow of the Alps, and light 
 up the horizon of the sea. Another moment the reddish 
 glare pales and gives way, the shadows thicken in the valley 
 beneath, and the gorges to the north darken and darken 
 apace. The fiery coruscations in the west have softened 
 into subdued rosy tints, and these in their turn, by a har- 
 moniously graduated scale, fade into a greenish mother-of- 
 pearl transparency, which passes from grey to azure, until 
 
PROGRESS TO THE SANCTUARY. 237 
 
 west and east merge into a uniform deep blue, spangled 
 here and there with a trembling star. 
 
 "And our beautiful clouds?" said Lucy. 
 
 "Gone!" replied Antonio, sadly; "emblem of many a 
 bright hope, vanishing even as you watch them." 
 
 "But they will come again to-morrow," said Lucy naively, 
 and as in so saying she bent her head a little towards An- 
 tonio, the evening breeze carried some of her golden curls 
 over his lips, as if offering them to his kiss. 
 
 "Who can tell," said he, "but that black clouds pregnant 
 with thunder will envelop those summits to-morrow!" 
 
 The wonderful evolutions of light and shade which, out 
 of respect for our reader's patience, we have unceremoni- 
 ously despatched in a few lines, had in reality occupied a 
 full hour, the first quarter of which had been consecrated 
 by Sir John to his newspaper, the second to find a com- 
 modious posture, and the last half to a glorious doze. This 
 was the reason why the young lady and the gentleman spoke 
 in whispers, and speaking in whispers chanced now and 
 then to lean towards each other. 
 
 The impressive stillness of the evening was suddenly 
 broken by the bells of the six churches of Castellaro ring- 
 ing the Ave Maria, echoed in quick succession by those of 
 the far more numerous churches of Taggia, and of the 
 far away Capuchin and Dominican convents. It was the 
 sweetest and most melancholy concert imaginable. Sir John 
 changed his position, but did not wake; and Antonio began 
 reciting, almost in Lucy's ear, the so often quoted, yet most 
 excellent to quote, incomparable lines of Dante, — 
 
 "Era gia I'ora che volge il disi'o 
 A' naviganti , e 'ntenerisce il cuore 
 Lo dl c'han detto a dolci amici : a Dio ; 
 
 E che lo nuovo peregrin d'amore 
 Punge , se ode squilla di lontano 
 Che paja il giorno pianger che si muore." 
 
2^8 DOCTOR ANTONIO. 
 
 Translation. 
 "Now was the hour that wakens fond desire 
 In men at sea, and melts their thoughtful heart, 
 Who in the morning have bid sweet friends farewell; 
 And pilgrim newly on his road with love 
 Thrills, if he hear the vesper bell from far. 
 That seems to mourn for the expiring day." — Carv. 
 
 "I never entirely felt till now," said Lucy, with glisten- 
 ing eyes, "the full pathos of those beautiful verses. The 
 regret for the distant fatherland which informs them strikes 
 home to the heart. They must have been written in such 
 an hour as this." 
 
 "And by an exile," added Antonio. "Probably the eyes 
 of the great GhibelUne were gazing on a chain of mountains 
 such as that rising before us, which stood between him, 
 and *I1 hello ovile ov' ei dormi agnello. Nimico a' lupi che gli 
 danno guerra.^ " '^ 
 
 "But while we are talking," he went on, "night has 
 dropped her veil in earnest, and the fire-flies begin to light 
 their tiny lanterns— a signal that it is time for me to go 
 home." 
 
 "Home!" repeated Lucy, surprised; "you are surely not 
 going back to Bordighera to-night?" 
 
 "Oh no," said Antonio; "you do not suppose I am such 
 a fickle cavaher. Do you see that mass of white there to 
 the left of Taggia, with lights in it?" 
 
 "I remarked that house before," returned Lucy; "it 
 looks mysterious." 
 
 "That is what I call my home when I come to Taggia." 
 
 "It is rather far off," said Lucy, "can you not stay 
 here?" 
 
 "There is no room." 
 
 "Have you no friends at Castellaro?" 
 
 "None half so dear as the one who expects me at 
 Taggia." 
 
 * . . . The fair sheep-fold, where a sleeping lamb 
 
 Th« wolves set on, and fain had worried Aim, — Cary, 
 
PROGRESS TO THE SANCTUARY. 239 
 
 "You are, then, much attached to that friend?" 
 
 "I love and revere her with all my heart," was the 
 answer. 
 
 Lucy was silent. 
 
 "You recollect," Antonio went on, "my telling you once 
 that of all my fellow-creatures the one who ranked highest 
 in my eyes was of your sex. I am now going to that lady. 
 Good-bye till to-morrow, and pleasant dreams. — Bless me, 
 how cold your hands are! You had better go into the house. 
 Yet the air is so soft and mild. Do go in immediately, and 
 have a cup of hot tea, pray do.— You will not? Well, good- 
 bye, I must not stay longer." 
 
 Notwithstanding that Sir John, now thoroughly awake, 
 repeatedly urged her to go in, Lucy lingered on the terrace 
 till she saw a tall, dark figure cross the bridge beneath, 
 amid a shower of fire-flies,— the valley by this time looked 
 like a sea of dancing stars. Then, and then only, she rose 
 and joined her father, who had himself gone in to order tea. 
 
 Two hours later the same tall figure which had crossed 
 the bridge, was at one of the casements of the mysterious 
 house, standing out in bold relief against the light within. 
 Now, had you whispered in the ear of that figure, as it stood 
 at the window in silent contemplation, "There is sleepless- 
 ness somewhere in the neighbourhood on your account," 
 what a start it would have given. So true is it, that even 
 the most thoughtful and tender of men cannot think of 
 everything that the sensitiveness of a woman will suggest 
 to plague herself with. 
 
 The figure at last withdraws, shuts the window with a 
 sigh, and an earnest "God bless her!"— a wish in which we 
 join with all our heart. 
 
240 DOCTOR ANTONIO. 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 New Characters and Incidents. 
 
 In the place of honour, viz., at the foot of the balustrade 
 which separates the main altar from the body of the neat 
 little church of the sanctuary, we find, at eight o'clock next 
 morning, Speranza and Battista on their knees, most 
 devoutly hearing the mass performing on their behalf. The 
 altar, on which the miraculous image stands, but hidden 
 from profane view by a curtain, is richly ornamented, and 
 the walls around it, as well as those of the two minor chapels 
 to the right and left of the nave, are covered with ex-votos, 
 most of them consisting of silver hearts, occasionally inter- 
 spersed by a silver leg or arm, with even a silver baby 
 swaddled according to inviolable Italian fashion. There are 
 also many primitive little pictures, nine out of ten of which 
 are intended to represent vessels sinking in horrid seas, with 
 preternatural waves, and the Madonna seated on a cloud, 
 looking placidly on. 
 
 Mass being over, the balustrade is flung open by the old 
 Sacristan, who beckons forward Speranza and her betrothed. 
 This is the signal for the congregation, composed chiefly of 
 women, to rush towards the altar. The four tapers in front 
 are lighted, and then the curtain slowly rises amid a jingling 
 of little bells, and there appears a picture of small dimen- 
 sions—something less than a yard high, and about two feet 
 in breadth— containing three figures, our Lady and the 
 Divine Infant, with round each head a golden glory, and a 
 St. Catherine by their side. A general murmur of satisfac- 
 tion is sighed forth by the worshippers, whose eyes brighten 
 and glisten as they are raised in contemplation. The Sa- 
 cristan looks radiant. Speranza on her knees, crimson with 
 blushes, makes her offering, a huge silver heart; Battista 
 slyly and awkwardly tenders his, a picture representing a 
 carriage just upsetting, with the Madonna as usual on a 
 cloud. A short prayer from the priest, a short response 
 
KEW CHARACTERS AND INCIDENTS. 24 1 
 
 from the congregation, and then the priest retires. The 
 Sacristan, while slowly extinguishing the tapers, carries on 
 a little ex-official conversation with some of the bystanders, 
 in the course of which he remarks that it is wonderful to see 
 how much more beautiful the picture grows every day; 
 there is a jingling once more, the curtain falls, and the 
 devout drop away one by one. 
 
 "How can these people," said Lucy to the Doctor, as 
 they descended the stairs of a small gallery over the door 
 of the chapel, from which they had witnessed the whole 
 ceremony; "how can these people believe that so small a 
 picture could have served as a sail?" 
 
 "Your observation, my dear Miss Davenne, smacks hor- 
 ribly of the heretic," returned the Doctor, gravely; "had the 
 picture been of a proper size, where would have been the 
 miracle?" 
 
 And leading the way to the left of the chapel, through a 
 vault supporting the terrace, where they had sat the previous 
 evening, watching the sunset, Antonio added, "Now, if you 
 will trust yourself to my guidance, I will take you where an 
 agreeable surprise awaits you." 
 
 "As you please," said Lucy. 
 
 This cold way of receiving a proposal sportively made, so 
 different from her habitual, rather buoyant manner, on 
 similar occasions, caused Antonio to look first in her face, 
 then say, "I fear you did not sleep well last night." 
 
 "On the contrary," was the abrupt reply, "I never slept 
 better in my life." (Oh! Miss Davenne, Miss Davenne, were 
 it not for that crimson blush staining and burning your 
 cheek, how properly we should scold you for telling such a 
 fib in the very teeth of the Madonna!) Antonio looked at 
 her again, but said nothing, did not even offer her his arm ; 
 indeed, she kept sufficiently far from him to justify his think- 
 ing, that just then she did not wish for his support. And 
 thus they walked on in silence, till after a sharp turn round 
 a rock they came to a small table-land, covered with a thick 
 , jungle of wild roses. Lucy, even in her present mood, could 
 
 Doctor Antonio. 1 6 
 
242 DOCTOR ANTONIO. 
 
 rot help brightening up at the sight. "This is where the 
 original chapel stood," said Antonio; "you can perceive the 
 remains of the old walls among the bushes; keep back a 
 little, or you will never get free from the brambles," he 
 added, as he himself plunged into the very thick of them, 
 and began cutting away right and left; then carefully strip- 
 ping off the thorns, he made a splendid bouquet, and handed 
 it, without speaking, to Lucy, who received it also without 
 speaking. 
 
 "Is that a Capuchin?" she asked at last, pointing to a 
 man dressed in a long loose gown, with a rope round his 
 waist, coming along the road at a short distance from them. 
 
 "That is the Sacristan who played so conspicuous a part 
 in the chapel this morning. He has laid aside his robes and 
 put on his hermit's gown, for you must know he is the 
 Hermit of Lampedusa, and goes by no other name. He is 
 one of the fixtures of the chapel, and guards it day and 
 night. The Madonna and he are in fact one." 
 
 Lucy and the Doctor on their way back to the sanctuary 
 came upon the Hermit, (he probably had been waiting for 
 them,) who made a low obeisance to the lady, and ex- 
 changed some words with the gentleman. 
 
 "This man," said Antonio, in Italian, tapping the Hermit 
 good-naturedly on the shoulder, "has the Madonna in his 
 sleeve; deny it if you dare." The Hermit, evidently much 
 pleased at this somewhat profane compliment, acknow- 
 ledged his sense of it with a little toss of the head, and a 
 deprecatory motion of both hands, as much as to say, "Pray, 
 spare my modesty," and passed on. Lucy had eyed him 
 with some curiosity during this halt. He was a thin, dry, 
 ruddy-complexioned man, about sixty, with a pair of small 
 grey eyes, as restless and piercing as those of a ferret, — 
 tell-tale witnesses to his being of a choleric disposition. 
 
 "That poor old fellow," said Antonio, "carries on a 
 little trade in common prints of the Madonna, and he told 
 me he was going to call on you presently to show you his 
 collection. He will expect you to make some purchases, 
 
NEW CHARACTERS AND INCIDENTS. 243 
 
 which you can bestow on Speranza and Battista, who will 
 be delighted to accept of them. This sort of tribute, which 
 he levies on all visitors to the shrine, with some other 
 trifling perquisites, constitute the Hermit's income, for he 
 has no salary. He is an original worth studying; his fana- 
 ticism in all that concerns the Madonna is most ferocious. 
 Compared to him, Torquemada was a pattern of toleration.'* 
 
 They found Battista and Speranza on the terrace. Thus 
 taken by surprise, poor Battista, who had not yet conquered 
 his awe of Lucy, coloured prodigiously, and tried to conceal 
 himself behind Speranza — a manoeuvre perceived by every 
 one, but of which, out of compassion to the poor young 
 man, no one took notice. Antonio went to fetch a table for 
 Miss Davenne, and she sat down to sketch. As good as his 
 word, the Hermit shortly after made his appearance, bring- 
 ing with him a large bundle of prints, admired and praised 
 by all present, and of which Lucy, as just agreed, became 
 the purchaser. 
 
 "Have you plenty of visitors?" asked Antonio. 
 
 ^'■Santi cliiodil I should think so," cried the irascible old 
 man, whose abrupt manner of speaking and habitual jerk 
 of the head caused him to seem in a permanent passion; "I 
 should think so, indeed. It is the same all the year round. 
 People come from Turin, from Genoa, from Nice, from all 
 the parts of the world. And those who cannot come, the 
 Madonna hearkens to just as well if they pray to her; it is 
 faith which saves. Why, only last week, the Marquis of 
 Papparilla, one of the greatest nobles of Genoa, fell ill; the 
 physicians had given him up. But his mother, a really holy 
 woman, do you know what she does? — gives up the phy- 
 sicians as they had given up her son, and sits down and 
 writes a letter to the Cure, begging him to have a Triduo 
 at the shrine. And what happens? — the very first day of the 
 Triduo the Marquis was out of danger." 
 
 "And what is a Triduo?" asked Lucy. 
 
 "A Triduo!" (with the characteristic toss of the head 
 more marked than ever,) ''Sanii cldodi! three days of prayer, 
 
 16* 
 
244 DOCTOR ANTONIO. 
 
 and the iDcnediction with the holy sacrament, the bells of 
 the parish ringing all the while. You can have a Triduo for 
 seven francs and twelve sous; three francs for the parish, 
 three for the Madonna, and four-and- twenty sous for the 
 ringing of the bells; eight sous come to me. If you pay 
 three francs twelve sous more, you may have a mass per- 
 formed each of the three days. Each mass twenty sous, 
 and four additional sous for the walk from Castellaro hither. 
 Why, it is a mere nothing." 
 
 "Certainly," said Antonio, "it is not dear. Pray, is the 
 sanctuary of the Madonna della Guardia" — pointing to it in 
 the distance— "at all like this?" 
 
 "Like this!" exclaimed the old man, reddening, and 
 making a grimace of supreme contempt. "Sanctuaries like 
 this, my good gentleman," he continued with great severity 
 of tone, "are rare, though you hunt through all Christendom 
 for them; a sanctuary like this, my good gentleman, is not 
 to be found elsewhere in all Christendom— but go in to the 
 vestry, I beg, and read the Papal Brief hanging there; it 
 will teach you that this sanctuary of Lampedusa is equal to 
 Rome— yes, sir, the same in point of privileges and in- 
 dulgences, whether during life or in articulo mortis. All that 
 can be got at Rome, where his Holiness the Pope dwells, can 
 all be got here without any exception. When the shrine of 
 our Lady of the Guardia can say so much for itself," he con- 
 cluded with a look of offended dignity, " then, and then only, 
 shall I place it on a footing with this." 
 
 "Still," persisted Antonio, with much gravity, "though I 
 am far from wishing to make comparisons, which are always 
 odious things, still I have it from competent authority, that 
 at the intercession of that Madonna of the Guardia, some 
 miraculous cures have lately taken place." 
 
 "May be so," said the Hermit with cool condescension. 
 "Far be it from me to disparage the Madonna della Guardia; 
 may be that she has cured some poor old gouty man or 
 rheumatic old woman. But has she ever restored speech 
 and hearing to those born deaf and dumb, cured paralytics 
 
NEW CHARACTERS AND INCIDENTS, 245 
 
 bedridden for twenty -five years, and made rain to fall at a 
 day^s notice?" 
 
 "You have then yourself witnessed real miracles?" in- 
 quired Antonio. 
 
 ^'Santi ddodil have I witnessed miracles? I hope I have," 
 burst out the old man eagerly. "Do you remember the 
 spring of 1835? No, you don't, for you were not yet come 
 to these parts. Not a drop of rain, I give you my solemn 
 word, had fallen for three whole months, and the crop of 
 olives that promised so well that year, was fast going to 
 destruction. There was nothing but lamentation through- 
 out the Riviera. Triduos had been performed; the sacra- 
 ment had been exhibited for weeks in every parish round; 
 Novenas had been going on at the Madonna della Giiardia, 
 (with a shght sneer,) the relics of San Benedetto had been 
 shown; the miraculous crucifix in the oratory of San Se- 
 bastian, at Taggia, had been carried in procession,— still not 
 a drop of rain. All hands were now raised in supplication 
 to Castellaro. 'What are the Castelhni waiting for?' was 
 asked on every side. 'They who possess such a miraculous 
 image, why do they not bring it forth? Do they mean to 
 delay till every hope of saving the olives is lost?' Well, 
 sir, what does our Cure do? He writes a beautiful letter to 
 the Bishop of Ventimigha, which made every one weep who 
 read or heard it; now or never, he writes, is the time for 
 having the Madonna of Lampedusa carried to the parish 
 church, and shown to the faithful. The Bishop, like a holy 
 man, as he is, sends back a beautiful letter in answer to the 
 Cure's, saying, that the time in fact was come to give the 
 Madonna of Lampedusa a fair trial. On the first of May, 
 then, we set off in procession— such a crowd as you can 
 have no conception of:— there were all the Confraternities 
 from Taggia, from Riva, from Pompejana, from Boscomara, 
 indeed, where did they not come from? — so we set off, the 
 Cure in his white surplice heading the procession, the Con- 
 fraternities following behind with big tapers in their hands 
 —real wax tapers— and we carry the blessed picture under 
 
246 DOCTOR ANTONIO. 
 
 a baldaquin, just as if it had been the sacrament — we carry 
 it, I say, to the parish church. Well, what do you think was 
 the consequence? On the evening of that same day, — mind, 
 of that same day, — rumble, rumble, rumble, flash, flash, 
 flash, a terrific thunderstorm came on, and then down 
 poured rain, rain, rain, in bucketsful, as though it had never 
 rained before. To finish my story, our picture remained in 
 the parish church for fifteen days, and for fifteen days the 
 rain never ceased pouring in torrents; till, at last, fearing 
 there might be a second deluge, we brought the Madonna 
 back in a hurry, and lo ! as soon as we had done that, there 
 was an end of rain, and the sun shone out splendidly, and 
 we had a plentiful harvest. Do you call this a miracle or 
 not?" asked the Hermit, looking round on his audience with 
 beaming eyes. 
 
 Speranza and Battista, who had listened open-mouthed 
 to the story, in a sort of trance of ecstasy, immediately 
 sent forth a volley of inarticulate sounds, meant to express 
 enthusiastic acquiescence and wonder. 
 
 "But this is not all," resumed the Hermit, after a silence 
 of a minute or two, the better to enjoy the renewed surprise 
 of his listeners. "One evening, while the picture was in the 
 parish church, another attendant and I had just replaced the 
 fourteen big wax-tapers that burned before it all day, by the 
 fourteen oil lamps which, for the sake of economy, were 
 lighted at night, and we were going away, when all of a 
 sudden the lamps began to dance up and down. *Do you 
 see that?^ said I to the other man. 'Yes,' answered he all 
 of a tremble; the word was scarcely spoken, when up and 
 down went the lamps again." 
 
 "Did the picture also dance up and down?" asked An- 
 tonio, with the most perfect composure. 
 
 "Not the least," answered the Hermit, earnestly; "the 
 picture did not move in the least. 'The Madonna gives us 
 a sign,' says I to my comrade, 'there is something wrong 
 here.' And so we began rummaging about, poking under 
 the benches, looking into the confessionals, and searching 
 
NEW CHARACTERS AND INCIDENTS. 247 
 
 every hole and corner. For my part, to tell you the truth, I 
 thought that there might be thieves in the church, for you 
 must know we have ten beautiful silver lamps there. We 
 looked, and looked, without finding anything, and we had 
 made up our minds to go away, when all at once the lamps 
 began dancing more violently than ever. We set to work to 
 search all over again, and guess what we found at last? — 
 (A tantahzing stop ; Speranza and Battista's eyes were ready 
 to start out of their heads with thrilhng expectation) — We 
 found a little boy of six years old, quietly sleeping under 
 the shelter of one of the minor altars. Now fancy, if the 
 poor child had awakened in the dead of the night there all 
 alone, he would certainly have died of fright. This is what 
 the Madonna would not permit, so she gave us a sign, and 
 through her holy interference, the innocent little creature 
 was saved from certain death." 
 
 This conclusion not being contradicted by anybody, while 
 it was most emphatically agreed to by Speranza and Battista, 
 who knows how many more miracles the old man would 
 have narrated, had it not been for Antonio, who, announcing 
 that he must go to visit some patients, both at Castellaro 
 and Taggia, playfully drew the Hermit's arm under his own, 
 and carried him off, on the plea of having some important 
 communication to make respecting our Lady of the Guardia. 
 Lucy recommenced drawing, Battista crept farther and 
 farther away, then vanished altogether; and Speranza, seat- 
 ing herself by the side of her young benefactress, began to 
 work at some of her wedding garments. We ought to have 
 said before, that, among the contrivances provided by Doc- 
 tor Antonio's foresight for the convenience of his fellow- 
 travellers, there figured a wide awning, which had been by 
 his orders put up over the terrace that morning, and it is 
 under its shade we leave Miss Davenne for a while. 
 
 Among the numerous loungers who were the constant 
 ornament of the Boulevard de Gand of Taggia, and con- 
 sequently one of those who had marked the progress of our 
 little party through the Paniano, was Signer Orlando 
 
248 DOCTOR ANTONIO. 
 
 Pistacchinij manager and chief actor of the dramatic com- 
 pany bearing his euphonious name, and forming the delight 
 of the respectable public of Taggia. When we make this 
 last affirmation, we avail ourselves of a rather hyperbolical 
 phrase, copied literally from the manuscript bills placarded 
 at the four corners of the Pantano. If we were to state facts 
 in their genuine historical nakedness, we ought to say, that 
 as nobody went to the theatre, so the company in question 
 formed the delight or horror of nobody; and we are free 
 also to declare, that the honourable corps dramatiqiie were 
 tona fide starving. A very unpleasant predicament, and one 
 which caused the unlucky manager, who was fasting from 
 all food, to lean rather dejectedly against a stone pillar, 
 ruminating as to how or where he was likely to find a dinner. 
 Roused from his sad reflections by the advent of the 
 strangers, Orlando Pistacchini languidly raised his hat, 
 speculated for one moment on what they might have had 
 for breakfast, and then relapsed into his painful meditations. 
 But when fame with her hundred trumpets, or to speak less 
 poetically, but more truly, when a tall, fair-haired cabinet- 
 maker spread far and wide the intelligence that Doctor An- 
 tonio's two companions were none other than the Milordo 
 Inglese of Bordighera and his daughter, on their way to 
 Lampedusa, where they were to stay a couple of days — when 
 the manager, we say, heard this, a sudden flash of light 
 revealed to him an endless succession of breakfasts and 
 dinners; he ran home at full speed, sat down at his table, 
 and wrote as follows:— 
 
 "Most Illustrious Milordo, 
 "When a friend and protector of the fine arts of your 
 rank and generosity, comes within the reach of such humble 
 but sincere votaries and worshippers of Melpomene and 
 Thalia as we profess to be, we should be unworthy indeed 
 of that name of artists in which we pride ourselves, did we 
 not reverently tender to the noble representative of Art 
 and Great Britain such public testimony of respectful 
 
NEW CHARACTERS AND INCIDENTS. 249 
 
 sympathy and deference as in our power lies. To that effect 
 the Pistacchini Dramatic Company are making preparations 
 for an extra performance on the evening of to-morrow, the 
 22d June, to consist of the fifth act of the celebrated Tragedy 
 ARISTODEMO, 
 
 FOLLOWED BY THE HIGHLY ENTERTAINING CoMEDY 
 
 UAJO NELL' IMBARAZZO, 
 {Tlie Tutor in a Puzzle,) 
 in which Orlando Pistacchini will have the honour to appear 
 as Aristodemo and I'Ajo. Such is the entertainment for 
 which we solicit the patronage of the English Mecaenas, and 
 at which we humbly crave the favour of his presence, and 
 that of his unparalleled daughter. All Taggia will flock to 
 the theatre to do honour to such distinguished guests. We 
 hope you will come. Alas ! the muse is too often unheeded 
 now-a-days, and if noble and generous hands are not raised 
 in her support, what is to become of her? We therefore 
 entreat you most humbly to come. This is the ardent prayer 
 of your Lordship's most humble and obedient servant, 
 
 "Orlando Pistacchini, 
 
 "Manager and Chief Actor. 
 
 "iV. B. — No pains or expense will be spared to give the 
 performance the splendour befitting so glorious an occasion. 
 The house will be lighted a giorno, and a flight of pigeons 
 will take place between the Tragedy and Comedy. We trust 
 to your noble heart too entirely to apprehend the disappoint- 
 ment of a refusal." 
 
 Orlando made two copies of this sort of last lay of a 
 manager on the brink of destruction; the second, with sHght 
 variations, being intended for Miss Davenne, and then went 
 to bed, "perchance to sleep." The next morning saw him 
 and his spouse Signora Rosalinda, (a little round body, 
 choking with fat, and something asthmatic,) both dressed 
 in their best attire, blowing and panting in the hot sun, on 
 the road to Lampedusa. 
 
250 DOCTOR ANTONIO. 
 
 Sir John Davenne, much about the same time, after a 
 comfortable breakfast, had taken a fancy to go and enjoy 
 his morning's paper in the shade of one of the two evergreen 
 oaks that spread their dome of verdure at a httle distance 
 in front of the sanctuary. The shade being very thick, and 
 a httle breeze blowing from the north, Sir John, after an 
 hour or so, felt rather chilly, so he got up, and began, with 
 eyes still riveted on the paper, walking slowly forward in 
 the sun, and, as his evil star would have it, in the direction 
 of Castellaro. The Baronet was in the keen enjoyment of a 
 very sharp attack on the Whig leader of the House by a 
 member of the opposition, when all of a sudden a shadow 
 fell on his paper, and raising his eyes, he found himself con- 
 fronted by a very short apoplectic-looking woman, in a 
 faded pink bonnet, and a tall, lanky yellow man, all skin and 
 bones, both of whom, with outstretched arms and frantic 
 gesticulations, proceeded forthwith to apostrophize him in a 
 violently theatrical manner. Sir John hurried on with an 
 oath; the man and woman, gasping and panting, but keep- 
 ing their place on either side of the astounded Baronet, most 
 gallantly maintained their fire. Sir John in despair wheeled 
 round again, and quickened his walk almost to a run; the 
 dramatic pair wheeled also, quickening their pace in the 
 same proportion, the lady in particular skipping after him 
 in hot chase. 
 
 " Gracious me ! " saidSperanza, happening at the moment 
 to look in that direction; "what can Milor, your papa, be 
 running so for?" 
 
 "Don't you see a man and woman pursuing him?" ex- 
 claimed Lucy in dismay; "they are thieves, perhaps." 
 
 "Oh, no! no danger of that," replied Speranza. "I see 
 now who they are ; it is the manager of the Taggia theatre, 
 Signor Pistacchini, with his wife. Fll run down and see what 
 it is they want." 
 
 In another moment. Sir John stepped on the terrace, 
 quite out of breath and temper. "What is the matter, 
 papa?" cried Lucy. 
 
NEW CHARACTERS AND INCIDENTS. 2$l 
 
 "How can I tell you, child?" grunted Sir John. "A 
 couple of vagabonds, who stick to me like my shadow, 
 bellowing all the while as if they were possessed. I don't 
 understand a word they are saying. No privacy to be had 
 in this country, not even at the top of a mountain." 
 
 "Speranza knows these people," said Lucy, soothingly; 
 "they are actors belonging to the theatre of Taggia; they 
 mean no harm, I am sure." 
 
 "What is it to me whether they mean harm or not, when 
 they do me actual harm?" replied the Baronet, sullenly. 
 " Confound the— a — pair of impudent strollers." 
 
 Lucy was silent. Speranza came back presently with the 
 two famous addresses, and said that Signor and Signora 
 Pistacchini having heard of Miss Davenne and Sir John's 
 being in the neighbourhood, (it was worth something to 
 hear Speranza say Sir John,) had settled to give a grand 
 performance in their honour, and had come up on foot all 
 the way from Taggia to entreat that father and daughter 
 would honour the theatre with their presence. "The poor 
 creatures are steaming like horses, and are so worn out and 
 faint," continued the girl, her voice dying into a whisper, 
 meant only for Lucy's ear. 
 
 "Are faint with hunger?" cried out Lucy, quite shocked, 
 and her voice vibrated with painful surprise. "Papa, these 
 poor people have walked all the way from Taggia, and have 
 had no breakfast." 
 
 "Well, what of that?" returned papa, peevishly; "if they 
 have had no breakfast, why, let them have one, that's all." 
 
 Acting upon this hint, Speranza was despatched with 
 orders to see that Signor Pistacchini and his wife were treated 
 to a good meal, and to say that afterwards Miss Davenne 
 would be happy to receive them. Lucy then looked over 
 the addresses, and not without some peals of laughter did 
 she translate to her father the one intended for him. Sir 
 John could not help smihng at what he properly named the 
 hungry style of the address. Shall we add that the incense 
 it exhaled, however gross, rather agreeably tickled the 
 
252 DOCTOR ANTONIO. 
 
 worthy Baronet's senses, and that the statement about the 
 advent of the British Meca^nas found favour in his sight? 
 
 "Suppose we go, papa?" said Lucy, seeing her father 
 restored to serenity. 
 
 "And come back past midnight, up that break neck 
 road?^'' asked Sir John. "Nonsense, my dear. Signor 
 Pastaccani, or whatever you call him, and his wife, do not 
 care a fig for our presence; it is money they want. Give 
 them some, and get rid of them." 
 
 "We had better ask Doctor Antonio what to do," said 
 Lucy. "Though it is clear enough that these people are 
 sadly in want, yet" (she went on with some hesitation) "it is 
 difficult to offer money to people who ask for none, and, for 
 what we know, may have seen better days." — Kind, sensible, 
 considerate Lucy! 
 
 "Pooh!" said Sir John, rising to go, "try and you will 
 see whether they take it or not." 
 
 Agreed, Sir John, ten to one they would take it. Hunger, 
 malesuada fames^ as you have read at school, is a beast hard 
 to manage, and most of those who are in the saddle will 
 dismount on any terms. Still the method you propose has 
 objections. Might not that handful of coins you bid your 
 gentle daughter tender in the shape of alms, bring a blush on 
 those two wrinkled brows, which had better be spared them; 
 or rend away one more shred of that last safeguard of 
 honesty, self-respect, which had better be left untouched? 
 While, if you wait till to-morrow, and send your large or 
 small donation— through the benevolent Doctor, for instance 
 — send it as an equivalent for the pleasure that was pre- 
 pared for you, the odds are ninety to a hundred that you 
 wound no feeling, bow down no head in shame, and are 
 blessed all the same as a generous benefactor. 
 
 These reflections, that for the sake of effect, we have put 
 under the form of an apostrophe to our friend the Baronet, 
 rose spontaneously in the mind of our sweet heroine, and 
 prompted her behaviour during her subsequent interview 
 with Signor Pistacchini, and Signora Rosalinda. Far from 
 
NEW CHARACTERS AND INCIDENTS. 253 
 
 offering money, Miss Davenne did not make even a remote 
 allusion of the sort. She said how sorry she was that they 
 had had such a hot and fatiguing walk, and how grateful 
 she and her father were for their flattering invitation; she 
 was not sure whether she could avail herself of it, but some 
 of her friends would be sure to go to the theatre, and con- 
 sequently she begged that two boxes, at all events, might 
 be retained for their party in the name of Sir John Davenne. 
 Upon this Signor Pistacchini and his wife took their leave, 
 if not quite satisfied with the result of their expedition, yet 
 highly enchanted with their reception, and so entirely con- 
 quered by Lucy's grace and kindness, that they emphatically 
 declared to Speranza, as she faithfully reported, that the 
 young lady was an angel, and as such, they still hoped, would 
 condescend to honour them with her presence on the ensu- 
 ing evening. 
 
 "And why should you not go, dear lady?" said Speranza, 
 her great eyes sparkling — "only think what a splendid per- 
 formance it will be, with illuminations as bright as day, and 
 a flight of pigeons!" 
 
 "Should you like to see it?" asked Lucy, smihng at the 
 peasant girl's enthusiasm. 
 
 "Oh yes! — of all things in the world— and Battista too," 
 was the na'ive reply. "Signor Pistacchini is such a beautiful 
 actor, they say." 
 
 "Indeed!" said Lucy; "well, Speranza, you shall go." 
 
 "Not unless you do," answered Speranza, resolutely. 
 
 "And why not?" returned Lucy. Speranza silently shook 
 her head. "We shall see what Doctor Antonio says about 
 the matter ; at all events, you shall stay here till to-morrow. 
 Hutchins, I daresay, will find a corner for you in her room, 
 and Battista must do the best he can for himself." 
 
 "Oh! never mind him, he can sleep anywhere," said 
 Speranza; and away she ran in high glee to communicate 
 this unexpected arrangement to her lover. 
 
 When Doctor Antonio returned, Lucy gave him Signor 
 Pistacchini's fine piece of eloquence to read. 
 
2 54 DOCTOR ANTONIO. 
 
 "What do you think of doing?" he asked. 
 
 "What should you advise?" inquired Lucy in her 
 turn. 
 
 "I should advise you to go," said the Doctor; "here a 
 little bit of human nature offers to your observation, why 
 should you not profit by the opportunity? So my advice 
 is. Go." 
 
 "I would fain do so," returned Lucy, "chiefly on Spe- 
 ranza's account, who has set her heart on going. But papa 
 objects, as it would be difficult to come back to Lampedusa 
 at night." 
 
 "I don't see why you should absolutely come back to 
 Lampedusa for the night," observed Antonio. 
 
 "Have you not told me yourself many a time that there 
 is no decent hotel at Taggia?" 
 
 "True," said the Italian; "but you and your father could 
 sleep at Signora Eleonora's." 
 
 "You mean at the house you call your home?" 
 
 "Just so. Signora Eleonora wishes very much to make 
 your acquaintance." 
 
 "I am much obhged both to her and you, but it is not 
 my habit to put to any inconvenience persons whom I don't 
 know. We shall not go." 
 
 This brief sentence was delivered curtly, haughtily, al- 
 most scornfully, in the best style of Sir John Davenne him- 
 self, when on his high horse. Antonio coloured deeply, but 
 said nothing. He went to a chair at some distance, took up 
 the paper that was lying on it, sat down, and seemed ab-. 
 sorbed by its contents. We cannot vouch that he did actu- 
 ally read, unless he read the same word over and over again, 
 as his eyes did not move. Lucy went on with her drawing, 
 seemingly in a great hurry to finish and get rid of it. 
 
 Presently Speranzacame in singing merrily, "Ma Vamor 
 della Rosina, Dove mat lo trove^^ — but the song died on her 
 lips the moment she saw the couple on the terrace, sitting 
 so far apart from one another, with every appearance of in- 
 difference to each other's society. She went on tiptoe to 
 
NEW CHARACTERS AND INCmENTS. 255 
 
 Doctor Antonio, and asked in an under tone, "Are we to go 
 to the theatre?" 
 
 "I am afraid not, my poor Speranza; Miss Davenne re- 
 fuses to sleep at Signora Eleonora's." 
 
 "Oh! what a pity!" cried Speranza, very crest-falien, 
 **and why does she refuse?" 
 
 "I do not know — you can ask herself." 
 
 Speranza went to Lucy, and bending down at her side, 
 said something to her in a whisper, overheard by the Doctor. 
 Lucy rose instantly, went up to Doctor Antonio, and leaning 
 on the back of his chair, said, with some little confusion, 
 "Is the kindest of doctors still inclined to introduce the 
 Grossest of girls to Signora Eleonora?" 
 
 "To be sure!" said Antonio, looking up at her with a 
 queer mixture of amazement and pleasure; "how can you 
 doubt it?" 
 
 "Then," said Lucy, all smiles and blushes, "I shall be 
 most happy to make your friend's acquaintance." 
 
 Now or never would have been the time for the Doctor's 
 exclaiming with Figaro: — ^^ Donne, Donne, eterni Dei cM 
 v' arriva a indovinar?'' Who, indeed, can fathom the depths 
 of a woman's heart? Here was a girl, just now all pepper 
 and vinegar, who suddenly becomes as sweet as sugar- 
 candy; she, who scornfully refused, but a moment ago, to 
 accept a civility from a person she did not know, now begs 
 as a favour to be introduced to that very person! Where is 
 the criterion, we would like to know, whereby to account 
 for such flagrant contradictions? We had a faint hope of 
 finding a clue to this riddle in the few words whispered by 
 Speranza to the young lady, but the more we reflect on 
 those words, the less can we see how they could have oc- 
 casioned that sudden change in Miss Davenne's disposition; 
 however, let the judicious reader judge for himself, and 
 make what he can of them; we transcribe them literally. 
 "Why," had said Speranza, "why, dear lady, will you not 
 go to Signora Eleonora? She is the nicest and sweetest old 
 lady in all the Riviera." 
 
256 DOCTOR ANTONIO. 
 
 Another thing that puzzles us is this, how a man of sense 
 and feeling as we take Antonio to be, should not have called 
 on Lucy to explain the why of her unreasonable crossness, 
 or how it was that he should not have thought proper, at 
 least, to put on a look expressive of some displeasure at the 
 wilful ways of the dear spoiled child. But quite the con- 
 trary. Antonio gazed on her more fondly than ever, and 
 addressed her with a thrill in his voice, as if Miss Lucy's 
 whim had still more endeared her to him. 
 
 "And Sir John?" asked the Doctor. 
 
 "We must try and coax papa to agree to go," said Lucy. 
 The negotiation with Sir John was long and difficult, lasting 
 all dinner-time. Lucy brought all her feminine diplomacy 
 to bear against papa, and was admirably seconded by that 
 rogue of a Doctor Antonio, who, from time to time, threw 
 out mysterious hints about Signora Eleonora's ancestors, 
 and talked in such a way about the loop-holes and case- 
 mates of that lady's dwelhng, as invested it with the prestige 
 of a castle. What could Sir John, thus attacked in every 
 weak point, do but yield? Lucy was in the most amiable 
 and cheerful mood all the rest of the day, she had taken 
 such a fancy to the old lady, that she could speak of nothing 
 else, and during the quiet walk she took after dinner, with 
 her father and Doctor Antonio, to the jungle of wild roses, 
 Lucy insisted on hearing the Signora's story, which did not 
 take long telling. Signora Eleonora was a widow, of whose 
 numerous family only two sons survived, and both of these 
 sons were political exiles. The lady had left Genoa, the 
 former residence of the family, for the environs of Taggia, 
 where all that remained of the bulk of her property was 
 situated, and where she lived in great retirement. A short 
 story, concluded Antonio, which might easily be made a 
 long and impressive one, could only the hundredth part of 
 the sorrow, fortitude, and active charity, comprised in it, 
 be related. How warmly Lucy sympathized now with 
 Doctor Antonio's admiration for Signora Eleonora; how 
 
THE THEATRE. 257 
 
 keenly she felt for her, and for another poor bereaved 
 mother whose only son was also an exile! 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 The Theatre. 
 
 On coming to the Sanctuary next morning, Antonio 
 found Lucy very busy making a sketch of Signora Eleonora's 
 house, which she intended as a present to the old lady. 
 Lucy had not discovered till that morning how picturesque 
 the old building looked, and how nicely the dark-vaulted 
 gallery along its front contrasted with the open terrace 
 above, all verdant with a trellis of vine. Antonio sat down 
 by Lucy, and began telling her how on the previous evening 
 he had paid a visit to the Pistacchinis, whom he had found 
 supping on a salad — to give them the longed-for news that 
 Sir John Davenne and his daughter would honour the play 
 with their company on the morrow; and how the intelligence 
 had been received with such frantic demonstrations of joy, 
 such hurrahing, such dancing about the room, such a throw- 
 ing of the poor salad out of the window, that he, the Doctor, 
 had for a moment hesitated whether he ought not to have 
 recourse to his lancet as a sedative. "To see the manager," 
 pursued the Doctor, "as I have seen him this morning, 
 parading through the Pantano in all his glory, receiving and 
 answering with a royal condescension suited to Aristodemo, 
 applications for tickets pouring in on him from all sides 
 — to hear the thrilling inflections of his voice, as he con- 
 fidentially stated to me that places were at a premium, 
 and that he relied on the receipt of a hundred francs — to 
 see and hear this was better than any comedy ever acted. 
 You are going to make the fortune of the company. All 
 Taggia will assemble in the theatre to see the English 
 family." 
 
 "But how do they know that we shall be there?" asked 
 Lucy. 
 
 Doctor Antonio, 17 
 
258 DOCTOR ANTONIO. 
 
 "Everything is known in small places like this, and then 
 Pistacchini has taken good care that the public shall be cir- 
 cumstantially informed. There is even now hanging over 
 the Cartellone (huge play-bill) in the Pantmio, this announce- 
 ment in letters half-a-foot high, Ujider the Patronage of the 
 English Family; besides which, all the manuscript bills 
 placarded at every corner have a significant N. B. in large 
 text, The presence of the English Family is certain ! " 
 
 Lucy was excessively diverted by the notion of thus form- 
 ing the great attraction of the evening's performance, and 
 Antonio went on to tell her of the arrangements he had 
 made. There was, as far as he could judge, but one pos- 
 sibility of anything going wrong. Signora Eleonora had 
 done wonders already in providing for the reception not only 
 of Sir John and his daughter, but also in finding a room for 
 Speranza and Hutchins; that, however, was all she could do. 
 Now, Doctor Antonio had his misgivings how English John 
 would stand the dehghts and comforts of theTaggiaiocf/n(?a, 
 whither he was to go under Battista's charge. John had, to 
 be sure, been seen to smile when told at what cost he must 
 enjoy the theatre; "but his ignorance," stated Doctor An- 
 tonio, "is a bliss from which I dread his awaking. And to- 
 morrow, at two o'clock," ended the Doctor, "I have settled 
 with Sir John that the whole party shall be at the cross-way, 
 where the Taggia road joins that of Nice, to return to Bor- 
 dighera." 
 
 "I shall be glad to see that old ugly Osteria again," said 
 Lucy, smiling; "what transports Rosa will be in to have us 
 back!" 
 
 At a little past seven in the evening. Sir John and Lucy 
 mounted the mules that were to take them down the moun- 
 tain. Sir John was as trim and precise in his dress as if he 
 had been going to Her Majesty's Theatre on a drawing-room 
 night; Lucy was in her blue muslin, and broad straw-hat, 
 which Speranza had adorned with blue cornflowers and red 
 poppies, and vastly lovely she looked, the little flutter of her 
 spirits giving unusual brightness to her complexion. It being 
 
THE THEATRE. 259 
 
 Still broad daylight, the descent though steep had no danger; 
 Antonio, however, had his hand all the way on the young 
 lady's bridle-rein. They left the mules at the entrance of 
 the bridge, and joined by the two English servants and the 
 Italian lovers, they crossed over in military order, turned to 
 the left, and after a five minutes' walk by the river- side, came 
 all at once on an enormous palace. "It is curious, is it not," 
 remarked Antonio, "to find in a small town like Taggia, a 
 building belonging to a private family, of such magnificence 
 and taste as this, having a theatre to boot, like another Ver- 
 sailles?" A crowd was assembled here, evidently gaping 
 with curiosity, but a passage was at once made for the Eng- 
 hsh visitors, who where piloted by Antonio, through a gate 
 to the left, into a peristyle swarming with people on tiptoe 
 also, to get a peep of the illustrious strangers. 
 
 To the left of the entrance-door was a table covered with 
 a red cloth, and on the table, between two lighted wax-candles, 
 was a silver basin, containing a fair average of coins, some 
 modestly enveloped in paper, others boldly uncovered, and 
 before that table, like the Dragon of Hesperides, was seated 
 our newly made acquaintance, Orlando Pistacchini, in the 
 royalrobes, andonhishead theroyalbandeauof Aristodemus, 
 king of Messenia. As soon as he caught a glimpse of Sir John, 
 he rose up, laid his two palms on his heart, and in that attitude 
 made a low obeisance to the new comers. Sir John, who had 
 been previously instructed by Antonio of the custom on such 
 occasions, dropped a very neat compact little packet of white 
 paper into the basin, which, as it fell, gave forth a most ex- 
 hilarating jingle. Expectation was at its highest pitch, every 
 neck lengthened and strained towards the table. Aristodemus 
 bowed once again, had one wild passing thought of snatching 
 at the packet; but conquering the temptation, led the way 
 up a flight of wooden stairs to the two reserved boxes. Here 
 he again crossed his palms over his heart, bowed low, and 
 retreated without turning his back, as though in the presence 
 of royalty. Lucy put off her hat, and leaning over the front 
 of the box, with her beautiful rich ringlets flowing in pro- 
 
 17* 
 
26o DOCTOR ANTONIO. 
 
 fusion down her cheeks and neck, elicited a general murmur 
 of admiration from every part of the house. 
 
 It was a pretty little theatre, brilliantly illuminated with 
 wax-candles, and pitandboxes crammed to suffocation. "All 
 the han and arriere ban of the local aristocracy are at their 
 post," whispered Antonio to Lucy. 
 
 "Aristocracy at Taggia!" said Lucy, smiling. 
 
 "Yes, indeed, and among the most stiff-necked of aristo- 
 cracies," remarked Antonio, slyly. "The list is headed by a 
 marchioness, that elderly lady there with the Genoese 
 pezzotto on her head, and who looks— mark that I only say 
 looks—so unpretending. This palace and theatre belong to 
 her, and her family have been lords of the soil from time 
 immemorial. The marchioness has paid you the compliment 
 of giving up her box to you this evening." 
 
 "How kind! exclaimed Lucy; "I should like to be able 
 to thank her." 
 
 "You can adopt our Italian custom, if you hke, and pay 
 her a visit in her box. That pinched nose and yellow face, 
 shadowed by white feathers on the left, belong to a baroness, 
 and the old gentleman with the powdered head, whispering 
 in her ear, and who looks so full of importance, is the mayor 
 of the to\%m. That grey-haired, grey-eyed, lusty countenance 
 beyond, which looks so innocent" — Antonio's descriptions 
 were suddenly cut short by a sharp whistle, and the curtain 
 rising discovered to view Aristodemo in that peculiar brown 
 study, which seems the normal condition of all tragedy heroes. 
 But not all Orlando's efforts at official despondency could 
 subdue the joyous twinkle which the certainty of a monster- 
 receipt had kindled in his eyes. Aristodemus went through 
 his part with spirit, and met his death in gallant style, his 
 fall being pronounced capital by connoisseurs. Lucy had 
 all the while the benefit of a double performance, of which 
 the one on the stage was not the most interesting. Through 
 a chink in the wooden partition between the boxes, she and 
 Antonio could see Battista's countenance, and watch all the 
 crescendo of terror depicted in the young man's features, 
 
THE THEATRE. 26 1 
 
 when he saw the king feel for his poniard and try its point. 
 "Is he going to kill himself?" he asked of Speranza in great 
 alarm; and what a start he gave, and how his hair literally 
 stood on end when the steps of the spectre, who is supposed 
 to inhabit the royal tomb, were heard approaching, and 
 Aristodemus, driven to madness by the sound, actually 
 plunged his poniard into his breast! 
 
 The flight of pigeons which came after the tragedy gave 
 rise to an incident which still farther increased the excite- 
 ment always attendant on this pretty sight. Inventive Signor 
 Pistacchini had arranged, as he hoped, an agreeable sur- 
 prise for the Enghsh visitors and the pubhc, in the shape of 
 a pigeon, which, fastened by some contrivance of his own to 
 two packthreads thrown across from a sort of aiil de btsufm 
 the drop-scene to the front of the box occupied by the 
 strangers, was to appear to glide of its own accord within 
 their reach. Now, from some impediment or other, the bird 
 thus launched only achieved half of its aerial course, and 
 stopping midway, hung head downwards, fluttering its wings 
 most piteously. This mischance caused an immoderate up- 
 roar; the whole pit rose at once, the most enthusiastic stand- 
 ing on the benches with uplifted arms, vainly striving to 
 reach the pigeon, while a universal shout for the manager 
 was raised. Pistacchini quickly made his appearance, armed 
 with a pole, and getting down from the stage into the pit, 
 he managed to push the unlucky bird sufficiently near to 
 Lucy to allow Antonio to release and deliver it into the Eng- 
 lish girl's hands, amid a thunder of applause. 
 
 This little addition to the entertainment, which was not 
 in the evening^s programme, being over, Lucy went and paid 
 a visit to the marchioness to thank that noble lady for having 
 given up her box. "So very kind," said Miss Lucy, "as it 
 undoubtedly afforded the best view of the stage;" and then 
 she spoke so nicely about the beauty of the palace and the 
 prettiness of the theatre, that she left the old dowager highly 
 prepossessed in her favour. 
 
 After having endured the protracted terrors of the tragedy, 
 
262 DOCTOR ANTONIO. 
 
 Battista might be held entitled to some indemnification at 
 the manager's hands, and if so, he certainly received an 
 ample one from the comedy which followed. Who could 
 depict his transports at seeing the "Puzzled Tutor" listen- 
 ing thunderstruck to his eldest pupil's confession that he is 
 married, yes, positively married to the young lady of the 
 house opposite! Unhappy tutor, what is he to say to his 
 pupil's father, who has ordained and decreed that his sons 
 are never to exchange a word with one of the other sex! 
 Not only married, but, Heaven help us ! the papa of a baby 
 who is actually heard crying and screaming ! The tutor is 
 ready to tear his hair. His pupil a family man, his misogamist 
 employer a grandfather! Into what fits of irresistible laughter 
 was Battista thrown when the youngest son of this terrible 
 count is surprised by his father, on his knees, making a de- 
 claration to Martha the old cook? and then, when the 
 "Puzzled Dominie" is persuaded to go and fetch the baby, 
 and is confronted on the way back by the count, who flings 
 open the poor man's scanty cloak and discovers the infant 
 Bernardino topsy-turvy, like the poor pigeon, what ecstasy 
 of glee could be compared to that of Battista? And, indeed, 
 who could help laughing at the drollery of this comedy? 
 Even to Sir John Davenne, who understood but little of what 
 was going on, the laughter was contagious, while, as for 
 Lucy, she laughed almost as much as Battista. 
 
 Before the end of the evening the marchioness returned 
 Lucy's visit, and the mayor, as the representative of the 
 town, came partly to pay his respects to Sir John and Miss 
 Davenne, and partly to indulge his own curiosity and that 
 of the baroness, whose compliments he was charged to de- 
 liver. Lucy was really pleased with all this attention, and 
 the proud Baronet not a little gratified, particularly as that 
 wag of a doctor minutely detailed with becoming gravity all 
 the titles and qualifications of these personages. 
 
 It was past midnight when the curtain fell for good and 
 all, and our party made their exit from the theatre, Antonio 
 confiding to Lucy as he saw John — rendered more than 
 
THE THEATRE. 263 
 
 usually solemn by the reflected honours of the evening — 
 marching away with Battista, that he respected John as a 
 martyr. As for the English lady's-maid, who, arm-in-arm 
 with Speranza, followed in the rear of Sir John, Lucy, and 
 Antonio, she was in a great state of flutter; and when she 
 discovered that the party of young men — the cabinet-maker 
 very conspicuous— before and behind them, carrying blazing 
 torches, and singing Rossini's "Buona Sera," were there to 
 do them honour, she fell to crying and laughing, it was so 
 dreadfully affecting, she declared. This escort was quite a 
 spontaneous compliment, Doctor Antonio asserted, with 
 which he had nothing to do. Thus accompanied they reached 
 Signora Eleonora's house, where they were received by a 
 smart young woman and man, it having been made one of 
 the conditions of the acceptance of the old lady's hospitality, 
 that she should not sit up for them ; and after taking tea, 
 which was all ready, the Baronet and his daughter were 
 shewn to their rooms, Speranza and Miss Hutchins to theirs, 
 and the Doctor departed to find a bed at some other friend's 
 house. 
 
 It was rather late in the morning when Lucy, after a night 
 of sound sleep, got up, and going to open the window to let 
 in the fresh air, caught sight of a comely lady, dressed in 
 black, walking in the garden below, who appeared to be im- 
 pressing directions in a cautious whisper on the smart young 
 woman, Lucy's acquaintance of the previous evening, now 
 busy gathering flowers to add to the large nosegay she 
 already held in her hand. The noise of the window opening 
 caused Signora Eleonora to look up. "Ah! good morning, 
 Miss Davenne," said the lady in a tone of hearty welcome, 
 "it does my heart good to see you; I hope we have not dis- 
 turbed your sleep?" 
 
 "Oh! not at all, thank you," said Lucy, blushing, "I have 
 slept so well." 
 
 "So much the better," returned the kind old lady ; "young 
 people need a good deal of rest. You must let me know when 
 
264 DOCTOR ANTONIO. 
 
 you are ready to receive me. I long to kiss that sweet face 
 of yours." 
 
 When, shortly after, the Italian lady, carrying the flowers 
 with her, went to visit her young guest, there was in her 
 voice and smile so much softness, something so touching in 
 the slight melancholy that fell, like a veil, over her whole 
 person, something so truly motherly in the manner with 
 which, taking Lucy's hands in her own, she parted the 
 ringlets from the fair brow, and kissed her the while, and 
 called her "my child," that Lucy felt a tightening of her 
 throat, which prevented her giving an answer to the kind 
 inquiries after her health, and leant her lovely head on the 
 bosom of her newly-found friend. Poor Lucy could not help 
 thinking all the time of her own dear mother. 
 
 While the two ladies were thus making acquaintance with 
 one another, Sir John had been on a tour of inspection, and 
 was receiving impressions from all he saw much to the ad- 
 vantage of the dwelhng and its owner. Though not looking 
 half so grand as they had done on the night before, when 
 seen by torch-light, still the gloomy archway and avenue of 
 stone pillars that led up to the house, and the dingy, strong- 
 built house itself, all had a solemn, stern appearance of their 
 own, which pleased and interested the Englishman. The 
 half-effaced frescoes on the time-worn walls, the mutilated 
 statue of the marble fountain, facing the entrance, the coat 
 of arms, carved in black stone over the doors and over the 
 mantel-pieces of the huge fireplaces within, all such vestiges 
 of ancient splendour had been noticed and chronicled in 
 favour of Signora Eleonora, and had set working the bump 
 of veneration for old things and old times, which was among 
 the most prominent on the Baronet's skull. Doctor Antonio, 
 bent on obtaining his breakfast, came suddenly upon the 
 Baronet, who was standing with head thrown back, ap- 
 parently meditating on a species of old funnel, with a double 
 opening over the great door, which Doctor Antonio said was 
 an appendage of most houses near the coast, being meant 
 to enable those within to pour down heated liquids on the 
 
THE THEATRE. 265 
 
 assailants. The appearance of the Chatelaine, just coming 
 from the garden, hand in hand with Lucy, completed the 
 series of agreeable impressions received by the Baronet, 
 who, unable to express his feelings otherwise, hastened for- 
 ward to hand the old lady to the house with all due deference. 
 Signora Eleonora was not only ladylike, as he subsequently 
 whispered to Antonio, but had all the dignity of manner 
 belonging to a court. 
 
 The table was laid on the terrace, of which we have 
 already had occasion to speak, and Signora Eleonora and 
 her guests sat down to breakfast in the pleasant shade of a 
 vine, which, trained over a trelhs, hung down in festoons, 
 forming a verdant wall on all sides, except to the south, 
 from whence there was a glorious view of the sea. Signora 
 Eleonora did the honours of the table with that easy grace 
 of manner, under which a true lady of the old school knows 
 so well how to hide her unremitting attention to the comfort 
 of each guest. To see her smile so pleasantly, to hear her 
 talk so cheerfully, you would never surmise that the dear 
 old lady had wounds in her heart which bled without inter- 
 mission. Signora Eleonora did not make one of that 
 numerous sisterhood who use their own sorrows as a club 
 with which to knock down other people's spirits. Indeed, 
 during the two hours she had spent with Lucy the kind soul 
 had not so much as made the most covert allusion to her 
 trials; and Lucy, though ardently wishing to show her sym- 
 pathy, had not dared to broach a subject so kept in the back- 
 ground. Encouraged, however, by the Doctor's presence, 
 our sweet English girl now made bold to ask Signora 
 Eleonora how her sons were. They were very well when 
 last she heard, was the answer. 
 
 "I hope," went on Lucy, after a little hesitation, "that 
 you hear regularly from them?" 
 
 "Pretty regularly," said the old lady, "hitherto, thank 
 God; a little sooner or a little later, letters from my sons 
 have always found their way to me." 
 
 Lucy's eyes turned to Antonio. 
 
266 DOCTOR ANTONIO. 
 
 "Signora Eleonora means to say," explained the Doctor, 
 "that hitherto the person or persons deputed to open and 
 scan all letters from the Signora's sons to her, or hers to 
 them, have been generous enough to let them reach their 
 destination." 
 
 "It is too bad," exclaimed the warm-hearted Lucy, "to 
 interfere in that way between a mother and her sons." 
 
 "Bad as the case is," observed the Signora, meekly, "it 
 might be still worse. I have heard of poor Polish refugees 
 who were pitilessly cut off for years and years from all 
 epistolary intercourse with their mothers and wives." 
 
 Honest Sir John, on being made cognizant of the topic 
 they were discussing, declared that he considered the charge 
 thus laid at the door of the Government of so serious and 
 odious a nature, that— that — that — 
 
 "That you can scarcely believe it," prompted Antonio, 
 "unless clearly proved by facts. This is but just. Will 
 Signora Eleonora allow me to tell Sir John the story of the 
 French marshal?" 
 
 Signora Eleanora having smiled assent, Antonio pro- 
 ceeded thus :— "One of Signora Eleanora's sons, at that time 
 a child of eight years old, while living here, took a great 
 liking to a boy of his own age, a native of Taggia, and they 
 became great play-fellows and friends. In the course of 
 years this boy was drawn for the army, and rose to the rank 
 of Serjeant. Two years ago this young man happened to 
 come here on a visit to his parents, and Signora Eleonora, 
 naturally enough, in writing to her son, mentioned that his 
 former play-fellow, now a good-looking soldier of eight-and- 
 twenty, had risen to be a non-commissioned officer. The 
 Signora's son wrote back how glad he was to hear of the 
 good fortune of the * marshal,' as he jokingly called his 
 former playmate. Well and good. A few days after re- 
 ceiving this letter, who should call upon Signora Eleonora 
 but that same powder-headed old gentleman who paid you 
 a visit in your box last evening, no other, in fact, than the 
 Mayor of Taggia, who required of her to let him see without 
 
THE THEATRE. 267 
 
 delay the French marshal she harboured in her house, or 
 it would be his unpleasant duty— such being the precise 
 orders he had received from Turin— to proceed to search 
 the house. Signora Eleonora at first could scarcely believe 
 her own ears. A French marshal !— where had she ever 
 known one? At last she recollected her son's letter, and so 
 laughed at the worthy magistrate as quite to put him out of 
 countenance. Explanations were given, the letter shown, 
 and here the matter ended." 
 
 Sir John had heard before of permanent courts-martial 
 for trying, shooting, or hanging Italian patriots by the score, 
 of thousands languishing in prison, or wandering homeless 
 through the world, yet none of these collective misfortunes 
 had awakened his sympathies or aroused his indignation 
 half so much as this little anecdote. There was something 
 so puerile, so mean in such surveillance, he said. Thus, a 
 homoeopathic dose of medicine has sometimes been known to 
 act powerfully on constitutions which had resisted allopathic 
 doses ten thousand times as strong. It may be, too, that 
 the sight of the gentle-looking person to whom such in- 
 dignities had been offered, had roused all the man in Sir 
 John's breast. We suppose that he knew nothing at that 
 time of a certain English statute which made it legal in 
 certain circumstances, and under certain regulations, to 
 break the seal of private letters and pry into their contents, 
 even in his constitutional and free country; ten to one but 
 that, when he did become aware of such a provision, though 
 loathing the very name of reform, he wished for a reform in 
 that respect, and did his best to bring one about. 
 
 After breakfast Lucy went to her room to fetch the 
 sketch which she had made of Signora Eleonora's house. 
 The old lady was as much pleased with it as though it had 
 not been the work of a beginner, and fastening it to the wall 
 in her sitting-room, said that she should never see it without 
 thinking of her young English friend. It was now time to 
 go. The Signora insisted upon accompanying them to the 
 end of the avenue. Sir John offered her his arm, and it was 
 
268 DOCTOR ANTONIO. 
 
 a pleasure to see with what a courtly and deferential air he 
 supported his hostess, and the care he took to suit his step 
 to hers. The parting between the two ladies was touching ; 
 they separated more like friends than acquaintances of a 
 few hours' standing. Big tears trembled in Lucy's eyes as 
 she fondly kissed the withered cheeks of the old lady, and 
 said, "I pray that one day you may be consoled by your 
 dear ones being restored to you." Big tears trembled in 
 Signora Eleonora's eyes, as, kissing the fresh beautiful girl, 
 she answered, "May it please God to hsten to your prayer. 
 I live in hope; but if the Almighty has willed it otherwise, I 
 have faith that we shall all meet there," and she raised her 
 eyes to heaven. "God bless you! Farewell ! "—and they 
 were gone. 
 
 Signora Eleonora stood still, giving a last wave of her 
 hand ere they disappeared at the turn of the road, then, 
 with slow steps and brow bent to the ground, the lonely 
 soul walked back to her lonely house. 
 
 CHAPTER XVIIL 
 
 Antonio pledges himself. 
 
 Early and quietly on the next day but one after the 
 return to the Osteria, Battista and Speranza were married 
 in the parish church, and by ten o'clock, the usual breakfast 
 hour of the English family, every trace of such little festivity 
 as could not be dispensed with, viz., the modest repast, and 
 a very limited number of guests, had all disappeared. Much 
 as Battista had set his heart on parading the fair prize he 
 had won, through the main street of Bordighera, and on the 
 being serenaded in the evening — much as Speranza would 
 have liked to display to the whole town her complete bridal 
 attire, a gift from Lucy, which had arrived from Genoa the 
 day before, and last, not least, to exhibit the bridegroom's 
 comely figure, killing locks of hair, and new suit of velve- 
 teen, yet, upon consideration, they thought it wiser to deny 
 
ANTONIO PLEDGES HIMSELF. 269 
 
 themselves such indulgences. The fine gauze dress, rich 
 veil, orange-flower wreath, and white satin shoes, were 
 therefore laid by with an effort so heroic, that we can con- 
 ceive none greater, unless we compare it to that which Bat- 
 tista made when he thanked the musical band of Bordighera, 
 and begged them not to come. 
 
 "So that we are happy, what does it signify whether we 
 appear so or not to other people?" said Speranza in ex- 
 planation to Miss Davenne. "Were we to make a smart 
 show, or did I put on the beautiful things you have given 
 me, there would be a gossip and outcry about the bride, and 
 her finery, and the wedding, and this and that, ten miles 
 round. And what would be the consequence? Why, that 
 we should be recalled to mind in a quarter where it is safest 
 for us to be forgotten. The less Battista's name is men- 
 tioned the better for us." Non destar can cJie dormey—Don^t 
 rouse sleeping dogs, — an Italian proverb of much import 
 and frequent application in a country where everybody's 
 fortune and liberty are at the mercy of irresponsible powers; 
 where, for instance, a poor woman can be despoiled, ipso 
 facto, of her hard-earned savings, and hear them adjudged 
 to the denouncing party by a commandant in his cups; and 
 where a legal adviser for suggesting legal means of redress, 
 can be sent to a fortress, and kept there for months to learn 
 to hold his tongue another time. No wonder if, with such 
 flagrant examples before their eyes, people grew prudent in 
 self-defence. Were you aware that you were walking over 
 mined ground, would you not do so with cautious steps? 
 Similar cases to the one above quoted had been, and were 
 of public notoriety. We have picked one out of a hundred 
 as peculiarly illustrative of a system which meddled with 
 everything and everybody on any and every occasion. Tra- 
 vellers describe a tree in the island of Java, whose pestiferous 
 exhalations blight every tiny blade of grass within the com- 
 pass of its shade. So is it with despotism. No detail of 
 life, however purely personal or trivial, is safe from the 
 subtle, all-pervading action of this accursed upas-tree. 
 
270 DOCTOR ANTONIO. 
 
 As soon as the hot weather had regularly set in, which 
 was by the middle of July, it was decided that Miss Davenne 
 should begin her course of sea-baths. Her wish was to bathe 
 in the dusk of the evening, but Antonio put in his veto against 
 this, and was not to be coaxed into consenting, his fear being 
 that the bath, acting as a stimulant, might interfere with her 
 night's sleep. "We will build a bathing-machine for you," 
 said the considerate Doctor, "in which you may be as 
 private as in your room." And this was no boast as the 
 sequel proved, for a few hours afterwards, there rose on the 
 beach of the Gulf of Spedaletti, as trim and commodious a 
 machine as ever graced the shores of fashionable Brighton 
 or Dieppe. "What a turn for mechanics this man must 
 have had, he is always contriving," I fancy I hear some reader 
 exclaim on reading this. I beg your pardon, sir or madam 
 — Antonio had no more turn for mechanics than you or I, 
 but he had what I wish you and I had, a great will to serve 
 and oblige his fellow-creatures; and there is nothing hke 
 that, I am told, for rendering a man ingenious. Set to it in 
 a proper spirit, gentle reader, and you will yourself be the 
 first to wonder at the result. 
 
 Antonio's bathing-machine was nothing more nor less 
 than the body of an old cart with an awning and curtains, 
 fastened by ropes which could be shortened or lengthened 
 at will, to stout piles driven into the beach. A short ladder 
 gave access to it from the land side, and a longer one on 
 the sea side. A contrivance, you see, not hkely to have cost 
 its inventor much effort of imagination. Four red streamers 
 floated gracefully from the four poles supporting the awn- 
 ing, and gave a smart look to the whole. But in this and 
 other embellishments Antonio had no share whatever, they 
 were Battista's exclusive fancying and making. — Suumcidque. 
 
 Every morning at peep of day, Lucy, attended bySperanza 
 as bathing-woman— Speranza who could swim like a shark 
 — went to enjoy her bath and the wonders of the sunrise. 
 Though a part of her childhood had been spent in the 
 country, yet, owing to her indifferent health, Lucy had never 
 
ANTONIO PLEDGES HIMSELF. '27! 
 
 been an early riser; consequently, that marvellous crescendo 
 of light, and sound, and life, with which Nature seems to 
 hail the advent of her Great Luminary, was quite a novelty 
 to her, and a delicious one. After the bath, which was to 
 last at first a quarter of an hour and no longer — such being 
 the precise orders of the Bordighera Esculapius— and which 
 Speranza was not the woman to see infringed, Lucy was to 
 have a cup of hot tea, and return to her bed till seven, when 
 she got up. The rest of the morning till ten, when she 
 joined her father for breakfast. Miss Davenne employed 
 first in watering and tending her flowers— she had quite a 
 garden of her own now — then with her pencils and brushes 
 in the balcony. Doctor Antonio always made his appear- 
 ance about eleven, remaining an hour with her, talking or 
 reading. The hours between mid-day and dinner were oc- 
 cupied by a siesta, by strolls in the garden, by a book en- 
 joyed in the shade, by painting again, or the piano. We 
 have omitted, we believe, to say that an excellent piano had 
 been procured from Nice. Occasionally, there were duets 
 with the Doctor, who never failed to make a second call in 
 the afternoon. Her day generally closed with a short walk 
 up the hill, or a visit to the Count's casino, with sometimes 
 a drive to a neighbouring town or hamlet. But this last be- 
 came daily of rarer occurrence, for the gentle-natured girl 
 had observed poor Battista's disappointment and mortifica- 
 tion whenever he saw the carriage at the gate, and the crest- 
 fallen looks with which he vanished into the gloomiest re- 
 cesses of the garden; and she had no heart to inflict on any 
 one unnecessary trials. Battista's first excessive terror of 
 Lucy had given place to a reverential adoration as excessive. 
 Whenever she went out to walk, he would watch her from 
 a respectful distance, or, if he thought himself unobserved, 
 follow at her heels; and many a time had his quickness and 
 cleverness in getting out of sight, on the walkers turning 
 suddenly round, and then once more re-appearing in their 
 rear, been a source of amusement and astonishment to Lucy 
 and Doctor Antonio. There was a good deal of the dog in 
 
272 DOCTOR ANTONIO. 
 
 Battista's nature; which remark is not meant in disparage- 
 ment, but quite the contrary, considering that the canine 
 race are remarkable for fidehty, devotion, and sagacity, all 
 qualities in which few other animals of the creation excel. 
 
 Our sweet Lucy benefited much by the sea-baths, and 
 more still, it is allowable to conjecture, from such a tenor of 
 life as we have depicted, one equally free from ennui or ex- 
 citement. Sir John was in raptures at her glowing cheeks 
 and dawning emho7ipoint, and would jocosely observe to the 
 Doctor, that she was certainly about to rival Signora Pistac- 
 chini in size. If country life be healthful to the body, it is 
 no less so to the mind. Few have sought to become intimate 
 with Nature, interesting themselves in her wonderful pro- 
 ceedings, without bearing witness to the enlargement of 
 ideas, and the awakening of wholesome sympathies conse- 
 quent upon such communion. At all events this was the 
 case with Lucy. Perhaps — we hope we shall not be charged 
 with presumption in behalf of our hero, when v/e hint, that, 
 perhaps, her constant intercourse with a man of some ex- 
 perience, practical good sense, and genuine simplicity of 
 heart, like Antonio, might have contributed in some degree 
 to such a result. Be this as it may, one thing was certain, 
 Lucy felt and was quite another being, with new powers, 
 both physical and mental. 
 
 Antonio, in the meanwhile, was stroking his beard vio- 
 lently. Ever since the trip to Lampedusa, or to be more 
 particular, ever since that afternoon, when Lucy proved so 
 whimsical and inconsistent, a change had come over our 
 dear friend. That evenness of spirit and temper, which 
 might have been compared to the gentle, measured flow of 
 transparent waters, was now somewhat disturbed, and sub- 
 ject to fits of intermission. Antonio was less talkative than 
 he used to be, and would sit by Lucy's side for half an hour 
 together without uttering a word; evidently abstracted even 
 to absence of mind. One day on being suddenly aroused 
 from one of these reveries by the question, "What are you 
 thinking of?" — he reddened prodigiously, and— curious 
 
ANTONIO PLEDGES HIMSELF. 273 
 
 enough— Lucy caught the infection, and blushed also. There 
 was, too, at times, something formal and ceremonious in his 
 manner of addressing Lucy, as of one desirous to retrace 
 some of those steps which, circumstances aiding and abet- 
 ting, had led to that gentle famiharity which existed be- 
 tween himself and Miss Davenne. But Lucy would not sub- 
 mit to these manoeuvres ; she took the bull by the horns, as 
 the saying is, and with the pettishness of a spoiled child, 
 would exclaim on any such occasion, " What have I done to 
 you that you look so cold and distant to-day? Do you wish 
 to show me that, now I am quite well, you do not care about 
 me,— that I am a bore to you?" or some such remonstrance. 
 As there was no resisting the spell of her voice, and of the 
 feehngs that prompted her words, the upshot of the matter 
 was, that any attempts at formality, if there were any inten- 
 tion of the kind on Antonio's part, ended in creating still 
 more friendly feelings and interest in the heart of each for 
 the other. 
 
 The symptoms exhibited by our Doctor were such as to 
 give intimation of some inward struggle; a struggle about 
 the definite nature and object of which, we regret that we 
 cannot be as explicit as we would — nay, can offer nothing 
 more than mere conjecture. A human heart is a skein of 
 such imperceptible and subtly interwoven threads, that even 
 the owner of it is often himself at a loss how to unravel it, 
 and, in all likelihood, this was the case with Antonio. That 
 a man of his discretion and temperate habits of mind, and 
 withal a dealer in realities, as we have known him to be, 
 should willingly and consciously give himself up to rash 
 castle-building, is an hypothesis which we cannot for a mo- 
 ment admit. That Fancy— insidious fairy as she is — might 
 not have succeeded in catching him now and then off his 
 guard, and practising some of her conjuring tricks on him, 
 we would not certify. Antonio was but a man after all, and 
 labouring, to all appearance, under an indisposition common 
 to mankind, and which is said to affect the organs of mental 
 vision. Besides, there are hours in hfe — we denounce among 
 
 Doctor Antonio. 1 8 
 
274 DOCTOR ANTONIO. 
 
 Others twilight's treacherous hour -when the best consti- 
 tuted mind is not proof against the spell of fond imaginings, 
 and most impossible things appear possible, nay, easy. 
 When a man, the paroxysm once over, does his best to aid 
 reason to re-assert her predominance, he does all that, in 
 our judgment, can reasonably be expected of him; and who 
 can tell but that Antonio's fits of taciturnity and thoughtful- 
 ness were the silent workings of a mind bent on banishing 
 the deceitful phantoms evoked by Fancy in an evil hour! 
 
 But it is time for us to resume our narrative. 
 
 "Do you know Lord Carnifex?" asked Antonio of Sir 
 John one evening, after Miss Davenne had retired to her 
 bedroom. The query was put in a would-be unconcerned 
 tone, which was evidently assumed. 
 
 "Very well," rephed Sir John; "he is a distant relation 
 of my wife's family. What of him ? " 
 
 "I read a paragraph about him and his youngest daughter 
 in your paper this afternoon. Here it is," continued Antonio, 
 taking the paper from a table behind him, and handing it 
 to Sir John, who read aloud : — 
 
 ^'•Romance in Ugh life. — We entertained our readers not 
 long ago with the account of a silly scene enacted at Flo- 
 rence, and in which Miss Fanny Carnifex, youngest daughter 
 of the noble Lord of that name, and a young Roman painter, 
 played the principal parts. The scene we related has length- 
 ened into a two-act comedy, and just as Lydia Languish 
 would have wished, in this case there has been an elope- 
 ment after all. As the matter is now one of pubhc notoriety, 
 we have no hesitation in giving all the names concerned at 
 full length. According to our informant, the hero, Marini, 
 a handsome young fellow, scarcely two-and-twenty, is of a 
 respectable bourgeois family, and considered a rising artist. 
 It seems that he was Miss Fanny's drawing-master, and took 
 advantage of the opportunity thus afforded him to win his 
 pupil's affections." 
 
 ("The impudent scoundrel!" parenthesized Sir John.) 
 
 "One morning the love-stricken pair burst in on the 
 
ANTONIO PLEDGES HIMSELF. 275 
 
 young lady's noble parent while in his dressing-room, and 
 kneeling down before him, implored his consent to their 
 union. The upshot of this step may be foreseen. Marini 
 was sans fa^on turned out of doors, and Miss Fanny con- 
 signed at once to the care of her maternal aunt, Lady Biribi, 
 who carried the fair culprit off to Rome. Here closes that 
 first act of which we gave an account already. The sequel 
 may be told in a few words. Eluding the strictest vigilance, 
 Miss Fanny succeeded in joining her rash young lover, who 
 had followed her to Rome. This deplorable denouement has 
 created a painful excitement throughout the English colony 
 at Rome and Florence. The noble Lord, we are assured, 
 has taken no steps whatever with regard to the fugitives, 
 and is fully determined to leave his daughter to her fate." 
 
 "Serve her right!" exclaimed Sir John, crumpling the 
 paper with hands that trembled with emotion. "If I were 
 her father she would never see a shilling of mine. Let them 
 starve. I know him well. By God! I would never speak to 
 him if he were to have anything to do with the" — The last 
 word was inaudible, as the Baronet rose, and began angrily 
 striding up and down the room. 
 
 "What good purpose can all such anger answer now?" 
 said Antonio, quietly. 
 
 "Give a warning to all silly minxes, sir, disposed to dis- 
 grace their family," retorted Sir John, impetuously. 
 
 The Doctor ventured to observe, in a conciliating voice, 
 "Luckily the young man seems respectably connected." 
 
 "D — such respectability!" roared Sir John. "A fellow 
 little better than a beggar, living on his pencils and wits." 
 
 "Michael Angelo and Raphael lived on their pencils and 
 wits," remonstrated Antonio, beginning to feel chafed. 
 
 "Welcome to do so," replied the Englishman. "I would 
 have given my daughter to neither of them for all that." 
 
 A sharp repartee quivered on Antonio's lips, but he 
 gulped it down. 
 
 "The consummate rascal!" went on the Baronet, with 
 renewed fury. "And to think that not one Englishman 
 
 18* 
 
276 DOCTOR ANTONIO. 
 
 among the whole set had spirit enough to blow the fellow's 
 brains out. It's enough to make one disown one's country!" 
 
 "Come, come, Sir John," said Antonio, good-naturedly, 
 <*you must not be so severe. Love and two-and- twenty is a 
 terribly intoxicating draught." 
 
 "Love!" laughed the Baronet, contemptuously. "Non- 
 sense : it was the girl's pounds, shillings, and pence, that the 
 cold-blooded villain wanted. They only marry for money, 
 these — a — confounded Italian adventurers." 
 
 The Itahan grew scarlet, and bit his hp. Perhaps the 
 Englishman noticed this, or perhaps it was only the sound 
 of his own words that sobered him. He paused for a second 
 in front of Antonio, who, his arms folded over his breast, 
 stood leaning against the piano; then, moved by a sudden 
 impulse. Sir John stretched out his hand and said, with noble 
 simplicity, "Very wrong of me to wound your feelings. Pray 
 forgive me. I did not mean it. That odious story quite got 
 the better of me. I confess I have an unconquerable aver- 
 sion to marriages with foreigners. Don't let us speak any 
 more on the subject. And now, are you for a game?" 
 
 Antonio was for a game, and they sat down to it; but Sir 
 John was so distrait that his opponent had to take all imagin- 
 able pains to make him win. It was near midnight when the 
 Doctor issued from the little garden-gate : instead of turning 
 to the right to gain the highroad to Bordighera, he took to 
 the left, down the lane towards the sea, and began walking 
 up and down the beach. His step, though slower than usual, 
 gave no evidence of overwrought feelings, nor did his coun- 
 tenance, to which the pale moonshine, that fell on it, im- 
 parted an expression of calm solemnity. He walked thus 
 for a considerable time, then lay down at full length, his 
 face upturned to the heavens. The grey light of breaking 
 day found him in the same posture. He then rose, and, as 
 if summing up the result of his long reverie, said aloud, 
 "What matters it, after all, whether a man is happy or un- 
 happy, so that he sees his duty and abides by it? So now. 
 
THE IDYL AT A CLOSE. 277 
 
 Viva V Italia! my first and my last love!" and he bent his 
 way homewards. 
 
 From that day all fits of moodiness or taciturnity were at 
 an end, and the gentle current of serene good sense and 
 quiet humour, which gave such a charm to the Italian's 
 manner, flowed on rich and equable as when we first made 
 his acquaintance. Had that night of solemn thought con- 
 quered the struggle within, or only ministered to the com- 
 batant sufficient strength to control and keep down its out- 
 ward manifestation? Was Antonio in the solitude of his own 
 dweUing as much master of himself, as composed, even 
 cheerful, as he was at the Osteria in Lucy's presence? We 
 leave it a secret between the well-meaning creature and his 
 Creator. 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 The Idyl at a Close. 
 
 It was one of those hot sultry days in the month of 
 August, so trying to the nerves of sensitive people, and dur- 
 ing which. Nature, as it were, herself exhausted, seems to 
 come to a stand-still. Shooting through a thin veil of white 
 clouds, as through a burning glass, the rays of the sun 
 poured down upon the earth volumes of heavy malignant 
 heat. No leaf stirred, no bird was singing, the very cicadas 
 had suspended their shrill chirp. The only sound that oc- 
 casionally broke the ominous stillness, was the plaintive cry 
 of the cuckoo calling to its mate. 
 
 Lucy had tried drawing, gardening, practising, sleeping, 
 all with no success, and now lay panting on a sofa. "Here 
 you are at last!" said she, as Doctor Antonio walked in; "I 
 have been longing for you these two hours. I feel so ill." 
 
 "Indeed!" exclaimed Antonio, turning white; "what is 
 the matter with you? I met Sir John on his way to the 
 Count's not an hour ago, and he never breathed a syllable 
 about your being unwell." 
 
278 DOCTOR ANTONIO. 
 
 "I said nothing about the matter to papa,'' answered 
 Lucy, "he is uneasy enough already at not having heard 
 from Aubrey." 
 
 "You mean your brother?" 
 
 "Yes; Aubrey was to write by the Indian mail which we 
 see has arrived, and without bringing any letter from him." 
 "I am very sorry for that," said Antonio. "But tell me 
 all about yourself. You have not been coughing, have you?" 
 "No; but I feel very uncomfortable — so faint — so op- 
 pressed — so hot." 
 
 "No wonder. Everbody suffers more or less from this 
 weather. Let me feel your pulse— there is no fever. It is 
 this confounded sirocco that tells on your nerves. Now, 
 just he down again quietly," and he arranged the pillows 
 under her head, "and I will try to make you more com- 
 fortable. Miss Hutchins," he added, walking away, "will 
 you make a glass of strong lemonade for Miss Davenne? 
 the juice of two lemons in half a tumbler of water — luke- 
 warm water, if you please." 
 
 "Yes, sir," answered the lady's-maid, in the most melli- 
 fluous voice at her command. Miss Hutchins, be it known, 
 was quite conquered; a hard conquest, but Antonio had 
 achieved it. The once stiff abigail now courted his notice, 
 and prided herself on carrying out his directions. 
 
 Presently Antonio re-appeared, followed by Speranza, 
 both of them looking like Jacks in the green on a May 
 morning, or like a bit of Birnam-wood, from the quantity of 
 cut boughs they were carrying. They spread them all over 
 the floor, then Rosa bringing in a watering-pot, the Doctor 
 watered the branches several times, saying, "This will soon 
 cool us, provided we let in no air from the furnace without." 
 He shut up the glass-door, and let down the green curtain 
 over it so as to create a twilight. "Do you like your lemo- 
 nade?" he asked, as Lucy put down her glass. 
 "Very much, it is so refreshing." 
 "Do you feel inclined to go to sleep?" 
 "No," said Lucy; "are you going?" 
 
THE IDYL AT A CLOSE. 279 
 
 "Not unless you feel sleepy.— You do not? Very well. 
 Shall I read to you?" continued Antonio, going to the book- 
 shelves near the piano, and coming back with a book — 
 "shall I read something from your favourite poet, Giusti?" 
 
 "What a clever man you are!" said Lucy, instead of 
 answering the question. "I feel better already. What is 
 to become of me when you are no long"— The rest of the 
 phrase was lost in a burst of tears. 
 
 Poor Antonio stood still with the book in his hand, and 
 large tears in his eyes, within an ace of crying also. For- 
 tunately for him, something stuck in his throat at this 
 moment, and necessitated his clearing it violently. Having 
 by this means recovered his voice, he said, "See how nervous 
 you are — you weep without the least cause, as if you were 
 going away to-morrow. Don't you know the Italian 
 proverb: — '•Prendi tempo e camperai?^" His tone was that 
 of a mother chiding her pet-child. There ensued a pause, 
 during which Lucy by degrees recovered from her emotion. 
 
 "Doctor," said she, all at once, "do you believe in 
 presentiments?" 
 
 "Not a bit," replied Antonio, briskly; "I believe in the 
 sirocco." 
 
 "You are wrong then," said Lucy, gravely. "Did you 
 not tell me once of sensitive plants which foretold storm? 
 Well, I am one of them. I am sure that some misfortune is 
 about to happen to me. I feel it in the air." 
 
 "You feel the treacherous south wind, that is what you 
 feel. A shower of rain will put your discomfort and presenti- 
 ments all to flight." 
 
 Lucy shook her head incredulously, then said, " Will you 
 read to me? Anything you choose." 
 
 "Let us try <I1 Brindisi di Don Girella.' It is so droll, it 
 will make you laugh;" and carrying a chair close to the 
 glass-door, in order to profit by the httle light that stole in 
 through it, he began reading. 
 
 We have reasons of our own for particularizing as 
 minutely as possible the details of this domestic scene, and 
 
280 DOCTOR ANTONIO. 
 
 the position, with regard to each other, of reader and 
 listener. A little to the right of the glass-door, at some five 
 or six paces from it, stood sidewise the sofa on which Lucy 
 was lying, her face towards the light. She had on a white 
 muslin gown with a blue sash; her broad-brimmed straw- hat 
 was hanging by its blue ribbons on a corner of the back of 
 the sofa, just over her head. Miss Hutchins, her arms 
 crossed before her, sat at the large table in the centre of 
 the room, busily engaged in trying to swallow a series of 
 obstinate yawns, that would not be suppressed. Opposite 
 to Lucy, that is, to the left of the glass-door, but so close to 
 it that the green curtain touched his book, was seated 
 Antonio. 
 
 Well, the reading had been going on for some time, 
 and more than once had the condensed vis comica of the 
 inimitable poet brought a faint smile on Lucy^s pale face. 
 By degrees, however, her perception of the author's meaning 
 became fainter and fainter, and the rich melodious voice of 
 the reader, soothing her like the murmuring of a brook, 
 lulled the sweet girl into that state, which is not yet sleep, 
 yet neither is it waking, but a voluptuous compound of the 
 two. All on a sudden a heavy footstep is heard coming up 
 the stairs— Lucy started up~"Who can that be?" faltered 
 she with a shudder. At the same instant the glass-door is 
 flung open with a crash, a colossal figure stalks in noisily, 
 and, "Halloa, Lucy, my girl," roars out a voice like thunder, 
 as the living tower stoops down to kiss the prostrate form. 
 "Here you are at last! Heyday! what is all this? By Jove! 
 with your green boughs and watering-pots, you look as 
 pastoral as one of the shepherdesses in a ballet. Une 
 chaumiere et ton caw. Ah! ah! nothing is wanting to the Idyl, 
 as they used to say at Eton; d— it, not even the shepherd!" 
 
 "Aubrey!" cried Lucy, in a tone of reproach, but could 
 say no more. The oath and witty sally, we need scarcely 
 remark, were aimed at our friend the Doctor. Antonio had 
 received such a violent slap from the door, when Aubrey 
 entered, as to be nearly felled to the ground, and in the 
 
THE IDYL AT A CLOSE. '28 1 
 
 effort to recover his balance his chair was upset. The new 
 comer turned round at the noise, saw Antonio, and uttered 
 the silly vapid joke about the shepherd. 
 
 The eyes of the two men met in no friendly way. Aubrey's 
 haughty scowl, curled lip, and somewhat aggressive de- 
 meanour, evinced little good-will to the object of his present 
 scrutiny. Antonio's firm-set hps, ashy-pale countenance, 
 and collected look of self-defence, gave evidence of his 
 scenting the near approach of a foe. Thus they stood, con- 
 fronting each other, types of two fine races, two such as even 
 Greece and Rome had seldom seen the like; the one, fair, rosy, 
 blue-eyed, (Lucy's very eyes!) the other, dark as a tempest; 
 the Englishman taller by nearly a head than his tall anta- 
 gonist, square-chested, broad-shouldered in proportion, the 
 very ne plus ultra of muscular development and strength; 
 the Italian less bulky, but as firmly knit, springy and supple 
 as a tiger, with iron nerves and sinews, ready servants of the 
 indomitable will betrayed in the sombre fire of his eyes. 
 God grant that they may never meet in anger, for theirs will 
 be like the meeting of two thunder-clouds ! 
 
 This mutual survey did not last ten seconds, but even 
 that time sufficed to develop between the two a strong 
 feeling of antipathy. Lucy, woman-hke, divined it, and her 
 increasing terror loosened her tongue. "My brother, Cap- 
 tain Davenne.— Doctor Antonio, my doctor— papa's best 
 friend." The words broke the spell. Captain Davenne 
 bowed slightly, as did Doctor Antonio. A parting recom- 
 mendation to Lucy to keep quiet, and to go to bed early 
 if she did not feel better in the evening, and the Doctor 
 withdrew. 
 
 Aubrey began kicking about in the most uproarious 
 manner all the chairs and arm-chairs that were in the room, 
 —every fresh kick eliciting a fresh start from Lucy,— till, 
 at last, having disposed them somewhat symmetrically by 
 the side of the sofa, he stretched his ponderous limbs on 
 this extempore couch, talking loudly all the while. Lucy 
 was thus made aware, between one kick and the other, of 
 
282 DOCTOR ANTONIO. 
 
 the String of lucky circumstances which had procured for 
 her so unexpectedly the blessing of her brother's company. 
 They were briefly these. The invaUd brother officer, whose 
 duties had devolved upon Aubrey, recovering more rapidly 
 than had been anticipated. Captain Davenne had, in con- 
 sequence, been enabled to sail by the very Indian mail, the 
 arrival of which, without a letter from him, had caused Sir 
 John's uneasiness in the morning. What was the use of 
 writing, when he should reach England at the same time as 
 his letter? In London he had met Tom Carnifex — eldest 
 son of Lord Carnifex — who had just received a hasty sum- 
 mons from his father to join him at Florence as quickly as 
 he could. Tom had offered Aubrey a place in his britschka; 
 Aubrey had accepted it, and here he was. Of the stranger 
 he had found in his sister's company, of the pleasant or 
 unpleasant impression made on him by the sight, not a 
 single word. 
 
 Who so surprised and happy and elated as Sir John, 
 when, on entering the room soon after, the first thing his 
 eyes fell upon was his long-missed treasure, Aubrey, seated 
 by the side of his sister? Sir John would, had his sense of 
 decorum permitted, have done foolish things. How proudly 
 and fondly he gazed on the "boy," as he called him! Truth 
 to say, Aubrey's Herculean proportions and handsome 
 features must have excited the admiration of a more im- 
 partial judge than his father. The Baronet's eager inquiries 
 immediately brought forth a second edition of Aubrey's 
 statements just related, and then began between father and 
 son a brisk fire of queries and answers, like hammers plying 
 in quick succession on an anvil. No wonder they had much 
 to say to one another, considering their ten years' separa- 
 tion. They rattled on uninterruptedly, until John Ducket's 
 advent to lay the cloth for dinner put an end to their effu- 
 sions. Captain Davenne complimented John on his good 
 looks, an honour which spread on John's grave face a grin 
 of intense complacency. The two gentlemen then adjourned 
 to Sir John's own room, from whence they were shortly after 
 
THE roVL AT A CLOSE. 28^ 
 
 summoned forth by the announcement that dinner was on 
 the table. Aubrey ate and drank enough for two, and as he 
 ate and drank, his praises of the fare, the wines, the situa- 
 tion, rendered still more impressive by sundry oaths and 
 tremendous peals of laughter, which made plates, glasses, 
 decanters, and very glass-door, ring again, grew louder and 
 louder. 
 
 "By the by, my dear boy," said the Baronet, "at what 
 inn did Carnifex leave you?" 
 
 "At none," was the answer. "I left my portmanteau at 
 a kind of pot-house, where he changed horses. I say, John, 
 you must go there after dinner and have my pormanteau 
 brought here." 
 
 "I am afraid," said Sir John, "that there is no room for 
 you here; it is a mere nut-shell; there is not a hole to spare, 
 I know." 
 
 "Never mind," retorted Aubrey, "a la guerre comme a la 
 guerre, I can sleep on the sofa, or on the ground, anywhere. 
 Here I am, and here I mean to stay, for I suppose you won't 
 turn me out by force." 
 
 This being Aubrey's ultimatum, from which it was clear 
 that no reasons, however good, would divert him, a short 
 consultation ensued between Sir John and John Ducket, the 
 upshot of which was that John should manage to find a 
 resting-place for himself where he could, and that his room 
 should be made as comfortable as possible for his young 
 master. To be of service to Aubrey, John would have 
 willingly slept in the fields. 
 
 Dinner over. Captain Davenne, to Sir John's great 
 amazement and consternation, lighted an enormous cigar. 
 "First-rate cigars," said he, puffing away; "I hope you 
 don't dislike the smell, Lucy; I know my father doesn't." 
 Lucy protested she had no objection to it — she-rather hked 
 it than not. Now, the truth was that she could not bear it. 
 What was it that forced from her an assertion so little con- 
 sonant with the truth? Lucy, almost unconsciously, felt a 
 sort of necessity to humour her brother. Poor, timid, weak 
 
284 DOCTOR ANTONIO. 
 
 Lucy ! How many of thy sisters have I seen, as candid and 
 artless as thou art, sin in a like and worse way, to propitiate 
 such bears as this brother of thine! For all which sins, let 
 us hope, not the weak sensitive things will be called to 
 account some day, but the blustering, overbearing rulers, in 
 whose violence the sins originated. 
 
 Sir John neither openly admitted nor contradicted 
 Aubrey's declaration as to himself; it might be he did not 
 feel sure how a flat denial on his part would be received, or 
 it might be that he chose, on that first day of re-union, to 
 be indulgent. He only prudently proposed a levee en masse 
 to the garden, where they would have coffee. The usual 
 hour for Antonio's evening call was now past, and no An- 
 tonio had appeared. "I hope the Doctor is not going to 
 give us the slip," said Sir John, after he had consulted his 
 watch two or three times. "My son's company is no good 
 reason why I should not have my friend's also. I wish you 
 very much to make his acquaintance, Aubrey — as nice a 
 man this Doctor Antonio as you could meet anywhere— 
 quite a gentleman: we are under infinite obligations to 
 him." And then Sir John told his son all over again the 
 story of the overturn, and the Italian's timely help, already 
 related in sundry letters to India; and, warming with the 
 subject, the Baronet went on to enlarge on all the unremit- 
 ting attention Antonio had paid to Lucy, and how in- 
 geniously he had contrived to amuse her during her con- 
 finement to the house. The lending of books, the lectures 
 on botany, the lessons on the guitar, were all set forth, the 
 catalogue winding up with that stupendous masterstroke, 
 the easy-chair invented by the Doctor. To all of which dis- 
 course, Aubrey listened with an attention quite edifying, 
 and an appearance of great gratification — a gratification 
 made more evident at he watched the pleasure the details 
 afforded to his darling sister, on whose glowing counten- 
 ance the sympathizing brother's eyes rested all the while. 
 
 "I long to shake hands with this Phoenix of doctors," 
 
THE IDYL AT A CLOSE. 285 
 
 Said Aubrey, "and apologize for my rudeness. I suppose it 
 was he I found here this morning?" 
 
 " Yes," said Lucy. 
 
 "What do you say," continued Aubrey, speaking to Sir 
 John, but looking at his sister, "to our going and laying 
 violent hands on this forgetful friend of yours, and dragging 
 him captive here?— ha! ha! ha!" 
 
 "Ah, do!" said Lucy, with sparkling eyes, and inwardly 
 calling herself all sorts of names for having so unkindly 
 misjudged her brother. Sir John agreeing immediately to 
 the proposal, Captain Davenne lit a fresh cigar, and out 
 they sallied. As they passed through the garden-gate, 
 Aubrey was seized by a violent fit of laughing. "What are 
 you laughing at?" asked Sir John, perplexed. 
 
 "Why, this is such a devilish queer house— such a wrong- 
 sided look about it. I would give something to carry it 
 bodily to London and show it at a shilling a-head. I bet 
 something no one would credit that Sir John and Miss 
 Davenne had lived contentedly weeks in it. I verily believe 
 Hutchins and John have forgotten what a decent room is 
 hke." 
 
 Sir John felt his son's words as a personal reproach. He 
 hung his head. 
 
 "4 propos de bottes" (Aubrey had been in love with a 
 French actress at Madras, and spoke French fluently, and 
 liked to show that he did,) "the old Duke of B— asked 
 after you." 
 
 "Very kind of him," said the Baronet, his features ex- 
 panding. "How is the old gentleman?" 
 
 "As fresh as ever," said Aubrey; "he wondered what 
 had become of you. Indeed, everybody does; Lady De- 
 loraine most of all, at whose house I met the — ian ambas- 
 sadress and her daughter-in-law. Lady Charlotte Tuicy, 
 both of them full of suspicions about your absence, and 
 willing to join in any conspiracy for carrying you off by force 
 from your mysterious hiding-place." 
 
 "God forbid they should put their threat in execution I" 
 
286 DOCTOR ANTONIO. 
 
 said the Baronet, chuckling. "But, talking of carrying off, 
 have you heard of that pretty business of Fanny Carnifex's 
 elop-" 
 
 "Blast the cowardly Italian beggar!" yelled out Aubrey. 
 "I have heard all about it." 
 
 "Are they — married at least?" asked Sir John, with an 
 effort. 
 
 "They are; but it is a matrimonial alliance that won't 
 last long. Fanny will soon be a jolly widow, I can tell her." 
 
 "How do you mean?" inquired Sir John, surprised. 
 Aubrey stopped short, slowly raised his right arm, held it 
 out as if taking aim, and, with a clack of his tongue, imitated 
 the report of a pistol. "Tom Carnifex is one of the best 
 shots in England, my dear sir," said he, carelessly, by way 
 of explanation. 
 
 The acting of this little scene was so splendidly natural, 
 there was in the look of the performer something so savage, 
 that Sir John could not help a shudder. However desirable 
 it might have once seemed to him that the offender should 
 be made an example of, it was no part of Sir John's pro- 
 gramme of to-day to be present at the execution. 
 
 Engrossed by such pleasant converse and anticipations, 
 the chief of the Davenne dynasty, and his heir, had come in 
 sight of Doctor Antonio's poor dwelling, just as its tenant, 
 in no very pleasant mood, was issuing from the door. An- 
 tonio was httle prepared for the present warm greeting from 
 the surly stranger of a few hours back, who now, shaking 
 him heartily by the hand, made a sort of laughing apology 
 for having been so unceremonious in the morning. Though 
 rather taken by surprise, the Italian returned Aubrey's ad- 
 vances in as kindly a spirit as he could summon on such 
 short notice; and the three, Antonio in the middle, walked 
 back to the Osteria, where they found the Count, between 
 whom and young Davenne an introduction in due form took 
 place. The evening passed, if not as quietly as usual, not 
 the less agreeably, perhaps, for being rather noisy. Captain 
 Davenne was in the most communicative of humours, and 
 
THE IDYL AT A CLOSE. 287 
 
 rattled away famously, laughing a good deal at his own 
 jokes and stories, drinking freely all the while of what he 
 called lemonade; and so it was, only with a strong infusion 
 of old Jamaica rum. Some of his tiger-hunting adventures, 
 which he told with great spirit, were listened to with thrill- 
 ing interest,— Antonio translating for the Count, who had 
 learnt about as much EngHsh as Sir John had Italian. Lucy 
 retired early, but not before she had seen a real good- will 
 and friendship springing up between her brother and her 
 doctor and friend. Let us hope that she slept well, poor 
 girl. As ten struck, Sir John and Antonio, according to 
 habit, sat down to their game of chess, which was on the 
 Baronet's part a series of continual blunders. His thoughts 
 were otherwise engaged. 
 
 When Lucy, about eight next morning, after her early 
 bath, and one or two hours of additional rest, crossed the 
 ante-room on her way out, she found her brother already 
 installed on the sofa, and yawning violently. "Where are 
 you going?'' asked Aubrey. "To water my flowers. I have 
 a nice little garden of my own; come and look at it." 
 Aubrey raised his long length, went, looked at it, and ad- 
 mired it. The garden was not her own making, was it? Oh, 
 no! Speranza had made it. Speranza, the landlady's 
 daughter, a very nice girl. Doctor Antonio had given Lucy 
 most of the plants. "Are they not beautiful?"— "Very," 
 said Aubrey, adding, "Do you know, Lucy, I am quite in 
 love with that Doctor of yours?" 
 
 "Are you?" said Lucy, looking up at him with such 
 beaming eyes. 
 
 "I have seldom seen a more commanding figure than 
 his, and he is very gentlemanlike, certainly. I wish he were 
 an English Duke." 
 
 "Why?" said Lucy. "I assure you he is quite contented 
 with his lot." 
 
 "Because if he were, young lady, you would make a 
 handsome couple." Lucy grew scarlet. "As it is," pursued 
 Aubrey slowly, in a clear, cruel, stern voice, "As it is, I 
 
288 DOCTOR ANTONIO. 
 
 would rather see you dead and buried than married to that 
 man." 
 
 The httle watering-pot shpt out of her hand, and her 
 knees gave way. 
 
 "D— it!" cried Aubrey, raising her from the ground, 
 "you needn't take fright at a mere supposition!" And, with- 
 out another word, he passed his powerful arm round his 
 sister's waist and led her up the stairs to the sofa. This 
 was the first and the last time that Antonio's name was 
 mentioned between them. 
 
 The Doctor called, as was his wont, during the morning, 
 but instead of his usual warm recognition from Lucy he re- 
 ceived a silent bow. Her cheeks were dreadfully pale, her 
 eyes red. He inquired about her health, and got a hurried 
 answer that she was very well. He would have felt her 
 pulse, — there was no need, she assured him, she was very 
 comfortable. When he stooped over her shoulder to 
 examine her drawing she recollected that she had left a 
 brush in her room, which was indispensable at that moment, 
 and got up to fetch it. There was a constraint about poor 
 Lucy which Antonio had never seen. His heart contracted 
 painfully. That Aubrey was the cause of the sweet girl's 
 altered looks and manner, Antonio had not the least doubt; 
 but how and why? Was he, Antonio, in any way connected 
 with this new state of things? To solve the mystery he 
 would have wilMngly shed his blood. Oh ! for ten seconds 
 alone with her, but ten, to ask one question, receive one 
 answer. He loitered longer than he generally did, to take 
 advantage of a possible chance. In vain. There stood be- 
 tween him and her a moving Chinese wall. 
 
 Four days passed without the situation mending. Aubrey 
 had taken such a fancy to the wretched Osteria that neither 
 the Count's pressing invitations, nor his father's exhorta- 
 tions to take his horse and go and enjoy the fine scenery, 
 could prevail upon the colossal dragoon to leave its pre- 
 cincts for a moment, unless Lucy did, which was commonly 
 the case in the evening, when he would put her arm under 
 
THE id\t:. at a close. 2^9 
 
 his and fondly support her steps. All the rest of the day, 
 from seven in the morning to eleven at night, Aubrey would 
 spend in-doors, most of the time stretched at full length, 
 smoking and indulging in his favourite beverage, or shaking 
 the poor inn with his ponderous strides. His most gracious 
 smile and heartiest squeeze of the hand was for Antonio, to 
 whom he had taken such a liking, that for nothing in the 
 world would Aubrey have missed a minute of his new 
 friend's company. A boisterous, rather vulgar, lively, good- 
 tempered, companionable fellow, this young Davenne, easily 
 satisfied with everything and everybody, making light of 
 the inconveniences of his far from comfortable room down 
 stairs, never hinting by word or look at any the least wish 
 on his part to leave his present quarters. His conversation 
 with Sir John turned almost exclusively, it is true, on 
 London, (the London, we mean, whose existence is acknow- 
 ledged by people of rank and fashion,) London gaieties, the 
 illustrious relatives and acquaintances of the Davenne 
 family, on the general regret at the Baronet's prolonged 
 absence, and so on. But nine times out of ten it was Sir 
 John himself who broached the subject; and then, was it 
 not natural and proper for a dutiful son to dwell on such 
 topics as were palpably the most agreeable to his father? 
 
 Meanwhile the healthy bloom was fading fast from 
 Lucy's cheek, and her head drooped like a hly deprived of 
 sunshine. It was not enough that poor Lucy was to be 
 weaned all at once from the joys and benefits of the friendly 
 intercourse which habit had made a sweet necessity to her. 
 But she had to wear a mask and act a part too cruelly at 
 variance with her feelings. Why she was compelled to do 
 so she scarcely knew, but a mysterious warning from within 
 told her that only at such a cost might something awful be 
 averted. Her heart was full of strange misgivings and 
 fears. Aubrey's show of friendship to Antonio, far from 
 reassuring her, added to her uneasiness. It was clear, even 
 to her inexperienced eye, that all that extreme good-will 
 was assumed, a mere display, and being so, what could be 
 
 Doctor Antonio. 1 9 
 
290 DOCTOR ANTONIO. 
 
 Aubrey's motive? And the saddened girl brooded, till her 
 head grew giddy, over the hostility of the two young men's 
 first meeting, the significant hint given to her on the mor- 
 row, and Aubrey's sudden change of manner. 
 
 No pleasant early associations connected with the boy 
 came to counteract the painful impressions aroused by the 
 full-grown man. Aubrey, be it remembered, had spent his 
 boyhood at Eton, and of his hohdays Lucy recalled little, 
 excepting her terrors for her doll, and for a favourite kitten 
 it had been his delight to torment. But there was no want 
 of clearness in her perceptions with regard to his six months' 
 stay at home, previous to his entering the army. The almost 
 daily quarrels between father and son, her mother all in 
 tears, the gloom that pervaded the family, Aubrey's angry 
 scowl, and something worse, in return for her childish at- 
 tempts at conciliation, (she was scarcely ten years old at the 
 time,) and the fear in which she stood of him; such were 
 Lucy's sole recollections, such the images and feelings 
 linked in her memory with that brother of hers. Intervening 
 years had softened, but not obliterated, these impressions, 
 and the Aubrey that, to the day of his arrival, figured in his 
 sister's mind, was anything but the type of youthful dutiful- 
 ness and affection. What she had now seen of him brought 
 the conviction home to her, that the man had kept the 
 promise of the boy. Lucy, from the first, had felt afraid of 
 him. His boisterous ways and overbearing manners, his 
 frequent oaths and coarse mirth, told cruelly on her nerves, 
 and wounded all the sympathies of her refined nature. Deli- 
 cate, sensitive organizations, like Lucy's, have an inborn 
 horror of violence in any shape; it is with them a dissolving 
 element, something incompatible with their being, from 
 which they shrink as instinctively as those plants to which 
 Miss Davenne had likened herself in her last conversation 
 with Doctor Antonio, — shrink from the touch of a hand. 
 On these grounds alone would the pressure of Aubrey's 
 presence have been too much for Lucy. How incomparably 
 more so when fancy obscurely hinted at the possible burst- 
 
THE IDYL AT A CLOSE. 2gi 
 
 ing of that violence, of which she stood in such awe, in a 
 direction where much of her grateful affection and rever- 
 ence lay! 
 
 On the fourth day from his son's arrival, Sir John gave 
 a farewell dinner, and announced to the small but select 
 party, the Count, the Mayor, Doctor Antonio, &c., that his 
 departure was fixed for the day after the next. Aubrey 
 might watch his sister as much as he pleased, Lucy did not 
 wince. Indeed her misery was such that she felt almost re- 
 lieved by the announcement. 
 
 So that she may but say, "Thank you. Doctor Antonio, 
 God bless you and your country," — so that she may but say 
 this to him freely, as her heart prompts, without restraint, 
 with no eye upon her, Lucy will depart in peace. This 
 thought is ever uppermost in her mind; nay, she has no 
 thought but this one, which presses on her temples like a 
 crown of thorns, to thank and bless him. It would look so 
 unfeehng not to do so. This man has been all forbearance, 
 all gentleness, all kindness to her. What could a friend, a 
 brother, a father, do more than he has done for her! "Bless 
 you and your country." She murmurs the words to herself, 
 she would fain write them down for him, but that they look 
 so cold on paper. He has no idea, she is sure, of the depth 
 of her gratitude, of all that she is feeling. Fool that she 
 was, not to have let him know when time was her own, — 
 when no dark cloud cast its shadow between them, on one 
 of those bright mornings frittered away in general conver- 
 sation on the balcony,— on one of those moonlit evenings 
 spent by the water's edge, so near that the silvery wave 
 came creeping lovingly to their very feet. Oh, those sweet 
 strolls in the garden, — those boatings on the blue sea, — 
 that blessed trip to Lampedusa! O that she could recall one 
 minute, only one, of that past ! 
 
 Vain yearnings, vain imaginings! Unrelenting time rolls 
 on, the day is come, the very hour of departure is at hand, 
 andLucy has found no opportunity of unburdening her heart. 
 She sits on her invalid chair looking vacantly before her, as 
 
 19* 
 
292 DOCTOR ANTONIO. 
 
 though in a dream; Aubrey and Antonio stand in the bal- 
 cony and discuss the English poHcy in India, Antonio with 
 a very pale face, and unwonted animation of manner; Sir 
 John paces the room, meditating a farewell speech, casting 
 now and then a disconsolate glance at his daughter; Hutchins 
 is bustling up and down, in and out, in a state of flurry and 
 excitement; John Ducket left for Nice in the morning to 
 make room for the Captain in the rumble; and poor Hutchins 
 has been working for two. She announces that the horses 
 are to the carriage. "Now, Lucy," says the Baronet, en- 
 couragingly. Aubrey is already at his sister's side, and 
 helps her to rise; Hutchins has noticed a small basket hang- 
 ing on Lucy's arm, and offers to carry it for her; Lucy draws 
 it back hurriedly, and frowns on her maid;— a handful of 
 poor withered, almost colourless flowers, once so blue, — 
 such is the treasure she clings to so closely. 
 
 As Sir John and the Doctor go down the steps, followed 
 by Aubrey and Miss Davenne, a number of persons as- 
 sembled in the garden, take off their hats and caps, and 
 wave them in the air. Sir John's tongue cleaves to his 
 palate, and he gives up his speech. He even thinks it pru- 
 dent to proceed to the shaking of hands in silence. Those 
 who choose to kiss his hand. Prosper©, his younger brother, 
 their aged mother, all are free to do so now. Sir John offers 
 no resistance. Meanwhile, Aubrey hurries Lucy on to the 
 little gate, where the carriage is waiting. Rosa andSperanza, 
 and a little in the rear, Battista, are crying like fountains. 
 Lucy returns half-unconsciously the warm caresses of the 
 two women, who kiss her hands and clothes, and cling 
 desperately to their young benefactress, until Aubrey, with 
 an oath, jerks her into the carriage. Antonio helps the 
 Baronet in. "Pleasant journey. Sir John; huon viaggio, 
 Signorina, take care of yourself." The Signorina does not 
 say a word — does not smile, does not bow, but stares at the 
 kind face— the kind face that dares not even smile, alas ! for 
 it feels the evil eye resting on it. A clack from the postilion, 
 a shout from the assembled by-standers, "5«on viaggio, il 
 
ABSENCE. 293 
 
 Signore gli accompagnij" the ponderous machine rolls up the 
 lane, and the kind face disappears. Lucy arouses from her 
 trance, — "Papa, are we going?" and she bursts into a pas- 
 sion of tears. It was like the giving way of a dam in a river. 
 Papa fairly gives way, too, hugs the suffering child to his 
 bosom, and father and daughter mingle their tears. While 
 this passes within, Aubrey, in the rumble, lights a fresh cigar 
 from the one he had been smoking. 
 
 Those left behind stood on the highway watching the 
 fast-diminishing carriage. They watched till it disappeared. 
 Poor Antonio was sick at heart, and would fain throw off his 
 mask. But no;— he must listen to the idle verbiage of the 
 Count and the Mayor, who insisted on accompanying him 
 home. He reached it at last, threw himself upon his bed, 
 and— man is but man after all— wept like a child. 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 Absence. 
 
 When two persons dearly attached to one another 
 separate, how much more to be pitied is the one who re- 
 mains than the one who goes! Every old familiar place and 
 object becomes to the former a cruel remembrancer, out of 
 which rises the image with which it is associated. Every 
 hour that passes brings back the recollection of some sweet 
 corresponding habit, now, alas! broken, and with it fresh 
 yearnings and regrets; while every hour that flies, every 
 object that fleets by, the excitement of the motion, the inci- 
 dents, the very annoyances of travelling, create for the latter 
 a thousand little diversions, the effect of which cannot but 
 be to divide and lessen the concentration of thought and 
 feeling on one given point. 
 
 Lucy was no exception to the rule. It was not her fault 
 if the scenery between Bordighera and Nice united to its 
 character of lovehness one of grandeur, — if the road often 
 climbed to aerial heights,— if the towns below were so 
 
294 DOCTOR ANTONIO. 
 
 picturesquely grouped, — if the indentations of the coast 
 proved so capricious, and opened at every turn new and 
 bold prospects. It was not her fault if she had eyes, and 
 through them received impressions. We do not mean to 
 say by this that the agony of separation did not continue to 
 throb in her bosom; that her thoughts did not impetuously 
 rush back, clinging round the friend she had left ; that she 
 did not feel desolate and miserable. We only mean to say, 
 that the novelty and variety of external things and incidents 
 forced themselves upon her notice, and mingled with the 
 main current of her thoughts and feelings. 
 
 At Nice, which was their first halting-place, the Davennes 
 met a family,— one of the elect few whom Sir John could 
 condescend to acknowledge, — such as England only can 
 send forth, consisting of a father and mother, young still, 
 with a train of from twelve to fifteen sons and daughters. 
 The female members of this family, seven in number, 
 pounced upon Lucy, and took possession of her. She had 
 to visit, under their guidance, all the remarkable places in 
 the town and its environs, — to join in picnics ostensibly got 
 up for her, — to go to a dilettanti French play, a professional 
 concert, and to hear acelebrated improvvisatore^ — all of which 
 occupations and amusements, compressed within the three 
 days she spent at Nice, left our poor heroine but little leisure 
 time to devote to tender regrets. 
 
 At Paris, where, according to his old programme. Sir 
 John made a sojourn of a month, what with official sight- 
 seeing of the Louvre, the Luxembourg, the Palais-Royal, 
 Versailles, St. Cloud, Fontainebleau, &c. &c., the indispen- 
 sable daily drive in the Champs Elysees and the Bois de 
 Boulogne, — the trying on of innumerable new dresses and 
 bonnets, — the theatres, soirees at the Embassy, going to 
 parties, and giving parties, — and last, not least, morning 
 visits among the English in Paris, life was a race indeed, — 
 without taking into account a formal presentation at the 
 Tuileries, and the honour of a seat along with her father 
 and brother at the royal dinner-table at Neuilly. Though 
 
ABSENCE. 295 
 
 little partial to the chief of the Orleans dynasty, whom he 
 could not forgive for being the son of Philippe Egalite of 
 revolutionary memory, and making no mystery of his feeling 
 on the subject, Sir John, to use his own words, thought 
 proper to yield to the policy of the day, and considered it a 
 part of his duty as an Enghshman to help on the '■'■entente 
 cordiale" even at some cost to his personal sympathies. 
 Only fancy a man of Sir John Davenne's importance going 
 through Paris without visiting the chief of the State ! One^s 
 hair stands on end to think of the consequences. 
 
 But her Paris dissipations were rest and peace compared 
 to the vortex of visits, breakfasts, dinners, fetes, and balls, 
 in which Lucy found herself whirhng as soon as she set foot 
 in England. Not one of the most distant, in point of situa- 
 tion or connexion, of her numerous relations, or of the 
 numerous circle of friends and acquaintances of the family, 
 but insisted on a day at least from the fair traveller. Sir 
 John, on his part, once at Davenne, made up for lost time 
 by fining his splendid mansion to the very unknown garrets, 
 and with Lucy — the cynosure of all eyes — doing the honours, 
 had open days, and gave entertainment after entertainment 
 to half the county. For weeks and months Lucy had not a 
 spare moment to herself; dressing and visiting, visiting and 
 dressing, those two great duties and occupations of a young 
 lady of high station everywhere, and more especially in 
 England, was the order of the day. Unable to resist the 
 current that bore her down, what could she do but let her- 
 self drift along, half-pleased, half- worried? 
 
 Antonio, in the meantime, do what he would, could think 
 of nothing but Lucy. The bright star that had for a moment 
 shone above his horizon had long set for ever, while still his 
 eyes gazed on, riveted on the halo of light it had left be- 
 hind. It was all the same whether he remained brooding in 
 his own dwelling, seated on that very easy-chair he had con- 
 trived for his cherished patient, or whether he went abroad 
 on his usual avocations, there was the dear face looking at 
 him out of every corner, haunting him at every turn. The 
 
2q6 doctor ANTONIO. 
 
 little library out of which he had lent her books still warm 
 with the touch of her hand, the flute and guitar he had so 
 willingly played for her amusement, the map of Sicily he 
 had taken to her when her interest in his country was first 
 awakened, the flowers she had given him religiously pre- 
 served, — all around him was full of her. All seemed to ask, 
 "Where is she?" If tired of poring over a volume, on which 
 he had uselessly tried to fix his attention, Antonio got up 
 and looked out of the window, the first thing his eye met 
 was the Count's casino , to which he had accompanied her 
 many and many a time,— there the rich Italian pine ex- 
 panded its green canopy under which she had sat, when she 
 tried the sketch of the coast towards France,— there, glanc- 
 ing in the sun, was the large yellow stone, from under which, 
 to Lucy's great terror, they had seen creep out a snake, as 
 big as her little finger, — further on, at that turning, she had 
 stooped to pick up a stray, tiny, white shell, and given it 
 to him. 
 
 It was worse still when his profession called him to the 
 other side of the promontory. What a crowd of memories 
 rose at the sight of the old, weather-beaten, dingy-red 
 Osteria, with its cumbrous balcony, the little garden, and 
 the pebbly shore! Not a foot of ground but was hallowed 
 by some recollection of her. There, past that sharp descent 
 of the road, he had seen her for the first time, pale as death, 
 but so lovely in her paleness that he wondered how such a 
 peerless creature could exist on earth. There she had 
 smiled on him so sweetly, when he had ordered the litter to 
 be turned round; there, on the first fold of the hill behind 
 the house, one day, at dusk, she had discovered the first 
 fire-flies of the season, and screamed with delight. Not a 
 path but they had trodden it together, not a flower but they 
 had examined it together, not one of Nature's mysterious 
 sounds— from the voice of the ocean to the chirp of a grass- 
 hopper—that they had not listened to together, not one of 
 the thousand hues of sea, or earth, or sky, that they had 
 not admired together! Then everybody spoke of her; Rosa, 
 
ABSENCE. 297 
 
 Speranza, Battista, the Count, the drawing-master, Prospero, 
 his mother, knew of no other topic. His very patients would 
 inquire of him whether the " hella Signorind''' was ever hkely 
 to come back again. Even the urchins playing in the streets 
 would stop in their game to ask him where the "Ifiglesina" 
 was. It seemed so strange, so unnatural, so impossible, 
 that she should have passed away from a place so full of 
 her, that Antonio would sit for hours, in sight of the Osteria, 
 expecting to see her white dress fluttering in the balcony, 
 or to hear her birdlike voice singing one of the Sicilian airs 
 he had taught her. At times he got almost angry with him- 
 self, and determined to shake off this sort of continual ob- 
 session ; he tried long expeditions on foot under a scorching 
 sun, but to little purpose. The song of the nightingale in 
 the valley, the scent of thyme on a mountain pass, the white 
 outhne of some distant village, the tolling of a far-away 
 church-bell, awoke old associations, and out of them stole 
 the fairy form, and kept alongside of him. Do what he 
 would, struggle as manfully as he might, there was no way 
 of ridding himself of it. Antonio was sick at heart. 
 
 Sir John's acknowledgment of the Doctor's services was 
 at once dehcate and munificent. On the day after the de- 
 parture of the English family, Prospero, according to the 
 previous instructions he had received, presented himself at 
 Antonio's dwelling with a letter and Buffy. The Baronet, 
 in a few hnes, full of feehng, begged Antonio to accept of 
 the cob as a remembrance from one he had laid under many 
 an obligation, and not to forget, if ever he made up his 
 mind to go to England, that he had there an old friend, 
 who relied on a visit from him, and on being allowed to do 
 the honours of his country to the Doctor. The letter con- 
 tained a small packet of English bank-notes to the amount 
 of a hundred pounds, but to these the writer made no allu- 
 sion. Dr. Antonio took from the sum what he considered 
 a handsome fee for his services — ten pounds, and handed 
 over the rest to the mayor as a gift to the parish from Sir 
 John, to be apphed as the town- council might deem proper. 
 
2q8 doctor ANTONIO. 
 
 The mayor convoked the town-council at once, who instantly 
 passed a vote of thanks to the Baronet, and delegated to 
 the mayor the business of penning and sending to the 
 generous donor an address expressive of the grateful feel- 
 ings of both parish and council, with a copy of the minutes 
 of the meeting annexed. To this address and minute Antonio 
 joined a letter of thanks from himself for the present of the 
 cob. Two months after there came to the mayor a note in 
 answer, of most Spartan laconism. Sir John stated most 
 distinctly, that, as he had left no funds for the purposes in- 
 dicated in the mayor's letter, he could accept of no thanks, 
 but that, as he was anxious to deserve the good opinion 
 expressed, he begged to enclose a draft for a hundred 
 pounds, to be devoted to the benefit of the parish. This 
 note, curiously enough, brought a wasp's nest about our 
 friend's ears. The town-council met in a hurry, and sum- 
 moned Antonio to their presence to explain the matter. 
 This the Doctor did with the ready straightforwardness 
 that was his characteristic. He said, that on receiving from 
 Sir John Davenne a sum ten times larger than what he 
 considered a sufficient remuneration for his attendance on 
 that gentleman's daughter, without any direction or hint as 
 to what was to be done with the surplus, the only interpre- 
 tation left him, and one, too, which he believed in keeping 
 with the generous nature of the sender, was that the 
 balance had been intended to be used by Doctor Antonio 
 for the benefit of the parish, and he himself had judged that 
 through the town-council he would be most sure of obtain- 
 ing that end. 
 
 This explanation was not considered satisfactory, and 
 loud complaints were made against the Doctor for having 
 compromised the dignity of the council. Then followed a 
 long and stormy deliberation as to what was to be done. 
 Three members, known as the creatures of the cure, and 
 evidently instigated by him, urged a vote of censure against 
 Antonio, which motion, however, was negatived. A fourth 
 moved that Antonio should be compelled to explain and 
 
EIGHT YEARS AFTER. 299 
 
 apologize to the English gentleman, which Antonio flatly 
 refused to do. A fifth proposed that the money should be 
 sent back to Sir John, but this proposal was unsupported by 
 any one. At last, upon the motion of some one more 
 reasonable than the rest, it was unanimously agreed upon, 
 that the question should be put off till that day six months 
 — a decent manner of burying it for ever. From that day a 
 party— headed by the cure's three friends above alluded to 
 —was formed against Antonio; in course of time it was 
 joined by the majority of the priests in the town, and by 
 many of the pious women among their penitents. The 
 animosity went so far that, a little after, the cure falling ill 
 of an indigestion, sent for the doctor of Ventimigha, and 
 placed himself under his care. But not all this display of 
 hostility, not all the underhand propaganda of the Church 
 party, and the charge of imposture laid against Antonio, 
 had power to shake his popularity among the peasantry, 
 who, in spite of all the efforts made to entangle the question, 
 held fast in their homely good sense to the one plain fact, 
 that for their benefit Doctor Antonio had given up a good 
 round sum of money, which he might, without blame from 
 any one, have quietly kept in his pocket. 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 Eight Years after. 
 
 We beg at this place to use our privilege of novelist, 
 and to leap over a period of no less than eight years at 
 once. If the gentle reader will but take into consideration 
 the amount of matter, bearing or not upon the subject, with 
 which we might have filled up this gap, and the saving of 
 time and patience attendant on our expeditious way of 
 getting over the ground, we trust he will not grudge us the 
 effort of imagination we impose upon him, and even give us 
 some credit for discretion. Henceforth no sweet allure- 
 ments will delay us on our road. Farewell cool shades 
 
300 DOCTOR ANTONIO. 
 
 and bright hills!— Farewell quiet paths strewn with flowers, 
 clear rivulets gurgling merrily by the way-side! The sunny 
 portion of our course is past, and lurid clouds darken that 
 which remains. Let us hurry over it as fast as we can. 
 
 The time is the middle of March 1848, the scene that 
 same road, on which, eight years ago, we first met Lucy 
 and her father, and, as then, the principal object on it a 
 travelling carriage, wending its way from the heights of 
 Turbia to the sea-girt Mentone far below. An overcast sky, 
 a sea of a leaden colour, a narrow grey horizon bounded 
 both on land and water by a hazy sheet of falling rain, — 
 such is for the time being the dull aspect of the country 
 through which this equipage is passing. The olive planta- 
 tions of hill and valley shiver and shudder under the keen 
 gusts of wind that sweep over them, changing in quick suc- 
 cession from white to dark, from dark to white, according 
 as the swaying breeze turns up the silvery or the deep- 
 green side of their leaves. Well may the middle-aged 
 English man-servant in the rumble— his nationahty is un- 
 mistakably written in his florid complexion, and in the 
 elaborate curve of his grey-reddish whiskers towards the 
 point of his nose — well may he button up his great-coat 
 and wink half-maliciously, half good-humouredly, at the 
 starched female colleague seated by his side, as much as to 
 say, "This then is the fine country you told me such wonders 
 about?" 
 
 Certainly the poor beautiful Riviera looked sadly unlike 
 itself in this ungenial day; and a lover of fine scenery would 
 have had nothing better to do than shut his eyes and go to 
 sleep. Yet a traveller alive to other phenomena than those 
 arising from combinations of form and colour, might have 
 discovered, even through this murky atmosphere, something 
 to win his interest, and rouse his sympathies into active 
 play. More than once had the carriage come up with groups 
 of soldiers gaily plodding through mud and mire, and sing- 
 ing songs such as the surrounding mountains had rarely 
 echoed. The once proscribed name of Italy resounded in 
 
EIGHT YEARS AFTER. 30 1 
 
 the choruses, coupled with another— one for a moment so 
 full of bright promises, and then so pregnant with long dis- 
 appointment to Italian ears and hearts — the name of Pius 
 the Ninth. An unusual air of animation prevailed through- 
 out the many small towns and villages scattered along the 
 road, or perched above it. In the main streets stood knots 
 of citizens of all classes, warmly discussing, in spite of wind 
 and rain, the topics of the day; streamers of every dimension 
 waved over roofs, or floated from windows, all alike display- 
 ing the Italian colours, — white, red, and green; improvised 
 national guards, with nothing of the soldier but the musket, 
 mounted guard before the flag-decorated town-halls. No 
 doubt of it, the thrice sweet goddess. Liberty, had breathed 
 over this land, and, with her warm breath, stirred up to life 
 the long-dormant populations of the Riviera. 
 
 None of these signs of altered times were lost upon the 
 lady inside the carriage, who watched them with an eager- 
 ness that heightened the hectic spot on each pale cheek, and 
 added to the ominous lustre of her sunken eyes. With 
 every step of the fast-going horses, her interest in everything 
 seemed to increase, and, as the carriage drove past Venti- 
 migha, and the first of a series of promontories, projecting 
 in a crescent-shaped cerulean hne into the sea, began to 
 loom out of the rainy mist, the fair traveller was so over- 
 come by her feelings, that, laying her hand on her side, as 
 if striving to repress the bounding of her heart, she fell back 
 on the seat and gasped for breath. The reader has scarcely 
 needed this last circumstance to guess who the lady was. — 
 Who, but our sweet heroine, would betray such emotion at 
 the sight of Bordighera? It was indeed Lucy, sadly altered 
 but still beautiful,— her rich auburn hair hanging as pro- 
 fusely as ever over a forehead as pure and smooth as eight 
 years ago. But what sorrow or care, gentle daughter of 
 Albion, has worked that net of small horizontal lines between 
 thy temples and eyes? What invidious hand has cut those 
 two deep lines that form an angle with each of the corners 
 Qf thy mouth? 
 
302 DOCTOR ANTONIO. 
 
 Lucy had done what nine hundred and ninety-nine young 
 ladies out of a thousand would have done in her case. — She 
 had married. When Sir John, half in joke, half in earnest, 
 had first mooted the question as to who, among the 
 numerous retinue of suitors thronging round the rich young 
 beauty, had found grace in her eyes, Lucy, colouring deeply, 
 had declared that she had never thought of any such thing, 
 and that her only wish was to continue to live as she had 
 done with dear papa. On hearing which, dear papa had 
 laughingly retorted, that what she said was sheer nonsense; 
 — young ladies were born to marry and be married. Aubrey, 
 who happened to be present at this conversation, made no 
 remark at the time, but a day or so after took an opportunity 
 of asking his sister what objection she could possibly have 
 to Lord Cleverton. She had no particular objection to the 
 Viscount, or anybody else, only she was not inclined to 
 marry. But he, Aubrey, was strongly inclined that she 
 should do so, and, if within two months from that day she 
 had not made a choice — well, it was for him to guess where 
 the obstacle lay, and to take good care to remove it. This 
 was said with the gentleness of speech and manner peculiar 
 to Lucy's brother, — that is, with flashing eyes and stamping 
 feet. Lucy was not, as the reader knows, of that coriaceous 
 stuflf of which heroines are made, who beard their tyrants 
 and shake their fetters at them — in books or on the stage. 
 She was a poor, weakly, nervous creature, with more in her 
 nature of the reed that bends, than of the oak which makes 
 head bravely against the blast. Besides, Captain Davenne's 
 threat was two-edged. Women, when they fear for others, 
 are soon disarmed; so Miss Davenne made her choice within 
 the allotted time, and four months afterwards was married, 
 — married without love, but without repugnance, — on the 
 contrary, with a degree of sympathy, which, properly 
 nurtured and cultivated, might, and ought to have ripened 
 into a steady and lasting affection. 
 
 Lord Cleverton was a man whose attentions and pre- 
 ference could not but flatter a girl of Lucy's warm feelings. 
 
EIGHT YEARS AFTER. 303 
 
 even had he not been what he professed to be, an 
 enthusiastic admirer of Italy. It was, in fact, in Italy that 
 the Honourable Mr. Tyrrel, a wild young attache at Florence, 
 had made his dehut in Hfe, and, if fame reported truly, had 
 sown then and there a plentiful crop of wild oats. In the 
 midst of a career of thoughtless extravagance, unexpectedly 
 called upon, by his father^s death, to assume the paternal 
 title and a seat in the Upper House, the dashing attache, 
 like another Prince Hal, had turned aside from his follies, 
 and astonished the world by his steady application and un- 
 common aptitude for business. Handsome still and young- 
 looking, though fully five-and-twenty years older than his 
 bride, and quoted as a model of elegance and good taste. 
 Lord Cleverton united to all the brilliant accomplishments 
 of the man of the world the more solid attainments of the 
 statesman. No one could utter with a better grace those 
 amiable nothings which are the current coin of drawing- 
 rooms; no one, with more cogent logic, attack the ministry 
 amid the enthusiastic cheering of the opposition benches, 
 on which he sat. Unfortunately, the qualities that command 
 success in fashionable coteries, or oratorical triumphs in 
 political assembhes, do not always secure domestic happi- 
 ness,— not, at least, as our Lucy understood it. She was 
 some httle time before she found this out, but she did find 
 it out at last. 
 
 What did the young Viscountess want or miss? She was 
 like a little queen in her new household, her husband her 
 first subject, — wherever she went both old and young did 
 her homage, — grave statesmen put aside their speculations 
 to entertain her with those lighter topics proper to interest 
 her age and sex, — celebrated poets sang her beauty, and 
 first-rate painters disputed the honour of portraying her 
 lovely features on canvas, — and yet she was not happy! 
 What did she care for having her womanly vanity fed to 
 satiety, while her heart had cravings which remained un- 
 satisfied! 
 
 Lord Cleverton was one of those men whose existence 
 
30-1 DOCTOR ANTONIO. 
 
 lies principally in the head. Ambition was the great passion 
 of his nature; deep, exclusive, all-engrossing attachments, 
 if such things were, he regarded in the hght of bars to the 
 attainment of power,— according to him, the only noble, the 
 only legitimate, the only aim worthy of being pursued by 
 man. His respect for his young wife was really unbounded, 
 as was his deference to her every wish that did not interfere 
 with his ruling passion. He looked on her always with in- 
 finite complacency, and when he saw her doing the honours 
 of his house to a crowd of distinguished guests, with that 
 grace and dignified ease of manner, which won her all hearts, 
 gratified pride was his predominant feehng. But no warmer 
 sentiment animated his admiration. His great interest in 
 life lay elsewhere. Politics occupied most of his time. 
 What with schemes, meetings, deputations, acting as presi- 
 dent to societies of every denomination, besides attending 
 the House, he was so taken up that Lady Cleverton scarcely 
 saw him for weeks together, and then only in company. 
 The world stood for ever between him and her. No pos- 
 sible privacy with such a man, none of those sweet out- 
 pourings of the heart, none of those refreshing causeries by 
 the fireside, which rouse sympathy into affection, and are to 
 affection like the fresh dew of the morning to flowers. His 
 cares were not her cares. In vain, at the beginning, had 
 she repeatedly sought, on noticing a cloud on his brow, to 
 know what caused it, that she might try to dispel it. All her 
 attempts to win his confidence had been gently, and with 
 much kindness, but not the less pertinaciously frustrated. 
 His motive for this was, he said, his unwillingness to disturb 
 the serenity of her life. This reason, she thought, might 
 have held good with a stranger; but was she not his wife, 
 and as such entitled to her share of his joys and sorrows? 
 And so it came about that poor Lucy's heart shrunk and 
 withered, and felt more lonely every day. This was not the 
 work of a few days, or weeks, or months — the drop must 
 fall long ere it wears a hole. Nor was the dissolving process 
 continuous. No; there were ups and downs, halts, hopings 
 
EIGHT YEARS AFTER. 305 
 
 against hope. But the day came at last, and a sad day it 
 was, when the Viscountess realized her situation, when she 
 saw her dream of love and happiness vanish like a brilliant 
 soap-bubble, and cold ennui began to coil itself, like a snake, 
 round her heart. 
 
 Had the joys of maternity been granted to Lucy— had 
 she possessed a dear infant, on whom to bestow the over- 
 flowing riches of her soul, all had been well with her. But 
 Providence willed it otherwise. Lord Cleverton had longed 
 for an heir with all the ardour of the chief of a new dynasty, 
 but he was too well bred and generous not to conceal, as 
 well as he could, the bitter disappointment under which he 
 smarted. Her ladyship's acuteness, however, soon led her 
 to perceive that something besides political preoccupations 
 weighed upon her husband's mind; and by dint of searching 
 for the cause she found it. It is inconceivable how quick we 
 are to guess at that which will pain us. This discovery com- 
 pleted Lucy's misery, and few were the nights that she did 
 not moisten her pillow with bitter tears. How many of the 
 great, with rank and riches — envy of the vulgar who look up 
 to them as suns and stars shining overhead, — how many 
 show, when brought close to the eye, some mysterious 
 canker, some unsightly excrescence, that renders them ob- 
 jects of pity ! Just like that beautiful rose so eagerly plucked, 
 and which lets drop its gorgeous corolla, giving to view a 
 hideous worm in its caHx. Lord Cleverton came to remark 
 his wife's altered looks and frequent fits of absence, not only 
 with pain, but with displeasure. That admirable grace, that 
 rich flow of conversation so natural and animated, which had 
 drawn around her the wisest and gayest of society, leaders 
 in pontics as well as leaders of fashion, were gradually being 
 replaced by mere formal monotonous courtesy. Lord Clever- 
 ton, who liked to hear his house talked of as one of the most 
 agreeable in London, — for he looked on such a reputation as 
 one of the aids of his ambition, — watched with a growing 
 discontent, legible enough in his countenance, his wife's 
 alternations of gaiety and gloom. Lucy, aware that his 
 
 Doctor Antonio. 20 
 
306 DOCTOR ANTONIO. 
 
 scrutinizing eye was on her, strove to mask, by perpetual 
 smiles, the real dejection that preyed on her. Constraint 
 arose on both sides ; time, as usual, widened the breach, and 
 the husband and wife became every day more estranged 
 from each other. We do not pretend to develop, we only 
 indicate the situation. 
 
 Meanwhile, as Lady Cleverton's health and spirits drooped, 
 so did her duties, as mistress of one of the most splendid 
 and hospitable mansions of the metropolis, become more 
 burdensome, and never more so than in the spring of 1847. 
 The Administration in esse was tottering, and a new Ministry 
 spoken of, in which public opinion assigned to Lord Clever- 
 ton an important post. Ambitions, high and low, were up 
 at an incandescent point, and none was higher than that of 
 Lucy's husband. One more desperate push, one more defeat 
 of the Cabinet, and power, that long-desired goal, would be 
 reached. Lord Cleverton's house became the headquarters 
 of his party, where, amidst the glare of the ballroom, and 
 the din of Italian and German singers, wavering voices were 
 secured, places assigned, and the plan of a new campaign 
 determined on. Now was the time when the young Vis- 
 countess's fascination of manner, and the persuasive charm 
 of her conversation, was to accomplish all that which Lord 
 Cleverton had counted on when he first thought of her as a 
 wife. He required of her to be assiduous at Court, to accept 
 all invitations, no matter whether from his Grace or Excel- 
 lency, or only from some of the Manchester school. She 
 must shew herself everywhere, where fashion commands 
 ladies of high degree to be, and, in order to triumph, look 
 at all times as if triumph were already secured. All this 
 Lady Cleverton did, unostentatiously, calmly. Her husband 
 admired and wondered, then felt grateful to her. The way 
 in which she conformed to all his wishes, and adopted his 
 views, caused a doubt, even in the heat of the chase, to 
 enter his mind, as to whether he had been all he ought to 
 have been to this fair creature; and he resolved that, once 
 the present crisis was over, the future should make amends 
 
EIGHT YEARS AFTER. 307 
 
 for the past. But it was too late. Lord Cleverton, in the 
 midst of his worldly plots and plans, took a fever, and died 
 in a few days. He died with sad misgivings of having mis- 
 taken his road to happiness, and blessing the angel who 
 tended, nursed, and consoled him unremittingly and tenderly 
 to the last. 
 
 The young widow, sadly shattered in health and spirits, 
 repaired to Davenne, where growing age and severe fits of 
 gout had kept Sir John a prisoner for the last two years. 
 The tender father was frightened at the altered looks of his 
 child, and was still more alarmed at the state of profound 
 discouragement in which he saw her plunged. Lucy, in fact, 
 felt as if she were dying, and nothing could shake her firm 
 conviction that her days were numbered. Sir John did his 
 best to reason her out of this gloomy fancy all in vain, until 
 the idea of her going abroad suggested itself to him.— "Why 
 should not what had succeeded once do so again 9 She only 
 required fresh air, change of scene, and quiet. Why not go 
 for a httle while to Bordighera, and consult Doctor Antonio? 
 She was certainly far more delicate when they were there 
 eight years ago than now, and how soon he had set her to 
 rights. Probably the Count would let them his Casino, or 
 they might induce the Doctor to go with them to Rome. He, 
 Sir John, was sure that Doctor Antonio would do anything 
 for her." The worthy Baronet had struck the right chord, 
 and, perceiving his advantage, he reiterated his arguments. 
 And now Doctor Antonio and Bordighera, Bordighera and 
 Doctor Antonio, and the old Osteria, and Speranza, and 
 Battista— those long unspoken names — became the daily 
 themes of conversation at Davenne Hall. Buried recollec- 
 tions rose again to life, old associations asserted their power, 
 refreshing and vivifying Lucy's heart. A dawn of hope 
 gleamed on her downcast spirit. Yes, if anything could save 
 her, it was the attendance of that kind Doctor of hers — it 
 was the soft- perfumed air of the sweet Riviera. It came to 
 be settled accordingly, that as soon as her firstyear of mourn- 
 ing was over, Lucy and her father should set out for the 
 
 20* 
 
3o8 DOCTOR ANTONIO. 
 
 Riviera. Lucy waited with a sort of nostalgia, longing for 
 the arrival of that moment, which, when it came at last, 
 found poor Sir John nailed fast by a fit of the gout, severer 
 than usual. He would not, however, consent to any delay 
 on Lucy's part, and was peremptory as to her going, for 
 friends and doctors had long agreed that the Viscountess 
 must leave England before the March winds began to blow. 
 Sir John would join her at Bordighera, at Rome, at Naples, 
 anywhere, but go she must, and at once. Lucy, not liking 
 to go so far from home with only servants, engaged a middle- 
 aged lady to travel with her as a companion; and thus 
 cJiapero7ied, she set out for Paris in the middle of February 
 1848. Too anxious to reach Italy to find any temptations 
 for delay in the French capital. Lady Cleverton resumed her 
 journey, luckily, previous to the appearance of the Republi- 
 can barricades on the Boulevards. Once at Nice, her im- 
 patience knew no bounds. She would not even allow herself 
 a few days to recover from her fatigues; but her sensitive 
 nature shrinking from the idea of exposing to a stranger the 
 emotions she knew must be roused by the scenes she was 
 about to revisit, she left her companion at the hotel, and, 
 attended only by the faithful Hutchins and a man-servant, 
 went on to Bordighera with the feverish eagerness of one 
 whose life is staked on the throw of a die. She wished to 
 live now; and no doctor, save Doctor Antonio, could make 
 her live. Lucy had a sort of superstition on this point. 
 
 At last the carriage passed the promontory of Bordi- 
 ghera, and the little valley beneath opened to view. Lucy 
 strained her eager eyes to take in at one gaze all the details 
 of the once familiar scene, and her heart sank within her. 
 What was it that gave the poor Osteria, the garden, the very 
 sea-side, such a desolate, deserted look? In the growing 
 flutter of her spirits she could see nothing distinctly; still 
 she discerned enough to feel that, whatever the cause, a 
 change had come over the spot. She stops the carriage, 
 hurries with trembling limbs down the lane. The little gate 
 hangs from one rusty hinge, as if no human being had passed 
 
EIGHT YEARS AFTER. 309 
 
 through it for ages; the garden is a perfect wilderness of 
 weeds and brambles ; the once luxuriant grove of lemon and 
 orange trees has dwindled into a scanty assemblage of 
 shivered, scattered, skeleton-looking trunks, — the few dry 
 reddish leaves, still hanging on the branches, look as if they 
 had been scorched by lightning; the house, all cracks, splits, 
 and holes, is fast tumbhng and crumbling to pieces. The 
 only part entire is the massive flight of stairs. Such of the 
 shutters as are not swinging to the wind, or lying on the 
 ground, are hermetically closed. Everything around bears 
 the marks of utter neglect, decay, and desolation. 
 
 While knocking at the glass-door, which is fastened from 
 within, and caUing Speranza and Battista, Lucy is startled 
 by a voice at the foot of the stone-steps. It is a young vil- 
 lager, who informs her that there is no one in the house to 
 answer her knocks or calls; the house is uninhabited, and 
 has been so ever since the death of the last proprietor. 
 
 "What! Speranza dead?— Battista dead?" 
 
 "No, no; Speranza and Battista are both alive, thank 
 God, and in good health. They keep the post-house at 
 Mentone. They had sold the Osteria to an old man, who 
 had since died." 
 
 Lucy breathes more freely. 
 
 "And— the parish doctor of Bordighera," she falters. 
 "What of him?" 
 
 "Doctor Gabriele, you mean? He is very well, thank 
 you." 
 
 "Not Doctor Gabriele— I mean Doctor Antonio— a tall 
 gentleman with a long beard— a Sicilian." 
 
 "Ah, yes ! I know now who you mean. I beg your pardon, 
 but I do not belong to this place. The Doctor you speak of 
 went away long ago; at least so I have heard." 
 
 Lucy leant against the balustrade— her knees were giv- 
 ing way. 
 
 "And you don't know of course," said she, trembling 
 from head to foot, "where he is?" 
 
 "No, I do not, and I fear that nobody hereabouts knows." 
 
310 DOCTOR ANTONIO. 
 
 The young peasant had all this time been examining his 
 fair questioner with much curiosity and interest. "Perhaps," 
 added he, with some hesitation, — "perhaps you are the 
 Signora Inglese who lived long in this house, and did so 
 much good to the country?" 
 
 It was a cordial to Lucy to find how well she was remem- 
 bered. The interest felt for her by those left behind had 
 not then died out. The young man's words somewhat 
 soothed the smart of this bitter disappointment. 
 
 "You have guessed right," she answered, "I am that 
 Inglese. Take this for the sake of one who loves Bordighera 
 well;" and, hurrying to the carriage, she bid the servant 
 order the postilion back to the Post Inn at Mentone. 
 
 The rain had been dropping fast during Lucy's halt, and 
 she was now wet and shivering. Hutchins suggested the ex- 
 pediency of her stopping somewhere to have her clothes 
 dried, and to get something warm to drink; but Lucy would 
 not hear of stopping before she reached Mentone. The 
 promise of a fabulous pourhoire inspiring the postilion with 
 fresh courage, he whirled his long whip round his head with 
 such violent smacks, as set his horses off into a gallop, and 
 away they went, plashing furiously through mud and mire. 
 The day was on the wane as the bespattered carriage stopped 
 in front of the Inn of the Post. 
 
 The sky had partially cleared to the west, and the rosy 
 tints of the sun setting amidst a mass of huge black clouds, 
 streamed down on a group at the side of the inn- door,— one 
 of those homely domestic pictures of which Teniers or Mieris 
 would have made a little wonder. On a wooden bench sat a 
 black-eyed, black-haired, handsome young woman, and, a 
 little way from her, a dark-complexioned, dark-whiskered 
 man of thirty, with a pipe in his mouth, was squatting on his 
 heels, with arms outstretched towards a rosy, curly-headed 
 cherub, — both parents encouraging, by act and word, the 
 little fellow's first attempts at walking, while he, with screams 
 of infantine delight, tottered from the one to the other. Lucy 
 gazed earnestly on the trio. Speranza turns and catches 
 
EIGHT YEARS AFTER. 3 I ^ 
 
 sight of the sweet face. "Madonna Santa! Mother, mother, 
 it is la Signora." In an instant she is on her feet, and, 
 thrusting the infant into the crouching Battista's arms with 
 an impetuosity that lays her husband flat on his back, with 
 the child sprawhng over him, she springs up the carriage 
 steps, and falls on Lucy's neck. "Oh, my dear lady!— my 
 dear lady!" is all Speranza can say. Rosa rushes out, with 
 but one thought of course, that of some mortal injury having 
 happened to the screaming hope of the family. Battista 
 scrambles to his legs, and a general recognition takes place 
 amid such blessings, blubberings, clapping of hands, and 
 invocations of the Virgin, as would be highly comical, were 
 it not very touching. 
 
 "Bless me! how cold your hands are, Signora. How 
 wearied you look! If only Doctor Antonio was here." Spe- 
 ranza bites her tongue; Lucy is rather carried than shown 
 up stairs to the best room of the house. A bright fire soon 
 crackles on the hearth, a sofa is wheeled forward, and Lucy, 
 her wet shawl and dress taken off, is comfortably wrapped 
 up and laid upon it to warm and rest herself. Speranza 
 leans fondly over her lovely charge, strokes and kisses by 
 turns her cold hands and feet, dries and smoothes and 
 kisses the fair, damp curls, smiling all the while, and chat- 
 ting and blessing the day and the hour, and the Madonna, 
 yet, even in her excitement, forgetting nothing that can in 
 the least minister to the comfort of her cara cara padrona^ 
 as she calls Lucy; least of all, the toast and the hot tea, — 
 not the everyday tea, but that kept in the green canister for 
 extraordinary occasions. Miss Hutchins is completely set 
 aside for the time being, and takes it good-humouredly. 
 Speranza will yield to no one, not even to her mother, the 
 right to place the little feet in warm slippers, or to put the 
 "monk" to air the bed, or to do the slightest service for 
 this adored padrona of hers. 
 
 Lucy felt herself revived in this genial atmosphere of de- 
 votion, and, as she sat sipping her tea, which seemed like 
 nectar to her, a glow of comfort spread itself over her weary 
 
312 DOCTOR ANTONIO. 
 
 frame and heart. It was long indeed since she had enjoyed 
 such a banquet, for eight long years she had been famishing. 
 Not all the prestige of station and fortune, not all the plea- 
 sures of gratified vanity, had given her an hour like this. 
 Of all the homage that had been pressed on her, of all the 
 smiles that had beamed on the noble lady, be it even those 
 from royal lips, none had so gladdened, none had so flat- 
 tered her, as the smile of this peasant woman, as the homage 
 of these simple folks. There are blessings, thank God, that 
 rank does not command, nor riches buy. 
 
 Lucy told Speranza of her visit to Bordighera, and of the 
 shock she had received on seeing the altered state of things 
 there, and of her disappointment at finding Doctor Antonio 
 gone. "We will speak of all that to-morrow, dear lady," 
 said Speranza, who had remarked Lucy's dropping eye-hds, 
 "and after you have had the good night's rest I expect you 
 to have. I will only just tell you that Doctor Antonio went 
 back to his own country, and is there still, at least was there 
 two months ago. Signora Eleonora has had a letter from 
 him, and she can tell you everything about our dear friend. 
 We heard there was a great revolution in Sicily, and that he 
 fought like a lion. There has been a famous revolution in 
 Sardinia too, and one here at Mentone, and at Roccabruna. 
 Battista was at the head of it, — upon my word he was! — 
 and he is to be an officer in the National Guard. The Com- 
 mandant of San Remo has run away, and there are to be no 
 more commandants, at least so they say; and the carabineers 
 are to count as nothing more than other people. Has there 
 been a revolution in your country also?" asked Speranza, 
 with very much the air of a person who takes for granted 
 the thing inquired about. 
 
 "No, thank God!" said Lucy, smiling. 
 
 "No revolution!" repeated Speranza, rather disappointed. 
 "But then you have no commandants in your country," she 
 added, as if that settled the matter. Thus, while addressing 
 Lucy, Speranza, notwithstanding her wise resolution to put 
 off all conversation till the morrow, told what was most in- 
 
EIGHT YEARS AFTER. 313 
 
 teresting to her hearer. It was something to know that all 
 trace of the Doctor was not lost; so, after receiving Spe- 
 ranza^s blessing, Lucy fell asleep, and dreamed all night of 
 blue seas, perfumed orange- trees, and that she was walking 
 in the little garden of the Osteria with Doctor Antonio. 
 
 Early in the morning Speranza brought her children to 
 Lucy,— two healthy, beautiful girls, as dark as night, — Lucia 
 Maria and Rosa Lucia, and the little curly-headed Lucio. 
 "Did you know before that there was such a name as Lucio?" 
 asked the proud young mother. 
 
 "I believe I did," replied Lucy. 
 
 "Well, I am sure, for my part, I did not," said Speranza; 
 "and I was sorely puzzled, as he was a boy, how to name 
 the little one after you, for I was determined to do so, even 
 if I had had to make a name on purpose. Battista wanted 
 me to call him John, after your father, but that would not 
 have done half so well; and so what do you think I did? I 
 took an Almanajc and looked through all the Saints, and at 
 last I found a Lucio— bless him;" and Speranza showed all 
 her white teeth in the delight of relating her discovery. 
 
 Lucy Mary and Rose Lucy being dismissed in good time, 
 and Lucio given over to his grandmother's spoiling care, 
 Speranza turned to Lucy and said, "Ah! dear lady, you can 
 never know how we felt when you were carried away from 
 us so suddenly. Do not be angry with me for saying so, 
 but it was downright cruel of your brother to come here just 
 to take you from a place where you were so well and happy, 
 and where every one, old and young, doted on you. I shall 
 never forget the feeling I had when I lost sight of the car- 
 riage. We were all as miserable as could be, and did not 
 know what to do. Mother pined and sighed all day long 
 and every day, Battista was like a fish out of water, and 
 grew quite cross, and as for the poor Doctor," (here Spe- 
 ranza shook her head ominously,) "how he wandered up 
 and down, here and there, like a soul in purgatory, finding 
 no peace nor rest go where he would! It made one's heart 
 
314 DOCTOR ANTONIO. 
 
 ache to watch him sitting for hours together where he could 
 get a sight of the Osteria. Who would ever have thought 
 matters were to end so, when we used to see you and him 
 walking side by side, both so young and handsome, and so 
 pleased to be together, that it seemed as if God had made 
 you on purpose for one another. But what is the use of 
 repining now?" continued Speranza, noticing Lucy's chang- 
 ing cheek. "No doubt it was the will of God that things 
 should go wrong in the way they did, only the poor Doctor 
 never recovered the shock of your going away — he was 
 never like the same man again. I do not mean to say that 
 he was not as good, and kind, and charitable as before, — it 
 would be a lie to say he was not all that; but he had grown 
 grave, and never had anything droll to say to make a poor 
 body laugh. The priests, too, with the cure at their head, 
 had taken a dislike to him,— and then there was always the 
 same story of the communion-ticket at Easter. Can you 
 believe that the cure one day asked, from the pulpit, what 
 business foreigners had amongst us?— as if foreigners were 
 not Christians! Altogether, Doctor Antonio had a sorry life 
 of it, and he had a great mind to go away. Well, one day, 
 — it was in the year 1842, he received a letter from his home 
 with the news of his mother's death. The kind, good soul 
 took it so much to heart that he fell ill, and if it had not 
 been for that fat little English doctor from Nice, you re- 
 member, Signora, who came and nursed him like a brother, 
 1 do believe Doctor Antonio would have died. He did re- 
 cover at last, but, oh, dear me ! he looked like the shadow 
 of himself. TheEnghsh doctor took him away to Nice, and 
 soon after Doctor Antonio sent to tell the town-council that 
 he gave up his appointment as parish doctor, and from that 
 time we never saw him again. Once, when the English 
 doctor stopped here a night, he told us that Doctor Antonio's 
 mother had managed some way,— I did not rightly under- 
 stand how, but she had done something which prevented the 
 Government in her country from taking away the fortune 
 she had bequeathed to her son; and then we heard by chance 
 
EIGHT YEARS AFTER. 315 
 
 that our good friend had left Nice, and was away travelling, 
 no one knew where. 
 
 "Your going had made Bordighera sad enough and dull 
 enough to us, but now that Doctor Antonio was gone too we 
 began to hate it, and we made up our minds that we would 
 go also as soon as we could. Everything had thriven well 
 with us, and we had saved a good sum of money. A blessing 
 was on all you had done for us. People came from far and 
 near to look at the old Osteria, where the great Enghsh 
 Milor and his beautiful daughter had stayed so long. Almost 
 all the travellers on this road from your country stopped at 
 our house, and liked to hear us talk of you and all you did; 
 and they paid us handsomely for what they had, and would 
 often stay over the night, because, they said, we had learnt 
 from you how to make English people comfortable. We 
 liked them all for your sake, SJgnora, though none of them 
 seemed to know you. So we were as well off as heart could 
 wish. The landlord of the Post Inn at Mentone wanted to 
 retire from business, and had offered to sell us the whole 
 concern, but we were afraid to say yes before we had found 
 a purchaser for the Osteria. We had good luck in that also. 
 An old sailor, whom every one had given up for lost, all of 
 a sudden returned to Bordighera, after having been away 
 for forty years. He was a man who liked to live alone, and 
 as he found all his people dead, it made him more unwilling 
 to stay in the town. He took a fancy to the Osteria, be- 
 cause, he said, it was out of the way, and he should not be 
 troubled with seeing many faces. So we made the two 
 bargains at the same time, and then we came here, where 
 we have been for six years, with only one wish,— that the 
 day might come when we should see again the Heaven-sent 
 angel, to whom, after God, we owe everything we possess, 
 and that we are as we are;^' and grateful Speranza took 
 within her own hard hands Lucy's soft small ones, and 
 covered them with hearty kisses. 
 
 "But how has the poor Osteria come to be such a ruin?" 
 asked Lucy. 
 
3l6 DOCTOR ANTONIO. 
 
 "It was the earthquake of 1844,— a tremendous one, that 
 did that; it nearly threw it quite down," returned Speranza. 
 "Almost all the houses in or round Bordighera suffered 
 more or less, but none so severely as the poor old Osteria 
 del Maitone. Some persons say it was because the founda- 
 tions were bad. As to the garden, there has been no one to 
 look after it for years, so no wonder it has run all to waste. 
 The old sailor died the year after the earthquake, and as he 
 left no will, and seemed to have no relations, the house was 
 shut up, and it and the garden left to take care of one an- 
 other. Battista says he saw in the Gazette, the other day, 
 that notice was given, that if no relations of the late owner 
 came forward to claim the property by such a time, it was 
 to go to the king." 
 
 Lucy spent that day and the following night at the Inn of 
 the Post, determining to go the morning after to Taggia, to 
 ascertain from Signora Eleonora, if possible, where Doctor 
 Antonio was likely to be found. She made no attempt to 
 conceal from her humble friend her earnest desire to place 
 herself under his medical care, nor her superstitious feeling 
 that no one but Doctor Antonio could restore her shattered 
 health. The affectionate Speranza, who had not failed to 
 notice Lucy's emaciated appearance and her frequent fits of 
 coughing, but had given no other sign of the anxiety she 
 felt than by clinging more fondly than ever to her benefac- 
 tress ; Speranza gave her hearty approval to this plan, con- 
 vinced, like the lady, of Antonio's powers; nor, for anything 
 that Lucy could say to the contrary, was Speranza to be dis- 
 suaded from going to Taggia with her. "Mother and Bat- 
 tista can take care of the children and mind the business," 
 said Speranza; "now that I have you once more, let me 
 make the most of the Godsend." 
 
 Signora Eleonora was not at Taggia, she had just left for 
 Genoa, with her two sons, both of whom had returned from 
 banishment. Lucy was delighted at this news, and only 
 longed the more to see and congratulate her old acquain- 
 tance. Speranza pleaded a similar wish so earnestly that 
 
EIGHT YEARS AFTER. 317 
 
 she got leave to accompany her Enghsh friend to Genoa. 
 The little journey was charming, the sky cloudless, the sun 
 bright and warm, the sea deep blue; and Lucy felt rekindle 
 within her that passion for the beautiful which had shaped 
 so many of her pleasures in past days ; she inhaled with de- 
 light the genial air, and at the sight of that privileged 
 Nature, went over in her mind all her former sensations and 
 emotions, with a keenness of enjoyment only to be com- 
 pared to that of a miser who tells over and over again all 
 the coins of a long lost, newly regained treasure. 
 
 On reaching Genoa, Lady Cleverton found no difficulty 
 in tracing out Signora Eleonora; the good old lady held 
 out her arms to her unexpected visitor, without any words 
 of articulate welcome. What a myriad of thoughts rushed 
 through the mind of each as they held one another in a 
 close embrace! Lucy was the first to speak. "Did not I 
 tell you that, one day or other, you would receive back your 
 dear ones?" 
 
 "God bless your kind heart," returned the Italian lady; 
 "the Almighty has indeed hstened to our prayers, and made 
 me one of the proudest and happiest of mothers." 
 
 Speranza came in for no small share of the Signora's 
 caresses and kindness; and if angels ever weep for tender- 
 ness, we take it for granted that they did so as they watched 
 this meeting. 
 
 Signora Eleonora had little to add to the information 
 about Doctor Antonio, already given by Speranza, and that 
 little was ill suited to raise Lucy's spirits. Only once had 
 the kind old lady heard from her Sicilian friend since his 
 return to his own country. She showed the letter to Lucy; it 
 was dated Palermo, the ist Februar 1848, and gave a short 
 account of the struggle that had just taken place between 
 the king's troops and the popular party. The Doctor had 
 evidently written in the first moments of excitement, after 
 a dearly bought victory. The letter had this postscript. "I 
 have God, be thanked! been so fortunate as to shed some 
 of my blood in my country's cause. A half-spent Neapohtan 
 
3l8 DOCTOR ANTONIO. 
 
 ball wounded me in the right shoulder; it is a mere scratch, 
 and does not prevent my using my arm, as you see. I only 
 tell you of it lest you might see my name among the casual- 
 ties, and be uneasy. I will write again soon." 
 
 "And you have not heard from him since?" exclaimed 
 Lucy, turning cold. Signora Eleonora shook her head. "His 
 wound, then, must have proved more serious than he 
 thought, otherwise he would have kept his promise. He 
 must be ill, I am afraid, that" — and her fancy getting the 
 upper hand of reason, she at once pictured to herself this 
 dear friend alone, sick, helpless, perhaps even dying. Lucy 
 made up her mind on the instant she would go to Naples, 
 cross to Palermo, and, coute que coute, find him. She ac- 
 cordingly wrote, by that same day^s post, to her father to 
 come and join her at Naples, adding, that if, by chance, she 
 were not there on his arrival, he would, at all events, find 
 further directions as to her movements at the British Em- 
 bassy. She wrote also to her companion, who was still 
 waiting at Nice, to come post-haste to Genoa; and three days 
 after, our delicate, fragile Lucy was on board a steamer 
 bound for Naples. 
 
 Signora Eleonora and Speranza saw her on board, and 
 remained with her to the last, uttering words of hope and 
 comfort. The parting was a sad affair, particularly with 
 Speranza, who would not let go her hold of her dear padro- 
 nd's dress till she forced a promise from her that if, at any 
 time, Lucy wanted her she would send for her. "I know 
 that I am only a poor, ignorant, peasant woman, and you a 
 high-born, rich lady," said the poor creature, the tears run- 
 ning down her cheeks, "still they say a mouse once helped 
 a Hon; so, pray, my dear, dear mistress, never forget that I 
 am all yours, and if the poor peasant can be of any service 
 call her to you; — oh! promise you will, and I will abide by 
 you and serve you to my last day;— 1 will! indeed I will, so 
 help me the Madonna ! " 
 
NAPLES. 319 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 Naples- 
 
 The tide of national feeling, which, ever since the acces- 
 sion of Pius the Ninth, and the first reforms granted by him, 
 had been swelling slowly but uninterruptedly throughout 
 Italy, had nowhere risen higher than in Naples and Sicily. 
 But while the daily increasing demands for reform met with 
 no hostility from the ruling powers in Rome, Tuscany, or 
 Piedmont, nay, were in some degree yielded to, the case 
 was very different in Naples and in Sicily. There, on the 
 contrary, a determined opposition to all progress was ar- 
 rayed in panoply of battle, and more than once had the loyal 
 cries of "Long live Pius the Ninth! — Long live Ferdinand 
 the Second, and Reform!" been responded to by volleys of 
 musketry, and been followed by severe incarcerations. 
 Sicily, her patience worn out, her moderation, her long- 
 suffering, her fidelity, all alike disregarded, at last resolved 
 to snatch by main force what her petitions and remon- 
 strances had hitherto failed in obtaining. Chivalrous in her 
 misery, she named a day to her King, until when she would 
 wait the issue of her last prayer for redress. If it were over- 
 looked, she would then take to the ultima ratio of peoples 
 as well as of kings. As might be anticipated, this appeal 
 was treated with the usual cruel indifference, and Sicily, true 
 to her word, rose in arms. Palermo took the lead, and, on 
 the appointed day, was in fulf insurrection. 
 
 The news set all Naples in a blaze. It was like a lighted 
 match thrown into a smouldering fire. Thousands poured 
 into Via Toledo, thousands crowded the square before the 
 Royal Palace. They were, it is true, unarmed, and their cries 
 were the pacific ones of "Viva ilRe, Vive la Costituzione," 
 but the attitude was that of menace. If we may judge from 
 all appearances, the King was well inclined to look on this 
 effervescence of popular feehng as a personal challenge, 
 which he was nothing loath to accept. A huge red flag, 
 
320 DOCTOR ANTONIO. 
 
 never hoisted but as a signal of war, was seen to float from 
 the towers of the Castle of St. Elmo. The multitude kept 
 the position they had taken up, in no way scared by the 
 ugly emblem, whose sanguinary appearance they answered 
 by cries, the sound of which was becoming fiercer. Tri- 
 color cockades seemed to spring from the pavement below 
 their feet, and, eagerly distributed, soon decorated every 
 hat and coat. 
 
 There comes a moment in which bayonet and cannon 
 are powerless against what appears unarmed, defenceless 
 numbers. Once the blood of the people is up, hands and 
 arms of flesh tear down stone-walls and mock at artillery. 
 Modern history, from the destruction of the Bastile down- 
 wards, is full of examples. Such a crisis was now at hand; 
 that it passed without bloodshed, may be attributed to the 
 courageous refusal of General Roberti, the brave and honest 
 commandant of the Castle, to bombard the town. Rather 
 than do so, he tendered his resignation. All this occurred 
 on the damp and gloomy morning of the 27th January 
 1848. 
 
 The King finding himself in an awkward dilemma, 
 called around him most of the eminent men in whom he 
 had confidence. Count Statella, commander-in-chief of 
 Naples, and General Filangieri, were among the number. 
 With one voice they answered Ferdinand by advising him 
 to change his Ministers without delay, and to grant the Con- 
 stitution. The Cabinet was accordingly dissolved, and its 
 moving spirit, the hero of Bosco and Catania, Del Carretto, 
 unceremoniously put on board a Government steamer. The 
 disgraced minister, followed by the curses of his country- 
 men, and met by the execrations of Genoa and Leghorn, 
 where the vessel had to stop, made the best of his way to 
 Marseilles. The banishment of Del Carretto was an act of 
 tardy justice, and mild, too, when compared to his crimes, 
 but it was not the less an act of black ingratitude on the 
 part of the King. The moment Ferdinand began to fear 
 for himself, he behaved Hke any common villain, sacrificing, 
 
NAPLES. 321 
 
 without hesitation, one whom he ought to have supported, 
 as his active, unscrupulous accomplice and faithful servant. 
 
 The universal prayer of the people was at last to be 
 listened to, a Constitution was promised, and a few days 
 after publicly proclaimed. The King used the following words 
 in its solemn preamble:— "Concurring in the unanimous de- 
 sire of our most beloved subjects, we have promised, of 
 our own full, free, and spontaneous will, to establish in this 
 kingdom a Constitution, and, in the awful name of the Most 
 Holy and Almighty God, the Trinity in Unity, to whom 
 alone it appertains to read the depths of the heart, and 
 whom we loudly invoke as the Judge of the simplicity of our 
 intentions, and of the unreserved sincerity with which we 
 have determined to enter upon the paths of the new politi- 
 cal order, we have decided upon proclaiming, and we do 
 proclaim, as irrevocably ratified by us, the following Con- 
 stitution." 
 
 On the 24th of February, with every pomp and circum- 
 stance of solemnity, this Constitution was sworn to by the 
 King, the Princes of the Royal Family, the new Ministers, 
 the chief officers of the army, the magistracy, and all the 
 other high functionaries of the kingdom. A few days after 
 the Electoral law was promulgated, and the convocation of 
 Parliament fixed for the ist May. 
 
 It is in the nature of things, that those who are at the 
 head of affairs, in any time of great excitement, should give 
 little satisfaction to any party. What has been is over- 
 thrown — what is to be is yet unsubstantial hope. Expecta- 
 tion is strained to such a pitch, that no wonder the men at 
 the helm fail in coming up to it— indeed, necessarily fall far 
 short. Nor were the new Ministers any exception to the 
 rule. Fault was found with them on every side for not at 
 once discovering a solution for the Sicilian question, the 
 Gordian knot of the situation — for not giving to their politics 
 a more decided Itahan character— for not adopting the three 
 national colours, and so on. In short, the Cabinet could do 
 nothing right, and became so avowedly unpopular, that its 
 
 Doctor Antonio. 21 
 
32 2 DOCTOR ANTONIO. 
 
 only course was to resign. The accession to power of the 
 new Administration — called, from the date of its formation, 
 the Ministry of the 6th March— was hailed by an unbounded 
 and general cry of joy. This was the state of things when 
 Lucy, towards the end of the month of March, reached 
 Naples. 
 
 The great bustle and animation of the city, the demon- 
 strative joy of all classes, especially that of the lower order, 
 (the very lazzaroni were adorers of liberty at that moment, 
 and all that can be argued from after events is, that 
 Machiavellian arts can pervert man's most natural feelings,) 
 would have afforded our heroine ample scope for observa- 
 tion and interest, had not other thoughts and other cares 
 exclusively absorbed her. The people of the hotel in Via 
 Toledo, where Lady Cleverton stopped, opened their eyes, 
 and pursed up their lips, when told to have the noble lady's 
 passport, and that of her suite, vised for Palermo. "Perhaps 
 miladi did not know that Palermo was in open rebellion, and 
 all Sicily in an uproar." Miladi knew it perfectly well, but 
 miladi was determined on going, and they must do as they 
 
 were desired. Presently, in hot haste, came Mr. X , a 
 
 young attache from the British embassy, where the pass- 
 ports had been presented for signature. This gentleman 
 was a cousin of Lord Cleverton, to whom he owed his 
 diplomatic post, and waited on her ladyship to dissuade her 
 from attempting what he styled a mad expedition. The 
 two countries were positively at open war,— the sea was not 
 safe,— Neapolitan cruisers were out expressly to prevent 
 any strangers from landing on the island, — without any 
 actual danger, Lady Cleverton might be placed in some very 
 unpleasant predicament. Lady Cleverton looked very ob- 
 stinate. "Her Britannic Majesty's ambassador," continued 
 the attache, "was unwilling to authorize her ladyship's run- 
 ning such risks. There was a talk of Lord Minto's being the 
 bearer of terms to the Sicilians in a few days. If Lady 
 Cleverton really persisted in her present determination, a 
 passage might be obtained for her at the same time in the 
 
NAPLES. ^2^ 
 
 royal steamer." Lucy was not to be persuaded that all these 
 precautions were necessary for an English lady travelling 
 for her health. His Excellency came himself in the evening 
 to talk to his refractory countrywoman, and so seriously 
 urged her adoption of the plan he had proposed, that there 
 was nothing else for it than to yield, particularly as she 
 dared not be explicit as to why she so preferred the air of 
 Palermo to that of Naples; not indeed that she felt in the 
 least ashamed of what she was doing, for never had Sister 
 of Charity been actuated by purer motives , but Lucy had 
 now sufficient experience of the world to know, that it rarely 
 puts the best construction on actions susceptible of two 
 interpretations, and so out of self-respect she kept her own 
 secret. 
 
 Our Viscountess found the days that followed dreadfully 
 
 long. Nothing more difficult than to wait. Mr. X , the 
 
 attache, who, in virtue of his cousinship, claimed the right 
 of amusing her, was most assiduous in his attentions, pro- 
 posing all the usual excursions and sight -seeing. Lucy 
 would accept of no amusement; she could not bear to have 
 her thoughts disturbed, though her gentle, graceful nature 
 prevented her telling her visitor that his efforts rather in- 
 creased than allayed the fever of her impatience. 
 
 One day the young diplomatist came in a greater bustle 
 than usual. He always appeared, even in his idleness, as if 
 he bore the weight of the world on his shoulders. Well, 
 this day he was full of the news, that on the ensuing evening 
 there was to be a great reception at Court, the first since 
 the establishing of a Constitutional Government. It would 
 be worth going to, if only for the fun of the thing. 
 
 "What do you mean?" asked Lady Cleverton. 
 
 ^^Pe7' San Gejinnro, as they say here," returned the at- 
 tache, laughing, "we are to have all the veterans of Car- 
 bonarism, all the celebrities of the Progress party. A batch 
 of musty avoocaii and doctors are to play first fiddles at 
 Court now. Lord, how Ferdinand will mystify them ! " 
 
 "I do not understand why you, who, being an English- 
 
 21* 
 
324 DOCTOR ANTONIO. 
 
 man, ought to know better, should ridicule the learned pro- 
 fessions," remarked Lady Cleverton, dryly. 
 
 "But who on earth, my sweet lady cousin, ever thinks of 
 putting Neapolitan doctors and lawyers on the same footing 
 as Enghsh ones?" 
 
 "And why not?" asked the lady, in the same dry voice. 
 
 "Don't look so fierce," answered the fine gentleman, 
 laughing, but not pleased, "for really I only echo the opinion 
 of every one. I know none of the gentry you seem so in- 
 terested in, save by sight. His Excellency has luckily put 
 your name on the list of strangers to be presented to-mor- 
 row. You had better go and judge for yourself." 
 
 "I think I shall," returned Lady Cleverton; "it will be 
 worth while to see men whose name will figure in a page of 
 history." 
 
 The attache was regularly puzzled by the widow of his 
 illustrious relative. "After all," thought he, "the best of 
 her sex will say no to Pompeii, Vesuvius, and the San Carlo, 
 on the plea of health and want of spirits, but she'll go to 
 Court though she were dying." 
 
 The knowing attache's prognostications were not to be 
 verified. When Lady Cleverton joined the royal circle, she 
 found every one and everything looking much as they 
 generally look on such distinguished occasions; it was even 
 impossible to tell that there was any want of blazonry in the 
 assembly. Perhaps, owing to the new elements introduced, 
 there was more animation, certainly less dulness, than usual. 
 If there were any deviations from Court etiquette, the ex- 
 ample was set by the king himself, who went from group to 
 group, shaking hands and speaking courteously to every- 
 body, acting the citizen-king to the life. He was simply 
 dressed in black, and, but for the Grand Cross of San Gen- 
 naro, the ribbon of which he wore saltier-wise, and the de- 
 ference shown him, might have been taken for one of the 
 guests, and not one of the best-looking either. Tall, long- 
 legged, small-headed, grey-haired, and short-sighted, with 
 little of the prepossessing or commanding about him, save 
 
NAPLES. 325 
 
 what he owed to his erect carriage and deliberate gait, Fer- 
 dinand the Second had rather the appearance of an elderly 
 cavalry officer on half pay than of a king eight-and-thirty 
 years of age. 
 
 But Lady Cleverton gazed at him with unmixed admira- 
 tion. All that she had heard from Doctor Antonio of Fer- 
 dinand himself, or of his race, was at that moment forgotten, 
 and the shades cast on his brow by untoward precedents 
 disappeared in the aureole of popularity which encircled, in 
 her eyes, the Prince of reform, — the Prince who, like a philo- 
 sopher, had yielded to the voice of public opinion, — the 
 Prince who, like a father, had granted the prayers of his 
 people. Did not he, who had diffused happiness throughout 
 a whole kingdom, deserve blessing and affection? 
 
 But the young attache , who was resolved on being her 
 cicerone, would not leave her to her reflections. "Look at 
 those two gentlemen," said he, "between whom his Majesty 
 is walking; the one on the King's left is Bozzelli, minister of 
 the interior, a refugee of yesterday; and the other, big- 
 headed, shaggy-haired, and middle-sized, is Carlo Poerio, 
 minister of pubHc instruction. All that one knows about 
 them is that they are both advocates, with lots to say for 
 themselves, and have often been imprisoned on political 
 charges, which, however, could never be proved against 
 them. And now, you see, for all that, here they are, quite 
 the rage in Naples, and looked upon as the two great pillars 
 of the cabinet." 
 
 The gentleman the attache called Poerio, forcibly at- 
 tracted Lucy's attention. His was the vast powerful fore- 
 head, which she had so admired in Doctor Antonio, his the 
 clear unsparkling, hazel eye, and thin, firmly-set lip, which 
 bore evidence to an unconquerable will. 
 
 "That thin, fair-haired, meditative-looking young man," 
 continued the attache, who, so that he might talk, did not 
 care much whether he was listened to or not, "is Professor 
 Settembrini, editor of a leading paper, an out-and-out 
 Utopist. He was to have had a place in the ministry, but 
 
326 DOCTOR ANTONIO." 
 
 some one, I believe, objected to him on account of his look- 
 ing so young. However, you may be sure he is booked to 
 be one of the future legislators of this country. And so is 
 that tall old fellow in gold spectacles , passing close to us — 
 some mushroom magistrate; I forget his name. Paron — 
 — something. Ah! Pironti, that is it; an intriguant of the 
 first water; they are every one of them people of yesterday. 
 Heaven only knows where they spring from ! The tall portly 
 gentleman in the embrasure of that window opposite," said 
 the Enghshman, lowering his voice to a respectful whisper, 
 "is the King^s own brother, his Royal Highness the Count 
 of Syracuse, formerly Viceroy of Sicily. I wonder who he 
 is speaking to? It is a face I don't know— some other par- 
 venu, I suppose." 
 
 Lucy could not help giving a great start; the blood 
 rushed to her face, and thick drops of moisture rose on her 
 brow. "What is the matter?" cried the unfledged diplo- 
 matist. "Are you ill?" 
 
 "It is nothing; — a sudden giddiness." 
 
 "Would you like to go away? — it must be from the heat 
 of the room." 
 
 "Very likely," answered Lucy, in an unsteady voice. 
 
 Fortunately for her, the English ambassador himself 
 came up to her, and the attache made his bow without 
 further comment. His Excellency was very sorry, but he 
 had reason to believe that Lord Minto's mission to Sicily 
 would be put off for another fortnight at least. New com- 
 plications had arisen. The Viscountess received this piece 
 of news very coolly. She did not mind a little delay; it was 
 just possible she might give up her plan altogether. His 
 Excellency was too well-bred to do more than raise his eye- 
 lids at this unexpected announcement; he, who had really 
 been taking no little trouble in the matter, was thrown over- 
 board without so much as "thank you." After a little de- 
 sultory talk the ambassador went to make his usual round 
 of bows, and Lucy was at length left to herself. 
 
 The companion of the Count of Syracuse was a tall, 
 
NAPLES. 327 
 
 black-haired, black-eyed man, who, at first sight, looked 
 scarcely past thirty; his countenance was thoughtful but 
 serene, his smile most winning, his carriage noble and erect; 
 the countenance, the smile, the figure, in one word, of 
 Doctor Antonio. Instead of his long beard he had now a 
 thick moustache on his upper hp. Save this shght dif- 
 ference, and a shade of pallor, greater perhaps than of old, 
 there was nothing changed about him; he looked as young 
 and handsome in his way as he had done eight years ago. 
 
 The King coming near them, the Count and Antonio left 
 the window and approached his Majesty, who, stopping to 
 exchange a few words with his brother, suddenly took the 
 Doctor's arm, and, drawing it through his own, continued 
 his walk. Lucy had not lost one of the details of this little 
 scene, least of all had she missed the sudden flash of those 
 well-known black eyes as they met hers, or the colour that 
 set the pale countenance all in a glow. What was the feel- 
 ing that made the Viscountess turn her head away, and try 
 to get behind some ladies? Was it fear of an august 
 presence, or was it a misgiving that she was sadly changed 
 from what she had been? Lucy scarcely knew. The motion 
 had been instantaneous, mechanical, irresistible, and she 
 was in far too great a flutter of spirits to scan or analyze the 
 secret springs of the action. 
 
 Half an hour passed, in the course of which Lucy's eyes 
 turned more than once in the direction of the door, through 
 which she had seen the King and Doctor Antonio dis- 
 appear. More than once had the advent of some score of 
 tall, black-haired, and moustached gentlemen through that 
 door made her heart beat loud and fast. Here he comes at 
 last — not in a hurry, but with his usual long quiet strides, 
 as gentle and unpretending amid his changed fortunes as 
 when, a poor village doctor, he went his rounds among his 
 humble patients of Bordighera. Here he comes, and, Avith 
 beaming eyes, makes straight for her. 
 
 "You here!" he exclaimed, as she placed her hand in 
 his. "What an unlooked-for happiness! Who would ever 
 
328 DOCTOR ANTONIO. 
 
 have dreamt, eight years ago, of our meeting at Naples, and, 
 of all places in the world, at Court?" 
 
 "Who indeed!" was all that Lucy could say. Her soul 
 was entranced by the sweet magic of his voice falling once 
 more on her ear. 
 
 "How are you, and how is my good friend Sir John?" 
 asked Antonio, after a short pause. 
 
 "Papa, when I left England, was laid up with a fit of the 
 gout. He is soon to join me here. By the by, he gave me 
 a letter for you, thinking I should find you at Bordighera. 
 You shall have it the first thing to-morrow morning." 
 
 "Thank you," said the Doctor. "How glad I shall be to 
 shake hands again with kind Sir John!" 
 
 "How do you happen to be in Naples?" inquired Lucy. 
 "I thought you were at Palermo, and badly wounded, too." 
 
 "How do you know anything about my wound?" said 
 Antonio, briskly. 
 
 "I saw Signora Eleonora at Genoa, and she told me. 
 She is so happy now — both her sons are with her. She let 
 me read your letter to her. She was very uneasy about you, 
 and so was L" 
 
 "Were you? Bless her kind heart!" said Antonio. 
 "What have I done to deserve two such friends?— Two such 
 form an oasis for me in this vile wilderness of a world." 
 
 "I won't hear you speak ill of the world," returned Lucy, 
 with something of her old childlike manner. 
 
 "Very well, I will not— now," said Antonio. 
 
 "Tell me about your wound; — how is it?" 
 
 "Perfectly healed. It was a mere scratch." 
 
 "And what made you delay so long writing to Signora 
 Eleonora? What excuse have you for leaving your friends 
 in anxiety?" 
 
 '"Constant occupation and worries of every kind. It was 
 very wrong of me, nevertheless. To-morrow, I promise, I 
 I will send a letter to Genoa," said the Doctor. 
 
 "Mind you don't forget, and give the dear old lady my 
 best love. Now, then, tell me all about yourself since we 
 
NAPLES. 329 
 
 parted,— about the Revolution, and Sicily, and everything. 
 You have not forgotten, have you, my old love for asking 
 questions?" added she, smiling. 
 
 "It is as welcome as of old," he replied. "You shall 
 hear everything about myself and Sicily, but first I must 
 know everything about you and your health, fair lady," 
 continued Antonio, who had been eyeing his long-lost friend 
 with some anxiety. Lucy told him at once all about her 
 health, just as she used to do; and he listened to her with 
 that same interest and attention with which he had been 
 wont to listen to her in the wretched Osteria del Maitone. 
 
 "We will put all that to rights again, with God's help," 
 said Antonio, cheerfully, when she had finished. "Fresh 
 air, quiet habits and method — you know of old, my love of 
 method — and a proper obedience to your doctor's direc- 
 tions," (he smiled, and Lucy's eyes assured him there should 
 be no want of this desideratum,) "will do wonders for you, 
 as they did at Bordighera." 
 
 It was now Antonio's turn to give an account of himself, 
 which he did very succinctly. We shall follow the good ex- 
 ample, only taking up the subject a little farther back, and 
 touching upon one or two points he omitted, just as much 
 as is indispensable for the clear understanding of our story. 
 
 When awakened from his fond dream of an hour at 
 Bordighera, Antonio, as we have said, had sworn in his 
 heart to have no other mistress than his country, and to 
 devote to her, and her alone, all the energies of his soul and 
 mind; and when we say his country, we mean of course 
 Italy, for Antonio's patriotism was not confined to the isle 
 in which he was born, but embraced the whole of the mother- 
 land. In pursuance of this idea, he had not delayed put- 
 ting himself in communication with the leading men of the 
 Italian emigration, less with the intention of becoming a 
 propagandist, and winning over new elements to the Liberal 
 cause, than of combining those already existing, and giving 
 them that unity of purpose and direction, which could alone 
 secure success in the day of trial. The fortune he had in- 
 
;^^0 DOCTOR ANTONIO. 
 
 herited from his mother gave our doctor a modest in- 
 dependence, and consequently the means of pursuing more 
 interruptedly, and furthering more efficiently, the object he 
 had set before himself. A pedestrian tour in Switzerland, 
 undertaken for his health in the spring of 1843, afforded 
 him an opportunity of knowing, and being known to, a good 
 many of the influential Italian exiles; and as their views and 
 hopes were identical with his, it was a very easy matter to 
 estabhsh an understanding with them. Antonio spent most 
 of his time, from 1843 to 1847, at Turin, where, by his 
 gratuitous attendance on the poor, he earned a well- 
 deserved reputation for charity and skill, and by several 
 medical pamphlets the name of a profound and elegant 
 writer. About that time, we mean the spring of 1847, the 
 news of Sicily began to be of serious importance. The 
 Neapolitan Government, as before remarked, far from yield- 
 ing any satisfaction to the popular feeUng, roused to the 
 highest pitch by the reforms granted at Turin, Florence, 
 and Rome, was combating against it in the most brutal 
 manner. An outbreak was imminent at Palermo, so said 
 private letters. Antonio, with a few friends, embarked for 
 Malta, and from thence, in the beginning of January 1848, 
 crossed to Palermo, where he and his companions remained 
 concealed till the 12th of January, when, a tricolor-flag in 
 hand, hey made their appearance on the Piazza of the Fiera- 
 vecchia. The cry of ^'aW armV was responded to from all 
 parts, and the rising began in earnest. The struggle was 
 long and obstinate, lasting from the 12th to the 29th of 
 January; but in spite of a reinforcement of fresh troops, 
 landed by the Neapolitan fleet on the 15th, and a brisk 
 bombardment of the city by the fortress of Castellamare, 
 the popular impetus proved irresistible. Stronghold after 
 stronghold was carried as if by enchantment, the fortified 
 royal palace was attacked with such spirit, (it was there that 
 Antonio was wounded,) that its garrison abandoned it on the 
 25th, and the troops, driven out of the town on every side, 
 were hotly and triumphantly pursued. 
 
NAPLES. 33^ 
 
 The fire of insurrection spread all over the face of the 
 island; Girgenti, Catania, Messina, Caltanisetta, Trapani, 
 Syracuse, one and all in rapid succession, followed the ex- 
 ample set by Palermo. Some garrisons laid down arms, 
 some were utterly defeated, others retreated into the forts, 
 as did that of Messina, which, from the citadel, where it 
 was intrenched, kept firing against the city. The last town 
 of any importance which joined the movement was Noto. 
 Her adhesion took place on the 4th of February, and on the 
 same day the tricolor-flag waved from the ramparts of the 
 fortress of Castellamare. It was then that the General 
 Committee of Palermo, which had been constituted to 
 organize and give proper direction to the insurrection, as- 
 sumed the powers and title of Provisional Government of 
 Sicily, with the venerable Ruggero Settimo as its president. 
 
 In the meantime, as we have before stated, a new 
 political order of things had been inaugurated at Naples, a 
 circumstance which gave fair hopes of a speedy arrange- 
 ment between the two countries. In fact, shortly after nego- 
 tiations were entered into— under the auspices of Lord Minto 
 — between the Neapohtan Government and that of Sicily; 
 about which it is only necessary to remark here that they 
 were far from being handled and conducted, on the part of 
 Naples, in that spirit of straightforwardness and conciliation 
 which could alone, if not entirely dispel, at least diminish 
 the distrust, deplorable precedents had deeply rooted in 
 the minds of the Sicilians. The justice of this assertion will 
 be clear to any one who will take the trouble of going over 
 Lord Minto^s official correspondence at that time with Vis- 
 count Palmerston. "I begin," writes Lord Minto to Lord 
 Mount Edgecumbe at Palermo, "I begin very seriously to 
 believe that there is no intention here (Naples) to come to 
 a friendly understanding, and that all that has been done, 
 or is doing, has no other object than to gain time to prepare 
 for hostility, or to secure foreign aid." Such is the sense 
 of his lordship's letter, dated February 22d. 
 
 Tired of being kept at bay to no purpose, and aware of 
 
332 DOCTOR ANTONIO. 
 
 the expediency of relieving the country and themselves from 
 the dangers of their provisional position, the General Com- 
 mittee of Palermo pubhshed at last a declaration, in which 
 was distinctly set forth that it would not continue to treat as 
 to terms of peace unless the sine qua nan condition that none 
 but a Sicilian army should garrison the island, was agreed 
 to. At the same time the Electoral Colleges were convoked 
 for the 15th of March, and the 25th fixed for the opening of 
 Parliament. 
 
 The Neapolitan ministry, on their side, in utter despair 
 of being able to surmount the difficulties of the situation, 
 resigned, and were succeeded by the administration of the 
 6th March. The accession to power of such men as Carlo 
 Poerio, Saliceti, and Savarese, bid fair to bring the arduous 
 Sicilian question to a final settlement. A cabinet council was 
 held on the 7th of March, the King present — Lord Minto was 
 there also by invitation — and a series of measures was con- 
 cocted and a number of decrees signed, which were thought 
 likely to give satisfaction to the Sicilians. The Convocation 
 of ParHament, already fixed by the Committee of Palermo, 
 was legahzed by an act of Convocation emanating from the 
 King for the same day; the Neapolitan Government granted 
 to Sicily its separate Parliament, its own separate ministers, 
 with the exception of the minister for foreign affairs; and the 
 most popular man of his day, the incarnation, as it were, of 
 the Sicilian revolution, Ruggero Settimo, was nominated 
 Lieutenant-Governor of the island, in the name of Ferdinand 
 the Second. The office of a special minister for Sicily, who 
 was to reside at Naples, and be a medium of communication 
 between the island Government and the King, was created, 
 and Commendatore Scovazzo, a Sicilian, appointed to this 
 dignity. But the ticklish and most important point, of none 
 but a Sicilian army being quartered in Sicily without the 
 consent of the Sicilian Parliament, was completely over- 
 looked. Truly, it does seem strange that Lord Minto, in 
 whose presence all these measures were decided upon, 
 should not have broached this vital question, he who, but a 
 
NAPLES. 333 
 
 few days before, on the ist of March, had written to Lord 
 Palmerston — "The Sicihans, in seeking to place their 
 liberties under the safeguard of their fellow-countrymen, 
 are justified by their experience, and, indeed, there is no- 
 thing in the character or conduct of the existing Govern- 
 ment (Naples) that merits their confidence." 
 
 This unaccountable silence about the army — the great 
 point at issue, was considered by the mass of Sicilians to be 
 full of dark augury, and obliterated all the good effects the 
 above-named concessions might have produced. Such, in- 
 deed, was the prevalent distrust of the Neapolitan Govern- 
 ment and the fear of its treachery, that the only chance of 
 tranquillizing the irritated minds was the removal of an 
 army which had for thirty-three years held Sicily enslaved, 
 and against which Messina was still fighting. Popular feel- 
 ing declared itself so strongly averse to the conditions of 
 the 7th March, that the General Committee pronounced them 
 "unacceptable, on the ground that they were contrary to 
 the Constitution of 18 12." Lord Minto then insisted on the 
 Committee proposing their own terms, which they did, but 
 the Government of Naples pleaded the impossibility of dis- 
 cussing the conditions proposed, without the concurrence 
 of the Neapolitan Parliament, which had not yet met. On 
 the day previous to the assembling of the Sicilian Legis- 
 lature there came a protest from the King, charging the 
 Sicilians with "endangering the resurrection of Italy, and 
 risking the independence and glorious destinies of the 
 common country." This protest declared null and void, 
 beforehand, all acts that might be accomplished in Sicily. 
 There was nothing left for the two countries but to try the 
 fortune of arms. 
 
 The direful prospect of a fratricidal war filled many a 
 noble heart on both sides of the Faro with horror and dis- 
 may. "What!" cried our friend the Doctor, "while the 
 ancient rallying cry of Fuori il harharo is ringing throughout 
 the Peninsula — while war with Austria is rendered inevitable 
 by the heroic insurrection of Milan— is it possible that there 
 
334 DOCTOR ANTONIO. 
 
 are here two noble Italian States bent, not on exerting their 
 utmost energies against the common foe, but against each 
 other?" And, as he said this, Antonio buried his hand in 
 his hair. Was there no means of averting this most hideous 
 of calamities? Perhaps there was. It would not do to sit 
 down and despair. Could the Neapolitan Government be 
 prevailed upon to accede to the one condition, that no army 
 but a Sicilian one should garrison the island, no doubt that 
 the terms of the 7th March would be accepted, and peace 
 restored between the two countries. Such was at least the 
 firm belief of Antonio, and of many of his friends of the 
 Moderate party, with whom he was debating the point. They 
 determined accordingly to make a strenuous effort to bring 
 about this most desirable result. Antonio drew up a me- 
 morial, in which he exposed, with great stringency of logic, 
 the reasons which ought to persuade the Neapolitan Govern- 
 ment to yield on the army question, and expatiated at full 
 length on the benefits certain to accrue to that common cause, 
 invoked by the King himself in his protest, from a renewed 
 understanding between Naples and Sicily. This memorial 
 he read to his friends, with whose complete approbation he 
 sent it to Naples. It was placed in the hands of one of 
 the Ministers, between whom and Antonio a mutual esteem 
 and good-will existed — the fruit of a former long and im- 
 portant correspondence. A few days after, there came a 
 brief note in answer, the purport of which was as follows: — 
 ''Could the writer of the memorial come to Naples, and 
 urge vioa voce the arguments he had so admirably expressed 
 on paper, ten to one but he would succeed. Never was his 
 Majesty better disposed to make concessions than at the 
 present moment. Not a day to be lost!" 
 
 And Antonio did not lose a day, but went to Naples. He 
 knew very well to what this step laid him open. He knew 
 very well that his intentions would be misconstrued by 
 party spirit; that his name would be torn to pieces; that he 
 would be branded as a runaway, a renegade, a traitor, but 
 he did not care. So long as he had a hope of doing good 
 
THE 15TH OF MAY 1848. ; 335 
 
 to his country, he was not the man to be deterred by 
 personal considerations. So to Naples he went, saw the 
 Ministers, saw his Majesty, and warmly pleaded the cause 
 he had taken up— if to some or no purpose we shall see 
 hereafter. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 The 15th of May 1848. 
 
 The next day, at the same hour which he used to pay 
 his morning visit at the Osteria, Doctor Antonio made his 
 appearance in Lucy's drawing-room. We must not forget 
 to say, that by this time he knew everything about Lucy's 
 marriage and widowhood — knew it from Sir John's letter, 
 which Lady Cleverton, true to her word, had sent him early 
 in the morning. He greeted his fair friend as cordially as 
 ever, and, with the freedom of old times, began at once to find 
 fault with her quarters. "A magnificent and stately suite of 
 rooms," observed the Doctor; "but they will not do for you. 
 You must have fresh air to breathe, and something better 
 to look at in beautiful Naples than fine houses. There is 
 an hotel not far off, at Santa Lucia, that will suit you ex- 
 actly; not so fashionable, to be sure," adds our Doctor, 
 slyly, "as Toledo or Chiaja, but less noisy, and that is no 
 slight advantage. I know the master of the hotel which I 
 am recommending to you. He is a most obliging and re- 
 spectable person." Lucy was ready to make the change. 
 *'Come and judge for yourself," says the Doctor; and away 
 they went. The lady was delighted with the situation, com- 
 manding, as it did, a view of the Bay and Mount Vesuvius, 
 and went into raptures about a wide- projecting marble 
 balcony into which the rooms opened. "We shall fancy 
 we are at Bordighera again," she said, flushing and looking 
 at Antonio. "To be sure," he answered. "Suppose we 
 go, while your people are bringing your things here, and 
 lay in a stock of plants and flowers to make something of a 
 
336 DOCTOR ANTONIO. 
 
 garden for you?" And when the carriage was so stuffed 
 with roses, magnohas, and dwarf orange-trees, that our hero 
 and heroine did not know where to find a place for their 
 feet, the dilemma made Lucy laugh as she had not laughed 
 for many a day. Antonio, just as mindful as ever about her, 
 proposed going to buy paper, pencils, and colours — she 
 would soon long to be sketching from her window. "And 
 a piano?" asked he, as they drove past a shop where there 
 were some. "Ah! to be sure," was the ready answer. 
 "You must teach me more Sicilian songs." The piano and 
 the drawing materials ordered, they went back to the new 
 hotel. 
 
 Plenty of work now for the busy Doctor.— The plants 
 and flowers to dispose of to their best advantage in the 
 balcony, — the paint-box and pencils to arrange, so that she 
 may find everything she wants under her hand,— the best 
 light and spot to choose for the easel,— the best place for 
 the piano, just coming in,— all of which things he did with 
 that quietness, method, and taste, which made Lucy think of 
 her arrival at the Osteria. And as she now sat at the piano, 
 following his every movement with her eyes, and letting 
 her fingers strike the keys, how busy the while her thoughts 
 with old days, — how vividly memory was painting that first 
 evening, when he put up the curtains and pasted the paper, 
 to her father's horror, over the crevice in the door. How 
 full of gratitude to overflowing her heart! Was it the mys- 
 terious power of association that taught the listless fingers 
 to find the notes of that Sicilian air he had first sung to her, 
 and which, from her wedding-day, she had never played? 
 
 The days of Bordighera are come back again. The 
 same flowers, the same sky, the same wondrous nature, 
 even to the sweet scents in the air, — all that she had admired 
 and enjoyed there, were hers once more. Better, too, and 
 dearer, was the return to that wholesome alternation of oc- 
 cupation and repose, to the same sweet converse, the same 
 quiet evenings on the balcony; but best and dearest of all, 
 was that same vigilant, unremitting care, she felt as much 
 
THE 15TH OF MAY 1848. 337 
 
 hers now as then, the proof, if she wanted any, that An- 
 tonio, like her, cherished the past. It seemed as though 
 her youthful bloom and gentle gaiety would blossom anew. 
 Happiness was a better physician than even Doctor Antonio. 
 The events of the past eight years faded from Lucy's me- 
 mory as if they had not been. She could almost have 
 fancied she had fallen asleep on that dreary day when she 
 left Bordighera, to wake again at Naples, after a long, pain- 
 ful dream, and find nothing changed about her. 
 
 Antonio prescribed nothing for his patient, but he 
 arranged her hfe for her hour by hour; so much for walk- 
 ing, driving, reading, drawing, and music — very little piano- 
 forte playing, however, for it fatigued and heated her, — 
 fresh air, short walks, beside the daily drive into the country, 
 no theatres, no crowded places, no heated rooms, and if to 
 Court she must go, let it be as seldom as possible. And yet, 
 with all these restraints and prohibitions time did not hang 
 heavy on Lucy's hands, nor did she ever complain of the 
 monotony of her life; on the contrary, all her letters to her 
 father had this burden, that she was happy and comfortable, 
 and Doctor Antonio the kindest and cleverest of doctors, 
 and that Sir John was not to fret at not being able to join 
 her so soon as they could both have wished. 
 
 Antonio, just as he used to do invariably, came to see 
 Lucy twice in the day, once in the morning — the physician's 
 visit, as she laughingly called it, and the other in the even- 
 ing—the friend's visit. His thoughts seemed continually 
 occupied about her, and his anxiety to comfort and amuse 
 her was unceasing. He brought her views, engravings, his 
 own sketches of the beautiful environs which they were to 
 visit together some day, new books, both Italian and Eng- 
 lish, the novels most in vogue, and the pamphlets on the 
 interesting topics of the day. Of subjects to arouse the 
 curiosity and fix the attention of one so interested in Italy 
 as Lucy, there was certainly no lack at that time. The late in- 
 surrection of Milan and Venice, the entry of the Piedmontese 
 army into Lombardy, the chances of the war, the internal 
 
 Doctor Antonio. 22 
 
338 DOCTOR ANTONIO. 
 
 State of the country and of the different parties, Pius the 
 Ninth, Carlo Alberto, and the other leading men of the day, 
 the Court of Naples, the King, and his Ministers, all and 
 each, in turn, afforded scope for Antonio's quick observation, 
 ingenious views, and graphic powers. Lucy had long ago 
 learned to value his even flow of spirits, his earnest feeling, 
 that happy combination of reason, sensibility, and humour, 
 which made his conversation so original, his society so 
 cheering; but now he was laying bare to her all the treasures 
 of his heart, initiating her into all the mysteries of this ardent 
 soul, making her the depositary of his hopes, fears, and dis- 
 appointments. 
 
 He told her how, at the very moment he had fancied all 
 difficulties to the attainment of the object of his self-imposed 
 mission removed, a split took place in the Cabinet, and the 
 identical person on whom he depended left office; and the 
 ground Antonio beheved gained had to be re-conquered. 
 Discouraged, but persevering still, he had renewed his 
 efforts, when the news arrived that the SiciHan Parliament 
 had deposed the King and set aside all of his race. Antonio 
 would then have returned to his countrj', to share her fate, 
 had not the King himself urged him to remain; his Majesty 
 professing, in spite of all that was actually taking place, the 
 most liberal and conciliatory intentions towards the Sicilians. 
 He would send them, some day, such terms as they them- 
 selves would be astonished at, and Antonio should be the 
 bearer. But that day had never come. "I believe he wants 
 to bribe me," remarked Antonio, "for he has more than 
 once hinted at his wish of having a physician of my merit 
 permanently attached to his person. However, he cannot 
 throw dust in my eyes. There is something crooked about 
 him, — a squint in his looks and dealings; he has a sleepy 
 way of his own, with an occasional twinkle in his eye, that 
 always reminds me of a cat lying in wait for a mouse. I am 
 greatly mistaken if this man does not have all of us hanged 
 one of these days." 
 
 Lucy would not listen to such predictions, and shut the 
 
THE 15TH OF MAY 1 848. 339 
 
 Doctor's mouth very effectually, by laying her hand on his 
 lips ; she was ashamed to see how he gave way to such pre- 
 judices. "Well, well," he would smilingly answer; for more 
 than once did Antonio recur to the subject, — vedremo. If 
 free in his remarks upon the King, Antonio never spared his 
 own party, whenever he saw cause for blame. The Liberals 
 of Naples he sometimes likened to the dog in the fable, who 
 lost the meat by running after its shadow. "For instance," 
 said he, "the Constitution is not come into action, and they 
 are already loud in requiring its enlargement; a Parliament 
 has no existence as yet but on paper, and they are in full cry 
 against the House of Peers. They call on the King to send 
 an army into Lombardy to co-operate with the Piedmontese, 
 and they hint in all their papers that he is at heart an 
 Austrian. Who doubts that he is so? but where is the use 
 of saying it? Is the upbraiding him with being an Austrian 
 likely to make him an Italian patriot?" 
 
 It was to this very point, that of inducing Ferdinand to 
 take an active part in the war of Independence, that the new 
 Ministry directed all their efforts. It was in the hope of con- 
 tributing also in some measure to this desirable result, that 
 Antonio still remained in Naples. Besides the furthering 
 the cause of Italian independence, so dear to the Doctor's 
 heart, another and not less precious advantage would be 
 obtained by the step,— that of rendering for the present 
 hostilities impossible between Naples and Sicily. Time, 
 that great peace-maker, would heal many wounds, soften 
 many excited feelings, and pave the way to some future 
 honourable compromise. The reluctance of the King to part 
 with even a minimum of the army was extreme. Nevertheless 
 the feeling on the subject was so strong in the capital, the 
 Ministers so earnestly averred the impossibility of carrying 
 on any government without some gratification of this feel- 
 ing, that the King submitted at length to the measure. A 
 corps of troops, fourteen thousand strong, was sent off to 
 the seat of war, and a part of the fleet ordered to the Adriatic, 
 to act in concert with the Sardinian and Venetian naval forces, 
 
 22* 
 
340 DOCTOR ANTONIO. 
 
 There was nothing after this to detain Antonio at Naples, 
 nothing but the sweet spell he was under, unless we add, — 
 Destiny. The meeting of the Neapohtan Parliament was at 
 hand. Might he not as well stay to be present at its open- 
 ing, and judge for himself of its prevailing spirit, and of 
 what it portended for the future? And he stayed. 
 
 The legislative bodies were to assemble on the 15th May: 
 previous to that the Cabinet published a programme of the 
 ceremony which was to take place on that day. One of the 
 articles of this programme said that the Deputies were to 
 swear allegiance to the King and Constitution; but there 
 was no mention of a clause inserted in the Manifesto of the 
 3d April, — the declaration of the political principles of the 
 Cabinet of that date, — which conferred on the Electoral 
 Chamber the right of modifying and enlarging the Con- 
 stitution. This omission appeared fraught with danger to 
 many of the Deputies, who assembled in the town-hall of 
 Monte Oliveto, there to deliberate on the matter. We regret 
 to have to note so flagrant an illegality, so gross a usurpation 
 of power. The Chamber of Deputies not being yet legally 
 constituted, the members had no right to assume the cha- 
 racter or authority of a deliberative assembly. Well, the 
 Deputies then met; the oath, as inserted in the official pro- 
 gramme, was rejected, and negotiations were set on foot 
 with the ministry for the purpose of finding a formula satis- 
 factory to both parties. Deputations kept going up and 
 down from the Chamber to the Ministry, from the Ministry 
 to the Chamber. This happened on the 14th of May. The 
 news of this conflict spread like wildfire over the city, and 
 created a good deal of excitement. Suspicion and alarm 
 were predominant in people's minds. Some attempts at an 
 open outbreak had even to be lamented. These ominous 
 signs made both parties sensible of the urgency of a con- 
 ciliation, and after many a negotiation and effort, an agree- 
 ment was entered into that Parliament should be opened 
 without any oath being asked or taken. 
 
 It was with a heavy step and downcast heart, that, early 
 
THE 15TH OF MAY 1848. 34I 
 
 in the morning of the following day, the 15th of May, Antonio 
 bent his way to Lucy's lodgings. Lucy had expressly wished 
 him to call betimes, and report to her about the state of 
 affairs. She knew nothing of the happy settling of the dif- 
 ficulties, it having only taken place far in the night. The 
 streets through which our Doctor had to pass were crowded 
 to an extent very unusual at that early hour, and the looks 
 and bearing of the crowd were anything but agreeable. 
 Knots of persons were forming here and there,— an infallible 
 symptom of impending trouble, — and the Doctor noticed in- 
 dividuals passing from group to group, and addressing them 
 in whispers. It was clear that agitators (instigated by whom?) 
 were busily at work. In spite of the sad foreboding which 
 filled his heart, Antonio approached Lucy with his usual 
 serene composure, and, in reply to her eager inquiries, gave 
 her the assurance that any cause for alarm had disappeared, 
 and that all was going on as well as could be wished. 
 
 "And now," said Antonio, smiling, "we will let poHtics 
 alone; I am thoroughly weary of the subject. Let us talk of 
 old times, — of our peaceful, verdant Bordighera. I wish I 
 was there still, I was so happy there." 
 
 "And so was I," replied Lucy, with a deep blush. "I 
 must tell you," she went on, after a little hesitation, "that I 
 have never given up the idea of building myself a pretty 
 cottage in one of its quiet nooks, and going to live there. 
 The woman can now reahze the whim of the girl. What do 
 you say to the plan?" 
 
 "A very good idea," said Antonio; "but are you sure 
 that you will not get tired of a life of retirement; that you 
 will not some day regret your fine acquaintances, the ad- 
 vantages of rank and wealth, the attractions of London, the 
 Court-" 
 
 "I don't care for rank and Court," interrupted Lucy, "so 
 long as papa and — you are with me." Antonio began stroking 
 an imaginary beard, and then suddenly got up and took some 
 strides up and down the room. 
 
 "We will speak of this presently," said he, returning and 
 
342 DOCTOR ANTONIO. 
 
 calmly resuming his seat by her side. "Do you remember 
 this day eight years ago?" 
 
 "Do I not? I recollect it as if it were only yesterday. I 
 could even draw you at that moment, when you said to me, 
 *Now, Miss Davenne, suppose you were to try and walk;' " 
 and she tried to imitate his way of speaking. "The very 
 tone of your voice still rings in my ears." 
 
 "Dear noble friend!" exclaimed Antonio; "never — no 
 never was the least show of kindness on my part lost on you. 
 I confess I was dreadfully afraid at that moment, and then 
 in proportion happy." 
 
 "Yes, afraid of my being lame," said Lucy, "and happy 
 that I was not so." Antonio looked at her with surprise. 
 
 "Now, say it was not so, if you dare," insisted Lucy, 
 playfully. 
 
 "I am not going to deny it, indeed, — so far I must render 
 justice to your penetration." 
 
 "Young ladies," pursued Lucy, in the same sportive tone, 
 "are not always either so blind or so silly as they choose to 
 appear. I never was taken in with * nothing but a sprained 
 ankle;' papa was, but not his daughter. I knew from the 
 first that my leg was broken." 
 
 Antonio opened his eyes as wide as they would open. 
 
 "What depths of dissimulation I discover in you," he said 
 at last, laughing. "It seems now you took me in. You 
 positively knew your leg was broken, and said nothing about 
 it, even to me." 
 
 "No," returned Lucy; "I was resolved you should have 
 the full benefit of your kind deception. I allowed you to 
 cheat me as much as you pleased." 
 
 Antonio answered nothing, but took the small white hand 
 that was hanging over the arm of her chair, took it in his, 
 and slowly and deliberately raised it to his lips. 
 
 The sharp, distinct report of a volley of musketry, rent 
 the still air, and made every window and door rattle. 
 
 Antonio was on his feet in a moment, as pale as if every 
 one of the bullets fired had gone through his heart. 
 
THE 15TH OF MAY 1 848. 343 
 
 "What can that be?" asked Lucy, in mortal alarm. 
 
 "Nothing of consequence," said Antonio, with a mighty 
 effort to look unconcerned. "Probably only some Govern- 
 ment powder expended in saluting the opening of Parhament. 
 By the by, I must not be too late." 
 
 As he took his hat, another discharge was heard, almost 
 instantly followed by a brisk running fire. 
 
 "There is fighting going on, I am sure of it," cried Lucy, 
 terrified, and shaking all over. "Do not go, for mercy's 
 sake! What is the use of your going? What can one man 
 do, and alone?" 
 
 "Satisfy his own conscience that he has done all in his 
 power to prevent civil war," replied Antonio, with tranquil 
 determination. "Let me go, I beseech you." 
 
 "You shall not," cried Lucy, now quite beside herself 
 with terror, and interposing her slight form between him 
 and the door. Antonio looked at her. 
 
 "I ?nust go," he said. It was as if Fate had spoken. Lucy 
 felt at once unequal to struggle with that iron will. She 
 joined her hands like a child about to pray, looked up in his 
 face, and said, "O Antonio!" There v/as a world of things 
 in this simple appeal. 
 
 The Itahan drew her to him, pressed her closely to his 
 bosom. "Lucy," said he, solemnly, "this is no moment for 
 many words." (The firing never slackened while he spoke.) 
 *'Lucy, I love you — I have loved you dearly all these long 
 eight years — I shall love you to my grave. But my country 
 has claims on me prior to yours. These claims I vowed 
 more solemnly than ever to respect on that day, when pre- 
 judice, armed with a pedigree, stood between you and me. 
 On that day, I pledged myself anew to my country. Let me 
 redeem that pledge— let me do my duty— help me to do it, 
 Lucy! Lucy, my noble friend, help me to be worthy of you 
 and myself. In the name of all that is holy, let me depart 
 without a painful struggle!" 
 
 The heroic spirit that dictated his self-immolation, in the 
 sweetest moment of his life, shone out in his face and thrilled 
 
^^4 ' DOCTOR ANTONIO. 
 
 in his voice. He stood transfigured to more than man in 
 Lucy's eyes. Her more feeble nature raised itself, in this 
 supreme instant, to a height at which every sacrifice of self 
 is possible. 
 
 "Noble heart!" she said, with a burst of enthusiasm, 
 "Go! and God be with you and preserve you. I will try to 
 be worthy of you;" and she loosened her hold of him. 
 
 "And God bless you for these words!" cried Antonio, 
 almost unmanned, clasping her hands and holding them to 
 his heart. " God bless you ! — your love shall be my buckler ! " 
 So saying he laid her on a sofa, and whispered, "You shall 
 soon see me again, or hear from me." He stood for a 
 second to look on the now dejected prostrate form before 
 him, passed his hand over his eyes, and went without an- 
 other word. 
 
 In the ante-room he found Miss Hutchins in her usual 
 place. He asked her for some ink and paper, and wrote a 
 few lines, which he handed to her. "Go now at once to 
 your lady," he said; "she is not well. Should she feel worse, 
 send for the physician whose name and address I have just 
 given you." 
 
 "Are you going away, sir?" asked Hutchins, in right of 
 her calling, at once understanding the reason of her lady- 
 ship's illness. 
 
 "No, not going away exactly; but I may be prevented 
 from coming here for some time. See after Lady Cleverton. 
 Good-bye, Hutchins;" and Antonio held out his hand to the 
 faithful waiting-woman. Hutchins' face began to twitch 
 nervously, but, in obedience to his orders, she went to her 
 mistress. Then Antonio, seating himself at the little work- 
 table, hastily wrote a short letter, sealed and addressed it, 
 and, without venturing a glance at the closed door, he put 
 on his hat, and was gone. 
 
 During this time, hundreds of people, in a state of dis- 
 traction, were running through the streets, detachments of 
 soldiers were marching in every direction, the city was 
 covered, as if by magic, with barricades, fighting was going 
 
THE 15TH OF MAY 1 848. 345 
 
 on at many of them, in short, civil war, with all its horrors, 
 was raging in beautiful Naples. Whose sacrilegious hand 
 had kindled the torch of discord ? Which side had fired the 
 first shot? The Republican, obstinately bent on destroying 
 the monarchy, as afterwards affirmed by the Court party? or 
 the Court party, which, as pleaded by the Liberals, had in 
 cold blood laid the train, trusting to a chance spark igniting 
 it, and scattering to the four winds of heaven the liberties 
 just snatched from despotism's iron grasp? No one knew 
 then, and to this day it remains a secret. 
 
 Contemporaneous events are scarcely ever traceable to 
 their sources, obscured as they are by contemporaneous 
 passions. That the Republicans should deliberately have 
 challenged the Government seems scarcely credible in the 
 teeth of a fact, allowed by all impartial writers, and avouched 
 for by eye-witnesses, viz., the insignificance of the Republican 
 party, if, indeed, any such were to be found in Naples in 1848. 
 The cry of "Republic" never passed the lips of the com- 
 batants, and no acknowledged Republican character ever 
 figured among the many prisoners afterwards brought to 
 trial on political charges. If the adage, "he did who gained 
 by it," proved always true, it would go far to back the ac- 
 cusation against the executive power, that of having courted 
 a collision of which it took such advantage and made such 
 profit. But it is not our intention to urge any conjectural 
 evidence, and we will give the executive the full benefit of 
 the absence of direct, substantial, irrefutable proof. We 
 would fain be just even to King Ferdinand the Second of 
 Naples. There were reasons enough for the catastrophe of 
 the 15th May without its being necessary to assume that it 
 was prepared or premeditated on either side. 
 
 A political paper of the day styled it, as justly as com- 
 prehensively, the loss of equilibrium between two fears, {lo 
 squilibrio di due paure,) and this was literally the case. Ever 
 since the 29th January the supporters of divine right and the 
 partisans of constitutional freedom had eyed each other with 
 undisguised feelings of hatred and distrust. The people had 
 
346 DOCTOR ANTONIO. 
 
 not forgotten that shots and thrusts of the bayonet had more 
 than once answered their cries of ^^Viva Pio Nono! Vica la 
 RiformaV The King had as little forgotten that the Con- 
 stitution had been wrested from him by force; he, for ever 
 on the qui vive for his menaced prerogatives, they equally on 
 the alert for their liberties in jeopardy. The ill-timed 
 encyclical letter of the 29th April, the fatal act by which 
 Pius the Ninth inaugurated his secession from the national 
 movement, was a powerful wedge in widening the breach. 
 The one party hailed it with elation and revived hope, the 
 other openly manifested their resentment at the letter itself, 
 and at the hopes it encouraged. Things were at this pass 
 when there occurred the unlucky misunderstanding between 
 the Executive and the Deputies as to the form of oath. 
 Here, then, we have the spark that fell on the combustible 
 materials so long gathering. The attitude taken by the 
 Deputies seemed to the Executive the harbinger of revolu- 
 tions; the demeanour of the Executive appeared to the 
 Deputies to denote an impending coup d'etat. Without 
 taking into account the lawless passions, always abounding 
 in large communities, and which float on the surface in times 
 "that are out of joint," there was no lack of ardent spirits 
 on either side to fan the smouldering fire into a blaze. The 
 conflagration spread far and wide, until the whole city was 
 one flame. 
 
 "What is the matter?" asked Antonio, when he reached 
 the street, of a priest who was hurrying past. 
 
 "The King is arrested, — the Heir-apparent shut up in a 
 convent,— the Chamber of Deputies has declared itself in 
 permanence." 
 
 A young man now came rushing along with frantic gesti- 
 culations. Antonio stopped him also with the same query. 
 
 "All the Deputies assembled have been massacred, — 
 those on their way to the House are being hunted down like 
 wild beasts,— martial law is proclaimed. Oh! that I could 
 but find a musket!" cried the maddened youth. 
 
 Our Doctor believed neither statement, but dreaded the 
 
THE KTH OF MAY 1848. 347 
 
 worst from both. He crossed the Piazza Reale, where he 
 found an imposing force of infantry, cavalry, and artillery, 
 drawn up in front of the palace, and hastened on in the 
 direction of the firing; but he had not gone a hundred steps 
 in Via Toledo when his progress was impeded by a barri- 
 cade, which was erecting. He did not stop to ask questions, 
 but forced his way over the obstruction, and ran as fast as 
 he could to another barricade that he had descried from a 
 distance, and from whence came the continuous sound of 
 firing. The majority of its defendants evidently belonged 
 to the educated class; they were mostly very young men, 
 many scarcely beyond boyhood, and altogether not more 
 than forty in number. The assailants, owing to the height 
 of the barricade, could not be seen from where Antonio 
 stood, but the well-kept up regular fire shewed that it pro- 
 ceeded from a disciplined body of considerable strength. 
 
 Antonio hesitated for one second as to the possibility of 
 any words of his being listened to, but seeing the utter hope- 
 lessness, under the circumstances, of any attempt at con- 
 ciliation, he looked around in search of a musket. The sight 
 of a man lying at his feet, seriously wounded, instantaneously 
 changed the current of his thoughts. There were other and 
 more sacred duties for him to perform than killing or being 
 killed. He knelt down by the side of what was a mere lad, 
 drew out his case of instruments, and set about examining 
 and dressing the wound. Another and another of the com- 
 batants rolled on the ground, some past all earthly help. 
 Antonio was now in his element. He stripped off his coat, 
 tore it into bandages, and, entirely absorbed by his attend- 
 ance on the wounded and dying, forgot there were such 
 things as bullets hailing round him. A loud shout from the 
 defenders of the barricade caused him to look up at last; 
 there they stood facing him, waving their hands and 
 gesticulating. He turned his head to see what they were 
 pointing at. A thrust from a bayonet sent him over welter" 
 ing in his blood. 
 
348 DOCTOR ANTONIO. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 Tidings. 
 
 Lucy's distraction during the fatal affray, the sickening 
 alternations of hope and despair through which she had to 
 pass during each day of the seemingly endless week that 
 followed the catastrophe,— the gradual sinking of her heart 
 at failure after failure of every fresh attempt to ascertain 
 Antonio's fate,— all this we must leave to the reader's 
 imagination. To describe such a state would be a too heart- 
 rending task, and one to no purpose. Who can paint to the 
 life agonies of suspense and terror such as hers? Words — 
 any words must fall short of the sad reality. While there 
 was anything to do,— while there were fresh channels of in- 
 formation to be sought after, — while there was any call for 
 exertion, Lucy's body and spirit kept up wonderfully. But 
 when all sources within her reach were dried up, — when 
 every inquiry, and every possible research, had been made, 
 — when nothing remained for her but to cross her hands 
 over her bosom and say to herself, "Antonio is dead, else 
 had I seen or heard of him ," — then the fragile frame and 
 enthusiastic spirit aUke gave way. Even in this crisis, the 
 lost Antonio's care and love were around Lucy's sick-bed. 
 Hutchins, left to her own responsibility, at once sent for the 
 physician whose address Antonio had left with her, and 
 whose assiduity and skill proved him worthy of Antonio's 
 confidence. 
 
 For ten whole days Lucy's life and reason hung on a 
 thread. Then there came an almost imperceptible amehora- 
 tion, and with it some intervals of consciousness, during 
 which Lucy fancied she saw a form moving noiselessly about 
 the room strangely resembling Speranza. Of course it was 
 not she. How could it be Speranza? It must be fancy. Lucy 
 had seen so many strange things and persons during these 
 last days. Still this vision did not leave her as the others 
 had done— it haunted her with a pertinacity that made her 
 
TIDINGS. 349 
 
 heart beat very fast. She said nothing, but watched it with 
 evident pleasure. She came to see it without any wonder- 
 ing. Perhaps she imagined she was still at the Osteria with 
 her father, or at the Post-house at Mentone. The occasional 
 faint murmur of names on the pale lips, indicated some 
 delusion of the kind. Poor Lucy! her head was so confused 
 and her sight so dim. 
 
 Late one night she awoke after some hours of refreshing 
 sleep, with her ideas unusually clear, and, meeting two large 
 black eyes watching her fondly, as in days of yore, she sud- 
 denly asked in a whisper, — "Is that you, Speranza?" 
 
 " God bless you, my dear, dear mistress, it is your own 
 Speranza," and down went the loving creature on her knees, 
 pressing her lips on the emaciated hand held out to her; 
 *'here I am, and here I stay, never again to leave you. But 
 you must not talk, not even one word more," and, arranging 
 the pillows, the kind creature gently turned the pale face 
 away from herself. Lucy silently complied with the in- 
 junction; she did not want any explanation; she was soothed 
 and calmed by having her humble Italian friend by her 
 side. Oh, glorious power of affection, blessing and blessed! 
 
 But by what mysterious agency had Speranza come to 
 be by Lucy's sick-bed just when she was most needed? By 
 a most simple and natural one. Speranza was the last 
 legacy of kindness Antonio had it in his power to leave 
 Lucy. So thoroughly did he understand her, that he in- 
 stinctively knew what would best comfort her should any 
 evil befall him. In such an event, would it not be Lucy's 
 consolation to have some one to whom she could talk of 
 him, and be sure of sympathy? So he wrote those hasty 
 lines to Battista's wife, in which he told her, that unless she 
 heard from him again within the course of a week after 
 receiving his letter, she was to embark immediately for 
 Naples, and go to the hotel he named in his date, where 
 she would find Lady Cleverton. Speranza acted up literally 
 to the instructions received, and reached Naples just in 
 time to take her place, as a tender and affectionate 
 
350 DOCTOR ANTONIO. 
 
 nurse, by the bedside of her unconscious mistress. Those 
 who sow in kindness reap also in kindness. 
 
 Lucy's convalescence was long and difficult. It was full 
 three weeks before she could sit up in bed, and a month 
 more went by ere she was able to rise for an hour; and 
 double that time was required to gain strength enough to 
 bear a drive in the open air. The first going out had almost 
 produced a relapse, — the sight of the streets, of the military, 
 of smiling women leaning on the arms of friends or hus- 
 bands, while she felt so desolate and bereaved, — was a trial 
 very hard to bear. Many remarked that ghastly face peer- 
 ing so eagerly into every passing coach. What foolish hope 
 could hers be? Now, indeed, it became evident how well 
 Antonio had done in summoning Speranza to Naples. Who 
 else could have understood or soothed Lucy at this time? 
 Starting out of long fits of silence, Lucy would sometimes 
 talk by the hour of Antonio. Speranza knew, if no one else 
 did, how good, how kind, how noble he had been. Speranza 
 could understand what a friend Lucy had lost. Struggle 
 against her grief! Why should she? Where should she 
 ever find his like again? Who had ever been to her what 
 he had been? She had a right, and ought to mourn for 
 him. Had he not saved her life? Had he not thought of 
 her and her comfort to the last? At other times she would 
 go back to her accident, and begin relating all that passed 
 at the Osteria, at Lampedusa, at Taggia, laughing as she 
 talked — a laugh more painful than weeping — and seeming 
 to have quite forgotten the awful 15th of May, until some 
 chance word silenced her, and made the large tears spring 
 from her eyes. They were not like common tears, swell- 
 ing and overflowing; Lucy's really started from out of the 
 eyelid. 
 
 Lucy always spoke of Antonio as of one who was no 
 more, — occasionally alluding, but faintly and vaguely, as if 
 she could not articulate the necessary words, to finding 
 where he had been buried. But Speranza would in no way 
 agree to considering Antonio's death as certain. No Doctor 
 
TIDINGS. 35 1 
 
 of Laws could have argued the case more dexterously than 
 this uneducated woman. Her tact, her acuteness, were 
 admirable in themselves , but they were adorable when one 
 knew that all this intelligence was the offspring of a grate- 
 ful heart. 
 
 Taking the worst for granted, would Speranza say, and 
 that Doctor Antonio had not made his escape, as such a 
 clever man would be sure to do, why was he not as likely to 
 be a prisoner as dead? Had not "her cara^ cava padrona^^ 
 read in the newspaper that hundreds of persons had been 
 arrested on and after that dreadful 15th May; and where 
 was the wonder if, among such numbers of persons, the 
 name of one should not yet have been found? It was all 
 for the best; for, if he was not mentioned, the greater the 
 chance of his getting out of prison without being tried. 
 Som.e day or other "the padrona" would see that Speranza 
 was right. Doctor Antonio was not the sort of man to be 
 lost in that ridiculous way. The Signora knew very well 
 that he was one of the King's friends^ and some day the 
 King would ask what had become of him, and then all the 
 prisons would be searched, and he would be found. 
 
 "If he were alive, he would have contrived some way of 
 letting me know,'' persisted Lucy. 
 
 "But, Signora, how can he find messengers if he is in 
 prison, with chains on his hands and feet? But give him 
 time," concluded Speranza, with a most competent air; 
 *'and oh, cara, cara Signora Padrona, don't you believe that 
 the Holy Virgin will take care of such a good, good man? 
 We must have faith." And Speranza's hint was taken by 
 Lucy. She prayed, poor soul, and tried hard to bear up. 
 
 Misery acquaints a man with strange bed-fellows. It 
 does more; — it often acquaints him with unexpected friends. 
 
 Lady Cleverton had bethought her, that, through Mr. X , 
 
 the young attache, she had some slight chance of getting at 
 information as to any newly-made political prisoners, or 
 some return of the killed, — and with small expectation of 
 any good result,— for she looked with unfavourable eyes on 
 
352 DOCTOR ANTONIO. 
 
 her soi-disant cousin, she sent for him on the morning of the 
 
 17th of May. Mr. X was shocked at the havoc in her 
 
 appearance; and the kindly tone of his voice in addressing 
 her, led her, instead of making a ceremonious request, to 
 rush into confidence. She told him of the obligations she 
 was under personally to Doctor Antonio, — of how much Sir 
 John also esteemed him. She drew a beautiful little picture 
 of his life as parish doctor of Bordighera, and of how she 
 had met him again at Court, with the King leaning on his 
 arm. She related, with simple pathos, how he had left her 
 on the 15th, not in the fury of party spirit, but to risk his 
 life in striving to prevent brother slaying brother, and, 
 without knowing it, betrayed that she thought this Italian 
 the best, and wisest, and noblest of men. She had requested 
 
 Mr. X to come to her, that she might ask his assistance 
 
 in tracing out Antonio's fate. She had no other friend in 
 Naples on whom to rely. — Would he help her? 
 
 It is a fact honourable to human nature, that this appeal 
 sufficed to make the foppish young man espouse Doctor 
 Antonio's cause as warmly as though it had been that of 
 his own brother; and that he proved to our heroine, through- 
 out this sad period of her history, the most disinterested, 
 discreet, and serviceable of friends. There was in the 
 young gentleman's heart, amidst much conventional alloy 
 surrounding it, a golden mine, which only needed a chance 
 
 touch to give to view its rich ore. Mr. X had worked 
 
 hard, but vainly, to get some clue to Antonio's fate. He 
 had used every official, and extra official means, which his 
 position afforded him, or the kind hints of his chief pointed 
 out. He had forced all his high and low Neapohtan 
 acquaintances to contribute, knowingly or unknowingly, to 
 his purpose ; he had made friends with army officers, poHce 
 officers, employes of every station and colour, — and one and 
 all with a cleverness, perseverance, and prudence, that was 
 never once at fault. He had also, during Lucy's long ill- 
 ness, kept up an almost daily correspondence with Sir 
 John with much diplomatic skill, in order to tranquilhze the 
 
TIDINGS. 353 
 
 old man, whose journey to Naples was, by his Doctor's 
 orders, indefinitely postponed. 
 
 Late events had much conquered the young gentleman's 
 antipathy for those he had once sneeringly called the 
 ^^Avvocaii" and, more wonderful still, transferred a great 
 portion of it to the party which had formerly engrossed the 
 whole of his sympathy. As chance would have it, the out- 
 break of the 15th May had caught and forcibly detained 
 
 Mr. X at a house close to the barricade of St. Ferdinand, 
 
 the spot at which the most desperate struggle of the day 
 had occurred. Here he had witnessed the savage acts com- 
 mitted by the soldiery; he had seen men who had laid 
 down their arms, and were crying for quarter, shot by the 
 score— he had seen fathers, mothers, wives, and children, 
 on their knees, pitilessly butchered — he had seen brutal 
 cruelty that made his hair stand on end. All of generous 
 and manly in his nature rose up in arms at the spectacle, 
 and nothing but the certainty that such execrable conduct 
 would meet with exemplary punishment kept his indigna- 
 tion within bounds. But when he saw, by the official 
 Gazette, the perpetrators of these horrors praised and re- 
 warded, when he had it from unimpeachable authority, that 
 the King in person, from the lobby of the Royal Palace, had 
 never ceased, by word and gesture, to instigate the troops 
 to the slaughter, urging the artillery below, whom humane 
 and excellent officers were seeking to restrain, to use their 
 field-pieces — when he heard and saw all this, his whole soul 
 revolted from the party who had so lately monopolized his 
 partiality. A cause thus defended was not the cause he had 
 upheld. 
 
 Six months had elapsed, and poor Speranza was at her 
 wit's end how to inspire with new hopes (hopes, alas ! that 
 she no longer felt herself) her unhappy mistress, whose 
 gloom deepened more and more, when a few lines in an 
 unknown hand suddenly changed this gloom into unspeak- 
 able joy. A letter had been left at Lady Cleverton's door, 
 the contents of which were as follows;— "Your friend is 
 
 Doctor Antonio, 23 
 
354 DOCTOR ANTONIO. 
 
 alive, but a prisoner. If you have any person, of whose 
 fidelity you are sure— mind I say sure— send him to me for 
 further particulars. He will find me, the day after to- 
 morrow, at dusk, at the entrance from Rome by the barrier 
 Capo di Chino. Let him hold a white handkerchief in his 
 hand. Not even the air you breathe must suspect that there 
 is any communication between you and me. It is only by 
 strictly observing this precaution that you have a chance of 
 being of any use to your friend in the future. My every 
 step and act is watched by the police." 
 
 He was alive !— Oh, God be thanked, he was ahve ! What 
 mattered it that he was a prisoner? — he was alive! She 
 would force open his prison doors— she had interest and 
 influence— she would write to England, — the ministers there 
 would do something for Lord Cleverton's widow— she would 
 so pray and entreat, no one would have the heart to refuse 
 her; her father, too, had powerful friends — he would get 
 the English Government to interfere. Yes, she would find 
 a way to wrench Antonio from the tyrant's grasp. Alas! 
 poor, warm-hearted Lucy! 
 
 Her faithful ally, the attache, went, at her request, to the 
 place of rendezvous, and found an elderly gentleman wait- 
 ing there, who began by telling him what we already know, 
 that a party of soldiers had surprised from behind, and 
 placed between two fires, the barricade where Antonio was 
 attending to the wounded. The gentleman went on to say 
 how the soldiers gave no quarter, and how Antonio, felled 
 by a thrust of the bayonet, owed his life to the presence of 
 mind with which he had counterfeited death. The corpses, 
 and among them the Doctor, had been thrown in a heap 
 into a cart, and then conveyed to a guard-house close by, to 
 be kept there till evening. So infuriated were the soldiery 
 that Antonio had had no choice but to continue his feint of 
 death, and it was only when, late in the night, he was being 
 carried with the dead to the burial-ground, that he had no 
 other alternative but to show some signs of life. Part of 
 the escort were for qualifying him at once for the destina- 
 
TIDINGS. 355 
 
 tion of the other bodies, but there were some more humane 
 present, whose opinion prevailed, and, accordingly, our 
 wounded hero was lodged in the prison of Santa Maria 
 Apparente, which, luckily for him, was on the road of the 
 lugubrious convoy. He was left for a week in the company of 
 common felons, and then transferred to the Castello delP 
 Uovo, and put au secret. While in his first place of confine- 
 ment, Antonio had never ceased moaning and complaining 
 of his wound— fortunately a slight one— begging, for God's 
 sake, that he might have a surgeon to dress it, if only once; 
 but he spoke to the winds. Nor were his piteous appeals 
 to his new jailer in the castle more successful; he might as 
 well, indeed, have addressed the stone walls of his dungeon. 
 One day he asked, in a faltering voice, for a confessor, 
 declaring that he felt as if he were dying, and the turnkey 
 gave him for answer that he was quite at liberty to do so, 
 when and how he pleased, but no confessor should he have. 
 The explanation of all these groans, lamentations, and 
 prayers, was Antonio's all-absorbing thought of how to let 
 Lucy know that he was still alive. He hoped to find in the 
 surgeon or confessor one Christian enough to take a mes- 
 sage to her, apprehension and anxiety for whom swallowed 
 up all fear for self. 
 
 The strict severance from all human intercourse, except 
 that of the jailer, inflicted on the political prisoners, was not 
 merely for the security of their persons, but with the aim 
 and intention, successful in many cases, of impairing their 
 mental faculties, and weakening their powers of resistance. 
 But Antonio's equanimity never failed him; and his wound, 
 with no other medicament than cold water, healed fast. Six 
 weeks after his removal to the castle the prisoner was taken 
 before a Judge Inquisitor for examination. Here, as always, 
 pre-occupied by the recollection of Lucy, he had recourse 
 to the expedient of firmly declining to answer any question 
 unless previously allowed to communicate with a legal ad- 
 viser. Remanded and re-remanded, threatened or cajoled. 
 Still Antonio persisted in his silence. The struggle between 
 
 23' 
 
356 DOCTOR ANTONIO. 
 
 judge and prisoner lasted four full months, but at last 
 Antonio carried his point. A counsel was assigned to him, 
 one and the same with the writer of the anonymous letter to 
 Lady Cleverton, and the person now giving these details to 
 the attache. Antonio had been fortunate, for this lawyer, 
 though timid by nature, and rendered more so by the diffi- 
 culty of the times and the pressure of a large family, was 
 yet an honest, liberal man, and with a sense of his profes- 
 sional duty high enough to postpone to the interest and 
 safety of a client all personal considerations. 
 
 The attache, as it had been agreed upon between him 
 and Lady Cleverton, alluded to a possibility of obtaining 
 foreign diplomatic interference, and hinted also, that no sum 
 of money would be thought too great if an escape could be 
 brought about. "Beware of trying anything of the sort," 
 whispered the barrister, in great alarm. "An attempt at 
 flight would infallibly fail, and only serve to aggravate the 
 situation of your friend, dangerous enough already, I assure 
 you. You would easily find jailers or understrappers of the 
 prison to accept your bribe, who, within half an hour, would 
 have denounced the briber to the police. No such thing, for 
 God's sake! You have no idea of the corruption which 
 prevails in this unhappy country. The noisome, filthy dens 
 that serve for prisons are infected by a set of fiends in human 
 shape, the outscourings of jails, who pride themselves in 
 being spies and traitors. As for diplomatic interference, 
 unless backed by broadsides from your ships, worse than 
 useless, as it would only heighten animosity, by making the 
 prisoner a disputed prey. We have but one safe auxiliary 
 — time. Time will mature events, and these may force a 
 change in the policy of this country. Much depends on the 
 issue of the new campaign said to be at hand between 
 Sardinia and Austria, — much on the attitude of England and 
 France. A considerable period will elapse before the trial 
 of your friend and his co-accused can take place. The 
 Istniziotie, by which I mean the preliminary proceedings on 
 the affair of the 15th of May, is scarcely begun, and bids fair 
 
TIDINGS. 357 
 
 not to be soon terminated. In the meantime we have the 
 chances of Hfe for us; what is uppermost to-day may not be 
 so to-morrow, and something may occur to put an end to all 
 State prosecutions. At all events, by patience we shall 
 gain one point, that passions which, at this moment, are 
 boiling, will be cooled down. My best advice to you and 
 Lady Cleverton, and to all who wish well to Dr. Antonio, is 
 to keep quiet, and to wear a mask of indifference. I hear 
 that many of the English have left off going to the Court 
 since the fatal 15th of May. You must not do the same. Let 
 none suspect your disapprobation of the Government. Go 
 to Court, frequent all official circles, hear the prisoners 
 abused and calumniated without so much as wincing. See 
 and listen to all that is going on. You may thus be able to 
 give me some useful information. This is the only way in 
 which, at present, you can serve your friend. On my part 
 nothing shall be wanting, and I shall let you hear of any 
 circumstance worthy your attention." 
 
 The account brought back by the attache of this interview 
 was a great damp to Lucy's elation. The dictates of prudence 
 - and experience jarred too much with her feverish impatience 
 to have Antonio free, and the man who could preach about 
 time and patience, while a dear friend was in prison under a 
 capital charge, could not but be taxed with lukewarmness. 
 She took the advice, however, about appearing at Court and 
 mixing in society. When thus enabled to judge for herself 
 of the general tone of feeling towards the unhappy prisoners, 
 —when she daily heard men of honour and education reviled 
 as assassins, — when she daily heard it more than hinted that 
 it was high time to have done, once for all, with such canaille, 
 — when the representative of a great power, sounded on the 
 subject, answered, that, having no influence whatever on the 
 resolutions of the Neapohtan Cabinet, he could not make a 
 demand, which, in all probability, would be unheeded, — 
 when Lucy became aware of all this, then, and then alone, 
 she was willing to admit the wisdom of the man who had 
 recommended patience and reliance on the action of time. 
 
358 DOCTOR ANTONIO. 
 
 Not long after there came new tidings to the attache, the 
 essence of which was this :— A paper in Antonio's hand- 
 writing had been seized at the house of a co-accused, — the 
 memorial we saw him write at Palermo, — and in which he 
 had said " that the hour had come for all the honest friends 
 of liberty and independence to unite and form a holy 
 phalanx." The Doctor had been accordingly examined, and, 
 from the tenor of the queries put to him, it seemed but too 
 probable that an accusation would be levelled at him, as 
 being one of the founders of that secret sect whose pre- 
 paratory process was m actual progress. 
 
 The next communication received from Antonio's counsel, 
 and the last which we think necessary to record, was merely 
 to confirm the preceding supposition. Antonio was to be 
 prosecuted as one of the originators of the Secret Society of 
 the Italian Unity. The epoch of the trial would depend 
 much on the turn of political aftairs in Italy and abroad. 
 
 Time went on, and did mature events, — none, alas! 
 calculated to better the prospects of political prisoners any- 
 where. The defeat of the Piedmontese at Novara, the sub- 
 jugation of Sicily, effected by a Neapohtan army, the resto- 
 ration of Pius the Ninth to despotism and the Vatican by 
 French bayonets, the occupation of the Roman Legations 
 and Tuscany by the Austrians, and, lastly, the fall of heroic 
 Venice, are the salient points of the Iliad of evils which the 
 space of a few months had heaped on the unfortunate Penin- 
 sula. Reaction rode rampant everywhere but in Piedmont. 
 That country was, indeed, a bright exception; there the 
 loyalty and good sense of the young sovereign, and the 
 loyalty and good sense of the people, had succeeded in 
 maintaining public liberty and private security. For Naples 
 we have the reverse of the medal. There the hour had 
 come for the Government to reap the harvest of the bloody 
 seed sown on the 15th of May. 
 
v^ vicTis. 359 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 Vac Victis. 
 
 Beautiful Parthenope looks coquettishly at herself in 
 her lovely bay, pure as crystal. The sun pours down on the 
 city luminous torrents, that carry light and heat into the 
 remotest recesses; an unceasing human tide rolls over the 
 sunny quays and lava-paved streets, in hot pursuit of busi- 
 ness, amusement, and pleasure. Everything is bright, 
 everybody smiling, as though Liberty had not been bled to 
 death but yesterday— as though the Constitutional Parha- 
 ment had not been sent to hold its sittings in State prisons, 
 — as though, at that very moment. Procurator- General 
 Angehllo was not asking for two-and-forty heads ! 
 
 Only forty-two to begin with! The rest will come in 
 course of time. The scales of Neapolitan Themis run no 
 danger of becoming rusty for lack of use. No one need be 
 uneasy on that score. The number of the imprisoned, for 
 political offences, in the happy kingdom of the Two Sicihes, 
 in this year of grace 1850, is said, on good authority,* to be 
 somewhere between fifteen and thirty thousand. Assuming 
 the lowest number as the one nearest to probability,— as- 
 suming, that out of these fifteen thousand, two-thirds will be 
 disposed of in a summary paternal way, (economico, they 
 style it most elegantly,) — that is, without any form of trial 
 whatever, there remains a balance of five thousand human 
 beings amenable to justice;— enough, it must be allowed, 
 to afford occupation and sport to all the High Courts and 
 lower Courts of the kingdom, and to the habitual frequenters 
 of all those Courts, for some years to come. There are, 
 among others, from four to five hundred individuals im- 
 prisoned for the affair of the 15th of May alone, which pro- 
 mises a monster batch. 
 
 The one with which we have at present to do i^ more re- 
 markable for the great variety of the social elements of which 
 
 * Gladstone. Two Letters , &c. 
 
360 DOCTOR ANTONIO. 
 
 it is composed, than for its number. All stations, from the 
 loftiest to the humblest calling, have contributed their con- 
 tingent to the formation of this group. We count among the 
 accused an ex-Secretary for the Home Department, an ex- 
 Magistrate, an ex-Chief of Division in the Ministry of Public 
 Instruction, — all three of them Deputies; two former Cap- 
 tains in the army, the representative of a ducal family, two 
 private gentlemen of education and fortune, one of whom has 
 dechned a diplomatic post; several barristers and physicians, 
 four priests, an arch-priest, and sundry small tradesmen, 
 shopkeepers, and artisans; a former gendarme, a porter, 
 and a domestic servant. They all stand charged with be- 
 longing to an anarchical secret society, some of them sub- 
 sidiarily with having fought at the barricades in May 1848, — 
 an excellent precaution for detaining them for another trial, 
 in case of their being acquitted in this one. A particular 
 charge is brought against a few of having attempted to de- 
 stroy the existing Ministers, and other persons, by means of 
 terrible explosive agents, — a single bottle, which has ex- 
 ploded in the breast-pocket of one of the accused, without 
 injury to himself or any one else. A blacker set of villains 
 never disgraced the dock of a Court, if we are to believe Pro- 
 curator Angelillo. A more wronged, more ill-used party of 
 honourable citizens, never cried to Heaven for vengeance, if 
 precedents and presumptive evidence go for anything in this 
 world. Is it among men of such pubHc and private character 
 as Carlo Poerio, Settembrini, and Pironti, — among such 
 historical names as that of Carafa, — or among such gentle- 
 men of education and fortune as Nisco, Gualtieri, Braico, &c., 
 — such dignitaries of the Church as the arch-priest Mielc, 
 that anarchy recruits its supporters, and crime its abettors? 
 What would you say, O English reader, to a charge of treason 
 brought against some of your most eminent and respected 
 statesmen, leading Members of your Houses of Parliament, 
 — judges, nobles, churchmen, and gentlemen? Well, the 
 men whose names I have just written down, and whom you 
 see introduced into this gloomy hall of the Palace of the 
 
V^ VICTIS. 361 
 
 Vicaria, manacled and escorted by gendarmes, these men 
 stand as high in the social scale of their country, rank as 
 high as to character and position, as any of your English 
 statesmen. Members of Parliament, magistrates, nobles, and 
 gentry. 
 
 This is the famous State prosecution of the sect of the 
 Italian Unity, which wrung from a noble-souled English 
 stateman a cry of indignation soon re-echoed by all Europe. 
 The Court that sits is the Grand Criminal Court of Justice, 
 the highest tribunal in the kingdom. It sits not as an or- 
 dinary, but as a special Court, with a view to despatch— by 
 which is meant, that any of the forms, invaluable for the 
 defence, may be dispensed with at the pleasure of its Pre- 
 sident, Navarro, — "the delicate, scrupulous, impartial, and 
 generous Navarro."* The lugubrious drama is about to 
 begin. The scanty space allotted to the pubhc is crowded, 
 and so is the hemicycle, reserved for privileged spectators, 
 among whom we perceive a closely-veiled lady. The Judges 
 are in their seats; in front of them, on a raised platform, sit 
 the accused. They look pale and worn. The place they have 
 been brought from, truth to say, is none of the healthiest, 
 especially at this time of the year, in Naples, the month of 
 June. No less than one thousand three hundred and eighty 
 human beings are cooped up, one upon another, without air 
 or light, amidst beastly filth, in the contiguous prison of the 
 Vicaria, where our forty-two are confined. We must also 
 take into account a previous detention, for none less than 
 ten months, — for many much longer, — which they have 
 already undergone. Nor must we forget the proper degree 
 of wholesome discipline applied to body and mind, with 
 which imprisonment on a political charge is invariably 
 seasoned at Naples, — a double treatment, for the praise- 
 worthy purpose of ehciting truth, whereof we may hear 
 enough by and by for our edification. Evil-minded people 
 might call it "torture," but torture is abolished, we know, — 
 at any rate the name is. No wonder, then, if the accused 
 
 * Gladstone. 
 
362 DOCTOR ANTONIO. 
 
 look worn and sickly. But if the flesh be infirm, the spirit 
 that dwells within is full of strength and energy; — at least 
 the air of quiet determination about them — the quiet deter- 
 mination of a garrison who are aware they have no quarter 
 to expect, and prepare to sell their lives dearly — would seem 
 to intimate as much. 
 
 On the names of the prisoners being called over, one of 
 them, Margherita, (a custom-house officer,) rises to retract 
 his former declaration, extorted, he says, through physical 
 and moral coercion, and suggested by the Judge Inquisitore 
 himself. Another, Pittera, (a writing-master,) declares, that 
 when taken out of a criminale (an underground cell, almost 
 or wholly without light) to be examined in the Castello (delP 
 Uovo,) he was, in consequence of constant privations and 
 repeated menaces, overcome by mental stupor. A third, 
 Antonietti, (a custom-house agent,) follows, saying that, 
 when interrogated, he was so exhausted in mind and body 
 he would willingly have signed his own sentence of death. 
 If any wish to know more distinctly what kind of pressure it 
 was that could thus unnerve and unman far from sensitive 
 weakly persons, Pironti, and many besides him, will tell us 
 the particulars. Pironti, a late deputy and magistrate, re- 
 lates having been in soUtary confinement in a dungeon, 
 where he had to lie on the naked ground, amid every sort of 
 vermin, for forty-two days. His hair and beard, by special 
 orders, were shaved by a galley-slave. He then underwent 
 an insidious examination from the commandant of the castle, 
 who tried first threats, then wheedling, promising him the 
 royal clemency, to induce him to make revelations, i. e., turn 
 king's evidence. De Simone, a perfumer, was threatened 
 with two hundred blows of sticks, soaked in water. Faucitano 
 (a contract-builder, he of the explosive-bottle) was dragged 
 to the Prefecture of Pohce by twenty Swiss guards, six police- 
 inspectors, and twelve shirri, who beat him, spat on him, 
 tore his clothes, hair, and beard. He was kept for two hours 
 at the police-office bound with wet ropes, then conducted 
 to the castle, thrust down into a dark, damp cri7ninale, with- 
 
V/E VICTIS. 363 
 
 out even a handful of straw to lie on, and detained there for 
 nine days with no food but musty bread, no drink but fetid 
 water. His first deposition was forced from him by the 
 alternative of receiving two hundred blows. Muro (a servant) 
 was kept for five days in complete darkness, and when on 
 his way to be examined, a heutenant in the army, who knew 
 him, told him, as if out of compassion, that unless he put 
 his name to whatever the Commissary desired him to sign, 
 he would be ruined for life. On being asked how it happens 
 that he now maintains that he does not know Pironti, after 
 having, when first confronted with that gentleman, at first 
 recognised his person, Muro rephes that the Commissary had 
 told him beforehand to lay his finger on the one of the four 
 individuals standing in a row who had no moustache; and 
 he had obeyed. Sersale, a merchant, underwent such pro- 
 longed fasting, that his healthis incurably undermined.— (The 
 voice of the prisoner is faint, and he can scarcely stand.) 
 His wife was kept in prison for five days on bread and water, 
 in order to frighten her into deposing to the truth of the 
 charge against him. Cocozza, a solicitor, signed his inter- 
 rogatory without reading it over, — that being the condition 
 of his release from a horrible criminale. The Commissary 
 required him to depose to Nisco (one of his co-accused) 
 being the cashier of the sect of the Italian Unity. Caprio, a 
 carpenter, was urged by the Commissary, in the presence 
 of the head jailer, and of the turnkey, Carmine Bisogni, to 
 denounce Nisco, and to declare on oath that he (Caprio) had 
 received from that gentleman six thousand ducats, for the 
 purpose of bribing the troops, and was promised his liberty 
 if he did so. Errichiello, the master of a cafe, had been 
 offered an employment worth twelve ducats a month, if he 
 would second the views of the Commissary. Dono, a chemist, 
 was not once examined during the ten months of his in- 
 carceration. 
 
 Carafa, of the Dukes d'Andria, rises to tell a sad tale. 
 When first arrested, his mother was seriously ill. From 
 that time he had received no news of her. He had even 
 
364 DOCTOR ANTONIO. 
 
 been given to understand that all his relations had re- 
 nounced him. Signor Beccheneda, a Cabinet Minister and 
 Director of Police, had come to visit him in prison, and as- 
 sured him that his matter could be easily arranged, if he 
 would only give testimony against his co-accused, Poerio, 
 on a certain point. On Carafa's refusal, the Minister had 
 taken leave of him with these words— "Very well, sir, you 
 wish to destroy yourself— I leave you to your fate!" One 
 night the unfortunate young man had fainted away, and in 
 falling to the ground, had injured his right eye. He called 
 for help, but no one came to his assistance. It was whis- 
 pered about that he was to be transferred to a criminale, full 
 of most filthy vermin, and that his doom was irrevocable. 
 After a month's imprisonment , under the combined in- 
 fluence of moral torture and of feverish impatience to hear 
 of his mother, his heart failed him, and he wrote a letter, 
 wherein he deposed against some of his co-accused — wrote 
 it at the suggestion of the Judge Inquisitore in the house of 
 the commandant of the castle, under the eye of the Com- 
 missary. He now retracts all he had written in that letter; 
 nor does this public recantation suffice to set his con- 
 science at rest. He feels the desire and necessity of mak- 
 ing further amends for his fault. He wishes to ask for for- 
 giveness, which he now does, in the presence of the Judges 
 and the public, — of his dear friends, pointing to the other 
 prisoners. His voice thrills with an emotion that touches 
 the heart of all present. 
 
 So much for the fair and humane treatment of prisoners, 
 accused of political offences, hefore their trial. Now for a 
 single illustration of the humane manner they are dealt with 
 during their trial. 
 
 The Court has resumed its sittings, which had been 
 suspended for a fortnight on account of the serious illness 
 of one of the accused, Leipnecher, late a captain in the 
 army. The President, Navarro, impatient to go on with the 
 cause, had early that morning, 17th June, summoned the 
 seven medical men attending Leipnecher, and made known 
 
V^ VICTIS. 365 
 
 to them that the Government had come to the determina- 
 tion that the trial should go on at any rate. All herequired 
 of them was an answer to one single question: — Could 
 Leipnecher be brought into Court without danger of im- 
 mediate death? After having timidly stammered some ob- 
 servations, the doctors answered that Leipnecher had not 
 any fever, and though certainly suffering from nervous irrita- 
 tion, this need not prevent his being present at the sitting, 
 provided he was carried in a chair to the hall, and properly 
 taken care of when there. The President then assumes his 
 seat in Court, and, upon a sign from him, a sedan-chair, 
 surrounded by numerous gendarmes, is brought into the 
 hall; the prison attendants lift out of it a sick man, who is 
 utterly unable to support himself; they carry him in their 
 arms like a child, and place him on a chair, arranging two 
 pillows to support his head. The names of the prisoners 
 are called over, Leipnecher's among the number, but he 
 does not answer. He cannot — he hears nothing. At last, 
 urged by his companions, who succeed in rousing him from 
 his torpor, he exclaims, wandering in his mind, "The 
 physicians will not cure me!" Pretending that these words 
 are meant as an accusation against the medical men, the 
 President, Navarro, desires them to be written down in the 
 minutes, and decrees that Leipnecher shall be the first 
 called up for examination. During the reading over of the 
 notes of his previous answers before the Inquisitore and the 
 Grand Criminal Court, the unfortunate man gives no other 
 sign of hfe than some mechanical motions. The reading 
 ended, the President asks the accused if he has anything to 
 add, retract, or modify. The prisoner utters no sound. 
 The President desires Leipnecher's counsel to answer for 
 his client. This the counsel declines to do, alleging the 
 character of the examination to be one entirely personal to 
 the accused. Navarro insists on the counsel going close to 
 his client, communicating the questions, and transmitting to 
 the Court whatever answers he may receive. The counsel, 
 evidently in great emotion, approaches Leipnecher, and im- 
 
366 DOCTOR ANTONIO. 
 
 mediately perceives that it is impossible to attempt any 
 oral communication with him. The poor creature's fore- 
 head is covered with a cold sweat, and the panting of in- 
 ternal agony alone shows that he is not already a corpse. 
 The Procurator- General, coming to the assistance of the 
 puzzled President, observes that the physicians' report hav- 
 ing been made early in the morning, fever might have 
 come on since then, and suggests the expediency of having 
 the medical men sent for to give their opinion again. In 
 the meanwhile the cause can go on. After a considerable 
 delay, two out of the seven physicians of the morning's 
 report appear in the hall, accompanied by five strange 
 medical practitioners. They are sworn, and, after examin- 
 ing the patient, answer, "That he has fever, and that it is 
 on the increase." The Procurator- General wishes to know 
 whether the sick man could not remain in Court for another 
 hour without positive danger. The reply is, "That there 
 would be no instant danger, but that the state of the patient 
 is such as not to allow of his remaining longer where he is 
 without serious injury.^' Upon receiving this opinion, the 
 President declares the sitting closed. This took place on 
 the 17th of June 1850; on the 226. of the same month 
 Leipnecher was dead. 
 
 Let us now gather at random a few instances of the im- 
 partiality of the Court, and of its religious respect for the 
 liberty of defence. 
 
 The subsidiary charge against Poerio is, that he fought 
 furiously at the barricades on the 15th of May 1848. He 
 asked permission to prove, that during the whole of that day 
 he was detained by the duties of office at the Council of 
 Ministers, whence he accompanied the actual Minister of 
 War, Brigadier Carascosa, to his (Carascosa's) house. He 
 proposed also to prove, by unexceptionable witnesses, and 
 by a document of certain date, viz., a report against him- 
 self, all written in lervolino's hand, that he, Poerio, knew 
 lervolino to be a paid instigator at the time when he (Poerio) 
 
ViE VICTIS. 367 
 
 was alleged to make lervolino his political confidant. The 
 court refused both requests. 
 
 Pironti is charged with having received, towards the end 
 of October 1848, a letter full of high treason, at his own 
 residence, Vico Ecce Hoino, No. 9. He demands to prove 
 that he had not returned to Naples from Santa Maria of 
 Capua before the 2d of November, and that it was not be- 
 fore the 4th that he had taken up his residence in the house, 
 where, according to the accusation, the letter had been 
 given to him towards the end of October. He is ready to 
 make good his assertion by the testimony of those who 
 moved his furniture, by that of his fellow-lodgers, and by 
 that of his landlord. The Court rejects the demand. 
 
 Bocchino, a grenadier in the Royal Guard, a witness for 
 the prosecution against Cocozza, is heard. Though he has 
 been decorated by the Pope, Bocchino's moral character is 
 none of the highest. It results from certificates, signed by 
 the colonel of his regiment, that the witness has suffered 
 punishment for various causes eleven times — for having 
 left his post, for thefts, for insubordination, and for at- 
 tempted rape; he has been twice sentenced to be basti- 
 nadoed, once to thirty, the second time to sixty blows. This 
 man deposes to having taken a letter from Mazza to Co- 
 cozza — both of them among the accused. He went to Co- 
 cozza, gave the letter into his hands, heard nothing about 
 revolutions or sects, and remembers nothing more. The 
 President exhorts him to tell the whole truth, but Bocchino 
 persists in saying that he knows nothing more. Then 
 the President orders the witness's long and circumstantial 
 written declaration to be read. This Cocozza's counsel op- 
 poses, and with great energy claims the observance of the 
 law. Navarro desires him not to interrupt the Court, but 
 to sit down. At this point Settembrini, boiling with indigna- 
 tion, rises and asks to be reconducted to his prison. Since 
 even this mere sham defence is to be thwarted, he will 
 not, he says, legitimate by his presence such a continual 
 trampling under foot of all laws, both human and divine. 
 
368 DOCTOR ANTONIO. 
 
 Navarro growls some inarticulate words, and, with the snarl 
 of a mastiff, orders Settembrini to hold his tongue. Set- 
 tembrini, however, rephes with warmth. Navarro repeats 
 his threats of having him punished for his temerity. All 
 the accused rise to their feet with one accord. The general 
 emotion is at its height. 
 
 When calm is restored, Poerio gets up and says, that 
 public discussion is the crucible in which truth is tried; 
 through it all the facts gathered in the preparatory written 
 process, whether incomplete, altered, or exaggerated, are 
 re-integrated in their purity; through it all the spurious 
 elements are eliminated. It is, therefore, logically indis- 
 pensable that any witness called into a public court should 
 himself relate and arrange the facts that are within his 
 cognizance, and when his oral declaration be not in the 
 whole conformable with his written deposition, it is an ab- 
 solute necessity that the witness's retractations, variations, 
 reticences, and hesitations — in a word, all the circumstances 
 capable of affording a criterion of his sincerity, should be 
 clearly registered. If witnesses were only brought forward 
 to give a dry confirmation of their written declaration, then 
 the end and aim of the law would be missed, and public de- 
 bates would amount to nothing more than to a faint rehearsal 
 of previous private examinations. 
 
 Cocozza's counsel quotes Articles 248, 249, and 251 of 
 the Code of Penal Procedure, and submits to the Court that 
 a witness called into a public court must give his oral 
 testimony without assistance from his written one, that 
 every addition, retractation, or modification of his former 
 sayings, must be registered in the verbal process, and that 
 only after this being done the President may refer him— if 
 the President judge it opportune so to do— to his written 
 declaration. The public prosecutor opposes these demands 
 as unfounded. The Grand Criminal Court retires, and after 
 an hour returns with a deliberation, which, admitting that 
 all the additions, retractations, and modifications, of wit- 
 nesses, are to be exactly set down, declares, at the same 
 
yjE viCTis. 369 
 
 time, that the President alone is the best judge of the op- 
 portune application of the rule. The Court, in consequence 
 rejects the demands. Thereupon the examination of the 
 witness Bocchino is resumed, his written declaration is read 
 over to him, and he repeats and confirms it, sentence by 
 sentence. 
 
 Malacarne, — also a grenadier of the Guard, — another 
 witness for the prosecution, deposes against two of the ac- 
 cused, Cocozza and Brancaccio. Cocozza, rising, protests 
 that he never saw the witness in his life, and desires that 
 the witness should look at him and say whether he re- 
 cognises him, Cocozza. President Navarro makes a sign to 
 the witness to turn round, and asks him whether the one of 
 the prisoners now standing be Cocozza or not. The wit- 
 ness, turning round, and pointing to Cocozza, exclaims, 
 "That is the man." The other accused, Brancaccio, calls 
 upon the witness to identify him also, but uses the precau- 
 tion of remaining seated. Navarro, before allowing the re- 
 quest to be complied with, orders Brancaccio to stand up. 
 Upon which the latter observes, that if he stand up there is 
 not the least doubt as to the witness singling him out from 
 among his fellow-prisoners. Navarro replies that no one 
 can be permitted to keep their seat while speaking in pre- 
 sence of the Court, and that, therefore, he cannot admit the 
 identification unless the prisoner rises. 
 
 Colanero, another grenadier and witness for the prosecu- 
 tion, deposes to having spent a whole day with the accused 
 Colombo. Mazza, one of the prisoners, rises, and, in behalf 
 of Colombo, who remains seated, demands that the witness 
 should identify Colombo's person. Navarro remarks to 
 Mazza that he is not Colombo's mouthpiece, and that, if 
 Colombo has any request to put forward, he must stand up 
 himself. Mazza retorts, that if Colombo, who is to be 
 identified, were to rise, how could any doubt exist as to the 
 identity of his person? Colombo's counsel demands, on 
 behalf of his client, that the confrontation should take place 
 without his cUent's rising. The Procurator- General main- 
 
 Doctor Antonio. 24 
 
37© DOCTOR ANTONIO. 
 
 tains, that the witness having indicated the accused by his 
 surname and Christian name, to wit, Salvatore Colombo, 
 the demand of the said prisoner's counsel could not be ad- 
 mitted, since, according to the law, the act of confrontation 
 was to take place only when the person was vaguely in- 
 dicated, Poerio remarks that the opposite system had been 
 acted upon on the preceding day,— mJe the case above 
 quoted, — when a witness had designated Francesco Co- 
 cozza by both his names, and yet the President had, never- 
 theless, authorized his identification. The Grand Criminal 
 Court withdraws, and, after an hour's deliberation, rejects 
 the demand of Colombo's counsel. 
 
 Now for the morality of some of the most important wit- 
 nesses for the prosecution. 
 
 Among them stands conspicuous Mauro Colella, one of 
 the witnesses against Poerio. It results from the deposition 
 of a priest named Mingione, that this Mauro Colella, while 
 at dinner, last year, in Easter week, at deponent's house, 
 confided to him that a denunzia—a. false charge— was being 
 concocted against Imbriani's brother-in-law, explaining that 
 he alluded to Carlo Poerio. Some time after that, Colella, 
 who lives opposite to deponent Mingione, called to him from 
 one of his windows; and putting one hand across the top of 
 the middle finger of the other, — a significant gesture, — said 
 to Mingione, "The bird is limed," (Vamico c'e cajritaio.) 
 "Who?" asked Mingione; and Colella answered, "Poerio," 
 adding, "I'll just come over and tell you all about it." In 
 fact, he did go toMingione's house, and after relating Poerio's 
 arrest, said that they had entangled that gentleman in such 
 a net that he would infaUibly lose his head. And on Min- 
 gione's asking what could have induced him (Colella) to 
 denounce Poerio on such false grounds, Colella replied that 
 it was because Poerio had been a deputy and a defender of 
 the nation, (sic,) and would kill everybody if not killed him- 
 self; and also because he, Colella, had been promised for so 
 doing a place in the police worth twelve ducats a month. 
 These statements of Priest Mingione, given on oath before 
 
VJE VICTIS. 371 
 
 the Great Criminal Court, are confirmed and corroborated 
 by the evidence of Mingione's mother and sister. Colella, 
 according to his fede di perquisizione, — a certificate referring 
 to the judicial antecedents of a person is thus called,— has 
 been prosecuted for thefts committed in his convent, while 
 he was a Friar, for perjuries, cheating at play, blasphemy, 
 and he is now in prison under a charge for violent rape. 
 
 Francesco Paladino,— since dead, — witness for the pro- 
 secution against Nisco, is noted in his fede di perquisizione for 
 thirty-two offences ,— coining false money, forgery of bank- 
 notes, cheating at play, extortions of money on false pre- 
 tences, swindHng, &c. 
 
 Gennaro Fiorentino, another witness for the prosecution, 
 comes in for eight charges of thefts, perjuries, and frauds. 
 
 Antonio Marotta, witness against Priest Nardi, is noted 
 in his fede di perquisizione for false testimony, and perjury in 
 a state prosecution against Canon Colamella, and is actually 
 under warrant of arrest from the Great Criminal Court of 
 Potenza, in spite of which he remains free. This man is 
 the very Brutus of informers. To denounce Priest Nardi, 
 his cousin, was such a mere trifle for him, that he had fol- 
 lowed it up by the heroism of denouncing his own two 
 brothers. He glories in having done so, as it was in the 
 King's service. The fact is, that Marotta's two unfortunate 
 brothers, unable any longer to bear the disgrace brought on 
 an honourable family by his infamous conduct, had turned 
 him out of their house, and he, out of revenge, had become 
 the accuser of his own blood. 
 
 Remains lervolino, the keystone of the accusation against 
 Poerio, Settembrini, and Nisco. We will devote a separate 
 chapter to the evidence of this consummate rascal, and to 
 the various incidents to which it gave rise. They occupied 
 the whole of the fourteenth sitting of the Court, than which 
 none gives a more comprehensive idea of the whole pro- 
 ceedings , none brings out in stronger relief the wickedness 
 and gorundlessness of the accusation, the noble attitude of 
 
 24* 
 
372 DOCTOR ANTONIO. 
 
 the defence, the cool predetermination to condemn on the 
 part of the judges.* 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 Continuation. 
 
 The phoenix of informers, the spoiled child of the Pre- 
 fecture of PoHce, a smartly attired, middle-sized , pale-look- 
 ing man, upwards of thirty, is introduced. A long visage, 
 slightly pitted with the small-pox, a pair of little unexpres- 
 sive eyes, that seem to look nowhere, a low narrow forehead, 
 make him anything but prepossessing. In he comes with an 
 air of assumed innocence and timidity, highly creditable to 
 his powers as an actor. lervolino is incontestably the one 
 of all his worthy associates in infamy and degradation, who 
 best earns the meagre pittance of twelve ducats, or about 
 two pounds a month, allowed him by the pohce. Unlike 
 Gennaro or Marotta, who declaim their calumnies, lervolino 
 lets his drop from his lips modestly, hesitatingly, like one 
 who recollects with difficulty; but once put on the right track 
 by a frown or word from the President, he goes on coolly 
 and methodically, but with decision and fluency. 
 
 He deposes, that finding himself in great want, and with- 
 out work, the goldsmith who usually employed him having 
 none to give him, he went to Baron Poerio, then a Minister 
 of the Crown, to procure from him what he calls un pane 
 sicuro — a certainty of bread. Seeing that, in spite of the 
 promises made him, there was no office forthcoming, he drew 
 the conclusion that his failure must be owing to his not be- 
 
 * The particulars contained in this and the following chapter are abridged 
 from a correspondence, published at the time by a moderate and ably con- 
 ducted periodical of Turin, At. Rtsorgimento , the only newspaper, that we 
 know of, which warmly took up the cause of conculcated innocence and 
 humanity, and gave all the publicity at its disposal to the prosecution against 
 Poerio and consorts. The veracity of the correspondent, a conscientious eye- 
 witness, may be relied on. 
 
CONTINUATION. 373 
 
 longing to any sect; whereupon he urged Poerio to enrol him, 
 the deponent, in the sect to which Poerio belonged. The 
 Minister received his overtures with pleasure, and sent him 
 with Attanasio, a friend of Poerio, to Nisco, who, in his turn, 
 sent him to Pacifico, at a cafe situated near Santa Brigida. 
 Pacifico introduced lervolino to a person named D'Ambrosio, 
 who took him to his own house, and there initiated him into 
 the sect of the Italian Unity. But of the oath and signs im- 
 parted to him then and there, lervolino has no longer any 
 recollection. In this way he became intimate with Poerio, 
 and knew all Poerio's familiar friends — Nisco, Attanasio, the 
 Reverend Father Grillo, Cassinensis, and a jailer called the 
 Cartonajo — all of them Sectarians. Poerio made him ac- 
 quainted with Settembrini also, but of the latter's friends, 
 he, deponent, knows nothing, as Settembrini never spoke of 
 them to him. lervolino, moreover, went frequently toNisco's 
 house, and saw those intimate there. Poerio and Settem- 
 brini intrusted him with several affairs, or commissions; 
 thus, Settembrini gave him, for distribution, twenty printed 
 copies of an invitation, or address to the public, not to 
 smoke , or put into the lottery, or pay the taxes ; and Poerio 
 one day desired him to go and verify whether the flag in 
 front of the royal palace was white or tricolor. Poerio told 
 him also on another occasion, that the members of the Sect 
 were to have medals whereby to recognise one another, and 
 that many of these were being struck ; and that he, lervohno, 
 should have a good number to distribute among his prose- 
 lytes. Settembrini also told him that a movement was at 
 hand; that Garibaldi was expected, and asked him howmany 
 associates, and what number of muskets, he could muster; 
 and, on hearing that lervolino had five or six muskets, and 
 thirty associates on whom he could depend, Settembrini 
 showed great satisfaction. This was of course mere boasting, 
 and only said by way of winning the confidence of the 
 Sectarians; for lervolino, far from seeking to collect people 
 to fight against the King, had repented having ever figured 
 among his Majesty's enemies; and used, for two months 
 
374 DOCTOR ANTONIO. 
 
 previous, to make his report at the pohce- office, where he 
 had also deposited four incendiary proclamations, handed 
 to him by Settembrini some days before this latter's arrest. 
 He recollects nothing else. 
 
 The President bids him recall to mind his written de- 
 position, and exhorts him to tell the whole truth. lervolino 
 declares that he has said all he recollected, but that he is 
 ready to ratify all he has written, because it is the truth, 
 lervolino's first declaration, subsequent ratification, delation, 
 (deminzia,) and three secret reports, are then read. He can- 
 not say what was the tenor of the oath he took, or what were 
 the signs taught him, having forgotten both. He recollects 
 the signs being changed every now and then. He always 
 received them from Settembrini, who was continually recom- 
 mending him to mix among the men of the people {populani) 
 belonging to the Sect. Who these "men of the people ^^ 
 were, he could not say, no one in particular was pointed out 
 to him. To the question, "What rank he held in the Sect?" 
 he answers that he was only a common member. But on 
 being made to remark that his reply is in contradiction with 
 his statement on the subject in his written declaration, he 
 recollects that in fact he was promoted by Nisco to the rank 
 of Unitarian. Questioned again as to the oath he took, all 
 he remembers, he says, is, that the oath was for the Con- 
 stitution. Questioned again if this was all, and if a change 
 of the form of Government was not implied by the oath, he 
 replies, that at first the oath was to support the Constitu- 
 tion, but that afterwards, as he learned from other associates, 
 it aimed at the establishment of a Republic. — (Here, as usual, 
 when that longed-for word is pronounced, the President 
 shows marked approbation and satisfaction.) lervolino does 
 not recollect the signs of recognition first imparted to him, 
 but, among those communicated to him later by Settem- 
 brini, he remembers the words, — "We are all children, the 
 mother is Rome," and a sign, which consisted in touching 
 the nose and the left eyeUd with the index of the right hand. 
 —(These are the signs given in the printed indictment.) He 
 
CONTINUATION. 375 
 
 was never present at any meeting of the Sect, nor does he 
 know whether there ever were such meetings. 
 
 Poerio's counsel demands the insertion in the minutes of 
 lervolino's statement, that the oath required of him was for 
 the Constitution. Both the President and the pubHc pro- 
 secutor oppose the demand. The counsel insists on the 
 point. Then the President asks lervoHno again about the 
 form of the oath, and lervolino repeats that the Constitution 
 was sworn to, but he heard it said that later they must come 
 to a Republic; and in these terms the answer is registered 
 in the minutes. 
 
 The accused Poerio rises, and begs the President to ask 
 lervolino whether all his secret reports to the police be in- 
 serted in the process. The query is put, and answered in 
 the affirmative by lervolino. 
 
 "This man lies," rejoins Poerio; "for I here present to 
 the Court a report entirely written in his hand, and directed 
 to a functionary of the police named Gennaro, — a report full 
 of the most disgusting calumnies against Settembrini and 
 myself. I call on the delator {denunziante) to say if this 
 report be his, and, in the case of his denying it, I demand 
 that the identity of his handwriting may be legally ascer- 
 tained.'' 
 
 Navarro expresses his astonishment at hearing that a 
 written report against the accused Poerio should be in that 
 person's hands. To which Poerio answers, "I am not bound 
 to say how I obtained this document. It is a secret confided 
 to my honour, and one that will remain buried in my bosom 
 as long as I live. The document is of use for my defence, 
 and I here exhibit it on my own responsibility, and in the 
 exercise of a right bestowed on me by the law. This must 
 suffice for your watchful justice, Mr. President, as well as to 
 make you aware that, even in these most disastrous times, 
 oppressed virtue has more friends than the wicked can be- 
 lieve." 
 
 lervoHno is desired to examine the document. He comes 
 forward with an unsteady step and blanched cheek, looks 
 
376 DOCTOR ANTONIO. 
 
 at the paper, carefully scans the address, then says, "It 
 ought to be directed to Don Gennaro Cioffi ," thus supply- 
 ing the missing family name on the address, the paper hav- 
 ing been torn away in that place. lervolino reads, and turns 
 and returns it several times, then falters out that he does 
 not recollect having written it, but thinks it is his. At last, 
 after being pressed by question on question, he says, "That 
 paper is mine, but the address does not seem to me in my 
 handwriting.^' The paper is read aloud by the Secretary. 
 
 Poerio rises again and speaks. "Among the grounds of 
 deience—posizioni a discarico — that I submitted to the Court, 
 there figured one, by which I propose to prove, that, so far 
 back as the month of May 1 849, I was perfectly aware that 
 this man was a secret agent of that impious faction which is 
 set upon ruining me, let it cost what it will. I then offered 
 to show to the Court a report against me, written and signed 
 by this man, and I requested that two highly honourable 
 persons, and most excellent friends of mine, to whom I had 
 given that nauseous paper to read as soon as it reached me, 
 might be examined. But the Court thought proper to reject 
 this particular request, together with the others I had made. 
 When called up for examination I did not fail again most 
 respectfully to urge the admission of my previously rejected 
 grounds of defence, in particular of this last one. I was 
 again refused; yet the Court, in its high wisdom and justice, 
 reserved to me the right of asking for the hearing of the 
 two witnesses indicated by me, whenever the use or necessity 
 of their being heard should be made manifest in the course 
 of the public debates. I demand that this right be now 
 made good. If Divine justice has permitted me to be a 
 target for the arrows of calumny, it has also brought forth 
 from the womb of calumny itself the means of my justifica- 
 tion. Ye, high priests of human justice, ye cannot grudge 
 me, ye will not take from me this benefit bestowed by Pro- 
 vidence." 
 
 Poerio's counsel backs his client's demand with legal 
 arguments. The public prosecutor opposes it. Poerio ris- 
 
CONTINUATION. 377 
 
 ing, says, "It is with a most grieved spirit that I am forced 
 to remind the honourable magistrate, that when I first pro- 
 duced this identical ground of defence, the public prosecutor 
 opined for its admission. How, then, can the pubhc pro- 
 secutor now urge the rejection of that same posizione a dis- 
 carico which he admitted at a former period — urge its rejec- 
 tion now that the document is proved authentic?" 
 
 The President here sharply admonishes the speaker, and 
 reminds him that he is not entitled to censure the Court. 
 The Procurator-General was in the exercise of his right 
 when he admitted, as now when he rejects, an identical 
 ground of discharge , for his opinions are always conscien- 
 tious and conformable to law. 
 
 The accused answers, "The Honourable Procurator- 
 General cannot belie me when I state a positive fact, an un- 
 deniable fact, when I show him to be in flagrant contradic- 
 tion with himself. This I do not assume to censure, for I 
 know my duty, but I may be allowed to deplore it, for I 
 know my right also, and how to exercise it, subject to and 
 under the control of your impartial justice." 
 
 The Court reserves its deliberation on this point. 
 
 The President asks Poerio if he has any remark to offer 
 touching lervolino's declaration, and the accused answers 
 thus;— "Most Honourable President, the denunzia (delation) 
 is audaciously calumnious, and the very poUce judged it to 
 be so. This wretch, urged on by spite, by misery, and 
 wickedness, elaborates a false charge, and presents it on 
 the 19th April 1849. It is read at the police-office, and no 
 heed is taken of it. lervolino renews his attack, and is not 
 listened to. Not before the i6th of May, that is, after the 
 lapse of nearly a month, is this informer called on to ratify 
 his affirmations. He is asked for corroborating witnesses; 
 he has none. Commissary Maddaloni dismisses him, begins 
 no process, has no thought of arresting me; and this at the 
 moment when the police unhesitatingly imprisoned, not only 
 the pretended chiefs, but even the simple pretended mem- 
 bers of the pretended Sect. When I was arrested, two 
 
378 DOCTOR ANTONIO. 
 
 months after, it was not in consequence of Iervolino*s dela- 
 tion, but, as it appears from a certificate inserted in the pro- 
 cess, on the ground of some one at Archpriest Miele's house 
 having said he had heard that Baron Poerio and Duke Proto 
 were the chiefs of the Sect. But even then Commissary 
 Maddaloni did not institute any investigation relative to 
 lervohno's denunzia, for Nisco, who had been eight months 
 in prison, was not once examined about the Sect, and all 
 the persons named in that denunzia, and put forward as my 
 accomplices and Sectarians, Attanasio,D'Ambrosio,Pacifico, 
 and Father Grillo, continued to live unmolested in Naples. 
 Nor does the police believe in lervolino's envenomed ac- 
 cusation at this moment, since but lately it granted a free 
 passport to one of the denounced parties, the honourable 
 Father Grillo, now at Rome. lervolino's calumnious charges 
 were only disinterred at a later season, to serve that evil in- 
 chnation of police commissaries, who like to give themselves 
 the airs of judges-inquisitor, and to swell the processes with 
 the secret information of their spies. But it is not my present 
 purpose to confute the falsehoods gathered together in that 
 wretch's infamous reports. I shall only, with your leave, 
 most honourable President, put some questions to him. 
 Where had I first the honour of making his precious ac- 
 quaintance? Was he introduced to me by any friend? Did 
 he come alone or in company ?'* 
 
 lervolino replies that he sought Poerio, when he was 
 secretary for the home-department, at his private house, to 
 present a petition to him. He was neither introduced nor 
 recommended by any one. 
 
 Poerio again: — "This man equivocates on one point. He 
 did not come to my house, but to my office ; however, this 
 matters little. He asserts that he urged me, while I was a 
 constitutional minister of the Crown, to enrol him in a cer- 
 tain Sect. How did he know one of the King's ministers to 
 be a Sectarian? How did he dare make a request to a high 
 functionary of the State which might cost him dear?" 
 
 lervolino answers, that it was a fact publicly known that 
 
CONTINUATION. 379 
 
 Poerio was member of a Sect. He further recollects now, 
 that his solicitations about entering the Sect did not take 
 place immediately after his introduction to Poerio, as per- 
 haps appears from his first delation, but at a later period, 
 and when Poerio was no longer minister; certainly not be- 
 fore the 1 6th May 1848. 
 
 "But how, then, could Poerio, if out of office, be of use 
 to the denunziantef" 
 
 Answer. — By recommending him to the other ministers. 
 
 Poerio. — "The denunziante affirms that he was a daily 
 visitor at my house. Where did he wait? At the street door, 
 in the hall, the antechamber, or in my own room?" 
 
 Answer. — In the beginning, sometimes at the street door, 
 or in the hall, or anteroom, but, as he became more intimate, 
 he used to sit in Poerio's bedroom. 
 
 Poerio. — "Such being the case, the deponent will cer- 
 tainly be able to name some among the deputies, peers, 
 magistrates, ministers, who honoured me with visits." 
 
 Answer.— lervohno took no trouble to know the name of 
 Poerio's visitors, excepting those of the four he wrote down 
 in his denunzia. 
 
 Poerio. — "But if he was accustomed to spend all his 
 mornings in the hall, he must have come to know some of 
 the heads of the different bureaux who called daily for my 
 signature." 
 
 Answer.— lervolino saw numbers of persons, but never 
 made inquiries as to their names. 
 
 The President asks the accused Nisco if he has anything 
 to say. Nisco answers, "I have to observe, in the first place, 
 that it seems strange, to say the very least, that I should 
 not once have been examined as to this pretended Sect. I 
 solemnly declared that I never was a Sectarian; a villain 
 starts up, and charges me, behind my back, with being so ; 
 of this heinous charge a mystery is made to me during the 
 whole of the preparatory process, that is, during fourteen 
 long months, and now I am suddenly required to answer, in 
 a public Court, the vile calumniator." 
 
380 DOCTOR ANTONIO. 
 
 The President interrupts the accused, and warns him not 
 to insult the witness, who is entitled to respect. 
 
 Nisco rejoins, — "This man is no witness, he is a denun- 
 ziante, — a delator. If you will not allow me to call him a 
 calumniator, I shall call him by his name, and that will be 
 enough, nay, quite the same thing. I shall say he is an 
 lervohno; that name is the impersonation of all human 
 wickedness. Well, this lervolino confesses himself a Sec- 
 tarian, confesses having taken the oath to a Sect, having, 
 during the course of a whole year, received and executed 
 commissions connected with that Sect. This man then, is 
 amenable to justice, and cannot be heard as a witness. Let 
 lervolino come up and take his place on these benches, let 
 him stake his own head, and then his wonderful revelations 
 may be, I will not say credited, but listened to without of- 
 fence to the law." Here Nisco enters at length into details 
 and statements in order to prove, that during Poerio's ad- 
 ministration, that is, from the 6th of March to the 3d of 
 April 1 848, he, Nisco, was never in Naples, and, consequently, 
 cannot, out of physical impossibility, have held any com- 
 munication with lervolino, as asserted by the latter, in a 
 place where he, Nisco, was not. "I know very well," con- 
 tinues the accused, "that lervolino has retracted his former 
 saying in one respect, and assumed just now that his soHci- 
 tations to Poerio to be enrolled in a Sect were made at a 
 later period, and when Poerio was no longer in office. But 
 when did this informer change his tactics ? When the in- 
 credibility of his first affirmation stared him and every one 
 else in the face. But lervolino's new declaration surpasses 
 in absurdity, if possible, the old one. His object, he de- 
 clares, was to be recommended by Poerio to some of the 
 new ministers. To the ministers, forsooth, of the i6thMay! 
 —that same administration to which Poerio, as a deputy, 
 never ceased to offer from the tribune a loyal, conscientious, 
 but unflinching opposition." Nisco concludes by demanding 
 to prove, by unexceptionable witnesses, the exactness of 
 his allegations as to his alibi from Naples, at a time when 
 
CONTINUATION. 38 1 
 
 Tervolino alleges to have held personal intercourse with him 
 in the capital. 
 
 Settembrini, on being asked by the President if he has 
 anything to say, rises and answers, "After the questions put 
 to the informer by my friend and co-accused Poerio, I have 
 nothing to ask him with regard to myself. All I can say is, 
 that I never knew lervolino before, and that I wish I had not 
 known him now. That man is in the pay of the police, he 
 receives twelve ducats per month, besides perquisites, de- 
 pending on the services he renders. See how he has cleaned 
 and furbished himself up; he looks anything but poor now. 
 He confided all this himself to his friends, Nicola Rubinacci, 
 Luigi Mazzola, Ferdina'ndo Lanzetta, and Giovanni Luigi 
 Pellegrino; these confidences he made on an occasion when 
 Rubinacci, complaining to him of the hardness of the times, 
 lervolino exhorted him to do as he did, and he would soon 
 be out of want. I demand that the persons I have named 
 may be heard as witnesses, and I hope the Court will grant 
 me at least this request, I take this opportunity of remind- 
 ing the Court that I stand here in a solitary and unpre- 
 cedented position, namely, that I am the only one in this 
 cause whose grounds of defence have been all rejected in a 
 lump. If the necessity of hearing some witness in my behalf 
 does not arise from this man's deposition, it will arise no 
 more, for, with the exception of this single denunzianie, there 
 is no other witness to the charge against me in the public 
 debates." 
 
 The Court prepares to withdraw. Poerio rises and re- 
 quests to speak. Navarro looks much annoyed, and shows 
 signs of impatience, but Poerio maintains his right, and 
 claims from the well-known "justice of the President the full 
 exercise of the liberty of defence." After some hesitation, 
 the President, who had already risen, sits down again, and 
 the accused speaks as follows : — 
 
 "Gentlemen, — In the interest of my defence I feel called 
 upon to submit to you a few demands, which naturally arise 
 from the declaration of the delator. lervolino has acknow- 
 
3S2 DOCTOR ANTONIO. 
 
 ledged as his own the infamous document I presented to 
 the Court, but, unable to divest himself entirely of the sad 
 habit of lying, has pretended to doubt whether the address 
 was in his own handwriting. This doubt ought to be re- 
 moved, and I therefore request the Court to appoint some 
 persons skilled in such matters, and to commit to them the 
 care of legally ascertaining whether or not the handwriting 
 of that paper be the same with that of the address on the 
 cover. lervoUno denies that, towards the end of May 1849, 
 — the time at which I learned that he was a paid spy and 
 informer,— I ordered him out of my house; he even asserts 
 that he continued to frequent it at a posterior date. I affirm, 
 on the contrary, that precisely at that same date I read the 
 nauseous paper I have exhibited here to two honourable 
 friends of mine, and that in their presence I forbade him my 
 house. It is the examination of these two witnesses I now 
 demand, the necessity of their testimony having arisen from 
 the public debates. I must also urge the admission of two 
 other demands, of which I leave you in your wisdom to 
 weigh the strict legahty and high importance." 
 
 The President interrupts the accused, reminds him that 
 lervolino's deposition alone has already taken up six hours, 
 and desires him to be short, and leave out useless things. 
 
 Poerio answers, — "It certainly is no fault of mine if lervo- 
 lino's complicated falsehoods have lengthened this discus- 
 sion. As to the method of my defence, and the choice of 
 my arguments, I beg to be allowed to follow the dictates of 
 my judgment, and nevertheless to anticipate that benevolent 
 attention which your noble eagerness after truth, most 
 honourable President, and never- failing respect for the 
 liberty of defence, (Navarro winces and fidgets on his seat,) 
 secure beforehand to a man in my situation. When the 
 Court rejected my grounds of defence, it left me the right 
 of asking for the hearing of the witnesses produced in sup- 
 port of those same rejected grounds, whensoever the ne- 
 cessity or expediency of their being heard should arise in 
 the public trial. Of that right allow me now to make use. 
 
CONTINUATION. 383 
 
 When the Court rejected my special demand for the rein- 
 tegration in the process of a document relating to a 
 pretended letter of the Marquis Dragonetti, the Court re- 
 served to me the right of orally repeating the deductions 
 contained in the unproduced document. Let me now bene- 
 fit by that reservation, to show you the pertinency of a last 
 request of mine." 
 
 Navarro observes to the accused, that these means have 
 been already amply developed in his printed defence, and 
 that their repetition will only cause a useless loss of time to 
 the Court. 
 
 Poerio.— "The time you devote to the hearing of the de- 
 fence, is time put to its noblest purpose; nor will you regret 
 it, honourable President, if it serves to satisfy you of my 
 innocence, and of the wicked animosity of my enemies. 
 Gentlemen , in my grounds of defence , I have appealed to 
 the testimony of eminent persons, Cardinals, Ambassadors, 
 Ministers, Generals, &c. I have called on them to depose, 
 both to my opinions and my acts as a public man. This 
 lervolino, a man who has sold his soul to the faction bent 
 on my destruction, — this type of all vice dares, with the 
 most insensate and vilest calumnies, to sully five-and-forty 
 years of a modest but fearless and virtuous life. Can you, 
 after listening to him, deny me the m.eans of justification? 
 If the list of witnesses I have produced be too long, curtail 
 it in your wisdom, but do not reject them all on the plea of 
 their being many. Do not thus deprive me of the means of 
 vindicating that which is most vital to me, — I mean my 
 honour. 
 
 "And now I come to my last request. On the 24th July 
 1849, six days after my arrest, I was summoned, for the first 
 time, to the presence of the Commissary Inquisitor, and 
 desired to open a sealed letter forwarded through the post 
 to my address, and which was attributed to the Marquis 
 Dragonetti. No sooner had I cast my eyes on it, than I per- 
 ceived at once the vile imitation of Dragonetti's handwriting. 
 There were among my sequestrated papers some of Drago- 
 
384 DOCTOR ANTONIO. 
 
 netti's genuine letters which I produced. The Commissary 
 Inquisitor and his attendants compared them with the one 
 they had just given me, and, even to their eyes, the forgery 
 stood confessed. Nor did I rest contented with this material 
 proof of the calumny, but I went on to corroborate it by the 
 demonstration of a moral impossibility. How could Drago- 
 netti, one of the purest and most elegant writers in Italy, he 
 whose letters were models of polished style— how could he 
 have penned a paper full of gross blunders, not only of 
 grammar, but of speUing? How could a man in Dragonetti's 
 affluent circumstances, with a large circle of relations, 
 friends, and acquaintances at his service, be supposed to 
 have employed the post in so treasonable a matter, — he who 
 had always forwarded his letters on the most indifferent sub- 
 jects by a private hand? How could it be possible, that a 
 man of mature age, and brought up in the school of mis- 
 fortune, should ever dream of writing openly in his own 
 hand, without a shadow of disguise, a letter which must send 
 him to the scaffold, authenticating it with his signature, and 
 the title of Marquis to boot? 
 
 "These, and suchlike unanswerable arguments, as I 
 immediately set forth and indited, were entered on a minute, 
 which was drawn up at the time ; but this minute does not 
 figure among the documents of the present process, and has 
 been kept back from malignant motives. The forged letter 
 was to inform me that Mazzini, one of the triumvirs at Rome, 
 gave me a rendezvous at Malta; it spoke of a universal rising 
 throughout Italy being at hand; it alluded to a corre- 
 spondence of Lord Palmerston, engaging the people of this 
 country to proclaim a republic, and offering assistance of 
 every kind; (all eyes here turn towards the representative 
 of Great Britain, Sir William Temple, Lord Palmerston's 
 brother, who is present in the gallery with the Princes 
 Colonna;) finally, that stupid paper announced the imminent 
 arrival of Garibaldi. I formally demand that the missing 
 minute be reinstated among the documents of the cause; 
 and I have no doubt but that you will comply with my 
 
CONTINUATION. 385 
 
 demand, for the condemnation of the innocent is a public 
 calamity, and, to remove any such danger, you must con- 
 cede to me the free use of all such means as tend to establish 
 my being the victim of dark and calumnious machinations. 
 And please to remark, that the entry of Garibaldi is spoken 
 of in lervolino's denunzia against me of the 20th May 1849; 
 that the entry of Garibaldi was mentioned by the witnesses 
 of Pomigliano examined in the preparatory process; and 
 that the entry of Garibaldi is touched upon by the author of 
 the forged letter, attributed to Dragonetti. Here, then, you 
 have the watchword of my persecutors, — here, then, you 
 have the thread to unravel the web woven for my destruc- 
 tion. Gentlemen of the Court, I adjure you to let light shine 
 in upon you. Surely you will not, by shutting your eyes, 
 wilfully remain in darkness." 
 
 The Grand Criminal Court withdraws to dehberate ; and 
 comes back two hours afterwards with a decision to the 
 following effect:— Of the demands of the accused Nisco, the 
 Court admits, by a majority of six votes to two, the one 
 relating to the proof of his sojourn at San Giorgio by means 
 of witnesses,— rejects the proof, through witnesses, of the 
 precise epoch of his journey to and from Rome, reserving 
 to the accused the right of establishing the date by the ex- 
 hibition of his passport, 
 
 Settembrini's request to prove lervolino to be a paid 
 agent of the police, by oral evidence, the Court rejects— re- 
 serves the right to the accused of proving his assertion by 
 documents. 
 
 All Poerio's demands are rejected in a lump. 
 
 This trial lasted eight months, from June 1850 up to Ja- 
 nuary (inclusive) of 1851. Procurator Angelillo's speech in 
 support of the accusation took up three days. The advocates 
 on the side of the defence fought like lions for their clients, 
 but with little success. Out of forty-two accused, reduced 
 to forty-one by the death of Leipnecher, eight were ac- 
 
 Doctor Antonio. 25 
 
386 DOCTOR ANTONIO. 
 
 quitted, thirty-three condemned; (we record only the severe 
 sentences ;) three, among whom Settembrini , to death ; two 
 to the galleys; three to thirty-five years of irons; one, Nisco, 
 to thirty years of irons; three, Poerio, Pironti, and Romeo, 
 to four-and-twenty years of irons; one to twenty years of 
 irons; eight to nineteen years of irons. 
 
 As one of the names included in this last category fell 
 from the lips of the clerk of the Court, a shriek came from 
 the reserved gallery-seats, and a great bustle ensued. At 
 the same instant one of the prisoners, a tall, commanding 
 figure, ghastly pale, rose and stretched both hands towards 
 the gallery. It was whispered among the crowd that a lady, 
 the veiled lady who had not missed a single sitting of the 
 Court— some said the sister, some the wife of the prisoner 
 who had stood up— some an English lady, whose life he had 
 saved, had fainted, and been carried away by her friends. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 Ischia. 
 
 This last Chapter finds all the prominent characters of 
 our story (excepting Sir John, who is still confined by his 
 gout at Davenne) in the Isle of Ischia. 
 
 Doctor Antonio, in the dress of a common felon, drags 
 his heavy chains in yonder frowning Castle. 
 
 Lady Cleverton, ever since last February, has been re- 
 siding in one of the best situated and most beautiful villas 
 of the island. Owing to ill health her habits are extremely 
 secluded, and she generally leaves it to her cousin, the at- 
 tache, and her companion, a lady of most agreeable man- 
 ners, to do the honours of her splendid mansion to the dis- 
 tinguished visitors, who flock from Naples and the adjacent 
 islands to admire Lady Cleverton's beautiful yacht. Her 
 ladyship's physicians, it is said, have advised her to Uve as 
 much as possible at sea, and, to enable her to conform to 
 their advice, this paragon of yachts has been sent from Eng- 
 
ISCHIA. 387 
 
 land. The Perseveranie— thus has Lady Cleverton christened 
 her fairy vessel— is better known for twenty miles around 
 than any of his Neapolitan Majesty's ships — goes in and out 
 of the neighbouring little bays at all hours of the day or 
 night — is seen tacking and cruising along the coast, without 
 ever disturbing the siesta of custom-house officer or coast- 
 guard;— the Perseverante, in short, is quite at home in these 
 waters of the lovely gulf of Naples. 
 
 Speranza, it is scarcely necessary to say, is by the side 
 of her dear mistress. 
 
 Battista has given up his inn and his epaulettes to come 
 and settle as a fisherman at Ischia, where he lives in a poor 
 quarter of the town close to the port. He brings , almost 
 daily, to Lady Cleverton's villa, large loads of fish, which 
 are always received by Speranza. As nobody in the house 
 understands Battista's patois but Speranza, it is she who 
 makes the bargains; but in all other respects she treats him 
 like a perfect stranger, as indeed do Hutchins and the Eng- 
 lish man-servant, the only members of the household who 
 have known him before. Battista's custom in the town is 
 not large. Save now and then some chance purchaser, it 
 appears limited to a thin elderly man in a shabby suit of 
 black, undoubtedly an inmate of the Castle, as he is invari- 
 ably seen to pass the bridge that joins the Castle to the 
 island, when he comes, which he regularly does every 
 second day, to buy his provision of fish at Battista's house. 
 Battista shows great attention to his single customer, terms 
 him "his dear Doctor,"— a diploma of Battista's own con- 
 ferring, — has a glass of lachryma Christi always ready for 
 him,— loads him with fish, and with mysterious little bundles 
 into the bargain, which last the visitor twists, with the ut- 
 most care, round his body under his clothes. These bundles 
 are skeins of strong silk, carefully prepared by Lady Clever- 
 ton and Speranza. One hour would be sufficient to loop 
 hundreds of these skeins into one another, and make them 
 into a solid rope or chain, by which a person might descend 
 from any height. 
 
 25* 
 
388 DOCTOR ANTONIO. 
 
 Well, we are in the month of May,— that fatal month of 
 May! The night is as dark as lovers and smugglers could 
 wish, and the black outlines of yonder towering Castle are 
 scarcely discernible on the gloomy background of an over- 
 cast sky. A boat, in which are the attache and Battista, ad- 
 vances cautiously with muffled oars to the foot of the huge 
 pile, and takes up its station just where the rock plunges 
 perpendicularly into the sea. A short mile off the httle har- 
 bour of Ischia, the Per sever ante lies at anchor. In a cabin 
 on the deck are Lady Cleverton and Speranza, mute as 
 shadows. Their anxiety is too great for utterance. Speranza 
 on her knees by the side of her beloved mistress, bathes her 
 temples. Lucy's life hangs on the issue of this hour. 
 
 Every clock of the town strikes twelve— the two women 
 in the yacht strain their eyes in the direction of the fortress 
 — the two men in the boat strain their eyes upwards — not a 
 stir — not a sound. Another hour — an age — is gone, and the 
 same dead stillness prevails. What can this delay portend? 
 Midnight was the hour appointed; the filing of the prisoner's 
 chains, and the iron-bars of the window, through which he 
 must make his escape, was only to occupy twenty minutes. 
 Could it be that a discovery had taken place? But if so, 
 some alarm would have been given, muskets fired, voices 
 heard,— at least lights would have been seen, — and every- 
 thing remains as still and dark as death. Or could it be, 
 that, at the decisive moment, face to face with the abyss 
 below, the captive's courage had failed him? Three years 
 of physical and mental torture, as practised in Neapolitan 
 jails, had been known to unman hearts as noble and fearless 
 as Antonio's. 
 
 While on board the yacht, and in the boat, such conjec- 
 tures were being discussed in thrilling whispers, the vast 
 mass of the Castle was becoming every moment more dis- 
 tinct against the gradually whitening horizon. Another ten 
 minutes, and it would be too late for the boat to withdraw 
 without arousing suspicion, so the attache and Battista took 
 once more to their oars, and, cautiously leaving their 
 
ISCHIA. 389 
 
 perilous situation, made for the yacht; and in a little more 
 than an hour afterwards, a sedan-chair deposited Lady 
 Cleverton in the hall of her villa. Battista by this time was 
 pacing up and down his poor dwelling, near the port, wait- 
 ing, with the keenest impatience, for the hour that should 
 bring his mysterious customer from the Castle, and with him 
 the solution of last night's riddle. 
 
 He came at last, and with such intelligence as sent his 
 eager listener reeling back like a drunken man. Battista 
 flew to the villa , and was immediately ushered by the terri- 
 fied Speranza into Lady Cleverton's presence, "fle won't 
 come out!" groaned the poor fellow, tearing his hair and 
 biting his hands; "he won't come out!" Such was the fact. 
 Antonio had refused to escape, and last night's failure was 
 his own doing. 
 
 '•This is downright madness!" exclaimed the attache. 
 The glance that passed at these words between Lucy and 
 Speranza was full of a new terror. At this instant Battista 
 handed to Lady Cleverton a dirty scrap of paper. O joy! it 
 was from him, though it could scarcely be said to be in his 
 handwriting. The letters were formed by little holes pierced 
 in the paper. These few words, traced in complete dark- 
 ness, had cost the writer a whole night's labour. The con- 
 tents were as follows : — 
 
 "There are five here besides myself, all noble fellows, 
 the least of them worth ten of me. I cannot desert them. 
 You cannot save us all; leave me to my fate. Providence 
 has assigned me my place among the sufferers. Perhaps our 
 trials will be reckoned to our country. Pray that it may be 
 so. Pray for Italy. God bless you ! Your own A — ." 
 
 Lucy buried her face in her hands, and hot tears trickled 
 through her fingers. The other three were scarcely less 
 moved. 
 
 "We will save them all," cried she suddenly, raising her 
 head with the look of one inspired. 
 
 "We will, so help us God!" said the attache and Spe- 
 
390 DOCTOR ANTONIO. 
 
 ranza. Battista said nothing, but lifted up his hand in 
 solemn attestation. 
 
 In the afternoon Baron Mitraglia called on Lady Clever- 
 ton. She had met him at the Court assemblies. Far too 
 important a personage was this baron, general, chamberlain 
 — "three great men rolled into one," far too high in the 
 King's favour was this grand-cross of innumerable orders to 
 be denied admittance. The conversation could not be other- 
 wise than desultory, the Court, the weather, the fine pro- 
 spect. Lady Cleverton's beautiful yacht which the baron had 
 admired at a distance.— Would he like to go on board? 
 The baron regretted very much he could not avail himself 
 at this moment of her ladyship's kind invitation; the fact 
 was he had come to Ischia on official business, and must re- 
 turn at once to Naples. He had not come, hopes Lady 
 Cleverton, with a forced laugh, to put Ischia in a state of 
 siege? The "official business" had rather startled her. 
 
 "I could almost wish I had," retorted the baron, with a 
 chuckle, "were it only to make sure that you do not give 
 us the slip one of these days." There was a twinkle in his 
 grey eye as he said this, quite inexplicable to his listener. 
 "My present mission," continued the baron, gravely — "I 
 may confide it to a lady of your discretion — relates to some 
 political prisoners — I daresay you had no idea of having 
 such neighbours — who are detained in yonder castle;" and 
 he pointed with his finger to the huge fortress, which was 
 distinctly visible from the sofa on which he was sitting. 
 
 "Indeed!" was all Lady Cleverton could say, as a cloud 
 passed before her eyes. 
 
 "Yes; information reached his Majesty's Government 
 but a few days ago that underhand practices had been carry- 
 ing on for some time in this island, — something like a plot 
 for the escape of the prisoners I was speaking of. Do not 
 look alarmed, milady, there is no fear of such dangerous 
 characters being again let loose on society. His Royal 
 Highness Prince Luigi, who, as admiral of the kingdom, 
 
ISCHIA. 391 
 
 has charge of this island, sent me here to inquire into the 
 matter. Nothing worth mentioning, after all; mere child's 
 play. However, I thought it best, chiefly in the interest 
 of the prisoners themselves, to order their immediate re- 
 moval." 
 
 Lady Cleverton had listened to this disclosure with the 
 feelings of a criminal with his head on the block ; but she 
 commanded sufficient external calmness to ask, in a careless 
 way, "And where are you going to send them?" 
 
 "That is my secret, milady," returned the baron, with a 
 smile as sharp as the point of a dagger; "that is my secret," 
 and away he went. 
 
 When Speranza, shortly after, came to her mistress, she 
 found her in a swoon. This unhappily, was no uncommon 
 occurrence; for many months past Lady Cleverton had been 
 subject to fainting fits. "It was that horrible man," she 
 whispered. "I will tell you by and by; I cannot think just 
 now, I feel so sleepy." Speranza laid her down on the sofa 
 to sleep. Lucy lay very quietly. Now and then some 
 broken words, evidently connected with a dream, would pass 
 her lips; some one she had long expected was coming, and 
 she must have her blue gown. Once she tried the first notes 
 of an air, which Speranza took up, and hummed gently. It 
 was the first Sicilian song Antonio had taught Lucy. The 
 silence after this was unbroken for hours. 
 
 The day was on the wane. Speranza, who had scarcely 
 dared to breathe for fear of disturbing the sleeper, began to 
 be scared, she knew not why, by the stillness around. Unable 
 to stand it any longer, she went on tiptoe to her mistress, 
 and leaned over her. There was a change in the fair face 
 which struck Speranza. She called her by name — no an- 
 swer; she took one of Lucy's hands— it was cold. Lucy had 
 ceased to suffer. 
 
 She looked like a sleeping child. The angel of death 
 had smoothed away the premature fines about her eyes and 
 mouth. Her lips were slightly parted with a smile. She 
 
392 DOCTOR ANTONIO. 
 
 lay with her head turned towards the castle. Her last look 
 had been for Antonio. 
 
 Sir John could not stand the shock of the fatal news; he 
 lingered on for some months, then died. 
 
 The young attach^ solicited and obtained a change of 
 residence. Naples had become unbearable to him. 
 
 Battista's mysterious customer was never seen or heard 
 of more. 
 
 Battista and Speranza went back to their own country, 
 and bought a fine country house near Nice, where they live 
 to this day in affluent circumstances; Lady Cleverton, who 
 must have had a presentiment of her approaching end, hav- 
 ing bequeathed Speranza a large sum of money. But the 
 loss of their benefactress, and the hopeless doom of Doctor 
 Antonio, cast a gloom over their lives. Speranza's looks 
 are sadly altered; her hair is all grey. 
 
 Captain, now Sir Aubrey Davenne, made a rich marriage, 
 and never went back to India. He has been for the last few 
 years one of the most respected members of the House of 
 Commons, where he seldom speaks but on what has become 
 his speciality, — religious and philanthropic subjects. The 
 Peace Society counts him as one of its most influential and 
 zealous promoters. 
 
 Doctor Antonio still suffers, prays, and hopes for his 
 country*. 
 
 THE END. 
 
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